Later that afternoon, Allison took a box of stationery along with her as she accompanied Heather down to the dock to meet John. She would use this time to answer her letters. John was already there, picking away on his guitar.
“Just warming up,” John said, standing to greet them. Allison settled off to the side, keeping a wary eye on the two as they began to play a song. Soon Allison’s attention was absorbed in her writing as she heard them play song after song. Apparently they had a lot of music in common. But they didn’t just play; they talked off and on, too.
“What’s going on here?” Monica demanded as she sauntered up to them with her hands on her hips. “Concert in the park today? Why didn’t anyone post a billboard?” Then she flopped down on her stomach and propped her head on her elbows right between Heather and John. “Are you going to play for us again at the campfire tonight, John? It’s been such a long time since we’ve heard you.”
John nodded and adjusted a string on his guitar. He started another song and Heather joined in. Their music was lovely, and the lake seemed a perfect backdrop for their impromptu concert. Barbara and Sarah came along shortly and sat down beside Allison, and before long other campers gathered around in a half circle. When the two finished their piece, the crowd applauded and begged for more. Just then the dinner bell rang.
“You’ll have to come to the campfire tonight for more,” John said. “Heather, that was swell. I’ll see you later.” He snapped his guitar case closed and took off.
“Well, it seems little Miss Perfect has enchanted John Stewart,” Monica announced loudly enough for other campers to hear. Heather’s face reddened and Allison darted to her side. Grasping Heather’s hand, she pulled her to her feet.
“Great sound, Heather. Personally, I like jazz better, but you guys are pretty snazzy,” Barbara complimented, stepping up to them. “Too bad some people can’t appreciate good music.” This comment was tossed in Monica’s direction. Barbara linked arms with Heather and guided her toward the cabin. Allison picked up the flute case and followed with Sarah. She appreciated Barbara’s help, but at the same time she longed to have Heather all to herself.
“That Monica is really something else,” Sarah whispered to Allison as they walked up the hill.
“Yeah, make sure you tell me when you figure out exactly what!” Allison laughed.
It came as no surprise to Allison when Heather and John performed beautifully at the campfire that evening. They all listened to the music, sang some nonsensical songs, and made s’mores with graham crackers and marshmallows and chocolate.
“You know why they call them s’mores, don’t you?” Sarah asked. Allison shook her head and licked melted chocolate from her fingertips. “Because you always want some more. S’mores—get it?”
Allison laughed and glanced over at Barbara and Heather. John was talking with enthusiasm to Heather, but her head was down. His interest in her was plain to see, and Allison felt a stab of concern. She wondered how he’d react to Heather’s blindness. She certainly didn’t want Heather to get hurt.
The counselors put on a crazy skit, and after a quick testimony from a nervous counselor they returned to their cabins. Their nightly pilgrimage reminded Allison of a swarm of fireflies as campers trekked their way along the darkened trails with a multitude of flashlight beams.
The next day at breakfast, Monica sat next to Heather with Barbara on the other side. Allison felt skeptical about Monica’s intentions and kept a wary eye on her. Monica moved Heather’s milk glass closer to her and before Allison could put it back, Heather reached for the glass, bumped it with her hand, and knocked it across the table.
“Here, Heather,” Monica offered, dangling a napkin a few inches in front of Heather’s unseeing face. Barbara glared at Monica, snatched the napkin, and angrily blotted the milk. Monica grinned shrewdly.
Allison whisked Heather away after breakfast. “I think you’d better keep your distance from Monica,” she whispered as they hurried back to their cabin for clean-up time.
Heather nodded. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what comes of it. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
After Chapel, Heather and Barbara signed up for a class at the craft shack, but Allison and Sarah had signed up to take out a canoe.
“Did I disturb you again last night, Allison?” Sarah asked meekly as she sliced a paddle through the water.
“No, I didn’t hear anything.”
Sarah sighed. “Well, you must’ve been too tired because last night I had a bad one. . . .”
“Do you want to talk about it? It might help, you know.” Allison noticed that Sarah’s fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
“I don’t know, Allison. I don’t know if anything will help. I think it’s hopeless.”
“Sarah, I know it must have been horrible. I can’t even imagine. But keeping it bottled up inside won’t make it any better.” Allison frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve been through some hard things, too. Nothing like what you’ve been through, but it does help to talk about them.”
“I was there for almost two years, Allison.” Sarah laid the paddle in her lap and watched Allison’s face. She held out her wrist and showed Allison a long, straight white scar. “That was where my number used to be. My mother had it removed as soon as I got out.”
“Oh, Sarah.” Allison reached out and ran her finger along the slender scar. “I’m so sorry.” Allison felt tears building in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Allison. Maybe you’d rather not hear—”
“You can say anything you want to me, Sarah. I’m your friend. You can trust me.”
“I know. I knew that when I saw you helping Heather—”
“You know about Heather?”
Sarah nodded. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Thanks. See, we can trust each other.”
Sarah reached down and ran her hand through the water. “My papa owned the biggest department store in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia,” she began slowly, lapsing into a more noticeable accent. “It was a very nice store called Feldstein’s—that was my name then. . . . We were very wealthy and it seemed we should have been happy, but ever since I can remember we lived in fear. It was like this dark, gloomy cloud constantly hovered over us. My mother was an American, very pretty and modern. And my father, Isaac Feldstein”—Sarah spoke the name proudly—”was tall, dark, and handsome—and Jewish. They met in Paris where they were both buying new fashions for their stores. She worked for a big store in New York then. He offered her more money to come work for him, and like a fairy tale they ended up married.”
For a moment, Allison almost forgot the dark side of the story. It sounded so enchanting, almost like a romantic novel.
“One day the men in uniforms came to Papa’s store. It was raining out and their coats were all wet and drippy. I was there with Papa that afternoon, waiting for Mother to pick me up. I was sitting on the floor in his big wood-paneled office cutting out some new French paper dolls. The Gestapo men took us both, even though Papa said to leave me—that I was American. I remember being terribly worried that their dripping coats were going to ruin my pretty paper dolls. I had no idea. . . .” Sarah looked away. “I only saw Papa twice after that. Once at the train station and once at Auschwitz. Papa never made it out. Mother only got me released because I’m half American.”
Allison shook her head in amazement. “But your name is Miller—”
“Mother married again shortly after I came to New York. She’ll never love anyone the way she loved Papa, but he’s a nice man. The hardest part for me is Mother won’t let me talk about it to anyone. She forbids me to even mention Auschwitz. And I know it’s just because she is so afraid. She thinks it could happen again. But it’s not like I want to tell the world, Allison. It’s just that sometimes it wells up inside me and I think I might blow up.”
Allison nodded in sympathy. “I felt like that when Grandpa died—in fact, I did kind of explode.”
> “Thanks for listening, Allison. It’s hard to believe, but I feel better having told you. And I don’t think Mother will mind since you don’t know anyone in Buffalo anyway.” Sarah watched as she trailed her fingers along the water. “You know, Allison, I’m half Jewish. Does that bother you?”
“Of course not! Actually, I envy you having such an interesting heritage. I grew up only knowing half of my family background, and they were generation after generation of boring!”
Sarah laughed but grew serious again. “I always have this fear, Allison. I know this is America and it’s supposed to be different here, but I worry that someone will find out that I’m Jewish and hate me.”
“I think that’s how Heather feels sometimes about being blind.” And Allison didn’t want to admit it, especially because it seemed so petty in light of Sarah’s challenges, but it was also how she felt about being the daughter of a movie star.
“It doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Sarah said.
Allison shook her head and Sarah sighed. They heard the lunch bell ringing so they rowed quickly back to the dock and dashed up to the dining hall. They were late but managed to slip in quietly after Miss Campbell asked the blessing. Everyone was already eating, but Heather and Barbara had saved two places, keeping Monica at a safe distance this time.
“I signed us up for the softball tournament this afternoon,” Monica announced loudly from the other end of the table. “Our cabin will play against the senior girls in Beechnut Cabin. We need everyone to be there.” She looked directly at Heather.
“Well, I don’t think you’ll want me,” Heather said. “I don’t even know how to play. I’d surely make you lose.”
“Then it’s high time you learned,” Monica said. “Besides, we need everyone so we can make a full team.”
When lunch was over, they met out on the softball diamond. Allison and Barbara assured Heather not to worry. Monica couldn’t very well force her to play against her will.
“You can be our cheering section, Heather.” Barbara guided Heather to a bench behind the backstop. They gathered mitts and balls from the sports shed and warmed up in the field.
“Hey, Heather!” Monica yelled. “Come on, we need you!”
“Sorry, Monica. I’m just not up to it. Thanks anyway. I’ll cheer you on.”
From the outfield, Allison observed Monica walking closer to Heather, tossing a softball up and down in her hand over and over. Sensing trouble, Allison jogged across the field.
“Here, Heather, hold this.” Monica threw the ball straight toward her. Heather instinctively lifted her hands, but the ball hit her smack in the face, knocking her sunglasses to the dirt. Blood instantly spurted from her nose. Allison flew to Heather’s side, glaring at Monica with an intense loathing. Barbara ran up and grabbed Monica by the arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she screamed.
“Let me go—it was an accident. I thought she’d catch it.”
“My foot, you did!” Barbara yelled in Monica’s face. Just then John Stewart, who was coming back from a counselors’ meeting, dashed over and pulled the two girls apart.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Monica just gave Heather a bloody nose!” Barbara exclaimed, pointing in Heather’s direction. John looked over in alarm.
“Is that true, Monica?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “All I did is throw a ball to her. It’s not like she’s blind or anything. Or is she? Hey, look at those eyes. I do believe she is blind. Heather, why are you hiding—”
“Shut up, Monica!” Barbara shouted. “Just shut your mouth!”
“Allison, you get Heather to the infirmary,” John instructed. “I’ll deal with Monica.”
Allison held her kerchief on Heather’s nose to stop the bleeding as she guided her back to the main lodge. Miss Campbell was in the infirmary and sent for an ice pack to keep the swelling down.
“How did this happen, Heather?” she asked.
“She got hit with a softball,” Allison explained, not ready to incriminate Miss Campbell’s own niece.
“These things happen,” Miss Campbell said kindly. “I don’t think it’s broken, and it doesn’t seem to be swelling badly.”
John walked in with Monica in tow and Barbara not far behind. His face was a mix of emotions.
“Miss Campbell,” John said, obviously trying to keep calm. “Monica is responsible for this.”
“What?” Miss Campbell gaped at her niece. “I thought it was an accident—”
“No, it seems that Heather is blind.” He looked at Heather. She lay on the infirmary bed in a blood-splattered shirt with an ice pack covering her face. Miss Campbell stared at Heather in amazement.
“The girls have been trying to keep it secret,” John continued. “But Monica found out and threw the softball at Heather in hopes of exposing it.” Now Monica’s head drooped.
“Well, I never!” Miss Campbell exclaimed. “How extraordinary! Heather, you certainly had me fooled. But why didn’t you tell us?”
Heather sat up and removed the ice pack. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. “Are you going to send me home?”
Miss Campbell put her arm around Heather. “Of course not, dear. Why in the world would we do that? My goodness, I’m very impressed that you would be so brave to come to camp and even keep your handicap a secret.” She hugged Heather, and Allison could’ve hugged Miss Campbell.
Miss Campbell turned to Monica. “As for you, young lady, we’ve got plenty of jobs to keep you out of trouble. The bathrooms need a thorough scrubbing, then you can report to Cookie for KP, and I expect a full apology to Heather—later. Now march, missy!” Monica slinked out and Miss Campbell said quietly, “Monica hasn’t heard the last of this—don’t you worry.” She marched out of the room.
“Are you okay, Heather?” Barbara asked. Heather nodded.
“Heather,” John began, “why didn’t you tell us? You could’ve told me—”
“It’s hard to explain, John. It was partly fear of being sent back, but sometimes people treat me funny when they know I’m blind. For once, I wanted to be just like one of the gang.”
“You are one of the gang, Heather,” he said. “Being blind doesn’t change anything. We all like you because you’re Heather. Right, girls?”
Everyone agreed heartily. Hugs were shared and a few more tears spilled, and Allison felt as if a heavy load had been lifted. She watched John give Heather’s hand a squeeze before he left.
“Hey, what do you say we all go for a swim to cool off. You want to come, Heather?” Barbara suggested.
“Sure,” Heather replied with a smile.
After a rowdy swim, Allison stretched out in the sand and squinted up into the bright blue sky. It felt good to be alive. She wondered for the umpteenth time what was happening at Tamaqua Point. Just knowing they were waiting for her back in Oregon filled her with a warm feeling.
“Allison,” Sarah said. “I think I’m going to write my mother a letter and tell her how it makes me feel for her to act as if Auschwitz never happened.”
“Sarah, that’s a great idea. Then at least she’ll know, and you can get it off your chest.”
Allison thought of her own mother. What was Marsha thinking about her father’s attempt to gain custody? She couldn’t understand why Marsha should even care, since she’d never had time for her before. Maybe Marsha would be glad if Allison lived in Oregon with her dad.
“You know, Sarah,” Allison said, “maybe I should do the same thing. My mother and father are divorced, and Dad wants to have custody of me. I should write Marsha—that’s my mom—and tell her what I want.”
“You mean you’d rather be with your dad than your mom?” Sarah looked surprised.
“Oh sure, I’ve never really been with my mom much. I hardly even know her. She’s always off shooting a movie somewhere—” Allison realized her error. She looked at Sarah to see if she caught it, and Sarah stared in puzzlement.
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br /> Sarah looked at her suspiciously. “Your mother’s name is Marsha and she makes movies? Is your mother Marsha Madison?”
Allison nodded sheepishly. “Please don’t tell, Sarah. I don’t want anyone to know. It’s kind of like what Heather said—people won’t treat you the same.”
“I understand. It’s like the Jewish thing for me. Wow, isn’t it funny how we’ve all been hiding our different secrets? It’s kind of neat because now I don’t feel so alone.”
Allison smiled. “Yep, I know just what you mean.”
The days slowly became weeks, and life at camp settled into a pleasant routine. Even Monica grew more tolerable. Camp friendships blossomed and matured to the point Allison realized saying good-bye would be tough. But her greatest concern was where she would go next. Would her home be in Oregon living with her father or on the East Coast, shuttled back and forth between boarding school, Cape Cod, and the occasional visit to Marsha’s New York penthouse?
Allison always looked forward to mail, but so far the news from Oregon, though delightful to read, wasn’t very encouraging when it came to the custody problem. At least her father was telling it to her straight, and it seemed he was doing all he could. Marsha, or rather Marsha’s lawyers, were determined to make life difficult. But in each letter he wrote, her father assured her that everything would turn out okay in the end. She hoped he was right.
During the last week of camp, Allison decided she’d just go home with her father when he came to pick them up by train. She figured it couldn’t hurt since she’d heard nothing from Marsha. Even if Marsha had to go out to Oregon to get her, at least she would have some time with the people she loved. And if Marsha came out, maybe she’d see how much Allison needed to be there. Maybe it would help Marsha to change her mind. She had never seemed to care where Allison had lived before.
Allison O'Brian on Her Own Page 22
