Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman Page B

like Mother and Gloria did at home. At first she missed that, then she was grateful. Baby Itsy didn’t exist here.
    Miss Stoakley entered the silent dorm and whistled. “Time to rise, girls.”
    Moans and groans emanated from under blankets on the other side of the half-wall. Cots creaked as girls got up to plod downstairs to the washrooms.
    Isabel flipped back her covers and tried to sit up. A bolt of pain shot from her forehead to the back of her skull. Gently she eased herself back down. She lay listening to the parade of girls marching downstairs, chatting and giggling, energized for the new day. If they could do it, so could she. She took a deep breath, swung her legs over the edge of the cot, but then a shadow loomed over her.
    â€œIsabel, you stay there.” Miss Stoakley looked official this morning in a crisp white blouse, her hair twisted back into a knot. “You’re not getting up today.”
    â€œI need to work. That was just a silly spell yesterday. I’m fine now.”
    â€œNo. You had sunstroke. We take that seriously here.”
    â€œBut I feel better.”
    The camp mother shook her head. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I’m calling your parents this morning to arrange for them to pick you up.”
    The horrible events to come flashed through Isabel’s mind. Father and Mother rushing her to Dr. Jones, clucking and fussing about her, babying her for the rest of the season. Her sisters barely hiding their I-told-you-so smirks.
    And worse, what would Billy think? He and his mates faced terrible danger and hardship. He was watching as the English girls endured bombings, then pulled victims from the rubble. Would he respect a fiancée who couldn’t handle strawberry picking?
    â€œI’m not leaving.” She sat up. Pain bolted through her head, but she blinked and bore it.
    â€œYes, you are,” Miss Stoakley said gently, but firmly. “We appreciate your dedication, but we won’t endanger your health. Sunstroke is dangerous.”
    â€œI’ll wear a hat and long sleeves. I’ll be fine. Please don’t call my parents.”
    â€œBe reasonable,” Miss Stoakley crooned. “Next time it could be worse. You can’t risk your health out there.”
    Isabel looked around her in desperation. She spotted the empty glasses that had been left for her last night. And the dust balls in the corner. “I don’t have to work outside,” she said. “I could clean. I can cook.” Hadn’t she read all those magazines for recipes and decorating ideas? Wasn’t her cubby the prettiest in the dorm? “Please. I’ll peel potatoes, wash floors, anything. Don’t make me leave.”
    â€œYes, please, Miss Stoakley.” Peggy stood at the entrance of the room. “Let her stay.” Helene and Binxie came up behind her to add their support.
    Isabel smiled at them gratefully. She noticed Helene leaning against the doorway, looking quite pale. She feels sick too, Isabel realized.
    Miss Stoakley hesitated. “Well…Cookie’s second kitchen assistant wants to transfer to a camp closer to home. But she’s a strong girl. It’s a big job.”
    Binxie said, “Isabel has baking experience and she’s eager to work.”
    Helene added, “Isabel’s a fast learner. She’ll do a good job.”
    Isabel sensed that Miss Stoakley was ready for that final push to say yes. She regarded her with anxious blue eyes. “Please don’t call my parents. Please let me stay.”
    â€œI’ll need to file a health report. See what the director says.”
    â€œOf course that’s the right thing to do,” agreed Peggy. “But they’re so busy there, still placing girls. Maybe we should wait a week or two before we send it—so it doesn’t get lost with all their more important mail.”
    Miss Stoakley raised an eyebrow at Peggy, the girl who had