A Camp Edson Christmas

By Cynthia Davis

Copyright © 2007, 2011 Greenroom Books

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Christina Brannigan sighed as she shuffled
through the scraps of stray reindeer antlers, red noses and
tattered ears. Who knew eight children could generate a two-inch
accumulation of paper waste in under an hour?

The table didn’t look much better. Gobs of
glue and glitter clung heavily to the areas surrounding the
campers’ chairs. A couple paper vowels and a handful of consonants
covered the table where the kid with the thick glasses sat. He’d
shredded his reindeer pattern into strips, forming oversized
letters which he rearranged throughout the entire craft session.
Surveying the state of the tiny craft cabin, Christina sank into
the nearest folding chair and dropped her head to the table.

“Thanks for craft time. I wish I could stay
here all day.”

Christina bolted upright, peeling a
glue-smeared antler from her left cheek. She started to respond to
the snot-nosed 8-year-old with knotted hair and a lazy eye, but her
“you’re welcome” trailed into a drawn out “umm…” as she scrambled
to remember the kid’s name.

“Faith,” the girl supplied, wiping her entire
forearm across her nose as she backed against the door.

Christina mentally kicked herself.
Remembering their names was rule one. She knew that.

Faith waved a soggy reindeer head in
Christina’s general direction. The ragged, stumpy protrusions
sprouting from the top didn’t bear any resemblance to antlers, much
less the hands after which they were patterned.

Surfing the internet for emergency craft
ideas, Christina thought that gluing handprint antler cut outs to
reindeer heads seemed like a fun, easy craft; but then, she wasn’t
the only one left drained and disillusioned by overly optimistic
hopes for Camp Edson’s impromptu Christmas Camp.

She had been sorting through a collection of
stubby scarves and half-finished hats, questioning the wisdom of
counting on her new-found knitting skills for gift-giving purposes
when the e-mail from her aunt Meg appeared on her computer screen
just before eleven o’clock one night last week—December
18
^th
, to be exact.

Nothing about the last minute request
surprised her. Meg Wilson was no stranger to big goals or
impossible challenges. After all, she’d left a high-paying,
fast-paced career as a rock-climbing instructor at a Manhattan
sporting complex to manage the affairs of young, disadvantaged
campers with her husband, Michael and a mostly teen-aged staff at a
rural camp in upstate New York. No way was Meg going to turn down a
last minute request from Social Services to take in eight kids for
the holidays. She told the social worker yes on the spot—those kids
would celebrate Christmas with her and Michael and her adopted
daughter, Dee, right in their cozy log cabin if it came to
that.

But that wasn’t necessary. By December
21
^st
, Christina found herself in a whirlwind of cutting,
pasting, baking, and frosting alongside an entire team of former
camp counselors and community volunteers who worked in shifts to
make Christmas a reality for the displaced kids.

She glanced at the wall clock as she swept
brown reindeer scraps and stray eyeballs into a large dustpan.
Six hours!
she calculated in relief. Tonight she would sleep
in her own bed, full of her mom’s cookies and pumpkin pie. She was
glad to have done her part, but even happier to be heading home.
Even though Camp Edson had long since become more to her than
convenient summer job, she had to admit that the past four days
hadn’t been among her best at the camp. The kids were rowdy, the
staff was weary, and unless something pretty miraculous happened
pretty fast, anyone heading expectantly toward the Douglas fir in
the lodge tomorrow morning would be on their way toward a big
disappointment.

A single drop of icy wet precipitation hit
Christina’s face as she headed up the path to the lodge. She
frowned, wiping her forehead in disgust.
That’s all we need
,
she mentally grumbled. Her frown deepened at the sight of the
stooped figure pushing a broom aimlessly across the floor of the
screen porch, eyes downcast as though studying the assembling dirt.
Ostensibly the volunteer janitor for the week, Mr. Engal performed
a continuous circuit of sweeping witnessed by multiple sources at
all hours of the day and night. Adding to the growing body of
rumors and lore was the fact that no one had caught so much as a
glimpse of his face.

Christina skirted past the old man and made a
beeline for the kitchen entrance to the lodge, the large L-shaped
cabin that was the hub of activity at Camp Edson. Anna, the cook
with a heart as large as her ample Italian frame, was sliding a
tray of cookies into a large, industrial oven as the door slammed,
announcing Christina’s entrance.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Anna was saying,
thumb pressed against her fingers in as she waved her arm in an
expansive gesture.

“Well,” Meg said, “They’re going to call back
to confirm, but it certainly seems like it.” She tossed her sleek
auburn ponytail over her shoulder, scribbling something on a note
pad. Although her tone was cautious, Christina could tell by her
expression that she’d located an eleventh-hour source for donated
Christmas gifts. Finding an organization with gifts left to give
had proven to be the bane of Christmas Camp. The church down the
road sent volunteers and vitamins, but not a single video. Social
Services sent sandwiches, but seemed fresh out of shirts and socks.
At lunch there’d been a rumor of a Women’s Guild with a few
leftover gifts from their annual Presents for People drive, but the
lead ran cold when the organization’s founder delivered nothing but
tidings of meager membership and feeble funding.

Christina gave a gasp of excitement at the
news. Clothes and toys for the campers, and all in time for
Christmas morning! She could leave Christmas Camp with a happy
ending. Relieved and happy, she took a deep breath, savoring the
smell of Anna’s roasting turkey. The cook was preparing a big
Christmas Eve meal, after which she, and most of the rest of the
volunteer staff would head home to celebrate Christmas with their
families. Thoughts of turkey and mashed potatoes for the road and
dessert waiting at home seemed a fitting finale to the rocky
week.

Christina peered over the long counter which
separated the kitchen from the lounge, the gigantic living room
that was the center of social life at Camp Edson. Michael had just
returned from the attic, laden with ornament-filled boxes into
which the campers dove with glee. Christina watched as Dee, the
former troubled camper she helped find a home with her aunt and
uncle, patiently guided the younger kids’ ornament-clutching fists
to the tree’s upper branches. Wavy brown hair pulled back with a
silk scarf complimenting her mocha-toned skin, Dee bore little
resemblance to the scared and scarred child Christina met her first
summer at camp. Christina briefly wondered if any of the current
batch of Christmas campers had similar potential, but her thoughts
darkened as the broom-pushing janitor swept his way across her line
of vision.

“Again with the broom! What’s with this guy?”
Christina exclaimed in irritation. Anna’s mouth went into a flat
line as she shook her head. “He’s just doing his job, dear,” she
soothed.

“Aren’t janitors supposed to come with, you
know, a range of skills? And if sweeping is his specialty, where
was he this afternoon in the craft cabin?” Christina countered in
exasperation. “He was too busy up here eavesdropping on everyone to
send his broom into real action.”

“Church down the road said he’s the best
they’ve got. Sent him up here special,” Anna insisted. “And as far
as the craft cabin,” Anna said, “No way can we send a volunteer in
to clean up after what goes on in there.” The old woman flashed a
mischievous glance toward Christina, recalling any number of the
artistic mishaps which shaped Christina’s first summer leading arts
and crafts at camp. After giving Christina a playful swat with her
towel, Anna turned her attention to the turkey, frowning as she
tapped the thermostat. “Cooking kind of fast,” she muttered,
fiddling with the oven’s temperature control knob.

She wandered out to the lounge. Jimmy, the
kid with the thick glasses, circled the tree, making inane rhymes
based on the lyrics of Christmas carols. Christina scrapped any
leftover thoughts she may have had concerning his future success.
This kid was just out there. She glanced toward Faith, who had also
lost interest in decorating and was folding and creasing what
little was left of her reindeer. Christina sighed. Didn’t these
kids appreciate what they were doing? Their attention spans seemed
shorter than the stubby bristles on the end of Mr. Engal’s
broom.

“Snow!” shrieked one of the campers, running
toward the big picture window behind the tree, leading a stampede
that threatened to create an indoor shower of glass ornaments.
“That’s not snow,” Michael said, stroking the dark stubble that
spoke of extended time away from a normal grooming routine. “That’s
sleet.”

“Sleet!” Jimmy hollered. “Heat! Meat! Hey,
when’s that turkey gonna be done?”

As if on cue, Anna burst from the kitchen,
smoke billowing behind her. “Heating element blew,” she managed
between heaving coughs. Groans of disappointment preceded chaos.
Windows flew open. Cold, stiff air replaced blackened smoke and
fumes. Kids screamed, raiding rooms down the hall for blankets.
Anna pulled a five pound bag of frozen French Fries from the
freezer and began shoving them into a toaster oven in hasty
batches.

“French fries!” Jimmy yelled, waving one over
his head. “Fries from France! France rhymes with dance, D-A-N-C-E!”
he called, wiggling and shaking a path across the room.

At the height of the pandemonium, the lights
flickered, and the building was plunged into darkness. The initial
screams quickly turned to deafening silence. And then the phone
rang.

Meg tried to keep her voice down but the
silence seemed to amplify her somber tones. She didn’t give
anything away with her words, but Christina didn’t need anything
spelled out. One look out the window told her all she needed to
know. The entire world looked was encrusted beneath a glassy sheet
of ice.

Christina bit into half-baked French fry. The
warm, crispy exterior surrounding a bitter cold core seemed a
fitting symbol for her Christmas Eve. There would be no warm meal,
no toys for the kids, and, blinking back tears, she acknowledged
the truth that was hardest to face: she herself would share in the
cold and giftless Christmas morning to which they all seemed
destined. Christina tossed the French fry into the garbage,
suddenly aware that at least for this one night they all shared the
same miserable lot.

“Have you seen Faith?” Dee hissed in her ear.
Startled, Christina stared into Dee’s wide eyes. She’d been busy,
gathering the children around the tree, distributing pillows,
flashlights and candy canes.

“I was just going to read to them, when I
realized that I haven’t seen Faith.” Panic washed across Dee’s
face. “I don’t want to worry them,” she tossed her head to toward
the kitchen, where Meg, Michael and Anna were slapping together
some hasty PBJs.

Could things
get
any worse?

Two images flashed through Christina’s mind
and she instantly knew where to look. “I’ll be right back,” she
called, slipping out the side door without her coat. Sliding down
the slippery path to the craft cabin in pitch darkness through a
sheet of raining ice, Christina fought mixed emotions. She wasn’t
sure if she should be angry that the kid ran off or worried about
things like frostbite or pneumonia.
I wish I could stay here all
day
, she remembered Faith saying at the door of the arts and
crafts cabin that afternoon. Then, less than an hour ago, she sat
beneath the Christmas tree, folding her reindeer like so much
origami.

Bursting though the cabin door, Christina
spotted a thin flashlight beam that served as a visual cue of where
to direct her verbal reproof. “What are you doing in here?” she
asked, her voice betraying her alarm.

“Making thank you notes,” a timid voice
answered from the floor.

Whoa. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
Dripping wet and chilled to the bone, Christina softened as she
knelt beside the child. “Faith, you know, sometimes, we don’t
always get the presents we want for Christmas…” Even by the dim
beam of the Faith’s flashlight, Christina could tell the kid was
looking at her like she just fell from planet Zorp.