by Beth Goobie
“It’s dirty and it’s a lie,” said one of the girls.
Roberta hesitated. “I’m sorry Nat made you feel bad. She was really scared that you’d tell on Erin. Erin’s ... the best counselor I ever had. She’s just the best. And she’s in love. Haven’t you ever been in love? Mad-crazy for someone? I can tell you how it feels—like the grass, sky and air are whispering and touching each other. You’re so happy, you can hardly breathe. Everything’s soft and warm, and you want to lie down and roll like a kaleidoscope, so everything mixes together and your whole body’s spinning while you think about the one you love.” Roberta’s voice wobbled, but she kept going. “That’s what Erin’s feeling. She spends all day and evening trying to ignore it and be the best counselor in the world for you and me, so I think we can let her have an hour with her boyfriend while we’re asleep.”
The three girls continued to lie in silence, their backs to her. “Well?” Roberta asked uncertainly, wiping her eyes. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“Will you make Nat and Sherry promise not to lie about us?” came a muffled voice. Roberta wasn’t the only one crying.
“I’ll talk to them,” Roberta said quickly. “They were just scared. Honest.”
“They’re mean,” said another voice.
“I won’t tell on Erin,” said the third.
“You won’t?” Roberta swung the flashlight at her. The girl rolled over and blinked in the light. It was Lesley. She shook her head.
“No matter what,” she said. “I promise.”
“What about you, Patty?” Roberta aimed the flashlight at another girl.
“All right,” came her reluctant voice.
“No matter what?” Roberta probed.
“No matter what,” Patty sighed.
“Joanne?” Roberta lit up the third girl.
“I’ll think about it.”
Roberta knew she had won. A smile flooded her face and she jumped several times, bouncing light all over the cabin. “Oh, I love you guys. Thank you, thank you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Adrien sagged against the side of the cabin. No matter what. Roberta, Sherry, Nat, Cath, Debbie, Lesley, Patty and Joanne—chance had thrown these eight girls together with Erin Wood twenty years ago, and five of them had died. If the three girls had talked, the five would be alive today, but they had all believed in love. Love was the most precious thing. It brought the body alive—she could feel it now, just as Roberta had described it, a kaleidoscope that rolled and whispered and hummed in her skin.
There were too many questions without answers. Adrien was so tired, she could hardly hold up her head. Returning to the cabin, she was about to crawl into bed when she encountered two strange pillows. Without another thought, she turned toward Darcie’s bed, burrowed into the smell of her own pillow and fell deeply asleep.
She woke, surrounded by the sleeping of girls. Their breathing was deep and even, placid as the lake when the air was still. Emerald light streamed through the window above Darcie’s bed, shifting with slow leaves. Everything floated on a deep calm.
She was still wearing her clothes and realized she hadn’t woken when the others came in last night. They must have tiptoed down the hall, then crawled quietly over the mattresses on the floor so they wouldn’t wake her. Adrien drifted with these thoughts, turning and slipping through them like a skinny dipper. This was what it felt like when people cared about you—the air and water, earth and sky belonged to you; there was no difference between walking, swimming or flying; everywhere you went you were home.
Darcie’s eyes opened.
“Morning, Spart,” whispered Adrien.
“So you didn’t die during the night?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t shit your pants?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Did Connor come in last night?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“I guess that’s what matters.” She sat up and stretched. “I slept all night. I feel like a new woman.”
“Thanks for not waking me up.”
Darcie leaned against the wall and smiled. “You were hogging the bed, but you looked like an angel sleeping there, so I decided not to bug you.”
The nine-year-old squirt who had lost her boombox to Aunt Erin’s rules was wearing a red Camp Lakeshore T-shirt. Adrien smiled as she watched the small girl stand in silent adoration next to Aunt Erin, who was dressed in a blue Camp Lakeshore T-shirt. Above their heads, the flag rose into the wind, rippling its brilliant red and white, and early-morning voices croaked into “O Canada,” gradually gaining strength. Another day at Camp Lakeshore had begun.
Breakfast was pancakes and bacon. Adrien was absolutely positive she had never been this hungry. Her first plateful dove down her throat, and she joined the line for seconds. When she returned to the table, Aunt Erin was sitting in her seat, face drawn and tired, talking to Guy.
“Not feeling well. Going to lie down. Maurice is at Ranch Camp for the day. Take over for me, would you?”
“Sure, Erin.” Guy nodded quietly. “I know the schedule. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I’ll handle the office,” Gwen added quickly.
As Aunt Erin stood, she noticed Adrien next to her, holding a plate heaped with pancakes. A faint smile lit her eyes and she placed a hand briefly on her niece’s shoulder. Then she walked out.
“You were right,” Gwen said to Guy. “Lucky you memorized the schedule yesterday.”
“Right about what?” asked Adrien, sitting down.
“First week of camp,” Guy said easily. “Erin gets over-stressed about mid-week. Then she’s over it and the rest of the summer goes fine.”
Adrien didn’t buy it. Professional camp staff stressed out in mid-August, not the third day of July. She was no longer hungry and pushed her plate away. “Is she going to a doctor?”
“She’ll lie down for the day. Tomorrow she’ll be fine.”
“After 1:37?”
Guy gave her a confused look and Adrien decided not to pursue it. “Never mind,” she said. “My blood vessels are weak today,” and she got up to shovel her plateful of food into the garbage.
Paul was early. She stood waiting outside the office as he coasted to a stop in front of her. Immediately, he leaned in for a kiss. She giggled with relief, and they managed several warm sloppy ones before a shrill whistle cut them off. They pulled apart to see Guy giving them a ferocious glare.
“Now there’ll be none of that while I’m in charge,” he declared. “No romantic fraternizing, none at all.”
“You’re in charge?” Paul grinned. “Get real.”
“For the day,” Guy said, swaggering. “And you, scum of the earth, are helping me put in supports for the Wishing Tree.”
“Aunt Erin’s sick,” explained Adrien.
Paul’s face went quiet and he disappeared into his thoughts. “I’ll lock my bike,” he said, turning away.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Adrien cried in frustration, looking at Guy. She knew Paul wouldn’t tell her anything, but Guy’s face also closed.
“It’s your aunt’s business,” he said, heading off to meet with the maintenance crew.
By mid-morning, the sky had clouded over and a wind picked up. Children still wanted their Mars Bars and Nibs, but she also sold a few sweatshirts. At her fifteen-minute break she headed to the kitchen. Maybe the hairnets would give her some answers.
They were frenetically busy, running from boiling pots to hot ovens to countertops, all the while maintaining a constant barrage of non-English. “Excuse me,” Adrien bellowed from the doorway.
The hairnets turned en masse and smiled. “It’s Adrien!” one of them exclaimed. “The girl who wants to grow up to be a cook.”
“Become a lawyer,” said another. “Better pay.”
“Better shoes,” said the third. “Oh, my aching feet.”
“Could I ask you a question?” asked
Adrien.
“Sure, sure,” they chorused and waited.
“What language are you speaking when it’s not English?”
They looked at each other, surprised. “Ukrainian, dear,” said the nearest one.
“How d’you say please in Ukrainian?”
Now they looked dumbfounded.
“Proshoo,” one said quickly.
“No, no, no,” said another. “Say it slower or she’ll never remember. My son forgets every day and I’ve been telling him for years. Proshoo, dear,” she enunciated clearly.
“Proshoo,” repeated Adrien.
“She has it!” they exclaimed simultaneously.
“Could someone proshoo tell me what’s going on with my aunt?” asked Adrien.
The hairnets broke into a volley of Ukrainian, shaking their heads at each other, then turned back to their pots. Adrien knew the signs. There was no point in pushing this one any further.
“Well, could you tell me when Paul Marchand’s birthday is, proshoo?” she asked loudly.
The smiles came back. “We’ve ordered the cake. Such a nice cake. Sixteen candles. He’ll need a big kiss, proshoo.”
Adrien flushed but held their eyes determinedly. “What day, exactly?”
“It’s a secret,” they grinned. “Practice that pucker. Make it good for him.”
It was tough to keep smiling for the seven-year-olds, even Tamai’s group. Fortunately no one noticed her mood, even Aunt Erin’s fan-for-life, who came through at 10:50.
“I see you’re wearing a very ugly T-shirt today,” Adrien said, placing the requested Caramilk bar on the counter.
“It’s not so bad,” conceded the girl, pulling it out from her chest and assessing it.
“Looks better upside down?”
The girl flashed her a grin.
“You’re doing great with the flag,” Adrien told her.
The girl took the Caramilk bar and stood a moment, smiling at her. “I like it here.”
“Me too,” said Adrien.
Darcie appeared behind the girl, waving something. “I got mail!”
“How come you’re not at the range?”
“It’s raining. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Just spitting. Robin Hood wouldn’t let a few drops of water get him down.”
“Robin Hood didn’t have to teach archery to giggling eleven-year-old girls,” scowled Darcie. She hung around as two more cabins came through, then helped close the store for lunch. Adrien carried the till into the office, her roommate at her heels. “Now, finally,” said Darcie. “I can show you.” She pulled a stack of photos out of a mail-order envelope. “Remember that picture I took of you and your aunt last week? I had two copies made. Here’s yours.”
Setting down the till, Adrien gave the photograph a casual glance and her mouth dropped. Darcie had captured them standing on the porch, leaning over the rail and looking down into the camera. Both seemed caught off guard, between expressions, somewhere within themselves. Except for differences in age and hair color, they could have been the same person.
Darcie laughed and elbowed her. “You’re as gorgeous as she is, Grouch. Didn’t you ever notice?”
Gwen got up from her desk and leaned over Adrien’s shoulder, nodding without surprise. “Like mother and daughter, aren’t they?”
“Sisters,” said Darcie. “I’ll get another copy made for your aunt.”
“Make it for me,” Adrien said suddenly. “I’ll take her this one.”
Gwen put an arm around her. “My guess is she’d like it today.”
“That’s what I thought,” Adrien said.
Gwen’s eyes were thoughtful. “How about now, Grouch?”
Adrien paused at the top of the stairs to the master cabin, pressed her forehead against the screen door and listened to the muffled crying that came from inside. She was about to step into the eye of the storm that whirled around everyone at this camp, the invisible mysterious storm no one would acknowledge. Without knocking, she opened the door and entered. The crying came from the bedroom, where her aunt lay on the bed, her face shoved into a pillow to keep herself quiet, her body moving in waves of grief.
“Aunt Erin?”
Her aunt lifted a startled face and stared at Adrien as if she didn’t recognize her. Her cheeks were blotchy, her eyes swollen. She reached for a box of Kleenex and blew her nose, then lay down again, burying her face in the pillow. Adrien stepped into the silence, walked to the bed and sat down.
“I brought you something.” She laid the photograph next to the pillow. “Please look.”
Slowly her aunt turned and saw the picture. She picked it up and held it close to her face. “That’s amazing,” she whispered.
“I like looking like you,” Adrien said.
Her aunt’s eyes faltered.
“I like being like you,” Adrien added.
Her aunt gave a short wry laugh. “True, isn’t it? Two peas in a pod.”
“The pod’s okay too.”
Her aunt sighed. “Haven’t been a good aunt. It’s just this week. Things’ll get better. Take you out for supper next week, just the two of us.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll put this picture on my wall,” her aunt added. “Next to my desk.”
“Please put the other one away,” Adrien said quietly. “In a photo album, where it belongs.”
Her aunt breathed in sharply, then pulled the picture of the eight girls from under her pillow and laid it between them. The air pulsed with the unspoken.
“They look like they were very happy,” said Adrien. “These five.” She touched their faces gently. “They look happier than most people ever get to be. So do you.”
“Yes,” her aunt said faintly.
Adrien knew she had to respect her aunt’s wall of silence. “Well, I think they loved you very much. They wouldn’t want you to be unhappy, like you are now.”
Her aunt lay without speaking, looking at the two photographs.
“Neither do I,” added Adrien.
A few tears slid down her aunt’s cheek.
“Can I bring you some lunch?”
“I’m not hungry,” said her aunt.
“Yes, you are,” said Adrien. “I’m going to get you some lunch right now.”
She left the room quickly, took the outside steps in one jump and hit the ground running. Minutes later, she returned with a plate piled high with macaroni and coleslaw. “Drink the milk,” she said, setting a full glass on the night table. “Good for you.”
Her aunt sat up. “Never forget a word I say, do you?”
“No.”
Her aunt smiled faintly. “Have to watch my step.” She reached for the fork and began to eat. “I am hungry.”
“You eat every single bite,” Adrien said softly. “I love you, Erin Wood.”
The words hovered between them like insect wings, flickering in a gold-green downshaft of light. Then Adrien slipped out of her aunt’s startled stare and headed for the cabin’s front door, which stood wide open to the storm clouds building over the lake.
fourteen
When the whine of a chainsaw tore through the late afternoon, Adrien understood immediately. Ignoring a cabin of eleven-year-old boys who were arguing about the difference between Coke and Pepsi, she climbed over the Tuck’n Tack counter, pushed through their astonished faces and took off for the Wishing Tree. The rain had let up; she flew through the still-dripping trees unaware of the looks campers were giving her, of Tamai calling her name. The chainsaw whine cut deeper into her head, split her brain into a white grinding heat, and the screaming of wood filled her. She could feel the groan of a great gleaming spirit tilt, lean, begin its fall toward earth. With it went the wishes, the broken-hearted questing wishes, the whispering hearts. Filled with their falling, dizzy with it, Adrien burst into the clearing and spotted Guy bent over a fallen Wishing Tree. She launched herself. There was the long shock of bodies hitting ground, then the two of them struggling in the wet g
rass.
Abruptly, the metallic whine cut off. Paul leaned over them, holding the chainsaw. “Let her go, Guy.”
“Are you crazy? She went for me!” Guy had Adrien pinned and was staring down at her, his eyes bugging. “She’s totally lost her friggin’ mind!”
“You’re cutting down that tree because Aunt Erin’s sick,” Adrien yelled, still fighting. “She wouldn’t let you do it. That tree is sacred. You’re killing the wishes of children. You’re cutting down their hearts.”
Guy’s face changed. “Grouch,” he said into her face. “Listen to me, Grouch. Hey, Adrien!”
She stopped struggling.
“We’re cutting the fallen half,” Guy said dramatically. “Not the standing part. We’ve attached guide ropes, see? Take a look.”
Cautiously, she turned her head. Five yellow support ropes ran from the standing trunk into the ground.
“Can I let you up now, or are you still going to kill me?” asked Guy. Shamefaced, she nodded and he released her, groaning as he straightened. “Where’d you learn to tackle—the Roughriders? Geez, I wasn’t even cutting the damn thing. Why’d you go for me?”
“I saw you first.” Adrien was soaked and her body felt battered. Paul gave her a hand and she stood, hugging herself. “You can’t do anything to the fallen part,” she insisted, her teeth chattering. “It’s not dead yet.”
“It will be soon.” Guy reached for the chainsaw.
“No!” Adrien yelled, stepping in front of him. “Its soul is still in there. You’ll murder it.”
“It can wait, Guy,” said Paul.
Guy looked from one of them to the other, shaking his head. “This has got to be one of the craziest moments of my sweet life,” he muttered. “All right, put some warning flags around it. You know where they are, Paul?”
“I’ll do it right away,” Paul promised. “I would’ve done this last week,” Guy said, “but Erin kept putting me off. She’s as crazy as you are.”
Giving Adrien one last incredulous look, he left. Adrien walked to the tree and knelt by the fallen half. Not much had been removed, a few branches. She put both hands on the charred bark, sent her wish deep inside and waited, but there was nothing. And then there was. A delicate tingling passed from the fallen trunk into her hands, up her arms and into her chest. She was filled with a shimmering emerald light, and singing was in the air.