There’s no room for privacy!”
The girls slipped under the crisp sheets, and Ginny settled on a canvas stool. By the glow of the oil lamp, she read several pages from The Song of Hiawatha. When she finished, she told the girls that each night the campfire would end with the song “Taps.” “I’ll sing it for you tonight,” she said, “and you’ll learn it instantly.” Her voice rose sweet and clear. “Day is done, Gone the sun, From the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.”
“I’ll be checking on you later tonight,” Ginny said, “and expect you all to be sound asleep.” She left quietly and dropped the tent flaps behind her.
“Say,” Cammie whispered into the silence, “does anyone think there’s really such a thing as a windigo?” She tried to sound unconcerned, but Rebecca heard a quiver in her voice.
“I don’t know,” replied Dottie, “but the windigo reminds me of the Russian witch Baba Yaga.”
“Ooh, my grandmother told me about Baba Yaga,” Sunny piped up. “She ate up children who happened upon her house in the forest.”
“Don’t be silly,” Bertie argued. “They’re all just made-up stories.”
“My bubbie said Baba Yaga is real,” Sunny insisted, “so maybe the windigo is, too.”
“Want to know something I heard last year?” Corky asked.
“Tell us,” the girls clamored.
“Well,” Corky said, “last year I heard some counselors talking about the windigo. They didn’t know I was listening, but I heard every word.”
“What did they say?” the girls asked breathlessly. “Tell us!”
“They said—” Corky paused dramatically. “Well, they said there’s a cave not far from here where the windigo lives.” Gasps echoed through the tent. “When I heard that, I knew that was why they tell us never to go into the woods alone.”
The girls fell silent. Rebecca imagined a monster lurking in a shadowy cave, just waiting for a camper to pass by. She lay awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds around her—a repeated chirp, a high-pitched hum, and a chorus of peeps from the pond. She tried not to let them frighten her. She was used to city sounds—people talking and laughing in the street below, horse-drawn wagons clattering by at all hours, trains rattling by, and ship horns across the river. Why, these are just normal country sounds, she told herself—bugs and frogs. Then an eerie hooting echoed through the woods. Ta-whoo! Ta-whoo! Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat.
That was no frog! She thought of the strange tale Roger had told of the windigo and remembered the Baba Yaga tales her grandmother had told her when she was small enough to sit on Bubbie’s comfortable lap. What if scary stories weren’t made-up but told of things that truly happened, as a warning? In spite of the warm air, Rebecca drew the covers over her head and pulled them tightly around her.
3
Pranks and Chores
A tinny blast jolted Rebecca awake. The other girls groaned as the bright notes were repeated.
“That’s the bugle playing ‘Reveille,’” Corky announced. “Rise and shine, lassies!”
“I saw a bugle once in a newsreel about the army,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t know there would be one at camp.” She slid from her bunk onto the bare wooden floor. “Morning, Tina,” she said with a yawn. When there was no reply, Rebecca peeked into the bottom bed. It was empty, the covers pulled taut. Maybe Tina was changing in the outhouse again.
Ginny stepped into the tent. “Good morning, girls! Put on your bathing outfits and go have a wash in the pond. It’s a cold dip, but it will wake you right up.”
The girls dressed, grabbed soap, and straggled to the pond. Rebecca felt the chill air against her bare legs. She had never taken a bath like this before!
“Last one in is a skunk!” Cammie shouted, splashing into the water. The rest of the Beavers rushed in, yelping as the cold water hit them. They washed quickly, rinsed their hair with a fast dunk, and dashed back to the tent.
In dry clothes, the girls clamored for space in front of the cloudy piece of metal that served as a makeshift mirror. It was nailed to a tree above an outdoor washbasin. Rebecca tried to peer at herself as she combed her tangled hair.
“Braids would feel cooler,” Ginny suggested. “If you girls team up, no one will need a mirror.”
Rebecca braided Dottie’s damp hair tightly, and Dottie returned the favor. The girls admired each other. As they hung their dripping suits on a rope strung between the trees, Ginny turned toward the dining hall. “Head for breakfast when you’re done,” she said. “I’ll save a table.”
As soon as Ginny was gone, Corky put her hands on her hips and asked, “Where’s Teeny?” The girls looked around, baffled. “Well, if the last one into the pond is a skunk, I guess we’ll smell her before we see her,” Corky said. She pinched her nose and added in a nasal voice, “And the smell won’t be teeny at all!”
“What I smell is fried onions and potatoes,” Josie said. “Let’s eat!”
As the Beavers headed off in a ragtag group, they passed some younger girls scurrying toward the Crane tent with dripping watering cans.
“What on earth are you doing?” Bertie asked as the girls began pouring water on their tent stakes.
The Crane girls looked serious. “Why, the campers in Loon told us we have to keep the stakes wet or the tent will fall over,” one explained. “Didn’t you water yours?”
Rebecca was puzzled. “We’d better ask Ginny about that.”
Josie nodded. “She’s in the dining hall.”
As soon as the Beavers left the watering can brigade behind, Corky burst out laughing. “I can’t believe they fell for that old trick.”
“It’s a trick?” Dottie asked. “But what if the stakes do dry out?”
Corky smirked. “It’s a camp prank. They’ll figure it out soon enough. My tent was fooled last year. We sure felt silly!”
In the meal line, Rebecca was amazed at the variety of food. There were heaping bowls of fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, bananas and oranges, breakfast rolls, pitchers of orange juice and milk, platters of pancakes—and sliced strawberries! She wondered if Tina had actually persuaded the cook to serve them. She spooned a pile onto her plate and then hesitated at a tray of curly strips of meat. “What’s this?” she asked Corky.
“Ain’t you ever eaten bacon?” Corky responded.
Ginny corrected Corky’s grammar. “Haven’t you ever eaten bacon,” she repeated.
“Sure an’ I’ve eaten it,” Corky said, not realizing her mistake. Ginny let it go.
Now that Rebecca knew what the meat was, she moved on. Although her family was willing to overlook the fact that food at camp didn’t follow the Jewish kosher food laws, there
