Phoebe Deane (12 page)

"Who in the world are you talking about, Miranda? And what terrible thing have you done?"

Marcia's laughing eyes reassured Miranda and she went on with her story.

" Why that pretty little Phoebe Deane," she explained. "I've invited her to tea Tuesday night. I thought that would suit you better than any other time. Monday night things ain't straight from wash-day yet, and I didn't want to put it off too long, an' I can make everything myself. But if you don't like it I'll go an' tell her the hull truth on't, only she did look so mortal pleased I hate to spoil her fun."

By degrees Marcia drew the whole story from Miranda, even to a voluble description of the buff merino, and its owner's drooping expression.

" Well, I don't see why you thought I would be displeased," said Marcia. " It is only right you should invite company once in a while. I am glad you invited her, and as you do most of the work, and know our plans pretty well, you knew it would likely be convenient. I am glad you invited her."

" But I didn't invite her," said Miranda, " leastways she doesn't know I did. She thinks you done it yourself, and she sent you a whole lot of thanks, and said she 'dmired you tumble. And I didn't tell a thing but the truth either," Miranda added, doggedly.

" You blessed old Miranda. You always have a way of wiggling out. But you do manage to make things go your way in spite of truth or anything else. And it was truth after all, for I did want her, and would have asked her myself if I had known. You see you were just my messenger that time, acting in my place." And she gave Miranda one of the smiles that had so endeared her to the heart of the lonely girl. Then Miranda went back to her kitchen comforted.

Thus it came about that the buff merino had the prospect of another tea-party, and the thought of it made Phoebe forget the annoyances of her home all through the dull Sabbath afternoon, when she could not get away from the family because Emmeline had ordered her to " stay downstairs and mind the baby, and not prance off to her room like a royal lady," and through the trials of Monday with its heavy work, which did not even cease with the washing of the tea things, but continued in the form of a great basket of mending which Emmeline announced at the supper table were "all to be finished and put away that evening." Emmeline seemed to have made up her mind to be as disagreeable as possible. Phoebe sat beside the candle and sewed with weary fingers, and longed to be away from them all where she might think over quietly the pleasant things that had come into her life of late. Hiram Green came in, too, and seemed to have come with a purpose, for he was hardly seated in his usual chair with its back tilted against the wall, and the fore-legs tipped up, when he began with:

" Say, Albert, did you see that nincompoop of a nephew of Judge Bristol in the church? Does beat all how he takes on airs jest because he's been off to college. Gosh! I ken remember him goin' fishin' in his bare feet, and here he was bowin' round among the ladies like he'd always been a fine gentleman and never done a stroke of work in his life. His hands are ez white and soft ez a woman's. He strikes me very ladylike, indeed, he does. Smirkin' round and takin' off his hat ez if he'd nothin' better to do. Fine feathers don't make fine birds, I say. I don't believe he could cut a swath o' hay now to save his precious little life. He made me sick with his airs. Seems like Miss Janet better look after him ef she expects to marry him, er he'll lose his head to every girl he meets."

Something uncontrollable seemed to have stolen the blood out of Phoebe's heart for a moment, and all her strength was slipping away from her. Then a mighty anger rolled through her being, and surged to her very finger-tips, yet she held those fingers steadily, as her needle pierced back and forth through the stocking she was darning with unnecessary care. She knew perfectly well that these remarks were entirely for her benefit and she resolved not to let Hiram see that she understood or cared.

" Is he going to marry his cousin Janet ?" asked Albert, interestedly. " I never heard that."

" You didn't ? AVell, where've you ben, all these years ? It's ben common talk sense they was little tads. Their mothers 'lowed that was the way it was to be, and they was sent away to separate schools on that account; I s'pose they was afraid they'd take a dislike to each other ef they saw each other constant. 'Pon my word I think Janet could look higher, an' ef I was her I wouldn't be held by no promise of no dead mothers. But they do say she worships the very ground he walks on, an' she'll hold him to it all right enough, so it's no sort o' use fer any other girls to go anglin' after him."

" I heard he was real bright," said Albert, genially. " They say he's taken honors, a good many of 'em. He was president of the Philomathean Society in Union College, you know, and that's a great honor."

Albert read a good deal, and knew more about the world's affairs than Hiram.

" Oh, bah! That's child's play!" sneered Hiram. " Who couldn't be president of a literary society? It don't take much spunk to preside. I take it I ran the town meetin' last year 'bout's well 's ef I'd ben a college president. My opinion is Nate Graham would V 'mounted to more ef he'd stayed t' home an' learned farmin', 'er studied law with his uncle an' worked fer his board. A feller thet's all give over to lyin' around makin' nuthin' of himself don't amount to a row o' pins."

" But they say Dr. Xott thinks he's got brains," persisted Albert. " I'm sure I'd like to see him come out on top. I heard he was studying law in New York now. He was always a pleasant-spoken boy when he was here."

" What's pleasant speakin'! " growled Hiram. " It can't sell a load o' wheat." His unsold wheat was bitterly in his thoughts.

"Well, I don't know 'bout that, Hiram." Albert felt pleasantly argumentative. " I don't know but if I was going to buy wheat I'd a little sooner buy off the man that was pleasant spoken than the man that wasn't."

Hiram sat glumly and pondered this saying for a few minutes, and Phoebe took advantage of the pause in conversation to lay down her work-basket, determinedly saying to Emmeline:

" I'll finish these stockings to-morrow, Emmeline. I feel tired and I'm going upstairs."

It was the first time that Phoebe had ever dared to take a stand against Emmeline's orders. Emmeline was too astonished to speak for a minute, but just as Phoebe reached the door she said:

" Well, really! Tired! I was down half an hour before you this mornin', and I'm not tired to speak of, but I suppose if I was I'd have to keep right on. And who's to do your work to-morrow mornin' while you do this, I'd like to know ? "

But Phoebe had escaped out of hearing, and Emmeline relapsed into vexed silence. Hiram, however, narrowed his cruel little eyes, and thought he understood why she had gone.

CHAPTER IX

Phoebe had pondered much on how she should announce her intended absence that afternoon, almost deciding at one time to slip away without saying a word, but her conscientious little heart would not allow that. So while the family were at breakfast she said to Emmeline:

" I wish you'd tell me what work you want done besides the rest of the ironing. I'm invited out to tea this afternoon, and I want to get everything done this morning."

" Where to ? " exploded Alma, her curiosity getting the better of her superiority to her aunt for once.

" Indeed!" said Emmeline, disdainfully. " Invited out to tea! What airs we are takin' on with our money! Pretty soon you won't have any time to give at home at all. If I was you I'd go and board somewhere, you have so many social engagements. I'm sure I don't feel like askin' a young lady like you to soil her hands washin' my dishes. I'll wash 'em myself after this. Alma, you go get your apron on and help ma this mornin'. Aunt Phoebe hasn't got time. She'll have to take all the mornin' to curl her hair."

" Now, Emmeline!" said Albert, gently reproachful, " don't tease the child. It's real nice for her to get invited out. She don't get much change, that's sure."

" Oh, no, two tea-parties inside of a week's nothin'. I've heard of New York ladies goin' out as often as every other day," said Emmeline, sarcastically.

Albert never could quite understand his wife's sarcasm, Bo he turned to Phoebe and voiced the question that the rest were just bursting with curiosity to have answered.

"Who invited you, Phoebe?"

" Mrs. Spafford," said Phoebe, trying not to show how near she was to crying over Emmeline's hateful speeches.

" Well, now, that's real nice," said Albert, in genuine earnest. " There isn't a finer man in town than David Spafford. His paper's the best edited in the whole state of New York, and he's got a fine little wife. I don't believe she's many days older than you are, Phoebe, either. She looked real young when he brought her here, and she hasn't grown a day older that I can see."

" Good reason why," sniffed Emmeline; " she's nothin' to do but lie around and be waited on. I'm sure Phoebe's welcome to such, friends if they suit her; fer my part I'd ruther go to see good self-respectin' women that did a woman's work in the world, and not let their husbands make babies of them, and go ridin' round in a carriage forever lookin' like a June mornin'. I call it lazy, I do. It's nothing" more'n or less—and she keepin' that poor good-fer-nothin' Miranda Gris- com slavin' from mornin' to night fer her. If Phoebe was my sister I shouldn't choose such friends fer her. Besides, she hasn't got very good manners not to invite your wife, too, Albert Deane, but I suppose you never thought o' that. I shouldn't think Phoebe would care to accept an invitation that was an insult to her relations, even if they wasn't just blood relations—they're all she's got, that's sure."

" Say, look here, Emmeline. Your speech don't hang together. You just said you didn't care to make friends of Mrs. Spafford, and now you're fussing because she didn't invite you, too. It looks like a case of sour grapes. Eh, Phoebe?"

Hank caught the joke and laughed uproariously, though Phoebe looked grave, knowing how bitter it would be to Emmeline to be laughed at. Two red spots flamed out on the wife's cheeks, and her eyes snapped.

" Seems to me things has gone pretty far, Albert Deane," she said, in a high, excited voice, " when you—YOU—can insult your wife in public, and then LAUGH! I shan't forget this of you, Albert Deane!" and with her head well up she shoved her chair back from the table and left the room, closing the door with loud decision behind her.

Albert's merry laugh came to an abrupt end. He looked after his wife with startled surprise. Never in all their one-sidedly-harmonious wedded life had Emmeline taken offence like that in the presence of others. He looked helplessly, inquiringly, from one to another.

" Well, now! " he began, aimlessly. " You don't suppose she thought I meant that, do you ?"

" 'Course! " said Alma, knowingly. " You've made her dreadful mad, pa. My! But you're goin' to get it!"

" Looks mighty like it," snickered Hank.

Albert continued to look at Phoebe for a reply.

" I'm afraid she thought you were in earnest, Albert. You better go and explain," said Phoebe, commiseratingly.

" You better not go for a while, pa," called out Johnny, sympathetically. " Wait till she gets over it a little. Go hide in the barn. That's the way I do! "

But Albert was going heavily up the stairs after his offended wife and did not hear his young hopeful's voice. Albert was tender-hearted and could not bear to hurt any one's feelings. Besides, it never was pleasant to have Emmeline angry. He wished if possible to explain away the offence before it struck in too deep for healing and had to be lived down.

This state of things was rather more helpful to Phoebe than otherwise. Hank took himself off, finding a certain embarrassment in Phoebe's dignified silence. The children slipped away, glad to get rid of any little duties usually required by their mother. Phoebe went at her work unhindered and it vanished before her while her thoughts took happy flight away from the unhappy home to the afternoon that was before her. Upstairs the conference was long and uncertain. Phoebe could hear the low rumbling of Albert's conciliatory tones, and the angry rasp of Emmeline's tearful charges. Albert came downstairs looking sad and tired about an hour before dinner-time, and hurried out to the barn to his neglected duties. He paused in the kitchen to say to Phoebe, apologetically:

" You mustn't mind what Emmeline says, child. Her bark's a great deal worse than her bite always. And after all, she's had it pretty hard with all the children and staying in so much. I'm sure she appreciates what you do. I'm sure she does, but it isn't her way to say much about it. You just go out to tea and have a good time and don't think any more about this. It'll blow over, you know. Most things do."

Phoebe tried to smile, and felt a throb of gratitude toward the brother who was not really her brother at all.

" You're a good girl, Phoebe," he went on, patting her cheek. " You're like your mother. She was little, and pretty, and liked things nice, and had a quiet voice. I sometimes think maybe it isn't as pleasant here for you as it might be. You're made of different kind of stuff, that thinks and feels in a different way. Your mother was so. I've often wondered whether father understood her. Men don't understand women very well, I guess. Now, I don't really always understand Emmeline, and I guess it's pretty hard for her. Father was some rough and blunt, and maybe that was hard for your mother at times. I remember she used to look sad, though I never saw her much, come to think about it. I was off working for myself when they were married, you know. Say, Phoebe, you didn't for a minute think I meant what I said about sour grapes and Emmeline, did you? I told her you didn't, but I promised her I'd make sure about it. I knew you didn't. Well, I must go out and see if Hank's done everything."