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

by Mazo de La Roche

  “It’s contemptible of Sylvia,” exclaimed Finch, “to go away without saying goodbye. Why,” he added in excitement, “we were friends — dear friends!”

  “Do you think she realized that?”

  “Of course she did.”

  “The best thing for you to do is to put the thought of her out of your mind. For my part I hope we have seen the last of the Fitzturgis family.”

  A step was heard, an indolent step, and Maurice came into the room. When he saw Piers he drew back, as though he would retreat, but Piers enquired casually, “Well, did you see your mother?”

  “Yes. She understands.”

  “Understands what?”

  “She agrees to my staying with Uncle Finch for a bit — if he wants me.”

  “Of course I want you,” said Finch.

  “Did your mother remark your condition?” Piers asked with a teasing smile.

  “She saw nothing in it to remark.” Maurice frowned darkly and sank into the most comfortable chair.

  Piers said, addressing Finch, “Try to keep him sober — if you can.”

  Finch sat with his elbows on the music rack and his head on his hands. He did not hear what was being said. The memory of that mysterious and lovely night when he had played to Sylvia shut him off from all else. She should not have gone without saying goodbye to him. She should not have gone. He realized now that he wanted to play the new composition to her.

  Piers was leaving. He said, “I hope you don’t forget that Renny’s birthday is tomorrow. We’re expected to dinner — all of us. There’ll be mixed feeling at the celebration. Uncle Nicholas gone. Yet — there is his money to be pleased about. Adeline’s engagement off. Yet — Fitzturgis gone. That’s something to make a fellow cheerful.”

  “I agree with you on that score,” said Maurice.

  Outside Dennis accompanied Piers to his car.

  “You said,” the little boy spoke accusingly, “that you were going to do something about Maurice.”

  “Oh yes — you’d like him to vacate your room, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. I want to live here with my father.”

  “what about coming to stay with me for a bit?”

  Dennis considered this, then said, “Thanks. But I think I shall wait about here till Maurice goes.”

  “Very well. But come along and have lunch with us.”

  “Thanks. But I think my father will expect me for lunch.”

  “Remind him to buy a present for Uncle Renny.”

  “I’d better see him about it now.”

  Piers picked him up and put him inside the car.

  “You’ll come along with me,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Dennis, “but I think my father —” The car was now on its way.

  * * *

  Renny’s birthday was the occasion of a dinner party which included all the family, even to its youngest member, little Mary. Fifteen sat down to table — Renny, Alayne, their son and daughter; Meg, her daughter and Roma; Piers, Pheasant, their three sons and daughter; Finch and his son. It was the first family party from which Nicholas was absent. Mary sat on an equal footing with the other guests. She wore her best white dress with a pink sash, and while she was pleased to see her plate (it was one of the old Worcester dinner service) well-mounded before her, she made no attempt to eat.

  It had been necessary for Wakefield to remain in New York for a time, but he had sent a telegram of congratulation and expected to return to Jalna for a visit.

  Adeline had come home that afternoon. Not before had she been able to face that homecoming, with Fitzturgis gone — even though driven away by herself. It seemed to her that she had been absent for a long while, that she had crossed a gulf, that Piers’s house was at a great distance, that she was a different being from the girl who had discovered Roma and Fitzturgis on the lake shore. Yet — now that she was in her own place again, now that the feel and smell of Jalna were enfolding her — how natural, how strangelynatural, it all was!

  On that first day Alayne had gone to her. She had not gone with a rich maternal show of sympathy, as though Adeline were her wounded ewe lamb. That would have been altogether too much for the girl to bear. But Alayne had talked to her of the splendid show of life — of the freshness of what lay ahead. She had sympathized without emotionalism. Mother and daughter had drawn very close together.

  Both wondered whether Roma would have the courage — Alayne thought of it as the insolence— to come to the birthday party.

  Roma did come, along with Meg and Patience. It would have taken a keener observer than any of those present to have discovered either courage or insolence in her demeanour. Simply she came as one of the family, without embarrassment, carrying a new necktie and a tin of his favourite tobacco, both daintily wrapped, as presents to Renny. She offered them to him and, at the same time, her round cheek for a kiss.

  He kissed her. “Well, well,” he said. “So you’rehere.”

  “Yes, Uncle Renny. I couldn’t think of anything more original for your birthday, so I’ve brought you these.”

  “Thanks very much. I’m sure they’re just what I’ve wanted.”

  All the presents were laid, in their wrappings, on the library table, to be opened after dinner.

  “what a pity Wakefield isn’t here,” said Meg, as they gathered about the table.

  “Wakefield and Uncle Nick — both greatly missed,” said Renny, then added with a sigh, “But Wakefield will come again.” His eyes turned to the place where Nicholas had been accustomed to sit. Piers, now occupying it, felt slightly embarrassed.

  “It is so warm,” said Alayne, “that I thought it would be nice to begin with a cold jellied consommé.”

  Pheasant tasted hers. “It’s simply delicious.”

  Little Mary laid down her spoon. Jelly that was unsweetened, served without cream, was more than she could face.

  The roast lamb, with mint sauce, young peas, and new potatoes, was delicious. So were the ice cream and the huge birthday cake, ablaze with candles. That was Mrs. Wragge’s final effort in this line before departure. On its top was a horseman, mounted on a racing horse, and surrounding it were the words, in coloured icing: Good luck to you and to East Wind. There had been much discussion as to the number of candles for the cake. Adeline, whose idea it was, wanted the sixty-odd candles of his years, but as there was scarcely space for such a number a round dozen had been settled on.

  Renny’s gratification when the blazing cake was set in front of him was so reminiscent of his grandmother, old Adeline; the arch grin with which he turned to those about the board, before he summoned his breath for the extinguishing of the candles, was so like to hers, that those who remembered her must exchange a glance of recognition. But how different a face from that of the very old woman was the lean-cheeked face of the horseman, the firm muscles of the mouth, the quick eyes! With one triumphant blast he blew out all the candles.

  “I must keep the little horse for luck,” he said. “It’s a beauty.”

  “I bought that,” said Adeline, and her mind flew back to the day when she and Fitzturgis had gone to the town in search of it. How long ago it seemed.

  When little Mary perceived the ruin of the cake, as it was cut into pieces, when she saw the size of the slice laid on her plate by Renny, she took a corner of her napkin and wiped away her tears. Her father picked her up and set her on his knees.

  “what’s the matter?” he whispered.

  “Too much cake,” she whispered back. “Too much horse. Too many men.”

  After dinner all crowded into the library for the ceremony of unwrapping the presents. Renny was satisfactorily grateful for socks, neckties, shirts, and bedroom slippers. There was a spaniel in bronze as a paperweight, from Finch. Churchill’s latest book from Alayne. (“Just what I’ve been wanting,” exclaimed Renny, and pictured himself poring over its pages long hours in the lengthening evenings.) A small painting of the house, in summer sunshine, from Christian. All these gi
fts delighted him, though it required imagination on this sultry August evening to picture the pleasure of wearing the heavy woollen underwear given him by Meg. But she had bought it at a bargain and assuredly winter would come. He clasped the massive garments against his chest and kissed her. “Just what I need,” he declared. “The moths have been eating mine!” As Alayne prided herself on the fact that, after years of struggle, she had rid Jalna of moths and buffalo bugs that had feasted there before her coming, she found this hard to bear, but then, there was so much she had had to bear! She did not contradict him.

  Archer’s present was in an envelope, and for a moment Renny knit his brows in puzzlement. Then he discovered that it was the receipt for a payment of ten dollars on a television set.... On the enclosure card Archer had written, “I hope you will be able to carry on from here.”

  “what is it?” demanded a dozen voices.

  Renny hugged his son and gave him a resounding kiss. “That is our secret,” he returned.

  Later, when they were scattered on the lawn with cool drinks, Meg drew Renny and Alayne aside.

  “what are we going to do about Roma?” she asked in a tone that combined mystery and foreboding.

  “She wants to take a course in something or other — modelling, designing — I don’t really know,” said Renny.

  “Fashion designing,” said Meg. “And New York is the place for that, and that is where she wants to go.”

  “She’s too young to go away by herself.”

  “Roma is very capable.”

  “I couldn’t allow it.”

  Meg gave a sigh. “It would be a comfort to me to see her depart. Since the affair of young Green she and Patience aren’t — well, you can imagine how Patience feels.”

  “I can indeed.”

  “Patience is a dear sweet girl,” said Alayne.

  Meg gave her sister-in-law a loving look. Praise of Patience was very pleasant to her.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, then added in a forthright tone, “Roma will never settle down here now that she has this money. Something has got to be done about her.”

  “She’ll do what she is told,” Renny said curtly.

  Alayne had been looking thoughtful. Now she said, “I have an idea. I will get into touch with my old friend, Rosamund Trent, and ask her advice. She has lived in New York all her life. She will know what opportunities there are. She will give us just the advice we need.”

  “Splendid,” said Meg.

  Renny frowned. “It seems strange that these girls can’t get on together.”

  “There will always be trouble where Roma is,” said Meg.

  Renny saw Roma, where she was standing with a group of the young people, and called to her. “Roma, come here!”

  She moved slowly across the dew-wet grass to them.

  This evening was the first time that she had encountered Adeline since the violent scene by the lake. At table they had been seated at a distance from each other, but on the lawn they came face to face. A brightness of rage kindled in Adeline’s eyes. For very little, she felt, she would have attacked Roma physically. She would have caught Roma in her fierce hands and beaten her. But Roma looked large-eyed and sad, as though puzzled to know what all this was about. Patience, with little Mary by the hand, came and stood beside them, with a troubled smile. There was something magnificent in Patience’s own self, as though she would guard all three.

  The young male cousins, who had formed themselves into another group, consisting of Piers’s three sons, Renny’s son, and Finch’s, now moved to join the girls. So, in the light of an enormous harvest moon that had just risen above the treetops, the nine cousins were in front of the house. The house, which had the look of sinking into its clustering vine, as though for the comfort of a night’s repose, now might have been imagined to rouse itself, to take a good look at the new generation of Whiteoaks displayed before it. How did these compare, it might have considered, with those who had reached maturity — with Meg, Renny, Piers, Finch, and Wakefield? How did they compare with those whose gravestones, in the churchyard, this same harvest moon emblazoned? They will do, the old house appeared to say, they will do.

  Young Philip could not contain his exuberance. He bent, put his palms on the grass and raised his legs, clad in white duck trousers, straight into the air. He walked on his hands.

  Renny’s voice, calling to Roma, drew her from her cousins.

  “Roma,” Renny said, looking down at her with rather a puzzled expression, “why do you want to go to New York?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” she asked, with a cool glance, about halfway up his height.

  “My God!” he exclaimed, and burst out laughing.

  “For a visit,” said Meg, “that’s natural. But you want to stay?”

  “I want to learn something.”

  “You can learn all you need to know in Canada,” said Renny.

  “You can’t be so expert in fashions.”

  “I think Roma is right.” Alayne spoke with unusual warmth toward Roma. “For the particular line she wants to take up there’s no place like New York.”

  “She can’t go alone,” said Renny, weakening.

  “I have been thinking that I might go with her. As I have said, I can get the best advice from my friend Rosamund Trent, and can arrange for a boarding-place — the sort of place suitable for a young girl.”

  Roma said nothing but looked in acquiescence from one face to the other while they discussed plans.

  “One great obstacle,” said Alayne, “is that the Wragges are leaving so soon. I should be here.”

  “Don’t worry yourself on that score.” Renny gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We shall manage. There’s no dear old uncle to be waited on now. And our visitors are gone.”

  “I should engage a cook before I leave, but you could not be expected to take her in hand — nor could Adeline.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Meg. “I’ll come and help. We shall get along famously.” She saw Finch wandering about, with an iced drink in his hand, and went to join him.

  “Finch, dear,” she said in her warm motherly voice, “we have just been arranging for Alayne to take Roma to New York. It’s really kind of her, don’t you think? The child is determined to go. Perhaps you’ve heard.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard.”

  “Her going will leave only Patience and me to live with you.”

  “Yes. That’s true.”

  “Finch, what is puzzling me is why you don’t have those empty bedrooms furnished. Surely there’s a reason.”

  “I have a room ready for Dennis.”

  “I know, and you have Mooey occupying it, which is annoying to his parents, for naturally they want their own son at home, and hard on poor little Dennis, who longs to be with you — just as I long to be with you.”

  “I know.” He took a mouthful of the cooling drink. “I know, and I’ll arrange it all — in time.”

  Meg spoke with an older sister’s firmness. “Your habit of procrastination is growing on you, Finch. Indecision and procrastination — when you have so much need of resolution and promptness, haven’t you?”

  “I have,” he agreed, “and I’ll get those rooms finished very soon.”

  “I’d gladly bring my own furniture, but, as you say — though I cannot quite agree with you — it’s rather large and Victorian for your type of house — though you do seem to like my little occasional table.”

  “It’s a very useful little table,” he said eagerly.

  “I think” — there was a hint of reproach in her voice — “that it is something more than merely useful.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he hastened to add.

  XIX

  Departures

  DURING THE FOLLOWING fortnight there was a bustle of preparation at Jalna. The Wragges were preparing for their prolonged holiday in England. Alayne was putting Archer’s clothes in order for school and was at the same time making arrangements for taking Roma to New Y
ork. Though so much unhappiness had been the occasion of this journey, Alayne as always experienced a feeling of exhilaration in the prospect of visiting that city and of again renewing old friendships. She was a lively correspondent and regularly exchanged letters with her friends.

  Never before had she and Roma travelled together. Now they were drawn into an odd, uneasy intimacy. The girl would come to Jalna at all sorts of hours to ask Alayne’s advice about this or that. She would remain in Alayne’s bedroom, talking in desultory fashion or silently watching Alayne’s preparations. Adeline took care to keep out of the way when Roma was in the house.

  The day came when Archer and Dennis left for school. Philip left for the Royal Military College. On top of this came the almost unbelievable departure of the Wragges, though they declared that a return to Canada was probable within a year. Two days later Alayne and Roma left for New York.

  Renny and Piers went with them to the train. It was Roma’s first long journey from home, but she looked cooler and less flurried than Alayne. Alayne had had so much to attend to, was leaving such an uncertain domestic situation behind her. She pictured a succession of household tragedies in her absence, even while she despised herself for having become no more than a housewife. If only the Wragges had been in charge as of old! when it had come to parting, an atmosphere of sentimentality, almost on his part to the point of tears, had enfolded them. “Me and my missus will never forget our happy days at Jalna,” Rags had said.

  When the train pulled out from the station and she and Roma found themselves facing each other in their compartment, their hand luggage beside them, Alayne had a sense of unreality. Surely Roma was the last person with whom she would have expected to find herself travelling. However, Roma appeared not to find anything strange about it. She gave Alayne a wide, cheerful smile, showing her beautiful white teeth behind her vivid red lips, and remarked that the compartment was nice.