02 Morning at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  The dove and the three children slept so quietly, so tranquilly, the white sail so steadily received the wind and, with tiller lashed, moved the boat that it might have been guided by some supernatural agency. It might have been thought that the four occupants were under a spell from which only the light of day would wake them.

  The sun had not yet risen but there were wafted on the horizon a group of apricot and gold cloudlets which had caught the first colour from the advancing sun. Their colour was cast on the sail of the little boat and on the faces of the two boys, drawing them out of the world of fantasy. The dove woke and spread his wings, as though ready for flight. He uttered cooing sounds.

  So long had Gussie slept, with her head on her knees, that when the cooing of the dove woke her she at first felt powerless to move. Slowly she raised her head and, facing the east, received the first red shaft of the rising sun. She heard Ernest’s voice.

  “Gussie!”

  “Yes, Ernest.”

  “Have you been sleeping?”

  “I dozed.”

  Nicholas sat bolt upright. “You said you’d be on the watch.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “I’m hungry,” said Ernest.

  They all were hungry.

  The boat sped forward in the rosy radiance of sunrise. The waves — for they now had risen from playful ripples — were as though touched by fire. The sail tautened as it gathered speed from the light wind. The clouds became white and, like white-robed angels, moved away from the east and cast their shadows on the lake. Then the lake looked strange and somehow forbidding.

  “I’m hungry,” repeated Ernest, giving these clouds a slightly apprehensive look.

  “You must not eat till you have washed,” Augusta told him, “and you too, Nicholas, must wash.”

  Ernest spread out two small grimy hands. “I’m not dirty,” he said, and giggled.

  “I’m not dirty either,” said Nicholas, showing his still grimier hands. His face was even dirtier.

  “Wash yourselves,” ordered Augusta, throwing soap, a washcloth, and a towel in their direction.

  They obeyed, leaning so far over the side that she warned, “Be careful or you’ll fall overboard!” The boys giggled, as though in rebellion. They lost the soap. They struggled over possession of the towel.

  “Be careful!” she screamed and they turned on her two dripping laughing faces.

  But the laughter left their faces when a gust caught the sail and the boat heeled in a frightening way. Nicholas, now sobered, took charge of the sail. Augusta was at the tiller.

  “Where is your compass?” she demanded of Ernest.

  Wet tags of hair stood upright on his head. “I’m hungry,” he whined. “I’ll find my compass when I’ve had breakfast.”

  “You may get something out of the hamper,” she said, “but I could not let you boys eat with dirty faces.”

  “Your own face is dirty,” Nicholas retorted with a jeering laugh, in which Ernest joined.

  Suddenly the boys no longer were the loyal crew. Augusta felt that they were against her. She heard Ernest say, “Compass, my eye!” This crew was ready to mutiny.

  She crouched at the gunwale washing her face and hands. She now saw that the boys were eating fruit cake. They were eating greedily, with swigs of cold tea.

  “Have some?” Nicholas asked, offering her a slab of cake with nuts and raisins in it.

  The boys grinned together like mutineers.

  “Thanks,” she answered coldly, and ate a chicken sandwich.

  The sun now came out gloriously. The lively breeze increased to a moderate wind. Suddenly the boys became a decent crew amenable to orders. “What shall I do?” Nicholas asked when the wind, as though to tease them, changed its course.

  “Don’t you know?” asked Augusta.

  “No.”

  “But I thought you knew how to manage the sail.”

  Ernest, peering through the spyglass, asked, “When do we reach Charleston?”

  Cautiously Gussie moved to his side and laid her map in front of him. “Can’t you understand that first we must reach the American shore, then sell our boat, buy our railway tickets and take train to Charleston?”

  Ernest said, “I can’t see any shore.”

  “We shall reach it in time.”

  “My throat’s sore,” said Ernest.

  Nicholas remarked to Augusta, “We should not have brought this fellow with us. He’s always whining and complaining.”

  “You shut up,” said Ernest.

  Nicholas shouted back, “If I hadn’t this sail to manage, I’d make you sorry.”

  Ernest began to cry a little. “Gussie,” he stammered, “Gussie …”

  Augusta said, “You must not be harsh with him, Nicholas. He’s the youngest.”

  Again the boys turned to her as their captain. But the lake no longer was friendly to them. Its immensity became intimidating. On the lively waves whitecaps appeared. The wind was now quite cold. Gussie wrapped the rug about Ernest’s shoulders. She pacified the dove which was getting restless, pecking at the cord which tethered it by the leg.

  “I wonder what time it is,” said Nicholas. “I wish I had my watch with me.”

  “I wish I had a hairbrush or comb.” Gussie sought to tidy her hair with her fingers.

  “I judge,” Nicholas had the spyglass to his eye, “that it’s about noon.”

  Ernest snatched the glass from him. “Who said you could have that?” He spoke with temper.

  “Boys,” said their sister, “we must not quarrel. There’s a long journey ahead. There may even be some danger.” And she scanned the vast expanse of tumbling waves.

  “Danger?” repeated Ernest. “Shall we ever get to Charleston, do you think?”

  “If we behave ourselves and don’t quarrel,” she answered.

  “I shall behave,” said Ernest. “And I shall even let Nicholas look through my spyglass.” He had the effrontery to call it his spyglass. He stretched out his hand that held the glass. Nicholas reached out to take it. Between them they dropped it. It struck the gunwale and bounced overboard. No one quite knew how it happened. In trying to save it, Ernest all but fell overboard. Gussie saved him by grasping his hair. He burst into tears as though a terrible disaster had happened. Then he was sick and brought up the fruit cake. He bent over the side of the boat while Gussie held him in her arms. A wave struck the dinghy and then burst over them. They were in water to their knees.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nicholas. “I’m sorry, Gussie.”

  Ernest peered into the tumbling greenness. “Did you see where it went?” he quavered.

  “It just rolled over and sank,” said Nicholas, and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

  “Never mind,” said Ernest. “I still have my compass.” He felt in his pocket for the compass. He felt in all his pockets. Raising his eyes, that were wet with tears, to Gussie’s gentle face, he quavered, “Do you know where my compass is, Gussie?”

  “I’ll find it,” shouted Nicholas, and began scrabbling among their belongings.

  “Mind that sail!” shouted back Augusta.

  The boom was beginning to swing ominously, and the sail to flap as though it would tear itself from the mast. “I thought,” went on Augusta, “that you knew how to manage the sail.” The wind, the noise of the flapping sail, fairly tore the words from her lips, all but drowned the sound of her voice. She repeated, “I thought you understood.”

  “I don’t,” he answered.

  “You don’t know what to do?” she shouted.

  “No!” he shouted back and began to cry.

  “The sail must be lowered!” she shouted, and began to crawl on hands and knees through the water that stirred uneasily in the bottom of the boat.

  The uncontrolled sail set the tiller to swinging wildly, and these appeared suddenly to have complete control of the dinghy. It turned, it wallowed in the green waves. Augusta and Nicholas somehow managed to lower the sail. She lashed the r
udder so that it was stable. Now the little boat swung from the crest of one wave to another.

  When Ernest saw Nicholas in tears, his own tears dried. He ceased to search for his compass. Casting his eyes over the tumbling waves he asked, “Why has the water turned from blue to green, Gussie?”

  “It’s the clouds,” she answered.

  “When do you think we’ll see land?” he went on.

  “Pretty soon, I guess.”

  “I’ll be glad, won’t you?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she answered stoutly.

  That cheered both the small boys. Nicholas said, “I’m hungry.”

  She gave them dry biscuits, and a fig apiece.

  “Lunch,” she answered, and opened her mouth wide in a yawn.

  “Why are you yawning?” asked Ernest.

  “I was on watch all the night.”

  “Didn’t you sleep? Not one little nap?”

  “I forget.” She spoke crossly.

  “More tea, please,” they demanded.

  She filled the empty bottle from the lake. The green waves strove to submerge both bottle and boat. Through the clouds that now covered the sky they had faint glimpses of the sun. Pale shafts of light from it touched the waves — now nearby — now distant. The lake looked like a strange uncharted ocean.

  Presently Ernest found his compass. All three studied it. Augusta exclaimed, shouting to make herself heard, “We are now going east! Nicholas — go to the tiller! Try to change our course!”

  But Nicholas was not able to change the helter-skelter course of the dinghy, which slid down one wave, wallowed in the trough, then staggered up the next wave, behaving as though it might at any moment overturn.

  Ernest crept close to his sister. “Are you afraid, Gussie?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really afraid, but I must find the right way. The wind has blown us off our course.” She held Ernest tightly by the hand.

  He said, “I didn’t make much fuss about losing the spyglass, did I?” His forget-me-not-blue eyes, still wet with tears, sought her face for comfort. She thought sorrowfully of that loved possession.

  The clouds separated and allowed the sun to shoulder his way between them. The lake appeared to be enjoying a rowdy dance in broad, if chilly, sunlight. Like an accompaniment to this wild ballet of the waves, the wind whistled shrilly and thunder in the distance sounded as muffled drums. The children had nothing to do but watch the weather, and it seemed determined to astonish them.

  From the various clouds that, since break of day, gathered and dispersed in the troubled sky, one had emerged as more distinct, more threatening than any other. Now the other clouds moved away from it towards the horizon, leaving a space of a strange greenish colour as a background for it. This cloud took the shape of a man wearing a long cloak, with one arm upraised in a threatening gesture. Not only was the arm raised but, from its gaunt wrist, a hand depended, the forefinger of which pointed downward towards the dinghy.

  “Are you afraid, Gussie?” asked Ernest in a tremulous voice. “Is it pointing at us?”

  “It’s only a springtime cloud,” she answered. “What troubles me is that we are off our course.”

  “When the lake calms,” said Nicholas, “we’ll put up the sail and I’ll take the tiller.”

  In his shrill child’s voice Ernest called out, “Are you afraid, Nicholas?”

  “No!”

  “Do you wish you were home?”

  “No,” came back boldly.

  “There’s something dead in the lake!” screamed Ernest in terror. “It’s a drowned baby!”

  It was only a large dead fish, pallid and cadaverous, turning over and over in the waves.

  Now rain began to fall, pelting down from that menacing cloud in a blinding sheet. So violent it was that it flattened the tops of the rearing waves, took possession of the sky. The dinghy, with its young occupants, seemed to become the object of its vindictiveness. Ernest crouched with his head in Gussie’s rain-soaked skirt. Nicholas no longer made any pretence of bravery. He crawled through the water in the bottom of the boat to Gussie’s side. Blinded by the downpour, drenched to the skin, they clung together. They did not attempt to speak, but Gussie’s slender hands, cold yet comforting, every now and again patted the backs of the boys. The dove sat hunched on her shoulder, its beak sunk on its breast, its wet wings drooping. A very old bird it looked, though it was young.

  This deluge of rain appeared to last for a very long time, though it was only a half-hour. It was impossible to guess the time of day. A strange yellowish twilight enveloped sky and lake. The wind had lessened but boisterous waves were white-capped, forming at the horizon a steady line of foam.

  Nicholas, ashamed of the tears he had shed, now smiled at Gussie. “I’m hungry,” he said.

  He actually brought himself to smile. Smiling back she said, “Let’s find out what’s left in the hamper.”

  But the contents of the hamper were floating in water. He took from it a piece of pie but it fell apart in his hand. He threw it overboard. At the onslaught of the next wave, the dinghy rocked precariously, the hamper was overturned and its contents floated or were dissolved. Nicholas rescued a cornmeal muffin.

  “It’s not bad,” he said, biting into it. “Have one?” he asked of Ernest.

  But the little boy shook his head and then pressed his face against Gussie’s side. “I’ll never be hungry again,” he muttered.

  The movement of the clouds showed that another deluge of rain was imminent.

  “It would help us to sing a hymn,” said Gussie.

  Ernest raised his head.

  Their young voices were scarcely audible above the uproar of the elements. The boys raised their eyes towards where they hoped God might be lending an ear to them as they sang:

  Eternal Father! strong to save,

  Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

  Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep

  Its own appointed limits keep;

  Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee

  For those in peril on the sea!

  The boys raised their faces, but Gussie sat with her heavy-lidded eyes downcast, her face showing pallid between the mass of dripping hair that hung on either side over her shoulders. She might have been a young creature of the storm, created from the anguished elements.

  Scarcely had the singing of the hymn come to an end when the second deluge of rain enveloped them. This they suffered, crouching together in silence, Ernest’s face again hidden against Augusta’s side. This downpour of rain was briefer than the earlier one but even more penetrating. Any tiniest space left undrenched was now sought out and filled to its limit.

  When the rain ceased, which it did reluctantly with a drizzle, the clouds moved westward and the tumbling green lake was revealed. The water in the bottom of the boat moved this way and that, on its surface floating morsels of food, and treasures the children had brought aboard with them. Now the sun shone bright and with warmth in it. Ernest raised his face, strangely mottled in red and white. He raised his tear-drenched eyes to the heavens, and looked askance at the lake.

  Tumbling in it was the pallid shape of the large dead fish. “The fish!” he screamed, “the fish!” and threw himself on Gussie.

  “It’s not the same fish,” said Nicholas, his voice sounding hoarse and strange. “It’s a bigger one.” He peered at it in curiosity.

  At the next moment the boat rocked deeply in the trough, the dead fish rose on the wave and was flung with a wriggle into the dinghy.

  “Nicholas — put it out!” ordered Gussie, with frightening intensity.

  The boy, splashing in the water, caught the fish in his two hands, but its body was so slippery that he dropped it in fright. “It’s not dead!” he screamed. “It’s living! If you want it put out — do it yourself.”

  Desperately Gussie disengaged herself from Ernest’s clinging arms. She grasped the dead fish and threw it overboard. Caught in the next wave it disappeared.
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  Searching the sodden edibles in the hamper she found more figs and offered them to the boys. Nicholas eagerly devoured his but Ernest turned his face away. “I shall never eat again,” he said.

  Again he settled down to cling to Gussie, to hide his face against her. She clasped him but never in all her life had she felt so tired. Pains racked her body. Exhaustion weighed her eyelids. She thought that she had shut her eyes for only a few minutes, but when she opened them again the wind had lessened, the waves somewhat subsided. She saw the taut figure of Nicholas striving to raise the sail. But it resisted, being so wet and, when he had raised it just a little way, it caught the wind, the boom swung wildly outwards, and the boat heeled uncomfortably. They were drifting, buffeted by the boisterous waves.

  “I’m starving,” Nicholas said in a hoarse voice. “I’m wet to the skin. You look terrible, Gussie. Do you think Ernest is dying?”

  “If only I had something warm and dry to wrap him in,” she said.

  Nicholas said, “Look at the dove! Certainly he is dying.”

  The dove had resigned himself to the tether by which he was confined. The toes of his little red feet were turned inward and his draggled breast rested on them. His eyes were closed. He ignored the corn that Gussie offered him.

  She gathered the last of her courage in a desperate effort to achieve the end of the journey, to reach the beckoning land of America. Her fingers were stiff from cold, so that she could not readily undo the ribbon that held the dove. Even when he was freed he sat drooping.

  “Gussie — what are you doing?” cried Nicholas.

  “I am sending him home. He will know the way. The direction he takes will show us the way we should go.”

  Now the sun came through the clouds. The dove sat drooping till the first warmth touched it, then as though new life had inspired it, it raised its wings, two sharply-pointed pinions, skyward. It then in a flutter of energy flew to the top of the mast. This was no quiet perch but rocking as a slender tree in a gale. There the dove sat, staring into the sun, quiet as though carved from alabaster.