Secrets at Camp Nokomis. Jacqueline Dembar GreeneЧитать онлайн книгу.
and pulled out her camp clothes.
The red-haired camper glared at her. “Hey, you’re in the wrong tent. Beaver is for eleven-year-olds.” She put her hands on her hips. “Sure an’ you look like you belong with the Turtles!” The other girls chuckled, a bit nervously. Christina didn’t reply but started to leave the tent, holding her clothes.
“Wait, where are you going?” Rebecca asked.
“The privy,” Christina answered quietly. She clumped down the steps, her hand sliding down the railing.
While the girls changed and put away their city clothes, Virginia checked each bed, helping to smooth and tighten covers and demonstrating the technique. Rebecca glanced up when Christina returned wearing long, baggy bloomers that reached well below her knees. Her stockings sagged against her thin legs. She was so small, Rebecca reflected, that all her clothes were probably too long for her.
Virginia called the girls together. “Let’s get acquainted. We’ll become friends a lot quicker once we learn each other’s names.”
The red-haired camper started off. “I’m Mary Margaret Bridget McBride,” she announced. Christina was next and gave her name timidly.
“Christina?” Mary Margaret Bridget repeated. “We’ll call you Teeny Tina!” Christina opened her mouth in a wide O, as if to protest, and then clamped it shut without a word.
“Nicknames are fine,” Virginia said, “but everyone should be pleased with what she’s called. Perhaps Christina wouldn’t mind if we shortened her name to Tina.”
All eyes turned to the girl, and she nodded faintly. The girls completed their introductions, and Rebecca tried to remember each name.
“You know,” said Virginia, “the animal names for each tent are taken from the names of real Indian clans. The people in a clan were just like family, even if they weren’t related.” She smiled warmly at the girls. “Your tent mates in Beaver will be like a family, too.”
Rebecca was delighted. This was exactly what she had hoped for—new friends who would be as close to her as sisters.
Mary Margaret Bridget tossed her curly red hair. “Let’s all have similar nicknames to make Beavers special.” She thought a moment. “I’ve got it. We’ll pick names with matching endings!”
“Oh, that would be cute,” another camper agreed.
Mary Margaret Bridget pointed to each girl in turn, dishing out nicknames lickety-split, as confidently as she had assigned each girl to a bunk. “Rebecca, you’re Beckie,” she announced, and Rebecca nodded. Her family often called her Beckie. Mary Margaret Bridget kept going. “Sonia, you can be called Sunny. Camilla, you’re Cammie. Josephine—Josie! Roberta, you’re a bit harder. How about Bertie? And Dorothea, you can be Dottie.” She laughed and added, “Just don’t act dotty!”
Rebecca was amazed that Mary Margaret Bridget had remembered every girl’s name. She noticed that she had skipped Tina, though. Rebecca glanced at the redhead’s mischievous green eyes and could tell that she wasn’t going to stop calling Christina “Teeny,” at least when Virginia wasn’t around.
“What about you?” Bertie asked. “Are you just Mary?”
“She can’t be just Mary,” said Cammie. “She’s a Beaver, so she needs a nickname that matches ours.”
“How’d you get so many names, anyway?” Sunny asked.
“My mother says I’m named for a long line of sainted women from County Cork.” Mary Margaret Bridget tilted her chin up proudly. “Just don’t you dare call me Red, like they did last year!”
“How about Rusty?” Josie suggested.
The girl made a sour face. “That’s just as bad.”
“I’ve got it,” Rebecca said. “Since your names all come from County Cork, we’ll call you Corky.”
The girl’s green eyes sparkled and she smiled at Rebecca. Then she turned to Virginia. “As for you, how about if we call you Ginny?”
The counselor laughed. “Why not? That’s what my brothers call me.”
Rebecca thought Corky had picked nifty nicknames. Everything at camp was relaxed, and now their names were, too.
“I’m going to let you get settled,” Ginny said, “and check back in a little while.” She pointed to a tent near the main lodge. “I share that tent with a few other counselors, so you can find me there if you need me.”
As soon as Ginny was out of earshot, Corky sidled up to Tina and said, “See? You have to be called Teeny or your name won’t fit in with the rest of the Beavers.” Tina frowned and turned away.
If we’re to become fast friends, thought Rebecca, this isn’t a very good way to start.
2
Windigos in the Woods
Rebecca finished her last mouthful of fried chicken and stared at her empty plate. “I can’t believe how hungry I was,” she said.
“You weren’t alone. I’ve never seen so much food disappear so quickly,” Ginny marveled.
The dining room was just through a door off the covered porch on the main building. Inside, a long table served as a buffet, and on the back wall there was a massive stone fireplace. Maybe they would roast marshmallows there!
Noisy chatter filled the hall until the camp director clinked his spoon against a glass. The room fell silent. “Welcome to Camp Nokomis,” said the slightly built man, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. The spectacles magnified the director’s eyes, and with his large ears, Rebecca thought he resembled a rabbit. All he needed were whiskers.
“I’m Mr. DeAngelis,” he said, “but you may call me Mr. Dee. There are just a few people you haven’t already met. First, our camp nurse, Miss Jane.” A plump, gray-haired woman stood and gave a friendly wave to the girls.
The campers at the Loon table clapped their hands in rhythm and chanted, “Nurse Jane, Nurse Jane, she will take away your pain!” Other tables picked up the chant until Mr. Dee tapped his glass once again with an insistent tinkling.
“Our waterfront director, Roger.”
Again the Loon girls started up a refrain. “Roger, Roger, loves the Dodgers.” A strapping young man stood up and pretended to swing a bat, and then put his hand above his eyes as if watching a ball hit out of sight. The girls cheered. “Home run!” they yelled.
“Just wait till you hear Roger’s campfire stories,” Ginny whispered. “They’ll make your hair stand on end!” A ripple of excitement spread around the table.
“And now, the most important person here,” said Mr. Dee, “our cook, Miss Pepper.”
A short, reed-thin woman, no taller than Rebecca, stepped through the swinging kitchen door. She put up her hand for silence as the campers applauded. “I shall be preparing nutritious food each day and you may eat your fill. However, I don’t want anything wasted, so I expect clean plates. You’ll all return home healthier than when you arrived.” She paused and surveyed the campers before her. “You’ll be assigned chores to help clear the tables and keep the dining hall tidy. I have just one rule that is never to be broken—no campers in the dining hall between meals. No excuses!” Miss Pepper then turned on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen. The door flapped open and closed behind her.
Mr. Dee cleared his throat. “Miss Pepper is going to prepare the best meals you’ve ever eaten, so let’s all keep her happy.” Rebecca thought that sounded like the toughest chore of all.
The girls cleared their plates, scraped the garbage into a metal pail, and slid the dishes into metal pans filled with hot soapy water. They wiped the tables clean and swept the floor.
The