“What’s ticklin’ your funny bone, little lady?” Mr. Wheaten laughed, took off his hat, and tossed it up over his right shoulder. As though it knew right where to go, the hat landed perfectly on one of the horn tips. “It wouldn’t be any of my housekeepin’ skills now, would it?”
“I wish my mother could see this office,” Skye said, giggling. “Just give her about ten minutes, and she’d have this place looking like something in a home decorating magazine.”
Mr. Wheaten leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “Well, little lady, this room’s ready now for a magazine: Bad Housekeepin’!” He let loose another hearty chuckle, and then his face grew seri ous. “Now, what would you like to discuss with me?”
“Mr. Wheaten, I don’t know how to help Jonathan. He’s drivin’ me nuts,” Skye complained, flipping back her pigtails. “He says he likes me, but as soon as my back is turned, he does something stupid that gets him in trouble. He could get hurt—or he could hurt someone else—or Buddy!”
The man folded his arms and relaxed into his chair. “Annie, I told you when you first came that he’d be a handful. Let me clue you in on a little secret. Jonathan is a very lonely hombre. There are no other deaf kids anywhere near where he lives. He has no brothers or sisters, and his father—well—let’s just say, his father has no time for his son. I think Mrs. Martin tries to make up for all that by giving Jonathan his own way. Even Christians have their problems.”
“Why did they send him here for the whole summer?”
“Well, it was mostly Mrs. Martin’s decision. Mr. Martin doesn’t seem to care one way or another what Jonathan does. But Jonathan’s mother was hoping that her son would get to know other deaf kids—or even hearing kids. From watching them, he would learn how to behave. She knows we have Bible classes and chapel services, two ways we can teach him the right way to act. It’s too bad there aren’t any other hearing-impaired campers here right now. But we’re expecting a few more in the next couple of weeks. That should help.”
Skye stared at the desk clutter, recalling the two disasters she had suffered with Jonathan already. “I don’t know what I can do to make him listen. He’s—he’s—impossible!”
“Nothing’s impossible with God, Annie. You have to be a little patient. Nonetheless, I can split your time with Tim and Linda if you want—”
“No—no—it’s not that! I want to help him! I studied sign language all winter long to help him. I just don’t know how!”
“All good things take time, Annie. You two haven’t even been here a full week. We have to remember that God performs his work in his own good time. Miracles do happen—and at Camp Oneega I’ve seen many a mir acle. Just let Christ’s love show through you, and don’t give up too soon. You may well be part of a miracle in this young man’s life.”
“Okay. I’ll keep praying and smiling—and signing. Maybe one of these times, Jonathan and I will connect. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, that’s all.”
“Love never fails, Annie.” Mr. Wheaten leaned forward on his desk. “Anything else, little lady?”
“Could we pray about this? Now?” Skye asked. “ I—”
R-r-r-ring!
Mr. Wheaten picked up the phone. “Bossman here!” he bellowed. “What can I do for you?”
Skye studied the man’s face, a deep concern sweeping over it like a flooding tide. “He did what? I’ll be right there,” Mr. Wheaten said. All in one quick motion, the man slammed the phone down and grabbed his hat. “C’mon, Skye. Looks like we’ve got big trouble—again!”
chapter seven
Skye and Mr. Wheaten hurried out of the office and headed toward the center of camp. Crossing the road, they hustled around the left side of the barn. Skye looked beyond a cluster of trees and small playground to the Olympic-size pool. The water, silent and smooth, glistened from the sun creeping up in a haze of summer blue. Hints of chlorine scented the air, its brazen odor teasing Skye’s nose.
“What did he do now?” Skye blurted out in frustration. “It’s only eight fifteen in the morning! Isn’t he supposed to be in a Bible class?”
“Linda just called me from the pool,” Mr. Wheaten said. “Somehow, Jonathan got it into his head that he wanted to go swimming—now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. And, somehow, he got out of his class without being seen. Linda was busy cleaning the pool and spotted him. When she tried to stop him from jump ing in—with his clothes on!—he pushed her in.”
Good riddance! “Is she okay?” Skye forced out.
“Yeah, she’s all right—just embarrassed. And when Tim got there, Jonathan had locked himself in the girls’ locker room.”
“Wait until he realizes where he is! I want to be there for that one!” Skye huffed at a fast pace to keep up with the man. “But why do you need me? Both Linda and Tim can sign.”
“Well, Tim should be on his way back to the class where his cabin kids are. You’ve spent more time with Jonathan than Linda has. If anyone can get through to him, it’ll be you.”
Linda stood waiting at the open gate of the chainlink fence that surrounded the pool. Her blond hair hung in long wet strands over her shoulders. Soaked from the surprise dunking, her terrycloth robe clung to her like wet paper. Her face was drenched with embarrassment. “He’s still in there!” She pointed to the locker room.
“You have a key for that, don’t you?” Mr. Wheaten rushed through the gate. Skye followed.
“Well, yeah,” Linda said, “but I was afraid he might club me with something.”
Oh, super chicken on top of everything else! Skye stared at her fiercely.
“Skye, I want you to go in for him.” Mr. Wheaten pulled a set of keys from his belt loop. He hurried to the locker room and stuck a key in the door.
“What if he won’t come out?” Skye asked, doubting the confidence Mr. Wheaten had placed in her.
“Just be patient,” Mr. Wheaten said, “and love him. He has to know that we do care for him in spite of his bad behavior.”
“Yeah,” Linda said, “and tell him I’m not mad at him for pushing me into the pool.”
Mr. Wheaten pulled open the heavy door. “Skye, I’ll give you five minutes. If he won’t come out, tell him I’m comin’ in.”
“Yeah.” Linda glanced at her watch. “Soon this place will be crawling with girls. We start lessons at eight thirty.”
Skye stepped inside, the powerful smell of disinfectant greeting her from the room’s early morning scrub. She studied every corner and bench in the large, hollow room. Not one trace of Jonathan—
Skerwoo-o-o-sh! From the bathroom at the far end, a loud flush broke the silence.
Maybe the poor kid’s sick, Skye thought and ran toward the noise.
Straight ahead in the adjoining room, a toilet flushed again from one of four special-needs stalls lining the back wall. However, no skinny legs stood in any of them.
Skerwoo-o-o-sh!
Okay, kid, where are you? Skye hurried toward the line of stalls, pulling open each door until she came to the third one. Locked!
She knelt down and then peeked under the stainlesssteel partition. Inside, Jonathan sat against the wall on the back of the toilet, knees bent, and feet propped on the seat.
Skerwoo-o-o-sh! With his elbow poking the button on the wall, he sent a bowl of water on its merry way. The boy’s eyes flashed at Skye, and his lips gave way to a nasty tongue followed by his same old mischievous grin.
Pulling out from under the partition, Skye maneuvered onto her back, and, again, slid under the wall. Flat on the floor, she raised her hands to sign. She peered at the boy with a smile as fake as her love for Linda. “What are you doing in here?” Her angry eyes said it long before her hands did.
“I’m watching the water go around. It’s fun.”
“Jonathan!” she signed with an exclamation point. “You should be in Bible class. Let’s go!”
“No! I wanna go swimming.”
“
Your cabin goes swimming at two o’clock. You need to leave.”
“No!”
Kaboom! Skye’s anger exploded and her face turned red hot. If I get my hands on you, you little—she fumed. Then she remembered why she was there, why she had volunteered her whole summer to work at Camp Oneega. To help kids. To help difficult kids. Just like she used to be. Yeah, I know, Lord. This kid needs help just like I did. Help me to help him.
Skye wiggled forward a few inches and then bent her legs completely into the stall. Propping herself against the door, she folded her arms, her brain calculating the next strategy in the latest Nicholson-Martin battle of the wills.
Skerwoo-o-o-sh! Jonathan poked the button, send ing more water down the tubes. He folded his arms and smiled, his face exuberant with “I’m winning!”
“Poke the button once for me, Jonathan, okay?” Skye signed. A stingy smile betrayed her intense frustration and then—“I know what’ll work!” she said to herself.
“Jonathan, you still have all your leaves, don’t you?” she signed.
“Yeah. They’re back at my cabin.”
Skerwoo-o-o-sh!
“Well, why do you want to sit in here on such a great day? The sun’s bright, you’ve got things to do, and after your swimming time, we can make that leaf scrapbook together. It’s no fun being in here by yourself, is it? Hey, this is the girls’ bathroom. Do you want to be in here when the girls come in?”
“What?” A look of horror swept over Jonathan as his eyes bulged and his ears turned bright red. Jumping up, his skinny legs straddled the toilet. “Girls’ bathroom? Get me outta here!” he signed and then reached over Skye’s body, threw open the latch, and charged out of the stall.
Skye scrambled to her feet and stopped the door from swinging shut. Jonathan tore through the locker room and ran outside like every girl in camp was after him. Skye started to giggle, but in seconds, her delight turned into one sidesplitting laugh. “Thanks, God,” she said. “I guess I said the magic word—‘girls.’ I don’t think Jonathan will ever pull this stunt again.”
chapter eight
It was the end of the first week, and Saturday morning arrived at Camp Oneega with a rush of cool mountain air and bright sunshine. A perfect day for a trail ride! Inside the corral, Skye wiped down her horse using a cloth drenched with bug repellent. Next to Champ, ten more horses stood at the fence, saddled and ready to go. Mr. Wheaten and Chad were busy making last-minute checks of all the gear and horses’ hooves.
“Chad, I’m glad you could go along since Tim’s baling hay today,” Mr. Wheaten said and then yelled to Skye, “And little lady, looks like you’re ready to go with that fancy western outfit on. You look more like Annie Oakley than she did!”
“Thanks!” Skye giggled and then glanced over her shoulder to the outside of the corral, where eight campers wearing helmets and jackets waited with their chaperones. “And it looks like they’re all ready too.”
Five children, all standing, squirmed as though they had ants marching up their legs. The others fidgeted in their wheelchairs. Several in the lineup blended loud grunts with laughter while their arms beat the air, their only way of expressing delight for this very special day. In the middle of the line stood one camper Skye knew only too well. I can’t believe Jonathan is going.
“Okay, Chad,” Mr. Wheaten said, glancing at his watch, “let’s get the kids mounted. I wanna hit the trail no later than nine o’clock. Skye, will you give the horses one last wipe-down with bug juice? And give yourself one, as well. This cool air helps, but I’m sure we’ll run into an army of nasty flies on our way. Get the horses’ ears and bellies real good.”
“Will do.” Skye’s glance followed Mr. Wheaten and Chad as they walked toward the gate. Despite a promise she had made to herself earlier, she stared holes through Chad.
Peering out from the shade of a dark brown Stetson, his brown eyes practically knocked her off her feet. Whoa! Skye’s heart thumped so loud she was sure Chad would hear it. No big deal. It’s only Chad—Linda’s Chad. Knock it off. But her heart thumped as though she had just done the trail ride, out and back, without a horse! Quickly her attention shifted to the task, and she trailed after Mr. Wheaten and Chad.
“Sir, one quick question,” Skye said.
He stopped and faced Skye. “What is it, Annie?”
“I see that Jonathan’s going with us. Are you sure that’s a good idea after—after all the trouble he’s caused this past week? I mean, he’s not exactly in the running for the ‘Camper of the Week’ trophy.”
“I put a lot of prayer into this one, little lady.” Mr. Wheaten shot a quick glance at Jonathan. “I decided to allow him to go for two reasons. One: I saw your last report stating that he finished the week’s riding lessons on pretty good terms with you and Buddy. Two: I think Jonathan needs to know that we don’t hold grudges. He already did lose a few privileges. I don’t want to take everything from him, or it’ll be an awfully long summer—for all of us.”
“So we’re gonna pray him up and down the mountain?” Skye’s voice displayed obvious disbelief.
Mr. Wheaten let loose a belly-bouncing laugh as he joined Chad outside the corral. “I guess you could put it that way. Besides, the horses are practically nose to tail all the way up to the secret campsite and back. What could the rascal do when he’ll be almost hog-tied in the middle of a horse parade?”
“What could he do?” Skye said. “Jonathan’s, like, the Master of Disaster. If there’s a way to cause a crisis, he’ll find it.”
“Skye, I sure hope you’re wrong,” Chad yelled over the railing.
Well, I certainly was wrong about you! Skye wanted to say as she retreated to horse debugging one more time.
In minutes, Chad and Mr. Wheaten had all the campers mounted on special high-back saddles, legs secured with Velcro straps. After Mr. Wheaten prayed, the trail ride began, eleven horses in a straight line.
The trail boss led the horse train out of the corral with Skye in the middle, directly in front of Jonathan so he could see her sign. Chad brought up the rear. The horses clip-clopped on the tarred road around the barn. They passed the pool already filled with campers splashing, screaming, and having a wonderful time.
“Hey, Linda!” Chad yelled to the blonde lifeguard.
“What’s happening, Chad honey?” she yelled back.
Sickening! Skye fumed.
Crossing at an intersection, the horses made their way down along the waterslide to the trail that snaked its way behind Lake Oneega and into a forest.
For the next hour, they ambled on a beaten path through alternating woods and open fields in the Shamokin State Park that joined Camp Oneega. The trail, wide enough for a four-wheeler, led them along a trickling brook through sweet-smelling pines.
Gently up the mountainside the trail weaved, leveling off into a forest as thick as bristles on a giant paintbrush. Every twenty minutes, Mr. Wheaten stopped, giving the horses a chance to sip from the gushing stream. He, Skye, and Chad checked saddle cinches, Velcro, and bridle straps.
“Last stop before reaching camp!” Mr. Wheaten yelled, mounting his horse one more time. “We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes! Let’s move ’em out!”
Skye signed to Jonathan and then glanced ahead. Like a brown ribbon, the trail crossed a wooden bridge a few dozen yards ahead and then lost itself in tower ing pines as it disappeared around a giant bluff. “Good boy, Champ,” Skye said, petting her horse’s neck. “You’re probably soakin’ this up as much as I am.”
Deeper into the ravine they went, and Skye found it impossible to sit still on Champ’s back. The beauty of God’s creation swept over her as though it were a flood of water itself. In every direction, the woods and its wonders greeted her.
Gentle breezes tickled the trees, quivering their branches and setting their leaves into a dance of joy. Moss-covered jagged rocks on each side of the trail oozed trickles of water, as though their assigned duty was to announce the next spectacul
ar display, Oneega Falls.
Skye took a deep breath, and the smell of “green” filled every part of her being. Her gaze darted to one side of the upcoming bridge, at water’s edge, where about a half-dozen tiny blue butterflies fluttered to the babbles of the rushing brook. The thunderous falls now over powered the air, blocking out all other sounds.
“Keep the horses close to one another over the bridge!” Mr. Wheaten yelled. “They’ll do better staring at a tail right in front of them than watching the water on both sides!”
“Keep Buddy close to Champ when we cross the bridge,” Skye signed to Jonathan.
“Listen, kids! Oneega Falls!” Mr. Wheaten yelled at the top of his lungs as the horses clip-clopped across the thick wooden planks. “Our secret campsite is just beyond that!”
“Oneega Falls is just ahead,” Skye signed to Jonathan. Too bad he can’t hear that amazing sound.
Across the bridge, the horses made their way around one last bluff. The trail widened into a flat area that led to a shoreline of stones and gravel. Straight ahead Oneega Falls roared, a majestic display of God’s beauty and power.
Lining up their horses, the riders sat gawking at nature’s water show half a football field away. Far above their heads, the falls flooded over a table of flat rocks arrayed on both sides by the greenest trees Skye had ever seen.
The water thundered as it crashed down over more layers of rocks, tumbling, tumbling, until it splashed onto large boulders level with the riders. There, billows of white foam faded into ripples that quickly smoothed into a serene pool as clear as glass.
A rainbow arched in a stream of sunlight. Off to one side the pool overflowed, forming the gushing stream that had found its way down the mountain to form Oneega Lake. Fed by the falls, a steady breeze and fine mist saturated the cool air around the riders, welcoming them to the secret and special place.
“Wow, God, you outdid yourself this time!” Skye said, her eyes feasting on the beauty before her.
Summer Camp Adventure Page 4