Sethe moaned. The girl's fingers were so cool and knowing. Sethe's knotted, private, walk-onwaterlife gave in a bit, softened, and it seemed that the glimpse of happiness she caught in theshadows swinging hands on the road to the carnival was a likelihood — if she could just managethe news Paul D brought and the news he kept to himself. Just manage it. Not break, fall or cryeach time a hateful picture drifted in front of her face. Not develop some permanent craziness likeBaby Suggs' friend, a young woman in a bonnet whose food was full of tears. Like Aunt Phyllis,who slept with her eyes wide open. Like Jackson Till, who slept under the bed. All she wanted wasto go on. As she had. Alone with her daughter in a haunted house she managed every damn thing.
Why now, with Paul D instead of the ghost, was she breaking up? getting scared? needing Baby?
The worst was over, wasn't it? She had already got through, hadn't she? With the ghost in 124 shecould bear, do, solve anything. Now a hint of what had happened to Halie and she cut out like arabbit looking for its mother.
Beloved's fingers were heavenly. Under them and breathing evenly again, the anguish rolled down.
The peace Sethe had come there to find crept into her.
We must look a sight, she thought, and closed her eyes to see it: the three women in the middle ofthe Clearing, at the base of the rock where Baby Suggs, holy, had loved. One seated, yielding upher throat to the kind hands of one of the two kneeling before her. Denver watched the faces of theother two. Beloved watched the work her thumbs were doing and must have loved what she sawbecause she leaned over and kissed the tenderness under Sethe's chin.