rated *
To Last a Lifetime
by Jill (franollie)
She hated summer camp. It was hot, sticky and dirty. The only good part was the horseback riding. Thank goodness this was the last day. Madeleine Hart lifted her hair off the back of her neck. She blew air out of her mouth and her bangs rose off her forehead. She was miserable. Her mother and father always commented on how lucky she was to be a camper at Camp Tamaqua and how many friends she would make.
“Friendships,” her father would begin.
“And connections,” her mother would add.
Her father would roll his eyes and finish his thought, “To last a lifetime.”
Madeleine never made friends. The other girls were loud and rude and cliquish. Madeleine spent most of her days in the infirmary, anyway. She was dreadfully allergic to poison ivy, bees and grass, and, the nurse often tried to joke with her, fresh air.
Madeleine watched all the girls who were swimming in the lake. She wished she could swim, but she couldn’t overcome her fear of the deep, dark water, which was probably filled with snakes and germs and other disgusting things. Pools scared her, too. All the chlorine made her eyes burn and turned her hair green. If she had a daughter, Madeleine was going to make sure that she learned how to swim. “How did they do it?” she wondered. Jumping off the raft and splashing looked like so much fun! She sighed as she watched a girl, one she didn’t recognize–probably one of the scholarship campers—execute a flawless dive and slice through the water without a ripple. The blonde girl surfaced laughing, triumphantly holding a nickel up for the others to see. They all applauded. It was amazing that a scholarship camper had so much approval. Usually those girls were shunned. Oh well. It was too hot to care about social standings and niceties. Glancing at her watch, Madeleine realized that there were only three hours left until closing ceremonies. She should get ready.
Madeleine always made sure she sat in the last row for the ceremony. Usually her cabin mates forgot all about her during the presentations and skits, and she was able to simply sit. Her full pink skirt and white blouse had been pressed by the camp’s laundry staff, and she had spent an hour doing her hair. It fell straight to her shoulders, with the bangs held smoothly back from her forehead by a pink plaid headband. She adjusted the band with gloved fingers. She looked perfect, and she knew it. Too bad there was no one to care. She received a letter from her parents saying they were invited to an impromptu garden party on Cobbett’s Island, and they would send a driver to take her home this evening: They knew she loved closing ceremony. Right, she thought sarcastically.
The dining hall was hot and loud. The boys from across the lake where adding their volume to the chaos. The camp director stood and rapped a wooden stick against the mantel of the fireplace. “Past, present and future campers of Camp Tamaqua,” he intoned and pushed his glasses up his nose and slicked back his hair. “We begin our traditional ceremony. All our campers look forward to closing ceremony as a time to entertain and reminisce about our time together. We will end the evening, as always, with the wish stick ceremony, where each camper will speak their wish and place their stick in the fire. The flames will engulf the wish and send the wish to the sky.” There was a smattering of applause as the bench under Madeleine shifted, and she glanced over to see the blonde scholarship girl from the lake.
“Hey, Madeleine. Did I miss much?” The girl spoke in a low tone, “Or is Gopher-Guts being a windbag as usual?”
Madeleine looked straight ahead, surprised that this girl knew her name and also that she used such crude language (not that she didn’t agree). Madeleine stole a sidelong glance at the girl, expecting to see a mass of disorganization–the scholarship campers weren’t known for caring about their appearance. However, the girl was well-put together and neat. Her clothing was designer and fashionable. The light blue skirt was full and stopped just below the knee, her white socks and gloves were clean and her blue and white saddle shoes scuff less. An unwrinkled blue plaid blouse finished the ensemble. Her flawless complexion needed no makeup except a light gloss on her lips. The only tell-tale sign of her carefree attitude were the still damp curls drooping out of her ponytail.
Sighing, the girl whispered, “This is going to go on forever! I’ll just die if I have to listen to him!” She glanced at the back door of the dining hall, open to the humid summer night. “Come on.”
“What?”
“No one’ll miss us, and I sure don’t mind missing this.” She slid from the bench and moved silently into the dusk. No one’s attention wavered from the droning at the front of the room.
“For decades, parents have been sending children here to discover friendships and make connections for the future...”
Making up her mind, Madeleine scooted to the end of the wooden bench and before her made up mind could change, she followed the girl outside. Once out of the dining hall, Madeleine paused. Where did she go? A tap on her shoulder made her jump.
“I knew you’d come around. This way.”
Madeleine followed the girl down an overgrown path and shrank back. “I don’t dare go into the woods at night. If I run into poison ivy, I’ll break out, and it’s probably alive with snakes and...”
Her guide’s freckled nose wrinkled. “Don’t worry, we’re not staying long in the woods. We’re headed to the Meadow.” Reaching behind a low bush, she drew out a gym bag. Madeleine watched in amazement as a pair of denim pedal pushers replaced the skirt and the pair of saddle shoes changed places with white tennis shoes. “Want something?” she asked, holding out a spare pair of pants and shoes out to Madeleine.
Madeleine simply stared.
“They should fit you. They’re my sister’s.”
“Your sister?” Madeleine asked, confused.
“Yep. My sister, practically perfect in every way–Alicia Johnson,” the girl sing-songed.
Madeleine stammered, “But-but, she’s the head CIT! She’s...”
“Gopher-Guts’s favorite,” she replied, wrinkling her nose again.
“So you must be....”
“Helen Johnson. Nice to meet you. Are you going to change or not?” Helen thrust the pedal pushers into Madeleine’s hand. “Go on! Hurry up!” She gestured impatiently.
“You’re one of the New York Johnsons!”
“And you’re one of the Connecticut Harts. Now that we’ve established our states of residence, can you hurry?”
Stunned, Madeleine pulled the jeans on quickly under her skirt and handed her skirt, gloves, stockings and shoes over to Helen, who secreted them back in the bag, behind the bush. What was she doing? The pants felt weird.
“Finally! Let’s go!” Helen started walking.
Madeleine said, “I thought you were a scholarship camper!”
Laughing Helen replied, “I hang out with them because they aren’t as concerned with appearance or ‘social niceties.’ They just like to have a good time.” She laughed, “And it really tees off my sister and grandmother. She’s the one who pays for us to come here.”
Madeleine stood stock still on the path. “Oh my goodness. Your grandmother is Beatrix Johnson!”
Helen rolled her eyes. She was used to people feeling awe when it came to her grandmother. “Madeleine, hurry up,” she said emphatically. “We’re almost there.”
Madeleine looked around and realizing that Helen was leaving her behind in the creepy woods, scurried to catch up before any monsters got her. “Where are we going?”
“I told you, the Meadow.”
“We’re not allowed to go there unsupervised!” Madeleine gasped. “That’s part of–Oh my goodness, will there be BOYS?”
Helen tossed her ponytail and sniffed. “There better be! And they better be cute!
For the third time in as many minutes, Madeleine was flabbergasted. “Helen Johnson, that’s not proper!”
“Oh calm down, Madeleine. I’m just kidding. My boyfriend, Pete, is the program coordinator. He’s there right now, making sure that the final clean up crew is doing their job. Gopher-Guts knows that Pete hates closing ceremony, so he arranged for him to draw the short straw and lead the clean up crew.”
The woods thinned out and before them was the Meadow. Large teepees dotted the pasture and a bonfire burned off to one side. The sound of boys’ laughter and guitars floated across to the girls.
Madeleine paused, “Maybe we should go back, someone might miss us.”
Helen paused, too, “You can go back, but I’m not going with you. You’ll have to go through the woods by yourself.” Helen grinned to take the sting out of her words. “Come on, don’t be such a fraidy-cat. It’ll be fine.”
“What if,” Madeleine lowered her voice, “they’re drinking?”
“Pete wouldn’t allow it. Please? Come on.”
Madeleine sighed and slowly walked forward toward the circle of light around the bonfire.
“Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to join us.” A tall, good-looking boy with dark hair and eyes and the beginnings of a mustache stood up.
“Hi Pete!” Helen called. She leaned over to Madeleine and whispered, “Isn’t he a sheik?”
“Yes, he is,” Madeleine whispered back, “but not my type.”
Helen giggled, “Thank goodness. Maybe we’ll find your type among the other boys.”
Pete strode up to the girls and after planting a kiss on Helen’s cheek, held out his hand to Madeleine, “Pete Belden, program director, outdoorsman, all-around good guy and,” he sighed, “future banker of America.” He grimaced and added, “At least that’s what my dad says.”
Madeleine extended her slender hand, “Madeleine Hart, of the Connecticut Harts, daughter and future wife of some rich man. At least that’s what my mother says.”
The three worked their way to the bonfire. Several boys threw appreciative glances toward Madeleine, but after looking them over, she decided that they weren’t her type any more than Pete. She knew that when she met the man of her dreams, she’d know. How romantic could you get? She thought, and after looking surreptitiously for spiders, sat gingerly on the ground next to Helen in front of a log.
“Pete’s from a small town in New York,” Helen said.
“Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson,” supplied Pete.
“It sounds positively soporific,” joked Madeleine. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt with the two of them.
Pete sighed gustily. “It is! I can’t wait until this year is over. Then I’ll be graduated, and I’ll move to the city to make my fortune. Then after Helen graduates, we can get married and live in a penthouse.”
“Overlooking Central Park,” Helen added joyfully.
“Of course,” Pete began, “when Helen marries me, a poor country boy, she’ll be disowned immediately.”
Helen chortled. “I doubt it. I’ll simply tell my parents that I truly love you, and I want to marry you. They just want me to be happy.”
Madeleine was astounded. To “simply” tell parents anything was a thing Madeleine did not understand. Would her parents want her to be happy? Her father might, but his views were often overshadowed by the intense opinions of her mother.
She sighed and then coughed. The smoke from the campfire kept drifting toward her. “Are you ok, Madeleine?” Helen asked, concerned.
“I’m fine, thank you, Helen,” she replied. “It seems like the smoke is drifting right at me, though.”
A weasley-looking boy called from across the circle, “Yeah, well, they say that smoke always blows toward the prettiest girl near the fire.” Catcalls and whistles followed his pronouncement.
Madeleine cringed at the boy’s tone and shrank back against the log.
Helen stood up and placed her hands on her hips, chin thrust forward. “Lay off, blockheads. She’s not like the trash you hang out with!”
“You’re hanging out with us, Helen,” Weasel-boy retorted.
Now Pete stood. “Are you calling Helen trashy?”
Suddenly, silence sank across the meadow.
“Naw, Pete, naw. We were just joking,” he responded sullenly.
Pete continued to stare at him.
Weasel-boy hung his head. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“You’d better be,” Pete said sharply, “or you’ll be assigned to latrine duty after the campers leave.”
Pete and Helen sat again. “Don’t pay any attention to those loud-mouths,” Pete said comfortingly. “That group is the biggest bunch of trouble-makers we’ve got. I know the boss is sorry he hired them.”
Madeleine felt grateful for their assistance, but still wanted to change the subject. “Pete,” she asked, “how are you going to make your fortune?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll be a bigwig on Wall Street, but once I make that fortune, I’m leaving small town life behind!”
“Yes,” Helen agreed, “We’ll have air conditioning, and a dishwasher, and a cook, and...”
“NO KIDS,” they said together.
“Why not?” Madeleine questioned. “Kids are great!”
“No way,” Helen replied vehemently. “They’re loud and messy and don’t do anything to help out unless you make them.”
“Yeah,” Pete said forcefully. “All they do is eat!”
Madeleine was confused. How could someone not love children? She loved children. They were small and sweet and smelled like baby power. “I’d love to be a mother,” she said dreamily.
“Well, you can have them!” Helen retorted.
Peter laughed, “Now, Hel, you might change your mind one day. It would be nice to have a son to play football with.”
“Then you have them!” She laughed.
Madeleine looked at the two of them jealously. The couple was sitting comfortably together against the log. They were complete physical opposites: he was so dark and she was so light, but they made a perfect picture.
The smoke blew into her face again and her eyes started watering. She coughed again, delicately at first, then she began coughing so hard she could barely breathe.
“Are you okay?” Helen asked again.
Slowly, Madeleine recovered her breath. “I’m all right, I think. It’s just this smoke.”
“You know,” Pete said. “It’s getting pretty late. I’ll walk you girls back. You don’t want to miss the wish stick ceremony.”
“I do,” Helen began, but at a look from Pete she closed her mouth.
The trio walked rapidly back through the woods to the bush where Helen had stashed their clothing. With Pete there, the girls felt it would be prudent to get changed in the bath house, which was only a few steps away. In a matter of minutes, they were back in their more formal attire and headed back to the dining hall.
Madeleine was breathing hard from their brisk walk and the smoke residue in her lungs. Even though she was having trouble catching her breath, she was able to gasp when she saw the limousine parked in front of the dining hall. It was an understatement to say that the long vehicle looked odd against the dark backdrop of the forest. And what was that? Madeleine stumbled as she saw the driver going into the dining hall. He probably wouldn’t even let her say goodbye to Helen.
They snuck through the open back door and slid back onto the bench. It was stifling in the hall. The press of bodies increased the temperature and the humidity and not one finger of the slight breeze reached the campers and parents. The limo driver was standing rigidly against the wall, scanning the crowd with a disapproving look on his face. Madeleine swore that she saw his eyes, almost hidden behind his driver’s cap, flash at her sternly.
The wish stick ceremony began with the youngest campers. They brought up their sticks to the fireplace, where despite the heat, a fire roared. Their wishes were for simple things: ponies, more time to swim in the lake, to be friends forever. The older campers’ wishes were also for undying friendship, but also for true love. Madeleine’s head was swimming with the heat.
“What are you going to wish for?” Helen whispered. Her voice sounded very far away.
“I didn’t make a stick,” Madeleine murmured.
“No, but I brought one for you.”
Madeleine felt a small twig being pressed into her hand.
“It’s our turn,” Helen said.
Madeleine stood slowly. She swayed in place, steadied and stepped forward. The room swam and she sank to the floor.
She felt cool air on her face. She slowly opened her eyes. The greenest eyes she’d ever seen were looking down at her with concern. Her world spun, and she closed her eyes again.
“Are you all right, miss?” He asked.
“Madeleine, are you okay?”
She recognized Helen’s voice, opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. The young man, and he was young–and handsome–placed a strong arm behind her shoulders for support.
“I’m fine,” she replied weakly. Her eyes met the young man’s. “Do I know you?”
“No, Miss,” he said. “I’m your new driver. The name’s Matt. Matt Wheeler.”
The End
This is a story that’s been brewing in my head for almost a year now. I’m not sure if this is a one-shot deal, or if a whole universe will emerge from it. We shall see.
Many thanks to my intrepid editors: Amber, FairyGodMom (Patte), and Trish (Pbahr). They do so much for me!
Thanks also to Zap for hosting this site for the writers and readers of Trixie fanfic! You rock, Zap!
These character are the property of Random House. I’m borrowing them without permission, getting no money for writing this, and using them with utmost respect.