 Why did nobody react when Henry's mother started crying at the table?
There was the usual welcoming crowd for a celebrity, and the usual speeches by the usual politicians who met him at the airport which had once been twenty miles outside of Croton, but which the growing city had since engulfed and placed well within its boundaries. His Honor's handclasp was somewhat moist and cold. There he sat between the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen, and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the National Guard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. Several of the churches in town had shown indecision as to how to instruct their parishioners to treat him. The tremendous national interest, the fact that he was the First One, had made them come around. He wanted a meal at his own table, a kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. They had rehabilitated, spruced up, almost rebuilt the entire outside and grounds. The head of the American Legion and the chief of police, who had escorted him on this trip from the square, didn't ask to go in with him. They held onto each other as if seeking mutual support, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. Ralphie stood in his arms as if his feet were still planted on the floor, and he didn't look at his father but somewhere beyond him. So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, that everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left Washington. Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his, a cool, dead bird lying still in his. His wife had hesitated before sitting down beside him. Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but more so. But Ralphie's face was drawn, was worried in a way that few ten-year-old faces are. They had feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in continent-to-continent experimental flight. Without waiting for an answer, he waved his hand—it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook—and ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her.
 They felt for her in all of the uncertainty and tension.
 They didn't understand what was wrong and felt too awkward to say anything.  They were too busy taking care of other details surrounding the meal.  They felt for her in all of the uncertainty and tension.  They were used to her tears and knew it was better not to say anything.