Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

“what’s that for?” she demanded, as though angry.

  “I don’t like her walking in on us.”

  “We won’t be doing anything that matters. What will she think if she finds the door locked?”

  “I don’t care a damn what she thinks.”

  “I have to live with her!”

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll unlock the door.” This he did, then came and sat down.

  “You usen’t to sit down while a lady was standing.”

  He gave her a look that tingled through all her nerves.

  “You’re not a lady now,” he said.

  “what am I then?”

  “The woman I love best in all the world.”

  She came and stood close to him, languishing against him. He wrapped his arm about her and raised his eyes, as in worship, to her face.

  “I do love this little room,” she exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve no idea, Tom, what it is to me to feel free. Although this is such a tiny place I can breathe in it. I was suffocated in that big house. I’m glad it is burned.” She left him and walked up and down the room filled with cumbersome furniture from the big house. The face of Eugene had come between them, and, for a moment, pity shook her. “Don’t think I’m not sorry for him,” she added hoarsely.

  “Of course you are,” he said, in a comforting voice, “and so am I. Indeed he was a fine man.”

  “And I’m grateful, too.”

  “Of course. And so am I. Ah, he had a kind way with him.”

  “He used to call me ‘girlie.’”

  “Did he now?”

  “And I called him — no, I can’t say it.”

  “Go on, tell me.”

  “No,” she answered sharply.

  A mischievous smile lighted his dark face. “I’ll bet I know.”

  “You’d never guess if you guessed all night. No. That name is buried with him.”

  “Poor man, he had his troubles.”

  “Well, I guess he’s better dead. I couldn’t have gone on living with him.”

  “He was an old stick,” Raikes added composedly.

  She gave a wild laugh, throwing off her sadness of the moment.

  “what’s funny in that?” he demanded.

  “The way you put things … You’re irresistible.”

  He took out a full package of cigarettes, extracted one, lighted it and laid the burnt match carefully on a convenient ashtray.

  The feeble electric bell tinkled in the kitchen. Startled they stared at the outer door. Raikes rose to his feet and looked questioningly toward the kitchen.

  “No.” She framed the word with her lips.

  Raikes dropped his cigarette and put his foot on it. He kicked it under a couch. He picked up his hat. Another ring sounded. Gem went to the door.

  Finch Whiteoak stood there, bareheaded, tall against the little front yard with its pink petunias. It was not the first time they had met since Eugene Clapperton’s death. Before this, they had encountered each other by the ruins of the house. He had briefly sympathized with her, and escaped, too conscious of the gossip about her. Now he entered with an air of purpose. Raikes deferentially waited for dismissal, hat in hand.

  “I suppose you have met Tom,” said Gem, after she had exchanged greetings with Finch. “He looks after the place for me.”

  “Yes. I know. It must be a job to get things in order.”

  “Ah, it’s not so bad,” said Raikes. “We have the land let to a very good farmer. The thing is to get the place tidied up.” He spoke with gravity.

  “Sit down, won’t you?” Gem said to Finch. It was exciting to have a visitor in this tiny house. “I feel like a cottage woman,” she laughed. “I ought to be dusting the seat of your chair with my apron.”

  Finch seated himself and looked about the room. He wondered how the sisters could live in such a small space with so much large furniture.

  Following his glance Gem said, — “I’m going to sell all this stuff and buy things suitable for small rooms.”

  “Then you’re staying on here?” he asked, in surprise.

  “Yes, for a while. Then I want to travel — to go back to see Wales. But I shall keep this place. Ever since these bungalows were built I’ve wished I lived in one of them instead of in the big house.”

  How could she stay here, Finch wondered, so close to the scene of her husband’s tragic death. He asked:

  “Are you going to keep all the property?”

  “I may keep the farm and this land where Eugene planned his model village, but I’ll not have any more developing. I hate it.”

  “Then why,” Finch asked accusingly, “did you sell the Blacks’ place to a building contractor? That is quite a blow to us at Jalna, you know.”

  She turned quickly to Raikes, who was still standing, as though to ask him to speak for her.

  This he did, in a conciliatory undertone.

  “Mrs. Clapperton thought, sir, that the building on the Blacks’ little farm wouldn’t be any trouble to you, as there’s several large fields and a thicket between Jalna and it.”

  Finch, ignoring Raikes, demanded of Gem, — “why didn’t you give my brother the first chance?”

  Again her glance appealed to Raikes, who answered, — “Mrs. Clapperton wanted the cash, sir.”

  Finch’s colour rose. Still looking at Gem, he asked, — “what made you think my brother could not have paid the cash?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered lamely. Then, as though to cover her embarrassment, she said to Raikes, — “Sit down, Tom,” and added to Finch, — “Tom Raikes has been a great help to me through all this.”

  Raikes gave a somewhat sheepish smile and seated himself on the edge of a straight-backed chair. He laid his hat on his knees.

  Gem continued, — “It’s very hard for a woman left alone to know what is best to do for herself. Althea has no head for business.”

  “Well,” said Finch, “I have come on a matter of business and should have preferred to speak to you privately, but — of course, if you —” He hesitated.

  “It’s all right,” she said, with one of her bold glances, “Tom understands everything.”

  “I have come,” said Finch, “to see if I can buy what’s left of the house, and all the land.”

  She showed her astonishment. “But what would you do with it?”

  Finch gave his quick boyish laugh. “Oh, I should rent the farm, as you do. I’d have the walls of the house pulled down and the material used to build a new house.”

  “And would you live there?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re away most of the time.”

  “I want to be more at home, to have a place of my own where I can write music. I’ve had enough of playing in public.”

  “Good heavens,” she cried, “how can you say that? I’d give my soul to have a talent — any sort of talent that would bring me the least little bit of fame. It seems hard to me that two of my sisters are talented — Molly an actress, and Althea a painter, and me — nothing! You’d never find me retiring. I’d enjoy all the publicity possible.”

  “Probably,” said Finch, and added quickly, — “Don’t think I haven’t enjoyed my audiences. But a time comes when one wants to belong to oneself.”

  “Can one really?” she asked with eagerness.

  “I’m going to try.”

  “And you’ll live at Vaughanlands alone?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed gaily. “And Humphrey Bell in his little house alone! And me in my little house!”

  Suddenly grave, Finch asked, — “Have you settled on a price for the property? I mean the entire property — the farm, the farmhouse, the bungalows and the house and gardens.”

  “I’ll sell everything but this bungalow for —” She glanced at Raikes.

  His lips, hardening, framed a figure in excess of what they had previously settled on.

  This passage was not unseen by Finch.

  “Forty thousand dollars,” she said,
almost aggressively.

  “If I paid cash would you accept thirty-five thousand?”

  Again her eyes sought Raikes. He nodded.

  “Yes,” she said.

  In a few minutes the bargain was struck and Finch left the bungalow elated.

  As the door closed behind him Raikes threw his hat up to the ceiling and caught it on his head. Standing with it jauntily over one eye, he smiled happily at Gem.

  “Good work,” he commended, as though patting them both on the back.

  “Oh, Tom,” she cried, flinging both arms about him in ecstasy. “what masses of money we have!”

  “what I want to know is,” he said, with sulkiness in his tone, “when we’re going to be married.”

  “Not for a year.”

  “I’ll wait no longer than next spring.”

  “what will people say?”

  “They’ll say no worse than if we waited a year. Come now, say you’ll marry me in the spring.”

  Her kiss of agreement was fresh on his lips when they heard Althea and her dog coming up the path to the door. Raikes released Gem and glided out through the kitchen.

  As the front door opened, she saw the young moon shining above Althea’s shoulder. The Great Dane, in massive elegance, stalked past her, and with a loud bark demanded his supper.

  “It’s the most divine evening,” Althea said. “I met Finch Whiteoak and he told me you’d sold him the property.”

  “Oh, did he? He might have left that for me to tell.”

  “Are you glad he is buying it?”

  “Well, it’s nice to think I’m doing something to please the Whiteoak family.”

  “what do you suppose they’ll think when you marry Tom? You are going to, aren’t you?”

  Gem stiffened in astonishment. Althea so seldom mentioned Raikes’ name, and when she did let it pass her lips, she spoke it in a constrained and tremulous voice. Now she put this question in a cold matter-of-fact tone.

  It was Gem’s voice that trembled. “what makes you think I am?” she asked.

  “Well, if I thought enough of a man to have him in my room at night, I’d think enough of him to marry him.”

  Each looked at the other with a sudden cold dislike.

  “How do you know I have him in my room?”

  Althea gave a little smile. “Don’t ask me to go into details,” she said.

  “There’s one thing certain,” Gem said fiercely. “He never entered my room till after Eugene’s death.”

  “But he made love to you.”

  “I’m flesh and blood. I’d have gone mad if I hadn’t had something to make me forget Eugene.” And she added, — “I love him. You don’t know what it is to love a man.”

  “Oh, don’t I?”

  Gem spoke in a softer tone. “I don’t want to drive you away by this marriage, Althea. You must stay on here.”

  Althea opened wide her light blue eyes, as in horror.

  “Me stay on?” she cried. “In the house with that man? Never.”

  The blood rushing to her face, Gem demanded, — “where shall you go? You can’t earn your living.”

  “I soon shall be able to. I’m going to New York to live with Molly. I shall keep house for her in her apartment and go to a school of designing. It’s all arranged.”

  “Have you told Molly all you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “what a filthy trick!”

  “I don’t look at it that way,” Althea said calmly. “I had to be prepared.”

  After a pause Gem asked, — “what does Molly think?

  “She says nothing you do will surprise her.”

  The Great Dane, which had gone into the kitchen, now came to the doorway, looked at Althea, and uttered a demanding bark.

  “what about him?” asked Gem.

  “Finch Whiteoak is going to keep him for me.”

  “what! Did you arrange that today — in those few minutes?”

  “Oh, no, it’s all been arranged for a month.”

  She went into the kitchen and began to prepare the dog’s supper, he barking his approval.

  Gem darted through the front door and round to where the car was parked. She had sold the larger of the two. Raikes was lounging against the car, smoking. “Oh, Tom,” she panted, breathless, — “Althea is going. She’s going to our sister Molly in New York. Isn’t it wonderful? We shall be alone!”

  XXVIII

  FINCH AND HIS PLANS

  In spite of his sorrow over Ernest’s death, and even perhaps because of it, Finch now experienced a fresh urge in life. Autumn, his favourite season of the year, was on the way. He had made no concert engagements till the winter. He was to own Vaughanlands, to be next door to Jalna. Soon he would have builders at work to build him a house, a design like the old house which now stood in ruins, to retain the character of the place. Months of freedom lay ahead of him. For a time he was his own man.

  The afterglow of sunset blazed in the west. He turned his steps toward the ruin, no longer a ruin to him but the foundation of a new design in his life. A row of poplars stood between the bungalows and the grounds of the house. These were uninjured by the fire but the first trees to shed their foliage were already sending down showers of yellow heart-shaped leaves. Finch scuffed his way through these and drew a deep breath, inhaling the new scent now added to the air. A rabbit in his path was transfixed into incredible stillness. Then, as Finch took one step farther, it leaped in an electrified arc out of sight among the weeds. Already weeds were taking possession of the garden. Goldenrod, which above all wild growing things Eugene Clapperton had hated, now blazed in insolence. Ragweed was gone to seed. The pale down of milkweed floated in the air. On the unkempt lawns a late blooming of dandelions showed their sprightly heads. Even among the rubble there were delicate green growths. Seeds dropped by birds had taken root and were hastening to grow, as though with the urgency of spring rather than the lassitude of summer’s dying.

  Standing in front of the ruin Finch discovered the contemplative figure of Humphrey Bell. He had not met Bell since his return from England. Several times he had been on the point of calling at the Fox Farm but something always had intervened. Now he found himself glad to see him. He strode forward and they shook hands.

  Bell said, half-apologetically, — “I thought I’d come over and see what the place is like. I hadn’t been here since the night of the fire.”

  “A complete ruin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It made a terrific blaze. Strange how peaceful a ruin is. Much more peaceful than when there were people about.”

  “I suppose that depends on the people,” said Finch, thinking of Ernest.

  “Yes. There couldn’t be peace where Mr. Clapperton was.” Bell stared at the ground for a moment, then he raised his eyes to Finch’s face and added, in his gentle voice, — “I used to think I’d like to kill that man.”

  “I can’t picture your wanting to kill anyone.”

  “You’ve no idea what a temper I have. I’ve had murderous thoughts after a call from Mr. Clapperton. Now — looking at this — I’m sorry.” Bell gave his peculiarly charming smile. “I’m sorry, but — I still hate the thought of him.”

  Finch had listened but vaguely. Now he said, — “I’m buying the entire property, with the exception of the bungalow where Mrs. Clapperton lives.”

  “You?” Bell cried, in incredulous pleasure. “why — it’s too good to be true.”

  “It’s true enough. I’ve just come from making the agreement.”

  On a sudden impulse Bell grasped Finch’s hand. “To think I’ll have you for a neighbour, instead of — but what will you live in?”

  “The basement of the house is intact. I shall build a new one on it.”

  “And will you give up concert work?”

  “Not entirely. But I shall be here the greater part of my time.”

  “I think,” said Bell, his pale eyelashes flickering, “I think I know the real reason why you’re buying th
is place.”

  “why?” Finch demanded in astonishment.

  “To stop the developing. Your eldest brother hates it so. I think you’ve done this for his sake.”

  “You’re altogether too clever, Humphrey.” It was the first time Finch had used Bell’s Christian name. This, combined with the almost affectionate tone in which he spoke, brought from Bell what was an outburst.

  “It seems too good to be true,” he repeated. “It is splendid. And another lucky thing has happened to me. I’ve sold a story.”

  “Good! I am glad.”

  “It’s the first one I have sold, and I’ve written I won’t say how many. The fly in the ointment is that it’s the poorest thing I’ve written and I hate the women’s magazine I’ve sold it to. I hate all women’s magazines.”

  “Never mind,” said Finch, “it’s a beginning.” He added, — “I believe you hate all women.”

  “No, no, no — not all! Nevertheless, it is a pleasant thought to me that you’ll be a single man in this house you’re going to build. But perhaps you’ll not be single for long.”

  “Oh, yes, I shall.”

  “You’ll have your small boy with you?”

  “Y — yes, I suppose so.”

  “He’s a nice little chap. Comes to see me sometimes.”

  “Don’t let him bother you.”

  “He’s no bother. He’s very advanced for his age.”

  “You think so? He strikes me as babyish. They’ve spoilt him at Jalna.”

  The two walked about the ruin, discussing the difficulties of demolishing it, the plans for the house to be built. Only darkness separated them. As they were parting, Bell asked:

  “How is your niece?”

  “Adeline? Oh, she’s well.” Finch hesitated, then added, — “In confidence, I’ll tell you that the poor girl has had rather an unfortunate love affair. A penniless Irishman we met on board ship. Of course, it can’t come to anything, but I’m afraid it’s hurt her.”

  “Oh, Lord!” said Bell, as though in pain.

  “Yes,” agreed Finch.

  “I mean —” Bell’s tongue refused to move, but clove to the roof of his mouth.

  “She’ll get over it,” Finch reassured him.

  “I can’t imagine her falling in love.” The words now came quickly from Bell’s pale lips. “She’s so … aloof.”