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

  “Well,” said Renny, genially, “how goes the writing?”

  He was the only person to whom Bell had spoken of his hopes and that under a promise of secrecy. Renny was flattered by Bell’s confidence. He looked gravely judicial when Bell would read one of his stories aloud to him. Though they weren’t the sort of stories he himself liked, being concerned with odd and even macabre experiences of the mind, he thought they were good. Secretly he hoped Bell would outgrow the desire to write such peculiar stuff and turn to something showing more of the virtues of a man.

  “How goes the work?” he asked, when they were settled.

  “If you can call it work,” said Bell, his small face set in a comic sneer.

  “Damned hard work, I should say,” persisted Renny. “I’d hate to tackle it.”

  Bell sprang up and went to the mantelshelf. “This is all I’ve done today,” he said. He put into Renny’s hand a peculiarly-shaped knot of wood from a branch of cedar that he had carved into the likeness of a chipmunk, so alert in its posture, so bold and yet timorous, that Renny laughed and curved his hand about it in pleasure.

  “It’s good,” he said. “It’s capital. Now there is talent!”

  Bell made a little grimace at the unintentional implication. “I like my menagerie,” he said. On the mantelshelf there were a dozen carvings of other small animals, contrived from oddly shaped pieces of wood.

  “why don’t you try your hand at a human head?” Renny asked.

  “I’d like to do yours — if I were able.” He gave an admiring glance at the hard-looking head set with such spirit on the lean shoulders.

  “what about old Clapperton!” laughed Renny. “I wish you’d find a particularly ugly knob of wood and make a suitably sinister head of him. God, how I dislike that old fellow!”

  “what is his latest?”

  “Oh, he’s begun whining again about his ideals and his dreams. Asinine old crooner!”

  “And what do his dreams portend?”

  “Another go at his model village. I’ve told you how his wife persuaded him to give up the idea. Now he is playing with it again and in deadly earnest, I’m afraid.”

  “Have you been to his house?”

  “I just came from there.”

  “I have the impression that his wife and her sister keep him very much in his place.”

  “They do. But he’s getting tired of it. He had his own way for too many years. He’s becoming restive.”

  “when I meet him,” said Bell slowly, “I feel like running the other way. He strikes a false note here. He doesn’t belong.” A mischievous smile hovered across Bell’s face. “Let’s get rid of him.”

  “I wish we could,” Renny returned sombrely.

  “He never meets me,” Bell stroked his towhead, “without rubbing me the wrong way,” and he stroked more firmly, as though to rub himself the right way. “He advised me, the other day, to see a psychiatrist. I’m in a despondent state, he says, brought on by the war. I almost told him that I’m despondent only when I’m with him.”

  “I’ll get him out of here yet,” said Renny, but his words brought no conviction to himself or to Bell. Eugene Clapperton was too firmly entrenched.

  Through the window they now saw Adeline coming toward the house. She wore a white pullover and a pale grey skirt. Large flakes of snow were falling and some had come to rest on her head forming, as it were, a wreath of white flowers. It was as though one of the young silver birches had refused longer to be earth-bound and, its roots being released, was moving lightly through the snowy wood. They saw her in the pale twilight place her feet in her father’s footprints, in an almost symbolic following of him.

  “She’s been following me,” Renny said, with a pleased paternal look.

  Bell jumped up. He said, — “I must open the door.”

  “Let her wait. She won’t mind.” They could see her, leaning against an oak, her arms folded, prepared to wait.

  Bell moved nervously about the room. “It’s so untidy,” he muttered. He had always hoped she would come, and now that she was here he felt unprepared. Renny settled it for him. He leant forward and tapped on the window. Adeline looked over her shoulder smiling, then, with a swift gesture, she touched first her breast and then the trunk of the tree, to indicate that she was satisfied to wait where she was. But Renny rapped on the pane again and beckoned. He strode into the little hall to open the door.

  Bell looked wildly about the room, wishing that he might transform it into something that would surprise and delight her. But the room remained shabby and small. “Like me,” he thought.

  Father and daughter entered together, the resemblance between them so strong that an observer would not have pictured any other man who could have begot her, yet she was delicate of flesh and appealing of outline, where he was weather-beaten and sculptured with a fierce flourish.

  Bell had turned on the unshaded electric light. Beneath it his head gleamed silvery, even his eyelashes, but his eyes were blue and inviting.

  “Come in, come in,” he said, and tried to sound as though he weren’t afraid of her coming.

  They shook hands, then Adeline’s eye was caught by the carved chipmunk still cradled in Renny’s hand. If Bell wished to delight her he had done it.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed and, when Renny had put it into her hands, she held it at a distance to drink in its charm, then, holding it close, she bent her head to kiss it. “I’ve never seen anything so sweet,” she murmured.

  “Look,” said Renny, “he has made others.” He indicated the collection of small beasts and birds on the mantelshelf.

  “Darlings!” cried Adeline, to first one and then another. “But I like the chipmunk best.”

  “Better than the squirrel?” asked Bell.

  “Much better. Squirrels have hard cold faces, cold greedy eyes, but the little chipmunk has eyes like a fawn.”

  “Keep it, if you like it,” said Bell.

  “Really?”

  She was genuinely delighted and lingered behind Renny a moment in the room to thank him again. Bell watched them disappear into the wood that was now almost dark. He went back to the living room and rested his forehead against the mantelshelf.… “You fool,” he said to himself — “you blasted thundering fool.”

  He went to where a small looking glass hung and stared at his reflection. “I won’t let her do this to me,” he said, scowling at the young man’s face that stared back at him. “I won’t give in. It’s not as though I had anything to offer her. Good God! A carved chipmunk! And she cares more for it than she does for me … She doesn’t even know she is doing anything to me.” He pressed his hand to his forehead, as though to press back the confusion of his thoughts. He went to the window and saw that all through the wood there was a new consciousness of the moon. Now the smallest twigs showed themselves conscious of her presence, casting their minute shadows on the crusty surface of the snow. His own cat came out of the wood and looked up at the window, the moonlight shining greenly in her eyes. She mewed silently, her tail limp from cold.

  Bell went to the door and let her in. He thought, — “This is what I’m headed for … an old bachelor, living alone with his cat! Probably Adeline thinks of me as just that … A white-haired old fellow living alone with his cat … Doing a little carving — trying to write. God, I hope her father hasn’t told her I’m trying to write.… I needn’t worry. They’ll never talk of me …” He picked up the cat and held her against his breast. She smelt of frosty fur. “Poor pussy — poor pussy!” Her whole sinuous frame shook with the energy of her thankful purring.

  “I’ll warm your milk tonight,” he assured her, and smiled at the picture of himself warming milk for his cat, in a little saucepan, in his little kitchen.

  But, lying on the sofa, with the cat purring on his chest, he felt a great unharnessed power within himself. It surged up to write a poem to Adeline, to write a play about her or sculpture in marble her lovely head. Or was the power nothing but a w
ild desire to have her alone with him in this small house — to offer his love to her as the dark wood offered itself to the moon?

  V

  THE EVENING

  The two figures crossed the ravine, the man and the young girl, breaking the crust of the snow, sinking to their calves in the soft snow beneath. They went through the ravine, stopping on the bridge that spanned only snow, the stream’s way traced by bending bushes and the dry stalks of cattails. Renny said:

  “I remember when I first carried you down here as a baby and you were so excited to see the running water that you almost jumped out of my arms.”

  “what fun! I wish I could remember it. Isn’t it strange how this little stream and the bridge across it are so much a part of our lives?”

  “I’m glad you feel that way about it.”

  “Oh, yes. I can’t imagine the time when you and I will not stand on this bridge together.”

  “Yet some day that time will come.” He gave a little laugh, at the same time holding her hand tightly in his, as though to deny the possibility of such a parting.

  “Never!” she said emphatically. “I’ll not let it.”

  She raised her face to his, the flesh both rosy and cold. He smiled down at her. “You have great faith in yourself.”

  “Daddy, don’t you believe that, if you wish things strongly enough, you can make them happen?”

  “We’ll try it,” he said. “We’ll make a pact. We’ll wish that spring will come and the stream will run again and that Mr. Clapperton will fall in it with all his winter clothes on.”

  “I was being serious,” she said.

  “So am I.”

  “All right then. Let’s hope he drowns.”

  They laughed together at the thought of Eugene Clapperton floundering in the stream which, at its highest, was never more than two feet deep. They saw coming toward them through the ravine the figure of a man, tall, a little bent, with a gentle, hang-dog expression and an ingratiating smile.

  “who is the fellow?” asked Renny.

  “He’s Mr. Clapperton’s new man — Tom Raikes. He’s a nice man.”

  He came closer now and they saw that he carried a gun. He carried it with an air that seemed to say nothing on earth would induce him to fire it.

  Renny said, — “You know I don’t allow any shooting about here.”

  Raikes answered, in a soft Irish voice, — “I do know that, sir. I was only after the rabbits on Mr. Clapperton’s place. I had no luck at all.”

  “what are you doing here?” Renny asked abruptly.

  “Just taking a stroll. I hope you don’t mind.” He looked at Adeline and smiled shyly. “Miss Whiteoak and I had a little talk one day, and she kindly gave me some advice about pigs.”

  “Pigs!” Renny stared in astonishment.

  “I know quite a lot about them,” said Adeline stoutly.

  “Yes, indeed,” continued Raikes. “Mr. Clapperton, he thought that perhaps I didn’t understand rearing the young ones in this country, but surely it would be the same here as in Ireland.”

  “How long have you been out?”

  “Six years.”

  “Farming?”

  “Well, no, sir. Not till I came to Mr. Clapperton’s. I’ve worked at a good many jobs. But I farmed for years in Ireland.”

  “what’s the matter with the pigs?”

  “It’s the young ones, sir. They all died.”

  Renny clicked his tongue. “Too bad. Perhaps you’ll have better luck next time. And, if you want advice, go to my brother. He’s lucky with pigs.” He was turning away when the man spoke again.

  “Mr. Clapperton,” he said, “has bought the land on the other side of Jalna.”

  Renny wheeled. “The Blacks’s little farm?”

  “That’s it. About sixteen acres. He’s going to build something there. I don’t know what.”

  “I hope it is not going to be more bungalows,” said Adeline.

  “I think not, miss. I think it’s just as a speculation.”

  Renny’s brows drew together in a frown. He was silent a moment, then he asked, — “where do you live?”

  “In Mr. Clapperton’s house, sir. I’m unmarried. Good evening.” With a bow he moved away through the ravine, the gun drooping in his hand.

  “Isn’t he polite! And they say he’s a good worker,” Adeline exclaimed as they mounted the steep path toward the house.

  “Yes. I wish I might have got hold of him first. Good men are scarce.”

  “Perhaps he’ll get tired working for Mr. Clapperton. I can’t imagine any man wanting to stay with him. Their D.P. cook is going to leave because she found a white mouse in her bedroom. Althea simply can’t keep her pets under control, and Mrs. Clapperton is always on her side.”

  In the house Renny found Alayne in her bedroom. She was sitting by her dressing table tidying the contents of a small drawer. The light from under a pale green lampshade fell over her, the cool profile, the silvery hair. She had the beauty of a cameo, he thought. She was past fifty but he could not get used to that silver head. He wanted it still to be gold. She turned and smiled at him, yet asked a little anxiously:

  “How did the interview go? I hope you were able to keep your temper.”

  He grinned. “No. I just told him that, for very little, I’d shake him by the weasand.”

  “Renny!” she cried aghast. “How could you use such language to him! why, you’ve probably made an enemy of him for life and everything has been comparatively peaceful between you since his marriage.”

  Renny smiled tranquilly. “He doesn’t know where his weasand is, I’m sure of that.”

  “Nevertheless,” Alayne spoke with what Renny called her schoolmistress air, “he will not relish the thought of being taken by it.”

  “His latest is the purchase of the Blacks’ place.”

  “Oh, well … that can’t interfere with us — no matter if he does build bungalows on it. There are the fields and woods between.”

  “Everything matters that spoils the surrounding country. It’s the same everywhere. Corporations and speculators hate beauty. What they really enjoy is to cut down magnificent old trees to widen roads so that there can be more motor traffic — I’d blast every car from the face of the earth if I had my way.”

  She was astonished. “Yet you are very pleased with your new car.”

  “I know. But, if they were all blasted off the earth, I’d not need one.”

  She laid down the bright-coloured scarf that she was folding. It was always a pleasure, he thought, to watch Alayne handle things — surely few women had such pretty wrists.

  “I dropped in at Bell’s on the way home,” he said, “and Adeline followed me there. Bell admires her greatly, you can see that. Poor devil — I believe he’s in love with her.”

  Alayne said coolly, — “He’s a very foolish man if he imagines that Adeline is interested in him. She’s not interested in any man but you.”

  Renny tried not to look too pleased. “Do you think so? Well, she is fond of me. She’s a good child. You must acknowledge, Alayne, that she gives no trouble at all, considering that she’s the very spit of Gran. Why, when Gran was her age she had half a dozen fellows after her. Her mother was almost distraught. Gran told me so.”

  “Your grandmother did not adore her father, as Adeline does you. I have a feeling that, when she does fall in love, it won’t be an adolescent affair. I only hope it won’t be the wrong sort of man.” She had finished tidying the drawer and now decisively shut it while adding, — “But I expect he will.”

  Renny laughed. “You are pessimistic, aren’t you?”

  “Well, things usually turn out that way with girls.”

  “You mean they turned out that way with you?”

  A small secret smile was her only response.

  He said, — “I’ll wager your parents would have looked on me as the wrong sort of man.”

  “Auntie didn’t.”

  “No — bless her he
art!” Tender recollection softened his features, but they hardened as he added, — “In spite of all she’d heard against me.”

  How could he refer to that terrible time when she had left him, as she thought, forever, to live with that elderly aunt in her house outside New York? She turned to face him, her eyes bright with anger.

  “Renny, how can you?”

  “Well, it’s all in the past.”

  “Then don’t let us have painful resurrections.”

  “what I said was that your aunt liked me, in spite of all she’d heard against me.”

  Alayne gave an ironic smile. “All you had to do was to expend a little of your fatal charm on her.”

  “Charm is the last quality I thought I had.”

  “Oh, you’ve masses of it where women are concerned.” She paced up and down the room trying to calm herself.

  “There’s one thing certain. Since that time you have nothing to accuse me of.”

  “Do you expect me to compliment you on not having affairs with women?”

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, irascibly. “How did we get to this point?”

  “We got to it through no will of mine.”

  He took her hand. “Alayne,” he said, trying to make her look at him, but she drew sharply away.

  “You’re determined to be angry,” he accused her.

  “Please leave me for a while.”

  “Very well.” He spoke with baffled resignation. “Though I don’t know what this is about.” He went to the door and stood there with his hand on the knob, hesitating, thinking that, if he left her now, their next meeting would be embarrassing. She pretended that his physical presence was no longer in the room. She took the pins from her hair and let its silken silver mass fall about her shoulders.

  “Do you still want me to go?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She began to unbutton her blouse to get herself ready for the evening meal.

  He left, closing the door quietly behind him, and crossed the passage into his own room now palely lit by moonlight. He stood by the window looking out at the shapes, so familiar to him, even in the mysterious distortion of this light. “Fifteen years ago,” he thought, “and still she can get so upset over it.” He began to whistle, — “A hundred pipers and a’.” He had left the door of his room open behind him and the clear clean insistence of his whistling came to Alayne’s ears. This tune was singularly irritating to her. It seemed to meet itself at the finish and begin all over again, in endless possibilities of repetition. Subconsciously it was comforting to him. He drew a good breath and the whistle came more loudly. It was as though the hundred pipers, with swinging kilts, advanced through the ravine.