“Ah, they have their troubles, sir, the same as us.”
Out on the hard-packed snow of the road Eugene Clapperton put back his shoulders and consciously set his lungs to work expelling the dry warm air of the house and inhaling the cold purity of the outdoor air. There was now a hint of moisture in it and the large flakes that were beginning to fall had a softness like feathers and clung gently to whatever they touched. He made up his mind not to let the mishaps of the farm depress him. He had enough in his own house to do that.
Gem was not the docile young wife he had expected. She had a will of her own. She was even critical of him. God knew, he was willing to spoil her, to give in to her when it was seemly to do so. What hurt him was her aloofness, her drawing into herself, the way she and Althea stopped talking when he came into the room. He wished there were some way of getting rid of Althea but he saw no such possibility. In fact the poor girl was not fit to go out into the world. She needed the shelter of his roof and the companionship of a sister. If only she would marry! But who would want to marry her? And whom could she be induced to marry? She was so shy that she fled at the sight of a stranger. He supposed he would go on to the end of his days with her hanging round his neck like a millstone.
When he came to the little gate that led into the Fox Farm he suddenly decided that he would drop in and have a chat with Humphrey Bell. He felt sorry for that young man. He was so misguided, so wrong in leading the life he did. Disaster might come of it. He was without doubt mentally ill. Eugene Clapperton waiting for an answer to his knock reproached himself for not having come to see Bell sooner, but the young man had seemed to shrink from him and he was not one to push in where he was not wanted. He had a desire to help Bell, to be Bell’s benefactor. The day might come when Bell would seek him out to thank him for what his advice had done for him. “All I am I owe to you, Mr. Clapperton” — and his insignificant little face would glow.
There was not a footprint on the snowy path that led to the door. Obviously Bell had not put his nose out that day. Yes — he had! There were footprints leading to a feeding table for birds built in the crotch of an old apple tree. A dozen small birds rose fluttering from it at his approach. There was a card by the door announcing that the bell was out of order. It would be out of order! Eugene Clapperton could not imagine anything in order in that house. And what a small insignificant house it was — a fit abode for Bell!
He opened the door at the peremptory knock and looked ready to shut it again in his consternation. He stammered:
“Oh — how d’you do? Mister — Mister —” he could not for the life of him remember Clapperton’s name, often as he had spat it out in anger.
The friendly expression on the face of his visitor faded. He could not believe it possible for anyone to forget his name. It was done to make him look small, to make Bell feel important. But he was not going to take offence. He smiled and held out his hand.
“I thought I’d drop in and see how you are getting on,” he said. “I am Eugene Clapperton.”
Bell took his hand, looked at it, shook it, and said in his low voice, — “Oh, yes, I remember. Won’t you come in?”
He placed one of the two easy chairs for the visitor, facing the stove, and himself sat down on a stiff-backed chair against the wall.
Eugene Clapperton looked appraisingly about the room.
“You’ve made yourself quite comfortable here,” he said.
“I like it,” returned Bell defiantly.
“You must indeed — to have stood it so long. “ He saw the small carvings on the mantelshelf and his face lighted. “Ah, you’ve got a hobby. Good. I’m very pleased to see that. In fact I was going to advise it. There’s nothing better than a hobby — for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. For your state of mind. Psychiatrists prescribe it. Takes your mind off your frustrations and inhibitions. Who advised you?”
“Nobody.”
“You just thought it out for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Splendid. Now that’s a real good sign. You look better too. Your face shows that you’re not quite so mentally ill as you were.”
“I’m not mentally ill.”
“Come now. You can be frank with me. I’ve read a good deal on this subject in the newspapers and magazines. I know the strange states of mind people can get into. Do you realize that a large percentage of the population is mentally ill? Some realize it. The majority don’t and they just go on suffering and making other people suffer … I’ve one of them in my own house.”
Bell brightened.
“Yourself?” he asked.
Eugene Clapperton gave a loud laugh. “No. Not me! My sister-in-law, Althea Griffith. Have you seen her?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a dear girl and I think a great deal of her, but …” he shook his head expressing more than any words he would have dared utter. An idea had come into his head. If he could bring these two together, what might not come of it! There was something about Bell that might appeal to Althea. As for Bell he must be terribly lonely. Any personable young woman would surely attract him. If only he could bring it about … but the difficulties were baffling. Both the young people disliked meeting strangers, both were possessed of natures that made them balk at any urging. But Eugene Clapperton was exhilarated by difficulties, he even was glad of them, for there was little in these days to be overcome. His life was rather one of endurance of ills beyond his control.
In spite of himself Humphrey Bell felt curious, also anything was better than talking about himself. He said:
“Someone told me she’s very shy.”
“Shy! That’s putting it mildly. I believe she’d run away from her own shadow. That’s just her state of mind. She’s neurotic. She’s supersensitive. But all that could be cured by proper handling.”
“why don’t you set about curing her?” Bell asked, bitterly sarcastic.
“Ah, I might — but one symptom of her sickness is dislike of me. Just imagine. She avoids me whenever possible. However, I do my best to help her. I encourage her in her hobbies. One of them is painting. Now I don’t find much in her paintings to admire but you might like them. I’ve offered to pay for lessons for her from a first-rate teacher but she’ll not hear of it. I’ve offered to pay for treatment from a psychiatrist, but at the mention of it she went to her room and stayed there for two whole days. Now it seems to me that you two could do a great deal for each other — if you could just get together.”
“Control yourself,” Humphrey Bell was repeating inwardly. “Don’t let him know how you’d like to bash his head in with that poker. Don’t begin throwing things at him. Don’t look as though you minded.” With these thoughts in his head he sat on his hands like a child staring at Clapperton, his small pale face set, his pale hair standing erect as though in surprise.
“Of course, it’s the war,” said Clapperton. “Neither you nor Althea were what you now are before that. She lost her only brother. She thought the world of him. Just imagine what it would have done to your four sisters if you’d been killed. You have four sisters, haven’t you?”
“Hm …” grunted Bell.
“Then there’s yourself — I mean your experience as a prisoner of war.” He looked piercingly at Bell. “It might do you good to talk of that to me. Just to pour out what’s been bottled up in you for so long. It might be the keynote of your recovery.”
Bell sat and stared.
In an encouraging voice Clapperton continued, — “You must have seen and suffered terrible things. Now I’d like to hear of your treatment at the hands of the Germans.”
“They treated me fine,” Bell said almost in a whisper.
“And you don’t look back on that time with horror?”
“I liked it,” Bell got out.
Eugene Clapperton rose. He came and put his hand on Bell’s shoulder. “You are even more mentally sick than I had suspected. You must let me help you.”
&n
bsp; Bell rose also and the two stood facing one another.
One more question came. “Will you consult a psychiatrist?”
“No!” shouted Bell. “I’ve told you that before. I’m perfectly well. I have never been happier. All I ask is to be let alone.”
“Come, come, don’t get excited,” soothed Clapperton. “I’m only trying to get you of the rut you’re in. I’ll go now and leave you but I’ll be back again. In the meantime work away at your hobby, feed the birds, get plenty of outdoor exercise. Above all, don’t avoid people. Uproot all fear from your heart. Ninety per cent …”
Bell was gently urging him to the door. Now the door was open, the snow was blowing in. The cat drifted in. Eugene Clapperton inexorably took Bell’s hand. He pressed it till it hurt.
“Goodbye,” he said. “And don’t let yourself be discouraged. We’ll get this condition of yours under control — never fear. But — I must have your cooperation. Ninety per cent …”
Humphrey Bell closed the door. He returned to the room and threw himself on the sofa. He lay on his back with his legs straight in the air like a man doing exercise. He did not know what to do with himself to express his relief at getting rid of Eugene Clapperton, his anger at having been subjected to his presence. The cat leaped to his chest. She put her face close to his and pressed her cold lips and frosty whiskers against his cheek. Every hair on her body stood out electric with cold. When she began to purr it was not a comfortable purr but a hoarse, commanding purr right into his face.
IX
THIS WAY AND THAT
“It’s just as I feared, sir,” said Raikes. “It’s all up with the poor mare’s sight.”
“That is what the vet said, eh?”
“That’s what he said.” Raikes’ head drooped, his large sensitive mouth hung open a bit in his dejection.
“This is the limit. One sickening thing after another. The young pigs — the cow — the car — and this! Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it. I certainly won’t ride her again.”
“It wouldn’t be safe for you, sir.”
Mingled with his exasperation Clapperton felt relief from the obligation of riding. He could get all the exercise he needed on Shanks’s mare. Yet he was regretful that he would no longer cut a fine figure on the handsome bay. The thought of buying another did not occur to him. He wondered if it were possible that Renny Whiteoak had known of the threat to the mare’s sight — but no, three years had passed since the purchase.
“I have a friend, sir,” Raikes was saying, “who has a small fruit farm. He’s been wanting a horse for light work. He’d give the mare a good home and the best of care but he’d not be able to pay a high price, sir.”
“How much?”
“Not more than fifty dollars, sir.”
“Fifty dollars! Good heavens — I paid five hundred and fifty for her!”
“Ah, but she’s not what she was. She’d get a good home with my friend, sir.”
Eugene Clapperton considered. The price offered was an outrage yet what better could he do? He would like to be rid of the beast — never see her again — and he had been so proud of her! Raikes’ contemplative gaze was on him. He gnawed his lip, not able to make up his mind.
“She’d be no use to you the way she’s got this trouble with her eyes, sir, and my friend would give her a good home. He’d make a pet of her.”
Eugene Clapperton heaved a sigh. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll do it.”
“I’m sorry this has happened to the mare, sir,” said Raikes. “I hope you don’t think I’m to blame at all.”
“No, no, no, you’re not to blame.”
“I do the best I can, sir.”
“I know you do.” He spoke with something approaching heartiness. He never had had a man he liked so well as Raikes. Raikes was the only one in a succession of men who showed sympathy in one’s bad luck, the only one who was really human.
That same afternoon Raikes drove the D.P. to the railway station.
She sat beside him impassive in the car, clutching a large handbag and a bundle. Her cheekbones were so high that, when he glanced sideways at her, he saw only the tip of her nose. Her mouth expressed strong purpose mingled with distaste. A wisp of black hair blew across her face. Raikes drove in such a way that the discomfort of every rut on the road was felt in a bounce. He said:
“So you didn’t like the work here?”
“Can’t do,” she snapped. “I go. Please.”
“where might you be goin’ to?”
“You shut up. Please.”
“By jingo, your English is coming on! who did you get that one off of?”
She gave him a black look. After a silence he said:
“You’re the first woman I’m not able to get on with.”
“You shut up. I go.”
Raikes showed his white teeth at her. “Aren’t you goin’ to kiss me goodbye, Tania?”
“Can’t do.”
“why don’t you like me? Sure I’m not so bad, am I?” She sat inflexible. An especially rough bounce made her set her jaw and give him a thunderous look. They were now at the little railway station. Suddenly dignified, Raikes lifted out her trunk, her suitcase, and set them on the platform. If he expected a smile of thanks he did not get it. Looking straight ahead of her she said:
“I know. Can’t do. I go. Please. Shut up.”
Raikes grinned cheerfully. “Givin’ me the whole works, for a goodbye treat, aren’t you? Fine. Bye-bye, Tania.”
He left her standing on the platform, a stocky black figure against the whiteness of the snow. The scream of a locomotive sounded in the grey distance. She turned toward the oncoming train.
Raikes drove home pensively, carefully. He liked the Cadillac and only wished the boss would let him have full use of it. He flicked a bit of fluff from the seat the D.P. had occupied. Well, that was the last of her and he was not sorry. Her watchful eyes had seemed to be always on him. Now he would breathe freer, act freer. He put the car into the garage, stamped the snow from his boots, and went into the kitchen.
He could hear Gem Clapperton’s sweet voice singing. She was in the pantry where there was a sink. He could hear the slosh of water as she washed the tea-things. He went to the door and looked in at her with his deferential comforting smile. She stopped singing.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but won’t you let me do that for you? It’s a shame to see you with your hands in the dishwater.”
“I like it,” she answered. “It’s a treat to me to do housework. You know, I was an invalid — I was crippled all my girlhood. Even now I can’t stand for very long at a time.”
“You’re tired now, I’m sure. Please let me fetch a chair for you.” He brought a chair and she sat down, laughing to find the dishpan now too high for her. “How ridiculous!” she said and stood up again.
“Please let me,” begged Raikes. With sudden male overbearingness he took the dishmop from her hand and her place by the sink.
“Then I shall dry,” she said quietly. She polished the china teapot, her eyes on his muscular hands wet with suds.
“There’s so little work for me now,” he said, “except for shovelling the paths and feeding the stock. I can do all the dishwashing and cleaning and peel the potatoes. Ah, we’ll get along fine!”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, Tom. Of course, my sister will help but it’s my husband who has always been used to having maids. He can’t understand how lonely it is for them in the country.”
“Ah, it’s hard to get maids to settle down in the country. But meself, I’m country bred and I’ve no use for the town except for the races.”
She widened her eyes at this new light on him. “So you like horseracing! I’ve never been to a race.”
Raikes regarded her with pity. “Never been to a race, ma’am? Well, I never. You’re just the one I should think would like racing.”
“why, Tom?”
“Ah, I can’t just tell. But I
’d think you’d like the excitement of it.” He put into her hand half a dozen silver spoons.
“How clever of you! I love excitement — anything new and strange. I was brought up in Wales, you know, and it was very remote where we lived.”
“Ah, Wales is a lovely country,” he said, wringing the dish mop and hanging it up.
Her face glowed. “It’s the most beautiful country in the world. It’s my dream to go back there. But first I want to travel.”
“Sure. Mr. Clapperton will take you travelling, now that it’s more comfortable getting about.”
Her face closed in. She hung up the towel and asked, — “Have you ever been to Wales?”
“Yes, indeed. I’ve crossed over from Ireland on a cattle boat to look after the beasts.”
“You’ve done so many things,” she said, as though enviously.
“I’ve done a good few.”
“And what did you enjoy most?”
“Working about horses, ma’am.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t go to Jalna to work. They are such people for horses there.”
“I don’t think I’d get on with Wright, ma’am, or with Colonel Whiteoak either. I like being where I am.”
“I’m glad of that, because my husband and I are very well satisfied with you.”
“Sure, I do the best I can.”
How uncommunicative he was! She wished she might know all his past, be aware of his thoughts as he stood gently smiling at her. She said abruptly;
“It’s odd you haven’t married, Raikes.”
“Ah, I never was much of a one for the girls.”
“But they must have been after you,” she laughed.
Imperturbably he replied, — “Well, look at Tania. She couldn’t bear the sight of me.”
“Tania hated everyone.”
“It was the loneliness of the country that upset her, ma’am. She’ll be better in the town.”
It was obvious he did not want to talk about himself. She gave him a speculative look. “You’re very dark for an Irishman,” she said.
“I expect it’s the Spanish in me, ma’am, from those fellows shipwrecked off the Armada, or so they say.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 448