Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
Once Philip and Wilmott had won Adeline over, they threw themselves heart and soul into the preparation for the journey. The property in Quebec was disposed of, though for a lesser sum than Philip had hoped for. The packing of the furniture, the innumerable small preparations, took time and energy. Only a year had passed since they had thrown themselves with enthusiasm into turning the house in the Rue St. Louis into an abode to their liking, and now it was dismantled! It resumed its air of melancholy. They had made no impression on it.
All the Balestriers wept at parting from them. From Monsieur Balestrier downward, they wept with less and less restraint till, when it came to Lou-lou, the youngest, he clung to Adeline’s neck screaming and kicking. To comfort him she gave him a little mechanical dancing monkey he had long admired. His tears were turned to joy. Pleasure swept upward as it had progressed downward till at the last Monsieur Balestrier was able to smile as he kissed Philip on both cheeks and bad him return to Quebec when he found Ontario unbearable as certainly he would.
The furniture was to be stored in Quebec till sent for; only their personal luggage, their livestock, consisting of Nero and Maggie, the goat, journeyed with the family and their two servants. It was a heartbreak for Maggie to part with Gussie. She cried till her features were blurred and Gussie cried too, though she was pleased to be going on a journey with her Mamma and Papa. She would have liked to leave Nicholas behind, for she had as yet no love for him. She had real affection for Nero and Maggie.
She remembered vaguely her sea voyage and, when she realized that they were going to travel by ship again, her mouth went down at the corners and she clung tightly to her nurse’s skirt. But this
was a fine steamer and its progress was made up the bright river in complete comfort and serenity. At Lachine they left the steamer and were installed on splendid “bateaux” drawn by the lively French-Canadian ponies. Gussie was enchanted. She gave a cry of delight when Patsy snatched her up exclaiming: —
“Look, yer honour, Miss! There is a pretty sight for ye!”
“Who are dose mens?” demanded Gussie in her limited English.
“Sure, ’tis the Governor of the Northwest, they say, and him goin’ back to his seat. Ah, that’s the life I’d like! Look at the fine clothes on him and the red Indians in war paint to escort him!”
All the party stood gazing at the governor. A crowd had gathered and a cheer arose. Officers in uniform were with him and eight noble canoes manned by Indians were his escort. Their bronzed faces fierce with war paint, their gay bead-embroidered jackets, the feathers that swept from their jetty hair to their muscular shoulderes, filled Adeline with delight. She grasped an arm of Philip and of Wilmott on her either side.
“Oh, what a letter I shall write home!” she cried. “I shall tell all this to my father in a way to astonish him.”
In dignity the stately boats swept by. Three dozen paddles rose and dipped, as though guided by one arm. A British flag on every prow spread its crosses to the sun. The Indians sang as they paddled, in rich but mournful tones: —
“A la claire fontaine,
M’en allant promener,
J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle,
Que je m’y suis baigné.
Il y a longtemps que je t’aime
Jamais je ne t’oublirai.”
Gussie raised her voice and joined in the song which she had so often heard from Marie. She joined in, to her own satisfaction though no one heard a sound she uttered.
Through canals, along shores where orchards flourished, past wild rapids and peaceful slopes, now by barge, now by stagecoach, the party leisurely made their pleasant way. The sky arched high and turquoise blue, the land smiled its promise. There seemed no limit to the possibilities of this country. From the stagecoach they alighted at taverns with painted floors and French cooking. On they journeyed till they came to taverns with unpainted floors and a flow of hard spirits. Philip, Adeline, Gussie, Nicholas, Matilda his nurse, Patsy O’Flynn, Nero the Newfoundland dog, Maggie the little goat, Wilmott, who studied maps and deplored the way Philip scattered money about, all moved westward to their new home. Only Wilmott did not go as far as the Vaughans’ but remained in the nearest village to inquire about the possibility of buying a small place for himself.
D
AVID
V
AUGHAN HAD
acquired from the government, at a very moderate cost, several hundreds of acres of beautifully wooded fertile land. He had built a comfortable but unpretentious house with a wide verandah across the front, on which he and his family spent much of their time in fine weather. He had now lived there for three years and he regarded them as his happiest years. He was one of those fortunate men who can look back on the greatest undertaking of their life and say it was well done, who can look forward to the future secure in the thought that they are settled exactly where they want to be and that no further change is to be considered. He loved and admired his wife. He was proud of his son. It was his most cherished wish to draw congenial people to the corner of the province where he had settled, and, with their help, establish the customs and traditions of England, to be enjoyed and cherished by their descendants. To these he wished to add the breadth and freedom of the New Land. He believed the combination to be the ideal one for comfort, tolerance, and content. He remembered Philip Whiteoak as a man who would fit admirably into this pattern of living. He had not met Philip’s wife but he had heard that she was distinguished-looking and
animated in her conversation. To him it seemed worth a real effort to persuade such desirable people to settle beside him.
As the trouble of a prolonged visit from the Whiteoaks would fall on Mrs. Vaughan she was less enthusiastic than he. She earnestly hoped they would not stay as long as he had suggested. However she prepared two bedrooms, one for the nurse and two infants, the other for their parents — Philip had forgotten to mention Patsy O’Flynn, the Newfoundland dog, and the goat — with a sense of cheerful anticipation. There was such an abundance of game and fish, almost at their own door, that the question of food was not too exacting. Later in the season, wild strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries would provide fruit. There was no better bread or butter than was made in her own house. She defied anyone to make as good cheese as she herself could. No, it was not the meals that hung over her, it was the thought of outsiders always denying their privacy and she felt hurt that her husband seemed not to mind that. As for her son, Robert, he was delighted. But what else could you expect of a boy of nineteen who sometimes found life a little too quiet in the country?
It was a lovely evening in the first week of June when Adeline and Philip first saw the scene where the rest of their lives would be spent. David Vaughan had sent a carriage and a pair of strong grey horses to meet the stagecoach. Also a light farm wagon for their luggage. The horses had spent the preceding night in the stable of an inn. They were fresh and well-groomed when they started out on the return journey. The Whiteoaks also had spent the night in the town and rose refreshed. But the unpaved road was rough. It was well for them that the floods of the spring were past, for at that time parts of the road had been washed away. Now it was rough but passable. The air was exquisite, the scenery charming. Between the trees they had glimpses of the lake which to them looked like a sea, sparkling at morning in endless bright ripples; still and of a hazy blue, in the afternoon; flaming beneath fiery clouds at sunset. Partridge and grouse were caring for their nestlings in the deep woods, small birds darted through the bright air. Above the thud of the horses’ hoofs and the jingle of harness their song was heard.
The Vaughans came out to the verandah to greet them. David Vaughan and Philip had not met since Philip’s marriage. They shook hands warmly, then each presented the other to his wife, the ladies to each other. Mrs. Vaughan and Adeline looked with a good deal of curiosity into each other’s eyes. Mrs. Vaughan was determined to like Adeline but she had a misgiving when she looked into her eyes, even though Adeline’s smile was sweet with blandishment. “I don’t believe I shall like her,” Alice Vaughan thought, “but what beautiful teeth and skin she has!”
Adeline saw a wife in Alice Vaughan, a woman whose thoughts never ranged beyond husband and children. She was handsome, in the early forties. Her prematurely grey hair framed a square face with even features and large grey eyes. Her complexion was clear and she had a good colour in her cheeks. She wore a black silk dress but no crinoline. Her only ornament was a large cameo brooch. On her smoothly arranged hair was a small white lace cap. After a moment’s hesitant scrutiny she took both Adeline’s hands in hers and kissed her.
“Welcome to your new home,” she said.
“How sweet of you to say that!” cried Adeline, and the fervor of her kiss was disconcerting.
“It is to be your home, you know,” put in Colonel Vaughan, “till you have built a house for yourselves.”
David Vaughan turned with tender eagerness to the children. Gussie looked tired-out, even though her little face was sunburned to an unnatural rosiness, but Nicholas, sitting on his nurse’s arm, was superb. From under his white bonnet a dark curl hung over his fine brown eyes. His face expressed complete well-being.
“What dear, dear children!” said Mrs. Vaughan . “What a lovely baby! Do you think he will come to me?”
“He is a most gregarious rascal,” said Philip. “He has made friends all the way from Quebec.”
Young Robert Vaughan had stood by quietly watching the interchange of greetings. He resembled his father, who looked the man of letters rather than the soldier. Robert was slenderly made.
He had reflective blue eyes and a mass of fine fair hair which he wore rather long. He had spent the first ten years of his life in India, then had been sent to school in England. He had not joined his parents in Canada till the summer before. He was to enter the university in Montreal in the autumn. He had not yet settled down to life in Canada. He felt scarcely acquainted with his parents. Two such extreme transplantings in his short life had had the effect of throwing his spirit back upon itself. He was defensive; he loved no one; the look in his eyes was so impersonal as to repel any intimacy. Yet he was gentle and made haste to help his mother with the guests. After these had freshened themselves in their room they joined the Vaughans in the cool vine-shaded dining room for supper. Above the table hung a branch of cedar, the scent of which was supposed to repel the house flies which were so difficult to keep out. Pigeon pie and a fine ham were on the table and bowl of large lettuce leaves. There was a cottage cheese and later came jam, made from wild strawberries, and a caraway-seed cake.
It was hard to believe that Philip and Adeline were at the end of a long journey. He looked so well-groomed as when he had promenaded the terrace at Quebec. She, finding her dress crumpled, had retained a long silk cape of tartan. She also wore black silk mittens which accented the whiteness of her fingers, ringless except for her wedding ring. Her jewels were safe in a travelling case upstairs. Her hair was brushed to Chinese sleekness on her shapely head. As the black mittens accented the whiteness of her fingers, her fine black brows and lashes increased the brightness of her eyes. She looked hungrily over the table.
“I declare,” she said, “I have not had a decent meal since I left Quebec. I’m starving!”
“You have come to a land of plenty,” said David Vaughan. He turned to Philip. “Do you like shooting?”
“Nothing better.”
“Well, you need scarcely leave your door to pick up a brace of these.” He indicated the pigeon pie which he now began to serve.
“And the fishing?”
David Vaughan laid down the fork and stared at him. “Believe it or not,” he said, “the sea salmon come right up through the lake and into our river. I caught a whopper right here on my own property less than a month ago.”
“Well, well, do you hear that, Adeline?”
“I do; we shall not starve, at any rate. How delicious this pie is!”
“Will you have some of the lettuce?” asked Mrs. Vaughan. “We pride ourselves on it. We are the only people who grow it. We supply the neighborhood.”
“What about the neighborhood?” asked Philip. “Pretty congenial, from what you wrote, Vaughan.”
“A very respectable community. You’ll like them and they’ll like you. I can tell you everyone is excited by your coming and will be still more so after meeting you.” His eyes rested admiringly on Adeline.
“I left good friends in Quebec,” she said.
“Too damn French!” said Philip.
“That’s what I felt,” said David Vaughan. “My aim is to keep this little settlement purely British. Indeed if I had my way, only the English, Scottish, and Welsh should be allowed to settle in any part of Canada.”
“No Irish?” asked Adeline.
Before he could reply, Philip broke in — “I warn you, my wife is straight from the Ould Sod.”
“I should welcome just one Irish lady,” said Vaughan, “to be Queen of us all.”
“How flowery the old boy is,” thought Robert. “I could not have said that. But she liked it.” He fixed his shy, impersonal gaze on Adeline, who was smiling at his father.
David Vaughan was giving the history of the principal families of the neighbourhood. He would forget to eat till his wife reminded him. When, after the meal, they retired to the verandah, he brought out a map of the district which he had himself made, showing the course of the small rivers, the residences of the families he had described, the roads and forest. A thousand acres of richly timbered land, adjacent to his own property, was for sale and
this he counselled Philip to buy. Nowhere would he find a better opportunity for establishing himself in a superior position in the Province. Nowhere would he find better land, better sport, within such easy reach of railway and town. Nowhere would he find more hospitable, kinder-hearted or better bred people. Nowhere would he and his family be more welcome.