Читать книгу Up the Country - Miles Franklin - Страница 8

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Charlotte might have been rather overwhelmed by the arrival of the lady of Three Rivers, a showplace famous for amenities unknown elsewhere up the country, had not Mrs Mazere immediately allied herself with the Pools and taken from Charlotte the burden of entertaining the clergymen and the more important guests. On her arrival she had seen at a glance all the courageous little subterfuges by which Charlotte had contrived to conceal the deficiencies of the household and to do honour to the occasion. Her heart warmed to this brave young creature who, though besieged with admirers and without guidance, had nevertheless chosen her Philip. She was the only other person in all the world who rated Philip Mazere junior so highly, the only other who had for him the same unbroken loyalty.

The self-reliant but isolated heart of the girl burgeoned at the overtures of Mrs Mazere. For, though Philip had tried to soften the situation with such predictions as, "Oh, the old man will come round, he always does. His bark's worse than his bite," he could not hide from the girl the violence of the family storm caused by the contemplated union. Old Mazere had a voice like a bass drum and no modulations save from forte to fortissimo when he was in a rage, and all the bush telegraph had been on the qui vive to report him, especially the rivals of Philip. They pointed out to Charlotte that she might do better than espouse a disinherited young man who was not especially renowned for thrift. Much troubled, Charlotte had offered to release Philip, and it was then that he had enlisted his mother's support.

But disinheritance did not weigh heavily with the native-born, heirs to a whole new world where dozens of opportunities beckoned to the experienced and energetic. Ex-convicts were becoming leaders of the squattocracy and bosses of the bureaucracy—to what might not a Mazere aspire? So Charlotte's qualms, never very strong when weighed against her love for this man, vanished after a little persuasion on Philip's part.

In the little parlour, Mrs Mazere opened her valises of gifts gathered with an understanding of what would be welcome to a motherless girl living far up the country. To Charlotte's confused delight, she brought forth articles of fine linen and finer needlecraft, fashioned with such exquisite neatness and such invisible stitching that the girl, reverently touching the articles, was lost in wonder. Mrs Mazere was renowned for her needlework. In later years the christening robe she made for her grandchildren became an heirloom brought out to stimulate the energies of young sewers whose fingers lagged. It was shown under glass at church bazaars and, now, when the grandchildren for whom it was made have grandchildren of their own, the work of the old fingers, knotted with pioneer labours sufficient to make half a dozen women quail today, resides in the needlework section of the Bool Bool museum.

Charlotte had already collected a trousseau of sorts by dint of great enterprise and loyal co-operation on the part of the sisters of the coach-drivers travelling the route between Cooma, Yass and Queanbeyan. Many of the articles, she now realised, were a trifle flashy by comparison with the Mazere offerings, and she did not quite know how to receive these bride's gifts which should, by convention, have come from her side.

"They're lovely, Mrs Mazere. It is very good of you. I'd like to pay you for them," she stammered, the red flushing her clear sunburned skin, her effort to keep back her tears, half of pleasure, half of wounded independence, rendering her tall, long-limbed young body a trifle stiff and forbidding.

"Pay me, my dear child! You are a brave good girl to think of such a thing. But there never can be any talk of payment between you and me. From now on, you are my own dear daughter, dear as my own, the wife of my dear boy. Ah me, it seems only yesterday that he was a little thing in my arms, and I not quite your age, and here he is setting up on his own!"

At that, Charlotte's rare tears fell and Mrs Mazere put her arms about her. They fell on their knees spontaneously and Mrs Mazere offered up a little prayer of supplication that God should bless His dear children, that they should walk in His ways all their life in good health, happiness and prosperity.

"My dear," she said as they rose, "it is all in God's hands. If your trust is in Him you can never be dismayed, no matter what may come to you."

Thus began a deep and unassailable friendship between the two women. The simple prayer opened again for the girl the fount of ultimate refuge. She had always said her prayers nightly, as taught by her mother, but it had become a perfunctory ritual. Mrs Mazere re-illumined the ceremony. And further, Mrs Mazere had unconsciously performed another ceremony of deep significance to the girl. From that hour on, Charlotte moved with a new confidence through the responsibilities and vigorous industry that her wedding entailed. Mrs Mazere, not the clergyman, had made Charlotte a Mazere for all time. She, all unconsciously, like a king when he elevates his son's commoner bride, had conferred royal or Mazere rank upon the bride There was a new light in Charlotte's eyes, a peace and surety in her heart and movements. Little it mattered now how intransigent old Mr Mazere's attitude might be; let it beat like the waves upon Gibraltar.