“Then listen––‘The solitary place shall be glad––and a highway shall be there––and a way.’” The confused words fell into a crooning song.
“Solitary Place–––” Mary-Clare drifted to it, her eyes closed wearily, but she smiled and Peneluna believed that she had found The Way. Whether it wound back or out––well! Peneluna turned to her task of nursing. She had the gift of healing and she had an understanding heart, and so she took command.
It was a rough and difficult Way and beset with dangers. A physician came and diagnosed the case.
“Bad fall––almost concussion.”
Aunt Polly came and shared the nursing. Jan-an mechanically attended to the house while Uncle Peter took Noreen under his care.
The dull, uneventful days dragged on before Mary-Clare came back to her own. One day she said to Jan-an, “I––I want you to go to the cabin, Jan-an. I have given it––back to God. Close the windows and doors––for winter has come!”
Jan-an nodded. She believed Mary-Clare was “passing out”––she was frightened and superstitious. She did not pause to explain to Peneluna, in the next room, where she was going, but covering her head and shoulders with an old shawl, she rushed forth.
It was bitingly cold and the dry twigs struck against the girl’s face like ice. The ghost-wind added terror to the hour, but Jan-an struggled on.
When she reached the cabin it was nearly dark––the empty room was haunted by memories and there were little scurrying creatures darting about. Standing in the centre of the room, Jan-an raised her clenched hands and extended them 223 as if imploring a Presence. If Mary-Clare had given the Place back to God, then it might be that God was there close and––listening. Jan-an became possessed by the spiritual. She lifted her faithful, yearning eyes and spoke aloud.
“God!” She waited. Then: “God, I’m trusting and I ain’t afraid––much! God, listen! I fling this to Your face. Yer raised Lazarus and others from the dead and Mary-Clare ain’t dead yet––can’t Yer––save her? Hear me! hear me!”