Fort Laramie (5 page)

"I need a shower," Julie groaned, tugging the front of her shirt away from her as if the act would create a breeze to lower her body temperature a notch. "I studied all about Fort Laramie - the history, the customs of the time, the responsibilities of the women - but I never thought about the climate! This is nasty - and it's only the first week in June!  What's it going to feel like when summer gets here?"

"Tom said the bathroom is in there," Carrie said, pointing to a cement block structure in the distance. It was going to be a trek in the middle of the night.

Julie shuddered. "Might as well check it out." She pulled a smaller zippered bag from a matching suitcase, added a change of clothes and a towel, then emerged from the tent.

Carrie had stuffed her toiletries into a grocery sack. 

The walk to the restrooms seemed interminable. The heat was oppressive, like standing in front of a hot oven with the door open. Carrie had been in a sauna once, and hadn't like it, not even after someone dumped water on hot stones to make it steamy. She had lived in Wisconsin all her life, but if the rest of the world were like this, she'd never leave home again.

The restroom had been painted once. Bits of green paint clung to the crevices in the cement block. The metal roof was beige, like the dried up vegetation, the dirt and gravel road in the campground, and the large, bare patches of ground where thoughtless campers had taken a short-cut instead of staying on the path. The letters designating this entrance for women had been recently painted a shiny black.

"Carrie, what did you get us into," Julie breathed, her voice barely loud enough to hear.

"Ew," Carrie answered.

The cement floor was covered with half an inch of dirt. Bird and mouse tracks were visible, along with their spoor. The sinks were stained and dirty, and parts were missing on the toilets. The single shower stall had an enormous spider web inside, and something big had died in it. Julie screamed, dashing out of the restroom fast enough to make the women's track team.

Carrie shook her head. She'd been to some tacky places in her life. High school had been no picnic. But this place took the prize.

"I can't do this," Julie said, tears filling her large, brown eyes. "I know I signed a contract, but I just can't do this! I can't live here! I'm not cut out for this!"

Carrie gave her a shake. "Don't be such a princess. So it's a little dirty. It just needs cleaning."

"You could drop a bomb made from Mr. Clean in there, and it wouldn't make a difference!"

"So? Let's bring it to Tom. He's always telling us how he's in charge. Let him figure this out. We'll tell him that we need clean, useable facilities, or he'll have to let us take a motel in town."

Julie nodded, dabbing delicately at her eyes with a tissue, so she wouldn't smudge her makeup.

Tom was handing out tin plates and eating utensils when they returned to camp. Jimmy dished out servings of hot, canned stew. Henry was in charge of serving canned pears, and Doug doled out slices of buttered bread. A cooler of canned sodas and juices was open at the end of the serving line. "Let's tell him after we eat," Carrie suggested.

"You aren't going to change your mind, are you?" Julie needed to know.

"No, but that restroom is enough to make anyone lose their appetite." Both girls giggled as they went to the back of the line.

"Nice dinner, Henry," Carried teased. "You worked real hard to make this stew, didn't you?"

He blushed, looking kind of cute, for a nerd. "I've never cooked a thing before, Carrie. Gimme a break."

"If you call this cooking. But it's filling and hot, and that's what matters. Thanks, by the way."

Two picnic tables had been pushed together, but it wasn't enough for all of them to sit. Tom and Adrian had their own camp stools. Some of the students had to sit on the ground. While they ate, Tom gave out more rules, more duties, more assignments. Didn't he ever shut up? Carrie's ears were tired of listening to him. She wolfed down her stew in time to get a scoop of seconds before it was all gone. Then she and Julie went to talk to him.

"You have to do something about the restroom," Carrie insisted.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It is filthy."

"So clean it."

"No, Tom. I will keep it clean, but I'm not going to pick up ten years of neglect. You clean it, or take us to a motel tonight."

He scowled at her. "There was nothing in the brochure about a motel. Did you fail to read it?"

"You promised us 'working facilities.' That was in the brochure. Go take a look for yourself. That place is disgusting."

Tom gave her a curt nod, then took off at a jog to do just that. He returned shortly, his face red and a vein in his neck bulging and pulsating. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he was pissed. "I'll take care of this," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He raised his voice to get everyone's attention. "While I'm gone, Adrian is in charge. Listen to him! Henry's team cooked dinner tonight. Chayton, you and your tent buddies will clean up the dishes. Jacob, Patrick and Nick will fix breakfast."

"Do the girls got to do breakfast dishes, then?" Henry asked.

"No, Adrian and I will do them."

"All right!"

"No fair! Why don't they gotta cook, too?"

Tom cleared his throat, garnering their attention. "Julie brought up a valid point at the first planning session. The girls are responsible for all lunches - both preparing it and cleaning up. So they do not have to do breakfast or supper, ever."

The grumbling continued, but it was quieter than before. "Girls, I'll be back as soon as I find out who's in charge here, and what they can do to clean that up."

"Thank you, Mr. McKay," Julie said.

Carrie nodded. It wasn't like he was doing them any great favor - he was just doing his job. Still, she hoped he was as good at ordering older people around as he was undergrads.

As soon as Tom left, Carrie ducked into their tent to change into a swimming suit.

"What do you think you're doing?" Julie asked.

"What's it look like? I'm hot, the showers are gross, so I'm going swimming."

"Where? I didn't see a pool anywhere."

"The river."

"Ew! You are not!"

"Julie, did I ever tell you that you're a real princess?"

"Ever since we met," Julie answered. "But you don't know this river. You don't know what might be lurking below the water's surface. There might be snakes, or leeches, or - or something equally gross!"

Carrie shook her head. "I don't care. I'm going swimming, and you are going to come and watch. It's never smart to swim alone."

"I'm not going in there!"

"You don't have to. Just keep me company, and call for help if anything goes wrong."

Julie sighed theatrically. "That's not going to happen. If you get hurt, I'm going to let you drown, girlfriend."

A few boys whistled at the girls when they came out of their tent in little bikinis. Chayton glanced at them, but gave a dangerous scowl, then returned to the paperback he was reading. Henry draped an arm around Carrie's shoulder. She slugged him and ducked out from under his grip.

"Tom told everyone to stay out of the river," Henry warned, rubbing his ribs where she'd hit him.

Carrie snorted. "Tom has a Napoleon complex."

"But maybe we should listen to him?" Julie suggested.

"No! I'm hot and tired and I'm a good swimmer. Now get your butt over here and join me!"

"All right," she consented.

The river was wide and lazy, meandering it's way across the flat landscape. Wyoming looked nothing like Wisconsin! At this time of year, Wisconsin was a verdant melody of spring greens interspersed with golden dandelions, apple blossoms, lilac bushes and rose gardens. The grass had been mowed a few times already, and the mosquitos had returned en mass. Here, the tall, sparse grasses were amber-brown and dead, skeletons from the previous season. Tucked down inside were greener shoots, barely visible. Wisconsin didn't have any real mountains to speak of, but parts of it had been missed by the massive glaciers that had once pressed through much of North America, leaving behind a beautifully rugged terrain. It was a popular state for ATV trails, cross-country skiing, bicycling, hiking, and even had a small dog-sled community that was growing in popularity. The only thing Laramie, Wyoming looked suited for was buffalo - although there were none in site.

Carrie stopped at the edge of the river, feeling the first twinge of anxiety. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea? The water was murky; she couldn't see what lay beneath the cloudy surface. She laughed at herself, knowing that no loch ness monsters were lying in wait. It was always just a bit creepy swimming in a new watering hole for the first time. She'd get over it. She dropped her towel, kicked off her shoes and carefully picked her way through the tall grasses until she could dip her toe in.

The water was perfect! It was pleasantly cool, but nowhere near as cold as Lake Michigan could be. She quickly scrambled over the edge, her feet slipping on moss-covered rocks until she fell in with a splash. Julie screamed, but Carrie quickly emerged, shaking her wet hair out of her eyes. "Oh, does this feel good!" she hollered.

"That's nice," Julie said flatly.

Carrie kicked and splashed. She swam out into the middle of the river, feeling the pull downstream stronger there. She swam back a bit closer to the river bank. Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the cobalt sky, feeling blessedly cool and relaxed for the first time in two days. "Hey, Julie? Toss me my shampoo, will you?"

"You're not going to wash your hair in that, are you?"

"Might as well. I hadn't intended to fall in."

Julie fetched the plastic bottle and gave it a toss. It splashed just in front of Carrie's face. Carrie swept her arm across the surface of the river, creating a small tidal wave that lapped at the rocks on the riverbank and splashed Julie's legs.

"Cut that out," she snapped.

"You cut it out. Come one, Julie. Why don't you just come in with me?"

"I do not bathe in septic tanks."

Carrie lathered up her long, tangled locks, scrubbing her scalp vigorously. Then she slipped under water to rinse. Rising again, she tossed the shampoo up on the shore and called for the conditioner. Julie paced back and forth anxiously, almost spoiling Carrie's pleasure, so she decided to get out sooner than she wanted. She swam to the riverbank little further down from where she'd entered, but the bank looked a bit less steep and like others might have used it in the past. The long grasses were bent over, revealing something of a path. Carrie planted her right foot, reached for a hand hold, then stepped onto her left - lost her balance and slipped again on the slick moss and screamed. This time she didn't fall into the river. This time something was wrong. Her scream wasn't a girly sound of surprise, but of real pain.

"Carrie! What's wrong - what happened! I knew this was a bad idea, didn't I say so?" Julie babbled, hurrying to her friend's aid. She knew she had to help, but she was afraid, as well. What if there were blood? Julie wasn't any good in a crisis. And she was angry with Carrie at the moment for putting her in that situation.

Carrie extended a hand, letting Julie help her up over the bank where she plopped immediately down onto the grass. She grabbed her foot, blood leaking out from under her palm. It was her foot, not her head. Julie took a deep breath and tried to settle the panic attack that was threatening to take over. She knelt next to her friend, brushing her long, soggy hair out of her face.

"How bad is it, Carrie? What happened?"

"It was a broken beer bottle," Carrie snapped. "Damn! Why are people so stupid! Oh, it hurts, it hurts. Go get help, I don't think I can walk."

"Help!" Julie screamed.

Henry was already halfway there, having been alerted by Carrie's original scream. He put on a burst of speed, then knelt down beside Julie. "Let me see it," he said.

Carrie moved her hand a bit, but quickly clamped down on the jagged cut again to staunch the blood flow.

"That's bad," Henry said, stating the obvious. "I'll get Adrian and the first aid kit. Just sit there, kid."

Carrie nodded, clenching her teeth. She wasn't going to cry - she would not cry! She wasn't a cry-baby, but it really did hurt.

It wasn't Adrian who came, but Tom, and he looked fierce. He didn't offer any words of comfort as he plastered a bandage around the wound. Then he lifted Carrie as easily as a sack of potatoes and marched back to the camp. He plopped her down none too gently on a picnic table and glowered at her. "Don't move!" he barked. He ducked into his tent, returning moments later with the same zippered hoodie he had loaned to her just that morning. "Put this on," he said, shoving it at her.

Carrie looked helplessly at her bloody hands, thinking she should clean up a bit before she put stains on the shirt.

"Now, Carrie," Tom yelled.

She shoved one hand into the sleeve, then the other. She fumbled with the zipper until Tom slapped her hands out of the way. He zippered it up all the way to her chin. For a brief moment, he gave her such a tender look, but then the fury returned. Carrie suspected then that his anger was a cover for his true emotions. He really cared about her, and she had scared him. She had scared herself, too. The tears she'd been struggling to hold off finally broke free and spilled down her face. She sniffed, looking away, but not fast enough.