“My farm’s in trouble,” he blurts out. “Very serious trouble.”
Oh, that, Martha thinks. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I don’t understand why that should affect how you feel about me.”
“Well, it doesn’t affect how I feel, but at the risk of sounding sexist, I am a man. I can’t very well pursue you if I can’t provide for you, let alone myself.”
There’s something that no New York man would give a second thought to, Martha thinks. “So your solution is to dump me?”
“Of course not! Though, now that you put it that way, I can see how you might have misunderstood. The truth is it never occurred to me that I had the right to court you while my livelihood was falling apart. I was thinking of a postponement more than anything else . . . until I landed on my feet again.”
“When were you going to let me in on this little romantic postponement? I think I had a right to know.” Martha flips back on her side, so that their faces are just a few inches apart. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’ve brought all these men here to learn from you, and you stand to learn just as much from them.” She puts a hand on his cheek. “I have news for you: I didn’t fall for you because I thought you were a great dairy farmer.”
“I know you didn’t. But as crazy as it sounds, it matters to me that you do.” Cooper considers all that he has learned from the campers in the past two days. “Look, Martha, it’s becoming painfully clear to me that my way of doing things isn’t working, but I’m trying to figure it out.” He takes both her hands in his. “Will you please give me another chance?”
“I think that can be arranged,” Martha says, smiling, “under certain conditions.”
“Shoot,” Cooper says. “Though I’m hoping it doesn’t involve yoga or facials.”
“Number one: Call off your mother. Number two: Don’t shut me out again. And three”—here Martha pauses to work up her courage—“leave all that Southern-gentleman crap at the bedroom door.”
“Done, done, and most especially done!”
They stay awake until dawn, until the sun comes up over the hills, until Cooper, exhausted and happy, announces that he has cows to milk.
He gets dressed and sits on the edge of the bed, fingering one of Martha’s dark curls, a long tendril that’s splashed across the pillow, and tells her the whole story of how the campers came to his rescue. “I’m not exaggerating when I say that if it weren’t for you and your nutty Man Camp idea, I might be well on my way to losing my family’s farm.”
Martha smiles.
“I happen to be falling in love with you, Martha McKenna,” he says.
“Say that again,” she whispers.
A few hours later, Martha sneaks out of Cooper’s room and creeps back down the hall, scarcely able to believe she’s gotten away with it. She gets dressed and skips downstairs, singing out, “Good morning,” to Lucy and Beatrice, who are puttering in the kitchen.
“Good afternoon,” Beatrice says pointedly.
Martha looks at the wall clock: twelve-twenty. “So it is! Sorry I overslept. Did I miss anything?”
“Not a thing,” Lucy says, detecting the tremor of a secret in her friend’s voice. She hands Martha a mug of coffee and mouths, Did I miss anything?
Before Martha can respond, Beatrice hands her the rocks glass she left on the windowsill outside Cooper’s bedroom. It is freshly washed, warm in her hands. “Would you be a dear, Martha, and put this back where it belongs?”
THE CAMPERS SPEND the day hard at work trying to save Tuckington Farm. Walter reconfigures Cooper’s computer with a wireless Internet connection and adds enough memory to accommodate the agricultural software program that Kurt’s New York team has acquired and is modifying for the farm. Simon continues to pursue his soil research, color-coding a map of the farm, field by field, based on chemical composition. Bryce sketches logos and designs labels, and Adam tests algorithms to measure production. Kurt and Cooper spend the day in town, negotiating with local bankers to lift the lien on Tuckington Farm now that they’ve secured promissory letters from New York financiers, friends of Kurt’s who are willing to invest.
Not far away, Lucy and Martha cart party supplies to the old barn and, under Beatrice’s watchful eye, begin decorating for their bash. The girls are impatient for Beatrice to leave so they can talk about Martha’s night with Cooper, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lingers over the arrangement of the flowers, supervises the folding of napkins, and straightens the tablecloths Lucy and Martha have placed on the serving table and bar. In the end, however, the barn looks perfect: romantic and festive, with wooden boxes of red geraniums on the windowsills, strings of white lights hanging from the rafters, and jugs overflowing with tall sunflowers scattered about.
Not until late in the afternoon, when Lucy and Martha have returned to the house to get dressed for the party, do they finally have a moment out of Beatrice’s earshot. Martha is trying on her barn-dance outfit bought at Barneys two days before leaving New York City: a big swishy skirt and a narrow white top that scoops low over her décolletage, while Lucy’s ear is pressed against the door, listening for creaking floorboards. When she’s finally satisfied that they’re alone, Lucy flops down on the bed. “Out with it!” she demands, and Martha, in a twangy country accent, sings, “I’m just a girl who can’t say no!” Swooshing her skirt back and forth, she dances around the room and divulges every detail of her night of lovemaking. Between talking about Cooper and putting on the ensemble, Martha is on top of the world. “I could be the lead in Oklahoma! Isn’t this skirt fun?”
“Yes, fun, very fun,” Lucy says, more interested in Martha’s romance with Cooper than her outfit. Not much of a shopper herself, Lucy’s wearing a dress she’s had for nearly a decade, a simple blue sheath that falls just above her knees and has a square neckline that’s bordered by tiny daisies. “Tell me how great it is to finally be with a man like Cooper.”
“You know, nothing is ever as you think it’s going to be,” Martha says, making a face in the mirror as she puts on mascara. “Cooper doesn’t have the weaknesses we’re used to in men, but he doesn’t have the strengths, either.”
“What strengths?”
“Well, for one thing, our city boys know how to talk about feelings.”
“Um. A week ago you would have called that whining, Martha.”
“Well, try doing without it altogether and you have Cooper. Of course, he excels at being masculine and chivalrous, but he’s not so hot when it comes to emotional stuff,” she says, explaining how he was willing to risk their budding relationship rather than discuss his failures.
“Is it really too much to ask for both?” Lucy groans.
“Apparently so! Now, are you ready yet?” Martha asks, grabbing her friend’s hand and pulling her off the bed.
Downstairs, they find Beatrice gazing out the kitchen window watching thunderheads roll in and settle over nearby hills. “Don’t you just love a storm?” she asks. The skies seem to darken as she speaks, turning a fantastic purple-gray.
“I know I do,” Martha says, imagining the tempest to come when Beatrice learns that she and Cooper are in love.
“Well, that one’s headed due east,” Lucy says. “See how the anvil top is facing us? It indicates the direction the storm will travel.”
“My God, the things you know,” Martha says, impressed, scouring her brain for a single useful weather fact.
An orange tabby pours down the fence in front of the house, giving Martha a pang of homesickness. She misses Hannibal, and for the first time she thinks about how far away New York is from West Virginia.
“Damn cat uses my garden as his personal litter box,” says Beatrice, whistling for Tor and Tap to chase it off the property.
THE BAND IS WARMING UP when the women arrive, and the barn is already full of neighbors and friends drinking ice-cold longnecks, tapping their feet on the solid oak floor. Martha hasn’t seen Cooper since dawn and when her eyes find him on-stage, holding and caressing his upright bas
s as if it were a large woman, she wishes she were in his arms instead. His head bobs sweetly as he strokes out the rhythm with his eyes closed, concentrating to keep order alongside a feisty banjo plucking out a conversation with a mandolin, a fiddle, a guitar, and an instrument Martha’s never seen before, a jaw’s harp. The musicians play bluegrass and hillbilly, ragtime and old-timey, their fingers strumming and their bodies working hard, big drops of cartoon sweat collecting on their foreheads.
An impromptu square dance begins with Beatrice calling out moves. To start with, the men line up on one side of the hayloft and the women on the other, bowing and curtseying, keeping a measured distance. But as Beatrice’s calls become faster and more complex—Do-si-do! Allemande! Circle home!—partners intertwine and the room turns into an elaborate kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and patterns, the heavy floors flexing under the weight of so many people dancing in rhythm.
Adam stands on the sidelines with Jesse. All dances remind him of junior high school when, shy and self-conscious, he and his friends would congregate under the bleachers and evaluate the girls in lieu of asking them to dance. The Neola women are pretty tonight, decked out in their party dresses, their lashes so thick with mascara that they look like dolls. Jolene, the prettiest of the bunch, emerges from the crowd, slightly tipsy from beer, and asks Adam to dance. She’s the type of girl who wouldn’t have noticed him in school but now, as thirty looms, she’s casting her net a bit wider. He politely turns her down, explaining he promised his first dance to Lucy.
Adam scans the hayloft for Lucy and finds her on the far side of the square dancers, laughing with Martha. The two are standing in front of the band, imitating Cooper’s picking style on air basses, and Adam is struck by how stunning Lucy looks with her hair swept up off her slender neck. She is obviously taking great pleasure in Martha’s happiness and there’s an ease to her smile that hasn’t been present for a long time, which makes Adam wonder if somehow he has been responsible for its absence. He recalls how disappointed she was on Valentine’s Day.
What on earth am I waiting for? Adam suddenly wonders. He knows his dissertation will be finished soon and that countless jobs will come and go after that, but there is only one Lucy and she means everything to him. He decides on the spot to propose to her. Tonight. He tries to come up with some romantic way, but the crooning of a scraggly man at the mike—“Why don’t you love me like you used to do?”—makes it impossible to concentrate, so he sneaks off to the empty silo attached to the barn where it’s quiet. He paces in large circles to practice.
“Lucy,” he says out loud, “I’m not particularly good at this kind of thing. . . .”
“Lucy, I think you know how I feel about you . . .”
“Lucy, we’ve been together for more than two years now . . .”
“Marry me, Lucy,” is what he finally decides upon. It echoes nicely in the silo and is strong, simple, and to the point.
“WOULD YOU LOOK at my baby brother go?” Martha says, watching Jesse promenade to the left with a pretty girl.
Lucy surveys the campers, who are busy flirting and fetching drinks. The local girls are all over them, hanging on to their shoulders, laughing at their jokes, leaning in to whisper secrets. “I can’t believe these are really the same guys you had all those bad dates with.”
“You can’t believe it!” Martha says.
The band switches to a country-western song and the dancers pair off.
“We even have to give Beatrice some credit for the two-stepping lessons,” Lucy says. “Look at them go.”
Martha reluctantly agrees, watching Simon confidently turn a girl in a swirling skirt across the floor. “Man Camp has exceeded my every expectation.”
“Adam’s been acting like a different person,” Lucy says. She cranes her neck around to look into the corners of the barn. “Where is he, anyway? I haven’t even had a dance yet.”
When the band takes its first break, Cooper makes his way across the room toward Martha, but Beatrice intercepts him with a tall glass of lemonade.
“Thanks, Mom,” he says, taking the glass but still focusing on Martha, who is now walking toward him.
“That was wonderful, honey,” Beatrice says, moving in close. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you?”
Martha slows down slightly, unsure if she’s welcome, but Cooper reaches for her hand over his mother’s shoulder, and in a second she is standing by his side. “You look beautiful,” he says, kissing Martha lightly on the mouth.
Beatrice adamantly tilts her head in the direction of where she wishes to be talking to him—alone—but Cooper shakes his head. “Whatever you have to say can be said in front of Martha,” he tells her.
“Well, I was just hoping you’d ask Jolene to dance,” Beatrice says. “I’m sure Martha wouldn’t mind. I don’t think it’s polite to neglect old friends just because new friends are visiting.”
“I’ve been playing my bass, Mom. I’m not neglecting anyone,” Cooper says, and senses Martha scrutinizing his words. “In any case, I’m afraid my dance card’s full tonight.” He pretends to look at it: “Martha, Martha, Martha, Martha, Martha.”
Martha smiles victory at Beatrice. His dance card is full forever, baby.
Beatrice tilts up her chin and walks back toward the bar as if the conversation never took place.
Soon after the band starts up again, Jolene sashays over to Martha. “Who’s that?” she asks, directing her gaze at Kurt.
Martha admires her chutzpah, but can’t tell if Jolene is interested in Kurt or just trying to appear uninterested in Cooper. “His name is Kurt. He’s single, smart, and very successful . . . and staying at Tuckington Farm for an extra two weeks.”
Jolene studies him.
“Here’s a tip for you: He once told me he loves women with sad eyes,” Martha says, trying to extend an olive branch. “I’d be happy to introduce you.”
“No need,” Jolene says, smoothing her skirt with the palms of her hands. She looks up, erases her pretty smile, and heads toward Kurt with an expression suggesting her puppy just died.
Martha laughs, unable to stop herself from admiring Jolene’s ability to get into character.
On the band’s next break, Martha corrals Lucy and Cooper into a Man Camp counselor conference, hustling them downstairs past the calf pens and outside, where the fragrant West Virginia evening rises up around them. The sky is churning, and she guides them along the wall of the barn on the hillside, where they’re protected from the rain by an overhanging roof.
“A toast,” Martha says, lifting her bottle. “To Man Camp!”
“To Man Camp,” Lucy and Cooper toast back.
Martha takes a long pull on her beer, giddy with the week’s success, especially her own with Cooper. “And to the finest counselors anywhere.”
“Hear, hear,” Cooper says.
“I’m still in shock we pulled it off,” Lucy says.
“Well, we did,” Cooper says. “Did you see how well the guys were doing in there? The ladies love them. And I’m happy to report that every camper passed basic automotive, carpentry, electricity, and firearms. With the exception, of course, of Bryce.”
“Poor Bryce,” Lucy says.
“He’ll do fine,” Martha assures them. “He’s a creative guy with a good job and lots of style. That’ll be enough for most women.”
Cooper nods agreeably. “I’m ready to start planning next year’s Man Camp whenever you are.”
“Next year’s?” Martha says. “How about next month’s?”
“Hold your horses, both of you,” Lucy says. “I still want to talk about this Man Camp. Who do you think got the most out of it?”
“As in who’s the most improved camper?” Cooper asks.
“Yes.”
“Easy,” Martha says.
Adam returns from the silo to the hayloft, a man on a mission. “You seen Luce?” he asks Jesse.
“She was looking for you just a little while ago,” Jesse says
. “I think she walked outside with Martha.”
“I better go find her,” Adam says, wanting to act quickly while his courage is up. As soon as he gets outside, he grabs a handful of daisies growing alongside the wall, and follows the sound of Lucy’s voice, loud and giddy with laughter, around the back side of the barn. He stops before making the final turn so that he can compose himself and rehearse his proposal one more time. The wind has picked up and rain is falling, and his future bride is just a few feet from him. He steels himself to interrupt their conversation when he overhears Cooper say, “Sure, Kurt came a long way, but the guy wasn’t in terrible shape to start with.”
“Think, Lucy,” Martha says. “Who was in really bad shape from the very beginning?”
“They all were, weren’t they?”
“You honestly don’t know?” Cooper asks.
“Love is blind,” Martha says. “Here’s a clue: jumper cables.”
Cooper whimpers a falsetto, “Something’s out there in the woods and I’m so scared!”
Lucy’s mouth drops open. “Adam is Most Improved Camper?”
“Hands down,” Cooper says.
“Hear, hear,” Martha says. “To Adam.”
It’s Cooper who sees Adam first, rounding the corner just as the three of them are toasting him, their beer bottles touching at shoulder height. If Adam didn’t yet fully believe what he heard, there’s no mistaking the panic that registers on their faces as he approaches.
“You brought me here as a camper?” he asks Lucy.
“Hey now, we’re just messing around,” Cooper says, stuttering slightly.
“You told them about our Valentine’s Day weekend?”
“It was all in good fun,” Cooper says.
Adam gives him a sidelong glance and says, “What possibly gives you the right to criticize me? I helped save your macho ass.” He looks back at Lucy, mortified that Cooper and Martha know about his failings on their trip upstate. “You lied to me about coming here as a vacation?”
“Adam, let me explain—”
“You lied to me!” he repeats.
“Wait, Adam,” Martha steps in. “Lucy didn’t want to do any of this. I talked her into it.”
Man Camp Page 18