Thunder rocked the house while lightning danced across the sky. Stan Ellis, a slightly built fifteen year old, stood on the front porch, watching the show. Simultaneous bursts struck at a couple of trees on the nearby hills, sending puffs of smoke into the moist air. He wondered where his grandpa was. He hated to think of the old man out driving in this terrible weather.

Stan’s eyes followed the gravel drive from the front of the barn, through the wooden gate that enclosed their property, and out toward the state highway that went into Bozeman. No rusty red truck rumbling home.

A jagged bolt of lightning plunged into the field just beyond the horses’ corral. The impact sent small rocks flying and a dust cloud filled the air. The horses stabled in the barn screamed in fear. Stan knew he’d better check on the horses and make sure that all were safe in their stalls.

Pulling on his anorak, he ran down the steps and across the yard, hoping to beat the next bolt. Just as he pulled open the barn door, another hit, stronger than before. Stan held on to the door as the earth trembled, absurdly terrified that he might fall. Eyes huge, he saw a nearby fir tree burst into flame like a forgotten shish kebab on a grill.

Stan stepped into the cool semi-darkness of the barn and pulled the door closed. It slid easily on its well-greased track. After dropping the latch into place, he turned to examine the animals.

Dopey and Suzy-Mae stood in the back of their stall, brown eyes as large as platters. The stallion’s head draped over the mare’s shoulder, his nuzzle stroking her mane. Dopey snuffled in a whisper-like voice, trying to calm his frightened partner.

Big Joe’s hooves clattered against the sides of his stall, a staccato beat that seemed to match the pounding of Stan’s heart. The big horse’s snorts sounded like rifle shots, and Big Joe’s sides were covered in a foam-like lather. Stan knew he’d better wipe Big Joe down before he left the stables.

Betsy and her foal, Spotter, squealed when the ground shook from another blast. They stood at the back of their stall, with ears pulled back, seeming to be listening to the pounding rain.

At the back end of the barn, Lucifer, the most gentle of the bunch, snorted, neighed, screamed, and bucked when another round of thunder shook the barn. This would be Stan’s first target. Lucifer was his grandpa’s favorite, a horse that was bought for Stan’s mother to ride when she was young.

“Hey, boy. Lucifer boy. It’s OK, big boy,” he softly crooned as he approached the stall. Whistling the stallion’s favorite tune, “Edelweiss,” he stepped closer and closer, hands outstretched in a pleading fashion. When even with the stall door, Stan peered in over the edge. Lucifer plunged forward, crashing into the wood, nearly cracking it down the middle. “Calm down, Lucifer. Calm down, boy.”

Stan picked up a handful of sweet hay, the stallion’s favorite, and held it gingerly toward the horse’s mouth. Still whistling, the young man slithered forward at turtle speed. Lucifer’s eyes rolled, showing white even in the gloom of the stall. Foam dripped from the horse’s mouth, and his sides heaved and rattled. Stan moved closer, still offering the treat. “Come on, boy. Easy, boy.”

When thunder sounded again, Lucifer burst through his door, shattering the wood as easily as breaking toothpicks. Stan jumped out of the way of the flailing hooves just in time to avoid being struck a deadly blow to the head.

He cowered against the back of the barn as the terrified horse raced up and down the center. Stan trembled in fear, leaning tightly against the door to Knight’s stall. The giant horse suddenly stopped running and looked around the barn with terrified eyes. Taking advantage of the temporary calm, Stan took a step into the center aisle. “Here I am, boy. Come here, Lucifer. Come to me, boy.” His hands shook, but he kept his voice soft and calm.

After shaking his head up and down a few times, Lucifer allowed Stan to approach. Sides quivering, spittle flying from his gritted teeth, Lucifer was far from relaxed. “Let me touch you, boy,” Stan crooned. He resumed whistling and watched as the horse’s eyes focused on the hay and the hand. “That’s it, boy. That’s it.”

When Lucifer took the first tentative nibble, Stan grabbed his halter. After pulling the giant head toward his chest, Stan offered the last of the hay, and then began stroking the black muzzle. The stallion slowly calmed, thanks to the passing of the storm and the persistent cooing and petting of the young man.

Once the horse’s eyes narrowed to a more normal size, Stan urged him forward. They walked from one end of the barn to the next, stopping only to turn and change directions. In time, Lucifer’s breathing took on its changed cadence. “That’s the way, boy. That’s the way.” Stan wondered where to put Lucifer now that his stall door was shattered. Not in with Big Joe. They’d fight and get each other riled up. Not with Betsy, either. Lucifer hates Spotter. He decided to put him in Knight’s stall as it was empty. Grandpa had taken his Appaloosa into Dr. Steinway’s clinic for some kind of operation, and so the stall would be available for a few days.

Stan walked Lucifer to the stall and opened the door. Agitated about entering another horse’s place, the stallion reared in protest. Stan jumped out of the way of the hooves. “Hey, boy. No problem. Knight’s gone for a few days. He won’t mind.” Lucifer instantly calmed, as if he understood every word.

“Go on, now,” Stan said. “Step in. Step in, boy.” The stallion did as told, as meekly as the lamb he normally was. “Yeah, that’s it. You okay now?” Stan picked up a soft cloth and rubbed the horse’s sides and neck. When Lucifer was quiet, Stan checked the food and water, and then quietly stepped outside. He closed the door and dropped the latch into place.

Now that the stallion was calmer than before, Stan rechecked the other horses. He spoke to them and whistled each one’s special song. Within minutes, all were relaxed, and even Big Joe was wiped down.

Stan left the barn and headed back to the house. His grandfather still was not home to prepare dinner, so he went into the kitchen to find something to eat. The refrigerator light did not come on when he opened the door. The clock on the microwave was dark, and when Stan flicked the switch for the ceiling lights, nothing happened.

He dug into the meat drawer and pulled out some sliced turkey, and then he got out the mayonnaise, some leaves of lettuce, and a slice of mozzarella cheese. He assembled a mammoth sandwich, tossed a handful of chips on his plate, and poured himself a tall glass of water. Stan carried his meal out to the front porch, sat in his usual chair, placed the glass on a nearby table, and balanced the plate on his lap. As he ate, he watched lightning bolts, far off in the distance, as they zigzagged across the darkening sky. The air had that fresh smell that always followed rain.

As night came on, Stan gave up his watch and went inside. The electricity was still out, so with nothing to do, he decided to go to bed early. He was worried about his Grandpa, wondering if he was safe, holed up somewhere in town, or stuck in mud out on the road. There was nothing he could do about it, so Stan pulled off his shoes, socks, jeans and shirt, and then climbed into bed. He stared at the dark ceiling, trying to recall if his grandfather had said anything about visiting Uncle Jack, or dropping in on his old friend, Zechariah.

In time Stan’s breathing slowed to a rhythmic cadence and his worried face relaxed.
Fire! The barn’s on fire! Got to save the horses. Lucifer will be in a panic. Got to get there before he kicks through the wall. Clothes. Jeans. Found them. Where’s my shoes? There they are. Do I need a shirt? Forget it. Run to the horses. Save the horses.

He flew down the stairs into the front room, across the braided rug and out the door. Panicked neighing filled the night with eerie sounds. Stan froze at the top of the stairs. He stared into the dark, searching for the outline of the barn.

I can’t see it! Where’s the barn? Horses. Got to get to the horses. My God! What’s making that noise? Is it a panther? Can’t be. No panthers near here. Mountain lion. A lion’s in the barn. Rifle. Where’s Grandpa’s rifle?

Stan stepped back inside the house and ran to the gun case. He snapped open the door so forcefully that the glass shook. Rifle. That one. Take that one. It’s loaded. Yeah. That’s the one Grandpa always keeps loaded.

Holding the rifle across his chest, Stan rushed out of the house, down the steps, and across the yard. The barn door was closed, the latch in place. No lion’s in there. What is it, then? What’s scaring the horses?

Another blood-curdling scream tore the night apart, sending shivers down Stan’s spine. Got to get in there. Got to see what it is. Open the door, and then jump aside. That’s what I’ll do.

Stan reached out with his free hand, grabbed the latch, and lifted it up. The door burst open, sending Stan flying backwards and onto the ground. Out of the barn exploded a fire-encased figure. An unearthly looking creature, with wide, gaping maw, screaming an ear-piercing sound as it rushed toward Stan. Eyes, dark as night, stared into Stan’s soul, while writhing fingers reached toward his face.

He raised the rifle and aimed where the heart should be. His finger started to squeeze the trigger, but then froze in place. No mater how hard he tried to move that finger, it refused. The creature moved closer and closer, until its searing breath brushed across his face.

“Stan, wake up, boy. You’re having a nightmare,” a familiar voice penetrated the haze that fogged Stan’s brain. A rough hand stroked his right cheek while another squeezed his left shoulder.

Stan fought back, trying to escape the demon that held him in a vise-like grip.

“Settle, boy. It’s me, Grandpa.”

Stan opened his eyes into the dark of his own bedroom. He made out the silhouette of his grandpa, leaning over him. “Grandpa? Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you,” he said as he removed his hands from his grandson’s shoulders, and then sat on the edge of the bed. “You were dreaming. It must have been one heck of a nightmare. I’ve never seen you so scared.”

“It was terrible. The barn was on fire and the horses were calling for help. I opened the door, thinking there was a lion in there, but this thing…this thing came after me. I’ve never seen anything like it. It…it tried to kill me. I had the rifle, but I couldn’t squeeze the trigger.” He stared into the darkened room, seeing the creature once again. “Grandpa, are the horses safe?”

“Yes, they’re fine. Everything’s fine. The power’s still out, but everything else is fine. How about you, boy?”

Fully awake now, Stan reached for his grandfather’s gnarly hand. Finding it, he gave it a firm squeeze of gratitude. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t remember if you were coming home or not. That was a bad storm, Grandpa. It scared Lucifer.”

“Don’t worry about it, boy. I got hung up at Becker Creek. The darn thing overflowed its banks. And then lightning hit a tree right in front of me. It burst into flame like a torch. Next thing you know, the grass caught fire and surrounded the truck. I thought I was a goner. The gas, you know? But your grandmother must have been watching over me, like she always does. The flames moved away, silently creeping back into the woods as if blown by a ghost. Her spirit has saved my life more than once. I sure owe that woman.”

“Next time you see her, give her my thanks,” Stan whispered.

“I will, boy. I will.”

“Did you see anything in the flames? You know, like an animal?”

“I was too scared to pay attention,” Grandpa said. “Even if I had, I couldn’t have done anything but sit there and watch. You calm enough now to go back to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Stan answered as he settled back on his mattress. “Would you mind staying for a bit?”

“You want me to hold off that demon?”

“Yeah. That would be real nice.”

Silence fell, wrapping both men in a blanket of comfort. Soon snores echoed off the walls: Grandpa’s deep rumbles harmonized with Stan’s staccato tenor notes. They slept.

Every year, in the early spring, the woods called to Sarah and her brother Josh. Trees were covered in silky green leaves and birds sang, calling to each other in the languages that only they understood. Even at this time of the year the days were hot and humid, made breathing difficult. But not inside the woods.

The twins stood, hand in hand, just outside the entry gate. As far as anyone knew, the woods belonged to no one, for inside were no houses or buildings and no warning signs hugged the perimeter. Nevertheless, it was with great trepidation that the kids stepped over the line. Once done, it could not be called back. Either you were in the woods or not.

Sarah’s eyes were huge. She was amazed by all she saw and heard. Underfoot, a lush carpet of moss, decaying leaves, and green sprigs of color poking through in anticipation.

Above, a canopy of leaves in various sizes and shapes. She knew none of their names. They were simply trees to her nine-year-old brain.

Josh climbed first one and then another tree, searching for the one that would allow him to go the highest. He giggled as he reached for one branch that hung well above his head.

“Look at me, Sarah,” he shouted.

“Be careful,” she answered. “Mom will kill you if you fall.”

“I’m not going to fall.” When he could not grab ahold of the branch, he came back down. Before his sister could protest, he attempted another climb. And then another.

Not wanting to witness his fall, Sarah collected the nuts that had fallen from the trees. They were almost completely round, swirled with two shades of brown. They were smooth to the touch and solid as marbles.

With each step, each engrossed in their separate tasks, they roamed further and further into the reaches of the woods. They stayed within calling distance of each other, but not always within sight’s range.

Josh’s voice carried clearly to Sarah’s ears as he sang out that he was a pirate scaling a mast of a schooner ship, or a super being capable of flight, or an eagle scanning the ground for prey.

Sarah hummed a quiet tune. Something she’d learned at Sunday school.

When Josh grew tired of climbing, he grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her deeper into the woods. “Let’s see what we can find,” he said.

It was a fine day for adventure. There were gentle rises and falls that kept the twins on alert in case they might stumble, that took them over roots and fallen limbs. There were boulders to climb and rocks to throw. Before long they rounded a turn and stopped when they came to a tiny creek, bubbling along.

“Let’s see where it came from,” Josh said as he took off, leaving his sister trailing behind.

As they followed its twists and turns, the creek slowly widened. It was a foot wide, then two. It moved faster as well, but still bubbled as if with excitement.
One more turn and there it was. The source. The waterfall. A four-foot wide stretch of water poured over a rock rim, then fell into a swirling pool.

“It’s beautiful,” Sarah said. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

Josh leaned into the mist and stuck out his tongue. “It tastes good. You should try it.”

Sarah shook her head and stepped back, but not quickly enough. Josh grabbed her left arm and pulled her close to the edge of the pool.

“Look down,” he said. “What do you see?”

“Rocks. Lots of rocks.”

He pushed her head lower. “No, I mean down into the middle. What do you see?”

“Only water.”

Josh stripped off his shirt, shorts, shoes and socks.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked.

“I’m going swimming.” Josh carefully stepped into the stream.

“You’ll get hurt!”

Josh took another step in, and now his ankles were covered with water. Then he was up to his shins, and then thighs. He swirled his arms about, temporarily changing the course of the water. “Look, Sarah, the water spins.”

“Get out before you get hurt,” Sarah said.

“I’m not going to get hurt. This is fun. Come on in!”

Sarah shook her head and backed away. She sat down on a large rock, keeping her eyes focused on her brother. He took another step and was suddenly under the surface of the water. Sarah jumped up, screaming his name, but there was no response. She moved as close to the edge as she could and bent over, searching for any sign of her brother.

That’s when she saw him, lying at the bottom of the pool. He was not moving. His eyes were closed but his mouth was open. Sarah didn’t know a lot about this sort of thing, but she was pretty sure that Josh was in trouble and the only hope he had was for her to do something.

Without stopping to think it through, Sarah went into the water. As her head went under, she tried to keep her eyes open, but it hurt. She felt about with both hands, hoping to touch some part of Josh.

She ran out of air and had to stand up. At this point, Sarah panicked. Should she run home or try again? Going home would take too long. All that way through the trees and the gate and to the house, find someone and then all the way back. So Sarah knew it was up to her.

Back into the water she went. She stepped in further this time, going deeper into the pool before bending over. She reached with her hands, feeling all about. Once again she found nothing, but just as she was about to give up, her fingers brushed against Josh’s hair. She grabbed ahold and tugged.

At first nothing happened. Sarah let go and stood, gasping for air. As soon as she could, she bent down and this time quickly found her brother. She pulled and pulled and when Josh moved, she felt joy. She moved her hands to his ears and slowly brought him to the surface of the water. When his nose was free, Sarah smiled and tugged even harder.
Within what felt like hours, she got Josh out of the pool and onto the bank of the creek.

“Breathe, Josh,” she said over and over. She opened his eyes, but saw no spark. She sat on his chest and hugged him.

All of a sudden Josh sputtered. Water sprayed from his mouth and he coughed and coughed. His eyes opened. “What happened?” he said.

“You went under the water. Are you okay?”

Josh closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep. Sarah tapped him on the chest and moved his head from side to side. “Wake up,” she said.

But he didn’t. Not knowing how to help her brother, but knowing that he was safely out of the water, Sarah took off for home. She went as quickly as she could, being careful of roots and limbs and rocks that were along the way.

By the time she found her mother, Sarah was nearly exhausted. She explained what had happened, then led her mother to where her brother still lay.

When they got there, Josh was awake, although a bit disoriented. His mother picked him up and carried him all the way home. She put him in the back of the car and drove Josh to the hospital.

Later Sarah learned that Josh had banged his head when he slipped and had suffered a concussion. If Sarah hadn’t been there, her brother would have died.

Sarah and Josh returned to the woods over and over, year after year, but never again went into the pool.

When Carol Minton came home from work she brought in the mail. Just like any other day, she quickly scanned through it as she walked into the front room. Mostly junk. Advertisements for long term care plans, car repair, home improvement. And a letter from her school district office.
The last one intrigued her, as she was not expecting such a letter. There was nothing going on at work that she knew of. No personnel changes. No building construction. No illnesses of an administrator. So she dropped the letter on the kitchen counter and figured she’d read it later on.

Carol got busy with dinner preparations. She pulled out pots and pans, oil, a package of chicken breasts, veggies and a fruit salad she had made the night before. While she worked, she listened to the news. Another shooting. Gang violence. Another young man’s life taken before he accomplished much of anything.

Flooding in the south and blizzards in the Midwest. Politicians spouting nonsense. Another victory for the basketball team and a loss for the hockey team. The same old stuff.

Carol’s kids came home, loaded with stories of things that were going on at school. Her husband rushed in, changed clothes and poured himself a drink. They ate dinner and then dishes were cleared. Although everything was the same, Carol smiled with pleasure and pride. She loved the comfort of her home, her life, her family.

Her husband sorted through the mail. “You got a letter from the district.”
“I know. I’m sure it’s nothing important.”

“You should open it just in case. Maybe that administrator you don’t like is quitting.”

Carol opened the letter to satisfy her husband. She expected a form letter addressed to everyone in the district, so was a bit shocked when it was to her, personally. As she read, her heart began to pound furiously and breathing became laborious.

The Director of Human Resources was demanding her attendance at a meeting to be held on Tuesday night. Carol was puzzled. This was her twenty-eighth year in the district. She was recognized as the Teacher of the Year just four years ago. She had never been disciplined or called into the principal’s office for a talk. She had never had an altercation with another employee. As far as she knew, only people up for termination or being placed on administrative leave were called before the school board.

Carol did not sleep that night. Although she was exhausted, she went to work, just like any other day. Fortunately her students were calm and cooperative. Her lessons went well. During her prep period she walked over to the office, hoping to catch her supervisor. He was busy talking to a student. Carol hung around for several minutes, but when the student did not come out, she went back to her classroom.

At the end of the day, Carol went home and fixed dinner, just like always. Her teenagers cleaned up, thankfully, when she asked. She told her husband she was going to attend the school board meeting, and left without any further explanation.

When Carol arrived in the Board Room thirty minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin, she all seats were empty. She paced about, looking at without really seeing the student work on display. When the board members entered the room ten minutes later, she sat.

There was much shuffling of papers and quiet whispers. Lowered eyes and quick glances. Carol fidgeted, unable to pick up any vibes about why she had been summoned.

After five minutes or so, the president, John Winnters, asked Carol to approach the speaker’s podium. “Please state your full name and the school at which you work.”

Carol did so.

He coughed, clearing his throat. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No.”

“A formal complaint has been filed regarding your teaching practices. Your curriculum. Are you aware of this?”

“No.” Carol looked at her principal who was seated to the left of Winters, but his eyes remained downcast.

“A group of parents filled a letter of complaint stating that your personal teaching philosophy interferes with their students’ ability to learn. They contend that no direct instruction takes place in your classroom. That students are assigned seat work which they are to complete independently after reading explanations in the text.” He shuffled papers in front of him, then looked up at Carol. “What do you say about these charges?”

Carol’s hands were trembling. How did she go from being the honored teacher to having her teaching practices challenged in less than four years? She had not gotten lazy or complacent. She had not forsaken tedious lesson planning. She had not resorted to free grades for little or no work done. But here she stood, being treated like she was incompetent. Like some of the older teachers at her school whose classrooms were supposedly nothing but party places.

“These accusations are false,” Carol said. “Direct instruction is an integral part of the curriculum.”

“Are you saying that students never work independently?”

“Of course there is independent work, but only after instruction and guided practice. Once I feel that students have the knowledge to work independently, then, and only then, is seatwork assigned.”

Carol heard noises behind her and turned sideways to try to identify the sources. Almost every seat was occupied. Carol recognized some faces. Parents she had seen and spoken to on Back to School Night. Others she met on Report Card Night. There were teachers from her school. In the back row she saw her union officials.

Now she didn’t know what to do. She was pretty sure that her rights were being violated. That her teaching practices were not to be challenged before an audience.

“Can I ask the purpose of my attendance here this evening?” she asked.

Winters glanced at her principal, nodded, then sat silently.

The principal spoke. “Carol, because you have tenure, you have not been evaluated the past three years. This is common practice and not a failure of your direct supervisor. Please note that such proceedings are not unusual when a teacher’s daily practices are being questioned in a letter of complaint. This constitutes a serious problem, which is why the board has convened and you have been asked to be in attendance.”

Carol looked down at the podium. She saw that she was gripping it tightly with both hands and willed herself to relax. “You are disciplining me in a public forum.”

“Not disciplining, no,” the principal stated, “but investigating. We are giving you a chance to answer the complaints before acting.”

“What action are you contemplating?”

“In such circumstances, the teacher is placed on administrative leave while an investigation commences.”

“You are placing me on administrative leave?”

“Yes.” The principal leaned over toward Winters and nodded. Winters nodded back.

Carol was speechless. She stood there, looking from the face of one board member to the next, hoping to see denial or shock or both. Instead she saw embarrassed glances, flushed cheeks, and nervous clasping of hands. She looked behind her and caught the eyes of her union president. He nodded encouragingly.

“I demand union representation.”

“You have that right,” Winters said. “This meeting will be adjourned for fifteen minutes, giving you time to meet with your council.” The gavel was pounded and the board filed out.

Carol walked numbly to the back of the room. Her union president held her right arm and escorted her outside. “What’s going on?” Carol asked. “I’ve never been disciplined. I’ve never been in trouble.” Carol stumbled along like a little child. She was taken to a car and put into the passenger seat.

Two union officers got into the back. “First of all, we will not let this public charade continue. Do you understand?”

“Okay.”

“There is nothing we can do about the administrative leave for now, but we will challenge that. We will attempt to arrange private meetings from now on. You are not to speak with anyone about this. Not a friend or colleague. Not an administrator or parent.”

“But does this mean that I can no longer teach?”

“Yes. Until this issue has been resolved.”

“Could I lose my job?”

“In a worst-case scenario, yes, but we won’t let that happen.”

“I’m so close to retirement. Would they really do this to me?”

The union president sighed. “Yes. It’s a way to force you out without full retirement. Believe me, we will fight this. There are procedures that should have been followed. Your case is a clear violation of your contract.”

“But how do I explain this to my husband? To my children? What will my students be told?”

“Your students will only know that you are out on leave.”

Carol snickered. “That’s not true. Parents brought these complaints against me, so their children know. You can’t keep this a secret. There are no secrets at school.”

“Trust us. We will see that the right thing is done.” He looked at his watch. “Time is up. When we go back inside, I will stand with you. Do not speak, even if questioned. Do not interact with any of the board members or any of the parents.”

Carol hated to return to the board room, but had no choice. She was humiliated. To be chastised, questioned, in public was a nightmare.
The next minutes went by in a buzz of talk that Carol would later try to process. On her way home, she planned what to say to her husband. She thought about the words she could use to soften the accusations.

It did not go easy. Her husband took the side of the parents. He said there must be some truth to their accusations or the board would not have acted in such a manner. That maybe she had gotten lazy.

Over the next several weeks Carol went through her days as if walking in a fog. She got up in the morning as if she were going to work. She researched activities on the Internet to support her lessons. She did laundry and read books. Sort of. It’s hard to hang onto plot when your mind is elsewhere.

She met with union representatives and discussed strategy. Fortunately they had been given access to her classroom and had picked up her lesson plan book. Detailed notes were taken. Charts created.

It seemed like a never-ending process. Finally the day came when Carol returned to the district offices and stood once again before the board. She was glad that she was not alone.

“After much consideration,” Winters said, “the board has decided to end your administrative leave and allow you to return to the classroom. You may return to duty on Monday.”

“We demand a public apology,” the union president said. “You have embarrassed our client and subjected her to unwarranted criticism. You have humiliated her in front of parents and colleagues. Her reputation as a respected teacher has been damaged.”

Winters blushed. “What do you expect us to do? A complaint was filed.”

“Not only do we demand a written apology, but one that is sent to all district employees and families before Carol returns to work on Monday. If this is not done, the union will file a formal complaint with the state offices.”

Carol watched in amazement as the board members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. She felt that each of them knew they had acted without warrant and that they had damaged her reputation within the community. She stood taller, with shoulders straighter. In a position of power.

“The board will consider your requests and contact you late this evening.”

A gavel was pounded and the meeting temporarily adjourned.

Carol fell into the nearest seat. She felt like a popped balloon. Empty of air, but ready to be filled again.

Thirty minutes later the board returned. The union president stood alone at the podium.

“The board has agreed to your terms. A notice will go out to all employees and school families with a statement clearing Carol of all charges.”

When Carol drove home, she wanted to cheer, but couldn’t. A letter would never completely undo the damage. From now on until she retired, her practices would be challenged. She would be evaluated every year and her actions scrutinized. Future parents would challenge every assignment and grade. As a professional, her career was over in all but time only.

It was to be a dream vacation. Vi and Nathan had saved for several years to be able to travel comfortably to California, a land of sunshine and celebrities. They knew someone who knew someone who had traveled by coach from San Diego to Napa Valley and enjoyed every minute of it. It looked like something they would enjoy, especially after looking at photos of deep blue skies, swaying palm trees and lush green lawns.

So different from their frigid home in Minnesota. They were tired of deep snow and steel grey skies. Tired of working at the jobs they’d had since they married thirty years ago. Tired of the same old monotony that was controlled by the seasons. So they packed their bags, took a bus to the train station and then on to the airport in Minneapolis.

When they arrived in San Diego they took a shuttle to their hotel. The first thing they did was change into shorts, t-shirts, and sandals, covered themselves with loads of sunscreen, then headed out to walk the streets. Vi carried the camera slung over her shoulder and pulled it out at every opportunity. She snapped shots of anything that was remotely interesting, and even some of people that she was convinced were movie stars.

The next morning, after a brief introductory meeting, they boarded the coach and settled in for the tour. Nathan researched the spots on the itinerary using his cell phone, while Vi sat with her face glued to the window. They were not disappointed. Everywhere they went they saw things that represented California’s colorful past. Adobe buildings, missions, Mexican restaurants and museums.

In the morning they headed to the Los Angeles area. They spent one day at Disneyland and another at Knott’s Berry Farm. They went to a botanical garden and tar pits. They visited Universal Studies and an art museum. They even got to walk the famous sidewalks of Hollywood.

On up the coast they went, stopping to catch all the promised sites. Vi and Nathan were having the time of their lives. They did not have to worry about which roads to take, where to stop, where to spend the night. It was all arranged and paid for as part of the tour.

Eventually they reached the last stop on the trip; the famous Napa Valley. Nathan was looking forward to visiting a few wineries while Vi planned on taking an alternate trip to the Church of Saving Grace. In the morning, Nathan hopped on one shuttle bus while Vi got on another, camera in hand.

Vi’s bus took her up a winding path into an area of deep green trees and colorful gardens. They stopped briefly at a gate where the driver spoke to a security guard, showing some papers before they were finally able to continue. The guard made Vi a bit uncomfortable. What kind of church has protective services? Especially one that catered to tourists.

As the bus drove toward the massive white building at the end of the road, she saw men walking the manicured lawn on one side, women walking on the other. They were dressed alike in white polo shirts and khaki pants. No one seemed to be speaking, no one was smiling. They just walked. This was such an odd scene that Vi wished she had gone with her husband.

When the bus stopped, a group of people lined the steps to the front door of the church. They did not wave or smile, but as the passengers stepped down, a person came forward and took each of them inside. Vi noticed that men escorted men, women took care of women. Vi sat still, thinking she’d remain on the bus, but the driver told her she had to get off.

The woman who approached Vi had shoulder-length brown hair. She was short and slim and while her mouth smiled, her eyes did not. “Hello,” the woman said. “I am Serenity. I’ll be your guide today. Please come with me.” She touched Vi’s elbow and lead her up the steps and into the double-doors of the building.

Everything was sparkling white. Not a smudge on the floor or walls or windows. No paintings or murals were hung. No statues or artifacts. Nothing that indicated which religion the people worshiped. Vi reached for her camera, but the woman told her that no photos were allowed anywhere on the grounds.

The woman opened a door at the end of the hall and stood aside. Vi entered. Nothing but women sat in the pews. The tourists alternated with uniformed guides.

Vi looked around, expecting to see an altar, tabernacle and stained glass windows. There was none of that. Only white and more white. The only break in the nothingness was an upholstered chair at the front.

A tinny bell rang and the guides stood. The tourists stood as well. A man entered through a door at the side. He was clean-cut and dressed in the same uniform as the others. There was nothing about him that indicated religious office. He did not carry a bible, he did not genuflect or kneel. He simply stood and smiled.

“Welcome,” he said. “I am Brother Anthony. I am one of the spiritual leaders of the Church of Saving Grace. Our goal today is to make you as comfortable as possible while sharing some of our beliefs. Hopefully you will be inspired to join us in our worship meeting later on today. Meanwhile, relax.” With that he turned and walked out of the room.

Vi’s guide led her out of the room and down the hall. They entered an area that was full of steam and surrounded by sets of large blue lockers. The guide opened one and took out a nondescript bathing suit. “I hope this fits,” she said. “Please put this on. You can leave your clothes here. They will be safe.”

“What about my camera? Where should I put it?”

“I’ll hold it for you,” the guide said.

Vi did not want to change clothes. She did not want to give up her camera. She did not want to be welcomed into this church. All she wanted was to leave. Now. She turned and walked quickly to the door, pulled it open and stepped into the hall. She scurried away, camera protectively slung over her shoulder. Just as she leaned against the large double-doors, the guide called after her.

“Come back!” she said. “You must stay with me.”

Vi walked faster. She practically ran down the steps and headed off to the right, the direction in which the bus had gone. The woman caught up with Vi and grabbed her by the arm. “Stop,” she said. “you cannot roam about the grounds. It is not permitted.”

Vi shook her off and walked faster.

The woman jumped in front of Vi. “You must return to the center. Visitors are not allowed to walk about unescorted.”

“Get out of my way,” Vi said. “I am going back to the bus.” Vi pulled out her phone and punched in 911. “I’m calling the police,” she said. “I’m sure they’d be interested in this place. There’s something weird going on here.”

“Okay, okay,” the woman said. “I’ll help you find your bus, but once on board, you cannot get off.”

“That’s fine with me.”

They walked in silence. Vi kept her finger on the call button, ready to push it if anything untoward happened. She glanced nervously from left to right, expecting someone to jump out and grab her. Thankfully no one did.
She found her bus, the driver inside. He opened the door for her and she climbed on. Vi sighed. She felt as if she had escaped a dreadful fate.

Much later, the other passengers returned. Vi listened to their chatter. Some people were enthralled by what they had witnessed, while others, like Vi, were deeply disturbed.

When Vi rejoined Nathan at the hotel, she explained what she had seen and how she had felt. Nathan told her she had done the right thing. While he was in route to the first winery, he had looked up the church on the Internet. It had mixed reviews, some of them deeply disturbing.

From then on, for the remainder of their trip, Vi never left Nathan’s side. It was where she felt most secure.