Читать книгу The Greatest Romance Novels of Grace Livingston Hill - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 66

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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 to me, Mr. Green ? "said Phoebe, her clear eyes looking at him steadily over the candle-light, with the bearing of a queen.

"Well, yes,"he said, straightening up, and hitching a chair around to the side nearer to her. "I thought we better talk that matter over a little that I was mentioning to you several nights ago."

"I don't think that is necessary, Mr. Green,"answered Phoebe, quickly; "I thought I made you understand that that was impossible."

"Oh, I didn't take account of what you said that night,"said Hiram. "I saw you was sort of upset, not expecting me out there in the dark, so I thought I better come round again after you had plenty chance to think over what I said."

"I couldn't say anything different if I thought over it a thousand years,"declared Phoebe, with characteristic emphasis. Hiram Green was not thin-skinned, and did not need saving. It was just as well to tell the truth and be done with it.

But the fellow was in no wise daunted. He rather admired Phoebe the more for her vehemence, for here was a prize that promised to be worth his winning. For the first time as he looked at her he felt his blood stir with a sense of pleasure such as one feels in a well matched race, where one is yet sure of winning.

"Aw, git out! "scouted Hiram, pleasantly. "That ain't the way to talk. Course you're young yet, and ain't had much experience, but you certainly had time enough to consider the matter all this year I been comin' to see you."

Phoebe arose with two red spots burning on her cheeks.

"Coming to see me! "she gasped. "You didn't come to see me! "

"Aw, git out now, Phoebe. You needn't pretend you didn't know I was comin' to see you. Who did you s'pose I was comin' to see, then ? "

"I supposed of course you were coming to see Albert,"said Phoebe, her voice settling into that deep calm that betokened she was overwhelmed.

"Albert! You s'posed I was comin' to see Albert every night! Aw, yes, you did a whole lot! Phoebe, you're a sly one. You must of thought I was gettin' fond of Albert! "

"I did not think anything about it,"said Phoebe, haughtily, "and you may be sure, Mr. Green, if I had dreamed of such a thing I would have told you it was useless."

There was something in her tone and manner that ruffled the self-assurance of Hiram Green. Up to this minute he had persuaded himself that Phoebe was but acting the part of a coy and modest maiden who wished to pretend that she never dreamed that he was courting her. Now a suspicion began to glimmer in his consciousness that perhaps, after all, she was honest, and had not suspected his attentions. Could it be possible that she did not care for them, and really wished to dismiss him? Hiram could not credit such a thought. Yet as he looked at the firm set of her lips he was bewildered.

"What on the earth makes you keep sayin' that ?"he asked, in an irritated tone. "What's your reason for not wantin' to marry me ? "

"There are so many reasons that I wouldn't know where to begin,"answered the girl, shortly.

Hiram gave his shoulders a little shake, as if to rouse himself. Had he heard her words aright?

"What reasons ? "he growled, frowning. He began to feel that Phoebe was trifling with him. He would make her understand that he would not endure much of that.

Phoebe looked troubled. She wished he would not insist on further talk, but she was too honest and too angry not to tell the exact truth.

"The first and greatest reason of all is that I do not love you, and never could,"she said, vehemently, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Shucks!"said Hiram, laughing. "I don't mind that a mite. In fact, I think it's an advantage. Folks mostly get over it when they do feel that sentimental kind of way. It don't last but a few weeks, anyhow, and it's better to begin on a practical basis I think. That was the trouble with Annie, she was so blamed sentimental she hadn't time to get dinner. I think you an' I'd get along much better. You're practical and a good worker. We could make things real prosperous over to the farm——"

Phoebe arose quickly and interrupted him.

"Mr. Green, you must please stop talking this way. It is horrible! I don't want to listen to any more of it."

"You set down, Phoebe,"commanded Hiram. "I've got some things to tell you. It ain't worth while fer you to act foolish. I mean business. I want to get married. It's high time there was somebody to see to things at home, but I can wait a little while if you're wantin' to get ready more, only don't be long about it. As I said, I don't mind about the love part. That'll come all right. And you remember, Phoebe, if I do say so as shouldn't, there's plenty of girls around here would be glad to marry me if they got the chance."

"Then by all means let them marry you!"said Phoebe, grandly, steadying her trembling limbs for flight. "I shall never, never marry you! Good-night, Mr. Green."

She swept him a ceremonious bit of courtesy at the door, like a flutter of wings as a bird takes affright, and was gone before he fully took it in. He reached out detaining hands towards her in protest, but it was too late. The latch clicked behind her, and he could hear the soft stir of her garments on the stairs. She had fled to her room. He heard the button on her door creak and turn. He unfolded his lank limbs from their comfortable pose around the legs of his chair, and went after her as far as the door, but the stairway was quiet and dark. He could hear Albert and Emmeline in the kitchen. He stood a moment in puzzled chagrin, going over his interview and trying to make it all out. What mistake had he made? He had failed, that was certain. It was a new experience and one that angered him, but somehow the anger was numbed by the remembrance of the look of the girl's eyes, the dainty movements of her hands, the set of her shapely head. He did not know that he was fascinated by her beauty; he only knew that a dogged determination to have her for his own in spite of everything was settling down upon him.

Albert and Emmeline were conversing in low tones in the kitchen when the door was flung open and Hiram Green stepped in, his brow dark, his eyes sullen. He felt that Emmeline owed him some explanation of Phoebe’s behavior. He had come for it.

"I can't make her out!"he muttered, as he flung himself into a kitchen chair, "she's just for all the world like a wild colt. When you think you have her she gives you the slip and is off further away than when you begun. I think maybe if I had her where she couldn't get away I'd be able to find out the difficulty."

"Better take her out riding,"suggested Albert, slyly, "and drive fast. She couldn't get out very well then."

"I ain't so sure,"growled Hiram "the way she looked she might jump over a precipice. What's the matter with her anyway ?"turning to Emmeline, as though she were responsible for the whole of womankind. "Is there anybody else ? She ain't got in with Hank Williams, has she ? "

"She won't look at him,"declared Emmeline, positively. "He tried to get to go to singin'-school with her just to-day and she shut him off short. What reason did she give you ? "

"She spoke about not havin' proper affection,"he answered, diffidently, "but if I was dead sure that was the hull trouble I think I could fix her up. I'd like to get things settled 'fore winter comes on. I can't afford to waste time like this."

"I think I know what's the matter of her,"said Emmeline, mysteriously. "She isn't such a fool as to give up a good chance in life for reasons of affection, though it is, mighty high-soundin' to say so. But there's somethin' back of it all. I shouldn't wonder, Hiram, if she's tryin' you to see if you want her enough to fix things handy the way she'd like em."

"What do you mean ?"asked Hiram, gruffly, showing sudden interest. "Has she spoke of anything to you ? "

"Well, she did let on that your house was too far back from the street to be pleasant, and she seemed to think the barn had the best situation. She spoke about the knoll being a good place fer a house."

Hiram brightened. If Phoebe had taken interest in his affairs to say all this surely she was not so indifferent after all.

"You don't say! "said Hiram, meditatively. "When did she say that?"

"Just to-day,"Emmeline answered.

"Well, if that's the hitch why didn't she say so? She didn't seem shy."

"Maybe she was waitin' for you to ask her what she wanted."

"Well, she didn't wait long. She lit out before I had a chance to half talk things over."

"She's young yet, you know,"said Emmeline, in a soothing tone. "Young folks take queer notions. I shouldn't wonder but she hates to go to that house and live way back from the road that way. She ain't much more than a child, anyway, in some things—though she's first class to work."

"Well,"said Hiram, reluctantly, "I been thinkin' the house needed fixin' up some. I don't know as I should object to buildin' all new. The old house would come in handy fer the men. Bill would like to have his ma come and keep house right well. It would help me out in one way, for Bill is gettin' uneasy, and I'd rather spare any man I've got than Bill, he works so steady and good. Say, you might mention to Phoebe, if you like, that I'm thinkin' of buildin' a new house. Say I'd thought of the knoll for a location. Think that would ease her up a little?"

"All right, I'll see what can be done,"said Emmeline, importantly.

The atmosphere of the kitchen brightened cheerfully as if extra candles had been brought in. Hiram, with the air of having settled to his satisfaction a troublesome bit of business, lighted his pipe and tilted his chair back in bis accustomed fashion, entering into a brisk discussion of politics while Emmeline set the sponge for bread.

Emmeline was going over the line of argument with which she intended to ply Phoebe the next day. She felt triumphant over her. Not every woman and match-maker would have had the grit to tell Hiram just what was wanted. Emmeline felt that she had been entrusted with a commission worthy of her best efforts, and surely Phoebe would listen now.

Up in her kitchen chamber the hum of their conversation came to Phoebe, as she sat with burning cheeks looking widely into the darkness. She did not hear the nightly symphony as it sang on all about the house. She was thinking of what she had been through, and wondering if she had finally freed herself from the hateful attentions of Hiram Green. Would he take her answer as final, or not? She thought not, judging from his nature. He was one of those men who never give up what they have set themselves to get, be it sunny pasture lot, young heifer, or pretty wife. She shuddered at the thought of many more encounters such as she had passed through to-night. It was all dreadful to her. It touched a side of life that jarred her inexpressibly. It made the world seem an intolerable place to her.

She fell to wondering what her life would have been if her mother had lived—a quiet little home, of course, plain and sweet and cozy, with plenty of hard work, but always some one to sympathize. Her frail little mother had not been able to stand the rough world and the hard work, but she had left behind her a memory of gentleness and refinement that could never be wholly crushed out of her young daughter's heart, no matter how much she came in contact with the coarse, rude world. Often the girl in her silent meditations would take her mother into her thoughts and tell her all that had passed in her life that day. But to-night she felt that were her mother here, and helpless to help her, she could not bear to tell her of this torturing experience through which she was passing. She knew instinctively that a living mother such as hers had been would shrink with horror from the thought of seeing her child united to a man like Hiram Green—would rather see her dead than married to him.

Somehow she could not get the comfort from thinking of her mother to-night that she usually could. She wanted some close, tangible help, some one all-wise and powerful; some one that could tell what life meant, and what God meant her particular life to be, and make her sure she was right in her fierce recoil from what life now seemed to be offering. She felt sure she was right, yet she wanted another to say so also, to take her part against the world that was troubling her. There were perhaps people who could do that for her if she only dared to go to them, but what would they think!

Her young pride arose and bore her up. She must tell nobody but God. And so thinking, she knelt timidly down and tried to pour out her proud, hurt spirit in a prayer. She had always prayed, but had never felt that it meant anything to her until to-night; and when she arose, not knowing what she had asked, or if indeed she had asked anything for herself, she yet felt stronger to face her life, which somehow stretched out ahead in one blank of monotonous tortures.

Meantime the man who desired to have her, and the woman who desired to have him have her, were forming their plans for a regular campaign against her.