Meanwhile the beautiful peace we shared a few days ago seems to have gone up in smoke. The subject we do not talk about has built a wall between us, just as it was after John’s bad times. I long for Thanksgiving and to have the children around, and especially the grandchildren, the dogs, something to break into this enclosed, breathless place, to let a little wind in. Of course Cornelius dreads their seeing him like this. But he and Robin can play checkers. We can read aloud. And I am seriously thinking of getting them to bring Mamzelle up with them.

I told him I had been up to see Eben. He didn’t like it—that was clear. And Cornelius is right in a way. I did go without telling him, and I did enjoy myself tremendously. Eben has this wildfire quality still. We catch fire from each other, even now after all these years—over fifty! I told Cornelius that I would have to go at least once more, to find out about the women in the Civil War. “Do as you please,” he said.

Anyway Jim Heald has been a great help. Eben was so right there. The New Yorkers have gone home, to come back if it ends by becoming a court case—their case against Nick. Jim is convinced that they did attack first, but in court a great deal might depend on other evidence of Nick’s instability. There is nothing to do for the present but wait and hope.

It is winter suddenly, the end of autumn. The few remaining leaves went in a rainstorm the other day. I have been out raking madly. It is true that we must look for some help. My knee bothers me a good deal. I feel depressed and I miss Ellen. All this has made me realize how much I depend on her, if only for her sour humor. She never tries to look on the best of anything, and that is rather a relief. To each other we can say quite frankly that life is hell a good deal of the time, and take that fact as the Almighty’s joke on us. It is a tonic.

“A strong breed of women,” Eben said—and how right he was!

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Christina woke to a crystalline morning after rain. The mountain looked dark blue, very sharp and clear in outline against a rosy sky, and when she slipped out of bed and went to the window the whole lawn was silver with hoarfrost. Cornelius sighed in his sleep and tried to turn over with a small groan; then she could hear his loud breathing as he slipped back into that underworld of unconsciousness, the world of sleep, the healing world.