“It is stormy. It will always, I guess, be stormy. But it will always be.”
They were at war, but they were generous to each other. Their war was a hidden and a sacred thing: it was not more nor less than the confronting of themselves upon the path they had helped hew, had helped each other walk. It was a hidden thing, but they had no desire to conceal it. They were open to each other insofar as each could be. They were the brother and sister who had waged life and war together.
“Do you think it is helping David—this ‘friendship’ that will always be?”
“I have not your acute moral sense, Cornelia. How should I know?”
She bit her lips.
“Why,” he asked with his ironic smile, “why don’t you ask if it is helping me!”
“You have made it plain to me, Tom, that you do not need my help. Out of self-protection I had to withdraw thinking too much of that.”
He nodded as if he understood and agreed. This hurt Cornelia. Even the words of contradiction would have been hostage to something precious.
“David is growing masterful. That much I can say for our friendship. I told you how he turned Lunn and Durthal out of our place, one evening. What I did not tell you was this: the following day David was contrite. He wanted to apologize for the splendid thing he had done. I would not let him.”
“Why?”