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Heather as a tribute to her.”
    Diane was no
professional photographer, but she loved taking photographs, particularly
candid shots.
    Paula jumped at
the idea. “That would be wonderful! We’d all love to see it. And I’m sure her
parents would like to have it.”
    “I’ll start
working on it tonight.”
    Paula felt
happy for Diane. She suspected that the collage would be a healing exercise for
her.

    After all the staff and students had left school, Gale came
into the office to tidy up. Quick and efficient as a worker ant, she seemed to
have inexhaustible energy.
    “I spoke with
Oliver this morning,” she said, moving a stack of folders to wipe off her desk.
“He’s truly grieving over Heather. I feel so sorry for him.”
    “Me too,” Paula
said feelingly. “I offered him some time off, but he said he preferred to work.
It can’t be easy for him.
    Gale finished
with the desk and started on the bookshelves. “I asked him if he noticed any
signs on Sunday afternoon that Heather was sad or depressed about anything. He
said no, that they went shopping together at the mall and she seemed to be in
good spirits.”
    Paula began to
help Gale by removing books and folders from the shelves. She said, “I did
learn something new from Diane. On Saturday afternoon, while she and Heather
were sitting by the pool, Heather admitted that Oliver had been asking her to
help him get to the States. He even proposed marriage to her.”
    “Marriage!” Gale
paused with her duster suspended. “Goodness.”
    “Diane says Heather
was beginning to feel like the relationship was a mistake.”
    Gale began to
slowly wipe each shelf, in turn. “Is it possible that on Sunday night Heather tried
to break things off with Oliver and they had a bad argument? So bad that
Heather decided to get drunk to banish her sorrows? And then she decided to go
swimming?”
    “I suppose
anything is possible,” Paula said, doubtfully. “Did Oliver tell you how much
time he spent with Heather that night?”
    “Until eight
thirty, and then he left to see his father who was in hospital.” Gale tossed
her duster onto the table in a gesture of frustration and sorrow. “I only wish none
of this had never happened.”
    “I do too,”
Paula said. “Imagine what it must be like for Heather’s father.”
     “A nightmare no parent wants to live through,” Gale said, shaking her head.
    The two women,
working in tandem, neatly refilled the bookshelves.
    “Mr. Peterson
arrives tomorrow, if all goes as planned,” Paula said. “That’s when the full
reality will hit him. It’s going to be very painful.”
    “Oh, look,”
Gale said suddenly.
    Taped to the
end of the bookcase was a drawing by eight-year-old Lantey, one of the youngest
Academy students. It was his interpretation of the time Heather had gamely
taken part in a soccer match at school. He had depicted her hair in flowing
yellow, titled his masterpiece “Madam Heather,” and scrawled his name on the
bottom in uneven block letters. Paula and Gale locked gazes and their eyes
moistened. Heather could barely control a ball with her feet, but she had not
been afraid to give it a try. The drawing summed up everything about her
relationship with the children. She was from another land and culture, yet she
had been unconditionally accepting of the kids on their terms, and they had
loved and admired her for it.



CHAPTER FIVE
    The next morning, Friday, Gale burst into the office as
Paula was getting set for the day.
    “You won’t
believe this,” she said, thrusting the Ghana Herald in front of her boss.
    The paper was opened
to page three, and Paula read its headline: “ ‘High Street Academy Haunted by
Death and Donor Fatigue’ By John Prempeh. What? ”
    “Oh, just read
on,” Gale said, arms folded, jaw set. “It gets worse.”
    “ ‘Accra’s High
Street Academy never had it so bad,’ ” Paula read aloud.
    “ ‘As Danish
funding for the well-meaning project begins to dry up, the