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

by Mazo de La Roche

  The colt is shaping up wonderfully and I think you will live to see the day when you will congratulate me on the purchase. Kelly, the trainer, is a very well-behaved fellow and is living with Wright and his wife over the garage. Now, my darling girl, I want you to enjoy yourself with your friends and don’t worry about us. Everything is going smoothly. You’d really be surprised. Adeline sends her love with mine and will write.

  Yours ever,

  Renny.

  Adeline did write to Alayne, and Pheasant also, both assuring her that things were going well and that she was not to be anxious.

  But something happened which would have caused her acute anxiety had she known of it. She had been absent less than a week when an operation for appendicitis was performed on Archer. It was performed in a hospital in the town not far from Archer’s school. Renny had gone there to be near his son, and Meg had accompanied him. He had a primitive horror and distrust of hospitals. Meg’s presence was a comfort to him.

  In ten days Archer was sufficiently recovered to return to Jalna for recuperation. He looked little the worse for his ordeal, as he was always without colour. Neither had he youthful exuberance. But he had to be put to bed and waited on as an invalid for a time. Here again Meg’s comforting presence was a blessing to all. She made custards and junkets for the boy. She did not worry over dirt or disorder. Indeed she had a mischievous pleasure in tolerating conditions which would have been repellent to Alayne. The butter, for instance, which Alayne insisted should be kept in a tightly closed container in the refrigerator, now was often exposed carelessly on a kitchen shelf. Contents of saucepans boiled over on to the stove. The bulldog had long cherished an ambition to gnaw his bone in the middle of the kitchen floor. This Mrs. Wragge had forbidden and stiffened her order with a broom handle. But now Bill brought his enormous knuckle-bone and, with snufflings and grindings, worked his will on it. The spaniel Sport had long been dissatisfied with his bed and now solidly established himself on the sofa in the library, and, as this was his season for shedding his coat, his hairs were everywhere. The little Cairn terrier was in a continual state of excitement. With the acute intelligence of his breed he realized that things were not as they should be, but all his runnings here and there, all his barking, could not set them right. He had no rest. He was always barking, but he could not set things right.

  The woman who came from the village to work by the day was able to put both vacuum cleaner and electric toaster out of order by the end of the first week. The door of the refrigerator became loose. Three teacups were broken and the best teapot cracked. But the weather was perfect and in the stables all went well. East Wind watched with good-humoured interest all the activities of which he was the centre. A hide like satin was the covering for the powerful mass of muscle that bound his shapely bones. He was never excited but seemed to know what was expected of him and to be certain he could do it. Though his body was somewhat heavy, he had a beautiful head that rose like a flame from his great shoulders.

  When Archer was able to come downstairs Renny and Adeline sat on either side of him reporting with enthusiasm on the colt’s progress. He was entered for the most important of the autumn races.

  “There’s nothing he can’t do,” cried Adeline. “If I were a man I’d like to ride him myself.”

  Archer gave her a disparaging look. “Mercy!” he said.

  But one evening when he and Renny were alone together he asked, “when is Mummy coming home?”

  “Very soon, I expect. But I’ve told her to stay as long as she is enjoying herself. She is seeing all the new plays. Naturally I haven’t told her of your operation. That would have brought her home on the next train. She badly needs a change.”

  “I am wondering,” said Archer, “whether we might have the television put in before she comes. You will remember that I have already paid an installment on a set. On your birthday I gave you the receipt.”

  “By Judas, I had forgotten! There’s been so much going on. But do you think we need it?”

  Archer fixed him with his penetrating blue gaze. “There are discussions on it,” he said, “of great educational value. Our headrd says that so much future education is to be visual that we cannot overestimate its importance. And there are other features besides the educational ones. There is footballand there are fights.”

  Archer looked touchingly white and weak. He had risen to his feet. Now he put both arms about his father’s muscular body and gave it a feeble hug. His lips parted in an expression of peculiar sweetness. It was his nearest approach to a smile.

  To hear these last words from the lips of his son gave Renny a real pleasure. After all, the poor little beggar had been through a hard time. He might have died.

  He returned Archer’s hug with almost painful warmth.

  “We’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll see about it tomorrow.”

  A few days later a peculiar sight might have been observed in front of the old house. A truck carrying two men and a number of rods, wiring, tools, and a ladder drew up. The men alighted and soon were on the top of the house. Inside and out it took them a good many hours to install the television set. But finally the work was completed and an ornament was added to the roof that would have filled its original owners with wonder. Some new sort of lightning rod, they would have guessed. But never in their most delirious imaginings would they have pictured the fantastic things that were projected on to the screen in the library. Yet their descendant, Archer Whiteoak, watched the grotesque, the inane, the stupidly revolting pictures with no more than a flicker on his pale face. He listened to noises called music which would have caused those same grandparents of his to clap their hands over their ears in horror, and never turned a hair.

  As ill-luck would have it, the woman who came from the village to work contracted a serious cold and was not able to come. Adeline found herself with such an accumulation of work on her hands as she could not hope to cope with. She was really tired. She was in a temper. She thought it time that Archer should no longer demand to be waited on as an invalid. With a somewhat grudging efficiency she placed the things for his evening meal on a tray. Her feet were aching from the brick-paved floor and she frowned as she remembered the flight of stairs to be climbed.

  Renny now clattered down them, the dogs at his heels, impatient for their food. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth and he wore the happy-go-lucky expression usual to him in these days.

  “It’s raining,” he said. “Like cats and dogs.”

  At the mention of cats the little terrier became hysterical.

  “Archer’s tray,” Adeline said, indicating it with a bandaged thumb. She was always suffering from a cut or burn.

  “what’s the matter?” he asked solicitously.

  “Nothing.” She tried to smile.

  “I know,” he exclaimed. “The work is getting too much for you. I’ll carry up this tray.”

  “It was all right till Archer came.”

  “I have an idea.” Balancing Archer’s tray on his palm, he said with enthusiasm, “Crowdy and the Chases are taking shelter in the porch. I’ll ask Mrs. Chase to give you a hand with the work. She’d be delighted, I know.”

  “No. I can manage.”

  But Adeline liked Clara Chase, and when she appeared, descending the stairs into the kitchen, she welcomed her with a smile. It was years since Clara Chase had been in that house. She had never expected to enter it again. Yet, finding that she could be of use there, she set to work without self-consciousness. It was a marvel to Adeline to see how order rose out of confusion, what good-humoured efficiency could bring to pass in a kitchen.

  It was not long before the three men appeared, each eager to help with the work. From the larder Renny produced lamb chops. Chase rolled up his sleeves and prepared the vegetables. Mr. Crowdy, who had a delicate wife, turned out to be an expert chef. Not only did he broil the chops to a turn but made a delicious chocolate soufflé for a sweet and concocted a perfect salad. The dogs, in
order to avoid being stepped on, took refuge on the stairway. Before long Archer appeared and seated himself on a step near the top, looking on the activities below with the air of a scientist observing the habits of insects. Mr. Crowdy, after a long admiring look at him, drew Renny into the pantry and remarked portentously, “A noble scion of a noble house.”

  “A clever boy,” said Renny, “and better on a horse than you’d expect by the looks of him.”

  “He’ll go far,” prophesied Mr. Crowdy.

  He made a comic figure, with his crimson face rising above one of Mrs. Wragge’s aprons tied beneath his several chins.

  Chase, whipping up mashed potatoes with cream, announced that they were ready and that he was starving. Clara Chase offered each of the dogs a dog biscuit. The bulldog turned up his nose still farther and walked away. The spaniel, with a reproachful look, accepted his, but soon hid it in the coal cellar. The polite little Cairn nibbled his, then put out what he had nibbled on to the floor. All three trooped upstairs with the dinner and ranged themselves about Renny’s chair.

  Shortly before this, Finch and Maurice had appeared on the scene. They had disclaimed any intention of sharing the meal, but when more chops were produced, when they beheld what Mr. Crowdy had concocted, when Renny brought out some bottles of excellent hock, they were easily persuaded. He was, in truth, in his element. Outdoors it was wet and cold. Indoors it was brightly lighted and warm. At the table sat eight congenial spirits, for at this moment even Archer was congenial. The talk was of horses.

  Clara Chase hesitated to sit down at that table where she was not invited when the mistress of the house was at home, but Adeline would hear of no denial. She liked Clara more and more. Tonight she loved her. It appeared to require no effort on Clara’s part to understand both Renny and his daughter. To her they seemed admirable, generous-hearted, and lovable. She wished that Adeline might have been her own daughter. Looking at Archer, she felt both protective and humble — protective because of his pale looks, humble because of his coldly intellectual mien. She did not guess that there was some quality in her that made Archer (because he was newly convalescent) want to put his head on her shoulder and brought the whine of childhood into his voice when he addressed her.

  Adeline, seated at the end of the table facing Renny, looked askance at her brother. “You’ve had your tray,” she muttered. “Aren’t you satisfied?”

  “I’ve been starved too long,” said Archer.

  “Good man,” exclaimed Renny and put a lamb chop on the invalid’s plate. “That,” he said, “will put strength into you.”

  The meal progressed, and always the talk was of horses. Even Maurice, who had never very much liked them, joined in the talk and made the most of what he knew about Irish horses. He was in agreement with everything Adeline said. His admiration, his love for her, shone from him. His eyes, whenever they met hers, sought to hold them. Soon he was to return to Ireland. If only he might return with hope in his heart!

  “Never have I loved any horse,” Renny was saying, “as I loved my mare Cora. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful.”

  “The first time I ever saw you,” said Chase, “you were riding her at the Horse Show. I thought I had never seen man and horse in such accord. It was a symphony for the eye.”

  “I was there,” said Crowdy, “and never saw a better performance.” He went on to tell, somewhat incoherently, of some of his experiences at shows. Usually a rather silent man, he was tonight inspired to talk.

  “My favourite,” said Adeline, “is Spartan. Wright and I are partners in him. We got him in exchange for an organ that had been my great-aunt’s andthe hundred dollars Wright put in. He’s won lots of prizes.”

  “I know him,” said Crowdy. “A fine bold horse.”

  Clara Chase put in, “It’s this racer that excites me. He’s magnificent. I can’t get him out of my head.”

  Renny beamed at her. “Keep him there. Give him your good wishes.”

  “He’ll win,” said Crowdy. “He is born to win — you can see it in the set of his head. And what a chest and what legs! You’ll never be sorry you bought him.”

  “I hope not,” said Renny, suddenly serious, thinking of his wife.

  When they had drunk their coffee Adeline was for leaving the dishes till the morning, but Clara Chase would not hear of that. Her husband, Finch and Maurice cleared the table, carried the dishes down to the kitchen. She washed and Adeline dried them. The kitchen was left in not too great disorder. The dogs, replete, lay stretched asleep.

  The rain had long ceased when the Chases and Mr. Crowdy took their leave. Renny, Finch, and Archer were still watching the television screen. Maurice followed Adeline into her bedroom, that room across the hall from the dining room that had been her great-grandmother’s.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said inhospitably.

  “You must be tired.” His voice was warm with sympathy.

  “Between riding and housework I’ve a right to be.” She began vigorously to brush her hair, which, catching the light, swept in ruddy waves about her temples.

  “I know you look on me as hopelessly lazy and quite worthless,” he said.

  “Lazy certainly. Worthless — well, that’s nonsense.” He came close to her and looked in the mirror at their reflections. “If only you could love me a little, Adeline.”

  She tilted her head towards his. “Don’t we make a pretty picture?” she asked.

  He needed no more encouragement than that. His arms were about her. He said, “No one but you can save me. I’ll stop drinking tomorrow — if only you’ll say you care for me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then — there is nothing to stop me.”

  She drew herself away and faced him. “Mooey,” she said, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself. We all love you. All the family. You own a fine place in Ireland. You have so much to be good for.”

  “I know. But it’s you I want and always have wanted. You know that, Adeline. I’ve been faithful, haven’t I?”

  “This is a bad time,” she said, almost fiercely, “to talk to me of love.”

  “There never is a right time with you,” he said bitterly.

  “If I thought —” Her eyes glowed in her earnestness.

  “Yes — yes?”

  “If I thought you’d go back to Ireland and drink yourself into the grave I’d be absolutely sick with you.”

  “And you’d not try to help me?”

  “what I say is — help yourself! Give up drinking for the rest of your visit here. Show what willpower you have.”

  “Adeline” — he could not keep his voice steady, he was so eager — “if I do that — will you promise —”

  “I promise nothing — except — well, I should think of you in a very different way.”

  “That’s all I ask — just that you should think of me in a different way.... You never have thought of me as I really am, you know.”

  “Nobody thinks of anybody as they really are, I guess.”

  “I agree,” he said. “On my part I idealize you — while you think of me as worse than I really am.”

  “My goodness,” she blazed in her exasperation, “I have only one fault to complain of in you and you know what that is.”

  “Before ever I began to drink a bit too much you were hard on me.”

  “That’s right,” she cried. “Pity yourself!”

  “I am to be pitied,” he said seriously.

  That somehow touched her. She smiled at him in the glass. “You old silly,” she said. “I do like you.”

  “Adeline, I’ll do anything for you.”

  She was moved by a sudden feeling of her power for good. “Do this for me then. Promise to give up drinking. I mean a real solemn promise.”

  “I will.” He was all eagerness to show his devotion, his strength. “I promise. You’ll see that I won’t fail. I do love you so, darling.”

  She did not want to hear that word. No love for her.
She took up the scissors from the dressing table. “This hair of mine grows like all possessed.” She snipped off a lock from behind her ear.

  “No, no,” begged Maurice. “Please.”

  “It’s too long.”

  “So is mine.”

  “You’re picturesque, Mooey. You can’t help it. You just are.”

  “Let’s exchange locks of hair — the way they used to do in the old days.” He captured her ruddy lock and placed it in a notebook in his pocket. “We’ll seal our promise, shall we?’’

  He bent his head to the scissors. Adeline had just severed a dark lock when Finch appeared in the doorway.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, giving them a look of amused curiosity. “Playing at barbershop?”

  “No,” returned Adeline with composure. “Just tidying up for tomorrow. It’s Sunday. When I’ve finished this I must go and put Archer to bed.”

  Shortly afterward Finch and Maurice left.

  In New York Roma had had a letter from Meg telling her of Archer’s operation. Meg had neglected to warn her that this news should be kept secret. That very evening Roma, usually most uncommunicative of beings, had dinner with Alayne and Rosamund Trent. Casting about in her mind for some subject of conversation she casually remarked that Archer had had his appendix out.

  The next day Alayne took a plane for Canada.

  She had a feeling that something very frightening was being kept from her. She was determined to know the worst at once, and she had a morbid desire to take Renny by surprise, in retaliation. Before leaving Jalna she had made him promise to let her know if anything went wrong. And this was how he had kept his promise!