There it was, the miracle she had longed to see. She held within her hand a flight of stars, faint as the dawn of hope, straight as arrows, radiant as heaven. Were they stars of Bethlehem, promising peace on earth? She could not say. She could only remember that Mary of Bethlehem bore a son, and that Marie of Poland bore a daughter.
“Jean, do you realize what power is going to waste before your eyes?”
“Yes.”
“It’s quiet, isn’t it?”
“Quiet as God.”
“Don’t you trust Him to give such power into the hands of your children?”
She flung aside the little patch of night. “No, Marvin, I don’t trust God to do a single thing for my children, but I’ll cheer you on in anything you try to do for them. That’s what mother did when Horatio started out to save the world by nitrogen. She could not bear to make it hard for him in time of battle, and when my boys go to war, I’ll say they are doing right.”
“Aren’t these rather bitter words?”
“No! I’ll believe in you. I’ll nurse you. I’ll go without comforts. I’ll love you to death, but when it comes to saving my children from war, you’ve got to do the thinking.”
“Jean, are these the reasons why you kept me waiting for three years?”