“She thought it came from stores, not cows,” scoffs Carter.
I hold up the big jar of cream that I got from the camp kitchen. “Guess what? We’re going to make butter tonight too! Just like Elizabeth Ann.”
Tara’s face falls. “Is that going to be our snack?”
Cassidy lets out a whoop of laughter. “Mmm mmm, girls, dig in! Have yourself a nice big spoonful of butter!”
We all crack up at this. “I promise we’ll be putting the butter on something yummy,” I tell them. “How do some of Ethel and Thelma’s apple muffins sound?”
Our campers clap enthusiastically.
“Speaking of apples,” says Jess, glancing over at Felicia, who is still silent. She shoots me a “What’s up with her?” look, and I shrug. “Who remembers what kind of apple is Aunt Ann’s favorite?”
I add a little salt to the jar of cream, screw the lid on tightly, then start to shake it. “There’s a prize for the right answer.”
A hand by the fireplace goes up timidly. “Yes, Nica?”
“Northern Spy?” she whispers.
“Well done! Your prize is that you get to be our first shaker.” I pass her the jar. “We don’t have an old-fashioned churn the way Aunt Abigail did, but this will still work. You start, then pass it around so everybody gets a turn.”
Nica begins shaking the jar, and as it slowly makes its way around the circle of girls, I hand out this week’s Fun Facts.
Fun Facts About Dorothy
1) Dorothy was highly educated for a woman of her time, earning degrees from Ohio State University, the Sorbonne in Paris, and Columbia University. In 1904, she earned her PhD from Columbia. She was the first woman to receive an honorary degree from Dartmouth College.
Jess spots that one right away, just as I knew she would.
“Hey!” she says, sounding pleased. “Dartmouth is where Darcy goes.”
Tara’s thumb pops out of her mouth. “Who’s Darcy?”
“Um, my boyfriend,” Jess tells them.
The younger girls make kissing noises, and Jess blushes to the roots of her hair.
“You brought it up,” Cassidy tells her, grinning.
2) Dorothy spoke five languages fluently, including German and French.
3) She met John Fisher while they were students at Columbia and married him in 1907. Their daughter, Sally, was born in 1909, followed by a son, Jimmy, in 1913.
4) Instead of pursuing an academic career as she had planned, Dorothy decided to write.
5) On a trip to Rome in 1912, Dorothy met Maria Montessori and became interested in her system of teaching and child-rearing. She would go on to introduce the Montessori Method in the United States.
6) Dorothy wrote over forty books for children and adults, including novels, short stories, memoirs, and books on education.
7) She was a judge for the Book-of-the-Month Club for twenty-five years, from 1926 until 1951.
8) Understood Betsy is the book she’s best known for.
“I think the butter’s done, Emma,” says Jess when the jar reaches her.
Sure enough, there’s a pale yellow lump floating inside. Our campers all crowd around to watch as I fish it out and pop it in a bowl.
“Now we have to rinse it,” I tell them, grateful for the Internet videos that showed me how this is done. I add water from the pitcher I have ready, swish it around, then pour off the liquid into another bowl. “Harper, do you want to try it?”
She nods, hopping up off her cushion to grab the pitcher. We rinse, pour, and repeat several more times, until I announce, “I think we’re done. Felicia?”
My co-counselor gives me a questioning look.
“Would you read aloud from the next chapter while I butter the muffins and pass them around?”
She inclines her head, which tonight is crowned with a coronet of braids. “As you wish.”
Cassidy catches my eye and smirks. She gets a huge kick out of Felicia. Probably because she doesn’t have to share a cabin with her.
Clearing her throat, Felicia begins:
“Elizabeth Ann was very much surprised to hear Cousin Ann’s voice calling, ‘Dinner!’ down the stairs. It did not seem possible that the whole morning had gone by.”
I’ve read this book a million times before, and it’s as comfortable as my favorite pair of slippers. Jess throws another log in the wood- stove as I’m passing out the last of the muffins. I take a seat on the sofa between Meri and Pippa, who curl up beside me like cats, and let the words wash over me.
Later, when we’re all back in our cabins and everyone is finally settled in for the night, I’m not feeling nearly as relaxed. Sleep eludes me as my thoughts circle round and round, like a hamster on a wheel, always coming back to Stewart.
Heaving a sigh, I start bargaining with myself again.
If I hear a loon in the next ten seconds, Stewart will come tomorrow. I lie there in agony, holding my breath and counting.
On seven, I hear a loon and exhale in relief. The loon sings a tune by the light of the moon. I smile as Nica’s jaunty verse floats into thought. Pulling the comforter up under my chin, I close my eyes, feeling ready at last to go to sleep. My eyes pop open again a second later as an acrid odor drifts in through the screened window. Skunk!
“Gaaah,” I sputter. It must be sitting right on our doorstep. No one else seems to notice—there’s nothing but the sound of steady breathing from the four corners of our cabin—and I debate whether I should get up and try to shoo it away. Instead, I stuff my pillow over my head and burrow under the covers, trying not to gag as I seek relief from the eye-watering smell. Finally, I manage to drift off to sleep.
* * *
I’m awake before reveille, and dash to the showers while my campers are still sleeping. Back in my cubie, I break out my stash of contraband makeup and contemplate it, wondering what I can apply and still fly under Sergeant Marge’s radar. A little mascara and lip gloss should do the trick. As I’m putting it on, my gaze falls on Stewart’s picture in my open trunk. With any luck, it will be on my dressing table next to Pip by the end of the day.
Breakfast is a hurried meal, as we need to leave plenty of time for SCUM. The maintenance staff has been busy for days getting things spruced up for Parents’ Weekend, but a few finishing touches are still needed. Nest is put in charge of watering all the flower containers around camp, so Felicia and I spend the next forty-five minutes supervising our girls as they scurry around with watering cans.
Promptly at ten, cars begin to trickle down the road to camp. Megan and I are on the greeting committee, along with several other counselors. As I take my place on the Dining Hall porch, armed with the sign-out sheet and other information, my heart is pounding so fast I can barely breathe. Stewart. Stewart. Stewart.
I was hoping that the Chadwicks would be among the early birds, but they’re not. Pippa’s family is the first to arrive, which isn’t surprising since the Lovejoys live in Pumpkin Falls and have the shortest distance to travel. I can’t believe how many of them there are. They just keep piling out of the minivan.
Pippa’s oldest sister is as tall as Cassidy. “Hey, Pipster,” she says, giving her a hug. “Having a good summer?”
Pippa nods vigorously, then tugs on my T-shirt. “Truly ith on the thwim team, remember?”
Like I could forget. “Of course. Hi, Truly.”
“Hi.”
“May we take our daughters out to lunch?” Mrs. Lovejoy asks as Pippa grabs her hand and starts to drag her away.
“Sure,” I tell her. “Lauren’s in Meadow, right? You just need to check in with Melissa or Brianna, her counselors. I’ll sign both girls out for you right now. Oh, and be sure and have them back in time for the afternoon program. Here’s the schedule.” I hand it to her, along with a copy of the Birch Bark.
As Team Lovejoy heads off, I turn and scan the incoming cars. There’s still no sign of the Concord group yet. Come on, Stewart!
“Our parents are here!” shouts Fr
eddie, who’s been waiting on the porch with her twin. She leaps down the steps and across the grove. Nica is right behind her.
“Girls!” cries Mr. Simpson, leaning out the car window as he pulls into a parking spot by the grove.
He gets out of the car and gives his daughters both big hugs. His wife is sitting in the passenger seat, talking on the phone. She waves to the girls, then holds up a finger to let them know she’ll be with them in a minute.
Freddie and Nica drag their father over to the porch to meet me.
“This is Emma,” says Freddie. “She’s not our counselor but she’s really nice.”
Mr. Simpson laughs. “I’m sure she is.” His hair is gray at the temples, and he has what Cassidy’s family calls “happiness lines” in the corners of his eyes. He gives me a warm smile. “Hello, Emma.”
We shake hands. Mrs. Simpson finally gets out of the car, and the girls sprint off again. She has the same sandy hair as her girls, but not a single happiness line, from what I can tell.
“Nica has a poem in the Birch Bark,” I tell Mr. Simpson, handing him a copy from the pile on the table behind me.
“Fantastic! She told us in her last letter that she’s been doing some writing this summer.”
As the twins return to the porch with their mother in tow, Mr. Simpson reaches out and ruffles Nica’s hair. “Good work, sweetie.” He passes the newsletter to his wife, who glances briefly at the poem.
“Do you want to see our cabin and cubies?” asks Freddie, dancing in excitement.
“Of course,” says her father.
Freddie grabs her sister’s hand and the two of them lead the way toward Twin Pines. As their parents start to follow, Mrs. Simpson turns to her husband.
“This is what we have to show for all the money we’re spending this summer?” she murmurs, flicking a manicured nail at the newsletter. “Some nonsense about loons?”
I freeze. Beside me, Megan sucks in her breath.
Nica glances over her shoulder, a stricken expression on her face. Her parents don’t notice; Mr. Simpson has been waylaid by Sergeant Marge, and Mrs. Simpson is on her cell phone again.
“No wonder Nica barely says a word,” I whisper to Megan.
“No kidding,” she replies. “ Even if her mother didn’t think she’d be overheard, what a horrible thing to say!”
There’s a commotion in the parking lot, and a horn toots long and loud. I whip around, my heart in my throat. Stewart?
Nope. Not unless he drives a cherry red pickup truck, towing what looks like a giant silver burrito.
“Uh-oh,” says Megan.
“What?”
“I think that’s my dad.”
Sure enough, the driver’s door on the truck opens and Mr. Wong hops out. Mrs. Wong emerges from the passenger side, and Gigi and Edouard and Sophie Fairfax climb out of the backseat. They all wave cheerfully as they head over to join us.
“I told you we had a surprise,” says Mrs. Wong, giving Megan a big hug.
“That’s it?” Megan stares in disbelief. “A trailer?”
“Not just any trailer,” her father replies proudly. “Wait until you see inside.”
“C’est completement fou,” Sophie whispers, giving me a hug. We smile at each other. I don’t know much French, but I know enough to catch her drift. Megan’s parents are nuts.
The burrito-shaped trailer quickly draws a crowd.
“He’ll be giving tours in a minute, wait and see,” mutters Megan as Mr. Wong hurries back to his new toy.
I spot my family pulling into the parking lot. Finally! Leaving Megan with her mother and grandmother, I race over. Could Stewart have come with them?
No, he couldn’t. The only ones in the back are my brother and Pip.
“Look how brown you are!” exclaims my mother, giving me a hug. “I don’t recall ever seeing you so tan.”
“Pretty hard not to be, when you’re outside all day,” I reply.
My father and my brother both give me hugs too.
“Where’s Jess?” Darcy asks.
“On duty down at her cabin,” I tell him. “She’ll be up in a little while—you should hide.”
“You managed to keep it a secret?”
I make a face. “Yes, believe it or not, your little sister can keep her mouth shut when she has to.”
My brother laughs. I’m dying to ask about Stewart, but I don’t want Darcy or anyone else to suspect that I still have feelings for Becca’s brother.
“So,” my father asks, slipping his arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze. “Are you having a good summer?”
“Definitely. Wait until you meet my campers. They are so adorable!”
Over his shoulder, I spot the Chadwicks’ SUV pulling in.
“Emma?” says my mother.
“Mmm?” I reply, craning my neck to see who’s behind the wheel. It’s Mrs. Chadwick. That’s okay, I tell myself. Stewart’s probably in the backseat.
“Emma, your mother just asked you a question,” says my father.
I drag my gaze back, trying to give them my full attention, but out of the corner of my eye I’m still watching as Mrs. Chadwick gets out of the car, followed by Mr. Chadwick.
“Hey, Mrs. H! Hey, Mr. H!” Becca materializes beside me just then.
“Becca! It’s so good to see you!” says my mother. My parents both give her a hug.
The Chadwicks are heading across the grove toward us now. Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick, that is. No one else is with them. I struggle to keep a cheerful expression on my face.
“Awww—Stewart didn’t come?” Becca is clearly disappointed.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” her mom replies lightly, giving her a kiss. “Your brother had, uh, other plans this weekend.” She carefully avoids my gaze.
Other plans? That’s code for visiting his stupid girlfriend, most likely. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my mother watching me. She always says my face is an open book to her. I don’t even bother trying to hide what’s written on its pages right now.
Stewart didn’t come.
There’ll be no happy reunion, no kiss in the gazebo.
My consolation prize? A letter from Rupert Loomis.
Booby prize is more like it.
Moo.
Jess
“Her heart gave a big jump up. . . .”
—Understood Betsy
“This is the coolest thing ever!”
Freddie’s face is alight with excitement as she steps inside the Wongs’ new trailer. I’m right behind her. It’s Twin Pines’s turn to take a tour, and Freddie is right, it really is pretty cool. The trailer is shaped like a long, narrow igloo, with an arched ceiling high enough that even Cassidy and her mother can stand up straight. The outside is silver, and the inside is, well, pure Wong.
Which means mostly white, just like their living room.
I’m pretty sure I detect Gigi’s touch, though, in a bunch of red accessories. Gigi loves red (“Where I come from, it’s the color of good luck,” she always tells us), and I suspect she’s the one who added the red throw pillows on the sofas, the red area rugs and dish towels and teakettle on the stove, and the red clock on the wall.
“Jess! Cassidy! Come look!” crows Brooklyn from the far end. “There’s even a bathroom!”
Of course there is. Biffies are not the Wongs’ style.
I head down the hallway behind Cassidy, who’s carrying her little sister, Chloe. It’s hard to believe that Chloe will be starting kindergarten a year from now. I can remember the day she was born like it was yesterday.
We ooh and aah over the tiny bathroom, then head back to the living area. Mrs. Wong is in full Mrs. Wong mode, earnestly explaining to Brooklyn’s mother the trailer’s green features, including a solar panel on the roof and the all-natural, environmentally friendly flooring made of sustainable bamboo. Mr. Wong, meanwhile, proudly shows off the fun stuff—hidden storage drawers, awnings outside that retract at the flip of a switch, and a flat-screen TV and kill
er sound system.
“How many people can sleep in here?” I ask, looking around.
“Six,” says Mr. Wong, promptly showing us how the dining table folds down to make a double bed, and how two more people can fit end-to-end on the long sofa. “Including the bedroom, of course.”
“It’s a little cozy,” says Gigi. “But we’re having fun, right, Edouard?”
“Mais oui!” he replies, placing a tray of cookies on the table. My campers make a dive for them. “The trailer, she is our little honeymoon cottage on wheels, n’est-ce pas, chérie?”
I love the way Megan’s grandfather talks like he’s still a newlywed, even though he and Gigi have been married for two years already. I hope somebody talks about me that way someday. Maybe even Darcy. I can feel myself blushing at this thought.
“Do you think the Wongs would let our book club borrow this thing sometime?” Cassidy whispers.
“That would be so cool!” I whisper back. “But I don’t want to try to drive it.”
“I can drive it,” Sophie announces smugly. “Megan’s father has given me lessons.”
I look over at her, trying to picture the oh-so-French and oh-so-petite Sophie at the wheel of the giant red truck. It’s a stretch.
“Time’s up!” says Gigi as the buzzer on the stove goes off. Our campers all groan.
“Come on, girls,” I tell them. “We agreed to take turns, and Nest is waiting.”
Edouard hands everyone another cookie on the way out. The last hour has been a busy one. Before the tour, I was stationed at Twin Pines, meeting parents and answering questions about their daughters’ progress and activities.
Now everyone’s milling around, waiting for the bell to ring so they can leave. It finally does, and as Cassidy and I say good-bye to the Simpsons, I notice that Nica seems a little subdued.
“Have fun at lunch!” I tell her, and she nods but she doesn’t look at me.
What’s up with that? I wonder. I say good-bye to the Alvarez family, then turn to Cassidy as they head for the parking lot. “I think that’s everyone.”
“Wait, what about Carter? She’s supposed to tag along with my family for a picnic, since her parents couldn’t come.”
Mother-Daughter Book Camp Page 13
