“I didn’t ... dream a bit of it,” she said to herself.
Hilda came in. “We’re going to take her to our house, Bonbright, till she gets well. That’s best, isn’t it?”
“You’ll come, won’t you, Ruth—now?”
“If my ... husband comes, too,” she said.
Ruth’s strength returned miraculously, for it had not been her body that was ill, but her soul, and her soul was well now and at peace. Once she had thought that just to be at peace would be perfect bliss. She knew better now, for she was at peace, and happiness was hers, besides. ... It was pitiful how she clung to Bonbright, how she held him back when he would be leaving in the morning, and how she watched the door for his return.
Bonbright knew peace, too. Sometimes it seemed that the conflict was over for him and that he had sailed into a sure and quiet haven where no storm could reach him again. All that he had lacked was his; independence was his and the possibility of developing his own individualism. The ghosts of the ancestors were laid; Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, was no longer a mold that sought to grasp him and turn him into something he was not and did not wish to be. The plan was proving itself, demonstrating its right to be. Even Malcolm Lightener was silenced, for the thing marched. It possessed vitals. Nor had it upset business, as Lightener once predicted. After the first tumult and flurry labor had settled back into its old ways. The man who worked for Bonbright Foote was envied, and that man and his family prospered and knew a better, bigger life. The old antagonism of his employees had vanished and he had become a figure to call out their enthusiasm. He believed every man of them was his friend, and, more than that, he believed he had found the solution to the great problem. He believed he had found a way of bringing together capital and labor so that they would lie down together like the millennial lion and lamb ... All these things made for peace. But in addition he had Ruth’s love, and that brought back his old boyishness, gave him something he had never had before, even in his youth—a love of life, a love of living, a gladness that awoke with him and accompanied him through his days.
When Ruth was able to sit up they began to lay out their future and to plan plans. Already Bonbright was building a home, and the delight they had from studying architect’s drawings and changing the position of baths and doors and closets and porches was unbelievable. Then came the furnishing of it, and at last the moving into it.
“I’m almost glad it all happened,” Ruth said.
“Yes,” said Bonbright.
“We’d have been just ordinarily happy if we’d started like other folks ... But to have gone through that—and come into all this!...”
“Let’s not remember it,” he said. Then: “Ruth, you never make any suggestions—about the men. You know lots more about them than I do. You were born among them. But you just listen to me when I talk to you, and never offer a word.”