TWO

The world seemed to stop. All sounds and sights and smells were blocked out of Peggy Matthews’ spinning senses. Her heart was pounding, her stomach turning. She was sure she was going to be sick. She wanted to scream but she had no voice, wanted to cry but her eyes were dry. No voice, no tears, no feeling; Peggy was numb.

After an eternity, she lifted her eyes to see Beth, a white reflection in the moonlight, rushing like a wraith toward the hill. Minutes later, Peggy pulled herself to her feet and started in the same direction as the nurse. She glanced back once to see if the person of the mysterious voice was behind her, but she saw no one.

Shouts and laughter from the children inside the lodge brought Peggy out of her daze. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. Climbing the grassy slope of the main hill, she tried to match her mood to the gaiety of the campers but it was impossible. She dragged herself through the lodge doorway, shutting the screen quietly behind her.

Seconds later, she was slouched in a large lounge chair, holding a coke in one hand, a cigarette in the other, uncertain how either she or the cigarette and coke got where they were. Peggy sat in a far corner of the room away from the other counselors, alternately sipping her drink and smoking, and oblivious to the other girls.

“Meditating?”

Peggy looked up, startled. “Oh! I didn’t see you,” she stammered to Lilian who was standing in front of her.

“I realize that. You haven’t seemed to see anyone for the last ten minutes. You’re in a world of your own.”

Peggy tried to tear her mind from her thoughts and concentrate on what Lilian was saying but she found it difficult. After minutes of standing motionless, Lilian asked, “Would you rather I leave?”

“I’m sorry, Lilian. No, don’t leave. I’d like to talk to you.” If only she could keep her mind on something else, until she was able to think straight....

But then Lilian asked, “What would you like to talk about?”

And reflexively Peggy blurted: “Lesbians.”

Lilian regarded her coldly. “Why are you interested in lesbianism?”

At the realization of what she had said, Peggy became flustered. “I mean—well, are they common around these places?” she stammered.

“How should I know?” Lilian snapped. “I suppose they are. A girls’ camp would be as good a breeding place as any, I imagine. Why did you ask?”

“I was just wondering,” Peggy explained.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t wonder in front of too many people.” After a pause she added, “You’re not looking for someone to take your boy friend’s place, are you?”

Peggy’s head spun toward the other girl. For a long while she stared at her silently. Before she could answer, one of the counselors called from the open door, “It’s that time.”

Both Peggy and Lilian rose and walked unspeaking to their assignments.

Afterward, lying in bed, Peggy could remember nothing she had done previously. She knew she must have gone through the motions of directing games at the lodge, distributing lemonade. After she had escorted her group to the cabin, seen that they were all properly washed, she had sat on her bed surrounded by five happy girls who cheerfully discussed their first day at camp.

Scant minutes before taps, she had shooed them into their individual beds and when she had rounded the room, covering her charges with lightweight blankets, one of the girls stopped her and said, “I wished for a good counselor, and I got one.”

“I was afraid to leave my mother,” another confided, “but you’re almost as nice as she is.”

Now, long after midnight, as she tossed and turned on her cot, trying to reconstruct the day’s events, Peggy knew she should be pleased with her first day at camp. The kids liked her. The counselors, on the whole, seemed to like her, too. But the day had been completely marred by the horrifying dialogue in the bathhouse. She fell asleep wondering if perhaps it would mar her whole summer.

* * *

Peggy awoke before dawn the next morning, still profoundly disturbed. Waiting for reveille to sound, she lay staring at the log beams of the cabin.

She could not help wonder what lesbian love might be like. But trying to imagine it, she shuddered. A girl attempting the intimacies that only Ted had known? The mere idea made Peggy cringe. She shook off the thought, trying to keep her mind a blank until the camp day began.

At the first blast of the bugle, five girlish heads popped up. Five pairs of fists rubbed at five pairs of sleep-filled eyes, peering at unaccustomed surroundings.

Then all at once the girls came wide awake. In shortie gowns or pajamas, legs flashing, squealing and laughing, they tumbled out of their bunks and scrambled around looking for robes and slippers. After a quick good-morning to Peggy, who was still sitting on the edge of her bed, each young camper slammed out of the cabin and ran down to the wash house in the middle of the cabin area.

Alone, Peggy stretched her arms above her head and let out a yawn. Then she pulled the twisted rubber band from her ponytail and shook out her hair, running her fingers through the soft but snarled tresses.

Slipping into a pair of thongs, she stood up, stretched once more. She grabbed a towel from her rack, then followed the stream of campers down the hill.

Inside the wash house, Peggy worked her way through a throng of noisy youngsters to the large troughlike community sink, where she splashed her face with icy water. Her whole body tingled as the water hit her skin, but after the initial shock she felt fresh and clear-headed. She soaped and rinsed her face, brushed her teeth.

Ignoring the shrill, trilling children, she plowed her way into the open air. As she trudged up the slope, another counselor joined her. The girl was a petite sort—standing barely five feet high in her moccasins—with a short blond bob and twinkling blue eyes.

“Hi. I’m Ruth Harris. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. You’re Peggy, right?”

Peggy eyed her companion suspiciously. “Right,” she answered.

“You’re new here,” Ruth observed. “Hey—want to get together later? I’ll give you a counselor’s tour of the place. There are things you don’t get to see when Duncan escorts you around—like where to sneak in if you get back late on your night off.” She grinned. “Little things like that may come in handy.” Ruth stopped. “Well, see you around, Peggy. Don’t forget—as soon as we get a chance,” she said, turning toward the senior cabins.

“Sure,” Peggy promised. “And thanks.”

She walked on toward her own cabin, feet dragging, brow puckered. Vaguely Peggy remembered seeing the petite blonde running around the day before, but the memory was not too clear. How did Ruth know Peggy? And why, Peggy pondered, was Ruth so interested in being a good samaritan? Could she be the one? Could little Ruth Harris be the sinful creature in the bathhouse who had assaulted Beth, had threatened Peggy?

Immediately, Peggy felt acute shame. How could it be Ruth? The girl was much too cute, too obviously feminine, to be a lesbian. Why, everyone knew, Peggy told herself, that those horrid types were somber and masculine. Even kind of muscular. Peggy made a quick mental rundown of all the girls she had met at camp, searching for the proper image of a lesbian.

They had deep voices and short hair and broad shoulders like—like Mike, Peggy thought. She halted abruptly in front of the cabin.

Like Mike...?

A shiver ran through Peggy.

Still scowling, she went inside.

* * *

In front of the lodge the counselors were assembling their cabin groups in straight lines to form a spokelike formation around the flagpole.

All the while she had been dressing, Peggy had concentrated on hurrying her girls, forcing all thoughts of Mike out of her mind. But now, over the heads of her crew, Peggy eyed Mike carefully. The redhead was standing a few yards away, between another swimming counselor—her name was Donna Drew—and Lilian. Others nearby included the riding instructor, the assistant director known as Pam, and Miss Duncan herself. Beth was not in sight.

Once more questions filled Peggy’s mind. Could Mike really be the contaminated one? Peggy was almost convinced. But, she chided herself, this was no time to make snap decisions.

Carefully, painstakingly, she inspected the others. How awful an influence a twisted counselor could exert on these impressionable youngsters, she was thinking. That threat was worse even than the one directed at herself. Peggy shuddered.

There was no question in her mind: as soon as she found out who the culprit was, she would report what she knew to Miss Duncan. But not sooner. Without proof, Peggy might be disbelieved. Or the evil one, tipped off, would take steps to avoid identification. Certainly Peggy did not want to get Beth into trouble. The nurse, obviously, was more sinned against than sinning. And Peggy was fully aware that indicting the wrong girl would lead to the most serious consequences for all concerned.

Best to wait. Best to try and trap the lesbian bitch, whoever she was. Peggy would be sure before she spoke to anyone, she decided, as the opening strains of America, the Beautiful, to which the flag was raised, broke into her thoughts.

After the flag ceremony, the campers marched line by line through the chill morning air into the dining room. As the girls warmed up—physically and socially—chatter in the large porch expanse grew louder, noisy laughter mingling with the scrape and clatter of dishes.

Peggy forgot herself a little during breakfast, passing around pancakes, dispensing cereal, laughing with her girls. But afterward, when she wandered with the other counselors into the lounge, her misgivings returned.

Slouched in a large corner chair, Peggy studied the girls as they shuffled through the doorway. Was it her, or her—or her? That tall kid over there staring into space? Or one of those chatting gaily near the fireplace? Or that one leafing through a magazine? What about her—the heavyset girl, puffing like a madman on a cigarette?

How was Peggy to know? Time would tell, she decided, watching a tall, hollow-cheeked brunette approach her, sit down in the chair next to her.

Peggy remembered the girl from the first counselors’ meeting. Her name was Dorothy something-or-other. She was the riding instructor and slept in the staff cabin with Mike and Lilian.

“Hi. Cigarette?” asked Dorothy, offering the pack to Peggy.

“Thanks.” Peggy leaned closer to the brunette to accept a light.

After lighting her own cigarette, Dorothy snuffed out the flame with a quick shake of the match, sucked deeply, then pulled the cigarette from her lips, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.

She was an odd mixture of feminine charm and blunt, boyish manner, Peggy thought. Dorothy was wearing tight blue jeans tucked into riding boots. Her body was spare and rather lanky, but her breasts were lively under her chambray shirt. Her dark hair fell loosely almost to her shoulders. Her face, lean and bony, had pleasant planes, but her best feature was the pair of large, deep-set eyes the color of black olives.

“You in school?” she asked Peggy.

“Sophomore,” Peggy answered. “At West Arts. I’m going to transfer to State next year.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“They have a much better curriculum. I’m a psych major, and State is noted for its psychology department.”

“Good enough reason.”

“I think so.”

“Any lovers?”

Peggy flung up her head. “What!”

Dorothy laughed. “Lovers. I always ask that when I talk to folks the first time. Shocks ’em.” She grinned. “You don’t have to answer. I can read your pretty little face like a book.”

A frown wrinkled Peggy’s forehead.

“You’ve got one guy,” Dorothy continued. “Maybe you sleep with him, maybe you don’t. But he’s your one-and-only, right?”

Peggy opened her mouth to speak, but Dorothy went on:

“I know, because that’s the way it is with me. I see guys I could fall for, but I have my man and, baby, I know when I have a good thing.”

A cynical smile spread across Peggy’s face.

“Wasn’t I right? About you, I mean.”

“Partly.” Quickly Peggy explained that she had had a “steady” but they had broken up just before Peggy had left the campus in June.

Dorothy laid a lean hand on Peggy’s bare knee. “Honey, take it from me—don’t let him go. No matter what he’s done, if you love him, get him back. A good man is like a strawberry roan—hard to find.”

The subject did not fascinate Peggy. She attempted to change it. “Will you teach me to ride?”

“Glad to,” Dorothy said. “When you have some free time, come over to the stable.”

“I haven’t much money—”

“Don’t be a goose. Counselors get rides at half rate, anyway—and if you treat me right, you won’t even have to pay that.” Dorothy laughed.

Peggy’s eyes roamed the room. With a sharp intake of breath, she noticed that Beth had come in. The nurse was standing near the door, talking to one of the girls. She caught Peggy’s glance and smiled a greeting. The smile was friendly, warm. It helped make Peggy feel at home.

In the corner opposite Peggy, Mike was sitting alone, thoughtfully smoking. Noticing the hefty redhead, Dorothy called across the room, “Hey, Mike!”

Mike turned her head.

“I was just telling Peggy here that she shouldn’t be too quick to get rid of a good man. Don’t you agree?”

Seeming to notice Peggy and Dorothy for the first time, Mike stood up, walked across the room.

Dorothy continued in a lower voice, “Peggy says she just broke up with a guy. I told her she should make sure before she does anything drastic. Right, buddy?”

Mike shrugged her broad shoulders. “It’s hard to know. Besides that’s Peggy’s business.” She studied Peggy a moment. “I mean, who are we to say? If she wants to....”

Peggy had had about enough of Dorothy. She considered getting up and joining another cluster of girls, but she wanted this opportunity to observe Mike more closely. Leaning against the conference table which stretched the length of the room, facing the two girls, the stocky but by no means unattractive redhead focused her steely eyes first on one then the other of her companions.

Mike was well liked, Peggy knew. She was the only girl to whom virtually all the rest of the counselors had spoken as she had made her way through the narrow lounge. And the day before, Peggy remembered, the campers had clustered around her wherever she had gone. She also seemed to be on good terms with Miss Duncan, the director.

Could a girl so highly regarded be the guilty one? Peggy had suddenly become doubtful. Of course, Mike was the sister of Miss Duncan’s assistant. Maybe the popularity was not all genuine....

Dorothy nudged Peggy with an elbow. “Mike’s a great kid,” she said, grinning at the redhead. “All she needs is a hunk of man for herself.”

Mike shot a look at Dorothy that would have made a snake recoil, but the dark-haired girl seemed hardly to notice.

“Yep. A man is the best cure for anything that ails a girl.” She glanced toward the opening door. “Be right back,” she said, springing from her chair.

Peggy stared after the leggy girl in blue jeans then glanced away as Mike lowered herself into the chair Dorothy had left vacant.

“Sometimes that chick shoots off her mouth too much,” Mike said. Then she smiled. “After a while you get used to her, though. And I must say, she’s wonderful with the horses.”

The two girls smoked in silence for a while. Peggy caught Beth’s eye again. The nurse flashed a smile across the room, a smile so friendly and genuine that a warm glow spread through Peggy. She smiled in return. Beth seemed to wear no mark, no sear, as a legacy of the homosexual attack on her the night before. Peggy would have expected her to be glum or shamefaced, at the very least. On the contrary, Beth looked fresh and cheerful. This was the girl—the woman—who had gone to bat for Peggy the night before, who had given herself as a sacrifice to shield Peggy from degradation. Peggy shuddered at the remembrance of it. And suddenly, Peggy found herself wondering why she was not confiding in Beth. After all, it might well be the wisest thing to do. Beth knew who the horrid predator was. Beth, no doubt, knew the score about lesbianism and all that—she was a nurse, wasn’t she?—and could advise Peggy accordingly.

But to confess overhearing the conversation in the bathhouse would be to confess hearing what had followed.

How horribly embarrassing that would be to Beth, Peggy told herself. It would reveal Peggy’s knowledge of the perverse lust to which Beth had been obliged to yield in the bathhouse. Peggy just could not bring herself to speak. Not yet, anyway.

She would have to work this out by herself.

She was stabbing out her cigarette when Mike spoke again. “You’re majoring in psychology, I hear. Is that right?”

Peggy nodded. “I’m still swamped with basic courses,” she said, “but I’m gradually getting there. It’s fascinating.”

“This is a hell of a good place to practice.”

“How do you mean?”

“Using psychology on the kids.”

“Oh, I don’t know that much yet. We don’t really get into the stuff until our junior year.”

Mike smiled. “If I recall my lessons rightly, half of general psych is common sense.”

“That’s not true,” Peggy objected. “I mean—”

“Look,” Mike interrupted, “suppose you wanted one of your gang to fetch something for you. Which would you do—choose a girl and order her to go, or ask for volunteers?”

“Well” Peggy was thoughtful—“I’d try to get a volunteer. But—”

“Is that psychology or common sense?”

“Common sense, of course.”

“But why? Why prefer a voluntary group from which to select?”

“So that the others won’t think I’m picking on any particular girl—or favoring her, for that matter.”

“So in a way you’re trying to control their thinking, right? Is that psych or sense?”

Peggy opened her mouth, then closed it. “I guess you have a point, counselor,” she said.

Mike grinned. “Think about it.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get ready for the morning water program,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We start the canoe training today.” With a wink indicating some of the campers were in for a vigorous hour, Mike turned and walked away.

Other counselors were leaving for the morning assignments. Peggy had to get over to the tennis court. But she sat where she was for a few more moments, pondering the conversation with Mike. How much did the girl know about psychology? To what extent could she use it on people—control their thinking, as she herself had put it? Peggy was uneasy.

She knew enough about the science of psychology to be mystified by its powers. And at the same time a little frightened of them. Conditioning—suggestion—even hypnosis....

She was also mystified by this person, Mike. And she was frightened less by Mike’s possible powers than by the fact that she, Peggy, could not help liking the redhead. It would be difficult, Peggy knew, to stay on guard with so disarming a girl.

Peggy tamped out her cigarette and left the lounge. Maybe, she told herself as she took the path to the tennis courts, everything would work itself out.

Not that she believed it. For some reason, she now felt more confused than ever.