you, so I’ll come. Quinn here, he’ll come too.”
Rat Face—Quinn—looked at his friend. “You believe her? You believe there’s no witch? Just like that?”
Samuel shrugged. “Never much believed in the witch in the first place. Well, I did for a time, but lately I’ve been wondering. It’s like she said”—he nodded toward Isabelle—“who do you know of that actually got killed? Always folks in the other villages, never Greenan.”
“The only reason I’m going is to fetch my brothers and sister and take them back home,” Hen declared. “That one”—she nodded toward Isabelle— “can do all the talking about witches she likes. I’ll be no part of it.”
Isabelle dropped back as the group began walking north. Why was Hen so stubborn? Why couldn’t she get with the program, get over it, get real? Fact: There was no child-eating witch. Fact: This was good news. Why couldn’t Hen accept it? Then she and Isabelle could go back to being friends. They could tell the news to the kids at the camp, drop off Hen’s various siblings at home, then head back toGrete’s for a big “Everything’s Okay Now” celebration.
Yeah,
Isabelle thought.
Right
.
Catching up with the others, Isabelle was more than a little irritated to find Hen having a friendly conversation with Samuel (Hen, who had not said one friendly word to Isabelle all day), the two of them reminiscing about the different camps they’d been to over the years.
“You’ve been to the camps north of Greenan before, I suppose?” Samuel asked. “Too close to home for us during our season, of course, but I always snuck over there when the children came from other villages, watched ‘em swing on the ropes over the creek.”
“Aye, the ropes are good fun,” Hen agreed. “Bet we’ll find Jacob swinging on one when we get there. The only problem with the Greenan camp—no offense to you—is that the woods are frightening around the edges. You feel eyes peering in at you at night.”
“All the camps are like that, not just Greenan,”Samuel said. “Anyone will tell you that the woods around the whole of the Five Villages are alive. We go to Aghadoc in our season, and the little ones won’t venture a foot from the campfire after darkness falls. When I was a wee boy, it didn’t matter if it were light or dark, I spent a whole day feeling spooked.”
“Then everyone will be even happier that there’s no witch,” Isabelle asserted. “We’ll be bringing them good news.”
Hen looked at Samuel. “You might want to be careful how you go about telling them about it,” she said, ignoring Isabelle completely. “You being a stranger, they won’t trust you much.”
Samuel nodded in agreement. “We might do well to act the traveler at first, like folks looking for a place to stay. When they get used to us a bit, then we’ll tell them. A day or two, and we’ll know the best way to go about it, don’t you think?”
“They’ll be wondering why you kept it a secret from them,” Rat Face pointed out. “They’ll think you’re not to be trusted.”
Really, it was hard for Isabelle—who believed herself to be a peaceable person, but like most people had her limits—not to reach out and give Rat Face a hard pinch. But Samuel seemed to take Rat Face’s idea seriously. “Let’s think about it while we walk,” he said. “And when we reach the camps, maybe the answer will set itself in front of us, in plain view.”
But when they reached the camps, what they found was not an answer.
What they found was chaos.
33
Maybe you’ve been to summer camp. Remember the cozy cabins with their slightly funky, mildewy smell, the well-tended paths you followed from this activity (archery!) to that (lanyard making!) over the course of a morning? How could you forget the sparkling lake, the noisy, joyful mess hall, the s’mores, the sing-alongs? Oh, Michael, row that boat ashore, yes, indeedy.
Even if you’ve never been to camp, this is
Rat Face—Quinn—looked at his friend. “You believe her? You believe there’s no witch? Just like that?”
Samuel shrugged. “Never much believed in the witch in the first place. Well, I did for a time, but lately I’ve been wondering. It’s like she said”—he nodded toward Isabelle—“who do you know of that actually got killed? Always folks in the other villages, never Greenan.”
“The only reason I’m going is to fetch my brothers and sister and take them back home,” Hen declared. “That one”—she nodded toward Isabelle— “can do all the talking about witches she likes. I’ll be no part of it.”
Isabelle dropped back as the group began walking north. Why was Hen so stubborn? Why couldn’t she get with the program, get over it, get real? Fact: There was no child-eating witch. Fact: This was good news. Why couldn’t Hen accept it? Then she and Isabelle could go back to being friends. They could tell the news to the kids at the camp, drop off Hen’s various siblings at home, then head back toGrete’s for a big “Everything’s Okay Now” celebration.
Yeah,
Isabelle thought.
Right
.
Catching up with the others, Isabelle was more than a little irritated to find Hen having a friendly conversation with Samuel (Hen, who had not said one friendly word to Isabelle all day), the two of them reminiscing about the different camps they’d been to over the years.
“You’ve been to the camps north of Greenan before, I suppose?” Samuel asked. “Too close to home for us during our season, of course, but I always snuck over there when the children came from other villages, watched ‘em swing on the ropes over the creek.”
“Aye, the ropes are good fun,” Hen agreed. “Bet we’ll find Jacob swinging on one when we get there. The only problem with the Greenan camp—no offense to you—is that the woods are frightening around the edges. You feel eyes peering in at you at night.”
“All the camps are like that, not just Greenan,”Samuel said. “Anyone will tell you that the woods around the whole of the Five Villages are alive. We go to Aghadoc in our season, and the little ones won’t venture a foot from the campfire after darkness falls. When I was a wee boy, it didn’t matter if it were light or dark, I spent a whole day feeling spooked.”
“Then everyone will be even happier that there’s no witch,” Isabelle asserted. “We’ll be bringing them good news.”
Hen looked at Samuel. “You might want to be careful how you go about telling them about it,” she said, ignoring Isabelle completely. “You being a stranger, they won’t trust you much.”
Samuel nodded in agreement. “We might do well to act the traveler at first, like folks looking for a place to stay. When they get used to us a bit, then we’ll tell them. A day or two, and we’ll know the best way to go about it, don’t you think?”
“They’ll be wondering why you kept it a secret from them,” Rat Face pointed out. “They’ll think you’re not to be trusted.”
Really, it was hard for Isabelle—who believed herself to be a peaceable person, but like most people had her limits—not to reach out and give Rat Face a hard pinch. But Samuel seemed to take Rat Face’s idea seriously. “Let’s think about it while we walk,” he said. “And when we reach the camps, maybe the answer will set itself in front of us, in plain view.”
But when they reached the camps, what they found was not an answer.
What they found was chaos.
33
Maybe you’ve been to summer camp. Remember the cozy cabins with their slightly funky, mildewy smell, the well-tended paths you followed from this activity (archery!) to that (lanyard making!) over the course of a morning? How could you forget the sparkling lake, the noisy, joyful mess hall, the s’mores, the sing-alongs? Oh, Michael, row that boat ashore, yes, indeedy.
Even if you’ve never been to camp, this is
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