The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (540 page)

After three weeks in Quebec, the Clappertons returned to Vaughanlands to find Gem’s sisters already established there. Indeed, they were so thoroughly established that Eugene Clapperton experienced almost a feeling of shock when he entered his home with his bride. The two girls had left their mark everywhere. In the living room Garda had taken down several prized pictures, one of them a painting of Niagara Falls, and hung in their stead strange drawings done by Althea. They had brought gaudy cushions and strewn them, it seemed to him, all over the house.

Garda’s goloshes were lying in the middle of the hall and a pair of pink bedroom slippers halfway up the stairs. She had a passion for small creatures. The verandah was strewn with breadcrumbs for the birds. On every sunny windowsill were boxes containing unpleasant-looking cocoons from which, as the days went on, there emerged various large moths that laid their eggs, in great numbers, on rugs and furniture. Eugene Clapperton traced a really nasty smell to a cage of white mice in a corner of his own private room — the very room from which the money had been stolen. Garda also collected shells and odd stones which decorated every available shelf and tabletop. Sidney Swift had been careful of his bicycle but Garda threw hers down wherever she alighted from it. There was no order in her habits, but she was always happy and smiling. She was almost too happy and smiling to please Eugene Clapperton. She took all the benefits he showered upon her as though they came as easily and naturally as sunshine. She never seemed to consider how hard he had worked to make so much money.

Althea now possessed a Great Dane given her by Finch who, for some obscure reason, felt it was just what she needed. It was an enormous creature, with a profound and melancholy bark and blood-chilling growl. When Althea was not taking him for long walks she was spending most of her time with him in her attic studio. He was young and his romping sounded on the ceiling of the rooms below like the prancings of a cart horse. Whenever he saw Eugene Clapperton, he growled at him.

In truth the benevolent man found his three girlies, at times, overpowering. He could not have believed how completely they would take possession of his home. In Quebec it seemed that he had made Gem implacably his, with no will or desire to have a will of her own. But now she drifted back into the atmosphere of her sisters just as though she had had no new and epoch-making experience. The three had private jokes to laugh at. In a room they grouped themselves close together, making him an outsider. He never regretted what he had done. His marriage to Gem had given his life a new meaning but he could not restrain certain moments of pensive dwelling on his ordered days with Sidney Swift.

The fox farm was let to new tenants. Renny was having the house redecorated, painted without and within. It was impossible to engage men to do the work, so Finch and Wakefield had undertaken it and were making it look like new. They joked and sang at their work in the variable spring weather. Now, on a Sunday afternoon, Alayne and Renny had come to inspect.

“It looks fine, doesn’t it?” he said.

“Very nice. Thank goodness, you have let it to people who will pay a good rent.”

“Yes, yes,” he agreed, and visions of the past tenants flashed through his mind.

“I hope they will be more congenial to me than the sisters were.”

“Oh, I think they will. I’m sure you’ll like them.”

They walked through the rooms.

“It’s a sweet little house,” she said. “I wonder what it would be like if you and I lived in a house like this? Just the two of us.”

He turned to her, surprised. “Would you like it?”

“In some ways I think I should.”

“Leave Jalna! Desert your children! And the old uncles — and all the others!”

“I’d have you.”

“That’s the way to talk,” he exclaimed, with a gratified grin. “After all you’ve been through with me — after all the worry I’ve caused you!” He put his arm about her and laid his cheek against her hair.

In the grass outside she found a fragile pink flower.

“what a backward spring,” she said. “This is the first wild flower I’ve found. It has seemed as though the flowers never would find courage to come up.”

“They always do,” he said. “They’re like you. They’ve lots of courage — when necessary.”

Adeline was home for the midterm weekend. She now came running across the grass to join them. She pushed her body between theirs and, turning her head, smiled first into Alayne’s face then into Renny’s.

“It’s glorious to be home,” she exclaimed. “I wish I might never have to leave it again.”

Renny smiled down at her. “what about that visit to Ireland with Mooey?”

“Oh, bother Mooey,” she exclaimed.

“Bother Mooey,” repeated Alayne. “I thought you and he were great friends.”

“We are,” laughed Adeline, “but still I say — bother him — bother him — bother him!”

Maurice appeared as from nowhere.

“what’s that?” he demanded. “what’s that about me?”

“I say bother you and Ireland too.”

“Just for that,” said Maurice gravely, “I will take you there and keep you forever.”

MAZO DE LA ROCHE

STIRRINGS OF SPRING

The room could scarcely have been more snug for two very old men. The birch logs in the fireplace had blazed brightly and now had been resolved into glowing red shapes that looked solid but were near the point of crumbling. Soon a fresh log would be needed. There were plenty of them in the battered basket by the hearth. The February sunshine glittered on long icicles outside the window and the steady dripping from them played a pleasant tune on the sill. It was almost time for tea.

The two old brothers, Nicholas and Ernest Whiteoak, were quite ready for it. They ate lightly but liked their food often. Tea was their favourite meal. Nicholas looked impatiently at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf.

“what time is it?” he asked.

“A quarter past four.”

“what?”

“A quarter past four.”

“Hm. I wonder where everyone is.”

“I wonder.”

“Winter’s getting on.”

“Yes. It’s St. Valentine’s Day.”

“I have a valentine.” The clear pipe came from the hearthrug where their great-nephew Dennis was lying with a book in front of him.

“You have a valentine, eh?” exclaimed Ernest. “And do you know who sent it to you?”

“No. That’s a secret. But I guess it was Adeline.” He rose and stood between the two old men like a slender shoot growing between two ancient oaks. He wore a green pullover which accentuated his clear pallor, the blondness of his straight hair, and the greenness of his long narrow eyes.

Ernest said, in rather halting French, — “I have always considered those eyes of his rather a disfigurement. They’re altogether too green. Certainly his mother’s eyes were greenish but not like this.”

Dennis said, in English, — “I understood every word you said.”

“what did I say then?” demanded Ernest.

“You said my eyes were too green. Greener than my mother’s.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Ernest. “I apologize. I forget that you’re not just a very small boy.”

“I was nine at Christmas.”

“Eight. I well remember when I was eight. I had a beautiful birthday party, in this very house.”

“How old are you now, Uncle Ernest?”

“I am ninety-four. That seems quite old to you, I daresay.”

“Yes. Pretty old.”

“Yet I remember my eighth birthday as though it were just a month ago. It was a lovely spring day and I had a new suit for the occasion. There had been a heavy rain the night before and, as I ran out to welcome the first guest, I tripped and fell into a puddle on the drive. The front of the jacket was all wet with muddy water! Even my lace collar was wet.”

“Lace collar!”

“Yes. Boys dressed differently in those days.”

Ernest would have liked to go on talking about the past but the door opened and a young girl came in. She was the daughter of the old men’s eldest nephew, Renny Whiteoak. She went to the brothers and kissed them in turn.

“Hullo, Uncles,” she exclaimed. “You look beautiful, bless your hearts.”

“All spruced up for tea,” rumbled Nicholas. “And tired of waiting for it.”

Adeline stroked his upstanding grey hair which the onslaught of the years had failed perceptibly to thin. “I love your hair, Uncle Nick,” she said. “It looks so massive.”

At once Ernest felt a twinge of jealousy. He passed a hand over his thin white hair and said disparagingly:

“I don’t know why it is but your Uncle Nicholas’ hair never looks as though he ran a brush over it.”

“That’s the trouble,” said Adeline. “He runs the brush over it, not through it. I’ll have a go at it one of these days and show you how handsome he can look.”

Nicholas looked up at her adoringly. He took one of her slim, strong hands in his and held it to his cheek.

“You’ve been outdoors,” he said. “I smell the frosty air on your hand.”

“Yes. I’ve just had the dogs for a walk. I’m starving.”

“Here comes the tea!” cried Dennis.

Through the door which Adeline had left open behind her, a small thin man, with close-cropped grey hair and an expression of mingled resignation and aggressiveness on his sallow face, came in, carrying a tray. Adeline sprang to his assistance and drew the tea table between the two old men.

“Good,” she exclaimed. “Plenty of bread and butter and blackberry jam. I believe I like bread and butter better than any other food.” She took a piece from the plate and began to eat it. Dennis at once stretched out his hand to do the same.

“Don’t do that, young man,” said Adeline, her mouth full. “It’s one thing for me to have bad manners. Quite another for you.”

Adeline’s mother now entered. She was in her early fifties, her look of calmness and self-possession the achievement of many years of struggle. The smile on her lips was not reflected in the clear blue depths of her eyes. She seated herself behind the tea table, her hands moved among the cups and saucers. Dennis came and stood by the tray.

“May I pass things?” he asked.

“If you’re very careful.” She began to fill the cups.

“where is Renny?” asked Ernest.

The man, Wragge, spoke up. “’E’s in ’is office, sir, going over accounts, but ’e said to tell you he’d be in directly.”

“Thank you,” said Alayne Whiteoak, with an air of dismissal.

He did not go at once, however, but lingered to set a chair in place, to adjust a curtain, to empty an ashtray into the fireplace. It was as though he remained to irritate her. When, at last, he had gone she said:

“I wish Renny would ever be on time.”

“He has the accounts to do,” Adeline said, defensively. “He can’t very well leave in the middle of doing them.”

Ernest remarked, to bridge the moment’s tenseness between mother and daughter:

“The fire needs fresh logs.”

“I’ll put one on,” cried Dennis. He heaved the largest log on to the fire which sent up a cloud of sparks. Small eager flames beset the log as it settled onto the glowing foundation.

“Good boy,” said Nicholas. He stretched out his hand to raise the teacup to his lips but miscalculated the distance and overturned the scalding tea onto the rug.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed ruefully. “That was stupid of me.” He took out his handkerchief and began to mop up the tea.

“If you would only keep your mind on your movements the way I do,” said Ernest, “you would never upset things.”

Nicholas blew out his cheeks. “Can’t keep my mind on anything,” he rumbled. “Got very little mind left.”

“Uncle Nick,” cried Adeline, “you have a wonderful mind! Don’t worry about the rug. I’ll fetch a towel from the dogs’ room.”

Alayne said, — “I’ll pour you a fresh cup of tea, Uncle Nicholas.” But her hands trembled with irritation as she poured. She kept saying to herself, — “We shall not have him with us much longer. Be patient.”

Adeline brought a towel and a basin of water, Nicholas and Dennis watching her with concentrated interest as she mopped up the wet spot. Things were barely in order again when Renny Whiteoak entered, bringing with him a gust of cold air.