The most interesting thing about it all is to see the effect of Willard on Joel. His curiosity is endless; he is ready to listen indefinitely to anything about the village. The other day he went into town with us to see poor Old Pete. The decision has finally been made to amputate. Old Pete takes it wonderfully well, insisted on showing us again his terrible black stumps. “But I’ll be back,” he says, dear old optimist. “I’ll be as good as new.” After that visit Joel insisted on seeing Old Pete’s shack. That perfectly useless life seems to him romantic and lovable—as Nick seems to him a hero. Cathy takes this all in, wide-eyed. And the queerest thing about it all is that even I have to admit that Joel creates a loving atmosphere. He listens so well! A harmless critter, but a very young one still. At what point will iron enter his soul? That, I suppose, is a very old-fashioned question. What do I mean? Something about responsibility perhaps. It is just not a loving world full of gentle souls who do not have to work for a living, and to wish to make it so leaves out too much. As it leaves out too much, I feel, to make an ideal of love without responsibility. Am I a dodo? We have to keep the door open. That is all I know. We have to try to understand each other, and in some ways Joel’s coming feels like a challenge we needed.

I can’t help thinking of Eben, and how different this boy is. We grew up in a safe world. Eben reacted with ambition and drive. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to prove himself in the world, to get ahead. What Joel wants is very different. He appears to have no ambition except to “live,” as he says. But what is life without purpose? Even when she was over ninety Jane’s life was molded to a purpose—to understand all she could about the natural world and to teach what she knew. I’m mystified.

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“Couldn’t sleep all night … there was a noise,” Joel said as he and Cathy trudged up the hill after school ten days later, a rivulet of water running down each side of the road and the mud keeping them in the middle, not able to hold hands for once.

“What sort of noise?”

“Oh, bells … or something … I got scared, thinking it was in my own head. But then I knew it was a real noise.”

“Peepers most likely.” Cathy gave him an amused glance. “You are a city boy!”

“What in hell are peepers? Little folk? Sounds like something in an Irish fairy tale!”