Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  His mind moved to his coming confirmation and he wondered what it would do to him. It would admit him to the taking of the Communion; but what would it do to him inside? He remembered the boys who were confirmed last year. What had it changed in them? Nothing. He was sure of that. They could not be changed. They were too stupid. But he would be changed. He pictured to himself how the rds and boys would look at him in wonder and whisper to each other, — “How greatly Whiteoak three has changed!” He plied his paddle and swept out to the breezy middle of the lake.

  Archbishop and parents were arriving before lunch and the ceremony was to take place soon after. Everywhere was the bustle of preparation. Archer was late in coming to the dormitory to dress. Elton was the only boy there and he was putting the last touch to his tie. He said, — “Better hurry up. You’ve just five minutes. I saw your mother and father and sister coming in.”

  Archer began to pull off his jacket and shirt. Then, with his shirt over his head, he remembered that he had not given his blue Sunday suit to the housemaid to be sent to the cleaners. He had forgotten this as he forgot everything that did not interest him.

  “Hurry up!” shouted Elton and ran out of the room and down the passage.

  Archer emerged from the shirt and looked about the room. It had been in order when the boys had come in to dress, with each boy’s clean Sunday suit stretched on his bed. All but Archer’s. Now all were gone but Trotter’s which lay in readiness. But where was Trotter? Archer had no time to waste. He got out his Sunday suit and looked with dismay at its spotty front. He pictured his mother’s fastidious turning away, his father’s frown, Adeline’s grin. He laid his suit on Trotter’s bed, spotty side down, and took Trotter’s Suit in its stead. He must hurry or Trotter would catch him in the act. He put on a clean white shirt.

  The suit was a little large, for Trotter was a plumper boy than Archer, but it looked very nice. He put on his collar and tie with satisfaction — his clean socks and best shoes. He was just tying the laces when Trotter came running in. He was red in the face and Archer could see that he had been crying.

  “Get a move on,” said Archer. “You’re late.”

  “I know,” murmured Trotter. “Gee, I bet I get into more trouble! Whiteoak, will you help me with my tie?”

  “No time. There goes the bell!”

  He ran down the stairs. The clamour in the passage subsided into an orderly entrance into the dining room. The Headrd said the Latin grace and everybody sat down. Archer stared at the Headrd’s table where he could see his mother sitting beside the Archbishop. He could see his father’s head and shoulders, Adeline’s profile set off by her copper-coloured hair. Archer did not want his lunch. He felt apprehensive, as he had felt before his tonsil operation. Elton was eating hungrily, enjoying rhubarb pie, first of the season. Trotter was eating too, in a distraught sort of way. He looked ready to burst out of Archer’s spotty suit but his collar was nice and clean. The hum of voices was subdued. It was strange to hear the sound of women’s voices from the Head’s table.

  Alayne’s eyes roved over the boys, trying to find her son. She discovered Nooky, manly and self-contained. Always he had been a favourite of hers. He had been such a shy sensitive little boy; now he was developing into just the sort of man she had hoped for. He had a look of Pheasant though he was fair.… Then she found Philip, whom Renny called “the spit of Piers” — with his bold mouth and handsome head … But, where was her darling?

  She whispered to Renny, — “Do you see Archer?”

  “why, yes, at the second table from the end, the fourth boy — looking very spruce and nice.”

  She looked and her heart quickened its beat. There he was, his pale rather stiff hair up from his high forehead! So intent was her gaze that it caught his and his face lighted with a smile — a smile so fleeting it made her feel sad. She had felt anxious and hurt by his not being on hand to meet her when she arrived. She wondered what had kept him from her. She pointed him out to the Archbishop who showed a gracious interest in discovering him.

  After lunch there was time for a brief reunion before they went to the chapel. On the sunny lawn Alayne threw an arm about Archer’s shoulders. “Do you mind if I kiss you?” she asked.

  He raised his forehead and she kissed it. Renny patted his back, while Adeline regarded him with detached curiosity.

  “You seem to have shrunken,” she said.

  “why, Archer,” cried Alayne, “you are thinner! Do you eat enough?”

  Here was too good a chance to let slip. “There’s never anything I like,” he said. “Trotter has a hamper sent to him every week.”

  “Nonsense,” said Renny. “The food is good.”

  “Oh, but I must arrange for him to have more milk,” exclaimed Alayne. “His suit is loose on him.”

  They could see the Trotter family taking a large hamper from their large car. The parents beamed as their son staggered with it into the school, followed by a horde of other small boys, gathering like locusts about the prize. Archer’s eyes followed them contemplatively, knowing how short a while the contents of the hamper would last and how small a share would be Trotter’s.

  Mrs. Trotter came and spoke to Alayne. “It’s disgraceful,” she said, “the lack of care that’s given to the boys’ clothes. Here is my boy going to be confirmed today in a suit covered with spots.”

  Certainly, thought Alayne, remembering her glimpse of the son, he was not a very prepossessing boy, his hair untidy, his eyelids pink, and his suit a size too small for him. She said:

  “It is all so difficult. One never knows. One is practically helpless. My boy looks thin to me.”

  “He is a charming boy,” said Mrs. Trotter. “Such nice manners and so well-groomed. I’m just ashamed of Herbie. But he’s so happy it makes up for a great deal.”

  The boys had now gone into the chapel. The parents followed, strolling across the grass beneath the trees, reluctant to leave the sunshine and the breeze that blew in from the lake. The little boy who had been a train, now shunted, huffing and puffing, last of all the boys.

  Inside the organ began to peal. Alayne, Renny, and Adeline were led to a seat near the chancel. Seated there in two pews were the boys who were to be confirmed. To Alayne Archer’s face stood out with startling clearness, the silvery fair hair, the pallor, the look of complete composure. He sat between Trotter and Elton. Trotter’s eyes were fixed on the Archbishop, in his magnificent robes. Elton’s eyes roved, the dimples at the corners of his mouth could not be restrained. Even so solemn an occasion as this could not make him solemn.

  The school chaplain, in a surplice that seemed to swing of its own volition, jauntily proceeded with the service. A psalm was read by Nooky Whiteoak from his place among the sixth form boys. The great moment arrived when those to be confirmed came one by one and knelt at the Archbishop’s feet. How small they looked! How weak and defenceless! Alayne’s throat was constricted as Archer took his place. The Archbishop laid his hand on the child’s head. “Defend, O Lord, this thy child with thy heavenly grace, that he may continue thine for ever; and daily increase in thy Holy Spirit more and more, until he come to thy everlasting kingdom. Amen.”

  Alayne was an agnostic. She had been brought up in the Unitarian faith of her earnest parents. This ceremony held no early associations for her, but because of her child, because of the benign beauty of the Archbishop’s face, she was moved. Renny sat, with his intent dark gaze on his son, wondering what sort of life he would have, what sort of world he would grow up in — very different from the world he himself had grown up in. He liked the sermon the Archbishop preached to the boys — easy to understand — not too long. But he was not sorry when it was over. He must remember to give Archer a little money before he left.

  All was a dream to Adeline, seen through the shining prospect of her voyage to Ireland. It was as though part of her were already on the way. Before the moment of saving good-bye arrived she had already said it in imagination. Nooky drew her asi
de. “Think of me,” he said, “swatting at exams while you and Maurice disport yourselves on the ould sod.”

  “Oh, Nook, I wish you were coming!”

  “why has Maurice all the good luck?” he exclaimed. “He inherits a fine place in Ireland and money to keep it up, and when he goes over to claim it he has you for company.”

  “You’d have hated to leave home as he was made to, when he was a small boy.”

  “I shouldn’t have minded.”

  “Nooky, you would have howled your head off. You were such a clinging little boy.”

  “I’m still clinging,” he said, giving her a warm look.

  “Well, you’ve plenty to cling to.”

  “Not you.”

  They laughed, a little embarrassed.

  The visitors were moving into the Headrd’s large living room where tea was served. With them were allowed to go those boys whose relatives they were. Nook brought tea to Adeline and a scone.

  “what’s the matter with Archer?” she asked. “He looks funny.”

  “Somebody else’s suit.”

  “I thought so,” she chuckled. “Mummy thinks he’s lost weight — poor little fellow!”

  Archer passed, carrying a perfectly balanced cup of tea.

  “I’ve always wondered,” said Nook, “what Archer will be. Now I know. He’s a born waiter. Give him a tray. Put a napkin over his arm. He’s perfect. He’s got the wooden expression and his hand would be always out for the tip.”

  “Oh, Nooky, I think he’s a born professor. Look at the armful of prizes he gets every term. And he’s always near the head of his form.”

  “True. I guess I’ll be the waiter … Will you write to me, Adeline?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me all about everything. Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  “Don’t go falling in love with some Irishman.”

  “Catch me falling in love!”

  “I wish I could,” he said teasingly, “with me.”

  XI

  THREE ON A JOURNEY

  Ernest’s ninety-fifth birthday was celebrated with more flourish than usual. What was the reason for this no one could have told you, but excitement was in the air. Ernest himself felt it and referred to the day, as it approached, as a milestone to be noted. “Not that I ever shall attain the great age Mama did,” he would say, a little wistfully. He was not particularly afraid of death but he had a great love of life and, in his own small corner of the world, felt that he had much to live for — a strongly individual family over whom he felt he had great influence, not realizing how much of that was affectionate tolerance.

  A dinner party was given for him, to which all the family and a few old friends were invited. The dinner was really a spread, with Alayne arranging a quite elaborate menu to please him, and Nicholas providing the champagne. Candlelight shone on bare white shoulders and white shirtfronts. Adeline took Nicholas’ hair in hand and actually made it lie down, but before the first course was over, he had run his hand through it and again roused it into a plume. Nicholas was in a wicked mood and sought to bring a blush to his brother’s cheek by recalling early escapades in London and Paris, but Ernest was only pleased by this, for he felt it put him in a gallant light in front of the younger members of the family.

  Renny proposed his health. “Let’s drink the health,” he said, “of the gentleman — and gentle man he is, if ever there was one — who was the first baby to be born at Jalna. He drew his first breath under this roof. We’re all proud of that. We’re all proud of having him still with us, and hope, with all our hearts, that he’ll live as long or longer than his magnificent Irish mother.

  The health was drunk with gusto. But Alayne, smiling at Finch, saw there were tears in his eyes.

  In the days that followed, Renny almost regretted that he had made up his mind not to go to Ireland. Adeline’s joy in the prospect was so palpable, it so shone out of her eyes and so echoed in her laugh that he would have been glad to see its fulfilment. That there would be fulfilment he did not doubt. Ireland would suit Adeline, as it suited him. On his own part he would have liked a change. Since the war he had been almost nowhere, apart from trips to the New York Horse Show. His horses, shown there and in Canada, had taken prizes and some of them had been sold very well. The farm prospered. He could not complain. Yet, in some insidious way, the presence of Eugene Clapperton as a neighbour had poisoned the air for him. The plans for building, which Clapperton had seemed to abandon after his marriage, once more menaced Jalna. All about the countryside ugly little houses, hideous service stations, were springing up, but Jalna and Vaughanlands remained untouched, except for the few bungalows Clapperton had already built.

  Alayne had bought sensible but pretty clothes for Adeline. To Renny they were not fine enough. He would have liked to see his daughter elegantly turned out. He had to satisfy himself by buying her several pairs of expensive shoes. “She’s got Gran’s feet, you know, Alayne, and they must be shod to advantage.” A week before the departure he gave Adeline extra money for her expenses. Having handled so little in her young life the amount seemed very large to her — more than she needed. She pressed back some of it into his hand. “No, no, Daddy. I couldn’t take so much! I don’t need it.” Her face was flushed by excitement and the evidence of his generosity.

  He refused to take back the banknotes.

  “You have your travellers’ cheques,” he said. “They are for the necessities. This cash is to enjoy yourself with — to buy things you fancy.”

  “But Uncle Nick and Uncle Ernest have both given me money,” she objected.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll find how fast it will go.”

  She threw both arms about him. “You are generous, Daddy. Thank you, thank you.”

  When three days had passed he insisted on adding another banknote to her store. “I’ve been thinking over your needs,” he said, “and I’m afraid you’re going to find yourself short of funds, so I’m giving you this.”

  “No, no,” she said, “you can’t afford it! I won’t take it.”

  “You’ll do what I tell you to,” he said sternly, but his eyes were laughing. He held her two hands in one of his and pushed the banknote inside her collar.

  She raised his hand, which smelled of Windsor soap, to her lips. “All right, Daddy,” she said, as though humbly. “If you say so.”

  And that was not the end. When they were saying goodbye he opened her handbag and thrust several rather crumpled notes inside, then snapped it shut.

  “They’re American bills,” he said. “Buy yourself something in New York.”

  By this time Adeline was too much excited to make any objection to the gift. She took it in a dazed way. Ernest took her in his arms and, a little brokenly, said his goodbye. “God bless you, dear child. How I wish I were going with you! But I am afraid my travelling days are over.”

  “I wish you were coming, Uncle Ernest,” she returned, scarcely knowing what she said. “Take good care of yourself while I’m away.” She turned to Nicholas. “Both of you, take care of yourselves. I shall have so much to tell you when I come back.”

  Alayne, Pheasant, little Mary, Dennis, the old uncles, and the Wragges stood about the car. To Pheasant s mind came the remembrance of the terrible day when Maurice had left for Ireland as a young boy. The pain of that parting had foreshadowed this final break. Never would he be hers again. But she smiled at him with fortitude.

  “I’ll be coming across to visit you,” she said.

  “You should be coming now,” he answered, half-angrily, for it had been his dream to take his mother back with him.

  “who would look after Piers and the baby, and the boys when they come from school?”

  Piers said, — “We’ve been over all this before. If you were set on going we could have managed.”

  “But I was not set on going,” she smiled. “It’s just fun to think about.”

  Piers looked at his watch. “There’s no time
to spare. Everybody set to go?” He laid his hands on the wheel.

  Finch began to scramble wildly out of the car.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “I’ve left my wallet upstairs!” Dennis ran after him.

  “I’ll fetch it for you, sir!” cried Rags, and a little bent, not very agile, he began to hasten up the steps.

  “I couldn’t tell you where it is,” cried Finch, already in the hall. He ran upstairs, two steps at a time. Up the two flights to his room he sped and, in the disorder there, looked wildly about. It was not on the top of the dressing table. It was not in either of the top drawers. He could hear Rags panting up the final flight.

  “This is an awful thing to ’appen, sir,” said Rags. “It seems too bad you should mislay something so important at the very last.” He began to pull out the contents of the chest of drawers and scatter them over the floor.

  Wherever Finch was searching Dennis was there too, his small neat hands scrabbling among ties, handkerchiefs, notebooks, concert programmes, the mass of odds and ends that Finch invariably collected. Finch shouted at him:

  “Go away! I can’t search with you here!”

  “’E’s always interferin’, sir, “ said Rags. “’Is hands is into everythink.”

  Dennis moved to the doorway and stood there watching. Renny’s voice, with a vibration from the chest, came up the staircase. “Finch!”

  Finch, brushing Dennis aside, came on to the landing. “Yes?” he called back.

  “If you can’t find that damned wallet come without it! You’re going to miss your train.”

  “I can’t go without it. All my money is in it and my tickets!”