After the Wilderness

By Gordon Kearns

Chapter 2

An eight foot thick fog cloud hung almost to water level as the glowing sky above the mountains promised sunrise within the next half-hour. A couple of resolute fish seekers were feeling their way across the lake. The inexperienced rower skipped the oar over the surface. The echo of its banging against the side of the wood boat carried loudly through the fog ...and awoke Patty from her sound sleep. She turned over on her back to look up at the sky. Slowly arching her spine, she stretched the sleep from her body from her toes to her fingertips.

"Now that's the sexiest pose I think I've ever seen."

Startled, Patty sat up and looked behind her to see Rachel Bollinger standing on the berm smiling. Rachel was wearing jogging sneakers, a sweat-band holding her red hair out of her face, a long-sleeved sweatshirt cut off at her nipples, and nothing else. "Don't tell me you slept out here all night," Rachel said. "Weren't you cold?"

"Not really. Believe it or not, it was the best night's sleep I can remember ever having." Patty wrapped her arms around her knees. "Morning out here is great, isn't it?"

"It sure is. There's no way I'd miss a dawn jog at this time of the year." Rachel began running in place. "Look," she said, "if I stop too long, I'll stiffen up, How about joining me?"

"I'd like that," Patty said. Quickly she stood up and, as she did the night before, urinated in a neat stream to the ground between her feet.

"That was interesting," Rachel said, laughing. Patty again put her hands to her mouth. "I don't know what I was thinking. I did the same thing last night in front of Jack. Since I've been here, I'm doing all sorts of things I never did before: peeing in front of people, sleeping on the ground in the cold ..."

"Nude does that to folks sometimes: they lose their inhibitions." Rachel looked down at Patty's feet. "I don't know about jogging in bare feet though. Rocks could cut up your feet, or you could bung up your toes ..."

"I think I'll be all right. My bare feet feel more natural. It's worth a try."

The two girls set off toward the national forest at a reasonable, aerobic pace that permitted them to carry on a conversation with minimum pauses to catch their breath. Patty had no problem running shoeless. She seemed to land lightly --almost delicately --her steps too fleet to allow even the sharpest of rocks to dent her skin.

"God, you run elegantly," Rachel said.

"As far back as I can remember ...running's been one of my joys. Lately ...the last couple years ...I haven't had much chance to get out ...you know, school and studying and stuff," Patty said.

Rachel: "Me ...I lose it all if I let up for over forty-eight hours at a time ...So I have to keep pushing it just to maintain ...But ...you're a natural."

At the end of the berm they reached the forest and were faced with a steep grade into the trees. Slowing for the climb, they followed a path made a century earlier when prospectors' wagons wore the topsoil thin and vulnerable to erosion, leaving the rocky under-layer exposed. Further use smoothed and rounded the larger stones into a crude pavement that appeared almost deliberately laid. At the top of this first rise the path led through a flat, open meadow. They stopped momentarily to recover from the somewhat strenuous climb.

Rachel: "That's the hardest ...Once beyond 'Killer Cliff' ...the rest is a snap ...so to speak." As they started again, she continued. "I know it's only your second day ...but have you made any progress with your problems?"

Patty: "My problems?"

Rachel: "You know, what you were talking about in the jeep ...the decisions you have to make."

Patty: "No ...in fact, it's become more ...complicated."

Rachel: "Is there any way I can help? I'm a good listener, or I can give a whole bunch of advice if you want."

Patty: "Thanks ...I don't know ...I'm all mixed up about what I am ... and what I'm supposed to be ...or become. Everybody has a different idea about it ...but I'm not sure."

They stepped through a rusted old gate frame crossing the path. The fencing running from either post of the gate had long since disappeared. From here the path took an upward trend and followed the contours of a hill through a treeless south-facing slope, where the incessant sun left only low vegetation capable of tolerating more arid conditions. The girls didn't bother to stop to pry under the rocks to see the scorpions, and the scorpions didn't bother to come out to see the girls pass. The path continued to circle around the hill and into the more plush zone of tall trees, where it went into another steep incline --not the likes of "Killer Cliff," but stern enough to slow them to a normal hiking pace.

Rachel: "I think I know a little about that 'supposed to be' business."

The path narrowed a bit, but they were still able to proceed comfortably side by side, occasionally brushing arms, which disconcerted Rachel somewhat: the brushes brought a light, temporary tingle to her skin not unlike the electric charge before a thunderstorm. She shrugged the feeling off as static electricity. Continuing the conversation, she grinned, "You wouldn't know by looking at me now, but I'm a minister's daughter --a real, honest-to-goodness minister's daughter ...good old Norwood Christian Church --AND school of Anaheim ...He was good, a minister's daughter's father to be proud of ...Not one of those hell-fire and damnation ministers either, no hollering or yelling or brow wiping ...In his sermons he'd just layout in clear black and white terms what God required of his people, and cite appropriate, irrefutable biblical evidence for support ...The congregation loved him. When money was tight, he

voluntarily cut back his salary. When someone had trouble raising tuition, he'd take care of it from his own pocket. He was understanding and patient with sinners --the first time one came to him, and the tenth time the same one came having fallen to the same temptation. He wouldn't hesitate answering a midnight call to console a mother whose child o.d.'d on drugs ...He was good.

"This minister's daughter did get to know God ...oh, yes. Every breakfast ended with a bible passage and discussion, and every dinner ended with a gently guided and kindly review of the day's activities. A minister's daughter should know scripture better than the average kid ...But it was made very personal... He guided me into seeing how each day's scripture related to my own behavior.

"I was an only child --adopted --chosen, so to speak. As an infant I was abandoned ...in the middle of a forest. I was lucky ...I guess. A couple hunters were trailing a wounded deer, using blood from his wound to guide them. It's a good thing for me they were persistent. They kept after him for a couple hours. The trail didn't lead to the deer; it led to me, a deserted waif in the woods. When my father heard about me, he put in for adoption immediately. "A sign from heaven," he used to say, calling me "Little Miss Moses from the Bulrushes." However, as an adopted child from unknown genetic background, I needed an extra thorough education in what was expected of a Christian and especially a member of a Christian minister's family.

"I dressed well... neatly, I mean ...skirts, of course --just past the knees ...never slacks, never jeans. A minister's daughter should be the picture of modesty. And health: in my teens I had a propensity to chubbiness, so when I showed an interest in the rage of the day --jogging --my father encouraged me ...a minister's daughter should show she respects her body as a temple of God's spirit, and not have tendencies hinting indifference and excess ...Just for the jogging I was permitted to wear shorts --practical, cotton-poly, over-the-hips shorts ...not those nothing nylon briefs, naturally. A minister's daughter mustn't be immodest, remember.

"Mother was a good, minister's wife. She taught third, fourth, and fifth grades at Norwood. Father was in charge of my home guidance, though ...I was made to understand that he was the one in the best position to know how a minister's daughter should be brought up; he knew the temptations a growing child, the minister's daughter, had to face. He decided my clothes, my friends, my toys, my recreation, my reading, my schedule. It was necessary, he said, because a minister's daughter had as much an obligation to set a proper example for the congregation's children as the minister and his wife had for the adults. I never saw my parents argue. The father was the master of his home. My mother always had breakfast ready for us, and she was always already dressed for the day by the time we entered the kitchen ...of course, she would herself be neat and primly attired as a minister's wife should ... And I never knew how she accomplished it, but she always had dinner ready for us promptly at six ...As I matured I was naturally given a share of housekeeping duties. A minister's daughter had to learn womanly responsibilities."

The trees lining the path suddenly opened to a broad ridge. On the right was a mound of chat surrounding a hole --a deep pit some ten feet across, the remnant of an old abandoned mine shaft. It was covered by a rusty iron grating securely anchored to concrete plugs embedded in the ground. Behind the pit the ridge dipped only slightly to allow for a run-off stream bed, dry at the time, Beyond the stream bed was another wooded hill. To the left of the path the ridge would have fallen away sharply had it not been for the knoll of mine tailings, all that remained of a family enterprise that went dry decades and decades before. Beyond the ridge the path continued upward into the forest again. In the miles ahead, several such remains of a long-ago gold rush could be found. The girls stopped to rest at the old mine, Rachel sitting on the mound of chat by the closed pit, with Patty seated cross-legged on the path before her.

Rachel continued: "I was given a totally Christian education --as befits a minister's daughter. For high school, I attended the West County Christian Academy. And every summer from the time I was twelve I went to a fundamentalist camp. I guess that's where I got my first taste of how wonderful the outdoors were ...My father would die if he realized it was those fundamentalist camps that started me toward what I am today."

Rachel reached down and casually brushed aside a strand of hair that had drifted across Patty's face. "Oh, thanks," Patty said, smiling, "It was kind of splitting my vision."

Rachel continued her narrative: "Sex is mankind's downfall. Lust and Godliness are incompatible. God loves only the clean of mind and body. Those were harsh teachings for a girl such as I. I matured very young. I began my periods in the fourth grade ..."

Patty: "You did? I thought I was the only one ever to start that soon."

Rachel: "Sisters in toyland menarche! A lot of us early birds thought we were alone. By late in the fifth grade I was already full-bosom'd."

Patty, putting her hands under her breasts and laughing: "So was I... at least as full bosom'd as I'll ever be."

Rachel: "Full bosom'd enough for my money. Those are as tempting teats as I've ever seen." Rachel's eyes riveted on Patty's breasts for a moment longer before she shook her head slightly and went back to the story. "My father did everything he could to hide my ...affliction: you know, flattening bras and loose-fitting and bulky blouses and sweaters. A minister's daughter should not be the object of lustful thoughts. Chastity was God's design for young ladies. Young ladies should never allow their bodies to be the occasion for sinful thoughts or deeds. Modesty in attire was a must, but particularly when a girl's body was as ...sensuous as mine ... double particularly since I was a minister's daughter.

"In more mundane areas: a minister's daughter should spend an hour and a half at homework every night and receive no lower than a 'B' on her report card; a minister's daughter should not indulge in traditionally male pursuits --majoring in math, careers in science or medicine (except as a nurse), football, basketball, or --'heavens' --wrestling; a minister's daughter should not attend 'those kind' of kids' parties ...the kind with kissing and stuff (just training grounds for petting, father would say) or be in unchaperoned mixed groups for any reason; a minister's daughter shouldn't date boys until her senior year --and then only in groups of three or more couples; a minister's daughter should never dance 'close up' or drink alcoholic beverages of any kind; a minister's daughter should become adept at sewing, knitting, cooking, baking, and child care --baby-sitting was encouraged to this end (for approved families only), and a minister's daughter's earnings should be put away for her college education --at a good Christian college; a minister's daughter should never wear heavy make-up -- the sin of vanity, you know; a minister's daughter never draws attention to herself with jewelry or other ostentatious apparel or decoration; and a minister's daughter should prepare herself for a gentile career to last only until marriage, after which all her efforts were to be in the interests of her husband and family."

Patty shifted her position, resting her arm on Rachel's knee. "People make it so hard to be people, don't they?" Patty said.

Rachel: "They sure do. I should have grown up so in awe of God that I'd never stray. I did grow up in awe of God ...and very fearful of him. And even with all the 'shoulds' I somehow never could live up to what I knew was the right way to live: I strayed often --as a child, mostly in my thoughts, but also with my friends, reading smuggled Playboy's and Playgirl's; and as I grew older, with quick 'feelie sessions' with the boys in the back seat of the bus. Even then I was fulfilling my born role: 'making out' with the minister's daughter was considered a normal goal for some of the good Christian boys."

Patty: "How did you feel about all that?"

Rachel: "The good Christian boys, you mean?"

Patty: "No ...the whole thing ...being what a minister's daughter should be. What did you feel about that?"

Rachel: "In the going through it, I don't think I made any judgments at all: life was as it was." Still fiddling with Patty's hair. "But I did lead two lives ...from when I was five or six years old ...or earlier; but that's as far as my memory can carry me. I did live the 'should be' as best as I could, except for those hormonal lapses I just mentioned. But believe it or not, I had my secret times when I lived my 'un-should be' life. Homework and study times were best; I used to pretend I was working even if I had already finished (drawing pictures of sexy movie stars passes for map drawing easily from a distance, while still not requiring my mind's full attention) ...and my other secret time was after I went to bed at night. In these times I became a beautiful maiden, living in a beautiful, magic make-believe world. I could fly the world on magic carpets, or become a graceful swan, ferrying gnomes across the ocean. However, it wasn't all 'dream world.' During those homework and study times I'd read about down-to-earth magic --card tricks, disappearing coins, that sort of thing --and in my room at night, spotlighted by my secret flashlight, I learned how to juggle four oranges -- I can still do about a hundred catches without a drop --and I created a best friend using an old Orlon running sock and rudimentary comic book taught ventriloquism skills. My biggest disappointment with my 'should be' life was that it was all so cut and dried, there wasn't even any pretend magic to it."

Rachel wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead. "It's going to be another warm fall day," she said, slipping her 'sawed-off' sweatshirt over her head. "I left home the day after I graduated. Nothing especially philosophic about it. ...well, maybe I wanted to try out how I'd do in the 'free world.' I used my 'gentile skills' to get a job as a stenographer with a neighborhood news journal. When I was twenty, I heard about Bollinger's. I couldn't think of a better rebellion ...'rebellion'? I said that, didn't I ...I guess rebellion was a part of what I felt about being what a minister's daughter should be. Anyway, I spent my next two vacations and every possible week-end here. I spent a lot of time with Darren, the owner's son. At twenty-four I married him --out by the lake in an all-nude ceremony with nude minister and nude guests." She chuckled. "I invited my parents, but, damn, they didn't come. I haven't seen my parents since.

"Soooo, I know about that 'what you're supposed to be' stuff. In the end the only thing that can work for a person is to forget 'what she's supposed to be,' and get on with the only thing that can really work for her: to be what she finds herself being."

They sat as they were for two or three more minutes, until Patty stood up, dusted herself off lightly, picked up a couple rocks, and started tossing them over the tailings. "I've never ever been ...me ...I don't think." The sun shot a beam through some unfallen leaves, giving Patty's shoulders and hair a sort of glowing Midsummer's Night Dream outline, which held Rachel almost spellbound. "I've had my math ...a private pride of mine, but more a fun thing than a life's thing, if you know what I mean. And I've only known ...love emanating from what I've learned of God ...of Jesus ...and I want to return that love, I think. The sisterhood ...sounds peaceful... sounds right ..."

Rachel: "The sisterhood?"

Patty: "Yes ...but there's something missing from it ...for me, I think. Sister Daniella said that if it's right for me, I'll know. But she's sure that if I pray for God's guidance, he'll lead me to the vocation of a nun, and the pieces will fall in place." She leaned back against a lone tree trunk that had grown through the tailings, reaching behind her neck with one hand to grip a branch growing out to the right. "I love Sister Daniella more than almost anything --she's helped me through most of my growing up problems. ..what with my mother's professional obligations and my other folks' ...well, not being in my generation and all. But I don't know: there's still something missing for me.

"And joining the 'enterprises' --that's the family business ...I'd get to meet a lot of people ...and influence a lot of important decisions. Not right away, of course ...and I'd get to go to Yale or some such, and all that. And I'd make my folks happy. I'm a 'bastardess,' you know. But they took my mother and me in without question, and raised me as if I were theirs. They poured their love into me, and I'd like to pay them back ..."

Rachel: "Pay them back? But if they love you, they wouldn't want you to feel... obligated, would they?"

Patty: "No ...But ..."

Rachel: "It's got to be what you are, Patty. It always comes back to that --not what your folks are, not what this Sister Daniella is: what you are."

Patty's eyes filled suddenly. "But I don't know what I am. There's something missing that I have to find ...and I don't know what it is." She walked aimlessly away from the tree and stood on the hill of tailings. Each time she moved or turned, the sun highlighted another part of her: first her compact buttocks, then her nipples, then her flowing hair. Then she espied something in among the trees farther up the hill, and slipped quickly and gracefully through the thick, dry underbrush to reach it. Amazingly, the glow from the sun seemed to remain with her a while longer --even in the shaded woods. She stopped about twenty yards away. A small clump of autumn wildflowers was growing at the base a tree. She stooped down and tenderly pinched off one of the delicate little rosettes. Then she bounded almost weightlessly back through the forest debris to the clearing. She stood in front of Rachel and laughingly tucked the pink and white flower above her left ear.

Rachel: "Patty, you overwhelm me. One second you're totally confused and depressed, and the next second you're running through the forest after a tiny flower. You flit from here to there and back with the lightness of the forest nymphs in old Greek myths. I don't know if you realize it, but there's definitely something mystical about you."

Patty: "Mystical? I can't imagine ...Jack said something like that to me last night --that I could be magic, as my ...as Patrick seemed to be."

Rachel: "I used to dream of magic ...and play with tricks I learned from books. But, God, here you are Patty: your body, your mind, your wistful doubts ...You are ...magic."

Rachel sat staring at the blue-eyed, lean ...beautiful young girl, who stood so artlessly before her, radiating mysticism ...and sexuality. Then she rose and tentatively reached out to touch the flower above Patty's ear. Patty followed the hand with her eyes as far as she could. Out of a sudden impulse, Rachel's hand dropped to just touch Patty's shoulder and follow its contour down her arm a few inches. Patty's eyes continued to follow the unplanned movements; there was no particular change in her slightly wondering expression. From the arm, Rachel's hand moved across to rest on Patty's breast, pausing to finger the responding nipple. Through it all Patty didn't move a muscle --only her eyes to follow Rachel's hand, which now drifted down over Patty's belly, touching in her navel, and on to her pubes, where it again rested momentarily before moving underneath, and stopped again. Patty didn't move or change expression as Rachel's finger started to probe inside. Suddenly, as if waking from a dream, Rachel pulled her hand away. "I'm so sorry, Patty, my mind must have been ..." Before she could finish her sentence, Patty took Rachel's hand and gently guided it back to her crotch, encouraging the finger to re-enter her labia. Then Patty draped her arms over the shorter girl's shoulders, and rested her head just touching Rachel's cheek. There were rhythmic, barely discernible movements to Rachel's hand and Patty's pelvis. The two remained thus for only a few minutes, until Patty's body shivered slightly. Shortly after, Rachel withdrew her hand, and the girls separated.

The seventeen year old and the twenty-eight year old looked into each other's eyes for another minute before Patty broke the spell. "That's another thing I've never done before."

Rachel's cheeks reddened. "Patty, I... It's the first time I've ever done anything like that, too ...with another girl. I... I don't know what ..."

Patty: "No, wait ..." A beat. "You know, when you were talking about hormones and sexual feelings before. I... I've never been out with boys --on dates, I mean. We've had joint dances with the Christian Brothers Academy, but that's all. I've never been kissed by a boy ...or anything like that. Oh, I know about sex. My mother keeps me up-to-date about that ...with pictures and things." She walked a few feet to the tailings and started throwing bits of chat off into space as she had earlier. Rachel, though still flustered, allowed Patty the time to pull her thoughts together. Finally, Patty faced Rachel again. "I wondered a lot about it ...what it would be like to have a boy ...do things to me. At those dances I'd sometimes secretly wish a boy would ask me to sneak outside with him. Sometimes I'd wish it so much I'd shake inside ...and outside, too. If I were dancing with a boy I'd hold his hand as hard as I could so he couldn't feel my hand shake.

"It started way before high school... that wanting to 'play' with boys --even before I started to menstruate. At night in bed there were times I wouldn't sleep all night because of thinking about it. I'd tell the priest about these feelings in confession. Sexual feelings were natural, he would tell me, but allowing oneself to linger on them was a sin. Then he'd tell me if I prayed real hard, God's Grace would carry me through. Later, Sister Daniella told me not to worry about it. She said as long as I didn't act out my fantasies with a boy for real, it was all right.

"Then in the last year or so, after I began thinking about becoming a nun, I tried to keep myself busy with my math and physics interests and my meditations about the life of Christ and the saints. Mostly I thought it worked ...but still at night sometimes ...and even when I'm praying ...I know that it's still with me. And here, where everybody's naked ...and I'm naked ..." She came back to Rachel again and laid her hands on Rachel's breasts. "Anyway, it wasn't just your idea ...what just happened. When I saw you in that funny little sweat shirt thing ...well, there was something about you, too. And when our arms brushed a little while ago ...it was like ... electricity."

Patty's face became totally crimson; her hands remained on Rachel. "There was a ...an urge. I don't think I knew exactly where I wanted it to lead at first ...but from the time we arrived at the mine, I was doing everything in my power to ...to seduce you. I've been taught that sex outside of marriage was wrong, and that sex with another female was double-wrong. But that didn't matter. I was doing my very best to seduce you. I wanted to touch your wonderful body, and I wanted you to touch mine ... just like you did ...and to feel me and ...masturbate me. And when you did, I liked it ...and I didn't want you to stop." She toyed nervously with Rachel's nipples. "I don't think I'm a lesbian or anything like that. Down inside me I still wish I could ...'know a boy' ...you know, have sex. But being with you ...was so exciting. I've never thought about any other woman that way. Even right now I wish ..." Rachel took Patty's hands and kissed each palm as the younger girl continued: "In spite of everything I've been taught, I can't see that what we did was anything but right ...good --and I don't feel a bit guilty about it. I know I should ...but I don't."

Suddenly Patty giggled impishly. "It was fun, wasn't it?" Then she took the wildflower from above her ear and, sweetly --lovingly --seated it over Rachel's ear. "Maybe someday ..." she said, still giggling.

Relaxing, Rachel laughed too: "Why not?" She gave Patty a more than affectionate kiss on the lips.

They started back down the trail, more gingerly than on the uphill trip: downhill running can be deceptively hazardous. While still on the narrow path leading to the south facing slope, Patty grasped Rachel's hand, and they continued hand-in-hand all the way down to the pontoon bridge --laughing, giggling, and occasionally yelping like Girl Scouts on a camp-out.

Rachel showered off the perspiration from her morning's run, and went to the lobby desk to help her husband Darren with the unending details of running an operation the size of Bollinger's. The normal responsibilities of the lobby desk --greeting and registering guests, dispensing information, handling keys, seeing to substitutes for people in pivotal positions who are absent, etc. --both husband and wife took their turns at, along with a hired desk manager during the busy seasons. In addition, each had particular roles as his or her assigned share of the administrative duties of the resort. Because of her training and experience in office and bookkeeping work, Rachel found herself in charge of data processing. She handled the computer. She was the resident expert. Darren made sure the maids cleaned the rooms perfectly every day, and Rachel made sure their time and wages were accurately recorded in the payroll. Darren scheduled the activities and contracted the special programs (beauty contests, etc.); Rachel kept the reservations in order and the bank balance up-to-date. That's the way it went. In the division of work, it was a true management team, and Darren and Rachel depended on each other to fulfill their assigned roles.

There was still an hour left before breakfast at 7:00. Jack Bollinger was offering moral support from a chair he had pulled up to the customer side of the desk. Since Jack retired, he helped out now and then when needed, but mostly in his self-proclaimed expertise field of public relations; he forswore any thought of paperwork. But he was quite unselfish with his personal support of the younger folks' efforts. He was happy to keep them company while they did the work.

"I saw you jogging across the berm with the Flanery girl this morning -- hand-in-hand. You two must have struck it off pretty well," Darren said

Rachel turned her tingling face aside. "She's a sweet kid, don't you think?"

"No doubt about it," Darren answered. "She's got the whole place talking about her. I have to admit she is a pretty thing, though"

"Now there's an understatement," Jack Bollinger put in. "She's a real beauty. Jerry Schulman thinks she'd make a great model. Me, I think there's something absolutely ethereal about her."

Rachel: "Ethereal? You think so. I... I get kind of the same feeling about her."

Darren, laughing: "There you go, dad. You've got Rachel started again with your 'ethereal' business. You know how she's into all that mysticism stuff."

Jack: "In this case it might be true. It is highly probable she's Patrick's daughter."

Rachel: "Patrick? Isn't that who she says she's supposed to meet here? You think he's her father?"

Jack: "That's what some of us think, at least."

Darren: "I remember a guy named Patrick. A long time ago. He used to come here a lot when I was little, but I sure don't remember any 'mysticism. ' "

Jack: "You were too young. To start with, Patrick wasn't our ...usual type of guest. Never paid us a dime."

Darren: "Lord, I don't know how this place ever got along before I took over. You allowed a non-paying guest?"

Jack: "He was a ...friend --just a kid --but a friend nonetheless. Started dropping by when he was only six years old. I was thirty-one at the time. I met him out on one of the trails. Wise beyond his years. Bright as a new penny. I can't go into many details. I promised him confidentiality. But you don't have to worry, Darren: he never stayed at the lodge and never ate our food. When he came, he'd just appear along a trail in the woods, mingle around with us and the guests for a few days, and then disappear just as suddenly as he appeared. Like magic."

Darren: "Magic? Nonsense. He was just a kid who lived or camped in the forest."

Rachel: "But a six year old?"

Darren: "Like dad said, a wise and bright six year old. Now don't get into your 'magic mode,' Rachel. There's only black/white, cause/effect ... and bills to be paid and sheets to be laundered."

"I agree, Darren," Phil MacClean said. Phil and his wife Doris were passing through the lobby and had caught the gist of the discussion. "'Magic' has always been used as a catch-all non-explanation for occurrences outside the scope of contemporary science. What makes it dangerous is the fear we attach to the word --a fear that inhibits logical reaction. But most everything that was ever considered 'magic' in the good old days of witches, sorcerers, and fairies has long since been shown to be imaginative misinterpretations of natural phenomena. These days, calling anything 'magic' is irrational."

Jack: "Ouch!"

Phil MacClean, laughing: "Present company excepted, of course. But I remember Patrick, too ...not as a six year old ...but I remember him back in 'Marianne's Week,' and a year or so before, when I first started coming to Bollinger's. I admit it was easy to get a 'spooky' feeling about him. He did come and go rather ...mysteriously, and he had an eerie way of answering questions frankly and seemingly honestly. Yet when you thought about them, they revealed nothing at all. But I never really thought of it as any more than a ...taciturn habit."

Doris MacClean: "You make everything sound so uninteresting. Personally, I like to think there's still some 'magic' left in the world."

Phil, with good humor: "We cancel each other out in every presidential election, too."

Jack: "And I bet I can guess who's the Republican and who's the Democrat."

Phil, turning serious again: "But make no mistake, friends, it's self-deluding to attach the label of 'magic' to events in our time. "Magic' died when Armstrong stepped on the moon. There's no such thing any more."

As Phil was talking, Rachel slipped her hand into the cash box and very deftly palmed a coin --an expertise developed from many hours of surreptitious practice in the unreliable beam of a secret flashlight. When he finished his last emphatic sentence, she calmly strode over to the practical Doctor, reached down, and extracted a bicentennial quarter from his penis.

Phil, laughing: "A wise general knows when he's whipped. I've never lost a debate to an adversary with such ...a flair." With that, Phil and Doris continued on through the lobby. As they left, Doris turned and winked gleefully at Rachel.

Darren: "Well done, my little better half. Remind me not to argue magic with you again."

Jack leaned over the desk and kissed his daughter-in-law on the cheek. "You're a queen, Red." Then to both of them: "I'll see you guys at breakfast. I've got to tell the gang about this one."

After Jack was gone, Darren turned more somber. "It was okay this time. Phil's an old timer here ...and he has a good sense of humor --and it was funny. But you should be cautious about possibly embarrassing a guest. We can --and should --be friendly with the guests. But as managers we have to be careful not to get on too personal terms with them. And you do have a tendency to get personally involved with people ...guests. Dad was the same way. But we just can't do that if we're going to run this business efficiently. You've got to consider each guest in his own way as 'special.' It's our business to provide them all with the best accommodations, the best food, the nicest atmosphere, and the opportunity to experience the most pleasurable holiday possible. We can't do that if we get wrapped up in their personal lives. Rachel, you've got to learn to stay friendly-aloof from the guests. As an example, take the Flanery girl. To me, Patty Flanery is an attractive kid who deserves our most considerate and courteous attention. As individuals ...as business people, we have no place intruding into her private life."

Rachel's cheeks reddened again. She didn't respond to her husband's comment.

Darren continued: "But I have to admit, you really wowed him with that trick." He chuckled. "And that reminds me. You know that big outdoors show coming to the convention center in Anaheim in a few weeks? I've been thinking of a sensible use for your magic hobby ...and your sock puppet as well. I've contracted for a booth plugging our resort at the show. You could put on a little demonstration for the folks. Your tricks would be a great attention getter, and you could work up a routine with your puppet to explain the advantages of coming here for a family vacation. What do you think, Rachel?"

Patty did not have the ebullience and dynamic charisma her mother exhibited during "Marianne's Week" almost eighteen years before. But there was an ingenuousness about Patty --an unimpeachable, candid innocence --and an almost spiritual, subtly erotic child-of-nature aura that seemed to emanate from her naturally lean, lithe young body. Everyone at Bollinger's was fascinated by her. Wherever she was, she gathered attention. In her unassuming way, she was as much the Pied Piper as her mother.

Patty was alone when she took a place for breakfast by one of the large picture windows overlooking the lake. It wasn't long before she was joined by the Crespys, Jack Bollinger, and Ernest Bergen --five people at a table for four. Jerry Schulman table-hopped for a few minutes getting Ernest Bergen's support for his contention that Patty would make a terrific model. Patty's cheeks turned crimson. The artist/dean agreed with Jerry's assessment. He asked Patty if she'd mind posing for some charcoal sketches after breakfast.

"Don't hog all her time, Ernie" was the consensus comment of the rest of her table-mates. They had her lined up to join their horseback trail ride later in the morning. Patty tactfully accepted both invitations. She'd pose from nine to ten and join the trail ride from ten to eleven-thirty.

Most of the breakfast conversation was monopolized by the Crespys. First, Bart held forth on his favorite subject: you can't wait for "the breaks" to come your way in life; you've got to get out and make the breaks happen. It's only those who aren't afraid to push their way ahead who achieve true success. "In life, we're all salesmen," he said. "And salesmen can't afford to wait for the phone to ring; they've got to pound the pavement and get their own leads."

Janet picked up when Bart tired. Hers was of a little more general interest. She expounded on the subject of Quantum mechanics and the fascinating, puzzling results of Feynman's two hole experiment, in which photons change their nature from energy waves to particles and back depending the manner in which the experiment is observed. Most of the group grew restless after her opening explanation, but Patty was attentive throughout: this was her own particular field of interest.

After breakfast Patty met Ernie Bergen at the lakefront. She seated herself nonchalantly on the grass, leaning back against an overturned rowboat. Her right foot was drawn back so she could rest her hand comfortably on her knee. Her left leg was on the ground, the knee bent so that her instep and toes hooked behind her right heel. With her left hand she idly picked at the grass by her knee. The artist could think of no way to improve on this natural pose, so he unfolded his aluminum easel, locked in the 18x24 pad, and set to work. As the charcoal rasped against the paper, Ernie Bergen kept up a genial conversation with his model --pausing only when he was sketching in details of her face.

They discussed Patty's mission: to meet with Patrick and deliver a message to him from her mother; and the troubling decision facing Patty in the near future. They talked about Patty's illegitimate birth and how she was cared for by her mother's folks, and of her abiding interest in math and physics ...and serving God. And they touched on the possible relationship of Patrick to herself.

"You do resemble him, you know," Ernie said. "Tall, dark blond hair, lean build, light and easy stride, a bit reserved."

Patty: "You knew him well, then?"

Ernie: "As well or better than anyone here, I would imagine."

Patty, hesitantly: "Jack said there was something ...magic about him."

Ernie: "Magic? Some people might say that. When you get to be my age, the line between magic and reality becomes thin. I've seen too many impossible things happen, like space stations and television ...and too many things I relied upon fall apart, like ...promises made by politicians I thought I trusted."

Patty: "If I gave Sister Daniella an answer like that, she'd say I was dodging the issue "

Ernie: "You're right ...I was evading. But 'magic' is a broad term; I don't know if it's the most appropriate description for Patrick. 'Mystic' possibly. However, I think I like 'unusual' best."

Patty: "How 'unusual'?"

Ernie: "Unusual... talents. Really, Patty, I can't go any further into it than to say Patrick was able to do ...things ...impossible things we normal... average ...people find hard to believe. Not many of us around here knew about them: Jack, for one, and his late wife Jean; maybe Doris MacClean --but not Phil, he was too ...rational-minded to have understood; and possibly the Schulmans; and, of course, Marianne --your mother. Several others knew Patrick --Phil and Darren are the only ones here at the present time --but they were unaware of anything 'special' about him. Yet Patrick was special... special enough that it must be by his own choice to allow any 'regular person' to know the secret ...even his ...even you, Patty."

Patty: "But ..."

Ernie: "In addition, I'm not sure it would be best for you to know."

Patty: "I don't understand."

Ernie: "Your life is quite complicated as it stands right now. You've got decisions a-plenty ...especially for a seventeen year old kid. Your knowing about Patrick could have a profound effect on you. I don't think you need that."

Patty: "But my mother sent me here to find out about him, I'm sure. She must have thought it was best for me ...and, well, it is me. I think I have a right to find out ...something that's apparently so important about a man who might be my father. If there's something about him that could make a difference for me, shouldn't I know?"

Ernie: "If he's your father ...Okay, grant he might be. Then even more so you could be affected by knowing ...what he is. I really don't think there's any doubt about it. Look, I can't tell you about Patrick. But more than that, my best advice to you right now would be to forget the whole thing; forget the message for him; forget about meeting him, forget your curiosity about him. I guarantee that your meeting Patrick could change your whole life. It would be far better to just enjoy the fun of romping around nude for a week or so and go home and make whatever decision you have to make about your future, which isn't all so different than thousands of other teenagers who have to choose between their hearts, their obligations, and their sensible natures --and come to a decision, just as all those others have --a decision you'd adjust to and live with and go with the rest of your life probably satisfied with, just like the others. Please, Patty, take my advice, don't turn a normal life upside down: walk away from it."

Patty kept her pose, but tears were overflowing her eyelids.

Ernie continued: "But you won't forget it, will you? Everything I've said ...everything we've all said has made you more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the story ...hasn't it?" He laughed.

Patty, also with a little laugh: "Yes."

Ernie: "In that case there's another thing I want you to know. You won't understand why I'm saying this ...or what it means. That's okay, though; what's important is that you remember it, because there may come a day ..."

Patty looked at him questioningly.

Ernie: "Look, Patty, you do have a beautiful, vibrant body. You do have a certain aura of seductive mysticism ..." Patty raised her head to interrupt, but he hurriedly went on: "You do make a wonderful artist's model. Here's my offer --it may sound strange to you, but please hear me out --all you have to do is show up at my office over at Three Springs (there are signs and arrows allover the campus) and you have a job modeling for classes and individual artists for whatever hours you want. No questions will be asked, no papers will have to be filled out. I'll see that you get paid however you'd like: cash, check, automatic bank deposit, Post Office box ... whatever. It can be next week or ten years from now or at whatever intervals you require. The important thing is that you know if you need an income of whatever duration for whatever reason, it's available to you."

Patty: "Why ...?"

Ernie: "'Why' doesn't matter right now ...'why' doesn't make any sense right now. But today or tomorrow or some day this week you will, probably, meet Patrick, and your life will be altered such that some day it might matter. If it doesn't, okay, but what is important is that you remember the offer is there. And even if you don't meet Patrick, my offer will always be open under the same terms, and represent a ...well, change of pace from whatever you might be doing." He chuckled. "Even 'sistering.' So don't say anything right now; just tuck my offer in the back of your mind ...in case."

Patty: "I... thanks, Ernie. I will remember."

After almost exactly an hour of posing for Ernie Bergen, a dozen guests of Bollinger's appeared on the scene and bodily abducted Patty for the pre-lunch trail ride.

On to Chapter 3

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