Out of Context

Today is Easter Saturday, so technically God is dead right now.

Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm
Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin

“You wear a ring on your engagement finger, don’t you, aunt Jane? Did you ever think about getting married?”

“Yes, dear, long ago.”

“What happened, aunt Jane?”

“He died–just before.”

“Oh!” And Rebecca’s eyes grew misty.

“He was a soldier and he died of a gunshot wound, in a hospital, down South.”

“Oh! aunt Jane!” softly. “Away from you?”

“No, I was with him.”

“Was he young?”

“Yes; young and brave and handsome, Rebecca; he was Mr. Carter’s brother Tom.”

“Oh! I’m so glad you were with him! Wasn’t he glad, aunt Jane?”

Jane looked back across the half-forgotten years, and the vision of Tom’s gladness flashed upon her: his haggard smile, the tears in his tired eyes, his out-stretched arms, his weak voice saying, “Oh, Jenny! Dear Jenny! I’ve wanted you so, Jenny!” It was too much! She had never breathed a word of it before to a human creature, for there was no one who would have understood. Now, in a shamefaced way, to hide her brimming eyes, she put her head down on the young shoulder beside her, saying, “It was hard, Rebecca!”