Big Sue came to see if there was anything she could do for April’s comfort. She spoke kindly to Joy and told Breeze he looked well and grew fast. April hardly heard Big Sue’s offer, for his friends had crowded into the room and called to him from the open windows. They meant to be kind, still no one of them could conceal astonishment and horror that April had no feet, no legs, at all. There were gentle murmurs of:
“God bless you, son, how’s you gwine do widout legs?”
“I’m sho’ glad you lived to git home, but what’s you gwine to do?”
April’s pleasure at being home was somehow chilled. He kept saying he thought two or three times he’d never see them again and he had to pull hard to do it, but his cheerful tone had faded into gloominess.
Uncle Bill suggested that the people had better leave. April had had a long trip. He was tired. He had been very weak. He wasn’t strong enough to stand much excitement. They were all good-mannered about it. They passed out of the door with little to say, and their tones were subdued when they spoke.
When the last one had gone, April burst out crying. He held Uncle Bill’s hands and blubbered out he was nothing but a baby! He had no manhood left at all! He couldn’t even stand kindness! Everything made him cry! Everything!
Joy came back into the room and stood by the bed and looked down at him and he reached up a long arm and took her hand uncertainly and called her by name. No eyes were ever more appealing, no voice in the whole world ever plead for tenderness as April’s did then.
“Joy, you don’ mind me bein’ dis way, enty? I’m gwine git wood legs befo’ long.”
Joy stood silent, a shudder ran through her, her fingers lay limp in April’s. April groaned and let her hand go.
Then Joy tried to smile bravely and say she didn’t mind. She had fretted herself half to death about him and now she was happy because he had come. But it was too late. She couldn’t fool April. He had seen how she felt; and he drew away from her as from a stranger.