Phoebe Deane (Romance Classic) - Grace Livingston Hill

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he raises. You can't find a barn like his anywhere. It's the biggest and most expensive in this town."

      " He certainly has a fine barn," said Phoebe, " but I don't suppose he expects his family to live in it. He takes better care of his stock than he does of his family. Look at the house——"

      Phoebe's eyes waxed scornful, and Emmeline marveled. She was brought up to think a barn a most important feature of one's possessions.

      "His house is away back from the road out of sight," went on Phoebe, " Annie used to hunger for a sight of people going by on the road when she sat down to sew in the afternoon, but there was that great barn right out on the road, and straight in front of the house. He ought to have put the barn back of the house. And the house is a miserable affair. Low, and ugly, and with two steps between the kitchen and the shed, enough to kill one who does the work. He ought to have built Annie a pleasant home up on that lovely little knoll of maples, where she could have seen out and down the road, and have had a little company now and then. She might have been alive to-day if she had one-half the care and attention that Hiram gave the stock! " Phoebe's words were bitter and vehement.

      " It sounds dreadful silly for a girl of your age to be talking like that. You don't know anything about Annie, and if I was you I wouldn't think about her. As for the barn, I should think a wife would be proud to have her husband's barn, the nicest one in the county. Of course the barn had to have the best place. That's his business. I declare you do have the queerest notions!"

      Nevertheless she set it down in her mind that she would give Hiram a hint about the house.

      Phoebe did not reply. She was peeling the last apple, and as soon as it lay meekly in quarters with the rest she shoved back her chair and left the room. Emmeline felt that she had failed again to make any impression on her sister-in-law. It maddened her almost to distraction to have a girl like that around her, a girl who thought everything beneath her and who criticized the customs of the entire neighborhood. She was an annoyance and a reproach. Emmeline felt she would like to get rid of her if it could be done in a legitimate way.

      At dinner Henry Williams looked at Phoebe meaningly and asked if she made the pie. Phoebe had to own that she did.

      "It tastes like you, nice and sweet," he declared, gallantly. Whereat Albert laughed, and Alma leaned forward to look into her aunt's flaming face, impudently.

      " Betsy Green says she thinks her pa is going to get her a new ma," she remarked, knowingly, when the laugh had subsided. " And Betsy says she bet she knows who 'tis, too! "

      " You shut up!" remarked Emmeline to her offspring, in a low tone, giving Alma a dig under the table. But Phoebe hastily drew back her chair and fled from the table.

      There was a moment of uncomfortable silence after Phoebe left the room. Emmeline felt that things had gone too far. Albert asked what was the matter with Phoebe, but instead of answering him Emmeline yanked Alma from the table and out into the wood-shed, where a whispered scolding was administered as a sort of obligation solo to the accompaniment of some stinging cuts from a little switch that hung conveniently on the wall.

      Alma returned to the table chastened outwardly, but inwardly vowing vengeance on her aunt, her anger in no wise softened by the disappearance of her piece of pie with Bertie. Her mother told her she deserved to lose her pie, and she determined to get even with Aunt Phoebe even if another switching happened.

      Phoebe did not come down stairs again that afternoon. Emmeline hesitated about sending for her, and finally decided to wait until she came. The unwilling Alma was pressed into service to dry the dishes, and the long, yellow, sunny afternoon dragged drowsily on, while Phoebe lay upon her bed up in her kitchen chamber, and pressed her aching eyeballs hard with her cold fingers, wondering why so many tortures were coming to her all at once.

      CHAPTER III

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      Hiram Green kept his word to himself and did not go to see Phoebe for two evenings. By that time Emmeline had begun to wonder what in the world Phoebe had said to him to keep him away when he seemed so anxious to get her; and Phoebe, with the hopefulness of youth, had decided that her trouble in that direction was over. But the third evening he arrived promptly, attired with unusual care, and asked Emmeline if he might see Phoebe alone.

      It happened that Phoebe had finished her work in the kitchen and gone up to rock the baby to sleep. Emmeline swept the younger children out of the sitting-room with alacrity, and called Albert sharply to help her with something in the kitchen, sending Alma up at once with a carefully worded message to Phoebe. Emmeline was relieved to see Hiram again. She knew by his face that he meant business this time, and she hoped to see Phoebe conquered at once.

      " Ma says you please "—the word sounded strangely on Alma's unloving lips—" come down to the settin'-room now— to once," she added.

      The baby was just dropping asleep and roused of course at Alma's boisterous tone. Phoebe nodded, and shoved the child from the room, keeping the cradle going all the time. The naughty little girl delighted to have authority behind her evil doing, and called loudly:

      " Well, ma wants you RIGHT OFF, so, and I don't care!" as she thumped down stairs with her copper-toed shoes.

      The baby gave a crow of glee and arose to the occasion in his cradle, but Phoebe resolutely disregarded the call below, and went on rocking until the little restless head was still on its pillow again. Then she stole softly down to the sitting room, her eyes blinded by the darkness where she had been sitting, and explained quietly as she entered the room, " I couldn't come sooner. Alma woke the baby again."

      Hiram, quite mollified by the gentle tone of explanation, arose, blandly answering: "Oh, that's all right. I'm glad to see you now you're here," and went forward with the evident intention of taking both her hands in his.

      Phoebe rubbed her blinded eyes and looked up in horror! Knowing Alma stood behind the crack of the door and watched it all with wicked joy.

      " I beg your pardon, Mr. Green, I thought Emmeline was in here. She sent for me. Excuse me, I must find her."

      " Oh, that's all right!" said Hiram, easily, putting out his hand and shutting the door sharply in Alma's impudent face, thereby almost pinching her inquisitive nose in the crack. " She don't expect you, Emmeline don't. She sent for you to see me. I asked her could I see you alone. She understands all about us, Emmeline does. She won't come in here for a while. She knows I want to talk to you."

      Cold chills crept down Phoebe’s nerves and froze her heart and finger-tips. Had the horror returned upon her with redoubled vigor, and with her family behind it? Where was Albert? Would he not help her? Then she realized that she must help herself and at once, for it was evident that Hiram Green meant to press his suit energetically. He was coming towards her with his hateful, confident smile. He stood between her and the door of retreat. Besides, what good would it do to run away? She had tried that once and it did not work. She must speak to him decidedly and end the matter. She summoned all her dignity and courage and backed over to the other side of the room, where a single chair stood.

      " Won't you sit down, Mr. Green ? " she said, trying to get the tremble out of her voice.

      " Why, yes, I will; let's sit right here together," he said, sitting down at one end of the couch and making room for her. " Come, you sit here beside me, Phoebe, and then we can talk better. It's more sociable."

      Phoebe sat down on the chair opposite him.

      " I would rather sit here, Mr. Green," she said.

      " Well, of course, if you'd rather," he said, reluctantly, " but it seems to be kind of onsociable. And say, Phoebe, I wish you wouldn't ' mister' me any more. Can't you call me Hiram ? "

      "I would rather not."

      " Say, Phoebe, that sounds real unfriendly," blamed Hiram, in a tone which suggested he would not be trifled with much longer.

      " Did you wish to speak

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