Strawberry Summer

by Cynthia Blair

  It was only then that the girls found out what the Reeds’ son’s name was. He certainly hadn’t volunteered that information, and asking him right out would have somehow seemed too much like prying.

  “Now, which one of you is Chris, and which is Susan?” Mrs. Reed asked once she had sat down with them and her husband at the kitchen table, where they all had a glass of iced tea. Alan had declined to join them, saying he had too much to do, what with the opening of camp the very next day and all.

  “Even more important,” said Mr. Reed with a chuckle, “how can we tell you two apart?” Like his wife, he was squarely built, with dark hair, a tanned, lined face, and large, strong hands.

  The twins laughed. “Actually, we’re very different,” Chris explained. “Not only our personalities, but also the way we dress and wear our hair ...”

  “Chris is right. We’re very easy to tell apart— unless we want to look the same, of course.” She cast a teasing glance in her twin’s direction. “As a matter of fact, we happen to be experts in the field of fooling people. We’ve got quite a bit of experience in that area.

  “But don’t worry,” she hastened to add, anxious to put her new employers at ease. “We’re not about to trick anybody this summer. Right, Chris?” She gave her sister a meaningful look.

  As they drank their iced tea, the Reeds told them about the camp and filled them in on the details of their duties as camp counselors. The campers, aged eight to twelve, were due to arrive at camp the next day, a day that promised to be busy if not chaotic. Some of the other counselors had already arrived; the rest would be coming in first thing in the morning. The average day’s schedule was a full one, but there was time for relaxing—and even doing some swimming or boating on one’s own.

  “How many campers are coming tomorrow?” Susan asked, wondering, once again, if perhaps she was getting in over her head.

  The look that Jake and Olive Reed exchanged told her that she had touched a soft spot.

  “A lot fewer than last year,” Mr. Reed said, suddenly somber. “And that was fewer than the year before....”

  “Yes, it’s true,” his wife admitted. “Business has been falling off lately. But we’re still managing.”

  “Just barely.” Mr. Reed stood up. “Listen, I’d better not get started on this. Alan’s right; there’s still a lot that has to get done before tomorrow. It’s an important day for us, and we’ve got to be ready.”

  When he had gone, letting the kitchen’s screen door slam behind him, Mrs. Reed looked at the twins sadly. “I don’t think this is the kind of thing we should be worrying our counselors with, but Jake has good reason to be disturbed. Alan’s very upset, too. The truth is, there have been some peculiar things going on around here the last couple of years. And they’re both afraid that it’s going to start up again this summer, once the season gets rolling.”

  “What exactly has been going on?” Susan asked softly.

  “Well, it’s hard to describe.” Mrs. Reed toyed with her iced tea glass nervously. “Just a lot of strange things. Supplies disappearing, then turning up in some unlikely place. Dishes getting broken.

  “One morning—the morning of Parents’ Day, in fact—we all woke up to find someone had cut all our boats loose. Sailboats, canoes, rowboats—-even the rafts and the life preservers. It wasn’t serious, of course. We did manage to get them all back, after spending hours going around the lake, retrieving them. But it was pretty embarrassing when all the parents showed up, wanting to see what their children had learned about boating over the summer.”

  “Surely the parents understood that it wasn’t your fault!” Chris interjected.

  Mrs. Reed shook her head slowly. “We’ve been losing a lot of business. With all the confusion, a lot of the kids just don’t come back the following summer. Their parents find them other camps to go to. Some of them even right here on Lake Majestic.” Her eyes had become glazed with tears. “The way things are going, it looks as if Mr. Reed and I may have to close the camp before too long. As it is, the camp itself is already beginning to suffer. You can see for yourselves how run-down things are getting. We just don’t have the money to maintain it properly.”

  All three of them were silent for a while, pretending to be intent on finishing up their iced tea. Mrs. Reed dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her napkin.

  “Well, enough about all that. This is supposed to be a happy occasion. After all, it’s your first day at Camp Pinewood! Goodness, what are you two going to think, with me going on and on like this?

  “Now, why don’t you both scoot on up to Cabin Four and get settled in? Just follow the path, right outside. The buildings are well marked. Dinner’s at six, in the big dining hall. We always ring a bell at dinnertime; if you get lost, just follow the clanging. And I really do want to welcome you to Camp Pinewood. I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful summer!”

  But as Chris and Susan made their way up the hill, toward the cabins, the somber mood followed them.

  “That sure was a strange story Mrs. Reed told us,” said Chris.

  “I’ll say. Strange—and very upsetting.”

  “Sounds almost like ghosts are up to something.”

  “Sounds more like troublemakers to me!” Susan declared angrily. “The human variety! Imagine someone sabotaging Camp Pinewood like that! And imagine someone wanting to hurt Mr. and Mrs. Reed! They’re such sweet people, both of them. And they’re just trying to run a nice camp for children. Make a living for themselves.”

  “It is mysterious.” Chris dug her hands into the pockets of her pink jeans. “I wish there was something we could do to help.”

  “Maybe there is. But first we have to find out more about what’s going on around here.”

  “Right. But even before that, we have to turn this place into a home away from home!”

  The girls had just reached Cabin Four. It was a tiny, simple building, almost like a wooden tent. An elevated wooden platform, a sloped roof, and walls that were only waist-high. The only furniture was four cots. At the foot of each was an old-fashioned trunk.

  “Plenty of fresh air,” Chris muttered. “I just hope the raccoons don’t get us.”

  “I’d rather fight off raccoons than mosquitoes!” Susan plopped onto the bed. Its springs creaked loudly under her weight. “Not exactly the Holiday Inn, is it?”

  “It looks like we’ll have company, too. Two more roommates ... other counselors, I guess.” Chris, too, sank onto one of the cots. “You know what, Sooz?”

  “What?”

  “I suddenly have a terrible feeling that this is going to turn out to be a long summer. Maybe even a long, long summer!”

  For once in her life, Susan couldn’t think of anything optimistic to say.

  Chapter Three

  The three-hour bus trip, the excitement and confusion of being in a new place, and initial apprehensions about Camp Pinewood had taken their toll. Chris and Susan slept late the next morning, their sleep made even deeper than usual by all the fresh air. Even the bright morning sunlight streaming through the open walls of their cabin failed to rouse them.

  It wasn’t until two girls came into Cabin Four, talking and laughing and banging their suitcases against the metal frames of the beds, that the twins woke up.

  “Who’s there?” Chris, still groggy, demanded as she sat up in bed.

  Susan, lying in the cot beside her, opened her eyes wide. She was awake instantly.

  “Oh, sorry! We didn’t realize anybody was in here.” One of the girls who had just come in dropped her suitcase onto one of the trunks. She had curly blond hair, round blue eyes, and lots of freckles,

  “What time is it?” Susan was already bounding out of bed.

  “Just past nine.” The other girl, tall and thin with long red hair, glanced around the cabin, then claimed as her own the only bed that was left. She looked at Chris and Susan more carefully. “Hey, are you two sisters?”

  Chris, finally awake, was climbing out of bed
. “We’re twins. I’m Chris Pratt, and this is Susan.”

  “Pleased to meet you! I’ve never known a pair of twins before.” The redheaded girl grinned. “It’ll be an honor to share Cabin Four with you. My name is Linda Ames.”

  “And I’m Samantha Collier. But everybody calls me Sam,” the other girl piped up. “And I’ve never known any twins either!”

  Susan laughed. “We’re not any different from anybody else.”

  “Right,” Chris agreed. “My sister and I just happen to share the same face, that’s all!”

  While Chris and Susan slipped into shorts and T-shirts, Sam and Linda unpacked.

  “Is this your first camp counseling job?” asked Linda. Along with her clothes, Susan noticed that she unpacked a pile of paperback novels—including a few that she had been anxious to read herself.

  “Yes. In fact, Chris and I never even heard of Camp Pinewood until a few weeks ago. How about you?”

  “This is the third summer here for both Sam and me. But,” she added with a sad smile, “I have a feeling it might turn out to be our last.”

  Chris and Susan exchanged knowing looks. So their two cabinmates were also aware of the mysterious things that had been going on at the camp! Before they could ask about how much they knew, Linda volunteered the information.

  “Yes, Camp Pinewood has been running into some financial difficulties, all because of some strange goings-on that no one’s been able to figure out. The number of kids who come here each summer keeps getting smaller, year after year.” She sighed. “As much as I’d hate to see it, it looks like Mr. and Mrs. Reed might even have to close down after this season.”

  The four girls were quiet for a few moments as they thought about the terrible fate that seemed destined to befall the Reed family, for reasons that were entirely out of their control.

  “Well,” Linda finally said, “there’s no use in us worrying about that right now. What we can do is make sure that all the kids who do come to Camp Pinewood have a great summer! They should start arriving in a couple of hours. In the meantime, anyone for breakfast?”

  “I’m ready for a second breakfast.” Sam grinned. “I’ve been on a bus since seven, and even though I ate when I woke up, it seems so long ago that I can’t even remember what I ate!”

  “The cook always makes sure there’s lots of food around on the first day of camp,” Linda explained. “I’ll bet if we go down to the dining hall, there’ll be an entire feast waiting for us. Eggs, sausages, cereal—anything you want!”

  “I sure hope so,” said Chris. “I’m starving!”

  The four girls trooped off in search of breakfast. Already it was obvious to Chris and Susan that they and their new cabinmates were going to become fast friends.

  After a breakfast that was just as hearty as Linda had promised it would be, Chris went down to the lake, anxious to check out the boathouse and see if she could find any of the other counselors who taught swimming. Susan ventured off in search of the arts and crafts building. With the campers arriving soon, she wanted to get an idea of what kinds of supplies she had to work with.

  The arts and crafts building was like an old-fashioned schoolhouse. It consisted of a single room, with lots of light and air streaming in through the huge windows that were on all four sides. The furniture was simple: big tables, chairs, and shelves, everything made of wood. She felt at home there immediately.

  All it needs, she thought, is some color. And as soon as I get the kids involved with paints and crayons, every square inch of the walls will be covered with their artwork!

  Then she noticed a small door at the back of the room. Wanting to become familiar with every aspect of her new “classroom,” she walked over to see where it led. It was not until she got close that she noticed it was slightly ajar. Even though it was dark inside, she surmised that it was a closet of some sort—probably a storage closet for supplies. But as she reached for the knob, planning to pull the door open, she jumped.

  Something was moving inside! She was certain she heard someone ... or something.

  Susan’s heart began to pound. She suddenly realized that she was all alone. Everyone else was down by the lake or back at the cabins. Yet she was unable to move. She just stood there, her eyes glued to the blackness beyond the opened door, listening.

  And then, with a loud creak, the door began to swing open slowly. Susan could scarcely breathe.

  Run! Run! she thought wildly. But she didn’t. She stayed perfectly still, watching and waiting, as if paralyzed.

  The door opened wider, the blackness of the closet faded as the room’s light seeped in—and a boy emerged, his sandy hair covered with dust and his expression apologetic.

  Susan gasped, partly from surprise, but even more from relief.

  “What on earth are you doing in there?” she cried.

  “I hope I didn’t startle you.... Did I?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ... surprised, that’s all.”

  The boy laughed. “Well, you’re as white as a ghost. By the way, that’s not by any chance what you thought I was, was it?”

  “No, of course not!” At first, Susan tried to sound indignant. But then she started to laugh, too. “But I certainly wasn’t expecting a living creature to emerge from the storage closet!” She peered inside. “That is what this is, isn’t it? A storage closet, for art supplies?”

  “Yes. And, I’m pleased to report, it seems that everything’s there, for a change. At least, from what I could tell before the light bulb burned out and left me standing in the dark.” He looked down at his dust-covered shirt and hands. “I guess I do look sort of like a ghost, don’t I!”

  Susan’s brown eyes narrowed with curiosity. “What exactly did you mean when you said ‘everything’s there, for a change’?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. It’s just that I was here last year, too, as an arts and crafts counselor. And we had some, um, problems with things disappearing. Boxes of crayons, paper ... things like that. Never anything very valuable. But the funny thing was, they’d always rum up a few days later. In the last place you’d ever expect, too. Like the dining hall, or even out in the woods. Frankly, it was more of an annoyance than anything else. And it always seemed to happen at the most inconvenient times. I’d promise the kids that the next day they could finally work with clay, and they’d get all excited ... and then the next day, when I went to get it, it’d be gone. Really weird!

  “But,” he finished cheerfully, “as I say, so far, so good. Let’s just hope our luck holds out this year.”

  “Could it be someone inside the camp who’s responsible for those peculiar disappearances?” Susan wondered aloud. She was speaking more to herself than to the boy, “Someone who works here, maybe? Or even one of the campers?”

  “Believe me, just about every possible theory has been considered. We’ve all even found ourselves wondering if we’ve been imagining some of this stuff! But,” he said with a shrug, “no one’s been able to come up with any solution.

  “Anyway, as I said before, let’s just hope this turns out to be one of Camp Pinewood’s better years. The Reeds certainly deserve it ... and frankly, I’m up for a good summer, too!”

  Susan was encouraged by his optimism. “I certainly hope it works out that way. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this....”

  “Really? Then I hope you’ll allow me to show you the ropes. And I guess a good place to start is to tell you my name. I’m Richard Thompson.”

  “I’m Susan Pratt. I must say,” she went on, looking around at the huge, sunny arts and crafts room, “I’m quite impressed with all this.”

  “Wait until you see all the great supplies we’ve got to work with!”

  For the next half hour, Susan and Richard took an informal inventory of the storage closet, exclaiming over the boxes of paints, crayons, and papers. In addition to the standard art supplies, there were pipe cleaners, paste, metallic papers ... even bits of fabric.

  �
��Wow, this stuff is great!” Susan exclaimed. “It’s going to be so much fun, showing the kids how to work with all this! I just know they’re going to love it!”

  “You’re really interested in art, aren’t you?” Richard’s tone was earnest.

  “Well ... yes. Aren’t you?”

  “Oh, definitely! It’s just that it’s hard to find people who are as serious about it as I am. Do you take art classes in school?”

  It turned out that the two of them did indeed share a great love of art. While Susan’s main interest was painting, Richard preferred sculpture.

  They wiled away the rest of the morning, chatting enthusiastically about their favorite artists and styles. Richard planned to go on to art school after high school, just like Susan.

  It wasn’t until they heard the loud honk of what sounded like a bus, announcing its arrival, that they snapped back into the present.

  “Goodness, what time is it?” Susan rushed to the window and saw that a blue school bus was trundling down the dirt driveway, toward the camp. It appeared to be filled with children, singing what she surmised must be the camp song.

  “They’re here!”

  “We’d better get going, then,” said Richard. “The way things were set up last year was that all the campers checked in at the dining hall first thing. They got their cabin assignments and were introduced to all the staff. Some of the counselors sleep in the cabins with the kids, you know. And the rest of us—well, we’re what the Reeds consider ‘specialists.’ ” Richard grinned. “We get our own cabins, and a lot more free time.”

  “I can’t wait to meet the kids. Let’s go over to the dining hall. And,” Susan added as they packed away the last box of finger paints, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “You mean one of the campers?” Richard seemed puzzled.

  “No, one of the other counselors. My sister.”