Whiteoak Harvest. Mazo de la Roche
painted green; yellow freshly laundered cloths set off the flowered china, and a vase holding a few daffodils stood in the centre of each. In a small glass case, boxes of sweets tied with bright ribbons were for sale. The shop was empty but for a yellow cat which arched itself against the oncoming of the dogs.
A bell had rung at the opening of the door and now a strong-looking woman, in her early forties, with short tow-coloured hair and a face in which fortitude and recklessness were rather attractively blended, appeared. She wore a fancy daffodil-strewn smock that badly became her, and, in spite of such flamboyant identification with the shop, she looked strangely out of place there. She was Clara Lebraux, Wakefield’s future mother-in-law.
She gave him an affectionate smile, and he bent and kissed her on the cheek. Between her and Renny a look of intimate understanding was exchanged. In her glance there was an almost masculine ease, combined with a passionate appreciation of his hard, thin grace, the predatory chiselling of his features, beside which Wakefield’s youthful good looks became insignificant.
The warmth in Renny’s eyes turned to amusement as he exclaimed:
“You look like the devil in that pinafore, Clara.”
“I know,” she agreed, “but it becomes the shop, and no one will notice me.”
“I like it,” said Wakefield, “and I think it’s becoming too.”
“In short,” added Clara Lebraux, “it was Wakefield’s idea.”
“Just like Wake’s taste! You look much better in a man’s overall, cleaning out your stable.”
She shrugged. “And feel much better, too. But stables don’t pay, and poultry doesn’t pay, and fox farming doesn’t pay. I’m willing to make myself into a figure of fun, if only I can make this tea shop pay.”
He looked instantly serious. “It must pay,” he said.
“It hasn’t yet.”
“You’ve only been open a month. The season has not begun.”
“I’ve sent at least a dozen of my clients on to you,” said Wakefield.
“And several of them arrived. They asked me questions about you and said it was a pity to see such an intellectual young man at your job.”
“I think it pays to bring intellect to any job,” returned Wakefield. “Even this tea shop, if run —”
Clara interrupted — “My goodness, I have no intellect to bring to it!”
Renny asked, “Have you had any customers this morning?”
“Not yet. But it’s Saturday and a fine day. I should have plenty.”
The cat now leaped in furry rage to the top of a table, overturning the flowers and spitting down at the dogs which surrounded her. Renny snatched up the vase, Wakefield put the spaniels outside the door, and the cat was hustled to the kitchen. Clara Lebraux laughed good-humouredly.
“Come now,” she said. “You must sit down and have coffee. There is some freshly made.”
“And I can vouch that it’s good,” said Wakefield. “I come in for a cup every morning, don’t I, Mother-in-law?”
Renny said nothing but sat with crossed legs, fingering his puppy’s ears. Clara went to the kitchen from where came the appetizing smell of fresh coffee.
Renny remarked:
“I must buy a box of Pauline’s sweets.”
“Do,” said Wakefield. “She hasn’t had much sale for them yet. It’s discouraging. I give a box of them to every one of the family on their birthdays but they always look rather knowing, as though they thought I only put money into my own pocket when I buy Pauline’s sweets. The almond creams are good.”
“Yes, I’ll try the almond creams.”
The owner of the tea shop now returned with coffee and biscuits on a tray. There were three cups and she sat herself down by her guests.
The coffee was steaming hot and there was cream for it. The two older ones sipped theirs almost in silence while Wakefield talked animatedly of his work and his approaching marriage. Occasionally the eyes of Renny and Clara met, rested a moment, as though each drew a certain peace from the other’s presence, then turned again to the youth, the man’s with tolerant affection, the woman’s with slight irritation.
The attention of all three was drawn to the door as Pauline Lebraux appeared at it.
“Don’t let the dogs in,” shouted Renny, as though to a child.
Wakefield went eagerly to the door to meet her. She stood smiling at them all, slender and dark, a complete contrast to her mother. She carried a package which Clara at once espied.
“More sweets, darling!” she exclaimed. “Why, I haven’t sold the last lot yet.”
Pauline looked worried. “Oh, haven’t you, Mummie? But you told me it was going very well.”
Renny broke in — “It is going well. It’s very lucky that you have brought this fresh lot, for it happens that I am going to see a man who is likely to buy a horse from me. He has five kids and I must take them some sweets. Five girls” — his voice grew in heartiness — “they’d like a box apiece. It will help to put the deal through.”
Pauline looked at him dubiously. “Are you sure?” she asked.
Wakefield put in — “It’s absolutely true what he says. He was wondering, just before we came in, what he could take those girls.”
Pauline’s forehead was smoothed. “I’m so glad then that I made fresh sweets.”
“No, no,” interrupted Renny, “I’ll take the old lot. They’re only kids. They’ll never know the difference.”
Clara Lebraux rose and selected five boxes of sweets from the glass case. “They are quite fresh,” she said, and handed them to Renny. She arranged the ones Pauline had just brought in the case. “Will you have some coffee, dear?” she asked.
“Thanks, Mummie.” She sat down at the table, and Clara rapped on it for the maid.
Renny got up. “I must be getting on,” he said. He remembered the repairs which Clara was asking for and thought that if he left now, on this note of generosity, she might feel reluctant to demand them.
“Whom shall I pay for the sweets?” he asked.
“Mummie, of course,” answered Pauline in an aloof tone. She could not quite bring herself to believe in the five sweet-craving girls and, as for a long time, she felt no ease in his presence.
He drew out his worn wallet and handed Clara three dollars. She waved them mockingly:
“Look! Pauline makes more than I do!”
But if Renny thought he would escape her demands he was mistaken. She led him out through the kitchen to view a sagging corner of the back porch. At the same moment the front door opened and a well-dressed couple entered the tea shop. Wakefield at once began talking in a high-pitched tone to Pauline.
“Darling,” he said, “ isn’t this the most marvellous find? To think that we have discovered a place where they make such coffee, such tea, and such scones! And I must buy you another box of those chocolates!”
Pauline bent her head, her cheeks reddening. Wake was pressing her foot under the table.
Outside Renny exclaimed — “He’s a regular playboy, as Gran used to say.”
“God! I hope that he and Pauline will be happy together!”
“Of course they will!” He said this more fervently as he was not at all sure of it. “Now what about the porch?”
It was a flimsy wooden addition and it threatened to fall at one corner.