Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
Now they could see the cows coming majestically from the cow stable after the milking. Tom was carrying two pails of milk toward the house. It was foaming over the top and Renny could smell its warm sweetness as it passed him.
“Have a drink?” asked Tom.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Hodge. He took the tin mug from the pump and dipped it into the bucket. He handed it to Renny.
“You go first,” said Renny politely.
“No. You’re the boss,” grinned Hodge.
Renny put the mug to his lips and did not take it away until it was drained. He was a little out of breath with the effort but the eyes of the two young men on him demanded a show of many efficiency.
“Another?” asked Hodge.
“No, thanks.”
Hodge emptied the mug twice and Tom did the same, then plodded on toward the house. Hodge went to the cottage, one of several on the estate occupied by the hired help, where he lived with his mother.
Renny ran swiftly up the stairs to wake Meg. He wondered why she always was so sleepy in the morning. He was scarcely ever sleepy and Nettle said that was the reason he was so thin and Meg plump. Nettle had been sent away because she hadn’t been nice about Miss Wakefield. If you weren’t nice about Miss Wakefield you went. Would he have to go, he wondered, if he weren’t nice to her?
Meg was curled up in a delicious pink and white ball, with her golden-brown plait streaming across the pillow, like a handle to lift her by. He took it where the faded ribbon bow was and heaved it up and down, as he had the handle of the pump. She
woke, with a start, uncurled herself and puckered her pretty face into a frown.
“Go ’way,” she said, crossly. “Leave me alone, Renny!” His cold fingers were tickling her neck.
“Wake up,” he said, putting his face close to hers.
Meg’s taste in smells was peculiar. She loved the smell of paint, of floor polish and the like. Now the smell of the carbolic soap that he had been washed with ravished her nostrils.
“Oo, what a lovely smell!” she breathed, and clasped his head close on the pillow.
He was delighted at having pleased her. He lay still a few moments, savouring the pleasure of being hugged by her, then his ravening stomach urged him to spring up. He pulled the bed-clothes off her.
“Come on,” he said. “Get up. They’ll be bringing the tent soon.”
“I don’t care,” she grumbled. “I’m not going to the party.”
He was astonished. “Why, Meggie, there’ll be ice cream and fruit punch and all sorts of things.”
“I don’t care.”
But she did care and she wanted to see the marquee put up on the lawn. She rolled on to her behind and peered about for her stockings. They were under the bed and he got them for her. She snatched them and began, still crossly, to put them on.
“I’m going,” he called back over his shoulder, and clattered down the stairs.
The door of Ernest’s bedroom opened. He appeared and caught Renny by the arm.
“You’ve been making a great noise,” he said sternly, “racketing up and down the stairs. Don’t you realize it’s still early and some of your elders want to sleep?”
“I forgot.”
“Forgetfulness of the comfort of others is an offence that cannot be allowed. You like us to think of your comfort, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Uncle Ernest.”
“Now, give me your hand and we’ll go down quietly together. Your hand is cold. What makes your hand so cold?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you been outdoors?”
“Yes. It’s warm out.”
“Good. We are to have fine weather for the garden party.”
They seated themselves at table. Eliza set dishes of oatmeal porridge in front of them. Ernest thought how chipper Eliza looked since Mrs. Nettleship’s departure. He remarked to his nephew.
“This is an important day for you, Renny.”
The little boy looked enquiringly into his face.
“There is a drop of milk on your chin. Wipe it off. Not with your hand. With your napkin. That’s better. Now, this day is important to you because today your father introduces to his friends the young lady who is to be your new mother. Everybody will have a chance to meet her and admire her. She’s very pretty, you know. You should stand near her when she is receiving the guests and be very polite. If you undertake to pass a dish you must be careful not to tilt it. If a lady and gentleman are standing side by side, be sure to offer it to the lady first.”
“Yes, Uncle Ernest. I thought it was Granny’s party.”
“She’s giving it for Miss Wakefield.”
“I thought she was giving it for herself.”
“Really, Renny, you sometimes surprise me by your stupidity. Your mind is so much on your own affairs that you don’t listen to what is going on about you.”
“I listened to the Banns being read.”
“That has nothing to do with the party … Well, yes, it had a good deal to do with the party, after all. Will you have an egg?”
“Yes, please.”
Ernest chipped the top off a boiled egg for Renny and gave him a piece of buttered toast from a generous plateful of which the slices were so well spread that the butter oozed through them and formed little golden pools on the plate.
Ernest remarked abruptly, “I don’t like your smell.”
“It’s soap,” said Renny.
“It’s nothing of the sort. It’s stable. You
must not
come to the table after handling horses.”
Renny hung his head, “I washed,” he murmured.
“Did you change your clothes?”
“N — no.”
“Well— hurry up with that egg. Then you may spread some marmalade on a piece of toast and leave the table. I cannot eat another bite while you are in the room.”
He wiped his lips and leaned back in his chair, his forget-me-not blue eyes fixed disapprovingly on the little boy.
Renny finished his egg in two spoonfuls, took a piece of toast and ran toward the door.
“Come back here,” said Ernest, “and push your chair in — not roughly — gently. Now what do you say?”
“Please excuse me.”
“Certainly.”
He ran through the porch to the lawn. Men were there putting up the tent that had been brought from town. It was striped red and white, with a scalloped border. There were long tables supported by trestles. The men were jolly, laughing and sometimes swearing a little as they worked. The spaniels and the fox terrier were there running in and out among the men’s legs. But, when they saw the toast in Renny’s hand, they thought of nothing but that. He put bits into one white-toothed mouth after another. Then Jake, seeing his opportunity, took the remainder and ran with it into the shrubbery.
Doctor Ramsey now drove up between the spruces and hemlocks. He alighted from his buggy and tied his horse. Renny ran to him.
“Hullo, Grandpapa,” he shouted. “We’re having a garden party.”
“So I see,” said the doctor, eyeing the gay tent without enthusiasm. “And what is the object of the party, may I ask?”
“Don’t you know?” cried Renny, astonished.
“Ay, I know, but I’m wondering if you rightly understand.”
“We’re having it to show Miss Wakefield to all our friends. She’s going to be my new mother.”
“Ay. Can you remember your mother who died?”
“Oh, yes.”
“She was my only child, you know.”
“
Was
she?”
“Why, surely you knew that?”
Renny felt the sad reproach in Doctor Ramsey’s eyes.
“Oh, yes, I knew,” he hastened to say. Then he added quickly:
“Will you bring Miss Wakefield some babies?”
“God knows … Do you want me to bring babies?”
“Yes. I want a little brother. I’d take care of him. I’d teach him to ride.”
“Well, well, we shall see.”
“Grandpapa, do you really bring them in your black bag?”
“Do you expect me to give away all the secrets of my profession?”
“Calves,” said Renny, “are too big to come in your bag, so the cows get them all by themselves. I saw one do it in a field.”
“I hope Meggie wasn’t there,” said the doctor sharply.
“No. I was alone.”
“Did you tell her?” Doctor Ramsey’s eyes were stern.
“No,” lied Renny.
Adeline was sweeping across the grass to them.
“What a day!” she exclaimed. “We couldn’t have chosen better. I always say this is the best time of year.”
“I’m glad you’re so pleased,” said Doctor Ramsey drily.
She took his arm and squeezed it. “Come now,” she said. “Show your mettle and make the best of this, the way I do. To tell the truth I’m getting very fond of Mary. The way she’s come out in the past ten days is amazing. She is a very complex character and it takes a character like my own to understand her. I’ve taken her right under my wing.” Adeline curved a long supple arm as in illustration.
“I’m giving her her trousseau out of my own pocket. When she was to marry Clive Busby I planned to
give her a muskrat coat, suitable for the prairies, but now the coat is to be sealskin.”
“That, of course,” said the doctor, “will be more suitable for the mistress of Jalna.”
Adeline drew back. “The mistress, did you say? The mistress! Ah, Doctor Ramsey, I always shall continue to look on myself as mistress here, if I live to be a hundred — which Heaven forbid!”
Doctor Ramsey gave her an admiring look. “I know no other woman,” he said, “so well fitted to carry off that weight of years as yourself.”
“And may you be here to give me a dose of physic after the celebration,” she laughed.
He shook his head. “Not me.” Then he asked, “Have you heard aught of young Busby?”
“Yes. Mrs. Vaughan had a letter from his mother. He’s well and working hard. There is a very nice girl out there whom he was paying attention to, before he came east. Now they hope he’ll settle down and marry her. I’m so glad, because Mary isn’t fitted for life on the prairies … Jalna is the place for her,” she added complacently.
Doctor Ramsey was a Presbyterian and had not been present at the first giving out of the Banns but he had heard much of the scene in church, and the look he now gave Adeline was not so much admiring as puzzled.
The other members of the family joined them and there was great activity in the arranging of tables, the laying of cloths, the placing of chairs for the small orchestra and those of the guests who preferred to eat their refreshments sitting. Children and dogs were here, there and everywhere. Eliza, who had amazingly blossomed out since Mrs. Nettleship’s departure, was masterful in her handling of the situation. Young Hodge’s mother ran hither and yon at her bidding. Philip seated himself on one of the long tables, over which a white damask cloth had just been spread, and lighted his pipe. He puffed at it placidly till a concerted outcry brought him to his feet.
“By Jove,” he exclaimed, “I didn’t notice the tablecloth.” He
began to smooth it out but Eliza at once removed it and spread a fresh one in its stead.
Jake, seeing the discarded cloth in a basket on the grass, drew it out and dragged it into the shrubbery, unobserved by any but his parents who disclaimed any connection with him.
By noon the scene was set for the garden party. After a light lunch everyone but Renny relaxed for a time. The Indian Summer day was hot. He went to a field through which the stream ran in the open and was shallow with a chalky bed. He set himself to work at a dam he and his friend Maurice Vaughan had been building in the holidays. He stood in the stream and heaved the flat stones from the bank into place. He plastered them with mud, stretching his small thin hands to their utmost, putting out all his strength in the heaving. He pictured the dam as a mighty construction, the stretch of water thus saved as spreading like a lake over the field. Three ducks swimming in the pool eyed his work with interest. Three farm horses came and drank.
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.