Chapter XX
A Conversion
And now Judith’s days strung themselves on the glowing thread of midsummer weather like black beads on a golden cord, a rosary of pain. She told each bead with sighs, facing the morning with a heavy heart that longed for darkness, lying down when day was over in dread of the night and a weariness that brought no sleep. And the cedar tree, swayed in the raw autumn air, talking to itself sombrely of the empty nest in its heart, sounded upon her wakeful ears a note of desolation and despair. For all the Turkey Tracks soon knew that Blatch Turrentine was sound and whole; all Hepzibah knew it eventually—and Creed Bonbright neither returned nor made any sign.
The embargo being removed, Judith went straight to Nancy Card.
In the preoccupation of her sorrow, she might have forgotten Little Buck’s wounded heart; but when as of custom Beezy came rioting out to meet her, the man child hung back with so strange a countenance that she needs must note it.
“Come here, honey,” she urged tenderly—her own suffering made her very pitiful to the childish grief.
Little Buck came slowly up to his idol, lifting doubtful eyes to her face. The girl’s ready arm went swiftly round the small figure.
“Are you pestered about that word I sent Creed Bonbright by you?” she whispered.
The little boy nodded solemnly, and you could see the choke in his throat.
“Well, you don’t need to be,” she reassured him. “I had to send jest that word, Little Buck—jest that very word; nothin’ less would ’a’ brought him.”