“He deserves a good hiding,” said Philip.
“How did Uncle Finch take it?” asked Maurice.
“Very badly. At first I thought he was going to faint, but when Dennis clutched him and made noises of suffering he pulled himself together. When I went there this morning he was surrounded by manuscript. ‘My work,’ he said, ‘of the past month.’ ‘Are you pleased with it?’ I asked. ‘Just this much,’ he said, and tore it to bits.”
“what a pity!” exclaimed Maurice.
“In a brief space,” said Archer, “I have seen a child attempt to hang himself, a musician destroy the work he has sweated over — and in no time I expect to see a young man stick out his neck for the marriage yoke.”
Philip laughed and blushed. “whatever way you look at it,” he said, “we’re getting a lot of splendid wedding presents. I’m off to Jalna now to help Adeline arrange them. We’re setting them out on tables in the library.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Archer. “I want the two portraits I’m giving you shown to advantage.”
At this moment Noah Binns appeared. He was carrying a large, flat, paper package. He gave a bleary wink at Philip and said, “I’ll bet a dime to a doughnut that you can’t guess what I’ve got here.”
“A wedding present?” said Philip.
Noah’s face fell. “You guessed right, but I bet you can’t guess what the present is — not in a hundred years.”
“A calendar?”
“No. Not a calendar. Look.” Noah ripped off the paper wrapping and, appropriating an easel, set the present in view. He grinned delightedly when he saw the puzzled looks of the young men. “It’s an enlargement,” he boasted, “of a snapshot, took by a tourist, of your family plot in the graveyard. Gravestones and iron fence and all. I paid good money to git it enlarged. I bought the frame at Woolworth’s. D ’ye think the young lady’ll like it?” Now he looked anxious.
“She’ll love it,” said Philip.
“It goes to show,” said Noah, “what young brides and bridegrooms come to. Like the rest of us.”
Philip grinned unbelieving, but Maurice exclaimed, “It’s horrible. He can’t give that to Adeline!”
Philip doubled up in laughter. “She’ll love it,” he said.
Noah rewrapped the picture. “I witnessed a terrible accident when I was in the city buyin’ that picter frame,” he said. “There was an old grey horse drawin’ a milk wagon. I guess it thought it was the last horse in the city. Then along comes another old nag hitched to another milk wagon. The first old nag hadn’t seen another horse since he could remember. He’d seen millions of cars. The driver told me he guessed the danged horse thought he was a car hisself. Anyways, when he saw this other horse it near scared the daylights outa him. He rared and kicked and busted the wagon to bits. It was a senseless sight.”
Noah was exhilarated by his adventures. Now he rewrapped the enlarged snapshot with the remark, “I hope this here will be hung in a constituous position.”
“It certainly will,” said Philip genially.
Renny Whiteoak was surprisingly touched by this present from Noah and delighted him by placing it prominently. Yet he refused to allow the portraits first painted by Christian to be seen. “They’re hideous modern caricatures,” he said. “The place for them is the attic.” Archer was resigned. “I shall take them with me to Oxford,” he said, “to show how art progresses in Canada.”
Adeline was not resigned. “After all,” she said to Philip, “it’s our wedding and we should be allowed to do what we choose with our presents.”
How this remark endeared her to Philip! The “we” … the “our” — gave such body to a prospect which sometimes appeared to him dreamlike. The fact that he was going to live in the home of his bride, a house with which he was as familiar as with the house of his parents, made the union somehow unreal. He would be glad when the wedding was over and they were settled down. Yet he looked forward with confidence to their honeymoon. It would settle all emotions that perturbed him.
Two nights before the wedding day Archer opened the door of his father’s bedroom and put his head inside. It was pitch-dark and midnight. Renny had just turned off the light.
Archer said, “I can hear Adeline crying in her room.”
Renny sprang up and joined him in the passage. “You must have exceptional hearing,” he said. “I can’t hear a sound.”
“Listen.”
Now Renny could faintly hear his daughter’s muffled sobbing. He went straight to Alayne’s room and bent over her. She was, for a wonder, fast asleep.
“Alayne,” he said, “you must go to Adeline, she’s crying. You must go to her. I can’t.”
Alayne was startled into instant sensibility. She rose, put on a dressing gown and slippers. She looked concerned but not distraught. In Adeline’s room a dim light was burning. Adeline lay stretched on the bed, face hidden in the pillow.
“whatever is the matter, darling?” Alayne put a comforting arm about the girl.
“I can’t do it,” sobbed Adeline. “I can’t go on with it. I’d die first.” Now that she was discovered she no longer restrained her weeping.
“Tell me — ” Alayne spoke urgently. “You must tell me.”
“I can’t go on with this,” Adeline sobbed, while Renny, Archer, and the three dogs listened miserably in the hall. “I can’t marry Philip.… or anyone.”
“If you are thinking of Maitland,” Alayne said calmly, “remember he is not free.”
“why did you say that?” demanded Adeline. “I’m thinking of no one but Philip, and I can’t have him in this room. I want to be my own — by myself.”
Renny now came to the door. “We can put Philip in Uncle Nick’s room,” he said, “if you don’t want him here.” Alayne patted Adeline’s back, as when she was a tiny child.
“You shall not marry,” she said, “if you do not want to; but remember — you must return every one of your wedding presents, with a note explaining that the wedding is not to take place.”
Adeline almost screamed: “Write fifty notes of that sort — on top of all my thank-you notes? I’d rather get married!”
Archer now came carrying a tray with instant coffee and digestive biscuits for all four. “I would feel just the same if I were going to be married. I’d scream the house down.”
Adeline laughed through her tears and hungrily ate more than her share of the digestive biscuits. From this time she moved forward to the ceremony without hesitation.
On the morning preceding the wedding, Finch, accompanied by Dennis, came to view the presents. Renny went with them into the library. “A nice display, isn’t it?” he said, with the very same expression he wore when showing the medals and ribbons won by his horses.
“Very nice indeed,” Finch said admiringly. “Keep your hands off them, Dennis,” he added, as the boy handled one thing after another.
Dennis wore a white singlet and grey trousers. He looked fragile, yet alert and happy. With him out of earshot, Renny said to Finch, “what are you going to do about him, now that the visit to Ireland is off?”
“I have heard of a school in New England where they take in difficult boys and, as I have some concert engagements there, I’m going to take him along.”
Dennis had caught the last words. Now he came, with a light, almost dancing step to Renny. “My father and I,” he said proudly, “are to travel together. It’s the first time we’ve done that since I was a little fellow and he brought me from California after my mother died.”
“That will be fun,” said Renny.
“Yes, won’t it?” He caught Finch’s sleeve in his hand and held it. He added, “I’m going to hear him play in two concerts. I’ve heard him practicing these pieces. I won’t be like the rest of the audience. I’ll know everything beforehand, and that’s what I like.”
The midsummer leaves made silken-green curtains for every window of the church. The clay had come when Renny led his only daughter up the aisle
to give her in marriage to the bridegroom of his choice. Young Philip, immaculately dressed, looked a young man to be proud of. He and his brother Christian stood at the chancel steps for what seemed a long time before the bride appeared. The small church was packed with people. A sigh of admiration rose from them as Adeline, very pale and beautiful, progressed along the aisle. Renny led her proudly, protectively. Her only attendant was her little cousin, Mary.
Mary also was in white and carried a basket of rosebuds. It was a trial to her to be stared at by so many people. Entering the church, with the air vibrating with the clamour of the wedding bells, she saw Noah Binns frantically ringing them. “I’ll ring them wedding bells,” he had declared, “if it’s the last thing I do.” He put his creaking back into the ordeal and he survived, gasping and ghastly.
As Mary moved along the aisle, her downcast eyes were fixed on the sweet rosebuds in the basket she carried. She was not surprised to see among them a pretty little blond spider. Whether it was for the spider or for herself she did not know, but a tear shone bright on her pink cheek. Piers saw it as she passed close to him and could scarcely stop himself from wiping it away.
Both Philip and Adeline made their responses with admirable clarity. Firmly he placed the ring on her finger, and, led by the Rector, said “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
They knelt together, she who had held his hand and helped him to learn to walk. They who had pulled each other’s hair in childish combat.
Finch was at the organ, and never in that church had the wedding march been played with such splendid dominion over the instrument.
The air was full of music and admiring congratulations. Adeline remained very pale, but Philip was rosy as a young god.
Renny Whiteoak had, for this occasion, bought a new car; and Wright, well turned out in dark blue, with chauffeur’s cap, was to drive the newly wed pair to Jalna. Wright was proud of his part in these important doings. He drove the car slowly and with dignity. Behind him Philip and Adeline sat, a little embarrassed, as though surprised to find themselves alone together. He just touched the flowers of her bouquet. “Pretty,” he said.
She drew away. “Don’t,” she said.
“Okay” he said, and took out his gold cigarette case, a wedding present, and lighted a cigarette.
“Don’t,” she repeated.
“why not?” he asked, surprised.
“It isn’t appropriate.”
He sent a puff of smoke down his nostrils.
In a sudden fury she snatched the cigarette from his lips. They scuffled for it, but before he recovered it it had fallen on her veil and burned a small hole in it.
“Oh — I am sorry!” he exclaimed.
She tapped Wright on the shoulder. “Stop the car, Wright,” she ordered, still in a fury.
Wright stopped the car. He looked inquiringly over his shoulder.
Adeline opened the door. “I’m getting out,” she said.
“what’s wrong?” asked Wright dumfounded.
“Everything,” she raged. “Look at this.” She pointed to the hole in her veil.
“I didn’t mean to,” said Philip — “I’m sorry.”
“I’m getting out,” she repeated.
“You can’t,” shouted Philip, and caught her by the wrist.
But she had the door wide open and was already, impeded though she was by train, veil, and bouquet, descending into the dusty road.
This was the sight that met the eyes of Renny Whiteoak in the car following. In an instant he, too, was in the road coming to meet her. She poured out an incoherent story of the mishap, while Philip, very red in the face, followed her along the road. Other cars, filled with wedding guests, were collecting.
Renny took his daughter by the hand. “There’s a good girl,” he repeated soothingly. “A good girl. What’s a little hole in your veil? Come, come.”
“It’s not only that,” she said. “It’s everything.”
“There’s a good girl,” he soothed, as though she were a nervous filly. “There’s a good girl.”
“You’ve got to come in the car with us,” she said. “I won’t go in it without you.”
To humour her, he got into the car with her; and so the bride, the bridegroom, and the bride’s father returned to Jalna together. They were silent, Philip gazing resolutely out of the window, Adeline holding tightly to Renny’s thin muscular hand. When the car stopped at the door that stood in welcome wide open, Renny put off his air of tenderness and said authoritatively: “Now you will stand in the receiving line and behave yourself properly. No more tantrums or I’ll take a stick to your back.” But he smiled as he said it.
Something very like a smirk dimpled Philip’s cheek. He offered his arm to Adeline and she laid her slender gloved band on it. Little Mary had overheard this threat, for she was waiting in the porch. Now she stole to a corner of the dining room and had a little cry.
But she was not left in peace. Rags soon sought her out. “They’re asking for you, Miss,” he said, “to stand in the line. And what a picture you look, to be sure!” He led her to the drawing room.
How glad she would be when all was over and she was safe at home, in an old cool dress, and with Ernest to play with! It was a comforting thought to her that some of the men of the family would very soon be leaving. Philip was going on what he called a honeymoon. Maurice and Patrick were soon to go to Ireland. Uncle Finch was taking Dennis to the States; she hoped he would never come back.
Mary did not think of Ernest as a male. He was a baby — hers to play with and keep for her own, always. Now, in an old dress, she bent over him as he lay in his cot laughing up at her. The bright whites of his eyes showed round the bright blue of the iris. He had got two teeth.
Her face close to his, she sniffed the pleasing scent of his flesh.
“You’re prettier than a spider,” she said, “sweeter than a rose.”
“what’s that you say, Mary?” demanded Pheasant.
“Oh, nothing,” said Mary.
THE END
Mazo de la Roche
RICH AND FAMOUS WRITER
Heather Kirk
Copyright © 2010 The Estate of Mazo de la Roche and Dundurn Press Limited
First published in Canada by Macmillan Company of Canada in 1953.
This 2010 edition of The Whiteoak Brothers is published in a new trade paperback format.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of undurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Michael Carroll
Copy Editor: Matt Baker
Design: Courtney Horner
Epub Design: Laura Boyle
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
De la Roche, Mazo, 1879-1961.
The Whiteoak brothers / by Mazo De La Roche.
ISBN 978-1-55488-741-5
I. Title.
PS8507.E43W4 2010 C813'.52 C2009-907535-0
1 2 3 4 5 14 13 12 11 10
We acknowledge the support of The Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.
J. Kirk Howard, President
w
ww.dundurn.com
Mazo de la Roche, 1879–1961.
About Heather Kirk
Heather Kirk is a writer and teacher living in Barrie, Ontario. Her writing has been published in many periodicals, including Books in Canada, Canadian Children’s Literature, Canadian Literature, Canadian Woman Studies, Contemporary Verse II, Literary Review of Canada, Quill & Quire, and Wascana Review. Her work has also been broadcast on radio.
Heather Kirk has published two teen novels, Warsaw Spring (2001) and A Drop of Rain (2004), and a rewrite of the classic Canadian novel, Wacousta (2005).
She holds a B.A. from Dalhousie University, an M.A. from the University of Toronto, and an M.A. from York University, where she specialized in Canadian literature. She has taught English at the University of Alberta, the University of Warsaw, Grande Prairie Regional College, and Georgian College.
For more information, visit Heather Kirks website: http://www.heatherkirk.ca.
For Clara Thomas,
a pioneer in Canadian literary biography
Prologue
Mazo carried Bunty, the blind, old, black Scottish terrier, down to the little back garden to do her business. The snow had melted and little green shoots were poking out of the cold dark earth. Mazo carried Bunty back up again to the stuffy, rented, third-floor flat. Mazo, Caroline, and Bunty ate their breakfast, then Caroline left for work the way she always did.
While Bunty sat beside the rocking chair and listened, Mazo perched herself again today on the window seat and watched the sidewalk that led to the front door. When the postman came, Mazo ignored Bunty, flew down the stairs, and fetched the mail.
“Nothing from the writing competition,” Mazo said to Bunty as she returned to the flat. “One of the other manuscripts has been chosen, I suppose. Jalna has been thrust aside and forgotten.”
Bunty cocked her head.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 540
