Stephen Marshall looked down at his watch. It was nearing five o'clock and he had just two days left to be in the mountains. Then he would have to return to Jaffrey for the few remaining weeks of summer. How swiftly this brief vacation had gone. It seemed like only yesterday he had arrived, and already it was nearing time to pack up and return to New England. He had absolutely no desire to return.
Looking up at those mountains he felt complete fulfillment in the anticipation of the challenge before him. More than anything else, this was what he liked to do. This was what he had dreamed of for so long, the high point of his trip. He couldn't bear to even think of the busy school months ahead when he would be caught up again in his studies. He preferred the aloneness, the closeness to nature he found in the mountains. Wanting to experience a bit of rock climbing, it had been necessary to take one of the boys from the West Coast with him these last few days. His friend was a quiet sort and the two of them blended together harmoniously.
His knapsack was on his back with food, water, a first aid kit, and climbing gear—carabiners, pitons, and chocks attached to plastic slings. Over his shoulders hung his new Swiss climbing rope. It set him back more than $100, but he wanted the best in the event he slipped. Then the rope would be the only thing keeping him on the rock wall.
As the fellows started out, Stephen changed to his climbing shoes with soft rubber soles which would cling and mold to the rock niches. He had saved for this luxury for a long while.
Stephen took the lead, while his friend followed. Climbing this mountain tested his endurance to the limit. It was a great relief when they reached the summit. With a sense of total accomplishment, he stood on this needle-point of rock. Yet, after he was down, Stephen found that he was already beginning to dream of tackling an even tougher climb. He wasn't satisfied with his latest accomplishment, but wanted to push on to an even higher level.
As he sat resting at the foot of the mountain, he recalled that his father once warned him that a fellow could get so caught up in mountain climbing to the point where it excluded all else. It was good advice. He felt the pull to go on, and on, and on, recognizing that this was what his father had warned against.
He lifted the knapsack from his back and thought with pleasure how this summer had been his own. After next year, he just might move away from Jaffrey. Then he wouldn't be tied to those soft feelings that were such a part of him. Maybe they shouldn't be part of a man.
And yet, he never would stop loving his family. He was bound by that love and it would follow him as long as he lived. He knew deep down inside, as much as he wanted to be free, to take off into the unknown, he would always be bound by the responsibilities he felt toward those he loved.
He enjoyed moments like this when he sat in the silence of the forest, watching a chipmunk scamper across the ground with a bit of food in its mouth, then scurry quickly up the thick bark of a nearby tree trunk. He watched it reach its perch on one of the branches, then sit there staring back at him. This, to Stephen, was freedom.
As long as he had his mountains, enough food to satisfy his hunger, a pad and pencil for sketching—he could go on living like this indefinitely.
By contrast, he well knew the hot, muggy summer would still be miserable in New England. He could hardly be himself there in Jaffrey.
Well, he would return, spend at least another year there in school, then consider moving on. He would return to the way of life in Jaffrey, so precise, so planned. If Jennie and Kara and Julia could manage, he would manage, too.
Stephen's return home was followed by a sadness he did not anticipate during his absence. His beloved cocker spaniel Charlie dashed out into the street and was killed by a passing car. The family did not tell Stephen until his return. He was so disturbed, he went to bed without eating supper, not wanting to talk to anyone.
Mrs. Benton received a phone call from Stephen's mother the next day. "I can only guess how he felt during the night," she said sorrowfully. "When I saw him this morning, his eyes were swollen and red. He loved that dog a great deal."
Jennie wondered now just how she would greet Stephen. She knew exactly how she would be feeling if Muffin had been run over. She was certain that Stephen didn't want to talk about Charlie. He'd just want to be left alone.
That evening Ruth Marshall called Jennie to ask if she would like to come over and see the drawing Stephen left there a short while before. She led her down to the basement, to the spare room that belonged to Stephen whenever he stayed with them. The room was empty, but on the door was pinned a drawing—a likeness so real of Charlie, it could have been a photograph. Mrs. Marshall explained that Stephen spent the entire day doing the drawing, trying to overcome his grief. He had asked if he might keep it at their house.
When Jennie did see Stephen the next evening outside the meeting room, she knew better than to mention Charlie. But she was confident Stephen knew and understood how badly she felt for him. As she saw him for the first time after all those weeks, he appeared to have changed. Was he really taller? His face was deeply tanned and she sensed a new independence about him. It was almost as if he had grown from a boy to a man in those few weeks. Would things ever be quite the same between them again?
Summer was almost over. For Stephen it had passed too quickly; perfectly, with the exception of the loss of his dog. But for Jennie, in spite of Alec's companionship, the summer had stretched into a lingering time of waiting for Stephen to return. He was different, and now the question would be whether that difference would lessen the closeness that had grown between them before he left. That carefree, happy day in Weston, Vermont, seemed almost a lifetime ago.