“I’d forgotten; it seems so long ago.”
“He’s sixty,” Justin said. “He was in his thirties then, that’s not so long when you’re looking from my end of the path. But from where you stand, I suppose it seems an impossible distance.”
“Yes, I guess it does.” Bethany watched her. That shadow of sadness had touched her again, briefly. “Are you going to ride with me, or will it be all arranging furniture, and books and papers to unpack?”
“I’d like to ride,” Justin said; and when they met at the stables the next afternoon, Justin was very bright, and as much at home at the stables as Bethany. The day was dark around them, though, clouded over and threatening, but Justin didn’t seem to mind it. Or did she find it exhilarating? Her blond hair was tied in a pony tail, and her Levi’s were rolled up so she looked no older than Bethany, sitting bareback on Mrs. Grady’s pinto gelding. Mr. Grady sent them off with a pat on Justin’s knee and a slap on Juniper’s rump so he jumped through the open gate, almost unseating Justin. This was the first of many rides. Usually they went out between the dunes, the horses stepping high in the deep sand, then cantered along the hard shore before they took the horses, fighting and rearing, into the breakers. It was comfortable being with Justin, no matter her mood; but Bethany puzzled over the changes in her sometimes, more sudden changes in mood than on earlier visits, the quietness coming suddenly, and disappearing again all at once. She liked watching Justin’s sudden bright pleasure in the places she had loved as a child, the places she had explored with Mama. “But if you came here with Mama,” Bethany said once, when they discovered a small rock island that Justin remembered, “why didn’t she ever show me. She never showed me anything on the dunes.”
“You found it, though, didn’t you?” Justin said gently. “She wanted you to find everything for yourself. To Marjory that was one of the wonders, discovering it yourself and not having someone else show you.”
It was true, each discovery of a new meadow, a new copse of trees or outcropping of rock had been as wonderful, to her six-year-old self, as the discovery of a new world could have been. It made her tight in the throat to think that Mama had known how she would feel, and had wanted her to have her childhood in this way. She glanced sideways at Justin. How had she known this about Mama? Had Marjory told her, or had Justin simply known what she would do?
You could tell Justin anything, Bethany thought suddenly. There was something deep and calm about her, like a quiet pool, in spite of her changes of mood, something reassuring, as if no emotional upheaval could really shake that deep, solid core. And she was beginning to feel that Justin’s withdrawn moods had something more to them than sadness, something Bethany could not quite fathom. She thought if she tried, if she reached out she could almost—could perhaps see into Justin’s mind as clearly as anything she had ever seen in her life.
If I told her, Bethany thought with sudden excitement, if I told Justin! It was all very well to tell Reid about the perplexing world she kept falling into, that grasped her up and shook her so, unsettling her and making her increasingly frightened, while at the same time making her long for more. But sometimes Reid was almost too steady and comforting. She felt with growing excitement that telling Justin would be different, that perhaps Justin’s response might be more attuned to the wild feeling that accompanied those chaotic, impossible moments. But still, time and again when she was on the verge of telling Justin, she turned to Reid instead.
Perhaps she felt that somehow, if she told Justin, she might touch a chaos in herself that was best left alone. But still the thought of doing so would not go away, and on an afternoon when they had galloped a long way down the beach to explore a tide pool in the rocks, she could think of nothing else; as they mounted again she turned to watch Justin intently. What would Justin say if she told her? It seemed to Bethany she would understand—that perhaps, with her wider experience, Justin could shed some light on the strange occurrences. Still, there was a lot about Justin she didn’t know; maybe she would be as shocked as Aunt Bett. No, that was impossible. Though really, she hadn’t even any idea what Justin’s everyday life was like. Did Justin work with the same changes of mood that Bethany had seen, or was there another side to her where the discipline of work did not allow for such moods? She tried to imagine Justin turning the pages of dusty tomes, and, “Do you like to do research?” she asked suddenly. “Isn’t it awfully dull?” And she thought, is it really the kind of thing you wanted to do with your life? Or is it because of Zebulon that you do it?
Justin glanced at her, her blue eyes surprised, then laughing. “Oh, not dull. Sometimes tiring and aggravating, sometimes very demanding, but you never know what you’re going to turn up, it’s like parts of a huge puzzle. In past centuries knowledge of the real world was building so slowly, among all the misconceptions and superstitions about medicine and the human body, about the earth and, oh, everything. About what the suns and planets were. It’s—doing this kind of research is like having your finger on the very heart of man, what he was, and what he has become.”
“And what he will become?” Bethany asked, her interest stirred.
“Yes. That’s the most exciting of all. We’ve evolved so much, but people tend to forget that we have.” Justin gave Bethany a clear, eager look. “Evolved not only in knowledge, but in civility and kindness to each other. There were times in the past when men were thrown into vats of boiling oil for being cowards, and murderers and traitors were drawn and quartered, alive. There were the most terrible atrocities in centuries past. And prisons and mad houses were unbelievable, with people stacked like cordwood almost, lying in human filth and fed on perhaps one bowl of thin gruel a day. And people who were tel—who had some special talent, or who appeared different, were treated as if they were possessed of the devil. So many people were accused of evil and witchcraft. As much as I disapprove of Selma’s church venture, I think I disapprove even more of the talk I hear about it. That old man with the baseball cap shouting scriptures in the street reminds me of the Dark Ages when people were mired in superstition. He came right up to me and shouted in my face, ‘Those who consort with wizards and mediums are doomed to the fires of hell!’ It was almost as if we were right back in the tenth century.”
“That was Reid’s grandfather,” Bethany said slowly. “He’s like that when he’s drunk.”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” Justin said, dismayed.
“No, don’t be. He—he’s just an old drunk, everyone knows it, Reid most of all. Don’t you remember him, though? John Krupp, he’s lived in the village all his life and people say he’s been like that ever since his son was killed, crazy like that and drinking.”
Justin looked surprised, then was silent for a long time. “Yes,” she said at last. “Yes, now I remember him. His son died in a boat fire.” She glanced at Bethany and seemed to draw into herself; then suddenly she put Juniper into a fast canter, pounding ahead down the beach. Bethany felt again that strength underneath, even when Justin was upset; she leaned over Danny and followed, galloping inland along the edge of a small bay where willows thrust their whipping branches across the trail.
Then, with a sudden decision, she reached out with her mind and tried to touch the thing in Justin’s mind that she thought, with clear conviction now, she must reach. The shadow of knowing— She could almost touch, almost see—
The images flashed at her sharp and vivid; the branches seen through Justin’s eyes came at her so vividly that she ducked with Justin, gasping, her own progress completely unheeded until she was slapped hard by a branch, almost falling.