they walked up the granite slab.
“Ah, that’s all right.”
The clearing ahead shimmered with firelight. Most of the others were seated close to the fire.
“Thought we’d lost you,” Scott called.
“Save me some coffee,” Karen called back. She handed the pot to Benny, and carried her cook kit down a gradual slope to the tent. “Right with you,” she said over her shoulder.
Her backpack was propped against a rock near the tent entrance. She lifted the flap, dropped her kit into the darkness, and dug through the equipment trying to find her jeans and parka. They were near the bottom, of course. What you wanted was always at the bottom.
Clamping the jeans between her legs, she quickly shook open the parka and put it on. She sighed with relief at its warmth.
Then she crawled into the tent. It was very dark inside, but she didn’t need her light for this. She sat on her soft, down-filled sleeping bag, took off her boots, and changed from her shorts to the long-legged jeans. Pushing into her boots, she left the tent. She hurried toward the fire, hoping she wouldn’t trip on the laces.
Her cup was still on the stump where she’d left it after dinner. “All set,” she said.
“Coffee?” Scott asked.
“You bet.” She held out the cup. Scott spooned in granules of instant from a plastic bag, then poured hot water into her cup and gave it a stir. Steam rose against Karen’s face as she took a sip. “Ah, that’s good.” She sat on the stump, and drank more.
Benny, she saw, already had cocoa with a couple of marsh-mallows floating on the surface.
“How about some songs?” Alice suggested.
They started with “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.” Then it was “Shenandoah.” Flash led them in “Danny Boy,” to which he knew all the words, and seemed almost tearful as he sang of the boy returning to his father’s grave.
“Let’s get into something more upbeat,” Scott said when that one ended. In a loud baritone, he started “The Marine Corps Hymn” and everyone joined in, their voices booming.
“‘The Caisson Song’!” Nick called out.
Then “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” then, “Dixie.” When that was done, the Gordons sang a song about a logger who stirred his coffee with his thumb.
“That puts me in mind of Robert Service,” Scott said. “‘There are strange things done in the midnight sun…’”
“‘By the men who moil for gold,’” Karen said along with him, smiling that they both knew the same poem. They continued with it, line after line, one remembering what the other forgot until they finally got Sam McGee cremated on the marge of Lake LaBarge.
Their performance drew applause, and a two-fingered whistle from Julie.
Alice urged the twins to recite “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
“Sissy stuff,” Flash said when they finished. “How’s about this one? ‘You may talk o’ gin and beer/When you’re quartered safe out here,/And you’re sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it…’”
Karen knew “Gunga Din” by heart, but she kept silent as he proceeded. He messed up the middle badly. Nobody seemed to notice, though.
“Bravo!” Scott called, clapping as he finished. “Benny, why don’t you do one?”
The boy shrugged. He glanced shyly at Karen.
“Come on,” she urged him.
“Well. Is ‘The Raven’ okay?”
“Great! I love Poe.”
Benny leaned forward on his rock, and set his empty cup on the ground between his feet. “Well, here goes.” He began to recite the poem in a low, ominous voice. When the raven spoke, he screeched its “Nevermore” like a demented parrot.
Rose giggled. Heather elbowed her for silence.
Benny ignored them. He spoke slowly, a haunted look on his firelit face as if he’d become the lonely, tormented man of the poem. He grew frenzied, then furious. “‘Quit the bust above my door!’” he cried out. “‘Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!’”
When he
“Ah, that’s all right.”
The clearing ahead shimmered with firelight. Most of the others were seated close to the fire.
“Thought we’d lost you,” Scott called.
“Save me some coffee,” Karen called back. She handed the pot to Benny, and carried her cook kit down a gradual slope to the tent. “Right with you,” she said over her shoulder.
Her backpack was propped against a rock near the tent entrance. She lifted the flap, dropped her kit into the darkness, and dug through the equipment trying to find her jeans and parka. They were near the bottom, of course. What you wanted was always at the bottom.
Clamping the jeans between her legs, she quickly shook open the parka and put it on. She sighed with relief at its warmth.
Then she crawled into the tent. It was very dark inside, but she didn’t need her light for this. She sat on her soft, down-filled sleeping bag, took off her boots, and changed from her shorts to the long-legged jeans. Pushing into her boots, she left the tent. She hurried toward the fire, hoping she wouldn’t trip on the laces.
Her cup was still on the stump where she’d left it after dinner. “All set,” she said.
“Coffee?” Scott asked.
“You bet.” She held out the cup. Scott spooned in granules of instant from a plastic bag, then poured hot water into her cup and gave it a stir. Steam rose against Karen’s face as she took a sip. “Ah, that’s good.” She sat on the stump, and drank more.
Benny, she saw, already had cocoa with a couple of marsh-mallows floating on the surface.
“How about some songs?” Alice suggested.
They started with “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.” Then it was “Shenandoah.” Flash led them in “Danny Boy,” to which he knew all the words, and seemed almost tearful as he sang of the boy returning to his father’s grave.
“Let’s get into something more upbeat,” Scott said when that one ended. In a loud baritone, he started “The Marine Corps Hymn” and everyone joined in, their voices booming.
“‘The Caisson Song’!” Nick called out.
Then “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” then, “Dixie.” When that was done, the Gordons sang a song about a logger who stirred his coffee with his thumb.
“That puts me in mind of Robert Service,” Scott said. “‘There are strange things done in the midnight sun…’”
“‘By the men who moil for gold,’” Karen said along with him, smiling that they both knew the same poem. They continued with it, line after line, one remembering what the other forgot until they finally got Sam McGee cremated on the marge of Lake LaBarge.
Their performance drew applause, and a two-fingered whistle from Julie.
Alice urged the twins to recite “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
“Sissy stuff,” Flash said when they finished. “How’s about this one? ‘You may talk o’ gin and beer/When you’re quartered safe out here,/And you’re sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it…’”
Karen knew “Gunga Din” by heart, but she kept silent as he proceeded. He messed up the middle badly. Nobody seemed to notice, though.
“Bravo!” Scott called, clapping as he finished. “Benny, why don’t you do one?”
The boy shrugged. He glanced shyly at Karen.
“Come on,” she urged him.
“Well. Is ‘The Raven’ okay?”
“Great! I love Poe.”
Benny leaned forward on his rock, and set his empty cup on the ground between his feet. “Well, here goes.” He began to recite the poem in a low, ominous voice. When the raven spoke, he screeched its “Nevermore” like a demented parrot.
Rose giggled. Heather elbowed her for silence.
Benny ignored them. He spoke slowly, a haunted look on his firelit face as if he’d become the lonely, tormented man of the poem. He grew frenzied, then furious. “‘Quit the bust above my door!’” he cried out. “‘Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!’”
When he
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