Strawberry Summer

by Cynthia Blair

  “I’ve been waiting to go to the wildlife preserve ever since I got here. I even brought my father’s binoculars, especially for something like this! And now we have to stay around this stupid old camp all day. Boy, I’m going to write my parents a letter about this right after lunch. And they’re going to be plenty mad!”

  Chris, sitting behind her at the next table, couldn’t help overhearing the little girl’s tirade.

  “I have a better idea, Lucy,” she said gently. It took everything she had to keep the anger out of her voice. “Go ahead and write to your parents and tell them that the trip to the wildlife preserve was canceled at the last minute because of some trouble the Reeds were having with the camp’s bus. But instead of complaining about it, why don’t you tell them that while you were disappointed at first, you decided that it would be babyish to let it ruin your day? Tell them that instead you realized that things don’t always work out exactly the way we want, and that you’re determined to make the best of it. And that now, you even have something extra special to look forward to for next week!”

  The little girl was dumbfounded at first. Then a smile crept over her face slowly. “You know, that might not be such a bad idea. Maybe my parents will even send me a present when they hear how grown-up I’m acting!”

  “Now that’s what I call fast thinking!” said Alan, who happened to be walking by. “How’d you like a job as the official Public Relations director of Camp Pinewood? We could use a few more people with your sense of diplomacy!” He sat down at the table, across from her.

  Chris blushed at his compliment. “Well, you’ve got to admit that Lucy was being a bit childish. From what I’ve heard around the dining room, I don’t think most of the kids are taking it quite so hard.”

  “I hope not. But this is exactly the kind of thing that’s been happening around here over the past couple of summers. We look like we don’t know what we’re doing—usually because of some stupid little thing. Harmless, too, except that it ends up creating a lot of bad feeling. Sometimes I wonder if even the counselors realize it’s not our fault.”

  “Alan, I just got an idea.”

  “At this point, I’m open to absolutely anything.”

  “Why don’t you tell the counselors it’s not your fault?”

  “What do you mean? I just assumed ...”

  “I know. I’ve been assuming the same thing. But maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to hold a meeting with all the counselors and explain things to them. It’s true that everyone seems aware that something is happening ... but it’s all based on rumors. Or second- or even third-hand accounts. I think everyone would feel better if it were more out in the open. Besides,” she added, hoping she wasn’t stepping out of line, “it might help things if you could give some of us counselors some advice on how to deal with the kids’ confusion about all this.”

  “You mean the way you just did.”

  “Well ... yes, sort of. I’m not saying I’m an expert or anything, but ... ”

  “You’ve made your point,” Alan laughed. His green eyes were no longer clouded. “And I think it’s a great idea. How about right after lunch? Think that’s too soon?”

  “I think it’s the perfect time. Especially since all the kids will be going back to their cabins now for Quiet Hour. That gives the counselors a chance to stay around for a while.”

  Once lunch was over and the campers had gone back to their sleeping quarters to rest, read, or write letters home, Alan stood up in front of the counselors who had stayed behind in the dining hall at his request.

  “As most of you already know, we had a bit of a problem with Camp Pinewood’s advanced transportation system this morning. The trip to the Lake Majestic Wildlife Preserve had to be canceled at the last minute. As of right now, there are a lot of very disappointed ten-years-old wandering around these parts.

  “But I think you should all know that what happened this morning was no accident. And it wasn’t the result of carelessness or poor planning or any of those things. The truth is, it appears that someone is trying to sabotage Camp Pinewood.”

  “Whatever for?” asked one of the new counselors.

  “That,” Alan replied grimly, “is something we haven’t been able to determine.”

  “And who’s responsible?” asked Linda. “I mean, a lot of us have had an idea of what’s been going on for a long time now. But what we can’t figure out is who’s behind it.”

  “Another good question,” said Alan. “And, I might add, something else we’d like to find out. Unfortunately, neither my parents nor I have been able to come up with any answers....”

  Chris, sitting in the back, was watching and listening sadly. Now that she was experiencing the “mysterious goings-on” firsthand, she could see how frustrating it all was. And how destructive to the morale of Camp Pinewood—and the Reeds.

  She searched the crowd until she found Susan. She was right in front, listening carefully to everything Alan was saying. And knowing her twin, Chris suspected that she was as concerned as she was.

  Well, one thing’s for sure, thought Chris. I’m not going to stand by and just let all this happen. Somebody has to get to the bottom of it. And if anyone can do it, it’s Sooz and me!

  Chapter Six

  That evening, right after dinner, Chris and Susan found themselves alone in their cabin. Sam was giving a special nature lecture, and Linda was off for a swim with some friends. The twins were lounging across their beds, Susan lying sprawled out, Chris sitting cross-legged.

  It was the perfect time, Chris decided, to talk to her twin.

  “So, Sooz,” she said casually, “we’ve been at Camp Pinewood for over a week now. What do you think so far?”

  “So far, I’d have to say that coming here was one of the best ideas anyone in our family ever came up with. I love the kids, and it’s fun teaching them all about color and how to use all the neat supplies we’ve got packed away in the storeroom.” Susan stretched her arms lazily. “The lake is beautiful; the other counselors are nice, especially Sam and Linda.... Even the food is good.”

  “You left out one thing!” Chris teased.

  “What?”

  “Does the name ‘Richard Thompson’ ring a bell?”

  “Oh, Richard.” Susan blushed. “Well, we do have a lot in common, since we both like art so much....”

  “Really? Is that what you two were talking about out on the porch, at the Reeds’ ‘Welcome’ party? In the moonlight, I might add?”

  “Seems to me I noticed you and Alan Reed disappearing out onto that same porch.” Susan grinned. “In that same moonlight!”

  “Well, we had things to talk about.”

  “Oh, I see. Comparing notes on favorite swimming techniques?”

  Chris suddenly grew serious. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about Alan.” She began toying with the shoelace of her sneaker.

  “Oooh, this sounds juicy.” Susan propped herself up on one elbow. Her brown eyes glowed mischievously. “I had a feeling there was something going on between you two. But I wasn’t quite sure....”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure, either. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  It was then that Susan noticed how serious her twin had become.

  “What is it, Chris?” Suddenly, she was concerned.

  “It’s all the peculiar things that have been happening around Camp Pinewood.”

  “Oh. Like what happened this morning. Gee, that was creepy. Someone letting all the air out of the tires of the bus and the pickup on the very day the kids were scheduled to take a field trip.” Susan shuddered. “It’s pretty awful, isn’t it? I mean, we knew those things had happened, from what the Reeds and the other counselors said. But somehow, experiencing it firsthand like that ... well, it really gave me the creeps.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Sooz. Imagine, someone’s sneaking around, doing all these mean, destructive things. And the worst part is, whoever’s doing it see
ms to know exactly what’s going on here at the camp! Like the fact that that trip was scheduled for today, of all days.”

  Susan thought for a minute. “Do you think that the person responsible works here, Chris? That maybe one of the counselors—or even one of the campers—is behind it all?”

  “I don’t know, Sooz. But there’s one thing I do know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you and I are going to get to the bottom of this.”

  “You and I?” Susan nearly fell off the bed.

  “That’s right,” her twin replied calmly.

  “But Chris! What can we possibly do? We don’t know anything about all this. I wouldn’t know where to begin! Why, most of the other counselors, and even some of the kids, know more about Camp Pinewood than you and I do. They’ve been coming here for years! And then there are the Reeds. They own the camp, for heaven’s sake, and even they can’t figure out what’s going on!”

  “I know all that, Sooz. But I can’t just sit back and watch this happen! You can see what it’s doing to Mr. and Mrs. Reed! And Alan, too, of course.” Her voice had become pleading.

  “Yes, it is sad, isn’t it? And I do feel kind of helpless,” Susan confessed. “Like there must be something I can do to help.”

  “Exactly. Besides, you and I have never been afraid to take on challenges like this before. What about those times we traded places? You’ve got to admit that that was a pretty daring thing to do, too.”

  “Yes . . . But where do we start, Chris?”

  Chris was staring off into space, lost in thought. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know the answer to that yet. But I’m working on it. All I want from you right now is your commitment to helping me. To helping the Reeds.”

  Another thought suddenly occurred to Susan. “Chris, do you think this could be dangerous?”

  “Dangerous?”

  “The people we’re dealing with, I mean. After all, it could turn out to be a lot more serious than just some of the campers playing practical jokes that aren’t turning out to be very funny.”

  Chris looked at her twin. “I don’t know, Sooz. I really don’t. But I think it’s up to us to find out. Are you with me?”

  Susan had never seen her sister so earnest about anything before in all their sixteen years. It was clear that this was very, very important to her.

  She wasn’t about to let her sister down.

  “All right, Chris,” she said with the same seriousness. “You’ve got yourself a partner!”

  * * * *

  With Susan’s agreement that something simply had to be done—and that the Pratt twins were the ones to do it—Chris was in a good mood once again. Having decided to do something about the situation, to take action, made her feel optimistic. The fact that she had no idea what she was going to do didn’t even seem that important, at least for the moment.

  Susan, on the other hand, was still doubtful. While she agreed that some action needed to be taken, she wondered if she and Chris were really the ones to be doing it. Aside from that was the obvious question, What could they do? Where could they start? Certainly her twin meant well, and she was willing to do whatever she could. But taking on the “phantom” of Camp Pinewood seemed like an awfully ambitious project.

  Later that evening, at the campfire sing-along, Richard picked up on Susan’s pensive mood right away.

  “Is this an example of artistic temperament?” he teased, sitting down next to her cross-legged. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and blue jeans, and with his sandy hair and blue eyes, he reminded her of a lumberjack. “You look as if you’re a million miles away.”

  “Maybe I’m working on getting some inspiration,” she returned with a laugh. “I didn’t even realize I was daydreaming.”

  “Here, I’ve got the perfect cure for uncontrollable woolgathering.” He produced a bag of marsh-mallows and two long wooden sticks that had been stripped of their branches.

  “Toasted marshmallows! What a great idea! I haven’t had any of these for ages—not since I was a camper myself. Wherever did you get them?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t take full credit. The Reeds are handing them out, over there. I did hand-craft these magnificent marshmallow-toasters from simple branches, however. Observe the clean lines, the streamlined top.... One of the more practical applications of my artistic abilities!”

  “I knew right from the start that you were a valuable person to know.”

  “I hope you really mean that, Susan.” Richard suddenly sounded much more serious. “And I hope it’s more than my marshmallow-toasting abilities that are making you feel that way.”

  When Susan looked over at him, she could tell, even by firelight, that his cheeks were turning pink.

  “I’m well aware that there’s more to Richard Thompson than just a talented artist and an expert marshmallow-toaster,” she said gently.

  When they both agreed that eating even one more marshmallow would be impossible, Susan suggested that they take a walk.

  “Come on. Let’s stretch our legs. After being inside all day, I need some exercise.”

  “What? You mean you don’t consider twisting colored pipe cleaners into giraffes and elephants and assorted fuzzy monsters good exercise?”

  Once they were away from the others, strolling hand in hand by the lake’s shore, Susan grew serious once again.

  “You know, Richard, there’s a reason why I looked like I was a million miles away before.”

  “Really? What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, I had a heart-to-heart talk with my sister.”

  “Oh? Then what’s on Chris’s mind?”

  Susan frowned. “She’s really concerned about the Reeds and the problems they’ve been having with Camp Pinewood.”

  “Are you sure her interest in all this doesn’t have something to do with the Reeds’ son?” Richard smiled knowingly, “It seems to me that I’ve noticed some longing gazes between the two of them.”

  “Maybe it’s related, a little bit. But that’s not important. What matters is that she’s determined to find out who’s responsible for all the strange things that have been going on. To get to the bottom of this.”

  “Sounds like a noble gesture,”

  “Well ... yes, I suppose it is. It’s just that she wants me to help her. I’d like to help, of course,” Susan added quickly. “I’m just afraid this might be a little out of my league. Hers, too, for that matter.”

  “If it helps any, Susan, I have every confidence that you can do it.”

  “You do?” Susan gulped.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact ...” Richard stopped walking and turned to face her. Gently he placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer to him. “I have a feeling that you’re someone who can do anything in the world she wants, once she sets her mind to it.”

  Susan could hardly breathe. And her heart was pounding so fiercely that she was certain he could hear it. But if he could, he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he was looking at her so intensely, his eyes locked in hers, that she felt as if no one were around for miles. All she was aware of was the moonlight, the lapping of the lake’s waves, and Richard,

  “Yes,” he said softly, “I think you’re pretty special, Susan Pratt.”

  When he leaned forward and kissed her, Susan suddenly forgot all about the moonlight and the lake.

  Chapter Seven

  The annual counselors’ show was one of the biggest events of every Camp Pine wood season. It was always held at the beginning of the third week. That way, the campers already knew most of the counselors and could appreciate seeing them perform on the outdoor “stage” that was set up behind the dining hall. Yet it was still early enough so that for the rest of the summer the campers and counselors could tease one another about it, singing the songs that were used in the show and calling the counselors by the nicknames that inevitably grew out of the one-and-only performance.

  There was no fixed format for the show, and every year
it was different. One thing that remained the same, however, was that all the planning was done by the counselors. The play itself, the costumes and makeup and sets, even the musical instruments that were used to accompany the hearty singing that always seemed to be included, were all created with whatever ingenuity and miscellaneous odds and ends the counselors could scrounge up. And the fact that they had only a very short time in which to do it all lent an extra air of excitement to the project.

  “Let’s call this meeting to order!” Linda, the voluntary director of this year’s show, had to shout in order to be heard among the crowd of chattering counselors. They had all gathered together in the dining hall for their first planning session. They all had their own ideas and were anxious to tell them to anyone who was willing to listen. Chris and Susan sat in the back with Richard, marveling over the amount of noise that such a modest-size group could manage to make.

  “As you all know,” Linda began, “for all of us counselors here at Camp Pinewood, this is our one chance to shine. To taste stardom. And, in some cases, to make utter fools of ourselves!”

  Everyone laughed. They realized that that was part of the fun of the counselors’ show.

  “Now, we all have a lot of work to do. But before we can get started, we have to decide what kind of show we want to have. Any suggestions?”

  “How about a musical?” Sam suggested from the side of the room, where she was sitting with some of the other nature counselors. “We could write an entirely original play and then write our own songs to go with it.”

  “Or we could use real songs,” piped up one of the boating instructors. “Songs everyone knows already. From the radio.”

  “That would certainly make things easier,” Linda agreed. “Unless we have some budding composers out there ... Susan, I see you have your hand up. Are you volunteering to become our resident songwriter?”