Читать книгу The Greatest Romance Novels of Grace Livingston Hill - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 79

Table of Contents

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!"Hiram'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.

"What a queer girl you are!"exclaimed Emmeline, much vexed; "I should think you'd see he's takin' all this interest in things jest fer you. It ain't like him to care for such things. He just thinks it will please you, and you are hard as nails not to 'predate it."

"You are quite mistaken, Emmeline. Hiram Green never did anything to please any one but himself, I am sure,"answered Phoebe, and taking her apron off went up to her room.

Phoebe was spending much more time in her room in these days than pleased Emmeline. Not that her work suffered, for Phoebe's swift fingers performed all the tasks required of her in the most approved manner, but so soon as they were done she was off. The fact that the room was cold seemed to affect her in no wise. Emmeline was in a state of chronic rage for this isolation from the rest of the family, though perhaps the only reason she liked to have her around was that she might make sarcastic remarks about her. Then, too, it seemed like an assumption of superiority on Phoebe's part. Emmeline could not bear superiority.

Phoebe's reason for hurrying to the seclusion of her own room on every possible occasion was that a new source of comfort and pleasure had been open to her through the kindness of Marcia Spafford. Miranda had reported promptly Phoebe's two escapes from Hiram Green and not only Marcia but David was greatly interested in the sweet-faced young girl. Shortly after the occasion of Alma's unexpected punishment Miranda was sent up to the Deanes to request that Phoebe come down for the afternoon a little while, as "Mis' Spafford has a new book she thinks you'll enjoy readin' with her awhile."Much to Emmeline's disgust, for she had planned a far different occupation for Phoebe, the girl accepted with alacrity, and was soon seated in the pleasant library poring over one of Whittier's poems which opened up a new world to her. The poem was one which David had just secured to publish in his paper, and they discussed its beauties for a few minutes, and then Marcia opened a delightful new book by Cooper.

Phoebe had naturally a bright mind, and during her days of school she had studied all that came in her way. Always she had stood at the head of her classes, sometimes getting up at the first peep of dawn to study a lesson or work over a problem, and sticking to her books until the very last minute. This had been a great source of trouble, because Emmeline objected most seriously to "taking her education so hard,"as she expressed it. "Some children have measles and whooping-cough and chicken-pox and mumps real hard,"she was wont to say, "but they most of 'em take learnin' easy. But Phoebe's got learnin' hard. She acts like there wasn't any use fer anything else in the world but them books. Land! What good'll they do her? They won't make her spin a smoother thread, 'er quilt a straighter row, 'er sew a finer seam. She'll jest forget everything she learnt when she's married. I'm sure I did."And no one ever disputed this convincing fact.

Nevertheless Phoebe had studied on, trying it is true to please Emmeline by doing all the work required of her, but still insisting on getting her lessons even if it deprived her of her rest, or her noon luncheon. She had acquired the habit of devouring every bit of information that came in her way, so that in spite of her environments she had a measure of true mind culture. It may have been this which so mystified and annoyed Emmeline.

So the afternoon was one of unalloyed delight to Phoebe. When she insisted that she must go home to help get supper, Miranda was sent with her, and the precious book went along to be read in odd moments. Since then Phoebe felt she had something to help her through the trying days.

These afternoons of reading with Marcia Spafford had become quite the settled thing every week or two, and always there was a book to carry home, or a new poem or article to think about.

Emmeline had grown wrathful about this constant going out, and had asked questions until she had in a measure discovered what was going on. She held her temper in for a while, for when she spoke to Albert he did not seem to sympathize with her irritation at Phoebe, but only asked the girl to let him see the book she had been reading, and became so delighted with it himself that he forgot to bring in the armful of wood Emmeline asked for until she called him the second time. After that Albert shared in the literary treasures that Phoebe brought to the house, and it became his habit to say when he came in to supper: "Been down to the village this afternoon, Phoebe? Didn't get anything new to read, did you ?"This made Emmeline fairly furious, and she decided to express her mind once more freely to the girl.

She chose a morning when Phoebe was tied by a task which she could not well leave, and began:

"Now look here, Phoebe Deane, I must say you are goin' beyond all bounds. I think it's about time you stopped. I want you to understand that I think the way you're actin' is a downright sin. It isn't enough that you should scorn a good honest man that's eatin' his heart out fer yeh, an' you payin' no more 'tention to him 'n if he was the very dust o' your feet, an' him able to keep you well, too; an' you willin' to set round an' live on relations that ain't real relations at all; an' you with money in th'

bank a-plenty, an' never even offerin' to give so much as a little present to your little nephews and nieces that are all you've got in the world. It ain't enough that you should do all that, an' be a drug on our hands, but here you must go an' get up a 'quaintance with a woman I don't like n'er respect at all, an' let her send that poor, hard-workin', good- fer-nothin', red-headed girl after you every few days 'a takin' you away from your home, an' your good honest work that you ought to be willin' to do twice over fer all you've had. Phoebe Deane, d' you realize thet we let you go to school clear up to the top grade when other girls hed to stop an' go to work? It was all his doin's, I'd never hev allowed it. I think it jest spoils a girl to get so much knowledge. It's jest as I said 'twould be, too. Look at you! Spoiled. You want lily-white hands an' nothin' to do. You want to go to everlastin' tea-parties an' bring home books to read the rest o' the time. Now I stopped school when I was in the fourth reader 'n look at me. There ain't a woman round is better fixed 'n what I am. What do I need of more books? Answer that, Phoebe Deane! Answer me! Would it make me darn the children's stockin's, er cook his meals, er spin, er weave better, er would it make me any better anyway? Answer me ? "

Emmeline had two bright red spots on her cheeks and she was very angry. When she was angry she always screamed her sentences at her opponent in a high key. Phoebe had the impulse to throw the wet dish-cloth at her sister-in-law, and it was hard indeed to restrain her indignation at this speech. There was the lovely Mrs. Spafford lending her books and helping her and encouraging her in every way to improve her mind by reading and study, and even Mr. Spafford seemed anxious she should have all the books to read that she desired; and here was this woman talking this way! It was beyond speech. There was nothing to say.

Emmeline stepped up close to the girl, grasped her white arm and shook it fiercely until the dish-cloth came near doing a rash deed of its own accord.

"Answer me! "she hissed in the girl's face.

"It might—"The exasperated girl hesitated. What good would it do to say it?

"Well, go on,"said the woman, gripping the arm painfully. "You've got some wicked word to say, just speak it out to the one that hes been more than mother to ye, an' then I s'pose you'll feel better."

"I was only going to say, Emmeline, that more study might have made you understand others better."

"Understand! Understand! "screamed Emmeline, now thoroughly roused. "I should like to know who I don't understand ! Don't I understand my husband an' my children, and my neighbors ? I s'pose you mean understand you, you good-fer-nothin' hussy! Well, that ain't necessary! You're so different from everybody else on earth that an angel from heaven and a professor from college couldn't understand you, an' learnin' won't make you any different, no matter how much time you waste on it."

"Emmeline, listen!"said Phoebe, trying to stop this outburst; "I consider that I've worked for my board since I came here "

"Consider! Consider! You consider! Well, really! Worked for your board, when you was scarcely more use 'n a baby when you come, an' think o' all the trouble o' raisin' ye! And you consider that you've earned all you've got here! Well, I don't consider any such a thing, I ken tell you."

"Please let me finish, Emmeline. I was going to say that I have tried to make Albert take the money I have in the bank as payment for any expense and trouble I have been to him, but he says he promised my mother he wouldn't touch a cent of it, and he will not take it."

"Oh, yes, Albert is soft-hearted. Well, I didn't promise yer ma, by a long sight, an' I ain't bound to no such fool notions."

"Emmeline, I don't feel that the money belongs to you. It was not you who brought me here, nor paid for whatever I have had. It was Albert. I cannot see why I should give you the money. You have done nothing for me but what you have had to do, and I am sure I have worked for you enough to pay for that, but I would much rather give the money to you than to have you talk in this way——"

"Oh, I wasn't askin' fer yer money. I wouldn't take it es a gift. I was only showin' yeh up to yourself, what a selfish good-fer-nothin' you are, settin' up airs to read books when there's good honest work goin' on."

It happened that Albert came in just then and the discussion dropped, but Phoebe with determined mien went on with her visits to Mrs. Spafford whenever Miranda came for her—never alone, lest she encounter Hiram Green—and so the winter dragged slowly on its way.