Free Camilla by Madeleine L'Engle Page A

frightening shrillness. I ran through the dining room out into the hall to answer it. “Hello,” I gasped.
    â€œHello, Rose?” the voice on the other end of the wire said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWho is this? May I speak to Mrs. Dickinson?” the voice asked, and I knew that it was Jacques’s voice.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œWho is this? Is it Camilla?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCamilla, I want to speak to your mother.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCamilla, is anything wrong? Where’s Rose?”
    I couldn’t think what to say. Jacques’s calling just then was as shocking as though he had actually picked up the telephone and struck me with it; and I stood there holding the receiver while the silence seemed to stretch from one end of the wire to the other.
    Finally Jacques said, “Camilla, I see that I must talk to you. I’m coming over.”
    â€œNo,” I said then quickly. “You can’t come. You mustn’t come.”
    â€œThen you come and see me,” he said. “I’ll meet you somewhere. Wherever you say.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I can’t.”
    â€œCamilla,” Jacques said, “I’m sure you’ve seen and understood far more than Rose and I realized—about the way we feel about each other. Won’t you let me talk to you for a few minutes? For your father’s sake as well as Rose’s and mine.”
    â€œI can’t now,” I said. “I just can’t.” I strained my ears wildly for any noise that might come from the silence of my mother’s room.
    â€œTomorrow, then,” Jacques said, making his voice very pleading. “Tomorrow when you’re through school.”
    â€œAll right, tomorrow,” I said, not hearing myself agreeing, just saying anything so that I could hang up the phone and listen.
    â€œWill you come to my apartment?” Jacques asked. “We can talk more comfortably there than anywhere else. You’re still too young for bars, aren’t you, little one? I’ll expect you at my apartment, then, right after school.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “All right.” And I clamped the telephone receiver back into the cradle.
    I heard the door of my mother’s room open and shut and Carter in her cold gray uniform came up to me as I stood there by the telephone and said, “Your mother wants to know who was on the telephone, Miss Camilla.”
    â€œLuisa,” I lied quickly, and sat weakly down. If Mother wanted to know who was on the telephone then she couldn’t be dead. Carter turned around and disappeared and I heard the door to Mother’s room open and shut, and I just sat there until it opened again and Mrs. Wilson came out and went back to the kitchen and then Carter and Dr. Wallace came out into the hall and Carter held out Dr. Wallace’s coat for him and handed him his hat.
    Dr. Wallace said, “Good night, Carter. Miss Camilla will let me out,” and Carter went back into the kitchen. I knew she would be there, trying to listen, and I hoped that perhaps Mrs. Wilson might talk to her, to keep her from hearing anything.
    â€œPut on your coat and hat, Camilla,” Dr. Wallace said. “We’ll go out together and have a cup of coffee, and then your mother will want to see you.”
    I fumbled into my coat, and my hands suddenly seemed so cold and numb that I couldn’t get the buttons through the buttonholes; so Dr. Wallace buttoned my coat for me, and took my beret and put it on, saying, “There. That may not be just the fashionable angle, but it looks very nice. I like your red beret and navy blue coat, Camilla,” and he smiled at me very kindly. I knew that he was sorry for me and I wanted more than anything in the world to have him not be sorry for me; and I realized what a terrible thing it is to be pitied.
    For the first few minutes in the drugstore Dr. Wallace just sat and