FOURTEEN

Peggy blinked and turned away. When she opened her eyes, all was black with white and gold and red flecks swimming in front of her. She blinked harder.

“What’s going on?” Pam repeated.

Peggy stuttered out what she knew of the story. While she was talking, Mike came rushing through the shadows behind her sister. She caught the last of Peggy’s explanation.

Pam turned to Alice.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I got nothing to tell,” the girl said bitterly.

Pam did not insist.

“Come on, then. Let’s get you to your cabin.”

“Her foot is hurt,” Peggy cautioned. “I think she fell.”

Pam cast Peggy a furtive look. “Mike, help Alice up. See if she can walk.”

Mike braced the girl, managed to get her to her feet. As Alice threw an arm around Mike, her robe fell open.

Peggy’s jaw dropped. Pam said, “Christ!” The front of the girl’s pajamas had been ripped open, exposing her tender, maturing breasts. There was a scratch near one pink nipple, similar to the one Peggy had noticed on her neck.

Hastily Alice gathered her robe about her, her eyes darting to each of the three counselors.

Pam growled, “Mike, get her to Beth right away. Peggy and I are going to see Miss Duncan. Peggy, here, has a lot of explaining to do.”

“But—”

“Save it,” Pam said to Peggy.

“Pam, are you accusing her—”

“I’m not accusing anyone, Mike. I merely said that she had some explaining to do.”

“My God, she explained everything to you. And you know what Duncan will do.”

“It’s my job, Mike.”

“You’re acting too hastily.”

“Mike, I’ve caught her in action before. At one of the sleepouts, she had that Susie kid in the hay with her all night.”

“But she’ll be fired on the spot. You—”

The meaning of it all hit Peggy with an impact that left her speechless and thoughtless. Peggy was being accused of whatever horror had befallen Alice.

The rest of the conversation drifted to her through the fog clogging her brain—and left her even more incapable of thinking when Mike’s final words came through:

“But I know she had nothing to do with it,” the redhead was saying. “I’ll swear to it. She—” Mike faltered for only an instant—“she was with me.”

* * *

She was with me ... she was with me ... with me ... me.... For hours Peggy lay awake, trying to reconstruct everything that had happened from the moment Mike had walked up the lodge steps.

Peggy rolled to her side. She jammed her fists into the pillow, damp with perspiration. She remembered that when Mike had burst out of the bushes, she had been wearing jeans and sweatshirt. The fancy clothes had been gone.

Pam had finally been convinced, had promised not to report the incident to Miss Duncan for a time—provided Beth would approve. And provided Mike was able to do some profitable detective work in the next couple of days.

Peggy was no longer under suspicion. Or at least, no longer being accused.

But why—why had Mike lied?

Peggy sat up, her knees clutched to her chest. Was Mike guilty; had she committed the offense, then used Peggy as an alibi? But why? If Mike had remained silent, Peggy would have been dismissed immediately and the case probably forgotten.

Peggy thought hard once more.

A chilling thought suddenly touched her, making her stomach churn. Of course! Common sense at last had made her realize there was one other person who might molest a camper. Members gathered in her mind: Beth and Susie, Beth and the other girls....

If Beth would fondle an ailing ten-year-old in broad daylight, what would she do to a well-developed fourteen-year-old in the dark of night?

Peggy thrashed on her bed.

She could not wait for morning to come.

* * *

Beth stubbed out a cigarette.

“For God’s sake, Peggy, will you listen to me? I had nothing to do with it.”

Peggy was relentless. “What happened last night after she got here?”

Beth took another cigarette from the pack on the desk. “I looked her over, mercurochromed the scratches, and put her to bed in the next room.”

Peggy remembered her one night as a patient, and shuddered.

“Was she doped up? Did you crawl into bed with her?”

The cigarette stopped halfway to the nurse’s mouth. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Peggy searched Beth’s soft face for signs of guilt, found none. It is the same soft face, with the same gentle mouth, the same compassionate expression.

“Now calm yourself, Peggy,” she was saying. “I’m not angry with you for accusing me. I know you’re strung up.”

“Thanks,” growled Peggy. She would have loved to believe the nurse innocent, but other images were forming in Peggy’s thoughts—girls in the Pillbox, girls clustering around the nurse as she walked through the camp grounds, girls rushing to hold her hand or give her a bouquet of wild flowers....

“Alice will speak, maybe, after she gets over her fear. What did you do, Beth—threaten to kill her if she ever opens her mouth?”

“If she speaks, it may bring tragedy to many of us,” Beth said. “But I hope she does—I hope she does—”

Peggy turned on her heel, marched out of the Pillbox.

What bothered her now was that she was involved with this woman, involved with the whole debauched pattern that numbered Alice as its latest victim.

Peggy walked along slowly. Could she ever break out of it?

There had to be a way. A way to escape this sickness, or at least find out if she could.

Chin firmly lifted, Peggy went to the lodge and called Kirby.

“Can you meet me tonight? After taps?”

“Any time, any place. You know that.”

* * *

Kirby picked her up at the gate.

“Take me to some nice, lonely spot. A quiet one.”

“Sure. I suppose those noisy kids can get on your nerves after a while.”

He swung the car around. Twenty minutes later he turned into a remote dirt lane.

He switched off the ignition, adjusted the seat, and laid his head back, gazing at the stars.

Peggy moved, so that her soft thigh brushed his hard one. Her head was nearly touching his shoulder.

He got the message.

“I’ve been waiting for that, Peggy. After the time you slapped me, I resolved never to make advances—not unless you let me know you wanted them.” He sighed. “It’s been difficult. You’re more than beautiful, Peggy. You’re entrancing, enchanting—” And his arm went around her.

She waited, knowing he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to. When his lips pressed hers, her own lips parted, accepting his kiss, returning it.

The kiss persisted as his hand tightened on her shoulder, as his arm drew her closer.

Peggy’s hand crawled around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. Still the kiss did not break.

She twisted in the seat, touching his lean body.

They broke away, then. Peggy was facing him, her legs curled under her. Neither of them spoke.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and could hear the thud of his heart under his thin shirt.

“Kirby,” she said, “you think sex is beautiful when two people are in love, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And if they’re not in love—if they don’t feel anything for each other?”

He thought a moment. “I don’t know, Peggy. I’ve never made love to a girl that I didn’t feel something for.”

She raised her head. “Never?”

He shrugged, guided her head back to his shoulder. “I couldn’t, Peggy. A lot of guys do, but not Kirby.”

“What about me? Could you make love to me?” The tremor in her voice gave it a strange, childlike quality.

“Foolish question.” Kirby swallowed. “Do you want me to make love to you?”

“Would it be—good?”

“It would be the best.”

She did not hesitate. “Then I want you to.”

Kirby squeezed her to him. “Peggy—do you know what you’re doing?”

“I think so.”

His words tumbled out eagerly. “I have a blanket in back. I’ll throw it on the ground. We can sit there for a while—you can reconsider if you like—”

“Do you always carry a blanket around?” she asked, surprised that she should care.

“It’s Aunt Lelia’s picnic blanket.” He laughed. “Do you think I keep it around for—for special occasions like this?” He took Peggy’s face in his hands, kissed her. “I told you. I’m not the wolf type, understand? I have to care for a girl.”

Peggy tried to hug him, but he broke away.

“I’ll get the blanket,” he said gruffly.

He spread it carefully, took her by the hand and led her to it. Peggy sat down, gazing through the open ceiling of trees at the glittering stars. The night was warm. Crickets were murmuring.

Peggy’s eyes ran up the trunk of a gnarled old tree that bushed into a profusion of leaves and branches. She felt as though she were in a dream. Who was she? What was she doing here? Who was the man?

Kirby’s lips on her throat brought her back to earth. He nuzzled her hair, trailed his lips to her ears, then found her mouth. He pressed his lips to hers, holding her, pulling her to him so that her breasts met his hard chest.

Lips still locked, Kirby lowered Peggy to her back. She clung to him, so that his body smothered the rise and fall of her throbbing breasts.

His tongue slid forward into her mouth, touching, circling, caressing, sending a fever of delight along Peggy’s spine.

Kirby shifted his weight. Now one hand was free to cup and caress a molded breast.

Peggy’s hands moved over his broad back, rounded his shoulders, played in his hair. His hand on her breast stroked and tenderly squeezed, teasing the hidden nipple, hardening it. It was she, impatient, who sat up and got rid of her blouse.

A thin, lacy strapless covered Peggy’s heaving breasts. Kirby ignored it at first, kissing, caressing around it, trailing his lips below, above, while hands and fingers outlined the filmy bra, barely touching the hidden breast.

Then he sat up. He pulled off his shirt.

And then her bra.

Peggy lay still while Kirby’s eyes drank in the beauty of her heavy breasts bathed in the silver moonlight. Then a finger touched the berry tip; a hand gently squeezed, smoothed. “Peggy,” he whispered. “Darling Peggy.” His head came down. His lips and tongue and teeth made a feast of her bosom.

For Peggy, the world had turned to passion. She twisted to feel him against her, thigh upon thigh, bare flesh against bare flesh. She moaned and squirmed and, finally, tearing him from his newfound treasure, forced his lips to hers, hot and demanding. His weight and heated flesh came bearing down on her. The feel of him—all of him—against her, the heat of his hard, muscular body, filled her with flame. Yet Kirby would not be rushed. He played with her and gentled her, handling his weight so that it would not crush or exhaust her. He devoted himself far less to his own pleasure than to hers, neglecting no effort however sustained, no exploration however intimate. The result was that unbearable tensions built up in Peggy. Blissful as was this reverent love-making, she wanted him wholly, completely ... now!

He sensed by her murmurs, her writhing, that the time had come for ecstasy. Hearts pounded, blood raced, bodies tore at each other until finally all reason fled, leaving only lusts to be fulfilled. The pair became one, bathed in the luminous glow of the moon. Locked in the eternal embrace, she felt utterly pierced with delight, and moving to receive this man, this marvelous Kirby, she moaned with the ineffable pleasure of it. The countless silver-bright stars above seared the dark sky with their brilliance. Yet all of these—the stars and earth and moon—joined the sun itself, coming together within Peggy’s being. The infinite light, the limitless heat, filled her to bursting, then erupted with such force that her very soul was shattered. Her teeth sank into Kirby’s shoulder as joy like sheer pain coursed through her.

And slowly all the world fell into place around Peggy, and after a while she herself felt whole once more. Kirby, in whose arms she rested, Kirby too was there.

She smiled. She had learned something.

“Peggy,” said Kirby brokenly, “I—I think I love you.”

She stroked his rumpled hair.

“Peggy—how do you feel about me?”

“I think you’re a doll,” she said. She could not commit herself to anything more. Not while she was still involved with Lesbos. Not while mysteries remained to be solved. “Take me back to camp now, will you?”

And she kissed him.