Phoebe Deane (21 page)

" Aunt Phoebe! " she called, lovingly, " I hope you don't think I sung that mean song at you. I was real 'shamed of them Green children. I run after 'em an' tried to make 'em stop, but they jest wouldn't. I think their pa ought to be told, don't you? Say, Aunt Phoebe, you didn't think 'twas me, did you ? "

There was no answer from the other side of the door for Phoebe was lying on her bed shaking with suppressed sobs, and could not control her voice to reply even if she had known what to say. Her heart was filled with pain, too, that this child whom she had tended and been kind to should be so hateful.

Alma, rather nonplussed at receiving no answer, tried once or twice and then calling out sweetly: "Well, I just thought I'd let you know 'twasn't me, Aunt Phoebe," stumped off downstairs to reflect upon the way of sinners. Her main fear was that Phoebe would " tell on her " to her father, and then she knew she would receive the other half of her spanking. But Phoebe, with a face white with suffering, and dark rings under her eyes, said not a word when she came down stairs, but went about her work not even seeming to see the naughty child, until Alma gradually grew more confident and resolved to put the " hanting " out of her mind entirely. This was easier said than done, however, for when night came she dreaded to go to bed, and she made several unsuccessful attempts to help Phoebe with the supper dishes, thereby calling upon herself much undeserved commendation from her gratified mother and father, which helped ease her conscience not a little.

CHAPTER XVI

Hiram Green began to put his new plan into practice the very next day. He took care to be on hand when the mail coach arrived, and as soon as the mail was distributed he presented himself at the post-office corner of the store.

" Any mail fer th' Deanes ? " he enquired carelessly, after he had been told there was nothing for himself. " I'm goin' up there on business an' I'll save 'em the trouble o' comin' down."

This question he put in varied forms, until it grew to be a habit with the postmaster to hand over the Deanes' mail to Hiram every day. This was rather expensive business, for Albert frequently received letters from people who did not prepay the postage, and it went much against Hiram's grain to hand out eighteen cents or more for another man's letter, even though he were sure he would receive it again. He made prompt collections from Albert, however, and by this means Phoebe became aware of Hiram's daily visits to the post-office. Not that it made any difference to her, for she did not expect a letter from any one. There was no one to write to her.

This went on for about two weeks, and during that time Hiram had been able to see very little of Phoebe, for she kept herself well out of his way, when one day a letter bearing a New York post-mark, and closed with heavy seals, arrived, addressed to Miss Phoebe Deane.

Hiram grasped it as if it had been a long sought fortune, put it hastily in his pocket, looking furtively around lest any one had seen it, and slouched off toward home. When he reached there he went straight to his own room and fastened the door. Then he took out the letter and read the address again, written in a fine large hand of a man accustomed to handling the pen. He frowned and turned it over. The seals were stamped with a crest on which was a lion, rampant, that seemed to defy him. He held the letter up to the light, but could not make out any words. Then without hesitation he took out his knife and inserted the sharpest blade under the seals one by one, prying them up carefully so that they should not be broken more than could be helped. The letter lay open before him at last and he read with rising fury:

" New York, December 20th, 1835. " My Dear Miss Deane :

" Will you pardon my presumption in daring thus to address you without permission? My pleasant memory of our brief acquaintance has led me to wish a continuance of it, and I am writing to ask you if you are free and willing to correspond with me occasionally. It will be a great source of pleasure to me if you can accede to my request, and I am sure I shall be profited by it also.

" Night before last our city was visited by a great calamity in the shape of a terrible fire which is still burning, although they hope they now have it under control. Its course has been along Wall Street, the line of the East River, and returning to William and Wall Streets. There must be nearly thirteen acres devastated, and I have heard it estimated that there will be a loss of at least eighteen millions of dollars. I am afraid it will be the cause of much suffering and distress. I was out last evening watching the conflagration for a time, and helping to fight the fire. It was a terrible and beautiful sight.

" I have just had the honor and privilege of meeting a noble and brave gentleman. His name is William Lloyd Garrison. I feel sure you would like to know about him and the work he is doing. If I am to have the pleasure of writing you again I shall be glad to tell you more of him, as I hope to meet him again, and to know him better.

" Hoping that you are quite well, and that I shall soon have a favorable reply from you, I am, " Yours with esteem,

"Nathaniel Graham."

Hiram Green was not a rapid reader, and in spite of Nathaniel's clear chirography it took him some time to take in all that the letter contained. The first thought that took form in his mind was that this rival of his was not out of his way yet. He had dared to write to her and ask if she was free. Ah! That showed he had taken note of what Hiram had said about her belonging to him, and he was going to find out for himself. Well, he would never find out by that letter, for Phoebe would never see it. That was easy enough. Of course it was against the law to open another person's mail, and was a state's prison offense, but who was to know that he had opened it? A letter could tell no tales when it was in ashes, and the ashes well buried. How else could they prove it ? They could not. He was perfectly safe, and more and more was he getting power over these two whom he was coming to hate and to wish to crush. He congratulated himself on having been keen enough to have watched the mails. He had outwitted them, and he was' pleased with himself beyond expression.

" H'm! " he ejaculated under his breath. " He's a gain' to get up a correspondence with her, is he? Like to see him! I rather think by the time she answers this letter he'll 'uv give it up. When he gets around again to give her another try—supposin' he ain't stumped at not hearin' from her this time—I reckon she'll be nicely established in my kitchen doin' my work. Yes, she's worth fightin' for, I guess, fer she ken turn off the work faster'n anybody I've seen. Wait, I guess there ain't any cause to worry 'bout this."

Then he read it over again, and yet again, noting down on an old bit of paper the date, and a few items about the fire in New York, also William Lloyd Garrison's name. After that he sent the old woman who was keeping house for him to the attic in search of a coat he knew was not there, while he carefully burned the letter on the hearth, gathering every scrap of its ashes and pulverizing them, to make sure not a trace remained to tell the tale.

As he walked away towards his barn he felt himself a man of consequence. His self-satisfaction fairly radiated from his lanky figure. For had he not outwitted a college man? And no thought of the crime he had just committed troubled his dull conscience for an instant.

That evening he took his eager way to Albert Deane's house and prepared to enjoy himself. The sunrise bedquilt was long since finished and rolled away in the chest of drawers in the spare bedroom. The spinning-wheel had taken the place of the quilting frames. And it happened that on this particular night Emmeline had demanded that Phoebe stay downstairs and spin, declaring that the yarn ought to have been ready long ago for more winter stockings.

Hiram noted this fact with satisfaction, and tilted his chair in pleasurable anticipation.

" Heard anythin' 'bout the big fire in New York ? " he began, watching Phoebe's back narrowly to see if she would start. But Phoebe worked steadily on. She paid little heed to anything Hiram said, but as they talked of the fire she wondered whether Nathaniel Graham had been near it, and hoped in a maidenly way that he had been kept safe from harm.

" Why, no," said Albert, sitting up with interest, " I haven't looked at the paper yet—" unfolding it with zest. " How'd you come to know, Hiram ? You say you never read the papers."

" Oh, I have better ways o' knowin' than readin' it in the papers," boasted Hiram, airily. " I had a letter from New York straight, an' the fire's goin' on yet, an' maybe by this time it's all burnt up."

Phoebe stood so that he could see her face distinctly as he spoke about receiving a letter, but there was not a movement of a muscle to show she had heard. Hiram, was disappointed. He had expected to catch some flitting expression that would show him she had interests in letters from New York. But Phoebe had no expectations of any letter from New York, so why should she start or look troubled?

" Yes," said Albert, bending over his paper, " an area of thirteen acres—six hundred and ninety-three houses burned! "

" Valued at eighteen millions! " remarked Hiram, dryly. He was enjoying the unique position of knowing more than Albert about something.

" Nonsense!" said Emmeline, sharply. " Thirteen acres! Why, that's not much bigger'n Hiram's ten-acre lot down by the old chestnut-tree. Think of gettin' that many houses on that lot! It couldn't be done. That ain't possible. It's ridiculous! They must think we're all fools to put that in the paper."

"Oh, yes, it could, Emmeline," said Albert, looking up earnestly to convince her. " Why, even so long ago as when I stayed in New York for a month they built the houses real close without much door-yard. They could easy get that many into thirteen acres built close."

" I don't believe it!" said Emmeline, flipping her spinning-wheel around skillfully, " and anyway, if 'twas so I think it was real shiftless to let 'em all burn up. Why didn't they put it out? Those New York folks were born lazy."

" Why, Emmeline, the paper says it was so cold the water froze in the hose-pipes and they couldn't put it out."

" Serves 'em right then for dependin' on such new-fangled things as hose-pipes. It's jest some more of their laziness. Why didn't they form a line and hand buckets? A good fire line with the women an' all in it would beat all the new lazy ways invented to save folks from liftin' their fingers to even put out a fire. I'm surprised some of 'em didn't jest sit still and expect some kind of a new machine to be made in time to wheel 'em away to safety 'stead of usin' their legs and runnin' out o' harm's way. Haven't they got a river in New York ?"

" 'Course " said Hiram, as if he knew it all. " The fire burned the whole line of the East River." He was glad to be reminded of the rest of his newly-acquired information.

" There, that just shows it!" exclaimed Emmeline. " That's just what I said. Shiftless lot, they are. Let their houses burn up right in front of a river! Well, I'm thankful to say I don't live in New York!"

The talk hummed on about her, but Phoebe heard no more. Somehow she kept her busy wheel whirring, but her thoughts had wandered off in a sunlit wood, and she was holding sweet converse with a golden day, and a stranger hovering on the pleasant horizon. It was not until near the close of the evening that her thoughts came back to listen to what was going on. Hiram had brought the front legs of his chair down to the floor with a thud. Phoebe thought he was going home, and she was glad they would soon be rid of his hated presence.

" Oh, by the way!" said Hiram, with a swag of conceit, " Albert, have you ever heard of a man named Garrison ? William Lloyd Garrison, I believe it is."

He rolled the name out fluently, having practiced in the barn during the evening milking.

" Oh, yes," said Albert, interestedly. " You know who he is, Hiram. He's a smart fellow, though I'd hate to be in his boots!"

" Why!" Hirain's voice was sharp and his eyes narrowed as they always did when he was reaching out for a clue.

" Why, don't you know about Garrison ? He's had a price on his head for some time back. He gets mobbed every time he turns around, too, but I guess he's pretty plucky, for he keeps right on."

"What doing?"

"Why, he's the great Abolitionist. He publishes that paper, the Liberator, don't you know. You remember two years ago those anti-slavery meetings that were broken up and all the trouble they had ? Well, he was the man that started it all. I don't know whether he's very wise or not, but he certainly has got a lot of courage."

Hiram's eyes were narrowing to a slit now with knowledge and satisfaction.

"Oh, yes, I place him now," he ^drawled out. "He wouldn't be a very comf'table 'quaintance for a man t' have, would he?"

"Well," considered Albert, thoughtfully, "I wouldn't like to have any of my relations in his place. I'd be afraid of what might happen. I think likely 'twould take a bit of courage to be friend to a man like that. But they say he has friends, a few of them."

" H'm! " said Hiram, and he rolled a thought like a sweet morsel under his tongue. " I guess I better be goin'. Night." And he shuffled away at last, casting a curious smile at Phoebe as he left.

The next morning while they were going about their work in the kitchen Emmeline remarked to Phoebe that Albert thought Hiram Green was changing for the better, he seemed to be growing real intellectual. Had Phoebe noticed how well he talked about that New York fire?

Phoebe had not noticed.