No sound came from inside. His knuckle plinked the glass again. “Lana, I need to talk with you.”
A slight rustle moved behind the shutter. He waited. A weary face peered from the narrow space between the door and frame. “What?” she whispered. “I have eight sleeping girls in here. What’s wrong?”
Her expression changed when she opened the door a hair-breadth wider. “You look like someone stole your bicycle. What is it?”
The words tumbled from his mouth, and he watched her shoulders tighten beneath her sweatshirt, then droop like a receding tide.
She shook her head. “I suppose I’m in this thing for the duration.” A rattled sigh escaped her. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
His own relieved sigh rippled through his chest, and with a confident wave, he darted across the dewy grass to the back door of the dining hall. The building was lighted, and the camp director, his mouth agape, stood between the large work counter and huge iron stove, pivoting in a slow circle like a weather vane caught in a strange wind. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he groaned.
“Leave,” Mark said. “I’ll take over breakfast, but I expect a generous refund on this venture.” He stood his ground until the man nodded.
“I suppose it’s worth it,” the director said and hustled through the doorway like a man newly paroled.
Mark stared into the refrigerator. What would be quick and easy? Cereal, he thought, but today was their big canoe day. The teens needed energy. Scrambled eggs? With cheese? Fast and easy. Add toast, and he had his breakfast menu.
By the time he’d hauled out the ingredients, a blurry-eyed Lana stalked through the door.
“Okay, Betty, what can I do?”
“Who?” He squinted at her, trying to decode her thinking.
“Crocker. Betty Crocker,” she enunciated. “What can I do, Chief?”
He laughed. “That’s chef. Isn’t it?”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” She gave his arm a poke and stepped up to the food-laden counter. They worked side by side, cracking dozens of eggs and beating them into a foamy mass. Then he grated cheese while she buttered bread.
When she slipped the big crock of butter back into the refrigerator, she stood, staring inside. “We ought to do something interesting. Give the eggs a little zip.”
“Zip? What are you talking about? Kids don’t like zip. They like plain, regular stuff. Things they know.”
She didn’t move. “I’ve heard of adding mayonnaise to eggs.”
“Forget it, Lana. Let’s stick with cheese.”
Before he could stop her, she swung around and unleashed the cap from a bottle. “Here we go. Just a dash for added flavor.”
He attempted to shift the mixing bowl, but the bathtub-sized container made shifting more challenging. She caught the edge with her zip before Mark could read the label. An enormous splash appeared, and the eggs swam with a dark red liquid.
She pulled back, staring at the bottle. “Oops.” She eyed the label, her face paling.
Mark froze like a Thanksgiving turkey. “What do you mean, oops?”
“I thought it was a shaker bottle.” She hid the label behind her back like a little kid caught in the cookie jar. “I meant to grab the Worcestershire Sauce.”
“So what is it? What did you put in the eggs?”
She swung the bottle around to face him. “Hot sauce.”
He cringed. “Hot sauce. Wonderful.”
She shrugged sheepishly. “Okay. . .so what do we do now?”
“We?” He narrowed his eyes and allowed a scowl to settle on his face. “I’m going to announce you threw hot sauce in the eggs.”
“Come on, Mark. Think. We can call them Mexicali eggs. Teens like tacos and things.”
Biting her lower lip, Lana scanned the room with a look of desperation until she lurched forward and snatched up a half-empty bag of corn chips. She squeezed the bag, and the crunch and crackle sounded through the room.
Panic rifled through Mark’s mind, but again, his body reacted more slowly than Lana’s. She pulled open the bag and dumped the crumbled chips into the eggs.
“What are you doing?” Mark asked, his imagination flying.
Grabbing the whisk, she swirled the hot sauce and chips through the eggs. “Voila!”
“That’s French. How about ‘Vaya con Dios’?” He felt his shoulders sag and his spirits with them.
“Don’t be a bad sport.” She spun toward him, looking like a mountain climber reaching the top of Everest. “It may be delicious.”
“May is the operative word.” He leaned against the counter for support. If she ruined breakfast, what would he do?
Lana turned her back on him and tore through the cabinets looking for the proper-sized pans and griddles. Gigantic seemed to be the smallest. He took two huge frying pans from her and divided the mixture, pouring half into each.
Lana had grown quiet. She covered two burners with a wide griddle and tossed the buttered bread on top.
When the clock hands reached seven-thirty, Lana rang the breakfast bell and returned with speed to set out the jugs of milk and the pots of water for hot chocolate. The first comer burst threw the doorway and came to a screeching halt.
The boy’s eyes opened nearly as wide as the plates sitting in a pile on the serving table. “What are you two doing here?”
Mark chuckled at the teen’s expression. “I’ve always wanted to be a cook. Let me know if I should change careers.” But not with this meal, he thought, wondering how the boy would react when he tasted Lana’s concoction.
“I’m an innocent bystander,” Lana added.
Mark sent her one of his sternest looks but made no comment.
The parents and teens piled into the hall, and after Gary said the blessing, the huge mound of cheesy eggs and grilled toast nearly vanished. To Mark’s amazement, the breakfast received rave reviews. Lana pranced in the kitchen like she’d won a blue ribbon at a bake-off.
Before the campers scraped the bottom of the serving dish, Mark put a couple of spoonfuls on a plate and eyed the scrambled mess. He dipped his fork into the mixture and slid a bite into his mouth. He grinned and took two more tastes. The creamy cheese sauce blended with the hot sauce and chips, leaving a spirited flavor in his mouth. Lana had been right. The Mexicali creation tasted like real Mexican cuisine.
Disappointment slithered over faces when they came back for more and found an empty bowl. When the scraping forks quieted, Mark slipped out of his discolored apron and joined his charges in the dining room. “We’ll have our Bible study this morning since today is our canoe trip and tonight we have another team activity.”
Cheers and voices rose above his, and he quieted them before continuing. “Hold on, pals. When we’re finished with our lesson, we’ll meet at the hut by the beach. Pair off before you get there. We’ll be heading for a park a few miles downstream. When we arrive, we’ll have a picnic, and the bus will bring us back. The camp director will take care of the canoes.”
“You mean we don’t get to canoe back?” Sara asked.
“No,” Mark said
Moans and groans hummed around the hall.
Mark shook his head, realizing they knew little about canoeing. “You’ll thank me. Did you ever try to canoe upstream?”
From the teens’ expression, Mark knew they had no idea about upstream or downstream, and he realized a quick canoeing lesson would be a must before they paddled away later in the morning.
“Open your Bibles,” Mark said, “to Romans 15:13–14. Look over the verses. I’ll be right back.” He hurried to the kitchen, realizing he had to break the bad news to Lana.
“We have a problem. . .as you know,” he said, eyeing her in dishwater up to her elbows. “I have to lead the Bible study so I’ll see if the other counselors will come in and help you. Okay?”
“What if I say no?” Her arms hung at her sides, and water dripped onto the plank floor.
&nbs
p; “It’s only two jobs. Finish the dishes, and make sandwiches for the canoe trip. And you can bring along some of those apples too,” he said gesturing toward the peck of fruit on a counter. He ducked as a soggy dishcloth flew through the air, missing him by a soap bubble. He gave her his sweetest smile and escaped back into the dining room.
The parents cooperated, and with the magnified sounds of dishes being washed and put away along with a few door-bangs and muffled groans coming from the kitchen, Mark began the lesson.
He opened his Bible and faced the group. “You’ve had a chance to read these two verses. What do you think Paul means, and what does the message have to do with us? Listen again: ‘May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. I myself am convinced, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, complete in knowledge and competent to instruct one another.’ ”
The discussion got underway, and Mark prodded and encouraged their understanding of hope and trust in each other as well as in God. “When you get in the canoes a short time from now, some of you might be experienced and some not. These verses remind us to listen to your partner’s knowledge and learn from his or her instructions. Don’t think you know better. Remember, we are all full of goodness—which means cooperation and concern for each other.”
With his final words, Mark sent the teens and parent counselors on their way to dress for the canoe trip, then bolstered his courage to face Lana. When he slid into the kitchen, she was alone. He watched her for a moment before she noticed him. “Hi, Camperella. Where are your helpers?” he asked.
Perspiration glistened on her nose, and mustard decorated her fingers. “Camperella?” She gave him a quizzical look. “Oh, I get it,” she said, with a slight smirk. “They went to the ball without me.” She stuck her foot toward him. “Where’s my glass slipper, Prince Uncharming?”
He looked at her tiny feet clad in damp, food-stained sneakers. Seeing her at work—work she’d agreed to do to bail him out—touched him. He sidled next to her, sliding his arm around her waist. She turned her shiny face upward, and he grabbed a paper towel to daub the moist droplets sitting on her nose. “My poor friend, I’ve worked you way too hard.”
“It’s hot when you’re up to your elbows in dishwater.”
“I know.” A strong urge soared through him to kiss her upturned lips. Like a magnet, the attraction drew him forward, and without thinking, his mouth met hers in a sweep of tenderness. To his joy, she didn’t pull away, but tiptoed upward and returned the touch with such gentleness it might have been a dream. But he knew better, and so did his heart, hammering like a woodpecker.
When he eased away, Lana lifted her eyes to his with a look of surprise. But her expression shifted to acceptance, then pleasure. His joy soared, and he longed to return to her sweet mouth, but caution waved a flag in his thoughts. He’d wait for another time and another place.
With a hint of embarrassment, she lowered her eyes. “Everything’s ready,” she said. “The sandwiches and sodas are packed in the two coolers. I put the apples in this box.” She gestured to a carton sitting beside the coolers.“Then we’d better get ready too,” Mark said, wishing he could do something wonderful for her kindness.
They closed the kitchen, and as they headed out the back door, the director flagged Mark.
“The cook is still sick, but I have good news,” he said. “I found a replacement for dinner tonight.”
Mark stepped toward him. “That’s a relief.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “The coolers and box of apples are ready to go.”
“Good work,” the man said. “The bus should be there long before your group arrives.”
“I hope so,” Mark said, beginning to wonder if any more catastrophes might occur.
Outside, Mark and Lana headed in the direction of their cabins to slip into clothing suitable for the canoe trip. Both ready, they crossed the lawn together and headed to the lake. When they arrived, most of the teens were waiting and immediately started egging him to get going. The canoes had been lined up on the shore, and Mark glanced at the map and instructions, praying for a safe outing.
While Mark checked to see who still seemed to be missing, Lana motioned each pair together and assigned them a canoe. She surprised him when she moved to his side and whispered. “Problem, I think.”
“What?” he asked.
She gave him a subtle tilt of her head.
He surveyed the groups of twosomes and spotted the problem. “Janet?” he whispered back.
Lana nodded. “She’s been great since that first day. She and Teri hit it off, but I think Teri’s paired up with Dennis.”
Mark eyed the boy and girl, standing together. “What happened to Susan? Weren’t they all friends?”
“She’s not feeling well and asked one of the parents if she could stay in the cabin.”
Mark eyed the situation. “So what do you think we should do now?”
“You’ll canoe alone, and I’ll tell Janet I don’t have a partner.”
“Or we could include her in the rowboat with the two fellows.”
Lana’s raised eyebrow told him that wasn’t the answer. He unwillingly conceded. “Okay, but I thought you’ve never canoed before.”
She gave him one of her how-dumb-do-you-think-I-am looks. “It can’t be that hard to learn,” she said, one hand on her hip.
“It’s tricky, Lana. You have to be—” He was talking to himself. Lana had bounded away and returned dragging Janet, wearing a smile on her lips.
Janet’s face seemed a mixture of relief and embarrassment, but Lana rattled on as if the choice were hers, not caused by Janet’s obvious exclusion from the other pairings.
Mark’s caution about canoeing had fallen on Lana’s deaf ears. Knowing Lana, she would do as she pleased. He decided to let it go and gathered the others for a review of canoeing instructions. “Now when you climb in, step to the center, and do it carefully.” Fearing the worst, his eyes sought heaven.
“And remember,” he continued, “follow each other, and don’t try to play hero. Remember, we have the rowboat handy for emergencies.” He paused whispering up another plea. “And no silliness. When we reach the park, pull over to the shore. You’ll recognize it by picnic tables and a big bus.”
They all laughed, and when he finished, the teams clambered into the canoes, some nearly toppling at the shoreline. Within minutes, the caravan of canoes floated out to the center of the lake. Mark signaled for them to take the sharp turn into the narrower branch of the river where they would be pulled downstream toward a larger lake.
The rowboat stayed behind, keeping an eye out for toppled canoes, and Mark, navigating alone, lingered midway, watching the progress of the eager teens. His heart sank when he viewed Lana and Janet zigzagging their way far behind most of the canoes. Janet appeared to know a little about canoeing, but his instinct suggested that Lana was doing her thing. The teen didn’t have a chance.
Despite her stubbornness, he was proud of Lana. Though her attitude about teens seemed to have been tarnished by her teaching position, she had given it another try and had succeeded. He admired the way she’d worked with the campers. He’d been touched by her sensitivity to Janet and her earlier response to Don. Lana might think she didn’t like teens and teaching, but she seemed a different woman since they’d arrived at camp.
The rowboat passed him by and, concerned about Lana, Mark slowed and looked over his shoulder. Instead of continuing, he held back until her canoe drew closer. “How are you doing?” he called.
She gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up, but from the look on Janet’s face, Mark guessed they weren’t doing as well as Lana’s thumb indicated.
When they came closer, Janet gave him a pitiful look. “She’s worse than a teenager, Mark. She won’t listen to a thing.” Janet grinned, but the girl had pinpointed reality. Lana had grown so much, but at times, she slid into her old ways and needed
to be in charge.
Mark viewed Janet’s paddling skills and noticed Lana would have been better in the back, working as the rudder. Maybe because of her petite size, her oars hit the water with uneven strokes. Janet’s long arms and taller stature could shoot them through the water while Lana’s dragging paddles seemed to slow them down. Before Mark could stop himself, he’d uttered his thoughts aloud.
“Then we’ll trade spots,” Lana said, standing in the canoe and shifting her weight toward the back.
Mark let out a cautionary yell while Janet grabbed the canoe’s sides and struggled to keep it upright. But in Lana’s case, the struggle failed, and she tumbled from the canoe along with the paddle. When she resurfaced, Lana and the paddle had parted company.
Mark fought to turn his canoe back, but the current pulled him forward. He saw no way for Lana to climb back into either canoe without tipping them over. If he dived in to help her, he’d lose his own canoe. The logical course seemed for him to charge ahead for the rowboat.
“Swim to the side, Lana,” he called, “and I’ll get the rowboat to pick you up.” He dug his paddle deep into the water, moving the canoe downstream. As he flew forward, Lana’s paddle bobbed up and floated past. Leaning over with caution, he grabbed it before the paddle vanished into the debris along the riverbank.
Mark plunged his paddle from side to side at a racer’s pace until he sighted the rowboat ahead of him. Yelling and waving to capture their attention, Mark moved forward, but his mind backed up, returning to the rubble swirling along the river’s edge. He prayed a water snake hadn’t chosen Lana’s bank to sunbathe.
Finally, the teens in the rowboat spotted him and turned around. He thanked the Lord he’d had the forethought to prepare for an emergency. The boys gave Mark an acknowledging wave, reversed course, and sailed past on the way to Lana’s rescue.
Mark back-paddled, waiting and praying Lana didn’t panic. Janet came by with panic etched on her face. “I’m sorry,” she called as the current pulled her past. “If I’d realized what she was doing, I’d have—”
Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489) Page 12
