Jane and Shelley settled in to watch others who were coming in. A dozen or so people who seemed to be acquainted passed through to the dining room. Jane supposed they were local people who had decided to make a little mini vacation by staying overnight before the next day's activities. Several young people, presumably students, headed for the kitchen, and one professorial-looking older gentleman arrived with a slide projector, screen, and briefcase. Edna Titus came down the stairs behind the front desk and greeted him.
“Who's that?" Shelley asked.
“Benson's mother. I had a chat and a smoke with her out here last night.”
Edna approached them and was introduced. "You haven't seen my sweater, have you, Jane?"
“I have. Where? Oh, on one of the rockers on the porch.”
Edna went off to fetch her sweater, and Jane and Shelley went into the dining room. Their idea of a
“light lunch" was an apple and a piece of cheese. Benson's was a selection of four different kinds of sandwiches, three soups, an assortment of chips, dips, nuts, cheeses, soft drinks, coffee, fancy tea bags, another platter of melon — in balls this time instead of slices — and two salads.
“I'm going to go home weighing four hundred pounds," Shelley said. "I'll have to wrap up in a tent because my clothes won't fit."
“Nonsense. We're burning off every single calorie just by walking around in the cold," Jane said. "Now, dig in.”
Jane felt so stupefied by lunch that she couldn't face a lecture. If she were to sit quietly, she knew it would be only moments before she was sound asleep and snoring repulsively.
“I know I should be taking my responsibilities more seriously," she told Shelley, "but I'm going to go take a nap.”
Shelley flapped a hand dismissively. "Go ahead. We don't actually need to know about the wildlife in order to make an intelligent recommendation on sending the kids here. Unless, of course, they're going to tell us about something huge and vicious that eats teenagers."
“If so, ask if they're for sale," Jane said.
As Jane sluggishly made her way back to their cabin, she realized it was misting and there, was a faint, faraway rumble of thunder. A perfect afternoon for a nap. She made a quick E-mail run on the computer, picking up a delightfully personal note from Mel, a plea from her daughter, Katie, that Jane authorize Grandma to advance funds for a shopping trip — funds Jane would reimburse, of course — and a note from her son Mike asking her opinion of his joining the college band, which would require the purchase of a tux.
She replied to all of the notes briefly.
“Me, too," to Mel.
“No," to Katie.
And "Let me think about it," to Mike.
She sent the notes off, removed her shoes, and snuggled into bed for a nice, cozy snooze.
When Jane woke, she thought she'd overslept and it was night. But it was merely overcast and had apparently rained quite hard while she was napping. Not nice for a camp-out. She was still stumbling around trying to get her bearings when Shelley came in wearing an oversized khaki poncho with a hood.
“Ah, the tent wardrobe already!" Jane said.
“If it isn't Sleeping Beauty," Shelley exclaimed. "And I'll have you know I haven't eaten a bite since lunch." She bent way over and let the poncho slide off over her head. "I brought you one of these, too. They're really toasty. Flannel-lined and everything. Benson loaned us a bunch."
“What can you possibly imagine I'd need it for?" Jane asked.
“Why, to wear to the campfire dinner, of course."
“Shelley, you're kidding! What do I look like? Admiral Byrd? Noah? An idiot? It's cold and rainy out there."
“No, it's not so bad. The rain's stopped and it's actually a little warmer now than it was earlier. It'll be fun."
“Compared to what? Having our fingernails ripped out?"
“What a poop you're being," Shelley said. "A poop, I say! Come on. You'll see I'm right. If you really, really hate it, you can come back here and starve. This is dinner we're talking about, Jane."
“You mean we don't get to eat unless we go sit in the rain?"
“First, it's not really raining—”
Jane gestured at the glass doors. "Shelley, that silvery wet stuff falling out there is rain."
“No, it's just the residue of rain dripping off the leaves," Shelley said sweetly.
“Oh, of course. That makes a huge difference."
“And secondly, you can stay here and eat if you want. I think there are some of those neon orange crackers with peanut butter in my car. At least, they were there last summer. They might be a little smashed, but they'll taste the same as ever. And I'm pretty sure there's some room-temperature ginger ale somewhere in my luggage. What a feast!"
“How do you get into these tent garments?" Jane asked with a sigh.
Seven
Once she had donned the long underwear, extra socks, and the lined poncho, Jane had to admit — not out loud to Shelley, of course — that she was quite comfortable. And the rain had stopped, though there were still flashes of lightning in the western sky and occasional low murmurs of thunder. As she and Shelley headed up the road to the campsite, they could see Liz and Al Flowers's tall forms ahead of them and could hear John and Eileen Clay-pool's loud voices behind them.
The campsite had been transformed. Instead of a bland, green area with a circle of rocks, it was full of people and color. There was a large, rather spread-out, glowing fire inside the ring of rocks, which had burned down to orange embers. Various cooking gadgets surrounded it.
There was a table set up for food preparation to one side of the campfire and a canopy-style tent covering a long table and benches on the other side. Benson was too busy to do much more than call out greetings as they gathered. His mother, his wife, and two young men were acting as helpers. Bob Rycraft must have been the first arrival and was getting in everyone's way. Jane could imagine Bob taking his enthusiasm home and digging a fire pit in his backyard. In his khaki poncho, he looked even more like a sleek, contented lion curiously exploring.
Jane was feeling enthusiastic herself. The smell was divine: a mix of pines, woodsmoke, rain, and food. Better than any perfume.
Jane and Shelley joined Al Flowers at the table. Liz, naturally, had gone to the preparation table and was no doubt driving poor Benson mad with questions. The table was laid with a flowered tablecloth with matching napkins, and while their plates were heavy plastic, the silverware was real. "What a transformation!" Shelley said to Al.
He rumbled amiable agreement.
Eileen and John Claypool joined them. Eileen was so bundled up under her poncho that she waddled. She had on one boot, and on the other foot, a fuzzy pink house slipper with a plastic bag tied around it. "Does this place ever smell great!" she said. "What are those metal boxes around the fire?"
“Reflector ovens," Al said. "There's a cake in one of them." His sparkling white grin against his dark face and the dark background of pines made Jane think of the Cheshire cat.
She turned a little so she could catch some light from the fire on her watch. It was only six o'clock, but it could have been midnight — or four in the morning. If you were out here without a clock and knew nothing of stars, how would you tell what time it was? she wondered. To a city person, the complete darkness was eerie. At home, dark meant no sun, but streetlights, car headlights, and the perpetual glow of Chicago filling the southern sky. Here, on a cloudy night, darkness was complete and primitive and overwhelming. It was both peaceful and frightening — a combination she wouldn't have believed could exist at the same time.
Sam and Marge Claypool were the last to arrive. They were clad in matching blue raincoats with hoods. Sam looked embarrassed, perhaps at being dressed like his wife, and they both looked cold and forlorn. Marge was a bundle of nerves. She immediately joined the group at the table and sat so she was facing the woods, rather than having them at her back. Sam went and stood by the fire with his thin, long-fingered hands outstretched to it.
“I don't think that woman looks well," Eileen said in a surprisingly quiet voice to Jane.
“What woman?"
“Mrs. Titus. The younger one. Benson's wife.”