by Emma Otheguy
A bell clanged, and Gabriela shoved the magazine in her bag. “Come on, Carolina, we have to go inside. Camp is starting.”
Gabriela and Caro trailed into the yellow one-story building behind the other kids, just ahead of Alyssa and Jamie.
“Morning, Sam! Morning, Lisa!” A woman with short gray hair stood in the doorway, high-fiving each kid as they entered. “Hey, Gabs,” the woman said, and gave Gabriela a one-armed hug as they came through the doorway.
“Hi, Lydia,” Gabriela said. “This is my cousin Carolina.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Lydia stuck out her hand, and they shook. “I’ve already made the acquaintance of your brother.” She jerked her thumb toward the inside of the building, where there were two big round tables. Daniel was standing on a chair with a kid with big ears and curly hair, locked in an intense staring contest.
“You blinked! I saw you blink!” the curly-haired kid yelled.
“That’s Ben,” Lydia said. “I smell double trouble this summer.”
“I’ll go tell him to get down,” Carolina said quickly.
“No need.” Lydia smiled. “Those chairs have seen worse, I promise you.” She waved Caro and Gabriela along and ushered Alyssa and Jamie inside behind them.
Gabriela showed Carolina a long row of hooks, just past the entrance, where they left their totes and backpacks. “We’re at the other table,” she said, leading Caro past Daniel and Ben’s table, to the other side of the room, near a window that looked onto a parking lot with a tractor, and a greenhouse just past the parking lot. Just as Alyssa had predicted, Gabriela, Alyssa, Jamie, Carolina, and Jennifer were all at the same table.
Gabriela kept whispering information to Carolina while everyone else settled down. “The little kids sit at the other table and we sit here. We’re all girls because Ryan Johnson went to his uncle’s for the summer and Sebastian goes to sleepaway camp.”
“The other group’s bigger,” Caro noticed as a teenager with a whistle around her neck pulled Ben off the chair. She told him to sit, then came over to the older kids’ table. “Hi! You must be Carolina,” she said. “I just met your little brother. I’m Yuan, and I’m going to be the counselor for your group.”
“Yuan was our counselor last year,” Gabriela explained.
“That’s Josh, he’s the counselor for the younger kids.” Yuan pointed to a teenager with a short beard and the same whistle as Yuan’s around his neck. “Hey, Josh! New camper!”
Carolina waved just as Lydia clapped her hands. Everyone turned their attention to the back of the room, where there was a small kitchen and a door to a cubicle office. Lydia stood in front of a window just next to the office door. The window looked out onto the playground and the fields and hill behind it.
“Kids, it’s so good to have you back,” Lydia said earnestly. “We’re going to have a great time this summer.” She pointed to an easel board where she’d drawn three columns and a timetable with a marker. In each box it said Crafts, Swimming, Lunch, Feed pigs/sheep, Weed the vegetable garden, Hike, Clean the barn, or Free time in big, cheerful handwriting. “We have a schedule.” Lydia’s nose wrinkled, and a few of the campers laughed.
Yuan cupped her hands over her mouth. “But this year we’re sticking to it!” she joked.
Gabriela leaned over to Caro. “She always makes that schedule, but we end up just doing whatever we want every day. If it’s warm we swim, if everyone’s feeling lazy we do crafts. Usually the groups do different activities, but sometimes Lydia puts us all together.”
“You think I’m joking,” Lydia said, “but every one of your parents wrote on their forms that they want you outside in nature, doing things around the farm. So we’re going to be hiking and visiting the animals and exploring the farm, okay?”
“Do we have to?” Alyssa whined. “Can’t we just hang out here? There’s air-conditioning here.”
Lydia gave Alyssa a stern look. “Your dad told me especially that he wanted you with the animals as much as possible. He says you spend too much time indoors and he was very glad for you to have some electronic-free time this summer.”
“That’s what he said last summer,” Alyssa muttered.
Lydia ignored her and went on. “You kids know that this is my first summer running camp alone,” she said seriously.
“What are we, invisible?” Josh joked, pointing back and forth between himself and Yuan.
Lydia smiled at them. “Not quite alone. But I want you all to know that having you kids here is what my husband would have wanted.”
Carolina looked around at everyone else’s long faces. No one had told her that Lydia had once had a husband.
“July and August were his favorite months of the year because of summer camp. So things may be a little hectic this summer, since it’s only me, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve hired another farmer, Brian, to help me for the summer, and my son, George, may drop in from time to time.”
Caro noticed Lydia’s face fall, a line of worry creasing her forehead as if yes, there was another way she might want it, but just as quickly Lydia brightened. “What do you say we all go for a hike? It’s perfect weather for it, and I could use the walk.”
Everyone clambered to their feet and Lydia held up her hands. “One more thing. Just promise me you’ll all stay on the paths this summer, okay? You’re free to explore during your free times, but always stay on the marked trails. Promise?”
The kids nodded solemnly, and Lydia frowned her worried frown again.
“We’ll keep everyone on track, Lydia,” Josh promised, leading the group back out the door. They cut across the playground and joined a path, wide and brown, that started at the barn on their left, then cut across the fields and pastures that seemed to stretch on and on, all the way to the farm’s farthest pasture. Carolina breathed in deeply. The tall grass in the fields smelled sweet. The hikers passed the cow herd, and kids shouted excitedly. The cows in this herd were soft browns and rich blacks, and they moved placidly through the grass, chewing pensively.
The campers came to a wooden bridge that arched high above a shallow brook, and Jennifer sidled up next to Carolina. “This is Cooke’s Hill.” She pointed to the woods that sloped up beyond the brook. “My house is right on the other side. I could hike to camp, but my mom doesn’t let me.”
From across the brook, the woods on the hill looked dense, as if every inch were covered with green leaves. It seemed like there would be no room to walk between the tree trunks. But as they drew closer and crossed the bridge, Carolina saw that the trees were actually more sparse, and a clearly marked trail wound through them and up the hill.
The camp counselors spread out among the pack of kids. Yuan brought up the back of the group, to make sure no one got left behind.
“Carolina! Back here!” Gabriela waved.
Reluctantly, Carolina turned toward the back of the group. “I’ve got to go walk with my cousin,” she told Jennifer, and wove her way through the crowd of kids to where Gabriela and her friends were standing.
Daniel and Ben were so excited that they were constantly running ahead of the pack, and Josh kept having to call them back. Carolina craned her neck as they walked, trying to keep an eye on Dani, but there were too many kids ahead of them. Gabriela and Alyssa were talking about Chiquifancy.
“I bet if she had a concert in New York City we could convince my dad to drive us,” Gabriela said. “It’s only three hours.”
“Could your dad convince my dad?” Alyssa asked. “He thinks that Chiquifancy is too mature for us.” Alyssa swept her short hair up with her hand. “I want to grow out my hair and wear it like Chiqui, what do you think?”
Gabriela cocked her head to the side, slowing down to consider. “Maybe. I don’t know if you and Chiqui have the same face shape.”
Alyssa let her hair fall and stuck out h
er tongue. “Not all of us were born looking exactly like Chiqui, Gabs. Some of us have to try. And, you know, convince our parents.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll tell my dad he has to mention it to your parents.”
“Deal.” Alyssa turned to Jamie and demonstrated her updo again. “What do you think, Jams?”
Jamie barely looked. “It looks great, Alyssa! I love it! Really, really great.”
Satisfied, Alyssa adjusted her pink barrette and led the way back up the hill, chattering about her plans to go see Chiquifancy in New York.
Carolina tried to look interested for Gabriela’s sake. It was true, now that Alyssa mentioned it, that Gabriela looked a lot like Chiquifancy. She had the same black hair, the same body shape, even the line of her jaw was similar. The only difference was that Gabriela was lighter than Chiqui, who had the same tan skin as Mami and Daniel, who were just a shade darker than Caro. But when the conversation turned to concert tickets and hairstyles, Carolina tuned them out, barely noticing the climb until they reached the top of the hill and came to a clearing with a view of the farm below. From where they stood, the fields looked smooth, like patchwork scraps of green and brown, and the camp center looked like a Lego block. A wooden fence marked the drop at the edge of the clearing, and Carolina crouched so she could get a better view through the rails.
She imagined she was airborne, soaring over the farm, and when the group headed back down the hill, she was the last one, straggling behind and letting her mind wander. She noticed tiny details in the woods, like clumps of moss and vines creeping up tree trunks. Carolina thought the moss and the vines looked somehow familiar, that if she asked them, they would know Puerto Rico, know it as closely and intimately as she did. Mangroves, palms, lizards, they would say. Oh yes, those are our cousins, our dear cousins. Carolina watched a squirrel leap from branch to branch, and felt a pull, as if every leap were drawing her farther from here, from New York, and deeper into her memory of home.
When she looked back down the trail, the group was gone.
Carolina sped up, hoping everyone else was just around the bend, or that she would hear their voices.
“Hello? Yuan? Daniel!”
There was no answer. Carolina hurried ahead, but the faster she went, the quieter the woods seemed to get, until she realized that she wasn’t sure she was even on the trail—she might have just been making her own winding way through the trees. She hadn’t noticed what the trail markers looked like, and now the path didn’t seem clear at all. She wondered how long she’d have to be lost in the woods before they sent out a search party, and what Mami would say if she had to be rescued on her first day.
Carolina forced herself to breathe, turning in place and surveying everything around her. Cooke’s Hill was pretty steep, and the one thing she was sure of was which way was up and which way was down. So she would head down, then. She didn’t think she had any other choice.
She was focusing intently on the ground, picking exactly where to put her feet at each step, when she heard wind chimes jingling. Carolina stopped in place. The breeze was gentle, and stirred only a few flyaway strands of her hair, but it was enough for this jingle-jangle: musical, peaceful, and alluring, all at once. Each time she heard it, Carolina was back at home, back in her yard in Puerto Rico, listening to the call of the birds, the swish of the goldfish, the trickle of running water—and the wind chimes, playing the same notes in these hills that they had played from the terraza at home.
She forgot about feeling guilty and turned up the hill, toward the sound of the chimes. She reached the top and started walking down the other direction. There was a graceful slope in this direction; it wasn’t nearly as steep here. The wind blew again, and again came the sound.
Through the trees, Carolina saw something blue, flapping lightly to the rhythm of the wind. She moved toward it, until she could see it was a tarp, taped onto the window of a tiny wooden house.
Carolina stood a few paces away, hanging on to the trunk of a tree, though the hill wasn’t steep here, and she didn’t really need the support.
The house was made of white clapboard, and the trimming had once been green, though now the paint was peeling off in long curls. From the back, a stone chimney rose like a vein in the center. On either side of the chimney was a window, one made of glass, and the other covered by the tarp. The jingling was coming from the other side, from what must be the front of the house, so she circled around, forcing herself not to look inside until she rounded the corner.
On this side there was a tiny pond, totally green and spotted with last autumn’s fallen leaves. It shone where the light filtered through the trees and touched its surface. Someone had laid six rows of burnt-orange tiles in front of the little house. They were cracked and dusted with dirt, but to Carolina they evoked a place where a rocking chair might have been; where someone might have sat and looked at the pond. She moved toward the little patio, and there were the three silver chimes, hanging from a single stick on a hook by the front door. Carolina touched them lightly with her finger, knocking them together for a louder, rippling sound.
The door squeaked but yielded easily when Carolina reached out and pushed it open.
There was just one room inside, completely empty but for a metal grate in the fireplace. The floor was made of wide wooden planks. Where Carolina could see through the layer of dirt, the wood had turned gray and green in patches. The whole room was filled with a bluish green glow from the tarp, which flapped again and threatened to come loose from the window but didn’t. Carolina idly wondered who had taped it up.
She lowered herself to the floor and rested her back against the cool walls. The dirt on the planks was damp and clung to her jeans, but she listened to the wind chimes and dreamed of who might have lived here, who else might have loved this little house—because Carolina knew that she was completely in love. She had thought she would never find another place she would love as much as her yard in Puerto Rico, but she had been wrong. No one could fail to love this perfect little place.
She thought an elderly woman would have fit well, one who sat in a rocking chair and looked at the pond. Or a legion of fairies, except this little house was too domestic, too neat for the wild fairies. Elves, Carolina thought. Maybe they visited, and burned a fire for Saint John, come midsummer.
She stayed as long as she dared, until her stomach rumbled and she remembered that this was not her house, that she was trespassing in the woods and Lydia would be counting heads soon and wondering where she was. I’ll be back, she told herself, and shut the door behind her.
The woods felt familiar now, and knowing she’d gone down the wrong way, she climbed the short distance to the top of the hill, then headed down toward the farm confidently, until the ground leveled out and she could see the water of the brook dividing the pastures from the woods. She heard a whistle blowing, and hurried in its direction. The others were just reaching the bridge when she found them, and she slipped into the pack.
Gabriela grabbed Carolina by the elbow as soon as they got back to the playground.
“Where did you go?” she hissed. “Look at you!”
Carolina pulled her arm free. “Nowhere.”
Gabriela put her hands on her hips. “Nowhere. That’s how you got covered in dirt? Going nowhere?”
Carolina tried to wipe some of the dust and dirt off of her shirt, but only rubbed it in farther. Mami was going to kill her—she’d starched and ironed all of Carolina’s T-shirts before packing them. She thought it would help Carolina make a good impression.
“What’s going on?” Alyssa shrieked. “Eww, there’s a cobweb in your hair, Carolina!”
Jamie reached over and pulled the stretchy mess out of Carolina’s hair. “It’s off, Alyssa, relax. We were just in the woods, remember?”
Alyssa shook herself. “Ick. I can’t stand that stuff. Good thing this camp only goes
to thirteen. My parents would send me here forever if they could. They just think it’s so great that I’m getting outside in the summer.”
“Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Carolina spotted Jennifer by the swing set and started in her direction.
Gabriela threw her hands in the air. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
Carolina ignored her and hurried toward Jennifer. “Hey, can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” Jennifer hauled herself up to the clubhouse part of the swings, and Carolina followed suit. They sat with their legs dangling off the edge of the platform.
“You spend a lot of time here, right?” Carolina said finally.
Jennifer lay back on the platform. “Lydia lets me hang out here whenever I want, since we’re neighbors. When everyone leaves in the afternoon, I sit up here and look at the clouds for a while. I think clouds are more like someones than somethings. I name all of the clouds I see. That’s my inspiration.”
Jennifer’s words gave Carolina the chills. It was as if Jennifer had somehow read her inside and out, and she was telling Carolina a story about her own self. A story about sitting, just being. Their yard in Puerto Rico had been sprawling, with little stone paths that led back through the trees. Carolina used to take her sketchbook out there and sit beneath a flamboyán tree. It was her special spot, and she would sketch, and dream, and imagine what she would paint the next time she went to Señora Rivón’s for art lessons. Daniel had known not to bother her there, and so her special spot had been all peace—Qué descansada vida, as Papi said—sitting beneath the flamboyán with the wind chimes jingling in her ears. Jennifer understood.
“What do you do with the inspiration?” Carolina asked.
“I make art.” Jennifer pulled something out of her pocket and dropped it into Carolina’s hands.
Carolina pulled it toward her slowly. It was small, and fit snugly in her palm.
“You don’t have to be so dainty. I made it sturdy.”