Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
Renny lost all sense of time; he forgot the garden party; he forgot the ice cream. He would have worked where he was till dark if Meg, all dressed in white, with a pale blue sash, had not appeared. She looked at him in dismay.
“Renny Whiteoak!” she cried, “you’re going to catch it! Oo! Look at you! People are coming. Granny’s been looking for you everywhere. Hurry up! I’ve been dressed for hours.”
He thought she looked pretty standing there.
“You look pretty,” he said.
“You look awful. You may not be allowed to come to the party.”
“I don’t care.” But he did. He hurried with her to the house and up to his room. He was turning a basin of water into a mud puddle when Adeline appeared. She gave him a look of disgust.
“Oh, you miserable boy,” she said. “I’ve a mind to give you a good beating and lock you in a dark cupboard for the rest of the day. What would you say to that?”
Doggedly he lifted the heavy basin and emptied the mud puddle into the great slop jar. Doggedly he heaved up the heavy ewer.
“Here!” she cried, “you’ll spill it. Let me.”
She filled the basin, snatched up the sponge and began to wash him. She held him by one ear while she washed her neck, her elbow sleeves leaving her tapering forearms exposed.
“Ow! My ear!” he howled, but she kept her hold on it, both keeping him at arm’s length and washing him.
“Now, strip,” she ordered.
He scrambled out of his clothes and she, with a running commentary on his condition and on what her father would have done to any of her brothers had he been in the same, she continued the cleaning process. When he stood, a white sliver, with a russet top, before her, she relented and smiled. That was enough. He cast himself on her, hugging her, till she exclaimed:
“Come, come, you’ll rumple my dress … Now — here’s your lovely white sailor suit. Let me put you into it and see how nice you’ll look.”
He stood admiring himself in the glass. The black silk tie, the lanyard, with the whistle tucked into his pocket, looked well.
When Adeline brushed his hair she stood back to admire him. “You look the perfect Irish gentleman,” she exclaimed.
“But the Whiteoaks are English, Granny,” he said.
“I know that,” she whispered, with her arch smile, “but we’ll not tell anyone.”
He could have shouted with joy, when he heard the little orchestra playing, right on their own lawn. But he did wish there had been a drum. He liked the flautist best of all. He pressed close beside him, admiring the nimble movements of his fingers on the flute.
Mary stood with Philip and Adeline, receiving the guests. She had bought herself a turquoise blue silk mull dress and a wide-brimmed Leghorn hat with pink roses. Philip wore white flannels. Everyone agreed that you would have travelled far before you would have found a handsomer pair. And, if Adeline herself had travelled the world over to discover Mary, she could scarcely have looked more pleased.
Renny had never before seen so many people together except at a Fall Fair. He found time to tear to the stable yard and have a look at the dozens of horses and vehicles with Hodge. In his hand he had brought a large piece of cake for Hodge and, as he discussed the horses, he licked the sweet icing that stuck to his fingers. He and Hodge agreed that there was not a horse in the yard which could compare with their own.
He returned to the garden party for more ice cream. He could see Meggie being helpful with her best dress. He could see Uncle Ernest with one of the prettiest of the young ladies and Uncle Nicholas with Ethel Lacey. He ran and squeezed himself in between Philip and Mary. Philip took his hand.
Muriel Craig came, carrying a plate on which there was a generous helping of chicken salad and a well-buttered roll. She wore a dress of many-coloured Roman stripes with enormous sleeves. She had already been greeted by Mary but now she whispered to her:
“Could we possibly have a word together quietly? I have something I must tell you.”
Mary led her to the shelter of the porch.
“What do you suppose has happened?” Muriel asked at once.
“I can’t imagine.”
“You will be horrified when I tell you. Two days ago my father and that horrible nurse of his went off together and got married! Isn’t that appalling?” The irises of her eyes showed white all round them.
“Oh, I
am
sorry for you,” Mary said warmly.
“It’s heart-breaking. I shall never get over it!” And she took a large forkful of chicken salad. “I cried all that night. I shall certainly have to leave home. I could not possibly live with that woman.”
“There is one comfort,” said Mary. “She will take good care of your father.”
“He doesn’t need her! He’s getting better every day. But I must just resign myself. The first thing I shall do will be to visit my friend in New York … I suppose if I’m to have ice cream and punch I’d better have them now. That charming Mr. Biggs is getting some
for me at this moment … How nice you look, Mary. Really, it’s surprising what clothes do for a girl.”
“Thank you,” said Mary.
“As for myself, clothes seem not to make any difference to me. As one of my admirers remarked the other day, I look every bit as pretty in a simple cotton dress as in a silk mull.”
As peach and pineapple yield their riches flavour just before decay, so this day showed the finest colouring; its breezes were most playful, and carried in them scents of ripeness, of distant wood smoke, of a sweetness to make one wonder. Magnificent threats of stormy weather to come showed in the west but the garden party revelled in the very best of summer. The gaily striped tent, the pretty parasols, the hard-working little orchestra, would never grace a happier scene.
“But what are they all talking about?” wondered Renny. The snatches of conversation he overheard seemed to mean nothing. When he spoke he had something to say.
He said to Meg, “I’ve had three dishes of ice cream.”
“I only had two,” she returned, “but I had three pieces of cake. And I had a glass of punch.”
“Why, we’re not supposed to drink punch.” He was both horrified and envious.
“I did.”
“Did anyone see you? Who poured it for you?”
“Nobody. It was a glassful some lady set down and I just picked it up.”
“Did you feel funny after it?”
“A little. The tent turned round.”
“Isn’t it turning now?”
“No. I’m all over it. I could drink another.”
“Whew!” He looked at her admiringly.
At last came the time for guests to leave. There were the handshakings, the renewed congratulations, the flurry and amiable crowding together of good-byes. There was the rumbling of wheels and the glad clatter of hoofs. Last of all went Mary, with Philip to drive her back to the Laceys.
Renny had run to the gate after the trap. They had waved back to him but still he felt rather lonely, standing in the sunlight by the gate.
The driveway was dark and the trees looked very tall. They shut out the light and Renny remembered ghosts and goblins and bad fairies as he trotted along the drive. On the lawn the men were folding up the tent, the musicians had vanished, without his having seen them go. The dogs, worn out, were strewn on the porch. The grass looked trodden and lifeless. Beyond the ravine, through the trees, a crimson eye of sunset glowed. He ran round the house to where two farm labourers had loaded a wagon with barrels of apples from the brick-built apple-house.
Renny clambered up into the wagon. He gripped the edge of a barrel to steady himself as the driver slapped the reins on the horses’ backs. The spicy scent of the Northern Spies rose out of the barrels.
One of the men asked over his shoulder, “Did you have a good time at the party?”
“Oh, yes. Where are the apples going?”
“To Montreal. In the morning. The barrels have got to be headed in tonight.”
“Why are you working late?”
“We didn’t work all day. The boss gave us a holiday. But we thought we’d head in the barrels.”
“Can I go with you to the station?”
“If you’re up early enough.”
“I’ll be up.”
He took an apple from the barrel he was clinging to. It lay, round as the world and cold as ice, in his hand, He sniffed it. It had a good smell. His mind flew back to another good smell — the smell of the Christmas tree. All his being tingled at the recollection of that scent. He remembered no farther back than last Christmas. That was far enough to remember. It filled him with a heady joy. For an instant he forgot where he was. Then the wagon stopped with a jolt. They were at the barn. The men jumped down. One held out his arms to Renny.
“Jump,” he said.
Renny jumped into the man’s arms and was set on the ground.
“What have you got there?” the man asked. “An apple? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to take one out of the barrels? You know where to get one, if you want it.”
The man took the apple from Renny’s hand, reached up and put it back in the barrel. The other was unhitching the horses.
“It’s too dark to head in the barrels,” he said. “We can do them in the morning.” He led the horses clumping into the stable.
The first man brought sacking and covered the barrels. Renny ran into the stable. The smell of clean straw greeted him out of the living dusk. Everywhere there were quiet movements and deep breathing.
“Here!” shouted both men. “Come out of there. Do you want to get locked in?”
Renny trotted out. It was almost dark. The crimson eye in the west had closed. The men were moving shadows.
“Good-bye,” he called, over his shoulder, as he ran off.
“Good-bye,” answered the men.
He looked in at the inky darkness of the apple-house. He did so much want an apple. A figure stumped toward him from the direction of the kitchen. It was Noah Binns, who had been having a feed of leftovers from the garden party.
“Hi, Noah!” Renny called.
“Huh?” grunted Noah, stumping closer.
“Say, will you wait here while I go into the apple-house?”
“Afeared, eh?” Noah’s grin was just visible.
“No. But I thought someone might lock me in.”
“Go ahead. But don’t be long.”
Renny ran down the moist stone steps into the darkness. In bunks, like sleepers, lay the apples, Spies, greenings, russets, Tolman sweets, snows, pippins, filling the air with their scent. He put his hand where he knew the snow apples were stored. He took one and hurried up the steps.
“A notorious big crop of apples this fall,” said Noah. “Eat your fill. There won’t be none next year.”
“Why?”
“Tree bugs is at work under the bark, suckin’ the good out of the trees. I seen ’em and heard ’em — suckin’.”
“We spray the trees.”
“A lot of good that will do. This bug is a new sort. He likes the spray. He’s up from the States.”
Renny stood a moment looking after Noah before he ran into the house. He was glad to get in and shut the door behind him. The red apple lay cold in his hand.
A sudden change had come in the atmosphere. The evening was chilly. A fire of birch logs was blazing in the drawing-room and everyone but Philip was sitting about it talking of the garden party.
“Well, young man,” said Ernest, “it’s about time you came in.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Adeline.
“I just want this apple.”
“I’m not hungry either,” said Meg. She was sitting on a stool at Augusta’s knee, holding magenta wool on her hands for winding. Her light brown hair shone in the firelight.
Renny went to Nicholas. “Uncle Nick,” he said, “will you read out of the book to me?”
“Too late,” growled Nicholas.
“But, if you don’t read, we’ll not finish the book before you go back to England.”
“Very well. I’ll read a few pages.”
Renny brought the shabby leather-bound book. He climbed to Nicholas’ knee and stretched himself comfortably with his head on Nicholas’ shoulder who said:
“By George, you’re a cold little codger. Where have you been?”
“Getting an apple. Have a bite?” He held the apple to Nicholas’ mouth. He took a quarter of it in one bite with his strong white teeth. Renny looked at the pink-veined cavity in the apple, then set to nibbling round its edge.
Nicholas swallowed and read:
“As the evening approached, she placed on the stone fireplace a pot containing two of the salted bears’ feet to stew for supper, and then we seated ourselves, to wait with anxiety and impatience for the return of our boy hunters. At last we heard the clatter of hoofs approaching at a sharp trot, and distant sounds of joyful cheering. I went to meet the riders.
“Like military hussars, they slackened rein when they saw me, and sprang from their chargers, took off the saddles, and left the animals free to enjoy the sweet grass and the fresh water from the brook at their own free will. Then they hastened to join their mother at the tent, who received them joyfully.
“Jack and Frank each carried a young kid slung across his shoulders, and the movement in Fritz’s game-bag gave me the impression that it contained something alive.
“‘The chase for ever, papa!’ cried Jack, in a loud voice; ‘the chase for ever! And what splendid fellows Storm and Grumbler are to run over level ground! They so tired the little creature we followed for a long distance, that we were able at last to catch it with our hands.’
“‘Yes, papa!’ exclaimed Frank; ‘and Fritz has two such pretty rabbits in his bag. And we were very nearly bringing you some honey, mamma, only we stopped to hear the cuckoo.’
“‘Ah, but you forget the best!’ cried Fritz. ‘We met a troop of antelopes, and they were so tame, we might have brought one home easily had we wished.’
“‘Ah, stay, my boy,’ I said; ‘
you
have forgotten the best: the goodness of God in bringing you all home safely to the arms of your parents, and preserving you from danger on the way. But presently, you must
give us a straightforward account of your journey, from the beginning, after you have rested.’”
On and on Nicholas read. A sense of well-being pervaded the room. His elders listened with an interest only second to that of the little boy. But it was he who was transported to the foreign land, to the company of the fantastical beasts and birds, the boy hunters. He was both there and in the safe cosy room, lolling on Uncle Nick, idly watching Meg turn her hands in the skein of wool.