Pat found the night bitter. There seemed such an unearthly stillness over the whole house. She sat at her window for a long time in the darkness. Below in the garden the white phlox glimmered…one of the many flowers Bets had given her…that sweet-lipped friend of long ago. The pain of Bets’ passing had faded out with time as gently as an old, old moon fades out into the sunrise, but it always came back at moments like this. She remembered how she used to lie awake, especially on stormy nights, after Winnie and Joe had gone. She could not bear to look at Rae’s little white bed.

But there was a wonderful sunrise the next morning…crimson and warm gold flushing up into the blue. A bird was singing somewhere in the orchard and the borders of the hill field were aflame with golden rod. Dawn still came beautifully…and she still had Silver Bush. Little Mary would often come to occupy Rae’s bed. Her spun-gold hair would gleam on that lonely pillow.

And, of course, there was always David…dear old dependable David. She must not forget him.

THE TENTH YEAR

CHAPTER 49

It took Pat a long while to get used to Rae’s absence. Sometimes she thought she would never get used to it. The autumn weeks were very hard. Every place…every room…seemed so full of Rae…even more so than when she had been home. Pat was, somehow, always expecting to see her…glimmering through the birches on moonlit nights…lilting along the Whispering Lane…coming home from school laughing over some jest of the day…wearing her youth like a golden rose. And then the renewed sadness of the realization that she would not come. For a time it really seemed that Rae had taken the laughter of Silver Bush with her. Then it crept back; again there were jokes and talks in the kitchen o’nights.

Two things helped Pat through the fall and winter…Silver Bush and her evenings with David and Suzanne. Her love for Silver Bush had suffered no abatement…nay, it had seemed to deepen and intensify with the years, as other loves passed out of her life, as other changes came…or threatened to come. For Uncle Tom’s big black beard was quite gray now and dad was getting bald and Winnie’s gold hair was fading to drab. And…though Pat put the thought fiercely away whenever it came to her…Judy was getting old. It was not all May’s malice.

But then mother was so much better…almost well…beginning to take her place in the family life again. It was like a miracle, everybody said. So Pat was happy and contented in spite of certain passing aches of loneliness which made themselves felt on wakeful nights when a grief-possessed wind wailed around the eaves.