Fear of Frying (3 page)

“So how are all those girls of yours?" Shelley asked him when they were all seated.

“Girls, girls, girls. I've got so darned many of them, I lose track," he said with a grin. "If we have any more, we're going to run out of names and have to start numbering them.”

Shelley smiled back. Even though he was a man designed by nature to be father to mobs of rough-and-tumble boys, he was known to be besotted by his flock of dainty blond daughters.

“So who was the guy sneaking around outside?" Bob asked his table-mates.

“Sneaking?" Jane asked.

“Yeah, little scrawny guy. Was looking in the window and leaped away like a deer when he spotted me coming."

“Must of been Lucky Smith," Benson Titus said, coming from the kitchen with an enormous tray of food. He set out a platter of fried chicken, an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes, a giant pitcher of gravy, and two good-sized bowls of green beans on the table. "Start on this," he said, leaving to fetch another tray with the cornbread, butter, coleslaw, and a tossed salad. When he'd distributed the food, he sat down at an empty spot at the table. "Yeah, Lucky Smith is our local hunter thug who saw the light and turned environmental thug. He keeps a close eye on us here. But he's not dangerous, just a nuisance. Lucky grew up in these parts, a real good ol' boy, slaughtering everything he could hook or shoot.

“He got religion about the same time a group of enviro-Nazis started up in the county. Sorry. My wife says I shouldn't use that word, but sometimes it's the only one that fits. Anyhow, Lucky's decided it's his mission in life to keep an eye on the resort.”

Shelley passed Jane the beans and whispered, "Trouble in paradise."

“Makes paradise more interesting," Jane replied.

“So what's this Lucky person do?" Marge Clay- pool said timidly, glancing around and seeming to notice for the first time that two sides of the room were windows with utter darkness beyond them.

“Nothing much," Benson said with a reassuring smile. "He likes to gather a crowd and rant about how he used to be a hunter and fisherman — I won't spoil your dinner with any of the details — but he came to his senses and God told him to devote his life to returning nature to the indigenous residents."

“The Indians?" Jane asked.

“Oh, no. He says they came here from someplace else, too. No, he means plants and animals. A real Tree Hugger. But like most fanatics, he considers himself the exception. He carries on about the tourist trade bringing in all the people who wreck the land, but he doesn't make any effort to remove his own sorry carcass from the area.”

Shelley had put down her fork. It was a dangerous sign, when Shelley put down her silverware in the middle, let alone the beginning, of a meal, Jane thought.

“You don't believe in saving the wildlife?" Shelley asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

Benson put up his hands as if to ward off an attack. "I surely do. That's why we left Chicago, because we love the wilderness. I've never shot a gun at any living thing. And I've never caught a fish that wasn't intended for eating. But I'm intolerant of fanatics.”

Shelley picked her fork back up and nodded approval.

“Speaking of animals, there's really an enormous variety of them in the area," Benson said brightly, diverting the conversation. "In each of your cabins there are several handbooks. Mammals, fish, birds, and wildflowers, plus we have a little library next to the front desk where you can borrow books about geology, climate, natural resources, and history of the area. Please feel free to consult any of the books and take them to your cabins if you like. One of the things we're doing tomorrow is viewing a film about the natural history of this part of Wisconsin. Sounds dull, but I promise you'll enjoy it.”

Jane noticed that Eileen Claypool had been dividing her attention almost equally between eating and watching Bob Rycraft eat. Understandable. Watching Bob Rycraft do anything was a pleasant activity. Now Eileen tore herself away from both activities to ask, "What else will we be doing tomorrow?"

“Anything you want," Benson said. "We've got lots of things planned, but you're all free to participate or skip them."

“We're here on behalf of the school board and the city council," Bob said. "I imagine we'll all want to participate." Then, apparently thinking that sounded too much like an order, he added, "Or won't we?”

There was a noncommittal murmur around the table.

“There's a real country breakfast in the morning," Benson said. "We go a little light on lunch, so you might want to stoke up in the morning anytime between eight and ten. At ten I'll give the official tour of the grounds and facilities. It would be a good idea for everybody to attend that."

“We certainly will," Shelley said. She made no bones about it being an order. Her tone had the precision and power of a dentist's drill. This time the murmur was of agreement.

Benson stared at her for a moment, collected himself, and went on. "We'll show the film at four in the afternoon. You can use the time after lunch for anything you'd like. Hiking around and exploring, relaxing and reading, or just taking a nap. Then tomorrow evening, we'll start some of the demonstrations of what we intend to provide. I'll be doing an outdoor cooking lesson at the main campfire area. All this is typed up with a more detailed map than you got when you checked in. I'll make sure you all have it before you leave the lodge tonight."

“Are we it? The whole group?" Sam Claypool asked. He'd been eating his dinner in a picky, preoccupied manner, as if his mind were miles away.

“No," Benson said. "A Mr. and Mrs. Flowers are coming. They called and said they'd had some car trouble, but should be here shortly. And the day after tomorrow the whole county's been invited to participate in classes if they want. That'll be the big day, with instructors and demonstrations. I've already got reservations for fifty for lunch, and there will be others — the ones who don't believe in reservations," he added with a broad smile.

“Liz Flowers?" John Claypool asked. He'd shoveled down everything on his plate and was taking seconds. "Sold her a car once. Lady drives a hard bargain. Hope it's not that car that's broken down."

“Liz is the president of the school board," Bob Rycraft explained to Benson. "I gotta warn you, she's expressed some doubts about this plan.”

Benson nodded. "I thought so. She was pretty cool on the phone.”

Jane realized for the first time that this was more than a vacation. She, like the rest of them, had a job to do. So far, she'd just accepted that a summer-school session here was a good idea. "What kind of doubts?" she asked Bob.

“Oh, real practical things. Liability insurance, transportation costs, the availability of medical help because of the isolation," Bob said. "Important to consider, of course, but I'm sure it can all be worked out. The important thing is to get the kids out of their easy, comfortable suburban life for a while. Away from drugs, rap music, television, video games — all of that. I really believe you can do any child a world of good by bringing them back to nature — the
real
world — if only for a week or two. Gives them a sense of their own history, their place in the whole scheme—" He broke off and grinned. "Sorry. I'm lecturing."

“That's okay," Shelley said. "It's why we’re here. To share viewpoints, as well as learn about the facility."

“I think you've got something there," John Claypool said to Bob. "When Sam and I were kids, our folks sent us to camp for a couple summers and it was great!”

Sam, precise and tidy in his blazer, tie, and city-neat hair, just cocked an eyebrow.

John caught the look and said, "Yeah, I know you didn't like it as well as I did, but you were always a brainy kid, more interested in schoolwork than a good tussle with the boys."

“The 'boys' were savages," Sam said coldly.

Sam's wife, Marge, leaped in to avert controversy, as if by long habit. "This camp plan isn't just for boys, is it?" she asked too brightly.

Bob Rycraft answered. "We're hoping for two sessions. Either one for boys and one for girls, or possibly two mixed sessions — depending on a lot of factors."

“Like what?" Eileen Claypool said with a suggestion of a leer.

“Like the room arrangements," Bob said, apparently missing the leer. "You can't physically lock the kids up to keep the boys and girls apart. I'm sure there are fire regulations about that, and if there aren't, there should be. If the boys and the girls came at the same time, we'd have to pay for extra staff just to make sure they weren't sneaking out and meeting in the woods at night."

“On the other hand, how many of the girls are going to want to go camping if boys aren't involved?" Shelley asked.

Jane was on the point of echoing this sentiment when she realized she'd somehow slopped some gravy on her sleeve when she passed it to John Claypool. Since she'd brought a minimum of clothes, she thought she'd better wash it out. "Where's the rest room?" she said quietly to Benson, who was sitting at her end of the table.

“Next to the front desk," he replied.

She excused herself and went to wash out the cuff of her blouse. When she returned through the main lobby area, she noticed an older woman sitting by the fireplace. Wondering if this was Liz Flowers and not particularly eager to rejoin the group wrangling over sexual separation of teens, Jane approached the other woman and introduced herself.

“I'm Edna Titus, Benson's mother," the woman said. "You look chilled, Jane. Sit here with me for a minute."

“Gladly," Jane said, putting her hands out to the fire.

“Are you enjoying yourself?" Edna Titus asked.

“Oh, yes. But I'd underestimated my responsibility. I guess the word 'Wisconsin' has always meant `vacation' to me. This is a lovely place."

“It is. We've been here about ten years, and I still wonder at the beauty. You're not a smoker, are you?"

“I'm afraid I am," Jane admitted. "I've been trying to stop for years and I can manage on about five cigarettes a day, but go berserk on any fewer."

“Oh, good! Somebody to be sinful with," Edna said. "This fireplace has such a nice draw that the smoke goes right up if you sit close enough.”

She rose from her chair, sat on the raised flagstone hearth, and drew a battered pack of cigarettes from her sweater pocket. Jane studied her as Edna searched for a lighter. She was a tall, rangy woman who had probably never been pretty, but had an air of handsome dignity. Her gray hair was pulled into a casual knot on top of her head, her slacks and striped shirt were well worn and well kept. She was a woman who cared about her appearance, but not excessively so. She finally found her old-fashioned wick lighter, lit Jane's cigarette, then her own, and said, "So. .? What do you think?"

“Of what?"

“Of the chances the school board and city council will contract with Benson.”

Jane felt instinctively this wasn't a person who could be tactfully lied to. "I have no idea. I really haven't been involved in the discussion until tonight: I assumed it was all but a done deal and we were just here to give a final approval, but now I'm not so sure.”

Edna nodded. "Thanks for your honesty. Oh, it looks like our stragglers have arrived," she said as headlights swept across the front door. "I need to get their dinners ready. Would you mind greeting them?”

She hurried back to the kitchen. Jane put out her cigarette and went to the door. A tall, stately black woman with very short hair and a red, fringed poncho was coming across the parking lot with long, determined strides. She stepped onto the porch and took Jane's hand in an almost painfully firm grasp. "I'm Liz Flowers," she said. "You must be Jane Jeffry. And this is my husband—" She turned around and realized she was alone. "Al? Have you lost yourself in the woods
already?
Where are you?"

“Just coming, hon." Al emerged from the darkness. He was taller and much darker skinned than Liz, and considerably heavier. Jane thought he looked like a Masai warrior who'd let his weight get out of hand.

“The owner's mother is warming up your dinner," Jane said. "Come on inside."

“See, Al? I told you that you wouldn't have to starve," Liz said. "You didn't need to stop and get that packet of Oreos. Everyone else is here, I guess?" she added to Jane, who was holding the door open. "Thanks.”

Jane trailed along, bemused by the couple. Liz headed straight for the dining room without a moment's hesitation, as if she had an internal compass. She greeted those she knew, introduced herself to everyone else, told Al where to sit, and took Benson's now vacant place at the end of the table. Liz was forceful, energetic, and brisk.

Al Flowers appeared to be a mellow man happily caught in her force field. He gazed around the room, shaking his head slowly in approval. "Nice place," he said, smiling vaguely.

“Well, of
course
it's nice," Liz said. "We
knew
that from the brochures. Now, what's the plan?" she demanded of the others. She hauled a large tote bag out from under her colorful poncho and plunged her hand into it. "I've made some notes of things we need to look at, and propose that at least two people, working independently, evaluate each.""Now, Lizzie," Al said softly.