“Oh! we’ve all been so stupid; so blind. Seeing the false and calling it the truth. Being afraid; not daring to let go. My work has set me free, son. Lately I have seen the girl that Kathryn really is, looming dark over the girl she made us believe she was. I have feared for you, but now I am glad. Brace, there are women a man can count on. Cling hold of that.”
“Yes, I know that, of course.”
“Women whose honour is as high and clear as that of the best of men.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Helen looked at the relaxed form close to her. She yearned to confide fully in him, tell him how she had guarded his interests while he fared afar from her. She thought of Mary-Clare and the love and understanding that now lay between her and the girl whose high honour could, indeed, be trusted.
But she realized that this son of hers was not the kind of man whose need could be supplied by replacing a loss with a possible gain. He had been dealt a cruel blow and must react from it sanely. The time was not yet come for the telling of the King’s Forest story.
Northrup needed comfort, Heaven knew, but it must come from within, not without.
At that instant Helen Northrup gripped the arms of her chair and sent a quick prayer to the God of mothers of grown sons.
“The storm seems to be passing,” she said quietly.
“Yes, and the air is cooler.” Northrup stood up and his face was no longer hopeless. “Are you going to stay in town all summer?” he asked.