Cold Pastoral (24 page)

David tilted her face until it was exposed to his view.

“Mary,” he questioned, “are there sometimes you need spanking?”

“I don't think so,” she said with limpid clearness. “I feel polite.”

“Maybe,” he said doubtfully. “I'm afraid you won't suffer much Karma if you look like that. I'll kiss you instead.… There! I know I'll find you out some day.”

She slipped away, leaning against the tallboy.

“What will you find, David?” she asked with an empty face.

From a drawer he was extracting a white silk scarf. “Oh, just your original sin, your Achilles heel,” he said vaguely.

“And when you find it, David, what will you do?”

For once he was uncomprehending. Her face was no longer empty. It was anxious and strained.

“Continue to love you like an indulgent fool, I suppose.”

“Can I depend on that?” she asked, running to the hall at the sound of an opening door. Looking back, David was arrested again by her old expression.

“Mary!” called Philip. “Will you ring up Doctor—?”

“Coming, Philip.”

David stood dangling the scarf. How odd of Philip to let her do his telephoning! More and more they were transferring the countless little services previously belonging to Hannah.

Tim was different when he returned. She saw it at once. His cheeks were red-brown, his brow peeling from sun and his hands suggested virility. Some granite of his country had gone into himself. Town-bred, he barely knew his environs for a radius of thirty miles. Consequently his coves and bays were as pastoral as places could be with their feet in the North Atlantic. That his town was in the same latitude as Paris gave it a moderation tempered by the Arctic Current. Newfoundlanders were accustomed to the world's ignorance about them, knowing how they were lumped together with Eskimos and husky-dogs. By sailing as far as Labrador, Tim had seen some of those things.

They met satisfactorily. Dwindling days forbade the mater the night air of her garden. Philip was at his surgery. Knowing Tim's ship had docked at five o'clock she was free to put on a coat and watch the light grown sombre over the plantains and dandelions. There was a sound of feet rustling through grass, shoes scraping against the fence, a retreat to the beech tree for a reconnoitre and he was down beside her. Hugging her in stronger arms, he even smelt different. She inhaled a tang of boats, ropes, tar and an essence of the sea. Eyes were wider open.

“Gretel, did you miss me? Kiss me and say you're glad I'm back— I thought of you everywhere. Your face came out of icebergs, whales and even dirty Eskimos. I hate dark people. Kiss me again.… I had a swell time.”

He laughed out loud, showing his crooked teeth.

“Shushhh, Tim,” she whispered; “Hannah is in and might be on the prowl. You look grand. What did you do?”

“Everything,” he said largely. “First I felt a bit seedy. There were more smells than usual, but it's funny how you get used to them. Then, after we stopped at a few places, the town seemed very far away; all except you, Gretel, and you came with me. You must have seen everything, but I'll tell you, in case you didn't. When the wharves and lighthouses stopped we had to anchor at night, and if we wanted to go ashore we had to use the mail-boat. There were whales and flies and Eskimos and husky-dogs. But the icebergs, Gretel! Hundreds at a time! One day I stood at the rail without going to meals. I'll never forget them under the sun, and when the light went they looked like ghost-tombs. I thought I was sailing through a graveyard for Vikings, and I knew it was too big to be played on the piano. I thought of the biggest Beethoven—then I remembered Scott, Peary and Amundsen, and somehow they seemed the biggest of all.”

“Tim,” she gasped incredulously, “not greater than the
musician
?”

“Greater than anyone,” he said with reckless repudiation of his gods. “They must be because they helped me to make up my mind to be an engineer. It seemed a fine thing up there. I've never really tried, because when I hear the names of the subjects I close up my mind. Now I'll give them a chance.”

“Tim!” she ejaculated, acclaiming him with pride. Somewhere inside she shook her head. It was a mood. Tim was a poet, a dreamer, and he could never make mines and rocks his first loves. But she was not of the breed to daunt him.

“Yes,” he went on as if bolstering his own decision, “it came over me all at once. I saw this country was more rock than art. If I lived in a different place—”

He stopped, staring out as if visualising countries with legacies of musicians. Instantly she stiffened his new resolution.

“If you're decided, Tim, it will please them. When your mind is made up you mustn't have two minds. David says it's important to live in harmony. Philip says conflict—”

“What's that?” he asked, startled by the sound of shuffling feet. Careful for her, he peered through chinks into the vegetable garden.

“Gretel, witchface is picking some peas.”

“Tim,” she hissed, extracting a book from her pocket. “Go very quietly. I'm reading a very interesting book.”

“Don't strain your eyes,” he said with a smile in his voice. “See you tomorrow.”

He faded into the trees with little sound.

Hannah could not possibly have seen, but she might have heard. There was no doubt about it, she was an extremely unpleasant old woman. The mater would never expect her to pick peas when it was almost dark.

Autumn coursed with red blood. A few leaves fluttered down, making a light scrape on the ground. As yet the wind only warned the trees of more vicious stripping. Neither was the earth ready to draw in its breath. Late flowers survived, flaunting with a last hot pulse of life. More intoxicating than nascent spring, Mary Immaculate felt restless from tooth to toenail. Beauty seemed to live in sound of a deep-toned knell. She walked to school in sunlight mixed with silver alloy. Midas fingers had ruffled the beech tree, suggesting a wish to sit on a branch and watch the gold drip away. What would the Fitz Henrys say when she and Tim were revealed in a fork?

David was as restless as herself, appearing continually and urging them towards the cottage. There the sea tossed with blue abandon, darting frothy tongues towards the colour on the land. The air held a screech of wild living.

“The flowers look indecent,” said David on his own lawn. “Mary, why is autumn so headstrong?”

She was looking at spikes of hollyhock, over-topped by staring sunflowers. Stems were drowned in a wash of nasturtiums.

Her voice was dreaming, seeming to return from distance.

“Mom asked Pop that once, and he made a queer answer. Mostly Pop just grunted, but sometimes he said things.”

“Husbands and grunts go together, Mary. What did Pop say on this occasion when he didn't grunt?”

“He said big beasts mate in the fall.”

“Well!” said David, glad of Philip's absence. Perhaps a word to the mater would suggest a little talk about the papa and mamma flower and the flight of the bumble-bee. That, he supposed, was the process for gentle maidenhood. Recalling her background, he smothered a smile. Her white face must have been frequently turned to the hen and the dick, the ewe and the ram. It would be an insult to give her a book about pollen.

“Mary,” he said with a rapid change of mood. “Felice is going to give you Rufus—”

“When?” she asked, looking round for instant possession.

“Not so fast, darling! You can't have him until we go,
but
—”

“But what, David? It sounds exciting.”

“We're going to stay out until the first boat after Christmas. Will you like that?”

“Like it, David?” she said with satisfactory fervour. “I'd like you to stay forever.”

Christmas was staged in a perfect winter dress. Snow was unsullied, tree-shadows were etched by the light of a full-sized moon, and a child in the house made a season. They found her unacquisitive but thrilled with gew-gaws and coloured lights. The family rose to the occasion and tripped cheerfully over decorations. All except Hannah! She had dismissed Christmas years ago and resented the bright shreds on her carpets.

Philip placed a tree on the mater's lawn and decorated it with lights from a wire in the house. Small bulbs cast vivid pools on the snow and the child never tired of dipping her hands in colour. To the family it was a resurgence of youth. On Christmas Eve they all went out of doors and stood round the tree. The high white solitude of the moon gave back a sense of cold peace. The child had been to see the Crib and the night was full of meaning. Looking upward for the Star, the moon silvered a devotional face. She looked down! The sky held the infinite but the baubles shone on her hands. David, sensitive for nuances, saw the exultation leave her for the love of hot colour. She laughed with earth-bound defiance. As if her laugh had been a command some other person returned the perfect note. Clean and clear the “Adeste” came over the snow. With a smile on her lips Mary Immaculate opened her mouth and sang. Too subdued to make a large noise the family supplied a hum.

“My dear, how lyrical,” said David, “and how talented is our Mary with her Latin! Let's find the accompanist and invite him to wassail.”

Mary Immaculate was deaf, singing the second verse.

Lady Fitz Henry answered. “Some musical person lives quite near, David. I frequently hear whistles and mouth-organs. The instruments sound cheap but the tunes are perfect.”

Philip's arm was round his child's neck. Her obvious joy fascinated him and he seemed to look at it as if it were tangible. From his height he could see the way her cheeks smoothed to her chin, the proud way her neck bore her head, and the stand refusing weight to the frozen ground.

“Happy, Mary?” he questioned.

“Bursting,” she said wholeheartedly, and because she meant it so strongly she blazed the fact in his face.

She knew very well there was no sustained peak of perfection.

Hannah returned her present! Only tendered because the mater insisted on remembering the staff, she was most unsure of its reception. Wildest doubts did not encompass the ungracious return.

Hannah found her saying her prayers after an unbelievable day. She was addressing Heaven with her mind on earth when she heard the harsh voice.

“I don't take things where I don't feel right. 'Tis eating salt and betraying. Take them back.”

She scrambled from her knees to receive a pair of black gloves. There was nothing to say. Hannah was gone! Always a reminder of the beach and a smell of offal! She knew the right words and symbols for Hannah. Rancid, mildew, like mouldy sails! If you began to unfold her there would be dirty black spots, wet and a little sour. As an antidote she found the white ship and stood it in front of her eyes. Dear Tim with his talk of white sails! He was making a valiant effort, but it was useless to say he liked minerals and by-products. Sometimes after a long session of geology he came like an exile dragging his chains. His eyelids would be loaded and he sat pitch black. There were times when she had to work very hard to lighten his load, but he never left her without a restored laugh or a resurgence of purpose. Dear Tim, she thought. He should go to places like Dresden or Vienna, where there were opera-houses presenting his loves for little money. The land of the unborn children had made a mistake when they dropped Tim in Newfoundland.

Meanwhile there was the tennis-court in process of freezing. Philip and Felice could waltz and skate over ice like keels on a summer sea. She was determined to master the art in the shortest time, and sometimes when the afternoons made early night Tim could drop over the fence and skate by her side. Undismayed by the flaws of living, she tossed the black gloves in a drawer and wrapped the white ship preciously in a handkerchief.

“CHILDREN OF A LARGER GROWTH.”

S
he was seventeen and had not been to school in England. During the years the mater and Philip were often seen holding a prospectus. When she was too old for boarding-school, they sent for colleges and finishing-schools. From the fireside she was transported to many places. Returning, David and Felice raised their eyebrows and offered to take her themselves. Philip always looked vexed and said later.

They saw her development best. Every year a different girl met them at the wharf, causing a momentary intake of breath. David would stare and blink, reviewing her face. Change lay mostly in her body; mind and sense retaining the same childish zest. Neither could the mater ever modulate wild young laughter over sudden absurdities of every day. Something foolish in the street or Rufus remembering his kittenhood and springing at her heels as she went. Mental capacity increased, continually embracing new things. In her eighteenth year she could speak French moderately well and read it better. She was a zealous pianist because of Tim, though David said she had more temperament than technique. Performance suffered in comparison to Felice. Sports had been culled to perfect swimming, tennis and skating. Fleet-footed games attracted most, though she tried hard at golf for Philip's sake. With him it was a recent but accurate achievement. She found it distracting when vistas of sea appeared between hills, and woods were white with drifts of blossom. Some of her talents were not displayed. Doubt might have been expressed at the perfect timing of her tap-dancing or the wild grace of her hotcha.

She was tall with straight shoulders, narrow hips and small breasts set wide apart. Features gave harmony to one another, with the mouth growing a little fuller at the bow. There was a look of silver about her hair. With a natural wave at the top, the mater had conceded permanent ends, over-riding Philip, who wished her chained to nature's benefits. Voice had been trained and civilised, though it retained the peaks and variations of a fever-chart.

Companionship with Lady Fitz Henry had grown deep. Mother-and-daughter complex did not disturb them, and the relationship planted sturdy roots. The mater was nurtured like a bit of rare glass, and it was a challenge to keep her from walking upstairs too often. If anything her heart was better and more rested. The discovery that dizziness was caused by blood-pressure made Philip take her off protein meals, substituting vegetables and salads.