Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
But on this morning of Indian summer he came suddenly upon her as she neared the Hut. Neither could escape, and they walked, with outward unity and inward unease, to the long chair where Wakefield sat in the sun. Renny bent over him and looked down into his face.
“Good boy,” he said, “you look fine.”
Wakefield raised his eyes to Renny’s with the look of a son into an indulgent father’s face. “when shall I be done with all this?” he said crossly. “I’ve finished the first draft of my play and I’m tired of being an invalid.”
“I saw your doctor yesterday. He says that another three months’ rest will cure you.”
Wakefield gave a groan. He stretched his sunburnt arms as though in despair; but in truth he was, for the present, content with things as they were. The weather was glorious. He was indolent in its hazy blue bewitchment. He looked up at Molly. “what do you feel about another three months here, Molly?” he asked.
“It will be all right so long as you are getting well.”
“And Molly has blackberries for you,” Renny said heartily, but he did not look at her. When she had gone into the Hut he said to Wakefield, “I guess it’s rather dull for you sometimes.”
“I have my play to work at,” said Wakefield. “We have visitors. Christian comes a lot. I like that boy. But I wish you came oftener, Renny.”
“I’d come every blessed day, Wake, if it were not …”
He hesitated, then went on: “Perhaps the time will come when you and Molly will go your separate ways. On my part I should be glad to know you had separated.”
“We’ve no thought of such a thing. We’re perfectly happy together.”
“Perfectly happy, eh? That’s remarkable.”
“what do you mean, Renny?”
“I mean what two people are
perfectly
happy together? Is there such a thing?”
“We are not chained together by law. That’s so much the better. It’s a voluntary union and we’re satisfied to have it so. Molly has been wonderful to me. If ever she feels restive she hides it. Anyhow, in three months, I shall have completely recovered and we’ll be ready for work again.”
“You will have Christmas at Jalna.”
“Renny” — Wakefield’s brilliant eyes sought his brother’s — “would you invite Molly and me for Christmas dinner?”
“what a question! Of course, we should.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, but we’d not embarrass Alayne by accepting. Possibly we shall be back in New York by then.”
To change the subject Renny said, “We are to have visitors from Ireland. Maurice and his friend Patrick Crawshay. They’re arriving soon and making a long visit. They’re going to travel during the cold months and be back at Jalna for the centenary and the wedding.”
“I’ll be glad to see them,” said Wakefield. “But what will Maurice feel about this wedding?”
“He will be quite reconciled to it, you may be sure. People do get over these infatuations and are none the worse for them. I’ve had them myself — and recovered.”
He looked hard at Wakefield, who said, “But you’re happily married, Renny.”
“Yes — tied up this many a year.”
He went on to talk of his horses and his plans for the fall shows. Molly slipped out through the back door and found a sequestered space among the trees where the ground was covered by pine needles. There she sank, first to her knees, then at full length, shaken by hoarse sobs. She could not have told why she wept, excepting that the gathering heartache of the past weeks had culminated in this. Yet she knew she should be happy, for she saw Wakefield in renewing health. But — the long isolation in this closed-in wood, where one knew there was a wind only because one saw the treetops swaying … her yearning for the active life of the theatre and for opportunities lost … above all, her feeling that Wakefield was being reabsorbed into the family.… As she lay there sobbing, the face of Renny Whiteoak rose before her. She saw his slanting eyes turned away from her. He hated the sight of her, she thought, and had within himself the power to take Wakefield away from her — and would take him away. He wanted to separate them; and he would separate them.
She lay for what seemed a long while on the harsh comfort of the pine needles, in their heady scent. She was thankful she had shed no tears but could return to Wakefield undisfigured by the tempest that had torn her.
He had got biscuits and milk for himself, and gave her a rather injured look.
“what makes you so unsociable this morning?” he asked.
“You seemed quite happy without me.”
“I’ve been alone for the past hour.”
“Poor boy. Is there anything more I can get you?”
“Scarcely — on top of this milk. I hope I took it from the right bottle.”
Molly flew to the refrigerator to find out and flew back to him. “It’s
not
the fresh milk!” she cried. “How could you be so stupid, Wake? You know that the morning’s milk is always on the right-hand side!”
“How the dickens do you expect me to remember about milk bottles with all I have on my mind?”
“Oh, I’ve nothing on
my
mind, of course,” she snapped. “Here — give me that milk. You can’t drink it.”
He began to drink. “It’s all right. There’s nothing the matter with it.”
“It’s stale!”
He took a determined gulp. She struggled to interfere. Between them the milk was spilt.
“Now see what you’ve done!” Wakefield, with his handkerchief, mopped at the milk on his sleeve. It was ridiculous, but it made them unhappy.
The next day Renny brought a car to where the path began and took Wakefield to the stables to weigh him. Wakefield returned jubilant, not so much over his gain in weight, though it was substantial, as over having been once again swept along in the current of life at Jalna.
“How real it is!” he cried. “what man in his senses would choose to live in a smoky filthy city when he might work in the fields or with those magnificent horses! Some two-year-olds were being schooled in the paddock and men and horses enjoyed it equally. I went with Renny where he was selling a colt — a lovely creature, and doesn’t Renny know how to make a sale! Piers was taking a load of apples to the railway station. What gorgeous apples! Look — I’ve filled my pockets for you.”
Molly accepted them gratefully, not reminding him that already they had more apples than they could eat.
“Patience was there,” he went on, “and her baby — what a cute baby Victoria is — and Adeline, galloping like all possessed. D’you know, Molly, I felt as though I’d been dead for months — no, years — and just come to life again? Oh, Molly, you don’t know what it is to love the country—to hunger for it, not as a refuge after illness but as a glorious place for living.” He snapped off a bite of apple with his white teeth.
“Have you gained any more weight?” she asked.
“Seven pounds. Renny’s delighted by the speed of my recovery. Three months more and I shall be stronger than ever.”
“Three months …” she repeated. That very day she had had a letter offering her a part in a New York company — a small part, but just the sort she enjoyed playing. But she did not tell Wakefield.
“why on earth do you look so gloomy?” he demanded. “Everything is turning out well. Think what we might be feeling if I were worse instead of better.”
“I know. I know. And I won’t be gloomy. It’s the time of year. The leaves are beginning to turn — then they’ll fall — then there’ll be snow.”
“You
are
gloomy — you
are.
” He flung himself on his cot. “Oh, God, how tired I am.”
Now she was all contrition for a fault of which she was unaware. “You have overtired yourself,” she said, and she covered him where he lay and patted his back, as though he were a child.
“why will you talk of snow and falling leaves?” he demanded, still bent on being hurt. “It’s morbid. It makes me miserable.”
“I won’t do it again,” she said — and she did not, but more and more she longed for freedom to express what was in her.
One day by chance Renny met the priest who had been Wakefield’s confessor after his conversion to Catholicism. Renny, moved by a shrewd understanding of his brother, asked the priest to go to see Wakefield. The appearance of the kindly old cleric at Fiddler’s Hut almost caused a panic in the pair living there, but there was no need for panic. There was nothing formidable about the priest. He was accustomed to the frailties of human nature and said no word of censure. He talked to them of country life and of the Belgian hares which he bred, and of the cure for poison ivy, and of a famous recipe he had for blackberry cordial. This would be good for Wakefield, he said, and promised to bring him a bottle. This he did, and followed it with other visits. With each visit from him and Renny, Molly felt conscious of a web being woven about Wakefield, drawing him inexorably into a life she could not enter.
When the blazing colours of fall were at their wildest, with the blue tent of the sky hanging above the treetops and frost white on the grass when Molly prepared Wake’s breakfast, the two visitors arrived from Ireland: Maurice Whiteoak and Patrick Crawshay. They were to stay at Jalna — because Piers’s house was too small for so large a family — till after Christmas. Alayne was not disinclined to having the two young men in the house, but she would have liked to be consulted in the matter — which she was not till the visit had been arranged. That was always the way of it, she thought, with wry resignation. The Whiteoaks did what was most convenient to themselves, without considering the trouble it might be to others. Alayne realized that the presence of two visitors would mean a great deal of extra work for the Wragges, who were growing old; but they accepted the news gladly because it came from Renny, who never gave a thought to their powers of endurance.
As for Adeline, she was, in these bright-coloured days of autumn, strangely exhilarated. She told herself, in her extravagant youth, that she was like a ship that had been buffeted by storm and had now found harbour. This harbour was all the calmer because the golden-haired harbour rd was away, finishing his education. Although she fancied herself as a buffeted ship, she felt childishly irresponsible. Everything had been arranged for her. Inside the circle drawn for her she was as free as air. Never had Renny been so pleased with her. He lavished so many endearments on her that an observer might have thought her father was in love with her had it not been obvious that just as many flatteries were spoken to his horses.
Adeline met Maurice with more warmth than she had given him in many a day — possibly more than she ever had given him. For one thing she was sorry for him. For another she wanted him to believe in her radiant happiness which could include even him. Maurice met her with a dignity for which she was not prepared. He was sober but not sombre, as he said, “Congratulations to young Philip.”
Adeline imagined a slight stressing of the word “young,” for Philip’s youth was a tender point with her, but she achieved a smile and said, “Congratulations to us both. We’re very happy.”
The young men had come prepared for sport. Mountains of luggage, guns, and fishing rods were carried upstairs. Their heavy boots littered the floor of the bathroom. Towels were thrown on the floor. Both were accustomed to being waited on by plentiful servants. But their manners were so delightful and they were so charming to Alayne that she forgave them. They were in such contrast to the violent immaturity of modern life! Often she reflected on what would have been her father’s reaction to it. She pictured his look of cautious wonder. He never had been quick to condemn. Even while she never was able to feel near to her own children, she was thankful that they were moderately congenial to her. She envied Renny — and was sometimes almost bitter in her envy — the close bond between him and Adeline, the queer congeniality between him and the aloof Archer. Life for him, she thought, was so easy, so instinctive!
In the very hour of arrival from Ireland, Maurice went to see his mother. She was just where he expected to find her: in the garden, potting geraniums. He came up behind her and put both arms about her.
Pheasant, looking down on his hands, exclaimed:
“Mooey, darling — it’s you!”
The pet name was sweet to him on her lips. He turned her round to look into her face.
“You look well,” he said, and gave the impression, both to himself and to her, that he had been anxious about her health, though in reality he had been thinking only of his own doings and Adeline’s engagement.
“I am well. Never worry about me. Mooey — how wonderful to see you!” She poured out questions about his journey, about his friend Crawshay. She noted with pleasure the clearness of his eyes and complexion, while, his arm still about her, he sniffed the familiar scent of her that had added the scent of sweet geranium leaves. At last he said:
“Arent you wondering what I think of this engagement?”
“I am indeed.”
“Well, if you really want to know, I think it’s damnable.”
“Scarcely that, Maurice. On my part I think it’s dangerous.”
“It’s damnable, I tell you. Adeline will be miserable.”
“They may get on together better than we think. The danger is that both are so strong-willed — and yet so immature. Of course, lots of very young people are getting married, but — these two are different.”
Maurice demanded, “who arranged this? Surely they didn’t do it themselves. Lord, I should like to have overheard that proposal.”
“I can tell you,” said Pheasant, “the young man is very pleased with himself, and so are his father and his Uncle Renny pleased with him.”
“I’ll bet they are,” said Maurice, and added bitterly: “They never wanted
me
for her.”
“Tradition is all very well,” said Pheasant oracularly. “I like tradition; but Jalna is a Canadian estate, not a dukedom. Your great-grandmother and great-uncles are dead, Maurice, but they left behind them a tradition that’s living and strong. What does it matter who marries whom, so long as the couple are happy?” She brushed the earth from her hands and raised her lovely eyes to the shining October sky. “I don’t see happiness in this arranged marriage.”