This story is dedicated to every woman who bears the burden
of a dark secret from her past
Part I – History
Chapter 1
About two hours from home, I stretched in the leather seat. I could see that my wife was reading a book. In the back seat, my young daughter was watching her DVD—or maybe she was sleeping. Her head was down so I couldn't be sure. As I drove, I recognized the town names on the highway signs. Many years ago, during the summers while I attended college, I had worked in this area.
One old billboard caught my eye. It had been painted on wood and obviously needed touching up a long time ago. Most of the words were still visible, though. I hadn't thought about that place in years. I wondered if it was still there. Looking at the weathered sign, I made a decision. I pulled into the right hand lane and signaled to exit. My wife looked up from her book when she felt the van slowing down.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing's wrong, dear. I just want to make a stop."
"Here? It's the middle of nowhere," she said, her tone confirming her words.
She looked around; I had to agree with her. The rice fields had given way to pine forests. There weren't even many towns.
"I used to work at a summer camp here back when I was in school," I started to explain. "We just passed the sign. I want to see if the old place is still there."
I was concentrating on remembering directions from the dim recesses of my brain so I didn't pay attention to the look on my wife's face.
"We have a long drive ahead of us," she complained.
"So it won't matter if we stop for a little while," I countered.
Whatever my wife came up with, I was committed. I was going to find the old place.
Unlike the interstate, we were now bumping along a two lane highway. It
looked
like the road to a summer camp. About the only things that broke the expanse of trees on either side of the road were cow pastures. We were in low rolling hills now, north of the delta that formed much of south Louisiana. I strained to remember the way. It was slowly coming back to me from more than twenty years in the past. Through the tiny town, across the bridge, and... I missed the turn. I saw the aged sign as I passed it. Hitting the brakes, I looked behind me. No traffic in either direction way out here so I just backed up the minivan at high speed. Then a left turn and over the bridge. More woods, over a few hills and it was just before the end of the road.
There wasn't even a sign anymore at the road. It must have been knocked down years ago. I recognized the clearing though, the old gravel parking lot. I remembered how dusty it would be on hot, dry Sunday afternoons.
There was a rusty bar chained across the road into the camp so I parked. I laughed to myself as I automatically parked neatly in what would have once been one of the spaces. It wasn't like there were going to be any cars parking next to me. By the look of things, there hadn't been cars parking here in years.
My daughter had put her DVD player down and was looking out the window. Wherever we were, it was a lot more interesting than the monotonous expanse along the interstate.
"Where are we, Daddy?" she asked excitedly.
"Camp Kisatchie," I said, the words almost catching in my throat. Camp Kisatchie, on the edge of the national forest.
My wife looked at me, uneasy now. I couldn't figure out why she wouldn't be interested to see a piece of my history.
"What do we do now?"
"We walk, Fran. It's not far."
"I think I'll stay here and read," she said in a noncommittal tone.
"Can I come with you, Daddy?" Laura asked from the backseat, a bundle of excited energy at the prospect of getting out for a little while.
"Sure, honey. Come see where Daddy used to work."
As I opened my door, I heard Fran sigh heavily. She put down her book and got out, sliding open the back door to help Laura get out.
I looked around. So much had changed. Things were overgrown, definitely not the carefully manicured grounds I remembered. Over the gate, a rusting arch still proclaimed the name. I walked around the gate and led the way.
At first, I didn't recognize things. It had been so long and everything looked so different now. Then, the road passed the old Quonset hut. The curved sheets of tin were no longer silver. Now they were more the color of rust, the window panes grimy with decades of filth.
"Is that where you slept?" Laura asked, her nose wrinkling as she spoke.
"No, dear. That is where the tractor slept," I explained. "It was a tool shed. Old Mr. Higgins kept his tools in there. He was the groundskeeper."
When I saw my daughter didn't understand the term, I explained, "He cut the grass."
Laura nodded in understanding.
"How far are we going to go?" Fran asked, trying to sound bored.
"Relax. Enjoy the outdoors," I said as we moved out from under the trees and into the opening. It took me a little while of looking around to get my bearings.
Then it hit me, like a cloth was lifted from my eyes. A wave of disjointed memories suddenly flooded my mind, making me dizzy as I tried to sort them out. The memories were of places, people, events—some happy and some sad. I wondered what had happened to people I had known... and loved.
That brick building was the dining hall. Farther to the right, through those trees, was the swimming pool. The health lodge would have been about halfway there. The flagpole was in the center of that clearing, where we assembled to recite the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. The bunkhouses must be—
"Daddy, where are the doors?"
Laura's question pulled me from my reminiscing. She was pointing to the dining hall. Well, the remains of the dining hall.
"They're gone now, dear. It was a long time ago that we ate there."
I took Laura by the hand and led her off to the dining hall, Fran bringing up the rear unhappily.
I walked towards the missing wall, feeling disoriented. The dining hall seemed smaller than I remembered. I felt a step up. Pushing leaves away with my foot, I could see the remains of an old tile floor. Of course! Part of the building had collapsed. What was still standing was just one end of the building.
I walked under the edge of the remaining roof, towards the fireplace and the engraved stone. I looked around, the strong memory giving me a feeling like vertigo for a moment. I was just about right here when I met
her
...
* * * * *
We filed into the dining hall, the warm summer air not yet feeling stuffy. It was time for the nine o'clock meeting and Bill was already at the front of the room. I looked around as I took my seat, recognizing old faces and nodding to them, looking at the new ones, noticing the new cute girls.
"Come on in and take a seat," Bill said with a smile, indicating empty benches to the obviously disoriented first year counselors. You could tell them by the slightly confused looks on their faces. This was all overwhelming the first time. Once everyone was seated, Bill began his usual speech.
"Welcome to Camp Kisatchie. We're looking forward to a great summer this year. We're booked up for the entire season again so we'll be busy into August." Pointing to Phil, he continued, "For those of you with us for the first time, see Phil later to get your assignments. Most of you will be assigned in groups of twos to a bunkhouse, except for the cook staff and the health lodge staff.
"We've already had a few mishaps. What's a summer at Camp Kisatchie without some disasters, right?" Laughter rippled through the room as the experienced counselors remembered past years. Bill always managed to pull things back together, though. His motto was always
We'll be alright.
"Alice, our staff nurse, will be a few days late. She was in an automobile accident on her way here." Murmurs arose. "She's okay, but it will take a day or two to get her car drivable. So nobody gets hurt until she gets here, agreed?"
"Two of our more experienced counselors won't be joining us. Helen is, uh..." Bill paused to consider the best way to phrase her condition.
"Knocked up!" one of the guys who knew Helen supplied.
Bill's face showed his shock at the outburst. Then, remembering there were no kids present, he smiled. "I was going to say, 'In the family way,' but that about covers it. Also, Theresa called to say she's attending summer school this year. That means we have two new counselors who will have to handle a bunkhouse by themselves. Please, everyone, give them a hand," Bill said as he pointed to a blonde and a brunette sitting together at one end of the room. Then, to the two women, "I need to talk with you after the meeting."
He went on about how the camp was laid out and how it was run. He reminded us about being big brothers and sisters to the campers. He warned us about not smoking in front of the campers, not drinking while camp was in session, not forming romantic relationships with the campers, the usual warnings. He explained how the campers arrive on Sunday afternoon and leave on Friday. Our free time is Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. The usual stuff. I had heard it all two times before. My mind wandered as I looked over the new staff members. I paid enough attention to hear that nothing had changed which would affect me.
After two hours of talking, Bill was dismissing us to move into our accommodations and check out where we'd be working. I stood up and headed for a door as I noticed someone from the cook staff corralling him with a clipboard. They were having a heated discussion.
"Tim, wait a minute, please," Bill said, stopping my exit.
I looked to him, seeing him already exasperated. Not a good sign with summer camp only underway for two hours.
"I have a problem with the food deliveries that I have to attend to. Can you talk to the new female counselors? The standard lecture about the younger girls?"
I groaned. That was Alice's job, or his if she wasn't available, one no one wanted to deal with. I could tell from the look on his face that whatever he had to deal with was even less pleasant. Once again, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, being one of the more experienced counselors. I really didn't want to do this, but I liked to help Bill when I could.
"Sure, Bill. I'll do it. Where are they?"
His job was the hardest—he managed the camp. He got paid more, but the headaches surely couldn't make the extra money worth it.
"Thanks. I'll owe you. They're at the far table," he said, pointing to the last table near the fireplace.
A fireplace here. How ridiculous. It dated back to the early days of the camp, when there was a winter camp as well. As I headed over to the table, I saw one bright spot. They were the cute blonde and brunette I had been admiring earlier, both looking about twenty. College students, like me, out to make a little extra money over the summer, probably.
"Hi, I'm Tim," I said with a smile as I sat down on the wooden bench next to the brunette.
The blonde laughed. Seeing my confused expression, she pointed to my shirt. "We already know your name. It's on your shirt.
Counselor Tim
."
"Oh, yeah. The nametags." I saw that the brunette's name was Patrice, the blonde's was Abby.
"Bill normally talks to the new counselors but he had to take care of a problem. He asked me to do it." I couldn't believe I was going to do this.
"I thought he already covered all that," Patrice said.
"There are a few other things he wants to explain, and they only concern you—or rather your campers. You're both assigned to bunkhouse 3G, right?"
