CHAPTER 7

I WAITED UNTIL EVERYONE WAS EATING AND then dashed back to my room for a shower. While helping serve breakfast, I’d come up with a solution that would pacify Miss Lavender Pants and her crew. The hot shower felt good until I stepped out into the cold room. So cold that steam rose off my hot body. Great! Just what I needed! Fog inside, too. I threw on fresh clothes and got back to the dining hall just as everyone was having their second cup of coffee.

I stood between the tables to make my announcement. “Even though most of the retreaters aren’t here, we’re going to have some workshop sessions after lunch.” At the word lunch Commander Blaine popped out of his seat.

“Don’t worry about lunch,” he said. “I’m setting up a do-it-yourself sandwich bar.” I waited until he sat down to continue.

“Dinah Lyons will be putting on a writing workshop, followed by a crochet class with Izabelle Landers. Since there are so few retreaters, I’m hoping all of you will support Dinah and Izabelle and come to both sessions.”

I was relieved when I got a round of affirmative nods. However, Bennett said not to count on his wife participating. As the meal broke up, Miss Lavender Pants went over to Commander Blaine to shower him with praise about breakfast and his plan for lunch. I had to laugh at Dinah. She kept trying to ignore Commander, but when Miss Lavender Pants explained that Edward, the lawyer, was her brother and made the point that she was unattached, the spark in Dinah’s eyes gave her away. She was interested, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

I headed over to the administration building to check on the fog news. The redheaded desk clerk had his head down on the counter. When I woke him, he said nothing had changed.

Commander Blaine came in behind me, carrying a large box. He put it down on the long table set up for our campers’ registration.

“Mind if I put these underneath?” he asked, pulling the boxes of folders to the edge of the table.

“It looks like no one is going to be coming until this fog lifts, so why not?” I said, wondering what he was doing. He had my boxes out of the way in a flash and flipped the lid off the box he’d brought. It took me a moment to figure out what was in it, and then I recognized rows of gift-size shopping bags. “What are those for?” I asked as he began to put them in rows on the table.

He took the rhinestone clipboard off the table where I’d put it and flipped to the schedule. “It’s the first activity I have planned. After the afternoon workshops, there’s a s’mores break.”

“Right,” I said, remembering his s’more discussion earlier. “But are you sure you want to do that with so few people here?”

“Yes. I think it’s even more important to do something special.” He took out a pile of long wire forks and stuck them in a metal container, then picked up one of the treat bags to show me its contents. There was a packet of marshmallows, four graham crackers, and four pieces of chocolate. “This is your basic everyday variety, but I have also made up gourmet versions.” He showed me the stickers on the fronts of the bags. He was a little over the top, insisting on listing the different fillings. Did I really need to know there was a choice of dark chocolate, white chocolate, plain milk chocolate, milk chocolate with peanut butter, chocolate with almonds, and chocolate with coconut?

“I thought I would put the things out now, so I could go to the workshops like you asked.” Commander Blaine didn’t say it, but by the way his eyes brightened, I imagined he was thinking about Dinah’s workshop in particular. I helped him set up the rest of the bags. There were far more bags than people, but he wanted to make sure everyone could have their choice. By the time we finished, it was noon. Commander rushed ahead to make the final arrangements for lunch while I looked for Dinah.

“All I can say is your fussy friend is a gem,” I said as Dinah and I walked into the dining hall.

“He’s not my friend,” Dinah protested, “though he deserves points for breakfast and lunch.”

The lights were on in the dining hall and something smelled good. Commander came out from the kitchen and said he’d set up the sandwich bar and hot soup.

Everyone seemed satisfied with lunch. Mason had brought me some tomato soup and a Swiss cheese sandwich, but I was too keyed up about the afternoon to eat.

I was glad I’d picked Dinah’s workshop to kick off with. Her years of teaching English to reluctant freshmen had made her a master at handling any kind of group. This crowd would be a snap. Right after lunch, I led the group to a small building that housed meeting rooms. A long table was at the front along with several rows of school chairs with table arms. From inside, the trees just a few feet away melted into the thick white. The bonus was that all the white reflected back into the room, making it seem brighter.

Dinah set down her supplies while everyone but Commander found a seat. He hung around the front, offering to help. She gave him a stack of small notebooks and pens to hand out. Dinah leaned against the front of the table and began to talk memoir writing.

I had never seen my friend in action, so I took a seat at the back of the room.

“Anything can get you started,” Dinah began. “I’m going to give you what may seem like a silly assignment, but when we read what you’ve written, you’ll see how your take on it is unique and shows who you are.” She paused to build up the suspense. “I want you to write about orange soda for ten minutes.” I heard a collective huh, and for a moment I wondered if she knew what she was doing. She seemed to expect the panicky stares, and told them just to put their pens on the paper and write anything that came to mind. She set a timer, and surprisingly, after a few moments everyone began to write. When the bell went off, Dinah told them to stop.

“Okay, let’s see what you wrote. Anyone want to start?” Miss Lavender Pants’s attorney brother raised his hand first. His piece had something to do with a client who claimed to have found a dead roach in a bottle of the bright soda.

“My client took the settlement they offered before we went to court. I know I would have won if she had just agreed to let me go to trial. Like everything else, I just didn’t get my fair chance.”

There was a smattering of applause as he sat down. Now I got what Dinah had said. Edward had certainly tipped his hand that he felt like a victim.

Izabelle volunteered next. Edward had just read his piece-she presented hers.

“Orange soda,” she said, making eye contact with members of the group. “Personally, I don’t like it. I think it looks like paint and tastes like carbonated candy.” Izabelle must have had very good recall of what she wrote as she glanced only occasionally at her paper as she spoke. No wonder she volunteered. She had said something about wanting as much opportunity as possible to be in front of a group before she went out on the road with her mystery craft presentations.

“I was going to say I never drink it, but then I remembered there was one time. My sister and I went to Tina Geyser’s birthday party. It was in her backyard, and so hot I could feel the sweat drip down my sides. Some of the kids turned on the sprinklers and started running through the spray. Mrs. Geyser came out and yelled at them. I always thought she looked like the evil queen in Snow White. She said unless we all sat down at the picnic table, we would have to go home without having cake.”

Izabelle made sure she still had everyone’s attention. Nobody could accuse her of having writer’s block.

“Tina’s mother brought out plastic glasses of soda on a hammered aluminum tray. There were two glasses of orange soda, and the rest were lemon-lime. My sister got all upset when Mrs. Geyser started at the other end of the table and Billy Palmer took one of the glasses of orange soda.