“Yes,” Sherry answered cheerfully. She knew it! Roarke was most likely another of this pest’s uncles. “Would you like me to make an appointment for you to speak to him?”
“Yes. I’ll let him handle this unfortunate situation.” Gretchen removed her suitcase from the bunk and gingerly set it aside, seemingly assured that the camp director would assign her a cot anywhere she wanted.
“I’ll see if I can arrange it when you’re in the computer class,” Sherry said.
By afternoon, Camp Gitche Gumee was in full swing. Cabins were filled to capacity and the clamor of children sounded throughout the compound.
After the girls had unpacked and stored their luggage, Sherry led them into the dining hall. Counselors were expected to eat their meals with their charges, but after lunch Sherry’s time was basically free. On occasion she would be given the opportunity to schedule outdoor activities such as canoeing and hiking expeditions, but those were left for her to organize. Most of the camp was centered on challenging academic pursuits. Sessions were offered in biochemistry, computer skills, and propositional calculus. Sherry wondered what ever happened to stringing beads and basket weaving!
When the girls were dismissed for their afternoon activities, Sherry made her way to the director’s office, which was on the other side of the campgrounds, far from the maddening crowd, she noted. It was all too apparent that Roarke liked his privacy.
Tall redwoods lined the camp’s outskirts. Wildflowers grew in abundance. Goldthreads, red baneberry, and the northern inside-out flower were just a few that Sherry recognized readily. She had a passion for wildflowers and could name those most common to the West Coast. Some flowers were unknown to her, but she had a sneaky suspicion that if she picked a few, either Sally or Diane would be able to tell her the species and Latin names.
When she could delay the inevitable no longer, Sherry approached Roarke’s office. She knocked twice politely and waited.
“Come in,” came the gruff voice.
Squaring her shoulders, preparing to face the lion in his den, Sherry entered the office. As she expected, his room was meticulously neat. Bookshelves lined the walls, and where there weren’t books the space was covered with certificates. His desk was an oversized mahogany one that rested in the center of the large room. The leather high-backed chair was one Sherry would have expected to find a bank president using—not a camp director.
They greeted each other stiffly.
“Miss White.”
“Mr. Roarke.”
“Sit down.” He motioned toward the two low-backed upholstered chairs.
Sherry sat and briefly studied the man behind the desk. He looked to be a young thirty-five, although there were lines faintly etched around his eyes and on both sides of his mouth. But instead of detracting from his good looks, the lines added another dimension to his appeal. Lynn’s words about Roarke suffering from a lost love played back in Sherry’s mind. Like her friend, she sensed an underlying sadness in him, but nothing that could readily be seen in the square, determined lines of his jaw. And, again, it was his piercing gaze that captured her.
“You brought back the reference sheet?” Roarke prompted.
“Yes.” Sherry sat at the edge of her seat as though she expected to blurt out what she had to say and make a mad dash for the door. She’d reprinted the names and addresses more clearly this time, transposing the numbers and hoping that it would look unintentional when the responses were delayed.
“I have it with me,” she answered, and set the form on his desk. “But there’s something else I’d like to discuss. I’ve been assigned Gretchen Hamburg.”
“Ah, yes, Gretchen.”
Apparently the girl was known to him. “I’m afraid I’m having a small problem with her,” Sherry said, carefully choosing her words. “It seems Gretchen prefers to sleep away from the window, but she dawdled around outside while the others chose bunks, and now she’s complaining. She’s asked that I make an appointment for her to plead her case with you. She…insinuated that you’d correct this unfortunate situation.”
“I’m—”
Sherry didn’t allow him to finish. “It’s my opinion that giving in to Gretchen’s demands would set a precedent that would cause problems among the other girls later.”
His wide brow furrowed. “I can understand your concerns.”
Sherry relaxed, scooting back in her chair.
“However, Gretchen’s family is an influential one.”
Sherry bolted forward. “That’s favoritism.”
“Won’t any of the other girls trade with her?”
“I’ve already suggested that. But the others shouldn’t be forced into giving up their beds simply because Gretchen Hamburg—”
“Have you sought a compromise?” he interrupted.
Sherry’s hands were clenched in such tight fists that her punch would have challenged Muhammad Ali’s powerful right hand. “I suggested that we place the mattress on the floor in my room, but I did mention that I sometimes sleep with my window open.”
“And?”
“And Gretchen insisted on speaking to you personally.”
Roarke drummed his fingers on the desktop. “If you haven’t already noticed, Gretchen is a complainer.”
“No!” Sherry feigned wide-eyed shock.
—
Roarke studied the fiery flash in Sherry’s dark brown eyes and again experienced an unfamiliar tug on his emotions. She made him want to laugh at the most inappropriate times. And when he wasn’t amused by her, she infuriated him. There didn’t seem to be any in-between in the emotions he felt. Sherry White could be a problem, Roarke mused, although he was convinced she’d be a terrific counselor. The trouble was within himself. He was attracted to her—strongly attracted. He would have been better off not to have hired her than to wage battle with his emotions all summer. He’d need to keep a cool head with her—keep his distance, avoid her whenever possible, bury whatever it was in her that he found appealing.
—
Sherry was convinced she saw a brief smile touch Roarke’s mouth, so faint that it was gone before it completely registered with her. If only he’d really smile or joke or kid, she would find it infinitely more pleasant to meet with him. A lock of hair fell across his brow, and he brushed it back only to have it immediately return to its former position. Sherry found her gaze mesmerized by that single lock. Except for those few strands of cocky hair, Roarke was impeccable in every way. She sincerely doubted that as a child his jeans had ever been torn or grass-stained.
“Well?” Sherry prompted. “Should I send Gretchen in to see you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said, Miss White. I can’t be bothered with these minor details. Handle the situation as you see fit.”
Using the arms of the chair for leverage, Sherry rose. She was pleased because she didn’t want Ms. Miserable to use Roarke to manipulate her and the other girls in the cabin. Sherry was halfway out the door when Roarke spoke next.
“However, if this matter isn’t settled promptly, I’ll be forced to handle the situation myself. Dorothy Hamburg has been a faithful supporter of this camp for several years.”
Well, I might as well jerk Pamela and Ralph from the center cot, Sherry thought irritably. One way or another, Gretchen was bound to have her own way.
Chapter 3
Dressed in their pajamas, the seven preteens sat crisscross on their cots, listening wide-eyed and intent as Sherry read.
“And they lived happily ever after,” Sherry murmured, slowly closing the large book.
“You don’t really believe that garbage, do you?” Gretchen demanded.
Sherry smiled softly. Gretchen found fault with everything, she’d discovered over the course of the first week of camp. Even when the girl enjoyed something, it was her nature to complain, quibble, and frown. During the fairy tale, Gretchen had been the one most enraptured, yet she seemed to feel it was her duty to
nitpick.
“How do you mean?” Sherry asked, deciding to play innocent. The proud tilt of Gretchen’s chin tore at her heart.
“It’s only a stupid fairy tale.”
“But it was so lovely,” Wendy chimed in softly.
“And the Prince…”
“…was so handsome,” Jan and Jill added in unison.
“But none of it is true.” Gretchen crossed her arms and pressed her lips tightly together. “My mother claims that she’s suffering from the Cinderella syndrome, and here you are telling us the same goofy story and expecting us to believe it.”
“Oh no,” Sherry whispered, bending forward as though to share a special secret. “Fairy tales don’t have to be true; but it’s romantic to pretend. That’s what makes them so special.”
“But fairy tales couldn’t possibly be real.”
“All fiction is make-believe,” Sherry softly assured her chronic complainer.
“I don’t care if it’s true or not, I like it when you read us stories,” Diane volunteered. The child had set aside Proust in favor of listening to the bedtime story. Sherry felt a sense of pride that she’d been able to interest Diane in something beyond the heavy reading material she devoured at all hours of the night and day.
“Tell us another one,” Wendy begged. Her Barbie and Ken dolls sat in a circle in front of her, their arms twisting around one another.
Sherry closed the book. “I will tomorrow night.”
“Another fairy tale, okay?” Pamela insisted. “Even though he’s a boy, Ralph liked it.” She petted the hamster and reverently kissed him good night before placing him back inside his shoe-box home.
Sherry had serious doubts about Ralph’s environment, but Pamela had repeatedly assured her that the box was the only home Ralph had ever known and that he’d never run away. All the time the child spent grooming and training him lent Sherry confidence. But then, she hadn’t known that many trick hamsters in her time.
“Will you read Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs next?” Sally wanted to know. She climbed into her cot and tucked the microscope underneath her pillow.
“Snow White it is.”
“You’re sort of like Snow White, aren’t you?” Diane asked. “I mean, your name is White and you live in a cottage in the forest with seven dwarfs.”
“Yeah!” Jan and Jill chimed together.
“I, for one, resent being referred to as a dwarf,” Gretchen muttered.
“Wizards, then,” Wendy offered. “We’re all smart.”
“Snow White and the Seven Wizards,” Sally commented, obviously pleased with herself. “Hey, we all live in Snow White’s cottage.”
“Right!” Jan and Jill said, with identical nods.
“But who’s Prince Charming?”
“I don’t think that this particular Snow White has a Prince Charming,” Sherry said, feigning a sad sigh. “But”—she pointed her index finger toward the ceiling—“some day my prince will come.”
“Mr. Roarke,” Gretchen piped in excitedly. “He’s the handsomest, noblest, nicest man I know. He’ll be your prince.”
Sherry nearly swallowed her tongue in her rush to disagree. Jeff Roarke! Impossible! He was more like the evil huntsman intent on doing away with the unsuspecting Snow White. If he ever checked her references, doing away with her would be exactly what happened! In the past week, Sherry had done her utmost to be the most accommodating counselor at camp. She hadn’t given Roarke a single reason to notice or disapprove of her. Other than an occasional gruff hello, she’d been able to avoid speaking to him.
“Lights out, everyone,” Sherry said, determined to kill the conversation before it got out of hand. The less said about Roarke as Prince Charming, the better.
The girls were much too young to understand that to be called princely a man must possess certain character traits. Sherry hesitated and drew in a shaky breath. All right, she’d admit it—Jeff Roarke’s character was sterling. He was dedicated and hardworking and seemed to genuinely love the children. And then there were those incredible eyes of his. Sherry sharply shook herself back into reality. A single week with her charges and already she was going bonkos. Roarke was much too dictatorial and inflexible to be a prince. At least to be her Prince Charming.
With a flip of the switch, the room went dark. The only illumination was a shallow path of golden moonlight across the polished wood of the cabin floor.
Sherry moved into her own room and left the door ajar in order to hear her seven wizards in case of bad dreams or nighttime troubles. The girls never ceased to surprise her. It was as though they didn’t realize they were children. When Sherry suggested reading a fairy tale, they’d moaned and claimed that was kids’ stuff! Sherry had persisted, and now she was exceptionally pleased that she had. They’d loved Cinderella and eaten up Little Red Riding Hood. Diane, the reader, who had teethed on Ibsen, Maupassant, and Emerson, wasn’t sure who the Brothers Grimm were. But she sat night after night, her hands cupping her face as she listened to a different type of classic—and loved it.
Sally knew more about biochemistry than Sherry ever hoped to understand in her lifetime. Yet Sally couldn’t name a single record in the top ten and hadn’t thought to bring a radio to camp. Her microscope was far more important!
These little geniuses were still children, and if no one else was going to remind them of that fact, Sherry was! If she could, she would have liked to remind Jeff Roarke of that. He had to realize there was more to life than academia; yet the entire camp seemed centered on challenging the mind and, in her humble opinion, leaving the heart empty.
Sitting on the edge of her cot, Sherry’s gaze fell on the seven girls in the room outside her own. She had been given charge of these little ones for the next two months, and, by golly, she was going to teach these children to have fun if it killed her!
—
“Ralph!”
The shrill cry pierced Sherry’s peaceful slumber. She managed to open one eye and peek toward the clock radio. Four-thirteen. She had a full seventeen minutes before her alarm was set to ring.
“Miss White,” Pamela cried, frantically stumbling into Sherry’s room. “Ralph is gone!”
“What!” Holding a sheet to her breast, Sherry jerked upright, eyes wide. “Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“He’s run away,” the little girl said, sobbing. “I woke up and found the lid from the shoe box off-kilter, and when I looked he was…m-missing.” She burst into tears and threw her arms around Sherry’s neck, weeping pathetically.
“He didn’t run away,” Sherry said, thinking fast as she hugged the thin child.
“He didn’t?” Pamela raised her tear-streaked face and battled down a fresh wave of emotion. “Then where is he?”
“He’s exploring. Remember what I said about Ralph getting tired of his shoe-box home? He just went on an adventure into the woods to find some friends.”
Pamela nodded, her dark braids bouncing.
“I suppose he woke up in the middle of the night and decided that he’d like to see who else was living around the cabin.” The thought was a chilling one to Sherry. She squelched it quickly.
“But where is he?”
“I…I’m not exactly sure. He may need some guidance finding his way home.”
“Then we should help him.”
“Right.” Stretching across the bed, Sherry turned on the bedside lamp. “Ralph,” she called softly. “Olly olly oxen free.” It wouldn’t be that easy, but it was worth a shot.
“There he is,” Sally cried, sitting up in her cot. She pointed to the dresser on the far side of the outer room. “He ran under there.”
“Get him,” Pamela screamed, and raced out of Sherry’s quarters.
Soon all seven girls were crawling around the floor in their long flannel nightgowns, looking for Ralph. He was still at large when Sherry’s alarm clock buzzed.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. She looked up to find seven pairs of eyes accus
ing her. “I mean darn,” she muttered. The search party returned to their rescue mission.
“I’ve got to get to the staff meeting,” Sherry announced dejectedly five minutes later when Ginny, the high school girl who was working in hopes of being hired as a counselor next summer, arrived to replace her. “Listen, don’t say a word to anyone about Ralph. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“Okay,” Jan and Jill answered for the group.
Because she knew what Roarke would say once she asked him about the hamster, Sherry had yet to mention Ralph’s presence in their happy little cabin. To be honest, she hadn’t figured on doing so. However, having the entire cabin turned upside down in an effort to locate the Dr. Livingstone of the animal kingdom was another matter.
Dressing as quickly as possible, Sherry hopped around on one foot in an effort to tie her shoelace, then switched legs and continued hopping across her pine floor.
“That’s working,” Diane cried, glancing in Sherry’s direction. “Keep doing it.”
“I see him. I see him. Ralph, come home. Ralph, come home,” Pamela begged, charging in the flannel nightgown over the cold floor.
A minute later, Sherry was out the door, leaving her charges to the mercy of one fickle-hearted hamster. By the time she reached the staff meeting, she was panting and breathless. Roarke had already opened the meeting, and when Sherry entered, he paused and waited for her to take a seat.
“I’m pleased you saw fit to join us, Miss White,” Roarke commented coolly.
“Sorry. I overslept,” she mumbled as she claimed the last available chair in the front row. Rich color blossomed in her already flushed cheeks, reminding her once again why she’d come to dislike Jeff Roarke. The man went out of his way to cause her embarrassment—he actually seemed to thrive on it.
Roarke read the list of activities for the day, listing possible educational ventures for each cabin’s nightly get-togethers. Then, by turn, he had the counselors tell the others how they’d chosen to close another camping day.