If Cornelius and I can have two months now of real solitude, then it would be lovely to have Cathy come for the spring. She is so vehement in her desires; she reminds me of myself at her age. The family is really too high-powered for her. She is not up to them yet, and feels left out. But after the two days here she was radiant, hugged me so hard when they said good-by, I felt that a good hard hug is one of the most comforting forms of communication ever devised by man.

John too seemed at his very best, somehow lifted up on the problem of helping Jane write the chapter on natural history. He jokes about it—the lame helping the halt—but I can see he is pleased.

Only Marianne troubles me—such turmoil underneath that apparently safe and even placid marriage. But she is sustained by something of Cornelius’s strength and stoicism—his daughter more than mine.

Yes, they are gone—and that is what I wanted to say. Thanksgiving had loomed before me as rather an effort, I must confess. Now I feel fulfilled, ready for the next step with Cornelius. We are truly blest.

Part Two: Winter People

PART TWO

Winter People

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

After Thanksgiving the last summer houses were closed up for good. Even Old Pete had been commandeered here or there to cut pine branches to cover exposed sills. The Lovelands were putting up storm windows and dragging earth up like earthworks before a battle and piling it against their ancient farm. These were iron days, windy and cold, under pewter skies; only a few blond, shriveled beech leaves still clung to the boughs. Even the mountain looked grim—a dark, slate-colored presence, towering against cloud and often invisible now in the early mornings, hidden in mist. The only living thing in the landscape was water. The lakes were dark blue, and sparkled when there was sun; the brooks ran swift after days of rain; the bluejays came back to the feeder outside the porch and screamed. It seemed to Christina that they were all marooned in a long pause, waiting for the first snow.

The arrival of Dinnock Corey with the mail became important, and Christina sometimes walked down to the box at the gates to wait for him, drinking in the cold dank air, glad to get out, to hear the village news, and to get advice. It was Dinnock Corey’s idea that Nick might be willing to shovel them out when the time came.

Christina looked at his shrewd old face, in which the eyes were so crinkled up one hardly saw them, and wondered.

“I’m a little shy of asking,” she confessed. “There was that trouble about the deer.”