The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (475 page)

It had been a time of pure happiness to Molly. There had been dinners and dances in the town but it was at Jalna that her happiness was keenest. This was a new life to her. There was skiing, there was skating, there was that feeling of permanence which brought an inward satisfaction to the heart.

It was the morning after Twelfth Night when Renny said to Molly, finding her alone with a book: —

“You have never properly seen my stables. Shouldn’t you like to come with me now, if you’ve nothing better to do?”

“Yes, I’d love to.” She rose eagerly. “I’ll fetch a coat and hat.”

“Where’s Wake?”

“With his Uncle Ernest. I think they enjoy a talk together.”

There had been one of those fairy snowfalls that leave a fragile and ethereal world behind them. Every twig bore its pretty burden, light as air. A puff of wind would send a fine spray from the trees, turning them into fountains. The air was colder than Molly had ever experienced but she did not mind. She could have flown.

As she strode by Renny’s side she wished the way to the stables was longer. It was a pity to go indoors out of this. She said so.

He stood stock-still and looked at her. “You needn’t come if you don’t want to,” he said, “but I must.”

“Oh, I do want to! I often wish I were two people here, there’s so much to do and see!”

“It’s probably just as well that there are not two of you,” he returned. “It might cause trouble. But you have enjoyed yourself at Jalna, haven’t you?”

“I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

He opened the stable door, the latch of which was meticulously decorated with snow. Inside it was warm. Shafts of sunlight touched clean straw, well-groomed flanks, and vigourous manes. A rich content permeated the stables, as though the occupants were assured that their world was secure, their god good. The aged mare Cora was as happy as the youngest colt. The stable cat, who had just caught a mouse, was purring on a beam above the stallion’s stall. A stableman came along the passage carrying a bucket of water in either hand. Through the open door of the harness room another could be seen polishing leather. Renny led Molly from stall to stall, giving her a brief account of each horse. The horses reached out to nuzzle him or to nibble his sleeve. They were jealous of his attention.

But he scarcely knew what he was saying. From the moment he had entered the stable with the girl at his side he had been bewildered by his own sensations. His mind was groping into the past. He was in the past. It was as though he were in a dream from which he could not wake. She spoke but the voice was not hers. It belonged to another girl. A girl who had once stood beside him in that same loose box, looking at another horse.

What was Molly saying?

Something about the Grand National.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes. Of course.”

It was not the answer she had expected. She looked surprised.

He said abruptly — “You tell me your mother is dead.”

She drew back a little from his abruptness.

“Yes.”

“Is it long? — Since she died, I mean.”

“Eight years.”

“Your stepfather’s name is Griffith.” He looked at her almost accusingly.

“Yes. We — Christopher and I — took his name when Mummie married him, but our name is really Dayborn.”

His face was inscrutable. He kept running his fingers through the mare’s mane. After a moment he asked: —

“Was your mother ever in Canada?”

“She never mentioned Canada to me.”

“I ask,” he said, “because I once knew a Mrs. Dayborn.” He stopped himself. He must be careful. He twisted his fingers in the mare’s mane.

“Was your mother fond of horses?” he asked gently.

Molly’s face lighted. “She loved them! She knew all about them. She’d schooled show horses at one time in her life.” For her the barriers were down. Trembling, she asked, “Do you think my mother was ever in Canada?”

“Was her name Chris?”

“Then you did know her!”

They stared at each other, she on guard to protect her mother’s secret, if secret there was, he living again the moments when he had held that other girl in his arms in this very spot — all those years ago. But he must be careful — terribly careful. He must say nothing to imperil Wake’s happiness.

“You are nineteen?” he said.

“Yes.”

Then almost angrily she broke out — “What are you trying to tell me or — keep from me?”

“I think your mother was here but she probably had a reasonable motive for not telling you. Perhaps you’d better not speak of it to Wake. She was a lovely young woman. Do you remember her clearly?”

“Oh, yes. It was terrible for us when she died. She was going to have a child. She wasn’t well. She thought perhaps she’d had too many falls from horses. She almost died when I was born.”

He winced. He turned away his face from her. Then he turned to her again and took her arm. “Let’s go into my office,” he said, “where we can talk without interruption.”

He led her into the small room that was warmed by a stove. She sat down in the chair facing the desk and he sat behind the desk. His hands moved mechanically among the papers on it. After a moment he said: —

“I think there is no doubt that your mother came to Jalna with her husband, Jim Dayborn, to school horses for me. It was directly after the Great War. I’d only just come home. I think she’d been through a pretty hard time. Evidently she thought it better that you shouldn’t know about it.”

“Renny,” — she had been calling him that since coming to Jalna, — “I want to tell you something rather strange. Just before I left England I was going over some things of my mother’s. Things in a writing folio. There was a newspaper print of you on horseback. I recognized it as the same picture your brothers showed me in Gayfere Street. The name was cut off. I thought it was a coincidence. But she’d never mentioned Canada to me so I didn’t speak of it to Wake.”

“Thank God!”

She was startled. The colour heightened in his weather-beaten face. He gave a short laugh. He said: —

“Well, perhaps it’s not so important as all that but if your mother wanted her stay here kept secret, I think we should do it, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I wonder what Christopher would say.”

“Was he called Tod, as a baby?”

“Yes. Mother always called him Tod.”

“To think of it!” he ejaculated.

She saw how his hand trembled as again he moved the papers about. She laid her own two hands on the desk as though for support. His eyes rested first on her hands, then on his own. He saw the well-articulated lines of his repeated in her girl’s hands. He saw the thumb, with the clear half-moon on its nail, the curve of the little finger, the very shape of the bones. He raised his eyes to her face and searched it in vain for any resemblance to himself. Then he noticed how her fair hair grew in a point on the forehead, as did his, her ears that were pointed and lay close to the head. The icy finger that had just touched his heart now stretched out to cling about it.

He rose and went to the window and looked out into the dazzling day…. It couldn’t be! He was mistaken. This dreadful thing couldn’t have happened to him … couldn’t be waiting to ruin Wake’s happiness! He must get rid of the girl. He must be alone to think. He almost hated her, sitting there, as though some trick of fate had brought her and Wake together!

He pulled himself up. She was speaking.

“It’s all so confusing.”

He turned to her. “Yes. I expect the best thing we can do is to put it out of our minds.”

“And not tell Wake?”

“I shouldn’t tell him, if I were you.”

“I find it hard to keep things from him. He’s so sympathetic.”

“Yes, he is. You’re nineteen, you say. When is your birthday?”

She told him. He stood motionless with knit brows. The icy hand of foreboding was pressed on his heart. He had never felt like this before.

“Your mother’s first husband, James Dayborn,” he said, “when did he die?”

“My own father? He died of lung trouble when I was three.”

“Lung trouble! Tuberculosis! God, that’s an awful thing! I had a brother die of it. You’re strong, are you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Good. You’re thin, though.”

“It’s natural to me. My mother was thin. Do you remember?”

“Yes. And strong as steel. I’ve never known a woman to ride as she could. Well — we must have another talk later. Remember, don’t mention this to Wake.” He spoke peremptorily.

“No.” She answered in the tone of an obedient child.

He went to the outer door with her and stood watching her as she went toward the house. The walk — the fair hair showing beneath the little hat — she might he Chris! He bit his lip to keep back a groan. The dazzling, fairy scene was dark for him. Talk of feeling confused — he scarcely knew what he was doing!

A groom came to him and asked if he had seen a certain bottle of liniment. He stared uncomprehending.

“Liniment?”

“Yes sir. The bottle the vet left this morning.”

Renny wheeled and walked blindly into the office. He picked up the bottle and handed it to the man, who went off, thinking, “It’s not like him to have had too much to drink at this hour in the day. Gosh, he looked queer!”

It was hot in the little room. He threw up the window and the bright snow came sifting in. He sat down at his desk, resting his head on his hand.

He thought — “She’s mine. She’s my child. Mine and Chris’s…. There’s no doubt about it…. Her hands. The way her hair grows. The time of her birth. She’s mine … mine and Chris’s…. Oh, Chris, how could we do this to young Wake!” He twisted his fingers in his strong red hair. He could have torn it, in the bitterness of his anger at himself.

“Talk of pigeons coming home to roost! If ever any man paid for his sins, I have. God, I’ve always been found out — from that first time — the gypsy woman when I was nineteen! Perhaps she did something to me — put a curse on me! She was clever enough. But Chris — that sweet girl! I loved her. I’d have married her if I’d had the chance. She wasn’t a wife to Dayborn. He was a cantankerous devil. She never loved him but how she slaved for him and his child!” He remembered how she used to come in the early morning, along the path through the orchard, Dayborn carrying the baby Tod on his shoulder. She was better than Dayborn at schooling the horses. She was afraid of nothing. What hands she had for a horse! And for a man … he could feel them on his hair, on his face. And she was dead! In childbed…. Too much hard work … too many falls … poor little Chris! He had thought she was buried in his past but now pity for her pierced his breast. Had he been to blame? He supposed he had. Nature had made him into one of those men who are always to blame. But if only their love had not produced this dreadful crisis — this girl whom Wake loved!

For a space his mind ceased to work. It was a confusion of images — of instincts — of a blind struggle to protect Wakefield. The icy air rushed in on him. The papers swirled on the desk, fell to the floor. He rose and shut the window.

A knock came on the door.

“Go away,” he shouted. “I’m busy.”

He locked the door. He walked up and down the narrow space of the room, trying to think. He lighted a cigarette and sat down on the edge of the desk, forcing himself to be calm. One thing was certain. He must be hard — ruthless — he must put an end to this connection between Wake and Molly. Well — they were young. They would get over it. But how could he tell Wake the truth? Yet there was no other way out.

The stable clock struck one. Lunch would be already on the table. He couldn’t go in. He couldn’t face Wake. When had he better tell him? This afternoon? No — no, he couldn’t tell him today! He’d give him another day — a few days more — to be happy in! What if Wake were killed in the war? There would always be that thought— the knowledge that he had spoiled Wake’s last months. If only some miracle might happen! If the two would quarrel — break off their engagement of their own free will! But they’d never do that. You only need see them together to know how deeply they were in love. He went into the stable and sent a boy to the house to ask for lunch to be brought to the office.

“Tell Mrs. Whiteoak that I’m very busy.”

Mrs. Whiteoak! Alayne! She must never know of this. It would be dreadful to her. He’d got to practise a lot of self-control in the coming days!

The lunch was brought and he burned the food in the stove. He drank a little whiskey and water. He thought he would like to get roaring drunk — drown his troubles in the flowing bowl — that was the way poets put it!

The fire went out. He sat a long while in the cold office. Then he went to his horses, talked to his men. He had a few hot words with Piers over an item in the vet’s bill. That somehow calmed him, gave him courage. Piers looked at him curiously and he turned away.

He joined the others at tea. He drank a good deal of tea and managed to eat something. He talked and joked with Paris, who was easy to talk to, but kept his back turned to Wakefield. After tea he played with the children. He made them quite unmanageable, so that Alayne had to be very stern to get them to bed. She was annoyed at him and he had a hangdog feeling. In the evening they played bridge. He played so badly that Nicholas lost three dollars and was disgruntled with him.

When he went to his room that night he shook some aspirin tablets from the bottle without counting them, crunched them in his strong teeth, and washed them down with a glass of water. He slept. He was awake for some minutes next morning before he remembered what was wrong. He rolled over with a groan and pressed his face into the pillow. He would tell Wake that morning — get it over with!

Perhaps the boy would never be the same again. Perhaps the last affectionate words had passed between them. But it had to be. He had to tell Wake who Molly was. Better anything than this weight of apprehension in his chest. Still he could not bring himself to get up.

He heard the familiar morning sounds. The dogs’ noisy rush outdoors to chase away imaginary trespassers. The shaking down of the coals in the hall stove. Uncle Nick’s morning cough. Alayne’s reasoning with Archer. The snow being shoveled from the paths. He’d got to get up. There was no escape. He’d got to send Wake’s world crashing, the young brother whom he’d protected all his life. There was no help for it!