01 The Building of Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  “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.

  VIII

  THE LAND

  THIS 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.

  Philip and Adeline were standing on their own land. Philip had a small hamper containing their lunch strapped to his shoulder. Two weeks had passed since their arrival. During that time they had inspected the property, made the necessary visits to government offices, paid the sum demanded, been given the deed with impressive red seals, and now could say — “The land is ours.”

  “It is a paradise,” cried Adeline, turning her head from side to side, “a perfect paradise, and it is ours!”

  It was the first time they had visited the place alone. Each previous time one of the Vaughans or a government agent had come with them. Always there had been boundaries or business of some sort to discuss. But now they were alone. There was no need to talk to the Vaughans, pleasant as they were. They could stand gazing in rapt attention at each new vista that opened up. They could explore like eager children, running here and there, shouting to each other to “Look! Look!” How Adeline deplored her long skirts and remembered her girlhood in Ireland when she would tuck them up and leave the agile legs free. Once, when she was wrestling with one of her brothers, he had torn the skirt clean off her and she had risen in her pantalettes. Oh, the bliss of it! She had leaped and run, higher and faster than any of them. She had been caught and given a whipping but she now recalled the incident with a grin.

  “We might be Adam and Eve,” said Philip. “We might be the only two people on earth. Upon my soul you’d think the land knew we owned it — it’s so smiling!”

  “Philip, my angel, you are a poet!”

  “No … but I do feel … well, I can’t explain … I know it sounds ridiculous.”

  “It isn’t ridiculous. It’s true! Everything has a different air this morning.”

  “Now you’re going to laugh.”

  “At what? Not at you being poetical, I promise.”

  “What I’m thinking is — we’ve got the key to all this … not just the land, you know. But everything.”

  “Yes. I understand. It’s like being born again.”

  “I say, Adeline — we’ve come to the ravine from a different angle. Look!”

  They stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking down into the green dusk where the stream narrowed and was half-hidden in wild honeysuckle and purple iris. Spotted lilies grew there and a pair of blue herons rose, their legs stiff. But Philip and Adeline could not descend the ravine because of the undergrowth. They could only glimpse the river, palely foaming about the great stones that had once rolled down the mossy steep into it.

  “Our house must be near the ravine,” she said. “I want to be able to walk across a velvety lawn, open a gate, a low broad gate, and make a path down to the stream’s edge.”

  “We will build a rustic bridge,” he said, “across the stream. A path on the far side would lead us back to Vaughanlands, I think.”

  “You are so good at directions! Now Vaughanlands seems to me in the opposite one.”

  He took out the compass which was attached to his watch chain, and consulted it.

  “I’m right!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “The Vaughans’ house is straight over there. A bridge across the stream and we should have a short cut to it.”

  “Shall we ever get all this undergrowth cleared? Good heavens, if one of the children wanders away we shall never find him!”

  “We are fortunate in its being a good hard-bush — I believe that’s the proper expression. There’s a great deal of maple, oak, white ash, hickory and so forth. A few strong axes swinging, a few days’ work, and your forest will look like a park.”

  “How much you know!” she cried, admiringly.

  “Well, Vaughan has told me a good deal in the past fortnight.”

  She tugged at his arm, “Come, let’s choose the site for the house!”

  “I have a spot in mind. If only I can find it! Vaughan approves of it too. It must be quite near. There’s a sort of natural clearing and a spring.”

  “Oh, if there’s anything I love, it’s a spring! I shall plant watercress about it and mint and honeysuckle!”

  “It is comparatively near the road, too. We must be near the road … Hello — here’s the devil entering our Eden!”

  They could see the tall thin figure of a man but he had drawn much nearer before they recognized him as Wilmott. He had remained at a hotel in the town to make inquiries for a suitable habitation for himself. Philip had been to see him when he visited the government offices and had told him of his purchase of a thousand acres. Wilmott had promised to come out to inspect it. He had cast aside the clothes of convention and now wore brown breeches tucked into top boots, a shirt open at the throat, and a broad-brimmed hat. He was a little self-conscious and asked, after greetings had been exchanged: —

  “How do you think I look?”

  “Like the devil,” said Philip.

  Wilmott was astonished. “Well, I thought I should dress appropriately.”

  “You’re not going to be a lumberjack, are you?”

  “No. But
I shall have rough work to do and I must save the clothes I brought with me. It will be some time before I can afford to buy new ones.”

  “I think you look charming,” said Adeline, “except for the side whiskers. They are incongruous.”

  He gave her an intent look. “Do you really dislike them?” he asked in a low tone. Philip had moved ahead.

  She looked at him boldly. “Yes. I do.”

  “They’ll come off tonight!”

  “How did you find us?” demanded Philip over his shoulder.

  “I engaged a man to drive me out. We stopped to ask the way of a man with a horse and buggy down the road a bit. He turned out to be your Patsy O’Flynn. I don’t know what was so funny about it but seeing him as he had looked in Galway and on board ship and in Quebec, and then seeing him sitting in a buggy by a rail fence, was just too much for me. I laughed and laughed. He must have thought I was just as funny for he laughed and laughed too.”

  Philip and Adeline had never seen Wilmott like this. He seemed hilarious.

  “I love the freedom of this country!” he exclaimed. “You are not going to get rid of me, you know. On the way here I discovered a little log house. The man who lives in it wants to move farther north. He wants to get away from so much civilization! Well, the long and short of it is, I’m going to buy his property — a highly superior log cabin and fifty acres, part of which is swamp. It is on the edge of a river and a bigger, better river than yours, the man tells me.”

  Philip looked at him dubiously. He was afraid Wilmott had made a bad bargain. He liked him but was not quite sure that he wanted him for a neighbor. There was an uncertain quality in Wilmott. Also he had a way of assuming an intellectual intimacy with Adeline, as though they two looked on things from the same angle. But Philip liked him and his frank face lighted. He gave Wilmott a slap on the shoulder.

  “Good man!” he said. “But I must bring Vaughan to see the log house before you pay the cash. He will know if it is worth it.”

  “Nothing shall dissuade me,” said Wilmott. “It’s the sort of place I’ve been dreaming of.”

  “What about the swamp?”

  “The owner says it will grow onions.”

  “Onions! What would you do with them?”

  “Sell them.”

  “My dear fellow, you’re in for a tumble if you bank on making money from onions.”

  “The swamp is a haven for wild fowl. All varieties make their home there. Just come and see. “

  “You had better help us choose a site for our house. I have the axemen engaged but haven’t decided where to put it.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t lost?”

  “Positive.” Philip once again consulted his compass. They moved on through the wood.

  “I wish D’Arcy and Brent could see us,” said Wilmott. “I had a letter from D’Arcy the other day. They are in New York. It’s very amusing they say. Strange fashions — spittoons everywhere. Negroes in unbelievable clothes! They saw Fanny Kemble and think she overacts.” He turned to Adeline. “Have you seen Fanny Kemble?”

  “No. What I enjoyed most in London was The Bohemian Girl. I declare I shall never forget that evening. It was heavenly.”

  Philip shouted — “Here is the spot!”

  He had pushed ahead and now awaited them in an open space. Perhaps in an earlier time some settler had chosen it as his dwelling, for great stumps showed where forest trees had been felled. But these were buried in the luxuriant foliage of the wild grape, or clothed in moss. The clearing had a friendly air. The sun poured into it and the trees which had been spared spread into extraordinary beauty. A tall young silver birch fluttered its satin leaves and its satin bark was flawless. As they drew near to it a flock of bluebirds rose from its midst, not in fright but rather in play, and flew skyward where their blueness soon was merged.

  Adeline never had heard of the sentimental belief in the bluebird for happiness but she liked their looks, and cried: —

  “Oh, the pretty things! They know the spot! We shall build here! I am so happy I could die!”

  It was the day of fainting. She tried to faint to demonstrate her emotion but could not. She staggered a little.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Philip.

  “Can’t you see I’m fainting?”

  “Nonsense,” he said, but he looked at her a little anxiously.

  “Sit down here,” begged Wilmott. He led her to a low moss-grown stump.

  She sat down, closing her eyes. Wilmott snatched off his hat and began fanning her.

  “She’s not fainting,” said Philip. “Look at the colour in her lips.” She put her fingers over her lips and sighed. She felt a stirring beneath her. She sprang up. A large adder glided across the stump and into the grass. Adeline’s shriek might have been heard to Vaughanlands. The two men stared in horror.

  “A snake!” she screamed. “A poisonous snake! There — in the grass!”

  They found sticks and ran after it, beating the grass.

  She was composed on their return.

  “Did you kill it?” she asked.

  “Yes,” answered Philip. “Want to see it?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “It was a yard long,” said Wilmott, “and as thick as my arm.”

  “How horrible!”

  “Never mind,” said Philip. “We shall soon be rid of them. Vaughan told me there were a few about this place. When we have the undergrowth cleared there will be an end to them.”

  “This is a superb site for your house,” said Wilmott. “That little rise is the perfect place. It should face south.” He seemed to have forgotten Adeline’s fright and paced up and down marking the size of the foundation.

  Philip had gone off to the spring. Now he returned carrying a tin mug of water. He looked anxiously at Adeline, as he gave her the drink.

  “I’m surprised at your making such a fuss,” he said, “after the snakes you’ve seen in India. The snakes here are harmless.”

  She meekly drank the icy spring water.

  “I had never sat on one before.” She shuddered.

  Wilmott called out — “You need not worry about excavating. The soil is just right and the site well-drained. I should advise a basement for the kitchen and usual offices. It will be warm in winter and cool in summer. You must have a square hall, with drawing-room on one side and library and dining room on the other. A deep porch would look well.”

  “He’ll be telling us next what to name the house,” said Philip.

  Adeline rose.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Better. But I was almost fainting before the snake came. Why was I?”

  “I forget.”

  “Oh, yes — it was the bluebirds. They made me so happy.”

  “You should try to restrain your emotions.”

  “But they’re all so fresh and strong.”

  “Bottle ’em up!”

  “But they won’t keep.”

  Wilmott called out — “Behind the main stairway you should have space for another good room. The house should be broad, substantial and hospitable-looking.”

  “I shall see to that,” said Philip, testily.

  “I recommend a third story. It makes the house seem more impressive, and if your family is large — ”

  “It’s not going to be large.”

  “Still I should have a third story.”

  He came back to them. His thin face was alight.

  “I am so hungry,” said Adeline. “Let us have our sandwiches.”

  “Good,” said Philip. “Will you join us, Wilmott?”

  “Are you sure you have enough for three? However you need not worry about me. One will be plenty.”

  They sat down on the sun-warmed grass where one must crush tiny pink flowers, they grew so close. Philip unstrapped his lunch basket and took out sandwiches, small cakes, a leather-covered flask of wine and collapsible drinking cup.

  “Do you remember our picnics in Quebec?”
asked Wilmott.

  “Oh, what fun we had!” exclaimed Adeline, her mouth full of chicken sandwich.

  “With the Balestrier children all over the place!” said Philip. “If I can’t bring up my children to behave better I’ll eat my hat.”

  “How is the charming little Augusta?” asked Wilmott.

  “Being utterly spoilt by Mrs. Vaughan,” answered Philip. “However, she is forgetting French and learning to speak English.”

  “Tell her I shall bring her a present. A doll — to take the place of the one stolen on board ship. Does she still miss her ayah?”

  “No. She has forgotten her.”

  There was a moment’s silence as their minds flew back to the funeral at sea. Then Wilmott said: —

  “The mosquitoes are a pest here. I suffer tortures at night from the itching of old bites and the hideous buzzing as new bites are inflicted.”

  “I am writing home,” said Philip, “for mosquito netting. We shall cover our beds with it when our house is built. The Vaughans seem quite reconciled to being eaten alive.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Adeline, “the mosquitoes pass by the Vaughans to feast on Philip.”

  Philip picked up the flask of wine. “We have only one drinking cup,” he remarked. “I was going to give it to Adeline and myself drink from the flask. But she and I can use the one cup.”

  “Give me the tin mug,” said Wilmott.

  “Wherever did you find it, Philip?”

  “By the spring. And there were footprints about. Vaughan tells me that there is a log hut on the property and that an old Scotsman, called Fiddling Jock, has taken up his abode there. Vaughan says he’s harmless.”

  “How large is the hut?” asked Wilmott. “I might have lived there.”

  Philip opened his eyes till they were a little prominent. “What about land?” he asked.

  “True,” returned Wilmott. “I must have land.”

  “Couldn’t we sell him fifty acres?” said Adeline, in a stage aside.

  “Out of the heart of the property? Never.”

  “Oh, I am quite satisfied with the place I have chosen. I shall live on berries and fish and wild fowl and read all the books I have been wanting to read.”