Perhaps only Jean had really gleaned the meaning of her mother’s anxious face, the steady daily visits of the nerve specialist, and, last of all, the decision to return to the Army Hospital in Philadelphia.
Kit closed her eyes and wrinkled her face as if with a twinge of sharp pain. “It’s going to be awful,” she said softly, “just awful for Mom.”
Rebecca squared her ample shoulders unconsciously, and lifted her double chin in challenge to the worry that the next few days might hold.
“It’s worse for you children and Tom. We women are given special strength to bear just such trials. We’ve got to be strong,” she said.
But the tears came slowly, miserably to Kit’s brown eyes. She pulled the curtains back, and looked out as the blue waters of the Sound were turning purple and violet in the gathering gloom of the late afternoon. The land looked desolate, and yet it was but a light snowfall. Down close to the water some gulls rose and swept in a big half circle toward the other side of the inlet. Bob Phelps, running along the sidewalk toward home, waved a big bunch of pussy willows at her.
“Spring’s coming, Kit,” he yelled. “Just found some and they’re ’most out!”
Kit waved back mechanically. Of course she must not break down and cry. Even Tommy wouldn’t, and she and Jean must be strong and brace up the two younger ones so they all could help their mother. Still the tears came. What was the use of spring if—
“Kit, aren’t you ever coming down?” called Jean from the foot of the stairs.
“Right now,” Kit answered. “You come too, please, Becky. We need you awfully. To tell us what to do next.”
“No, you don’t,” said Rebecca calmly. “You don’t need me anymore than the earth needs me to tell it this snow’s going away and the flowers will soon be blossoming. The first thing you must do is learn how to meet your father with a smile.”