Lost in thought, Dana hardly registered the presence of a new car in the lot, parked at an odd angle as if the driver had careened to a sudden stop and jumped out. She scanned the area, wondering if one of the boys’ parents had come after all. Then she saw a woman, notebook in hand, crouched down next to one of the campers. Dana marched quickly through the crowd of kids and the other staff.
“Can I help you?”
The woman’s head shot up. “Maybe.”
Dana looked down at the girl next to the woman. “You can go, Ava. I’ll talk to this lady.” She turned to the woman. “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing, speaking to a child without permission?”
The woman stepped back, as if Dana had struck her. “I’m a reporter for the Willow Springs Times. Mary Lou Barton. And who might you be? Can I ask you some questions about the arson at the campground down the road? Is it true the perpetrators were boys from this camp?”
Dana stiffened. “No, you may not. You may, however, get back in your car and leave immediately. Before we call the police.”
The woman smirked. “Sure. Okay, I think I got what I need anyway.” She stepped back, turned and strode toward the parking lot.
Dana watched while the car reversed and began to drive out to the main road.
“Who was that?”
She spun around to find Matt, hands on his hips and his eyes fixed on the car as it disappeared from sight. “Some reporter from Willow Springs,” she explained.
“Oh God,” he murmured. “Did she talk to anyone?”
“One of the girls—Ava.” Dana pointed toward the girl, who was chatting to a couple of friends.
“What next?” he muttered. “Did you find out what Ava told her?”
“Not yet.”
She watched him considering his options and wanted so much to hug him. Now the whole group was looking their way, expecting Matt to speak to them.
“Thanks for getting rid of her. And can you do me a favor?” His forehead creased. “It’s a lot to ask, but would you mind finding out what Ava said? I think she might be alarmed if I question her.”
“No problem. I can do it while they’re journal writing after lunch.”
“Oh yeah. Lunch.” He shook his head in despair. “This day...”
Dana squeezed her hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to stroke his face.
Then he peered down at her, as if from a great distance, and murmured again, “I’m so glad you’re here,” before walking to the front steps of the lodge.
It was the second time that day he’d told her how much her presence meant to him. Being needed for moral support was a new experience for her. That the admission came from Matt made it extra special.
When the girls gathered in the cabin after lunch to write their journal entry, Dana called Ava into the small room she was sharing with Kristen.
Ava was a spunky girl, reminding Dana of Kenzie. “She wanted to know if I knew who started that fire. At the campground? But I don’t so I told her that. And miss, just to let you know, I wouldn’t have told her even if I did know. I didn’t like her.”
Dana patted her arm. “You did exactly the right thing. And do me a favor? Don’t talk about it to the other kids. Rumors and gossip don’t help anyone.”
The girl nodded solemnly, then asked, “Do you think boys from here did it, miss?”
“I hope not.”
Dana sat on her cot awhile longer after Ava left to finish her journal entry. Kristen popped her head in to say it was time to report to the Big Room for the afternoon’s activities. “How did the drop-off go?” Dana asked.
Kristen sighed, “I felt for those boys. Their parents were ticked off and worried because they deny any involvement. But I heard there was a witness so... Anyway, Matt told me you offered to help them get a pro bono lawyer, if they need one.”
“I’ve sent my colleague an email, just to give him a heads-up.”
“I’m sure the parents will appreciate any assistance.” Kristen paused before adding, “We all appreciate it, Dana. Those boys may seem like trouble, but in fact, they’re troubled kids. And I know Matt is grateful for your help. Not just with that, but your volunteering here.”
Surprised, Dana said, “Thanks, Kristen. These past two weekends have been good.”
The other woman nodded. Checking her watch, she said, “Guess we better report to the Big Room. There’s softball, soccer and crafts this afternoon.”
As Dana helped corral the girls into the lodge, she reflected how differently this weekend was shaping up. Not the glitches and problems, but in her rapport with Matt and now with Kristen. She liked this confident side of herself much better. It was the same image she portrayed at work, but with a touch of something new. A softness or warmth? Something to do with being around the kids?
The afternoon’s games were marked by the same sobriety as the morning hike, Dana thought. There were moments when the kids behaved like kids—shouting, laughing and teasing one another—but there was no need for reminders to listen or treat each other with respect. No one wanted any more trouble.
Even the dinner hour was quiet. Matt didn’t appear, and Dana noticed Sandro merely popped into the dining hall to check on things before leaving again. She figured they were dealing with some of the fallout from the morning’s events. The plan for the evening was a walk down to the lake. A local storyteller had been invited to talk about some of the folklore attached to the area, and the girls chatted excitedly about this during dinner.
The appearance of an older man at the end of the meal caused a stir. This must be the storyteller, Dana thought, observing the white-haired, spectacled man speaking to Sandro and Andy.
Before the kitchen helpers began to clear dishes, Sandro walked to the front of the hall and raised his arm. The kids fell silent. “We have a special guest this evening, girls and boys. A storyteller from Willow Springs, Mr. Peter Williams, who is going to guide us down to the lake for a campfire and stories. Please meet here in your assigned groups in one hour’s time and then we will all head down the hill.” An excited buzz swept through the dining hall and Sandro raised his hand once more to get their attention. “Counselors, use the next hour for washroom breaks and discussion about tomorrow’s schedule.”
While the kids were leaving the hall in their assigned groups, Dana kept looking in vain for Matt. She thought of his drawn face and preoccupation earlier, after the incident with the reporter, and especially his parting words—I’m so glad you’re here. The warm feeling they’d given her had stayed with her all afternoon.
Sandro and Rob were just lighting the campfire when the groups arrived. There was still enough light to make out the large tarps spread on the sand for the kids and someone had positioned a few logs around the perimeter of the tarps for the adults. It took some time for everyone to get settled. Time that Dana used to search the group for Matt. Finally, as the storyteller was introduced again and took his place in the center of the circle next to the fire, Matt appeared.
Dana waved, feeling a sudden flip-flop inside at his smile from the other side of the campfire. She barely listened to the stories the guest told, staring intently across the circle at Matt, until the final streaky pinks of dusk disappeared, and Peter Williams began his last story.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“THERE’S A POPULAR legend in these parts about a mysterious light. It’s called the Maple Lake Ghost Light and many people around here—even outsiders—have seen it over many years.”
There was a rustle of movement as the kids, their rapt, upturned faces reflecting the crackling fire, focused on the storyteller. Even Dana was paying attention to him instead of Matt.
“Every so often a mysterious orange-red ball of light appears over the lake after dark. Witnesses report that this strange light actually moves from one side of the lake to the other, through the woods
. While many have seen the light, there seems to be no logical or scientific explanation for it. But there is one story that people who live around here know about and believe. And this is it.” Williams paused, waiting for a hush to fall over the group.
“Many years ago, there was a hermit living in the woods, just over there, on the other side of the lake.” All eyes followed as he pointed into the darkness surrounding them. “The hermit was known to the people living here, but kept to himself, as hermits will do. Now, no one knows exactly what happened, but folks believe that the hermit was trying out a new snare—a trap to catch the rabbits and squirrels he lived on.”
There were a few mutterings of disgust at that, which made Dana smile.
“When the hermit didn’t come to town for his usual supplies, some folks organized a search party to look for him. What they found was shocking.”
Complete silence fell over the group.
“A terrible accident had befallen the hermit. Somehow, he’d gotten entangled in the trap he’d been setting up and was killed.” Another dramatic pause. “Decapitated.”
A loud gasp tore through audience, along with whispered questions—“What does that mean?”—followed by the horrified answers.
“And the light that has been seen since,” Williams continued, “people say, is the glow of the hermit’s lantern as he searches the woods for his missing head.”
Another sharp intake of collective breaths was immediately followed by a child screaming, “I see it! The ball of light. Over there!”
“I do, too,” cried another, as some stood up, pointing across the still water.
Dana groaned. She had a bad feeling about the story and its fallout for the night’s sleep. How could she and Kristen calm the girls after this? Then an idea occurred to her. Ironically, one of the few positive highlights of her own camp experience.
* * *
MATT HAD TO blow his whistle twice. In the flickering light he could barely make out the chagrined face of storyteller Peter Williams, who was consoling the children at his feet.
When the cries and exclamations finally ceased, Matt said with a calm he wasn’t feeling, “All right, girls and boys, you’re old enough to know that there are no such things as ghosts. You also know that a legend is simply a story. Something made-up. Personally, I did not see a light and I doubt any of your counselors did. If you think you saw one, raise your hand.”
He noted one or two hands rise hesitantly before quickly lowering. “I see that no one here is willing to bet money on that light.” There was a muted round of giggles. “Okay, when you see your counselor stand up, I want the group assigned to that counselor to stand, too, and quietly follow your counselor up the hill.” He waited patiently for the whispering to die down. “Andy, will you please stand and lead your group?”
The process took some time but allowed for an orderly return to the camp. Matt wiped his brow as the last group, led by Dana and followed by the storyteller, trekked up the hill. He and Rob stayed behind to make sure the fire was completely doused and to gather the tarps.
“Guess we won’t ask that guy back,” Rob muttered as they began the slog to camp. “When he said it would be a ghost story, I assumed something a bit milder.”
They caught up to Dana’s group and Williams, who was apologizing profusely. “I’ve told that story many times,” he said in an aside to Matt, “and have never had such a dramatic reaction.”
Matt regretted not having vetted the man’s stories more carefully. A lesson for the next time, he thought. They parted at the top of the hill as Williams headed for the parking lot. Matt was handing his armful of tarps over to Sandro as Dana’s group was making its way to the washrooms. The girls were quiet, but he thought he heard a few whimpers. Then he realized with a growing sense of dread that other whimpers and even some crying were emanating from the cabin area.
“Dana!” he whispered as she came closer. “Do you think your girls will settle for the night?”
“I’m hoping,” she whispered, eyeing the girls huddled nearby, some holding hands or hugging each other. “But I have a bad feeling.”
“Me, too.” His mind raced. This was the ultimate unlucky day, and he was fresh out of ideas of how to fix it. It was one thing to remind kids there were no ghosts but stopping them from getting swept into the kind of emotional whirlpool that he could see taking shape was a whole other matter. “I guess we might just have to prepare for a busy night.”
“I guess,” she murmured before calling out, “Girls, I’ll be right with you. One more second.” Then she leaned close to him. “I do have one idea. It was something we did at the camp I went to.”
“The camp of horrors?” he teased in a low voice. Her faint giggle made him smile. He was already feeling better.
“It was a similar situation. Mass hysteria after someone heard noises in the night. Our director gathered everyone in the main building for a session of storytelling. Except there were rules. No ghost or scary stories. Instead, we had to tell about a time when we were frightened or scared to do something and how we overcame that fear—the thing or even person that helped us.”
“Let’s do it,” he said. “We’ll get all the kids more or less ready for bed, washroom visits and even pajamas if they want to, and then meet in the Big Room. As soon as possible. You inform Kristen and I’ll pop into the boys’ cabin.”
“Okay. Oh, one more thing. I recommend hot chocolate.”
Matt smiled, catching a glimpse of a much younger Dana. “I’ll let June and Gayle know.”
Twenty minutes later, Matt observed the kids filing into the Big Room. There were some drawn faces, but others were curious or excited. It reminded him how resilient kids could be. How a change in routine or an unusual event could thrill rather than worry them, as opposed to most adults—like me—who resisted change.
The counselors escorted their groups to the dining hall for a cup of hot chocolate, which, Matt had stressed, they were allowed to drink only once they were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Big Room. He saw Dana give him a quick thumbs-up at this and felt an unexpected pleasure. By the time all were back on the carpet and sipping from plastic cups, the mood in the room had shifted from anxiety to interest.
Matt outlined what they were going to do and spelled out the rules. When he asked for volunteers, only a couple of tentative hands went up, but once the stories began, arms flailed to be next. He listened intently to each child’s tale, captivated by their uninhibited accounts of dealing with worries and fears. Their stories were as diverse as the group itself and pictured, sometimes sadly, a wide range of family situations. Matt could see that all the staff were as moved by the experience as he was.
When one boy, emboldened by his friends, asked, “How about you, Matt? Have you ever been scared?” Matt’s stomach heaved.
He hesitated, hoping the few seconds would draw out some other volunteer, but instead, some of the kids called, “Yeah. Tell us!” He had no choice, not if he wanted to hold on to his credibility. Standing from his place on the carpet, he looked at the expectant faces around him.
“I was the same age as some of you—eleven—when my father died.” The fidgeting and shifting on the carpet came to a halt. “He was killed in an accident where he worked. On a construction site in downtown Chicago.”
Some kids with serious faces glanced at one another while others stared into their laps. Matt decided to keep his story short and simple. “The other sad thing for me...and the one that also made me scared...was that after my father died, my mother learned that she was going to have a baby. Until then there had always just been the three of us. There was no other family. They were all in Mexico, where my grandparents came from. So we didn’t have anyone to go to for help. My mother had a job, but it didn’t pay well. I was afraid that we would have to leave the apartment we had recently moved into and afraid that I wouldn’t be able to loo
k after my mother and my new baby sister. It was a very scary time for me.” Matt gave a reassuring smile, letting them know his story would have a happy ending.
“But this is what helped me. I talked to my mother and told her that I didn’t think I could look after the family the way my father would have wanted me to. And you know what she said?” He paused, scanning all the faces looking up at him. “She hugged me very tight, told me she loved me more than anything in the world... Well, maybe not more than my baby sister—” he waited for a ripple of laughter to pass “—and then she said that I wasn’t alone. There were three of us and we would always help and support one another. Just like always. That made me feel better and not quite so scared.” Matt ended there, but the memory of the months and years that followed rose up. If he could, he thought, he’d go back in time to make sure the story really did end there.
There was a minute of silence until a boy raised his hand to tell his own story. When he finished, Matt caught Dana’s eye and smiled, his heart full.
“I think most of us are ready for a good night’s sleep,” he said. “When you see your counselor stand, you may follow him or her to your cabin. Remember to put your cups in the bins on your way out. Sleep well.” The yawns and low murmurs as the kids left the room told him Dana’s idea had worked its magic.
Much later, it was his turn to make the rounds between the sleeping and washroom cabins. All lights were out, and all was quiet. As he came from behind the girls’ cabin, he noticed a figure standing between the two cabins, silhouetted in a shaft of moonlight. He tensed until he recognized that outline—Dana—and walked toward her.
“Is everything okay?” he asked in a loud whisper.
She whirled about, hand to her throat. “Oh, Matt! You startled me.”
“Lost in thought? Or worried about something?” He hoped not the latter.
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