The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (471 page)

“You didn’t say in
your
opinion! You said in
my
opinion.”

“I said neither thing. I only said …”

“I don’t want to hear it repeated!”

“You’re absolutely unreasonable.”

“What can you expect? You’ve known all along that war was coming. Now you let it burst on me in one flash and expect me to be reasonable. But you’ll not have me with you much longer. This is going to kill me!”

“Sarah!”

“Don’t put your hand on me!”

He flung out of the room.

“Come back!” she shrieked. “Would you leave me alone at such a time?”

He came back and stood at the foot of the bed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to remember that I’m a pregnant woman and that this is your child.”

“Have I ever forgotten it?”

“You’re utterly self-centred. God pity the woman who marries an artist!”

“You said to me not a week ago that you pitied Alayne and Pheasant from the bottom of your heart.”

“I pity them because they don’t know anything about love as I know it.”

“Perhaps Renny and Piers are the happier for that.”

“Never mind — I shall die!”

“You must be mad to say such things, Sarah.”

“If I am, you have driven me to it.” She threw herself violently on the bed and rolled in her bulk on it.

He tried to take her in his arms but she fought him.

“I shall die!” she moaned.

“Sarah …” He began to shake with sobs.

She lay still, feeling the reverberation of his sobbing through her body. The child leaped inside her.

Suddenly she was almost tranquil. She laid her hands on his head and drew it to her breast.

IN THE KITCHEN GARDEN

N
ICHOLAS
W
HITEOAK WAS
taking advantage of the warm sunshine and having a little exercise in the kitchen garden. There would not be many more days like this. It was as though October, with her apron full of fruit, had picked out the most symmetrical and gayest-coloured peach and presented it to her child. He was eighty-eight years old that month.

He wore a brown and buff check jacket, an old favourite of his, and a brown silk tie with yellow flecks that Alayne had given him on his birthday. His iron-grey hair was still thick and would last him the rest of his life. He was freer of gout than he had been in years. Yet it was obvious to those who knew him that the last twelvemonth had aged him greatly. His broad shoulders were more bent; his mouth, under his grey moustache, was gentler and less humourous; his brown eyes sometimes looked vague and even confused. He continually said, “My memory is going,” but he always straightened his shoulders as he said it and would have been hurt if anyone had agreed.

The kitchen garden was a perfect place for walking in the fall. There was no grass to hold the heavy dew and the narrow paths were dry as pavement. Already they were strewn with little yellow leaves from the row of Lombardy poplars that edged one side of the garden. Between the poplars he had a view of the stables and the paddock where a show horse was being taken over some hurdles by Piers. It was very companionable. Companionable too was the sight of Mrs. Wragge, taking armfuls of billowing white sheets from the line, and the pigeons walking on their pink feet among the raspberry canes picking up late raspberries. There were quite a few of these and he tried one himself but found it disappointingly sour.

He examined the cucumbers, abundant and roundly curved, still clinging to their leafless vines. He tapped a marrow with his stick and it gave a faintly hollow sound. The cabbages were a fine crop, their centres smooth and hard, their outer leaves crisply crinkled. He knocked a fat green worm from one of them and trod on it. The parsley was of an amazing strength and greenness. It looked as though no frost could kill it. The mint was up to his knees and covered with tiny purple flowers. It was curious, he thought, how he took more and more pleasure in these trivial things. They somehow gave him a feeling of reassurance. He picked a leaf of mint and crushing it between finger and thumb sniffed its herby sweetness.

The war had been a shock to him. Well, Mr. Chamberlain had said there’d be peace for all our time — and it hadn’t lasted even his short time! Why, the entire House had been deeply moved by the Four Power Conference and its agreement. Small wonder if an old man, away out here in Canada, had been taken in!

He moved slowly along the path, his feet scuffling through the dead leaves. A yellow caterpillar was coming in furry waves toward him and he wondered whether or not it would get out of his way. Evidently he was too colossal for its notice. He just managed to avoid it. The asparagus bed was the prettiest thing in the garden. When he had looked out of the bathroom window that morning he had seen it silver-grey with dew. There must have been a ground frost, too. Even now the feathery plumes bent under the weight of moisture. A fine monarch butterfly hovered above them for a space, then darted to the nasturtiums that covered the low picket fence surrounding the garden.

The gate at the farther end opened and his brother Ernest came through it. He moved briskly toward Nicholas, greeting him with: —

“Good morning, Nick. Getting the sunshine? That’s right. Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Nicholas gave an affirmative grunt and smiled at his brother. Ernest said: —

“I’ve just had the London
Times
. I brought it over so we could read the leader together.”

“I hope there’s no more bad news,” said Nicholas.

“No, no. If there were, we should have heard it over the radio.”

“Of course.” But he looked unconvinced.

“The loss of the
Royal Oak
was a terrible thing,” he said.

Ernest turned to walk beside him. “We’ll have to face things as they come, Nick. What I dread is our nephews’ joining up.”

“I was thinking of Wakefield,” said Nicholas, “as I was walking here. You know, I miss him greatly. I can’t believe he’s grown up and gone away. He always liked to walk with me here and this morning I could just feel his little thin hand resting in mine.”

“That’s because you’ve been worrying a bit about him, Nick. But you mustn’t worry. It’s bad for you. That’s what I tell Harriet. She worries herself ill over the news.

I tell her not to listen to it but she’s always at the radio. This morning I made her stay in bed.”

“Quite right…. There’s a fine lot of carrots, isn’t there?”

“Fine. Harriet has bought a little squeezer thing and we each drink a glass every day. She has great faith in vegetable juices. I may say that she has revolutionized my diet.”

Nicholas grunted and stared at a hummingbird whose beak was probing a flame-coloured nasturtium.

“Look,” said Nicholas, nudging Ernest in the side. “Look!”

“Pretty thing. Mamma always admired them. Do you remember? She used to say — ‘I like small, wicked things and there’s something wicked in a hummingbird.’”

Nicholas grunted again. He held Ernest stock-still so they might not disturb the bird. But he was put to flight by the approach of Meg, who came hurrying into the garden. It was not often that she hurried, so they turned to her expectantly.

“Hullo, Uncles!” she cried. “How are you both?”

Both said they were well and waited for her to go on.

“I’ve had such an exciting cable from Finch!” she said. “Sarah is going to have a baby and he wants her to be out of England. He cabled to ask if we would take her into Vaughanlands and, of course, I cabled back that we’d be delighted. But, upon my word, I tremble to think of having Sarah Court, in that condition, on my hands. It seems quite unnecessary that she should have a child. Still, it’s wartime and babies seem to come along then. And we also must be tolerant. Sarah has plenty of money so, if Finch’s earnings cease, he needn’t worry. Nor need we. I must say Maurice and I will be grateful for the extra money now. I think she ought to pay well — considering everything, don’t you? She’s bringing a maid with her.”

Her uncles agreed that Sarah should pay well for the accommodation. It was lucky for her that her money was invested in Canada. They were glad that the new Whiteoak was to be born so near home but it was difficult to think of Sarah as a mother.

Meg slipped her arms through her uncles’ and so linked, they strolled up and down the sunny path. For a woman of her age her skin was unusually clear and elastic but she had a slight double chin. She was not at all sensitive about it. She considered that the time had come when a double chin was becoming to her and, if she had been asked to part with it, it is doubtful whether she would. She discovered a little clump of French marigolds in a corner behind the Brussels sprouts and she stuck one in each of the old men’s coat lapels. The three were deliberately gay, as though they would ignore the black cloud arching above the horizon. The warm contact of their bodies reassured them. As a family it was noticeable how often they touched each other. Old Adeline had always wanted her descendants close about her. She had liked to sit with one on either side, holding their hands. The uncles leant on the shoulders of their nephews. Meg stroked her brothers’ heads and never, unless in a state of indignation, met them without a kiss. The younger boys had clung to Renny’s sleeve or his fingers. They alone knew how many times he had smacked, cuffed, or hugged them. Young Adeline was lavish of her kisses. At times Renny might have been seen stroking the walnut newelpost of the stairs which was carved in a design of hunches of grapes and their leaves. His thin muscular hands seemed curved to fit the flank of a horse. There were times when Finch caressed the keys of the piano in soundless communion. So, in common with the world of nature which is ever reaching out toward the pleasure of touch, the Whiteoaks drew strength from that sense.

Ernest and Meg did their best to keep Nicholas’s mind off the war but it was not easy.

“What I can’t understand,” he said, “is why we let them pull the wool over our eyes a year ago. Something should have been done.”

Meg answered — “Maurice says that if the Germans had made war on us a year ago they’d have got an easy victory. We weren’t ready.”

“We have Mr. Chamberlain to thank,” said Ernest, “for saving us from the greatest disaster in our history.”

“Hm, well, perhaps so. The last time we were over, a Colonel Rivers said to me …”

Meg interrupted, “Here comes Piers. I must tell him the news. I wonder what he’ll say.”

“Hullo,” said Piers, coming up. He was in riding breeches and a sweater and he was eating an apple he had picked from the old tree beside the paddock. His cheeks were ruddy from exercise. The sweater rose and fell quickly above his breast.

Meg kissed him. “What do you suppose has happened? Sarah is going to have a baby and Finch is sending her to us. A maid too. I suppose they’ll stay for the duration of the war. What do you think of Sarah as a mother?”

“I think it will be damned good for her.”

“It will be a great responsibility for me.”

“Send her to us then. We should like a little extra income.”

“In that little house!”

“It’s warmer in winter than yours.”

“I’m afraid Sarah would not be comfortable there. As for the financial side of it, I would never ask her a penny more than it costs me.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“I don’t know what you mean by your horrid slang.”

Childish voices were heard and Adeline and Archer came running from the house toward them.

“I’ve a letter!” cried Adeline. “A letter from Mooey!” She was waving it in her hand.

Meg sighed deeply. “Poor little Mooey.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Piers.

She opened her eyes wide. “Well, I shouldn’t like my child to be in Ireland with a war on.”

“He’s as safe there as here.”

“I can’t help feeling sorry for him.”

“Well, it’s very irritating to me. Especially when I’ve done what I consider best for him.”

“Three thousand miles away — in that lonely house.”

Adeline flew toward them along the path. The letter fluttered in her hand.

“Read it to us,” said Meg. “How nicely it’s written!” Adeline read glibly, because this was the third time: —

D
EAR
A
DELINE
,
How are you? How is everybody at home? Tell Nook to write to me. I am getting along fine. I have dinner with Cousin Dermot every night. I call him Granddad now. He has wonderful stories to tell and lots of books. I share lessons with a boy who lives near by. He has a tutor. We have great fun together. His name is Pat Crawshay and he told me to remember him to you. I often think of the old days at Jalna.

Love from M
OOEY
.

Archer, far behind Adeline, reached the group as she was reading the letter. They might have been trees for all the notice he took of them. He stalked through their midst looking straight ahead of him. In one hand he carried the body of a dead crow he had found, in the other a trowel.

“What a nice letter!” said Meg. “Poor little man! Fancy his saying he often thinks of the old days at Jalna!”

“It would be funny if he didn’t,” said Piers.

“But it sounds so touching.”

“I remember Pat Crawshay,” said Adeline. “He was a nice boy. I want to see him again.”

“Heaven only knows when you will, since this war is on.”

“Look at Archer,” chuckled Ernest. “I do wonder what that boy will be!”

“An undertaker,” said Piers, “by the look of him.”

The weather continued fair. Life at Jalna moved on, accompanied by the various reactions of the family to the war. Wakefield wrote from New York saying that, as soon as they were free, he and Molly would come to Canada and he would join the Air Force. This news brought mingled pleasure and foreboding. They were proud that their delicate stripling had grown to a strong young man ready to fight for his country, but the thought of his dying for it was terrible. Renny was already in touch with the headquarters of his old regiment in England and expected to join it before spring. Secretly he intended that this should take place before the running of the Grand National. He was in constant communication with those who were training Johnny the Bird. The possibility that Johnny would win the race, the thought that he himself would again live a soldier’s life, help to win the war, gave colour to every hour of his day. His stablemen had never known him so good-humoured. His family had never known him easier to get on with. Piers took advantage of this by getting whatever he wanted for the farm and an increase in the share of profits for himself. This was well-deserved, for Piers was heart and soul in his work. He also had had a physical examination for military service and had come out in Class A.