“Lacey, don’t get on Chelsea’s case,” Katie said. “If she wants to go after Eric, let her.”
“Be my guest,” Lacey said.
Chelsea looked crestfallen. “He practically ignores me. I have to start the conversation if I even want to have him speak to me.”
“Don’t give up,” Katie said with a kind smile. “Sooner or later he’ll realize what a terrific person you are.”
Chelsea looked out the window pensively. “Well, it had better be sooner. We’re running out of time. Only three more weeks left of camp.”
THIRTEEN
Morgan paced in front of the stalls. Maybe she wasn’t coming. He wanted Meg to show up more than he’d let on the afternoon of the tug-of-war. He hadn’t wanted to sound too pleased when she’d agreed, but maybe he hadn’t sounded pleased enough. Maybe he’d been too casual and she thought it didn’t matter to him either way. Maybe the idea of discussing poetry with him had turned her off. Maybe—
A horse whinnied, and he looked up to see Meg strolling through the woods toward the stables. He felt tremendous relief.
“Sorry, I’m late,” she said with a smile. “But I had to get my girls settled in at Chelsea’s cabin. They were real wiggleworms tonight.”
“No problem. I was just checking on the horses and getting them bedded down.”
She reached up and scratched the roan mare’s muzzle. “And to think I was scared of these horses when I first got here. Why, they’re as gentle as puppies.”
Morgan laughed. “They can be stubborn, but they’re a good bunch. Come on. I’ve fixed up a place for us in the tack room.”
He was nervous. What if Meg thought he was overdoing things?
As they walked to the tack room, Meg wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. She couldn’t have felt more agitated. Being in the same place as Morgan made her heart beat faster and her hands tremble. “I’m walking slowly because my legs are killing me,” she told him. “And my back too. All that pulling was more physical exertion than I’m used to.”
“I have some salve you can borrow,” he said. “When I do the rodeo circuit and get thrown by broncos, I get so sore I can hardly move. The salve really helps.”
They entered the tack room, and Meg caught her breath. He’d worked hard to fix it up. A small table stood in the center of the room, and he’d borrowed a checked tablecloth from the kitchen. Two candles were burning, and a vase of wildflowers sat between them. The air smelled of old leather and saddle soap but also held a hint of jasmine.
“Very nice,” Meg murmured.
Morgan hoped she was sincere. In the warm glow of the candles and the lone lamp hung on the wall, he thought she looked soft and pretty. And she smelled wonderful, of fresh soap and wild grass mingled with gardenias.
Meg sat in one of the chairs. Morgan fetched the salve and gave it to her. “Use it for a couple of days after a good hot shower. Your muscles will feel better. Promise.”
“Thanks,” she said, tucking the can into her pocket. He sat across from her, and she fingered the book of poetry on the table. She wasn’t sure how to begin.
“You got clean, I see,” Morgan said with a little laugh.
“It took three hot showers and half a bottle of shampoo.”
“Well, you look terrific.”
She blushed, cleared her throat, and asked, “Do you have a favorite poet?”
“I keep coming back to Emily Dickinson. There’s something special about her stuff. Some of it’s sad, but really honest.”
Meg opened the book to Dickinson’s section. “I know what you mean. Take this one: ‘Because I could not stop for Death,/He kindly stopped for me—’ ”
“Don’t!” Morgan blurted out.
Startled, she looked up to see a look of pure pain on his face. “Wh—What’s wrong?”
“Not that poem.” He shoved his chair back and stood. “It has … memories for me.”
Meg’s heart hammered. Why had she started with that one? “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It was Anne’s favorite.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Meg felt a terrible letdown. He was substituting her for this Anne. It was Anne he wanted to be with this evening.
“She … She was somebody I cared for a lot. But she died.”
“Oh, no, Morgan. I’m so sorry.”
“She was special to me.” His words were halting, as if he was having trouble getting them out. “I was able to spend the last weeks of her life with her, and I read poetry to her sometimes. She was in a lot of pain, you see, and the poetry soothed her. That poem was a special one to her.”
Tears welled in Meg’s eyes, for Morgan’s loss, for her own loss of Donovan. “I—I had a friend who died too,” she said. “He needed a liver transplant, but they couldn’t find a donor for him in time. My father was his surgeon. Daddy did everything he could, but nothing could save Donovan.”
The intensity of the painful memories shocked her. Meg had thought all that was behind her and that time had dulled her hurt, but it had returned as sharp as a sword to pierce her with new pain.
Morgan crouched in front of her, feeling like a jerk. Why had he poured out his guts about Anne? He’d only reminded Meg of someone she’d lost. A boyfriend? Morgan couldn’t guess. “Looks like we both know something about losing,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories for you.”
“They’re good memories too,” she said, dipping her head so that he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes. “Donovan wanted so much to live. He got cheated.”
“Anne wanted to live too. She fought hard. Harder than any wild horse I’ve ever known. I like to think that death didn’t come to take her, but, like the poem says, she went out to his coach and got in of her own free will.”
Meg nodded in understanding. “I’m glad I came to help at this camp. Whenever I look at the kids, I see regular kids who want to have fun.”
“You’re giving them that. You should be proud.”
“You are too,” she said. “It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?—help others out. Donovan is still helping. He made sure there was a special house for families to stay in so they could be with their sick children. Did Anne do anything special like that?”
Morgan was drawn up short. Anne had given him money for his genetic test for Huntington’s chorea, but he couldn’t tell Meg about that. He stood, pulled Meg to her feet, and turned her face upward so that he could look down into her eyes. “This evening didn’t turn out like I planned,” he said. “I’ve made you sad, and for that I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He had subtly shifted the subject. She knew he was through talking about Anne. And himself.
“I think we should call it quits tonight. I’m not in the mood to read any more poetry.”
She felt rebuffed, as if he’d walked to the edge of a special place with her, then retreated. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be with her. “All right. Maybe some other time.”
She told herself to walk away, but she couldn’t.
“Come here,” he said, and gently tugged her against him.
Meg began to cry then, soft, muffled sobs. She wept, her face buried in his chest, soaking the soft fabric of his shirt with her tears. She wept for all the kids at the camp, for Morgan and for herself, for Donovan, and for Anne too. She wept for those whose lives were no more; for the lost potential of youth, dreams, and plans; and for the deaths that medical science, with all its tests, chemicals, and machines, could not postpone.
“Pssst, Meg, wake up!”
Meg struggled out of a sound sleep to open her eyes and saw Lacey leaning over her bed in the dark. “Wh—What’s wrong?”
“Serenade time,” Lacey said.
Meg glanced out her window and saw that it was still pitch dark. “Are you kidding? What time is it?”
“Four A.M. Hurry up.” Lacey sounded impatient. “Katie and Chelsea are waiting outside.”
Meg threw off her covers and fumbled
to get dressed. Regular wake-up time was seven, and she hadn’t slept well once she’d turned off the lights the night before. She’d kept thinking about Morgan, his Anne, and Donovan.
The girls slipped outside. Katie was there, holding a flashlight, and Chelsea stood beside her with another flashlight and two portable CD players. “Is this a smart thing to do?” Meg asked.
“Look,” Lacey told her, “nothing was ever said about the time we had to serenade them. I’m just taking some creative liberty with our bargain.”
They crept through the woods to the boys’ two cabins and placed a CD player under each counselor’s window.
“What music have you picked out?” Katie asked.
“John Philip Sousa marching music,” Lacey whispered. “I went through Mr. Holloway’s collection. He really has some old-time stuff, but it’s perfect for what we need right now.”
Chelsea flipped on her flashlight. “I’ll turn on the one under Kevin’s window. Just flash me a signal so we can do it in unison.”
“Once I flash, count to three, then push the Play button. The CDs are all cued and ready.”
Meg giggled. Eric slept in the same room as Kevin, so he’d get blasted awake too. This would fix the three amigos.
Chelsea stole away and moments later flicked her flashlight. Lacey flashed Katie’s light in return.
“One, two, three,” Lacey whispered. Then she pushed the Play button and a blare of marching music shattered the stillness.
From inside Josh’s room they heard bumps, thuds, shouts, and yelping.
“Good morning!” Lacey yelled.
Josh staggered to his window, rubbing the top of his head.
“Run for it!” Katie shouted. And, grabbing up the CD players, the girls raced toward the safety of their cabins, laughing every step of the way.
FOURTEEN
At breakfast the whole camp was talking about the girls’ prank. Josh and his buddies were grumpy, but the kids thought it had been a good trick. “Serenades are over,” Katie announced to the entire assembly. “And don’t ever tell us we can’t make music,” she said to Josh and his friends.
The hall applauded, and Katie and her three friends gave each other high fives.
In the afternoon Meg took her girls to their trail riding activity. The afternoon was hot and sticky. Once the ride was over and they had returned to the barn and dismounted, Morgan pulled her aside. “Can you talk a minute?”
“Sure.” Just being close to him made her mouth go dry. She sent the girls to the cabin, promising to follow in a few minutes.
When they were alone, Morgan said, “You know what? I’d like to start over with you.”
“How so?”
“I made you cry last night, and that’s not what I wanted to do.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t make me cry. It just happened. That’s the problem with memories. Sometimes they sneak up on you when you least expect it. I miss Donovan, but I can’t bring him back. Knowing him, spending time with him, was good for me. It helped me understand that not everybody has a wonderful, happy life. He helped me see that doing something good and worthwhile in spite of your own problems can make your life count for a whole lot more. It made me want to help others.”
Morgan grinned. “I guess that’s why I like you, Meg. You see beyond the end of your own nose. A lot of girls don’t.”
Because she knew that Morgan didn’t pass out compliments lightly, a single one from him was worth a hundred from Eric. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“How’d you like to go on a moonlight trail ride with me tonight?”
“I’d like it very much.”
“Then meet me at the barn about eight and we’ll go.”
She agreed without hesitation and started toward the cabins. She’d ask Lacey to watch her girls tonight. And this time she’d tell Lacey why—because she had a date with Morgan. No use keeping secrets now. Actually, she wanted to shout it out at the top of her lungs. She decided to tell all her friends that night when they were together at supper.
Meg bounded into Lacey’s cabin and found Lacey writing; her girls were doing crafts in the rec center. “I owe Jeff a long letter,” Lacey said. “He’s really good about writing, and I haven’t been.”
Meg asked Lacey her favor and Lacey agreed, but when Meg turned to leave, Lacey stopped her.
“As long as we’re alone,” she said, “there is something I want to talk to you about.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“Sit down.” Lacey pulled up a chair next to her bed and offered it to Meg. She looked apprehensive, which wasn’t at all like her.
“Is something wrong?” Meg asked.
“I think that’s my question to you.”
“What do you mean?”
Lacey paced, then sat on the bed across from Meg. “Listen, I’m not trying to meddle in your business, but we’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are.”
Lacey took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to think I’m out of line in talking to you about this subject. It—It’s just that I’m concerned about you.”
“About me? Why?”
“I—um—can’t help noticing that you’ve lost a lot of weight since the day camp started. Well, maybe not a lot,” Lacey corrected herself, “but you’re thinner than you were.”
Except for her friend Alana, back home, Meg had not discussed her weight with anyone. How could a tall, slim, pretty girl like Lacey ever appreciate the frustration of a weight problem? “Yeah, I guess I have lost some weight. And frankly, I’m pleased about it. I’ve sort of struggled with being overweight most of my life. It’s nice to be thinner.”
“Um—are you doing anything to help it along?”
By now Meg was thoroughly confused. What was Lacey trying to ask her, anyway? “I’m not sure I get your drift, Lacey.”
Lacey’s brow knitted. “Listen, diabetes can cause weight problems too. I used to be heavier.”
“You were overweight?” Meg couldn’t believe it.
“I thought I was overweight. I got carried away and, well … I tried bulimia to fix it.”
Meg let Lacey’s confession sink in. “You forced yourself to throw up?” She’d known a girl at college who was bulimic, and she’d thought it was gross.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Lacey said, “except that I really messed up my diabetic control and ended up in the hospital.”
“I didn’t know.”
Lacey shrugged. “It was a really dumb thing to do, and I don’t recommend it to anybody.”
Meg sat staring at Lacey, realizing she should say something. Then, slowly, the light of revelation broke through. “Are you asking me if I’m bulimic?”
“I’m not being nosey,” Lacey said hastily. “It’s just that you’re my friend, and friends need to look out for friends.”
Meg would have laughed if the subject hadn’t been so serious. And she knew that it probably hadn’t been easy for Lacey to admit such a thing to her. “I’m a doctor’s daughter, Lacey,” Meg said. “I know too much about certain things. And I know that bulimia isn’t a very smart way to control your weight.”
“So you’re not doing it?” Lacey was like a bulldog in her persistence.
“I’m not doing it,” Meg said.
Lacey looked so relieved, she sagged in her chair. “Good! I’d hate to see you messed up that way. Bulimia almost killed me.”
Meg couldn’t even feel insulted that Lacey had suspected her of such a thing. For a diabetic, bulimia would be a death warrant. “I know I’ve lost weight since I’ve been here.” Meg chose her words carefully. “But I’m sure it’s because I’ve been so physically active. I mean, there’s no time to sit around snacking like I do at home or at school. I’m practically busy around the clock. And way too tired to eat. But I’m glad I’m losing weight. It’s not easy to always feel like the chubby one, or to have to buy clothes a couple of sizes bigger than my friends do.”
“Been there, done that,” Lacey said. “But when I tightened up on my diet, it was easier to keep the weight off. And you’re right, this place does keep you busy.”
“The trick is keeping the weight off once I get back to college. I study a lot, and that sometimes leads to nonstop eating,” Meg admitted.
“Maybe you should get out more.”
“What? And let my grades slide?” Meg feigned horror, and Lacey laughed.
“So, you’re not mad at me for poking my nose into your private life?”
Meg shook her head. “I understand where you’re coming from.”
Lacey leaned over and gave Meg a quick hug. “Good. Then we won’t talk about it again.” She stood up, glancing at her watch. “Got to run.”
She had a look in her eye that Meg had come to recognize as scheming.
“What are you up to, Lacey Duval?”
“Moi?” Lacey pointed to herself innocently, then said, “Don’t you remember? It’s my turn to make Josh’s bed.”
“And?”
Lacey flashed an impish grin. “And I’m off to short-sheet him.”
Chelsea was late in coming to supper that night, so Meg kept her news about her date with Morgan to herself. Where was that girl, anyway? Meg was so eager to share her news that she thought she’d explode.
She half listened to Katie and Lacey talking together. Golden sunlight spilled through the windows. Soon the long shadows of evening would stretch out, and later the moon would rise and she would go to the barn to meet Morgan. And this time there would be no sad talk. There would be just the two of them together in the moonlight. Her pulse raced at the thought of it.
Meg heard a commotion outside the door, and through the screen she saw Chelsea running fast. Chelsea burst through the door with a bang, saw the three of them, and ran over.
She skidded to a stop and grabbed the back of a chair. Her face was the color of paste. She cried, “Katie, come quick! Josh has had a terrible riding accident and he’s been taken to the hospital!”