Whiteoak Harvest. Mazo de la Roche. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Mazo de la Roche
Издательство: Ingram
Серия: Jalna
Жанр произведения: Историческая литература
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781459708136
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hair, the fastidious order of her person. He was filled with admiration that she could look so after such a night. Yet, at the same time, he had a feeling of baffled anger that she could be meticulous under stress of such emotion. Still, he had dressed with more care than usual and, if she had come dishevelled to the table, he would have deprecated it. “What can I do to make her forgive me?” he thought. He felt powerless before the walls of her desolation. A hard bright rage crept over him. He turned and stared into Wakefield’s face, then broke out:

      “What the hell is the matter with you that you haven’t a word for yourself?”

      The sombre lines of Wakefield’s face broke into astonishment and hurt as though he had been struck, then he gathered himself together and answered:

      “I did not know I was expected to make conversation.”

      “Well — you are not expected to look as though you were at a funeral.”

      “Neither of you looks very cheerful.” He scanned their faces shrewdly and divined the cause of Renny’s irritation. He turned to him almost pleadingly. “If you knew the sort of night I had you would not expect me to be cheerful. I am at my wits’ end to know what to do.”

      “Why — what is wrong, Wake?” Renny’s tone changed to one of anxiety.

      Wakefield crumbled a bit of toast on his plate and answered, almost in a whisper — “I have decided that I should not marry. I want to go into a monastery.”

      Renny looked at him dumbfounded; Alayne with a bitter smile. She said:

      “I think you are very sensible. It is better to shut yourself away from life—not give yourself to anybody.”

      Renny exclaimed harshly — “How can you say that? What about Pauline? It would break her heart. As for me — why, Wake, you don’t know what you are talking about! It’s a ghastly life — unthinkable for a Whiteoak.”

      “I’ve been thinking of nothing else for a month.”

      “But — only yesterday — you were perfectly natural — you and Pauline — at The Daffodil.”

      Alayne’s eyes, icy, accusing, pierced him. So — he was there, with Clara, yesterday morning! She said, “I suppose it was there that you hurt your shoulder.”

      He coloured but with a sudden defiant grin answered — “Yes. I was raising the porch of the tea shop.”

      Wakefield ignored the interruption. He said — “The time to speak had not come. Now it has come.”

      Renny sprang from his chair and began to walk up and down the room.

      “You can’t do it!” he cried. “You can’t! It’s appalling. I forbid it! You’re not of age. I’ll see these damned priests.”

      Wakefield answered calmly. “I wish you would. You’d find that I had no encouragement from them.”

      Renny thrust out his lips in scorn.

      “Ha! They’d never let you know! They’re too sly for you. Well, I’ll put a stop to it! God, if Gran were here, she’d raise the roof with her shame for you!”

      Wakefield returned — “You forget that one of the reasons why Grandfather left Quebec was that Gran showed Catholic sympathies.”

      “Rot! She was young. She was in a strange country. She got bravely over it. And so must you. Lord — when I think that you’d turn religious — when other young fellows are turning pagan!” He took out his handkerchief, wiped his forehead, sat down resolutely at the table and drank his tea in a few gulps. Then he said:

      “We’ll not talk about it now. We’ll have it out later, Wake, when we’re quite cool and composed.”

      “I am cool and composed now,” returned Wakefield with gravity. “I have had it out with my soul. That is the important part. And Pauline will understand. I think she will be very happy for my sake.”

      The mention of Wakefield’s soul took the pith out of Renny. He leant back in his chair helpless, staring disconsolately at his untouched breakfast. Alayne looked at him with cruel amusement. She could not help herself. He had made her suffer. Now let him suffer — in his love for Wake, in his pride, in his tenderness for those Lebraux women!

      Adeline finished her breakfast. She was sweet and good, taking no notice of her elders. A heavy scent of cologne came from her. She liked it and drew up the front of her dress to sniff.

      Renny turned to Wakefield. “I suppose you have been to early Mass,” he said.

      “Yes — I am going now to see Pauline.”

      Renny turned to him almost tragically. “Wakefield, I want you to promise me one thing. I want you to promise me that you will not speak of this to Pauline till I have seen your priest. You must promise me that.”

      Wakefield answered irritably — “Oh, I suppose I can promise you that! Though it makes it difficult for me. And I can promise you something else and that is that nothing anyone can say will prevent me doing what I have made up my mind to do.”

      “But you promise — mind, you promise!”

      Wakefield gave a muffled assent then rolled his table napkin meticulously and put it into his napkin ring drawn by a small silver goat. He had always loved the little goat, now he gave it an unconscious caress.

      Adeline looked at it enviously. She said — “I wish I had a little goat like that.”

      Wakefield gave her his charming smile. “You shall have it, Adeline! I am going away soon and must give away all my belongings. You shall have the little goat.”

      She laughed delightedly. “Go today, please!”

      “I wish I could.”

      At these words, at the thought that Wakefield wished he might leave his home today, Renny’s mouth went down at the corners as though in physical pain. He gave a short nervous laugh, then said to Alayne:

      “I don’t suppose you’ll be coming to church this morning?”

      She shook her head, looking down at her clasped hands.

      “I have a mind,” he went on, “to take Adeline with me. It is time she began to go to church and she will be off your hands for the morning. She can sit with Pheasant.”

      “Very well, though I think she is much too young.”

      She could not deny her relief at the thought of being free of the child’s activities for an hour or two.

      But she kept Adeline with her until it was time to go. For the first time that spring they heard the church bell across the fields. She put a fresh dress on Adeline, her little fawn-coloured coat and new straw hat and led her to the front porch. She sat her on the seat there and said — “Wait here till Daddy comes.” She bent and kissed her, but coldly. She wondered suddenly how Renny would manage his surplice with his arm in a sling.

      He thought he would like to take the path across the fields with the child. He could not drive the car and he wanted no one with him. He remembered the family party that used to set out on a Sunday morning — the old phaeton, driven by Hodge now dead, Grandmother, the uncles and young Wakefield established in it, the car following with himself, one or two of the whelps and perhaps Aunt Augusta and, of course, Pheasant…. Finch walking across the fields as he was now — what a tribe! But that was the way to live — one’s flesh and blood under one’s own strong roof!

      Adeline was serenely happy. In her almost four years she had never felt quite so good and so happy as this. She tried to express this in her very walk, in the way she clutched her father’s fingers. Every time he looked down at her or pointed things out to her she smiled up at him in utter goodness. She would not ask to pick the tiny wild orchids that showed in the grass. Alayne had not known that she was to walk and had put on her thin patent leather shoes. The path became wet and Renny was forced to heave her up on his one efficient