Phoebe; a novel

Book I The Empty Nest

Look to the blowing Rose about us — “Lo, Laughing,” she says, “into the world I blow,

At once the silken tassel of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure! on the Garden throw.”

— Omar Khayyam.

t

I

I

The afternoon sun was touching the old house and its encircling trees with a golden glory, and sending long shafts of light among the tall pines that formed a primeval grove on the right. Far down the stately aisles of this grove could be heard the lazy tinkle of a cow-bell and the voices of children shouting to one another. On the wide, vinecovered piazza sat a woman, sweet and serene, darning stockings.

Suddenly, around the corner of the house raced four children, — three boys and a girl. The girl, with fluttering skirts and twinkling feet, her eyes and cheeks aflame, was considerably in advance of the boys, who came clattering and panting after her.

“Mother, Clay says I shall not ride Charley for the mail. He says he is going himself !”

“Mother, Phoeb said she was going no matter who said No! Tell her she can’t go. Father said ”

“Mother, Phoeb boxed Clay’s ears, and stuck out her tongue at Bruce and me!”

“Mother, she says she doesn’t care what father says, she is going to ride Charley for the mail.” Bruce Middleton, a fine-looking, manly boy of fourteen, walked up as he spoke.

“Gently, gently, children,” said Mrs. Middleton, as she looked up from her work. “Suppose you, Bruce, tell me exactly what is the trouble.”

“It was just this, mother; Phoeb said she was going to ride Charley for the mail, and Clay said she shouldn’t, and tried to hold ”

“Then she slapped ”

“Hush, Clay; Bruce is speaking.”

“Then she slapped Clay and stuck out her tongue at A1 and me, and flew.”

The boy finished speaking, then cast a roguish look at his sister, who was standing, with downcast eyes, making a geometric design in the white sand of the walk with the bare toes of a shapely little foot.

“Oh, well 1 you boys mustn’t be hard on your little sister. Remember, she is a girl, and gentlemen are always gentle to girls and women.”

“But, mother; father said we mustn’t ride Charley unless he was here. You know the time Phoeb would go over in the pasture to put back the young bird that had fallen out of the nest, when father said none of us must go over there. He was so angry with us for letting her, and said the black-andwhite bull might have killed her,” cried Clay.

^‘Were you thinking of my disobeying father, or of riding Charley yourself?” Phoebe spoke angrily, and pouted out her red lips at Clay.

“Oh, my daughter!” said Mrs. Middleton; “try to be more gentle with your brothers. How can you expect them to treat you gently, when you are rude and rough to them?”

Phoebe gave a surreptitious glance at the three boys, who were looking at her disapprovingly, and burst into a merry, contagious laugh, in which they all joined. Even Mrs. Middleton could not resist a little smile of amusement as she looked into the flushed, roguish face of the girl, and into the chagrined faces of the boys, who laughed, it is true, but in a half-hearted way.

Just then the sound of wheels was heard, and far down the road could be seen Dr. Middleton’s buggy. In a flash Phoebe was off to meet him, her little bare feet skimming the sandy road like a flight of swallows.

When the buggy came into full view the slim little figure was sitting very straight by her father’s side, and Phoebe was holding the reins in her slender brown hands with the assured ease of one who had driven ever since she had to be lifted up to, and held in, the seat.

“That’s the way Phoeb does,” said Clay discontentedly. “She gets us all into trouble, then she laughs and runs off to father. I’ll bet he lets her ride Charley for the mail after all.”

lO

Phoebe waved the whip gaily as the buggy passed the house on the way to the stable ; and sure enough, in a few minutes she passed again on Charley’s back, it having been but the work of an instant to cover up her bare feet and legs with the long, full gingham riding-skirt, which hung behind the door in the harness-room.

‘‘I wish Henry wouldn’t indulge her so much,” said Mrs. Middleton gently, as Phoebe passed, with a gay smile and a kiss of the hand to the group on the piazza.

“It seems to me that you children get to be more and more of a problem as you get older.” She said this to Bruce who was sitting on the handrail, with his feet caught in the pickets, while he leaned as far back as he could without falling out.

She looked at him with gentle if reproachful eyes as she spoke, and Bruce reluctantly righted himself.

Dr. Middleton now came in, and drawing up a chair sat and watched Mrs. Middleton with loving eyes as she neatly darned a hole in the knee of Al’s trousers.

Less than an hour had passed, when far down the road could be heard the quick thud of a horse’s galloping hoofs, and presently they saw Charley come swinging into the avenue at a full canter. Even at that distance they could hear a gay voice singing:

II “A Spanish cavalier stood in his retreat

“And on his guitar played a tune, dear;

“The music so sweet he’d ofttimes repeat, —

“The blessing of my country, in you, dear.”

Mrs. Middleton looked up anxiously, but the doctor was watching the girl with admiring eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t let her ride Charley, Henry. I don’t think he is safe,” she said.

‘Well, maybe not,” the doctor answered, “for one who does not know how to ride, but she is a true Middleton, and I never saw one yet that didn’t know how to ride.”

‘Well, but didn’t you tell her only this morning that she couldn’t ride Charley?”

“Yes, but when I did that I reckoned without Phoeb. She made me repeal the law,” and the doctor laughed tenderly at the remembrance of his little daughter’s blandishments.

“That is what I mind,” burst out Clay, from the lounge where he was sprawling. “She makes everybody do as she likes except me ! And she slaps me.”

He spoke ruefully, at the same time giving his cheek a soothing rub. Clay and Phoebe were twins, so he felt a special proprietorship in her, and the duty of controlling her lay heavy on his soul.

“Anyway, don’t let her hear us discussing her,” said Mrs. Middleton, as she looked up and saw the little girl coming toward them.

Mrs. Middleton watched her with tender, wistful eyes as she came in and Phoebe rewarded her mother with a light kiss on the top of the head as she passed.

Then, going to her father, she perched on the arm of his chair. With her two firm, slim thumbs she stretched his mouth from ear to ear, and then kissed him on the exact center of his distended lips. With another deft tweak she made his hair stand straight up in the middle of his forehead; then, snuggling down into his arms, she heaved a great sigh of exquisite content.

Chapter II

Dr. Henry Clay Middleton, who had been left an orphan at an early age, had had but few advantages of education. Having a fine mind, however, he had been able to make the most of such opportunities as had come to him. When twenty-five years old he had found himself the possessor of a fine family name, a strong body, and a diploma from the best medical college in the south.

The uncle with whom he had made his home having left a large family of sons and daughters unprovided for. Dr. Middleton had felt that he should become independent as soon as possible, so he settled down at once to a country practice. Handsome, with agreeable manners, he had soon become a social favorite in his community, and for miles around no merry-making was complete without him.

In the course of a year he had married Miss Alice McClintock, the eldest child and only daughter of the Honorable Robert Bruce McClintock, a sturdy Scotch-Irishman, in whose veins flowed the blood of Covenanter and martyr, and who even had boasted an ancestor slain on Flodden Field. After the straitest sect of the Scotch-Irish, he had been reared a Presbyterian.

His daughter Alice had been carefully reared in the same austere faith. Her marriage with young Dr. Middleton had promised most favorably, for, besides being a woman of fine intelligence and much sweetness and strength of character, she owned a fine property, which she had inherited from her mother.

Just one day from the day that they were married, however, the first gun was fired at Sumter. With trembling hands she had buckled on her young husband’s sword, and, with white lips, she had bidden him go where his country called. For four years she had watched and prayed and waited, and then the smiles had come back to her face and the light to her eyes, for he whom she loved was safe home from the war. The silver never left her hair, however, after those years of horror and dread.

Dr. Middleton and Mrs. Middleton were financially much better off than many of their neighbors, for the greater part of Alice’s property had been in bonds, so that, when peace finally was assured, they had found themselves in a position to help those that were more unfortunate than themselves. This duty they had faithfully performed, and the whole country-side had known that wherever there was need the doctor and Alice would help to relieve it.

Thus they had lived for eight years, childless. Then Bruce came, then Clay and Phoebe, and then Allison. Alice’s heart and hands were full then, but she had always found time to help the sick and the poor. The doctor had practiced for the whole county, and had been beloved (and ill-paid) by black and white alike. This was the state of the family at the time that our story opens.

The years pass quickly when one is young. Our next peep at Phoebe Middleton shall be three years later.

On a cold, rainy afternoon in early March, the boys were in the barn, helping to shuck corn for the horses and tussling with one another. The doctor had gone on a long drive to see a patient across the river. Mrs. Middleton was in the pantry, helping to make the rolls for tea, while Phoebe was curled up kitten-wise on the end of a very shabby sofa in the sitting-room, reading by the fading western light, so engrossed with her book that she did not hear her mother as she came into the room.

“What are you reading, daughter?” Mrs. Middleton asked.

“Oh, mother; please don’t interrupt me. I have just got to where the Black Knight appears on the field, and I just must see how it turns out.” Phoebe’s voice still had some of the shrillness of childhood, but in it were soft flutings and an undercurrent of sweet sounds that suggested the tones of a harp.

“But, child, you will put out your eyes. There is not light enough to read by. Where did you get Ivanhoe, anyway? And who said you might read the story?”

“I found it up-stairs in one of the old boxes of i6 books that belonged to Grandfather Middleton. I asked father, and he said I might read it.” Phoebe rose as she spoke and came forward into the glow of the open fire that was blazing on the hearth. As she rose, one wondered at her extreme height and slenderness. She carried herself with the freedom and grace of a young deer.

She laid the book wistfully on Mrs. Middleton’s lap; then, throwing herself on the rug in front of the fire, she laid her head against her mother’s knee, and softly pulled both her mother’s hands until they rested against her own fair cheeks.

Thus invited, Mrs. Middleton softly stroked the velvety face and the shining plaits of soft hair. As Phoebe lay thus in the glow of the firelight, she had changed considerably since we saw her last. Her hair which had been then cut short like a boy’s was now bound around her head in two heavy shining plaits. Her face was delicately formed, with straight nose and firm chin, but was too thin for beauty, and the great soft brown eyes that looked out from it made it seem too small. Her complexion was the rich tan that comes from perfect health and exposure to the sun and air, while her cheeks and lips were a soft, clear pink. In the middle of the firm little chin was a deep dimple. Her form was tall, but undeveloped, and was only beginning to show the soft curves of womanhood.

'T don’t see why Presbyterians can’t do things.

mother! Why can’t we read novels and dance and have a good time?” Phoebe said.

Poor Mrs. Middleton sighed. This was a question that in one form or another she was having to answer very often these days, and she found it increasingly hard as the children grew older. She was not sorry to be interrupted and smiled brightly at Clay and Al, who at this moment came tramping in, with muddy boots and tousled hair. Even Clay had caught some of blue-eyed, red-haired Al’s contagion of wild spirits, and they came in panting and breathless from a race from the barn.

“Run, boys,” said Mrs. Middleton, “and get yourselves ready for tea. You know your Aunt Allison and your father will be here presently, and we wouldn’t like her to think you were rude and rough.”

The boys started to leave the room, but studious Clay, catching sight of the book on his mother’s knee, caught it up and said tauntingly: “Ivanhoe! I’ll bet it’s about lords and ladies and love, or Miss Phoeb wouldn’t be reading it.”

Phoebe bit her lip and remained silent, but Mrs. Middleton spoke.

“Oh, well,” she said, ‘‘Imnhoe is a standard novel and it will not hurt you to read it. I don’t know what Aunt Allison will say, though. She is very strict, you know.”

“Aunt Al thinks children don’t want to do anything but study the Shorter Catechism/' said Al, his i8 eyes dancing with mischief, “and I don’t know how we are going to keep her fooled while she is here.”

“You bet she has known you a long time, so you needn’t try to fool her,” said Clay.

“Everybody knows who Aunt A1 likes best in this house,” said Phoebe, rising from her recumbent position on the rug with a sudden swift spring. “A1 doesn’t fool her by pretending that he is good, so there is no need for Clay and me to worry ourselves.”

“Anyway, children, I would rather you didn’t read Ivanhoe while she is here. I don’t wish you to hide anything you do, but ”

“But . Little mother is afraid of Aunt Al,”

said Allison, drawing down his chin and speaking very pompously.

At this they all laughed uproariously, and Mrs. Middleton was perforce compelled to join in the mirth. She drove the young people from the room to get ready to see their aunt.

Finding that she still had a little time to spare, she lighted the lamp and sat down to write a letter, which she directed to Mr. Robert Bruce McClintock Middleton, at the University of Virginia. Then she lay back in her chair, and, with closed eyes and clasped hands, prayed out of the depths of her mother’s heart for her first-born son, who was passing his first winter away from home.

Chapter III

Five years have sped swiftly by since we last saw the Middletons. They never had depended wholly on the doctor’s practice for a living, for he also had always been a large planter. The price of cotton was very low these days, and had it not been for the little fortune Mrs. Middleton inherited from her mother, it would have been hard for them to give the children an education. The greater part of this modest sum had been expended in that way. Now there was little left, and times were hard.

Bruce was studying medicine at his father’s alma mater. Clay, with his earnest eyes and gentle manner, had offered himself as a missionary to the lepers, and was studying theology at Princeton.

Phoebe, who had been three years at a college in Virginia, now had a voice that rivaled the mockingbird’s for sweetness and power. Each Sunday she now stood in her place in the choir of the old country church, and poured such a flood of melody into the hymns that “How firm a foundation,” and “Jesus, lover of my soul,” and “O Love that will not let me go” had a new meaning for at least half of the young male members of the congregation.

Her beauty was something to delight the beholder, its chief charm being in the exquisite spirituality of her expression. She had passed through a deep and tender religious experience when Clay, her beloved twin brother, had decided to leave all at the call of his Master.

Dear romping, saucy, curly-haired A1 was the only one left to be sent to college, and he was much more interested in being the best shot, the best rider, the best swimmer, and the best baseball pitcher in the county than he was in going to the University. He was immensely popular with every person in the county. The negroes for miles around worshiped him.

A cloud no bigger than a man’s hand had arisen in the fair horizon of the home, and already its shadow trailed across the pathway of the occupants. Each day the silvery sheen deepened on Mrs. Middleton’s hair, and each day the doctor stooped more and looked older as he climbed in and out of his well-worn buggy.

Bruce was all that heart could wish. He was manly, earnest, intelligent, putting forth the best effort of his young manhood in acquiring his profession so that he might practice with his father and gradually take his place in the county.

Clay was earnest, pure, spiritual, with the beautiful face of a young saint. He gazed undaunted on the future, confidently expecting to die the death of a martyr on Leper’s Island.

Somehow Alice and Henry Middleton could never speak much of Clay even when alone. When his name was mentioned they just reached blindly for each other’s hands and held them very tight

Phoebe was their darling; mettlesome and highspirited, but sound and good, the most beautiful girl in the county. Time and time again she could have married, and many a man had driven away from the doctor’s gate \vith a wound that was hard to heal hidden in his heart. But Phoebe was hard to win, and of all the lovers that came and went no one had ever said that she cared.

In her sweet, imperious way she loved to tease and to flout. Admiration and flattery were as natural to her as the breath of her nostrils, but of love and marriage she never had had a serious thought. She had always been a belle; from the time when Dr. Middleton used to lift her high on his shoulders and stride along, with the boys and dogs at his heels, her wish had been law. It was small wonder that she had grown up expecting admiration and love, and she was in no wise disconcerted because she got it.

But Allison, broad-shouldered, merry-hearted Allison, the last baby to lay his curly head on his mother’s breast and look with innocent, trustful eyes into her own, was wild.

Such was the state of affairs in the Middleton family, when, one afternoon, just as the October fires were beginning to look attractive and feel comfortable, Dr. Middleton came in rather earlier than usual, bringing letters.

“Two for Alice. One from Bruce and one from Clay. Two for Phoeb. One from Aunt Allison and one from Clay. Clay doesn’t think he has written home, no matter who the letter is for, unless he has written to Phoeb too.” The doctor gave the girl’s dimpled chin a loving pinch as he spoke.

“Nobody writes to me; I am nobody’s darling,” said Al, who was lounging in a big chair by the window.

Then going to the piano, while his mother and sister busied themselves with their letters, he struck a few careless chords, and commenced to sing in a strong, clear, young baritone :

“Nobody’s darling on earth,

“Heaven will merciful be;

“I am nobody’s darling, —

“Nobody cares for me.”

The doctor and Mrs. Middleton exchanged smiles over the top of the letter and the weekly paper, but Phoebe, less polite, put her slim hands to her ears and cried, “O Al, have mercy! You won’t deserve to be anybody’s darling, not even in heaven, if you don’t stop that noise I”

Thus adjured, the young man whirled on the piano-stool and snatched Aunt Allison’s letter out of Phoebe’s hand. A lively scuffle ensued, in which his red, curly hair was well pulled, and Phoebe got back her letter by saying, “Please,” a word that never came very naturally from her rosy lips.

Finally, peace being restored. Dr. Middleton asked, “What is the news from the boys?” He reached out his hand for the letters.

Presently Phoebe exclaimed, “Mother, Aunt Allison wants me to come to Melrose and spend the winter with her. She says she has not been well and feels the need of a young, cheerful companion.

But here is the letter : read it for yourself.”

“If she wants a young and cheerful companion,” said Al, “I don’t see why she didn’t ask me. I am younger than you, and as for cheerful spirits, why all she would have to do would be to turn the crank and out would pop smiles and sunshine equaling any demand.”

“I don’t see how we can let Phoeb go,” said Dr. Middleton.

Just then the tea bell rang, and Phoebe ran to see that everything was all right.

Then they came in, Allison with his arm around his mother’s waist.

During the simple meal, there was much discussion pro and con, and it was finally decided that Phoebe should go. Both parents were reluctant to let her go, however, for they felt that it was a dividing of the ways, and that home would never be quite the same to the young girl again.

Chapter IV

Miss Allison McClintock was the only sister of the Honorable Robert Bruce McClintock, and Alice Middleton’s only aunt. She had a fine family name, intelligence, and an independent fortune; and, notwithstanding her strict religious views, was held in high social esteem in the city of Melrose, where she lived.

It had been Alice Middleton’s misfortune to lose her mother when she was quite young, and it was to this aunt that she owed her careful training. Now that Miss Allison was getting old and was not well, Alice and Henry Middleton both felt that it was their pleasure to lend Phoebe to her for the winter, even if in so doing they were themselves sorely bereft. She wished Phoebe to come up early in November, before winter set in, so there was much planning and contriving to get together a modest wardrobe, suitable and becoming, yet costing as little as possible, for cotton was selling very low, and the people were having a hard time to make ends meet. Of course the doctor’s bill was the last to be paid.

Dr. Middleton sighed as, putting a scanty roll of 24 bills into Mrs. Middleton’s hand, he said: ‘‘Make that go as far as you can, Alice. Times are pretty tight this year.”

Phoebe had ridden Dexter over to the country store to make some simple purchase, but A1 who was present, said :

“I wish father would let me take out some bills for him. I’ll bet I would get hold of some money. I don’t like Phoeb to go to Aunt Allison’s looking like a last year’s bird-nest.” A1 thrust his hands deep into his pockets and looked very business-like and imposing.

“You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, my son, and the people just haven’t got it, so there’s no use to press them. I go among them every day, and I know. At the present price of cotton I don’t see how they live.”

“Well, Phoebe would be the very last person in the world to distress them, if she never got any clothes,” said Mrs. Middleton. “The child certainly has a tender heart. She does not seem to think much of how she looks.”

“She doesn’t have to,” said Al, “but don’t you tell her I said that. It mightn’t be good for her equilibrium. Well as I know her, I don’t think I ever mentioned the fact in her hearing.”

His parents laughed at his boyish attempt at wit, and just then Phoebe came in from the hall, still wearing her plain dark riding-habit and looking radiant.

Her hair, loosened by exercise, fell in a soft, dark mass over her forehead and neck, while all the little soft curling tendrils were sparkling with the raindrops that had commenced to fall. At her heels, with his nose in her hand, followed Bluff, the old Irish setter.

“A letter for A1 this time,” she said, tossing to him a letter that had a business-like look.

“Who is writing to you on that kind of paper, Allison?” asked Mrs. Middleton, looking up apprehensively.

The boy was so engrossed that he did not hear. Presently he looked up gravely and handed the letter to his father.

“What is it, Allison? Why don’t you speak?” cried Mrs. Middleton, her heart full of apprehension that she could not explain.

Phoebe with frank curiosity, walked over to her father’s side and looked over his shoulder, while he read aloud the letter, dated October 6, and written from St. Louis, to Mr. Allison McC. Middleton :

Dear Sir:

You will doubtless be surprised at getting a letter from me, but I have had the misfortune to lose the jockey that bunched my string of horses when I was in your part of the world last winter. I remember being struck with your knowledge of horseflesh when I talked to you, and I am now writing to see if you will come out and take the vacant place.

I know your folks will not stand for it, so, if you decide to come and need any money, let me know.

It is interesting work and good pay, and a man who cares for horses is sure to like it. We gather a bunch of horses out here, then take them east to sell. A man gets to see something of the world, and puts something to his wad at the same time. I am in St. Louis now, but I’ll be at El Paso, Texas, by the end of the week. Either write to me or meet me there by October 20.

I can promise you $80 a month, to start with, and a share in our profits, if you invest with me.

Hoping to get a favorable reply, I am.

Yours,

Address: Jacob McGuire.

104 Franklin St.,

El Paso, Texas.

The doctor read the letter slowly through, then turned it over and examined it from all sides.

“Who in the world is Jacob McGuire, and what do you know of him?” he finally asked.

“O father, let me go! I don’t want to go to college, and I love horses, and times are so hard. It will be a help to you and ”

“You seem to forget, Allison,” it was very seldom the doctor called him Allison, “that you have not yet answered my question. Who is Jacob McGuire, and where did you meet him ?”

“I met him over in King’s Quarter last winter and talked to him lots of times. He wanted to buy Dexter, but I told him he belonged to Phoeb.”

“The idea of a Middleton being a jockey,” cried Phoebe. “Why, the man must be crazy! Family not stand for it ! I should think not, indeed ! A Middleton a jockey!”

Alice Middleton now spoke for the first time, and though her voice trembled with suppressed emotion, she said:

“Hush, Phoebe, you only add to my distress. Now, Allison, my son, tell us exactly who the man is, and why you wish to go with him?”

Despite her effort at self-control, her voice failed, and her lips trembled as she ceased speaking.

“Mother, mother! do not cry,” begged Phoebe. “A1 will not go. Oh, Al, tell her you will not go! You know you wouldn’t be a jockey!”

But Al sat very still, looking at the floor, in constrained silence. He did not reassure his mother, and this very fact showed how his boyish inclination had been spurred by the proposal. Far into the night they sat, talking to, and arguing with, the boy. The toast and tea grew cold, untasted, on the table.

Finally Alice arose stiffly, like an old woman, and Phoebe followed her softly from the room.

Late that night Dr. Middleton issued his decree, and in his family his decision was always accepted as final.

“You are a minor, Allison, and as such I decline to let you go. It is useless to argue further, as it will be a waste of breath.”