“Now the Pointers can have their way ’cording to rule, Mary-Clare,” she whispered, “but you and me understand, child. And listen to this, I ain’t much of a muchness, but come thick or thin, Mary-Clare, I’ll do my first and last for you ’cause of the secret lying ’twixt us.”
Then Mary-Clare asked the question that was hurting her with its weight.
“Peneluna, was it love, the thing that made you glad, through it all, just to wait?”
“I don’t rightly know, Mary-Clare. It was something too big for me to call by name, but I just couldn’t act different and kill it, not even when her as once was French made me feel I oughter. I wouldn’t darst harm that feeling I had, child.”
“And it paid?”
“I don’t know. I only know I was glad, when he called last night, that I was waiting.”
Then Mary-Clare raised her face and kissed the old, troubled, fumbling lips. The thing, too big for the woman, was too big for the girl; but she knew, whatever it was, it must not be hurt.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“God knows, Mary-Clare. The old doctor gave this place to Philander, and he gave me mine, next door. I think, till I get my leadings, I’ll hold to this and see what the Lord 82 wants me to do with my old shack. I allas find someone waiting to share. Maybe Jan-an will grow to fit in there in time. When she gets old and helpless she’ll need some place to crawl to and call her own. I don’t know, but I’m a powerful waiter and I’ll keep an eye and ear open.”
On the walk home Mary-Clare grew deeply thoughtful. The recent scene took on enormous significance. Detached from the pitiful setting, disassociated from the two forlorn creatures who were the actors in the tragic story, there rose, like a bright and living flame, a something that the girl’s imagination caught and held.