Summer Camp Adventure Page 2

  “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!

  chapter three

  All 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. H
e 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 MRS. BENNETT. “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!”

  chapter four

  Jonathan! Jonathan!” Frantic with fear, Skye started running back toward the campfire. Oh, that’s right! Jonathan can’t hear! She crossed the road and, when passing the barn, noticed the door was open wide.

  “That’s strange!” she said, unaware that she was having a conversation with herself. “I remember Mr. Wheaten saying the door should always be closed tight.” Skye ran to the barn and started to slide the door shut. What’s that strange noise coming from inside? she asked herself, standing perfectly still.

  A string of timid sniffles and muffled sobs filtered to the outside.

  She peeked inside.

  There in the shadows, Jonathan slumped against a small stack of hay bales. With his elbows on his knees, hands on his ears, and head bent low, he whimpered like a lost puppy.

  Be careful. Don’t scare him, Skye thought. Stepping inside, she dropped to her knees and crawled right in front of Jonathan. He had no idea she was there.

  Skye reached out, gently touching Jonathan’s arm.

  Jumping like he had been poked with a branding iron, his head shot up, and his small body recoiled tighter against the hay. Skye was startled too, but by the fear in the boy’s eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Skye signed. “I’m here to help you.”

  What could he be so afraid of? Skye wondered. I guess when you can’t hear, a lot of things might scare you. Suddenly she remembered Mrs. Bennett. Yikes! She’s about to start a five-county search for him. “Wait right here!” Skye signed to the boy.

  Jonathan relaxed into the hay, and a tentative smile replaced the look of panic. He brushed away the tears, wiped his runny nose on his arm, and signed, “Okay.”

  Skye rushed to the doorway. “I’ve got to find Mrs. Bennett,” she said with only the barn walls listening. Just as Skye stepped outside, the nurse came rushing out from First Aid, down the ramp, and toward the parking lot. Keys dangled in her frantic hands as she raced toward her car.

  “Mrs. Bennett!” Yelling and waving, Skye ran toward the woman. “Mrs. Bennett! Jonathan’s all right! He’s in the barn! I’ll take him back to his group!” The woman spun around, and Skye stopped on her side of the road. “Everything’s okay. I’ve got him!”

  “Thank the Lord!” Mrs. Bennett let out a sigh of relief. “That child gave me one good scare. Thanks, Skye, and don’t let him out of your sight for one minute.” The woman turned, took a deep relaxing breath, and headed back to her station.

  Skye hurried back inside the barn. Jonathan sat waiting with his legs crossed and arms folded. Now his face beamed a full-toothed smile. “I like you,” he signed.

  Again, Skye dropped to her knees in front of the boy. “Why were you crying?”

  His skinny shoulders gave just a hint of a shrug, and his lips wrinkled into an I-don’t-know gesture. “I like horses too.” He pointed at the stalls.

  “Would you like to see my horse?”

  “Yes. Where is it?” Jonathan stood, his tearstained face fading behind a brilliant smile.

  “Champ’s back there in the last stall on that side. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The next morning at breakfast, Skye studied Chad—and Linda—sitting across the room with Linda’s cabin kids, laughing up a storm. Skye and Morgan sat with the Five Ferns kids, laughing up their own storm. Not that I care one iota, Skye thought, but he could wave just once.

  After breakfast, Skye and Morgan lined up their kids outside the mess hall. Just then, Tim came out, leading his own group. “Hey, Skye, are you ready to teach your first riding lesson?” he said. “The sun’s splittin’ the skies, so to beat the heat, our lessons need to be done by noon. Mr. Wheaten gave you a schedule, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Skye said. “I need to take my campers to their assigned activities, and then I’ll see you at the barn. It looks like I’ll be starting with ‘The Rascal.’” She pointed to a youngster standing behind Tim.

  “The Rascal?”

  “Yeah, your friend and mine, Jonathan Martin. He’s my first rider.

  “Hey, you’re definitely starting out with a bang! Get it? Jonathan? Firecrackers last night? Bang?”

  “You are too funny,” Skye said, twisting her lips into a smirk. “See you soon.”

  By eight o’clock, Skye had saddled Buddy, Jonathan’s assigned black gelding, and she had the boy mounted, ready to start in the corral.

  Along with Skye, Mr. Wheaten, Tim, and another volunteer all stood beside their assigned riders and mounts.Skye squared her Stetson and prayed, “Lord, help me teach this kid.”

  Jonathan sat tall in the saddle, smiling at Skye like she was the love of his life. He wore a blue safety helmet, a brown and purple plaid shirt, blue jeans, and black leather boots with horses’ heads carved in the design. “I know how to ride,” he signed.

  “You do?” Skye signed. “When did you learn?”

  “I took lessons back home. I’ve been riding since I was five.”

  “That’s great! Then this should be easy for you. Now take both reins in one hand.”

  “No.” Jonathan shook his head sharply. “I do it this way.” He took one rein in each hand and then looked beyond Skye at the waiting arena.

  Skye tapped the boy’s leg. Jonathan’s glance shifted
back to her. “No, Jonathan. That’s how you ride English style. You will learn to ride Western here.”

  “I always ride this way!” Jonathan’s hands gestured in obvious anger. Frustration swept over his face, and he yanked down the helmet, his curly hair sticking out over his bent ears. Releasing the reins, he folded his arms and put on an I-want-my-own-way pout.

  Forcing a smile, Skye tied the reins into a knot and slipped them over the horn of the saddle. “There. That will make it easier for you to hold them in one hand.”

  “No.” Jonathan shook his head, his lips pinched in defiance.

  “Don’t you like me anymore?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “Then why don’t you pay attention to what I say?”

  Jonathan’s hands flew into a frenzy. “I don’t like when you tell me what to do!”

  “Having trouble, Skye?” Mr. Wheaten said, leading his team around the corner.

  “Yes,” she said without turning. “He is so stubborn!”

  “Pray for wisdom.” Mr. Wheaten’s voice trailed away.

  “I already did!” Skye yelled back. Her attention back to the boy, she signed, “Let’s try this. You hold the reins, and I’ll lead Buddy around the corral. But use only one hand. Okay?”

  “No!” Jonathan signed and then folded his arms tightly again.

  “Then you can’t ride,” Skye signed. “All the horses here are trained Western. If you try English, Buddy won’t work.”

  Jonathan flashed a look of contempt and grabbed the reins sharply from the horn. Buddy flinched, threw his head up, and took several quick steps back.

  “Easy, boy!” Skye grabbed the horse’s bridle and then stroked him on the neck to calm him down. She darted an angry look at Jonathan. “If you do that again, your lesson will be over!”

  Sticking out his tongue, Jonathan raised his hands to his ears and wiggled his fingers. But then, as though he were the best boy in the whole world, he lit up the whole corral with a Cheshire-cat smile.