The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (179 page)

He pressed her hands to his throbbing temples.

It was evening before Dayborn and Chris could persuade him to return to the house. He had eaten nothing but had drunk a great deal. Under a glittering new moon they steadied him, one on either hand, along the wide path shovelled by the men. The snow at the sides was waist-high. They were both so thin, so nearly of the same build, that he was not sure which was which. He patted both their backs.

Old Adeline, on her way to bed, heard him coming. He was singing at the top of his not very musical voice:

“D’ye ken John Peel, with his coat so gay?

D’ye ken John Peel, at the break of the day?

Peel’s view-halloo would waken the dead

And the fox from his lair in the morning.”

She opened the door to him.

C
HRISTMAS

M
EG AND HER
grandmother were in the sitting room going through a box of decorations for the Christmas tree. It was a large box and some of its contents dated back to the time when Meg and Renny were children. One of these was a fat wax cherub, now grown rather dingy and with his nose gone, but dear to all the family. There were the gay-coloured cornucopias for the Christmas sweets. There were tinsel streamers some of them rather tarnished, though, when the candles were lit, they shone as brightly as the best. Not one in the family could see that box without a certain excitement. It meant that Christmas was at hand, the last rites were being performed.

Adeline was extricating a silver fish from a tangle of tinsel. Meg, with one corner of her handkerchief wetted by her tongue, was washing the cherub’s face. The air was heavy with the scent of the tree and of the spruce and hemlock boughs that had been placed above the pictures. A basket in the window was heaped with still unopened Christmas cards from the post.

“Thank goodness,” said Meg, “that Renny has got over the worst of his disappointment before Christmas. I think that, on the whole, he bore it pretty well, don’t you, Gran?”

“I do. He bore it like a soldier.”

“But he did get terribly drunk! It was a shock to me.”

Adeline threw up her hands. “And to me, too. Bless me, when I opened the door and he came feather-stitching along the hall, he reminded me so of my own father that I all but fainted! Before I could stop myself, I called him by my father’s name. I said, — ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Renny Court.’”

“And what did he say, Gran?”

“He said, — ‘I wish I had been Renny Court, for I’d have been dead forty years. Better be dead,’ he said, ‘than live to see this day.’ Then he came and put his head on my shoulder and cried. And I said, — ‘Cry away, my dear, ’twill do you good.’ And what do you think he said then? He said, — ‘Oh, Gran, the War was terrible!’ His poor brain was completely moithered with all the trouble that was on him, as my old nurse used to say.”

“Poor darling! It was wonderful the way you soothed him and the uncles got him to bed. It is strange how he never wants to speak of Launceton now. And, if anyone so much as mentions Mrs. Stroud’s name, he gives a black look and closes right up. I think it is good to talk over one’s troubles, don’t you, Gran?”

“Eh, Meg, but you’ve never wanted to talk over Maurice Vaughan, have you?”

Meg coloured deeply and bent her head over the box of decorations.

Her grandmother looked at her shrewdly. “I believe you still love him, Meg.”

Meg did not answer. There was silence except for the crackling of the fire and the rustle of their hands in the tinsel.

At last Adeline spoke. “I’m wondering what sort of Christmas that Mrs. Stroud will have.”

“Miserable enough, I should say, with such a dreadful thing on her conscience.”

“She ought to thank her stars that she’s not locked up.”

“Renny was too soft-hearted in letting her off so easily. But, as he said, no amount of punishment could bring Launceton back.”

“Well, she’s hid herself completely. No one seems to know where she’s gone. I wonder who will buy the house now. How well I remember when it was built! Little did old Mr. Pink guess such a queer woman would come to live in it. But bad as she was, she wasn’t made of the right stuff for a sinner.”

There were footsteps in the hall. Meg shook her head. “Sh, Gran. Renny is coming. We mustn’t be talking of her…. I think the snow has stopped, don’t you?”

Renny came in. She turned smiling to him while holding up the cherub for inspection.

“I’ve been washing his face, Renny. Does it look clean to you?”

He examined the waxen face critically. “It’s a bit smudgy but it’ll look clean in the candlelight.”

“I hope Wakefield won’t scream when he sees Uncle Nick as Santa Claus. He did last year.”

“He’ll not scream. I’ll hold him on my shoulder.”

“What do you think of Finch’s hanging up his stocking? Piers says he’s too old and that the tree is enough. But I can see that he wants to. I really think he still believes.”

“Let the poor little devil hang up his stocking.”

He hesitated, then took a paper from his pocket. He said: “This came just now. It’s a cable from Aunt Augusta. She’s seen Mrs. Gardiner and advises Dayborn to go to her as soon as possible. She says she’s sure he can put things right.” He gave a short laugh. “Not much chance for Dayborn to go to England now.”

“When I think,” said Meg, “what that woman has done to those poor things —”

“Did the girl know, before she married, that there was this woman in England to be reckoned with?” asked Adeline.

“No,” answered Renny. “Dayborn told her nothing till after they were married. He’s a mean dog, but I like him.”

Adeline spoke in a shaking voice. She said:

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” asked Renny.

“Pay their passage. And their expenses. The three of them.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Gran, you don’t mean it!”

“I do. Go you, Renny, and tell them that your grandmother is full of goodwill this Christmas and wants to prove it by helping them. Heigho, but ’twill take a deal of money!”

Renny folded her in his arms and laid his cheek against hers. “Gran, you’ve never done anything better than this. They’ll be grateful all the rest of their lives. And so shall I! I can’t tell you how I’ve been worried about them — since — this affair.”

She peered up at him shrewdly. “How much do you think of that girl Chris? Tell me that.”

“So much that it will hurt like hell to give her up.” With a defensive glance at grandmother and sister he went toward the door.

When it had closed behind him, Meg said, — “I wonder how true that is. Of course I know he thinks it’s true. But men deceive themselves even more easily than they deceive women.”

Adeline shut her eyes. Her lips moved. She said, — “I get all mixed up when I try to calculate how much it will cost. But I know it will be a lot. Well, well, I’ll have to grin and bear it. I wonder what your uncles will say!”

Meg patted her hand. “I don’t see how they can help being glad. They both admire Chris and are sorry for her. And they know the baby’s future may depend on this. For my part, I think you’re showing the real Christmas spirit.”

Adeline looked slyly at her granddaughter. “It isn’t only for their sakes,” she said. “The young man must be protected. Yon redhead.”

Meg stared. Then she exclaimed, — “Oh, Gran, how clever of you! I always say that whatever brains I have, I inherit them from you!”

Chris was waiting near the gate when Renny appeared, driving one of the farm sleighs drawn by a lively gelding. Seeing the open gate it was determined to go through without stopping.

“Whoa,” he shouted, tightening the reins.

The gelding, forced to a standstill, danced heavily in the snow, its thick neck arched in make-believe fear of the tree Chris held upright. It was a Christmas tree, somewhat taller than she, its roots wrapped in a sack, its thick-spreading branches tapering to a perfect spire. She was bareheaded and, with the medieval cut of her straight fair hair and her dark jersey and breeches, she made an arresting picture against the snowy landscape. Her face, too, was arresting, with its look of fragility and endurance, purity and experience. Renny stared at her and the tree without speaking.

“Will it do?” she asked.

“It’s a beauty.” Now his eyes looked only into hers. He was torn between the desire to tell her the good news and the pain of telling her they must part.

“I chose it myself. Somehow I couldn’t bear to have it cut down. I made the men dig up roots and all. Now, if Pheasant likes, she can have it planted again and it will live.”

“What a good idea! The kid will love that.”

“After Launceton dying I can’t bear to think of anything young and beautiful being killed.”

“I know.” He kept his eyes on her. He said:

“Do you know what I’m doing, Kit? I’m making a picture of you in my mind — to keep always — just the way you look at this minute. You’ve no idea how lovely you are. You’re the most unself-conscious girl I’ve ever known. This picture of you will never leave me — no matter where you go. It’s — sort of symbolic.”

She smiled up at him. “Renny, you’ve been beautiful to me. If only I could have helped you win that race!”

“It would have been grand.” They gazed spellbound into space for a moment, visualizing that dream of victory. Then, with a sharp sigh, he jumped out of the sleigh and took the tree from her. She sprang on to the seat just in time to grasp the reins and restrain the gelding.

“Stop it, you devil,” she said, without emotion.

Renny lifted the tree into the sleigh. He remarked:

“There’s only one thing I don’t like about you, Kit. That’s the way you call horses hard names.”

“I just can’t help it. They understand. They know I love them.”

“Here come Jim and Tod,” exclaimed Renny.

“He said Tod could be with him in the stable.” She called out to the approaching pair, — “Why are you coming here?”

Dayborn answered, — “You’ll have to mind him. I’ve got to go and buy myself a pair of boots. My feet are right out of these.”

Tod smiled apologetically at his mother. He wanted to be with her, yet feared she might welcome him no more than had Dayborn. She patted his cheek with her thin chapped hand. Dayborn put him on the straw beside the tree. He beamed up at it.

“Choose a good pair of boots, Jim,” said Renny. “You’ve a long journey ahead of you.”

Dayborn stared uncomprehending.

“My grandmother is going to pay your expenses to England. She told me so this morning.”

“But why — why —” Dayborn could only stammer.

Chris said, — “But she mustn’t do that. It’s too much.”

“She wants to,” said Renny. “It’s her Christmas present to you.”

“Are Chris and the kid to go too?”

“Of course. I think they’ll be your greatest assets when you meet Mrs. Gardiner. I’ve had a cable from my aunt. She has met your friend and is sure you can patch things up. She says she’s a motherly person.”

“She is!” cried Dayborn fervently. “She’s been an angel to me. God, how glad I shall be to see her and make everything right.”

“Tod will do that. Just look at him.”

He had grasped the trunk of the tree in his little mittened hand for support. A scatter of snow from its branches was clinging to the fringe of hair that gleamed from beneath his woollen cap. “Tall, tall,” he said complacently. “Vewy nice.”

“I must go straight to Mrs. Whiteoak and thank her,” said Dayborn. “Or had I better wait till I get my new boots?”

“Get the new boots first,” said Chris. “And put on your other coat and your blue tie. Give her my love and tell her I shall come to thank her.”

“You ought to come now.”

“I’d rather go alone.”

“Right! Oh, what a woman she is! I adore her. Chris, isn’t she splendid!” He put both arms about Chris and hugged her. He looked across her at Renny, with a possessive air. A malicious smile flickered across his small, irregular face. “I haven’t been blind, you know,” he said.

Chris slackened the reins. Jake plunged forward. Dayborn looked after them still smiling, then turned toward the village. The reaction from bitter disappointment was almost too much for him. He could not clearly see his way. The sun came out in dazzling brightness. There were bells on Jake’s harness. He could hear them jingling across the snow.

Renny squatted between child and tree, a hand supporting each. Clots of snow from Jake’s hooves were thrown back into the sleigh. Fine snow, like spray, rose from the runners of the sleigh. The bells were deep-toned and melodious. Above them, Renny said:

“Are you really glad, Kit?”

She did not answer. Then she turned her face and looked at him over her shoulder. Tears were running down her cheeks. She turned her face away again. Neither of them spoke. Tod still stared up into the tree. “Tall, tall,” he said.

They left him in the sleigh and went into the porch. Before ringing the bell Renny took out his handkerchief and dried her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, my darling little heart?” he asked.

“You know very well…. We shall never meet again…. I feel it here.” She struck her hand on her breast.

Pheasant had been watching for them. She threw open the door.

“Oh, you’ve brought it!” She cried in delight. “Maurice told me you were bringing me a tree. He went to town and bought decorations for it. And something in a box which I’m not to open till the morning!”

“He’d better,” said Renny grimly. He put a package into her hand. “Here’s something else that must not be opened till the morning.”

“Oh, how lovely! And I have one from Miss Pink! And Mrs. Clinch has crocheted me bedroom slippers. What a Christmas! Maurice home and a tree loaded with presents!”