A scowling wind whipped papers and dead leaves along the gutter as Michael pulled up opposite the Jacaranda Plains Public School just on lunchtime the following Monday. He left his car engine running while he toyed with the idea of dropping in to see Jemimah before heading back for Sydney.

He’d just said a brief goodbye to Gabi at her office, but she’d not been able to stop for more than a moment. Angie’s train wasn’t due into Narrabri until the early evening, so Gabi would be flat out running the office alone until she’d leave to collect her sister from the station. She’d wondered aloud whether Michael might pass Angie’s train on his way back to Sydney, but he realised Angie wouldn’t have any reason to be looking out for him even if he did. It would never occur to Angie that he’d have done something as uncharacteristic as his spur-of-the moment decision to visit home that weekend.

If only he could turn back time to Friday night and ring to let his family know his plans. He didn’t even need to turn back the clock that far -- if only he’d called out when he’d stood at the front door and wondered who was singing at the piano ...

Across the street, a movement in the infants’ classroom caught his attention. He thought he saw Jemimah’s petite figure move across the room, her back to the white framed windows. They’d be breaking for lunch any minute now, and he wished he could walk over and reassure himself that she was doing so much better than when he’d seen her at church yesterday.

She’d been a pale ghost of herself, her eyes shadowed with lack of sleep and her manner even more apprehensive than that very first Sunday when she’d arrived in The Plains. If only he had been able to convince her everything would be okay ...

While they’d been riding on the quadrunner to the Jones’ farm and back, she’d seemed to have gone a fair way toward putting the unfortunate episode behind her, but as soon as they’d arrived back and Nan had told them that Ashley and Gabi were on their way, he’d seen her misery swallow her up again. Taking Nan’s hint, Michael had excused himself and kept out of sight until Ashley had left with Jemimah -- staving off the inevitable explanations to his sister until Jemimah was safely out of the situation.

There was no keeping out of sight -- or general conjecture - the next day at church, and although his dad had passed off the incident and his son’s swollen and discoloured face, as lightly and humorously as possible during a brief mention during the announcements, Michael could sense Jemimah’s mortification from the other end of the church. Nothing that had been said either in his father’s comments or his own replies to his inquisitive church family linked Jemimah in anyway, but that obviously did little to relieve her own self-recrimination. The Hart family would know that she was at the Turnbull’s at the time, and he could only pray that she would be able to escape lightly from their innate curiosity.

With Angie away, Jemimah had not taken her usual seat in the front pew during the morning service, but stayed in the back amongst Marlene and her children. Michael had caught her briefly after the service, but rather than being able to do anything to help or encourage her, it only made things worse. She couldn’t hide her appalled reaction when her eyes rested on his face -- which he knew had only become more vividly colourful overnight - and he felt as though he were making her suffer through the whole ordeal again as he watched her troubled blue eyes fill with tears, and her trembling lips begin to move in a silent apology. His reassuring words were powerless against what she saw, and when she’d quickly left for her car he didn’t try to stop her.

She hadn’t come to the evening service -- apparently one of Marlene’s children were a little off-colour and Jemimah had offered to babysit so Marlene could attend with the others, and it belatedly occurred to him that it might have been a far better thing for her if he had thought that morning to stay away from church himself.

The school bell, so familiar from his own childhood, sounded from across the road, signalling the recess for lunch. Michael caught sight of his reflection in the car’s mirror and winced. As much as he wanted to go and see Jemimah, to somehow try again to fix everything, he could do her no good while he still looked like this.

Michael put the car into gear and drove slowly away. The only thing - and in all honesty, the best thing - he could do was to pray for her and commit her to the Lord’s care. As the school buildings, their usually cheerful yellow boards subdued under an overcast sky, diminished in the rear view mirror he remembered the other announcement his father had made at the beginning of the church service. Jemimah was to share her testimony with the church and be formally welcomed into church membership in a fortnight’s time -- the day having been delayed to work in with the Sunday the outlying members would be able to attend and share in a fellowship meal following the service.

He’d had no intention of making any more trips home in the near future -- but then he’d never planned on this visit turning out so badly, either. He still felt the pressing need to smooth things over - and was so frustrated that he couldn’t do that before he left. If he had his dates right, it would coincide with the long weekend for Anzac Day.

Perhaps another quick trip home for the special service was worth considering?

The lunch bell rang, and Jemimah wearily dismissed her class. As she waited while a few stragglers gathered their belongings she turned to gaze out the window, her breath caught as she recognised the burgundy sedan on the opposite side of the street.

Michael.

Could he be stopping in to see her?

Her hand went nervously to her chest, but before she had even taken another step toward the window the car had driven off. She subsided wearily against the side of her desk, her breath releasing in a defeated sigh.

Why did she even imagine for a moment he could be wanting to see her again? Not after what she’d done to him, and the terrible trouble she’d caused for him and his family. He’d already gone out of his way so much to help her with her struggles at the end of last term -- now she had no doubt he’d be careful to steer clear of her in the future.

What a mess.

Jemimah felt tears pricking her eyes again. Dread for the awkward explanations Michael would have to make when he returned to Sydney mingled with self-pity for her own miserable situation. Why did God let things like this happen to her? She hadn’t tried to do anything wrong ...

For a few hours on Saturday afternoon while Michael had taken her out on the quadrunner, she’d almost been able to forget. For that little while it had been the best of days -- right in the middle of the worst of days. But that momentary dream didn’t last, reality had been waiting right there for her.

She pulled a tissue from the pretty box on her desk, and blew her nose. Somehow everything she did since she came to The Plains -- no matter how hard she tried -- seemed to go wrong.

The sound of Linda Armstrong’s determined footsteps on the verandah roused her from her miserable thoughts. Jemimah was meant to be on playground duty, and she quickly crossed the room to meet her principle at the steps.

“Any improvement dealing with the behaviour issues we discussed?” Linda’s direct question caught her off guard but before she could pull together a coherent reply, the sound of scuffle and a few jarring expletives erupted from the corner of the playground where a handful of Jemimah’s students were gathered.

“Hmpf!” Linda snorted in annoyance. “Obviously not! We’ll talk about this later,” she called over her shoulder as she strode down the stairs towards the trouble-makers.

Jemimah’s heart sunk even further. She really wasn’t making any progress with the children’s unruliness, and after her disastrous weekend she felt beaten before she’d begun. Forgetting the sandwich that waited for her in the staffroom, Jemimah followed down the steps in Linda’s wake, the blustery wind flicking her hair and sending dust into her stinging eyes.

A run of one mini-drama after another kept both teachers occupied for the whole of the lunch break, and apart from a muttered comment about children and windy days, Linda didn’t deliver on her promised discussion until after school had broken up for the afternoon.

“Well, I haven’t seen any improvement with the issue of swearing and disrespect amongst your pupils,” Linda remonstrated without preamble when she descended on Jemimah’s classroom after the last child had left. “What strategies are you addressing it with?”

Jemimah nervously smoothed the page of the exercise book on her desk. It wasn’t just the headmistress’s criticism that bothered her, she felt responsible for protecting the rest of her class from the kind of words she wished no children their age ever heard -- despite the obvious fact that they were regularly heard in the homes of many of them.

“I’m correcting the children every time they use inappropriate language and I’ve been explaining--”

“It’s not enough.” Linda shook her head. “It’s going to become entrenched unless you take firmer measures. Start with lunchtime detentions. Second offences: start cancelling privileges like the Friday afternoon film. Send the offender to my classroom instead.”

Jemimah nodded, quailing inwardly under the principal’s militant glare. Then, Linda’s hard expression softened slightly. “You’ll have it sorted in the week, Jemimah. There’s something else I wanted to discuss with you, too.”

Linda produced a substantial folder and placed it portentously on the desk in front of Jemimah then, pulling one of the children’s desks forward to use as a seat, sat down opposite her.

“Anzac Day,” she said, opening the folder and spreading the contents on the table. “Friday week is the public holiday, and I want you to take the responsibility of organising the school march and sausage sizzle this year.” She turned over several pages, showing newspaper clippings of previous Anzac Day ceremonies, the annual services in commemoration and remembrance of the sacrifices made by Australian and New Zealand soldiers serving in the armed forces.

“We always have the children march in the parade, and the school captains give a short speech and lay a wreath at the cenotaph in the park by the levee bank. Afterwards we have a sausage sizzle for the children and parents and the community, and donate the proceeds to Legacy.”

Jemimah frowned down at the pages of notes, written programs and permission slip forms from previous years. Anzac Day was a public holiday -- it had never occurred to her that she’d have to work. Before she could put her thoughts into words, Linda continued.

“I’ve not had an Anzac Day off since I began working here. The general expectation is that the teachers take it year about, but I couldn’t have left this in the hands of the teachers we’ve had here the last several years.” She emphasised her statement with an expressive ‘hmpf’. “But this year I’m going away for the weekend with some friends, and I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of handling the arrangements. The P&C will help of course, but it will be under your direction as the Department’s representative.”

The implied compliment was not lost on Jemimah, and despite her misgivings of being able to succeed at anything like this and the dread of yet another obligation, Linda’s confidence made her want to prove herself capable, especially in the light of her current failure at maintaining discipline in the classroom.

“Yes, of course. But if you can please tell me exactly what I need to do?”

Linda needed no further encouragement to launch into a detailed overview of the usual ceremonies, the preparations to be made over the following week and was just explaining about the school banner that would be carried in the march when Jemimah noticed Jarrah appear noiselessly a little distance back from the doorway of the classroom.

The teenager seemed to take in the situation in a moment -- the multitude of papers and the longwinded explanation from the headmistress - and rolled her eyes significantly toward Jemimah and gave what seemed to be an expression of sympathy and waved goodbye. Jemimah met her eyes with a small helpless smile and nod of acknowledgement and watched her turn and leave.

It was over an hour later when Linda wrapped up, bequeathing the bulging folder to Jemimah. Jemimah remained at her desk even as she heard her headmistress drive out of the school gate, staring in some dismay at her planner diary opened in front of her.

She was glad that she hadn’t asked Jarrah to wait for her to run afterwards -- she needed at least another hour at her desk to begin making some headway on the work piling up and to somehow sort out the best way to deal with her growing to-do list. She’d make sure she didn’t miss out on her run tomorrow afternoon, though.

Not only did she value the time with Jarrah -- Jamie and Mitch were both still busy with the picking so it was just going to be the two of them for the next few weeks - but after the stress of the weekend she was desperate for the feeling of escape which came while running and the physical exhaustion which came afterwards and seemed to loosen the anxiety in her chest and make sleep easier.

Jemimah turned the diary pages over for the next fortnight, stopping at Sunday week to pencil in the special church service where she was to share her testimony and be formally welcomed into the membership of the church. That in itself would have been enough of a mountain to climb -- without Linda unexpectedly adding the responsibility of the school’s Anzac Day activities only two days before and all the preparation that would entail in the lead up to it.

She stared at the date of the church service in the diary. When she’d met with the church council last week they’d mentioned new members were encouraged to publicly share the testimony of their faith with the church, so everyone might have a better understanding of how they had come to know the Lord, and where He had brought them in their journey following Him. She’d already had to face that ordeal at her old church and survived -- so she didn’t demur when it was brought up at the meeting -- but the reality of her need to prepare and deliver the testimony only hit home yesterday when Pastor Turnbull had announced the date.

Last night, while sitting quietly with Lucy Hart at Marlene’s, she’d sat with a notebook and the aim of sketching out a draft of her testimony. But whenever she tried to marshal her thoughts all she could think about was the terrible thing that had happened with Michael and his father on Saturday, and the misery she’d brought on them all.

And now she could see any time she would have free after her usual school marking and preparation in the next couple of weeks being needed for the extra work leading up to Anzac Day. She began to leaf backwards through the diary. Saturday week: the day before Leanne’s birthday. Jemimah blocked out the morning and early afternoon. She didn’t at all regret arranging the special outing for Leanne’s birthday, but once she allowed for the driving time, that would be most of the day gone -- as well as any time she could use for preparing the testimony.

She turned back to the Friday before the Saturday, and blocked out the time for the social night. Marlene was planning to use the community hall in town and hold a film night -- playing a video which commemorated the sacrifice of the Anzac’s from a gospel perspective.

Thursday night would be taken up with a trip into Narrabri to purchase the food for the Anzac Day sausage sizzle, Wednesday with final preparations for the school’s part in the ceremonies, Tuesday for Bible Study ... leaving Monday her only night free that week -- if nothing else came up.

Jemimah sighed, and leaned her head in her hands. Maybe it wouldn’t feel as daunting if her whole heart wasn’t so bruised from what had happened over the weekend. Maybe she’d feel more like writing a testimony that rejoiced in what God had done for her, if she wasn’t feeling so much like He’d left her high and dry at the moment, making it clear that any hopes she had for a future with Michael were to be utterly blighted, and that whenever she was with him she only ended up bringing shame on herself.

Perhaps if she could remember what she had written for the testimony she’d prepared for her old church and just use that again -- it wasn’t as though her testimony had changed after all, she’d just need to add a little to the end about how God had brought her here to Jacaranda Plains, and how He was blessing her through the fellowship of His people here ...

Just thinking those words made her feel guilty. Since Saturday she’d not had any thought of the blessing of God in bringing her to The Plains, and she’d been so consumed with worry over what the church would think about Michael’s horribly bruised face that she’d gained absolutely nothing from the fellowship of God’s people. In her fear of the congregation learning the truth of what had happened at the Turnbull’s she’d seen them more as the intimidating enemy than a supportive church family.

At least tomorrow night was the Bible Study at the Turnbull’s, she thought, skipping back through the planner and writing it in. Angie would be back, they’d have tea together like normal -- perhaps Angie mightn’t even know the details of what had really happened with Michael - and then even if her motivation to study God’s word on her own was still lacking, the group Bible study and prayer time would help get her back on track.

Which would leave only Wednesday, Thursday and -- at this stage - Saturday free for the preparation she needed to do. Jemimah glanced at her watch, cringing to see how much time had passed with nothing to show for it. The thought of the testimony she prepared for her old church came back to mind. Why not ask her Mum to find the original copy and send it up to her as soon as possible?

Although it felt a little like cheating, Jemimah felt she needed all the help she could get. And if she rang her Mum as soon as she got home tonight, and it was sent tomorrow afternoon -- she might just have it in time to work on this Saturday.

Feeling as thought she’d finally accomplished something, Jemimah crossed the entry from her to-do list and moved on to the next item.

It was already dark when a feeling of light-headedness reminded her that not only was it past tea-time, but that she’d missed lunch as well. Deciding to keep going since there was still so much work to do, and to make sure she was free to run with Jarrah the following afternoon, Jemimah grabbed her sandwich from the staff room fridge and returned with it to her desk, carefully locking herself back into the school room.

If she could only get through the pile of work in front of her, tomorrow could be a fresh start and a chance to move past the miseries of the weekend.