  Mrs. Lurie mounted the sagging steps of their villa, which she cheerfully if a bit resignedly called her Victorian relic. Elated that she had managed to finish her classes and her teaching ahead of schedule, she was particularly pleased with herself at having resisted the temptation to rehearse her aria. “No,” she had said with a faint tinge of regret. “I have a date with my daughter. We’re going to the Pool. She’s been looking forward to it for weeks. Tomorrow, perhaps?” The front door of the house was unlatched as was the trusting custom of all dwellers in Aspen. “Judy!” she called. There was no answer. Even the piano was silent, the warm sunny day having apparently won the battle between the students’ struggle, duty versus pleasure. Mrs. Lurie was annoyed at not finding Judy at home, but she knew she herself was to blame. In the argument over the camp this morning, she had overlooked telling Judy she would try to be home early. It was only two-thirty. There was ample time, she reflected. She would, in the meanwhile, get ready: put on her yellow sunback cotton, long reserved for this occasion, her yellow and gold sandals. She lightly brushed her brown hair, yellow where the sun had bleached it. She was grateful that nature had provided her with hair that fell in soft, natural waves. Mrs. Lurie was far from vain, but she was pleased at her image reflected in the mirror. Another trip to the sidewalk and still no sign of Judy! Mrs. Lurie re-entered the house, laid out Judy’s shorts and sleeveless blouse. This was a slight risk she felt impelled to take. Her daughter had for years made a fetish of selecting her own things and rebelled at any infringement of her rights. Mrs. Lurie had encouraged her to do this. But time and again she wished Judy’s taste wasn’t so lurid. That skirt, for example, she wore this morning—not even shortened. Mrs. Lurie glanced at the clock and concluded this was no time to think about such matters. The car that was to fetch them to the Pool would arrive in ten minutes. She made her third trip to the sidewalk, scanning the street as if by sheer wishing she could conjure up Judy into appearing. At last! There she was, dawdling along at a snail’s pace, walking with an abstracted air as if in another world. As soon as Judy was within hailing distance, her mother called in a voice that would have roused a Valkyrie from her mountain fastness. “Hurry, Judy! You’re late!” Judy looked around, startled at the familiar voice, then seeing her mother, she quickened her steps to a run. There was no thought or remembrance of a visit to the Pool. Her mother was home. She would tell her about Karl. The need to talk was overpowering. “Mother, I want to tell you something exciting!” Mrs. Lurie tried not to show her annoyance. “Judy,” she interrupted. “I made such an effort to get home early. Mrs. Freiborg and her daughter will be here in less than ten minutes. Go in and wash up quickly. I’ve laid out your things on the bed. Brush your hair. We can’t keep them waiting.” But Judy wasn’t listening. Her face was still glowing as she followed her mother into the house. “I’ve got to tell you something quite wonderful that happened. I met the nicest boy—” “Boy?” Mrs. Lurie turned to her daughter. “What boy? Where?” There was a perceptible note of sharpness in her voice. “We ate our lunch together at the Chairlift. He’s a music student and studies the violin.” “That’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Lurie interrupted, giving Judy an indulgent smile. The boy, thank goodness, wasn’t some nondescript. A music student had an open sesame to Mrs. Lurie’s regard. “But now, hurry, dear,” she said brightly. “You’ll tell me all about him later.” “Later, always later,” Judy grumbled to herself, her high spirits dashed for the moment. “You know, it only takes me a few minutes to change.” “And,” Mrs. Lurie added, following her own train of thought, “please don’t wear that skirt again until I’ve taken inches off the hem. It’s bad enough without trailing your ankles.” Mrs. Lurie gave a noncommittal grunt as she packed bathing suits and caps into a zippered bag. Judy put on the shorts and blouse without any audible objection and stood near the mirror. “In this sort of thing you’ll have to admit, Mother, everyone looks alike. But a skirt like my plaid gives one a certain air—personality!” Her mother shrugged her shoulders. She knew it was useless to argue, but she couldn’t resist saying, “I think you’re more appropriately dressed as you are now, for a warm summer day. As for that skirt which you chose against my better judgment, all I can say is that it rivals the crazy quilt on your grandmother’s Colonial bed.” An impatient honk of the horn ended the argument as Judy and her mother hurried to the walk just as the dusty blue sedan pulled up in front of the door. Judy sat in the back seat next to a pale, freckled-faced girl with straight honey-colored hair. Her large hazel eyes were continuously fastened on her mother. “This is Anne,” Mrs. Lurie smiled at both girls. “I know you’re going to like each other.” Mrs. Freiborg, a slight, distinguished-looking woman whose manner reflected the importance her husband had achieved in the music world, also turned and said affably, “I’m glad, Judy, you and Anne will get acquainted at last.” Immediately both mothers were engaged in an animated conversation and promptly forgot the existence of their daughters. The girls sat in strained silence. Judy wondered why her mother was so sure she would like this girl. With an effort she broke the silence. “I’ve never been in the pool as yet, have you?” “Yes,” Anne said in a flat voice, reluctantly shifting her eyes from her mother’s back to Judy’s face. “I take swimming lessons.” “I’ve been swimming for ages,” Judy said with a slightly superior air, “but I would love to learn how to dive.” “I used to be so scared of the water,” Anne confided, “but I’m not anymore. Mother says lots of girls are afraid—” “Did she? I guess I belong to the foolhardy type. You still scared?” “No. I find it easy in the pool. I wonder why it’s so different from the lake where I just used to sink.” “If the pool’s salt water, that would explain it.” “What difference would that make, being salty or not?” Anne asked with a puzzled look. “Because in salt water, you’re buoyant, that is light. If you ever tried swimming in the ocean, you would immediately see the difference.” Anne shook her head still uncomprehending. Judy tried to remember the explanation in her science book. “You—er—that is, the body displaces less water when it’s salty. You sort of float, being so much lighter.” She tried to elucidate her point more clearly. Science, she knew, wasn’t her strong point. Then she dismissed the subject with a shrug. There was no further conversation, scientific or otherwise, and the girls seemed unfeignedly delighted to part company at the parking area. As they walked toward the hotel, Mrs. Freiborg discovered several acquaintances. She stopped with each, just to say a word, but the minutes lengthened and added to Judy’s impatience. “Mother, must we wait for them? Can’t we go ahead?” Mrs. Lurie unexpectedly agreed and tactfully informed Mrs. Freiborg they would meet later. Entering the hotel with her mother, Judy felt considerably more at ease than on her previous visit. The sunny terrace dotted with tables and gay umbrellas was a lovelier sight too than she remembered. To her surprise everyone seemed to know her mother. Their progress toward the pavilion was a sort of slow triumphal procession. “Come back and sit with us—” “We’ve saved room for you at our table.” Again and again they were stopped and Judy introduced. There followed the kindly inquiries, “And how do you like Aspen, Judy?” And as usual, before the girl could think of a reply, the talk drifted into other channels. At last they reached the pavilion. Dressed in their bathing suits, they stepped gingerly on the wet, slippery stones of the pool. Instead of the longed-for plunge into the water, Mrs. Lurie suggested they first get a good sunburn. “Besides,” she added mysteriously, “someone’s coming here especially to meet you.” Judy slumped down on the thick carpet of grass near her mother’s table. She gazed at the water, enchanted by the azure color that was achieved, as she learned later, by the paint on the bottom of the pool. At an adjoining table, two women were playing Scrabble with fierce concentration, but their absorption in the game didn’t prevent their cross-table conversation with numerous friends. “How did you like the concert, Minna? I admit there’s no one who can conduct the way Izler Solomon does—” Judy was left with her own thoughts. She barely noticed her mother leave her seat to meet a young girl coming toward her. But she looked up sharply when she heard her say, “Lynne, I’m so glad you were able to make it. I almost gave up!” So that was Lynne! Judy watched as they stood talking. She’s pretty, and very young looking, Judy admitted grudgingly. Yes, for once, her parents were right. She was beautiful! Judy admired the slender, graceful figure in the black skin-tight bathing suit. She noticed the coal-black hair and how Lynne wore it in a chignon low on her neck. Judy saw her mother nodding in her direction. “They’re talking about me. Mother’s probably telling her all my shortcomings and my latest—that I don’t like the idea of going to a camp—that is, her camp. Probably asking her to give me a talking to.” Just as Judy feared, her mother returned to her table and Lynne came directly to where Judy sat scowling. “Hello!” said Lynne, sitting down next to her on the grass. “I’m Lynne and you’re Judy, the girl who doesn’t want to go to my camp. Is that right?” she asked with a delightfully disarming smile. Judy found her anger dissolving at Lynne’s unexpected warmth. “I don’t especially care about a day camp,” Judy said lamely. “Why? Did you ever go to one?” “No,” Judy said, surprised at Lynne’s directness. “But I’ve friends who went and were bored.” Judy knew she would have to defend her opinion if she was to escape. “I feel as they do,” she went on. “I like to paint when I feel like painting, swim or read or do any activity when I’m in the mood, not just at certain set periods.” “I see,” Lynne said, with just a suspicion of a smile on her lips. “You’re afraid of regimentation. But don’t you find that unless one plans to do a certain thing at a definite period, one never gets around to it at all?” “I do,” Judy said, but even as she spoke, she was conscious of the many things she never managed to get around to doing. “Of course, I’d feel very differently about going to a sleep-away camp,” Judy went on with more confidence. “Sometimes you go on canoe trips and long, exciting hikes, mountain climbs and spending nights in a hut, preparing your own meals—things you can’t possibly do by yourself.” “That’s true,” Lynne agreed, “but no one could recommend such a program for very young children. Those are the ones we try to reach. They can live at home with their parents and yet for part of each day have companionship of other children and do interesting things.” “A lecture instead of a swim,” Judy groaned inwardly and yet she couldn’t help being interested in spite of herself. “You see,” Lynne went on, “children of professional people, musicians especially, frequently have long separations from their parents—tours, long or short, recitals, rehearsals at all sorts of inconvenient times. They miss their mothers and fathers. And I find that it’s just as important for the parents who want their children with them when it’s at all possible. Here at Aspen our camp serves such a purpose.” “Yes,” Judy said. “I guess it’s wonderful for young children, but I don’t fit into that picture. I’ve always had my grandparents in such emergencies and when I don’t, I manage all right by myself.” Her eyes wandered to the pool. Lynne touched her shoulder. “Let’s get our swim now. We can finish talking later.” Lynne gave a few deft twists to hair, tucked it under her cap and went swiftly to the diving board. Judy watched as she ascended the high board. There was a splash as her body, taut and graceful, hit the water. A few seconds later, Lynne coming up from her dive called to Judy to follow. Judy shook her head. “I can’t dive.” “Then fall in or use the ladder.” Obediently Judy went to the ladder, holding the rail firmly as she descended the slippery steps. With her back to the pool, she braced herself for the shock of cold water as she cautiously reached for the last rung. Wildly trying to grasp the receding rail, she fell in, hitting the back of her head with a resounding smack. With a few strokes she came to the surface only to find Lynne laughing. “That’s what you call a perfect take-off. How’s the head?” “The head’s all right, but the water! It’s warm! It’s like swimming in a bathtub.” Judy grimaced with keen disappointment. Her eyes were burning and her nose was itching. “And it’s full of chlorine,” she added indignantly. “You’ll get used to the chlorine and the temperature is divine. We ordinary folks love it. Come on, you polar bear, I’ll race you to the end of the pool.” They enjoyed the swimming, but Judy soon tired. “I can’t understand it, Lynne,” she said, breathing like a whale, “I usually can swim a half-hour without feeling it. Now after only ten minutes, I’m pooped.” “So am I,” Lynne said cheerfully. “It’s the altitude in Aspen that makes breathing difficult, especially swimming or mountain climbing. I’m gradually getting used to it, and so will you. Let’s go out. I have a big bath towel and we can stretch out on the grass and dry in the sun.” “Hi, Lynne!” A man was walking toward them accompanied by Mrs. Lurie, Mrs. Freiborg, and Anne. “Lynne, aren’t you coming in for another swim?” “I’ll join you later, Allen. Judy and I want to rest for a while. “Allen’s my husband. Don’t you think he’s handsome? And he’s wonderful!” Lynne’s eyes sparkled. “Don’t think I’m prejudiced. Everyone loves him.” Judy’s eyes followed the tall, powerful, dark-skinned figure. “He must be very strong,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “And sweet and considerate and talented! Don’t get me started on the subject of Allen!” However, she went right on. “He helps me at the camp too. Twice a week when rehearsals are over early, he comes over and plays baseball with the little ones. They adore him! Can you imagine those tots hitting the ball with a bat bigger than they are and racing for bases? It’s a riot!” The sun, even as the afternoon was drawing to a close, was still warm and glowing. Lynne turned on her side, her face close to Judy’s. “Let’s go back to what we were talking about. No day camp can hope to offer the things you speak of, Judy. Our children are young—” “That’s my real objection, Lynne. I met Anne today. She’s supposed to be one of the older campers. Maybe she’s eleven or twelve, but she seems so much younger—” “Yes, I’m surprised you noticed it. Anne’s shy besides being a little immature in some ways. With some children the process of growing up takes longer,” Lynne said thoughtfully. “I won’t go into all the reasons for it, but in Anne’s case, she’s finding herself. She’s very talented in singing and acting. Our little camp has done a lot for her already. She’s going to come through fine.” “Lynne,” Judy said hesitantly, “I hope you won’t mind my being awfully frank with you. I really can’t see myself as a camper with such youngsters. Now if I could help in some way—I get along with children—” “What did you say?” Lynne interrupted excitedly. “You’ve given me a terrific idea! I think it was taking shape inside me all afternoon while we was talking.” She stared at Judy appraisingly. “You could become my helper! You’re intelligent and for fifteen—” “Nearly sixteen,” Judy interrupted. “So much the better,” Lynne smiled happily, “I don’t expect you to understand these children and their problems. That isn’t necessary.” Lynne paused, expecting Judy to say something. But the girl was so surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation that she wasn’t sure she had understood Lynne correctly. “As a matter of fact,” Lynne went on, completely captured by her idea, “I’ve been trying to get someone to replace Claire. She has to return home next week. You’ll be perfect. Claire has been responsible for songs and stories, arts and crafts for the younger ones. Your mother told me you’re rather good at that sort of thing. What a blessing for me! Arts and crafts—that’s where you could fit in. What do you say, Judy?” “I love to paint and make things, but I couldn’t teach anyone, honestly, I couldn’t.” “There’s no need to teach,” Lynne said reassuringly. “The children create. We only direct them how to use their tools. If you come while Claire is still with us, you could watch how she makes things out of wire and puppets out of papier-mÂchÉ. And in the meantime you will get to know the children. I have a feeling you’ll do well.” Judy was overwhelmed and a little frightened. Yet, she was already seeing herself telling Karl about this new, this fantastic thing, a job! “You’ve never seen my camp?” Lynne asked. Judy shook her head, still immersed in an imaginary conversation with Karl. Lynne took no notice of Judy’s abstraction and lovingly described the camp site, an immense corral that belonged to a farmer who leased it to her for the summer. “There are cows and a few horses who graze at a comfortable distance. The children love the animals.” Judy was now listening, hanging on every word. “There are two ponds with ducks and every morning there is a regular ceremony of feeding them with chunks of bread donated by the local bakery. On the sandy beach of the pond the children have their sings, which they grandly call concerts. When the singing is over, Claire tells them a story and encourages them to act it out.” “That must be fun,” Judy said. “Twice a week I take a group of the children riding. They love the stables and the horses and the ride over the dirt road into the open country. While I’m away, Claire is in charge.” “How long are you gone from camp?” Judy asked worriedly. The words “in charge” had serious overtones. “Just a little over an hour. There’s a shed with tables and benches that we use as an art room, and a hayloft houses our much overworked phonograph and the costumes for our playlets.” “It sounds like a very busy morning,” Judy said, a little dubious of her ability to carry on such a varied program. “Not really,” Lynne said. “At twelve-thirty we are all ravenously hungry and we spend the lunch period in our grove of aspen trees. It’s a cool and restful spot, a lovely end to our morning. At one o’clock we drive the children back to their homes.” “It sounds wonderful,” Judy said breathlessly. “I think I would like to try it.” “Good. Let’s start tomorrow. And, Judy,” Lynne said with that dazzling smile Judy loved, “I don’t expect to exploit my young helper. While I can’t pay you a salary, your mother will not have to pay any tuition for you—or she can pay and you receive it back as a bonus. That’s the arrangement we have with Claire, except that she lived with us and was able to take advantage of music events—and dates! Judy, you’ll get good experience as a junior councilor-in-training. Do you like the idea?” “I think it’s absolutely terrific. I never dreamed of anything like that. I can hardly wait to tell Karl.” Lynne looked a little bewildered. “Karl? Who’s he?” “He’s a boy I met, a music student. He believes that everyone, I mean boys and girls, should help the family earn money.” “Oh? And at what tender age does he suggest one starts?” Before Judy could answer, the swimmers returned, dripping pools of water around them and demanding that Lynne and Judy join them for a last swim. Lynne got up and addressed the little circle, calling them by name, “Allen, Mrs. Lurie, Mrs. Freiborg, Anne, I have an announcement to make. I want to present a new member of the Festival Day Camp staff, Judy, our new junior councilor.” There was a faint gasp from Mrs. Lurie. Then everyone applauded and went joyfully to the pool for that last dip. |
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