Summer Camp Adventure (2 page)

S
kye and Morgan sat in the mess hall at 8:00 a.m. with Tim, Caleb, and all the other workers and volunteers. The large room buzzed with chatter and utensils clanging on dishes at every table. The smell of fried potatoes, toast, and coffee filled the room.

Just to see Mr. Wheaten’s reaction, Skye had put on her western horse show outfit and plaited her hair into pigtails. She looked sharp in her plaid shirt, suede cowboy hat, red scarf, and leather chaps. Now she and Morgan were sampling their first taste of creamed eggs and waiting for Mr. Wheaten to come in and make the morning announcements.

“Mr. Wheaten didn’t tell us about creamed eggs,” Skye said out of the side of her mouth. “But I guess they’re better than nothing.”

“Well, they’re interesting,” Morgan replied. “Yeah, that’s a good word for them. Interesting. They oughta call them squashed eggs, not creamed. Just wait until I get back in that kitchen, Skye. You’ll think you’re in food heaven. I start today after we get all our campers registered and settled in the bunkhouse.”

Skye took a bite of toast and washed it down with orange juice. “Didn’t Mr. Wheaten say that most of the campers will get here this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, brushing his hand over his dark brown spiked hair. His hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. “They said in registration that they’re expecting 110 junior campers this week—all between the ages of eight and twelve. The place will be crawling with kids. What gets me are the ones that are scared out of their pants by horses. But I guess that’s why we’re here—to help our fellow man! Hey, speakin’ of horses, Skye, I like your cool duds—and your hair. Are you in a skit or something?”

“Nah,” Skye said. “I’m just kind of pulling a joke on Mr. Wheaten.”

“How’s that?” Caleb scooped up a forkful of home fries while riveting his jade green eyes on Morgan.

Skye couldn’t help notice Morgan staring back. “Yesterday Mr. Wheaten called me Annie Oakley,” Skye said, giggling, “and he said I’d look just like her if I had pigtails.”

“And Skye’s not likely to let anything like that pass without making a statement, even if it might be ridicu lous,” Morgan added, still staring at Caleb.

Well, well, well, dear sis, I do believe you’re blushing
, Skye thought as she watched the action out of the corner of her eye.
What do we have here?

“Oh, I get it,” Tim said. “Annie Oakley was some cowgirl dude who lived at the turn of the last century. Right?”

“Close enough.” Morgan’s attention was glued to Caleb.

Caleb stood and picked up his tray, his muscular frame bulging under his blue maintenance shirt. “Morgan, I’d like to hear more about how you ride horses even with your cerebral palsy. That’s so awesome. But right now I gotta get over to the garage. How about later—like after supper?”

“Well—I—” Morgan began, blushing a shade of red that almost outdid her hair.

“She’d be glad to,” Skye answered for her. “She’ll have a free hour between mess hall duty and bedding down the campers, won’t you?” Skye gave Morgan an only-girls-know-what-this-means smirk.

“Yeah, I guess I will,” Morgan said, glancing down at her tray.

“Well, I’ll see you at the bonfire then,” Caleb said.

“Bonfire?” Morgan said, looking at Caleb again.

“Mr. Wheaten will tell you about it in his announce ments,” Caleb yelled back over his shoulder as he walked toward the tray deposit across the room.

“And how ‘bout you, Skye?” Tim finally had the chance to speak. “Are you free at all today? I’d like to meet Champ. I’ve heard he’s quite a horse. This is my third year here, so I’d be glad to tell you all about the ten camp horses. And I’ll introduce you to my Appaloosa, Wampum.”

“Well——” Skye stammered.

“She’d be glad to,” Morgan piped in.

“Attention, ladies and germs,” Mr. Wheaten’s voice echoed from a platform at the end of the mess hall. He held up a bunch of papers and rested a microphone on his watermelon belly. “I have a list of about a million announcements for you workers and volunteers. It should only take until midnight.”

The room filled with laughter.

“Seriously,” he continued, “I need to review some last minute changes in scheduling, camper sleeping assignments, and most important, the big goin’s-on for the day—a get-acquainted bonfire at 8:00 p.m. tonight.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Wheaten read from his papers, calling out volunteers’ names and listing their responsibilities. “And last, but not least, concerning riding assignments, right after I’m done here I’d like to speak
to Tim Marshall and Skye Nicholson. Tim, I saw you on my way in here, but where’s Skye?” The man cupped his hand over his eyes and searched the room.

“Annie Oakley’s back here!” Tim yelled, grinning mischievously. He stood and pointed across the table to Skye.

“Where are you, Annie?” Mr. Wheaten said.

Skye stood and faced the man. “Back here, Mr. Wheaten.”

“Well, be still my achin’ heart. If that ain’t Annie Oakley in the flesh, pigtails and all!” Mr. Wheaten said. The room filled with chuckles. “Folks, all I can tell you is that our horses are gonna have the best care they’ve ever had with this little lady here this summer. Annie, I under stand you’re a blue ribbon winner in horse shows.”

“Yep!” Skye yelled out as she sat. “But my horse won them. I didn’t!”

More laughter erupted.

“Well, that’s fantastic,” Mr. Wheaten said. “I guess that just about wraps up the announcements.” He glanced at the papers. “Oh, one more thing. I need to meet with my junior activity director, Chad Dressler. Does anyone know if he got here yet?”

“Reporting for duty, sir!” a familiar voice shouted from the doorway in the back of the room.

Skye spun anxiously toward the voice, smiling from pigtail to pigtail.
Be still my aching heart!
she told herself.

There in the doorway stood Skye Nicholson’s heart throb in all of his blond glory—and Linda Kraft in hers!

A
ll day Skye and Morgan helped their eleven campers settle into the bunkhouse, the Five Ferns cabin. As busy as Skye was, she found herself getting angrier by the minute every time she thought about Chad—and Linda.

“Lighten up!” Morgan said when Skye mentioned it during a break in the action. “It’s not like you and Chad are an item or anything. He and Linda are probably just discussing rules and regs since they’re lifeguardin’ together. Hey, we’re here to serve God and others. Keep focused!”

Skye knew Morgan was right. She had many more important things to think about. But Chad with another girl? Skye felt like a hay baler was running through her chest and tearing her heart to shreds.

It was eight o’clock in the evening, and the cool moun tain air had teased the campers into sweatshirts for the get-acquainted celebration. Morgan led the children from Five Ferns down a railed sidewalk toward the open field where the small bonfire was already crackling.

Behind her trailed three girls in wheelchairs, two blind girls with guide dogs, and six other girls who were
physically or mentally challenged (two wearing helmets). Skye brought up the rear as the procession made its way onto an asphalt circle.

Down several other sidewalks a molasses flow of chil dren came, joining dozens already surrounding the fire at a safe distance. Morgan stopped at her assigned place, instructing the blind campers to line up beside her. While Skye was helping the rest of her campers do the same, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey, Skye, what’s happenin’?” a familiar voice said.

Skye jumped like she had been struck by lightning. The last person she had expected to see here was Chad! “Nothing!” she said like she was a finalist in the Camp Oneega Miss Snoot Contest. She elaborately positioned one of her campers’ wheelchairs into a spot where it had already been positioned. Watching Chad out of the cor ner of her eye, she kept herself extremely busy.

“Did you bring your violin?” Chad asked, moving into Skye’s full view. “I have my guitar! Mr. Wheaten said he needs all the help he can get for this chorus and crazy tune sing-along.” He strummed an imaginary chord.

“Yes, I have it!” Skye barked. “I’ll be playing for chapel services with the youth praise band. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”

“Oh—yeah—sure—sorry.” Disappointment and confusion filled Chad’s voice. “How about a soda after the bonfire?”

“I’m busy! Morgan and I
do
have jobs here, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll look for you at staff devotions later then.”

Don’t bother
, Skye felt like saying. “Mary, be careful there!” she said, ignoring Chad as she stepped around him and reached for one of the campers. “Put your hands on the railing so you don’t fall. That’s good.”

“Okay, later.” A bewildered look covered Chad’s face as he walked away.

“What was that all about?” Morgan said.

“Oh, nothing,” Skye snapped, watching Chad join Mr. Wheaten. “I’m focusing—just focusing!”

“Have you met Jonathan yet?”

“No, but I’m hoping to right now. Do you see Tim anywhere?”

Skye glanced around. “He should be with Jonathan.”

“Nope, I don’t see Tim—but there’s Linda—with Mr. Wheaten and Chad. Remember, she knows how to sign too. Maybe she’s already met the kid, and she could tell you where he is.”

“Well, it’s obvious she’s not doing her job or she’d be with Jonathan—or with her own cabin kids,” Skye mut tered. “Seems like she can’t get enough of Chad.”

“Skye, cool it!” Morgan said. “Hey, over there! On the other side of the bonfire! I see Tim. Looks like he’s in the middle of something goin’ on that shouldn’t be goin’ on. Listen to the kids yelling.”

Skye’s glance shot to the other side of the circle. Mr. Wheaten was already running toward the rumpus.

“Morgan, will you be okay here with our kids?” Skye asked, heading toward the trouble. “Something tells me Jonathan’s right in the middle of that mess, whatever it is.”

“We’re fine, Skye! And there are other staff members close by. We’ll be cool, won’t we, kids?”

“Yeah! No problem!” echoed down the line.

Skye tore around the circle to the commotion where a crowd had now formed. She struggled her way through a sea of bobbing heads to see what was happening.

“All right, that’s enough!” Mr. Wheaten yelled.

Tim had his arms wrapped around a peanut of a boy who was kicking, flailing his arms, and screaming at the top of his lungs. A line of staff members was keeping the other campers out of harm’s way.

Mr. Wheaten used his powerful frame to pin the boy’s arms down in a bear hug. “Tim, can you get hold of his legs? Just wrap around them like I did his arms. We’ve got to get him calmed down. We’ll carry him back there to the picnic area. The rest of you staff members, get your kids singing choruses.” Mr. Wheaten looked up and saw Skye right in front of him. “Good, Skye—you’re here. This is Jonathan. Sign that we’re not going to hurt him—and you come with us to the picnic grove. Your signing will help while we’re trying to quiet him down.”

Skye mentally flipped through the pages of signs she had learned in her course last winter. She raised her hands and began, “Stop! They won’t hurt you.”

Jonathan studied Skye’s hands and then stuck out his tongue. Again, he started flailing and screaming while Mr. Wheaten and Tim used all their strength to carry him away. Skye followed as they hurried to the picnic grove. Finally, after being plunked down at a picnic table, he calmed down. No one was there to watch him perform. Tim sat exhausted on one side of the boy, and Mr. Wheaten, puffing and sweating profusely, sat on the other.

“He was throwing firecrackers into the bonfire,” Tim said, puffing. “When I searched his pockets and took them from him, he went nuts!”

“I told you he was a rascal,” Mr. Wheaten said. “Skye, ask him if he’s all right.”

“Are you okay?” she signed.

In the distance at the bonfire, the campers started singing, “The ants come marching two by two, hoorah, hoorah—” and another lightning bolt hit Skye.
Jonathan can’t hear that. He can’t hear anything!

“My neck hurts,” Jonathan signed. Big crocodile tears filled his brown eyes and trickled down his cheeks, which were now beaming fire red. Drops of sweat ran from his dark curly hair and down the sides of his thin face.

Skye knelt in front of the boy, touching him gently on his knee. “We’ll help you,” she signed.

Mr. Wheaten stood and Jonathan flinched. “We better have him checked out at the sick bay,” the man said. “I think he takes meds regularly. I want to see when he had his last dose. Skye, tell him to come with Tim and me. Tim, you can sign while we’re over there. We’ll leave him with the nurse, and Skye, will you go for him in about a half hour? Even though he hates girls, I’m hopin’ he’ll come back with you.”

“Sure,” Skye said and then signed to the boy, “They’ll take you now to First Aid to see if there’s something wrong with your neck.”

“Okay,” Jonathan signed then wiped his eyes with both hands.

“Oh—Skye—tell him your name,” Mr. Wheaten said. “He knows who we are. He met us when he registered. It seems that he likes our Annie Oakley.”

Skye tapped Jonathan on the arm to get his attention. “My name is S-k-y-e,” she signed. “What’s your name?”

The boy took several choppy breaths, wiped his nose on his arm, and smiled, showing a mouthful of beautiful white teeth. “J-o-n-a-t-h-a-n,” he spelled and then added, “I like you. I like your stupid pigtails. You’re not like other dumb girls.”

“What’d he say?” Mr. Wheaten asked.

Skye felt her face flush hot. “He spelled his name—and—he said he likes me—and my stupid pigtails.”

“Well, Annie, it looks like you’ve got yourself another fan, and that’s super,” Mr. Wheaten said. “If we have someone around here he likes, he might be more inclined to behave. Tim, are you ready? Skye, remember, in about a half hour, go get Jonathan at First Aid and bring him back to the bonfire.”

“Will do,” Skye said, smiling at Jonathan, who was still smiling back.

Tim stood, tapped Jonathan on the shoulder, and signed, “We’ll go now. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jonathan signed, standing. The three walked toward the sick bay, and Skye headed back to the bonfire.

After a half hour of camp tunes, choruses, and a zillion hellos with other campers, Skye headed to First Aid, which was located in the registration building. The setting sun filled the sky with rippled scales of pink and blue, and the evening mountain air had become cooler. She paused a moment to admire the beauty of God’s creation before stepping into the office. It was empty, so she walked to a door labeled “Nurse’s Station” and knocked.

“Yes,” a hefty dark-skinned woman in a white uniform said, opening the door. Her name tag read M
RS
. B
ENNETT
. “May I help you?”

“I’m Skye Nicholson, and I’m here for Jonathan Martin,” Skye said.

The nurse rushed out into the office area. “But—we—I wrote on a piece of paper for him to stay right here until you came. Wasn’t he sitting in here?” The panic on her face charged through Skye’s veins like ice water.

“No, he wasn’t,” Skye said.

The nurse rushed outside and stood on the ramp, her eyes scanning the grounds to the left and right. “Oh, dear, I should have kept him in the back with me. I don’t see him anywhere. I sure hope he didn’t take off toward the main highway. I’ll drive out to the entrance, just to make sure.” She ran down the ramp, looked around both sides of the building, and ran back up. “Is Mr. Wheaten at the bonfire yet?”

“Yes,” Skye said and gulped.

“Run back and tell him we’ve got an AWOK!”

“AWOK?” Skye started down the ramp and looked back, puzzled.

“Absent Without Our Knowledge—and hurry!”