Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“If I’d dared to be truthful about my doings at her age,” said Finch, “I’d have got a clip on the ear that would have knocked me flat.”
“Oh, would you really, Uncle Finch?” cried Archer.
“You can bet I would. And a yank on the other ear to pick me up.”
Archer gave a shout of laughter. He fell back in his chair and laughed helplessly.
Alayne sprang up, went to him, lifted him upright and whispered in his ear, “Archer, do you want to go straight up to your room?”
“Oo!” he giggled, “your hair’s tickling my ear! Ooo!”
Roma, sitting next him, pinched him on the thigh. He uttered a squeal, then collapsed giggling. He shut his eyes tight and slowed the interior of his mouth in an insane grin.
“Archer!” ordered both great-uncles at once, “behave yourself!”
He straightened himself, hiccupping.
“Come and sit down, Adeline,” said Alayne, in a tense voice. She felt nervously exhausted. For the remainder of the meal she discussed sedulously with Finch a critical article in a musical magazine. The children were silent except for an occasional hiccup or smothered giggle from Archer. Rags brought a dish of hot soup for Adeline, setting it in front of her with a solicitous air.
When she had returned to her room she took the pile of textbooks that lay on her bed and slammed them onto the table. The door opened and Archer came in.
“I’m on my way to bed,” he remarked.
“That’s good news.”
He advanced to where he could look into her face. “You lied to Mummy, didn’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered tersely. Then she added, while she sorted the books, “I had to. It was for her own good. It was for her good to sell Rosina. I had to help. It wasn’t a bit like you pretending you went to school when you didn’t. That was just for your own fun.”
Archer’s brow became noble. “Mr. Fennel says we should pray for forgiveness when we’ve told a lie. Have you ever?”
“No.”
“I’ll bet you’re afraid to.”
“why?”
“Well, God might say out loud that He forgave you. You’d not like that, would you?”
“Of course, I should.”
“To be spoken to out loud from the ceiling!”
“Mummy doesn’t believe in that kind of God.”
“Does Daddy?”
“I think he believes what Mr. Fennel believes.”
“I guess you ought to ask God to forgive you.”
“All right, I will. Now, get out.”
“I wish you’d ask Him while I’m here.”
“People don’t pray in front of other people.”
“If you’ll pray, just this once, in front of me, I’ll promise not to stay away from school again.”
“All right. But, if you break your promise you’ll be sorry.”
With a decidedly grumpy expression she threw down the book she held, and, limping to the bed, knelt beside it. She could not kneel on the injured knee, so that leg, in its long black stocking, stuck stiffly out to one side. She folded her hands, closed her eyes and said:
“Please God, forgive me for lying to my mother. Please make her understand it was for her own good. And please fix things so I shan’t have to do it again. Amen.”
Archer stood with one hand holding his chin, his intense blue gaze bent on her. About once in three days Archer smiled, and now he did.
Alayne’s voice came from without. “Archer! Archer! where are you?”
Adeline took him by the shoulders, opened the door and thrust him into the passage.
“My throat’s sore!” she heard him whine, as he went to meet his mother.
Adeline arranged her books on the table. Then she went to the rack where Renny’s pipes were hung. She selected one she knew to be a favourite of his. She took it from the rack and returned to the table. Seating herself she put the amber mouthpiece between her lips and drew a few reflective puffs. Then she laid the pipe on the table and applied herself to her studies.
TUG OF WAR
A
DELINE ATTENDED
a large girls’ school in the city and an arrangement had been made by which she was taken there each morning and brought back in late afternoon by the Rector’s son, George Fennel, who went by car to his business. As his business was connected with the army he had an extra allowance of gasoline. Pheasant’s two boys also were taken to town by George. In fine weather Adeline walked through the fields to the church road and was there picked up by him. In bad weather or in winter he came to the house for her.
On this morning there was no reason for him to call for her. The weather was perfect. Yet Adeline did not see how she could endure the walk. Fresh and clean in her school tunic and long black stockings, she limped to the stables to find Wright. He was lounging in the open doorway smoking a cigarette. It was a quarter to eight and he had been up and at his work for two hours. He gave her a quizzical grimace as she advanced toward him.
“Good morning,” he said. “It’s nice to be you — all dressed up and off to a swell school to get yourself made into a lady.”
Adeline looked about her for something she could throw at him. Nothing of the sort was in sight, so she slung the textbooks which she carried in a strap, against his shins. “Stow that!” she said, using an expression she had picked up from him.
Wright saw by her expression that she was not herself.
“what’s up?” he asked.
“I have a sore knee. Will you drive me to meet George’s car?”
“Is that the knee you hurt yesterday?”
“Yes. It’s not very bad. Just stiff. Will you take me to meet George?”
“Sure I will.” He brought out the car. She threw her books into it and climbed stiffly on to the seat.
Wright regarded her with concern. “You don’t look much like riding Jester at the Show,” he said.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll ride him.”
“what about your mother?”
“She’ll never know.”
“She’ll know, if you win a prize.”
“I’ll bear the consequences.”
As they sat in the car waiting for George Fennel they made their plans.
Three days later Adeline went to school as usual but, after the school lunch she went to the mistress of her form and, pleading that she was not well, asked to be allowed to go home. Indeed the mistress thought the child did not look well. She looked flushed and tired.
But Adeline’s spirits were high as she got into Mr. Crowdy’s car, in which he sat waiting for her outside the school. She gave a little grunt of satisfaction when they left the city streets and sped along a country road.
“How’s the knee?” he asked solicitously.
“Pretty fair,” she answered non-committaly. “Might be better and might be worse.”
“when you’re at the Show you’ll forget all about it. That’s the way when I’ve anything wrong with me. Now I’ll tell you a little story to cheer you up. There was once a man who hadn’t much money but he had a hunter he loved better than anything on earth. One day he went into the stable and found that the horse had got a terrible bad chill. It was shaking from head to foot. He put its blanket on it but it didn’t stop shivering. Then he went to the house and found his wife in bed with a cold. He went straight to the bed and pulled the blankets off her and carried them out and heaped them on the horse.”
“Good for him!” said Adeline. “Did the horse get better?”
“Sure.”
“And did the wife?”
“Sure. When he went back to the house she was up and laying the supper table.”
As there were no longer any large shows, the small ones drew large crowds. When Adeline and Mr. Crowdy arrived there was already a dense throng about the ring. Wright met them with Adeline’s riding clothes in a suitcase. She changed into them in the club house. There were a number of people about who knew her so she did not lack companionship but she was not in a sociable mood. To await the events in which she was taking part, in stoical endurance of the throbbing pain in her knee, then to take her part with credit to herself and to her mount, was her one concern. No one would have guessed, to see the gallant little figure taking the jumps, that each jolt of landing caused her acute pain. A small set smile was on her lips and remained there when the judges awarded her a first and a second, and when photographers took her picture, mounted on Jester. In the applause of the crowd she forgot the pain for a space. She had upheld the honour of the Jalna stables. Wright too had done well. He beamed at her as he helped her to alight.
“I guess you’re feeling pretty good now, eh?” he said.
“No, Wright, I’m not,” she answered, in a trembling voice. “I want to go home.” Tears rained down her cheeks.
Back at Jalna, when the horses had been taken out of the van and after he and the farmhand had made them comfortable, Wright turned anxiously to the child. She had been sitting on a low wooden stool watching them.
“Come into the office,” he said, “and let’s see that knee.”
He led her into the little room that Renny used as an office and lifted her to the desk. She sat there relaxed, her legs dangling. “It doesn’t pain quite so badly now,” she said, in a small voice. But she gave a sharp cry when Wright pulled off her boot. When the knee was bared he drew back horrified.
“Cripes!” he exclaimed. “This is an awful leg. Why, miss, you oughtn’t to have ridden at that show today. You ought to have told me how bad it was.”
“It does look pretty bad, doesn’t it?” she agreed, with a certain pride.
“Bad!” he repeated desperately. “It’s a hell of a knee.”
At that moment he saw Rags passing the window carrying a basket of broccoli. Wright tapped sharply on the pane and beckoned to Rags who, scenting trouble of some sort, hurried in. When the knee was exhibited to him, he scratched his grizzled head and threw Wright an eloquent look.
“Could your wife make some sort of a poultice for it?” asked Wright.
“Naow. The only thing to do for that there knee is to send for the doctor.”
Wright and Adeline looked at each other aghast.
“We can’t,” she declared. “Mummy mustn’t know.”
“Now, look ’ere,” said Rags, “would you rather lose your leg or ’ave your mother knaow?”
Adeline grinned. “Lose my leg,” she said.
Rags said to Wright, “If I was you I’d ’ate to take the responsibility of keeping this from the missus.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll take the blame,” said Adeline, “if we’ve got to tell. Come on, let’s have it over with.”
Wright gave her a reproachful look. “You shouldn’t have let me in for this, miss,” he said. “If ever you’d showed me that knee! By gum, I’ll catch it for this! Come, get on my back and I’ll carry you to the house.” He bent himself in front of her. She bestrode his back, clasping his neck. So they went to the house; Rags, with a desperate air, carrying her boot.
Alayne was leading Archer upstairs to oversee his preparations for the evening meal. Tomorrow she had to take him to the hospital to have his tonsils out. She was filled with shrinking from the operation. As she looked down at the little boy she had a painful yearning to protect him. She was halfway up the stairs when Rags appeared in the hall below. He said, mysteriously:
“Please, madam, would you mind stepping down’ere. Wright ’as something he feels ’e ought to show you.”
“whatever is wrong now?” demanded Alayne, irritably.
“I think you ought to come down and see, madam. It’s Miss Adeline— she’s ’urt ’erself.”
Alayne flew down the stairs, Archer close behind.
“She’s ’ere at the back of the ’all.” Rags led the way to where Adeline was standing. Wright skulked in a dim corner behind her.
“Adeline!” cried Alayne. “where are you hurt?”
The child, standing on one leg, held up her knee.
Alayne, bending over it, gave a cry of distress.
“It’s dreadful!” she exclaimed. “It’s not a fresh injury. When did you do it? Was it the other evening when I smelled iodine in your room? why — you have on your riding things! Adeline, were you riding at the Show?”
Adeline hung her head. “Yes, Mummy.”
Alayne now saw Wright. “This is your doing!” she exclaimed, in a voice tense with anger.
“No, Mummy, it isn’t! Truly, it isn’t!”
Wright said, “I never saw the knee till a quarter of an hour ago.”
“That has nothing to do with it. I told you expressly that Miss Adeline was not to ride at any more shows this fall.”
“I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“when I change my mind you can be certain I’ll let you know. Adeline, go to your room and get into bed. I must telephone for the doctor. You will please wait here, Wright.”
“Shall I carry the young lady upstairs, ma’am?” he asked.
“I don’t need any help,” said Adeline. She began to mount the stairs, helping herself up by the banister. Archer followed close behind her.
Alayne, rigid with anger, went into the library and telephoned to the doctor. Rags ostentatiously took the sheepdog by the scruff and pushed him down into the basement.
Alayne, returning from the telephone, laid her hand on the carved newel post. From there she spoke to Wright.
“I have had quite enough,” she said, “of your interference and your opposition to everything I wish to do. I will not endure it any longer. You can take a month’s notice from tonight.”
The man went white. He had expected a severe reprimand — not this. He knew that it would be easy for him to get another situation, one with higher wages, but he had been at Jalna for more than twenty years, he had reached a time of life when he did not like change. He had trained many horses for Renny Whiteoak. He had ridden at innumerable shows on Renny’s horses, at Renny’s side. He had looked forward to keeping the stables in good order against his return. He had a real sense of loyalty toward Renny’s daughter. He said:
“That’s pretty hard, ma’am, considering the way I’ve worked here. You won’t get another man to do it.”
“I don’t wish to discuss the matter with you,” Alayne said coldly. “You will consider yourself discharged. If my daughter has a serious illness, you will be entirely to blame.” She turned and left him. Her legs felt heavy, her whole body dragged down, as she climbed the stairs.
Wright, seething with anger, descended the stairs into the basement. Rags was mounding a tray with dishes to carry up to the dining room. His wife, crimson-faced, was drawing a pan of baked fish from the oven. Both turned expectant faces on Wright.