In forty-five minutes they were all supposed to meet up with the other groups at camp for an informational meeting and welcome. Then it was offto dinner.
He took a deep breath. This was doable. Noah was the last of his kids to get his bag, one that was considerably more manageable than the others, and once he had it on his shoulder, Jeremiah signaled his troops to move out.
The kids fell into a straggly line behind him, groaning under the weight of their ponderous bags. He wondered if it would serve as an object lesson and would teach them to pack lighter in the future. Somehow he doubted it.
A ten-minute walk brought them to their cabin, which bore the proud sign Sequoia on it despite the fact that none of the trees near it were sequoias. Jeremiah shook his head and swung open the door and stepped inside.
The kids parted around him like a river and flowed into the cabin, jostling each other for the prized bunks. The cabin had five sets of bunk beds and most of the kids were trying to claim top bunks. Jeremiah let his backpack slide offhis shoulder into his hand and lobbed it across the room to the top bunk on the far wall. It landed in the middle of the bed just as three kids came to a screeching halt in front of it.
They turned and looked at him wide-eyed.
"Mine," he said.
Noah he noticed was the only one not fighting for a top bunk and the boy quietly put his bag on the bunk under Jeremiah's.When he saw Jeremiah staring at him he shrugged. "Some of these kids have never been to camp. I've been in the top bunk loads of times."
Jeremiah tried not to smile. Noah saw it as the others did, as a fun place to be, an honored place. He saw it as strategic defense. From that bunk in that spot he would be able to see everyone's faces as they slept without getting up. He would have a clear line of sight to the front door and the bathroom door and be beside the one window.
He looked at his watch. "All right, settle in. Use the restroom.We're moving out again in twenty minutes."
There were laughter and chatter as the boys did as instructed.He hopped up on his bunk and observed the proceedings with amusement. Jeremiah flipped open his cell. No service. At least he wouldn't have to contend with Marie calling every hour to check up.
Three minutes before it was time to head to the meeting hall he lined them up on the porch and checked them offmentally: Noah, Bobby, Stuart, Tray, Jared, Samuel, Ben, and the twins Micah and Malachi.
Then he faced them squarely. "Listen up, men, I expect this to be a weekend of learning, growth, exploration, and fun. The way to accomplish these things is to listen, to participate, and to follow orders. I expect you to do what I tell you to when I tell you, the first time with no talk back. Are we understood?"
"Understood," they all said.
He shook his head. "Are we understood?" He raised his voice, punching each word.
"Understood!" they shouted in unison.
"That's better. Now fall in after me."
He turned and marched them offtoward the meeting hall.The meeting hall, as it turned out, was one large room with an octagonal stage area at the bottom and stairs deep enough for three rows of chairs, each rising toward the back of the building. There were no chairs present, though, and he guessed those were reserved for adult retreats.
The kids instead sprawled on the floor. His own group threw themselves down, some on their stomachs, others sitting on the edge of the stair. Jeremiah crouched down to a perch on the edge of the stair next to Noah and watched as the other groups raced in and took up similar positions around the room.
He caught a couple of teenage girls giggling and waving at his guys and he felt his stomach clench. He hadn't thought about dealing with that aspect of camp.
After what felt like a long time every group seemed to be present. Someone wearing a T-shirt bearing the camp logo got up at the front with a microphone.
"Howdy, campers!"
"Howdy!"
"I'm Chuck and I'm going to be your master of ceremonies this weekend. So, welcome, and I just wanted to go over a few camp rules. First off. Lights out at 10 p.m. No exceptions."
There were groans all around though Jeremiah suspected that was later than some of the freshmen were allowed to stay up at home.
"Second. No girls in guys' cabins and vice versa."
More groans, mostly from the older kids.
"Third. Listen and follow the instructions of your counselors and camp coordinators. We are here for your safety."
"And the final rule, and it's a biggy. The Golden Rule.Which is what?"
Around him kids began to chant, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
"Absolutely. Now, who's ready to have fun!"
A deafening roar went up from hundreds of voices and Jeremiah wondered if he'd survive the trip with his hearing intact.
"So, for those of you who are new to Green Pastures, let me just give you a brief history. Twenty years ago the local churches and scouting organizations decided they needed a place in the wilderness that wasn't too far from home to send people to camps and retreats. They got together and they bought all this land up here and created Green Pastures.
"Now, everyone asks, why the name? It's taken from the Twenty-third Psalm. There an analogy is made between the Lord and a shepherd and his people and sheep. It is said that he makes us to lie down in green pastures. Now, for a sheep, this serves two purposes: one it is abundant, good food, and two, it is a soft and peaceful place to rest. In fact, sheep won't lie down if they aren't certain they can find food and if they are experiencing fear. So, green pastures represents that which brings you a sense of peace and well-being in your life. And here at Green Pastures, we hope to help you find that."
It was well said, and Jeremiah appreciated that. It filled him, though, with a sense of longing. He had never in his life had a green pasture in that way of thinking. His religion had always been a source of great comfort for him, but a sense of peace and well-being had never been his.
He looked around at his charges and wished that they might have the peace that he had never enjoyed. He believed they had a chance of achieving it, too, and he hoped that he might be a small part of that.
Cindy made it into the house and collapsed on her couch, shaking like a leaf. She had done it. She had confronted the lion in his lair. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
That thought drove her offthe couch and she triple-checked her door and windows to make sure everything was locked up tight. She thought about calling Geanie to come stay with her and lamented the lack of a roommate.
"What have I done?" she asked herself.
There was much hilarity as the kids made their beds, changed into pajamas, and got ready to go to sleep. Ben was showing offhis new flashlight, a silver metal one a foot long that looked almost too heavy for his arm when he tried to lift it. While the kids admired it he turned the light on, shining it on the ceiling.
"It looks cool, but it doesn't make any more light than mine," Tray said, flicking on a cheap, orange plastic one decorated with Halloween black cats.
Jeremiah smiled. Tray was right. Despite their physical differences and probably about thirty dollars in cost, they worked about the same. As the kids slid their flashlights under their pillows, he tried not to laugh. He hadn't even thought to bring his own flashlight, which he could disguise in his hand and was almost a hundred times more powerful than theirs. The camp, after all, had electricity, and for the short stints that they would be outside in the dark he could see well enough without one.
Jeremiah studied the schedule he had. They would be sharing meal times and some of the outdoor activities with the five other groups that were at the camp. They would, however, be having their own study, prayer, and worship times.Some of those the timing was necessitated by the Sabbath. His kids would miss out on a couple of fun-sounding activities on Saturday, but there was still more than enough to keep them entertained and stimulated. He had been working on some appropriate group reflections and lessons and he was beginning t
o think that the experience might even be good for him. He dealt very little with children and young adults and had missed the bar mitzvahs for all but two of the boys in the group.
Finally everyone had gone to the bathroom, some of them twice, and were settled down in their bunks. Jeremiah turned out the cabin light and then returned to his own bunk.
As soon as the lights went out the chattering turned to whispering as kids who went to different schools became acquainted or reacquainted and others shared in gossip or storytelling.
Jeremiah let the whispering go on for about an hour. At that point he spoke, startling them all. "Okay, now that we've all caught up, time to go to sleep. No more talking. We have a big day planned tomorrow and you're going to be hating life if you're tired."
There were a couple of groans but he was gratified that they did as told. He wasn't sure if it was because of the lecture he had given them earlier or because he was their rabbi and they were afraid to cross him just yet. Either way he prayed it would last. Once silence descended the breathing patterns around the cabin quickly changed as kids began to fall asleep. When the last one had, he allowed himself to relax.
It hadn't been a terrible day and he found himself actually starting to look forward to the next one. He allowed his mind to go blank as his muscles relaxed.
Jeremiah had just fallen asleep when he was jolted awake by whispers outside the window.
12
JEREMIAH SAT UP SWIFTLY, STRAINING TO LISTEN TO WHAT WAS BEING SAID.
"We have to do this fast and get out before we get caught."
"You think this is going to work?"
"He's in there asleep and this is our one shot at him. We have to take him out now."
"I don't like this."
"Too late to back out now."
He glanced around, looking for something he could use as a weapon. There was nothing in the cabin. He knew there was a fire extinguisher attached to the wall outside next to the door, but he needed something before he stepped foot outside.
He could feel the adrenaline beginning to take over as he slid offhis bunk and slid Ben's flashlight out from under the boy's pillow without waking him. Jeremiah hefted it in his hand.It could definitely bash in an enemy's skull. He also grabbed Tray's small, orange plastic flashlight. Then he paused near the door, listening. Normally he wouldn't go out the front door, but the movement he could hear outside seemed to be focusing itself around the window. Whoever it was, they weren't pros.
He crouched low to the ground and eased the door open a crack. He counted four different voices total. How many others might be present but silent? The smell of rain hung in the air.
He burst out of the door, hooking to his right. The moon shone weakly through the rain clouds, and it vaguely illuminated two figures standing close together, peering at something in the taller one's hands. The shorter one turned with a strangled cry as Jeremiah began to swing the heavy flashlight.
Something in the way he stood, though, seemed wrong.At the last second Jeremiah twisted his arm so the flashlight didn't find its mark. He switched on the small one and shone it full in the face of a scared-looking kid with freckles and red hair. The light fell on his companion as well, revealing two rolls of toilet paper in his hands. They both screamed in fright.Feet came pounding across the porch from the other direction as inside the cabin his kids were waking up.
He flashed the light on the newcomers and discovered that they, too, were kids carrying toilet paper. One of them also had a tube of toothpaste with the cap already off.
Lights flicked on inside his cabin and at several others nearby.
"I think you'd better explain yourselves," Jeremiah growled.
"She put us up to it!" one of the kids wailed.
"Who?"
"Ginger Weston. Stuart and she broke up and she wanted to get back at him before he did anything."
"And what was your plan?"
"We were going to TP the cabin and write some stuffon the windows with the toothpaste," another boy admitted.
Jeremiah could see two other counselors jogging toward them. His kids had clustered in the doorway and were talking excitedly.
"What's going on?" the first counselor to arrive asked.
Wildman ran up right behind him. "Jimmy, Kyle, what are you doing here?"
Two of the boys squirmed under his stare.
"Brad, Wes, I think you need to explain," the other counselor added.
"Cabin raid," Jeremiah said, beginning to shake as the adrenaline left his body.
The other counselor groaned and shot a weary glance to the youth pastor. "Great, and it's only the first night."
"Okay, you boys come with me and we'll get this sorted out," Wildman said. "If we stand out here any longer the whole camp will be awake."
Wildman, the other counselor, and the four boys trooped offthe porch. Wildman shot a glance over his shoulder at Jeremiah. "Nice catch, by the way."
"Thanks," Jeremiah said, tightening his grip on the heavier flashlight even more. If the pastor had even suspected that he had almost killed one of the kids, he would be horrified.
Jeremiah took a deep breath and turned around to see nine kids staring at him wide-eyed.
"Back inside," he ordered.
They scurried to do as they were told and were all sitting on their bunks when he walked in. He gave Ben and Tray back their flashlights and then addressed the kids.
"No retaliations."
Disappointed whines greeted him and he put up a hand to silence them. "At this point anything you do will only serve to make things worse and escalate the problem until somebody gets hurt."
"You're just saying that because you're a rabbi," Stuart accused.
"No, I'm saying that because I've seen things like this before.Sooner or later pranks get out of hand. Back to bed."
There was more groaning but they did as he asked.
After they had all settled Jeremiah returned to his own bunk and wondered just how long it was going to take for him to fall asleep.
The rain that he had smelled in the air began to fall and the sound soothed him. If they could just sleep undisturbed through the rest of the night everything might be okay.
The rain picked up in intensity and he allowed his muscles to relax. It was always a pleasant feeling to be dry and sheltered when it rained.
Cindy dozed fitfully on the couch, too afraid to go to bed.She should have called someone to come be with her. Hours passed and nothing happened. She could hear the sighing of the wind outside. She went over and over what had happened in her mind. If Max was the killer then she was dead. But if he wasn't the killer, what then?
It was after two when she heard something scratch at the glass at one of the kitchen windows. She bolted upright, heart in her throat.
"It's just the wind," she whispered to herself. "The wind pushing a twig from one of the plants. That's all."
Then it came again, louder, and it took all her strength to keep from screaming. She pulled her cell out of her pocket, ready to make a call.
The scratching stopped and she waited. Then there was a crash on her front porch and the scratching began again on the front door.
Terrified she hit Mark's speed dial number.
"What is it?" Mark asked moments later, sounding like he was talking in his sleep.
"Someone's outside my house!" Cindy squeaked.
"Cindy? Hang up and call 911. I'll be right there."
She did as she was told, hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone twice.
When the operator answered, Cindy blurted out, "Someone's trying to break into my house."
The operator asked her a question, but all Cindy could hear was a sudden, heavy pounding on her door. She jumped, screaming, and dropped the phone. It hit her foot, bounced off, and slid underneath the sofa.
"Who is it?" she shrieked.
"Let me in!" a man bellowed.
She screamed again and ran toward the hallway, but stopped halfway dow
n. There was something about the voice that hadn't sounded quite right. It sounded loud and angry but something else as well.
"Open up!"
Drunk. Whoever was out there was drunk. She hesitantly walked back into the living room. In her experience most psycho killers didn't announce themselves to the entire world by showing up drunk on your front porch.
"Who is it?" she asked, feeling like an idiot.
"Max. Open up, I need to talk to you."
What if it was a trap? What if someone else was sneaking around the back of her house and was breaking in? What if while she was busy talking to Max someone killed her?
"Max, you're drunk and I don't want to talk to you."
"I guarantee that you do," he said.
Even drunk he managed to sound arrogant and domineering.
"What do you want, Max?"
In the distance she could hear sirens. Emboldened she moved closer to the door.
"I want to confess my sins."
"I'm not a priest," she said.
"No, but you're going to want to hear it nonetheless."
He was getting tired, she could hear it in his voice. She bit her lip. The police were coming, including Mark.
"Tell me."
"Not until you let me in."
She turned on the porch light and looked out through the peephole. Max was standing there, swaying, holding on to the doorframe for support. She couldn't see anyone else around.Every fiber of her being told her to wait for the police.
Hurry, a voice seemed to whisper inside her mind, one she was slowly learning to trust.
She opened the door and stood aside. He staggered in and she slammed and locked it after him, praying that she was keeping danger out and not locking herself in with it.
"Happy St. Patrick's Day!" he roared.
It was after midnight so he was correct. And what St.Patrick's Day would be complete without someone getting completely drunk and making an idiot of himself?
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