“How could a harelip get you sent to camp?” Dorchy asked.
Posy looked down at her hands. “Matron said she picked me because they only want ones older than fourteen and deformed in some way.”
Now on deck, Posy’s face is creased with worry. Her long, blond braid immediately starts to unravel in the wind. I squeeze her shoulder and tell her everything will be fine once we’re on dry land. She doesn’t look convinced, but talking to her, I begin to feel like a counselor, not one of the campers.
Chapter 28
The ferry rounds a wooded point into a bay. No boats, but a long dock. At the land end of the dock stands a nurse in a white dress and cap, fighting to control her dark-blue cape. Next to her a tall boy in a blue shirt and trousers keeps pushing his dark hair out of his eyes.
I nudge Dorchy. “The welcoming committee.”
She closes her eyes and groans.
“You’ll feel better on dry land,” I say and then, “Look up there.”
As the ferry nudges against the dock, a tall, thin man in a long, white coat comes to the edge of a cliff above the bay. He stands completely still, staring down at us. I feel a chill between my shoulder blades.
“Miss Latigue, who is that?” I point to the cliff top.
“I’ve never met him, but I imagine that’s Dr. Jellicoe, the camp physician,” she says quietly. “He’s the one who’s been reporting flu among the campers.”
We make our way down a steep gangplank to the dock, first the boys, then Posy, who has taken the twins’ hands, and then me. We’re almost there when Posy trips and falls flat onto the dock, pulling the twins down with her. I fall on top of them, my crutch flying, our bags and blankets scattering around us. Posy scrambles up to comfort the twins. I reach for my crutch.
“Here, let me help,” a deep voice says. A calloused hand grabs mine and pulls me to my feet. I feel a surge of strength and stand up straight. “Thank you.”
“I’m Tom.” He’s the tall, dark-haired boy I saw at the end of the dock. He looks about our age, with kind eyes and a scar on his cheek. His clothes look too big for him, but he’s definitely not a camper.
“I’m Rowan.”
I hold on to his arm until Dorchy hands me my crutch. She and Posy gather up the blankets and bags. Miss Latigue takes charge of the twins.
“Posy, Dorchy, this is Tom,” I say.
Posy giggles. Dorchy gives him a quick look and a nod.
Tom winks at me and walks away.
“Oh, isn’t he handsome?” Posy giggles. “He likes you, Rowan.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I’m embarrassed to have fallen at his feet.
The dock seems as unsteady as the ferry deck. I concentrate on moving forward while the wind tries to tug me off balance. Miss Latigue and the twins reach the nurse at the end of the dock. Beyond them a gravel road winds uphill away from the bay.
With a piercing two-note whistle, the ferry casts off and heads out of the bay for open water.
Dorchy stops. “We’re stuck here until that boat comes back,” she says. “I don’t like boats, but it’s worse being in a place with no way out.”
“There’s always a way out.” I shiver, remembering the locked door in the burning cottage. “It’s an island. I saw a sailboat, and there must be other boats.”
Dorchy says, “That Tom fellow has a nasty scar. What are we getting ourselves into?”
She’s not really looking for an answer, so I start walking again. Unlike Dorchy, I’m enjoying the island—the salt air, the scent of warm pine needles, the cries of seagulls. I still feel the touch of Tom’s hand.
Posy rushes up behind us. “Do you think we’ll have far to walk?” Her face is mottled, her breathing rapid. Fear is a flag she waves over her head. I wonder how long she has been in the orphanage. At the Home I learned never to show any feelings, especially fear.
A flatbed truck bounces down the road to the dock and brakes hard, scattering gravel. Climbing out of the cab is Dr. Jellicoe. Up close, his unexpressive face looks waxy. His name is embroidered in red on his white coat.
Miss Latigue and the nurse start toward him, but Dr. Jellicoe has beckoned Ratty out of the crowd of boys. As Ratty limps over to the truck, Dr. Jellicoe snatches his crutches and holds them up like a trophy. Ratty falls against him, but Tom is there, putting his hands under Ratty’s arms to hold him up.
A stab of dread chokes me. The doctor is a bully. Dorchy steps in front of me, blocking the doctor’s view of my crutch.
“Give me my crutches,” Ratty yells, reaching for them, his face streaked with tears.
Dr. Jellicoe puts the crutches behind his back. “You won’t need them on the truck.”
“I want them.” Ratty struggles against Tom’s grip, but Tom lifts him easily and lays him in the flatbed of the truck. Then he leans over and talks to Ratty before he goes back to the other boys.
I shrink behind Dorchy, willing the doctor to drive away without noticing me. But he was watching from the top of the cliff. He must have seen me fall.
“Follow me,” the nurse barks. Miss Latigue smiles at us, and we move forward. “The nurse says it’s a half-hour walk,” she murmurs. “Rowan, would you be more comfortable on the truck? We can arrange it.”
“She’d rather crawl than ride,” Dorchy says.
Miss Latigue snaps, “I’m asking Rowan.”
“I’ll walk,” I tell her. “I’d prefer it.”
The truck chokes to life, turns around, and rattles up the hill.
I draw a deep breath. Safe. But from what? And for how long?
“If you were a camper, they wouldn’t have asked,” Dorchy mutters. “You’d be on that truck too.”
We follow Miss Latigue up the road away from the dock. In front of us, the nurse herds the girl campers. Ahead of them, Tom and the four remaining boy campers race each other to the top of the hill. A gust of wind shakes the pines that line the road, but above us is a brilliant blue sky.
After a few steps, I have no breath for talking. By the time we get to the top, my right leg feels like rubber.
With Dorchy next to me, I rest on my crutch and look around. From up here, the white-flecked ocean stretches away to the south. The road curves inland where the air is still and warm, and the wind rustling the tops of the tall pines doesn’t touch us. Both of my legs ache now, and after a few minutes, I spot a granite boulder the right height for a seat.
Dorchy notices it too. “We have to rest,” she yells.
“No stopping,” Nurse Blunt calls back. “If the cripple can’t walk, she should have taken the truck.”
Dorchy says, “Don’t be fooled by the limp. Rowan has the stamina of a bloodhound.”
“Bloodhound?” I elbow Dorchy. “How about a thoroughbred racehorse?”
“Hmm. No. A donkey,” she says. “Racehorses are for speed. You’re for distance.”
“I’ll wait with them, Nurse Blunt,” says Miss Latigue.
“Blunt. What a perfect name for her,” Dorchy says.
Miss Latigue sighs.
We catch up to the others when they stop to rest. Boys and girls sit on the ground, wide-eyed and panting. I wonder if they were selected for being “deformed,” as Posy said she was. One boy is deaf, but the others seem fine. One Italian girl speaks no English, and the other translates for her. Other than language skills, they are fine. The twins are strange but not “deformed.” Posy must be wrong.
Dorchy picks a bouquet of feathery white Queen Anne’s lace and hands it to Nurse Blunt. Will the con work? The nurse swats it out of Dorchy’s hand. Nope. Nurse Blunt is no rube.
We walk another hundred yards and the road divides. We follow the right fork that curves back to the cliff top and a view of the ocean. Straight ahead is the big red house we saw from the ferry. Maybe we’re going to stay there after all. But we walk past it
to a one-story weathered building with the word “Gymnasium” burned into the wood above double doors.
As Nurse Blunt and Tom herd the campers inside, the truck rattles to a stop next to us.
Miss Latigue exclaims, “Where’s Ratty?”
Dorchy clutches my arm.
“Dr. Jellicoe.” Miss Latigue strides over to the truck as he climbs out. “Did that poor boy fall off?”
He shakes his head and pushes past her into the building.
“If he didn’t fall, what happened to him?” Dorchy demands. She’s thinking, as I am, that it could have been me.
Miss Latigue says briskly, “Come along. I expect he’ll tell us when we get inside.”
I stare at the empty truck bed. Nothing here makes sense. First the doctor teased Ratty by taking his crutches and holding them over his head. Then Tom loaded Ratty on the truck, and now Ratty’s gone. Miss Latigue hired us to work at this camp, but she doesn’t know the doctor and is as confused about Ratty as we are. What’s going on here?
Chapter 29
Nurse Blunt waves us inside a big room smelling of sweat and pine oil. Opposite the doors, sunlight streams in through long windows overlooking the ocean. My crutch thumps on the polished wooden floor as I walk over the painted yellow lines of a tennis court. No net. A balcony runs around three sides of the room. The stairs are roped off: “Staff Only.”
“Line up in front of the table,” Nurse Blunt sings out. “Mrs. Van Giesen will check you in.”
The name runs through me like an electric shock. Father knew her, but I’m not going to tell Dorchy yet. I keep my eyes straight ahead and hope Dorchy didn’t notice. Posy gets in the end of the line behind a stocky black-haired boy. Dorchy and I line up behind her. One by one, each camper approaches a middle-aged woman sitting at a card table. Mrs. Van Giesen’s gray hair is pulled back in a chignon. In a blue tweed suit, pearls, and a large sapphire ring, she looks out of place among the campers.
“Who’s Mrs. Van Giesen when she’s at home?” Dorchy asks in a low voice.
“She is at home. This island belongs to her.”
Dorchy’s eyes open wide. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
“I need water,” the taller of the two Italian girls calls out from her spot in line. “Where is water, please?”
“Silence in the line.” Nurse Blunt raps the girl’s head with her knuckles, and she yelps like a puppy.
“Is there a problem, Nurse?” Mrs. Van Giesen calls out in a clear, pleasant voice.
“Not at all, ma’am,” barks the nurse.
Tom comes over to us. “Are you the new girls’ counselors?”
Dorchy looks at the floor. She’s not in a friendly mood.
“Yes,” I say. “We came with Miss Latigue. She’s a member of the New England Council and—”
“Be quiet,” Dorchy interrupts. “We don’t know him.”
“We met on the dock,” I remind her.
Tom holds out his hand to Dorchy. “Tom Hollenbeck, boys’ counselor. Pleased to meet you.”
Dorchy gives him a long look. “What happened to Ratty? The truck came without him.” She doesn’t shake his hand.
Tom shrugs. “I’ll ask the doctor once we get checked in.”
I turn and watch the dark-haired boy in front of Posy step up to Mrs. Van Giesen. She smiles at him. In front of her are an open ledger and an assortment of colorful cloth squares.
“Name?” she says.
The boy speaks so quietly that she asks him to repeat it. “Jack Gillen,” he says as if the words taste unfamiliar.
“And you are from?”
“The Worcester Home,” Jack mumbles.
“…for Incorrigible Boys,” Tom adds, as he joins the boy at the table.
Mrs. Van Giesen purses her lips and hands Jack a red patch with a capital I sewn on it.
“Get your uniform and a needle and thread in the locker room downstairs, and sew on the patch. Then put on your uniform. It’s hard to sew a patch on clothing you’re wearing.” She laughs a tinkling laugh that makes me wince. I remember that laugh—and her. So probably she will remember me.
“And what do I do with this uniform?” Jack has an Irish brogue. Being Irish is reason enough for sterilization, Julia said once.
“Tom will take it once you’ve sewn the badge on the new one. If you can’t sew, ask someone to do it for you. ‘One for all, and all for one.’”
Tom turns to me. “Remember that,” he says. Then he leads Jack away to join three boys waiting at the other end of the gym.
Posy steps up to the table, covering her mouth. “Lower your hand,” Mrs. Van Giesen says.
Posy looks back at us, then lowers her hand. “Harelip. Physical deformity,” Mrs. Van Giesen says and hands her a gold patch with PD on it.
Dorchy and I step forward. We stand close enough to Mrs. Van Giesen for me to read the words engraved on a gold pin on her suit jacket: Detection + Selection + Correction = Perfection. I know I’ve seen that before—but where?
Miss Latigue joins us. “Cecily,” she says, smiling, “these girls are here at my request. They’ll work in any capacity you wish. I’m sure you’ll find them useful. They have been employed by the Council all summer, and I vouch for them wholeheartedly. They’ll wear the uniforms we have provided.”
Mrs. Van Giesen touches her hair. “I’m sure Nurse Blunt could use some help with the girl campers,” she says. Something much more interesting than me or Dorchy seems to have caught her attention at the other end of the room.
“Excellent.” Miss Latigue beams. “The Council is very appreciative. Just let me know where these two will be sleeping and I’ll show them around. I know you’re busy.”
Mrs. Van Giesen stands up and walks away, calling over her shoulder, “If you can just wait until the campers are settled…”
Now I remember where I saw the words on her pin. It was five years ago, at the beginning of the summer that ended with polio. Father, Julia, and I were eating breakfast on the screen porch of the beach house. As usual, Julia was opening Father’s mail. As I began spreading strawberry jam on my toast, she handed him a typewritten letter.
Father glanced at it. Then he crumpled it in one hand and threw it across the porch. Julia and I exchanged a shocked look. Father never lost his temper.
“Those fools,” he roared. He splashed a sugar lump in his coffee. Then another, and another. Father never took sugar. “Send a telegram, Julia.” His voice grated. “One word.” He stirred the coffee so fast that most of it sloshed out.
“What word, Father?” I asked.
Julia kicked me under the table.
“No!” Father shouted. “En-oh. A word that pigheaded woman and her addled daughter and friends need to hear more often.”
Later on, when I was sweeping the porch, I picked up the letter and smoothed it out. I told myself that it was jetsam, something thrown away and free for the taking. The words Detection + Selection + Correction = Perfection were printed in raised letters at the top of the cream linen page. They were all I had time to read before Julia came out.
Mrs. Van Giesen walks back, smiling graciously. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you,” she says. “Now, please, tell me your names.”
Before Dorchy can speak, the double front doors bang open and an animal sound, bright as a knife blade, slashes the air.
A chestnut horse backlit by the bright afternoon sun whinnies again as it comes through the doors and clops across the floor into the middle of the tennis court. A girl screams like a teakettle going off. Everyone else is silent. I grab Dorchy’s arm.
A woman rider sits astride the horse in a western saddle. Her black jacket, fawn jodhpurs, and black boots set her apart from every other woman in the room. She has a jutting chin, bruised-looking eyes, and thick auburn hair. A shaft of sunlight
from the tall windows creates a spotlight effect where she comes to a stop. “I am Vera Van,” she says in a loud, hard voice, “and this is my gelding, Viking. Stay well away. He’s nervous.” She rubs the horse’s neck with her riding crop, and he tosses his head, eyes rolling.
A honking laugh erupts from one of the boys.
I lean on my crutch and observe how Mrs. Van Giesen’s mouth tightens whenever Viking’s hooves move on the polished floor. She hates having a horse in here, and she also hates the rider.
Miss Latigue starts to smile and quickly covers her mouth with a handkerchief. She feels superior to this performance.
Vera Van ignores the adults and speaks to the campers herded up against the windows by Viking. “I will now explain the procedures here at camp,” Vera says in a high, clear voice. “Can you all hear me? Any deaf ones in this batch?”
The campers shuffle their feet. Who is in charge here? I wonder. Mrs. Van Giesen or Vera Van?
The campers shuffle their feet.
Tom calls out, “One, Miss Van.”
“Only one? Dear me, what a fit group we have here. Well, I’m sure no one has told you anything.” She points her whip handle at Mrs. Van Giesen. “You didn’t spoil the surprise, did you, Mother?”
Mrs. Van Giesen frowns as if she just spotted a weed in a flower arrangement.
Dorchy nudges me in the ribs with her elbow and raises her eyebrows.
“The girls will stay here in the gym.” Vera turns in the saddle and waggles the fingers of one hand at the clump of girls. “All set, Nurse?”
“Yes, Miss Van,” says the nurse.
“Tom will take the boys camping,” Vera Van says. “Ready, Tom?”
“Ready.” Tom stares at the floor.
“He hates her,” I say in a low voice.
Crrrack. Vera snaps the whip in the air. Viking whinnies. “Silence over there,” Vera shouts at us. “Who are those two, Mother?”
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