last days she discovered its true nature. It was a well-camouflaged phantom, an avid, contemptuous, sneaky mob member, a guerrilla fighter prepared to destroy the natural peace of her heart, always secretly at war with her contentment. More terrible still, when her body betrayed her, she was taught that it was a wild child, capable of tantrums and tempers, furious deeds and appetites, and never never obedient to her will.
It happened in this way.
On what was to be a drama-laden day near the end of camp, Grete, fully dressed, woke Ib at six in the morning. A suggestion of light showed over the far side of the lake. In the helpâs house it was still cool, as if fall had come, unexpectedly, to the summer place. Ib got up at once, accustomed to early rising because sweet buns and soft rolls had to be ready to be served in the mess hall at eight-thirty.
He indulged in his ritual grumbling, followed by his soft, ropy cough.
âFrom the flour, not the tobacco,â he told Grete when she complained about it.
The room the couple occupied in the house smelled of his midnight quart of ale and his badly decayed teeth. Grete reminded him of the birthday cake he had to bake for dinner and the extra loaves for the senior hike.
âI know, I know. What do you think?â
Grete made her escape into the warm, perfumed air of the Ehrlichâs cottage. This morning she found the kitchen marred by the remains in the sink of a late meal Oscar must have required two or three hours after his dinner. For the moment she ignored the mess and proceeded to make her own thick, black coffee in the Scandinavian way, and then a small pot of American coffee for Mrs. Ehrlichâs breakfast. Mr. Ehrlich had long since gone to Liberty to fetch the mail and provisions.
Grete walked over to the bakery to obtain the fresh rolls from Ibâs tray. They said nothing to each other. She carried the little package back to the bungalow.
Grete knocked and then pushed open Mrs. Ehrlichâs door with her firm, uniformed body, holding the tray against her midriff. Mrs. Ehrlich was asleep, curled into the center of her bed like a giant snail. The air around her was sweet and heavy with the effusions of her flesh, perfumed with Chanel No. 5 before going to bed.
Grete pulled the blinds. Mrs. Ehrlich stirred, stretched, and sat up as the aroma of coffee and hot rolls reached her. Into the warm morning sunshine that reached her bed she smiled beneficently, luxuriating in the thought that the administrative tasks of the long summer were almost behind her. Was not the lovely sunshine of their place in Winter Haven about to descend on her? She had always moved contentedly through life, proceeding from one situation of physical comfort to the nextâthe bed, the sofa, the porch swing, the padded chair at the dining table, the soft armchair reserved for her at all camp events in the Amusement Hallâwaited upon and cosseted by Mr. Ehrlich, regarded fondly but lazily by her son, and always certain that the present, demanding as it might be, would turn into easeful release in the near future.
Her sole worry was for Grandmother Ehrlich, who had lived with them since the death of her husband. The details of her care during the summer in the cottage were left to her, Mr. Ehrlich, and a succession of helpers who came in from the village by the day. In winter, Mrs. Ehrlich was entirely free of these concerns. She was able to relax while she enjoyed her eight months in Florida. Grandmother Ehrlich was left behind in New York with a full-time caretaker.
Only the cold February visit to New York to sign up campers for the following summer marred Mrs. Ehrlichâs long, hot, slothful holiday, which ended, sadly, in June when they had to return to oversee the refurbishment of the camp. Both directors agreed that it was necessary for them to be on the grounds when the effect of winter storms on the manicured appearance of fields and bungalows, docks and
It happened in this way.
On what was to be a drama-laden day near the end of camp, Grete, fully dressed, woke Ib at six in the morning. A suggestion of light showed over the far side of the lake. In the helpâs house it was still cool, as if fall had come, unexpectedly, to the summer place. Ib got up at once, accustomed to early rising because sweet buns and soft rolls had to be ready to be served in the mess hall at eight-thirty.
He indulged in his ritual grumbling, followed by his soft, ropy cough.
âFrom the flour, not the tobacco,â he told Grete when she complained about it.
The room the couple occupied in the house smelled of his midnight quart of ale and his badly decayed teeth. Grete reminded him of the birthday cake he had to bake for dinner and the extra loaves for the senior hike.
âI know, I know. What do you think?â
Grete made her escape into the warm, perfumed air of the Ehrlichâs cottage. This morning she found the kitchen marred by the remains in the sink of a late meal Oscar must have required two or three hours after his dinner. For the moment she ignored the mess and proceeded to make her own thick, black coffee in the Scandinavian way, and then a small pot of American coffee for Mrs. Ehrlichâs breakfast. Mr. Ehrlich had long since gone to Liberty to fetch the mail and provisions.
Grete walked over to the bakery to obtain the fresh rolls from Ibâs tray. They said nothing to each other. She carried the little package back to the bungalow.
Grete knocked and then pushed open Mrs. Ehrlichâs door with her firm, uniformed body, holding the tray against her midriff. Mrs. Ehrlich was asleep, curled into the center of her bed like a giant snail. The air around her was sweet and heavy with the effusions of her flesh, perfumed with Chanel No. 5 before going to bed.
Grete pulled the blinds. Mrs. Ehrlich stirred, stretched, and sat up as the aroma of coffee and hot rolls reached her. Into the warm morning sunshine that reached her bed she smiled beneficently, luxuriating in the thought that the administrative tasks of the long summer were almost behind her. Was not the lovely sunshine of their place in Winter Haven about to descend on her? She had always moved contentedly through life, proceeding from one situation of physical comfort to the nextâthe bed, the sofa, the porch swing, the padded chair at the dining table, the soft armchair reserved for her at all camp events in the Amusement Hallâwaited upon and cosseted by Mr. Ehrlich, regarded fondly but lazily by her son, and always certain that the present, demanding as it might be, would turn into easeful release in the near future.
Her sole worry was for Grandmother Ehrlich, who had lived with them since the death of her husband. The details of her care during the summer in the cottage were left to her, Mr. Ehrlich, and a succession of helpers who came in from the village by the day. In winter, Mrs. Ehrlich was entirely free of these concerns. She was able to relax while she enjoyed her eight months in Florida. Grandmother Ehrlich was left behind in New York with a full-time caretaker.
Only the cold February visit to New York to sign up campers for the following summer marred Mrs. Ehrlichâs long, hot, slothful holiday, which ended, sadly, in June when they had to return to oversee the refurbishment of the camp. Both directors agreed that it was necessary for them to be on the grounds when the effect of winter storms on the manicured appearance of fields and bungalows, docks and
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