Bead onTrouble

by Barbara Burnett Smith

That was fine for awhile, but then someone complained that I was taking more than my turn.

  Another of my guests, Susie Lynn Doman, responded, and while the exact words have slipped away over the years, I do remember that she called me a spoiled brat. The all-knowing Susie Lynn also said that all Camdens were spoiled and that Camden Manse was "ugly and stupid."

  I was so mad I literally saw red. It wasn't that she'd said terrible things about me—she'd said them about my whole family and, even worse, about my grandfather's house. I would have run over and pounded her a couple of times, but I couldn't get off the pony, probably because, if I know my mother the perfectionist, I was strapped on.

  I do, however, clearly remember the showdown with Susie Lynn that came later. I was saying good-bye to my guests, and she thanked me for inviting her, no doubt at the coaching of a parent.

  Instead of the standard reply, I said, "You're not welcome." That might have gone unnoticed, but I was young and I pushed my luck. I proceeded to tell her that I wasn't a brat, and that she was one. Things escalated with her saying something about how the Camdens were nasty rich people who showed off their money. Since I'd never seen anyone in my family waving dollar bills in the air, it was obvious Susie Lynn was not only a brat, but a liar, too.

  I pushed her to the ground and told her she would never come back to this house again, and after that I bit her nose.

  She screamed bloody murder, which worried me, but I was still quite pleased that I had defended my family and myself.

  As one would expect, when my mother arrived on the scene she didn't see it that way. I was instructed to apologize, and Mrs. Doman gave me a dirty look, although as I recall she was overly nice to my mother.

  I refused to apologize because even at six I had my principles. My mother apologized in my stead and marched me off to exile in the green guest room.

  I liked the room so that didn't much bother me. My worry was that my grandfather would be mad at me. I stewed a good while before he got home and heard about my little row with Susie Lynn. I was listening through the door when my mother told him to go upstairs and give me a good talking-to.

  He did come upstairs, and he slipped into his favorite spot on the old rocker, but I don't think his words were what my mother had in mind.

  "Honey, I hear you been wildcattin'." I burst out crying, and he held me while I told him my side of the story.

  As the family legend goes, my granddaddy was so proud that I'd defended the family homestead he made a promise that someday I would live there in the Camden Manse. Much to my cousins' consternation, while I don't own the entire house, I own the majority of it, and our branch of the family has lived there since my grandmother passed away.

  And Susie Lynn Doman has never been invited back. The Camdens might be spoiled, but we are at least consistent.

  Lucky for Leesa that when people make unkind comments these days, I don't bite. Hadn't in years, at least without more provocation than that.

  I straightened my worn camp T-shirt, with its faded green clover. "What former senators are wearing these days," I said, trying to smooth over the gaff.

  Instead of apologizing, Leesa glared at Beth as if the rudeness were her fault. "Right."

  Now, I am a kinder, gentler Kitzi Camden than I used to be, but her glare caused my old responses to rise up. I added, "I've also wondered who reads that stupid society column in the first place." Tacky, tacky. "So, what is your last name?"

  The young woman blinked, and in her favor, she said,

  "That was mean of me, and I'm sorry. I'm Leesa Jansen.

  My aunt is Cordelia Wright."

  "Oh. You're Cordy's—" I froze and my heart slammed-to a stop. If Cordy was her aunt . _ then her father was . . .

  no, no, she was too old.

  "Who's your father?" I asked.

  "Zeke."

  Zeke. "Ezekiel Wright." The oldest brother, not Jeb.

  I heard Beth say my name, but I was concentrating on breathing again. I'd known Leesa couldn't be Jeb's daughter, but there was just that moment ..

  "My grandmother loved long biblical names," Leesa said. "Ezekiel, Nathaniel, Jebediah. The family joke is that we're lucky she didn't have a—"

  "Deuteronomy," I said without thought. I'd heard that before, from Jeb.

  Beth shot me a worried glance before she said to Leesa,

  "So, why are you at camp? Do you live in Austin?"

  "No. But we're having a family reunion, and Aunt Cordy said I should sleep up here."

  My chest felt like it was going to cave in. It was really happening, after all these years. Her entire family would be here at Green Clover. Taking their meals with the rest of us, sitting around the campfire at night, walking the trails to the river. At fifty-seven years old, my fantasy had turned into a nightmare. Jeb and I were coming face to face.

  Beth said, "But the camp is full with the craft retreat.

  This doesn't seem like a good time ... I mean, there are a lot of women here . ." She finished lamely, probably realizing the family reunion wouldn't be canceled on her say-so.

  Leesa rolled out her sleeping bag and climbed up to her top bunk, seemingly oblivious of the effect her words had on us. "Oh, it's Uncle Jeb's fault. He's always so busy, and Aunt Cordy was determined that he was going to be here for this get-together. He said this was the only time he could leave New York, so we're all staying until Tuesday—"

  Leesa leaned over from her aerie. "Excuse me, could one of you hand up my pillow? It's in that bag down there."

  I sat up and smacked my head on the iron bed above me.

  "Are you okay?" Beth asked.

  "Oh, fine," I said. "Fine. Really fine." Except Jeb was here; I had seen him talking to May Feather. And I would have to face him, too, which in the long run had to be a good thing. I needed to lay his ghost to rest. After all, I was fifty-seven years old and not getting any younger.

  As I rubbed my forehead, I saw a second option. I could pack up and go home. All the signs were pointing in that direction, and I was betting that I could take Shannan with me, and maybe Beth, too. We'd get a villa somewhere in Spain. Beth would never have to know about Ron and May Feather. Who could find us in Spain?

  The problem with being fifty-seven is that you know when your thinking is off the mark. I had wasted a lot of years without a real relationship because somewhere in the far reaches of my mind I had still believed that Jeb was coming back. It was past time that I saw him again, and it wasn't going to be traumatic. Yes, I had been surprised when I'd noticed him with May, but I'd put it aside and gone on with the day. I hadn't prowled around looking for him, and I hadn't even asked Cordy about his presence.

  Our relationship had been years ago. He might not even recognize me—maybe I wouldn't feel a thing.

  And maybe an arctic cold front would pass through hell.

  Sure as the world, he would recognize me, even with the years and a little extra weight. However, I could pretend I didn't remember who he was ,

  As for feeling something, yes, I was pretty sure I would, but with a little luck what I felt would be annoyance at myself.

  "Excuse me, is someone getting my bag?" Leesa asked.

  Beth rolled out of her bunk and moved across the floor to Leesa's things. "Which bag?" she asked.

  "Oh, you can just hand them both up, I guess:' Beth did so with fervor, causing Leesa to flinch. "Kitz, how about another margarita?" Beth asked, reaching in the cooler for the pitcher. She held it out to me.

  "No, thanks. I'm fine," I said, aware that Leesa was watching us. "Fine. Just fine."

  But, I wasn't. I felt like a tsunami was headed for Central Texas, and it had rolled over me on the way. "Well, maybe another one. A half."

  She filled my cup.

  A high-pitched cell phone began to ring. I remembered Ron and May. What if he'd recognized me? What if be was calling to accuse me—or maybe it was the police calling-Then I realized with relief that my phone Was turned off.

  "Excuse me
," Leesa said, pulling a tiny flip-phone from a pocket of her DKNY purse. The phone rapidly increased in volume before she opened it and said, "Hello?

  Oh, hi. Where are you?"

  A woman came racing through the inner door. "Tell me that wasn't a cell phone." She spotted Leesa chatting and raised her voice to call out, "Cell phone!"

  A responding shout came from the upstairs. "Cell phone!"

  Another woman appeared in the doorway. "Cell phone!" she sang out loudly.

  Leesa looked puzzled but held up a finger, as if to hold the women off, then said into the receiver. "It's a little noisy here. I'm already at Green Clover—"

  "Cell phone!" The words resounded around our part of the camp. "Cell phone! Cell phone!"

  The women came from every direction. They packed the sleeping porch and when it was full, crowded outside the doors. I even saw Lynn, the noir beader, slide inside, looking very pleased, maybe at Leesa's discomfort.

  "Cell phone! Cell phone!"

  Leesa had broken a camp taboo, and everyone joined in to sing.

  Six

  "Cell phone, cell phone, cell phone!

  We don't allow the cell phone.

  It means you broke a rule .

  And while we won't be cruel,

  Forget those calls

  Or it's back to the malls,

  Or cleaning horse stalls!

  Cause . . .

  No cell phones. NO-00-00 cell phones

  At Camp Green Clover!! "

  Green Clover camp song

  eesa looked like someone being attacked by fluffy bunnies, and there was no way she could L

  fight

  back. Wide-eyed and confused, she said very quickly into the phone, Ili have to call you later." A punch of the button ended her conversation.

  There was cheering and laughter as the women started back to the Saloon.

  "I remember my first year at the Craft Retreat," one said, waiting her turn to get out of the tiny sleeping porch.

  "Back then we actually put up with cell phones."

  A woman close to the door added, "I hate the damn things, and I'm glad they're not allowed. Wish we could sing on the highway when some jerk is weaving lane to lane, busy yakking."

  "Me, too!" another said.

  As the room emptied, someone slapped Leesa on the back. "Don't worry, you'll catch on."

  "And, I'd turn that thing off, if I were you:' Lynn said, as if she were the keeper of the rules instead of a newcomer to Green Clover. "You don't want to shovel horse shit."

  Beth turned. "Lynn? How are you? I saw you from a distance earlier, but I couldn't catch up with you to talk:'

  Lynn's expression went from surprise at seeing Beth to a snide half-smile. "I'm wonderful. Happy as a clam," she said. "Haven't I always been? If you'll excuse me, I'm working on a head upstairs. The glue is drying even as we speak." She looked at me. "No knives in this one, but the eyeball is twisted and ... well, you'll have to see it when I'm done."

  When she was gone Beth said, "She's working on a head?"

  "She covers mannequins with beads:' I explained. "The one I saw was unique, to say the least,"

  Leesa said, "Knives in heads? I guess that's unique, not to say completely bizarre. This whole day is bizarre." She snapped her cell closed, running her fingers over the outside of the case like a little toy. "And I can't talk on my cell phone?"

  "That's correct:' Beth said. "If you have to make a call, go to the road outside camp. If you take another call inside Green Clover, there's real trouble."

  "That wasn't trouble? Talk about primitive! Does this mean no cell phones, as in none at all for the entire weekend?"

  "Welcome to Green Clover," I said, taking a large gulp of my margarita. My throat almost closed from the frozen drink, and I couldn't say another word.

  Beth rose from her bunk, "and now it's time for some serious beading." She turned to me. "Ready?"

  "I'm ready to get out of here," Leesa said, picking up her leather purse. "I'm going for a walk. see you all later." And with that, she swung down from the bed and waltzed out the door passing Shannan in the process.

  "Mom?" Shannan said, stepping inside. "Are there any diet drinks? To take up to the Saloon? Aren't you coming?"

  "Sure. Look in the ice chest outside. Kitz, what about you?"

  I was staying. "I'm going to get some sleep. Lots of sleep."

  Beth gave me a long look, as if she suspected that I was going to be doing something else. Maybe prowling the camp looking for Jeb, but that wasn't on my agenda. I needed to do some serious thinking on how I was going to handle the Ron and May affair. Short of murder, I couldn't think of a thing that would be effective.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  "Sure, I just have a headache," I said. "I'll finish off my margarita and take a nighttime pain reliever; that ought to cure what ails me."

  "I don't think the manufacturer of either product recommends the combination," Beth said, picking up the blender.

  "Well, my personal physician, Dr. Katherine Camden, thinks it's just the thing."

  "Okay, then. Good night."

  Everyone on the small porch was still asleep when I crept out of my bed. Beth was sprawled across her bunk, the sheets flung down, one arm hanging over the side. On the bed above her Shannan was burrowed under her covers like an animal in a protective pose, and I looked at her sor-rowfully. I hoped she'd had a good time the night before, because I was afraid today wasn't going to be a happy one for her or her mother.

  I had slept like the dead, but then I always do when I'm stressed. I'd heard people coming in during the night and opened my eyes enough to see rays of flashlights, but basically I had slept. It's what I do when there's too much to think about and no ready answers. I still had no idea whether I should tell Beth what we'd seen, and if I was going to say something, I certainly didn't know how to tell her.

  I was even stewing over when to tell her. Would it be better to let her have her meeting with the Tivolini people first so she could be at her best with them?

  If I did that, and she got the contract, then I would ruin her moment of glory by saying something about Ron and May. But, telling her if she didn't get the contract would be like kicking her when she was down.

  I could feel the headache lurking inside my head just waiting to come back.

  A shower helped, and so did clean clothes. I even put on some eye makeup, which is important when your coloring is as light as mine. It's also important when an ex-heartthrob is lurking somewhere on the same patch of earth.

  I looked closely at myself in the old speckled mirror, wondering what Jeb would see when we met up. When I was young, people used to tell me I looked like Marilyn Monroe, and I suppose I did if you took away some of her flash. But she only lived to thirty-six, so there's no telling how she'd look at my age. As for me, I wasn't as slender as I'd been or as blonde, although there was still more blonde than silver.

  The perm was soft, and everything fell into place like I'd planned it that way. I put on some lipstick so I was a little less pale in the morning light, although I stil didn't look young, or even forty.

  Well, that was life, and today was just another part of it.

  Maybe a more difficult part since today I had to face everything I'd avoided last night. My car was first on the list. No telling what the insurance company would say or what it could cost me to get the front end fixed.

  I made my way across Green Closer saying hel o to the few campers who were already out and about. At the road I turned toward the front gate, the dread building with every step. When I came to the parking area, there sat the Rover, blue and tall in the morning sunshine. First off I noticed that it was a little dustier than yesterday, but all I was seeing was the back end. Then I started around it.

  The side panels were fine, which I'd expected. Then I stepped up to the front end. The paint was unsullied. I stared. There were no scratches and no dents.

  In disbelief I circled the Land Rove
r again and still found no sign of our misadventure at Weldon's. Apparently the winch on the front, added at my brother's insistence, had taken the brunt of our collision.

  I could hardly believe it, but I wasn't going to question my good fortune; at least it did away with one worry. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure the Lexus hadn't gotten off so easily. Ron must have been furious that something big and dark had careened out of the night to plow into his beloved car. And his beloved May? Now, that didn't bear thinking about.

  For the first time I wondered what Ron was doing today.

  How was he feeling? I hoped I hadn't hurt him or May. At least, I hoped I hadn't caused any permanent damage to them, but a little worry would do them good.

  I have an uncle with a roving eye, along with other way-ward body parts, and as a child I remember family talk about him and how he'd hurt my aunt. I also remember my grandmother slapping him once, even though he was a grown man. What she'd said to him stayed with me. "If you're going to break someone's heart, you do it quickly and move on. You don't tear them to pieces bit by bit."

  As I'd gotten older, I realized how smart my grandmother had been. Was Ron planning a clean break? Or no break at all?

  Poor Beth. What could I say to her?

  The only thing I knew for sure was that I was still thinking about that, and I intended to keep on thinking for a while longer. It might be wise to have a talk with May Feather. She might listen to reason; after all, MoRon wouldn't be that much of a catch.

  Except May wasn't the whole problem. It was Ron who needed the confrontation and I didn't think he'd respond well to advice, a threat, or even my grandmother's wisdom.

  Especially if he realized how I knew what he was doing, I started for the dining hall.

  My head was down, and my thoughts inward when someone grabbed me from behind. I jumped and whirled to find Tony Campanelli.

  "Tony! Damn. You scared me."

  "I'm sorry," he said, releasing my arm. "Have you heard? I'm still in shock—I can't believe it," he said. "This is just so beyond reality."