Seth, sober now, stared at his wife, at the broken, crushed Fanny, at
the crowd that stood waiting in still misery.
Ruth walked down to Fanny and flung her arms about her. Fanny patted
her friend's shoulder softly and tried to comfort not herself but Ruth.
"There, there, Ruthie, don't, don't take on so. Remember, you're
nursing a baby and it might make him sick. It's all right,
everything's all right. Only," Fanny's voice was dull and colorless
and she never once raised her head, "only I wish John wouldn't hear of
this. I've been such a disappointment to John without--this."
Though she spoke only to Ruth everybody heard. It was the first and
only favor Fanny Foster had ever asked of Green Valley. And Green
Valley, as it watched Ruth lead her away, swore that if possible John
should not hear.
But John did hear three days later. And then the quiet man whose
patience had made people think him a fool let loose the stored-up
bitterness of years. He who in the beginning should and could have
saved his girl wife with love and firmness now judged and rejected her
with the terrible wrath, the cold merciless justice of a man slow to
anger or to judge.
It was springtime and Grandma, sitting in her kitchen, heard and wept
for Fanny.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332