EIGHT

Peggy went to the Pillbox that night, talked for an hour or so, drank coffee. And she went often after that. She tried not to wear out the invitation, but found herself drawn more and more to the cozy room and sympathetic nurse.

She was able to face both Mike and Lilian unashamedly now, although she found little time to be friendly with the redhead, and Lilian, it seemed to Peggy, was being rather distant. Other than that camp life progressed normally.

Pam had not raised the issue of “special privileges” at a counselors’ meeting, but instead had spoken to Peggy in the privacy of the camp office. A counselor, Pam had said, had to be careful about giving the kids any idea that she was playing favorites. Peggy had agreed, had explained the circumstances, had promised to handle such situations, should they occur, in a different way. That had been the end of that.

Peggy knew perfectly well that horror was looking over her shoulder, that behind the facade of wholesome camp activity lurked abominations too dark and terrible to be named. She knew that there were at least two lesbians—her precious Beth, and probably Mike—in the camp. She had a strong feeling that about herself, Lilian suspected the worst. The very word “lesbian” was almost totally new to Peggy’s lexicon, had the power to make her shudder, to make her ill. The most awful thing of all was that these creatures were abroad in a camp for children, girl children. Lesbianism in such a setting should be at once exposed, torn out by the roots.

Yet there was no absolute proof Mike was a lesbian. As for Beth, thought Peggy, it was as plain as the nose on your face that she was the most marvelous of women. Far from damaging others, she helped them night and day—and especially, she helped Peggy. She took the alarm and the worry out of Peggy. She opened Peggy’s eyes to dawns, horizons, worlds beyond worlds, all by sitting with her sometimes, talking, sharing music over the radio, exchanging smiles and glances. In short, Beth was a friend.

So Peggy was not about to damage Beth by exposing her. Oh, no. It was not indicated. As for the campers, the girls—why, the last thing Beth would do would be to hurt them. She was so tender, so sympathetic and affectionate, with the kids.

Peggy was enraptured with her new friendship and by the end of the first month, as she readied for another overnight, she felt certain that things would run smoothly for the remainder of the summer.

However, that very afternoon found her wrong in her assumption.

Each Friday, every girl in the camp was sent on a hike with one group or another. Friday was the kitchen staff’s day off, and as at most camps on that occasion, expeditions had to be arranged. Friday was the day the canoe trips threaded the lake, the girls climbed nearby peaks, the visits were made to other lakes, other camps.

The overnight hikers, however, usually left on Thursday mornings, spent Thursday night in the open, returned late Friday to meet the other homecoming girls. They were considered an elite group, since only those attending Peggy’s campcraft and woodcraft sessions were allowed to spend a night in the open. Lilian, as the senior counselor, was in charge of these overnight hikes, of which there were four each summer, but it was Peggy who actually led them. The camp directors considered this her most important function.

This sleepout had begun as all others. After breakfast the campcrafters had trundled up to the lodge, lugging their bedding and other gear over their shoulders or on their backs.

Peggy watched from the top of the hill, greeting each girl with a bright “Hi.” Because of the weight with which the girls were struggling, the reply was usually a mere, “Ugh!” When the girls were gathered inside the main room, Peggy joined them, counted noses, found one camper missing.

After instructing the girls to count off, she told them, “Evens spread your blankets here. Odds over there. Those with sleeping bags, over here.” She pointed to another section of the room. “Last trip, our bedmaking was pretty sloppy. We’re going to run through the routine once more before starting out.”

The youngsters took great pains to lay out their blankets evenly on the floor. Some rounded them three or four times, straightening an edge, pulling a corner, inspecting, then hurrying to the other side once more. Others crawled across the woolen squares on their hands and knees, smoothing ripples as they went.

One nine-year-old made her way to the middle of the blanket on all fours, then stopped, turned to one side so she could examine both ends. Satisfied, she started up, pushing herself by her hands, her little rear end rising first.

Just then a hefty twelve-year-old next to her bent over to smooth a ripple. Boom! The two pairs of buttocks smacked each other, toppling the smaller girl into a complete somersault.

The lodge rang with loud, happy laughter, high-pitched giggles, shy twitters. Even Peggy roared.

The noise finally died away. The two girls straightened their blankets once more—being especially careful to keep out of each other’s way. Deciding not to wait any longer for the stray girl, Peggy called the group together to watch a bedmaking demonstration.

It was then that the missing girl came in. She stopped a moment in the doorway, her bedding slung across her back. Peggy glanced at her.

Alice Hart was an odd mixture of baby fat and young womanhood. She had a round, cherubic face with full cheeks now flushed from the struggle to get her gear to the lodge. Her breasts, well-developed for a fourteen-year-old girl’s, heaved with her heavy breathing, straining against the snug cardigan she was wearing.

The first two buttons of the cherry-red sweater were undone. The third—in a most strategic place—threatened to fly off any second. Even more insecure, it would seem, were her white ultrashort shorts. Peggy wondered how she had been able to struggle into those skin-tight pants, and how soon they were going to burst.

Alice’s sandy hair was rolled back in an attempted twist, but one strand had fallen from place, hung straight and straggly to her shoulder.

Her mouth was a pink-red blob of lipstick; her eyes were black with make-up.

Peggy shot a glance at Lilian, whose expression was inscrutable as she said to the girl, “You’re late.”

Alice crossed the room, her tightly encased buttocks bouncing girlishly, swaying provocatively. She dropped her bundle to the floor, and watched the rest of Peggy’s demonstration.

Afterward, while the other girls struggled with their bedrolls, Peggy walked around, advising, instructing, answering questions. She stopped at Alice’s side. As the girl bent to fold the blanket, Peggy held her breath, watching, waiting for the seams of the white pants to explode. But they did not, and Alice stood up, still in one piece.

“Alice,” Peggy said, as quietly as possible, “as soon as you finish, you’d better go wash your face. That stuff would get smeared all over you on an overnight.”

Peggy could tell Alice was hurt, in spite of the girl’s attempt to smile.

“Since you have to go back to the cabin,” Peggy continued, wishing she knew some of Mike’s child psychology, “maybe you should change your pants, too. It would be a shame to ruin them, don’t you think?”

Alice swallowed. “Yes’m,” she said, her eyes searching the floor. When she had tied up her bedroll securely and was starting for the door, Peggy called after her.

“I think you’d better bring along a blouse. It might get pretty warm today,” she said, hoping the girl would not take offense.

The day never became particularly hot—the sun followed the group behind a cloud screen. But Alice gradually regained her high spirits. She marched along sturdily in blue Levis—tight, but not as snug as the white pants and, in any case, guaranteed not to rip. She also wore a sloppy navy sweatshirt over a white blouse, and sneakers. Her face had been scrubbed to a clean, glowing pink. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail bound with a red ribbon.

At one point Alice dropped back in line to join Peggy.

They trailed behind the other girls for a while, Alice wordless.

Suddenly she blurted, “Miss Peggy, did I look very awful? I mean with all that glop on.”

“Why, no, Alice. You didn’t look exactly awful.”

“But I didn’t look exactly good, either, did I?”

“I wouldn’t say that. You could probably use some experience in making up, but you’ll get there.”

Alice hesitated before her next question.

“Do you think—I mean, did I look, you know, sort of glamorous?”

Peggy forced herself not to smile. “You’re an attractive girl, Alice. You—”

“But I didn’t look glamorous? Not even a little bit?”

“Why do you want to look glamorous? Especially on an overnight?”

Alice examined the ground. She seemed to be studying painstakingly each piece of gravel they stepped on. Then she raised her eyes. Peggy followed her gaze along the line of campers to its head, where Lilian was walking Indian-straight, her regal countenance held high, the black hair swaying in a single braid down her back.

She was wearing slacks of rich brown and a matching sweater. A gold scarf was pinned at her neck. She looked ready for a date, rather than a sleepout, Peggy mused, forcing her attention back to Alice.

“She always looks that way, doesn’t she?” Alice said, a toss of her chin indicating Lilian. “Glamorous.”

“I guess she does.” Peggy looked at the girl, who was gazing wistfully at the front of the line.

Peggy sighed. Kids sure were funny. These crushes of theirs.

Then the irony struck her. What the hell, she herself had a crush, didn’t she? A crush on Beth?

Alice heard Peggy laugh and laughed too. What Alice did not know was that Peggy was laughing at herself.

* * *

When the girls stopped at the Allister farmhouse, the place seemed deserted. The youngsters refilled their canteens and continued on their way.

They arrived at the campsite, divided into groups to go in search of firewood. Feeling more lighthearted than usual, Peggy ran with one of the parties, hopping the gullies, leaping over rocks, scampering up a hillside. Carrying armloads of kindling, she trotted back with the youngsters.

While Lilian helped to set out the cooking utensils, Peggy supervised the fire builders. The custom was for the girls, some of them seasoned campers, to do all the cooking and serving.

Dusk began to gather as they ate soup and hamburgers. Then they sat around the glow of the fire sucking campfire sodas—peppermint sticks plunged into round, ripe, juicy oranges—and singing camp songs.

Night was quietly drifting over the hills. Concerned by her bad timing—the bedding had not yet been laid out—Peggy glanced at her watch. It was still early. Puzzled, she examined the watch once more. Just then a low rumble from overhead shook the hills. In the middle of a song, Peggy left the circle, rounded the fire to where Lilian was sitting.

“What do we do if it rains?”

“There’s no shelter in this area except for the trees. But Miss Duncan won’t let us sit out here if it gets bad. They’ll send the station wagon for us.”

“My gosh, Lilian,” Peggy said, her voice rising. “Camp is a good distance away. The kids will be drenched by the time someone gets here.”

“Well, I suppose we could start back now, and stop off at the Allister farm. But—”

She was interrupted by a flash of headlights. Both girls tensed as a strange car pulled to a halt and a man slid from behind the wheel.

“Peggy! It’s me,” he called. “Kirby.”

Relieved, Peggy bounded to meet him.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly.

The campers were on their feet now, clustered near the fire, excitedly discussing the gathering storm. All eyes were intent on Peggy.

“Have you heard from the camp?” Kirby was asking.

Peggy shrugged. “Nobody’s been here yet. I was just talking to Lilian about it.” She glanced doubtfully at the dark sky. “I suppose the storm might pass.”

“It won’t,” Kirby said. “They just announced it over the radio—thunder showers early tonight, continuing through tomorrow. Aunt Lelia insisted that I check on you girls. She said if you want, you can stay at the house.”

“Oh, we couldn’t do that.” Peggy gestured with a sweep of the arm. “There are seventeen of us, including counselors.”

Kirby smiled. “Aunt Lelia has plenty of room, believe me. Besides—” he grinned—“we can always put you up in the barn.”

Peggy hesitated. “I suppose we ought to take shelter there, anyway.”

“You’d better hurry up. When this thing breaks—”

Peggy ran to consult Lilian and was back in seconds.

“All settled,” Peggy said. “But we have to stow the bedrolls and equipment.”

“Load the pots and things in the car with as many girls as you can stuff into the back seat. I’ll buzz them over to the house while you and a couple of the kids pack the bedding. I’ll be back as soon as I can with tarpaulins.”

“Right.”

Quickly the cooking utensils and knapsacks were loaded in the trunk. Then Lilian and eight girls jammed themselves into the sedan. Soon they were off, leaving Peggy and the bedroll crew behind.

As the car rolled away, a flash of lightning slashed the blackness overhead.

“Let’s go, kids,” Peggy called to her helpers.

* * *

Mrs. Allister was quite elderly, but spry as a farm filly. Short and stocky, with glinting blue eyes and snowy hair, she was bustling about in a blue chenille robe when Peggy arrived with Kirby and the bedroll crew. As they walked into the kitchen, she turned away from the sink where she had been rinsing cups.

“You sit yourselves right there,” she said to the girls, indicating the large, old-fashioned kitchen table. “I have some nice hot chocolate for you.” She smiled at Peggy. “The others are all tucked in, though I doubt they’ll sleep for some time. You know how children are in a strange place.”

She scurried from the sink to the stove to the table, rinsing cups, warming milk, pouring the thick, rich drink for her guests.

“Where’s Lilian?”

“Upstairs with her kids.”

“Did she call the camp?”

“Not that I know of,” Mrs. Allister said. “But I’m delighted to have you all. Lots of room, you know.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I was one of five sisters and four brothers, and we were living on here at the farm even after some us were married and had children. Why, I can remember when—”

“Aunt Lelia,” interrupted Kirby, smiling crookedly, “I think Peggy would like to telephone the camp.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Allister said. “Kirby, you show her where the phone is.”

By this time, rain was pelting the farmhouse like buckshot. Crackling thunder punctuated the forked flashes of lightning hurling themselves at the hills. Peggy had trouble getting through to the camp. After fifteen minutes of trying without a result, she decided that the wires must be down somewhere and was about to give up, but just then a local operator came to her rescue. The call was rerouted, and a few moments later Miss Duncan, the director, answered. She sounded beside herself with worry.

“Oh, Peggy! I’m so glad to hear from you. Look, a number of girls got caught in canoes by the storm. They had to beach at the other end of the lake, and the station wagon is out rounding them up. As soon as it gets back, I’ll send it for you.”

“You don’t have to, Miss Duncan. We’re all safe and dry.”

“Where are you?”

“At the Allister farm.”

“Of course! There’s plenty of space there, I know. But aren’t we imposing?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Mrs. Allister is enjoying it, and so are the kids.”

“All right. You stay the night. If it hasn’t stopped raining by morning. I’ll have the station wagon there.”

Peggy hung up, returned to the kitchen, and sat sipping hot chocolate with Kirby. Aunt Lelia shooed the rest of the youngsters off to bed, then excused herself. She always rose at five, she explained, and needed her night’s rest.

Peggy and Kirby sat quietly, listening to the rain slash the window panes.

After a while, Kirby said, “It must get lonely for you girls, being out here in the wilderness with no guys around.”

“I kind of like it,” Peggy said unsmilingly.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious. I bet you don’t like it so much that you would turn me down if I asked you for a date.”

“I bet I would.”

Kirby’s face fell. “Are you saying you won’t go out with me?”

Peggy swallowed the last of the hot chocolate. “That’s right.” She pushed back her chair, stood up.

“But—”

“I’d like to go to bed, now,” she said.

Kirby jumped to his feet. “You didn’t mean that, did you? About the date?”

“I meant it.” She turned away.

Kirby caught her by the arm, forced her to face him.

“But look at you,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl. Why, you’re built like—like a movie star. You must have feelings, desires. It wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t.”

Her hazel eyes blazed into his brown ones. “So maybe I’m not normal,” she said coldly.

“Well, I am, damn it!” With that, he threw his arm around her, forced her in close to his lean, hard body. His head came down. He clamped his mouth to hers.

In that first shocked instant, Peggy was too astounded to react. Then she felt a familiar hot stirring in her loins, faint at first, but growing in intensity second by second. Guilt filled her as Kirby held the kiss. Not because of those stirrings inside her. Peggy knew she was a passionate girl. No—the guilt came because she was responding to the same precipitous, self-centered, humiliating approach that Ted used—and every other male used, for all she knew.

Who did this Kirby think he was, Casanova or somebody?

She broke away. Putting all her strength into it, she slapped Kirby’s face.

“You’d better show me where I sleep, now.”

He was holding his cheek.

Without a word he led the way down the hall.

* * *

Peggy did not see Kirby again before leaving the Allister farm. When she got up the next morning, the sun was bright, not a cloud marred the sky. Investigating, Peggy found Mrs. Allister in the kitchen brewing steaming coffee for herself and the two counselors, and more hot chocolate for the campers.

The woman pulled a tray of biscuits from the oven. “Dig in. Better than walking back on an empty stomach.”

Peggy thanked her, asked permission to use the phone, then, after talking to Miss Duncan, went to wake the girls. Soon, in shifts, they invaded the kitchen to sip hot drinks and munch warm biscuits swimming in butter and topped by honey or home-made jam.

When Peggy thought they had had their fill, she suggested the clean-up committee help Mrs. Allister in the kitchen, while the rest of the girls straightened the quarters in which they had slept. The gesture delighted the kindly old lady. Reminded her of the old days, she said, when she had been one of the cooks at the camp, and the girls had always been running around underfoot.

Every time Peggy thought of Kirby, she sizzled like a fuse. Why, that egocentric, selfish, assuming lout! A good thing he had chosen to stay out of sight this morning.

The girls returned by a route much different from the one by which they had come. This cut through the woods via an old trail paralleling the stream near which they had intended to sleep. At one point, the stream widened into a deep pothole carved into the rock by centuries of rushing water.

Here the girls paused for a swim. Suits were unnecessary. Naked as plucked birds, the squealing youngsters frolicked in the jewel-bright water until its icy temperature drove them out. They dried themselves and dressed, then kindled a fire and roasted frankfurters for lunch.

Not long afterward the skies began to cloud up again. All activities and games were called off as thunderclouds gathered overhead. The girls marched for home under forced draft.

At camp much earlier than was usual for returning hikers, everyone cleaned up, then rushed to the lodge. There Pam was organizing indoor games because of the threatening storm. She told Peggy and Lilian that Beth would drive one of them to pick up the bedrolls. “I can’t spare more than one of you,” Pam said. “Practically all of the hikers are back already.” Glancing at the approaching nurse, Lilian declined, saying she would prefer to occupy a few kids with a dancing lesson.

Happily, Peggy walked off with Beth.

The first raindrops were falling.