The Last Ferry

The last ferry took seven cars, a bicycle, and two people who had walked down from the bus stop. Mara and Vic went to the passenger cabin at the back. A blue plastic tray on the counter held two clean cups. There was hot water in the urn, and the person at the counter left the paper box of tea open so they could choose.

They sat by a window with a view of the ramp. Before the ferry moved, it was possible to see the lit square inside the little ticket office, and the sleeve of the person who was closing it. Then the ramp came up and the water began to move between the boat and the steps.

On the far shore, the lights of the houses ran in a crooked row. Vic knew the dark patch between the third and fourth lights was a stand of trees. Mara had once tried to count the trees from the ferry in daylight, but there was always another trunk behind the one she thought was the last. In the evening, the whole group looked like a piece of the hillside cut from dark paper.

They drank their tea slowly. Every time the ferry rose over a small wave, the water in the cups touched the near side and then came back. Mara put both hands around her cup and watched the lights spread farther apart as the boat drew closer. She recognized the bright square by the landing and the dim porch beside it, where someone usually left a pair of boots.

At the steps they waited for the cars to go first. The bicycle went last and stopped at the top of the ramp to turn on its lamp. Vic carried both empty cups to the counter. Outside, Mara waited beneath the porch light until she heard Vic’s steps on the ramp. They walked uphill toward the bus stop as the ferry settled quietly into the space it had made in the water.