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

by de la Roche, Mazo

  “Nothing I know of unless we rob a bank.”

  “Is there nothing we could trade for him?”

  “The man wants cash.”

  They were standing outside the farmhouse beneath a pair of giant elm locusts in flower, while the young wife of the farmer made them a cup of tea. She came now, with it on a tray.

  “I’m sorry you won’t come in and have something to eat,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Adeline, “but we must be getting home.”

  “This tea hits the right spot,” put in Wright.

  “My mother always says there’s nothing like a cup of tea,” said the young wife.

  “We’re great tea drinkers at Jalna,” agreed Adeline. “You have a pretty place here.”

  “We think it’s real pretty. Would you like to come in and see the parlour?”

  “You go along, Miss,” said Wright. “I’ll wait here with the horses.”

  Adeline followed the farmer’s wife into the house and expressed the admiration she honestly felt for the red-papered room, furnished with mission oak upholstered in bright green velours.

  “There’s only one thing we need,” said the farmer’s wife, “and that’s a piano or an organ. I was always used to one at home and I miss it terrible. I get homesick for it. Jim says he’ll get me one when he can afford it, but dear knows when that will be.”

  Adeline’s mind was a murky whirlpool of seething thoughts, shot through by phosphorescent gleams. She said slowly:

  “I have an organ of my own that was left to me by my great-grandmother, but I never play on it. I’m not musical, you see. The only piece I know straight through is ‘God Save the King.’ I’d give this organ as a hundred dollars on the colt if your husband wants to get one for you. It’s worth far more than a hundred. My great-grandmother bought it years and years ago, when things were made well. It’s got shirred silk in its front and places for candles. You could have a lovely time playing on that organ. You’d never be homesick any more.” Heartfelt conviction beamed from Adeline’s eyes.

  The farmer was dragged in by his wife. Half against his will, half willingly, he agreed to the exchange. But first he went out to Wright and asked him if the young lady had the power so to dispose of her property. Wright, completely mystified, declared that she was a spoilt child who could do whatever she wanted and that if she said the organ was hers to swap, it certainly was.

  “But what organ is it?” he demanded, as soon as he and Adeline were mounted on their eager homeward-hastening horses.

  “Have you never seen it? It’s in that little room in the basement, between the cook’s bedroom and the wine cellar. It’s been there all my life. Everybody’s forgotten about it. Aunt Augusta had a fancy to learn to play the organ when she was a girl, and great-grandmother bought it for her. Nobody wants it. Oh, Wright, isn’t it glorious that I had this idea and we are going to get that darling colt?”

  But Wright wore a dubious frown. “We might find ourselves in trouble over this. I ain’t going to help steal any organ to help buy any colt, and that’s flat.”

  Adeline’s eyes were dark with the earnestness in her. “Well, you are a duffer. The organ’s mine. I asked my father once if I could have it and he said sure, when I was older.”

  “But you ain’t musical.”

  “I liked the looks of the organ and I thought the time might come when I’d want to trade it for a horse.”

  “How’d we get it out of the basement without anybody finding out? The missus would never fall in with that scheme.”

  “She’d never know. Rags will help us with it. We’ll do it early in the morning before anyone is about. We’ll just slide it out of the basement door into the truck and you’ll drive it over to the farmer.”

  “How about when the folks see the colt at Jalna? The missus’d be for firing me again.”

  “We’ll say you raised the money somehow and the colt’s yours.”

  “That there colt’s got to be fed.”

  “There’s lots of pasture and you brought a wagon load of feed from the mill yesterday. Say, Wright, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you glad?”

  “Sure I’m glad.” He grinned at her to prove it. “But I’m sort of scared.”

  “I’m not!”

  “You’re a terror. That’s what you are.”

  She gave her horse a flick of encouragement. He needed no more to break into a gallop. Wright galloping behind, they skirted the fluttering surface of the lake. Joyful birds darted about them. Adeline’s heart was joyful. She could hardly endure the waiting till tomorrow.

  Tomorrow came and at six sharp the truck was waiting outside the basement. Long dew-drenched shadows lay across the lawn. The house was still but as though watchful. It had seen many odd comings and goings. The Wragges, husband and wife, were in the basement and opened the door to Wright. He entered, grinning and a little sheepish. Adeline was waiting in the room where the organ was. She had a cloth with furniture polish and had rubbed the rosewood surface of the organ till it shone.

  “Ha,” exclaimed Wright, “is that it?”

  “Yes,” said Adeline. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It sure is. My gosh, if the boss finds this out he may not like it!”

  “This ’ere room,” said Rags, “is never entered except by me. I keep the key.”

  “Do you think you’ll need my help?” asked his wife.

  “We certainly shall. That organ is ’eavier than it looks. You don’t want me to bust myself lifting it, do you?”

  “You’ll never bust yourself workin’,” said his wife.

  Wright had brought a small hand truck and on to it they heaved the organ. He trundled it along the passage to the door. He had laid boards on the four steps and up these he and the Wragges began to push the instrument.

  “Push harder,” said Adeline, “it’s hardly moving.”

  Mrs. Wragge was panting like a steam engine. The lacing of her stays broke and she uttered a sigh of relief. Her bulky form, her husband’s thin one, Wright’s sturdy frame, struggled with the weight of the organ. Slowly it ascended into the outer air, arduously they strove to heave it into the waiting truck.

  “This ain’t no job for a woman,” declared Mrs. Wragge, her hair falling over her face.

  “If I haven’t busted myself it will be a wonder,” said Rags.

  Wright kept swearing steadily under his breath.

  “I’ll help,” said Adeline. “I bet I can lift more than Rags can.” She pressed in among them and thrust her fierce young strength into the lifting.

  It made an appreciable difference. Perhaps it was that which finally shot the organ into the truck. She laughed in delight.

  “Sh!” ordered Wright violently. “Do you want your ma looking out of the window?”

  Adeline watched the truck move slowly out of sight along the drive. She could scarcely endure the waiting to see the colt. But two hours passed before Wright returned.

  “Is everything settled?” she asked.

  “Fine. We got the organ into the parlour and Mrs. Carter sat right down at it and played “The Bluebells of Scotland.” It sounded swell. They’re tickled with their part of the bargain, I can tell you. Now I’m going for the colt. Want to come?”

  Wright had got a somewhat reluctant permission from Alayne to keep the colt, supposed to be his alone, at Jalna. There was, as he said, plenty of pasture and he would buy oats and meal for it from his own pocket. She did not believe he would and she thought he showed a good deal of effrontery in making such a request. But what could she do?

  With the hired man driving the horse van and Wright and herself trotting far enough behind to escape its dust, Adeline was as happy on that June morning as a human being could well be. She was happier than Wright, for he had some qualms over what he had done.

  When they reached the farm they had to go into the parlour and see how well the organ looked standing between the two windows, with a pink china vase and a photograph of the
Carters’ wedding group, standing on the top. At Adeline’s earnest request Mrs. Carter played “The Bluebells of Scotland.” She followed this with “My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean,” and would have continued with other pieces but that her husband reminded her that it was half-past nine and there was the horse to be got into the van.

  They found him in the barnyard and, after a good deal of coaxing, he was persuaded to enter the van. They had not reached the end of the lane when a great commotion took place inside, followed by a heavy thud. The van stopped. The groom and the child, with white faces, galloped up. The hired man, Bob, peered into the little window of the van.

  “God Almighty!” he cried. “He’s down on his back! He’s turned a somerset!”

  What had happened seemed impossible to believe. The colt had indeed, by some extraordinary convulsion, turned completely over and lay on his back, his head toward the rear of the van.

  The farmer ran up and looked in.

  “His back’ll be broke,” he said.

  “Sure,” agreed Bob. “There’s nothing to do but shoot him. Got a gun?”

  “Hold on,” said Wright. “Hold on. What the hell are you talking about a gun for. Get me a rope, mister.”

  The farmer ran to a shed and came panting back with a heavy rope. His wife came pounding after him, distressed for fear the horse would die and the organ would be taken away from her. Wright had the door of the van open.

  The horse, looking monstrous, lay on his back, his heavy hooves dangling. His mud-caked belly looked disproportionately large, his teeth showed in a hideous grimace, his half-shut eyes were dull. Mrs. Carter thought, “And I got a beautiful organ for that! If he dies they will take the organ away!” She said to Adeline:

  “Come along with me, dear. We’ll go into the house and shut the door.”

  She tried to draw her away but Adeline threw her an angry look. “I won’t leave him,” she said fiercely.

  “His back’s broke,” said the farmer. “I can tell by the way he lies.”

  Adeline was stroking the colt’s head. She was whispering, “Our Father which art in Heaven; don’t let his back be broken … Hallowed be Thy name; don’t let his back be broken … Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil: don’t let his back be broken.”

  Wright tied the rope about the colt’s neck, so that it would not slip.

  “Now,” he said to Carter and Bob, “we’ll pull him out and see what happens.”

  The three men pulled with all their might. The great supine bulk moved slowly out of the van. A pale tongue protruded at the side of the mouth. Out of the van and on to the ground the horse moved with the listlessness of the first primeval monster that stirred in early slime.

  “Give him a kick,” said Bob, “and see if he notices.”

  Wright knelt by the colt’s head. He patted it reassuringly. Suddenly a convulsion stirred its frame. Its hooves clove the air like thunderbolts. It champed its teeth, rolled over and was on its feet, looking speculatively at those about it, as though it wondered what they would do to it next.

  “Is it all right?” asked Mrs. Carter.

  “Sure,” said Wright, untying the rope.

  “By ginger, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Nor me. I’ve worked twenty-five years with horses, and I never saw a horse turn a somerset in a van before. He was scared to death.”

  “He’ll never go into it again,” said Bob.

  But Wright talked a little to the colt, took him by the forelock and led him, without mishap, back into the van. He said to Adeline:

  “I’ve got to stay on the van to watch him. You’ll have to lead my horse. So mind what you’re about and don’t get into any trouble on the way home.”

  Mounted on her own horse and leading Wright’s bony mare, Adeline’s heart sang as they returned to Jalna. The lumbering van ahead was a lovely sight to her. She doubted not felicity, in every shape and form, in the future. They turned into the gate at the back of the estate, far from the house.

  When the colt was led into a loose box and had been given a bucket of fresh water and a feed of oats, Adeline threw both arms about Wright and hugged him with all her strength.

  “Oh, I’m so happy,” she breathed.

  He looked down frowning into her upturned face, where the eager blood showed its movement beneath the skin with every emotion. He took her wrists and disengaged himself from her.

  “You hadn’t ought to do that,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Hug me.”

  “why?”

  “Because you’re too old.”

  “Too old?”

  “Yes. It ain’t suitable.”

  She laughed. “why, I could hug that post, I’m so happy.”

  “Go ahead and hug the post,” he returned sulkily. “That’s all right.” He went along the passage to the harness room to get the clippers.

  “You’re an old meany!” she shouted after him. “Old meany! Old meany!” She would have liked to throw something after him. But she was not really angry. When Wright began to clean the colt’s rough coat, then to clip him, she looked on in an ecstacy of interest.

  “Do you know, Wright,” she said, “I prayed that the colt’s back wouldn’t be broken.”

  “So did I,” answered Wright.

  She was taken aback. “You? You prayed?”

  “You don’t suppose you’re the only one who can pray, do you?”

  “what did you say?”

  “That’s my own business. I didn’t say much. Just sort of thought it.”

  She watched fascinated as the skilful clippers ran smoothly across the colt’s rump, and clots of shaggy hair fell to the floor. She said:

  “I hadn’t thought of you praying, Wright, though you do sometimes go to church.”

  He straightened himself and gave his quizzical look. “when I first came to Jalna I never went to church. Then one day the boss said to me, ‘I don’t like a man working for me who never goes inside the church. So if you can’t make up your mind to go to service once a month, you can get to hell out of here.’”

  “I think that was sensible.”

  “You do, uh? Well — I was mad enough to leave that very day. But I liked the place and I liked him. So I’ve stayed ever since. I like Mr. Fennel too. He’s got a kind heart and he’s a good head — for a clergyman.”

  Freed from his unkempt coat, shining like a chestnut, his mane and tail combed, even his hooves washed, the colt stood bright-eyed as though in wonder at himself. Adeline and Wright studied him blissfully. They had in him an endless subject for happy speculation.

  When at last she turned toward the house, she realized that she was very hot and very dirty. She skirted the lawn, passed through the little wicket gate that led to the ravine and descended the steep path.

  Down there it was shady and cool. The stream, still moving with something of the vigour of spring, pushed its way among a verdant growth of honeysuckle, flags, and watercress. Near the rustic bridge there was a sandy pool in which minute minnows lived a complete and volatile life.

  Adeline undressed and stepped into the pool. It was very cold. Slowly she sank into the water, forming a silent “whew” with her lips. She had brought a cake of a much advertised soap, in great favour with Wright, that had a repulsive scent of carbolic and with this she scrubbed herself, then lay down in the pool with her head on the mossy rim and allowed the stream to carry away the soapy lather. She picked a spray of watercress and ate it. She lay so still that the minnows lost their fear of her and darted alongside her relaxed limbs.

  She heard a whistle and the sound of steps. She recognized the whistle as belonging to Maurice. She leaped beneath the bridge where her clothes already were, and crouched there smiling to herself.

  Maurice saw the hideous pink of the cake of soap. He had a stick in his hand and, leaning across the rail of the bridge, he tried to impale the soap on it. Adeline could hear him give little grunts of annoyance at his fail
ure and she could scarcely restrain her laughter. Finally the soap slid quite out of sight in a tangle of watercress. Maurice gave up the attempt and went on his way across the bridge.

  A spasm of hunger contracted Adeline’s stomach. She scrambled out of the water, sat in a patch of sunlight for three minutes to dry herself, discovered that she was cold and all out in gooseflesh, frowned at the discomfort of hunger and cold, scrambled into her clothes, ran across the bridge and up the steep path to the house for lunch.

  It was a pity, she thought, that she could not relate all the events of the morning but there was so much in her life that she could not tell.

  XII

  ROMA IN THE MOONLIGHT

  THE YOUNG MOON, no more than a week old, was very bright in the clear dark-blue sky but the branches of the pines often hid it in their blackness so that the night seemed dark. But then again the branches would weave, the moon would throw its light on the quiet night.

  Roma had brought the book for a walk. She had had it in her possession for some time but this evening she had the desire to walk out into the woods with it where no one would be near her. She had crossed the bridge and climbed up the far side of the ravine into the little wood of oaks and pines that shut the sight of the fox farm from Jalna.

  The book was Last Poems, written by her father, Eden Whiteoak. There had been three books of his poems standing together on a shelf in the library. She liked this one best because of its pretty colour, the shape of the lettering on it and the title — Last Poems. As they were the last he had written, it seemed to bring him nearer to her. She had taken it from the shelves and hidden it in her room. Now tonight she had wanted to carry it on a walk.

  She knew little of Eden. Alayne sometimes felt, now that Roma was old enough to understand, that she should tell the child something of the peculiar situation which once had existed at Jalna but — what to say, and what to leave unsaid? Surely some other member of the family would one day tell Roma what she should know, before insensate gossip reached her ears. But who was to tell her? Renny was far away. It would have been impossible to Finch. Nicholas was the one to have done it but he thought the child too young to be troubled by such thoughts as might arise from the knowledge of what had taken place. Ernest more than once had remarked to Roma that her father had been a beautiful young man and that, if he had lived, he might have done great things with his talent. When she was older she must read his poems. It had remained for Alma Patch, a girl from the village who had used to come by the day to help with the children, to enlighten Roma. Alma was married now and had a weak-minded child of two, but she still could be persuaded at times to lend a hand with the work at Jalna. She was weak and thin but she would scrub floors, wash clothes, or stand all day on a ladder picking cherries. Always she brought with her her child, who stayed close beside her all the while she worked. Once when she had taken him by train to town he had fallen out of the window onto the rails. The train had been stopped and crew and passengers had alighted in panic, expecting to find a mangled little body. But Oswald had got to his feet and was running unhurt after the train, howling for his mother. To her this escape was an everlasting pride. She was always telling the story of it and keeping it fresh in her son’s mind by frequent reference. “Ossie, Ossie,” she would reiterate, in a peculiar singsong and in the baby talk he understood, “Ossie — the chain yan down the chack — the chain yan down the chack!”