The Cloister South of Camp Woodhull

Grace Truett

Ryan had met Delaney the day before, and recognized her immediately as a potential friend, or at the very least an accomplice, for she seemed nearly as restless as herself. Both of them had been sent to Camp Woodhull for the whole summer, and it was only June. Their impatience showed in their young faces. 

They’d been paired up at a campfire get-together and had to ask each other questions while well-meaning counselors breathed down their necks. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Delaney had asked a bit defeatedly. 

“A nun,” Ryan answered, as always. Seeing them talking, the nearby counselors loosened up and relocated to surround the next pair of socially stagnant campers. 

The girl’s conversation quickly grew more radical. “What if we ran away?” Ryan asked, intoxicated by the little conversation they’d gotten going. “How about tomorrow?” asked Delaney. 

Cabin 14 was vacant, except for the two of them. The other girls were still at the mess hall, having lunch, probably poking disinterestedly at some fresh green beans and gulping down their two glasses of water before they were allowed a glass of orange juice. Delaney had managed their escape by telling Counselor Blossom that she had started her period and had to go back to the cabin for supplies. Counselor Blossom’s eyes had widened. “Make sure you bring a buddy!” she said, just as Delaney knew she would. With that, she linked her arm to Ryan’s, and off they were. Counselor Blossom looked at Ryan with sympathy in her eyes, as if she had hoped the child might brighten up a little, and was seeing her wish come to fruition. The girls had sped down the hillside and into Delaney’s campsite. Instead of long log cabins like the one Ryan was staying in with fifteen other campers, Delaney’s group was housed in a spattering of small cabins, if you could quite call them that, with tarp walls. The girls spoke only in a whisper, eager not to draw attention to themselves. 

Both were restless and eager. Delaney tore through her bag for some clean clothes, a bottle of bug spray, a pocket knife, etc. She assured Ryan she knew how to sustain herself, and hopefully Ryan by extension, in the woods. 

Her bag had a pin on it from every year she’d attended Camp Woodhull. Ryan counted five as she sat on the edge of the cot and fiddled with the red buttons on her denim bucket hat: they meant nothing, but they soothed her. She then imagined that she was a wise old nun holding a rosary, instead of a nine-year-old fiddling with plastic. 

“Why did your parents send you here?” Ryan asked a bit reluctantly. “My cousin used to work here and now my sister does so I guess it's pretty cheap. My mom thinks everybody needs an outdoor education and whatnot.” 

Three weeks had passed on this strange patch of land, and Ryan was realizing how little she knew. Until recently, she’d never sewn a pillow, folded a flag, or tipped a canoe: there seemed to be infinite knowledge here, and in that moment, she held the absolute belief that it was all contained in Delaney, the curly-haired girl who stood before her, inspecting every facet of her pocket knife to ensure it was still intact.

Just then, they noticed a rustling and a pair of hands going to untie the tarp. Delaney pointed sharply to under the cot, where Ryan immediately dove, and shrouded herself behind the huge afghan that spilled over the sides of Delaney’s unmade bed. 

Ryan recognized the voice of one of her counselors, Counselor Magpie, who’d told a ghost story that gave Ryan nightmares the week before. When she’d seen Ryan upset at breakfast the next morning, she’d pulled her aside and asked if she was homesick. Ryan liked her and didn’t have the heart to tell her she was still shaken up by the thought of apparitions. 

“Hey Delaney” the familiar voice said, her boots advancing across the wood floor, “Cynthia said you’d started your period–I guess I want to know, do you need anything? I didn’t know you even knew what that was.” Ryan, for one, certainly didn’t. 

“Christ, Margaret, I’m fine.” Delaney responded with a huff, trying to play the part of a moody teenager, though her own brand of temperament would probably have sufficed. “I’m just looking for my stash of Advil,” Delaney said. 

“You’re not supposed to have any Advil on you, actually,” was the other’s quick response. 

“Right,” Delaney added, “that must be why I can’t find it.” She let herself fall back onto the mattress, shaking dust loose that fell into Ryan’s eyes as the springs creaked just above her. 

“Why don’t you just relax instead of going to the next activity? It seems like you could use some rest, and besides, next up is the pool–” Counselor Magpie, or rather Margaret, started before the girl interjected. 

“Actually, that sounds great” she said decidedly, and the counselor patted her on the back. Ryan didn’t move until she’d heard the flap of the tarp close, and Delaney lifted the afghan like she was revealing a gourmet lobster to a group of high-paying customers. Ryan clumsily got upright again. 

“Was that Counselor Magpie?” she asked.

“Yeah, my sister,” Delaney elaborated with disinterest. 

“I’m supposed to have a sister soon,” Ryan responded. 

Delaney zipped up her bag with an amused smile. “God, I hope she’s better than mine. Margaret’s a real pain in the ass” 

It was her mother behind the wheel of a pickup truck, the bump of her stomach grazing the steering wheel, that Ryan kept thinking about as the two campers trekked to the lake. What would this kid be like? Would it even like Ryan? 

Taking a canoe from the shed, Delaney and Ryan set it on the shore of the lake. Delaney let Ryan get in first. “Cause you’re younger,” she allowed as justification for her chivalry. She stepped in after her and pushed off with her oar. For a moment, they were soaring. 

“How old are you again?” Delaney asked as though she’d asked before. 

“I turned nine on my second day here” Ryan said, hoping Delaney wouldn’t ask about how the birthday was, because in truth she’d been miserable and nearly ran off to the convent on her own. Lucky for her, Delaney didn’t seem to care. Even luckier for her, maybe, Delaney seemed to know exactly where she was going and what she was doing. 

The two of them reached a rhythm soon enough, rowing to and fro. “You know what to do if we tip over, right?” Delaney asked, suddenly concerned that her accomplice wasn’t particularly qualified. 

“We swim,” Ryan provided, hoping to seem as apathetic and smart as her counterpart. Delaney smiled and nodded. Satisfied with that answer, the two of them sliced through the water with determination. 

“I hope they’ll fire Margaret” Delaney said, “I can’t take another year of this shit.” The breeze was lightly tossing the trees that lined the lake, and the mist felt perfectly refreshing on Ryan’s skin. 

“Why not?” she then asked genuinely. She felt an immense pull toward the convent. Delaney, however, seemed to just wanted to get out. 

“Well, for starters, we never do anything as cool as this” she said, “it’s the same thing every summer.” Ryan realized then that not only was Delaney her first friend at the camp, but also that she was Delaney’s. She suddenly didn’t feel so inferior. Soon, they’d make it ashore. 

Consulting a hand-drawn map in all of its wacky proportions, the campers then navigated through the woods. Hot sunlight filtered through the treetops. Delaney grew more irritable, and more talkative, with the passing of the day. 

“I wonder who is looking for us,” she said, “they must’ve noticed that I’m not in my cabin and you’re MIA by now.” 

“I guess so,” Ryan said. Her tennis shoes and socks were soaked-through from the canoe ride. Every step squished and made mud out of dirt. The forest was beautiful to her then, dynamic in a way it had never been when she went on those mandatory group hikes. She was searching for a steeple when Delaney started talking about Counselor Magpie again. 

“I don’t get why you don’t like her,” Ryan said thoughtlessly. This was enough to make the little girl implode. 

“Find the convent yourself” she said spitefully, and set off running back in the direction from which they came. Ryan was so focused on her destination that she chose not to care. They had almost made it, and now she could talk to the nuns herself, unencumbered. A little white church soon revealed itself in a clearing. Ryan went inside and sat down to pray.

As Ryan sat in the pew, bowing her head, the sun started to go down, and it was as if the color drained from the stained glass windows and left only the outlines of saints. She heard the door open, and chose not to look behind her. 

“We got word that you might come find us,” said a woman’s voice striding toward her. “From God?” Ryan asked. 

“No, from Paris Wilkins.” The head of the camp, that is, who Ryan was sure was waiting to scold her. “Apparently you’ve asked a good bit about us.” 

Ryan felt sick. 

“It’s touching that your interest has taken you this far” the sister continued, eyeing a twig in Ryan’s hair. “How old are you, dear?” she asked. 

“I’m eleven” Ryan returned, a lie that felt wrong in her mouth. Lying in church, she thought, couldn’t be good. She just wanted to feel a little older, a little wiser, and a little less muddy. 

The woman looked at her blankly, unsure how to react: “Your mother will be here soon, dear, is there anything you want to say or to ask?” 

Ryan cried upon remembering her mother. Ryan was ready to join the convent, she said. To learn how to be a sister. To adopt God into her heart. The nun told her that that was all well and good, but she still had a childhood to live. 

“Let’s be at peace” she said and closed her eyes. Resentfully, Ryan closed hers too. 

She was angry and as answerless as she’d been that morning. So she sat, stewing in that dissatisfaction, maybe for fifteen minutes, maybe for five. With the filtering of headlights through the windows, a flash of color reentered the room. Both pairs of eyes snapped open, darted to the door, and met again. The nun took her outside without a word, and then as she spoke to the girl’s mother, the girl burrowed her tear-drenched head into her mother’s cotton maternity top.