  Judy’s days seemed to speed on wings. Since she had joined the camp staff, she was given a wider scope for her talents as Lynne recognized her interest in stories and her flair for translating them into dramatic episodes. All camp activities now centered upon the coming exhibition for Parents’ Day. Old sketches were reworked. A new one, its selection and production left in Judy’s hands, was now in rehearsal. Examples of the varied arts and crafts ornamented the walls of the shed. Judy made a lively poster of a boy and girl dripping rainbow-hued paint from their attenuated fingers pointing to the words, “See What We Made.” The repertory of songs and dances was played endlessly on the wheezing victrola and rehearsed with zest. Allen came as frequently as possible to coach his diminutive baseball team and then stayed to hammer away, improvising props and sets. It was work but lots of fun, and the children were eager to stay an extra hour to perfect their show. Yet there was hardly a day that Judy didn’t see Karl. After the children were driven to their homes, the camp bus dropped her at the Swiss Shop. The hour, sometimes two, spent with Karl cemented what was now a close, a tender friendship. They recommended their favorite reading to each other and exchanged books. Sometimes they argued about world affairs, about which neither was too well informed; or religion, a subject that Judy suddenly discovered as being important. Karl knew someone in the Israeli Symphony Orchestra and there was much talk and speculation about that little country. Judy found Karl’s ardor and interest in Israel contagious, and the remembered discussions in her grandparents’ home took on new meaning. Judy was happy, unspeakably happy, until for four days her well-timed visits to the Swiss Shop had been fruitless! Karl was nowhere in evidence. She was surprised and hurt, but too proud to mention anything to Lynne. Like the heroines in her literary world, she put aside her personal grief and rehearsed her little troupe with fanatical zeal. The words frequently heard in her home, “The show must go on,” were frequently in her thoughts. At last everything was in readiness. Figures of wire dangled in the breeze over the entrance and the puppets sat on the shelves ready for their part in the show. Behind a screen were the props for Billy the Goat. The set for Peter and Wendy was hauled out of the shed. There were only twenty campers, but all twenty were eager to shine. It was a perfect day. The parents and guests arrived at ten in the morning and would stay through lunch. They sat on the hard, backless benches in the hot sun of the compound and watched the program with enthralled interest. When it was over, the applause was terrific. Lunch time was a mad scramble. The children rushed to extract their individual lunches from the heap of lunch boxes, all singularly alike. Drinks and ice cream had to be taken from the coolers and benches carried up the hillock to the grove of aspen trees. Everyone, or nearly everyone, helped. Mrs. Freiborg, assisting Lynne and Judy to carry one of the benches, never ceased to express her enthusiasm. “And,” she continued as they awkwardly struggled up the path, “I can’t thank you enough, Lynne, for all you’ve done for Anne.” Lynne gave a pleased smile and Mrs. Freiborg went on. “I don’t say that Anne was the most wonderful Wendy, but that she consented to play the role at all surprised me. It was always Peter she fancied and yet she played Wendy with such feeling.” “Let’s drop the bench right here,” Lynne said. “I’m too tired to carry it any further.” She sat on it and motioned the others to do the same. “Don’t thank me for Anne’s performance. Judy is the little wizard who deserves our thanks. I helped occasionally with the direction. Allen and the farmer who owns this property built Wendy’s house out of some discarded plywood. Luckily it didn’t fall apart as it did at one of the rehearsals. But Judy selected the sketch, cast the players, and produced it.” Mrs. Freiborg smiled, “Judy?” “Yes,” Lynne answered. “She had the idea that Anne would rid herself of the concept of not wanting to grow up by having her take the part of Wendy, a mother image. A sense of responsibility, a maturity would develop—gradually.” “Lynne,” Judy interrupted, bewildered by these high-flown words, “you know I didn’t figure it out that way! I just thought it would do Anne good to look after someone else, like the Lost Boys—and after the first try-out, I saw she could do it.” “And your instinct or whatever you choose to call it was correct.” Lynne put her arm around her young assistant. Yes, it was a small triumph for Anne and for Judy as well. Mr. Lurie strutted about the camp accepting compliments, he who was so modest about his own work. And Mrs. Lurie, still sitting in the hot sun, smiled with pride whenever she caught her daughter’s eye. Judy was grateful her mother had come. She knew it entailed her giving up an important rehearsal that morning and that she would have to make it up that afternoon and again in the evening. Her debut with the entire Festival Orchestra was only five days off. It was from Lynne and Allen that Judy learned how much depended on this performance. Success might lead to an engagement at the City Center Opera Company of New York! As Judy mopped her own moist face, she thought more than once that her mother ought to get out of that sun. At last the picnic, the games, the excitement were over! The parents took the children home. Allen was busy burning rubbish while Lynne and Judy were methodically taking down the exhibits. Judy was thankful the tension of the last few days was behind her. Now she would have the leisure to think. Why hadn’t she heard from Karl in five days? Had she said anything? Absent-mindedly she fingered a puppet and threw it into the rubbish heap. “What are you doing?” Lynne asked sharply. “Those puppets are not to be thrown out! The children expect to take them home.” She glanced at Judy’s troubled face, then said with her usual gentleness, “Why are you scowling? I thought you’d be happy. Everyone praised you—” “It’s nothing, Lynne. I guess it’s the heat.” “But it’s much cooler now.” Lynne’s eyes twinkled. She thought of one subject certain to chase the gloom from Judy’s face. “By the way,” she said with affected nonchalance, “guess who I met this morning at the post office. Karl!” Judy perked up perceptibly. “I asked him where he’d been keeping himself, that I hadn’t set eyes on him for a week.” “What did he say?” Judy mumbled almost inaudibly. “That he’s been busy, frightfully busy. Imagine, he’s entered a competition, written an original piece based on some theme—he was rather vague about it. But he’s been working on it every spare moment and expects to play it himself. He had to get an accompanist—your father’s idea. Isn’t it exciting?” “Yes, it is. It’s wonderful! Did you say something about an accompanist? Who is he, Lynne?” “It’s a she, a very nice girl, one of the students,” Lynne said brightly, too preoccupied with the cleaning up to notice the deep flush that suddenly appeared on Judy’s face. Lynne went on, “He put up a notice on the bulletin board and got an immediate response. The girl volunteered her services and isn’t charging Karl anything.” “Really?” Judy said, immediately suspicious. “Yes. You see it works both ways. She’s anxious to perfect herself as an accompanist and is interested in helping Karl at the same time.” Judy emitted a long, skeptical “Hmmmm.” Interested in Karl, not in helping him, she thought to herself as she tried to shake off her mounting anguish. She tormented the wire figure in her hand. “What’s she like?” Judy asked in a tone elaborately casual. “I really don’t know much about her, but I gather from what Karl said that she’s an older girl, that is, older than he is. He seems very pleased about her.” Judy gloomily digested this piece of information while lost in thought. Karl had made no effort to tell her the great news—no. He had a new confidant now, had no need for her. Only her grandfather, voicing Hamlet’s foreboding of evil, would understand. “O my prophetic soul” now found a sympathetic echo in Judy’s heart. Lynne looked up and eyed Judy keenly. “Why are you looking so tragic? I know what’s the trouble,” she said affectionately. “You’re just overtired. Let’s drop everything and go to the pool. It’ll be cool and refreshing and we can finish up tomorrow. What do you say?” “I don’t know. I ought to go home.” “Help me pull this last box of stuff into the shed. There, that’s fine. Allen, don’t burn anything more. We want to leave as soon as possible.” After everything was carefully stowed away, Lynne walked to the log fence. “Let’s sit up here until Allen’s ready.” Judy climbed up next to Lynne. “On Saturday,” Lynne said, “we have a beautiful, free day, no concert, no rehearsal, no camp. For a long time Allen and I have planned to visit Toklat. You’ve heard of the huskies, the wonderful Alaskan dogs that live there, trained and bred by Stuart Mace.” Judy nodded. “I think you’ll love seeing them. Allen’s crazy about dogs and he’s been dying to go there ever since we came to Aspen. And not a stone’s throw from Toklat is a real ghost town, the kind you’ve been babbling about. Ashcroft, once larger than Aspen, is still deserted after seventy years.” “You mean the silver-mining town?” Judy asked, interested in spite of herself. Karl’s faithlessness receded for the moment. Lynne nodded. “The same. And maybe we’ll top off the day with a ride up the Chairlift.” “You mean—you want me to go along?” “Of course.” Pleased at having roused Judy from her lethargy, Lynne said, “I’m glad you like the idea. It’ll be fun having you with us, almost like having my sister Jane. I miss my family. I haven’t seen them in a year. So you see how much I need you!” Is Lynne saying that just to cheer me? “Saturday? I’d love to go. It’s wonderful of you to ask me.” After a pause she sighed, “How I wish Karl could come too—” “Well, maybe he can—but Saturday is a very busy time at the Swiss Shop—but I can ask him.” “He’ll probably have other things to do besides the Swiss Shop.” Lynne looked at Judy, understanding the girl’s troubled spirit. “Karl or no Karl, we’re going to have a good time! Now, what about that swim in the pool?” “No. I’ll go home. Mother’s rehearsing this afternoon and again tonight. She’ll be tired. I want to help with dinner.” As they bumped along the stony road that separated the camp from Aspen, Judy was silent. She thought of the sad things she would have to communicate to her diary. Her happiness was forever gone! Her lips twisted into what was intended to be a cynical smile. A broken heart? As a potential writer she was critical of the phrase. No, not broken, but damaged, certainly. Karl had deserted her for another! |
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