Phoebe Deane (23 page)

" Nathaniel, how could you ?" he exclaimed, in deep distress. " I thought your judgment was sound, but to be carried away by these wild, fanatical people is anything but evidence of sound judgment. Can you not see that this is a question that you have no business with? If your uncle in Texas chooses to keep slaves, you have no more right to meddle with his choice than if he chose to keep horses or sheep. And as for this bosh about slavery being such a terrible evil, look at Pompey and Csesar and Dianthe and the rest? Do you fancy they want to be free? Why, what would the poor things do if I didn't care for them as if they were my own children ? It is all nonsense.

" Of course, there are a few bad masters, and probably will be as long as sin is in the world; but to condemn the whole system of slavery because a few men who happen to own slaves mistreat them would be like condemning marriage because a few men abused their wives. It is utmost nonsense for a few hot-headed fanatics to try to run the rest of the country into the moulds they have made and call it righteousness. Let other men alone, and they will let you go in peace, is a better motto. Let every man look out to cast the beam from his own eyes before he attempts to find a mote in his brother's."

When his uncle quoted Scripture in this way Nathaniel was at a loss how to answer him.

" I wish you could hear Mr. Garrison talk, Uncle."

" I wouldn't listen to him for a moment," he answered, hotly. " He is a dangerous man! Keep away from all such gatherings, for they only breed discontent and uprisings. You will see that nothing but a lot of mobs will arise from this agitation. Slavery is a thing that cannot be overthrown, and all these meetings are mere talk to let a few men get into prominence. No man in his senses would do the things that that Garrison has done unless he wanted to get notoriety. That's what makes him so foolhardy. Keep away from him, my boy. There's a price on his head, and you'll do yourself and your prospects no good if you have anything to do with him."

They talked far into the night, Nathaniel trying to defend the man whom he had met but once or twice, but whom he had been compelled to admire. Janet pouted through the evening because Nathaniel did not come out to talk with her, and finally went to bed in a fit of the blues.

When at last Nathaniel pressed his uncle's hand at parting they both knew that he would not go to Texas. Indeed, as the young man had reflected during the night, he felt that his purpose of going there had been shaken before he came home to ask Judge Bristol's advice. However, he was not altogether sure that his uncle had considered the matter from the correct view-point either, but the talk had somehow helped to crystallize his own views. So now he felt free, nay bound, to return and complete his law course. As for the other matter, that must be left to develop in its time. He was by no means sure he was done with it yet, for his heart had been too deeply touched, and his reason stirred.

As Nathaniel climbed into the coach at the big white gate he felt that he had only put off all these questions for a time, but there was a certain relief in feeling that a decision had been reached at least for the present.

He was half a mind to ride on top with the driver, though it was a bitterly cold morning, but quite unexpectedly the driver suggested that he better sit inside this time, as the weather was so cold. Without giving it a passing thought he went inside, waving his hand and smiling at Janet, who stood at the front door with a fur-trimmed scarlet cloak about her shapely shoulders. Then the door closed and he sat down.

There was one other passenger, a girl, who sat far back in the shadows of the coach, but her eyes shone out from the heavy wrappings of cloak and bonnet and gave him welcome.

" Oh!" she said, catching her breath.

"And is it you?" he asked eagerly, reaching out to grasp her hand. Then each remembered, the girl that she was alone in the coach with this man, the man that this girl might belong to another. But in spite of it they were glad to see one another.

The coach rolled out into the main street again and as it lurched over the crossing Hiram Green, who was hurrying to his daily vigilance at the post-office, caught a good view of Nathaniel's back through the coach window. The back gave the impression of an animated conversation being carried on in which the owner of the back was deeply interested.

Hiram almost paused in his walk over the crunching snow. " Gosh Ninety!" he ejaculated in consternation, " who knowed he was here! "

Then the reflection that at least Nathaniel was about to depart calmed his perturbation and he hurried on to the office.

Hiram did not know that Phoebe was in the coach. She had managed it very carefully with a view to concealing it from him, for she felt sure that if he knew she was going that morning he would have found it possible to have accompanied her, and she would have found it impossible to get rid of his company. So when the day before Emmeline had suggested that somebody ought to go out to Miss Ann Jane Bloodgood's and get some dried saffron flowers she had promised them last fall, to dye the carpet-rags, Phoebe said nothing until after Hiram had left that night. Then as she was going upstairs with her candle she turned to Emmeline and said:

" I've been thinking, Emmeline, I could go over to Bloodgood's by the morning coach if Albert could drive me down when he takes his corn to the mill. Then perhaps some of them would be coming over to the village, or I could catch a ride back, or if not I could come back by the evening coach."

Emmeline assented grimly. She wanted the dye and she did not relish the long cold ride in the coach. Ann Jane Bloodgood was too condescending to please her, anyway. So, as Albert was going to mill early, Phoebe made her simple preparations that night, and was ready bright and early. Moreover, she coaxed Albert to drive around by Granny Me Vane's that she might leave a bit of poetry for her which she had told her about. The poem could have waited, but Albert did not tell her that, and Phoebe did not explain to Albert that if they went around by Granny's Hiram would not know she was gone away and therefore would not try to follow her. It was a pity that Phoebe had not confided a little now and then in Albert, though he, poor soul, could do little against such odds as Emmeline and Hiram.

The ten-mile coach ride to Bloodgood's wide farm-house spun itself away into nothing in such company, and before Phoebe could believe it was half over she saw the distant roof, low-browed with overhanging snow, and the red barns glimmering warmly a little beyond. Nathaniel saw them, too, for she had told him at once where she was. going that he might not think she had planned to go with him. He felt that the moments were precious.

" Do you remember what we talked of that night we walked to your home ?" he asked.

" Oh, yes," she breathed, softly. " You were talking of some one who needed setting free. I have been reading some wonderful poems lately that made me think a great deal of what you said."

He looked at her keenly. How could a girl who read poems and talked so well belong to Hiram Green?

" I have been thinking much about it lately," he went on, with just the breath of sigh. " I may have to decide what I will do at no distant day now. I wonder if I may ask you to pray for me ? "

He watched her, this girl with the drooping eyes and rosy- hued cheeks, the girl who had by her silence refused to answer his letter, and wondered if perhaps by his request he had offended her. The coach lurched up to the wide piazza and stopped, and the driver jumped heavily into the snowy road. They could hear his steps plowing through the drift by the back wheel. His hand was on the coach door. Then quickly, as if she might be too late, her eyes were lifted to his, and he saw her heart would be in those prayers, as she answered:

" Oh, I will."

Something like a flash of light went through them as they looked for that instant into one another's eyes, and lifted them above the mere petty things of earth. It was intangible. Nathaniel could not explain it to himself as he sat back alone in the empty coach and went over the facts of the case, why his heart felt light, and the day seemed brighter, just because a girl whom he knew ever so little had promised in that tone of voice to pray for him. It thrilled him anew as he thought it over, and his heart went soaring up into heavens of happiness, until he called himself a fool, and told himself nothing was changed, and that Phoebe had not even replied to his letter and politely declined the correspondence, as she would certainly have been justified in doing even if she were the promised wife of Hiram Green. Yet his heart refused to be anything but buoyant. He began to berate himself that he had not frankly spoken of his letter, and heard what she had to say about the matter. Perhaps in some way it had never reached her, and yet after all that was scarcely possible. Letters clearly addressed were seldom lost. It might only have embarrassed her if he had spoken. At the next stop he accepted the coach driver's invitation to "come up top a spell, there's a fine sun comin" up now," and he let old Michael babble on about the gossip of the town, until at last the sly old man asked him innocently enough: " And what did ye think av the other passenger, Mr. 'Than'el ? An' ain't she a bonnie lassie ? " And then he was treated to a list of Phoebe's virtues sounded forth by one who in reality knew very little of her save that as a child on the way home from school one day she had shyly handed him up a bunch of wayside posies as he drove by her on the road. That childish act had won his loyalty, and old Michael was not troubled with the truth. He was thoroughly capable of filling in virtues where he knew none. He went on the principle that what ought to be was. And so it was that when Nathaniel arrived in New York his heart was strangely light, and he wondered often if Phoebe Deane would remember to pray for him. It seemed as if the momentous question were now in better hands than his own.

Meantime Hiram Green, having found in the post-office a circular letter for Albert concerning a new kind of plow that was being put upon the market, plodded up to the Deanes. He knew that Albert was gone to mill that morning and would not be home yet, but he thought the letter would be an excuse to see Phoebe. He wanted to judge whether Phoebe knew of this visit of Nathaniel's. He thought he could tell by her face whether she had had a secret meeting with him or not. Yet it puzzled him to know when it could have been, for Phoebe had been quietly sewing carpet rags all the evening before, and he was sure she had not gone by with Miranda in the afternoon to the Spaffords. Had she gone to the woods again in the winter, or did she not know he was here? Perhaps his own skilful manipulating of the mail had nipped this miniature courtship in the bud, as it were, and there would be no further need of his vigilance.

But when Hiram reached the Deanes and looked about for Phoebe she was not there.

" Where's Phoebe ? " he demanded, frowning.

" She's gone up to Ann Jane Bloodgood's t' get some saffron flowers," said Emmeline. " Won't you come in, Hiram? She'll be mighty sorry to know she missed you." Emmeline thought it was as well to keep up appearances for Phoebe.

" Yes, I'm sure," drawled Hiram. " How'd she go? " he asked her after an ominous silence in which Emmeline was meditating on what it would be best to say.

" She went in the coach, an' I reckon she'll come back that way by night ef there don't no one come over from Bloodgood's this way. You might meet the coach ef you was goin' in to the village again. I don't know's Albert'll feel he hes time after losin' so much o' the day t' mill."

Hiram said nothing, but Emmeline saw he was angry.

" I'd a sent you word she was goin' an' given you the chance to go 'long with her, only she didn't say a word till after you was gone home last night " she began apologetically, but Hiram did not seem to heed her. He got up after a minute, his brows still lowering. He was thinking that Phoebe had planned to go with Nathaniel Graham,

" I'll be over t' th' village," he said, as he went out. " Albert needn't go." Emmeline looked after him meditatively.

" I shouldn't be a bit s'prised ef he give her up, the way she goes on. It's wonderful how he holds on to her. She's a fool, that's what she is, an' I've no pity for her. I wish to goodness she was well married an' out o' the way. She does try me beyond all, with her books, an' her visitin's, an' her locked doors, an' notions."

Meantime, Phoebe, all unconscious of the plot that was thickening round her, accepted an invitation to remain over night and the next day with Ann Jane Bloodgood, and drive in to town in the afternoon when she went to missionary meeting. Ann Jane was interested in Christian missions and fascinated Phoebe with her tales of Eliot, Brainerd, Carey, Whitman, and Kobert Moffat. Phoebe, as she looked over Ann Jane's pile of missionary papers, began to wonder how many people of one sort and another there were in the world who needed setting free from something. It all seemed to be a part of the one great thing for which she was praying, the thing that Nathaniel Graham was trying to decide, and he was another just like those wonderful men who were giving their lives to save others. Phoebe was glad she had come, though perhaps she might not have been if she could have seen the thought that was working in Hiram Green's heart.

After some reflection Hiram harnessed his horses and took the long ride over to Bloodgood's that afternoon, arriving at the house just after Phoebe and Ann Jane were safely established in Ann Jane's second cousin's best room, a mile away, for a visit. Ann Jane's second cousin was an invalid and liked company, so Phoebe’s bright face cheered what would otherwise have been a lonely afternoon, and she escaped the unpleasant encounter with Hiram.