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back to Eden and picked up her tray. “If you laugh,” she said in an undertone, “I’ll tie your tongue into a square knot.”
    â€œWho’s laughing?” Eden desperately cleared her throat. “I’m not laughing.”
    â€œYes, you are.” Candy sailed, like a steamship, to the head table. “You’re just clever enough to do it discreetly.”
    Eden sat, then carefully smoothed her napkin on her lap. “You’ve got mashed potatoes in your eyebrows.” Candy glared at her, and she lifted her coffee cup to hide a grin behind it. “Actually, it’s very becoming. You may have found an alternative to hair gel.”
    Candy glanced down at the cooling potatoes on her own plate. “Would you like to try some?”
    â€œNow, darling, you’re the one who’s always telling me we have to set an example.” Eden took a satisfying bite of her chicken. “Mrs. Petrie’s a gem, isn’t she?”
    ***
    It took the better part of two hours to clean the mess area and to mop up the puddles of water spilled by the inexperienced janitorial crew. By lights-out most of the girls were too tired to loiter. A pleasant late-evening hush covered the camp.
    If the mornings were the worst for Eden, the evenings were invariably the best, A long day of physical activity left her comfortably tired and relaxed. The sounds of night birds and insects were becoming familiar. More and more, she looked forward to an hour of solitude with a sky full of stars. There was no theater to dress for, no party to attend. The longer she was away from her former lifestyle, the less she missed it.
    She was growing up, she reflected, and she liked the idea. She supposed maturity meant recognizing what was really important. The camp was important, her friendship with Candy vital. The girls under their care for the summer, even the dastardly Roberta Snow, were what really mattered. She came to realize that even if everything she had once had was handed back to her, she would no longer be able to treat it in the same way.
    She had changed. And even though she was certain there were still more changes to come, she liked the new Eden Carlbough. This Eden was independent, not financially, but internally. She’d never realized how dependent she had been on her father, her fiancé, the servants. The new Eden could cope with problems, large ones, small ones. Her hands were no longer elegantly manicured. The nails were neat, but short and rounded, unpainted. Practical, Eden thought as she held one up for inspection. Useful. She liked what she saw.
    She continued her nightly ritual by walking to the stables. Inside it was cool and dark, smelling of leather, hay and horses. Just stepping inside helped to cement her confidence. This was her contribution. In most other areas, she still relied on pride and nerve, but here she had skill and knowledge.
    She would check each of the six horses, then the tack, before she would consider her duties over for the day. Candy might be able to build a cathedral out of papier-mâché, but she knew nothing about strained tendons or split hooves.
    Eden stopped at the first stall to stroke the roan gelding she called Courage. In her hand was a paper bag with six apple halves. It was a nightly ritual the horses had caught on to quickly. Courage leaned his head over the stall door and nuzzled her palm.
    â€œSuch a good boy,” she murmured as she reached into the bag. “Some of the girls still don’t know a bit from a stirrup, but we’re going to change that.” She held the apple in her palm and let him take it. While he chewed contentedly, Eden stepped into the stall to check him over. He’d been a bargain because of his age and his slight swayback. She hadn’t been looking for Thoroughbreds, but for dependability and gentleness. Satisfied that his grooming had been thorough, she latched the stall door behind her and went to