In that hour, or so it seemed, the real Mary-Clare returned and demanded recognition. There was to be no more compromise; no more calling things by false names and striving to believe them real. There was but one safe road: truth.
And Larry was coming home. He had not understood when he went away: he would not understand now. Still, truth must be faced.
The letters!
Mary-Clare now leaned on the table, her eyes fixed upon the wall opposite. The roughly carved words caught and held her attention. Gradually it came to her, vaguely, flickeringly, like a will-o’-the-wisp darting through a murky night, that if life meant anything it meant a faith in what was true. She must not demand more than that; a sense of truth.
As a little child may look across the familiar environment of its nursery and contemplate its first unaided step, so Mary-Clare considered her small world: her unthinking world of King’s Forest, and prepared to take her lonely course. The place in which she had been born and bred: the love and friends that had held her close suddenly became strange to her. What was to befall her, once she let go the conventions that upheld her?
Well, that was not for her to ask. There was the letting go and then the first unaided step. Nothing must hold her back––not even those letters that had sustained her! In recognizing her big problem in her small and crude world, Mary-Clare had no thought of casting aside her obligation or duties––her distress was founded upon a fear that those blessed, sacred duties would have none of her because she had not that with which to buy favour.
There was Noreen––she was Larry’s, too. Through the years Mary-Clare had remembered that almost fiercely as she combated the child’s aversion to her father. Suddenly, as small things do occur at strained moments, hurting like a cruel blow, a scene at the time when Noreen was but four years old, rose vividly before her. Larry, sensing the baby’s hatred, had tried to force an outward show of obedience and affection. He had commanded Noreen to come and kiss him.
Like a bird under the spell of a serpent, Noreen had stood affrighted and silent. The command was repeated, laughingly, jeeringly, but under it Mary-Clare had recognized that ring of brutality that occasionally marked Larry’s easy-going tones. Then Noreen had advanced step by step, her eyes wide and alert.
“Kiss me!”