But Joshua would be one who could understand the guilt. For once before he had understood.
It had been he and Joe, Jon remembered, who had sneaked in and stolen the tomatoes and been caught and lectured by the gardener. Joe and he had been friends ever since they had been toddlers. They had always been together. When there was devilment afoot the two of them were sure, somehow, to be in the middle of it.
Maybe Joe ...
Jon shook his head. Not Joe, he thought. Even if he were his best friend, even if they had been pals as boys, even if they had stood up for another when they had been married, even if they had been chess partners for more than 20 years—even so, Joe was not one he could tell about this thing.
"You still are thinking, dear," said Mary.
"I'll quit," said Jon. "Tell me about your day."
She told him. What Louise had said. And what Jane had said. And how foolish Molly was. The wild rumor and the terror and the slow quieting of the terror with the realization that, whatever came, it was for the best.
"Our Belief," she said, "is a comfort, Jon, at a time like this."
"Yes," said Jon. "A great comfort, indeed." She got up from the bed.
"I'm going down to see Louise," she said. "You'll stay here?" She bent and kissed him.