01 The Building of Jalna (17 page)

It was a lovely evening in the first week of June when Adeline and Philip first saw the scene where the rest of their lives would be spent. David Vaughan had sent a carriage and a pair of strong grey horses to meet the stagecoach. Also a light farm wagon for their luggage. The horses had spent the preceding night in the stable of an inn. They were fresh and well-groomed when they started out on the return journey. The Whiteoaks also had spent the night in the town and rose refreshed. But the unpaved road was rough. It was well for them that the floods of the spring were past, for at that time parts of the road had been washed away. Now it was rough but passable. The air was exquisite, the scenery charming. Between the trees they had glimpses of the lake which to them looked like a sea, sparkling at morning in endless bright ripples; still and of a hazy blue, in the afternoon; flaming beneath fiery clouds at sunset. Partridge and grouse were caring for their nestlings in the deep woods, small birds darted through the bright air. Above the thud of the horses’ hoofs and the jingle of harness their song was heard.

The Vaughans came out to the verandah to greet them. David Vaughan and Philip had not met since Philip’s marriage. They shook hands warmly, then each presented the other to his wife, the ladies to each other. Mrs. Vaughan and Adeline looked with a good deal of curiosity into each other’s eyes. Mrs. Vaughan was determined to like Adeline but she had a misgiving when she looked into her eyes, even though Adeline’s smile was sweet with blandishment. “I don’t believe I shall like her,” Alice Vaughan thought, “but what beautiful teeth and skin she has!”

Adeline saw a wife in Alice Vaughan, a woman whose thoughts never ranged beyond husband and children. She was handsome, in the early forties. Her prematurely grey hair framed a square face with even features and large grey eyes. Her complexion was clear and she had a good colour in her cheeks. She wore a black silk dress but no crinoline. Her only ornament was a large cameo brooch. On her smoothly arranged hair was a small white lace cap. After a moment’s hesitant scrutiny she took both Adeline’s hands in hers and kissed her.

“Welcome to your new home,” she said.

“How sweet of you to say that!” cried Adeline, and the fervor of her kiss was disconcerting.

“It is to be your home, you know,” put in Colonel Vaughan, “till you have built a house for yourselves.”

David Vaughan turned with tender eagerness to the children. Gussie looked tired-out, even though her little face was sunburned to an unnatural rosiness, but Nicholas, sitting on his nurse’s arm, was superb. From under his white bonnet a dark curl hung over his fine brown eyes. His face expressed complete well-being.

“What dear, dear children!” said Mrs. Vaughan . “What a lovely baby! Do you think he will come to me?”

“He is a most gregarious rascal,” said Philip. “He has made friends all the way from Quebec.”

Young Robert Vaughan had stood by quietly watching the interchange of greetings. He resembled his father, who looked the man of letters rather than the soldier. Robert was slenderly made.
He had reflective blue eyes and a mass of fine fair hair which he wore rather long. He had spent the first ten years of his life in India, then had been sent to school in England. He had not joined his parents in Canada till the summer before. He was to enter the university in Montreal in the autumn. He had not yet settled down to life in Canada. He felt scarcely acquainted with his parents. Two such extreme transplantings in his short life had had the effect of throwing his spirit back upon itself. He was defensive; he loved no one; the look in his eyes was so impersonal as to repel any intimacy. Yet he was gentle and made haste to help his mother with the guests. After these had freshened themselves in their room they joined the Vaughans in the cool vine-shaded dining room for supper. Above the table hung a branch of cedar, the scent of which was supposed to repel the house flies which were so difficult to keep out. Pigeon pie and a fine ham were on the table and bowl of large lettuce leaves. There was a cottage cheese and later came jam, made from wild strawberries, and a caraway-seed cake.

It was hard to believe that Philip and Adeline were at the end of a long journey. He looked so well-groomed as when he had promenaded the terrace at Quebec. She, finding her dress crumpled, had retained a long silk cape of tartan. She also wore black silk mittens which accented the whiteness of her fingers, ringless except for her wedding ring. Her jewels were safe in a travelling case upstairs. Her hair was brushed to Chinese sleekness on her shapely head. As the black mittens accented the whiteness of her fingers, her fine black brows and lashes increased the brightness of her eyes. She looked hungrily over the table.

“I declare,” she said, “I have not had a decent meal since I left Quebec. I’m starving!”

“You have come to a land of plenty,” said David Vaughan. He turned to Philip. “Do you like shooting?”

“Nothing better.”

“Well, you need scarcely leave your door to pick up a brace of these.” He indicated the pigeon pie which he now began to serve.

“And the fishing?”

David Vaughan laid down the fork and stared at him. “Believe it or not,” he said, “the sea salmon come right up through the lake and into our river. I caught a whopper right here on my own property less than a month ago.”

“Well, well, do you hear that, Adeline?”

“I do; we shall not starve, at any rate. How delicious this pie is!”

“Will you have some of the lettuce?” asked Mrs. Vaughan. “We pride ourselves on it. We are the only people who grow it. We supply the neighborhood.”

“What about the neighborhood?” asked Philip. “Pretty congenial, from what you wrote, Vaughan.”

“A very respectable community. You’ll like them and they’ll like you. I can tell you everyone is excited by your coming and will be still more so after meeting you.” His eyes rested admiringly on Adeline.

“I left good friends in Quebec,” she said.

“Too damn French!” said Philip.

“That’s what I felt,” said David Vaughan. “My aim is to keep this little settlement purely British. Indeed if I had my way, only the English, Scottish, and Welsh should be allowed to settle in any part of Canada.”

“No Irish?” asked Adeline.

Before he could reply, Philip broke in — “I warn you, my wife is straight from the Ould Sod.”

“I should welcome just one Irish lady,” said Vaughan, “to be Queen of us all.”

“How flowery the old boy is,” thought Robert. “I could not have said that. But she liked it.” He fixed his shy, impersonal gaze on Adeline, who was smiling at his father.

David Vaughan was giving the history of the principal families of the neighbourhood. He would forget to eat till his wife reminded him. When, after the meal, they retired to the verandah, he brought out a map of the district which he had himself made, showing the course of the small rivers, the residences of the families he had described, the roads and forest. A thousand acres of richly timbered land, adjacent to his own property, was for sale and
this he counselled Philip to buy. Nowhere would he find a better opportunity for establishing himself in a superior position in the Province. Nowhere would he find better land, better sport, within such easy reach of railway and town. Nowhere would he find more hospitable, kinder-hearted or better bred people. Nowhere would he and his family be more welcome.

As he and Philip bent over the map spread on the table before them, the red light of the setting sun illumined their features. Adeline, in her bright tartan mantle, sat on one side with Mrs. Vaughan. Young Robert, perched on the verandah railing, only half-heard what the men were saying but strained his ears to hear Adeline’s voice, to him so exotic in its inflections. His shy, cool gaze studied the lines of her shoulder as she leant on the arm of her chair, the beauty of her sleek auburn head. He wondered if she was conscious of his presence. She seemed not to be, yet, when the cry of a whippoorwill broke with melancholy strangeness on the air, she turned quickly to him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A whippoorwill. There are hundreds about here.”

“I’ve never before heard one! It’s lovely but it’s sad.”

“This one is just the right distance away. They can be too noisy.”

Again and again and again came the bird’s cry. Then after a moment’s silence it flew nearer and, in mournful haste, repeated the three notes as though it were a tragic message. Sunset had faded and a sombre dusk emanated as though palpably from the massive trees. The house stood in a grassy hollow.

In their room, Philip remarked to Adeline: —

“I shall not make the mistake of building our house in a hollow. Fifty years from now this place will be buried in greenery. If I cannot find a rise to build on I shall at least be out in the open.”

“Is there an ‘out in the open,’” she wondered, peering through the window. “Trees — trees — there are trees everywhere. How man varieties did Colonel Vaughan say there are?”

“I forget. But what I mean is, I shall make a large clearing for our house and it must be on the highest point on our land.”

“I don’t like the thought of a large clearing. I like trees about. I like a park.”

“You shall have a park with deer in it.”

“How lovely! Where does this land lie? Am I looking out toward it?”

“Yes. I think so.”

She drew a deep breath. “Just fancy! I am breathing the air from our land! Over there is our land — the very spot our foundations will rise from! Will the house be stone?”

“That depends on what material is to be had. For myself, I like a nice mellow brick. It looks warm-coloured among the trees. It has a cozy, hospitable look.”

“I rather like the white wooden houses they have in Quebec villages.”

“Too flimsy.”

“They say not.”

“I don’t like the looks of them. Don’t you want a nice mellow brick?”

“If there is nothing better.”

“What could be better?” he asked severely.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why raise objections?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You said you wanted wood.”

“I said I like wood.”

“But you don’t object to brick?”

“Not in the least.… Philip” — she came and sat on his knee — “I have not seen you alone all day. I can’t believe we are actually here.”

He pressed her close to his broad chest. “What a time we shall have, my sweet! We’re going to be happier than we’ve ever been and that’s saying a good deal, isn’t it? You look pale, Adeline.”

She relaxed against him. “Oh, how tired I am!” she exclaimed. “Yet I am too excited for sleep. My body relaxes but my brain refuses.”

He found her eyelids with his lips. “There, close your eyes. Now I command you. Keep them closed while I kiss each ten times.”

But, as he spoke, he raised his head and listened. There came the rumple of wagon wheels and the loud barking of dogs.

“They have arrived!” he exclaimed.

She started up. “Nero and Maggie!” she cried. “And I forgot to tell the Vaughans about them! Did you?”

“By Jove, no! Still, they are expecting a wagon with our boxes. I shall explain about the dog and the goat tomorrow. I wish you had left the damn goat in Quebec. Gussie does not need her milk now.”

“Leave Maggie behind! And she wearing the dear little bell my own mother tied to her neck! Why, ’t would bring bad luck to us! What is one small goat anyhow? Surely there is room for her in this great place!”

The rumbling of wagon wheels ceased but now came the snarls and yells of a dog fight. Men were shouting at them.

“Their dogs are killing Nero!” she cried. “Oh, Philip, run! Quick! Quick! Save Nero!”

“He can take care of himself.” But Philip hurried from the room. A small lamp still burned in the hall. Downstairs he found David Vaughan with a lighted lantern. They went together to the stable.

Adeline stood by the window listening to the dreadful noise of the fight. Then silence fell. She began to undress. The silence was too deep. She wished Philip would return but she dreaded what he might have to report.

It was some time before he came.

“Well,” he said, “it was more sound and fury than bloodshed. But Vaughan’s bulldog and collie gave our Nero the worst of it. He had a torn ear and a bite on his forehead.”

“Oh, the brutes!” she cried. “And was he able to do them no harm?”

“He had his teeth into the collie’s paw and there was blood on the bulldog but I’m afraid it was Nero’s.”

“I do hope Mr. Vaughan will keep his dogs tied up.”

“We can scarcely expect that. I must say he was very decent about it. He gave me a box stall for Nero for the present.”

“And how is Maggie?”

“Right as a trivet. Little bell tinkling and all.”

Adeline began to cry. “This dog fight was the last straw,” she declared. “I shall not sleep tonight. Feel my heart.”

He laid his hand on her chemise beneath the right breast. “My God,” she cried, “it’s not there!” In exasperation she snatched his hand and put it in the right place.

“It beats no faster than usual,” he said. “And you obviously are panting to quicken it. Come, my dear, you are quite all right.”

“I shan’t sleep tonight!”

But in thirty minutes by the grandfather clock in the hall she was in County Meath with her brothers, though her head was pillowed on Philip’s shoulder.

T
HIS MORNING IN
June was perfect. It seemed that no exquisite detail had been forgotten to ensure that perfection. The turquoise sky arched above the woods, cloudless. The trees themselves stood grand and strong, not crowded as though in struggle for existence, but free to thrust out their roots, to extend their branches in pride. Through their rich foliage the sun poured down upon the dark loam and drew from it such a carpet of moss, fern, and wild flower that where was one to step without crushing something fragile and sweet?

There was enough breeze to sway the branches so that in turn light shade and warm sunbeam fell on this variegated growth. The wild grapevine draped the trunk of an elm which towered so tall, before it sent out a branch, that it seemed to know nothing of what clung so lovingly to its base. A stump became the throne of a pale convolvulus that tossed up a fresh bloom each hour. There were patches of daintily formed moss into which one’s feet sank as into living plush. Then wintergreen spread its glossy mat. Trailing arbutus sent down a delicate root, sent up a waxen bell and pressed on, as though in haste to claim the land for its own. Butterflies flew not by one or two but in bright throngs, sometimes hanging
like flowers on a branch, then moving swiftly away, stirred by some subtle but inexorable impulse. They rose above the treetops, beat their tiny wings against the azure of the sky, then sank, drawn down by the same invisible guide till they hung on the branch of the maple. The birds at this hour were mostly unseen, living their enthralling life, from the routine of which they never deviated, among the rich green foliage. But their song was heard in every part of the wood, from the clear pipe of the wild canary, the studied cadence of the oriole, to the deep note of the wood pigeon. As they flew from bough to bough the leaves fluttered and sometimes a pointed wing or a bright breast was revealed. And in their burrows mole, ground hog, fox, and rabbit reared their young, in complete certainty that theirs was the most important mission of all.