The Clover Girls
Praise for the novels of Viola Shipman
THE CLOVER GIRLS
“Viola Shipman has written a love song to long-lost friends, an ode to the summers that define us and the people who make us who we are. At its core, The Clover Girls is a book about female friendship, its ability to evolve, to endure decades, life changes and even betrayals. Women of all ages will read this book, pick up the phone and reconnect with those they hold most dear. The minute I finished The Clover Girls, I ordered copies for all my friends. It’s that good.”
—Kristy Woodson Harvey, USA TODAY bestselling author
of Feels Like Falling
“Reading Viola Shipman’s novels is like talking with your best friend about serious matters and also, clothes, friendship and good-looking boys, and wanting never to hang up the phone. The Clover Girls is her most beautiful novel, and her most important.”
—Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author of Family Reunion
THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN
“The emotional scars left by war unite two women, generations apart, in Shipman’s sentimental family saga... Shipman’s tale successfully captures these women’s resilience and their hopeful desire for new beginnings.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The likable women and the engaging information on flowers will appeal to readers of Rhys Bowen’s The Victory Garden and fans of Mary Alice Monroe and Lorna Landvik.”
—Booklist
“Shipman patiently and gently unearths the deeply flawed characters’ sorrows and reveals the delicate buds of happiness that eventually blossom.”
—BookPage
THE SUMMER COTTAGE
“Every now and then a new voice in fiction arrives to completely charm, entertain and remind us what matters. Viola Shipman is that voice and The Summer Cottage is that absolutely irresistible and necessary novel... [It] brings us the astounding importance of home and underscores the importance of a loving family and of having a generous heart. Grab a glass of sweet tea and enjoy!”
—New York Times bestselling author Dorothea Benton Frank
Also by Viola Shipman
THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN
THE SUMMER COTTAGE
For a complete list of books by Viola Shipman,
visit her website, www.violashipman.com.
The Clover Girls
Viola Shipman
Viola Shipman is the pen name of Wade Rouse, a popular award-winning memoirist. Rouse chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman, to honor the woman whose heirlooms and family stories inspire his writing. Rouse divides his time between Michigan and California, writes regularly for People and Coastal Living, and is a contributor to All Things Considered.
To my friends:
You make me laugh, you make me do things I regret, but mostly you make me believe I can still do anything and be anyone I dream. You inspire me every day.
Contents
Part One
Summer 1985
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Two
Summer 1988
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Emily
Part Three
Summer 1987
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Four
Summer 1986
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Five
Summer 1987
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Six
Summer 1986
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Seven
Summer 1989
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Eight
Summer 1985
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Nine
Summer 1986
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Part Ten
Summer 1985
Summer 2021
Rachel
Liz
Epilogue
Summer 2022
Acknowledgments
Reader’s Guide
Discussion Questions
PART ONE
Letters Home
Summer 1985
Emily
Dear Mom and Dad:
The first week at girls’ sleepaway camp started out totally scary. I hid in an old barn where they store all the canoes and kayaks and cried for like an hour. I didn’t know anyone, and I felt SO alone. But then something happened! Three girls in the same bunkhouse as me realized I was missing, and they came to find me. “It’s going to be okay,” they said. “We’re all in this together.” On the way back to camp, we took a shortcut through this huge clover field that sits off to one side of Birchwood Lake. It’s sooo beautiful. The clover moves in the breeze like it’s alive and breathing, the green and white matching the waves in the wind on the lake. On our way back, we all linked hands and walked through the middle of the clover. And that’s when it happened! I found a four-leaf clover right in front of me. I just looked down, and there it was, this tiny little lucky charm in a huge field. Well, we all freaked out and ran back to camp. Mrs. Nigh told us there was clover in the Garden of Eden, and Eve took a four-leaf clover with her to remember the splendor and majesty of paradise. “You possess a piece of paradise now,” she told us. “That’s why I planted it there. So paradise will always be with you, even when you grow up and leave this camp.” She told us the three leaves of a normal clover represent faith, hope and love. The fourth is for good luck... “The lucky clover.”
Now we know! We were always meant to meet! And we’re all, like, totally BFFs already. We’re all SO different, but each of us has a cool part that completes the group, almost as if the four of us make one perfect person, like the four leaves make a lucky clover. Their names are Veronica, Elizabeth and Rachel, and we’re all from somewhere different! Now, Camp Birchwood is totally rad! It’s gone from lame to legit!
Like I said, I was so nervous in the beginning. The first night, I didn’t know anybody at dinner. We sat at a big table, and all the older girls were laughing and talking about all the boys at Camp Taneycomo. You could even hear the boys calling across the lake for these girls, hooting like insane owls. Some of the new campers knew each other from school, but most of us just sat around and chewed on our hot dogs like dorks. Well, the counselors (ours is Dana, and she is SO nice!) had all the new campers introduce themselves by doing something artistic that represented who we really are inside. Some girls sang, some girls danced, some girls acted out scenes from plays, some drew pictures of themselves or their families, but the four of US?! We ALL did the same thing! We made friendship pins! And all of them were green! The counselors thought it was because we were all in the same cabin, and that’s why we did green, but we did it because it is our favorite color. And when we were done, and I looked down at our tennis shoes, I totally freaked! Their laces were all covered in friendship pins, too!
The next night, at our first bonfire, we were toasting marshmallows, making s’mores and singing camp songs when Rachel started to scream, “Oh, my Gawd!” just like a Valley Girl. I laughed, but when I looked over, her eyes were like totally wide, and she started pointing at us around the fire. “Emily, Veronica, Elizabeth, and me, Rachel...!”
Veronica was like, “Um,
yeah, we all know our names.” Liz asked, “Are you okay?” and Rachel started pointing at herself, her arm shaking so hard that her marshmallow slid right into the fire. We all thought she was joking around, but she stopped and looked at each of us, her face all spooky through the flames. “You’re Emily!” she said to me. “You’re Veronica. You’re Elizabeth. I’m Rachel.”
“We got it.” Veronica laughed.
“No, you don’t,” Rachel said. “The first letters of our names...
E-V-E-R! Friends Forever! Get it? FOUR-ever!”
We all looked at each other, and that’s when we got it.
Anyway, just as Rachel said it, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” started to play on one of the older girls’ transistor radio, and we all screamed at the same time, got up and started to dance, just like Cyndi Lauper does, all crazy, not caring what anyone else thinks. And right after that, “That’s What Friends Are For” came on, and we all started swaying and singing to each other. Now we call Camp Birchwood Camp-Girls-Just-Wanna-Have-Fun, and all the camp counselors call us “The Clover Girls” because we all love green and wear green T-shirts, and because we’re all going to be green in Color War. But especially because we’re like the lucky four-leaf clover I found that first day. We’re good luck charms for each other.
THE CLOVER GIRLS! FRIENDS 4-EVER!
Let me try to describe the Clover Girls to you.
Veronica goes by “V,” and she is beautiful. She looks just like Molly Ringwald, and she is so confident and funny. Even all the older girls are jealous of her, and the boys at Taneycomo already send her notes they float across Lake Birchwood on rafts. She’s sort of the leader of The Clover Girls without even trying. I think I’d hate her if she wasn’t my friend.
Liz looks like she walked straight off a Madonna video on MTV. Her hair needs its own bunk, and she wraps lace and bandanas into it and makes all of these wild slogan T-shirts in our art classes. She made us all “CLOVER GIRLS” T-shirts, but they won’t let us wear them because we’re Camp Birchwood first, Pinewood Bunk second and Clover Girls last. She has the coolest add-a-bead necklace—with, like, a million beads on it—that she loves to wear with all her friendship pins and bracelets. She says she has Forenza sweaters in every color and that she wears them backwards—can you believe it? Backwards! I never thought to do that!
Rachel’s our movie star. She’s like the twin of that actress in Footloose. She can sing and dance, and she won the last talent competition! As a newbie! We made her up like a zombie, and she sang “Thriller.” She even knew every dance move. Rachel wants to move to New York or LA and become a star. We all know she’s going to make it!
I guess I’m like the mother of the group, just like you, Mom. I worry about everyone and just want them to be happy. I also feel like the glue for the group, like you, Dad. I want to make sure everyone feels safe. We’ve already made a pact: we’ve all agreed that, one day in the future, when we’re really old (like you, ha!) we are going to buy Camp Birchwood and all retire here together. No boys allowed (we can talk to them, but they have to stay all the way on other side of the lake!). It would be PERFECT! Camp will be our forever home, where we’ll take care of each other, always bring out the best in each other, always make each other laugh and feel safe. Most of all, we’ll know each other better than anyone, and we’ll always be there for each other, no matter what. Everyone laughs at us, but I don’t care. We’re friends 4-EVER, and one day The Clover Girls will all be together. Just watch!
Every night, before we go to bed, the bell chimes, and the entire camp sings “Land of the Silver Birch.” It’s so eerie and beautiful, and the way everyone’s voices echo over the lake gives me chills but makes me feel safe.
Blue lake and rocky shore,
I will return once more,
Boom, didi, boom, boom,
Boom, didi, boom, boom,
Boom, didi, boom, boom... Booooom.
And then The Clover Girls all say good-night to each other, just like they did in The Waltons. And every time we do, right before I close my eyes and go to sleep, I understand why you both wanted me to come to camp. So I don’t feel all alone. And I’ll never be alone as long as I have friends. That’s why you sent me here, wasn’t it? To make friends.
I haven’t told anyone about Todd yet. I mean, how do you tell people you just met that your brother died? But I will. And I know they’ll understand. And it’s weird, but I feel like he’s with me here. And when I hear the boys from Taneycomo yell, I hear Todd’s voice. He’ll always be a little kid while the rest of us grow old.
I only let myself cry now when I inner tube into the lake and am far away from everyone. That’s when I bawl, even harder than when I watched you drive away from camp. But no one knows. Only the lake and the fish and the hawks.
And Todd.
But I have friends now. And they make me cry less every day.
I love you, Mom and Dad. And I love camp! See you in August!
Em
Summer 2021
Veronica
Grocery List
Milk (Oat, coconut, soy)
Fizzy water (cherry, lime, watermelon, mixed berry)
Chips (lentil, quinoa, kale, beet)
Cereal (Kashi, steel-cut oats, NO GMOs! VERY IMPORTANT!)
Whatever happened to one kind of milk from a cow, one kind of water from a faucet and one kind of chip from a potato?
My teenage children are seated on opposite ends of the massive, modern, original Milo Baughman circular sofa that David and I ordered for our new midcentury house in Los Angeles. Ashley and Tyler are juggling drinks while pecking at their cells, and it takes every fiber of my soul not to come unglued. This is the most expensive piece of furniture I have ever purchased in my life. More expensive even than my first two years of college tuition plus my first car, a red Reliant K-car that would stall at stoplights.
I still don’t know what the K stood for, I think. Krappy?
That was a time, long ago, when that type of negative thought would never have entered my mind, when the K would have stood only for Konfident, Kool or Kick-Ass. But that was a different world, another time, another life and place.
Another me.
Another V.
I steady my pen at the top of a pad of paper emblazoned with the logo of my husband’s architectural firm, David Berzini & Associates.
Los Angeles is the latest stop for us. My family has hopscotched the world more than a military brat as David’s architectural career has exploded. He is now one of the world’s preeminent architects. David studied under and worked with some of the most famous midcentury modern architects—Albert Frey, William Krisel, Donald Wexler—and has now taken over their mantles, especially as the appreciation for and popularity of midcentury modern architecture has grown. Now he is working on a stunning new public library in LA that will be his legacy.
I glance up from my pad. A selection of magazines—Architectural Digest, Vogue, W—are artfully strewn across a brutalist coffee table. The beautiful models stare back at me.
That was my legacy.
“Mom, can I get something to eat?”
This is now my legacy.
I glance at my children. Everything old has come back en vogue. Ashley is wearing the same sort of high-waisted jeans that I once wore and modeled in the ’80s, and Tyler’s hair—razored high by a barber and slicked back into a big black pompadour—looks a lot like a style I sported for a Robert Palmer video when every woman wanted to look like a Nagel woman.
Yes, everything has made a comeback.
Except me.
I look at my list.
And carbs.
My kids, like my husband, have never met a Pop-Tart, a box of Cap’n Crunch, a Jeno’s Pizza Roll or a Ding Dong. My entire family resembles long-limbed ponies, ready to race. I grew up when the foundation of a food pyramid was a T
winkie.
I again put pen to paper, and in my own secret code I write the letter L above the first letter of my husband’s name. If someone happened to glance at the paper, they would simply think I had been doodling. But I know what “LD” means, and it will remind me once I get to the store.
Little Debbies.
You know, I actually hide these around our new home, which isn’t easy since the entire space is so sleek and minimal, and hiding space is at a premium. It took a lot of effort, but I, too, used to be as sleek and minimal as this house, as angular and arresting as its architecture. Anything out of place in our butterfly-roofed home located in the Bird Streets high above Sunset Strip—where the streets are named after orioles and nightingales, and Hollywood stars reside—is conspicuous.
Even now, on yet another perfect day in LA, where the sunshine makes everything look lazily beautiful and dipped in glitter, I can see a layer of dust on the terrazzo floors. Although a maid comes twice a week, the dust, smog and ash from nonstop fires in LA—carried by hot, dry Santa Ana winds—coat everything. And David notices everything.
Swiffers, I write on the pad, before outlining “LD” with my pen.
David hates that I have gained weight. He is embarrassed I have gained weight.
Or is just my imagination? Am I the one who is embarrassed by who I’ve become?
David never says anything to me, but he attends more and more galas alone, saying I need to watch the kids even though they no longer need a babysitter and that it’s better for their stability if one parent is with them. But I know the truth.
What did he expect would happen to my body after two children and endless moves? What did he expect would happen after losing my career, identity and self-esteem? It’s so ironic, because I’m not angry at him or my life. I’m just...
“Why don’t you just put all of that in the notes on your phone?”
“Or just ask the refrigerator to remember?”
“Yeah, Mom,” my kids say at the same time.