“Why where ...” Mary began, for there was nobody in the kitchen.

“Must be in the living room,” her father said, and took her arm.

“There’s more room here,” Andrew told her, as they came in. Although the night was warm, he was nursing a small fire. All the shades, Mary noticed, were drawn to the window sills.

“Mary,” her mother said loudly, patting a place beside her on the sofa. Mary sat beside her and took her hand. Her mother took Mary’s left hand in both of her hands, drew it into her lap, and pressed it against her thin thighs with all her strength.

Her aunt sat to one side of the fireplace and now her father took a chair at the other side. The Morris chair just stood there empty beside its reading lamp. Even after the fire was going nicely, Andrew squatted before it, making small adjustments. Nobody spoke, and nobody looked at the Morris chair or at another person. The footsteps of a man, walking slowly, became gradually louder along the sidewalk, and passed the house, and diminished into silence; and in the silence of the universe they listened to their little fire.

Finally Andrew stood up straight from the fire and they all looked at his despairing face, and tried not to demand too much of him with their eyes. He looked at each of them in turn, and went over and bent deeply towards his mother.

“Let me tell you, Mama,” he said. “That way, we can all hear. I’m sorry, Mary.”

“Dear,” his mother said gratefully, and fumbled for his hand and patted it. “Of course,” Mary said, and gave him her place beside the “good” ear. They shifted to make room, and she sat at her mother’s deaf side. Again her mother caught her hand into her lap; with the other, she tilted her ear trumpet. Joel leaned toward them, his hand behind his ear; Hannah stared into the wavering hearth.

“He was all alone,” Andrew said, not very loudly but with the most scrupulous distinctness. “Nobody else was hurt, or even in the accident.”

“That’s a mercy,” his mother said. It was, they all realized; yet each of them was shocked. Andrew nodded sharply to silence her.

“So we’ll never know exactly how it happened,” he went on. “But we know enough,” he said, speaking the last word with a terrible and brutal bitterness.

“Mmh,” his father grunted, nodding sharply; Hannah drew in and let out a long breath.

“I talked with the man who found him. He was the man who phoned you, Mary. He waited there for me all that time because he thought it would help if—if the man who first saw Jay was there to tell one of us all he could. He told me all he knew of course,” he said, remembering, with the feeling that he would never forget it, the awed, calm, kind, rural face and the slow, careful, half-literate voice. “He was just as fine as a human being can be.” He felt a kind of angry gratitude that such a man had been there, and had been there first. Jay couldn’t have asked for anyone better, he said to himself. Nobody could.

“He said he was on his way home, about nine o’clock, coming in towards town, and he heard an auto coming up from behind, terrifically fast, and coming nearer and nearer, and he thought. There’s somebody that’s sure got to get some place in a bad hurry” (“He was hurrying home,” Mary said) “or else he’s crazy” (he had said “crazy drunk”).

“He wasn’t crazy,” Mary said. “He was just trying to get home (bless his heart), he was so much later than he’d said.”

Andrew, looked at her with dry, brilliant eyes and nodded.

“He’d told me not to wait supper,” she said, “but he wanted to get home before the children were asleep.”

“What is it?” her mother asked, with nervous politeness.

“Nothing important, Mama,” Andrew said gently. “I’ll explain later.” He drew a deep breath in very sharply, and felt less close to tears.

“All of a sudden, he said, he heard a perfectly terrifying noise, just a second or two, and then dead silence. He knew it must be whoever was in that auto and that they must be in bad trouble, so he turned around and drove back, about a quarter of a mile, he thinks, just the other side of Bell’s Bridge. He told me he almost missed it altogether because there was nothing on the road and even though he’d kind of been expecting that and driving pretty slowly, looking off both sides of the road, he almost missed it because just next the bridge on that side, the side of the road is quite a steep bank.”

“I know,” Mary whispered.

“But just as he came off the far end of the bridge—you come down at a sort of angle, you know ...”

“I know,” Mary whispered.

“Something caught in his lights and it was one of the wheels of the automobile.” He looked across his mother and said, “Mary, it was still turning.”

“Beg pardon?” his mother said.

“It was still turning,” he told her. “The wheel he saw.”

“Mercy, Andrew,” she whispered.

“Hahh!” her husband exclaimed, almost inaudibly.

“He got out right away and hurried down there. The auto was upside down and Jay ...”

Although he did not feel that he was near weeping he found that for a moment he could not speak. Finally he said, “He was just lying there on the ground beside it, on his back, about a foot away from it. His clothes were hardly even rumpled.”

Again he found that he could not speak. After a moment he managed to force himself to.

“The man said somehow he was sure he was—dead—the minute he saw him. He doesn’t know how. Just some special kind of stillness. He lighted matches though, of course, to try and make sure. Listened for his heartbeat and tried to feel for his pulse. He moved his auto around so he could see by the headlights. He couldn’t find anything wrong except a little cut, exactly on the point of his chin. The windshield of Jay’s car was broken and he even took a piece of it and used it like a mirror, to see if there was any breath. After that he just waited a few minutes until he heard an auto coming and stopped them and told them to get help as soon as possible.”

“Did they get a doctor?” Mary asked.

“Mary says, ‘Did they get a doctor.’ ” Andrew said to his mother. “Yes, he told them to and they did. And other people. Including—Brannick, Papa,” he said; “that blacksmith you know. It turns out he lives quite near there.”

“Huh!” said Joel.

“The doctor said the man was right,” Andrew said. “He said he must have been killed instantly. They found who he was, by papers in his pocket, and that was when he phoned you, Mary.

“He asked me if I’d please tell you how dreadful he felt to give you such a message, leaving you uncertain all this time. He just couldn’t stand to be the one to tell you the whole thing—least of all just bang like that, over a phone. He thought it ought to be somebody in the family.”

“That’s what I imagined,” Mary said.

“He was right,” Hannah said; and Joel and Mary nodded and said, “Yes.”

“By the time Walter and I got there, they’d moved him,” Andrew said. “He was at the blacksmith shop. They’d even brought in the auto. You know, they say it ran perfectly. Except for the top, and the windshield, it was hardly even damaged.”

Joel asked, “Do they have any idea what happened?”

Andrew said to his mother, “Papa says, ‘Do they have any idea how it happened?’ ” She nodded, and smiled her thanks, and tilted her trumpet nearer his mouth.

“Yes, some idea,” Andrew said. “They showed me. They found that a cotter pin had worked loose—that is, it had fallen all the way out—this cotter pin had fallen out, that held the steering mechanism together.”

“Hahh?”

“Like this, Mama—look,” he said sharply, thrusting his hands under her nose.

“Oh excuse me,” she said.

“See here,” he said; he had locked a bent knuckle between two bent knuckles of the other hand. “As if it were to hold these knuckles together—see?”

“Yes.”

“There would be a hole right through the knuckles and that’s where the cotter pin goes. It’s sort of like a very heavy hairpin. When you have it all the way through, you open the two ends flat—spread them—like this ...” he showed her his thumb and forefinger, together, then spread them as wide and flat as he could. “You understand?”

“No matter.”

“Let it go, son,” his father said.

“It’s all right, Mama,” Andrew said. “It’s just something that holds two parts together—in this case, his steering gear—what he guided the auto with. Th ...”

“I understand,” she said impatiently.

“Good, Mama. Well this cotter pin, that held the steering mechanism together down underneath the auto, where there was no chance of seeing it, had fallen out. They couldn’t find it anywhere, though they looked all over the place where it happened and went over the road for a couple of hundred yards with a fine-tooth comb. So they think it may have worked loose and fallen out quite a distance back—it could be, even miles, though probably not so far. Because they showed me,” again he put his knuckles where she could see, “even without the pin, those two parts might hang together,” he twisted them, “you might even steer with them. and not have the slightest suspicion there was anything wrong, if you were on fairly smooth road, or didn’t have to wrench the wheel, but if you hit a sharp bump or a rut or a loose rock, or had to twist the wheel very hard very suddenly, they’d come apart, and you’d have no control over anything.”

Mary put her hands over her face.

“What they think is that he must have hit a loose rock with one of the front wheels, and that gave everything a jolt and a terrific wrench at the same time. Because they found a rock, oh, half the size of my head, down in the ditch, very badly scraped and with tire marks on it. They showed me. They think it must have wrenched the wheel right out of his hands and thrown him forward very hard so that he struck his chin, just one sharp blow against the steering wheel. And that must have killed him on the spot. Because he was thrown absolutely clear of the car as it ran off the road—they showed me. I never saw anything to equal it. Do you know what happened? That auto threw him out on the ground as it careened down into that sort of flat, wide ditch, about five feet down from the road; then it went straight on up an eight-foot embankment. They showed me the marks where it went, almost to the top, and then toppled backward and fell bottom side up right beside him, without even grazing him!”

“Gracious,” Mary whispered. “Tst,” Hannah clucked.

“How are they so sure it was—instant, Andrew?” Hannah asked.

“Because if he’d been conscious they’re sure he wouldn’t have been thrown out of the auto, for one thing. He’d have grabbed the wheel, or the emergency brake, still trying to control it. There wasn’t time for that. There wasn’t any time at all. At the most there must have been just the tiniest fraction of a second when he felt the jolt and the wheel was twisted out of his hand, and he was thrown forward. The doctor says he probably never even knew what hit him—hardly even felt the impact, it was so hard and quick.”

“He may have just been unconscious,” Mary groaned through her hands. “Or conscious and—paralyzed; unable to speak or even seem to breathe. If only there’d been a doctor, right there, mayb ...”

Andrew reached across his mother and touched her knees. “No, Mary,” he said. “I have the doctor’s word for that. He says the only thing that could have caused death was concussion of the brain. He says that when that—happens to kill, it—does so instantly, or else takes days or weeks. I asked him about it very particularly because—I knew you’d want to be sure just how it was. Of course I wondered the same thing. He said it couldn’t have been even a few seconds of unconsciousness, and then death, because nothing more happened, after that one blow, that could have added to what it did. He said it’s even more sudden than electrocution. Just an enormous shock to the brain. The quickest death there is.” He returned to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he said. “Mary was saying, perhaps he was only unconscious. That maybe if the doctor had been there right on the spot, he could have been saved. I was telling her, no. Because I asked the doctor everything I could think to, about that. And he said no. He says that when a concussion of the brain—is fatal—it’s the quickest death there is.”

He looked at each of them in turn. In a light, vindictive voice he told them, “He says it was just a chance in a million.”

“Good God, Andrew,” his father said.

“Just that one tiny area, at just a certain angle, and just a certain sharpness of impact. If it had been even a half an inch to one side, he’d be alive this minute.”

“Shut up, Andrew,” his father said harshly; for with the last few words that Andrew spoke, a sort of dilation had seized Mary, so that she had almost risen from her place, seeming larger than herself, and then had collapsed into a shattering of tears.

“Oh Mary,” Andrew groaned, and hurried to her, while her mother took her head against her breast. “I’m so sorry. God, what possessed me! I must be out of my mind!” And Hannah and Joel had gotten from their chairs and stood nearby, unable to speak.

“Just—have a little mercy,” she sobbed. “A little mercy.”

Andrew could say only, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mary,” and then he could say nothing.

“Let her cry,” Joel said quietly to his sister, and she nodded. As if anything on earth could stop her, he said to himself.

“O God, forgive me,” Mary moaned. “Forgive me! Forgive me! It’s just more than I can bear! Just more than I can bear! Forgive me!” And Joel, with his mouth fallen open, wheeled upon his sister and stared at her; and she avoided his eyes, saying to herself, No, No, and protect her, O God, protect Thy poor child and give her strength; and Andrew, his face locked in a murderer’s grimace, continued the furious and annihilating words which were bursting within him to be spoken, groaned within himself, God, if You exist, come here and let me spit in Your face. Forgive her, indeed!

Then Hannah moved him aside and stooped before Mary, taking her wrists and talking earnestly into her streaming hands: “Mary, listen to me. Mary. There’s nothing to ask forgiveness for. There’s nothing to ask forgiveness for, Mary. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Mary?” Mary nodded within her hands. “God would never ask of you not to grieve, not to cry. Do you hear? What you’re doing is absolutely natural, absolutely right. Do you hear! You wouldn’t be human if you did otherwise. Do you hear me, Mary? You’re not human to ask His forgiveness. You’re wrong. You’re terribly mistaken. Do you hear me, my dear? Do you hear me?”

While she was speaking, Mary, within her hands, now nodded and now shook her head, always in contradiction of what her aunt was saying, and now she said, “It isn’t what you think. I spoke to Him as if He had no mercy!”

“Andrew? Andrew was ju ...”

“No: to God. As if He were trying to rub it in. Torment me. That’s what I asked forgiveness for.”

“There, Mary,” her mother said; she could hear virtually nothing of what was said, but she could feel that the extremity of the crying had passed.

“Listen, Mary,” Hannah said, and she bent so close to her that she could have whispered. “Our Lord on the Cross,” she said, in a voice so low that only Mary and Andrew could hear, “do you remember?”

“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”

“Yes. And then did He ask forgiveness?”

“He was God. He didn’t have to.”

“He was human, too. And He didn’t ask it. Nor was it asked of Him to ask it, no more are you. And no more should you. What was it He said, instead? The very next thing He said.”

“Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit,” she said, taking her hands from her face and looking meekly at her aunt.

“Into Thy hands I commend my spirit,” her aunt said.

“There, dear,” her mother said, and Mary sat upright and looked straight ahead.

“Please don’t feel sorry, Andrew,” she said. “You’re right to tell me every last bit you know. I want to know—all of it. It was just—it just overwhelmed me for a minute.”

“I shouldn’t tell you so much all in a heap.”

“No, that’s better. Than to keep hearing—horrible little new things, just when you think you’ve heard the worst and are beginning to get used to it.”

“That’s right, Poll,” her father said.

“Now just go straight on telling me. Everything there is to tell. And if I do break down, why don’t reproach yourself. Remember I asked you. But I’ll try to not. I think I’ll be all right.”

“All right, Mary.”

“Good, Poll,” her father said. They all sat down again.

“And Andrew, if you’ll get it for me, I think I’d like some more whiskey.”

“Of course I will.” He had brought the bottle in; he took her glass to the table.

“Not quite so strong as last time, please. Pretty strong, but not so strong as that.”

“This all right?”

“A little more whiskey, please.”

“Certainly.”

“That looks all right.”

“You all right, Poll?” her father asked. “Isn’t going to your head too much?”

“It isn’t going anywhere so far as I can tell.”

“Good enough.”

“I think perhaps it would be best if we didn’t—prolong the discussion any further tonight,” Catherine said, in her most genteel manner; and she patted Mary’s knee.

They looked at her with astonishment and suddenly Mary and then Andrew began to laugh, and then Hannah began to laugh, and Joel said, “What’s up? What’s all the hee-hawing about?”

“It’s Mama,” Andrew shouted joyfully, and he and Hannah explained how she had suggested, in her most ladylike way, that they adjourn the discussion for the evening when all they were discussing was how much whiskey Mary could st............