Mother-Daughter Book Camp

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  Hugging her back, I can’t bring myself to speak. And we’re not the only ones getting choked up. It’s an emotional night.

  One that’s about to get more emotional.

  “Thanks to the windstorm earlier today, the path to the Council Fire is too much of a mess for us to risk using,” Gwen tells us, “so we’re going to break with tradition and meet by the fire pit on the beach instead. Five minutes, please.”

  After we’re all assembled on the shore, she makes a brief speech.

  “It’s been a long day, girls, and I know you’re all eager to get to the special awards and then enjoy your final night with your cabin. So I’ll simply say that this has been the best summer yet here at Camp Lovejoy, for me at least. Watching you all stretch yourselves and grow, both individually and collectively, was a true delight, and I hope to see as many of you as possible back here again next year.”

  The distribution of beads proceeds briskly until it’s my turn. I have a little surprise for my campers, and I plan to play it up.

  “Would Meriwether Milligan, Tara Lindgren, and Pippa Lovejoy please come and join me?”

  I keep my expression solemn as they dutifully troop forward, then make them turn around and face the group. Pippa’s pink sparkly glasses shimmer in the reflected light from the fire pit.

  “As you all know, these three girls displayed exceptional bravery this morning, in the face of what could have been serious danger. And so, with the permission of the camp director and the head counselor, and with all the authority vested in me”—from her spot on the sand I see Cassidy roll her eyes at this, and I grin at her—“I’m awarding Meri, Tara, and Pippa the Most Distinguished Order of the Lionheart bead for courage.”

  Meri looks crestfallen. “You didn’t make us Sharks?” she whispers.

  “We didn’t end up swimming to shore, remember? This is way better than Sharks, anyway,” I whisper back, pressing a bead into her hand. It’s white, with a tiny red heart on one side and, thanks to Megan’s skill with a paintbrush, a lion’s head on the other. “Plus, nobody else in the whole camp has a bead like this one.”

  Meri looks down at the bead, and her face brightens. “Cool!”

  “You bet it is—and so are you.”

  As I’m taking my seat again, I suddenly realize that I never found out who my shell was. Odd.

  Camp nicknames are next. Gwen has us gather by cabins as we hand out the round wooden nameplates. Thanks to all the inside jokes, there’s a great deal of hilarity as the campers turn them over and learn the secret nicknames we counselors have bestowed on them. My trio was pretty easy—Pippa is Sunshine, since she’s always so happy, and Tara and Meri are Antelope and Cantaloupe, respectively, thanks to the mix-up about Cassidy’s sister.

  Finally, it’s time for the Firelighter awards. Sergeant Marge stands to announce the winners, which she does in her own no-nonsense fashion, calling Jennie Norris, one of the CITs, and a well-liked girl from Shady Grove to come receive their awards. Then she pauses, pressing her lips together for a moment. Wait, I think, is she getting choked up, too?

  “We’re breaking with tradition in this category this year as well,” the head counselor says. “In the past, there have only been two Firelighters, one from Lower Camp and one from the Hill, but this year we’re adding three more: Cassidy Sloane, Emma Hawthorne, and Felicia Grunewald, would you please come up here? Your actions this morning made you a credit to camp, girls.”

  Cassidy and I look at each other, surprised. Felicia springs to her feet, beaming from ear to ear, and we follow her as she steps forward to where Sergeant Marge is standing. The head counselor pins the award—a small gold flame—onto each of our T-shirts.

  “Well done,” she says to me when it’s my turn, shaking my hand. “And thank you.”

  She’s definitely choked up! I note with surprise. Sergeant Marge clearly has unplumbed depths.

  As Cassidy and Felicia and I move to the water’s edge to join the other Firelighters, Gwen stands up to speak again.

  “Before we begin the ceremony,” she says, “I’d like to take a moment to recognize the counselors from Nest, Balsam, and Twin Pines, for starting what I intend to make a new Camp Lovejoy tradition: a camper-counselor book club!” Gwen leads the applause, the campers from our cabins cheering the loudest. “We’ll be expanding it to the rest of the cabins next summer,” she continues, smiling at my friends and me. “And we’ll be tapping you ladies for advice on books.”

  The sun has fallen below the horizon by now, and as dusk settles over Lake Lovejoy everyone files past Artie, who’s handing out paper lanterns from his wheelbarrow. Each one is mounted on a flat piece of wood and contains a votive candle inside.

  “A favorite memory, and a wish for the coming year,” Jennie Norris instructs softly as Gwen holds her lantern out.

  Jennie lights her candle for her, and Gwen places the lantern on the water and gives it a nudge. We watch as it floats gently away from shore.

  One by one, each camper and counselor steps forward to one of us Firelighters until the water before us is ablaze with glowing lanterns.

  Finally, it’s the Firelighters’ turn, and the five of us light one another’s candles. I pause for a moment before placing my lantern on the water. My favorite memory? All of them. Well, except for Parents’ Weekend, when Stewart didn’t come.

  As for my wish for the coming year, when it comes right down to it, it’s simple, really: I just want to be happy.

  “Emma, I have something for you,” says Gwen as I’m heading back to Nest with my campers a few minutes later. She passes me an envelope.

  “Thanks.” She walks away and I open it. Inside is a piece of paper. I read it aloud: “The camper-counselor book club is invited to report to Upper Meadow immediately.”

  “How come?” asks Pippa.

  “I don’t know, honey,” I reply. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  When I go to round up my friends, though, Cassidy balks.

  “Seriously? I’m wiped out,” she says. “I don’t think I can take one more activity.”

  “I know, I feel the same way. But I think Gwen has something special planned for us, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  It’s not Gwen who’s waiting for us at the top of the hill, though.

  It’s our mothers.

  “Surprise!” they chorus, waving madly. They’re all here, even Mrs. Delaney and her sister Bridget, Felicia’s mom. Only Gigi is missing—she and Edouard and Sophie left a few days ago for France.

  “Hey, that’s our trailer!” Megan exclaims, spotting the silver burrito behind them.

  “Yep,” says Mrs. Wong. “We moms are camping here tonight.”

  “Have party, will travel,” adds Mrs. Chadwick, busting out a dance move.

  Mrs. Delaney gives Jess a big hug. “I’ve missed you so much!” she tells her. Holding her by the shoulders, she cocks her head and regards her for a moment. “Your hair is adorable, honey! From all the fuss you made, I was prepared for something a lot worse.”

  “It smells a lot better than it did a few weeks ago, at least,” Jess replies, smiling.

  “Shall we get this party started?” Mrs. Wong beckons us inside.

  Somehow, we all manage to cram into the trailer. It’s ridiculously crowded, of course, with campers and counselors piled on the bed, the sofas, and around the small table, but that’s part of the fun.

  “I like the twinkle lights, Mom,” says Megan, admiring the strands strung up over the kitchen-sink window and the dining table. “Nice touch.”

  “It was your grandmother’s idea,” Mrs. Wong replies.

  Of course it was. Gigi loves any excuse to decorate. Especially if there’s a party involved.

  “I can’t believe they’re off to college in a few weeks, can you?” Mrs. Chadwick says to the other mothers as she gazes at my friends and me.

  “Don’t start, Calliope,” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid warns. “I’ll be a big weepy mess if we go down that road.�
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  My mother leaps in to change the subject. “So, what did you girls all think of Understood Betsy?”

  I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist asking. She can’t help herself. She’s a librarian.

  Little hands shoot up all around the trailer. My mother points to Brooklyn Alvarez.

  “I loved it,” Brooklyn says. “I didn’t think I would at first, but now it’s one of my favorite books.”

  “Funny how that happens,” my mother replies, winking at Cassidy, who smiles sheepishly. Cassidy started out not liking any of the books we read in our book club at home.

  My mother points to Carter next.

  “I liked how the narrator talked to us,” she says. “It made me feel like I was right there in the book with the characters.”

  “That’s a literary device called ‘direct address,’ ” Felicia offers.

  “We’ll all make a note of that,” Becca says drily.

  Meri’s hand is waving frantically, and my mother points to her.

  “I wish I could live with Betsy at Putney Farm,” my camper says with a sigh.

  “I think that’s the highest compliment an author can receive,” my mother tells her. “It means he or she has created a world so real that readers want to crawl inside the book and live there. I feel that way about Jane Austen’s novels.”

  She looks over at me and smiles. I smile back. Of course my mother would have to drop an Austen reference.

  “The biggest thing I learned from the book is not to judge someone too quickly,” Cassidy says. “You know, the way Cousin Ann seems like a bit of a tyrant at first, and Betsy is scared of her, but in the end she proves an ally. Kind of like Sergeant Marge.”

  I stare at her. “Cassidy Ann Sloane! Listen to you drawing a comparison between literature and life!”

  She grins. “I am about to go off to college, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m allowed to do that.”

  “The overarching theme of transformation was the key point for me,” Felicia chimes in. “Along with Fisher’s portrayal of everyday life in a rural community of a bygone century.”

  Jess and I both shoot her a look, and a little of the starch goes out of her shirt.

  “Hey, I liked the book!” she says defensively.

  Camp has been good for Felicia, too. Even her horizons have been broadened.

  She turns to her mother. “How come you never read it to me when I was a kid?”

  Jess’s aunt Bridget shrugs. “I never heard of it,” she replies. “And I wasn’t lucky enough to find women who wanted to start a book club and introduce me to some of these gems, I guess.”

  Mrs. Wong hops up from her seat. “Who wants ice cream?”

  “Am I dreaming?” Megan pretends to be shocked. “Did my mother, the mayor of Concord, the politician who successfully lobbied to take sugar off the menu in the schools, just offer us dessert?”

  Mrs. Wong waves the ice cream scoop at her. “It’s a party. Parties are exceptions to the rules.”

  “Since when?”

  Ignoring her, Mrs. Wong pulls a bunch of containers from the trailer’s freezer. “We figured since you girls can’t come to Kimball’s Farm, Kimball’s Farm would just have to come to you.”

  Jess’s mother joins her at the counter and starts taking orders while Mrs. Wong scoops.

  “Um, no thanks,” says Felicia primly when Mrs. Delaney asks her what she’d like. “It’s not really the right time of day for ice cream.”

  “It’s never not the right time of day for ice cream!” Cassidy scoffs. “Lighten up already, Felicia.”

  “Oh fine,” Felicia relents. “I’ll take butter pecan.”

  Without even asking, Mrs. Delaney dishes me up a scoop of strawberry and hands it to me with a smile. She knows it’s my favorite.

  “Feel like taking a walk?” my mother asks.

  “Sure.”

  Grabbing a sweatshirt, she steps outside. I start to follow, but as I pass Felicia, I pause. “Would you mind keeping an eye on our girls for a few minutes?” I ask. “I’m going for a walk with my mother.”

  “Okay.” She stands there awkwardly for a moment. Which for Felicia is kind of her natural state. “Um, I got distracted at the Dining Hall earlier,” she says. “I just wanted to let you know that I was your shell.”

  I blink. “Really?”

  She nods.

  “I had no idea.”

  She shrugs.

  “The presents were brilliant,” I tell her, wishing now that I’d been a little nicer this summer. “Really.”

  She smiles. “Glad you liked them.”

  I think about the notebook she gave me. The one with “We write our own story” on the cover. I need to write a happy ending for this one.

  “So I was thinking—maybe you could come visit me sometime? At UBC, I mean.”

  Felicia’s face lights up. “I’d love that! I’ve always wanted to go to Vancouver.”

  “Great. I’ll look forward to it.” And the funny thing is, it’s true.

  Outside, I find my mother waiting for me at the picnic table.

  “Let’s skip the walk,” she says. “We can sit right here and chat.” She pats the seat beside her.

  I sit down and rest my head on her shoulder for a minute.

  “How’s my girl?” she says. “Better?”

  I sit up and look at her. “Better than what?”

  “Than when you were pining away back during Parents’ Weekend.”

  I sigh. “That obvious, huh?”

  She smiles at me. “You’re an open book, remember?”

  “How could I forget?” I’m quiet for a minute; then, “Yeah, I’m better. But I still miss him, Mom, and I’m beginning to worry that I always will. I just want to be happy, you know?”

  “Your happiness doesn’t depend on a boy, sweetheart. Any boy, not just Stewart.”

  “What does it depend on, then?”

  She takes a bite of ice cream, considering. “Happiness is about doing some good in this world,” she says finally. “It comes from finding what you were meant to do, and doing it.”

  I mull this over. “But Dad makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

  She laughs. “Of course! I love being married to your father. But I bring my happiness to our marriage, I don’t depend on our marriage to provide it for me.”

  I turn this thought over in my mind.

  Happiness without Stewart? Was it possible? Drawing a shaky breath, I tell her, “I’ll try.”

  She pats my knee. “Of course you will. I have no doubt about it, because I raised a strong young woman.” She leans over and kisses the top of my head. Then she gives me a sly look. “Besides, there’s always Rupert.”

  “Mom!”

  She laughs. “I’m kidding! Well, mostly. You never know what surprises lie ahead. But for now, go forth and be happy, Emma! You have something unique to contribute—something you, and you alone, were meant to give. The world is waiting for you, sweetheart.”

  Why is it that talking to my mother always makes me feel so much better?

  Back inside, I squeeze onto the sofa between Pippa, whose eyes are drooping shut behind her pink sparkly glasses, and Meri, whose eyes already are shut and who’s snoring lightly.

  Jess and I exchange a smile. “It’s been a long day,” she whispers.

  I sit back, letting the conversation wash over me. Gazing around the trailer at my friends, I start thinking about what lies ahead for all of us. There’s my beloved Jess, who is like a sister to me already, and with any luck will be a real one someday, if she marries my brother. Which she probably will. He’s already given her a diamond, after all. Maybe it’s not a ring, but it still counts, right?

  As for Cassidy, I have absolutely no doubt that she’ll be a rock star on the ice for the Boston University Terriers, and will probably end up leading the U.S. Olympic hockey team to victory eventually. We’ll all be there to cheer her on. And I suspect Tristan Berkeley will be there too, cheering the loudest.
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  Megan is bound for glory as well. She’s already halfway there, a blazingly talented fashion designer who will soon have all of New York at her feet, and whose creations will no doubt grace the covers of every fashion magazine in the world someday. When that happens, we’ll all be claiming our bragging rights to Wong originals.

  Becca is my most unexpected friend. Back when she was the queen bee of middle school and had me in her sights, I never could have imagined we’d develop as close a relationship as the one we have. Now she has Minneapolis in her sights. Becca is as strong-minded as any of us, and she’ll carve out her own path, and be successful at whatever she chooses to do—and happy, too, with or without her Mr. Rochester and his snakes.

  I think about Camp Lovejoy’s motto: “Broadening Horizons for over a Century.” It’s no idle boast. Our horizons have all been broadened this summer, and so have those of our campers. Tara Lindgren isn’t such a ’fraidy cat any longer, something she proved today on Dreamboat. Amy Osborne has gained new confidence too—and a tan, thanks to six weeks of swim lessons. Nica Simpson has found her own voice and is speaking up for herself through her poetry. And not just these three, but all of our girls have grown this summer.

  We’ve done some good here, I realize. That’s something for my friends and me to be proud of. I think about the wish I made for the coming year, down by the lake earlier this evening. For happiness. I may as well be happy about my college choice instead of worrying about it, or worse, regretting it. Why shouldn’t college be an adventure?

  We write our own stories, after all. Why not write happiness into mine?

  And maybe someday, in the far-off years when my friends and I are grown and married and have families of our own, I’ll put pen to paper and write our story—the story of an unlikely group of girls who joined a mother-daughter book club once upon a time and became friends for life.

  But meanwhile, I have plenty to keep me busy. Because my mother is right.

  The world is waiting.

  “That room was full to the brim of something beautiful, and Betsy knew what it was. Its name was Happiness.”

  —Understood Betsy