Chapter 12 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Introduction and Climax
A DAY AWAY FROM WALDEN
On a Friday in late July, we loaded up the pickup for a trip away from "Walden." It was Brenda who had begun calling it that, though I, despite having taught Thoreau in an American Authors class several times in the past, refused to totally accept the moniker. I've always thought old Henry David a bit too folksy. That stuff about "you can tell a lot about a man by the way he stacks his firewood" is just too ... cute, I guess. And anyway, our lake is nothing at all like the "pond" in the books (or the actual Walden lake today, for that matter). Anyway, there was no denying Brenda her image, so I didn't really argue the point.
It took awhile to get the boat trailer hooked up, and when I pulled it around to the front of the house, the girls were ready with the various boxes we'd need for our little camping adventure abroad. Maxine bounded all around barking frantically and seemingly getting in everyone's way at once. We'd done this twice before this year, and she knew what was coming.
Dee was forced to do less of the manual labor, and was really beginning to look like a woman six months along. Both girls wore shorts, but Dee had begun wearing stretch shorts and maternity tops more than a month before, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was seriously knocked up. Being unable to lift heavy items was having a detrimental impact on her "chief cook and bottle-washer" place in the family, but she knew it was only for a few more months. Actually, she seemed to have a glow about her. She made a very pretty pregnant lady.
We finally hit the road by late morning, and we pulled into a National Park campground (courtesy of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers) about noon. I decided to pitch the tent later, after I'd done a couple hours fishing, but I set up lounge chairs for the girls and unloaded several boxes for them. I packed a small cooler with sandwiches, beer and dog treats, and Maxine and I left them in the shade of a giant oak. The fishing was good, but we'd already decided on burgers for dinner, so I released the several bass I caught (much to Maxine's dismay). I decided to pull the boat back out of the lake because there was no room in the marina, and I drove back to our camp site in the late afternoon.
As I pulled in, I caught sight of the girls talking to an older woman. They'd dragged our three lounge chairs to the opposite side of the huge oak tree since the sun had shifted the shade away from the table. Dee and Brenda were facing me, and all I could see at first was the back of the other woman's head. Her hair was pure snow white, and she seemed to hold the girl's attention to such a degree that at first, they didn't even see me pull up. They were all laughing at some joke. There was something about the woman's hair that held my attention. It was long. Older women usually don't wear their hair long. Then I saw the woman's legs beyond her, stretched out toward the girls on the lounge chair. Long, muscular legs. Nice legs. VERY nice legs. Something wasn't quite ... right; and as the girls finally saw me and waved, before the woman turned around toward me, I thought I knew the answer.
She was an albino. And she was not an old woman at all. In fact, she was a very young woman. Very young. And she was, without reservation or exaggeration, the most exotically beautiful girl I have ever set eyes on.
She stood to meet me, smiling, and I was instantly enthralled. Not tall, about five-two; very slender; legs, as they say, that went all the way to the ground. Hips that seemed to denote power (a runner?), and small breasts with nipples that were very prominent below her blouse, which was tied below her chest to reveal a flat, tantalizing stomach. Her skin, though the pale pink-cream color caused by her condition, was smooth and without blemish. The skin of a young, vital girl in the prime of life. Her eyes were slanted very slightly, and held a secret of the orient, though that trait was obviously buried far back in the roots of her family tree, and they were the deep, pure, pale blue of a clear summer sky; once again the characteristic impact of albinism. Her hair was like Brenda's; long, heavy, straight and thick, but while Brenda's was absolute black, this girl's was the purest white. White, thin, slanting eyebrows and lashes only tended to heighten the oriental look, but the full lips made me think there was, despite the straight hair, a trace of African blood in her veins as well.
I was instantly hard. And more to the point, I was instantly tongue-tied. Despite living with two very nice-looking women, I have always been (and probably always will be) extremely shy around beautiful girls. Still, I didn't seem to have the capacity to look away, and this "Venus Rising" rapidly became self conscious, blushed, and cast nervous eyes downward under my gaze. Fortunately, Maxine saved the moment by bounding up to the new girl, jumping on the lounge chair, and nuzzling and licking her frantically. With a new diversion, the girl gladly turned her attention to the dog, petting and cooing to her, while the girls introduced the little beast.
But then she was forced to give me her attention again while Brenda introduced me. "Freddy, this is Willie. She's camping in a trailer several campsites down the road."
Each of her movements was graceful, and petting the dog took on a sensual note in my mind. Now she extended her hand to me, and even that seemed somehow sinuous. We shook hands.
"Wilhelmina," I guessed.
She laughed, and it sounded like crystal bells; happy, open. Her teeth were perfect. "Frederick," she guessed (correctly) in turn, bowing slightly. "I've been hearing so much about you." It was a pleasant derivation of a British accent, with slight overemphasis of short vowel sounds. Exotic, just like she was. Ah, I thought, not a runner ... a swimmer.
"Barbados?" I asked.
She opened her mouth in astonished mirth, blessing me with a grin that I somehow found slightly pornographic. "Very good, Frederick," she said. "I lived not too far from there. Actually, I'm from a very, very small island between Kingstown and St. Gorges." She continued smiling, but blushed again and lowered her blue eyes.
"Fred, you're staring," Dee admonished.
"He's not staring; he's leering," Brenda said. I glared at her, but she was ignoring me, and she placed a friendly hand on Willie's shoulder. "Don't take it personally; it's just what men do."
"It's okay," Willie said quietly, her eyes still downcast. "I'm used to it. I know I look ... different."
"The truth of the matter is," I said rather too forcefully, trying to steer quickly away from this topic, "I WAS leering; but only because you are a remarkably beautiful girl. Please accept my heartfelt apology and deepest contrition. It won't happen again."
"Wanna bet?" Brenda said, grinning tauntingly at me. I gave her another glare and she laughed.
I was making a very conscious effort NOT to stare, and just for something to do, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a map of the campground. I handed it to Willie. "Where are you camping?"
She took the paper uncertainly. She suddenly looked very nervous. "Um ... I'm not too good with maps, I'm afraid."
