Nicholas Maes - Canadian Literary Bundle

Mazo de la Roche and Bunty on the front page of the Toronto Star, April 1927, after winning the $10,0000 Atlantic Monthly-Little, Brown Award.

M azo carried Bunty, the blind, old, black Scottish terrier, down to the little back garden to do her business. The snow had melted and little green shoots were poking out of the cold dark earth. Mazo carried Bunty back up again to the stuffy, rented, third-floor flat. Mazo, Caroline, and Bunty ate their breakfast, then Caroline left for work the way she always did.

While Bunty sat beside the rocking chair and listened, Mazo perched herself again today on the window seat and watched the sidewalk that led to the front door. When the postman came, Mazo ignored Bunty, flew down the stairs, and fetched the mail.

Nothing from the writing competition, Mazo said to Bunty as she returned to the flat. One of the other manuscripts has been chosen, I suppose. Jalna has been thrust aside and forgotten.

Bunty cocked her head.

Finally Mazo fetched the pages she had been working on and sat down in the rocker with the pages resting on a drawing board in her lap. She began to rock.

She rocked and rocked, but no words came.

Whats the use? Mazo muttered bitterly.

But then Mazo looked at Bunty.

I shall be there, the grizzled dog seemed to say. I am the centre of all this.

You do your best to understand our life, dont you! exclaimed Mazo. You give your staunch spirit to us.

Through twelve difficult years, Bunty had guided Mazo. Or so Mazo felt.

Mazo stopped rocking, put her feet up on the two bulky volumes of Dr. Johnsons Dictionary, and began to scribble with a pencil in a squarish, strong handwriting.

She was working on her fifth novel. It would be a sequel to her fourth, Jalna, which she had entered in an international competition. She didnt have a title for the sequel yet, but the story was coming along well. It too was about a big family like the one she had grown up in, except this family was rich at least the grandmother was.

In the sequel to Jalna, Gran Whiteoak would die and leave her fortune to one of her sons or grandsons. Which one?

Sometimes Mazo imagined she was Gran Whiteoak. Sometimes she imagined she was one of the sons or grandsons. Today she was Gran

Bunty curled up beside a radiator and sighed. She knew several hours would pass before Mazo would be ready to go for a walk through the fascinating streets of the big-city neighbourhood where they had spent the winter. Until those hours had passed, Mazo would rock, pause, write, consult the dictionary, rock, pause, and write again.

Bunty slept.

Jalna has won the competition! Mazo blurted immediately to Caroline when the latter returned home from the office. A telegram came.

Mazo thrust the telegram at Caroline.

In a daze Caroline read the words: Have patience. Happy news awaits you.

Oh, Caroline said flatly. Then she sat down and looked blankly at Mazo. Caroline Louise Clement was past rejoicing. She had suffered suspense too long.

Mazos enthusiasm evaporated. She sat down too, and both women remained silent for a long time.

When we do feel any emotion about this, well have to dam it up, remarked Mazo finally. The publishers asked me not to tell anyone about my win until they notify the press. It will be about ten days. But of course I had to tell you.

Perhaps we should leave town, suggested Caroline. It might be easier. We could rest, collect ourselves, and prepare for the publicity. Lets go to Niagara Falls.

Publicity. Id forgotten about that, moaned Mazo. I think I already feel sick.

Caroline and Mazo were cousins, but they were as close as sisters and always worked as a team. Caroline was well aware that Mazo feared new people and situations.

Shall we take Bunty? asked Caroline, changing the subject. Travelling is so hard on her now.

Bunty wagged her stubby, curved tail.

We must, replied Mazo. Remember how she swam after the canoe when we tried to leave her while we went to get supplies?

Remember how she jumped onto the seat of the van when we had to move again? asked Caroline.

Yes, agreed Mazo. She was courageous then, as always.

TORONTO WOMAN WINS $10,000 ATLANTIC MONTHLY NOVEL PRIZE was the caption below the front-page photo of Mazo and Bunty in the Toronto Star of Monday, April 11, 1927. Overnight, Mazo had become a rich and famous writer. Her telephone and doorbell rang all day. Messenger boys arrived with telegrams of congratulations. Florists boxes arrived containing every kind of flower. Reporters arrived to interview her. Friends arrived to congratulate her. The partying went on for months.

Novelists from all around the world had entered their work in an American competition for best novel, and a Canadian Mazo de la Roche had won!

Mazos big win after many years of financial and personal struggle was wonderful, but it was not to be her only triumph. She would go on to write sixteen novels about a Canadian family called the Whiteoaks living in a house called Jalna, and these novels would sell in the millions in many languages and many countries. Her Jalna novels would be made into a Hollywood movie and a Broadway play. This same play, Whiteoaks, would be the first Canadian play to be mounted on a professional stage in London, England. And it was a hit!

Mazo would write other books too, and she would win more awards. She would live in a mansion next door to the king and queen of England. She would become one of Canadas most popular authors ever.

Mazo de la Roche at two years.

Beginnings

I was not born where I should have been, in my fathers house, but in my grandfathers.

W hen she heard the distant whistle of the early-morning freight train, Mazo gazed down the long, terraced hill toward the railway tracks below and assumed her racers crouch.

There was the train! Almost even with the edge of the lawn where she waited, the locomotive shrieked its challenge. Mazo shrieked hers. They were off!

Her long auburn hair flying, Mazo raced the train to the opposite end of the lawn.

She won! As always! And today the painted symbol on the boxcar just behind the locomotive was a full moon!

A fine day, Grandma! shouted Mazo as she ran toward the back door of the solid, two-storey, red-brick house. It was a full moon, so its going to be a fine day.

Inside the house a short, bright-eyed woman with wavy grey hair pulled back into a neat bun was already busy baking, despite the early hour. She smiled warmly as her cherished only grandchild entered the kitchen.

My, youre a big help, said Grandma Lundy. And youre just five years old, the same age as my little sister Martha was when we moved to Cherry Creek. Martha didnt have to help Mother. But I did. Of course I was a big girl of nine. I had no time to play. I had chores to do.

Chores are too much work, commented Mazo, dancing around the room.

Thats just how I felt! exclaimed Grandma Lundy. Why, I had to help my mother in the kitchen and the garden. I fed the chickens too. And I minded little Martha and baby Mary. We were pioneering in the primeval forest. My father and big brothers, Wellington and Lambert, were chopping down trees to make fields. There was so much to do, everyone had to help.