“Well,” Sid said then, “she’s all wrapped up for the winter.” “My cabin all right?” I asked. “Yeah, Mack nailed it up for you.” “Oh. Everybody’s gone then?”
“Everybody.” He nodded. “I’m the only one left and I’m going now.” He smiled at Ellen. “I’m very happy you’re free,” he said. “What are you planning to do now?”
She swallowed nervously. “I don’t know exactly, Sid,” she said. “We’re staying in Emmetsville until Tony’s case is decided,” I said. “Oh?” Sid smiled politely. “I see.” I noticed the strained smile on Ellen’s face.
“Well,” Sid said, “I guess I’ll lock up the office and take off then. You’ll lock up the cabin?”
“We will,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Fine. Think you’ll be back next year?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, Sid,” I said. “I’ve … I don’t think so.”
He nodded, smiling. “Well, if you do,” he said, “I’ll be here. So long. Good luck. To both of you.”
We watched him walking away. “He’s a good man,” I said.
“Yes. He is,” she said.
The cabin was very still as we approached it. Ellen hesitated.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s just an empty cabin.”
“I wish it were,” she murmured, and I knew what she meant.
We went in and stood a moment in the cool, shadowy kitchen.
“This is where we met,” I said.
“Yes.”
She stopped in the living-room doorway and looked in with pained eyes.
“That bad?” I asked.
She let out a restless breath. “It’s bad,” she said.
“Would you rather wait outside while I pack your things?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “No, I—” She broke off and looked at me without meeting my eyes. “Shall we talk about it?” she asked.
“About what?”
She moved over to a chair and let herself down, her eyes avoiding the sight of the couch. I saw her chest tremble with breath, then she clasped her hands and got control of herself.
“Sit down, Matt,” she said.
I started for her. “No, the couch,” she said. I looked surprised. “Please,” she said.
I sat down on the couch, glancing down involuntarily and seeing, with relief, that everything had been cleaned up.
“What is it, Ellen?”
She looked at her tightly clasped hands.
“What are you planning to do, Matt?” she asked.
I looked at her a moment. Then I said, “First I want to stay with Tony. Help him all I can.”
She nodded.
“Of course,” she said.
“Then I want to work with boys,” I went on, putting it into words at last. “I mean the rest of my life. All this summer I’ve … sort of had a feeling about it. A feeling about boys; how so many of them need help, guidance. It’s what I want to do, Ellen. I’ve decided that definitely. Maybe Tony decided it for me. Anyway, it’s a path I’ve always looked for; the direction I need. I guess working at Camp Pleasant sort of … crystallized my whole life.” I looked at her carefully. “In many ways,” I said. Later I’d tell her about Julia. When she was ready.
All through my speech she sat there, expressionless, listening. When I was through, she nodded again.
“I think that’s very wonderful,” she said, but she sounded withdrawn and unhappy about it.
“But it’s not a work to be done alone,” I said.
Her eyes lifted to mine suddenly.
“Matt,” she said, “I’m only going to ask you one question.” Her eyes dropped to her hands again. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“About working with—?”
“Matt, you know I don’t mean that!” She sounded close to tears.
It hit me suddenly. I got up and went toward her.
“Matt, don’t. Please,” she begged. “It only makes it harder to—”
But I went on my knees before her, her shaking hands in mine.
“Matt, it’s different now,” she said. “You know it’s different. Before, you felt pity for me, you were—”
I put my hand across her mouth and her eyes were like the eyes of a stricken deer—gentle and frightened.
“Ellen, when will you learn?” I asked quietly. “When will you learn?”
I drew away my fingers. “I love you,” I said. “This work I’m talking about: Do you think it would mean anything to me alone? Ellen, I couldn’t do it alone. I need you to help me.”
There was a glistening in her eyes.
“It’s what you want?” she whispered hesitantly. “It’s what you— really want?”
I put my hands on her warm cheeks. “It’s what I want,” I said gently.
Her lips under mine were warm and yielding and, beneath my touch, I could almost feel the long-extinguished fires in her starting to burn again.
We packed her things quickly—her clothes, her records, her few books; those few items which were the only things left to remind her of her marriage to a man who might already have been dead a hundred years.
Then we locked the cabin behind us. But, before we started back for the taxi, I took her in my arms and kissed her for a long time. When it was over, she said nothing; she didn’t have to—her eyes said it for her. We picked up her suitcases and moved along the path, past the leader’s tent, past the locked dispensary, across the great open area in front of the silent dining hall and into the taxicab.
Our hands clasped tightly as we drove away from Camp Pleasant. And we never went back. We never wanted to go back.
Richard Matheson, Camp Pleasant
(Series: # )
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