Summer Camp Adventure

by Marsha Hubler

  Skye set her Stetson tightly down on her forehead. “When you’re ready to put those reins in one hand, then we’ll walk around the corral.”

  Jonathan sat, arms folded, smile replaced by a pout.

  Folding her arms, Skye matched Jonathan’s pout with her own. She stood there a full five minutes before Jonathan gave in.

  The contest of wills finally over, Jonathan grabbed the knot of the reins with one hand and promptly stuck out his tongue.

  “Now we’ll go around one time,” Skye signed. “Then we’ll turn the other way and go around again. Ease up on the reins. And don’t kick him in the belly! We’re just going to walk slowly. Okay?”

  Jonathan’s look of disgust barely allowed a skimpy nod.

  Skye led the way, firmly holding Buddy’s bridle as they went around the corral.

  “Looks good, Skye!” Tim yelled as he walked his team on the other side of the corral. “You must be doing somethin’ right!”

  “I sure hope so!” Skye said. “This kid is too much.”

  Skye and her team completed one large circle. Stopping Buddy, she turned toward the boy. Jonathan had the look of a cardboard cowpoke, one hand on the reins, the other hand stuffed in his jeans pocket.

  “Relax, Jonathan,” Skye signed. “If you know how to ride, you also know the horse can sense when you’re nervous.”

  “This is too different. I don’t like it.”

  “It will take time, but you’ll learn. I’ll help you. Now we’re gonna go around one more time. Ready? Here we go.”

  They pivoted and started in the opposite direction. As Skye led her team around the corner, Tim yelled from the other side of the corral, “Don’t look now, Annie, but your rider has kicked into an English mode.”

  Skye stopped Buddy abruptly and spun toward the boy. Like a starched shirt, Jonathan sat with both hands on the reins and his tongue out at Skye.

  “Jonathan! That’s not the way I showed you!” she signed fiercely and then reached for the reins.

  Before Skye knew what had happened, Jonathan yanked the reins, spinning Buddy around and knocking Skye flat on her back. The boy leaned forward in the saddle and kicked his heels sharply into Buddy’s ribs. The horse let out a loud whinny, reared up, and in a flash, raced full speed ahead toward the barn.

  “Jonathan!” Skye screamed as she scrambled to her feet. “Come back here!”

  chapter five

  Mr. Wheaten! Stop him!” Skye screamed at the top of her lungs. Leading his team around the corner, Mr. Wheaten heard Skye and looked up to see Buddy tearing across the center of the corral like a racehorse heading for his “finish line.”

  “Stop him, somebody!” Skye started to run after Jonathan. If Buddy runs into the barn, Jonathan will wipe out on that door frame.

  Mr. Wheaten stood firm, not taking so much as one step forward. He grabbed a whistle hanging around his neck and blew it in two short spurts. Tweet-tweet-tweet! Tweet-tweet-tweet!

  “What’s he doing?” Skye yelled, racing after the horse.

  At the sound of the whistle, Buddy’s ears perked forward. Immediately, he took a sharp turn, slowed to a trot, and shuffled into a lazy walk. As though led by some phantom cowboy, the horse strolled right to the corral fence and placed his chin on the top railing. There he stood, his belly puffing and the rest of him planning to go no farther until Mr. Wheaten said so. As hard as Jonathan tried to turn him, the horse would not move.

  That’s right! Skye remembered. These horses have been trained in a special way!

  She charged toward Buddy and grabbed his bridle, her desperate breaths equal to his. Her face flushed hot, and sweat oozed out all over her body, more from frazzled nerves and embarrassment than from the summer sun. Worse than that, her temper boiled like a cauldron. She was ready to rip this Jonathan kid to shreds.

  You little monster! Skye fumed, staring daggers at the boy.

  Jonathan relaxed back into the saddle, both hands on the reins, with a new Cheshire grin plastered all over his smug face. Already Skye knew that could mean only one thing: “I won. Ha-ha!”

  “Your lesson is over!” Skye signed. There was no doubt that her hands meant business!

  Picnic and field day at Camp Oneega!

  Skye looked up at the clear blue canopy and filled her lungs with fresh mountain air. A perfect day for food, fun, and games! Thank you, God, she said silently, blocking out her disastrous morning with Jonathan. At the end of an asphalt track on a large grass field, she stood holding a black-and-white-checkered flag. Mr. Wheaten prepared to blow his whistle at the starting line to send eight wheelchair racers on their way. The excitement of the competition charged through the air like lightning.

  Skye glanced at the opposite sides of the field. Two sets of bleachers hosted a cheering audience of campers and workers. Dotting the crowd were dozens of balloons, one occasionally floating away on a fickle breeze. On the field around Skye, children wearing helmets were participating in the Camp Oneega Olympics, trying their best to win a gold medal.

  At one station, two teams of blind children stood in circles, handing footballs around and laughing, racing against the clock. Skye spotted Chad refereeing two other teams trying to push a gigantic inflated ball past their own goal markers at opposite ends of a grass court. They look like ants trying to push a red gumball, Skye mused.

  At another station, she saw Morgan supervising a line of children waiting to throw beanbags through the mouth of a painted clown board. Two staff clowns were handing out candy, their antics drawing hearty laughs from all those around. Skye’s attention was drawn to a spot where Linda was helping bowlers roll black plastic balls at rainbow-colored pins. Frequent cheers and bursts of applause rippled over the action, reminding Skye of football games back home at Madison High.

  Late in the afternoon, the fun migrated to a picnic area next to Lake Oneega. Under a cluster of maple trees, the kitchen staff had already set up an assembly line of picnic food.

  Skye helped her cabin girls go through the food line. From the cooks’ side of the table where Linda was busy placing hot dogs on paper plates, Chad yelled, “Hey, Skye, could you help me out?” He promptly shoved half a hot dog into his mouth.

  Skye couldn’t help staring in awe at Chad’s looks. His sky-blue camp shirt highlighted his blond hair, his long curly lashes lending a twinkle to his gorgeous brown eyes. Skye’s heart did a funny flip, and she felt her face grow hotter than it already was from the summer sun. Then she remembered Linda.

  “I’m busy!” she snapped as though her arm had absorbed a good hard pinch.

  “Aw, come on, Skye,” Chad begged. “Jonathan needs a chaperone, but Tim’s giving paddleboat rides on the lake, and you can see Linda’s busy. I need somebody who can sign, and I don’t see Mrs. Wheaten anywhere. How ‘bout it? The other workers will cover for you here.”

  Skye watched Chad intensely. His dimples deepened as he proceeded to gobble down the second half of his hot dog. Then he smiled. Despite her flipping heart, Skye’s temper flared, and the sense of duty she had brought to camp floated away into the cloudless sky like a rebel balloon.

  No—because of you. No—because of Linda. And no—because of Jonathan! hung on the edge of her tongue, the vicious words ready to blurt out and ruin a perfectly good day. Then, like a wisp of cool mountain air, Morgan’s earlier advice brought Skye’s common sense back down to earth. Focus! echoed in her mind. We’re here to serve the Lord!

  Get with it! Skye lectured herself. This is business. I have a job to do. “Oh, all right!” she finally said, her feelings buried behind a half-sincere smile. With her hands on her hips, she turned and searched for a peanut of a boy she knew brought only big-time trouble.

  Skye searched in the tree shadows hosting the tables of guests. Looking for a tiny boy with a big helmet, she studied the face of every camper. Jonathan was nowhere to be found. “Chad, where is he?” she asked, a hint of panic in her voice.

  “Down there under that big maple right ne
ar the gate at the dock. He’s sitting on the ground with his plate on his lap. Hey, it looks like he’s sharin’ his supper with one of Camp Oneega’ resident rodents.”

  Skye’s glance shifted to the shade of a monstrous maple tree near the lake’s edge. Sitting against the tree, Jonathan gulped down a hot dog and threw scraps to an eager squirrel.

  “He’s all alone,” Skye whispered, and the hard truth of being deaf hit her right between the eyes.

  “What was that, Skye?” Chad asked.

  “Jonathan can’t talk to any other campers, and they can’t talk to him,” Skye whispered again.

  Suddenly, her heart felt a strange tug—a tug so different, yet not so different, from her heart’s response to those she loved, to the Chambers family, Morgan, Chad, or even her wonderful horse. Like a cement block, a weight pushed on Skye’s chest, and her heart felt like it was going to pop out her back. All at once, with no explanation, she cared. More than she thought she ever could. God, she prayed, help me to love this poor little kid.

  Grabbing her food, Skye quickly made her way to the lake. Creeping toward the tree, she tried not to scare the squirrel, but it scampered away.

  Jonathan looked up, displayed an unmistakable scowl, and went back to his plate. Pretending Skye wasn’t even there, he busied himself by scattering scraps all over the ground. With the blue helmet resting nearby, the boy’s hair had curled into tight, wet ringlets, and his cheeks were fiery red from the hot day.

  Kneeling in front of him, Skye tapped Jonathan on his sneaker. He yanked his legs into a fold and focused on his plate. He gobbled down one last big chunk of hot dog smothered in ketchup, mustard, and onions.

  Casually, Skye sat with her legs crossed and gently tapped Jonathan’s knee.

  With a pout that said loud and clear in any language, “Do not disturb,” he glared at the unwelcome guest.

  Skye put her plate down and gave Jonathan a warm, sincere smile. “I’m sorry for being angry with you this morning,” she signed.

  Jonathan took a long, deliberate drink of his soda, his dark brown eyes staring—far beyond Skye and her smile.

  “Can we be friends again?” Her next breath on pause, Skye waited for Jonathan’s response.

  One more sip, and Jonathan focused on Skye.

  “I really like you,” Skye signed. “And I want to be your friend.”

  Jonathan sat still, not one muscle moving in his entire body. His pout said it all. But slowly his face started to betray his thoughts. He did something that few had the pleasure to see. His lips broke into a hint of a surrendering smile. “Okay. Me too,” he signed, as though there had never been a debate about it. Grabbing his plate, he took great care picking up every tiny crumb, all of which found their way to his mouth. Again, he looked at Skye and, this time, gave her the benefit of his finest grin.

  Skye returned a smile then looked back for Chad. At the rows of tables, the rest of the campers were having the time of their lives. Enjoying one another, the food, and the perfect weather, they unintentionally displayed no concern for Jonathan Martin.

  Life goes on without the deaf boy, Skye thought.

  For the next half hour, Skye and Jonathan talked about their favorite things. At the top of the list were horses, motorcycles, and the best computer games ever.

  “Hey, Skye!” Mr. Wheaten’s voice boomed from the tables. “The picnic’s over! We’ll help get your kids back to the cabin for cleanup and then their art class. Would you please stay with Jonathan until Tim’s finished on the lake? He’ll be done in fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Wheaten!” Skye yelled back. “I’ll take Jonathan for a walk along the lake and wait for Tim to come ashore.”

  Skye stood and watched the other campers start to snail-trail their way from the picnic tables, across the field, and to their cabins. Jonathan stood, tucked his helmet under his arm, and started to walk away.

  Skye touched his shoulder. “No, you stay with me,” she signed. “We’re gonna walk around the lake and wait for Tim. Okay?”

  “Okay!” Jonathan’s radiant smile lit up his whole face.

  Skye picked up Jonathan’s plate, threw all the paper products into a can, and she and Jonathan headed off on a walkway that encircled the entire lake.

  “Hey, Tim!” Skye called to her co-worker out on a paddleboat with a camper. “How’s the water?”

  “Cool! Real cool!” Tim yelled back. “I’d rather be in it than on it! Who’ve ya got there with you?”

  “Your friend and mine! He’ll be waitin’ when you come ashore!”

  “Okay, Skye, see you in a few minutes!” Tim turned the paddleboat in another direction.

  Skye felt a gentle poke on her arm. Jonathan had her attention.

  “Can I ride that?” he signed. “That looks like fun.”

  “It’s too late now,” Skye signed. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Jonathan lowered his head and kicked at the ground, sending a puff of dirt and loose stones into the lake.

  Skye touched him on his arm, her face bubbling with a new thought. “I know what we can do! Let’s collect leaves, and later we can make a scrapbook.”

  Jonathan’s eyes brightened, his radiant smile returning. “Okay,” he signed. “Where do we start?”

  “Just look around. There are all kinds of trees along this path.”

  All around the lake, Skye pointed to an array of interesting trees. She named a maple, birch, scrub pine, beech, oak, elm, and several others she knew. She showed Jonathan how to carefully pinch off leaves from low-hanging branches. In a few excited, scrambling minutes, he had a small collection, ready to start his own scrapbook.

  “Let’s rest a minute,” Skye told Jonathan. She looked across the pond where Tim was parking the paddleboat at the dock. She turned back to Jonathan, ready to sign—

  But Jonathan was gone!

  “Where is he now?” Skye let out a frustrated sigh, then a spark of panic widened her eyes. Water—deep water—and woods—lots of woods! Frantic thoughts flooded her mind. He could be anywhere! In seconds!

  Cupping her hands over her eyes, Skye strained, searching the edge of the lake, reaching into the shadows of the nearby woods. She heard movement—off to the side, on a darkened path. She ran toward the sound, deeper into the woods that led her right to where she hoped Jonathan had gone. A few feet in front of her, the elusive boy stood, swinging a stick as long as his body at something up in a tree.

  “Jonathan, what are you doing?” Skye yelled, running toward him. Brown eyes flashing, Skye now saw what the boy was about to whack.

  Ahead on a sturdy oak branch hung a strange, gray object. Bigger than a football, it resembled a gigantic papier-mâché Christmas ornament. Skye knew this was trouble, big trouble, and terror filled her heart.

  Running toward Jonathan, she tried desperately to grab the stick from his swinging arms. “Jonathan! No!” she screamed, knowing he couldn’t hear. “Hornets!”

  chapter six

  The next morning, Skye and Jonathan showed up at breakfast with the “White Blotch Plague.” Polka dots of itch ointment covered their bodies, and Skye’s upper lip was swollen. Jonathan sat fidgeting and signing with Tim at their cabin’s table. Skye was busy answering a zillion questions about all her spots while she helped the Five Ferns kids get their food and sit down. Her attitude was anything but cheerful. Frankly, she was tired of all the pointing, giggles, and stupid jokes.

  “Have you seen Mr. Wheaten?” she asked Morgan. “I’m so frustrated with Jonathan—I’ve gotta talk to the boss.”

  Morgan wheeled to her place at the Five Ferns table. “Nope, haven’t seen him yet. Oh—there he is—coming in now.” She pointed toward the door.

  Starting toward Mr. Wheaten, Skye yelled back to Morgan, “Looks like all our kids have their act together. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay. We’re cool.”

  Skye weaved her way around several tables busy with clanging dishes and noisy chatter. Just as Mr. Wheate
n made his way to the breakfast line, Skye joined him.

  “Sir, could I please speak to you sometime today?” she asked.

  “Well, if it isn’t Annie Oakley with white freckles!” Mr. Wheaten let loose a hearty laugh. “I heard about your buzzin’ adventure down at the lake yesterday. What can I do for you, little lady?”

  Buzzin’ adventure—yeah, right! Skye flipped her pigtails back and scratched a white spot on her arm. “It’s good that Jonathan and I aren’t allergic to hornet stings. All we’re doing now is fighting off the itches. I really need to see you, if that’s okay.”

  “Why, sure, little lady.” Mr. Wheaten pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Let’s see. I’ve got a free half hour right after breakfast.” He glanced at his watch. “How about eight o’clock, or are you busy with an activity?”

  “Nope, I’m free then.”

  “Well, then, you just mosey on over to my office, and we’ll have a little chat.” Mr. Wheaten’s belly pushed his tray along the food line with hardly any help from his hands.

  “Thanks, Mr. Wheaten. I’ll be there.”

  At eight o’clock sharp, Skye showed up at Mr. Wheaten’s office in the registration building.

  “Come in, Annie!” Sitting behind the desk, Mr. Wheaten tipped his black Stetson at Skye. “And have yourself a seat.”

  Skye relaxed into a canvas lawn chair in front of a huge desk that looked like the outside of a log cabin. The room, paneled with barn boards, displayed plastic models of horses and steers on every flat surface. A file cabinet in one corner held a wooden lamp carved like a prancing horse. A pair of gigantic steer horns filled the wall space behind the desk. Underneath the horns was displayed a handsome framed document, which read:

  TEXAS LONGHORNS QUARTERBACK JUNIOR/SENIOR YEARS

  Mr. Wheaten’s desk looks like a disaster ready to happen, Skye thought. Files and papers littered the surface along with a phone, a baseball glove and ball, a cluster of empty Dr. Pepper soda cans, a stack of books with a Bible on top, and a shiny metal Texas longhorn paperweight. Skye found herself giggling at the chaotic display.