Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny (21 page)

The red plumes of the sumach turned to brown, the clusters of chokeberries ripened to blackness but still hung secure from birds because of their bitter flavor. Mushrooms sprang up in hordes on the cleared ground: meaty meadow mushrooms of a delicate brownish pink beneath; pretty parasol mushrooms with fringed edges; the destroying angel, set in its snow-white cup, and in the woods mushrooms of crimson and purple, pretty as flowers. Of the meadow mushrooms many a good dish was made for the table at Vaughanlands. Adeline never before had had such an appetite.

In early September young Robert Vaughan and Adeline set out together along the path which that summer had been made from Vaughanlands to the new estate. It led across a level field, red with the stubble of a fine crop of barley, through a wood of oaks and pines, then down steeply into the ravine where the stream which, in those days, almost merited the name of river, ran swiftly over shimmering sand and flat stones. In one place it narrowed between its banks and here a temporary bridge of logs had been thrown across. The pungent smell from their resin-oozing wood mingled with the cool damp earthy smell from the ravine. Adeline never
set her foot on this path without a sense of adventure. She had pride in realizing that this path, now well-cleared of undergrowth and showing a decided depression where feet had many times trodden it, was the print of her own and Philip’s passage. It had been virgin, untouched, but she and Philip had, as it were, made it a link between their old life and the new. She had trodden it in all sorts of weather and often alone. Now on this September day she thought she had never seen it so inviting. The season of mosquitoes was past, the air was of almost palpable sweetness and full of renewed bird song, for now the young could fly. The stream made a steady murmuring.

As they crossed the bridge of logs young Vaughan took her arm to guide her. Adeline was well able to cross the logs unaided and had done so many a time when they were slippery with rain. But now she leant against Robert’s shoulder as though timidly and her fingers clasped his.

“We shall have a rustic bridge here, later on,” she said.

He pressed her arm a little. “Then you won’t need my help.”

“Now I’m very glad of it.”

“If you knew what it has been to me,” he said, flushing, “to have you here. Before you came I never knew what to do with myself. You know, I’m not really acquainted with my parents yet. The truth is I feel that I know you better than I do them.”

“Ah, I’m easy to get on with.”

“It’s not that. But I feel you understand me and you are the only one who does.”

“You’re very sweet, Bobby.”

It was a real irritation to Robert’s parents to hear Adeline call him Bobby. They tried to intimate their disapproval by pronouncing his name very distinctly when they addressed him. But Adeline was oblivious to this or took, as they thought, pleasure in opposing them. The two began to mount the opposite side of the ravine.

“My mother is rather upset this morning,” said the boy.

“I hope it’s nothing I’ve done — or Philip or the children — or our dog or our goat.”

“No — nothing of that sort. It’s about a cousin of mine, Daisy Vaughan. She’s coming to visit us and Mother wishes she wouldn’t, just now.”

“Then why doesn’t she write and tell her not to?” asked Adeline.

“She can’t very well, as Father thinks we should have Daisy. She is his only brother’s child and an orphan. She’s been staying with relatives on her mother’s side, in Montreal. She’s had a falling-out with them and written a pathetic letter to Father and he’s inviting her to spend some months with us.”

“I declare,” said Adeline, “this is a nuisance! The house is full enough already, what with me and mine. No wonder your mother is vexed.”

“Oh, she’ll manage. Mother always does.”

“Do you know this Daisy?”

“Yes, I’ve been to her aunt’s house in Montreal. There were daughters in the house. I don’t think she got on very well with them.”

“Is she forward, then — or pert? If she is, I’ll take her down.”

“She’s almost as old as you. About twenty-five. Quite dashing, too, but not at all interesting to me. In fact, the thought of her coming bores me excessively. I hate the thought that college will soon open and I must go.” He looked into her eyes, his sensitive boy’s face troubled.

“Don’t worry, Bobby. We’re friends and always shall be.”

“I am not thinking of the future,” he said. “It’s the present that interests me. You make light of my feelings. You don’t care a tuppence, really.”

“I care a great deal. I am a stranger here. You have helped to make me happy.”

“You are lucky to be able to settle down so quickly. I don’t belong anywhere.”

Adeline opened her brown eyes wide at him. “Why, Bobby, what a way to talk! When you’ve had more experience of life you’ll not worry about belonging places.”

He answered gloomily — “That’s the trouble. I have no experience. You are only interested in men who have had experience. Your stiff-necked friend, Wilmott, for example.”

“What do you know about him?” she asked sharply.

“Oh, nothing — except that he looks unutterable things … I can’t tolerate him.”

They had, somewhat breathless from talking while they climbed, reached the top of the steep. The walls of the house rose before them, roofless, with gaping windows and scantling floors. Great stacks of brick and mounds of gravel flanked it. Piles of sweet-scented lumber lay ready. But the workmen, their lunches eaten, were having their noon-hour relaxation. They lay on the ground or sprawling on the lumber, with the exception of two French Canadians. These were lumbermen who had been attracted by the high wages Philip offered. As though they had not had exercise enough in their work they now were dancing with great vivacity and energy. They leaped, stamped, twirled, with intricate steps, snapping their fingers, their teeth flashing. One was middle-aged, with a red handkerchief tied about a thin corded neck, the other young, handsome but no more agile, indeed not so much so. The music for the dance was supplied by an old man seated on the great stump of a pine tree. He was Fiddling Jock. He had expected to be turned out but the Whiteoaks had been taken by his oddity and allowed him to stay on. Philip had given him shingles to mend his leaky roof and new glass to fill the broken windows. No one knew when the cottage had been built, probably by some settler who long ago had died or found the place too lonely. Adeline had christened it Fiddler’s Hut. Now she sang out: —

“Splendid, Jock! Ah, but that’s a fine tune! Play up! Make ’em dance!”

The old fellow nodded violently. With a flourish of his bow he increased the tempo of the music till the feet of the two dancers seemed possessed of a mad spirit. Robert Vaughan was, as usual, amused and a little embarrassed by her familiarity with the men. He would not have had her different but he resented the fact that her unconventionality gave rise to criticism in the neighborhood.
“Damn their strait-lacedness!” he thought. “She is perfect.” But still she made him feel embarrassed.

The Frenchmen sat down breathless. The old Scot reached for a tin mug of tea and took a swig of it. The mug was held to no visible mouth, for the lower part of his face was hidden by an enormous growth of grizzled beard. He wore a grey jacket and a kilt of Scotch tartan so faded that to which clan it belonged was no longer discernible. His bare knees were thin and hairy. He looked as durable and tough as a tree growing on a stony hillside but there was an appealing, lonely look in his wide-open blue eyes.

Adeline clapped her hands. She exclaimed: —

“You should give them an Irish tune, Jock. If you played an Irish jig for them on Irish pipes they’d not be hopping about in that feeble fashion.”

“There’s nae chunes sae fu’ o’ sperrit as the Scottish chunes,” he answered stoutly. “And as for dancin’, I’ll warrant no Irishman livin’ could beat you Frenchies.”

“Ah, you should see them dance in Galway,” she said. “And their whistling as clear as a pipe!”

“We have two Irishmen here,” said Jock, “and they have no more dance in them than clods.”

“They’re from Belfast. That’s the reason.” She turned to the French Canadians — “
Bon! Vous êtes très agiles. Je vous admire beaucoup.”

“Merci, Madame,”
they said in one voice.

“Wad ye be givin’ a pairty when ye move into your fine hoose?” asked Jock.

“Indeed we shall.”

“I’d like fine tae play ma fiddle for it. D’ye think I micht? I’ll learn an Irish jig for the occasion if ye’ll allow me.”

“I engage you on the spot.”

“It will cost ye naething, mind. I’d like to mak’ a return for a’ ye’ve done for me.”

As they went toward the walls of the house Robert exclaimed — “You can’t have that fellow at your party! It would be the talk of the countryside.”

“But he plays at all the weddings and christenings, doesn’t he?”

“Not of your sort.”

“I’m just an immigrant,” she declared. “I want to be like the other immigrants.”

“Captain Whiteoak will never agree.”

“We shall see.”

They mounted the temporary steps and went in at the doorless door.

But Robert continued to look gloomy. He said — “Women exert too much influence on us men.”

A dimple darted into Adeline’s cheek and away again.

“If she’s the right sort of woman it’s good for you, isn’t it?”

“The right sort of woman could do anything with me.”

“Then we must be on the watch for her. But don’t you ever let her do things to you till I have inspected her … Come along, Bobby, let’s see the house!” She took his hand and led him in. “Isn’t it enchanting?”

They had inspected it the day before but the beams put into place since then, the rows of brick added, the mortar just setting into hardness, were of enthralling interest. The walls had no more to support than the ethereal arch of the sky. But they stood solid, waiting, as though in a kind of benevolent eagerness to shoulder their expected burden.

“Isn’t it enchanting?” she repeated. “Oh, the things that will happen here! It’s enough to frighten one, isn’t it, Bobby, to think of the things that are crowding in on us?” She bent her brows to a dark line. “Wouldn’t it have been strange if, when the architect brought us the sketches of the house, he could have brought a sketch of all that lay before us here?”

“Perhaps you will not spend all the rest of your days here. You may want to move. Perhaps you will want to go to another part of the country or even back to the Old Land. There are many who do.”

“Never! Not Philip and me! We’ve come here to stay. Canada will have our bones. Jalna will be our home.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you know, Bobby, that is the first time I have called the
place
Jalna
, naturally and easily. Now the name belongs to it just as Philip and I do.”

Young Vaughan was watching a figure bent double behind a newly rising partition. He pressed her arm and whispered: —

“There’s a half-breed fellow in here. I think he’s stealing something. Let’s watch him.”

They crept forward in time to see the youth filling his pockets with nails and screws from a box of carpenter supplies. As he saw himself observed he straightened his body and looked at them coolly. He was very thin, very dark, with chiseled features of surprising beauty. They were of the aquiline Indian type, though less pronounced, but he had a warm colour in his cheeks and his hair, instead of being coarse and straight, was fine and hung in wavy locks about his thin cheeks. His clothes were ragged. He was about Robert’s age.

“Well now,” said Adeline, “that’s a fine trick you’re at!”

“I work for Mr. Wilmott,” he answered gently. “I’m building a poultry house for him and I ran short of nails. I thought maybe the carpenters wouldn’t mind me taking a few.”

“It’s a good thing for you they didn’t catch you at it,” said Robert.

“They were for Mr. Wilmott,” he returned, keeping his eyes on Adeline’s face.

She went forward eagerly. “Take all you want!” she exclaimed. “There are all sizes and shapes here. Come, let’s see what you have.”

Hesitatingly he drew some specimens from his pockets.

“’Tis not half enough! Come, here is a bit of sacking. Fill it up. Would you like some of these nice hinges and hooks? And here’s a funny-looking thing but it might be useful.”

The young half-breed knelt eagerly beside her, and began snatching all that caught his eye.

“My goodness,” exclaimed Robert, “you mustn’t do that! The carpenters know just what supplies they have and need them.”

“We can buy more,” said Adeline. “Besides there are tons of nails here. No one could miss what we’ve taken.”

The half-breed deftly knotted the four corners of the sacking and slipped away. Before he left he gave Adeline a smile of gratitude.

“It will be a wonder to me,” said Robert Vaughan, “if anything movable is left on this place after two days. Every thief in the neighborhood will be here.”

“But the Indians are honest. Your father told me so.”

“The half-breeds aren’t.”

“Tell me about that boy.”

“I don’t know much except that his name is Titus Sharrow. They call him Tite. He’s no good. I don’t see why Mr. Wilmott employs him. I am told that he sleeps in the house.”

“How does he come to be a half-breed? Are his parents living?”

“I don’t think so. I believe he’s really a quarter French. His mother’s father was a French Canadian. It’s a shame, the way they took up with the Indian women.”

“The boy is charming.”

“I call that a funny adjective to use about a half-breed thief.”

“He wasn’t stealing.”

“Do you think Mr. Wilmott sent him for nails, then?”

“I daresay,” she answered a little huffily, as though Wilmott’s honour was in question, or her friendship for him.

“Well, here comes Captain Whiteoak! Let’s tell him all about it.”

“For pity’s sake, no! Don’t breathe a word of it, please.”

Philip strode up. “Adeline, I have a dozen things to ask you,” he exclaimed, and they entered on a long and fascinating discussion of building problems.

Two weeks passed and the niece, Daisy Vaughan, arrived. She was a visitor unwanted by all. David Vaughan had not seen his niece since she was in her teens. The slight reports he had had of her were not endearing. Her coming would disarrange his wife’s housekeeping still further and, heaven knew, the Whiteoaks had disarranged it enough for any woman’s endurance. But he had family loyalty. Daisy was his only brother’s only child. She had written him a pathetic letter. He could do no less than offer her hospitality. Mrs. Vaughan would not have dreamed of opposing
him but she felt injured. This sense of well-bred and restrained injury encircled her silvery head like a dim halo. Adeline was all on her side. “Dear Mrs. Vaughan,” she would say, “this is the last straw for you, I know. Philip and I and our tribe were quite enough but, with your husband’s trooping in, ’t will be the end of you. Once the roof is on our house I promise you we shall decamp.”