The Summer Hideaway Read online

  Everybody was sorry but no one could fix anything.

  “I bet you hate hearing that,” George said as though reading her mind. “I bet you hate hearing people say how sorry they are.”

  She shuffled her bare foot through the straw on the floor and nodded her head. How had he known?

  “I hear it a lot, too,” he added. “Lots of people were sorry I got sick. They were so sorry all the time that I started being sorry, too, and feeling sorry for myself. So the reason I said just now I was sorry is that I want you to know, I’m going to quit feeling sorry for myself. Right now. Right this minute.”

  Jane paused, not sure she had heard correctly. But she had; there in the barn, quiet but for the mewling of the kittens in his lap, there could be no mistaking what he’d said. Very slowly she raised her head. Her face lit with a smile that nearly lifted her off her feet. “Was it the kittens that convinced you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Not the kittens.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he just stayed quiet, his expression a little mysterious.

  After that day, the three of them—Charles, George and Jane—took to going on long hikes with Jane leading the way, sometimes having to pry big rocks out of the path or use her father’s pruning shears to clear away branches. Day by day, George grew stronger, his arms quicker and more sure as they pumped the large wheels of his chair. When they came to the steep parts, Charles would push the chair from behind, never daunted by an uphill slope, even one that made his face red with exertion.

  Charles turned sinewy and suntanned from his daily efforts. Jane’s skin was perpetually scratched from insect bites and forays in the underbrush. And slowly, gradually, George changed, too. He went from being a passive participant in their adventures to taking part in his own way. They still played games of Three Musketeers or Pirate King or Superman, but not the way they had in the past with the three of them racing and jumping and climbing. Perhaps George could no longer run through the forest like a Mohawk on the hunt, but he could narrate stories of danger and adventure, while Jane and Charles listened, enraptured, or acted them out. Sometimes George’s stories made them do things that were risky or silly, but they always ended with laughter.

  At first, Mrs. Bellamy would fret and wring her hands every time Jane conceived of another adventure. But Mr. Bellamy would always give them permission, and off they went, out into the summer forest. Jane was even allowed to take them to the camp’s rifle range, and under supervision, the boys were given shooting lessons by the resident marksman, a war veteran who had lost a leg. George seemed inspired by the idea that a man with one leg had mastered a sport. He practiced hard at his lessons and was soon the best shot at the camp.

  Jane loved seeing George come out of his shell. She loved being one of the Three Musketeers again. He taught her and Charles to play chess and backgammon. They worked crossword puzzles together and held spelling bees with the other campers.

  One night, Jane organized a game of hide-and-seek. She grew frightened when everyone but George had been found. She and the others called and called, and her heart beat faster every second, like a panicked bird.

  “Over here,” Charles called. “He’s been calling for us, but our yelling drowned him out.”

  George sat on the ground at the edge of the woods. There were burrs and bits of grass in his hair and clinging to his shirt, but he didn’t seem injured.

  “He’s fine,” one of the other kids yelled. “Not even bleeding or nothing.” This caused the others to lose interest, and they all dispersed.

  Her knees wobbly with relief, Jane sank down beside George. “What happened?” she asked. “We were so worried.”

  “I took a spill,” he said, swiping angrily at his cheeks.

  “I’ll go find your chair.” Charles went thrashing off into the dark.

  Jane stayed with George, trying to make her pulse slow down. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “George, you’re shaking.”

  “I got lost and my chair tipped over, and I had to crawl out of the woods. Do you know what that’s like, crawling through the woods in the dark?”

  “No, I don’t. Maybe now you’ll realize you’d better figure out how to walk,” said Jane. She knew better than to baby him, particularly when he was being a baby.

  “I can’t, you ninny. Don’t you think if I could walk, I would?”

  “I think you’re scared to try, same as you were scared of pushing your own chair when you first got here. But you managed to get around all by yourself. All it took was a lot of hard work.”

  He stared down at his left leg with an expression of extreme concentration. “Do you know what tracers are?” he asked in a small voice that was almost a whisper. “In polio victims, I mean.”

  She shook her head. “Never heard of ’em.”

  “Tracers are tiny threads of live muscle tissue in the damaged area. If you have tracers, supposedly those live muscles can be developed and will eventually replace the tissue that atrophied. Do you know what atrophied means?”

  “Damaged, I guess.”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. In the hospital, I used to sit for hours studying my leg, looking for tracers.”

  “And did you find them?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have a trained eye.”

  She wanted to touch him, maybe give him a hug or smooth her hand over his hair the way her father did when he told her good-night. Instead she challenged him. “Maybe you have to find those muscles by trying to use them. Like trying to walk.”

  “You don’t get it,” he snapped. “Walking’s different.”

  “Why, because it’s hard? Jiminy Cricket, you’re not scared of hard work, are you?”

  “No, but what if I do all the work, and it does no good?”

  She thought about that for a moment. “What’s the worst thing that can happen? You’ll fail? Believe me, some things are worse than failing.”

  Fourteen

  Family Dance Night at Camp Kioga was a silly affair. That was what Jane had always thought, anyway. The dance instructors came from the city, and they always acted as though dancing was the most fun anyone could have. Jane secretly did think dancing was fun, though she’d never admit that to the other kids, especially Charles and George. They would surely make fun of her.

  “I’m not going,” George said, balking at the entrance to the dining pavilion. There was a five-piece ensemble and couples of all shapes and sizes on the dance floor. The men had pressed slacks and shiny shoes, and the women looked like flowers in their full skirts, underlaid with crinolines that belled out when they twirled.

  “Sure you are. There’s peach melba for dessert tonight,” Charles pointed out.

  “Fine, I’ll eat the peach melba but forget about the dancing.”

  “Everybody dances,” Jane said in her bossiest voice. “No exceptions.”

  “That’s baloney.”

  “Huh. Shows how much you know.”

  “I can’t dance. I can’t even walk.”

  “Then dance however you can,” she stated. “Come on.”

  She didn’t look to see if the brothers followed. Usually if she just forged ahead, they went along with her. A famous ensemble was playing that night—the Klinger Kabaret from downtown Manhattan. They were so good that, along with the peach melba, they brought a smile to George’s face. The dance instructors had Jane dancing with every boy in the place, and some girls, too, since there were always more girls than boys.

  Charles was pretty good, for a boy. He was especially good at the bumps-a-daisy and the jitterbug, which was all the rage. Jane picked him for the last dance of the night, and they jumped and jived like a pair of professionals. As they swooped around the dance floor, she spied George and did a double take.

  “Charles,” she said, practically yelling above the brassy blare of the band, “look at George. Am I seeing things?”

  “You’re not seeing things.”

  They nearly tripped over each other’s fe
et as they stared at George. He was in his chair off to the side, drinking a root beer soda. And he was tapping his feet to the music.

  Jane and Charles descended on him. “You’re moving your feet, George!” she exclaimed. “Good for you! You’re moving your feet.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “So?” He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

  “So nothing,” she said. “Dance with me.”

  “Dance with you? You’re crazy, you—”

  “Charles will help,” she declared, and plopped herself right into George’s lap. At the same time, Charles zoomed the wheelchair out onto the dance floor. The other dancers barely took note, they were so caught up in the wildness of the number.

  George laughed aloud, and it sounded wonderful to her. She knew a moment of fleeting happiness then. It was a flash of perfection, a sense that everything was all right. She was in George’s lap with her head thrown back in laughter. Charles pushed the chair in crazy circles as the three of them spun in time with the music, their spirits enmeshed, three broken pieces momentarily bound together.

  After the dancing, Jane insisted there was nothing George could not do, and she set out every day to prove it.

  “Come swimming with us,” she said one afternoon after escaping Mrs. Romano’s constant demands in the kitchen. She was wearing a hand-me-down romper swimsuit from one of her cousins, and she hated it, but the day was burning hot and she was dying for a plunge in the lake.

  “Nope,” said George.

  “Come on.” Charles nudged George’s shoulder as he grabbed a couple of towels. “It’s hotter than hades today.”

  “You go ahead,” George said.

  Jane turned on her heel. “Let’s go, then. He’s not interested.”

  “Have fun stewing in your own juices, George,” said Charles, following her.

  Jane knew George wouldn’t last long on his own. He didn’t anymore. He always found a way to join in, even if it just meant sitting in the shade and watching her and Charles play. True to form, he ended up going with them to the swimming dock. They found a nice shady spot near the locker that housed the towels and life vests, and George parked himself there.

  Charles gave an Indian war whoop and pounded down the dock, doing a cannonball off the end, creating a huge splash. Jane felt torn, not wanting to abandon George but yearning to join in with the other kids.

  “Go on,” he urged her. “I brought my camera. I’ll take some pictures.”

  With a squeal of delight, she ran to the dock and launched herself. The cold water felt like silk on her skin.

  “Over here,” said Charles. “We’re playing water tag. I’m it!”

  Jane swam madly, determined not to be tagged. More and more swimmers joined in until there were at least a dozen kids involved. It was the most glorious summer day imaginable. The only thing that could have made it more glorious would be—

  Jane stopped swimming to tread water. She looked around for George, but he’d moved from his spot. Then she spied him. He was pumping his wheelchair as fast as he could down the dock. He’d strapped a life ring to the chair, but not to himself. The chair gathered speed as he spun the wheels faster. Jane tried to call out, but her voice was gone, stolen by shock.

  The rolling chair ran out of dock and kept going. George was ejected and hit the water with a big splash. For a stunned second, everyone was frozen by dread. Then the chair bobbed to the surface, buoyed by the life ring.

  The chair was empty.

  Jane screamed. Charles swam toward the dock, his arms and legs churning like eggbeaters.

  After what seemed like an eternity, George broke the surface, hauling in a huge breath of air. “I’m okay,” he called. He looked around at the other kids. When they realized he was all right, they started hooting and clapping.

  “You creep,” Jane accused him, paddling over. “You scared us to death.”

  “Look at me now,” he said. “I’m swimming.”

  Not very well, she noted, but he was. He was swimming. He paddled slowly and clumsily toward the dock. Charles and the others lost interest in the drama and went back to their game of tag. Jane followed George, and they both clung to the ladder attached to the dock. “I’m real proud of you,” she said. “I am.”

  “When I first went off the end,” he said, lowering his voice so no one else could hear, “I sank like a stone. And it crossed my mind that I might drown if I just quit fighting and let myself go. But all of a sudden, I knew I had to get stronger and save myself. And so I started swimming.”

  “George!” She put her arms around him and gave him a swift, wet smack on the cheek. Instantly realizing what she’d done, she shoved away from him and swam in the opposite direction. She couldn’t resist looking back at him, to see if he was as embarrassed as she was.

  He didn’t look embarrassed. As long as Jane lived, she knew she would never forget the expression on his face.

  “Hey, look up here!” yelled Charles. He was standing on the dock with the Brownie camera. “Smile!”

  Treading water, George and Jane grinned up at the camera box.

  “Hold on to Doctor, will you?” George said, handing the orange kitten to his brother. “Don’t let her get away.”

  “Sure,” Charles said, cuddling and nuzzling the little creature.

  The kitty was Jane’s parting gift to the Bellamy brothers. Summer was over, and the time had come for them to go back to the city. Jane’s father had told her she could give one of the kittens to them, and of course they chose Doctor, who was as sweet as her mother, with the same coloring. Now it was time for all of them to head home.

  Jane tried not to feel too despondent as she stood watching George, who had wheeled his chair to the edge of the chipped-gravel parking area, where everyone waited for the buses to the train station in town. He had that special fire in his eye, the one that flared when he was about to say “Checkmate” in chess, or when he’d thought up a really good story to tell her.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he set the brake of the wheelchair and braced his hands on the armrests. Through the summer, his hands and arms had turned so brown and strong, he reminded her of Stuart, who used to pick up and toss around hay bales as if they were nothing.

  Frowning with concentration, George folded up the footrests of the wheelchair and planted his feet on the ground.

  Jane held her breath. Every instinct urged her to step forward and help, but she resisted. The last thing he needed was for her to interfere, or to caution him not to take a risk. She glanced at Charles and saw him practically biting a hole in his lip.

  George lurched forward, but fell back into the chair. He didn’t look at either Charles or Jane. She crushed her teeth together to keep from telling him not to rush, not to feel as if he had to do this right now. He tried again. Failed, twice more.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped his hands on his trousers. Planted his hands and feet…and levered himself up out of the chair.

  The kitten mewed in protest, and Jane glanced over to see Charles ease his grip on the little creature. George took a step forward. One, then another. Then he stopped. His face was damp and livid from the effort. Jane couldn’t stand it anymore; she rushed forward and took his arm. He was trembling, but smiling.

  “Good for you, George,” she whispered. “I knew you could do it.”

  “I had to. My mother wants to put me to bed and treat me like an invalid for the rest of my life. My father thinks I should go back to the Children’s Institute, and I don’t want to do either. So I better figure out how to walk on my own.” He wobbled, and she held on harder, helping him back to the chair.

  “Three lousy steps,” he said.

  “It’s a start,” she replied. “You’ll do more tomorrow, and more every day. Promise me you will.”

  “All right, but you have to promise me something.”

  “Anything, George. I swear.”

  “When I come back, you
have to promise to dance with me.”

  Fifteen

  “What are you doing this evening, Granddad?” asked Ross.

  “I have no plans. Unfortunately my friend Millie has gone up to Albany to visit friends and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  “So you and Millie…” Ross was slightly freaked by this development. He wondered if the old lady had spent the night.

  “We had a lovely time. And a gentleman will say no more.”

  Ross gave a nervous laugh. His hat was off to the old dude, but he was content to let the matter rest. “Anyway, about tonight…”

  “What did you have in mind?” George took off his reading glasses and set them aside.

  “Do you feel up to a visit with your brother?”

  George sat forward, gripping the arms of his chair. “Absolutely.”

  “And his wife, Jane? Should she come, too?”

  “She…” Granddad cleared his throat. “She most certainly is welcome.” He leaned back in his chair, somehow managing to look both relieved and apprehensive. “Tonight. I can scarcely believe it. Claire, did you hear?”

  “I did, and I’m really happy for you, George.”

  After some discussion, it was determined that a private dinner, catered by the resort’s kitchen, would be served on the veranda of George’s house on the lake. This would keep the reunion as intimate as possible. Things were bound to get emotional. He felt the building tension later that day, as he helped his grandfather get ready.

  “Tell me again what he’s like,” Granddad said. “What was your first impression?”

  Ross passed him a handheld mirror. “Take a look. The two of you might as well be twins.”

  Granddad beamed. “People used to say we shared a strong family resemblance. In our younger days, I was always the athletic one. Then, after I fell ill, I turned into the bookish one.” He rubbed his thigh.