Strawberry Summer (3 page)

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.”

“Oh.”

“My
twin
sister.”

“Oh! You mean there are
two
of you?” Richard chuckled.

“In appearance only. We’re really quite different. But you’ll find that out for yourself!”

As she and Richard started up the path leading
from the arts and crafts building to the dining hall,
Susan felt more optimistic about the summer ahead
than she ever had before. The beautiful lake and
woods, a bus filled with enthusiastic campers, a
whole wealth of art supplies to work with ...
and a charming boy named Richard with whom to
share the next six weeks. It was all turning out
perfectly after all.

For now, the “ghosts” that haunted Camp Pine-wood seemed very far away indeed.

The twins’ first full day at Camp Pinewood went
well. The children all seemed so gleeful about being back at camp. Even the few who were already homesick allowed themselves to be cajoled out of their tearfulness with offers of a swim or the chance to ride in a canoe. Linda and Sam were eager to show their new cabinmates around. And, as Susan had predicted, Richard and Chris liked each other right off.

It was a long day, and by evening, Chris and Susan were both tired. But not too tired to go to the “Welcome” party that the Reeds always held for counselors on the first night of camp. Linda was also going, while Sam, tired out from a full day of nature walks, volunteered to be one of the counselors who stayed behind to keep an eye on the campers. Putting on sundresses and sandals for the occasion energized the twins, and by the time they walked over to the Reeds’ house, they were already in a festive mood.

“Come on in, girls!” Mr. Reed, posted at the front door, greeted them heartily. “Help yourself to a glass of lemonade and some of those homemade cookies over there. Make yourselves at home!”

Surveying the twins carefully, he added, “I know you said that it was easy to tell you two apart ... but for the life of me, I don’t know which one’s Chris and which one’s Susan!”

The party was already well under way. Rock music played softly in the background, and some of the counselors were dancing in one corner of the living room. Laid out on the dining room table was a generous display of cold drinks, pretzels, and cookies. Somebody, probably Mrs. Reed, had obviously put in long hours of baking in order to make things special for the party.

Following Mr. Reed’s advice, Susan went directly over to the refreshment table and helped herself to a glass of lemonade.

“Pretty thirsty, huh?”

She whirled around and found herself face to face with Richard.

“I guess this afternoon’s session of making papier-mâché puppets with twenty-five eight-year-olds really took a lot out of you!”

“It
was
a long day,” Susan admitted with a chuckle. “But I think it’s turning out to be even more fun than I expected. For one thing, I’m finding out that
teaching
art is a lot different from
doing
art!”

“That’s for sure. One major difference, I’ve found, is that doing it yourself is a lot less noisy!”

Armed with glasses of lemonade and some of Mrs. Reed’s homemade cookies, Susan and Richard ambled out to the porch that ran along the back of the house. It offered an unparalleled view of Lake Majestic. It was a clear night, and the moonlight reflecting off the waves was magnificent. Susan felt as if she had stepped into a picture postcard.

Chris, meanwhile, had been taken under Linda’s wings. As a much more seasoned counselor, she already knew a lot of the other Camp Pinewood regulars. She introduced her around, and while Chris found it difficult to remember everyone’s name, she could already tell that they were a great bunch. Before long, they were all talking and laughing together as a group, each one trying to outdo the others with humorous recollections of things that had happened in past years. The time that some of the kids put salt in all the sugar bowls, for example, and the annual water sports competition between the campers and the counselors.

After a while, Chris began to get the feeling that someone was staring at her. Her eyes automatically traveled to the door that led into the Reeds’ kitchen. Alan Reed was standing there, looking as if he wanted to join the crowd but hesitating, probably out of shyness. But it was Chris he was watching.

She blushed, wondering why it was that he had singled her out. She had to admit that as uncomfortable as the boy made her feel, with his cold green staring eyes and stony silences, there was something intriguing about him. As she sat with the group of counselors, aware of his eyes upon her, she tried to tell herself that she simply felt sorry for him, since he seemed to be kind of a loner. But she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it.

Suddenly, she stood up and walked over to the refreshment table, pretending to want another cold drink. But the table also happened to be located right next to the kitchen door. As she casually poured herself a second glass of lemonade, she glanced over at Alan and smiled.

“Hello again,” she said, trying to sound friendly.

“Hello.”

The tall, lean boy looked a lot less forbidding than he had the first time she’d seen him. His straight black hair had been combed, and he was dressed in the same kind of T-shirt and khaki pants that most of the other boys were wearing. Most of all, the look in his eyes was much more open, without the guardedness she had seen in them the day before, when he had picked her up on the driveway.

He hesitated, then came over and helped himself to some lemonade. “It looks like everybody is having a good time.” He gestured toward the crowd in the living room, still laughing together about the funnier moments in Camp Pinewood’s history. Chris noticed that Richard and Susan had just come in from outside to join them.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And from what I can tell, it also looks like everybody really enjoys working here at Camp Pinewood. Listening to them makes me glad that I’m here. I feel as if I’m lucky to be part of all this.”