Cherry Ames Boxed Set 9-12

by Helen Wells

  “I’m hungry,” said Sally. “I wasn’t anywhere except to the Model Farm and the Eplers’ farm and Mr. Purdy’s orchard. Same as the other girls. Say, I’m awfully hungry.”

  “What did you do at the Model Farm, Sally?” Jan asked, ignoring Sally’s plea for food.

  Sally giggled. “I was hoeing, racing the others, and I fell in the brook. That nice Mac Cook fished me out. I dried out pretty fast in the hot sun, but it felt awfully cold for a while.”

  At ten that evening, Cherry, having napped, reported for night duty. She was equipped with a warm sweater, flashlight, and a book to help her keep awake.

  Sally slept soundly. When Cherry wakened her for a moment at midnight to check her temperature, she dropped right back to sleep again. It was a long night in the moonlit cabin, a long vigil.

  The next day Cherry was able to tell Dr. Lowell that no nausea had developed, no rash, no vomiting. On that basis Dr. Lowell decided not to send Sally to the hospital, but to keep her under observation here.

  “I’m hungry,” Sally insisted. “I feel like I could eat a huge steak!” and she indignantly sat up in bed.

  “Do you mean to say,” Cherry teased her, “that I’ve stayed up all night with a practically perfectly healthy would-be steak eater?”

  Two more days of careful, patient watching followed; two more days of bed rest and treatment for a deep-seated cold infection, and then Sally was discharged into Amy Clark’s care. The symptoms which might have meant an epidemic in camp fortunately turned out to be only a bad scare.

  “Seem like an anticlimax?” the young doctor said to his wife and Cherry.

  But they all knew better than that. Without good nursing care, Sally’s cold could have developed into pneumonia or flu. The victories a nurse and doctor hoped most for were over illnesses which they never let happen in the first place—not a particularly showy victory, but a satisfying one.

  CHAPTER V

  The Second Move

  THERE WAS A SURPRISE IN STORE FOR CHERRY. SHE WAS coming along one of the wooded paths, on her way to the Main House for mail, when she saw a familiar-looking figure. It was a man with a thatch of yellow hair, and he was strewing gravel on a slippery part of the path. Cherry hesitated, went ahead—and found herself face to face with Mac Cook.

  “Hello!” Cherry exclaimed. “I thought you were working at the Model Farm.”

  He glanced at her and uncomfortably turned away, pretending to be very busy. Was he remembering their encounter in the greenhouse? His hair and mustache seemed yellower than ever in a shaft of sunlight.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” Cherry asked.

  “Sure. You’re the nurse. Hi.” He would just as soon she had not seen him, judging by his perfunctory manner, Cherry thought.

  “I’ve been so busy at the infirmary, I didn’t know you were working here, Mac,” Cherry said curiously.

  “Yes, I—I can earn a little more here than at the Model Farm. Been working at Camp Blue Water since Wednesday.”

  This was Friday, July nineteenth. Just last Saturday she had met Mac at the Model Farm. And the week before, she had surprised him at the Eplers’ house.

  “You certainly move around,” Cherry remarked.

  “No, I don’t,” Mac Cook defended himself. “I’m still living at the Clemences’. They’re nice people. Said I can sleep there if I want to.”

  He gave her such a sharp look that Cherry did not venture to ask further questions. Well, Cherry said to herself, the camp director probably knew what he was doing when he hired this young man. But why had Mac Cook moved twice in barely three weeks? All the vague suspicion she felt about him grew stronger at discovering him on home territory. But Cherry realized that if she hoped to learn anything about Mac Cook, she would have to keep on friendly terms with him.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy working here,” Cherry said. “Isn’t this a lovely spot here beside the lake? I guess all this farming country is pretty nice. By the way, how are your friends, the Eplers?”

  “The Eplers? I haven’t seen them.”

  Cherry was perplexed. Earlier Mac had said that he came to this neighborhood especially to visit Fred and Vernie Epler. Then he had told her that he felt he’d got in Vernie’s way. Now he said he hadn’t even seen them. Had Mac Cook and the Eplers quarreled? Not that it was her business …

  Mac surprised Cherry by asking, “How’s Pep? Have you seen him?”

  “Who?” She knew perfectly well whom he meant.

  “The photographer. Paul Purdy. Pep for short. The man from New York,” he explained elaborately.

  “No, I haven’t seen him this week.” It was on the tip of Cherry’s tongue to ask, “Have you?”

  “I suppose he drops into camp now and then, seeing that he lives so near?”

  “I’m too new here to know,” Cherry said.

  He had prompted her last time, too, for information about Purdy. Cherry did not like it. She must have stiffened or frowned, for Mac Cook said:

  “If you’re thinking that I’m curious about Purdy, it’s only because I—I’m interested in photography. It’s my hobby, sort of.”

  “Oh, really? What kind of camera do you have?” Cherry challenged him.

  “I—It’s with my clothes at the Model Farm. Show it to you sometime. It’s—ah—it’s broken now, though.”

  Cherry said gently, “You’re a poor liar, Mac Cook. If you want to find out something, why don’t you ask in a straightforward way?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But Mac flushed to the roots of his yellow hair. In self-betrayal? Or in anger? If this man were dangerous, Cherry did not want to rouse his anger.

  She made a pleasant remark or two, and went on her way.

  Mac Cook continued to work unobtrusively at the camp. Everyone except Cherry seemed to take his presence for granted. It was true that the old handyman needed a young helper like Mac. And the children did like him. Cherry saw Mac Cook whittling whistles for the Midgets. Sue Howard reported that Mac had found them a fine stand of reeds, for their basket-weaving project. He was seen putting down his hammer to climb a tree and retrieve a badly aimed basketball. In just a few days Mac Cook had made himself a favorite among the young campers.

  Yet Cherry noticed something which troubled her. Mac, she could observe from the hilltop infirmary, did not walk out of camp until evening shadows had gathered, although his work and supper were surely finished earlier. Why? Did he stay around because he was lonely? Or did he prefer to walk back to the Model Farm, past Purdy’s cottage, past the Epler farm, under cover of twilight? He came to work very early in the mornings, too, before most of the neighborhood was stirring.

  Still, her suspicions wavered—even remembering that newspaper story—when she saw Mac good-naturedly working outside the Playhouse with the kids. He was hammering at some kind of wooden contraption, amid a group of excited girls. Sue Howard ran over to tell Cherry the news.

  “We’re going to put on a vaudeville show! Mac’s helping us make the scenery. He builds it, and we paint it. Will you come to our show, Cherry?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. When is opening night?”

  “Or matinee,” Sue said. “Probably a week from this Sunday, or sooner, some weekday, if we can get ready sooner. Leona Jackson says our dance routines are ready. The comedy skits are easy—we mostly write ’em ourselves, and Aunt Bet rehearses us, two, three times—that’s plenty.”

  At the moment Mac was making a gate “for the milkmaid song and dance,” Sue explained rapidly. She described an Indian skit with feather headdresses and blankets (off their cots), and a Shakespearean spoof, and a ragdoll dance with orange crepe-paper wigs which were being made right now at the arts and crafts cabin.

  “We’re going to do a funny infirmary number, too,” Sue said. “Have you any idea where we could borrow a nurse’s uniform?”

  “I have a faint idea.” Cherry grinned back at Sue. “But how will you make Indian hea
ddresses and Shakespearean costumes on such short notice?”

  “Oh, we’ll borrow them from Mr. Purdy. He has old Romeo and Juliet costumes in his barn, and yards of draperies, even backdrops and all shapes of chairs—everything. Mr. Purdy’s barn is a regular treasure house.”

  Yes, Cherry recalled, she had heard earlier that the commercial photographer stored in his barn the props and costumes which he did not currently use. Leona Jackson told Cherry that he was generous about letting the campers borrow these things.

  Sounds of rehearsal—voices, laughter, piano music, dancing feet—floated from the barn for the next few days. Cherry dropped in to watch Wednesday noon.

  Mac was in the wings, disguising a small wagon with a pile of twigs, propping cardboard flames atop—a campfire for the Indian number. On the stage eight girls danced a loose-jointed routine. Katy Osborn stood in a corner mumbling and gesturing to herself.

  Cherry caught Katy’s eye and smiled. The girl came over.

  “Miss Cherry, will you hear me say my lines? Everyone else is too busy.”

  Katy went into her slight spoof of Juliet’s lovely lines. She was pretty enough to play Juliet, and had an unexpected sense of timing and humor. It wasn’t what she said but how she said it.

  “You’re awfully good at this,” Cherry said when Katy had finished.

  “Thank you. Leona Jackson and Aunt Bet think so, too,” Katy said. “The other girls won’t admit it. They’re jealous of me.”

  “Really jealous?” Cherry said. “I wonder about that. We all want to be friends here.”

  “Yes, they are jealous,” Katy insisted. “Every girl wants to be Juliet, you know. They call me uppity and unfriendly.”

  Cherry detected real hurt in Katy’s voice, though she suspected any indications of unfriendliness were Katy’s own fault.

  “Well, why don’t you show the other girls that you are friendly? It’s so easy.”

  Katy looked uncertain. “How? What do I do?”

  Cherry felt sorry for this youngster. Imagine not knowing how to be friends! It was as if Katy had not yet learned how to walk.

  “Why not do something for the other girls?” Cherry suggested. “Something no one else remembers to do, which would he nice or of benefit to all of you.”

  Katy thought. “The outside of our cabin looks awfully plain. When Nature Girl took us exploring in the woods the other day, I saw some big lacy ferns and I wished we—Is it a lot of work to dig up ferns and plant them around a cabin, Miss Cherry? They’d grow, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes, they should grow nicely. It’s work, of course, but not much if you ask Sue and Mary Alice and Ding and the Smith twins to join you.”

  Katy’s pretty face changed. “But you said, something I should do for the others, to show I’m willing to be friends.”

  Katy, it seemed, was not yet ready to join in with others. Very well, one step at a time, Cherry decided, then asked whether Katy knew of anything considerate she could do.

  “Mmmm. It’s not very Julietlike or important or anything. There aren’t any closets in our cabin, our clothes get all scrambled. I could ask Mac for extra hooks or nails, and hang things up.” Katy giggled. “The other girls will think I’m crazy when they see me doing it.”

  “No, they’ll appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Cherry encouraged her. “And why not ask Lil Baker about all of you transplanting the ferns? It’s such an attractive idea.”

  Katy nodded vaguely, thinking.

  “How’s that darling little gray kitten of yours?”

  “I do remember to feed it now, Miss Cherry—honestly.”

  Katy wandered off to rehearse some more by herself. On the stage Aunt Bet was calling Mac. Cherry pricked up her ears.

  “Anybody see Mac in the wings? Or backstage? He was here just a moment ago.” Aunt Bet scrambled down across the footlights, to join Leona Jackson at the piano. “Mac would go off somewhere just when we need a man to pick up that floor screen at Mr. Purdy’s. He knows I want him to get that screen.”

  “Mac’s been perfectly obliging with me,” Cherry heard Leona Jackson say. “He made two trips to the Eplers’ yesterday to locate a milking stool for us.” She began to talk to Aunt Bet about the music arrangements.

  Interesting, Cherry thought. Did this mean that Mac was willing to visit the Eplers but not Purdy? Unless his going off just now was coincidence.

  Later that day she learned from the talkative old handyman, who came up to the infirmary to have a splinter removed from his thumb, that Mac did not go to Purdy’s place. Reed Champion had driven over to Blue Water on an errand and, having the truck, picked up the screen for Aunt Bet.

  “Mac’s pretty busy,” Cherry said, as she put a final application of iodine on the old man’s thumb.

  “Yep, Mac’s been busy repairin’ them extra foldin’ seats for the show, all afternoon. Wish he’d clear out the tool shed. It sure needs doin’.”

  The next day at noon Mac was helping out again at the Playhouse when Cherry strolled in. Mac apologized about not going for the screen, but Aunt Bet said it really didn’t matter, he was so full of good ideas.

  “If you don’t mind my butting in, I have another show idea,” Mac said modestly.

  “Let’s hear it,” Aunt Bet and Leona Jackson said in unison.

  Cherry wondered what those two young women would say if they knew that Mac had not wanted to be discovered at the Eplers’ house—and, seemingly, had not wanted Purdy to see him at the Clemences’ Model Farm. It was a curious circumstance that she was the one person in camp who had observed these incidents. Should she report them to Aunt Bet? Pretty incomplete information to report. Mac always seemed, as now, nervously aware of her presence, even though she was perched on the farthest window sill.

  “Well, what’s your idea, Mac?” Aunt Bet asked him. “Stop pulling at your mustache and tell us, please.”

  “I—I was at the arts and crafts cabin just now,” Mac said, “and say, some of the girls there are sketching pictures, pretty good, too. Some of the others—” He glanced toward Cherry. “Some of the girls take candid-camera snapshots. That’s some people’s hobby. Well, I saw these pictures and snaps and—well—”

  “You thought, ‘What about holding an exhibit?’” Aunt Bet prompted him.

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. With a judge, and colored ribbons for first and second and third places. Maybe we could hold it before the vaudeville acts go on. Or maybe another time. We could tack up the pictures around the Playhouse.”

  “Why, Mac, what a wonderful idea!”

  A lot of people liked the idea and said so.

  “And I sort of thought,” he went on, “why not ask someone like Mr. Purdy to be the judge? He knows photography, and he probably knows some thing about sketching, too. So all we’d need,” Mac said with a disarming grin, “is a few yards of blue and red and yellow ribbon.”

  Cherry was the only camper who did not smile. Curious, she thought, that Mac Cook should avoid Purdy all along and now suggest that Purdy come to Blue Water. It didn’t make sense.

  She wished she knew more about Mac Cook. Who was he, really? What was he doing around here? Cherry urgently wanted to know.

  With a lull at the infirmary, and a sweeping view of the camp and road, Cherry could watch what went on. Dr. Lowell had suggested that she take her paper work out on the porch. From there she saw a few unfamiliar cars drive into camp. This was the first week end parents were permitted to visit their children, and several parents were arriving for a long week end. They would stay at inns in nearby towns.

  Since so many of the parents were expected, it had been decided to hold the picture exhibit this Saturday afternoon. Mr. Purdy had been invited to serve as judge. From the infirmary’s porch Cherry saw girls from various cabins, and from the sketch group, carefully carry their pictures into the Playhouse. When Cherry looked in there at lunch hour, Mac was tacking them up on the walls. He seemed preoccupied and serious.

  “The pictures look
fine,” Cherry said.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Mac said, startled. “Yes, they do. The contest’s from three to four today. They’re going to serve lemonade afterward.”

  “Wish I could come,” said Cherry, “but I’m on duty this afternoon. I’ll watch from the hill.”

  He gave her a sharp look, took his hammer, and walked away without a word. Again, Cherry felt vaguely disturbed. She turned to the pictures. The pencil drawings of trees and hills were surprisingly good, and the snapshots made a vivid record of Blue Water life.

  During the afternoon Cherry saw a short figure, shuffling along in rope sandals and crowned with a beret, walk into camp. It was Mr. Purdy. Cherry saw the photographer and the Wrights and some of the parents and children congregate around the Main House, then stroll over to the Playhouse. The exhibit was officially under way. A dozen other campers sacrificed their swim to attend.

  The infirmary telephone rang. Jan Lowell answered, then said, “No, not up here. But I’ll ask Cherry if she has.” Jan came to the porch door. “Have you seen Mac Cook around?”

  “Not since noon,” Cherry said. “Why?”

  “Bob Wright has had old Tom looking for Mac since two o’clock. Can’t find him. Well, never mind.” Jan went indoors again and Cherry returned to her records work with a divided mind.

  So Mac was not at the Playhouse. Keeping out of Purdy’s way? He’d ducked from Purdy once before. Cherry knew Mac was supposed to be at work this afternoon. He certainly was keeping himself well hidden. Or—it was possible—Mac might have slipped out of camp via some roundabout, out-of-sight path. Below her, Cherry saw all the camp vehicles parked around the Main House. That meant Mac had not driven anywhere on an errand. Where was he?

  Mac did not turn up until suppertime, long after Purdy had left. Mac wore an innocent air, and his eyes widened when several people, leaving the Mess Hall, asked him where he’d been. Cherry was with them.

  “Why, I was cleaning out the tool shed,” Mac declared. “Go and see how good it looks now! Well, I can’t help it if Tom didn’t look for me there.”