“Shall you be one of the search party, Tite?” asked Augusta.
“I shall be the leader,” said Tite. A smile played over his thin lips.
“And where shall you lead them?” asked Nicholas.
“I shall lead them astray,” answered Tite.
“What fun!” said Ernest.
“It is evil.” Belle spoke up suddenly. “May de Lawd forgive us for what we are doin’. It’s evil we’re doin’.”
“Evil, my eye!” said Ernest, jumping up and down in his excitement.
These children were used to being waited on. They stood passive while Tite carefully arranged their supplies already in the sailing boat which lightly danced on the sun-bright wavelets, as though eager to be off. Each little wave hastened to the shore, eager to find something to play with, were it only a tiny shell or a blade of grass. A throng of silvery minnows which had been spawned that morning darted with newborn assurance in a sunny pool.
Now Tite gave a deferential hand to Augusta to assist her into the boat. On her wrist she carried the dove, tethered by a ribbon tied to its leg. For the first time Belle saw the dove. She cried loudly in her distress. “Oh, Missy, don’ take dat poor li’l bird. He don’ want to go out in a boat! It will sho’ly kill him.”
“He must not be allowed to mourn for me,” said Augusta.
“Leave him with me! I promise to care for him!” Annabelle burst into tears.
“You would advertise the fact,” said Tite, “that you knew of the voyage. Don’t be a fool.” He gave a push to the boat. He said to Annabelle, “Come, make yourself useful and dry your tears.”
The two, side by side, pushed the boat. They ran out into the lake pushing with all their might. The dove sat quietly on Augusta’s wrist, staring out of its round jewel-like eyes. Ernest sat at the rudder. Nicholas controlled the sail. The boat lay lifeless except as it was pushed. Nicholas’s eyes were raised to the sail. Ernest’s hands gripped the tiller. Gussie and the dove sat motionless as though dreaming.
Presently a shudder passed through the boat. The sail gave a gentle sound as though speaking. Then all was alive. The boat began its dance on the wavelets. The sail tugged at the boy’s hand.
“They’re off! They’re off!” shouted Annabelle as though in jubilation, but soon she was in tears again, wringing her hands and wailing, “What will become of them!”
She was not the only one to regard the departure with concern. Nero now appeared, crashing through the underbrush, his eyes rolling. Bubbles from his shiny black nostrils showed how hard he breathed. He pawed his way to the boat’s side.
“He will upset us!” cried Gussie.
But Tite was close behind him. Up to his armpits Tite pursued Nero. He caught him by the collar. It seemed that Nero would choke to death as Tite dragged on his collar. Then out of the breezy sky a wind blew into the sail, swelling it, turning lazy movements into swift purposeful motion. Almost it took the children’s breath to see Tite and Nero left behind — two small figures struggling in the water — to see Belle wringing her hands far away.
“We’re off! We’re off!” shouted Nicholas.
“Goodbye to all!” sang out Augusta.
“I’m at the helm! I have my compass!” cried Ernest.
Even the dove flapped his wings and uttered noises of excitement.
The little boat was dancing on the blue-green waves that chattered and gurgled beneath her. Then there was the flapping noise of the sail that strained as though it would free itself from the mast. A flock of gulls hovered for a short while near them, screaming in greed as Augusta threw a piece of bread to them. But the children had not the lake to themselves. There in the distance was a large schooner. On it Augusta turned the spyglass that had been given her on her birthday by Mrs. Lacey. It had once belonged to Guy Lacey and next to the dove Augusta regarded it as her greatest treasure. Indeed, even more than the dove, it held the highest place in her affections. Now she held the spyglass to her eye, as the breeze blew back her long hair.
After a time the boathouse and the figures beside it were no more to be seen. The schooner was no more to be seen. The gulls were left behind. Ernest looked out on the vast expanse of the lake. “Do we go right across?” he asked a little fearfully.
“Right over to the American side,” answered Augusta.
Faster and faster moved the boat, as though straining to reach the very source of spring. The wind was favourable, the sun warm, the breeze cool. Augusta had emerged as the commander. There was new life, new authority in her. She had provisions for her crew. She knew where she was going. She was free. The two boys depended on her utterly. Nicholas felt that all the stories of adventure he had read had led to this greatest of all. Ernest was heart and soul with the joy of freedom — no more lessons — no more restraint.
“Gussie,” he said, with his eyes on the hamper, “I’m hungry.”
Nicholas laughed outright at the thought of the hamper packed with good things. “I’m starving,” he said.
Gussie lifted the clean white napkin from the pile of sandwiches and put one into each boy’s hand, gave each a mug of coffee.
“This is such fun,” said Ernest. “Why was Belle crying?”
XXIII
THE SEARCH
The morning was so fresh, so charged with Maytime vigour, so vibrating with the outpouring of a thousand songbirds, that Adeline could not help singing her favourite song. “‘I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,’” she sang in her clear, though not very tuneful soprano, “‘With vassals and serfs by my side.’”
She was dusting the contents of the cabinets of curios from India and was under the impression that she handled them with more delicacy and care than any maid could do. Yet when the dark figure of Titus Sharrow appeared in an open French window she was so startled that she dropped an exquisitely carved ivory monkey that fell with a small clatter to the floor. From appearing as a statuesque figure of dark foreboding, Tite instantly turned into one of lithe agility. He picked up the monkey and gazed at it with admiration before putting it into Adeline’s outstretched hand and giving her a profound bow. He said, in his best French style, “Your song was very beautiful, Madame. I am glad to have heard even a little of it.”
“You are a foolish boy,” she said, returning the monkey to the cabinet, but she was pleased by a compliment from this clever half-breed. There were not many to pay her compliments in this remote place.
She now gave him an enquiring glance, to which he gently replied: “I have been sent by my boss to enquire about your children.”
“My children?” She stared in astonishment.
“They have not come to us as usual for lessons this morning. My boss has recovered from his lumbago and is anxious to go on with the lessons. I too am anxious …” Tite spoke with such deliberation that Adeline was impatient.
“The young rascals,” she said, “they have loitered on the way. You will find them if you search.”
“I have searched, Madame. It is eleven o’clock. Even the dog Nero is anxious. He whines and rolls his eyes, as though he would tell something.”
“They are playing truant,” said Adeline.
She herself took the path to Wilmott’s cottage and was joined by Nero. With a businesslike air he led her along the path. She noticed that his curly black coat was damp. What a dog he was! In for a swim in the river at that hour — and he no longer young! But she enjoyed the walk and every now and again raised her voice and shouted the names of her children. “Gussie! Nick! Ernest!”
She found Wilmott sitting outside his door on a bench in the sun.
“Don’t get up.” She greeted him with gladness. “Oh, James, how splendid to see you well again! But you do look a bit peaky.” He was indeed a contrast to Adeline, whose health and vitality matched the spring morning. “These Canadian winters,” she said, “they leave one deflated.”
“The truth is,” said Wilmott, “that I am overfed. Since Annabelle’s coming my table has groaned beneath the richness of
pastry and hot bread. I tell her she’s killing me with kindness, poor soul.”
“But you do like having her here, don’t you, James?”
“I hope I’m grateful,” he said.
“But why do you call her ‘poor soul?’”
Adeline had seated herself on the bench beside him. She had lowered her voice.
He whispered back, “I am sometimes afraid that Tite is not kind to her … I have heard her crying.”
“I will have a word with him,” said Adeline. “But now he is in search of the children. They’re playing truant.”
“Who can blame them on such a day?” sighed Wilmott.
“What are you longing to escape from?” laughed Adeline.
“Myself.”
“Ah, that’s the way people feel after lumbago. You will be quite different after another day or two.” She sprang up and went to the river’s edge. She cupped her hands about her lips and shouted, “Gussie! Nicholas! Ernest! Where are you? You’re going to catch it from your father when you come home!” Returning to Wilmott she said, “He really doesn’t know they’re playing truant.”
Strong and clear as was Adeline’s voice, no shout of hers reached the ears of the three runaways. By the time afternoon came and Philip returned from the farmlands, Adeline was very angry and not a little alarmed. Philip told her not to worry. The youngsters had gone on an exploring expedition, he said. The spring had got into their blood, he said. They would be home before dark and by Jove he would warm the boys’ seats for them. Enquiry revealed that they had been given nothing in the way of a picnic by Mrs. Coveyduck. Surely something untoward had happened.
As evening fell Philip ordered Tite Sharrow to organize a search party. Tite knew every inch of the woodland along the river and much of the forest beyond. There was a full moon and the tranquil May evening was revealed in its mystery and enticement. Every tree wore its cloak of strangeness. The moonlight did not reveal the birds’ nests hidden in their boughs.
Philip went with the search party. It was strange to see the dark forms of the men, in seemingly grotesque attitudes, brought to life by the light of the lanterns they carried. Their talk was full of foreboding — of bears that had been seen in the neighbourhood — of the howl of wolves heard in the last winter. Philip’s great fear was the river that flowed down from distant hills, past Wilmott’s cottage, to lose itself in the lake. He told Wilmott of this fear but mentioned nothing of it to Adeline. She showed her mettle by joining the men of the neighbourhood in the search. They urged her to remain at home with other women for company, but she scorned to do this. “Me stay at home,” she cried, “while my three young ones are in danger! Not while I have a leg to stand on!” And use her two lithe legs to carry her about with the men, she did, and every now and again raised her voice and shouted her children’s names. Twice during the night the search party were given refreshments at one of the farms. When the moon had sunk there still were lights stirring in the darkness, voices calling.
The nights were short. At daybreak three men were gathered in the living room of Wilmott’s cottage making plans for the further search. These were Philip, Wilmott, and Tite Sharrow. Annabelle had brought them a tray heavy with ham sandwiches, freshly baked hot bread, and a huge pot of coffee. But the hot bread was burnt and the coffee such that Wilmott apologized for it. “The poor girl,” he said, “is at her wits’ end. She’s really ill from anxiety.”
“It’s you I worry about,” said Philip. “Here you are up all the night — just getting over an attack of lumbago. As for the coffee — I’ve tasted worse.”
“Not at the table of my boss,” Tite said, rising. “I will carry it straight out to Annabelle and she shall make a fresh pot for you.” He carried the coffee pot to the kitchen.
A moment later they heard Belle crying, then Tite’s low voice. Wilmott said, “The poor girl seems to feel that she is in some way to blame for the disappearance of the children.”
Philip sprang up and went to the kitchen.
“Annabelle,” he said, “it is nonsense for you to take blame to yourself for what has happened, unless — do you know anything you haven’t told?”
She sank to her knees sobbing. “Oh, Lawd forgive me! Oh, Massa Whiteoak, forgive me!”
Philip turned to Tite. “What does she mean?”
Tite gently raised the young woman to her feet. He said, “Belle is so religious, sir, that she blames herself for everything that’s happened since the world began.”
“Have you anything to tell me, Belle?” asked Philip.
Tite was supporting her in his arms. “Speak, Belle,” he said softly. “Tell this gentleman all you know.”
“Ah knows nothin’.” She spoke with passionate insistence. “Ah knows nothin’, God help me.”
Back at the table with the re-heated coffee, Philip said to Wilmott, “That’s a strange couple you have here. One wonders what their offspring may be.”
Wilmott, after a swig of scalding coffee, said, “God forbid that there should be any.”
Philip said, “As for my poor children — as soon as daylight comes, we must drag the river for them.”
“I am convinced,” said Wilmott, “that they are not drowned. We shall find them in the forest.”
They did, however, drag the river, which was in its springtime fullness. They even searched the stream which wound its way through Jalna but found no trace of the three runaways. The work of the farms was put aside in the search. All neighbours were drawn into it.
It became known that Philip Whiteoak had offered a reward of one thousand dollars for information leading to the discovery of the whereabouts of his children.
Nobody was so tireless in the search as Titus Sharrow. Into the depths of the woods he led his search party. Following the main road from the village, searchers went as far as the lake, from which a light wind was blowing, but so rough and densely wooded was the shore that they found no hope there. Wilmott’s rowing boat was tied securely to its little wharf.
One very interested spectator of these activities was Nero. With a look of the greatest sagacity he peered into every thicket, dug a tentative grave in every hollow, barked loudly at every stranger. He came carrying the strip of red flannel from Ernest’s throat and laid it at Adeline’s feet. When she saw what it was she fell to the ground in a flood of tears.
The day passed with no word of the runaways. The night came, dark and windy. Morning came, grey and windy. The police, the militia of the province were notified. At noonday it was twilight. Out of that twilight appeared Augusta’s dove. It flew, white and ghostly, to the roof just about her bedroom window and perched there cooing mournfully. Adeline was the first to see it and to her it seemed to say, “Gussie’s gone … Gussie’s gone.…”
XXIV
THE RUNAWAYS
Although the children had spent all their lives within a few miles of the lake they knew little of its moods. Twice during the summer there was a family picnic on its shore, with the added pleasure of bathing; and, when darkness came, a huge bonfire. Once, during the winter, well bundled against the cold, they were taken in a sleigh to see the great ice hummocks formed by the lashing of the waves. When a storm shocked the lake to fury the pounding of waves on the beach could be heard even at Jalna. These booming reverberations were exhilarating to the children. Sometimes the boys pretended that Jalna was a beleaguered place and that hordes of wild Indians were marching on them, with beating of tom-toms and threatening yells. But Augusta withdrew herself at these times and would hide in the summer house with her own vague imaginings. Sometimes the three would take a long walk in the woods, where the roaring of the lake became one with the soughing of the branches.
But now they were on the sunny bosom of that inland sea, heading straight south for the American shore. So favourable was the wind that any manipulation of the single sail was not needed. The little craft and its three adventurers were simply being wafted across to the beckoning States. Augusta had brought with her
a map showing the very port for which they were headed. With this spread on her knees, her head bent over it, she studied the distance they must traverse and tried to reckon how long it would take them. They would have no difficulty, she thought, in selling the boat, for it was newly painted and the sail was as white as the dove. That bird seemed happy in his new situation. Now his beloved Gussie was ever close by his side, feeding him tidbits, gently cooing to him. Tethered as he was he strutted across the bottom of the boat and drank from the tin basin set there for him. Yet, Gussie asked herself, was he really he? She could not forget the visitor who had appeared without warning and behaved obviously as a suitor.
While Augusta had her map, her notebook, for she intended to keep a log, a complete record of the journey by water and by land, Ernest carried her spyglass and his compass. Already he had a proprietary air towards the spyglass and she almost regretted that she had let him carry it. Yet he was very careful of it. He was a gentle little boy and he had been ill. Through the spyglass he looked back at the Canadian shore, so heavily wooded that it appeared as one great forest, excepting in a spot where a cluster of houses, a church spire, marked a village. Yet nothing looked familiar. The three were explorers in a new universe.
Each time when Ernest examined the view through the spyglass, he consulted the compass and, now and again, would move the tiller. He allowed neither Augusta nor Nicholas to have any part in these activities. They were his own concern and gave him prestige in that company. As always, when he was excited, he was hungry. Even before the time came for a proper meal he begged for a sandwich, then another and still another. Then they all became hungry. Augusta laid the white cloth, with which Belle had provided them, on the lid of the hamper, and there the appetizing food was spread. They could only guess the time of day, for they had no watch.
Nicholas was happy and full of confidence. The immensity of the lake was a joyful challenge to him. He thought he knew all he needed to know to circumnavigate the world, if need be. The children finished the meal with slabs of raisin cake and cold tea. They were replete and of a sudden very drowsy. Ernest indeed fell fast asleep sitting up, with one hand on the tiller. Nicholas was the next to give in. He sat gazing at the exquisite colours of the sunset, his face tinted by its radiance, till he could no longer hold his large dark eyes open. Yet he fought against sleep.
Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny Page 58