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flying overhead
at night. At least I didn’t see any bats last night; a cautious
glance at the ceiling confirms the absence of bat life. Whew . Helen tried selling me on the idea that bats live in
cabins and try to nest in your hair at night. Knowing a
little bit about nature, I didn’t buy it.
On one hand she
wanted me to leave, on the other hand she hated losing
her free slave labor…Cinder-Ellen. Viewing the cabin
from my snug nest, I decide…this is way better than a
summer with Helen. Through the panes of glass I can see
a chickadee flitting from one branch to another, calling
out, chick a dee, chick a dee, dee,dee.
    A strident knocking at the door breaks the morning
silence, followed by a commanding voice. “Girls, rise and
shine, the sun is up and we have work to do.” The
apparition standing in our doorway begins shaking a
cowbell, the clanging of the bell is deafening.
    Four pairs of bleary eyes appear from the depths of
flannel sleeping bags looking at this woman as if she were
an escaped lunatic from a mental institution. I can hear
Kat mutter under her breath, “What the F…?”
    “Ladies, I’m M
rs. Sally Erhart, Mr. Erhart’s wife and
Camp Director. You may call me Mrs. Erhart. I pretty
much handle the day to day operations of the camp. You
girls will report to me until your senior counselors arrive.
All camp matters of discipline and finances are handled
by me. Is that understood?”
    Heil Hitler, what happened to good morning and
welcome to camp?
“Yes, ma’am.” We chorus as dutiful schoolgirls,
sitting at attention under the woman’s steely gaze. We
thought Mr. Erhart was Camp Director. We were just
told otherwise.
While Mr. Erhart is jovial and generous, his wife, Mrs. Erhart, is all business and apparently…no nonsense
and no fun.
“I have breakfast started and I’ll need some help.
Here is a jug of water to brush your teeth and wash
your face.” She says setting down a jug on the dresser.
“Take it with you to the latrine. I’m sure the electrician
will be here soon and we will have water before noon.” I
think the almighty has spoken, and no one dare question her authority.
She has the athletic build of a tennis player, tall and
slender, arms cut with well-toned muscles, blonde hair
styled in a short bob. Her high cheekbones and thin nose
suggest the essence of former beauty, now faded. Her
blue eyes are cold and determined in a face devoid of
makeup. I guess she is somewhere in her late forties. Mrs.
Erhart reminds me of the women at a country club I
once visited with a friend from school. She has the air of
good breeding and wealth, but the look of her worn
clothes and the fact she runs this camp suggests the
family has fallen on hard times. And the firm set of her
mouth shows she never forgave life for the injustice.
Her blue eyes scan the room to ensure everything is
in order. The gaze then turns to study each of us.
Squirming under the inspection, we push sleep-flattened
hair in place, smooth rumpled pajamas attempting to
appear alert and awake. With an upward flick of her
eyelids and a shake of her head, we are dismissed as
lacking…but adequate. Her scrutiny put us in our place,
we are the help…and she is the mistress of the manor.
Turning to leave, she pauses at the door. “I’m going
back to the kitchen. I expect to see everyone at breakfast
in a half hour. Don’t be late.”
“The witch is back!” Kat exclaims, untangling her legs
from her sleeping bag as she peers out the window
watching Mrs. Erhart retreating back. “Ugh, I have to
pee!”
“Oh, holy shit!” Kat exclaims as her feet hit the cabin
floor. “It is fucking freezing in here.” She leaps back into
bed, pulling the sleeping bag over her head.
“How cold can it really be?” Tee asks, craning her
neck to peer at the thermometer mounted outside the
window. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. It’s only 43
degrees. This is the end of June, shouldn’t it be