Summer Camp Adventure

by Marsha Hubler

  “And remember,” he said, his exhausted voice wavering, “start heading back here by eight o’clock. I don’t want anyone else lost in the woods. One is bad enough!”

  “Mr. Wheaten!” Skye heard his secretary yell from the doorway of the office across the street. “The Martins are here!”

  “Be right there!” he yelled back.

  “I’m certainly glad I am not Mr. Wheaten,” Skye said to Chad and Tim as they walked their horses. “How do you tell people that their son is lost in hundreds of acres of woods?”

  “That is a tough one,” Chad said. “There’s no easy way to say it. He sure needs our prayers right about now.”

  “Especially since it wasn’t his fault. I feel like it’s my fault all the way around. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with that kid. It’s my fault. I know it is.”

  “Skye, it’s nobody’s fault but Jonathan’s,” Tim said. “He just needs—well—he needs a lot of love and understanding, but he also has to learn that he can’t have his own way all the time. You were only trying to teach him what is right. Now don’t feel so bad.”

  “Skye and Tim!” Mr. Wheaten yelled as the fresh team started moving out. “Would you please come with me? You can explain Jonathan’s behavior over the last two weeks and what led up to his running away.”

  “Oh, no,” Skye said to Chad. “It looks like I am gonna find out what it’s like to be Mr. Wheaten.”

  “I think right now all he needs is some moral support,” Chad said. “Give me Champ. I’ll finish cooling him down. You’ll do fine.”

  “Thanks, Chad,” Skye said, handing him the reins. “I just can’t imagine what those parents must be going through.”

  Skye and Tim joined Mr. Wheaten, and the three headed toward the office. Mr. Wheaten walked at an obvious slow pace. He squared his hat, tugging it down as though he were in a slow-motion film. His tired face said it all. He dreaded the next few moments.

  For once, Skye found it easy to keep up with Mr. Wheaten’s stride. Was it because he walked so slowly or because her heart was pounding like a drum?

  What can we possibly say to make Jonathan’s par ents feel better? Skye pondered. Nothing, she concluded. Nothing at all.

  Inside, Mr. Wheaten made awkward introductions through a veil of fake smiles, and everyone sat in a semi circle in front of his desk. In no mood to flip his Stetson onto the horn, Mr. Wheaten dropped his hat on top of a pile of papers and flopped into his chair.

  Skye’s glance darted around the room, focusing at last on Mr. and Mrs. Martin. The woman’s puffy and blood shot eyes exuded pain from her round face, but the man’s thin frame and balding head were fixed in a demeanor of cool indifference. The obvious tension between the two chilled the whole room.

  Mr. Wheaten began. “Folks, I’m not going to start by making excuses. We’re just awfully sorry this happened. But I promise you, we will find him. We have a search team out there right now.”

  Tears trickled down from Mrs. Martin’s red eyes. “But how could this happen? Don’t your people watch these children all the time?”

  Mr. Wheaten pointed at Tim. “Tim was the last one to see Jonathan, last night.”

  Tim nodded at the Martins. “When lights went out at 10:00 p.m., Jonathan was in his bed. I made two more checks, at one and at four. He was in bed then too.”

  “We figure Jonathan must have slipped out around six, saddled his horse, and then took off before anyone saw him,” Mr. Wheaten said. “I assure you, this has never happened before. I’m sorry to have to say this, but Jonathan has not been very cooperative.”

  Skye crossed her legs and tried to relax, but her voice squeaked with stress. “I’ve been working with Jonathan for two weeks, and he just wouldn’t listen. Everything I tried to show him in the riding corral, he did the opposite.”

  “You’re telling me!” Mr. Martin said. “He won’t listen to a thing I say to him.”

  Mrs. Martin dabbed a tissue at her cheeks and looked straight ahead, almost away from her husband. “Maybe that’s because you don’t talk to him. You’ve never even learned sign language. How do you think that makes Jonathan feel?”

  “I don’t need to know sign language. You can do all that. I’m his father, and all I need to do is provide for the boy. And I have done that above and beyond the call of duty. He has everything a kid his age would want.”

  Mr. Wheaten leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. “Mr. Martin, your son is a troubled child, but not because he’s deaf. He needs you. He needs you to love and understand him.”

  “I do,” Mr. Martin said unconvincingly.

  Mrs. Martin turned and stared her husband square in the eye. “Oh, really? So you love and understand him? When’s the last time you took him on a trip—or to a park? You’ve never even taken him for an ice-cream cone. He’s your son too!”

  Mr. Martin’s face turned bright red. He pursed his lips, ready to lash out at his wife. Instead, he stood abruptly and walked around to the back of his chair, then leaned on it. “Maybe that’s because you never let him out of your sight,” he said sternly. “It’s a miracle you ever agreed to send him to school or away to this camp for the summer.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Martin—please!” Mr. Wheaten said. “Your child is lost out there in the woods. This is no time to be airing family differences. We all need to band together for Jonathan.”

  As Skye sat staring at these two people doing battle, her heart sank to the bottoms of her feet. Their son is missing, she thought as her eyes flooded with tears, and all they can do is fight? They could have so much more. I must tell them.

  “Mr. Wheaten”—Skye raised her finger—“could I please say something?”

  “Sure, little lady,” Mr. Wheaten said, sliding back into his chair and folding his arms. “Go right ahead.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Martin, it’s very clear that you’re not together at all on how to help Jonathan. I think that’s what’s bothering him. He can’t hear what you’re saying at home, but he sure can see your faces and how you act toward each other. He probably thinks it’s all his fault.”

  Mr. Martin’s face reddened again. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the back of his chair tighter. “Young lady, I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours.”

  “Oh, but Skye knows where she’s comin’ from,” Mr. Wheaten said. “She’s been through an awful lot in her thirteen years.”

  Tim leaned forward in his chair. “Yeah, I think she really knows how Jonathan feels.”

  “How can she know?” Mr. Martin said in a sarcastic tone. “She’s not deaf!”

  “No,” Skye said, “but I’ve been in at least a dozen foster homes, and I think I know where Jonathan’s coming from. Some foster parents gave me all kinds of things, but they never gave me the love I wanted—needed. In a few other foster homes, I just felt like I was in the way. All I wanted to do was run.”

  “But then she met Tom and Eileen Chambers, her foster parents now,” Mr. Wheaten said.

  “And I also met Christ,” Skye said, her teary eyes darting back and forth between the Martins. “When Mom and Dad Chambers shared the love of God with me, it changed me. I don’t want to run anymore. Have you shared the love of God with your son?”

  Silence.

  Tears trickled down Mrs. Martin’s face. She hung her head and dabbed at her eyes and nose.

  Skye looked at Mr. Martin, who was staring back as though someone had just punched him in the nose. In deep thought, he slowly sat down next to his wife. He looked at Skye, his eyes turning red and watery. “No, I haven’t,” he whispered. “I haven’t shared much of anything with my son, least of all God or myself.”

  “Well, folks,” Mr. Wheaten said, “we’re trusting in God that it’s not too late, for your son or you. Somewhere out there is a mighty lonely little kid. He needs you two, now more than ever. He needs undivided attention from you, sir, and discipline from you, ma’am. Together, you and God can turn this boy around.”

  Mr. Martin
turned to his wife. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “I am too,” Mrs. Martin said, sobbing. “I hope it’s not too late.”

  Standing, Mr. Wheaten picked up the phone. “Let’s get you two settled in one of our guesthouses. But before we do, let’s have a word of prayer. God is in charge over this whole situation, and he can make it right.”

  Mr. Martin wiped the corners of his eyes like he was flicking away dirt. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize how I had hurt my boy. Thanks, Skye, for sharing your story. If God gives me another chance with my son, things will be different.” With a smile, he reached toward Skye and warmly shook her hand.

  Mrs. Martin looked up, tears streaming down her face. “Things will be different with me too.” Reaching over toward her husband, she smiled and grasped his open hand.

  chapter fifteen

  At dawn, Skye again positioned Champ in a horse lineup outside the barn. Jonathan had now been missing for twenty-four hours. Overhead, a helicopter chopped the air, already searching the woods. Volunteers from nearby fire companies were scouring the Shamokin State Park within a five-mile radius of Camp Oneega. Skye and her search team checked their gear and prepared to comb the trails around the camp one more time.

  Mr. Wheaten mounted his horse and squared his hat. “It doesn’t matter if you have to backtrack over ground that’s already been covered. Some of these trails inter twine for miles. This time take a good, hard look at any bluffs, high and low. There are a half dozen hollowed out rocks and caves where Jonathan could have sought shelter overnight.”

  “Mr. Wheaten?” Skye couldn’t help interrupting. “Yes, little lady?”

  “Chad and I covered the area up by Oneega Falls yes terday, but I’d really like to check it out again. It seems to me that Jonathan would want to go somewhere he’s been before. Just last week he was at the falls campsite.”

  “Good point,” Mr. Wheaten said.

  Chad pulled his horse alongside Champ. “Mr. Wheaten, we didn’t have enough time to check every corner of the campsite on foot. Didn’t you tell us there are trails that lead away from the top of the falls?”

  “Yes, indeedy,” Mr. Wheaten said.

  “Well, we never got that far yesterday,” Skye said. “Today we’ll make sure we cover those.”

  Mr. Wheaten tugged the brim of his hat down firmly. “Fine. Thank the Lord we’ve had warm weather. Jonathan will be mighty hungry, but at least he won’t suffer from exposure. I want you all to blast your tweeters every ten minutes. Buddy will pick up that sound even if he’s half a mile away from you. Any other questions?” he asked everyone.

  “No,” they all answered.

  “Remember teams, keep in touch by phone, especially if you see anything that looks like Jonathan has been where you are. We’ve got to find him soon. Even though we’ve got sunny skies now, the weather forecast calls for severe thunderstorms later today. Lightning in these thick woods is no laughing matter. If you hear thunder, even if it’s in the distance, you all head back here on the double.”

  “Yes, sir!” they all yelled.

  “Be back here at 11:00 a.m. or before, depending on the weather. Let’s move out!”

  Skye and Chad wasted no time riding past the lake and heading up the trail to Oneega Falls. Every ten min utes, they stopped to tweet a megaphone. They climbed the mountainside, checking and rechecking every trail for several hundred yards on both sides of the main trek.

  Nearing the wooden bridge right below the falls, Skye glanced at her watch. “Three hours already gone!” she said more to herself than to Chad. A sharp breeze whisked through the ravine, sending the treetops into a frantic dance. Skye looked up at a sea of dark, fast-moving clouds. Under her tied-down Stetson, her hair blew wildly.

  “Chad, look at those clouds,” she said. “Those thunder storms can’t be too far away.”

  “Those clouds spell nothing but trouble. We better keep moving.” Chad squared his hat tightly.

  The two of them rode their horses across the bridge and brought them to a stop. A rush of colder air shook the trees around them. Again, Chad studied the sky. “This is definitely not good.”

  Skye’s cell phone rang.

  “Hello, Skye speaking.”

  “Annie, this is Mr. Wheaten. I don’t like the looks of those clouds. Keep an eye on them. At the first sound of thunder, you two head back.”

  “We will, sir. Over and out,” she said in a brief attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Was that Mr. Wheaten?” Chad asked.

  “Yep. He’s warning everyone to watch the weather.”

  “We’re too close now to turn back. Let’s check the campsite.”

  “Good idea.” Skye glanced down at the banks on each side of the bridge. “Remember what happened here with Jonathan last week?”

  “How could I forget!” Chad moaned.

  “That kid sure is—hey—Chad, look down there, on the left bank.”

  “Where?”

  “There. Next to that cluster of pebbles.” Skye jumped off Champ and ran down to the water’s edge. She picked up an object from the mud and wiped it on her jeans. “Chad, look! Jonathan’s big sunglasses! He was here!”

  “But when?” Chad grabbed the megaphone. He pushed the tweeter button and let out three long, high-pitched blasts. Then he phoned Mr. Wheaten.

  Skye ran back up the bank and mounted Champ. “He’s got to be somewhere near here. I just know it.”

  “C’mon,” Chad said. “Let’s check the campsite.”

  Prodding their mounts carefully, Skye and Chad hur ried on down the treacherous trail. As they rounded the last bluff before the falls, a black horse trotted right up to them and stopped.

  “Buddy!” Skye yelled.

  “But where’s Jonathan!” Chad said.

  Skye grabbed the horse’s dangling reins. Tying them into a knot, she reached over and slipped them around the horn of Buddy’s saddle. “Okay, boy, now it’s time for you to use that special training. Take us to Jonathan.”

  “Where is he, Buddy?” Chad said.

  “Chad, listen!”

  Rumble, rumble rolled the distant thunder. Another wisp of wind chilled the air.

  “Let’s go, Buddy,” Skye said.

  Buddy turned, backtracking on the trail. Crossing the gravel shoreline in front of the falls, he continued toward the bluff that hid the campsite. But he didn’t stop there. Squeezing his way through a narrow opening between towering pine trees and gigantic boulders, he doubled back behind the falls on a pathway of slippery stones. Staying close to the black horse, Skye’s and Chad’s mounts followed.

  “Where’s he going?” Skye asked. “I didn’t even know this trail was here.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Wheaten knows about this one,” Chad said.

  Carefully, the horses made their way on the slippery path.

  Rumble, rumble. Another roll of thunder sent a faint warning, despite the competing, nearly deafening roar of the falls.

  “The storm is getting much closer!” Chad yelled as he scanned the clouds again.

  “We’ve got to keep going!” Skye’s voice could scarcely be heard. “Jonathan’s got to be here somewhere! He’s got to be!”

  At a snail’s pace, Buddy led them through a narrow crevasse to the side of the towering falls. Skye’s eyes widened as she studied the scene before her. A flood of powerful water tumbled from the shelf of rocks high above. The ground trembled from the roar of the falls crashing just below. Skye stood in her stirrups, her eyes scouring the area for any sign of Jonathan. She spotted an opening behind the falls, a hollowed-out rock formation large enough to park a truck.

  “Chad, look! Behind the falls!” Skye dismounted. “Pray that Jonathan’s in there. Get Mr. Wheaten on the phone and tell him where we are. I’ll check it out!”

  Chad was already pushing cell phone buttons. “Skye, be careful.”

  Gingerly, Skye balanced herself on the next few feet of slippery stones that led behind the fall
s. Billows of mist filled the compact space like fast-moving fog. She stopped to listen, and a shiver charged through her as droplets covered her like a wet blanket. No sound, not even thunder, could now penetrate the deafening crash of the falls. If Buddy was here yesterday, I understand why he didn’t hear our tweeters, she said to herself.

  Skye searched every dark corner as she slid along the humongous hollowed-out rock. Suddenly, her heart pounded like a drum, her whole body racked with its beat. She stopped and stared into the darkness. Wild animals could be lurking in this black hole, she warned herself.

  There! Off to the side! Something! Or could it be someone lying in a curled-up ball?

  Skye inched forward. Studying the form. Hoping. Searching the shadows. Listening.

  One more brave step forward and—

  “Jonathan! I found him, Chad! He’s in here! Can you hear me?”

  “Yes! Just barely! I’ll phone Mr. Wheaten again, and I’ll be right there!”

  Hurrying toward Jonathan, Skye took a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer. Please, God, let him be all right. Kneeling down, she squinted, scanning the boy’s silent body. She spotted one sock and pant leg saturated with blood. Carefully, slowly, she reached out and touched Jonathan on his knee.

  Jonathan jumped, and Skye’s nerves jumped too. The boy bolted upright, his eyes wide with panic. Scrambling backward, he pressed tightly against the dark wall of the niche.

  “Jonathan, it’s me!” Skye signed and then opened her arms toward the boy.

  For a brief moment, Jonathan sat frozen on the spot, his eyes wide with fear. Then he broke into a smile, and with a deep, shaky breath, he reached toward Skye. Before she could respond, he threw his arms around her neck. Like a cold, wet sponge, he clung to his rescuer, embracing her as though he would never let go.

  “Thank you, God!” Skye drew the boy into a bear hug, wet and cold. But at that moment, wet and cold didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Jonathan. Skye had found him, and he was safe. “Oh, Jonathan,” she whispered, hugging him tighter. “You crazy kid.”