FOUR

Early sunlight burst through the window, bringing Peggy awake. Her eyes rounded the room, stopped at Beth, standing starched and white in the doorway.

“Good morning,” the nurse said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” the girl replied, stifling a yawn.

Beth crossed to a white metal cabinet, a smile bright on her face. “When I came in last night you seemed to be sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.” She reached into the cabinet. “And judging by Mike’s account of your symptoms, I decided sleep was the best medicine, anyway.”

Peggy could not control another yawn. “What time is it?”

Beth glanced at her watch. “Almost seven-thirty.” She popped a thermometer into Peggy’s mouth, laid a cool hand on her forehead. “You did sleep well, didn’t you?”

Peggy did not answer. The touch of Beth’s soft fingers had caused remembrance to erupt: the caresses, the kisses, the guilty intimacies—all came to mind with vivid lucidity. She tried to shake off the recollection, more than half believing she had dreamed everything. But with the memory her body warmed. Her skin tingled and her breasts throbbed. She knew she had not dreamed.

Suddenly Peggy wanted to get away from this place, from the room and the bed—and especially from Beth, who had just removed the thermometer, checked the temperature, and said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No. I think I’d better—”

“I think you’d better have a bit of breakfast,” the nurse said in a professional tone. “You don’t have any more nausea, do you?”

Peggy shook her head.

Beth shook down the thermometer, went through the process of sterilizing it. She turned back to Peggy. “I’ll put the water on,” she said, but stood motionless, gaze fixed on Peggy—on the mass of blond hair rumpled against the pillow, on the lissome young body curled into a knot under the clinging sheet, hazel eyes peering over its edge.

Beth smiled then.

“You look like an angel when you’re sleeping,” she said softly. She bent and retrieved the white blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Then she hurried from the room.

Peggy lay there, still groggy, a condition she attributed to the medicine she had taken. From outside, the birdsongs reached her. She heard the milk truck rumble along the road, stop at the main gate, then grind its way up toward the kitchen as reveille echoed through the hills.

When Beth returned a few minutes later, she was carrying a tray laden with toast and tea. Peggy pulled herself to a sitting position, hugged her knees to her chest. She had discovered that she was wearing pajamas. Someone must have slipped them on her while she had slept.

Beth placed the tray on a white stand next to the bed, then sat in the straight-backed chair, sipping her tea. As they silently breakfasted, Peggy could not keep her eyes from the nurse.

She tried to imagine Beth in something other than the starched white outfit. Slacks, Peggy thought. A bathing suit. She certainly has the figure for either, Peggy decided, considering Beth’s trim waist, soft-looking yet compact hips, shapely legs now encased in spotless white stockings.

Peggy’s imagination went still further, attempting to picture Beth in a dress—a cocktail thing—and with a man....

A man?

It was difficult to visualize the starched and painfully proper nurse with a man. Covertly, Peggy’s eyes swept over Beth.

She was sitting up straight, but not stiffly. Her blue eyes were alive and roving the room.

Just then her glance caught Peggy’s. The eyes softly glowed as a smile lit up Beth’s entire face, curving her generous red lips, dimpling her cheeks, even wrinkling her nose a little, Peggy noticed. What a lovely, appealing woman.

Had wild lust ever irradiated those mellow eyes, Peggy wondered. Had that mouth ever sought another’s? Did that cute nose know the scent of a man: the compounded smell of shaving lotion, just-washed hands and freshly laundered shirt?

Peggy could not conceive it. Not Beth, she told herself. Beth’s was not a body made for lust and passion, but for love and service.

Oh, Peggy could plainly hear out of the past those noxious noises, those sounds of wanton hunger and its fulfillment, reaching her shocked ears from the darkness of the bathhouse.

Still, Beth had been forced to it. Peggy could not accept Beth as a lusting woman. She shut the idea from her mind.

She saw Beth as nothing but the warm and human nurse, the efficient nurse, that she was. Certainly she could not have been the woman who had crawled into Peggy’s bed during the night.

A thought struck Peggy with such force that she choked on her toast. Why had she been assuming the stranger in the bathhouse that night had been a woman? Why not a man?

“Are you all right?” Beth queried anxiously.

“Oh, sure. A bite went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Peggy set down her cup and sat back in the bed.

What man, she asked herself, could be wandering around loose in a girl’s camp? What such man would know her, Peggy, by name? Besides—that had not been a man in bed with her last night.

Or had she dreamed the whole thing?

A chill climbed her spine. No—she knew she had not imagined or dreamed last night’s seduction. It had been real.

Just the memory of the hands on her made her body suddenly fill with warmth and desire—and with disgust, with horror.

Whose hands had they been?

Mike’s probably, thought Peggy. Surely not Beth’s.

Strains of America, the Beautiful drifted through the window, abruptly bringing to Peggy’s mind a picture of the campers circling the flagpole, watching with sleep-filled eyes as the stars and stripes were raised, stifling yawns to sing, then monotoning: I pledge allegiance....

Beth rose from her chair. She collected the dishes, then carried the load to the other room. There she rinsed and put them away while Peggy dressed.

Peggy was combing her hair when Beth returned. The nurse leaned lightly against the doorjamb.

“How do you feel now?” she asked.

“Much better, thanks.”

“You’re welcome to stay longer, if you like.”

“No. If you think I’m all right, I’d like to go now. I want to change clothes before craft hour.”

Beth crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes still on Peggy. “You’re fine. I kept you here only to make sure you would hold down your breakfast.”

Rays of sunshine streaked through the window, casting shimmers of light on Peggy’s golden hair as she pulled it back into a ponytail. “Beth, that medicine Mike gave me—was there something in it to put me to sleep?”

“That’s right. A compound to settle your stomach, too. But I think it was the sleep that did you the most good.” The nurse pursed her lips. “You’ve been losing sleep lately, if I know the signs. Probably that’s why something was able to make you feel sick yesterday.”

How shrewd of her, Peggy thought. She’s a professional nurse, all right.

Beth lit a couple of cigarettes, handed one to Peggy. “Do you like it here? Think you’ll be back next season?”

Peggy shrugged. “Too early to tell. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

On whether or not I find out who’s haunting me, she thought. On what comes of it. Aloud she said, “A lot of things, really.”

Beth studied the girl. “Peggy,” she said finally, “is something wrong? What’s troubling you?”

What’s wrong? The query echoed within Peggy. She wanted to shout: You know what’s wrong as well as I do. Better than I do, in fact. You were in on the thing. I only caught snatches. What’s wrong? Beth—you tell me. Instead, she said, “Of course nothing is wrong.”

Peggy slipped into her sweater. She looked down at the nurse, and forced a smile. “Maybe it’s just the pressure of the first few days,” Beth said.

“That’s probably it,” Peggy agreed, heading for the door. That and the fact that last night I was seduced by a woman—and liked it.

* * *

The door of the Pillbox slammed shut behind Peggy. She sauntered along the path that led from the small, square building to the lodge.

At a bend in the well-worn trail, she halted. She had a choice of going straight ahead to the lodge or by-passing it and heading for the cabin area. Or she could neglect both paths and cut across the wooded hillside.

She took counsel with herself a moment, then turned off the path. Dry leaves crackled underfoot, pine branches rustled, as Peggy started up the sylvan slope. Small brown animals skittered out of sight: chipmunks, rabbits. The lazy air smelled of balsam and wood smoke.

Overhead a jay called to its mate. A squirrel peeked from the other side of a vine-hung stump. And the sun, on the rise, forced its rays between the tall, full branches, throwing slivers of gold on the dark earth.

Peggy walked along slowly, her mind busy. Reviewing the night, she was filled with apprehension. Was it really possible that the whole episode could have been planned?

Her calculations made it plausible. She had gone into town with Mike while the camp was under Mike’s sister’s direction. Then, at Mike’s urgings, Peggy had indulged in an over-rich delicacy. Finally she had been given a dose of medicine supposedly prescribed by Pam—and which had put Peggy to sleep almost immediately, rendering her helpless.

It was that simple, Peggy thought. Then she reasoned that it was too simple. Somewhere a piece was missing, an integral part of the puzzle.

Even so, she told herself, that was not the worst of her problems. Her big difficulty was....

“Hello, there,” a deep voice boomed.

Peggy froze.

Sitting on a log less than three yards away was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, his dark eyes brilliantly alive.

Peggy retreated a couple of steps, poised for flight.

“Before you panic,” he said, rising, “I’m Kirby Davis. Sorry to startle you. I live over yonder,” he explained with a sweeping gesture in some unclear direction. “You must be one of the camp counselors.”

Peggy said that she was. The thought crossed her mind that this Kirby Davis was trespassing on camp property, but she decided against saying anything. She wanted only to be on her way.

“Are you heading for the lodge?” the big lad asked.

Peggy shook her head. “The cabins,” she replied.

“Oh. I thought I’d join you.” He indicated a large wooden crate. “I have to deliver this to the kitchen.”

“What is it?”

“Apple butter. Old-fashioned, home-made apple butter,” he emphasized.

“Apple butter! From where? We drove in supplies yesterday, and—”

“My aunt makes it,” he said. “Aunt Lelia used to do cooking out here at one time,” he continued. “She retired a couple years ago, but she still supplies most of the preserves. Home-made jams and jellies, things like that.”

“And you’re the delivery boy?”

“That’s right.” A frown crossed his sun-tanned forehead. “Say—what are you doing out here? Isn’t everyone at breakfast?”

Peggy explained she had just left the clinic.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Peggy said nothing, wishing she could tell him—anyone—just how serious. Then she suppressed a semihysterical giggle. What a thing to tell a stranger!

Aware of her uncommunicativeness, Kirby lifted the crate to his shoulder and said, “Better be on my way. Hope I see you again some time.”

“Me, too,” Peggy said meaninglessly, and continued on her way, her thoughts returning to the events of the night.

She felt sick and afraid. Whether or not the seduction had been planned was of little consequence. Whether or not the seducer had been Mike seemed beside the point. The fact was that no matter how it had happened or who had been responsible, Peggy had enjoyed the night.

Then was she one of—of those? Full of horror, she stumbled blindly along among the trees. She tried to quiet her fears by arguing that she had not been fully awake, that perhaps, in fact, she had dreamed the whole episode.

When at last she reached her cabin, she felt calmer, if hot more convinced. She decided to forget the night’s events until she could consider them with some objectivity. Right now, she told herself, it was high time to concentrate on what she was being paid for—being a counselor.

One more question had developed, though. That fellow in the woods—what was his name? Kirby? Why had he chosen that peculiar route by which to deliver his heavy load of apple butter? Why hadn’t he driven from the highway right up to the kitchen, the way the delivery truckmen did? Even if he had to walk for some reason, why had he chosen to come by forest path rather than by road?

* * *

Peggy showered, changed, and hiked down to the lodge.

The first person she spotted in the counselors’ lounge was Mike. Memory came flooding back. Pretending not to see the redhead, Peggy quickly averted her eyes. Her heartbeat quickened. Her palms were sweating. Sooner or later, she knew, she would have to face Mike but—Peggy gripped the knob of the still-open door—what would she say? How should she act? Peggy could feel nervous heat suffusing her body, reddening her face. She turned to leave.

“Hey, Peg!”

Her pulse skipped; her breath stopped. She glanced over her shoulder at Mike, who signaled with a toss of her red head. Behind her, in the usual starched white outfit, Beth was sitting on the arm of a chair.

Gingerly Peggy picked her way through the crowded room, sure all eyes were on her, certain that everyone knew, that everyone could see a change in her.

“Feeling better, hey, kid?”

“Oh, I’m full of vinegar this morning.”

Mike laughed. “Don’t forget the p—”

“Never mind,” interrupted Beth. “Hello, Peg.”

“Say,” remarked Mike, “a friend of yours called. Told me his name was Ted.”

Peggy frowned. “When?”

“Yesterday. After I had put you to bed. I told him you were in the infirmary, and he was quite concerned.”

“He was?” Peggy thought she caught a flicker of a smile crossing Beth’s face.

“He asked a thousand questions,” Mike went on, “and wanted to know if I was positive there wasn’t anything he could do. But I finally convinced him you were in the best of hands.”

Peggy slid a hard-backed chair from under the conference table, turned it to face Mike and Beth.

He was quite concerned....

Mike pulled a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket, offered it to Peggy and the nurse. Both declined.

“Yes, sir,” Mike said, lighting up. “I think that boy’s in love.”

Peggy felt her face grow red a second time. She wished she were not so tongue-tied this morning. She sat silently watching the other counselors as one by one they stubbed out after-breakfast cigarettes and left the room.

Yes, sir, I think that boy’s in love. Could that be, Peggy asked herself. Was Ted actually in love with her? She very much doubted it. Yet....

Mike jabbed Beth with a husky elbow. “Look at that face. Two guesses on what she’s thinking about,” Mike said.

Then the telephone jangled.

Mike jumped up. “I’ll get it,” she announced to the room, and pushed toward the clanging pay phone on the wall.

Mike mumbled a few words into the mouthpiece, clapped her hand over it and turned her head. “Hey, speak of the devil,” she called to Peggy. “That’s your Ted. He’s down at Jake’s Garage, at the junction. I told him you were better, and now he wants to know if he can come visit you.” She held out the receiver to Peggy. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“What will I tell him?” Peggy said under her breath. “I’ve been trying to avoid him.”

“But he came all this way. Tell him you’ll see him.”

“But—” She glanced at Beth.

“Do you want to see him?” the nurse asked.

Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose so.” Could it be possible, after all? Did Ted truly love her? “Hell,” she said, suddenly smiling, “sure I want to see him!”

“Then tell him to drive over.”

“What about swim duty? I mean, I didn’t do anything all day yesterday, and—”

“Tell him to drive over—I’ll give you a medical excuse canceling swim duty.” Beth raised an eyebrow. “And any other duties you have today.”

Peggy jumped from her seat. If she had not been in such a rush to get to the phone, she might have hugged the nurse.

“Decisions, decisions, decisions,” Mike mumbled, handing the receiver to Peggy.

* * *

Peggy ran down the gravel drive to the main gate. Her soul was singing. Life was normal once more. Soon she would be with Ted, where she belonged. Did anything else matter? He could take away the doubts and fears, restore the security that seemed to have slipped from her life. He could make her forget last night.

For Ted was a man. With him she could be a woman—a man’s woman.

As she neared the road, Peggy glimpsed the familiar Impala convertible gleaming yellow in the sunlight. Her heart galloped. She flew across the dirt road, around the car and into Ted’s waiting arms.

“Wow,” he said, after a long hard kiss. “If I had known this was the reception I was going to get, I would have come here long ago instead of writing letters that you never answered.”

Peggy smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Ted. I’ve really missed you,” she lied. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy—”

His gray eyes devoured her. “Are you busy now?”

Peggy answered by lifting her face for another kiss.

At last Ted broke away. “Let’s save some until later,” he said breathlessly, turning the ignition key. “Where to?”

Peggy shrugged. “Anywhere—as long as we’re together.”

Ted grinned, and gunned the motor.

As they moved down the road in the open convertible, Peggy rested her head on Ted’s shoulder. The warm breeze caressed her bare shoulders, reminding her of the smooth, gentle touch of last night’s lover. She tried to consign the memory to the wind and concentrate on Ted. Why had she been so impatient with him, she asked herself. Why had she tried to cut herself off from him? It was distinctly a pleasure to have his company now, she thought happily. More than that—it was a cure and antidote.

“Want to do anything special?” he asked. “I passed an ice cream parlor back in the village. This is your big chance.”

“No!” she said vehemently. “Let’s just ride. It’s been such a long time....”

“It sure has,” Ted replied, putting his arm around her.

Peggy snuggled closer and listened as Ted chatted about summer school—about classes, mutual friends, instructors. She told him about camp life, mentioned the overnight hike she was preparing for, gave him portraits of some of her cute campers.

Then they fell silent. The countryside rolled by swiftly as they rode on without destination, turning from one gravel road into another, each like the others yet none the same. For more than an hour they traveled so, quietly and happily, taking in the nearness of each other, enjoying the rugged vistas on both sides of their passage.

Then Ted pulled to the road shoulder, parking on the edge of a clearing carved out of a pine grove. Peggy could hear the murmur of a swift-running brook. On the other side of the road, a granite cliff fell away to farmlands far below, affording a broad, bucolic view of breathtaking sweep.

“How about a walk?” Ted asked.

They slid out of the car and started hand in hand across the grassy clearing.

“Let’s look for the brook, Ted.”

“Sure.”

But when they were among the pines, Ted suddenly pulled her to him. “So how’s my girl?”

Peggy swiveled her hazel eyes toward him. She could not answer, for already Ted’s lips were on hers.

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, when they had parted.

“You’re great,” Ted contradicted. He looked powerful and capable, standing there in his brown slacks, his red sport shirt open at the throat and revealing tufts of dark hair.

He was breathing heavily, Peggy noticed. So she was not surprised when abruptly he grabbed her, holding her so close that she could feel the heat of his body through her white T-shirt.

“As you say, it’s been so long,” he whispered into her ear. “So damned long, Peg.”

He kissed her, forcing her mouth open, and Peggy could feel his warmth flowing into her. His hand slipped under the back of the flimsy shirt, crawled up to the bra snaps. His palm caressed the skin there, moved around and then descended to her stomach. The fingers roamed until the breasts ached for his touch. When she could stand it no longer, she blurted, “Please, Ted....”

He lowered her to the ankle-high carpeting of pine needles and yielding grass. He unloosed the bra, freeing her bosom under the T-shirt. Then he fondled first one breast and then the other.

“Oh, Peg,” he breathed. “My pretty Peg—”

They clung to each other on their soft green bed, fondling and feeling. Then he pulled her out of the T-shirt, removed the loosened bra. Her fullnesses were exposed, delicate mounds of creamy flesh, each with its rosebud tip.

With a cry that was like a sob, he plunged his curly head between the sweet, pink buds. Then he was all over her at once. His shaking hands roved her long legs, her smooth shoulders, buried themselves in her hair. His chest received the thrust of her hungering breasts. His hot lips worked on her mouth. Peggy thought she would explode.

“Isn’t this better than fighting?” he queried hoarsely. “Every day, since we quarreled, I’ve thought of you like this, honey. I was going crazy—I needed you so much....”

Peggy felt herself spread-eagled, then; pinned suddenly by massive weight, she could hardly draw a breath. A pine cone was biting into her spine. Hard hands were convulsively clutching her hips, digging, hurting her. Ted was muttering like a madman, grimacing, looking as if he were about to foam at the mouth.

Something snapped inside of Peggy.

The warmth was gone. Desire melted and chilled. She lay still as Ted greedily sucked kisses from her. She felt nothing, certainly not passion. Yet Ted seemed not to notice. He went right on while her mind drifted to the previous night.

She remembered those tender hands, so unlike Ted’s rough ones. She remembered the delicately cool lips, the creamy flesh against her. She would have remembered more, but a knife pierced her, plunged to the core of her. “Ted!” she shrilled, as all sensation was blotted out save pain—searing, engulfing pain.

And then it was over. Ted sagged upon her, exhausted, his head resting on her still aching breasts. After his breath had slowed to normal pace, Peggy stirred under him.

“Are you finished?” she asked. When he made no answer, she disentangled herself and sat up.

She dressed quickly and combed her hair. Then she spoke again.

“Take me back to the camp.”