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

by Mazo de La Roche

  It was the first week in March but the countryside was ice-bound. There was a feeling of brittle restraint in the air. He had that same feeling in himself and his spirit strained to the time when he would break through and enter what lay ahead of him. A deep sensuous urge to see Johnny the Bird welled up in him. He wanted to win the Grand National with that horse. Perhaps the great race might not again be run for years but it was to be run this spring and Johnny the Bird must win it! He was not going into this war as he had gone into the last — fired by the spirit of careless adventure. Then he had gone, leaving his father as master of Jalna, with no special responsibilities of his own. Now he had wife and children, the uncles were old and depended on him. The thought of the race rose like a bright beacon above the sea of uncertainty and turmoil.

  The girls heard the ring at the door. There were just three of them in the house for Molly had had to do extra work that afternoon and was not yet home. They had heard no step and were in a panic.

  “Peep out between the curtains, Garda,” whispered Gemmel, “and see who it is.” Garda tiptoed into the sitting room and back again.

  “It’s the eldest Whiteoak,” she whispered. “It’s Renny.”

  “Go and let him in. Talk to him. Find out what he is like. I’d love to know. I can see that Molly hates him. I believe he has something to do with her engagement being broken.”

  Garda flushed crimson. “I’d not dare.”

  “Then you go, Althea.”

  “Nothing would tempt me. He may knock all day, as far as I’m concerned. Draw the curtains, Garda. He might walk round the house.”

  The curtains were drawn. Instead of the bell, there now came a knock on the door.

  Garda began to laugh.

  “Ssh!” ordered Althea sternly. “He mustn’t hear a sound.”

  “I have a mind to go to the door myself,” whispered Gemmel. “If I were like you girls, I’d go and talk to him. I think he’s wonderful.”

  “Oh, if only Molly would come!” said Althea. “Crouch down, he’s coming round the house!”

  They heard his steps crunching the snow. They glimpsed him through the crack of the curtains. That house was so familiar to him, so full of the associations of his friendship with Clara Lebraux, that, even with strangers in it, he could scarcely feel an outsider.

  Garda saw his brown eye peering through the chink in the curtains. She hid her face in her arm and shook with frightened laughter.

  “Is the girl mad?” he thought. “And what sort of scene are they having in there?” He moved away from the window but he did not go.

  “He heard you laughing! He saw us!” exclaimed Althea, in a voice of pain. “I must go to the door.” She rose with dignity and went to the door. She could hear Gemmel slyly following her on hands and thighs. That soft shuffle had followed her all her life. The agonizing shyness that cut her off from other people she now wore like a visible cloak as she faced Renny. He was struck by her ethereal beauty. He had not before been close to her.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you. Is Molly at home?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you expect her soon?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Well, I’m leaving on Monday for England. I wanted to say goodbye to her. And I wanted to know if you are quite comfortable here, and if there’s anything I can do for you before I go.”

  He looked at her inquiringly, with a puzzled, half-amused scrutiny. She knew she would have to speak but she could not. She heard Gemmel just inside the door of the sitting room. She fled to her, her hand to her mouth.

  “Go to him,” she said. “Tell him we want nothing.”

  Renny heard what she said. “Just as though I were a peddler,” he thought, and his face was lit by a grim smile when Gemmel appeared. He looked down at her and said: —

  “I’m afraid I’ve disturbed you but I’d like to know if you’re quite comfortable before I go away.”

  She smiled up from under her tumbled dark hair. He saw her supple hands flat on the floor. She answered: —

  “I don’t know. I think we are. You’ll have to ask Molly.”

  “Shall I come in and wait for her?”

  “Yes. Come right in.”

  She turned her body about and led the way. He could hear her sister’s swift escape from the room.

  “She’s shy,” said Gemmel, looking after her.

  “Yes, I have noticed that,” he answered gravely.

  “Garda is, too, but her shyness runs to giggles.”

  “It’s quite an affliction for a girl.”

  “Yes. I am afflicted but — not in that way.” There was malice in her smile. Then she added — “I don’t want you to think I’d be other than — what I am.”

  “I admire you for that.”

  “My courage, you mean?”

  “No. Your accepting of things as they are. Most people are dissatisfied if — they can’t have everything. Do you like the house?”

  “I love it. For my part I’m glad there’s a war. Otherwise I’d never have come out here. For one thing the floors aren’t as cold here as they were at home. There they were mostly stone.”

  “Shall I lift you to the sofa?” He spoke with solicitude but no embarrassment.

  At the same moment the front door opened.

  “Yes, yes,” said Gemmel, “lift me.”

  He took her in his arms and set her on the sofa.

  “How strong you are!” She clung an instant to his shoulder, smiling at Molly, who now came into the room.

  Molly looked very thin and pale. The freckles stood out beneath her eyes like golden flecks. She had the self-possession of the actress but the hand she put into his trembled. He repeated his anxiety for their well-being.

  “Thanks,” she answered. “It’s lovely here. We’ve everything we need. Thanks for the baskets of apples and pears and all the vegetables. You all have been so kind.”

  “My wife,” he said, “is coming to see you, when she gets me off her hands.”

  “Mrs. Vaughan and Mrs. Piers have been. They were very kind. Can you stay to tea?”

  “Thanks, but I have a thousand things to do.”

  He asked her about her work, half absent-mindedly, while his eyes took in the complications of her resemblance to Chris and to himself. Gemmel now sat silent like a child, her curious glance moving from one face to the other. When Renny left, Molly went with him to the veranda. They dropped their guarded looks then and he exclaimed: —

  “Oh, my dear. I’d give my right hand not to have done what I have!”

  She gave a little ironic smile. “If you hadn’t done — what you did — I suppose I should never have been born.” Then she added, with a break in her voice — “I wish I hadn’t!”

  “Don’t say that! You have a good chance of a happy life ahead of you. You’re just beginning.”

  “I think,” she said slowly, “that I’m sorrier for Wake than I am for myself. It’s been very hard on him.”

  “Yes, it has been hard on him. But he has the future ahead of him — just as you have. You know, when I was a boy — a few years younger than Wake — I wanted most terribly to marry a girl named Vera Lacey. But I couldn’t.”

  She gave him a disbelieving look. “Did you love her as much as Wake loves me, do you think?”

  “No. I’m sure I didn’t. This has been a heartbreaking affair for both of you. And it has for me, too.”

  “Christopher is my greatest hope now,” she said. “If only he is spared! When the spring comes I want to go to England to be near him. My sisters will be quite happy here.”

  “That was an odd little one I was talking to.”

  “She’s selfish and she’s self-centred but I love her.”

  They stood silent, not knowing how to say goodbye. Neither was moved by paternal or filial emotion. They were just man and woman. He looked at his wrist watch and exclaimed: —

  “I must be off! Goodbye, my de
ar.” He hesitated, then took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Try to forgive me!”

  She returned to the room where her stepsisters were waiting. The three broke into a babel of talk. They told how they had kept him out, how they had been forced to let him in, their impressions of him. Althea’s voice rose highest of all. She almost screamed in her excitement. Their voices beat about Molly. Althea had been so silly — Gemmel had been so bold — Garda had laughed till she cried. Just look at her wet eyes! How strong Renny Whiteoak was! Why, Gemmel’s weight was nothing to him! He smelt of horses! Ugh — how he smelt of horses! He was handsome — far handsomer than Wakefield. He wasn’t handsome at all — only striking. Was there ever such an interesting family? What a pity Molly’s engagement was broken off! But perhaps they would all find husbands out here. “Even me!” Gemmel covered her face with her hands and broke into peals of laughter. She had more charm than any of them, she declared.

  Monday came and a gale of wind that made the shutters creak on their hinges and the mares’ tails fly as they galloped about the paddock. All was bustle. The Vaughans were there. Pheasant and her boys were there. Finch, Sarah, and their child. It was his first day at Jalna. Rags wore himself out running up and down the basement stairs. Mrs. Wragge cried quarts, but still managed to cook a good lunch.

  Nicholas drew Renny aside in the sitting room, Merlin close at their heels. Nicholas spoke with a great effort.

  “I wanted to speak about the old dog,” he said. “He’s rheumatic, you know. If he gets worse — so he can’t enjoy his life — what had I better do, eh? Have him put out of the way?”

  Renny took Merlin by his forepaws and stood him up.

  “Merlin has promised me,” he said, “to keep well till I come back.”

  Merlin lifted his lip in the sentimental, spaniel’s smile.

  “But,” persisted Nicholas, “what if he doesn’t keep that promise! What shall I do?”

  “He’ll keep it,” said Renny shortly, and turned away. The car was at the door. Alayne and Adeline were going to the station with him. Everyone was crowded into the hall. Renny shook hands with his brother-in-law.

  “Lord,” said Maurice, “I wish I were going with you!” But he had been disabled in the last war.

  “Goodbye, Meggie!”

  She burst into tears and clung to him.

  “Well, I’m ashamed of you, Meg! The Whiteoaks have always been soldiers. What would you have?”

  One after the other he said goodbye to them, kissing the women and children, wringing his uncles’ hands. Their voices were a bit quavering. But they told him they would carry on and not to stay away too long.

  Wakefield stood in the background. Renny went to him swiftly. He took his hand and kissed him. Compassion and self-reproach were in his glance. But Wakefield kept his eyes downcast.

  Archer was riding his tricycle round and round at the far end of the hall. The last moment had come. Alayne flew to him and dragged him from the saddle. She held him up in front of Renny.

  “Daddy’s going now. Look at him hard. You must remember just what he’s like.”

  “I know just what he’s like,” said Archer, wriggling so that his jersey came up round his ears.

  “But he’s going to the war! You must say goodbye to him properly.”

  “Goodbye,” said Archer, laconically. Then he made a hideous, snorting sound. “I’m an armored tank,” he said. “Put me down.”

  Renny snatched him from Alayne and covered his face with kisses. After several beginnings and withdrawings, Archer’s rare smile overspread his face and he deigned to pat his father’s cheek.

  “Goodbye, Daddy,” he said. “Don’t get killed too soon.”

  Renny set him down on his tricycle and he pedaled off without looking back.

  “Hurry up,” shouted Finch. “You’ll miss your train!”

  Renny, Alayne, and Adeline were in the back seat together. Rags sat in the front with Finch, who drove the car. Everyone came out into the snow to see them off. The western sky was glowing red. There was a softness to the snow, and a strange, flapping wildness to the wind. It was the flapping of the flag of spring. Renny craned his neck to see the group on the steps, to catch a last glimpse of the stables. Then he settled back in his seat and smiled into Alayne’s face. She smiled back. They said little but they encouraged Adeline to talk — Alayne clung fiercely to every flying moment, wondered how she would face the moment of farewell. But when it came it was not so painful as she had expected. The station platform was crowded with men in uniform, their wives and sweethearts and sisters. There was a mother clinging to the hand of her son! There was a baby held in its father’s arms, a press photographer taking a picture of them! Everyone’s features looked sharpened and pale in the lights of the station. She smelled train oil, boot polish, and the queer woolly, harsh scent of the men’s uniforms. Her man had become just one of the others. She was just another wife. Adeline another child. There was jostling, joking, the ringing of a bell.

  There were things she wanted to say to Renny but she could not remember what they were. Another man in officer’s uniform came up and spoke to him. He wore the uniform of the 48th Highlanders. He was tall and strong and looked fine in his bonnet and kilt. There was his wife, a dumpy little woman, and two half-grown boys. Renny was about to introduce them to Alayne when the train drew in. Then how quickly it was all over! There was more jostling, more laughing and shouting.

  “Goodbye!”

  “See you later!”

  “Fire a shot for me, Bill!”

  “Give Hitler a kick behind for me!”

  She felt herself gripped in his arms, felt his lips pressed to hers, saw Adeline lifted up and kissed.

  “Goodbye, ma’am,” from Rags. “I ’ope all will go well at Jalna.”

  “Goodbye, Wragge.”

  “Goodbye, miss. Don’t you forget old Rags.”

  Decorously Adeline gave him her hand. “Goodbye, Rags. And God bless you.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  “Goodbye, Daddy. God bless you!”

  “Goodbye, my darling.”

  Where was he? Had he gone? Was that his head above the others? No — he had gone! Finch was holding her by the arm. The train was moving out. A band struck up “The British Grenadiers.” Oh, why did the band play? She could have so well borne it if the hand had not played. The gay challenging voice of the horns pierced her soul. The drum beats were terrible to her.

  Outside the station, Finch said — “Shall we go to a restaurant and have coffee?”

  “No. I’d like to go home.”

  She was glad she could speak so quietly.

  Adeline would very much have liked to go to a restaurant but she hid her disappointment. She sat upright beside her mother in the car but did not look at her. After a little she laid her hand firmly on Alayne’s knee and kept it there. She tried to make her hand feel like her father’s. Indeed its firm pressure was a comfort to Alayne.

  It was a relief to Wakefield to have Renny out of the house. Renny’s look of concern whenever his eyes rested on him had been more of an irritation than a support to Wakefield. Renny could not come near him without touching him, as though to reassure himself that Wake was still his boy. But Wakefield did not want to be touched. He shied off like a nervous horse from all physical contacts. In the darkness of night he remembered the feel of Molly’s arms, the caress of her lips, but in the daytime he wanted no one to touch him and, when once he had a glimpse of Molly in the road, he turned abruptly into the fields to avoid her. They had not met since the arrival of her stepsisters.

  In these last days at home Paris Court was his most congenial companion. Since he had disclosed the secret of Molly’s birth to Finch, he could not be with Finch without a desire to unburden himself further. Yet what he most wanted was to close the door of his past. Now he avoided what formerly had attracted him. He had always loved to talk but now he was silent for hours together. He had always, when at Jalna, spent much
time with his uncles, delighting in their reminiscences of the past and their Old World atmosphere. Now he avoided them and they were hurt. He had always been a playfellow to the children but now they instinctively kept out of his way. He no longer knew whether he was Catholic or Protestant and did not care. But he did like Paris Court’s carefree, worldly companionship. Paris was out for a good time in this life and did not much care how or where he got it or at whose expense. He had enjoyed his stay at Jalna but was quite willing to leave it. One winter in that climate was enough for him. He had come to Canada, not with the intention, but in the pleasant hope, of finding a rich wife. He had met only one rich young woman, Ada Leigh, the sister of Sarah’s first husband. He talked of her incessantly to Wakefield, making graceless jokes concerning his hopes. When almost at the last he proposed and to his amazement was accepted, Wakefield felt the first pleasure he had experienced since the blow had fallen on him and Molly.

  As for Sarah, Parry’s distant cousin, it delighted her to think that two Courts were to possess the Leighs’ wealth. She and Paris threw their arms about each other and danced triumphantly round the drawing room at Jalna.

  The marriage followed quickly and from then on Paris bore himself with the dignity of a married man, and a warm one at that!

  The day before leaving, Wakefield wrote a short letter to Molly and posted it at the railway station.

  DEAR MOLLY —

  I cannot leave without saying goodbye to you, yet I cannot bring myself to meet you. I dare not risk the comfort of a single touch from your hand or a word from your mouth. The ocean will part us but it is no wider than the gulf that has already come between us. I pray that you do not feel — no — I don’t pray — I shall never pray again! But I hope from the depths of my heart that you don’t feel as shipwrecked as I do. I think you are steadier and more sane than I. Perhaps some day you will find another man you can love but I do not believe you will find one to love you more deeply than I did — and do. Darling Molly!