by Lyn Cote
The Café rumbled with conversation, the clatter of china, small explosions of laughter. Everything normal, just like the faded navy and white decor. Closing her eyes, she drew in another sip of creamy coffee.
“Thea! Thea!”
Hearing Mr. Crandon’s preemptive call made her cringe. She glanced around and discovered every one of the retirees gazing at her intently.
Scraping back his chair, portly Mr. Crandon stood up and motioned to her to come back to him. “Thea talked to him.” The man’s voice carried over the hubbub in the room. “Come here, Thea. We want to hear exactly what he said to you.”
She resented being ordered about like a child, but she didn’t want to be impolite to her grandmother’s friends, especially Mr. Crandon. She knew he must still be grieving for his only son who had died in a snowmobile accident less than six months ago. Reluctantly she pushed herself up. “I just came in to pick up rolls for Grandmother.”
“This won’t take long,” the man coaxed. “Just give us a few minutes. We want to get to the bottom of this.”
Her hand gripped the curved chrome back of the stool as she hesitated.
“What did that stranger tell you that you didn’t tell us?” Old Lady Magill barked. The uncomplimentary name the woman had been called behind her back by the town for years popped into Thea’s mind. Thea’s grandmother and blunt Mrs. Magill had crossed words many times in the past. Knowing the woman enjoyed an argument didn’t take the sting from the old woman’s words. How dare they involve her in their gossip?
Bristling, Thea stood up straighter. “I don’t know what all this curiosity is for. His name is Peter Della. He bought Double L Boys’ Camp. That’s all I know.” Then she sealed her mouth obstinately.
“Why would he be in Madison trying to get state money? There’s more to this purchase than meets the eye,” Crandon insisted.
“Your source could have been mistaken,” Thea replied through tight lips.
“What if it’s a halfway house for convicts?” Mrs. Chiverton whined as she fussed with her short blond wig. “They did that in my cousin’s town north of Wausau.”
Mr. Crandon ignored this. “How many Peter Dellas and Double L Camps are there?” With his pudgy knuckles, Mr. Crandon thumped the table in front of him twice.
Thea held her temper and forced herself to relax. I will not let them get to me. “I’ve told you what I know.”
“And you know next to nothing,” Mrs. Magill growled.
Thea heard the soft shush of the back door opening. She looked past the retirees’ table to the corridor which led to the rest room and back entrance. Peter Della had just walked in. Thea took in a startled breath. Oh, no, where did he come from?
Mrs. Magill continued stridently, “I’ve lived on Lake Lowell my whole life. I don’t want anything to ruin it.”
Thea tensed. She was about to be caught in a headon collision. Peter Della, completely oblivious to what awaited him, was walking into…The poor man deserved, at least, a fair warning.
Looking directly at Peter, Thea raised her voice, “Mrs. Magill, I don’t know why you would think Peter Della is going to do something shady with Double L Camp. Why are you jumping to conclusions over nothing?”
Peter halted, still hidden by the corridor. He looked at Thea quizzically.
Mr. Crandon boomed, “We are not jumping to conclusions! There’s a lot of talk in Madison about privatizing boot camps.”
“Thea, we’ll find out the truth with or without your help,” Mrs. Magill grumbled. Several heads around the table bobbed in agreement.
Thea fixed her gaze on Peter. How could he look so vibrant and unruffled? He didn’t have a clue about how cantankerous these people could be. She shrugged, saying without words, See, what did I tell you?
In reply, he clearly mouthed, “You warned me.”
Then he walked out of the shelter of the hallway into the café. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Peter Della.”
Peter wished he’d had a camera with him to capture the expressions on the faces that stared back at him— open mouths and wide, startled eyes.
He should have realized that the tall, slender woman who stood facing him had only been speaking the unvarnished truth a few days ago in her kitchen. This community seemed ripe for misunderstanding and controversy.
He gave a slight nod of apology to Thea.
Her head moved a fraction in acceptance.
Peter faced the group of older people gathered at the table next to him. “Now what seems to be the question over my buying Double L Camp?”
“What do you plan to do with the camp?” An old white-haired man glared at Peter.
Peter offered his hand politely. “And you are?”
Reluctantly the old duffer held out his hand. “Dick Crandon.”
Peter nodded in acknowledgment. “I plan to run a boys’ camp—a successful one, too.”
“I’m Mrs. Magill,” the old woman who’d been speaking when he entered added. “You mean just like the Kramer family did?” The old woman dressed in a man’s frayed flannel shirt and cap looked at him, squinting.
“A pleasure, Mrs. Magill.” He smiled at the woman, but was really concentrating on Thea. The bright sunlight from the front window backlit Thea’s form, accentuating her willowy figure. How had he missed that the last time he’d seen her? “The only difference about my camp will be that I will receive some backing from donors, charitable sources and churches.”
His mind continued to consider the problem of how he’d missed Thea’s slender form. That’s right. She was wearing that bulky sweater in her kitchen, not a dress that showed her off so elegantly.
“This is just what I was warning all of you about,” Mrs. Chiverton snapped. “It’s some kind of cult.”
Peter’s eyebrows lifted. I mention churches and this old woman turns the word into cults? Obviously Thea knew just how suspicious these people could be. He glanced at her. She was staring at him, probing him, he thought. Was it to see if he needed help?
Peter flashed Thea a grin, then took a step forward. “Hold up there, ma’am. I didn’t say anything about a cult.”
He paused, but made sure not to link eye contact with Thea. “Someone tried to warn me about how matters can be blown out of proportion if the facts aren’t fully explained. Please let me tell you what you want to know.”
Peter was aware of a fitful quiet settling over the whole café. The only sounds to be heard drifted from the kitchen where the cook went on with his duties. Peter watched Thea lower herself onto a stool at the counter in the front. She no longer appeared primed to rush to his aid at any moment and he smiled inwardly. He longed to tell her he could take care of himself.
“All right,” Mrs. Magill said. “Say your piece.”
Peter bowed toward them. “For a long time, I’ve wanted to run a boys’ camp. I had enough capital to buy Double L, but I need operating funds. I intend to get these through contributions, some from individuals, some from Christian churches or other charities.”
Crandon interrupted, “Then why were you in Madison trying to get state funds?”
“How did you know that?” Startled, Peter stared at the man.
“I used to be a real estate agent. I have friends in Madison.”
Peter frowned. What’s going on here? Are these people for real? But he didn’t want to antagonize anyone. “I’ve learned when a project is just starting up, I can’t overlook any possible source of funds. I was willing to take state money if my program could qualify for a grant.”
Even as he spoke and appeared to be concentrating on the old man, he found himself peering out the corner of his eye to see Thea leaning her chin on her hand as she watched him. A veil of light brown hair cascaded artlessly over her shoulder. Lovely.
“Why would the state give a private boys’ camp money?” Mrs. Chiverton yipped.
“That’s right.” Mrs. Magill thumped her fist on the table top. “What’s the government giving money to a private camp fo
r?”
Peter grinned. “Actually the state isn’t contributing any money. I wasn’t willing to jump through all their hoops and hog-tie myself with their red tape.”
Crandon snorted. “Well, that shows you have some intelligence. You get the government in your business and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
While chuckles of wry amusement rippled through the retirees, Peter observed Thea gracefully swing her head making her hair flare as it fell behind one shoulder. Had she done that to conceal a nod of approval?
“Young man, what aren’t you telling us?” Mrs. Chiverton folded her bony arms across her chest.
Her testy voice brought Peter back to the subject.
“Yes, why will charities be giving you money?” Crandon glared at him. “Why won’t the parents be paying the camp fees themselves?”
“Each family that sends a boy to my camp will pay whatever they can afford,” Peter began. “And each camper will work a few hours a day while he attends.”
“Ah-ha!” Crandon looked as though he was about to jump in the air with satisfaction. “I see it now! You’ll be bringing poor kids to Lake Lowell! City kids.”
A stunned silence followed by babble swept the café.
Peter glanced to Thea. She’d edged forward on her stool. She’s afraid I’ll blow this.
Peter held up his hands like a referee at a boxing match. He asked in a reasonable tone, “What’s wrong with bringing inner-city kids out of Milwaukee for a few weeks of fresh air and sunshine? These are highrisk kids. A chance to get out of their environment can make all the difference in the world to them.”
“The kind of boys you’ll be bringing out here are the kind who end up in those boot camps. That’s what’s wrong with it!” the old man exploded.
“Why do you think we live so far from a city for? We don’t want those kinds of kids around here!” Mrs. Chiverton’s face had turned the color of a ripe persimmon with age spots.
“No one will be safe!” Mrs. Magill bellowed.
“You won’t get away with this,” Mr. Crandon growled. “You can’t go changing the land use—zoning—like that. The county board won’t hear of it.”
Peter lifted his hands again. When Thea had used the words, blown out of proportion, she’d been one hundred percent right. When he thought of how long and hard he’d worked to get to this point, he was tempted to say something sarcastic to these people about small towns and small minds, but he held back the biting words. He needed to use diplomacy and hopefully dispel their fears before this went any further. “If you’ll let me, I’ll give you all the details.”
A huffy calm settled over the group, worrying him. Peter glanced frontward again. Thea watched him intently over the rim of her white coffee cup.
Lord, help me calm this storm. He said soothingly, “The boys who come have not been in any significant trouble with the law.”
“What do you call significant, young man?” Magill, the old woman with the sour mouth, barked.
“I deem anything that threatens another person with bodily harm is significant trouble, ma’am. These boys won’t be active in gangs or known to use drugs. About all they’ve been guilty of might be some petty sneak thievery—”
“Sneak thieves!” Mrs. Chiverton moaned.
“We’ll have to start locking our doors!” Crandon shouted.
As though he had been shooting arrow after arrow which had missed the bull’s-eye, Peter felt himself lose it—like his bowstring snapping. “If your doors have locks, what’s the big deal about using them? You just stick the key in and turn it!” His volume climbed with each word. “Why are you so concerned about your little selves that you can’t spare some understanding for kids who need a helping hand!”
The word aghast described the lined faces that stared back at him.
A deep, even voice commented, “A very good question.”
Heads turned, swiveling toward the front entrance. Peter followed suit. In the midst of the controversy, he hadn’t noticed another customer enter.
“I’m Ed Carlson, pastor of the Church Among the Cedars. I’d like to hear more about your camp.”
The retiree table became a quick study in hasty non-chalance.
“Would you let me buy you a cup of coffee, Mr. Della?” Near the front, the pastor motioned toward a tattered navy booth patched with plastic tape.
At the counter, Thea heard the waitress clear her throat and murmur, “Show’s over. Are you ready to pay for these rolls?” The woman grinned knowingly at Thea, making her wonder if the waitress had detected the unspoken communication between Peter and herself.
Thea accepted the white paper bag, paid, and hurried out the front door. Peter’s rich voice and Mr. Crandon’s strident one and all their words flew around in Thea’s head. What would happen now? Would Peter stay or leave? She glanced at her watch. I’m late. Grandmother hates that.
She drove her aged gray-and-black four-wheel drive vehicle to the retirement complex. Her grandmother, sitting in her wheelchair, waited for her in the solarium, a small room with plants in the bay window on the south side of the center. “You’re late.”
Thea leaned down and kissed the pale, lined cheek turned toward her. “I’m sorry. I was delayed.” She laid the bag down and went to pour their coffee. Soon they sat facing each other by one of the large bay windows. Sunshine through the window warmed them.
“What delayed you?” Because of the stroke, her grandmother’s speech was still slurred.
Thea’s stomach felt tight. All the turmoil of the morning seemed to have hit her right in her midsection. Her grandmother had always thrived on contention, but Thea hated it. She took a sip of coffee and tried to think of what to say and how to say it.
“Don’t try to keep things from me.”
Thea glanced up. “I look worried, don’t I?”
“You’re worried and flustered. Is one of the animals sick?”
“Oh, no. Molly and Tomcat are fine.” Thea bit her lower lip, then made eye contact with the old woman sitting across from her. Knowing how her grandmother would jump into any controversy, Thea’s first words were cautious. “I met our new neighbor.”
Even though her grandmother had lived at the care center for over three years, Thea never felt any place but their house at the lake could be her grandmother’s home.
“What’s wrong with him?” Her grandmother directed her hawklike, faded blue eyes to Thea.
“Nothing. He seems very nice, but he plans on making some changes at the camp.” Thea tried, but couldn’t keep the concern from her voice.
“Do you mean new buildings?”
“No, at least, he hasn’t mentioned that.”
The old woman made a sound of irritation. “Don’t diddle. What’s the man changing?”
“He’s not going to have the same type of camp. It sounds like a church camp—”
“Oh, heavens, not one of those cult places.”
What TV news show had featured cults recently? Or was every person over sixty-five in Lake Lowell just fascinated with them? “No, no, a perfectly respectable Christian camp. That’s what it sounds like.”
“Well!” Her grandmother dismissed this with a wave of her good hand. “That only means having to listen to ‘Kumbaya’ sung like a dirge every evening.”
Thea suppressed a grin, then sighed. “There’s more to it than that. Mr. Della intends on using the camp for boys…” She searched her mind for the term Peter had used. “For highrisk boys from Milwaukee.”
“Good gracious! Highrisk is a new way of saying low-class.”
“Grandmother, please.” Fearing she might have overexcited her, Thea touched the older lady’s hand. “He’s just trying to help them—”
“At our expense! Double L Camp has always catered to a good class of boys! What will this do to our property value?”
“What can it do to change anything?” Thea was tired of hearing about property values.
Her grandmother’s jaw clenched. “Thea
, you’re the last of the Lowells. I would think you would take more interest in what happens on the lake named for your greatgrandfather. Undesirable people make undesirable land.”
Thea tried to soothe her. “But they won’t be living there year-round.”
Her grandmother looked at her keenly. “Is this Peter Della goodlooking?”
Thea blushed and embarrassment sharpened her voice. “Why would you ask that? What has it got to do with the camp?”
“You look guilty. He’s goodlooking and a smoothtalking salesman. He’s been charming you, so you’ll go along.”
Thea sat up straighter. Why didn’t Grandmother ever give her credit for any intelligence? “He stopped by to use the phone before his was in working order. What’s wrong with that?”
“Thea, you have no experience with men, especially men out to get their own way.”
“Get their own way? All he wants to do is give needy boys a chance for time at a summer camp. How could that possibly attract a man with ulterior motives?”
“A great deal of money flows through charities. A smart man could funnel some into his own pocket.”
Thea stood up. Why am I so angry? I knew she would react this way. “I can’t believe you just said that. You’ve never met the man and yet you will pass judgment on his motives.”
“I’ve lived a long time, long enough to know dogooders always take care of themselves first.”
Thea struggled to hold on to her composure. Maybe it was just all the arguing and contention. Her stomach had started to burn. She didn’t want to argue. Besides, arguing with Grandmother never did any good. Grandmother never admitted being wrong even if every fact proved she was.
Thea sat down, feeling defeated. “I don’t think we should consider Mr. Della a crook when he’s just arrived.”
“Well, whoever said that? Now you must talk to Dick Crandon about this. He’ll know what to do.”
Thea grimaced. “Mr. Crandon already knows.”
“He does? I’m not surprised. He’s a bore, but I’ll admit he always was one for knowing things. And he’ll know how to fight this. A zoning challenge, I’ll bet. This low-class camp could affect your piano teaching and our fishing cabins.”
