第9章

The August sun rolled up, hung at mid-heaven for a blinding hour, and at last wheeled westward before the journey was done. But Winnie was exhausted long before that. Miles carried her some of the way. The tops of her cheeks were bright pink with sunburn, her nose a vivid, comic red, but she had been rescued from a more serious broiling by Mae, who had finally insisted that she wear the blue straw hat. It came down far over her ears and gave her a clownish appearance, but the shade from its brim was so welcome that Winnie put vanity aside and dozed gratefully in Miles’s strong arms, her own arms wound around his neck.

The pastures, fields, and scrubby groves they crossed were vigorous with bees, and crickets leapt before them as if each step released a spring and flung them up like pebbles. But everything else was motionless, dry as biscuit, on the brink of burning, hoarding final reservoirs of sap, trying to hold out till the rain returned, and Queen Anne’s lace lay dusty on the surface of the meadows like foam on a painted sea.

It was amazing, then, to climb a long hill, to see ahead another hill, and beyond that the deep green of a scattered pine forest, and as you climbed, to feel the air ease and soften. Winnie revived, sniffing, and was able to ride the horse again, perched behind Mae. And to her oft-repeated question, “Are we almost there?” the welcome answer came at last: “Only a few more minutes now.”

A wide stand of dark pines rose up, loomed nearer, and suddenly Jesse was crying, “We’re home! This is it, Winnie Foster!” And he and Miles raced on and disappeared among the trees. The horse followed, turning onto a rutted path lumpy with roots, and it was as if they had slipped in under a giant colander. The late sun’s brilliance could penetrate only in scattered glimmers, and everything was silent and untouched, the ground muffled with moss and sliding needles, the graceful arms of the pines stretched out protectively in every direction. And it was cool, blessedly cool and green. The horse picked his way carefully, and then ahead the path dropped down a steep embankment; and beyond that, Winnie, peering around Mae’s bulk, saw a flash of color and a dazzling sparkle. Down the embankment they swayed and there it was, a plain, homely little house, barn-red, and below it the last of the sun flashing on the wrinkled surface of a tiny lake.

“Oh, look!” cried Winnie. “Water!”

At the same time, they heard two enormous splashes, two voices roaring with pleasure.

“It don’t take ’em more’n a minute to pile into that pond,” said Mae, beaming. “Well, you can’t blame ’em in heat like this. You can go in, too, if you want.”

Then they were at the door of the little house and Tuck was standing there. “Where’s the child?” he demanded, for Winnie was hidden behind his wife. “The boys say you brung along a real, honest-to-goodness, natural child!”

“So I did,” said Mae, sliding down off the horse, “and here she is.”

Winnie’s shyness returned at once when she saw the big man with his sad face and baggy trousers, but as he gazed at her, the warm, pleasing feeling spread through her again. For Tuck’s head tilted to one side, his eyes went soft, and the gentlest smile in the world displaced the melancholy creases of his cheeks. He reached up to lift her from the horse’s back and he said, “There’s just no words to tell you how happy I am to see you. It’s the finest thing that’s happened in…” He interrupted himself, setting Winnie on the ground, and turned to Mae. “Does she know?”

“Course she knows,” said Mae. “That’s why I brung her back. Winnie, here’s my husband, Angus Tuck. Tuck, meet Winnie Foster.”

“How do, Winnie Foster,” said Tuck, shaking Winnie’s hand rather solemnly. “Well, then!” He straightened and peered down at her, and Winnie, looking back into his face, saw an expression there that made her feel like an unexpected present, wrapped in pretty paper and tied with ribbons, in spite of Mae’s blue hat, which still enveloped her head. “Well, then,” Tuck repeated, “seeing you know, I’ll go on and say this is the finest thing that’s happened in—oh—at least eighty years.”