“There is one comfort,” said Mary. “She will take good care of your father.”
“He doesn’t need her! He’s getting better every day. But I must just resign myself. The first thing I shall do will be to visit my friend in New York … I suppose if I’m to have ice cream and punch I’d better have them now. That charming Mr. Biggs is getting some for me at this moment … How nice you look, Mary. Really, it’s surprising what clothes do for a girl.”
“Thank you,” said Mary.
“As for myself, clothes seem not to make any difference to me. As one of my admirers remarked the other day, I look every bit as pretty in a simple cotton dress as in a silk mull.”
As peach and pineapple yield their riches flavour just before decay, so this day showed the finest colouring; its breezes were most playful, and carried in them scents of ripeness, of distant wood smoke, of a sweetness to make one wonder. Magnificent threats of stormy weather to come showed in the west but the garden party revelled in the very best of summer. The gaily striped tent, the pretty parasols, the hard-working little orchestra, would never grace a happier scene.
“But what are they all talking about?” wondered Renny. The snatches of conversation he overheard seemed to mean nothing. When he spoke he had something to say.
He said to Meg, “I’ve had three dishes of ice cream.”
“I only had two,” she returned, “but I had three pieces of cake. And I had a glass of punch.”
“Why, we’re not supposed to drink punch.” He was both horrified and envious.
“I did.”
“Did anyone see you? Who poured it for you?”
“Nobody. It was a glassful some lady set down and I just picked it up.”
“Did you feel funny after it?”
“A little. The tent turned round.”
“Isn’t it turning now?”
“No. I’m all over it. I could drink another.”
“Whew!” He looked at her admiringly.
At last came the time for guests to leave. There were the handshakings, the renewed congratulations, the flurry and amiable crowding together of good-byes. There was the rumbling of wheels and the glad clatter of hoofs. Last of all went Mary, with Philip to drive her back to the Laceys.
Renny had run to the gate after the trap. They had waved back to him but still he felt rather lonely, standing in the sunlight by the gate.
The driveway was dark and the trees looked very tall. They shut out the light and Renny remembered ghosts and goblins and bad fairies as he trotted along the drive. On the lawn the men were folding up the tent, the musicians had vanished, without his having seen them go. The dogs, worn out, were strewn on the porch. The grass looked trodden and lifeless. Beyond the ravine, through the trees, a crimson eye of sunset glowed. He ran round the house to where two farm labourers had loaded a wagon with barrels of apples from the brick-built apple-house.
Renny clambered up into the wagon. He gripped the edge of a barrel to steady himself as the driver slapped the reins on the horses’ backs. The spicy scent of the Northern Spies rose out of the barrels.
One of the men asked over his shoulder, “Did you have a good time at the party?”
“Oh, yes. Where are the apples going?”
“To Montreal. In the morning. The barrels have got to be headed in tonight.”
“Why are you working late?”
“We didn’t work all day. The boss gave us a holiday. But we thought we’d head in the barrels.”
“Can I go with you to the station?”
“If you’re up early enough.”
“I’ll be up.”
He took an apple from the barrel he was clinging to. It lay, round as the world and cold as ice, in his hand, He sniffed it. It had a good smell. His mind flew back to another good smell — the smell of the Christmas tree. All his being tingled at the recollection of that scent. He remembered no farther back than last Christmas. That was far enough to remember. It filled him with a heady joy. For an instant he forgot where he was. Then the wagon stopped with a jolt. They were at the barn. The men jumped down. One held out his arms to Renny.
“Jump,” he said.
Renny jumped into the man’s arms and was set on the ground.
“What have you got there?” the man asked. “An apple? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to take one out of the barrels? You know where to get one, if you want it.”
The man took the apple from Renny’s hand, reached up and put it back in the barrel. The other was unhitching the horses.
“It’s too dark to head in the barrels,” he said. “We can do them in the morning.” He led the horses clumping into the stable.
The first man brought sacking and covered the barrels. Renny ran into the stable. The smell of clean straw greeted him out of the living dusk. Everywhere there were quiet movements and deep breathing.
“Here!” shouted both men. “Come out of there. Do you want to get locked in?”
Renny trotted out. It was almost dark. The crimson eye in the west had closed. The men were moving shadows.
“Good-bye,” he called, over his shoulder, as he ran off.
“Good-bye,” answered the men.
He looked in at the inky darkness of the apple-house. He did so much want an apple. A figure stumped toward him from the direction of the kitchen. It was Noah Binns, who had been having a feed of leftovers from the garden party.
“Hi, Noah!” Renny called.
“Huh?” grunted Noah, stumping closer.
“Say, will you wait here while I go into the apple-house?”
“Afeared, eh?” Noah’s grin was just visible.
“No. But I thought someone might lock me in.”
“Go ahead. But don’t be long.”
Renny ran down the moist stone steps into the darkness. In bunks, like sleepers, lay the apples, Spies, greenings, russets, Tolman sweets, snows, pippins, filling the air with their scent. He put his hand where he knew the snow apples were stored. He took one and hurried up the steps.
“A notorious big crop of apples this fall,” said Noah. “Eat your fill. There won’t be none next year.”
“Why?”
“Tree bugs is at work under the bark, suckin’ the good out of the trees. I seen ’em and heard ’em — suckin’.”
“We spray the trees.”
“A lot of good that will do. This bug is a new sort. He likes the spray. He’s up from the States.”
Renny stood a moment looking after Noah before he ran into the house. He was glad to get in and shut the door behind him. The red apple lay cold in his hand.
A sudden change had come in the atmosphere. The evening was chilly. A fire of birch logs was blazing in the drawing-room and everyone but Philip was sitting about it talking of the garden party.
“Well, young man,” said Ernest, “it’s about time you came in.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Adeline.
“I just want this apple.”
“I’m not hungry either,” said Meg. She was sitting on a stool at Augusta’s knee, holding magenta wool on her hands for winding. Her light brown hair shone in the firelight.
Renny went to Nicholas. “Uncle Nick,” he said, “will you read out of the book to me?”
“Too late,” growled Nicholas.
“But, if you don’t read, we’ll not finish the book before you go back to England.”
“Very well. I’ll read a few pages.”
Renny brought the shabby leather-bound book. He climbed to Nicholas’ knee and stretched himself comfortably with his head on Nicholas’ shoulder who said:
“By George, you’re a cold little codger. Where have you been?”
“Getting an apple. Have a bite?” He held the apple to Nicholas’ mouth. He took a quarter of it in one bite with his strong white teeth. Renny looked at the pink-veined cavity in the apple, then set to nibbling round its edge.
Nicholas swallowed and read:
“As the evening approached, she p
laced on the stone fireplace a pot containing two of the salted bears’ feet to stew for supper, and then we seated ourselves, to wait with anxiety and impatience for the return of our boy hunters. At last we heard the clatter of hoofs approaching at a sharp trot, and distant sounds of joyful cheering. I went to meet the riders.
“Like military hussars, they slackened rein when they saw me, and sprang from their chargers, took off the saddles, and left the animals free to enjoy the sweet grass and the fresh water from the brook at their own free will. Then they hastened to join their mother at the tent, who received them joyfully.
“Jack and Frank each carried a young kid slung across his shoulders, and the movement in Fritz’s game-bag gave me the impression that it contained something alive.
“‘The chase for ever, papa!’ cried Jack, in a loud voice; ‘the chase for ever! And what splendid fellows Storm and Grumbler are to run over level ground! They so tired the little creature we followed for a long distance, that we were able at last to catch it with our hands.’
“‘Yes, papa!’ exclaimed Frank; ‘and Fritz has two such pretty rabbits in his bag. And we were very nearly bringing you some honey, mamma, only we stopped to hear the cuckoo.’
“‘Ah, but you forget the best!’ cried Fritz. ‘We met a troop of antelopes, and they were so tame, we might have brought one home easily had we wished.’
“‘Ah, stay, my boy,’ I said; ‘you have forgotten the best: the goodness of God in bringing you all home safely to the arms of your parents, and preserving you from danger on the way. But presently, you must give us a straightforward account of your journey, from the beginning, after you have rested.’”
On and on Nicholas read. A sense of well-being pervaded the room. His elders listened with an interest only second to that of the little boy. But it was he who was transported to the foreign land, to the company of the fantastical beasts and birds, the boy hunters. He was both there and in the safe cosy room, lolling on Uncle Nick, idly watching Meg turn her hands in the skein of wool.
A step interrupted the reading and Philip came in.
Nicholas shut the book. “Time for you to go to bed, young fellow.” And he tilted Renny to the floor.
Adeline called him to her. “What did you do with the apple seeds?” she demanded.
“I swallowed them. I didn’t want to interrupt the reading.”
“Swallowed them! Ah, you must never do that again. Your grandfather tells me that seeds of all sorts are likely to get into the appendix and kill you. It’s a new disease and you must be careful not to get it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Granny.”
“Now, thank your uncle for the reading and off to bed, both of you.”
Meg objected. “It’s not fair for me to go when Renny goes. I’m two years older.”
“Well, you may stay up half an hour longer.”
The wool was wound into a huge ball. It was for the knitting of a spencer. Meg rose and went to Sir Edwin. She stroked his silky side-whiskers.
“I love whiskers,” she said.
“Thank you, my dear.” He beamed at her.
“I hope,” said Augusta approvingly, “that, when you grow up, you will have the good fortune to marry a gentleman with side-whiskers.”
“Meggie is determined,” said Nicholas, “to marry a man with a dark moustache like me.”
“Not a bit of it,” smiled Ernest. “Meggie wants a smooth-shaven man like me.”
“What sort do you want, Meg?” asked her father.
“One like you,” she declared, and cast herself on him.
Renny said, “Thank you for the reading, Uncle Nick.” He put his arms round the neck of each grown-up in the room and gave each a good-night kiss.
Adeline said to Philip, “I hope Mary wasn’t too tired after the party.”
“Well, she was a little tired, but just pleasantly so.”
“She looked pretty as a picture,” said Ernest.
“Granny,” whispered Renny, in her ear, “will you come up and tuck me in?”
“I heard you,” said Philip. “Your Granny has been on her feet all day. She doesn’t want to climb two flights of stairs.”
“Will you, then, Aunty?”
Adeline interrupted, “I will tuck the children in. Renny, don’t forget your teeth and your prayers.”
He mounted the long dim stairs. Eliza had lighted the oil lamp in a bracket on the wall. The day stretched behind him, a medley of shapes, sounds, smells, which he did not try to disentangle or even think of. The real things were his bed, the lamp on the wall and the great full moon just swimming above the tree tops. The lamp was cosy but the moon made the drawing-room and the people in it seem a long way off and himself very small.
He hung over the footboard of the bed, dangling his legs. He pictured the apple seeds travelling through his body, getting ready to give trouble. Already he thought, he felt a little pain. He stood up quickly as though listening. If he felt it again he would run straight downstairs … But it did not come again.
He sauntered into Meg’s room. There were the clothes she had taken off when she dressed for the garden party, lying in a little heap in a chair, her stubby shoes in the middle of the floor, toeing in. He walked about, looking at her belongings, handling the things on her dressing-table. He went to Miss Wakefield’s room that was full of moonlight. He wondered if she would sleep there again or go down to one of the bigger better bedrooms below. He hoped she would go to another room. He did not want to meet her the first thing in the morning and say, “Good morning, Mamma.” But he said it now, out loud, “Good morning, Mamma,” several times. It sounded funny …
He tried to remember his first mother, the one who had died. Though he tried hard he could remember only her arms, lifting him up. She was dead. In Heaven. Somewhere beyond the moon. He wondered if she liked it up there. Grandpapa said she did. He looked out at the moon. Then suddenly he turned and ran back to his own room and began to take off his clothes.
He had just got into bed when he heard Meg coming up the stairs and, in a moment more, his grandmother. He was glad and shouted out, “I’m in! And covered up!”
“You’d better be,” said Adeline.
She picked up the towel he had dropped on the floor and examined the smudges on it.
“I have a mind,” she said, “to make you get up and wash all over again. Did you brush your teeth?”
“Yes, I brushed them hard. Look.” He displayed them in a grin, one of the lower ones missing.
“Say your prayers?”
“Yes,” he shouted. He leaped up on the bed and threw his arms round her neck.
She hugged him to her, making a cooing sound. “You’ve got high spirits,” she said. “That’s a good thing in this life. I wonder what life will do to you. I hope it will be kind.”
“Granny!”
“Yes?”
“You promised me that you would come riding with me one morning early! Will you do it tomorrow?”
“Ah, my riding days are over. I’m getting old.”
“But you promised!”
“Well — we’ll see.”
“Tomorrow!”
“No. After the wedding. I’ve too much to do now for early riding.”
“But you will, won’t you?”
“Yes.” She laid him flat and tucked the blanket round him.
“Now, not another squeak out of you.” She kissed him, turned down the wick, and went to Meg’s room. Soon he heard her descending the stairs.
“Meggie!” he called. “Come and kiss me good night!”
“No. It’s too cold. I’m sleepy.”
He sprang out of bed and padded to her bedside. His mouth found her cool round cheek. He knew she was smiling in the dark.
“Good night,” she murmured, “sleep tight. Don’t let the little bugs bite.”
He ran back to his own room and jumped into bed. His feet were icy. The moon was looking in at him, bigger than ever. It was too big. He pulled the
blanket over his head to shut it out and was instantly asleep.
XXIII
THE WEDDING AND AFTER
THE WEDDING DAY dawned bright and chill. There was a new firmness to the soil. The first vehicles on the roads splintered the thin ice that gleamed in the ruts. The carriage, in which Admiral Lacey was to drive Mary to the church, had been washed and polished till it shone. So had the Admiral who was to give Mary away. There was great excitement at The Moorings as Mary and Violet dressed for the ceremony. Violet, in pale blue, carrying pink roses and violets, was to be bridesmaid. With her smiling face and high colour which later on would become florid, she looked very young for her age and quite suitable to attend Mary who was unusually pale and grave. Standing on the verge of her new life she cast a fleeting look backward at the months through which she had just passed. She would be glad, she thought, when tomorrow had come and she was truly Philip’s. Never again would she look back.
“Girls, girls,” cried Mrs. Lacey, “you must hurry. There isn’t a minute to spare, if you’re to be on time. Violet, you madcap, are you only now putting on your shoes? Ethel, do help her. Mary, have you something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue?”
“Of course, she has, Mother!” cried Ethel. “She is carrying her mother’s white vellum prayer book which is old. Her dress and veil are new. Her garters are blue. And she has borrowed my best handkerchief.”
“Speaking of handkerchiefs,” said Mrs. Lacey, “I must be sure to have one handy because I’m bound to cry at a wedding.”
“For the love of God,” cried her husband, from the next room, “somebody come and find my collar button!”
It seemed that they never would be ready in time but ready they were at last, when Nicholas drove up to the house in a phaeton to take Mrs. Lacey and her daughters to the church.
“Upon my word,” said Admiral Lacey, “I believe I’ve put on twenty pounds since I last wore this coat.”
“You look fine,” said Nicholas.
“It doesn’t wrinkle across the back?”
“Not at all,” lied Nicholas.
“That’s good. Have your party left for the church yet?”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 92