He had not told her that this was good-by. He would be taking the bus to New Jersey early the following morning.

CHRISTINA’S JOURNAL—May 25

The spring is simply tearing us apart. There is something so naked about spring here in Willard—late to come, waiting on the threshold for so long. But all so gauzy now, veils of pale green leaves, the structure of trunk and branch still to be seen. I feel so vulnerable. It is quite absurd. We have come through the winter, but we feel rather wan. We are survivors rather than victors, as Ellen said. There is so much to do in the garden and no Nick to help! But John has promised to come, and the Lovelands will come, one or other of them, if I get desperate. I feel that they represent a rocklike strength in this community. When all else fails, there they are, ready to take on hard work, ready to “help out.” What would Willard be without them? They are the old world, the world of Cornelius’s father. Soon there will be no more of their kind, rare as some rare wild flower being bulldozed away.

Joel left the night of our party. He did not tell Cathy, and I think perhaps that showed wisdom. Cathy has been a sort of lunar-pale self ever since. Long letters arrive and she stays up till all hours, writing poems she says. If there is anything enviable about being young, it seems to me to be the possibility of concentrating all one’s energies. It is dispersal and complexity that kill us, the huge web of life we drag around, feeling the tug at this point or that—“do this,” “help me,” “where are you?” … But who can complain in this heavenly spring air? It tastes so clean and fresh!

While I garden, Cornelius sits on the porch with bird glasses. We are together as we were when reading by the fire last winter. Yet, as the spring rises, he ebbs. I sometimes think that in old age all change, even seasonal change, enters the marrow. The spring has made me see it—how much older we are, he and I, suddenly.

But “sap rises sweet even in old trees”—who said that? Was it Cornelius? There are moments when I am flooded with happiness. One came the other day when I saw a pair of bluebirds in the road as I drove down to the village to see Ellen. I suspect that Cathy sees everything now in a halo of feeling about Joel, and perhaps one of the gifts of old age is that nothing stands between us and what we see. The bluebirds gave me a lift like love itself.