Chapter II: Part 2

Mike grinned. “I guess I do. Pam missed out on a couple of seasons, going to summer school. But there’s one other girl—Marsha Hendricks. She’s the one that was supposed to work in campcraft with you.”

“What happened to her?”

“Mono. The kissing disease, you know?” Mike laughed. “There’s only one thing—Marsha hardly ever dates. When we started razzing her about it at school she got so upset we finally had to stop and convince her that we were only kidding. She’s the sensitive type.”

“Is she very sick?”

Mike shook her head. “She’s better now. But the doctor wants her to get a lot of rest before the fall term. I’m glad. We’re going to room together this year, and we’d probably get on each other’s nerves if we spent most of the summer together, then were stuck with each other in the fall. You know that cliché about familiarity. Besides—” Mike smiled at Peggy—“now there’s no one around to beat that record of mine.”

Peggy forced a smile, but her mind was elsewhere. “Why doesn’t Marsha date much?” she asked cautiously.

“Well—” Mike was thoughtful. “She’s one of those shy, quiet gals. Very reserved. She gets flustered whenever there’s a guy in the same room as she is. Hell, she gets flustered when there are more than two girls in the room. But she’s a great kid. I hope to get through to her this year. Teach her some things about life and love.” Mike winked, but added solemnly, “Maybe, though, I should just leave her alone. She gets involved in her studies—loves her books. She might be some kind of genius who can’t be bothered with a lot of romantic crap.”

Peggy decided not to pursue the question further. “Why was Lilian chosen to take her place?” she asked.

“You mean in campcraft?” Mike said. “Doesn’t seem the sort, does she? Actually, it was all last-minute. Someone else was lined up, but backed out. I don’t know what happened exactly, but maybe Lilian volunteered. I’ll say this—at least she’s had some experience at camping out. That’s more than most of the counselors can say, believe it or not. Besides, she’s got more time than anyone else. I mean just how much extra work is involved in helping a few kids put on skits?” Mike paused. She cast a sidelong glance at Peggy. “How do you like working with her?”

“Lilian?” Remembering the hostility between the two girls, Peggy answered noncommittally. “She’s okay. We haven’t been seeing too much of each other. She seems nice enough.”

Mike quickly changed the subject. “Have your kids short-sheeted you yet?”

Peggy sighed. “I’m still waiting.”

“You’re lucky. Practically everyone else has had the treatment.” The car slowed as Mike guffawed. “Did you hear about Margie?”

When Peggy shook her head, Mike told the story:

“Well, the other night about nine o’clock Margie decided she’d better leave the lounge. Figured her kids would be raising holy hell. At the cabin, she found all the girls apparently sound asleep. So Margie stripped down to panties and reached under her pillow. She felt around, then flipped the pillow—no pj’s. So she looked in the closet and on her shelf, under the bed, everywhere she might have put them. Finally she threw back the blankets. And there was a note—Would you like to play tetherball? Margie was pretty mad by this time and just threw the damn thing away. But then she got to thinking. So she pulled on all her clothes and went out. Sure enough—her pajamas were tied to the top of the pole. How the hell those little kids got up there, no one knows. Anyway, she had to climb the darned thing to rescue the pj’s.”

Peggy had dissolved into peals of laughter.

“And that’s not all,” Mike said. “Margie went back to the cabin, got ready for bed. She started to fluff up her pillow. It was now just a pillowcase full of rocks. By that time she was really furious. She swept her flashlight around the cabin but all the kids were sound asleep—and looking like angels, she told me. Anyway, she went outside to dump the rocks, came back, found her pillow hidden under the bed, fixed it, then crawled into the sack. But she couldn’t get her legs down. The kids had short-sheeted her while she’d been out.”

When Peggy stopped sputtering, she said, “If my kids try anything like that, I’ll—” She paused, scowling. “What did Margie do?”

The question threw Mike into another fit of guffawing. “That’s the best part of the whole story. The next night she got one of the other counselors to go with her during the evening program and short-sheet all her kids. But while they were in the cabin, Duncan went on one of her impromptu tours of inspection and caught them red-handed. Honey, I ask you, can you imagine that scene?”

Both girls giggled wildly.

Peggy felt her icy misgivings melting with Mike’s easy patter. As the redhead kept on telling stories of other counselors and other years, Peggy’s enchantment drowned any reservations she had had about the girl.

In town, when the supplies had been loaded in the station wagon, she eagerly accepted Mike’s suggestion that they stop for a snack.

Strolling down the street that comprised the entire business section, Peggy noted that Mike, wearing a simple yellow sun dress, did not seem as husky or as tomboyish as she did in her camp clothes. In fact, Peggy decided, the redhead looked quite graceful and attractive. Peggy was sorry she too had not taken the time to change into something more decorative and less revealing. Her red short-shorts exposed so much thigh and flank that stares were bent on her from every direction, and she heard a whistle or two sounding in her wake.

“You ought to hang a curtain over that cute fanny of yours,” Mike remarked.

“That’s quite an overhang you swish around yourself,” Peggy retorted. “You know, a girl can get arrested for disturbing the peace.”

A vigorous blush inundated Mike’s freckles, but she looked distinctly pleased.

Minutes later the two counselors were sitting across from each other in the local ice cream shop, studying menus that boasted such marvels as beatnik sundaes, astronaut floats, Hollywood delights, western marvels, and one concoction promising five flavors plus candied fruits, topping and—if the customer could finish it in one sitting—a prize afterward: “A dish of your favorite ice cream.”

Peggy was about to order an old-fashioned tin roof, but Mike insisted she be more daring. Against her better judgment, she was talked into a two-flavor dish featuring the establishment’s own rich sauce, topped with freshly whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.

* * * * *

Probably it was the sauce. Possibly it was the sauce plus the frayed nerves Peggy had initially suffered when the trip had begun. Or maybe it was just the smell of some sacks of onions and baskets of cabbage in the station wagon that did the damage. Peggy was not sure. But a few miles out of town she felt queasy. A mile away from the campsite she was sick. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, she wished she were dead.

“Oooh,” she groaned to Mike. “I’m sure if I move I’ll upchuck everything I’ve had to eat in the last three weeks.”

“Try a cigarette,” Mike advised in her husky voice.

“I couldn’t.”

“Can you make it to the Pillbox? Beth would fix you up.”

“I—oooh—I’ll try.”

Mike helped her out of the car, all but carried her to the camp clinic. Beth had not yet returned, so Mike pulled down bedding and told Peggy to flop.

“No, no!” Peggy protested. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a shot of rhubarb and soda, or anything like that. She must keep some around here. I’ll be fine.”

Mike pondered a moment, then said, “You’d better stay here a while, Peggy. I’ll go ask Pam what to do. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Gingerly, Peggy crawled into the bed and lay doubled up, waiting for Mike’s return.

She cursed under her breath as her stomach did a flip.

Just then the screen door banged. Peggy opened her eyes. Lilian was standing inside the room.

“I saw Mike drag you in here. Whatever is wrong, I’m sure a cup of tea will help,” she said without greeting.

Peggy groaned. “No, Lilian. I don’t want anything. I’m afraid even a sip of water would make me—”

“Hush. I’ll fix some tea, and you’ll drink it.” She left the room in which Peggy was lying, walked through the dispensary and on into Beth’s private quarters. Peggy tried to shut her ears to the rattling of dishes.

When finally Lilian reappeared in the curtained doorway, balancing cup and saucer, Peggy was still rolled into a ball. She hoisted herself to one elbow. Just as Lilian was handing her the steaming tea, the screen door squeaked open. Mike walked into the room.

She glared at Lilian. “What the hell are you doing here?” she wanted to know.

“I’m taking care of Beth’s patient.”

“She’s not Beth’s patient—she’s mine!”

There was a creaking of bedsprings as Peggy forgot she was ill and sat up.

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Lilian said to Mike.

Peggy was sure she detected a silent but filthy curse on Mike’s lips. Then: “Look, while Duncan and Beth are away, Pam is in charge. I’m under her orders to take care of Peggy.”

“How convenient!” Lilian sighed. “If only my sister were an assistant camp director, life here would be so—so ideal for me.”

“If you’re finished making with the wise cracks, will you please get the hell out of here? I want to be alone with Peggy.”

“I bet you do.” Lilian’s lip curled.

“God damn it, Lilian, the girl is sick. She—”

“I only intend to settle her a little—soothe her,” Lilian said quietly.

“I told you before, and I’m telling you again—leave Peggy alone. I swear to God, Lilian, if you—”

“Don’t threaten me, Mike. Neither you nor that assistant sister of yours have much to say about what I do around this place, and you know it.”

“Don’t push me, Lilian!”

Lilian calmly eyed the redhead. “What’s your concern with our little blond bombshell, anyway? Or are you just looking out for Pam’s interests?”

Mike clenched her fists. “You bitch—”

Peggy was staring in wide-eyed astonishment at the two.

Lilian turned to her.

“I’m sorry, Peggy,” she said. “It’s beastly of us to carry on in front of you. I apologize—for both of us,” she added benevolently. “Now drink your tea. I’ll stop by later to see if you need anything.” She squeezed Peggy’s hand, then turned and marched out, poised and cool.

Mike took the tea from Peggy, then uncapped a bottle of syrupy medicine. “This is the stuff,” she said, filling a spoon. “Pam told me it’s a special potion that will cure you or kill you in a hurry.”

Peggy opened her mouth to the oncoming spoon, made a wry face as the medicine trickled down her throat.

Mike smiled. “Think you’ll live?” She extended a hand and rumpled Peggy’s hair. “You’d better get some sleep, kid.”

Then Peggy was alone in the white room.

She could have been in some hospital back home, she thought. There was no sign of camp life in this canvas-walled alcove of the Pillbox. She felt completely removed from the natural surroundings of the camp, from the camp population. Except for its canvas partitions, the room was modernly and sanitarily equipped. So white, Peggy thought. White canvas walls and white curtains on the one big window and white cabinets. There were white sheets on the bed and a white wool blanket. And in the corner a white chair was pushed under a white enamel table.

In the distance young voices echoed across the water. A breeze rustled the pines. As the sounds reached her dimly, they only intensified Peggy’s feeling of isolation.

Then the whiteness closed in on her, surrounding her, engulfing her.

The white changed to black....

* * * * *

Peggy had been dreaming about Ted. A noise—something from far off, she thought as she stirred restlessly—had awakened her, but immediately she dozed off again, envisioning Ted once more.

_Don’t be frightened_, Peggy, he was whispering. _I want to take care of you._ He rested a hand on her forehead. _How do you feel?_

Peggy did not answer, but in her dreamlike state reached out for the hand and clutched it. The hand was soft and cool, and when he touched his lips to her forehead they, too, were soft and cool against her burning skin.

He was sitting on the bed now, stroking her cheek and hair. For an instant Peggy felt certain she was not dreaming.

She stirred restlessly as the lips touched her forehead once more, then moved to her closed lids, her throat.

_Peggy—Peggy, I want you._ Over and over he murmured her name, caressing her all the while, stroking her brow, her cheek, her breast.

The bed creaked as he stretched out next to her. Peggy knew she should protest, try to push him away. But his hands were warming her now, and Peggy, in her half-sleep, did not want Ted to stop.

Dreamily, Peggy’s fingers sought his hard, muscular body. She drew his nakedness to her, began to fondle him.

Then realization—and wakefulness.

This was not Ted!

Peggy forced open her eyes. All was hidden by the velvet blackness of deep night. She could see nothing, absolutely nothing. She moved her hands again, and touched a silky-smooth breast.

A woman. Yes, a woman was lying in bed with her.

So what? Beth or somebody had come in, had needed a place to sleep, and so had stretched out next to Peggy. Lots of girls slept naked....

Peggy’s lids dropped shut. That potion she had swallowed was still in effect.

Vaguely, dreamily, she was aware that the body next to her had moved nearer. The hands had started again to touch and caress. God, they were at her breasts.

They were squeezing, stroking. Then Peggy felt moist, tender petals enclose a nipple. It was being kissed. A tongue rasped and teased the delicate surfaces. Peggy’s areolas grew turgid as pangs of sharpest sweetness raced along her nerves.

My God, she thought. She could not be awake. This could not be a girl next to her. Girls could not do such things. My God in heaven, please! I’m in a nightmare. Wake me, God. Man or girl, this is so wrong....

Slipping back and forth on the edge of consciousness, Peggy fought to sit up, to escape. When the smooth hands torturing and enticing her reached her thighs, trickling over the skin like feathers, she managed to raise herself on one elbow.

But then the hands did something. Pure pleasure jolted Peggy like an electric shock.

She did not even sigh. Twitching, she fell back into the dim recesses of semiconsciousness.

Yet she was aware that the hands were working faster now, more urgently, doing things Ted had never dared to try. They kindled her every screaming nerve. She felt about to burst into flame. Passion pulsated and raged through her.

Once more Peggy fought to rouse herself from this wild dream—and yet was afraid to lose it. In the end, she clung hungrily to the heated body wooing her, moving against her, carrying itself and Peggy to dizzying heights.

Bad, Peggy told herself, throbbing, as she plunged back into slumber. So bad. So wicked....

FOUR

Early sunlight burst through the window, bringing Peggy awake. Her eyes rounded the room, stopped at Beth, standing starched and white in the doorway.

“Good morning,” the nurse said cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” the girl replied, stifling a yawn.

Beth crossed to a white metal cabinet, a smile bright on her face. “When I came in last night you seemed to be sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.” She reached into the cabinet. “And judging by Mike’s account of your symptoms, I decided sleep was the best medicine, anyway.”

Peggy could not control another yawn. “What time is it?”

Beth glanced at her watch. “Almost seven-thirty.” She popped a thermometer into Peggy’s mouth, laid a cool hand on her forehead. “You did sleep well, didn’t you?”

Peggy did not answer. The touch of Beth’s soft fingers had caused remembrance to erupt: the caresses, the kisses, the guilty intimacies—all came to mind with vivid lucidity. She tried to shake off the recollection, more than half believing she had dreamed everything. But with the memory her body warmed. Her skin tingled and her breasts throbbed. She knew she had not dreamed.

Suddenly Peggy wanted to get away from this place, from the room and the bed—and especially from Beth, who had just removed the thermometer, checked the temperature, and said, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No. I think I’d better—”

“I think you’d better have a bit of breakfast,” the nurse said in a professional tone. “You don’t have any more nausea, do you?”

Peggy shook her head.

Beth shook down the thermometer, went through the process of sterilizing it. She turned back to Peggy. “I’ll put the water on,” she said, but stood motionless, gaze fixed on Peggy—on the mass of blond hair rumpled against the pillow, on the lissome young body curled into a knot under the clinging sheet, hazel eyes peering over its edge.

Beth smiled then.

“You look like an angel when you’re sleeping,” she said softly. She bent and retrieved the white blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Then she hurried from the room.

Peggy lay there, still groggy, a condition she attributed to the medicine she had taken. From outside, the birdsongs reached her. She heard the milk truck rumble along the road, stop at the main gate, then grind its way up toward the kitchen as reveille echoed through the hills.

When Beth returned a few minutes later, she was carrying a tray laden with toast and tea. Peggy pulled herself to a sitting position, hugged her knees to her chest. She had discovered that she was wearing pajamas. Someone must have slipped them on her while she had slept.

Beth placed the tray on a white stand next to the bed, then sat in the straight-backed chair, sipping her tea. As they silently breakfasted, Peggy could not keep her eyes from the nurse.

She tried to imagine Beth in something other than the starched white outfit. Slacks, Peggy thought. A bathing suit. She certainly has the figure for either, Peggy decided, considering Beth’s trim waist, soft-looking yet compact hips, shapely legs now encased in spotless white stockings.

Peggy’s imagination went still further, attempting to picture Beth in a dress—a cocktail thing—and with a man....

A man?

It was difficult to visualize the starched and painfully proper nurse with a man. Covertly, Peggy’s eyes swept over Beth.

She was sitting up straight, but not stiffly. Her blue eyes were alive and roving the room.

Just then her glance caught Peggy’s. The eyes softly glowed as a smile lit up Beth’s entire face, curving her generous red lips, dimpling her cheeks, even wrinkling her nose a little, Peggy noticed. What a lovely, appealing woman.

Had wild lust ever irradiated those mellow eyes, Peggy wondered. Had that mouth ever sought another’s? Did that cute nose know the scent of a man: the compounded smell of shaving lotion, just-washed hands and freshly laundered shirt?

Peggy could not conceive it. Not Beth, she told herself. Beth’s was not a body made for lust and passion, but for love and service.

Oh, Peggy could plainly hear out of the past those noxious noises, those sounds of wanton hunger and its fulfillment, reaching her shocked ears from the darkness of the bathhouse.

Still, Beth had been forced to it. Peggy could not accept Beth as a lusting woman. She shut the idea from her mind.

She saw Beth as nothing but the warm and human nurse, the efficient nurse, that she was. Certainly she could not have been the woman who had crawled into Peggy’s bed during the night.

A thought struck Peggy with such force that she choked on her toast. Why had she been assuming the stranger in the bathhouse that night had been a woman? Why not a man?

“Are you all right?” Beth queried anxiously.

“Oh, sure. A bite went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Peggy set down her cup and sat back in the bed.

What man, she asked herself, could be wandering around loose in a girl’s camp? What such man would know her, Peggy, by name? Besides—that had not been a man in bed with her last night.

Or had she dreamed the whole thing?

A chill climbed her spine. No—she knew she had not imagined or dreamed last night’s seduction. It had been real.

Just the memory of the hands on her made her body suddenly fill with warmth and desire—and with disgust, with horror.

Whose hands had they been?

Mike’s probably, thought Peggy. Surely not Beth’s.

Strains of _America, the Beautiful_ drifted through the window, abruptly bringing to Peggy’s mind a picture of the campers circling the flagpole, watching with sleep-filled eyes as the stars and stripes were raised, stifling yawns to sing, then monotoning: _I pledge allegiance...._

Beth rose from her chair. She collected the dishes, then carried the load to the other room. There she rinsed and put them away while Peggy dressed.

Peggy was combing her hair when Beth returned. The nurse leaned lightly against the doorjamb.

“How do you feel now?” she asked.

“Much better, thanks.”

“You’re welcome to stay longer, if you like.”

“No. If you think I’m all right, I’d like to go now. I want to change clothes before craft hour.”

Beth crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes still on Peggy. “You’re fine. I kept you here only to make sure you would hold down your breakfast.”

Rays of sunshine streaked through the window, casting shimmers of light on Peggy’s golden hair as she pulled it back into a ponytail. “Beth, that medicine Mike gave me—was there something in it to put me to sleep?”

“That’s right. A compound to settle your stomach, too. But I think it was the sleep that did you the most good.” The nurse pursed her lips. “You’ve been losing sleep lately, if I know the signs. Probably that’s why something was able to make you feel sick yesterday.”

How shrewd of her, Peggy thought. She’s a professional nurse, all right.

Beth lit a couple of cigarettes, handed one to Peggy. “Do you like it here? Think you’ll be back next season?”

Peggy shrugged. “Too early to tell. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

_On whether or not I find out who’s haunting me_, she thought. _On what comes of it._ Aloud she said, “A lot of things, really.”

Beth studied the girl. “Peggy,” she said finally, “is something wrong? What’s troubling you?”

_What’s wrong?_ The query echoed within Peggy. She wanted to shout: _You know what’s wrong as well as I do. Better than I do, in fact. You were in on the thing. I only caught snatches. What’s wrong? Beth—you tell me._ Instead, she said, “Of course nothing is wrong.”

Peggy slipped into her sweater. She looked down at the nurse, and forced a smile. “Maybe it’s just the pressure of the first few days,” Beth said.

“That’s probably it,” Peggy agreed, heading for the door. _That and the fact that last night I was seduced by a woman—and liked it._

* * * * *

The door of the Pillbox slammed shut behind Peggy. She sauntered along the path that led from the small, square building to the lodge.

At a bend in the well-worn trail, she halted. She had a choice of going straight ahead to the lodge or by-passing it and heading for the cabin area. Or she could neglect both paths and cut across the wooded hillside.

She took counsel with herself a moment, then turned off the path. Dry leaves crackled underfoot, pine branches rustled, as Peggy started up the sylvan slope. Small brown animals skittered out of sight: chipmunks, rabbits. The lazy air smelled of balsam and wood smoke.

Overhead a jay called to its mate. A squirrel peeked from the other side of a vine-hung stump. And the sun, on the rise, forced its rays between the tall, full branches, throwing slivers of gold on the dark earth.

Peggy walked along slowly, her mind busy. Reviewing the night, she was filled with apprehension. Was it really possible that the whole episode could have been planned?

Her calculations made it plausible. She had gone into town with Mike while the camp was under Mike’s sister’s direction. Then, at Mike’s urgings, Peggy had indulged in an over-rich delicacy. Finally she had been given a dose of medicine supposedly prescribed by Pam—and which had put Peggy to sleep almost immediately, rendering her helpless.

It was that simple, Peggy thought. Then she reasoned that it was too simple. Somewhere a piece was missing, an integral part of the puzzle.

Even so, she told herself, that was not the worst of her problems. Her big difficulty was....

“Hello, there,” a deep voice boomed.

Peggy froze.

Sitting on a log less than three yards away was a tall, broad-shouldered youth, his dark eyes brilliantly alive.

Peggy retreated a couple of steps, poised for flight.

“Before you panic,” he said, rising, “I’m Kirby Davis. Sorry to startle you. I live over yonder,” he explained with a sweeping gesture in some unclear direction. “You must be one of the camp counselors.”

Peggy said that she was. The thought crossed her mind that this Kirby Davis was trespassing on camp property, but she decided against saying anything. She wanted only to be on her way.

“Are you heading for the lodge?” the big lad asked.

Peggy shook her head. “The cabins,” she replied.

“Oh. I thought I’d join you.” He indicated a large wooden crate. “I have to deliver this to the kitchen.”

“What is it?”

“Apple butter. Old-fashioned, home-made apple butter,” he emphasized.

“Apple butter! From where? We drove in supplies yesterday, and—”

“My aunt makes it,” he said. “Aunt Lelia used to do cooking out here at one time,” he continued. “She retired a couple years ago, but she still supplies most of the preserves. Home-made jams and jellies, things like that.”

“And you’re the delivery boy?”

“That’s right.” A frown crossed his sun-tanned forehead. “Say—what are you doing out here? Isn’t everyone at breakfast?”

Peggy explained she had just left the clinic.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Peggy said nothing, wishing she could tell him—anyone—just how serious. Then she suppressed a semihysterical giggle. What a thing to tell a stranger!

Aware of her uncommunicativeness, Kirby lifted the crate to his shoulder and said, “Better be on my way. Hope I see you again some time.”

“Me, too,” Peggy said meaninglessly, and continued on her way, her thoughts returning to the events of the night.

She felt sick and afraid. Whether or not the seduction had been planned was of little consequence. Whether or not the seducer had been Mike seemed beside the point. The fact was that no matter how it had happened or who had been responsible, Peggy had enjoyed the night.

Then was she one of—of those? Full of horror, she stumbled blindly along among the trees. She tried to quiet her fears by arguing that she had not been fully awake, that perhaps, in fact, she had dreamed the whole episode.

When at last she reached her cabin, she felt calmer, if hot more convinced. She decided to forget the night’s events until she could consider them with some objectivity. Right now, she told herself, it was high time to concentrate on what she was being paid for—being a counselor.

One more question had developed, though. That fellow in the woods—what was his name? Kirby? Why had he chosen that peculiar route by which to deliver his heavy load of apple butter? Why hadn’t he driven from the highway right up to the kitchen, the way the delivery truckmen did? Even if he had to walk for some reason, why had he chosen to come by forest path rather than by road?

* * * * *

Peggy showered, changed, and hiked down to the lodge.

The first person she spotted in the counselors’ lounge was Mike. Memory came flooding back. Pretending not to see the redhead, Peggy quickly averted her eyes. Her heartbeat quickened. Her palms were sweating. Sooner or later, she knew, she would have to face Mike but—Peggy gripped the knob of the still-open door—what would she say? How should she act? Peggy could feel nervous heat suffusing her body, reddening her face. She turned to leave.

“Hey, Peg!”

Her pulse skipped; her breath stopped. She glanced over her shoulder at Mike, who signaled with a toss of her red head. Behind her, in the usual starched white outfit, Beth was sitting on the arm of a chair.

Gingerly Peggy picked her way through the crowded room, sure all eyes were on her, certain that everyone knew, that everyone could see a change in her.

“Feeling better, hey, kid?”

“Oh, I’m full of vinegar this morning.”

Mike laughed. “Don’t forget the p—”

“Never mind,” interrupted Beth. “Hello, Peg.”

“Say,” remarked Mike, “a friend of yours called. Told me his name was Ted.”

Peggy frowned. “When?”

“Yesterday. After I had put you to bed. I told him you were in the infirmary, and he was quite concerned.”

“He was?” Peggy thought she caught a flicker of a smile crossing Beth’s face.

“He asked a thousand questions,” Mike went on, “and wanted to know if I was positive there wasn’t anything he could do. But I finally convinced him you were in the best of hands.”

Peggy slid a hard-backed chair from under the conference table, turned it to face Mike and Beth.

_He was quite concerned...._

Mike pulled a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket, offered it to Peggy and the nurse. Both declined.

“Yes, sir,” Mike said, lighting up. “I think that boy’s in love.”

Peggy felt her face grow red a second time. She wished she were not so tongue-tied this morning. She sat silently watching the other counselors as one by one they stubbed out after-breakfast cigarettes and left the room.

_Yes, sir, I think that boy’s in love._ Could that be, Peggy asked herself. Was Ted actually in love with her? She very much doubted it. Yet....

Mike jabbed Beth with a husky elbow. “Look at that face. Two guesses on what she’s thinking about,” Mike said.

Then the telephone jangled.

Mike jumped up. “I’ll get it,” she announced to the room, and pushed toward the clanging pay phone on the wall.

Mike mumbled a few words into the mouthpiece, clapped her hand over it and turned her head. “Hey, speak of the devil,” she called to Peggy. “That’s your Ted. He’s down at Jake’s Garage, at the junction. I told him you were better, and now he wants to know if he can come visit you.” She held out the receiver to Peggy. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“What will I tell him?” Peggy said under her breath. “I’ve been trying to avoid him.”

“But he came all this way. Tell him you’ll see him.”

“But—” She glanced at Beth.

“Do you want to see him?” the nurse asked.

Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose so.” Could it be possible, after all? Did Ted truly love her? “Hell,” she said, suddenly smiling, “sure I want to see him!”

“Then tell him to drive over.”

“What about swim duty? I mean, I didn’t do anything all day yesterday, and—”

“Tell him to drive over—I’ll give you a medical excuse canceling swim duty.” Beth raised an eyebrow. “And any other duties you have today.”

Peggy jumped from her seat. If she had not been in such a rush to get to the phone, she might have hugged the nurse.

“Decisions, decisions, decisions,” Mike mumbled, handing the receiver to Peggy.

* * * * *

Peggy ran down the gravel drive to the main gate. Her soul was singing. Life was normal once more. Soon she would be with Ted, where she belonged. Did anything else matter? He could take away the doubts and fears, restore the security that seemed to have slipped from her life. He could make her forget last night.

For Ted was a man. With him she could be a woman—a man’s woman.

As she neared the road, Peggy glimpsed the familiar Impala convertible gleaming yellow in the sunlight. Her heart galloped. She flew across the dirt road, around the car and into Ted’s waiting arms.

“Wow,” he said, after a long hard kiss. “If I had known this was the reception I was going to get, I would have come here long ago instead of writing letters that you never answered.”

Peggy smiled. “It’s so good to see you, Ted. I’ve really missed you,” she lied. “It’s just that I’ve been so busy—”

His gray eyes devoured her. “Are you busy now?”

Peggy answered by lifting her face for another kiss.

At last Ted broke away. “Let’s save some until later,” he said breathlessly, turning the ignition key. “Where to?”

Peggy shrugged. “Anywhere—as long as we’re together.”

Ted grinned, and gunned the motor.

As they moved down the road in the open convertible, Peggy rested her head on Ted’s shoulder. The warm breeze caressed her bare shoulders, reminding her of the smooth, gentle touch of last night’s lover. She tried to consign the memory to the wind and concentrate on Ted. Why had she been so impatient with him, she asked herself. Why had she tried to cut herself off from him? It was distinctly a pleasure to have his company now, she thought happily. More than that—it was a cure and antidote.

“Want to do anything special?” he asked. “I passed an ice cream parlor back in the village. This is your big chance.”

“No!” she said vehemently. “Let’s just ride. It’s been such a long time....”

“It sure has,” Ted replied, putting his arm around her.

Peggy snuggled closer and listened as Ted chatted about summer school—about classes, mutual friends, instructors. She told him about camp life, mentioned the overnight hike she was preparing for, gave him portraits of some of her cute campers.

Then they fell silent. The countryside rolled by swiftly as they rode on without destination, turning from one gravel road into another, each like the others yet none the same. For more than an hour they traveled so, quietly and happily, taking in the nearness of each other, enjoying the rugged vistas on both sides of their passage.

Then Ted pulled to the road shoulder, parking on the edge of a clearing carved out of a pine grove. Peggy could hear the murmur of a swift-running brook. On the other side of the road, a granite cliff fell away to farmlands far below, affording a broad, bucolic view of breathtaking sweep.

“How about a walk?” Ted asked.

They slid out of the car and started hand in hand across the grassy clearing.

“Let’s look for the brook, Ted.”

“Sure.”

But when they were among the pines, Ted suddenly pulled her to him. “So how’s my girl?”

Peggy swiveled her hazel eyes toward him. She could not answer, for already Ted’s lips were on hers.

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, when they had parted.

“You’re great,” Ted contradicted. He looked powerful and capable, standing there in his brown slacks, his red sport shirt open at the throat and revealing tufts of dark hair.

He was breathing heavily, Peggy noticed. So she was not surprised when abruptly he grabbed her, holding her so close that she could feel the heat of his body through her white T-shirt.

“As you say, it’s been so long,” he whispered into her ear. “So damned long, Peg.”

He kissed her, forcing her mouth open, and Peggy could feel his warmth flowing into her. His hand slipped under the back of the flimsy shirt, crawled up to the bra snaps. His palm caressed the skin there, moved around and then descended to her stomach. The fingers roamed until the breasts ached for his touch. When she could stand it no longer, she blurted, “Please, Ted....”

He lowered her to the ankle-high carpeting of pine needles and yielding grass. He unloosed the bra, freeing her bosom under the T-shirt. Then he fondled first one breast and then the other.

“Oh, Peg,” he breathed. “My pretty Peg—”

They clung to each other on their soft green bed, fondling and feeling. Then he pulled her out of the T-shirt, removed the loosened bra. Her fullnesses were exposed, delicate mounds of creamy flesh, each with its rosebud tip.

With a cry that was like a sob, he plunged his curly head between the sweet, pink buds. Then he was all over her at once. His shaking hands roved her long legs, her smooth shoulders, buried themselves in her hair. His chest received the thrust of her hungering breasts. His hot lips worked on her mouth. Peggy thought she would explode.

“Isn’t this better than fighting?” he queried hoarsely. “Every day, since we quarreled, I’ve thought of you like this, honey. I was going crazy—I needed you so much....”

Peggy felt herself spread-eagled, then; pinned suddenly by massive weight, she could hardly draw a breath. A pine cone was biting into her spine. Hard hands were convulsively clutching her hips, digging, hurting her. Ted was muttering like a madman, grimacing, looking as if he were about to foam at the mouth.

Something snapped inside of Peggy.

The warmth was gone. Desire melted and chilled. She lay still as Ted greedily sucked kisses from her. She felt nothing, certainly not passion. Yet Ted seemed not to notice. He went right on while her mind drifted to the previous night.

She remembered those tender hands, so unlike Ted’s rough ones. She remembered the delicately cool lips, the creamy flesh against her. She would have remembered more, but a knife pierced her, plunged to the core of her. “Ted!” she shrilled, as all sensation was blotted out save pain—searing, engulfing pain.

And then it was over. Ted sagged upon her, exhausted, his head resting on her still aching breasts. After his breath had slowed to normal pace, Peggy stirred under him.

“Are you finished?” she asked. When he made no answer, she disentangled herself and sat up.

She dressed quickly and combed her hair. Then she spoke again.

“Take me back to the camp.”

FIVE

Ted left her at the gate.

“Why are you angry, Peg?”

She shook her head. “I’m not.” Her voice was barely audible.

Peggy’s change in mood had thoroughly flustered Ted. “If I did anything wrong, I’m sorry, but—” He pulled her to him. “God, Peggy, it’s just that—”

She broke away. “I said I wasn’t angry. But I have things to do. After all, I’m just hired help around here.” She stepped to the road. “See you, Ted. Thanks for the ride.”

He slid out of the car, reached for her arm, spun her around to face him.

“What the hell do you mean, thanks for the ride?”

“What the hell do you think I mean?” She pulled away from him and ran through the gate into the security of the camp.

“Peggy!”

She started up the dirt driveway. Her shoulders drooped, her head hung; her eyes, though, were dry. Halfway up the hill, she heard Ted start the car and speed away.

Mike’s face registered acute shock, some minutes later, when Peggy walked into the tennis shack dressed for action. The girls had already divided up for doubles and were taking their places on the courts.

Mike sidled over to Peggy, who was choosing a racket.

“What are you doing back so soon? Beth told you we’d take care of everything.”

“I know,” Peggy answered tonelessly. “Ted had studying to do.”

“My God! That’s no excuse. What’s so important that he has to study up on?”

“His manners,” responded Peggy, grim-lipped.

Mike gaped.

“They need a player on Court Three,” she said, turning away.

Walking listlessly to the court Mike had indicated, Peggy noticed the little blonde, Ruth Harris, giving stroke instruction to some intermediates on Court One. Ruth waved cheerfully. Peggy tried to concentrate on knocking the ball around with three camp seniors, all in their teens. They were fresh and fetching, all bare legs, gawky arms and flying tresses as they skedaddled over the clay in frantic pursuit of the ball. One girl in particular was as cute as a kitten in a brief white outfit fit for a tournament at Wimbledon but wholly out of place in a camp. The other girls laughed and teased her as she proudly romped around, her round rump bobbing saucily under the thigh-high white skirt.

Peggy was in no mood to appreciate the charms of her young charges. She gave them some pointers on service, then they began a doubles set. The ball flew back and forth. At first Peggy and her partner were ahead, then their opponents took the lead. It did not matter to Peggy. The ball came, Peggy hit. The ball came, Peggy missed.

Then, as she watched, what had been just a small felt ball on the other side of the net figuratively grew and grew, sprouting hair and eyes until it looked like Ted’s face coming down at her, closer and closer.

Peggy gripped the racket. Her arm went back, swung forward, as she smashed at the ball with all her might—and missed. The pain that shot through her shoulder made her gasp.

The game stopped momentarily, the girls inquiring if she were all right. Flexing the shoulder, she assured them that she was.

She glanced at her watch. “Let’s go, Bernice,” she called to her partner. “We don’t have much time to win this set.”

She tried to ignore the stiffening muscle as she worked at evening the score. By the time Mike blew the whistle signaling the end of the session, the set stood at five-all.

After the girls had left the courts, Peggy and Mike locked up the equipment. They started toward the cabin area together. As they walked, Peggy moved her shoulder gingerly, at the same time massaging it with the fingers of her opposite hand.

“My God!” Mike said. “Are you accident-prone or something? First it was your stomach. Now it’s your shoulder.”

“I pulled a muscle, I guess.”

“A Charlie-horse. Everybody gets ’em early in the season, before they get in shape.”

Peggy shook her head. “I thought Charlie only got you in the legs.”

“Okay, so it’s a sprain. In the water, it’s a cramp. Same thing. Come up to the cabin,” Mike invited. “I’m great at rubbing out the kinks. I want to talk to you anyway,” she added.

Apprehension clamped Peggy. During the ride back to camp with Ted, she had not been able to help comparing his style of love-making with that of her unidentified nocturnal visitor. Even in her doped state, Peggy had enjoyed the mysterious lover much more, infinitely more. Did it mean, she had wondered, that there was something wrong with her? She had pictured Mike then, forgetting Ted and the car and the rolling countryside and golden fields. Instead she had envisioned Mike’s soft, white hands, the penetrating gray eyes, the broad shoulders and smiling lips. She had heard Mike’s husky voice. At that moment, Peggy had been pretty much convinced that she had been seduced by Mike and no other. What would it be like to exchange kisses and caresses with the red-haired girl when she, Peggy, was not sleeping but wide awake?

Peggy had shuddered at that last thought. And yet there remained the fact that acute pleasure had been hers the previous night.

By the time Ted had left her at the gate, Peggy had made up her mind. If she had lesbian leanings, horrible as they were, better that she should know it. She would find out for herself if perhaps she were abnormal, if she craved another woman’s love rather than a man’s.

But now that she was going to be alone with Mike, she was full of fears. Could she go through with it?

And then a peculiar metamorphosis took place as the two youthful counselors trudged up the hill. By some alchemy possibly born of the unsatisfied, unfulfilled state in which Ted had left her, Peggy’s apprehensive feelings changed to those of excitement, of a kind of delicate, tentative lust.

She laughed at herself. Ever since the night she had overheard the conversation in the bathhouse, she had been avoiding Mike. She had feared to get too close to the girl this morning. Yet now suddenly Peggy was full of eagerness. She wanted to get it over with. She wanted to know.

The two girls ambled on, Peggy deep in her own thoughts. Suddenly she lifted her head. They had reached the staff cabin.

Inside, Peggy stretched out on someone’s bed while Mike hurriedly changed into a shapeless black tanksuit. She flung her discarded clothes in a heap on her bed.

“Got to get to the waterfront in a few minutes,” she said, pulling and poking the suit into position on her solid curves. “You know, you never did explain that grudge you have against men—the one that made you sign up here rather than at a co-ed camp. Has it got something to do with what’s-his-face?”

“Yes. It has everything to do with Ted.” Peggy rolled over on her stomach, rested her head on crossed arms. “I thought I was in love,” she said, unexpectedly more than willing to confide in Mike. “I was convinced he felt the same. I had visions of orange blossoms and wedding bells and living happily ever after. We did everything together—studied, went to dances and football games, took in movies and lectures. He even drove me home to meet his folks, one weekend. They liked me, I think.”

Mike sat down on the edge of the cot, a bottle of suntan lotion in her hand. She applied the creamy liquid to her dangerously pink arms and legs. Peggy noted how fair Mike was, how freckled. A pleasant, disarming effect, thought Peggy. Then her thoughts flashed back to Ted.

“Yep,” she sighed. “Ted and I. Life was a bed of roses—until I gave him what he wanted. After that, life was a bed. Cars, motels, inside or outside—it didn’t matter. Any old place would do. And I got tired of it.” She paused. “That’s all, Mike. I got tired of it. The end.”

Mike’s hands, smooth with lotion, began to massage Peggy’s shoulders. “And today—”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Peggy said.

“Did you think he would be any different? Is that it?”

“I had hoped he would.”

For a while Mike stroked and rubbed without speaking. Then, “You mean because of one oversexed male you’re calling it quits?” Her hands moved lower on Peggy’s back.

Ignoring Mike’s question, Peggy murmured, “That feels good. Oh, good—”

Mike stroked, pinched, her strong fingers industrious and clever. “You never can tell,” she said. “He sounded like such a hell of a nice guy over the phone. Really interested in you, too. Maybe—”

“Please—I don’t want to talk about him, Mike.”

“Sure, Peg. How’s the shoulder feel now?”

Peggy shrugged a couple times, moved her arm. “Better. Really better. A little stiff, but I’ll live.”

“Hey!” Mike rose, crossed the room. She took a bottle of liniment from a shelf. “Loosen your shirt,” she said to Peggy. “I forgot about this stuff. It should fix you up in no time.”

Peggy pulled off the shirt. She undid her bra.

Sitting down on the bed once more, Mike let the liniment trickle to Peggy’s skin. The concoction hit cold on Peggy’s flesh, but as Mike began to rub it in, Peggy felt heat work through to the aching muscle.

After a while, Mike spoke—quietly, voice huskier than ever: “Peg, about yesterday—”

“Yesterday?”

“In the Pillbox,” Mike said.

Memories flooded Peggy. “Yes?”

“I just want to apologize—”

“You don’t have to apologize—unless you’re sorry for what happened,” Peggy told her, afraid of what might be said, afraid once more of her own feelings and yearnings.

Mike massaged gently, tenderly. “I want you to understand how I feel. Why I acted the way I did.”

Peggy thought of her romance with Ted, the days and the nights, the beginning and end. She wondered briefly if there had ever been a man in Mike’s life. She contrasted the previous night’s silky love-making with Ted’s tough, hurtful sex. And she said, “I understand, Mike.”—Although not sure if she did, only hoping.

After a long silence, Mike spoke again: “There are a few things you should know.”

“I don’t want the details of anybody’s life history.” The words sounded more abrupt than Peggy had intended, interrupting the smooth rhythm of Mike’s fingers.

“I wasn’t going to give you a life history,” Mike answered tartly, her fingers stopping altogether now, but still resting on Peggy’s back. “I just think you should understand the situation.” She reached for the liniment.

“I understand all I want to.”

Once more cold drops on bare skin. Peggy winced.

“Peggy—”

“Please, Mike.”

“All right, Peggy. But—” She sighed. “Forget it. Roll over, will you? I want to work on the front for a while.”

Peggy squirmed. She rose to one elbow, flipped herself to her back. The straps of her bra hung loose. She flung it off. Her lithe, luxuriant breasts poked their saucy tips at Mike.

“Nice,” Mike commented huskily. “Do you always wear a bra? Most of the girls don’t, here in camp.”

“I don’t like the feeling of them bouncing around. They’re so big.”

“The bigger the better, I always say.” Mike’s hands spread liniment on the smooth skin over Peggy’s bosom. The palms rubbed and kneaded. Peggy waited breathlessly for the hands to go lower. Deliberately she shifted a little, bringing a breast into contact with Mike’s fingers, trying to tempt her, encourage her.

It wasn’t so bad to be close to a woman, Peggy thought. To have her hands on you, moving, touching, roaming. In fact—

The screen door banged.

Mike jumped to her feet.

Lilian stood just inside the door, one eyebrow arched. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Peggy swung to a sitting position on the edge of the cot, grabbed for her brassiere and shirt.

Lilian was staring at Mike, whose pale flesh seemed to be bursting out of the scanty tanksuit. “Excuse me, Madam Waterfront Director, isn’t it time you were directing?”

Mike glared at the girl with the black hair. “I was just leaving,” she said, and turned toward Peggy. “You coming?”

Before Peggy could open her mouth, Lilian said, “She can find her own way to the lake.” As Mike crossed the zoom, Lilian added, “I won’t keep her long.”

Mike cast Lilian a killing look as she lumbered out the door, slamming it behind her.

“She needn’t have left in such a huff,” Lilian commented. For a moment she stood poised like a bright bird in her costume of blue blouse and tight orange shorts. Then she walked over to Peggy, placed a palm on her forehead. “How are you feeling?” she asked, with a mildness Peggy had not expected.

“Mentally or physically?” Peggy asked.

“Sassy, huh?” Lilian patted her cheek, and walked away. “I take it the stomach trouble is over, then.”

“Yeah, the stomach is fine. But my shoulder—ouch! Smell the liniment? Mike was giving me a rubdown.”

“I bet,” Lilian said. She slipped out of her blouse. “Aren’t you going down to the waterfront?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be on duty, you know.”

Peggy nodded. “I suppose I should go change.”

Lilian pulled something colorful from a drawer, flung it at Peggy. “Try this on,” she said.

“I can’t wear that,” Peggy protested. “It’s a bikini.”

“I think you can,” Lilian said, stepping out of the shorts. She hung her outfit in the closet, then walked across the room in filmy panties, her bosom bare. Peggy was still sitting on the bed.

“You’re not dressing,” Lilian said, leaning over to retrieve the bikini. “Want some help?” She reached for Peggy’s shirt.

Peggy pulled away. “I can do it,” she said, slipping out of the thing.

Lilian’s eyes were fixed on Peggy’s full breasts, squeezed into a snowy white bra quite inadequate to hide the creamy mounds. Abruptly she turned away. “Put it on,” she said, moving to her own cot on which a one-piece black suit was lying.

By the time Lilian had pulled on her suit, Peggy had stuffed her hips into the triangular patch and was struggling with the ribbon around her breasts.

Lilian walked over to her. She took the ties of the bikini in one hand, lowered Peggy’s hand with the other, then trailed her fingers up Peggy’s arm to rest momentarily on her shoulder. She ran a palm across Peggy’s bare skin.

“You have a beautiful back—soft and cool, like satin.”

She took more time than Peggy thought was necessary to tie the band. Then she ran her finger under it, adjusting it.