Books 9-12: Finch's Fortune / The Master of Jalna / Whiteoak Harvest / Wakefield's Course

by Mazo de La Roche

  Adeline was serenely happy. In her almost four years she had never felt quite so good and so happy as this. She tried to express this in her very walk, in the way she clutched her father’s fingers. Every time he looked down at her or pointed things out to her she smiled up at him in utter goodness. She would not ask to pick the tiny wild orchids that showed in the grass. Alayne had not known that she was to walk and had put on her thin patent leather shoes. The path became wet and Renny was forced to heave her up on his one efficient arm. It was more effort than he could have imagined and he was glad when they reached the road to the church. The last bell was ringing.

  He felt proud of his daughter as he led her along the aisle. He saw people looking at her, surprised and pleased. Meg stared out from the Vaughan pew, round-eyed with amazement. Renny put Adeline in the Whiteoak pew beside Piers, Pheasant, and their boys. Piers gave Renny an amused look. Pheasant and the boys were in a flutter. It took them a moment to decide on the best place for Adeline to sit. Miss Pink began to play the organ.

  A live bee was clinging to the rector’s surplice as he was about to put it on. He carried it, resting with spread wings on the snowy surplice, to an open window and flicked it with his finger out into the sunshine. He found Renny with compressed lips, struggling to get into his surplice. Ever since the building of the church a Whiteoak had acted as lay reader.

  “Why, my dear fellow, what has happened? Your arm — nothing serious, I hope.” But though his tone expressed solicitude he felt no real concern. He could scarcely have recalled the various occasions when his lay readers had appeared before him, in slings, in bandages, or limping. They spent their days among horses. They were headlong. They were always getting hurt. And they were a tough-fibred lot. He had seen old Mrs. Whiteoak, rather than miss the christening of one of her grandchildren (Piers, he thought it was), carried to the family pew by a sweating coachman and groom, when a fall from a horse had done something to her kneecap. She had never ridden again. She must have been nearly eighty-three.

  “Collarbone,” returned Renny laconically, “broken.”

  “Tch — is it very painful?”

  “Only when I aggravate it.”

  Mr. Fennell noticed then that his usually high-coloured face was pale, that his eyes had not their customary brightness. “I’m afraid you had a bad night with it.”

  “Rather. It’s time we went in.”

  One arm only projected from his surplice. His other side looked oddly bulky. Against the dark wood of the chancel his sculptured head stood out incisively. In the hymn, “The strife is o’er,” his voice dominated the rather feeble choir of four men and seven women who, always defeated in their contests with the vigorous Whiteoak voices, felt themselves defeated before they had opened their mouths.

  In the general confession Renny looked from the shelter of his hand at Adeline. She was being good. He felt his heart strengthen in pride. She was a fine child and the spit of old Gran. He had begot her. Alayne had borne her. Together they had produced that rosy flower of a child. Then the thought of all that had transpired the night before came to taunt his spirit. It was characteristic of him that he scarcely gave a thought to Clara. His mind was concentrated on Alayne’s alienation from him. His mind dwelt on it darkly. There was projected into it a scene of passion in which he would forcibly overcome her antagonism, but he thrust this from him. His lips mechanically repeated the words of the confession. “We have erred and strayed from Thy ways like lost sheep…. We have left undone those things which we ought to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done….” Alayne’s face was blurred. In its place came a picture of Wakefield in a monk’s robe, with shaven crown. Wake, whose engagement to Pauline had seemed so promising of happiness — Wake, his boy! He remembered his delicacy — the nights he had sat up with him, the fear that he would not rear him. The fear that he would be a poet like Eden. Then his pride in the boy’s growing strength, in his eagerness to work, to make a place for himself. It had been a sting to his pride to see Wake’s name over a filling station but — now how desirable that seemed when Wake wanted to give up his name and become Brother Something or Other! Well — he would see the priest and do everything in his power to prevent it! He felt a sudden hot anger at the boy. The young shuffler — to jilt Pauline for a whim! He had always been full of whims — a spoilt boy. What was it Gran had said? “The ingratitude of the spoilt child is sharper than the stallion’s tooth.” He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he remained kneeling after the others had risen, his face shaded by his hand. He realized what had happened and stood up imperturbably. His vigorous voice was heard — “Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.” Adeline dropped her penny and it rolled beneath the seat.

  When the time of the First Lesson came, Renny mounted the steps behind the brass eagle. Meg watched him with sisterly pride. She thought — “How nice and white his surplice looks! Of course, they were all laundered at Eastertide. It makes such a difference. And the Easter flowers are lovely. I do like things bright and cheerful about a church because it’s naturally rather a depressing place. What was he reading?”

  “Speak, ye that ride on white asses, ye that sit in judgment and walk by the way…. Awake, awake, Deborah: awake, awake, utter a song: arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive, thou son of Abinoam.”

  She thought — “I always did like this Lesson, though how people went through the things they did then, I can’t imagine … strange how Alayne let him come to church alone, when it is a wife’s duty to encourage her husband in any religion he may have…. To think that Maurice would come with those old tight trousers on! His legs look ridiculous.”

  Maurice thought — “He looks seedy this morning. I suppose it’s his arm. But he wouldn’t stay away — no, not if he’d cracked both collarbones! Churchgoing is more and more of a bore to me. I wish Meggie cared no more for church than Alayne does. I’d be satisfied to stay at home with the Sunday papers. Darling little Patience — drinking in every word! Wonder what she makes of it.”

  “They fought from heaven; the stars in their courses, fought against Sisera. The river of Kishon swept them away, that ancient river, the river Kishon. O my soul, thou hast trodden down strength.”

  Maurice thought — “Why is Meggie staring at my trousers? Oh yes, they’re the tight ones! But I must have another turn out of them.” He tried to make his legs look smaller.

  Patience thought — “I like to watch Uncle Renny’s face when he’s talking. He does nice things with it that make me want to hug him. I don’t care a bit what he’s reading. I just like watching his face. I wonder what it feels like to have a broken collarbone. Very disagreeable, I expect. I hope I don’t fall off my pony and get anything broken. What lots and lots of flowers there are! What funny ears that old gentleman in front has! I think they might have put Adeline in the pew with me. Why is Mummie looking at Daddy’s trousers?” She too peered at them.

  The voice, in a level tone, proceeded — “Then were the horse hoofs broken by the means of the prancings, the prancings of their mighty ones.”

  Piers thought — “I don’t see how that could be. I’ve seen a good many horses plunge about in my time but I’ve never known them break their hoofs doing it. I wish Pheasant would stop fussing over the children. It only makes them fidget more. I guess the best thing to do is to put Adeline at the end of the pew. Lord, I hope she goes to sleep during the sermon!” He moved Adeline to the place next the aisle. She was delighted and gave him a look of beaming gratitude before she began to loll over the end of the pew and try to see what was going on along the aisle.

  “Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be, blessed shall she be above women in the tent. He asked water, and she gave him milk; she brought forth butter in a lordly dish. She put her hand to the nail, and her right hand to the workmen’s hammer; and with the hammer she smote Sisera, she smote off his head, when she had pierced and stricken through his t
emples.”

  Pheasant thought — “Those were the days! If a woman didn’t like the way a man behaved she hit him on the head with a hammer. They talk a lot about the new freedom of women, but I don’t see it…. Renny is almost handsome this morning. It suits him to look pale and tired. He has such good bones in his face. Adeline is surprised to see him up there in a surplice but she’s awfully good. I rather wish I had a little girl. Perhaps the next…. No, no, I don’t want to go through that again! Please, God, don’t let there be a next! Not that I don’t love all my little children — but I did mind having them — especially young Philip who was so robust…. Mooey has a funny expression. I wonder what he’s thinking.”

  Mooey was thinking — “That was a hard tumble the grey pony gave me yesterday. I feel more and more sore, the longer I sit. I’m afraid of the grey pony and he knows it; Daddy says that’s why he acts so skittish with me. Next time I ride him, I’ll set my teeth and show him I’m not afraid. But it would only be pretending. He’d know. I wish I didn’t have to ride at the Show….” The voice of his uncle was borne into his consciousness.

  “At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down; at her feet he bowed, he fell; where he bowed, there he fell down dead.”

  Mooey thought — “Funny how just bowing down killed him dead. If he’d had the fall I did he’d have had something to die for…. I do like Uncle Renny. Those were delicious candies he gave me…. I wonder if his shoulder hurts as badly as my sore spot.”

  Adeline, lolling on the end of the pew thought — “What a big big house! God’s house. This is His party. We must be good. I am good. I am as good as — oh, I see Daddy’s legs under his white dress! Daddy, Daddy, Mummie, Mummie, I can say prayers as well as anybody — Gentle Jesus — I know more words every day. I look like dear old Gran. Soon I’ll be four. I know all the words Daddy reads. Uncle Piers holds me too tight.”

  Daddy was reading — “So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord: but let them that love him be as the sun when he goeth forth in his might. And the land had rest forty years.” He paused, then — “Here endeth the First Lesson.”

  Adeline yawned, showing without reserve the charming interior of her mouth. She too had had a poor night. Piers took her on his knee and she rested her head against his shoulder.

  She was good all through the service, even when he left her and joined Maurice in taking up the offertory. But she was a little troubled till Mooey whispered to her — “Have your penny ready.” She held it tightly while she watched the progress of her uncles up and down the aisles. At last Piers held the alms dish in front of her. She was amazed by all the silver and copper she saw on it. She placed her penny in the middle and would have taken a piece of silver in return had not Piers passed on with the dish.

  He and Maurice stood shoulder to shoulder at the chancel steps while Mr. Fennell advanced to meet them and Miss Pink sounded triumphant notes on the organ. As churchwarden, Renny cast a speculative glance at the offertory.

  The service seemed long that morning. The air coming in at the windows was so inviting, so filled with the promise of fine days to come that Whiteoak flesh and blood longed passionately to be out in it. Those living ones gathered about the green plot for an exchange of greetings as they always did while the rest of the congregation was departing. The Easter flowers on the graves were still comparatively fresh. It was Meg who had laid them there and, while no grave was flowerless, the offerings were ranged in importance from the wreaths on her grandparents’, parents’, and Eden’s graves to the few daffodils that marked the graves of her stepmother and infant half-brothers and -sisters.

  Renny was the last to join the group. She turned to him with an affectionate — “Well, dear, I’m glad to see that you are able to be out this morning. But you look quite pale for you. How sweet Adeline was!”

  “Next Sunday,” said Piers, “you may have her in your pew.”

  “Oh, Piers,” exclaimed Pheasant, “she was no trouble at all! We liked having her, didn’t we, Nook?”

  Nook smiled doubtfully. He was rather afraid of Adeline. The children began to run about the low iron fence that enclosed the plot, enjoying the new springiness of the grass, the escape from restraint.

  Renny looked from Meg’s face to Maurice’s, from him to Piers and then to Pheasant. There was a frown on his brow that drew them visibly closer together. They looked enquiringly at him. He said:

  “Well, I’ve a pretty piece of news for you. I haven’t heard anything in many a long day that has made me as sick as this.”

  Maurice took off his hat and passed his hand over his greying hair. Meg’s mouth became an “O” of apprehension, Piers stared and blew out his cheeks and Pheasant exclaimed:

  “I’m not surprised! I have felt something hanging over us. I walked under a ladder at the stables yesterday. The last three times I’ve been to the pictures I’ve had seat number thirteen. Last night I dreamed of wild animals and at breakfast Piers upset the salt.”

  Meg said disapprovingly — “I think those are queer sayings for a Christian just come out of church.”

  Renny glared at them. “Have you finished? Now, what I want to tell you is this — Wakefield says he is going into a monastery — going to be a monk — going to throw Pauline over and be a monk! What do you think of that?”

  The news was so different from anything she had expected that Meg scarcely knew how to take it. If it had been fresh money losses she would have groaned. If it had been bad news of absent loved ones she would have wept. But for this she was quite unprepared. She closed her eyes and said — “I think I’m going to faint.”

  Maurice, with conjugal skepticism, said — “I don’t think you are — just keep calm.”

  But Renny clasped her in his sound arm and said excitedly:

  “Run to the pump quick, Piers, and fetch water; she is fainting! She’ll be unconscious in a moment.”

  Piers ran, leaping across the graves toward the old pump in the rear of the church. The children, not knowing what was wrong, ran joyously after him. Pheasant began to fan Meg with her prayer book. They supported her on the iron railing till Piers returned with the water in a tin mug. She kept her eyes closed till he approached her, then, fearing he might dash it in her face, she opened them and sat upright.

  “Just give me a drink of the water,” she said. “It will revive me.”

  The children gathered about, staring into her face.

  “I knew she’d take it hard,” observed Renny.

  Piers said — “There’s no use in our getting upset, we’ll simply not allow it. He’s not of age. He can’t do it.”

  “Do you think he is in earnest?” asked Maurice.

  “Absolutely. He’s been wrestling with the idea for a month, he says. Had it out with his soul, he says.”

  They turned the words over in their minds. Meg took a draught of water from the rusted mug. Piers gave it to Mooey to return to the pump and the other children trailed after him.

  “This comes,” said Piers, “of allowing his engagement to Pauline. I always thought it was a mistake. I never thought that he really knew his mind. Now this is just something new that attracts him. But he must be stopped before it’s too late.”

  Meg exclaimed — “I will go to him — on my bended knees! I will tell him what it will mean to the family if he deserts us. Oh, to think of it! To think he’d not confide in me! I’ve been a mother to him. I wore myself out nursing him — a puny little baby, with such eyes and such a mass of dark hair! Do you suppose they’ll shave his head? I couldn’t bear that! I’ll go to him at once!”

  Maurice put it — “You can’t, Meggie. Remember the P.G.s’ Sunday dinner. You like to oversee that.”

  Meg rose. “Yes. I must be home for that. But, this afternoon — we will come to tea. My child shall implore him not to do anything so dreadful.” She looked almost serene as she saw this scene in mind’s eye, saw the deferential faces of her men folk.

  Piers said — “Among us we’ll p
ut a stop to it. He’s a queer kid. And look at Finch. He’s certainly got a queer streak in him.”

  They remembered Finch’s queer streak. They remembered Eden. Meg looked down almost accusingly at her stepmother’s grave. She pointed a suede-gloved finger at it.

  “There,” she said, “is the source.”

  Piers looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Some of the Courts had queer streaks.”

  “But not this sort!” cried Meg. “Did you ever hear of a Court entering a monastery? Did you ever hear of a Court doing the sort of thing Finch has done? No, Piers, you cannot deny that your mother was different. You might well kneel here by the graves of our loved ones and thank God that you are a Whiteoak — even while you respect her memory.”

  Piers looked mollified. He did indeed thank God for it.

  The four children trooped back. Adeline crept beneath the iron railing from which chains and spiked iron balls depended, as though to restrain the dead within their cramped divisions, and seated herself astride her grandmother’s grave. She jogged up and down, as if on horseback, clucking her tongue and slapping the grave in encouragement.

  “Young ruffian!”

  “Oh, Adeline!”

  “Look at her!”

  “Take her from the grave!”

  “Oh, naughty — naughty!”

  “Ha, ha, ha!”

  The laughter from Renny. Piers said sternly:

  “I don’t see how you can laugh at her. It’s beastly disrespectful toward Gran.”

  “Gran would laugh too, if she were here. She’d say — ‘A pickaback, eh? I like the youngsters about me.’”

  “Renny,” said Meg, “I command you to take your child away from there. If you are willing to let her behave so, Piers and I, at least, don’t want to see such an example set our children.”