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Authors: Stephanie S. Tolan
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had a shower. Besides, youâre going to need some lunch. We hadnât expected to have campers here till dinnertime, but I make a mean peanut butter sandwich.â
From the look on the girlsâ faces, Jake figured peanut butter sandwiches were not a staple of their diet. âLetâs go, Winston,â he said, picking up his socks and shoving his muddy feet into his sneakers.
The sound of Archieâs pickup heralded the arrival of the floating dock as Cordelia shepherded the muddy twins back toward their bunk.
Chapter Eleven
1 :55 P.M. Camper-arrival time minus five. E.D., standing on the Lodge porch, pinned her EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT name tag to her staff T-shirt, scanned her clipboard, and sighed with relief. In spite of the rocky start to this day, things seemed now to be under control. A long metal folding table had been put up in front of the two Zedediah Applewhite rocking chairs. REGISTRATION , said the paper taped to the front of it in large, plain block letters. E.D. had made that herself. Taped to the top of the table so it wouldnât blow away was a spreadsheet with the names of the campers and their parentsâ names, addresses, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses, with boxes for checking off each of the campers as they arrived. Sheâd checked off Cinnamon and Ginger before she printed it. Four water bottles were lined up next to four canvas bags, and there was a plastic bin for collecting camper cell phones. On the far end of the table were the maps Cordelia had made.
Cordelia, E.D. thought, was a genius. Once the twins had recovered from the disaster at the pond, she had somehow managed to keep them occupied and away from the phone. Grandpa and Uncle Archie had put the new dock in place, tied to a pair of sweet gum trees and connected to solid ground by a wooden ramp. An hour ago her father had called from the airport to report that Samantha Petermanâs flight had arrived on time, and she and Destiny were having lunch. âDestiny, of course, is talking her ears off,â Randolph had said, âbut sheâs doing her best to hide behind a book. Itâs a good thing Quincy Brownâs plane gets in at two. Destiny has already filled up the drawing pad he brought along.â
Her mother and Aunt Lucille had finished everything that could be done ahead of time for tonightâs opening dinner and had gone off to change so theyâd be ready to greet the campers as they arrived. Jake had finished the last-minute chores E.D. had given him. She herself had made and put out cardboard signs along the drive with arrows pointing to Camp Registration, because Hal, whose job that was supposed to be, had closed himself in his old bedroom and was refusing to come out.
The screen door banged, and her mother emerged from the house. She was wearing the khaki shorts and shirt outfit she had bought years ago for a safari to research Petunia Grantham on the Veldt. On one of the many shirt pockets was pinned her name tag, SYBIL JAMESON, AUTHOR AND ASSOCIATE CAMP DIRECTOR. Her jaw was clenched with determination. Aunt Lucille came hurrying around the house now from Wisteria Cottage, dressed in a swirly skirt and flowered blouse, her curls falling loose and beginning to frizz. Her name tag said simply LUCILLE APPLEWHITE, POET. âThis is so exciting!â The arrival of the evil twins did not seem to have dampened her enthusiasm. âEverything ready?â she asked brightly.
Before E.D. could answer, they heard, out beyond the bushes, a car turning into the driveway. Two oâclock, E.D. noted. Whoever this was, they were impeccably on time. Aunt Lucille and her mother took their seats behind the registration table. An ancient, battered Volkswagen bus came around the curve of the drive and pulled to a stop in front of the porch with a squeal of brakes. The driverâs door opened, and a woman in cutoffs and a tank top, with a long brown braid reaching halfway down her back,
From the look on the girlsâ faces, Jake figured peanut butter sandwiches were not a staple of their diet. âLetâs go, Winston,â he said, picking up his socks and shoving his muddy feet into his sneakers.
The sound of Archieâs pickup heralded the arrival of the floating dock as Cordelia shepherded the muddy twins back toward their bunk.
Chapter Eleven
1 :55 P.M. Camper-arrival time minus five. E.D., standing on the Lodge porch, pinned her EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT name tag to her staff T-shirt, scanned her clipboard, and sighed with relief. In spite of the rocky start to this day, things seemed now to be under control. A long metal folding table had been put up in front of the two Zedediah Applewhite rocking chairs. REGISTRATION , said the paper taped to the front of it in large, plain block letters. E.D. had made that herself. Taped to the top of the table so it wouldnât blow away was a spreadsheet with the names of the campers and their parentsâ names, addresses, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses, with boxes for checking off each of the campers as they arrived. Sheâd checked off Cinnamon and Ginger before she printed it. Four water bottles were lined up next to four canvas bags, and there was a plastic bin for collecting camper cell phones. On the far end of the table were the maps Cordelia had made.
Cordelia, E.D. thought, was a genius. Once the twins had recovered from the disaster at the pond, she had somehow managed to keep them occupied and away from the phone. Grandpa and Uncle Archie had put the new dock in place, tied to a pair of sweet gum trees and connected to solid ground by a wooden ramp. An hour ago her father had called from the airport to report that Samantha Petermanâs flight had arrived on time, and she and Destiny were having lunch. âDestiny, of course, is talking her ears off,â Randolph had said, âbut sheâs doing her best to hide behind a book. Itâs a good thing Quincy Brownâs plane gets in at two. Destiny has already filled up the drawing pad he brought along.â
Her mother and Aunt Lucille had finished everything that could be done ahead of time for tonightâs opening dinner and had gone off to change so theyâd be ready to greet the campers as they arrived. Jake had finished the last-minute chores E.D. had given him. She herself had made and put out cardboard signs along the drive with arrows pointing to Camp Registration, because Hal, whose job that was supposed to be, had closed himself in his old bedroom and was refusing to come out.
The screen door banged, and her mother emerged from the house. She was wearing the khaki shorts and shirt outfit she had bought years ago for a safari to research Petunia Grantham on the Veldt. On one of the many shirt pockets was pinned her name tag, SYBIL JAMESON, AUTHOR AND ASSOCIATE CAMP DIRECTOR. Her jaw was clenched with determination. Aunt Lucille came hurrying around the house now from Wisteria Cottage, dressed in a swirly skirt and flowered blouse, her curls falling loose and beginning to frizz. Her name tag said simply LUCILLE APPLEWHITE, POET. âThis is so exciting!â The arrival of the evil twins did not seem to have dampened her enthusiasm. âEverything ready?â she asked brightly.
Before E.D. could answer, they heard, out beyond the bushes, a car turning into the driveway. Two oâclock, E.D. noted. Whoever this was, they were impeccably on time. Aunt Lucille and her mother took their seats behind the registration table. An ancient, battered Volkswagen bus came around the curve of the drive and pulled to a stop in front of the porch with a squeal of brakes. The driverâs door opened, and a woman in cutoffs and a tank top, with a long brown braid reaching halfway down her back,
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