Phoebe Deane (33 page)

" I should think you was fully justified," said Mrs. Duzen- berry, heartily. " There's other deservin' girls, an' it's puttin' a premium on badness to 'ncourage it that way."

" Good afternoon, Mis' Duzenberry. " Hiram rose sadly. " I'm much 'bliged to yeh fer yer advice. I ain't sure yet what I shall do. 'Course I'll be 'bliged to yeh ef you'll jest keep people from talkin' much as yeh ken. I knowed you knowed the fac's an' I thought 'twould be best to come straight to you. Good afternoon, Miss Susanna. Perhaps we may meet again under pleasanter circumstances."

" Land alive!" exclaimed Susanna, as they watched him drive sadly away. " Don't he look broke up! Poor feller! "

" Serves him right fer makin' up to a little pink-cheeked critter like that," said the mother. " Say, Susanna, I ain't sure but you better put on yer bonnet an' run up to Keziah Dart's house an' find out 'bout this. We've got to be real keerful not to get mixed up in it, nohow, but I should like to know jest what she's done. Ef Keziah ain't home run on to Page's. They'll mebbe know. He said they'd ben seen round there. But speak real cautious. It won't do to tell everything you know. I'll mebbe jest step over to the toll-gate. They'll be wantin' to know what Hiram Green was here fer. It won't be no harm to mention he was callin' on you. It might take their 'tention oif'n him, so's they wouldn't speak 'bout him goin' so much with Phoebe. My! Ain't it a pity! But that's what comes o' havin' good looks. You know I aJlus told you so, Susanna."

Susanna tossed her head, drew her sunbonnet down over her plain face and went off, while her mother fastened the door and went up to the toll-gate.

Hiram's method as he pursued his course the rest of the afternoon was to call ostensibly on some other business, and then speak of the gossip as a matter of which every one knew, and refer to those on whom he had called before as being able to give more information concerning facts than he could. He did not ask any more advice, but in one case where he was asked what he was going to do about it he shook his head dubiously and went away without replying.

Most of his calls were in the country, but before he went home he stopped at the home of the village dressmaker. His excuse for going there was that his oldest girl needed a frock for Sunday, and he thought the old woman who kept house for him had enough to do without making it. He asked when she could come, and said he would let her know if that day would be convenient. Just as he was leaving he told her that as she was going everywhere to other people's houses he supposed she would soon hear the terrible stories that were going round about Phoebe Deane, but he wished that if she heard anything about his breaking off with Phoebe she would just say that he intended not to do anything rashly, but would think it over and do what was right.

The keen-eyed newsmonger asked enough questions to have the facts well in hand, and looked after Hiram's tall, lanky form with admiration. " I tell you," she said to herself, "it ain't every man would hev the courage to say that! He's a good man! Poor little Phoebe Deane. What a pity! Now her life's ruined, fer of course he'll never marry her."

Then Hiram Green, having wisely scattered his calumnies against the innocent, betook himself virtuously to his home, and left his thistle seed to take root and spring up.

Phoebe Deane, meantime, settled down in her own little kitchen chamber beside her candle and prepared to write a letter to Nathaniel Graham, as she had promised him she would do that very night, and in it she told him her plans of going away to school.

CHAPTER XXV

The tongues which Hiram had set wagging were all experts and before many days had passed the fields of gossip were green with springing slander and disgrace for the fair name of Phoebe Deane.

All unconsciously she moved above it, making happy plans, and singing her sweet song of hope. She did not mind work, for it was pleasant to feel strong again. She even hummed a sweet time that she had heard Marcia play. Emmeline was puzzled to understand it all.

But the thing that puzzled Emmeline most of all was that Hiram Green had not been near the house since the day he had the talk with her about the village lot, and had boasted that he was going to marry Phoebe before another year.

Steadily every day Hiram's new house was growing. Emmeline could see it from her window, and she wondered if perhaps he was preparing to break his promise and court another girl instead of Phoebe, or was this a part of his plan to stay away until the house was done? It troubled Emmeline every day. Neither could she understand how Phoebe could be happy and settle down so cheerfully, having driven her one suitable lover away.

Phoebe had ventured to discuss the plan of her going away with Albert, who seemed rather disappointed to have her go, but was nevertheless willing, and said that he thought such a plan would have pleased her mother. He broached the subject to Emmeline, and thereupon brought down upon the family a storm of rage. Emmeline scoffed at the idea. She said that Phoebe was already spoiled for anything in life, and that if she used up her money getting more spoiling she couldn't see how in the world she expected to support herself; for she wouldn't be a part}' to Phoebe's living any longer on them if she spent her money on more schooling. Then Emmeline put on her bonnet and ran across the field to Hiram's farm, where she found him at the knoll superintending the putting up of a great stone chimney.

" Say, look-a-here, Hiram Green," she began, excitedly, getting him off a little way from the workmen, " what do you mean by sech actions? Hev you give up Phcebe Deane, er haven't yeh? 'Cause ef yeh ain't yeh better be tendin' to business. She's got it int' her fool head now to go off to school, an' she'll do it, too. I ken see Albert's jest soft enough to let 'er."

Hiram smiled a peculiar smile.

"Don't you worry, Emmeline. I know what I'm 'bout, an' you'll git your corner lot yit. Phoebe Deane won't go off to no boardin'-school, not yit awhile, 'er I'll miss my guess. Jest you leave it to me!"

" Oh, very well!" said Emmeline, going off in a huff. She returned by a roundabout route to her home, where she proceeded to make life miserable for Phoebe and Albert in spite of all that they could do.

Then one morning, lo! the little town was agog with the gossip about Phoebe Deane, and it had grown into enormous proportions, for as it traveled from the circle of country round about into the town it condensed into more tangible form, and the number of people who had seen Phoebe Deane with strange young men at the edge of dark, or in lonely places, grew with each repetition. Everybody seemed to know it and be talking about it except Phoebe herself and her own family and friends. Somehow no one had quite dared to mention it before any of them yet, it was too new and startling.

Sunday morning the Deanes went to church, and there were strange turnings away from them, and much whispering, nodding, and nudging as they passed. It had not been expected that Phoebe would appear in church. It was considered brazen in her to do so. It was evidently all and more true.

Hiram Green came to church but he did not look toward the Deanes' pew. He sat at the back with pious manner and drooping countenance, and after church made his melancholy way out without stopping to talk, or attempting to get near Phoebe. This was observed significantly; also the fact that Mrs. Spafford walked down the aisle in friendly converse with Phoebe Deane as if nothing had happened. Evidently she had not heard yet. Somebody ought to tell her. They discussed the matter in groups on the way home.

Old Mrs. Baldwin and her daughter Belinda were much worried about it. They went so far as to call to the doctor and his wife who were passing their house that afternoon on the way to see a sick patient.

" Doctor," said Mrs. Baldwin, coming out to the sidewalk as the doctor drew up to speak with her, " I ain't a going to bother you a minute but I just wanted to ask if you knew much about this story that's been going round about Phoebe Deane. It seems as though some one ought to tell Mrs. Spafford. She's been real kind to the girl, and she don't seem to have heard it. I don't know her so well, or I would, but somebody ought to do it. I didn't know but you or your wife would undertake to do it. They walked down the aisle together after church this morning, and it seemed too bad. David Spafford wouldn't like to have his wife so conspicuous, I know. Belinda says he was out of town yesterday, so I s'pose he hasn't heard about it yet, but I think something ought to be done."

"Yes, it's a very sad story," chirped the doctor's wife. "I just heard it myself this morning. The doctor didn't want to believe it, but I tell him it comes very straight."

" Oh, yes, it's straight," said Mrs. Baldwin, with an ominous shake of her head and a righteous roll of her eyes. " It's all too straight. I had it from a friend who had it from Hiram Green's aunt's cousin. She said Hiram was just bowed with grief over it, and they were going to have a real hard time to keep him from marrying her in spite of it."

The doctor frowned. He was fond of Phoebe. He felt that they all had better mind their own business and let Phoebe alone.

" I would be quite willing to speak to Miss Hortense or Miss Amelia Spafford," said the doctor's wife. " I'm intimate with them, you know, and they could do as they thought best about telling their niece."

" That's a good idea," said Mrs. Baldwin. " That quite relieves my mind. I was real worried over that sweet little Mrs. Spafford, and she with that pretty little Eose to bring up. They wouldn't of course want a scandal to come anywhere near them. They better look out for that Griscom girl. She comes from poor stock. I said long ago she'd never be any good, and she's been with that Phoebe Deane off an' on a good bit."

" Oh, I think that was all kindness," said the doctor's wife. " Mrs. Spafford was very kind during Phoebe Deane's illness. The doctor knew all about that."

" Yes, I s'spose the doctor knows all 'bout things. That's the reason I called you, and on Sunday too; but I thought it was a work of necessity and mercy. Well, good afternoon, Doctor, I won't keep you any longer."

" There's that pretty Miss Bristol ought to be told, too, ma," reminded Belinda.

" That's so, Belinda," said the doctor's wife. " I'll take it upon myself to warn her, too. So sad, isn't it ? Well, goodby," and the doctor's chaise drove on. The doctor was inclined to prevent his wife from taking part in the scandal business, but his wife had her own plans which she did not reveal. She shut her thin lips and generally did as she pleased.

The very next day she took her way down the shaded street and called upon the aunts of the house of Spafford, and before she left she had drooped her eyes and told in sepulchral whispers of the disgrace that had befallen the young protégée of their niece, Mrs. David Spafford.

Aunt Amelia and Aunt Hortense lifted their hands in righteous horror and thanked the doctor's wife for the information, saying they were sure Marcia knew nothing of it, and of course they would tell her at once and she would henceforth having nothing further to do with the Deanes.

Then the doctor's wife went on her mission to Janet Bristol.

Janet Bristol was properly scandalized, and charmingly grateful to the doctor's wife. She said of course Phoebe was nothing to her, but she had thought her rather pretty, and interesting. She was obviously bored with the rest of the good woman's call, and when it was over she betook herself to her writing desk where she scribbled off a letter to her cousin Nathaniel concerning a party she wished to give and for which she wanted him and his friend Martin Van Rensselaer to come up. At the close she added a hasty postscript.

" The doctor's wife has just called. She tells me I must beware of your paragon, Miss Deane, as there is a terribly scandalous story going around about her and a young man. I didn't pay much attention to the horrid details of it, I never like to get my mind filled with such things, but it is bad enough, and of course I shall have nothing further to do with her. I wonder Mrs. Spafford did not have the discernment to see she was not all right. I suspected it from the first you know, and you see I was right. My intuitions are usually right. I am glad I have not had much to do with her."

Now it happened that Eose was not well that Sunday and Miranda had stayed at home with her, else she would surely have discovered the state of things, and revealed it to Marcia. And it happened also that Marcia started off with David on a long ride early Monday morning, therefore when Aunt Hortense came down on her direful errand Marcia was not there, and Miranda, seeing her coming, escaped with Kose through the back door for a walk in the woods. So another day passed without the scandal reaching either Miranda or Marcia.

It was on Monday morning that the storm broke upon poor Phoebe's defenseless head.

A neighbor had come over from the next farm a quarter of a mile away to borrow a cup of hop yeast. It was a queer time to borrow yeast, at an hour in the week when every well-regulated family was doing its washing, but that was the neighbor's professed errand. She lingered a moment by the door with the yeast cup in her hand and talked to Emmeline.

Phoebe was in the yard hanging up clothes, and singing. The little bird was sitting on the weather-vane and calling merrily: " Phoe-bee! Phoe-bee!"

" Are yeh goin' to let her stay here now ? " the visitor asked in a whisper fraught with meaning, and nodded her head toward the girl in the yard.

" Stay ? " said Emmeline, looking up aggressively. " Why shouldn't she? Ain't she been here ever since her mother died? I s'pose she'll stay till she gets married."