Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“The organ! Aunt Augusta’s organ! But how could it disappear?”
“I don’t know, but it has. I’ve asked Rags and cook but they hadn’t even missed it.”
“Not
missed
it! Anything the size of an organ!”
“So they said.”
“By Judas, there have been queer goings on here!”
He strode to the steps leading to the basement. He descended them, the dogs rushing after him, panting, as though he were in full flight from them. In the kitchen he confronted husband and wife, she baking bread, he cleaning brass.
“where is the organ?” he demanded.
The cook stared at him out of fat little eyes, the mass of pure dough in front of her, the smudge of flour on her red cheek, giving her an air of innocence. Rags, on the other hand, surrounded by tarnished brass trays, candlesticks and urns, his fingers stained by the brass-cleaning mixture, looked a picture of guilt.
“I’ve been asked that before,” said the cook truculently, “and what I say is — I’ve never missed it.”
“Rags,
you
know where that organ is.”
“So ’elp me — I don’t, sir.”
Renny went to the door of the room where the organ had been, threw it open and entered, the dogs shouldering each other to enter simultaneously. Finch followed. “I missed it about a fortnight ago. I remembered some old music books that used to lie on the organ and I had a sudden curiosity to see them. They were here all right but the organ had vanished.”
Rags remarked from the passage, “I’ve always said that there outside door ain’t properly barred. Any sneak-thief could break through.”
“And sneak out with the organ in his pocket! Do you expect me to believe such a story?”
“Well, as you know, sir, there’s a great scarcity of musical instruments.”
Renny fixed a penetrating gaze on him. “Tell me, Rags,” he said, “who stole that organ. It never was taken out of this room without your knowledge.”
There was a terrible silence, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Wragge thumping the dough.
“Come clean, Rags,” said Renny.
Rags visibly curled up in his distress. “Ow, Colonel Whiteoak, don’t ask me!”
“I do ask you. I don’t want to fire you on my second day home.”
“There are plenty who’d be glad to take me on.”
“I know there are. But you don’t want to go to them, any more than I want a strange couple at Jalna. Who stole the organ?”
“Sir,” said Rags desperately. “Will you give me till noon to answer that question?”
“Yes. Come along, dogs. Finch, please see to it that the wheelbarrow is brought home. Gran’s wheelbarrow — Aunt Augusta’s organ! what next?” He strode into the room that formerly had been the coal cellar and where now stood the uncompromising bulk of the oil heater. The walls had been whitewashed, the floor cleaned, not a coal was to be seen. He stood gripping his chin, staring about with a bewildered feeling. Was this the coal cellar? Was this home? He gave an ironic smile at his own concern, then, followed by his escort, made his way out of the house and along the grassy paths.
Standing among the raspberry canes was Alma Patch, plucking the dark red fruit, her small son, dirty of face, playing nearby. When he saw Renny and the dogs he ran to his mother and clutched her draggled skirt.
“Hullo, Alma,” said Renny. “So you’ve got married and had a baby since I last saw you!”
She wiped her fruit-stained fingers on her skirt and Renny shook hands with her.
“Quite a fine boy,” he said, for young things were always attractive to him.
“Oh, he’s just grand.” Alma snatched up her child to show him off. “Ossie — Ossie — tell the gentleman about the train! Did you know he fell off a train, sir? And not hurt one little bit.”
“I did indeed. My sister, Mrs. Vaughan, told me all about it in a letter. Took a whole page to it.”
Alma beamed in delight. “Did she? My, just think of that! Ossie, tell the gentleman about the train.”
Ossie brought out, in a singsong, “The chain yan down the chack.
The chain yan down the chack.”
Alma hugged and kissed him. “Yes, the chain yan down the chack and Ossie hadn’t a single mark on him! Wasn’t it wonderful, sir?”
“It was indeed. The raspberries look nice, Alma.” He picked a handful from the canes and ate them. “By George, they taste better than ever.”
“I suppose, sir,” said Alma, “you’ve met the new gentleman, Mr. Clapperton. He’s so kind. Ossie never tells him about the train but what Mr. Clapperton gives him a nickel, don’t he, Ossie?”
“A very bad habit, bribing children,” said the master of Jalna hastily. “Give him a smack on the head, if he doesn’t tell it. What about the train, Ossie?”
“Yan down the chack,” said Ossie, squinting up hopefully.
“That’s right.” Renny moved through the orchard. There was promise of a good crop of apples but the trees badly needed pruning. Certainly their trunks had not been whitewashed this year and there was a bough swathed in the sinister web of the caterpillars. He longed for the day when farm help would be plentiful.
He came out on to the church road and crossed into the churchyard. All was peaceful and unchanged here. The church stood solid and with an air of serenity. And there was Noah Binns digging a grave, standing waist deep in it. He greeted Renny with a two-toothed smile. When Renny had last seen him, five black teeth had ornamented it.
“Been losing more teeth, eh, Noah?”
“Yeh. But I manage to chew most anything.”
“Good. Digging a grave, I see.”
“Yeh. It’s fur Chalk, him that was blacksmith here once.”
Renny drew back astonished. “Chalk! why — I’m sorry for that. I haven’t heard of it. Chalk! Many a horse he shod for me and shod well.”
“Never liked him,” said Noah, driving his spade into the ground. “He was full of foolish ideas. One of ’em was that all men are good at heart. Looks like it, the way the world goes on, don’t it?”
“He was a good man, Noah. Why, he shod my first pony for me. He was a young fellow then.”
“Well, he was old enough when he died.”
“when is the funeral?”
“At three o’clock — this earth’s so hard with the drought I can hardly get me spade into it.”
“I’ll be here.”
“A funeral on yer second day home! I wouldn’t waste time on Bill Chalk’s funeral if I was you. Him and his forge! Well, it’s a gasoline station now. Things has changed. This year’s a bad one — drought and blight. There’s a blight on the world. It won’t surprise me if I live to see its end.”
“It will have to get a move on, if you’re to see its end.”
Noah Binns glowered up at him out of the grave. “I’ve seed the end of a good deal,” he said. “Blight, drought, bombs — they’ll put an end to the world and danged if I’ll care.”
Renny turned away and walked quickly to the plot where, inside an ornamental iron fence, were the graves of his parents, his grandparents, his stepmother, his brother, and several infant Whiteoaks. His eyes travelled slowly across the green mounds. He read the names on the granite plinth and the names repeated at the head of each grave. He brought to life, in imagination, those whom he could remember — his father’s blond face with that look of well-being, that indolent but rather arrogant good humour; his stepmother with her lovely long white neck, her large blue eyes that were always following his father’s movements, happy only in his nearness. Both had died while he was at the last war. Eden — and at the thought of him, Renny’s brows came together in pain. He should not have let Eden die! Eden might, with better care — but what more could they have done for him? Eden was bound to die. Tragedy was in his air when he had come home to die. Yet none had loved life better.
And those little graves, those of his stepmother’s babies — he remembered how he, a careless boy, had dandled them during their brief stay and how she had wept at their going. And his grandmother; others in that plot might be but bone and dust but he could not think of her so. Surely if she were unearthed and brought to light, those carven features would still be set in the mould of humour, pride, and power.
His own features with their marked resemblance to hers, softened to a smile. He turned and retraced his steps among the graves, past Noah Binns to the gate. He would not visit Maurice Vaughan’s grave — not today. He had lost a lifelong friend. He did not want to dwell on that thought.
Noah sat with dangling legs on the edge of the dark opening in the earth, eating a sandwich, drinking cold tea from a bottle. He called out:
“Know what I heard tell?”
“what?”
“Next winter’s goin’ to be the worst ever. Snow’s comin’ in November and it’ll lie heavy on us till March. Rabbits is goin’ to girdle the fruit trees. There’s to be no fuel, and misery in all the land.” The bottle fell from his hand and the tea was spilt into the grave.
“Oh, my tea,” he groaned. “Spilt into Bill Chalk’s grave!” “Serves you right,” laughed Renny. “Get in after it and I’ll cover you up.”
He went back to Jalna across the fields and turned into the path that led to the stables. He found Wright waiting for him outside the door. He wore a somewhat hangdog expression and said, as he moved forward a step:
“Rags says you’ve been asking about the organ, sir.”
“You bet I have,” returned Renny. “I want to know where it is.”
Wright hung his head. Then slowly he got out, “Miss Adeline and me are the guilty parties but we’d like to show you something first — before we tell about it.”
He led the way to the paddock, to which the colt had that morning been brought from a distant field. Adeline was standing by the gate waiting for them. The colt, with a wisp of grass in his mouth, fixed his gaze enquiringly on the neCentenaryomer. The past weeks of good care had already done much for him. He was filling out, his coat growing sleek, but the fineness of his bony structure was plainly visible. He was still very thin and his stark alert head was as though carved out of bronze.
Renny looked him over, then turned to Wright.
“what has this colt to do with the organ?” he demanded.
Wright did not answer but stood with hanging head. Seeing Wright, to whom she had looked for protection, incapable of speech, Adeline too hung her head, the pair presenting a picture of complete though inexplicable guilt, to the penetrating gaze fixed on them. The colt drew nearer and, from deep in his interior, there came a low whinny.
“Has this colt anything to do with the organ?” repeated Renny. “Come now, what has he to do with it?”
Wright could not speak, so Adeline, as though taking her life in her hands, made the plunge. Pointing over her shoulder with her thumb, as she had seen Wright do, she said:
“The organ’s half of him.”
Renny stared at the colt as though expecting to see a keyboard and pedals develop along one side of him. “what do you mean, the organ’s half of him? Come here.”
She came close to him and he put a compelling hand on her shoulder. “Make a clean breast of this,” he said.
Now the words tumbled out. “Oh, Daddy, you can see how beautiful he is — and a farmer had him and we wanted him terribly. Wright could see wonderful possibilities in him but Wright had only a hundred dollars and no one in our house would put the other hundred in. So I remembered the organ and you said once I might have it and the farmer’s wife wanted an organ more than anything on earth, so I traded the organ for a half share in the colt. And Mr. Crowdy and Mr. Chase have seen him and they say they’ve never seen a youngster more full of promise.”
Renny turned to Wright. “So,” he said, “you have led my daughter into pretty goings-on. You have helped her to steal her great-aunt’s organ and to trade it for a share in a half-starved colt who may amount to nothing. It’s small wonder that she wrote to me that you and she were running the place together.”
Wright looked crushed but Adeline spoke up bravely. “It was all my doing, Daddy. Wright didn’t know I’d made the bargain till it was settled.”
Renny replied sarcastically, “And I suppose you got the organ from the basement and carried it to the farmer’s wife all by yourself. A likely story. You needn’t tell me Rags wasn’t in this, for he was.”
“Oh, Rags was splendid,” said Adeline. “He nearly broke his back carrying the organ up the steps, and cook helped too. We all were pushing.”
Renny turned to Wright. “Of course you consulted Mrs. Whiteoak about this.”
Wright answered sulkily, “I couldn’t. She’d fired me once already.”
“Already fired you!”
“Yes, sir. But I wouldn’t go.”
“By Judas, this is a house to come back to! why did she fire you?”
“Oh, sir, that’s quite a story,” said Wright miserably. “It’d take some time to tell.”
“I have plenty of time. Go ahead.”
“Daddy, may I just ask you one thing?” said Adeline, standing up very straight. “Would you please have a really good look at the colt before we go into that other story? And that was all my fault too, because Wright never knew how bad my knee was. Oh, please have a good look at the colt first.”
Renny opened the gate into the paddock and entered. All three stood about the colt, he gazing at them out of proud full eyes, as though deep in his breast he knew what he could do. Adeline and Wright were his friends but he looked long at the neCentenaryomer, as though speculatively. Renny examined him from nostrils to rump then, turning to Wright with one of his sudden changes of expression, he said:
“Two hundred dollars they asked, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One hundred and the organ,” put in Adeline.
Renny grinned. “I believe,” he said, “that he has it in him to be a wonderful lepper.” He had picked up the word in Ireland and continued to use it, though it grated distressingly on Alayne’s ears.
“I thought you’d agree to that, sir. Later on this colt’s going to be worth a lot of money.”
“I grant you that he’s a good-looking fellow,” said Renny, “and may make his mark. But, as for the organ — you come along with me, Adeline.” He turned away, she meekly following.
Presently she slipped her hand into his and walked so, without either speaking. At last she spoke in a small voice.
“Daddy, what are you going to do to me?”