Then into her frenzied mind came the thought of Eugene and Nannette and how triumphant they would be if they knew she was going through this agony. They would say it was good punishment for her behavior, a just reward for her headstrong actions. Had she been wrong in going away as she did? Had they been right to insist on her giving up the examinations? Somehow her conscience, hard pressed as she was, could not see that they had a right to keep her from the only way she knew of earning her living. Somehow she could not feel that any law, either physical or moral laid any obligation upon her to stay with the children when the mother had known for three weeks of her coming examinations, and when she often of her own accord let them take their lunch to school if it happened to suit her own convenience. Junior might have been hurt playing ball at recess as well as at noon, and he always played ball at recess. No, her conscience was clear on that score. She had a perfect right to put herself in the way of not being dependent upon them financially, and the school teaching was the only way she knew to do it. Still, of course it was all over now. She had gone away from any chance that might have come to her through those examinations, gone out into space alone without any goal or any plan. She might have done that in the first place of course if she had known they were going to act that way. Well it couldn’t be helped now. She had gone and nothing would induce her to go back. Perhaps when she found a home, if she found a home, she might send back to find out the result of her hard work. It might do her some good somewhere else. But she was too tired now, and too frightened to think about it.
She stole another glance toward the invaders. They seemed to be arguing in whispers about something, gesticulating, pointing. Perhaps she might manage to slip away while they were absorbed without their notice. She made a soft little move to sit up, and as she put out her arm to steady herself the metal chain of her handbag clinked just the faintest little bit against the iron pipe of the low fence that surrounded the neighboring grave. Instantly everything was silent among the group of men, the dark figures as if they had been but shadows crouched out of sight, only the alert head and shoulders of one showed dimly against the luminous spot in the sky. She could feel that their eyes were focused upon her as if they had been spotlights out of the darkness. She did not dare to move even to relax her fingers which had been stretched to grasp the iron rail. Her breath was suspended midway, and in the whole wide, peaceful acre the air seemed tense as though the very dead were waiting with her for the outcome.
“Oh, God!” she prayed, “Oh, God! Help me now!”
It was the first time since Aunt Mary’s death that she felt herself to have really prayed. Somehow her heart had seemed stunned since the funeral, and when she said the words of prayer with her lips there had been such empty ache in her heart that they had not seemed to mean anything. Now in her great need she had the distinct realization of crying out to a God upon whom she relied and whom her faith of the years had tested. And just as distinctly she felt the surety that He was there. He had answered.
It was as if that cry for help was a surrender, a committing of her way to Him. As if she had said: “Here am I. I am yours. However right or wrong I may have been to have put myself into this situation I am here and helpless. If I am worth anything at all to you save me for I cannot save myself. I am giving my future into your hands.”
Of course there was no such logical sequence of thought or word in the swift flash of her appeal, but afterwards she was aware it had been a commitment and a covenant.
As if an answer of assurance had come a calm came upon her. Her breath moved on, her heart beat naturally. The tensity of the air seemed gone. The dark shadows by the pile of dirt stirred. A low murmur passed among them. They moved and came upright again. Their eyes ceased to pierce her like spot lights. They moved with ease and took up their shovels. One even laughed in a low, half nervous tone. Only one still stood and watched, his attitude alert, not satisfied that the danger was passed. He murmured a low warning.
“Aw! What’s eatin’ ye?” another replied jocularly. “D’ye think the dead can walk? It’s just a wild rabbit jumpin’ amongst the gravel.”
“Wild rabbits aren’t metal shod,” said the familiar voice seeming to come from a face looking her way, and she knew that one at least of the shadowy figures had not ceased to watch and listen.
It seemed hours that she lay there holding her breath, afraid to stir lest they come her way, yet feeling an impulse within her to get away. For at any moment they might come out and walk right in the path by her side. They could not fail to see her if they passed that way. Dear Aunt Mary lying so quietly beneath the sod! How good that she was not really there herself, that she could not know the peril she was in! Or was she perhaps near in spirit? Did God ever let those who had gone to live with Him come to guard and help those they had left behind? But at least she was not worried, for in heaven none could worry, being with the great God who knew all, and whose power was over all. God would not really let anything hurt her. She had cried for help and he would eventually bring her out of all this into safety.