She stood up and walked to the water line. Sitting down on the damp sand, she pulled off her tennis shoes and socks and put her feet in the cool stream. Cupping a handful of water, she trickled it over her tired leg muscles. An unwelcoming image of Erik Gudjonsen came to mind.
At twenty-five years old, Kathleen had dated many men, had fancied herself in love with a few of them, but the last thing she wanted was close contact with a man. Wasn’t that what she was running away from?
A shrieking laugh brought her back to the present and she hastily checked her wristwatch. Ten till five!
She blew the silver whistle that was suspended around her neck on a blue ribbon. With whining protests, the children trooped up the pebbly shoal and slipped on their tennis shoes. They’d wear their swimsuits back to the cabins, letting the sun dry them during the walk. After each picked up his or her own belongings, they were ready to leave. While they grumblingly obeyed her dictates, Kathleen put her own shoes back on and then formed the group into a reasonably straight line for the hike up the hill.
She started a song with an infinite number of verses as they tramped up the steep incline. Kathleen marveled again at how much she loved this countryside. The red gravel road that led up to Mountain View Encampment was hot and dusty, but no pavement would ever spoil its natural state. The camp administrators had wisely left the environs as wild as practicality would allow. For children who lived in orphanages in large cities, this was their only exposure to any landscape that wasn’t crowded with buildings and spanned with concrete.
All seasons were spectacular in the Ozarks, but since the spring had been an unusually rainy one, this summer the mountains were green with oak, sycamore, elm and pine. Grapevines draped the trees, and the ground was carpeted with lush undergrowth.
The Kings River was running swift and full. In the shallows, the water was so clear and pure that one could count the rocks that lined the riverbed.
Kathleen loved it all. She loved the mountains, the trees and the people who lived in this rural setting, farming or ranching in pastoral simplicity.
How vastly different were their lives compared to hers in Atlanta, where she knew constant stress and unrelenting pressure. As fashion buyer for a major department store, she must continually be making decisions. She bought merchandise for several departments, including young adults, women’s sportswear, better dresses, coats, and “after-fives” and formals.
But even with all the headaches that came with it, she loved her job. That was why her friends and associates were astounded when she had resigned her position at the beginning of the summer.
“Kathy, make Allison stop tripping me. She’s doing it on purpose,” said the bespeckled Gracie with a pout.
Kathleen came back to the present with a jolt and automatically said, “Allison, how would you like for me to trip you? Cut it out.”
“She did it to me first,” argued Allison.
“Then why don’t you be my example-setter and show the others how to turn the other cheek?”
“Okay.”
The sun beat down on Kathleen’s back, and as the rough cedar gate of Mountain View came into sight, she used her T-shirt to blot a bead of sweat that rolled down between her breasts.
The campers were fractious and in need of the allotted rest time. They divided by sexes and trudged listlessly toward their dormitories.
“Everyone get showered before the supper bell. I’ll see you then. Les, keep your hands to yourself and leave Todd alone.” Kathleen saw them safely into the cabins and then turned toward the group of buildings assigned to counselors. Her position on the board earned her a private cabin. As she went through the screen door, she flipped on the switch of the overhead fan.
Drained of energy, she fell onto her back across the bunk and sprawled like a rag doll. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she soon felt the heat and tension ebbing out of her body. Her eyes closed, and involuntarily, her thoughts returned to her hasty departure from Atlanta.
Mr. Mason, disconcerted and anxious over her sudden resignation, had asked for a reason. Her answer to his inquiry wasn’t truthful. She didn’t tell him that she could no longer work with David Ross.
David was the accountant for Mason’s, and handled all the department store’s bookkeeping, from the purchase of light bulbs to the enormous payroll. He was demanding of his subordinates, but affable and likeable when outside the office. Kathleen had enjoyed their shared coffee breaks and the few occasions when they had gone to lunch together, as often as not in a group of department executives.
Soon the lunches had become more private, the “chance meetings” more frequent and the casual touches more lingering. At first Kathleen thought his increasing interest was her imagination, but it became apparent that he was serious, and she couldn’t mistake the hungry look in his eyes each time they fell on her.
Overnight, she cooled her attitude toward him and began to rebuff his covert passes. David Ross was very intelligent, very good looking and very married. He had three children and an English sheepdog who lived with him and his attractive wife in the suburbs of Atlanta.
Kathleen rolled over onto her stomach on the narrow bed and buried her face in the pillows as she recalled her last encounter with David.
It had been the end of a long, tiring day, and Kathleen was already exhausted. She had been opening boxes of merchandise that had just arrived, unloading it and checking it against her order form. The store had been closed for an hour and nearly all the employees had gone home.
David came into her office and shut the door behind him. He smiled engagingly and crossed to the desk, leaning on his widespread hands and lowering his head close to hers.
“How about dinner?” His voice was as efficient and precise as his account books.
She smiled. “Not tonight. It’s been one of those days, and I’m tired. I’m going to go home, take a bath and go directly to bed.”
“You have to eat sometime, somewhere,” he reasoned.
“I think I have one slice of bologna in the fridge.”