Phoebe James: A Novel: Phoebe James, #1 62r3d

Phoebe James - a novel -

C. G. EPPINETTE

Text copyright © 2021 by C. G. Eppinette Cover art copyright © 2021 by C. G. Eppinette All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events portrayed in this book are mere products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional. Book design by C. G. Eppinette SUMMARY: In 19th century America, Phoebe James, a rich girl orphaned by the Civil War, goes to live with an eccentric Irish family in the country. ISBN: 9798581908006 (paperback) ISBN: 9781393803713 (ebook) Library of Congress Control Number: 2020925052 First edition January 2021 Independently published in the United States by C. G. Eppinette Ft. Smith, AR If you suspect this copy to have been subject to piracy, please discard and purchase another copy through a reputable vendor and report any suspicious activity to the publisher. Thank you!

For Momma, with whom words are not, have not, and never will be necessary. You always knew I would write.

CONTENTS

Part I – Family Chapter 1 The Beginning of a New Beginning Chapter 2 A Task Chapter 3 Adjustments Chapter 4 A Lawn Party Chapter 5 Two Unhappy Mothers Chapter 6 A Burglar Chapter 7 Through the Window Chapter 8 A Rose by Another Name Chapter 9

Letters Chapter 10 Special Delivery Chapter 11 A Brother’s Duty Chapter 12 The Society for Children Against the Customs and Traditions Ordinated by Parents, for Parents, on Christmas Day Part II – A Journey Chapter 13 Time ing Chapter 14 Whitecrest Chapter 15 On the Dangers of Swimming Chapter 16 Beads and Shells Chapter 17 A Birthday Chapter 18 “Jelly Fingers!”

Chapter 19 Poor Aunt Dottie Chapter 20 Home Chapter 21 Simon Says Chapter 22 A Stranger Chapter 23 Troubles Part III – A Soldier Chapter 24 Dreams Chapter 25 Blue-grey Chapter 26 Where the Heart Is Chapter 27 News Chapter 28 Dr. Livingstone

Chapter 29 Bitter Tea Chapter 30 Playing Housekeeper Chapter 31 Hopeless Chapter 32 Where Thomas Was Chapter 33 The Ball Chapter 34 A Cold Chapter 35 A Shadow in the Snow Chapter 36 On the Dangers of Skating Chapter 37 Christmas Chapter 38 Spring Five Years Later...

Dear Reader,

This work is entirely a figment of my imagination, and as such, I like to imagine that it was written well over a hundred years ago, and I was given the opportunity to adapt it for you. The is through the perspective of one of the characters, the identity of whom, I challenge you to guess before the end of the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this story, for it is a labor of love, every character is my adopted family, and I expect they will be yours before the end of the book. With love and appreciation,

- C. G. E.

Phoebe James - a novel -

Part I

Family

Chapter 1

The Beginning of a New Beginning Phoebe sat on the front steps of her house, luggage at her feet, hat on her head, and a heavily beating heart in between. The gathering darkness set the page of an oncoming storm, and the twitter of a bird blotted the handwritten silence. Her parents were gone. Where, she did not know. Her mother had been a nurse, and her father a soldier in the late war. But, before the war ended, their letters had stopped, and after the war, they didn’t come home. Many then assumed that Mr. and Mrs. James had ed that honorable rank of people who gave their lives for their country. Phoebe didn’t believe that. Her parents had promised her they would come back. They had explained why they had to go. But she knew that, if everyone had the good sense not to have a war, she would still have her parents and her home, everything would be all right, and she wouldn’t be waiting for a stranger to take her from the only place she had known and lived her whole life. The imposing house behind her was the one place she had been born, loved, and educated. Phoebe and her mother and father had been its chief occupants for the last few decades, and her father’s ancestors before that. But now, Phoebe was left with no family, a house she couldn’t manage, and apparently no one to take her from it. It must have been a half hour already. It was half past one when Phoebe finally heard a carriage rattle down the lane. She stood up, wiped her dry eyes, and lifted her bag, assuming the carriage was coming for her. But when it trotted away, rolling steadily past her and the house, she slowly sat back down. She didn’t care that it was the wrong carriage, at least the interruption got her mind off not crying. Eventually, two more carriages ed in the same way, and by the fourth, Phoebe gave up rising for the occasion. Were the clouds getting darker or was the sun getting lower? Phoebe eventually

decided it was both. But she continued to wait, hoping she hadn’t been forgotten, for she had nowhere else to go. She knew nearly everyone in Hillbrook but had hardly seen any of them in the past few years, so the chance of anyone offering her a place to stay seemed unlikely. When more time ed and no carriage came, Phoebe began to wonder if there had been some mistake and pulled out her letter to make sure it said Friday. But she did not even get a chance to unfold it, for her thoughts were disturbed by a strange noise: clop clip clop (squeak) clip clop clip (squeal) clop clip clop (squeak) clip clop clip (squeal). She soon distinguished voices amongst the din: children singing at the top of their voices to a tune with an Irish flair. Presently, she saw the source of the noise. It was not a carriage exactly, but more like a type of wagon, pulled by a single sturdy horse of a mousy grayish color. One of the wheels was rusty and interrupted the rhythm of the horse’s hoofbeats with its squeaks. The driver sitting atop was a lady of energetic yet dignified appearance, wearing a large, striped dress of an earlier style, but not unbecoming. Her hair was a mass of dark curls that rebelled against the tidy bun it was coiled into and ed a wide-brimmed straw hat. Her face was of a healthful countenance, naturally smiling yet serious, and not untouched by the cares of motherhood. But what Phoebe noticed above all were the kind, dark blue eyes that held so much expression that she wondered if the lady had the ability to feel every emotion at once. The lady dismounted. Phoebe curtsied, introduced herself, and went through the automatic pleasantries she had once learned from her mother, but before she could finish, she found herself in a warm embrace. Phoebe did not wish to be comforted, nor did she want to be pitied, but she allowed it in order to be polite. “There,” said the lady as she let go. “Chin up, dear, we’d best be going now. Fiona dear, be a lamb and get that bag. Georgie, Jimmy, help push that trunk over, and we’ll all lift it in together. Good boys!—Yes, dear, I’m Mrs. O’Malley, and you’re Phoebe James. I’m so glad you’ve agreed to come with us!—Is this everything? Right then, on three. Ready? One. Two. Three!” And with the last statement, the lady and her children lifted Phoebe’s trunk onto the end of the wagon, and the children climbed up after it to drag it towards the

front of the wagon bed and sit on it. “Now, dear, you sit in front with me, and we’ll be off,” said Mrs. O’Malley. Phoebe turned for one last look at her house, expecting to feel sentimental about leaving. Alas, she was not, for it no longer greeted her with open arms, but stood frowning at her in all of its emptiness, and after having spent the last three years there without her parents, she couldn’t easily bid the house goodbye with much fondness in return. Phoebe climbed onto the driver’s seat of the cart. The bench wobbled beneath her, and she wondered if it would hold together for the journey. Mrs. O’Malley took her seat, and the cart shook again. Phoebe looked back and saw that the children had started bouncing up and down on her trunk, humming the tune they had been singing when they arrived. Phoebe could now see that the situation was hopeless. The cart would break before they left the avenue. After waking the horse, who had begun snoring sometime before Phoebe had taken her seat, they set off to the chorus of the children’s singing, accompanied by the rattles and squeaks of the carriage. “I don’t expect,” said Mrs. O’Malley after a few minutes, “it will take long to get home and ready for supper. Betsy said she would have it ready as soon as we arrive, but you’re probably hungry already. Fiona, dear, hand us that basket, would you?” “I really couldn’t eat, thank you,” said Phoebe. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite,” she added after receiving a concerned glance from the lady. “Oh, I don’t believe a child’s appetite could ever be spoiled,” persisted Mrs. O’Malley. “No, really. I’m not hungry, thank you.” “All right then. But help yourself if your stomach happens to change its mind.” “Is your name really Phoebe?” the girl named Fiona asked, turning around and resting her elbows on the back of the bench.

“Yes.” “Like a bird?” Phoebe smiled and nodded. Her father had always called her his little Phoebe bird because she had learned to sing before she could speak. Her mother always used to sing as she went about her day, and Phoebe had picked up the habit as a baby. The thought made her throat feel tight and her mind wander. Phoebe’s attention was eventually revived by Mrs. O’Malley telling her that they would soon be there, and she began to keep a lookout for whatever might be the O’Malleys’ house. Her thoughts were sketching it as no bigger than a small cottage with just enough room for its present inhabitants, when a sudden jolt in the road brought her attention to a sight not in the least like the one she was expecting. A once-graveled dirt path led the way through some trees to a white house that towered before an orchard, and fields dotted with livestock led away from the house far into the distance. The house was not a cottage. It was not a manor either, but rather something in between. It had the queer appearance of old and new together, making one assume that it had once been a respectable estate and was now serving a more practical purpose as a family dwelling. As the house drew nearer, Phoebe discovered that it was astir with life. A dog was barking, a baby was crying, and as the cart pulled to a stop, a tall, gangly youth with a mop of red hair emerged from the house, followed by a large Newfoundland dog. Phoebe stepped down from the wagon and found her hand being pumped by the lad. “How d’ye do?” he said, smiling. “Thomas O’Malley.” “I’m Phoebe,” she returned quietly. “Thomas, where have you been?” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Is that Jack I hear? Where is your father?” “Hello, Mam!” he replied, kissing her cheek as if he were a small child, “I just got back from catching supper. That’s Betsy you hear now, and Da’s out feeding

the cows. How are you, Effie?” He tousled his sister’s curls as he walked past her, which she quickly flattened with a vengeance. “Well, run and get him. It’ll take both of you to carry that trunk into the house. Fiona, go see if you can help Betsy till I get there. Georgie, Jimmy, what are you doing?” “We want to ride the tunk upstairs!” they said, bouncing on their makeshift seat. “Nonsense,” said their mother. “Get down from there and go see if you can help set the table.” Off they went, and Mrs. O’Malley took Phoebe’s bag from the cart. “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you to your room.” Phoebe followed her to the house. It seemed that the family seldom used the front door, for Mrs. O’Malley had brought the cart around to the side of the house where a small ivy-framed porch aded a garden. Children’s toys and wicker furniture with embroidered pillows greeted Phoebe when she stepped onto the porch. A Dutch door led into the kitchen, where the smell of food beckoned to anyone possessing a nose. There, a young lady of almost thirty with a serious and flushed countenance was attacking a bowl of mashed potatoes with a wooden spoon and a pitcher of cream. “Oh, Mrs. O’Malley, I’m so glad you’ve come back! We’ve run out of butter, and the potatoes—” “Bets,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “this is a dairy farm. We can’t possibly have run out of butter. And this churning day of all things! But this is Phoebe. Phoebe, this is Betsy. Now, Betsy, I’ve got to show Phoebe to her room so she can get comfortable, and I’ll be right back down to see about the butter. This way, Phoebe.” They walked through a dining room and up a small staircase to a landing that led to several bedrooms and another flight of stairs. Mrs. O’Malley led Phoebe into a room across the landing. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “you’ll be sharing with Fiona. Now, she does

snore, so if she ever wakes you up, just turn her over on her side. She won’t mind. The sheets were changed today, and the water should be fresh as well. Supper should be ready soon, and I’ll see about your trunk. Call for me if you need anything at all.” Phoebe’s thank you was left unheeded by the very busy Mrs. O’Malley, and she was left alone to freshen up. She observed the room. It was quaint and airy with just enough furniture for comfort. A vase of roses had been set on the windowsill, and the smell of fresh air emanated from the open window, bedding, and curtains. There was something special about the room and house. It was an inexpressible comfort that made Phoebe feel uninhibited, perhaps not at home, but still quite welcome at the O’Malley household. A distant chirp brought her attention to the window, and she looked outside. Sometime between leaving home and arriving at the O’Malleys’, the sun had come out and was smiling at her reassuringly. Phoebe washed, dressed, and went down to dinner. The table had been set, and its principal setters were already seated, staring at the hot buttered rolls and swinging their legs in anticipation. Fiona came through the door from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes and looking just as excited about dinner as the twins. She smiled at Phoebe and walked to the side of the table that George and Jimmy were on. “Boys,” she said with as much authority as her eleven years could muster, “let me see your hands. Mam wants me to make sure you washed them. C’mon hold them up!” The twins giggled to each other as they sat on their suspicious hands. “All right then,” she said, and walking to the kitchen door, she yelled out, “Maaaam!” The boys ran out of their chairs and into the hallway, where a basin of water awaited them. “What is it?” asked Mrs. O’Malley as she stepped into the dining room, holding a baby on her hip. George and Jimmy came back with wet hands. “Oh,” she said knowingly and proceeded to wipe her sons’ hands with her apron.

“Phoebe, sit anywhere you like.” Phoebe took a seat at the table, noting to herself how every chair was different. The room looked as if it had once been formally arranged, due to such things as an old chandelier and wallpaper. But now, practicality won over formality in the room’s appearance. It was still the most interesting and tasteful room Phoebe had ever seen. Houseplants sat in the corners of the room by the window, and bookcases stood on the opposite wall. Beside one of these was a pair of chairs with a small table in between. An enormous fireplace occupied the wall opposite the kitchen, looking as if it would swallow the hand-carved dining table and chairs, chipped paint and all. But these things were not what made the room so interesting. It was the fact that it was so colorful. Nearly every color in the rainbow was in that dining room, and each color looked as if it belonged, from the flaking red paint on Phoebe’s chair to the yellow vases on the table to the blue floral pillows on the chairs in the corner. “Fiona,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “would you call your father and brother? Tell them supper’s ready.” Fiona was off instantly. Through the kitchen and onto the porch she ran, and Phoebe heard her voice loud and clear from where she was sitting. “Da! Thomas! Supper’s READY!” Mrs. O’Malley smiled and shook her head. “Best lungs in the house,” she said aside to Phoebe as she took her seat at the table. Phoebe smiled in reply as Fiona came running back to the table and flounced into her chair. Betsy entered carrying a plate of fish and sat down as well. “Is that everything, Betsy?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Yes ma’am,” Betsy sighed. She and Mrs. O’Malley shared the same look of tiredness, but also of contentedness, as if an important mission had been accomplished. As Phoebe observed this, Mr. O’Malley and Thomas came in and took their places. Thomas was smiling, as seemed customary for him, but Phoebe took little notice of his entrance, for this was the first she had seen of Mr.

O’Malley. He was a man of sturdy, vigorous appearance with red hair like the majority of his family, and his beard, glasses, and rosy cheeks made Phoebe wonder if that was what Santa Claus looked like in his younger days. She liked him instantly. He smiled when he saw her and shook her hand, “Welcome home, child,” he said cheerily in a thick Irish accent and took his seat. Phoebe glanced uncertainly at the rest of the family and gathered that they were just as happy to have her. And right at that moment, she feared the tears that had not come for months would come hard and fast. Thankfully the family all bowed their heads to say grace, and she followed suit, mostly to release a few of these tears unnoticed. But Phoebe’s attention was arrested by the style of Mr. O’Malley’s prayer. It was formality made informal, paralleling the style of the house. It was colorful, suited to a family of those grown and growing. He humbly addressed God “Sir” as one would an earthly father, and it seemed as if he were simply talking to an old friend. Overall, Phoebe couldn’t tell if it was quaint or sacrilegious, but it made her forget about crying. Phoebe went to bed soon after dinner, politely excusing herself. But when she lay down, she could not sleep. A strange feeling had come over her in the quiet: she felt eighty years old, as if the past three years had ed at least twenty at a time, and tears, repressed and interrupted for so long, cried by themselves. And she buried her face in her pillow, unable to stop herself. Later in the dark, she woke to a wet pillow and the sound of the door being slowly pushed open. It was Fiona coming to bed. Thinking that Phoebe was asleep, she went about her business as quietly as possible. Soon, Phoebe heard her murmuring her prayers beside her bed. It was difficult for Phoebe to tell what she was saying, not that she was trying to by any means, but one phrase was unmistakable and seemed to be carried to Phoebe’s ears by the hand of an angel: “Thank You for giving me a sister. I knew You would one day.” Once more, Phoebe’s eyes turned into small rivers, and from then on, she was doomed to love this girl with all her heart, and she would long Fiona as the first member of the O’Malley family to win a place in it.

Chapter 2

A Task Unfortunately, all the love in the world couldn’t prevent the inevitable. A night of tears made Phoebe wake the next morning, well after the sun had come up, with a severe headache. In fact, she ached everywhere. She wondered what time it was, for Fiona was already gone, her bed was made, and the house was silent. Phoebe tried to sit up, but it hurt and made her headache worse. The door opened slowly. It was Mrs. O’Malley coming to check on her. “Oh, dear!” she whispered when she saw Phoebe’s pale, swollen face. She walked over, felt her head, tsked, and poured her a glass of water. “Drink this,” she said, “and don’t get up. I’ll get you some tea.” She was gone at once, and Phoebe was sitting back on her pillow, glass in hand, wondering what just happened. Phoebe figured she must have looked as bad as she felt. She shivered and wiped at her clammy forehead. But when she did this, it hurt. Her forehead was hot as fire, and her hand was cold as ice. The idea of drinking water turned her stomach, but she tried a little anyway. The minuscule sip felt like too much, but she swallowed it and laid her head back. Mrs. O’Malley returned with a cup and saucer on a towel. She set it on the nightstand and took Phoebe’s glass. “Hm,” she said when she saw how little Phoebe had managed to drink. She gently handed the cup and towel to Phoebe. “Careful, it’s hot.” Phoebe was about to protest when Mrs. O’Malley handed her the tea, but it smelled appealing. She took a sip cautiously, and it warmed her to the tips of her toes. Meanwhile, Mrs. O’Malley went about getting another blanket, opening the window, straightening the wrinkles in Fiona’s sheets, and fluffing the pillows on

each bed. Half an hour later, Phoebe had drunk nearly the whole cup of tea and felt a little better. Mrs. O’Malley, who was sitting in a chair in the corner, working on some mending, saw that Phoebe was finished and took her cup. “Lie back now and try to get some sleep,” she said in gentle authority. Phoebe obeyed and closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt a cool cloth laid on her head, and she drifted into a welcome slumber. Fiona later relieved Mrs. O’Malley of her watch. She came running up the stairs on tiptoe with a book and whispered to her mother that she was done with her chores. “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. O’Malley whispered with a kiss, and let her daughter take her post in the chair. She removed the cloth from Phoebe's forehead, felt it, and sighed, “Lord bless her.” Mrs. O’Malley returned downstairs, carrying Jack, who had just woken up from his nap, in one arm and Phoebe’s teacup in the other hand. She found Georgie and Jimmy at the table with their books and beamed with pride. “That’s my smart boys,” she said. They had been hard at work since ten o’clock and were beginning to get fidgety. She noticed, and picking up a basket, she placed it on the table between them, saying, “If it isn’t too much trouble, would you two run and fetch Mamma some strawberries? We’ll be needing some later.” They left the table at once and were on the point of running as fast as their legs could carry them when their mother said, “Aren’t we forgetting something?” They retraced their steps and stood upon their previously occupied chairs to reach their mother’s cheek for a kiss. This thoroughly entertained Jack, who squealed and grabbed a handful of Jimmy’s hair. “That’s better,” said Mamma after her kisses. “Now, off you go!” They were off after Jimmy had freed himself from Jack’s grasp, and Mrs.

O’Malley carried teacup and baby into the kitchen. Betsy was there kneading dough for a loaf of bread. Mrs. O’Malley deposited Jack in the corner into a contraption that Thomas had invented. It was a swing of sorts, padded with cushions and blankets, which served as a means of keeping Jack contained when the family was busy. Mrs. O’Malley put on an apron and set to work preparing dinner. “When you’re finished, Bets, would you put on some broth for Phoebe? She isn’t feeling well today.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Betsy with her last hard press of the loaf. She then heaved it into a bowl to let it rise, disappeared into the pantry, and returned with a pot for the broth. “Is she sick?” asked Betsy. “In a way,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “But it isn’t very contagious. It’s grief that’s got the best of her. I would guess that it’s been quite some time since she’s eaten a good, square meal—she hardly ate a thing at supper last night—I could tell by her eyes this morning that she cried herself to sleep, and I’ve no doubt that sheer exhaustion has given her a fever.” “Poor thing.” “But we’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t get worse. Right now, she needs rest, food, and fresh air as soon as she can get it.” “Yes, ma’am!” said Betsy determinedly as if it were her own special job to help Phoebe. Satisfied with Betsy’s enthusiasm, Mrs. O’Malley continued preparing dinner for her children. “If you don’t mind me asking,” said Betsy after a minute, “how much do you know about her?” “Only what General Johnson told me a few weeks ago. He was pretty shaken when he told me.” She added to herself with a slight smile, “I wonder if he knew

what it would come to, his telling me. “Anyway,” she continued audibly, “you know how he personally visits family of those who died in the war?” “Yes I do. Bless him.” “Well, he paid one of those visits to Phoebe a little over a month ago. It usually doesn’t affect him to make those kinds of calls, but he told me this one was harder on him than all the rest combined.” “Why?” “He said it was the way she took it. He’s used to having to offer some form of comfort or reassurance, but she never shed a tear. She didn’t even show any sign of shock, just sat there conducting herself with the decorum of a duchess, hardly a day over fourteen. “He left her to herself, thinking she was waiting to give in to her grief until after he had gone, but it weighed on his mind that he had left such a young girl to herself in a large, empty house with no more company than a sour-looking housekeeper. “That following Sunday, I could see that something was bothering him, so I asked him how he was, and that’s when he told me. It seemed to do him good to tell someone, and I was glad I could help. The only problem was, it troubled me from then on. I knew something had to be done for the poor girl, and only one thing kept presenting itself.” “To take her in?” Mrs. O’Malley nodded, “Take her in, give her a home, food, clothes, and family.” Betsy smiled to herself at Mrs. O’Malley’s generosity as Mrs. O’Malley continued to relay her story. She explained how she informed her husband about Phoebe and her predicament. Mr. O’Malley had known where his wife’s heart was before she had gotten further than a few sentences, and Mrs. O’Malley could see that he

would be reluctant to give her her way, so she said nothing more about it at the time. But, as time went by, the issue weighed on her heart more and more, and she couldn’t even sleep. Finally, one night she said a prayer for God to move her husband’s heart, and she woke him up to see what the answer was. Mr. O’Malley was less than happy about being waked in the middle of the night, but she asked him once more for the permission she wanted. After a moment, he mumbled something along the lines of, “If taking this girl in allows me to get a good night’s sleep, I guess we’d better.” Mrs. O’Malley then smiled at her husband, for she knew his heart was at least the size of her own, if not bigger, when it came to such matters, and his gruff response was permission enough for her. Her heart was again at ease, but she still couldn’t sleep. Once she heard her husband snoring again, she crept downstairs in her dressing gown to write a letter to the general, telling him to put his mind at ease about the girl, requesting her name and address that she might her. “I didn’t get a reply from her for some weeks,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “which made me a little concerned, but one day I received a letter from her, saying that she would come, and here we are today, burning soup for her.” With a start, Betsy returned to the broth and rectified the situation. “But why was Mr. O’Malley so upset the other morning, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Oh, that. Well, do you me asking you and the children if you would like to have an addition to the family? Well, it seems the poor thing didn’t putting in his own two cents, and he felt a little overlooked in the matter.” “Oh, dear.” “Yes, but he’s fine now, after some reminding on my part. I thought he was very kind to Phoebe yesterday at supper.” “Yes. I can’t imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t ed giving you his permission!”

Mrs. O’Malley grew quiet before saying, “I think he would have come around eventually. But we won’t think of it now. I’ve got to take Jack upstairs and relieve Fiona. It’s time she got some fresh air and exercise.” Mrs. O’Malley ascended the stairs to attend Phoebe with her youngest and a knitting basket. Fiona was reluctant to leave her post, but Mrs. O’Malley was a firm believer in fresh air and exercise and was not a force to be reckoned with when her children would not listen. She wasn’t stern by any means, nor did she raise her voice, but with a look or statement, she could obtain absolute obedience, and they loved her for it. Though they didn’t tend to express love in the moment, it lay deep within their hearts. Mrs. O’Malley knew this; it was one of the things she simply observed in her children, and it made her look upon them with pride.

WHEN PHOEBE WOKE AGAIN, her headache and fever were less severe, but a certain fatigue that came with feeling better had overcome her during her sleep. She lay for a moment with her eyes open, and they wandered to the chair where Mrs. O’Malley sat knitting with her baby dozing against her. The sight was sweet, and it brought another tear to Phoebe’s eye, for it touched a spot in her heart that was beginning to feel terribly empty. Mrs. O’Malley went on with her knitting for some time before noticing that Phoebe was awake. When she did, she caught sight of her expression, and it broke her heart. Pretending not to notice, she laid her knitting in the basket and walked over with her sleeping child in one arm to feel Phoebe’s forehead. “Feeling better?” she asked in a low voice. Phoebe nodded. “Betsy has some warm broth for you on the stove whenever you’re ready.” Phoebe nodded again as she looked to the window and inhaled curiously. “What is that?” “It’s the lilac trees. They bloom every spring,” said Mrs. O’Malley, and laying her baby on Fiona’s bed so he could finish his nap, she lifted the window sash. The breeze brushed past the curtains, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. A momentary light came to Phoebe’s eyes and she looked healthy, even radiant. It ed quickly, but this helped Mrs. O’Malley see just how precarious Phoebe’s condition was. She now knew that steps needed to be taken to ensure that Phoebe did get better, and the relief that had come to her heart when she wrote the general and brought Phoebe home suddenly dissolved. This child would need more than what rest and nourishment could give her. Urgency took hold of Mrs. O’Malley, but she did not show it. She went about making sure Phoebe was comfortable, called down to Betsy for the broth, and resumed her knitting while she waited for Betsy. Her wheels were spinning as the knitting needles flew. Ten years ago, when a young lady by the name of Betsy Martin needed her help, it had not required much on her part. Betsy had a resilient spirit and was determined to recover in order to express her gratitude. In fact, this was Mrs. O’Malley’s main difficulty with Betsy, she worked too hard. Phoebe, on the other hand, seemed like she might have once had the same spark

in her, but it had burned out. This thought clicked in Mrs. O’Malley’s mind as she glanced at Phoebe’s face. In quiet moments, her expression was not completely hopeless, there was a touch of longing mixed—to Mrs. O’Malley’s surprise—with some sort of resentment. She did not know what this stemmed from, but she could see that there was some amount of spirit in her, and Mrs. O’Malley determined within herself to nurture whatever was left of it, for that might very well be what would save her. Betsy came up with the broth and gave it to Phoebe herself, helping her sit up in the process. Mrs. O’Malley watched Phoebe. When Betsy attended her, her expression turned meek and humble, and before Betsy left, she looked at her gratefully. Her face then sank into the previously vacant expression, and her eyes turned watery as she looked down at her cup. “Try to drink all of that,” said Mrs. O’Malley, trying to keep her mind on eating. “It’s good for you.” She knew hunger alone was reason enough to cry. Phoebe, once her attention had been drawn, managed a weak smile and started to sip from her cup. Mrs. O’Malley learned much from Phoebe’s expressions as to what would help her, but she feared it would take some effort from the whole family, not to mention Phoebe herself. The rest of the day ed uneventfully, yet it was crowned in Mrs. O’Malley’s mind by an event that took place later in the afternoon. When Fiona had finished playing outside, she went back upstairs to keep Phoebe company. Mrs. O’Malley was glad of the help and left Jack in Fiona’s care so she could speak to her husband and eldest son about something. Fiona had brought up a small stack of books and was occupying her time reading while Phoebe rested. Eventually, at the sound of Fiona’s giggles, Phoebe asked what she was reading. A conversation began and soon escalated to the point that they were reading together as different characters, making Jack a third. Mrs. O’Malley returned into the house and heard raised voices upstairs, and she ran as quickly as

possible to see if everything was all right. Everything was more than all right, for the sound Mrs. O’Malley heard was laughter, the sight that met her eyes filled her with joy, and her heart was once again at peace. Fiona knew exactly what to do.

PHOEBE SLEPT EASILY that night and woke in the morning to see Fiona smiling and humming as she went about the room dressing. Mrs. O’Malley had decided to confide her plan to Fiona the night before, and now the poor thing had the terrible task of keeping a secret. Her excitement was contagious, but she did not say a word to Phoebe, except for a cheerful, “Good morning!” before skipping out of the room. Phoebe decided that she ought to go down to breakfast as well. She felt weak upon standing, but she also felt that it would be polite not to stay in bed two days in a row, so she continued to wash and dress and make her way downstairs. Mrs. O’Malley met her on the staircase, carrying a tray and wearing an expression that matched her excited daughter’s. This expression fell when she saw Phoebe. “Oh, no, no,” she said. “You have a big day ahead of you, young lady. Come with me. This morning, we rest, and we eat. This afternoon, we might get up if we’re a good girl and eat all our porridge,” she said playfully as she led Phoebe back to bed. “There,” she said, settling the tray in front of her. “Eat as much as you can. You’ll need your strength later.” “What for?” Phoebe asked warily. “Now, no questions. I’m going to get Jack and we’ll keep you company.” Phoebe sat back in her bed, still wondering what exactly she would be needing strength for. A hundred different assumptions came into her mind, none of which bordered the truth. Mrs. O’Malley returned with her baby and knitting, her expression still excited, and saw that Phoebe’s food lay untouched. “Eat,” she insisted and sat down to her knitting with a muted smile. Phoebe obeyed, and once she had finished eating breakfast, she began to feel restless. Mrs. O’Malley noticed this and set Jack in the chair to occupy himself with a ball of yarn. She took Phoebe’s tray, smiled at it with satisfaction, and set it upon the dresser.

“Now,” she said, “if you’re feeling better, what say we unpack your trunk?” “All right,” said Phoebe, rising again. “No, no, stay.” Mrs. O’Malley called Fiona for help, and the two of them worked while Phoebe watched and played with Jack. This arrangement helped the time , and the work was soon finished. Mrs. O’Malley closed the dresser with a sigh of satisfaction. “Now, that’s all finished,” she said. “Nothing like getting organized to start the day.” And reclaiming her son, she said, “Now, you try to get some rest.” “But I feel fine, Mrs. O’Malley,” Phoebe insisted. “Nonsense, now lie back and close your eyes. If you’re strong enough, you may get up later.” Phoebe then laid back for what purpose she believed was to humor Mrs. O’Malley.

“PHOEBE...PHOEBE!” She was being gently shaken by a white apron and woke to see Mrs. O’Malley smiling at her. Fiona was standing behind her with an even bigger smile, and they were wearing white dresses. “It’s time to wake up, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, walking over to the armoire to remove a dress for Phoebe. “Now, let’s put this on, hurry up, dear.” Phoebe, feeling as if she were having a strange dream in the middle of her nap, rose to dress. “What’s the occasion?” she wondered aloud as they helped her. “Nothing in particular,” said Mrs. O’Malley. Phoebe suspected otherwise. Mrs. O’Malley and Fiona brushed her hair and braided it, which was the work of a moment, and led her downstairs. They met Betsy in the kitchen with a basket, and Mrs. O’Malley took Jack from his swing. They walked down the hill from the house towards a patch of woods just on the edge of the orchard, where a small pond lay surrounded by trees and a stretch of flat ground. Thomas and the twins were already there, in the middle of a race, which ended in seeing who could climb to the top of a tree the fastest. Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy spread out a picnic blanket, thus putting an abrupt end to the boys’ race. The basket was opened, and everyone ate and enjoyed themselves. Their dinner consisted of nothing more than cold chicken, biscuits, and milk, but it was a treat for the children to eat outside. The twins were not stationary eaters by any means, and they alternately ran circles in the grass and threw themselves upon the picnic blanket for nourishment. Once the food was gone, everyone found themselves too occupied with digesting

their meal to speak more than one or two words at a time. All was quiet, except for the sound of wind blowing the leaves in the trees against each other. Betsy took the opportunity to get a short nap, and Mrs. O’Malley took it to watch her children. Thomas lay along the edge of the picnic blanket with his hands folded behind his head, staring into a deep thought, a characteristic Mrs. O’Malley liked to think he had inherited from her. Fiona sat leaning back against her hands with her eyes closed, angling her face towards the sun. Fiona loved nature and had a knack for helping things grow, therefore she was the main caretaker of the food and flower gardens next to the house. Mrs. O’Malley knew for a fact that this talent was from her father. George and Jimmy were occupied in taking captive a group of ants that threatened to steal a piece of biscuit—incidentally, Georgie had placed the biscuit on the blanket in order to trap the poor things. The twins were curious about everything, especially small things that moved. Mrs. O’Malley couldn’t tell whom they had inherited that from. It certainly wasn’t her. Jack sat on the blanket next to her, attempting to catch a butterfly that fluttered over his head in his chubby fists. He was only a few months old, but Mrs. O’Malley knew all about him already. He watched everything and everyone and was a deep thinker like her and Thomas. Above all, he had a deep sense of comion that Mrs. O’Malley had never seen before in anyone so young. For an instant, Mrs. O’Malley wondered where Phoebe was. Then she saw her. She was sitting nearby, against a tree, looking thoughtfully towards the pond. There was evidence of a daydream on her face as she watched some geese floating on the water. It was a family of geese that had come to the farm one spring and continued coming back after every winter migration. Mrs. O’Malley then guessed where Phoebe’s thoughts were. Phoebe hardly knew where her own thoughts were. They seemed to drift far away to a time when she was younger, when she was with her own family. She was afraid of believing what General Johnson had told her, but with each day, minute, and second that slipped past her, it seemed to become more and more true. Her parents were fading away with each ing moment, and, just then, her thoughts came back to her with the realization that they must be truly gone.

Before any tears could surface, her attention was arrested by shouts of excitement, and she wondered what was going on. Thomas was hurrying away, and the other children were bouncing with excitement as they helped clear the remains of the picnic. Mrs. O’Malley had seen Phoebe’s thoughts wandering and decided it was time for a distraction. She innocently cleared her throat, and Thomas, who was in on the secret, looked at her, silently asking if it was time. Mrs. O’Malley nodded, briefly glancing at Phoebe. Thomas understood and was off in an instant. “Where are you going?” Fiona asked. “Nowhere,” he replied smugly. “He’s going to get Bob,” Mrs. O’Malley whispered loudly to Fiona. It was this statement that brought about such excitement in the children, thus waking poor Betsy from her nap. Thomas returned on the back of a large farm horse, the only one the O’Malley family possessed, used for every heavy job, including pulling the cart to market on Fridays, conveying the family to church on Sundays, and occasionally entertaining the children with a ride. This was the “something” Mrs. O’Malley had discussed with her husband and son the previous day. Since the farm rested under Mr. O’Malley’s charge, Bob primarily belonged to him, and due to his excellent service to the family, Bob was well fed and cared for. Whenever he was needed for something other than his usual duties as a farm horse, Mrs. O’Malley would kindly request her husband to go about his work the next day in such a way that he wouldn’t require Bob. “The poor thing,” she would explain, “was in need of a holiday.” And her husband would oblige. For this particular occasion, she had not only requested Bob but her son as well, for the occasion called for having another person present to make sure the younger children behaved themselves and that Bob didn’t get too tired, as this was his day off. It was a rare treat for the children to bob about on Bob’s back, and they eagerly

ran up to him, each for their own turn. Jimmy and George went first together, both bouncing a foot above Bob as they trotted around the picnic grounds. Fiona was next and sat astride in her dress with bare feet dangling towards the ground. She hardly bounced at all and seemed as much a part of the horse as his head. Phoebe found herself enjoying watching the children nearly as much as they enjoyed themselves. But it was soon her turn, and Fiona brought Bob around to her. Phoebe became nervous, for she had never ridden a horse before, and Fiona hopped down next to her and took her hand. “Come on,” she said, leading her to a tree stump, for Bob was rather tall. Phoebe climbed up to the best of her ability, and Bob was patient with her, mostly due to the fact that Fiona was stroking his nose. Once atop Bob, Phoebe felt dizzy, for she was very high above the ground. “What do I do?” she asked Fiona. “Just relax,” said Fiona simply before applying a hard smack to Bob’s rump. He was off at a canter, and Phoebe gave a cry of surprise as the world rushed past her. She tried her best to relax as Fiona said and took a deep breath. The wind and sun touched her face through the trees, and she felt as if she were flying. She then realized that she did not know where she was going, but she hoped the horse did. After another moment, Bob returned to the picnic ground, where the others stood in astonishment. Thomas, Fiona, and the twins cheered, and Mrs. O’Malley stood holding her baby, looking worried, but this ed when she saw Phoebe’s face. It was beaming. She looked positively radiant with happiness, and in all the services Bob had ever done for the family, Mrs. O’Malley was more grateful to him for this than anything else. Phoebe rode up to them, laughing breathlessly as Thomas helped her down and clapped her proudly on the shoulder. “Handled that like a champ, didn’t she, Mam!” “Are you all right, dear?” asked Mrs. O’Malley, looking anxiously into Phoebe’s eyes as she stroked some hair out of her face. It was a simple gesture, but so motherly that it touched Phoebe’s heart. She then fell into Mrs. O’Malley’s arms

in tears mingled with laughter, and Mrs. O’Malley stood holding her, on the verge of tears herself. “It’s all right, dear,” she said, comforting her. “There, there.” Mrs. O’Malley took out her handkerchief and dried Phoebe’s eyes. “I’m all right,” said Phoebe. “I know, dear.” “Thank you,” Phoebe whispered. Mrs. O’Malley smiled and nodded. Thomas then took Jack for a ride with his mother’s permission, and he walked Bob in a circle, holding Jack in front of him. The majority of Jack’s exercise came from bouncing up and down of his own accord, which quickly made him tired, and Thomas handed him off to his mother in hysterics. Mrs. O’Malley walked back to the house to put Jack down for his nap, but not before informing the children about a carrot or two she had saved for Bob in the picnic basket, hinting that Phoebe should get her share of the honor. Bob, who had been walking about loose in search of suitable grass, had already found his way to the picnic basket. Phoebe opened it and held a carrot up to him, and he took it gently and stood munching next to her. He thanked her by nudging her head, and she found herself stroking his velvet muzzle in return. Betsy, Phoebe, and Fiona soon followed Mrs. O’Malley and Jack into the house as Thomas and the twins returned Bob to his pasture. Mrs. O’Malley, Betsy, and Fiona prepared supper, and Phoebe, stating that she felt much better, asked if she could help. Mrs. O’Malley appreciated the offer, but she was much easier with the idea of Phoebe resting for the remainder of the day. Therefore, Phoebe sat on the porch outside the kitchen entertaining Jack, now much happier from his nap. Thomas and the twins returned from tending Bob, and Mr. O’Malley soon followed. They washed and dressed and sat on the porch with Phoebe while they waited for supper, and Mr. O’Malley, stepping onto the porch to fill his pipe,

went to Phoebe and took her hand in his, saying, “How was your day, my girl?” “Good, thank you,” she replied with a smile. He said he was glad and returned to his pipe. “What about me, Da?” said Jimmy. “Forgive me, where are my manners?” he said. And going over to his son, he cupped his face in his hands, saying, “How was your day, my girl?” “Good,” said Jimmy over his own laughter. Mr. O’Malley showed the rest of his sons the same affection before resuming his pipe, and Thomas, replying to his father in a comically high-pitched voice, caused uncontrollable laughter to break out upon the porch. Mrs. O’Malley stepped out to say that supper was ready, and was prepared to scold someone for bad manners in front of Phoebe. But upon surveying the scene, she found that Phoebe had enjoyed the joke as much as anyone, and she smiled, gratefully realizing that Phoebe was in good hands. “Supper’s ready,” she said. The family sat down at the table together and bowed their heads. Phoebe paid better attention that evening when Mr. O’Malley said grace and decided she rather liked something about the way he prayed. Her appetite proved keener this evening than the last. Mrs. O’Malley smiled at her husband across the table, and he winked in return. They all finished eating and went to the sitting room where Mr. O’Malley read a book aloud, and Mrs. O’Malley played a hymn on the piano, and they retired, led by Mrs. O’Malley with a candle. Phoebe and Fiona prepared for bed in sleepy silence, and when the time came for Fiona to say her prayers, Phoebe felt a pang of conviction. That was something she had given up long ago because it seemed too childish. But now, as Fiona knelt by her bed, willingly, and not with a prayer memorized but from her heart, Phoebe felt that she ought to follow suit.

She found herself kneeling by her own bed, not knowing what to say but pleading in her heart that her Heavenly Father would understand what she wanted to say. She then felt a warmth closing about her, lifting her up, and she heard, not in words, but deep in the unspoken silence, “You’ve been heard, My child.” She felt life again and breathed in more deeply than ever before, and she climbed into bed, still enveloped in the comfort that was given her. Mrs. O’Malley came to tell them good night and bless them both. Fiona was already asleep when she came, and Phoebe almost so. She smoothed Phoebe’s hair out of her face and felt the effects of her prayer, the peace that now held her heart, and Mrs. O’Malley looked up, saying a quiet prayer of her own. “Thank you, Lord, for this child. Please bless her.” She left the room, and once again, Phoebe shed tears as she fell asleep.

Chapter 3

Adjustments The next day was Sunday , and after breakfast, the family set out to church in their Sunday best. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley took the driver’s seat of the cart, everyone else piled into the back, and Thomas’s dog, Nicodemus, followed behind for a small stretch before deciding to run back home and wait for them. The weather was beautiful, and pear trees stood in bloom along the lane. To Phoebe, the day felt as if it were out of a dream. They arrived at church a little late. Many people had already been seated when they walked in, and the family received many reproachful stares as Mrs. O’Malley sailed ahead, holding Jack in one arm and leading the twins with the other. Phoebe and Fiona followed, then came Thomas and Mr. O’Malley, and Betsy trailed quietly behind. The family took their places and stood to sing hymns. The last time Phoebe had attended church was with her parents, and she had difficulty finding the courage to sing. But a gentle nudge and encouraging nod from Mrs. O’Malley made her try her best. The elder of the O’Malley family exchanged glances. Phoebe had a beautiful voice, though she did not know it, and none of them had heard it before. They sang another hymn, and the minister led them in prayer before beginning his sermon. Unfortunately, the twins were miserable in church, and though Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley were not the kind of parents to scold their children for not sitting still, they expected them to be well-behaved in public and to listen to the minister as best as they could. But simply being well-behaved and listening to a man speaking in a way that seemed only adults could understand presented quite a challenge to Georgie and Jimmy. Mrs. O’Malley understood this struggle. Therefore, they were the only children allowed to swing their legs in church. When the sermon was over, as they were leaving, Mrs. O’Malley put her free

arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. Phoebe appreciated this gesture, but it attracted more attention than she liked, and she wished more than anything that they didn’t have to Daniel Wilson on the way out. Phoebe liked Daniel Wilson, and he knew she did, for she blushed every time she was around him. But today, he did not notice her, and for once in her life, Phoebe thanked Heaven that he didn’t. Clarissa Wilson, Daniel’s sister, and Phoebe’s friend since childhood, stood with her mother near the doors of the church, speaking to a lady made up of fuss and feathers. Phoebe made eye with Clarissa and smiled in genuine happiness at seeing her, but Clarissa looked away and began speaking to her mother. Phoebe left her stomach behind as she proceeded to the cart with the O’Malleys, and she became more embarrassed than ever at the sight of the humble equipage that conveyed them there. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as Bob faithfully dragged the family home, and no one said a word except Jack, who was beginning to hone his abilities of communication. Such a beautiful day was now clouded over in Phoebe’s mind by the feeling that she was now a stranger to people she had known most of her life. By the time they arrived, Phoebe’s tears couldn’t wait any longer, and she fled from the cart towards the orchard to have her cry out. But she still didn’t know the farm that well, so Mrs. O’Malley asked Thomas to keep an eye on her and make sure she made it back to the house safely. He was off at once to do as requested. Phoebe couldn’t get away fast enough. Once she gained the privacy she wanted, she leaned against a tree and cried without intending to stop until she felt better. But she quickly grew tired of crying, for it was getting her nowhere, and she began to observe her surroundings. She was in a part of the woods that surrounded the pond they had picnicked by the day before, and she saw something in a tree by the water. Curiosity made her go see what it was. It was a swing. One the children played on in the summer months when they spent their days swimming. Phoebe walked to it, still with a heavy heart, and sat down, looking at the water.

“That’s a good idea,” came a slightly out of breath voice nearby. Phoebe jumped and looked back with an accusing stare. “Sorry,” said Thomas with an embarrassed smile. “Mam just wanted me to make sure you were all right.” “I’m fine. Thank you,” she said, hoping he would leave. “You run fast for a girl.” Phoebe was not complimented in the least, but she said, “Thank you,” monotonously. “May I?” he said, taking the ropes of the swing. “What for?” said Phoebe, looking around again. “Mam says the best way to forget your cares is to swing them away,” he said, already pushing her. “Although Da says a rocking chair works just as well.” Phoebe thought this sounded like nonsense, but after a moment or two, her frown began to melt upwards, and due to a slight fear of heights, she burst out in nervous laughter after a rush of momentum. She was then forced to realize the truth of what Mrs. O’Malley said, for each time the wind rushed past her, she felt as if she were leaving a bit of worry behind. Phoebe felt giddy and found herself shouting for joy. Eventually, she began slowing down and trying to stop, and Thomas, who had stepped back long ago, ran over and stopped the swing for her. Her laughter was infectious, and Thomas found himself laughing almost as heartily as she was. “You look a fright!” he said, still laughing. “Oh, dear,” she said, looking down. Poor Phoebe, who always had a mind to look presentable, now had an entirely unkempt appearance in hair and dress. It suited her well, and with an expression on the verge of further laughter, Thomas moved a piece of hair out of her face and said, “There.”

Phoebe broke into laughter again, and the two of them raced back to the house without a care in the world. Mrs. O’Malley was happy to see the change in Phoebe once she returned inside, and she secretly thanked her son for cheering her up.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK did not contain any picnics, nor the week after, to the twins’ dismay, but it does not follow that the days were uneventful. As Phoebe’s health was on the mend, she began taking on her share of chores around the house. She was a stranger to washing dishes, and the effort she put towards learning how to do it properly was highly amusing to Betsy, who bore with her patiently and tried to hide at least some of her laughter. Folding laundry was a puzzle, changing sheets a challenge, and sweeping the floor seemed merely an unending battle against piles of dust and gusts of wind. Among other things, she had yet to learn mending, cooking, knitting, and how to put on a fire without nearly setting the whole house aflame. Not that she had to learn these things in order to stay with the O’Malleys, as she might have once secretly feared, but Mrs. O’Malley viewed the ability to do housework as an invaluable life skill. Mrs. O’Malley once, like Phoebe, lived in a house where many things were done by hired servants, but upon one day desiring to marry a man who could neither afford nor maintain such an establishment, she set out to learn to do those things for herself and never regretted it. Therefore, when the day came that she had a daughter, she decided to on those treasured skills, and now that Phoebe was under her wing, Mrs. O’Malley felt the need to encourage Phoebe to learn as well. However, not all that Phoebe learned was unpleasant. She was interested in cooking, though she felt a little helpless at it; she wanted to try her hand at chores around the farm; and tending the gardens was made to look fascinating by the ever-enthusiastic Fiona. Gardening came naturally to Fiona. She resembled a fairy going about with her watering can and spade, inspecting the garden as she went, pausing here and there to consider what one sickly-looking plant or another needed. She treated anything green as if it were a friend, and when she went to the food garden with a spade or shears for harvesting, she would take said produce with a matter-offact “thank you.” Phoebe was amused as she watched Fiona tend her plants, and she soon donned apron and kerchief to humbly follow her footsteps around the garden as she

made note of every detail involved with caring for Fiona’s green friends. Mrs. O’Malley also regularly encouraged Phoebe to get fresh air and exercise with the other children, which included taking walks, playing games, and swimming in the large pond when the weather was warm enough. At first, Phoebe didn’t see the necessity of this, but she eventually felt herself growing stronger and enjoying herself after being pushed out the door by Mrs. O’Malley or pulled out by the children. Thomas enjoyed having someone close to his own age on these jaunts outside— even though Phoebe was a girl and still younger than himself—for anytime the children would play outside, he felt more of a sense of vigilance than participation, and half his time went to settling disputes or bandaging a scratch rather than enjoying himself. Not that he minded; he also had some sense of satisfaction knowing that he was needed as a brother. But now, that responsibility began to shift more to Phoebe’s shoulders, and he became free to enjoy himself when he wanted or to take his share of responsibility when the occasion called for a brother’s expertise. After several weeks, Phoebe gave up all hope of familiarity with her old acquaintances. At church, the Wilsons continued to ignore her, and no one else gave her any sign of recognition. Mrs. O’Malley grieved for her and attributed this to a separation of social circles. She had experienced this herself when she was younger and knew that there would not likely be a solution for Phoebe. But Mrs. O’Malley was surprised one Sunday, as the children were climbing onto the back of the cart, to see Clarissa Wilson run over to Phoebe and say hello. “Oh, Phoebe darling!” she cried. “We haven’t seen you in ages! Whatever have you been doing with yourself? Wouldn’t you believe it? I’m having a coming-out party! And I wanted to invite you, dear, but it was getting awfully close and I haven’t seen anything of you for quite some time. I had quite despaired of ever seeing you again! But it’s lucky I ran into you today because I wanted to invite you in person—a note seemed far too formal—Danny! Look who I found! It’s dear little Phoebe!” And, calling her brother over to them, she resumed talking. “He’s home from the university, you know, but only for the summer. He’ll return soon after my party.”

He came congenially to Clarissa’s side and raised his hat. “How do you do, Miss James?” “How do you do?” Phoebe uttered, blushing. “I was just inviting Phoebe to my party!” said Clarissa. “And I do hope you’ll come, dear, it would be so dull without you,” and looking over at the cart and the O’Malleys she added, “but, if you have other duties—or engagements, that is— I’m sure it would be perfectly all right. We’ll understand. Either way, the party is next Wednesday afternoon. I hope you can make it. Well, goodbye, dear. Adieu!” she called as she returned to her carriage. Daniel Wilson bowed and followed his sister, and Phoebe quietly climbed onto the cart. It was a silent journey home, in which Phoebe relived what happened in miserable pleasure. In a matter of sixty seconds, she had spoken with Clarissa on intimate , had been invited to her party, and had spoken to him, the only him she ever blushed around. And Phoebe dwelled upon those sixty seconds the entire way home. She now reasoned that Clarissa had merely not recognized her before and that she had been upset for nothing, and she happily looked forward to meeting her friends again in the future. Mrs. O’Malley had seen everything that ed between Clarissa and Phoebe from the driver’s seat but was not so easily convinced. She did not know what made Miss Wilson, who had so clearly snubbed Phoebe until today, suddenly resume familiarity with her, but it did not bode well in her mind.

INSIDE THE O’MALLEYS’ house lived a large collection of books, and Phoebe was encouraged to help herself to any of them she liked and keep her mind sharpened by regular reading. Such was how she was occupied one evening as the family sat sleepily around the fire. She had not yet brought up Clarissa’s party, for she had reason to wonder if the O’Malleys were ill-disposed towards fashionable society. But Phoebe wanted to ask permission soon, for the day of the party was drawing near. Mrs. O’Malley, at this point, had made up her mind that if Phoebe had nothing to do with Clarissa Wilson again, it would be all right with her. But she also considered what Phoebe’s reaction would be if she were to ask permission to go to Clarissa’s party and be denied outright. This thought made her reconsider her response, and since Phoebe had not yet asked permission, Mrs. O’Malley had plenty of time to consider how to best answer Phoebe if she did ask. Days had ed since that eventful Sunday, and Mrs. O’Malley began to hope that Phoebe didn’t want to go to the party, as the family sat around the fireplace in the dimming dusk. Everything was quiet. Mr. O’Malley sat in a chair with his pipe, staring into the fire, Fiona and Betsy worked on some mending, and the twins pretended to memorize their times tables as they made jokes to one another. Jack had already been put to bed, and Mrs. O’Malley sewed him a new nightshirt while Thomas sat on the floor by her knee, reading an old periodical. “Is everything all right, Phoebe?” asked Mrs. O’Malley, for Phoebe’s attention had wandered beyond her book. “Oh, yes, ma’am,” she replied. Mrs. O’Malley’s curiosity then got the better of her. “I overheard Miss Wilson on Sunday, inviting you to her coming-out party. I was wondering if you wanted to go.” “I had been thinking about it,” Phoebe stated slowly, “but I wasn’t sure if I should ask.” “Well, if you wish to go, I’m sure we could arrange something.” “Do you mean that?”

“Of course.” At this point, Mr. O’Malley was staring over his spectacles at his wife. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. O’Malley!” “Now, you would need me to accompany you. That would be the proper thing.” “Yes, of course.” “Betsy, would you keep an eye on things around the house while we were gone? There’s a dear.” Mr. O’Malley cleared his throat. “Now, Phoebe, do you have something suitable to wear? I don’t know if we can afford to buy you anything new. Can you make do with something you have?” “I think I’ll wear the white muslin.” “Yes, that should do just fine.” They continued planning for the following Wednesday as the rest of the family looked at each other, wondering what was happening, and Thomas and his father began mocking Phoebe and Mrs. O’Malley, regarding what they should wear for the next morning’s milking. The gaiety did not last long, for, once in private with his wife, Mr. O’Malley objected to the whole affair. “I’ll not be party,” he said, “to parading this girl about so she can make a spectacle of herself for the benefit of some snippy paper doll. Tell me, Margaret, is all the effort you’ve gone to, to be thrown to the wind? That poor girl was just beginning to get some bloom in her cheek. And after that little outing o’ yourn a few weeks ago, I thought to myself, maybe it was worth spending the day working without Thomas and Bob, just to help the girl feel a bit better. You told me, Maggie—you told me plain as day you would not be needing Bob again anytime soon, and I believed you. Don’t get me wrong, I would not mind sharing him with you every day o’ the week if it meant our girl kept getting healthier. But I will not permit this—I absolutely will not. That girl does not deserve

what’s coming to her with this little jaunt. I won’t allow it!” Up till now, Mrs. O’Malley sat listening to her husband’s speech without opening her mouth, and once he had finished, she said, “You’re right.” Mr. O’Malley stopped pacing and looked at his wife, speechless. He stammered to himself a moment before asking, “How do you mean?” She turned to him with a pained expression. “You’re right,” she said. “That child does not deserve this. She doesn’t deserve many of the things that have happened in her life. But this party means something to her. You may not be able to understand why, but I can. It may be to some detriment that she goes to this party, but if we keep her here, forbidding her any with those she’s known best, she may grow to hate her life here, however much we want her to be happy. I can only pray that she sees why a life like the one that ‘paper doll’ lives will not make her happy, but we cannot limit her. “She’s a smart girl,” Mrs. O’Malley continued. “She will see the truth soon enough, and I will help her where I can. Until then,” she said, putting her hand on her husband’s, “I’ll help her understand that this is not the sort of thing we can provide very often. Though, I suspect she already knows that. It showed by the way she was reluctant to ask for something she wanted so badly. “You needn’t worry, husband,” she added. “I’m sure she’ll ‘come round,’ as you say, after this party, and if she doesn’t, I suggest you buy another horse, and we’ll make economies, pipe tobacco for starters.” Mrs. O’Malley’s humor did not affect her husband. He was still concerned about Phoebe’s welfare and the effect this party might have on her recent improvement.

Chapter 4

A Lawn Party Another Sunday ed, and then came the fateful Wednesday, and Fiona, who had been disappointed at not being allowed to go to Clarissa’s party, was consoled by helping Phoebe get ready for it. Phoebe had an abundance of hair that continually gave her grief, but to Fiona, it was a mass of clay in the hands of an eager artist. Fiona loved to braid hair, her own, her mother’s, the little tuft on top of Jack’s fuzzy head, and today, she was determined to do her best work. She succeeded beautifully, and, once finished, she had braided Phoebe's hair into a crown about her head and adorned it with young roses from the garden. Phoebe was pleasantly surprised and thanked Fiona affectionately. As she prepared for the day, Phoebe felt more excitement than one could expect of a girl whose friend was having a coming-out party. Not because she looked forward to one of her own someday, as many girls do, but Phoebe generally felt for others what they feel for themselves, and it was in Clarissa’s weightless shoes that she waltzed about the room. Mrs. O’Malley, though she enjoyed seeing Phoebe so happy, cautioned her to save her energy for dancing at the party. “Think how it would seem,” she said, “if you arrived exhausted from dancing here and had to turn down all the nice young gentlemen who wanted to dance with you. That would be bad manners, dear.” “You’re right,” said Phoebe, quickly sitting down yet still unconsciously moving her feet. Mrs. O’Malley laughed and, placing her hand under Phoebe’s chin, said, “You look lovely, dear, and now it’s my turn to look lovely. I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Start getting your things together. Come with me, Fiona.”

Phoebe’s things consisted of a parasol, a shawl, a nosegay of violets prepared by Fiona, a fan, a handkerchief, and a small drawstring bag. Before going downstairs, she took one last survey of herself in the mirror. Though she was happy overall and prettily dressed, Phoebe still missed her parents and wished they were the ones taking her to Clarissa’s party. But the pain was eased a little by the effort the O’Malley family had gone to just for her to attend a party that probably meant nothing to them. She smiled as she looked at Fiona’s flowers and Mrs. O’Malley’s handkerchief and took a deep breath before leaving the room. With these thoughts on her heart, Phoebe walked downstairs to the dining room, where the rest of the family waited to see her and Mrs. O’Malley off. The sorrow of missing her parents, balanced with the excitement of the occasion, lent a becoming gravity to Phoebe’s expression, which was ired by all who were present. Mrs. O’Malley soon followed, looking just as becoming as Phoebe, with dress and adornments more suited to her age. Fiona surveyed Phoebe and her mother with pride, thinking she had done a great deal toward making them look as well as they did. “You look beautiful, my darling,” said Mr. O’Malley, kissing his wife’s hand. Mrs. O’Malley blushed and looked twenty years younger. “And now,” said Mr. O’Malley, offering his arm to Phoebe, “your chariot awaits you, miss.” She smilingly accepted his arm as Thomas ceremoniously threw open the doors leading out to the porch, where Phoebe saw something she did not expect. Of course, there awaited next to the garden the same cart the family always used, with Bob hitched to it, but it looked magically transformed. The boards had been painted white and covered with what seemed to be half the number of flowers in Fiona’s garden. Bob looked splendid. He had been brushed and groomed just for the occasion, and Phoebe recognized Fiona’s handiwork on his mane. Joy overcame Phoebe. She looked at each member of this wonderful family and could see every ounce of effort they had gone to just for her. Next thing she knew, she was crying and laughing all at once. Words weren’t necessary, for

laughter, tears, kisses, and hugs served the same means of communication. Goodbyes were said as Mrs. O’Malley and Phoebe climbed onto the driver’s bench and shouted after them as they rolled down the lane.

THE WEATHER DECIDED to be agreeable that day, and all who were to attend Miss Clarissa’s party were grateful. Tables had been placed under the trees, a pavilion for dancing stood on the west lawn, a maypole waited for the younger attendees, and every delicacy to be expected at such an event had been prepared. The Wilson family owned a large estate on the edge of Hillbrook, and they prided themselves on the extravagance of their mode of living. Their parties were unexcelled by anyone within a hundred miles, and they made sure that things stayed that way. The Wilsons were famous for their parties, and every notable person that lived in the vicinity either attended them eagerly or wished for an invitation. But the Wilsons, though they enjoyed sharing their extravagance with others, were selective about whom they shared it with. And if anyone ever offended them, such a person would no longer be counted a recipient of their generosity. It was generally known that the O’Malley family had little to no interest in such parties. Whether the Wilsons knew this or not, they had long ago decided not to invite the O’Malleys to their parties. Therefore, when Miss Phoebe James fell under the care of Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson equally disregarded her in their invitations. On the Sunday Clarissa’s parents saw her conversing with Miss James, they immediately made their disapproval known to her. But Clarissa explained that the invitation was for Phoebe alone, and since Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were more inclined to let their children have their way than to uphold their own principles, they gave in to their darling Clarissa’s whims. Mrs. Wilson naturally figured that Miss James would have to bring a chaperone and that it would most likely be Mrs. O’Malley, but of all the of that family she might have to tolerate, at least Mrs. O’Malley had been raised with some degree of gentility. Mrs. Wilson only hoped that whatever manners Phoebe might have lately adopted would not surface that evening and embarrass her poor Clarissa. Mrs. Wilson took infinite pleasure in preparing her daughter’s coming-out party, and in doing so, she took care to think how she would have liked her own coming-out party arranged many years ago. The only one who didn’t take

pleasure in the party was Mr. Wilson’s wallet, though it received much comion from him. Clarissa was not his favorite child, but, within his heart of hearts, Mr. Wilson would have done anything for his only daughter. “At least Daniel won’t be having a coming-out party,” he often told himself for comfort. Clarissa and a few of her guests, who had spent the night for the occasion, dressed and prepared early to receive the other guests. The office of ensuring that the arrangements were perfect and making sure the servants cooperated fell to her mother. Clarissa had only to grace the front door and be charming. Daniel kept his office as entertainer of the gentlemen. But he did so with little eagerness, for he secretly resented that this affair was so focused on his sister. There had always been a spirit of rivalry between the two that never showed itself in public, but between themselves, they couldn’t have cared less about each other. The party began as the first guests arrived, and the orchestra struck up a minuet. Punch and refreshments stood ready, and all went smoothly and civilly, as per Mrs. Wilson’s expectations. Mrs. O’Malley and Phoebe arrived with the last of the guests. As they drove up to the house, Phoebe began to worry about drawing attention, for, beautiful as the cart was, and still touched as she was by it, she couldn’t help but feel selfconscious about the peculiarity of arriving at a ball on a farm wagon. They pulled to a stop in front of the veranda, and Mrs. O’Malley stepped down as she handed the reins to a servant. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “See that he is comfortable and offered some water. He’s had quite a day already.” She handed him a silver dollar for the trouble. Phoebe couldn’t help smiling at the man’s bewildered expression as they walked up to the house, and Mrs. O’Malley took the opportunity to instruct Phoebe. “One of the most important things,” she said, “about driving a cart or a carriage is to make sure your horse is taken excellent care of, especially one as good as Bob.” Phoebe nodded receptively, and the front door of the Wilsons’ house was thrown open.

“Phoebe, dear! How are you? I’m so glad you could make it,” said Clarissa, taking Phoebe’s hands in hers and kissing the air near her cheek. Phoebe introduced her friend to Mrs. O’Malley. “Of course!” said Clarissa, “How do you do, Mrs. O’Malley. Come this way, and I’ll show you to my room so you can freshen up a bit.” “You run along, Phoebe,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “I’ll go and pay my respects to Mrs. Wilson.” Mrs. O’Malley had gone to school with Mrs. Wilson when they were young and required no introduction, so she set off in the direction Miss Wilson indicated as she whisked Phoebe away to her room. Once there, Clarissa escorted Phoebe to a dressing table and mirror. Several young ladies were there already, one of them trying to mend a fray in the ruffles of her gown and doing a terrible job of it. Phoebe tidied her hair and checked the state of her dress as the girl finished her work. “How does it look?” she asked another anxiously. “Oh, I wish I had brought Nanna with me!” Phoebe glanced in the girl’s direction, and taking a small pair of scissors from the table, she knelt by the girl’s skirt. “May I?” she said. The girl was shocked, but Phoebe began anyway. It was the work of a moment, in which Phoebe removed the recent thread and replaced it with a few, wellplaced stitches that did a better job of hiding the damage than the original ones. After seeing Phoebe settled at the dressing table, Clarissa had been on the point of leaving to receive her next guest when she noticed what was happening. “There,” said Phoebe, surveying her work. “Is that all right?” The young lady stepped towards the full-length mirror, nervous about what Phoebe had done to her dress. She looked for the tear but could not find it. The young lady was speechless, and she thanked Phoebe from the top of her heart before flouncing out of the room.

After giving her skirt a final smoothing out, Phoebe was about to follow the other young ladies out of the room when Clarissa arrested her. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “Do what?” returned Phoebe. “Fix Marianna’s dress for her, as—as if you were the help or something!” “Oh,” said Phoebe with a laugh, “I’ve learned how to mend! Isn’t it wonderful?” “‘Wonderful!’? Phoebe, that’s horrid! What’s become of you? They aren’t making you work, are they?” She ended in a serious tone. “The O’Malleys? No! No, they’re teaching me to work, and I’ve grown to love it, and I love them for it! I feel like I can do almost anything now! Clarissa, have you heard that verse? It goes something like: ‘Don’t do thy work for men, but work with all thine heart for the Lord,’ or something like that. Anyway, that’s practically what the O’Malleys live by, and now I live by it and many other verses from the Bible as well. They’re really splendid people, Clare.” Phoebe spoke happily as she arranged her shawl. Clarissa was dumbfounded. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said at last. “How tragic! It’s a regular monastery there—or worse! Imagine, making you work for—Oh, what should we do? Oh, I am going to persuade Mother to let you stay with us from now on. She wouldn’t refuse me if she knew how things were, but we’ll ease her into it. We’ll start by asking if you can stay a week, and then you’ll be so charming that she asks you to live with us all by herself! Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! Won’t it be such good fun? We could be sisters!” “Clarissa, you don’t understand! They’re wonderful people, and so kind to me. I —I couldn’t imagine leaving them now,” she added quietly. Clarissa was still unconvinced. “Look,” said Phoebe, “I’ll stay with you for a visit anytime you like, but—” “Good! Then you can stay for the week. It has been ages since I’ve seen you, dear, and I would like to catch up. Will you, please?” she asked with a look she often gave her parents when she wanted her way.

Phoebe laughed again at her friend’s silliness. “Yes,” she said, “but you needn’t beg, Clare. I would be happy to stay for the week—only if Mrs. O’Malley says it’s all right.” Clarissa was ecstatic. “Oh, wonderful! We’ll have so much fun! We must see if you can stay tonight so we can discuss the party. It would be so easy! You wouldn’t even need any clothes! You can wear any of mine you like—we’re about the same size anyway! Oh, but we mustn’t ask right away, you see. We’ll have to be delicate about the matter. Let us wait until the party is at its absolute gayest, and then Mother will see that we’re having so much fun that we simply can’t be parted...” Phoebe listened with a smile as Clarissa led her out of the room arm-in-arm. After all, what was a week when it made her friend so happy?

THE GUESTS WERE ALL received, pleasantries said, and the dancing commenced. Clarissa led the first dance with an elegant-looking gentleman, and the other couples followed. Phoebe paired with a cousin of Clarissa’s who had come to Hillbrook with his elder brothers. He was younger and shorter than Phoebe and much too shy to say anything. Phoebe felt sorry for him, but she figured he might be more at ease if she didn’t patronize him, therefore Phoebe’s first dance was a silent one. Dancing came naturally to Phoebe. Her parents had taught her when she was younger, and due to this being one of her most pleasant memories of childhood, the skill had not been parted with easily. She enjoyed herself thoroughly and unconsciously drew the attention of onlookers, thus becoming the talk of the party, leading to an increased supply of dancing partners. Later, between dances, she came to sit next to Mrs. O’Malley with a glowing face and irrepressible smile. It was not from the attention she was receiving, as would have been the case for most of the young ladies at the party, but from the sheer pleasure of enjoying herself. Mrs. O’Malley watched her with hardly any less pleasure. It did her good to see Phoebe so happy, especially after her recent conversation with Mrs. Wilson. The lady had been so kind as to suggest disapproval at Phoebe’s attending a party so soon after her parents’ death, to which Mrs. O’Malley replied, “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Wilson, but Phoebe has mourned the loss of her parents for three years now. Don’t you think it would be a shame to see one so young prevented from enjoying herself any longer?” Mrs. Wilson then gave a dignified curtsey before welcoming her next guest, and Mrs. O’Malley left her in order to enjoy the afternoon on Phoebe’s behalf. “Are you enjoying yourself, dear?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Very much,” said Phoebe. They were interrupted by Clarissa, who had just been persuading her mother to let Phoebe stay with them for the week.

“Phoebe, dear,” she said, “Mother says it’s all right, and now all we have to do is ask your guardian for her permission. Do say it’s all right, Mrs. O’Malley, will you please?” “Say what’s all right?” said Mrs. O’Malley, glancing at Phoebe. Phoebe found herself tongue-tied. Clarissa saved her a response by saying, “We would like Phoebe to stay with us, Mrs. O’Malley. It would only be a week. I would share my clothes with her, and she would be taken excellent care of—I would treat her as if she were my very own sister, Mrs. O’Malley. Please say yes!” “I don’t doubt your kindness or your generosity, Miss Wilson, but if you don’t mind, I’d like a moment to speak with Phoebe.” Clarissa was not used to this sort of response, and after looking confused, she slowly backed away and walked off. After figuring Phoebe was in trouble, she was glad Mrs. O’Malley had requested to speak with her alone. “Now,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “whose idea was it to stay here for the week?” “Clarissa’s.” “And do you like the idea?” “To be honest,” Phoebe answered, looking down, “I wouldn’t prefer it. I told her I would miss being away from you and everyone else.” Mrs. O’Malley was touched. “I’m glad to hear you say that, and I appreciate your honesty. It makes me quite comfortable enough to let you make your own decision.” “Oh, must I?” said Phoebe tragically. “Phoebe, something we must all learn as we grow older is how to decide, to the best of our ability, what is the wisest thing to do in a situation. And this, I think, is a good opportunity for you, but don’t let it burden you. I want you to enjoy the party.”

Phoebe thought a moment before saying, “I’d like to stay—for Clarissa’s sake. She seems so set on it, and it’s only a week. I would be back before we knew it.” “Well, if you think that’s best.” And, lowering her voice, Mrs. O’Malley added, “Though if you were to change your mind, I don’t think it would do Miss Wilson any harm not to have her own way for once.” Phoebe laughed, for she could see the truth in this, and kissed Mrs. O’Malley’s cheek in appreciation as another dance commenced. The rest of the evening ed, in Phoebe’s mind, as if it were out of a fairytale. She was running to tell Clarissa the news when she bumped into Daniel. She apologized, instantly blushing, and the effect was not in the least unbecoming. And, bowing to her with a smile, he offered his hand, saying, “Miss James, may I have the pleasure?” She smilingly accepted and was led to the dance floor. Daniel, till now, had merely been polite to Phoebe because she was his sister’s friend and yet another party guest. But he could not help being enchanted with his dancing partner. He smiled at her as they danced, and though she was aware of his expression, she could hardly meet his eye from shyness. When their dance ended, Daniel escorted Phoebe to Mrs. O’Malley and went to get some refreshments. He quickly returned and ed their conversation. They spoke of the weather and music for several minutes before another dance began. Phoebe expected him to bow and move away to find another partner when he requested another dance with her. She smiled, and they were off again, and Mrs. O’Malley was left to wonder if she had done the right thing by letting Phoebe decide to stay with the Wilsons. She now felt that she had no choice and prayed in her heart that everything would work out for the best. She was relieved of some of her worry when she saw young Mr. Wilson take leave of Phoebe at the end of their second dance. But Mrs. Wilson was not relieved. The fact that her son had danced two dances in a row with Miss James was enough to make her worry and regret permitting Clarissa to have her as a guest. Both mothers consoled themselves over their regrets in different ways, but the common ground lay in the fact that Phoebe’s stay would only last a week. After another dance, Mrs. O’Malley requested her horse and cart, explaining to

Phoebe that she would have to return home before the sun went down. Hopeful that Phoebe might change her mind, she made sure that staying with the Wilsons was still what she wanted. Phoebe confidently reassured her, so Mrs. O’Malley made sure she was settled and under the care of Mrs. Wilson. “Take care of yourself, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley as she took leave of Phoebe. Phoebe promised, and it was with great reluctance that each saw the other go. A few moments later, Mrs. O’Malley was on the point of leaving when she heard music playing inside the house. She handed the reins back to the stableman, asking him to wait, and walked towards the sound. Nearly as soon as Mrs. O’Malley had left the dancing lawn, Clarissa ran up to Phoebe to persuade her to play the piano for them. Phoebe hadn’t played in years, but this wasn’t the only reason for her reluctance. Every memory Phoebe possessed of playing the piano was associated with her mother. She had taught her how to play as a child, and Phoebe had been in the habit of practicing even after her parents had ed the war. But after almost a year, the practice no longer brought her any joy, nor did it seem a necessity, so the habit was dropped. Clarissa and her family had known of Phoebe’s talent long before the war began, and, unaware of this sad consequence of events, she requested her friend to perform. Phoebe immediately protested but was entreated most encouragingly, and to crown it all, Daniel Wilson ed those who most earnestly pleaded for her to play. Phoebe was then without excuse, and Daniel himself led her to the grand piano in the parlor. To Phoebe’s distress, many followed behind to listen, and with her fingers resting on the keys, she hesitated, not knowing what to play. But then, as if possessed by a younger version of herself, she suddenly began playing a lilting Scottish lullaby, one her mother had often sung to her when she was a baby. It suited her voice beautifully and carried her thoughts to a happier time. She ended the song, not knowing how her performance had been, but she quickly gathered from the ensuing applause that it was satisfactory. And, had she

seen it, there was something that would have meant more than all the praise in the world: a smiling tear trembling in the corner of Mrs. O’Malley’s eye as she left the party.

Chapter 5

Two Unhappy Mothers The rest of the O’Malley family was just beginning to look out for Mrs. O’Malley and Phoebe when Mrs. O’Malley drove up the lane alone on the beflowered cart just before supper. They all ran out of the house to receive them, but when they saw Mrs. O’Malley on the cart by herself, their welcomes fell to the ground. They were happy to see her, of course, but they were more unhappy not to see Phoebe. Mr. O’Malley was disappointed. Thomas felt betrayed. Betsy was confused. Fiona felt abandoned. Jack wanted his mother. The twins wanted to know when everyone would stop looking at one another so they could eat supper. Fiona broke the silence by voicing everyone’s thoughts. “Where’s Phoebe?” Mrs. O’Malley silently left the horse and cart to Thomas, took Jack from Betsy, and led a procession into the house. She would not answer anyone’s questions until Thomas came back from tending to Bob. Until then, she occupied everyone’s thoughts, including her own, with instructions about supper and washing. To George and Jimmy’s dismay, their mother did not sit at the dining table but took her chair by the fireplace, sitting down with a heavy heart. In a few moments, Thomas returned from Bob’s paddock and washed again for

supper. He saw his mother in the sitting room and walked over to where she sat, sat on the rug next to her chair, took her hand, and looked at her with concern. A boy of seventeen, his mother thought to herself, could have no better ability to stay a child in his heart forever than her Thomas. She looked at him with the proud love that reigned steadily in her heart for all her children and stroked his head fondly. Everyone had gathered in the sitting room, waiting to hear what Mrs. O’Malley had to say, and before she could think where to begin, she burst into tears. This was something of a phenomenon in the O’Malley household, for Mrs. O’Malley had perhaps the steadiest disposition of them all, besides Betsy. Therefore, with a sinking of hearts, everyone present then figured it was safe to assume that Phoebe had left them for good, one way or another. When Mrs. O’Malley finished crying, everyone was still quiet, and all the children, eager to comfort their mother, had gathered around her chair. “Don’t worry, my darlings,” she said to them. “Everything’s fine. Phoebe’s just staying for the week with the Wilsons, that’s all. Oh, Seamus,” she said, quietly addressing her husband, “what have I done? Suppose she never comes back? I’ve got the strangest feeling...” She was lost to tears again, and her husband comforted her as best as he could. “You need a bit of supper, Mag,” said Mr. O’Malley. “? With a full stomach, the world always seems a little brighter.” Mrs. O’Malley smiled, for this was her saying, and she pressed her husband's hand with a playfully scolding look at the use of her own words. She agreed, even though she did not want to eat, and, bringing her little flock with her, she rose to take her place at the table. Mr. O’Malley’s prayer was solemn that evening, and supper ed in silence. After supper, once the table was cleared and the dishes washed, everyone returned to the sitting room in silence. Mrs. O’Malley broke the silence by asking her husband to tell them a story. He smiled at her request and asked Fiona to choose a book. During the story, Mrs. O’Malley sat on the sofa surrounded by her children, feeling the utmost love for each one of them, and the utmost sorrow

for the one that was missing.

THE PARTY AT THE WILSONS’ house, now beginning to outlast the sun, moved indoors accordingly, leaving matters outside to be tidied up by the servants. The liveliness of the party kept Phoebe from missing the O’Malleys too much, and she eventually found herself seeing off the last guest alongside Clarissa. Those left in the house told each other polite good nights as Phoebe and Clarissa went to bed. Clarissa’s other guests had already been in bed for hours, as directed by their parents. “I’m so glad you could stay, Phoebe dear,” said Clarissa, uncharacteristically monotone from fatigue. “So am I,” said Phoebe with an honest smile, for the joy she believed she was giving her friend made her genuinely happy. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson bid the girls good night with civilly smiling faces. But, after they had gone, Mrs. Wilson turned to her husband, highly incensed about little Miss James and how she practically stole her Clarissa’s party. In absolute indifference, her husband pretended to listen as she talked herself into a fury. “But no matter, no matter,” she said at the culmination of her tirade. “It’s only a week she’s staying with us. I’ll open Clarissa’s eyes yet. If I can have my way, our daughter will never see that girl again before this week is over.” And Mrs. Wilson retired a little more at rest. Mr. Wilson didn’t care about his wife’s plans, but he did begin to feel some concern for Clarissa’s little friend. He had a difficult time seeing how she could be as cunning as his wife had sketched her. But his train of thought stopped here, and the next day arrived a moment later.

PHOEBE WOKE WHEN THE sun did, as she had grown accustomed to while staying with the O’Malleys, but this was certainly not a custom in the Wilson family. The entire house was silent, but Phoebe rose to dress anyway. Clarissa had tossed one of her old dresses upon a chair for Phoebe the night before, saying that it would fit perfectly. But now, as Phoebe stood before the mirror, it was clearly too big for her. It was long in the skirt and fell in all the wrong places. So, after thinking a moment, she removed the ribbon from her party dress and tied it around the waist. This improvisation helped considerably, and, satisfied with her work, she left the room and tiptoed down the grand stairway. It was a large house, but so devoid of life that loneliness gripped Phoebe, and she sat on the bottom step, wondering what to do with herself. Presently, she heard voices, far off in the distance, yet somewhere within the house. She rose from curiosity and followed the sound. Phoebe had never realized that a house could have so many hallways. Everywhere she turned, there seemed to be another one, then another, and yet another. But still Phoebe followed the voices. Finally, after making several circles in her path, she heard clanging, scraping, and banging. It came from behind a door facing the foot of a stairwell at the end of “yet another” hallway. She approached the door cautiously and peeked through. What met Phoebe’s eyes appeared to be the kitchen, and inside were servants preparing breakfast for the family. They had been laughing about something until one lady, who seemed to be in charge, came from behind a cellar door and brought their minds back to business. She called the attention of a younger girl, possibly no older than thirteen, and gave her a large basket, telling her to set the table. The girl was off through an adjacent door with the basket, and Phoebe assumed that it led to the breakfast room. She then realized how rude she was being and backed away as quickly and quietly as possible. She found her way back to the foyer, and from there, to the breakfast room, where she heard the girl humming

to herself as she worked. Phoebe walked into the room, and the girl stopped humming. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” she said, curtseying. “I’ll be finished in a moment, and I’ll be happy to fetch your breakfast.” “Oh, it’s no hurry,” said Phoebe quickly. “I just thought you might like some help.” The girl was at a loss for words. This young lady wanted to help her! It was so funny that she burst out laughing, suddenly without fear of waking the sleeping occupants of the house. A loud shush from a red-faced lady in the kitchen restored that fear, and the girl immediately set back to work without another sound. But Phoebe had been serious, and to prove it, she walked over to the basket and began arranging plates and napkins as the girl had done the other placements. The girl was too puzzled to object, and they went about the table in silence for a moment. The Wilson family came down to breakfast at their usual hour, and their guests soon followed, all except Phoebe. “I assume, Clarissa,” said Mrs. Wilson with an undetectable sneer, “that your little friend is still in bed this morning. Perhaps we should send something up?” Clarissa, who had assumed that Phoebe had risen early and was waiting for breakfast, was about to explain her confusion when the family heard singing and laughter. Just then, Phoebe, along with the cook and several other servants, burst through the door from the kitchen, carrying food on trays and singing a rollicking Irish tune that Phoebe had learned from the O’Malleys. Phoebe stopped in her tracks when she saw that the family and guests were up, seated at the breakfast table, staring at her in wonder.

She stood bearing a tray of steaming fried potatoes, which served as an excuse for her rosy cheeks. An honorary apron and a smear of flour on her forehead explained what she had been doing that morning. Clarissa was horrified. Daniel was amused. Mrs. Wilson was derisive. Mr. Wilson looked at his paper. The guests politely tried to pretend they weren’t there, and Phoebe, blushing painfully, set the tray on the table and removed her apron. She discreetly handed it to Dinah—the girl Phoebe helped earlier—and sat next to Clarissa. She was trying her best to compose herself when she realized that, behind his newspaper, Mr. Wilson was trying to attract her attention. He gestured to his face where there was flour on hers. Gasping, she grabbed a napkin and wiped it off as covertly as possible. She glanced back at him, and he nodded and winked. Breakfast ed without any further incident, excepting one moment when Phoebe looked at Mrs. Wilson and saw—Phoebe hoped she was imagining things—a touch of contempt in her smile. This discovery made Phoebe’s uneasiness return, and she looked forward to her return to the O’Malleys when the week was over. Clarissa’s guests departed after breakfast, and after the last overly affectionate farewell, Clarissa shut the front door with a sigh of relief. “Oh, I’m so glad they’re gone,” she said to Phoebe. “Now we can start planning for my other parties—I have many more coming up, you see—and I’m so glad you’re staying with me because I’m going to need your help. The Millers are hosting the next party in my honor, and I’m afraid I haven’t a thing to wear. Of course, Mother just bought me some new dresses for my parties, but I don’t know if I have enough! You must help me persuade Mother to take us shopping today. We’ll tell her that you need clothes, because, dear, as charming as you looked yesterday, I’m afraid your dress was a little old-fashioned and a bit short. After all, you’re no longer a child, though it seems that my dress doesn’t quite fit you as well as it should. It will be the perfect excuse! Oh, I’m so happy you’ve come! Let’s go tell Mother now!”

Before Phoebe could protest, Clarissa took her by the hand to her mother, and the opportunity to decline Clarissa’s offer slipped away. Contrary to Clarissa’s notion that her mother would be moved by her wanting to buy Phoebe a new wardrobe, Mrs. Wilson was secretly against the idea. But before she denied her daughter outright, she kept her head and smilingly replied, “Why, yes, Clarissa. That’s a wonderful idea. It’s so generous of you to think of your little friend. I’ll only be a trice.” Mrs. Wilson moved off to get ready, and Clarissa was left to exult over the brilliance of her plan to Phoebe.

UPON ARRIVING AT THE dressmaker’s, Mrs. Wilson sailed up to the counter with Clarissa and Phoebe trying to keep up with her, and proceeded to explain to the man what they were looking for. Clarissa, easily bored, began wandering about the store, looking for her next dress, as Phoebe found herself led to a small platform, measured, and offered fabrics. Mrs. Wilson did the choosing for her, taking care to select things that would not look becoming and saying that they would be “simply darling.” Phoebe didn’t have much sense of what colors and patterns would best suit her, so she was easily deceived in this, but the store clerk did know, and he became genuinely concerned for Mrs. Wilson’s taste in fashion. But, having been strictly instructed by his employer that the customer was always right, he went along with Mrs. Wilson’s wishes on the verge of tears. The business of outfitting Phoebe was finished at last, and Mrs. Wilson, being in a better mood at the end of this errand, also bought a few dresses for her daughter. Therefore, Clarissa was satisfied with the trip, and Phoebe was satisfied that it was over. They returned with their goods, and the girls repaired to Clarissa’s room to look at her new dresses. Phoebe, feeling that it would be polite to return Clarissa’s borrowed dress, immediately changed it for the least gaudy one Mrs. Wilson had selected for her. Mrs. Wilson had chosen that dress thinking that something so plain would not compliment Phoebe at all. However, it suited her remarkably well, and, feeling comfortable in it, Phoebe also felt more like herself, and the opposite effect of what Mrs. Wilson had hoped for was produced. Clarissa flew down the stairs to show the others how well she looked in one of her new ballgowns. Phoebe followed in her new dress, happily watching as Clarissa twirled in front of her father, asking how he liked it. Clarissa’s mother and brother were also in the room, and her mother surveyed her with selfish pride.

Mr. Wilson complimented his daughter’s appearance. “Very pretty, my dear,” he said. And before resuming his book, he looked over at Phoebe, saying, “But, what’s this?” Phoebe stepped timidly into view. Mr. Wilson smiled and said, “That’s more like it. My dear,” addressing his wife, “this is how a girl should dress. I compliment your taste. She looks quite becoming.” He was not entirely unconscious of the effect his statement would produce. Phoebe blushed modestly, and his wife went pale. He was amused at this, but he didn’t suspect one person that might be affected: his daughter. For when he finished speaking, Clarissa was nearly as pale as her mother, and she ran from the room, upset. Mr. Wilson then realized what he had done but decided within himself that he could not be sorry, for in his mind, Clarissa was far too spoiled to be constantly petted and humored when she didn’t get her way. Daniel was certainly not sorry for his sister. He had seen this coming to her one day or another, and he was inclined to agree with his father about how well Phoebe looked. Phoebe, thinking only of her friend, excused herself and followed Clarissa to comfort her. Mrs. Wilson, upon further thought, was glad that her husband had complimented Phoebe in front of Clarissa, for it would save her some trouble of making their daughter tired of her little friend. Phoebe had difficulty making Clarissa feel better, as Phoebe was, more or less, the source of her trouble. So she resorted to distractions to get Clarissa’s mind off things and suggested taking a walk. At first, Clarissa was puzzled at the thought of walking just for the sake of walking, but eventually, she was drawn to the idea by its sheer novelty. Clarissa floated back downstairs to announce that she and Phoebe were taking a walk. Her brother heard this and invited himself to be one of the party, offering an arm to both, and they set off. Phoebe found, to her relief, that she wasn’t blushing quite as much around Clarissa’s brother anymore, but she still felt as if she were treading air as she walked with her arm through his.

Clarissa was invited to a tea party that evening, and Phoebe attended as her guest. It was arranged in Clarissa’s mind that Phoebe would accompany her to all of her engagements for the week, for Clarissa would not think of leaving Phoebe at home while she was out enjoying herself. Therefore, she brought Phoebe along for every occasion, wearing her latest fashions, as requested by Mrs. Wilson. But Mrs. Wilson’s triumph in this department did not last long, for she discovered that Phoebe had the strange ability to look becoming in anything she wore, and Mrs. Wilson grew angry. Compliments greeted Phoebe everywhere the Wilsons went, and if Clarissa didn’t notice this, she would promptly receive a meaningful look from her mother, pointing out how much attention Phoebe was getting over her. Phoebe responded to these compliments with grace and humility. But to Mrs. Wilson and Clarissa, it looked as if she enjoyed the attention. This, however, was far from the truth. Phoebe did not particularly like attention drawn to herself, but she always appreciated the kindness of any compliment. Clarissa still nurtured the hope that Phoebe would live with them permanently. But, as she grew tired of Phoebe, this hope stemmed less out of a desire for Phoebe to be her sister and more out of a will to have her own way. And, however skilled she was at getting her way, Clarissa began to wonder if she could accomplish her plan with the enthusiasm she needed to persuade her parents.

Chapter 6

A Burglar Phoebe, though sincerely wishing she was imagining things, saw the change occurring in her friend and began, against her own polite will, to long for the coming Wednesday. But Phoebe’s situation was decidedly not meant to improve, for on Friday, Clarissa, now thoroughly interested in taking walks, set out with her brother and Phoebe into town. Phoebe strolled along with Clarissa and her brother, wearing a loud, fashionable dress that Clarissa had specifically chosen for her that morning. Daniel had just said something amusing, mostly for Phoebe’s benefit, and she went along giggling until she saw a familiar face. One thing Phoebe had forgotten was that on Fridays, either Mr. O’Malley or Thomas would come into town, bringing the dairy to market. Thomas was in charge of the task that week and was making his way back home when he spotted Phoebe in all her fashionable splendor. Her laughter stopped when she saw him, but thankfully her friends didn’t notice any change in her behavior. Laughter then overspread Thomas’s face and lingered in his eyes as he made her a mocking bow. It was not Thomas’s sarcastic humor that offended Phoebe. It was the underlying disappointment she detected in his smile. This hurt more than words could express, and she figured he would carry news home that she was thoroughly enjoying herself and didn’t miss them at all. If ever Phoebe felt cut off from the O’Malleys, it was in that moment, and once she returned from her walk, she went immediately to Clarissa’s room on the pretense of freshening up and cried in the privacy she had gained. Phoebe had been looking forward to the coming Sunday, when she would see the

O’Malleys in church. But worry about what they would think overcame her, and she began to dread their next meeting. She wanted more than anything to run back to them, but her obligation to Clarissa bid her to stay. That evening, Phoebe attended another party with Clarissa, after which, she found herself collapsing onto her bed, only to lie awake, unable to comprehend everything that was happening. Finally, without coming to any conclusion, she fell asleep. But even in her sleep, she found no rest, for, once she arrived at the place where imagination becomes reality, she was with her parents. They were sitting together—she knew not where, but they were together. She looked contentedly into their eyes and wanted to stay forever, but she also felt a sense of urgency, probably because she was about to wake up. She asked for guidance. She felt lost, naïve, even helpless. But she didn’t use words to pose her question—they weren’t necessary. Her parents didn’t respond, but Phoebe felt their love, given in such a way that it filled her up, and she was no longer worried about anything. But this did not last long, for she quickly woke to the same worries as before, feeling an even greater void in her heart. She became conscious of a tapping noise outside the window. Thinking it was only the wind blowing the shutters against the house, she turned over and attempted to sleep. Then a realization hit her: the Wilsons’ house didn’t have shutters. The tapping continued, and she faced the window. She nearly screamed at the sight that met her eyes. A red-haired boy, perched in the tree outside the window, smiled and waved to her. Aside from being shocked at his presence at such an hour, Phoebe was happy to see that familiar face. And without taking her eyes from the window, for fear it was an apparition taunting her in her delirium, she rose from her bed and tiptoed into the hallway without waking Clarissa.

She ran to the window outside the door and raised the sash as quietly as possible. “What are you doing?” she whispered sharply to Thomas’s shoes. He turned to look at her with the same permanent smile. “Rescuing you,” he said, turning around precariously. “From what?” He gave an incredulous wave of his hand towards the house. “That’s ridiculous!” said Phoebe. “You’ll worry everyone to death if you don’t get out of that tree and go home this instant!” His smile fell. “You mean to say that you’re enjoying staying with these people?” “‘These people’ are my friends!” His smile reappeared, accompanied by a low laugh that irrepressibly bubbled out. Phoebe considered closing the window in his face for that, but concern made her wait until she was sure he could get out of the tree safely, so she told him to hush for fear that he would wake someone in the house. “Please go home,” she begged. “Without you?” “Yes.” “All right,” he said, descending by another branch. And pausing, he said. “Will we see you Sunday, or do the Wilsons allow their prisoners to attend church?” He then received a handful of soil from the window box aimed at his head, hopped down from the tree to mount Bob, who stood waiting in the avenue, and rode calmly home as if it were daytime. Phoebe returned to Clarissa’s room to wipe her besoiled hand on a towel and

went back to bed.

THE NEXT MORNING FOUND turmoil in the Wilson household. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, Phoebe, and Daniel had begun to help themselves to breakfast after waiting for Clarissa, who, it appeared, was sleeping in from the exhaustion of her engagements. The gardener brought a discreetly communicated piece of news to Mr. Wilson, of which Mr. Wilson repeated just enough fragments aloud to send his wife into a flurry. “Burglars! Through the window? Are you sure?” “Yes, sir,” said the gardener. “The one next to Miss Clarissa’s room, sir, and there were footprints that led to the road, sir.” This coaxed a terrified scream from Mrs. Wilson, and she ran in the direction of her darling’s room to make sure she was still there. Another scream met hers at the top of the stairs, followed by Clarissa holding a dirty, besmudged towel in her trembling hand. “Mother!” she cried. “Someone’s been in my room! Look!” Mrs. Wilson gasped beyond the natural capacity of her lungs and would not take the offered evidence. “I found a trail of dirt from my room to the window, Mother, and it was open!” Clarissa continued in horrified tears. Phoebe’s eyes widened as she realized that she had forgotten to close the window after Thomas’s visit. Unfortunately, she sat across from Daniel, and as he caught sight of her expression, his own changed from one of mild curiosity to a slow and informed smile. Phoebe let her eyes fall guiltily on the napkin in her lap as Mrs. Wilson and her daughter went about ordering the servants to fetch the police. Phoebe now realized that, regardless of her embarrassment, she must tell the truth to the Wilsons. She was on the point of leaving the table to stop Mrs. Wilson from troubling the authorities when Daniel quickly said,

“Milk in your tea, Phoebe?” Daniel received a sharp glance from his father, who folded down a corner of his newspaper to warn his son against the improprieties of personally attending a young lady’s teacup and addressing her by her first name. Daniel did not take the hint, for he was trying to detract Phoebe’s attention from her purpose. “No, thank you,” she replied distractedly. “A roll then?” he offered even more quickly. Mr. Wilson pointedly cleared his throat, and Phoebe turned to consider Daniel more carefully. He did not hold the tray of rolls in his hand, nor did he act as if he would have given her one if she said yes, but he had a grim look in his eyes that held her attention long enough for him to imperceptibly shake his head. Phoebe, too shocked to blush—on the contrary, she went pale—plopped back into her chair without blinking. Daniel then gave her a satisfied smile before innocently resuming his portion of the newspaper. Mr. Wilson, looking between Phoebe and Daniel during this silent conversation, roughly divined that there was no real danger and saved Phoebe some trouble by telling his wife that notifying the police would not be necessary since no damage had been done aside from dirtying a towel and some carpet. Mrs. Wilson was outraged at her husband and ordered Clarissa to go back and for her things. Clarissa, however, did not want to reenter her room again, so Mrs. Wilson frantically did the task herself. Unfortunately, nothing had been stolen, and she lividly returned to her husband to berate his lack of concern. “How can you sit there as calmly as you do?” she demanded. “Suppose something had happened to our daughter! Would you be as calm as you are now? Answer me that!”

“Or worse,” interjected Daniel, “suppose something had happened to Miss James?” Clarissa, who had been listening intently for her father’s reply, broke into tears at what her brother said but did not want to leave the table to go to her room. Mr. Wilson then rose to tell his wife to stop worrying herself, his daughter to be quiet, and both to eat their breakfast. It was not often that Mr. Wilson exercised authority over his household, but when he did, it was never to be questioned. And his wife and daughter did as they were told in silent rebellion. Phoebe was now thoroughly uncomfortable. For some strange reason, Daniel didn’t want her to explain her secret. She began to wonder just how much he knew of it, and in her thought processes, she involuntarily glanced at him. He gave her a slight wink, and she blushed and looked down, trying to decide whether or not she liked his behavior. Breakfast was over before she could make up her mind, and she realized she had hardly eaten from distraction. She left the table with the rest of the family and was taken upstairs by Clarissa, who was now brave enough to enter her room again with the assistance of another person. Phoebe was to attend more of Clarissa’s engagements that day. The first of which was tea with a Mrs. Hill, a fashionable, elderly lady who was kind enough to bestow her opinions on the lesser fortunate of taste and judgment. Mrs. Wilson secretly hated her for this, but today, this hate was lessened by a comment from the lady that made Mrs. Wilson secretly exult in triumph. Mrs. Wilson, Clarissa, and Phoebe were leaving the lady’s house and bidding adieus, when Mrs. Hill, taking Mrs. Wilson aside, complimented Clarissa’s appearance, suspecting that she would make a good match before the summer was over. Mrs. Wilson thanked her civilly as Mrs. Hill added, “But I’m afraid you won’t find anyone suitable for that other girl,” she whispered. “A bit uncomely, if you ask me.” Mrs. Wilson, flattered by the compliment to her daughter, carelessly replied, “Oh, I am not concerned about her. Finding her a beau is the farthest thing from my mind, Mrs. Hill.”

“It’s just as well, my dear, that you save your efforts. You’ll do fine by your eldest daughter.” Mrs. Wilson was on the point of correcting Mrs. Hill’s mistake, but she stopped herself, for the lady was rather along in years, and politely took her leave. But this conversation made a lasting impression on Mrs. Wilson’s mind for the remainder of the day. Phoebe’s mind, however, was at least half occupied wondering why Daniel Wilson wouldn’t let her speak at breakfast. No opportunity came for him to explain himself that afternoon, and Phoebe dealt with a heavy conscience throughout the night.

SUNDAY CAME, AND THE Wilsons were late to church, for one of Saturday’s engagements had been a ball that proceeded well into the morning hours. However, no stares accompanied their delayed entrance. Apparently, the Wilsons were deemed exempt from such scrutiny. Aside from detecting the injustice of this, Phoebe was glad to be beyond the notice of others that morning, for she was aware of how ill she looked. The social engagements, the late hours, the lack of love among the of the Wilson family, the guilt of bearing a secret that seemed so trivial as far as anyone was concerned, and the hypocrisy that Phoebe felt towards herself for staying with the Wilsons, had drained her, leaving circles under her eyes and a weight on her shoulders. Regardless of appearances, Phoebe longed to see the O’Malleys and sought eye with any one of them who would notice her, secretly hoping it would be Mrs. O’Malley. During the sermon, Phoebe glanced towards the adjacent pew several times before Thomas saw her. He wore the expression that always came naturally to him, lighthearted and smiling. But when he saw Phoebe, a cloud ed over his face, leaving something between dismay and horror. When Phoebe saw this change, it reminded her of an expression Mrs. O’Malley sometimes wore. The familiarity brought her to quiet tears. Thomas looked away quickly. And Phoebe, thinking he was offended by the way she had treated him at their last meeting, gave up trying to make with the O’Malleys. Mrs. O’Malley felt a gentle nudge against her arm, and after looking at her son in questioning reproval, she turned her eyes in the direction he nodded and beheld a sight even sadder than what he had seen. Phoebe sat hemmed in by the Wilsons with a downcast face and wet cheeks, trying to suppress her sobs. No member of the family offered her any form of comfort, not even a handkerchief. Mrs. O’Malley was about to rectify the situation mid-sermon but was hindered by a touch and a glance from her husband. She dropped back onto the pew, facing him with nearly every expression imaginable before reluctantly pretending to pay attention to the

minister, who, poor man, believed the fury that lingered in Mrs. O’Malley’s eyes was for himself. Mrs. O’Malley sought Phoebe when service was over and, with a turn of her stomach, saw that the Wilsons were no longer in church. She then went as quickly as possible in a crowded aisle towards the doors to see that, by an awful turn of events, the Wilsons’ carriage was gone. Her family caught up with her and saw the source of her distress. They all then looked at Mr. O’Malley for his reaction and had reason to hope for an instant that he might give in. But this hope dwindled when he gave an unfortunate sigh, descended the steps at a leisurely pace, took his seat on the driver’s bench of the cart, and drove home. Mr. O’Malley, though moved by what his wife told him about Phoebe, was conscientious about the way he and his family spent their Sundays and did not see enough cause to retrieve Phoebe from the Wilsons, nor to worry about her as much as his wife did. But Mrs. O’Malley was determined to change her husband’s mind. She couldn’t escape the memory of Phoebe’s face, and she felt right about her sense of urgency. She attempted to persuade him the entire way home, especially before they rounded the corner that led away from the Wilsons’ house. She was beginning to think she had made some headway when he turned to her, saying, “No more, Margaret, please. It’s Sunday, and on Sunday we rest. Besides, Bob’s had a hard week. He needs his rest too—you say that yourself all the time. Our girl will be fine until Wednesday. At least wait till tomorrow, Mag. Then you can pay a visit and see for yourself whether she is as bad off as she seems. If she is, I give you all the permission in the world to bring her home.” Mrs. O’Malley, though she knew for a fact that Phoebe was as bad off as she seemed, found it somewhere deep within herself to be an obedient wife—though she couldn’t help but have her thoughts wander to a secret plot in her mind to bring Phoebe home as her husband took his Sunday nap. Incidentally, if she had asked for any accomplices in her plan, her children would have been more than willing to oblige her.

Chapter 7

Through the Window Like the O’Malleys, the Wilsons were also restful people on Sundays. They made a point to accept no more than two social invitations, and beyond that, they merely received visitors in the parlor. Surprisingly, considering the season Clarissa was in, no engagements were planned for the day, and Mrs. Wilson and her daughter had nothing to do but grace the parlor for the benefit of their callers. This would be one thing Mrs. and Miss Wilson would not ask Phoebe to do with them, due to the realization that her manners had been somewhat tarnished by what time she had spent with that family in the country. Phoebe didn’t mind that they did not require her presence, for it provided her an opportunity to get some much-needed rest. A nap was in order, and after that, a novel in the solarium. But she had not been there long before receiving a visitor of her own. Daniel had become bored with his uneventful Sunday and was in search of amusement. He sat near Phoebe, dull and quiet from his boredom and relaxed in manner, for just then, he did not care to be pleasing. He did not look at her, nor did he make the slightest acknowledgment that she was in the room. But she found herself smiling involuntarily and trying to keep her book steady as she read. She was glad that he didn’t take much notice of her, due to her sad state of nerves, but this was not meant to last long. He had entered the room looking for a means to escape his sister’s guests and enjoy his boredom in peace and quiet. He also knew that little Phoebe James would be one person who didn’t expect any amount of social etiquette from him. But, after a few minutes, his attention began to wander from his boredom to the girl sitting nearby. It was true that she expected nothing from him—except perhaps an explanation

about his behavior the previous morning—but he began to wonder if she might be someone worthy of his attention. She felt his eyes behind the back of her book and was frightened almost completely out of her nervousness. He had assumed an upright posture and was considering her thoughtfully. After a few minutes, this began to frighten her less and irritate her just enough to make her look at him questioningly. Struck by how charming and innocent her expression was, he smiled and started conversing with her. Poor Phoebe would never be able to exactly what they talked about, but she was so miserably happy that she wished time would stand still for a moment. He eventually itted the reason he kept her from speaking the previous day and apologized for his terrible manners. “I just wanted to have a moment of fun while I could,” he explained. “It isn’t often an opportunity for that kind of amusement comes up for me. I confess I rather enjoyed seeing my sister in such a—” He broke off abruptly when he saw Phoebe’s face and cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” he said. “I suppose it was foolish of me. In my own defense, my sister has played me many a joke herself in the past. But—you must pardon my curiosity—were you trying to run away or was there some secret lover wooing you in the garden?” “Oh, no!” Phoebe said as she blushed. “It was nothing like that! It was only T —” “Only what?” “I was gardening,” she lied. “In the window box.” “Gardening? In the middle of the night?” “Well, you see, I was restless, and gardening helps me relax. Besides, it’s better for flowers to be tended before the sun comes up.”

“Is it?” he said interestedly. “Well, I must to tell Dobbs sometime.” Phoebe avoided a response by making a small noise and bending down to gather some flowers. At this point, their conversation had been carried into the garden. Daniel Wilson did not know what to think of the girl before him. He was intrigued by her modesty and charm, but above all, he wondered what had made her tell this falsehood. Having told quite a few untruths himself, he could scent dishonesty from a mile away. But it was not this ability that made him recognize it in Phoebe’s case. Aside from some discrepancies in the details of her story, she was visibly uncomfortable at having related it to him. And his interest was piqued by the fact that an unassuming girl like Phoebe could have secrets. Phoebe was much too distracted by her companion and her recent fabrication to the rest of their conversation. But one thing she did was that he openly regretted that she planned to leave in a few days and asked if he could write to her after she left. She bashfully nodded, he thanked her, and they finished their walk without another word. Mrs. Wilson trembled at the sight of her son returning into the house with Phoebe. This had obviously been the work of Miss James, who would naturally be seeking a good match after her late misfortune. But Mrs. Wilson calmed her own fears, for, since Mrs. Hill’s implication had taken root in her mind, a new plan had begun to sprout there beautifully.

MRS. O’MALLEY DID NOT sleep, even though she found herself waking to a red sunrise the next morning. She was still worried about Phoebe, but for the sake of diplomacy, and a chance to persuade her husband to let her have Bob on his second busiest day of the week, she did not immediately present her request at the breakfast table but allowed her husband to go through the usual motions of greeting, coffee, and paper. It was a quiet morning, but the silence was loaded, mostly towards where Mr. O’Malley sat behind his newspaper. At last, he took a deep breath, folded his paper, and set it on the table next to his empty plate. “Thomas,” he said before his wife could break the silence, “if you’ve finished, be a good lad and fetch Bob and hitch him to the wagon for me.” “Yes, Da,” said Thomas, and he left the table immediately. Mrs. O’Malley grew hopeful, for it was not customary for her husband to order Bob and the cart first thing in the morning, yet she feared he might need them for the farm. “Whatever for, dear?” she asked cautiously. He took another sip of coffee before saying, “Well, I hope you don’t mind, Mag, but I thought I’d pay a visit to our little girl today, and if it seems agreeable to her, I’d bring her home.” However well-prepared Mrs. O’Malley could have been by the hope she had, it was not enough to prevent her from bursting into joyous tears and embracing her husband in gratitude. Her children followed suit, including Betsy. And Thomas, who had lingered long enough to hear the answer to his mother’s question, reacted with a smile and a sprint in the direction of Bob’s paddock.

THAT MORNING FOUND the Wilsons at breakfast earlier than usual, for they all felt more rested from their uneventful Sunday and were consequently in better moods. Phoebe, from the idea that she continued to give Clarissa pleasure by staying at her house, and the smiles she now received from Daniel, had found two things to be happy about and was beginning to think she could live out the rest of her visit with considerable optimism. Clarissa, though growing jealous of Phoebe, still clung to the idea of persuading her parents to let Phoebe live with them permanently. Little did she know that this would take no persuading on her mother’s part, for Mrs. Wilson had already begun to see that adopting Phoebe would better enable her to keep her own daughter in the spotlight of society, and would keep her son safe from the schemes of a poor girl from the country—that is, if she were legally his sister. Clarissa, who had determined to present her idea at breakfast, was quickly saved the trouble of persuasion by her mother. After complacently taking her seat at the table, Mrs. Wilson artificially smiled at her children and then Phoebe as she placed a napkin in her lap. Clarissa had only begun to wonder what good fortune had put her mother in such an agreeable mood when Mrs. Wilson began, “Miss Ja—I mean Phoebe. I have something to share with you that should make you very happy, and I’m sure everyone else will agree with me.” Phoebe was caught unawares by the fact that good news could come from the direction of Mrs. Wilson’s chair, but she listened intently and looked at the other of the Wilson family for their reactions to see that they were just as surprised as she was. “We would like,” said Mrs. Wilson, struggling with the words, “to adopt you, Phoebe, and you would be our daughter, and Clarissa and Danny’s sister. Now, how does that sound?” Mrs. Wilson did her best to make the offer sound appealing but failed terribly in the effort. Nonetheless, amidst Phoebe’s confusion, she did not fail to be touched, among many other things, by what Mrs. Wilson said.

Mr. Wilson stared in alarm at the woman sitting at the other end of the table, wondering if it was his wife speaking. Daniel’s eyes went from his mother to Phoebe, then back to his mother in dismay, but Clarissa, after nearly choking on her tea, was propelled out of her seat by sheer excitement. “Oh, Mother!” she cried. “That’s just what I’ve been thinking of all week, but I couldn’t dream of how to ask you! Oh, you’re an angel! Phoebe, won’t it be wonderful...” Clarissa talked on, happier at the prospect of having her resolution made a reality than of having Phoebe as a sister. Mr. Wilson looked at his wife from under his eyebrows, only to receive a smug smile in return. Daniel, still utterly confused, looked at Phoebe, awaiting her reaction. Phoebe didn’t know what to think. It was almost too much to think of. Mrs. Wilson was proposing to make her her daughter, and a sister to Clarissa and Daniel...permanently. Her head was spinning, and before she had time to make a proper response, Mrs. Wilson and her daughter were already planning a visit to the lawyer. “We could manage it between Elizabeth Munsen’s tea party and the Gardners’ ball this evening,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Of course, we would have to dress in something more formal—” “Oh, yes, of course, Mother. Just think of it, Phoebe!” said Clarissa rapturously. “Your name will be Phoebe Wilson! Doesn’t that have a lovely ring to it? We shall be called the Misses Wilson—” Of all the assumptions made about Phoebe, this was the straw that broke her back. She did not want to be a Wilson, and it was with no small amount of perturbance that she cried, “Enough!” standing up and nearly upsetting her chair. The wonder of all invaded the following silence as Phoebe took a moment to compose herself. She continued calmly, “I’m not sure if it would occur to you—to any of you—to ask if I wanted to be adopted, but I would think it customary in such cases to ask the opinion of someone in my position before consulting a lawyer. And, since it hasn’t come up to ask my opinion on any matter that concerned me since I’ve been here, I’d like to give it now:

“I am not willing to be a member of this family, Mrs. Wilson, because I already have a family.” She added to herself, “I hope.” “Clarissa,” Phoebe addressed her friend, “it has made me so happy to stay with you this week, to see you happy, and I’ll keep attending your parties with you as long as I am here, if you like. But I did this for you. I don’t want any part of this life. It suits you, and I’m happy for you. I only hope that I can one day find the kind of life that suits me just as well. “Mrs. Wilson,” said Phoebe with an apologetic glance at Daniel for what was coming, “there is something I have to explain to you. I’m afraid you won’t like it, but it will make me feel better. “I’m the burglar that opened the window and got Clarissa’s towel dirty. Someone had come to see me, and I opened the window to speak to hi—them.” After recovering from her shock, Mrs. Wilson demanded to know who it was. “Thomas O’Malley,” said Phoebe. And with unveiled derision, Mrs. Wilson said, “Do you mean to tell me that one of those heathen, half-breed Irish children has been scampering about my lawn in the middle of the night?” “They are not heathens!” said Phoebe, reddening with anger, “and he didn’t ‘scamper about’! He was very mindful of your property, Mrs. Wilson! I was the one who left the window open. It was a mistake—I forgot to close it. Clarissa’s towel was dirty because I—” “That’s enough from you,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Obviously, you have learned some very bad manners from this family. It would be a favor if we took you in and taught you a lesson or two. The fact that you would rather live under the roof of a poor farmer than become a member of a distinguished household already shows a great lack of judgment. There’s no telling what hold these people have taken of you in the past month alone!” Offended as Phoebe was by Mrs. Wilson’s statement, a smile made its way to her face as she replied, “No, there isn’t.” Excusing herself, Phoebe left the breakfast room, only to overhear Mrs. Wilson

call her an ungrateful wretch and hear an onishing tone in Mr. Wilson’s voice.

THE O’MALLEYS STARTED their journey later than they would have liked, but everyone wanted to come along, and they nearly arrived at the Wilsons’ house in good time. Clippity clop (creak) clippity clop (squeal) clippity clop (creak) clippity clop (squeal) went the cart as Bob pulled to a stop before the Wilsons’ front door. Irritated by the noise, Mrs. Wilson came to the window to see what it was. She recognized Mrs. O’Malley and quickly threw the curtain back into place. Mrs. O’Malley rang the doorbell, and Mrs. Wilson opened the door just enough for speaking purposes. “Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “You’ll have to forgive my intrusion, but I would like to see Phoebe.” “She’s resting,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Is she all right?” “She is perfectly fine, madam. Good day,” she said, closing the door. Upstairs in Clarissa’s room, Phoebe had been sorting her thoughts when she heard the familiar noise of the creaky wagon wheel. It was welcome music to her ears, and she ran to open the door, but, to her distress, it had been locked from the outside. She tried to open the door again, but it would not budge. She cried out for help, but her voice did not carry beyond the room. She knocked as loudly as she could, but the door was solid. It was then that she realized her sad predicament and sank into tears at the foot of the door. Thomas had been watching his mother civilly attempt to make her way into the Wilsons’ house with no avail, and after her third attempt, he was no longer one of the party waiting to see Phoebe. Phoebe had never expected any of the Wilsons to be so cruel. She didn’t know who had locked the door, but she hoped there might be at least one member of

the family who would have been outraged at this. She hoped he would walk by the door, hear her frequent bangs and desperate cries, and release her in time for her to give him his proper thanks and hurry down to the O’Malleys before they left. She was crying almost too loudly to hear a tap at the window until it got louder, and she realized it was too rhythmic to have been an insect or a tree branch. She rose instantly to look out the window, and found, to her utmost delight, Thomas smiling back at her. She opened the window and almost made him fall out of the tree in a gripping hug. “Oh, Thomas!” she said. “It’s just as you said! Someone’s locked the door, and I can’t get out!” After an unnatural look of wrath flashed upon Thomas’s face, he hopped over the windowsill to help her onto the tree branch he had just vacated. Climbing trees had not yet been a skill that Phoebe learned from the O’Malleys, but Thomas helped her as best as he could. She carefully made her way down as Clarissa unlocked the door and entered her room. A scream escaped her at the sight of a red-haired boy escaping through the window and brought her mother running to see what happened. Mr. Wilson took the job of host in his wife’s absence and offered a more gracious welcome to the O’Malley family. By that time, Thomas and Phoebe had escaped Clarissa’s outbursts of terror and found Bob standing hitched to an empty cart. “Ah,” said Thomas pleasantly, “they must have gone inside! Shall we make our entrance?” Pleased as Phoebe would have been at the joke, and eager as she was to see the rest of the family, a slight fear now gripped her of ever entering the Wilson house again. Thomas had been on the point of triumphantly leading her into the house, when resistance from her hand made him look at her in wonder. Her expression spoke for itself, and, once again, his good-natured countenance was replaced with a different look, and he waited patiently with her for the others to come out.

Mrs. Wilson made her flustered appearance first and was sideswiped within a second by Mrs. O’Malley. “Oh, my girl!” she said, running to embrace her. “Oh, my darling!” “Mamma,” was all Phoebe could utter as she stood smothered by Mrs. O’Malley’s shawl. The rest of the O’Malleys followed behind, and the Wilson family stood watching upon the steps. Daniel and his father came forward as Mrs. O’Malley stood with her arm protectively around Phoebe’s shoulders. They each shook Mr. O’Malley’s hand, and after paying due respect to Mrs. O’Malley, Mr. Wilson addressed Phoebe, saying, “I’m very sorry for your stay, Phoebe. You will always be welcome here on my part, but for your sake, I wouldn’t wish you here again anytime soon. You’re a sweet girl. You deserve so much better than what we can offer you.” Phoebe shook his hand and thanked him for his kindness. “I think we’d best be off,” said Mrs. O’Malley. Daniel then came to shake hands with Phoebe and took the opportunity to say, “You won’t forget what we spoke of yesterday?” Phoebe, suddenly brave, though blushing, smiled her response and pressed his hand, leaving him with a smile of his own. She sought a view of Clarissa before climbing onto the cart and found her standing next to her mother, looking ill-humored. Phoebe wanted to say goodbye but was at such an inconvenient distance that she could not say anything without going to her. She looked at Mrs. O’Malley reassuringly before mounting a few steps to speak to Clarissa. She graciously told Clarissa goodbye but was only returned a petulant frown from a discontented child. Disregarding this, Phoebe turned to Mrs. Wilson and said goodbye. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Wilson,” she added before leaving. “I’m not the ungrateful wretch you think I am. I just love my family too much to ever leave them again. Goodbye.”

And, returning to Mrs. O’Malley, she climbed onto the cart and left the Wilsons’ house for good, but not before Mrs. Wilson received a look from Mrs. O’Malley that spoke a thousand words. Mrs. O’Malley and Thomas traded seats, and it was a welcome fact to all that Phoebe was coming home as she rested her head on Mrs. O’Malley’s shoulder. Mr. O’Malley, at one point in the journey, handed the reins to his son to keep him from turning around to smile at the picture made by his mother and Phoebe, thus making the bench wobble. But this didn’t help, and Mr. O’Malley quickly had to resume the job for the safety of his family.

Chapter 8

A Rose by Another Name Phoebe couldn’t have been happier to return to the O’Malleys, and the O’Malleys couldn’t have been happier to have her home. A nap was the first order of business for Phoebe as the children played outside and Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley discussed their discovery of matters at the Wilson household during Phoebe’s stay. Mrs. O’Malley needed much comfort during this conversation, for in her mind, the blame of the matter fell directly upon her own shoulders. She atoned for this blame by keeping an eye on Phoebe as she recovered from her visit. A week of rest ensued, followed by a week spent in the fresh air and sunshine, and it was not until Phoebe practically begged that Mrs. O’Malley finally allowed her to take her share of daily chores. It was evident that Phoebe was happy during the weeks that followed her return, but Mrs. O’Malley knew something heavy weighed on her girl’s mind. At first, Mrs. O’Malley attributed Phoebe’s somberness to fatigue. But another week ed after she had recovered physically, and there were still times when she appeared troubled. It looked as if she had something important to say but was afraid to say it. One afternoon, Mrs. O’Malley once again observed this new expression on Phoebe’s face as they sat on the porch with Jack and some mending. “What’s on your mind, dear?” she asked. Phoebe looked up as if wakened from a dream, smiled, and said, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.” “What about?”

Phoebe was about to speak, but then, feeling uncomfortable, she bit her lip and looked more closely at her work. “When I’m having trouble saying things,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I always find it helps to say them as quickly as possible.” After a nervous laugh at this advice, Phoebe realized Mrs. O’Malley was serious, so she took a deep breath and blurted, “I want to be an O’Malley!” Mrs. O’Malley was silent for a moment, then came a smile, followed by a soft chuckle. Phoebe witnessed none of this, for she had returned her eyes to her mending from embarrassment. Presently, Phoebe heard a sniffle. She looked up and saw that Mrs. O’Malley had dropped her sewing and held a handkerchief to her face. For an uncomfortable ten seconds, Phoebe wondered if she had said something wrong. She wished Mrs. O’Malley would say something, anything, but she went on crying. Mrs. O’Malley soon inhaled her sobs and looked into the distance beyond the fields and trees. On a comionate impulse, Phoebe set aside her mending and crossed the porch to sit under Mrs. O’Malley’s arm. Mrs. O’Malley stopped crying with shaky breaths, dried her eyes, and looked at Phoebe with a reassuring smile. When she finally spoke, it was not about adoption at all. “I lost a child once,” she said, “many years ago. It seems only yesterday. She would have been about your age. Her name was Rose.” Mrs. O’Malley grew quiet to keep tears at bay. “That’s my middle name,” whispered Phoebe. Mrs. O’Malley looked at Phoebe in awe and smiled. Phoebe smiled back and laid her head on Mrs. O’Malley’s shoulder, and Mrs. O’Malley laid her cheek on Phoebe’s head. “It was unbearable,” Mrs. O’Malley continued, “but Seamus helped me more than I’ll ever be able to express. He nursed me back to health. He read Scripture to me, which then only seemed like bitter medicine...” her mind drifted again. “...and poor Thomas! He was only three years old, and I barely had the heart to look at him,” she fell to tears again.

It was hard for Phoebe to imagine Mrs. O’Malley unable to look at her own son, being the loving mother that she was, and as close as Thomas was to her. As she pondered this, Phoebe waited for Mrs. O’Malley to speak again. “He was so young, but he knew Mamma needed help. He gave me all the love that I should have given him. I’ve always said he was thirty years old when he was born,” she chuckled to herself at this, “but he’s always been my baby—you won’t let him know I told you this, will you?” Phoebe smilingly shook her head, and Mrs. O’Malley resumed a pensive tone. “I knew I would see my Rose again in the life to come. But there was still something that made me feel like I would be recompensed for my grief in this life, but I didn’t dare hope too much. I sought distraction. I went on with daily life and became the mother that Thomas needed, and my sorrow was dampened, but somewhere in my heart, that grief was still there. “Then,” she said, “one day I welcomed baby Fiona. You can imagine what a bundle of joy she was! Oh, how she kept me busy! Then poor Betsy arrived practically on our doorstep in need of a home, bless her. Then came the twins and Jack. “But I still felt that void, however much I didn’t want to. I knew I was still meant to have another child, but, little did I know that child was already living, waiting for a home and family of her own,” she looked at Phoebe and continued, “a sweet, beautiful young lady that would willingly take her place in this family. Thanks to you, Phoebe, and our Heavenly Father, I feel more blessed than you will ever know.” It was Phoebe’s turn to cry, and several moments ed before either of them spoke again. “Before I brought you here,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I decided not to impose anything on you, not to treat you as my own unless it was what you wanted. In a few years, you would be old enough to be on your own if you wished.” “Oh, no,” Phoebe said quickly. “I want to be an O’Malley. I want to call you ‘Mother’ and Mr. O’Malley ‘Father,’ and I want to live here forever and ever,” she said, resuming her tears.

Mrs. O’Malley held Phoebe tight as she cried in her arms. “Shhh. It’s all right, my darling. Of course you can be an O’Malley,” she said with a kiss on Phoebe’s head. “As far as any one of us is concerned, you already are, but we’ll tell everyone at supper tonight and see what we can do.” “Yes, ma’am. Oh, I can hardly wait!” “Now, I think you’d best go find the others and get some exercise. Run along now.” Phoebe kissed Mrs. O’Malley on the cheek and flew off the porch with a heart as light as a feather, and Mrs. O’Malley pondered life’s complexity with a slow shake of her head. As Phoebe played with the other children, she seemed so happy and exuberant that they couldn’t help but wonder at her. “What’s the matter?” was the question of the day, to which Phoebe would smile and say, “Nothing,” quite honestly and as innocently as possible. Thomas, however, would not take, “Nothing,” for an answer. Therefore, he teased her, asking different questions at the most random of times, as to catch her off guard and find out an answer. He kept this up for quite some time until poor Phoebe was forced to seek Mrs. O’Malley’s help. He then relinquished his goal and resorted to quietly studying Phoebe in order to discern her secret, but this unsettled her worse than anything, and she quickly sought Fiona’s company. Phoebe was determined, no matter how much anyone asked her, no matter how much she wanted to tell them, not to say anything until supper, when the entire family would be together. It was a long day. At supper, there was still an air of suspense, and all the children except Phoebe were at a loss to know why. Before supper had begun, Mrs. O’Malley took her husband aside to inform him of her conversation with Phoebe that afternoon, and he could hardly contain his delight enough to keep from raising further suspicion in the children. Supper progressed with some forced conversation by Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley on alternate subjects. But Thomas knew that something was purposely not being

discussed and that Phoebe was having trouble not smiling at her plate. “Isn’t anyone going to tell us what’s going on?” he broke out. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley consulted each other silently. “Why don’t we wait until after supper?” said Mrs. O’Malley, and all the children sighed, for they knew this question answered itself. After supper, Mrs. O’Malley and Phoebe helped Betsy with the dishes so she could be present in the sitting room. Once finished, the family sat around the fire with various tasks and entertainment, but no one paid any attention to what they were doing. At last, Thomas, who had not even taken the trouble to get a book, nodded to Fiona, indicating it was her turn to ask. She did not need telling twice. “Mam, please tell us now! I might burst!” Mrs. O’Malley smiled, trying to think how to begin. “Da?” said Fiona, ready for someone to break the silence. “Wait for your Mam,” he said. “Is it a surprise?” guessed Jimmy. “Di-di!” said Jack, reaching out for Phoebe to hold him. “Well, it was going to be a surprise, but unfortunately, Jack gave it away,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Jack?” said Fiona. Phoebe laughed quietly. “Phoebe, you tell us!” said Thomas, getting frustrated. Phoebe, unsure how to begin herself, looked at Mrs. O’Malley. Mrs. O’Malley smiled and said, “Thomas, is that any way to speak to your soon-

to-be sister?” They all looked at Phoebe, then back at Mrs. O’Malley, then at Mr. O’Malley, who smiled behind his pipe. The momentary silence it took for everything to sink in made Phoebe worry that the idea might not please everybody. “You mean...?” said Thomas, and Mrs. O’Malley nodded. “Is that the surprise?” said Fiona. “I thought she already was our sister!” They all laughed except Fiona, who had been completely serious. “Phoebe told me this afternoon that she would like to become an O’Malley, and your father and I would like to adopt her legally as soon as we have the means, if that is all right with you children, and with you, Betsy.” If an answer came from any of the children, it was lost in the sound of joyous celebration from the others. For, once the news sank in, they all shouted, speaking one over the other, danced in a circle, and fell laughing as a whole with poor Phoebe in the center. Jack squealed in his mother’s lap, shaking his chubby fists up and down, and Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley smiled at each other across the room.

ON THE DAY MR. O’MALLEY drove the dairy to market, he took it upon himself to pay a visit to a Mr. Hale, a young lawyer who had just begun practicing in Hillbrook. He knew that a young lawyer in such a small town with few clients might be willing to handle their little matter within a reasonable sum. But he did not let anyone know of his mission, for he wanted to surprise his family. Phoebe now had the liberty of calling Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley “Mam” and “Da,” or in her case, “Mamma” and “Dad,” as she didn’t have an Irish accent like the other children. She was secretly glad they were not accustomed to being called “Mother” and “Father,” for that was what she had always called her parents, and she was able to treasure those names in memory. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley had also begun taking liberties of their own with Phoebe, as far as the love and instruction that comes naturally to all good parents. And not a day ed that they didn’t express the same affection to her as they did to their other children. Everything felt right in the world. Though Mr. O’Malley had communicated nothing of his private resolution to his wife, there was a twinkle of mischief in his eye when he left, which told her what he was up to, especially after the usual hour for his return ed. Thomas, though keen of mind, had not suspected his father of any other errand than taking the dairy to market and wished aloud that he had accepted his help that morning. “It was a larger load than usual today,” he said to his mother. “Da always takes me along when there’s more to unload.” “I wouldn’t worry, son,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Your father will be fine, and he’ll be home before sundown, I’m sure. Besides, you could use the rest.” Thomas, who looked and felt perfectly healthy, looked up at his mother questioningly.

“Now, if you’re going to be so fidgety, I suggest you go for a swim and take your brothers and sisters along. It’ll do you good.” “Yes, Mam.” He then rose, kissed her cheek, and took her advice. The children went outside to swim in the large pond by the orchard, but Phoebe couldn’t in with much enthusiasm. After a few minutes of swimming, she went to sit in the swing and think. She knew Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley would not be able to afford a legal adoption, at least not in the near future. And in that moment, she realized, however much she wanted to be an O’Malley, her wish had been an unrealistic one. In everything but name, she had already become a member of the O’Malley family and felt that she belonged, and it did not take a piece of paper or the changing of her last name to prove that. Still, she thought to herself, it would have been nice. Phoebe began to worry about Mr. O’Malley. She wondered what was keeping him in town so long and if something had happened to him, and Fiona ran over in her dripping petticoat to bring Phoebe back to the world, followed by Thomas. “Come on, Phoebe!” said Fiona. “We need a fifth player!” Phoebe followed her slowly as Thomas came and put an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, Phoeb!” he said with his good-natured smile. “Da had a lot to unload today, that’s probably why he’s taking so long. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t get home till sundown.” Phoebe sincerely hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but she tried to forget about her worries as she played with the others. An hour later, as the children were walking back to the house, they heard the squeak of the cart’s rusty wheel coming up the path. They ran eagerly to meet Mr. O’Malley, and he drove up to the house with an uncharacteristically grave expression. He stopped and handed the reins to Thomas. “What’s the matter, Da?”

Mr. O’Malley patted his son on the shoulder and forced a smile as he headed into the house, saying, “Let me speak with your mam.” That couldn’t be good, Phoebe thought as she hopped onto the cart with the other children to accompany Thomas to the barn. The words, “Let me speak with your mam,” in this case, meant, “Make yourselves scarce until I say when,” and that’s just what they intended to do. Mr. O’Malley never demanded much from his children, but when he did, they always knew just what to do, and Phoebe caught on quickly. Thomas went about unhitching Bob and giving him his feed, and the others found random places to sit, stretch, or lean while they waited. “What do you think happened?” Fiona asked, petting a cow. No one could guess, and Georgie, in the wisdom of six years, wondered aloud, “Do you think it’s about Phoebe?” Phoebe, who had been secretly worrying that it was, wished Georgie hadn’t said that. “What does it matter?” said Thomas. “It’s not like anyone can take her from us.” Phoebe really wished Thomas hadn’t said that, and it showed in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “But you know what I mean.” “But it does matter!” she said. “Suppose I can’t stay here! What would become of me then? I could be sent to an—” She broke into tears before finishing her sentence, and Fiona came to her side with an eloquent glance at her older brother. Thomas, now highly uncomfortable, looked to George and Jimmy. They were no help, for they had just spotted a spider. He then took his place at Phoebe’s other side. “Hey,” he said, “listen, Phoebe. I wouldn’t have said anything like that if I

wasn’t sure it couldn’t happen. I read all about it in Black’s the other day. Besides, I defy anyone to ever take you away from us. They’d have to tie me up with...” “Bowstrings?” said Fiona flatly. “New rope?” guessed Georgie. “Your own hair!” suggested Jimmy. “That’s it!” said Thomas. If this conversation did not succeed in comforting Phoebe, it did succeed in making her laugh, thus earning Thomas a chance to return Fiona’s previous glance with a triumphant one. “Don’t worry, Phoeb,” said Thomas, “you’ll always be my sister, no matter what.” “And mine,” said Fiona. “Mine too,” echoed the twins. She smiled in appreciation, and they all walked back to the porch to wait until Mr. O’Malley stepped out and called them inside. At last he did, and they walked into the sitting room where Mrs. O’Malley sat holding her youngest with a faraway look in her eyes. “Come in, dears,” she said. “Phoebe, you sit with me.” Phoebe obeyed, and the other children sat hardly less far away as Betsy entered the room and sat nearby. “Now, children,” Mrs. O’Malley began, “your father paid a visit to a Mr. Hale today to speak to him about legally adopting Phoebe—” “What’s ‘legally’ mean?” asked Jimmy. “It means something is the law,” she said aside to him. “—and it would seem that we are, at least for the present, unable to adopt her.”

“Why, Mam?” asked a few of them at once. She hesitated. Mr. O’Malley took over. “Mr. Hale is unfamiliar with our case, so he cannot help us with it just yet. However, he said it would be another matter if we could provide concrete evidence that Phoebe’s parents have indeed journeyed to the land of Tír na nÓg.” “That means died,” translated Mrs. O’Malley for Phoebe and the younger children. “After I found that out,” he continued, “I paid a visit to General Johnson—he re you fondly, Phoebe. He told me that he would do anything to help. But, after I explained our situation, he said that, even though it was safe to assume that Phoebe’s parents were gone, he couldn’t help us prove anything. “He said he would do his best to anyone that might be able to help us, and if he can find anything out, he would tell us immediately. “So, for now, it’s hopeless,” said Phoebe quietly. “Unless General Johnson can prove that your parents have really...” “Gone to the land of ‘Tír na nÓg,’” Phoebe said with a sad smile. Mr. O’Malley chuckled. “Eh! See there, Mag! She’s speakin’ like an O’Malley already!” “But that’s not all,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “We’ve been thinking, Phoebe, and if you still want to be our daughter, who’s to say you can’t be just that in our eyes and God’s?” Phoebe smiled curiously as Mr. O’Malley rose from his chair and picked up his old Bible. And, standing before her, he began in the most formal of tones, “Miss Phoebe, would you like to be a member of the family O’Malley, in the sight of God, and in the sight of these witnesses, not forsaking the love, the memories, and the instruction of your dearly beloved parents, wherever they may be?”

“I would,” said Phoebe. “And do you, witnesses, agree to such ?” “We do,” said everyone else. “Then, upon such agreement, let us all place a hand on the Bible and bow our heads.” They did so, and Mr. O’Malley prayed over his family. He prayed, not only that Phoebe would be a true daughter and sister to them, but that they would all be ed, not just as earthly parents and children and brothers and sisters, but eternally united as brothers and sisters in Christ. Phoebe, though she would never be able to the exact words, thought this was the most beautiful prayer she had ever heard. All said “Amen” and stayed where they were, for when a few tried to break away, Mrs. O’Malley still held tight to her children’s hands with her eyes closed, silently blessing them all. Thomas comically rested his chin on his hand, waiting for his mother to finish. Phoebe frowned at him, for she knew he was just as touched as anyone, and he made a face at her, a privilege he now felt entitled to as her brother. Fiona sat on the floor by Phoebe. Phoebe stroked her head with her free hand, and Fiona smiled up at her. Phoebe would never forget that Fiona had been the first to claim her as a sister, and Fiona would never know the reason for Phoebe’s partiality, but she liked the partiality, nonetheless. The twins had perched on either arm of their mother’s chair, and when Mrs. O’Malley let go of her children’s hands, Phoebe found herself hugged by many arms. Someone suggested supper, and this brought about a general movement towards the kitchen, but Mrs. O’Malley lingered behind with Phoebe for a moment. She knew it wasn’t perfect, but she wanted to make sure Phoebe was satisfied with the afternoon’s outcome, and she searched for an answer with her eyes. Phoebe smiled in reassurance, and Mrs. O’Malley patted her hand as they followed the others.

Later in the evening, Mrs. O’Malley, from the excitement of the day, requested Phoebe to take her place at the piano and accompany their evening hymn. Honored by this request, Phoebe did so happily.

Chapter 9

Letters Summer began to fade into autumn, and Thomas O’Malley was to attend school at the university. This opportunity came from an inheritance Mrs. O’Malley had long ago received from a deceased relative, and she had saved it many years for this purpose. Thomas would have been happier staying at home and helping his father with the farm, but the idea of going to college gave him a chance to one day provide for his family if he could use this education to sharpen the business skills handed down by his father. Mr. O’Malley realized that, once Thomas was gone, his absence would leave a rather large gap, since he had many responsibilities on the farm. Mr. O’Malley was willing to take what extra share he could while his son was gone, but not everything could be handled by him alone. He did not like the idea of hiring hands, as suggested by his wife, who daily grew more concerned about her husband’s arthritis. He was possessive of the farm and did not desire to share his work with anyone outside his family. Therefore, Mr. O’Malley and Thomas began to show Phoebe, Fiona, George, and Jimmy how to do the tasks that usually fell to Thomas, so that the responsibility could be divided among them. They went about a system in which they taught all of them at once, and whoever seemed best fitted to a task would inherit it accordingly, “so long as every chore didn’t fall to the same child,” as stipulated by Mrs. O’Malley. Thomas had many tasks around the farm and a fair few about the house, for his mother believed that every young man should never enter independent life without the basic knowledge of household duties. He was invaluable to his father and precious to his mother, and Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley took turns comforting one another privately about their boy growing up so fast. Aside from the practical determination of what chore should fall to which child, the younger children also took on responsibilities that would suit them naturally,

such as fishing for the twins, and extra gardening for Fiona. Phoebe, being the eldest next to Thomas, took on the job of being Mrs. O’Malley’s right-hand man —or girl, in her case—except for things that would require more physical strength than she possessed. These would either fall to Mr. O’Malley or be a t effort on the part of those that could help, and the more desirable tasks, such as tending to Bob, along with the less enjoyable tasks, such as cleaning stalls and pens, were equally divided among the children. Family meals and the children’s playtime became bittersweet, for they all felt that, once Thomas left for college, he would be leaving his boyhood behind— that is, if such a thing were possible for Thomas. The few days preceding his departure arrived too soon, and the whole family was busy with preparations. Thomas was left with little to attend to himself, for many things were done by other eager hands that sought distraction. Mrs. O’Malley did most of the packing, even though she believed a young man should know how to pack his own things properly. She made an exception in this case, for she needed a distraction more than anyone else. The last supper before Thomas left would have been as somber as could be expected if it weren’t for his determination to make it as lighthearted as possible. Within that hour, he managed to tease Fiona, make Phoebe laugh, and play jokes with the twins more than he had in the entire year. The eventful day dawned with a spice of autumn in the wind, and the O’Malley family would have viewed it as a treat if it weren’t for the demands of the day. They ate an early breakfast before attending the necessary preparations for departure, and everyone piled into the cart, except Betsy, who stayed behind at her own insistence to prepare dinner for the family’s return. Thomas said goodbye to her before they set off, and Betsy stood on the porch to watch him leave. Having lived with the O’Malley’s for the past ten years, she felt a sense of maternal pride towards him, and he a unique partiality for her. Nicodemus, having been informed by Thomas about the purpose of this trip, insisted on jumping into the cart with the children before they left. He laid by their feet with his chin upon the seat next to his boy, allowing Thomas to inconspicuously rub his head as they rolled towards the train station. At Hillbrook Station, once the train ticket was purchased and the luggage taken,

all that remained was for the family to say goodbye. Mr. O’Malley shook his son’s hand and patted his arm, saying, “God be with you, son.” “You too, Da,” said Thomas. Mrs. O’Malley kissed her son with tears in her eyes. “Take care of my boy,” she said. “Don’t worry, Mam.” He smiled. He took Jack from her arms and tossed him squealing into the air before giving him back to his mother with another hug. Fiona received a bear hug and a ruffling of her curls. This time, she didn’t bother to flatten them out again. “Don’t grow up too fast while I’m gone, Effie.” She smiled without making any promises. He knelt between the twins, embracing them with an arm each, and they squeezed his neck in return. “Stay out of trouble,” he told them. “We’ll be the goodest ever!” said Jimmy proudly with Georgie nodding in agreement. Thomas gave a decisive nod. He looked at Phoebe, and though she wore a brave face, there were wet streaks smeared across her cheeks. “Don’t worry, Phoeb,” he said. “You’re not rid of me yet.” She chuckled and wiped her face, and he embraced her in brotherly affection. “You’ll look after Mam, won’t you?” he said.

She smiled and nodded. And just then, Nicodemus, who had been staying close behind Thomas, walked over to Phoebe and sat next to her. “Traitor,” said Thomas under his breath as he stroked his dog’s head. Thomas then returned to his mother, who needed another hug, before boarding the train. He smilingly waved to his family from a window, and they to him. The train began huffing and puffing, and Thomas started to drift away. The family waited to leave the platform until the train was out of sight and nothing was left to do but return home. That afternoon, the O’Malleys hardly said a word to each other, and the day ed with a sense of emptiness.

THE WEATHER ASSUMED the crispness of autumn in a few weeks, and a letter from Thomas came nearly twice each of those weeks. These occasions were like spring to Mrs. O’Malley’s heart, and sunshine overflowed throughout the house. Mrs. O’Malley was happy to find that Thomas had already made a few friends and was enjoying school thoroughly. Thomas had a genuine love of learning, which set him up for many successes in college, but, despite his obvious enjoyment, he communicated in his letters how much he missed his family, taking care to leave out the fact that he had lost one or two restful nights to homesickness. It took some time for the children to adjust to their new chores, and it happened more than once that Georgie and Jimmy caught twice the number of fish needed for supper. Room had to be made in the icebox for the extra ones, and the twins were given another chore for the time being. Fortunately, Fiona found use in the garden for the fish that spoiled. Phoebe, who had long been interested in taking her share of work around the farm, felt it a refreshing change from housework. She was entertained by the chickens when she fed them and gathered their eggs, and she enjoyed excursions to the garden with Fiona, but her favorite task was something no one had foreseen. As soon as Thomas left for school, Mrs. O’Malley wanted someone to make semi-weekly trips into town to fetch the mail when Mr. O’Malley didn’t go to market. Phoebe eagerly accepted the job, and since using the cart seemed unnecessary for a trip of one person, and it was too far to walk alone, Phoebe, to the envy of the younger children, had an excuse to ride Bob. Bob enjoyed Phoebe’s company as much as she did his, and fetching the mail became her favorite chore for this reason among others. The other reasons consisted of the look on Mrs. O’Malley’s face whenever she received a new letter from her son, and the possibility of a letter from Daniel Wilson. He wrote to her as promised, and she to him. At first, Mrs. O’Malley had been

decidedly against the idea, simply because of his close relation to those who had made Phoebe’s summer visit so miserable. “Oh, but he isn’t like that, Mamma,” Phoebe explained. “He doesn’t belong in that family. He almost seems completely unrelated to any of them at all, except his father, but he was also very kind to me when I stayed. We wouldn’t write to each other except as friends—I could make sure of that—and you could read every letter if you like.” This addendum, though it displayed some eagerness in Phoebe to be allowed her own way, also showed that she was willing to be sensible about the matter. However, another reason that caused some reluctance in Mrs. O’Malley was that, at fifteen, Phoebe seemed too young. She didn’t care to discuss this with Phoebe herself, so she told her she would think about it. And Mrs. O’Malley sought the advice of her husband. At first, Mr. O’Malley was amused that Phoebe had already attracted a young gentleman’s attention, and he enjoyed the joke for several minutes. This didn’t ease Mrs. O’Malley’s concerns, and she told him so, but he quickly reminded her of her own age when she began courting, in his own words, “those dandies that served as excuses for young men.” “She said she would let me read every letter if I wanted to,” said Mrs. O’Malley pensively. “Well, that’s very good of her,” said Mr. O’Malley, still entertained. “I must say she knows how to negotiate, that one.” “Now, Seamus, do be serious. What should we do?” He grew silent as he leaned an elbow on a nearby cow’s withers, for Mrs. O’Malley had sought his counsel in the barn. After a moment, he looked said cow in the eye and said quietly, “What do you think?” Maisie looked at him for a few seconds with a mouthful of hay and sneezed before returning to her meal. He nodded in agreement and wiped his face. Mrs. O’Malley waited patiently for his response.

“How’s this?” he said. “Let her write to him, on the condition that you examine each of this young man’s letters for a time, and if you find anything to sneeze at, she agrees to stop writing him.” Mrs. O’Malley had already been thinking of this herself, but it confirmed the idea to hear it from her husband. “All right,” she said. “That seems sensible enough. I’ll go tell her. Thank you, dear.” She kissed the cleaner of his dirty cheeks and added as she left, “And just so you know, I had some rather nice beaus when I was her age.” All this happened less than a week after Phoebe’s return from the Wilsons’ house. Phoebe gratefully agreed to Mrs. O’Malley’s and allowed her to examine each note before carrying them off to read them herself. Mrs. O’Malley found no reason in any of the letters to make Phoebe blush as she did, but she attributed this to mere fancy. Mrs. O’Malley soon found that there was no reason to worry about this matter, and one day, she returned a letter from the gentleman to Phoebe, unopened. Phoebe, understanding what this meant, beamed at Mrs. O’Malley and ran off to read it. In those few weeks, though Mrs. O’Malley had seen nothing to “sneeze at,” she still wondered about this young man and his purpose in writing to Phoebe. His letters were kind, bordering on endearing, but there was nothing in the way they were written that seemed to reciprocate Phoebe’s partiality for him. But Mrs. O’Malley didn’t see much danger in this correspondence. It gave a spring to Phoebe’s step and a brightness to her eyes and seemed nothing more than childish iration. Therefore, Mrs. O’Malley let it continue, hoping the distant manner of this young man might bring Phoebe to see matters as they really were. It was a month into autumn when Phoebe was making one of her usual errands to the post office. She was thinking about her next letter from Daniel, wondering what it might contain. His letters had begun to contain more general information and had lost their tone of interest. Phoebe sensed this change in his last letter and directly inquired if everything were all right. Doing so seemed more familiar than the usual tone of their letters, but she felt that the situation justified it. As she neared the post office, Phoebe’s curiosity had built to the utmost. She tied

Bob to a post and ran directly to the box. Inside lay only a letter from Thomas, one from Mrs. O’Malley’s sister in Massachusetts, and a few newspapers. Phoebe looked more closely into the box and saw nothing. She then closed the box and pocketed the mail. She mounted Bob and started slowly back home, wondering what this meant. Perhaps he was ill...perhaps his mother disapproved of his writing to her...perhaps something had happened...perhaps... Her thoughts continued this way the entire ride home, and she soon found herself set upon by the twins, who, in order to ride Bob to the barn, offered to tend him for her. She accepted their offer and walked into the house to deliver the mail. Mrs. O’Malley, noting her glum face, asked if she were all right, and Phoebe, trying to appear cheerful, replied that she was. “No letter from Daniel?” asked Mrs. O’Malley as she surveyed the mail. “No, ma’am,” Phoebe said, putting on an apron and getting a broom. Mrs. O’Malley watched her without saying a word. She wondered if this young man was losing what little interest he had in Phoebe and, if he was, to what extent it would affect her girl. Fiona ran into the house from the garden, wearing one of Phoebe’s old dresses, looking pretty in it, and feeling so as well. “How are you, darling?” Mrs. O’Malley asked. “Excellent,” she said. “The pumpkins are looking nice and plump! Phoebe! I didn’t know you’d come back already,” she said, giving her a besoiled hug. “You’re looking nice and plump as well, dear,” observed Mrs. O’Malley. “Am I?” said Fiona, standing proudly. “Yes, but try not to gloat, dear.”

“Yes, Mam.” If there had been one point on which Mrs. O’Malley agreed with Mrs. Wilson, it was about getting Phoebe some longer dresses, though perhaps not quite so bizarre as what Mrs. Wilson bought her. She allowed Phoebe to wear her shorter dresses through the summer, since it was hotter than usual, but when the weather began to turn, she set to work on Phoebe’s new wardrobe. She did not obtain it by a trip to the dressmaker, but by purchasing several yards of fabric, making the dresses by hand, and ing down a few altered things of her own. Such was how every item of clothing was acquired in the O’Malley household, and after experiencing both methods, Phoebe discovered that she preferred the latter, mostly for sentimental reasons. It was a source of employment to the ladies of the family, and she felt the love of each going into the work they did and a sense of satisfaction in the work she did herself. But above all, she was honored that Mrs. O’Malley ed down some of her own dresses for her. Phoebe had grown much accustomed to living with the O’Malleys. She occupied her place in the family with increasing confidence in their love for her and hers for them. She was now barely recognizable as the girl they had taken in six months ago, possibly because she had grown taller and a little stronger. Some of Fiona’s outspokenness had rubbed off on her, but since Phoebe was naturally timid, it suited her. She was no longer timid with her new family, and it became customary for her to kiss every one of them good morning when she came down to breakfast and again good night before going to bed and to take baby Jack in her arms whenever he was fussy. Jack loved Phoebe. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t mind this, as it gave the tired mother a break at times when she needed it most, and the sight of them together was sweet to the entire family. Mrs. O’Malley watched Phoebe proudly in these moments, for they showed her that Phoebe would one day make an excellent mother, but she hoped in her heart that day was yet far away.

Chapter 10

Special Delivery Thomas’s last letter exuded profuse thanks for his birthday gifts. Thomas loved birthdays, especially his own, but when he left for college, he figured it was safe to assume that birthdays would be another relinquished luxury of home. However, the arrival of Monday’s mail proved him wrong. His presents had been sent a week in advance and arrived a day early. A letter was attached to the parcel, expressly forbidding him to open his presents before his birthday. Therefore, Thomas did the most natural thing in the world: He opened his presents before his birthday. It was customary for the O’Malleys to make their gifts by hand, unless it was something specific such as a book. Inside the box was a drawing of scribbles from Jack, a collection of moths and butterflies from the twins, a knitted hat and matching scarf from Fiona and Phoebe, gloves from his mother, a boot jack from his father, and at the bottom of the parcel, a box that smelled suspiciously of cinnamon. He dropped everything and opened it instantly to greet a large cluster of cinnamon rolls—his favorite. A letter inside explained that they were from Betsy, and since a cake would hardly be worthwhile after a few days’ journey, they sent him something better and promised him a cake when he came home for Christmas. It was a heartfelt letter that stated how proud they were of him and how much they missed him. Thomas, in all his life, had never looked forward to Christmas more, when he would be home again with those he loved most. Being away from home two months had changed him. He felt the change and longed to hear his mother’s voice calling him, “son,” his father’s saying, “m’boy,” and to be with his siblings, then he would feel like himself again. He could hardly wait two more months to be home, and he began to wonder if anything could be done about it...

LEAVING OUR YOUNG STUDENT to his thoughts, we find ourselves in Hillbrook a few weeks later, on a busy street with ing carts, carriages, people, horses, dogs, and a great deal of noise. It is nearing the end of the bustling preparations leading up to Thanksgiving, and amidst all the rushing about and shouting, a girl calmly rides her horse along the road, wearing a dreamlike expression as if she were the only occupant of the town. She attracted the attention of many, possibly due to her quiet demeanor amongst the din; her tranquil, pretty expression; her quaint equipage; or her attire, which consisted of a simple woolen dress covered by an apron that she had either forgotten to, or didn’t care to remove before leaving home, and a pair of boots. Her protection from the cold merely consisted of a coat, once intended for someone larger, a scarf, and knitted gloves. She seemed completely unaware of the looks she received, perhaps because she was used to such attention and had learned to ignore it, or because, somewhere beyond the marks of a poor and industrious home life, there lived the manners and breeding of a young lady. You may have concluded by now that this girl is Phoebe. It was her day to get the mail again. She had not heard from her friend in four weeks and was beginning to wonder if he would ever write to her again. Such was the cause of her distant expression during her ride to the post office. She hardly knew where she was and might never have arrived at the post office unless Bob had known where they were going. Every face in the crowd was all the same to Phoebe, save one. It was a young man with red hair carrying a traveling bag. He stopped walking when he recognized her, and as soon as she saw him, he waved his hands jovially above his head. Upon noticing him, she rode up to him in smiling surprise and hopped off Bob. “Whatever are you doing here, Thomas O’Malley?” she said embracing him in happy shock. Her face fell. “You ran away from school! Oh, Thomas, how could you? Mamma will be so disappointed!” “I’m all right, thank you, and how are you, sister?” he said, kissing her cheek in

reply. “You’re looking blooming as ever.” “Wait until you see Fiona. She’s almost as tall as I am now. Oh, but, Thomas, how could you?” “How could I what?” “Run away from school!” “I wasn’t learning anything important.” She looked at him in too much disapproving horror to say anything. “What are you doing in town by yourself, I might ask?” “I’m fetching your letters!” she said in consternation. “Oh—Say, let me! I’ve always wondered what it would be like to get a letter from myself.” He was about to take the key from her when she suddenly ed that she might have a letter from Daniel Wilson, and she didn’t want Thomas teasing her about it. “Um, no,” she said quickly, “I’d better get it. You stay here with Bob. It’s just across the street. I won’t be a moment.” She ran off before he could protest, and he stood wondering at her reaction. For once, Phoebe almost hoped there wouldn’t be a letter from Daniel. But alas, inside the box lay a note addressed to her from him. She separated it from the other mail and pocketed it discreetly before returning to Thomas, whose only method of restraining Bob was rubbing his nose, which worked much better than holding onto his rope. “Come on,” said Phoebe, stepping on a nearby crate to mount Bob. After she was seated, Thomas proceeded to mount him as well but was stopped by Phoebe’s protest. “What are you doing?” she said, thinking how highly improper this would be.

Thomas was taken aback. “Aw, Phoeb, you’re not going to make a poor fellow walk all the way home from the train station, are you?” “What would you have done if I hadn’t been here with Bob?” He was cornered. “And that’s another thing,” she said. “What if something had happened to you on your way home, and no one knew about it, how would you have faced Mamma ever again? None of us knew you were traveling. Something could have happened to you, something serious. If you were any decent sort of boy, you wouldn’t worry your poor mother, and you’d go right back to school and finish your education.” “Before a chap’s had a bite to eat?” She was moved a little, and looking around, she sighed and said, “After we leave town, I’ll let you ride the rest of the way.” “Thanks, Phoeb. You’re a brick!” “I can’t say the same for you, brother,” she said quietly. She was disappointed that he could be so careless as to squander his education, not to mention his livelihood. Thomas had trouble not laughing outright, but he put on a meek expression to cover up his enjoyment. Phoebe saw his underlying amusement, and it shocked her. She then determined not to speak another word to him the rest of the way home. “How is everyone?” he asked. “Fine,” said Phoebe, forgetting her resolution. “You know, I really didn’t leave you in the dark about traveling home. I explained it in my letter if you’d like to read it.” “I always leave that to Mamma.” He let that drop, and they eventually turned onto the path that led home. Phoebe

then let Thomas mount Bob, still speaking to him as little as possible. “Say, Phoebe,” he said as they neared the farm, “maybe it would be best if you announced my arrival before Mam sees me. I would hate to give her a shock.” “Oh, yes, of course!” she said sarcastically. “Would you like it if I blew a trumpet and tossed flower petals to pave your way into the house?” He laughed. “No, just give her my letter, and I’ll come in after she reads it.” “Surely there’s a better way to ease things for her.” “No, I think that way’s best. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” “I don’t see why I should do anything for you.” “Please?” he said, resembling the twins. She thought a moment and was unable to think of a better way. “All right,” she said. “Ah, thanks, Phoeb, you’re the best!” Phoebe hopped down and handed him Bob’s rope without a word. She stepped into the house, met by Mrs. O’Malley, who had been eagerly awaiting her son’s letter. Betsy was in the kitchen, and Fiona was upstairs, and Mrs. O’Malley called them both so she could read Thomas’s letter aloud to them. Phoebe watched in pity for what shock Mrs. O’Malley was about to receive and seated herself in a chair at the kitchen table, still with Mr. O’Malley’s coat on. “‘Dear Family’,” read Mrs. O’Malley, “‘I hope this letter finds you all well. Forgive me for not writing as often as I should. My studies have become much more difficult lately. I’m sorry to say, my birthday presents made me terribly homesick, and I requested to take my examinations a few weeks early. My professors were all good sports and agreed to let me do so, though not as soon as I would have liked. But I am now happy to say that I have ed, and that with flying colors!’—Oh! isn’t that wonderful, girls?—‘Please do me a favor and tell Betsy to start on my birthday cake, because by the time you get this letter, I

should be somewhere between the train home and the porch, waiting for you to finish reading it. Always yours, Thomas.’” Mrs. O’Malley looked at Phoebe, who was nearly as surprised as she was, though for a different reason. Just then, they heard Nico barking outside. Phoebe knew the reason for this, but Mrs. O’Malley ran outside to witness her son receiving an eager welcome from his dog. Fiona and Betsy followed her, and Phoebe brought up the rear. “How are you, Mam?” he said effervescently. “Oh, my boy!” she said, embracing her child. And stepping back she said, “Have you grown taller or just thinner?” “Both, I think,” he said, still hungry. “Good to see you, Effie!” Fiona smilingly hugged her brother, saying, “Happy birthday!” “Yes, happy birthday, dear,” seconded his mother. “I guess I’d better get started on your cake,” said Betsy after her own due greeting. “Bless you, Betsy,” said Thomas. “But not before dinner,” said Mrs. O’Malley. Betsy nodded, returning to the house. “Well, Phoebe,” said Thomas, turning to her, “am I still such a bad little boy?” “Not in one respect,” she said, “but you nearly scared me to death! You can’t blame me, can you? Imagine what you would have done to poor Mamma.” He stood with an arm around his mother’s shoulders as Phoebe spoke, and then he put the other arm around Phoebe’s. “I’m sorry, Phoeb,” he said. “I was a brute to put you through a prank like that. Will you forgive me?” Phoebe found it hard to say no, and a smile was all the response Thomas needed to feel better.

“You knew, Phoebe?” asked Mrs. O’Malley as they stepped onto the porch. “Not until I had nearly reached the post office and I found him walking home. He made me think he had run away from school!” Thomas then received a motherly blow on the back of his head. “Ah!” he said reactively. “Don’t worry, Mam. Phoebe took care of putting me in my place on the way home.” “Good girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “I’m glad she looks after you, Mam. Sometimes I think she loves you almost as much as I do.” “Perhaps more, if she was more worried about you startling me than you were yourself.” Phoebe laughed, and Thomas hung his head with a contrite smile. “Now enough silliness, children,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “It’s time for dinner, and I don’t think my boy ate enough while he was gone.” “Oh, might I have a few minutes before we eat?” Phoebe asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Certainly, dear.” “Thank you!” she said, running off and up the stairs to read her letter. “Did you get a letter?” asked Fiona quietly as Phoebe ed her. “Yes!” whispered Phoebe excitedly. Thomas questioned Fiona silently. “Phoebe has a suitor,” explained Fiona to Thomas in ing, feeling at a competitive advantage that Phoebe had confided something to her that was unknown to Thomas. Later, when dinner was ready and Thomas was taking a seat next to his mother at the table, he took an opportunity to say, “So, our little Phoebe’s growing up, is

she, Mam? What’s the ragamuffin’s name?” “Now, no teasing, son,” she said. “The poor thing’s been having a hard time of it lately. I wouldn’t have let them write to each other, but he seemed a perfectly nice boy, so I didn’t think any harm would come of it. Just promise me you won’t bring it up to her, please, Thomas.” “I promise,” he said, helping himself to a plate of biscuits as he put the thought out of his mind. Phoebe returned downstairs and sat at the table. “Everything all right, dear?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Yes, ma’am,” she said with an obvious smile. Dinner went pleasantly, ending with Thomas leaving the table to see his father and the twins as soon as he had eaten enough. Mr. O’Malley and the twins had taken their dinners along as they set out to work that morning, the twins following behind their father, looking like his exact miniatures. Mr. O’Malley was flabbergasted at his son’s early return, and prodigiously proud of his excellent marks in school. Georgie and Jimmy were thrilled to see their brother and clung about him like monkeys until he was forced to play with them for the rest of the afternoon. Life felt complete to the whole family, and Mrs. O’Malley rested easily that night with the knowledge that all her children slept safely under her roof.

Chapter 11

A Brother’s Duty Thomas was in excellent standing with his professors. It was refreshing for them to see a hardworking young man with his love of learning, and more than once had they found out about some effort of his to keep the other boys in line. One professor eventually expressed his appreciation about this yet cautioned Thomas against letting such responsibility, however noble, interfere with his studies. Thomas valued his professors’ opinions, and taking this man’s advice, he began to focus more on his studies, instead of keeping the other students on the right path. This focus didn’t come easily, for soon after his arrival at the university, he felt that part of his purpose was to influence the other young men for the better. Nevertheless, he left the others alone to put his energies towards learning, and his grades soared. But, on the day before his birthday, while sitting on the floor of his dormitory, surrounded by memories of his family, he thought of doing the unthinkable: taking advantage of his academic standing. He was weeks ahead in his studies and viewed it as an excellent time to ask if he could take his exams early. He applied at once to a Dr. Hickens, who took the trouble to inform Thomas that several students had already taken the same idea into their heads with unfortunate results, but since Thomas had such an outstanding reputation, Dr. Hickens did not feel quite the same level of apprehension about him as the other students. However, a lecture on what might be the damaging outcome of this feat was peremptorily given, during which, Thomas did not fail to have some doubts and apprehensions of his own. Even though he had studied well, and hardly doubted his own ability, the thought of letting his family down, if by some chance he should fail, made him miserable. Sadly, as he ed their faces, it only urged him to keep his resolution more, and taking a deep breath, he shook Dr. Hickens’ hand, saying, “I won’t let you down, sir.”

Dr. Hickens, unaffected by this reassuring statement—for he had heard it many times before—merely replied, “I hope you don’t,” as the lad smiled and walked out of the room. Had Dr. Hickens seen the heart of the boy that walked a foot above the ground outside his office, his cynicism might have softened. But the heart of Thomas O’Malley was invisible to the unaided eye. And all that had to be done to revive Dr. Hickens’ faith in the abilities of young students in general was for him to see the lad a week later, bidding him goodbye and wishing him a joyous holiday season. These events had not been a dream, as Thomas discovered one smiling November morning when he woke in his own bed, and he knew for certain that he was home again. Little did he know that, outside his bedroom, a red-headed faerie sat at the head of the stairs, innocently pretending to read a book while she listened for evidence of stirring to issue from underneath the door. Little did he know that, directly beneath the floor of his room, there went on a great deal of hushed and whispered excitement over breakfast. The sound Fiona listened for soon came, and she rushed downstairs to tell everyone to hurry. Thomas cheerfully stumbled down the steps to breakfast, noting to himself that the house was uncharacteristically quiet but thinking nothing more of the fact. Once downstairs, he was instantly met by cheers of “Happy Birthday!” A paper crown was placed upon his head, and he was seated before a large cake lit with candles. Thanks, congratulations, hugs, and kisses were exchanged, Thomas blew the candles out, breakfast commenced, and to Thomas and the twins’ dismay, the cake was saved for after they had eaten something more substantial. The principal reason for this celebration was Thomas’s birthday, but his academic achievements had added to the cause for celebration, making the occasion doubly special. But morning chores and daily duties were still pressing, and after breakfast, Thomas’s party continued with an invitation from the twins to go fishing. He

accepted by racing them out the door, and their mother called after them with a reminder to throw all the fish back this time. Those left in the house then proceeded with their respective chores, Fiona to tend the garden, Betsy to clear the dishes and wash them, Phoebe to help, and Mrs. O’Malley to find Jack’s face underneath layers of cake and frosting. Mrs. O’Malley had not yet had a chance to ask Phoebe about her letter. She knew the young gentleman had stopped writing for a time, and she had become just as curious as Phoebe about why. An opportunity came that morning as Mrs. O’Malley and Phoebe were washing clothes in the kitchen and hanging them on a line on the porch, for the weather was uncharacteristically warm that day. Phoebe was happy to speak of her letter and gladly relayed the information it brought. “He says he’s just been preoccupied with his studies, that’s all,” she told Mrs. O’Malley. “He apologized about it, and said he regretted every minute he wasn’t writing to me.” She finished with a slight reddening of her cheeks. “Well, that is nice,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Have you written him a reply yet?” “No, not yet,” she said, turning her face towards the shirt she was pinning to the clothesline. “I wanted to ask you something first.” “Oh? What, dear?” “I was wondering, maybe since Thomas is inviting some of his friends for Christmas—” “You want to invite Daniel too?” “Only with your permission,” said Phoebe quickly. “He would probably be staying with his family, so I was wondering if we could invite him to have Christmas dinner with us.” Mrs. O’Malley thought a moment, “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s all right. You may begin writing your reply, and I will finish here and go see what Da says.” “Oh, thank you so much!” she said, dropping a hug around Mrs. O’Malley’s

shoulders before running towards the stairs. “You’re welcome, and please take that stack of linens with you on your way up.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And please don’t drop them, dear.” “No, ma’am!” Mrs. O’Malley shook her head over the state of things as her eldest son walked up the steps to the porch, where she was finishing her work. “Hello, son,” she said composedly. But when she looked up at him, he was pale as a sheet. “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Mam,” he began slowly, “I promised you I wouldn’t say a word about Phoebe’s friend, but I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation. What’s the last name of the Daniel you mentioned?” “Wilson. Why?” “The same Daniel Wilson that lives on the other side of town with the family Phoebe stayed with this summer?” “Who else?” Thomas sat on the porch steps in front of his mother and rubbed his forehead upward as if trying to wipe something away, giving a comical appearance to his hair that he was unaware of. “Aren’t you going to tell me what the matter is?” said Mrs. O’Malley impatiently. “Mam,” he said, “I hope I’m sorely mistaken somewhere—but I can’t see how. It all fits together too well...” He broke off, murmuring to himself. “Son, tell me what the matter is this instant.”

He rubbed his forehead again as if trying to wipe the trouble away for good. “Mam, you know how Wilson goes to the same university that I do?” “Sweetheart, say Mr. Wilson. Yes, it’s occurred to me before.” “Mam, I know things about him that, if you knew, you wouldn’t have let Phoebe write a single letter to him in the first place. Terrible things, Mam.” “What things?” “Well, gambling, for instance.” “And drinking?” Thomas nodded. “Anything else?” Thomas shuffled where he was sitting and looked miserable. “Well, it seems he’s courting someone else. He and I have never spoken to each other before, but I accidentally overheard him one day, bragging to someone about how wealthy a girl was, saying that they were practically engaged. At the time, I thought how fortunate it was that Phoebe no longer had any with that family, but now —You don’t suppose there’s a chance he was referring to Phoebe, do you, Mam?” “I doubt it,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Phoebe hardly has any fortune left to her for anyone to boast of, and unless Mr. Wilson has jumped to some conclusion, I can’t see how he would have thought...unless—No, Phoebe wouldn’t have made any such insinuation, no matter how much she liked him. “Nonetheless,” she said, rising, “whether he hopes to make a profitable match with Phoebe or anyone else, I will not have my girl in regular correspondence with a gambler or any such sort of man.” Thomas gave a decisive nod in agreement. Once on the point of entering the house, Mrs. O’Malley hesitated. Maybe she should get Thomas to help her explain things to Phoebe. No, that wouldn’t do,

she thought. The task fell on her shoulders, but she dreaded it. This disappointment might set Phoebe back terribly. This last thought was going through her mind as she ascended the stairs to Phoebe’s room. She knocked on the door and entered. Phoebe was seated at her desk in the middle of writing her letter, and she looked up with a smile that fell at the sight of Mrs. O’Malley’s face, which was now as white as Thomas’s had been. “Are you all right, Mamma?” she said, rising instantly to seat Mrs. O’Malley in the chair. “Yes, dear, I’m all right,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “It’s just that I’ve made a terrible mistake by you once again, Phoebe. Please forgive me. I should never have let you write to him in the first place.” “To whom? Mamma, what are you saying?” “Phoebe,” Mrs. O’Malley began, “I’ve just found out from Thomas that D—this young man you’ve been writing to...is not an entirely...irable person.” Phoebe couldn’t believe her ears. She was silent as she looked in Mrs. O’Malley’s face. “How does Thomas know this?” “He goes to the same college as...the young man we’re speaking of.” “Mamma, why can’t you say his name?” “Phoebe, this young man’s conduct outside his family and friends in Hillbrook has proved to be very...unruly. Aside from that, Thomas overheard him speaking one day—Phoebe, have you ever made any allusion to money or material matters in your letters?” “No, ma’am. I always thought that would be bad manners.” Mrs. O’Malley smiled in slight relief.

“Has he to you?” Phoebe blushed a little at this question and looked down as she spoke. “Well, he recently implied that financial matters in his family were not what they might seem and that he might have to work for his living as soon as he finished his education unless he could make a sensible match. “I guessed what he meant, and I...I told him there was nothing to be ashamed of in hard work, but if his family expects him to make a suitable match, then I would understand, but I would always consider him a friend.” “And after that, you didn’t receive any letters for some time?” Phoebe shook her head. Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “I’m sorry, Phoebe,” she said, “but I can’t allow you to write him anymore. I’m sorry I ever agreed to it. I wouldn’t have if I had known what he...” “Known what?” Mrs. O’Malley hesitated. “I can’t bring myself to tell you, but I need you to trust me. Thomas told me things about Wil—about Mr. Wilson that I would rather you didn’t know. I will explain everything you need to know one day, but I don’t want you to write to him again. Can you promise me that, Phoebe?” Phoebe stared at the space in front of her. She had been kneeling by Mrs. O’Malley’s chair during the conversation, and she gulped and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.” “Have you saved any of his letters?” Phoebe nodded. “I’d like you to give them to me, please.” Phoebe looked up and was on the point of protesting, but, ing the agreement she made with Mrs. O’Malley a few months ago, she found herself, as if sleepwalking, opening a drawer and retrieving a bundle of papers tied with a ribbon to hand to Mrs. O’Malley.

Somewhere in Mrs. O’Malley’s mind, she wished Phoebe might have been a little unreasonable. Wasn’t it customary for a girl Phoebe’s age to have some sort of outburst at this point? Mrs. O’Malley figured surely a tantrum could be more easily dealt with than the meek reasonability that Phoebe expressed. She accepted the letters, only paying attention to the child in front of her. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said on the verge of tears. “You deserve so much better.” Phoebe was silent as tears rolled down her cheeks, and setting the letters down, Mrs. O’Malley comforted her. Phoebe’s tears and sobs soon abated. “There,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “It’ll be dinnertime soon. That’ll make you feel better.” Phoebe nodded. “I’ll give you a moment to wash your face, and we’ll see about making some ice cream later, all right?” Phoebe nodded, managing a smile. Mrs. O’Malley kissed her head and left the room. After finding a place to keep the letters, she returned downstairs to see her eldest pacing in the sitting room. “How is she?” he asked upon seeing his mother. “You broke it to her gently, didn’t you?” The sound of Phoebe crying reached their ears. “Yes, but I didn’t tell her everything. I think that’s best for now.” Thomas nodded. “She’s a sensible girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “She agreed months ago that if I ever put my foot down, she would drop the whole thing, and she has kept her word. That takes a great deal of courage if you ask me.”

“Poor kid,” said Thomas. Mrs. O’Malley sat down, feeling drained, and her son sat next to her in concern. She looked at him and touched his cheek fondly. “You’re a good boy, Thomas,” she said, “and a good brother.” He smiled humbly and said, “You taught me well.” “And now, I want you to tell me something.” “Anything, Mam.” Looking her son in the eye, she said, “When these young men at the university go about gambling and such, you don’t go along with them, do you?” “No, Mam. I wouldn’t do that for the world, I promise you. And, believe me, if I hadn’t been raised better, the things I’ve seen would have been enough to keep me from it.” “Good. I’m glad to hear you say that, though I’m sorry you’ve seen so much of this troubled world. I wouldn’t have had you go through this in a million years, but I thought the education might allow you to better succeed in life. You have a smart head on your shoulders. I know you’ll do great things with it. And if you can hold to the way you were raised, and to the love you have in the Lord and your family, you will have very few, if any, regrets.” “Thank you, Mam,” he said, cherishing her words. “I’m afraid it isn’t all that uncommon to see young men in college tempted by the things you’ve witnessed lately. And it isn’t at all uncommon for a young man in Mr. Wilson’s place to behave the way he does. It’s sad, but it’s true. I’ve seen it too many times before. “But it was right for you to speak up, son, despite your promise, and I’m proud of you for looking after Phoebe. I’m afraid she and I are greatly indebted to you for this.” Something made Thomas afraid to be convinced, but he returned the pressure from his mother’s hand anyway.

Fiona came in from the garden to warm her chilled hands. She looked upstairs and heard Phoebe crying, then glanced questioningly at her mother and brother, and was about to run up the stairs when Mrs. O’Malley called her back. “Fiona, come here,” she said. Fiona walked to her mother, still being pulled in the opposite direction. Mrs. O’Malley took her daughter’s hands in hers, saying, “Phoebe’s going to be fine, dear. She just needs time to sort through some things.” “What things?” Mrs. O’Malley and Thomas looked at each other, then Thomas picked up his little sister, set her on his lap, and rubbed her head. “Never mind. Just don’t ever grow up, okay? It’ll save me a lot of trouble,” he said mostly in earnest. Fiona looked at her mother with a bewildered expression. What was wrong with Thomas? “Phoebe’s going to be fine,” said Mrs. O’Malley again. “She just won’t be writing to that young man anymore. It’s for the best.” “What did he do?” Fiona demanded. “Never mind. Just go take off your apron and wash up.” Phoebe didn’t feel fine. She couldn’t believe Daniel Wilson could be so bad as to cause Mrs. O’Malley, or even Thomas, to worry about her writing to him. The thought was impossible. Until then, she hadn’t realized how fond she had grown of Daniel, but in that moment, it hit her fully, and she bitterly felt the loss of his friendship. However, somewhere beyond the steady shallows of her conscious mind, existed the deeper knowledge of how important it was to obey Mrs. O’Malley’s wishes. But nothing, not even all the reasoning in the world, could keep her from treasuring Daniel Wilson’s acquaintance in a special place in her heart.

Chapter 12

The Society for Children Against the Customs and Traditions Ordinated by Parents, for Parents, on Christmas Day Preparations for Thanksgiving soon took place in the O’Malley household. One of Fiona’s pumpkins was sacrificed for the occasion and rested in peace within a buttery pie crust. Betsy took much upon herself, but the task of making stuffing would not be relinquished by Mrs. O’Malley. Mrs. O’Malley could not have been more grateful for her eldest son’s presence during this time, even if it was only to keep the younger children entertained during all the busyness. Phoebe’s broken heart could not have come at a better season, for Mrs. O’Malley, Fiona, and Betsy needed plenty of help in and out of the kitchen. The distraction helped her, but the memories of her friend would not cease to make her countenance a touch too grave for such a happy occasion. Still, the gravity became her, and though she felt aged from the experience, fearing she might see a day when she would be confirmed an old maid, there was a charming maturity that began to surface in her behavior, revealing the deeper nature of her soul. Whether he imagined it or not, Thomas began to sense a distance in Phoebe that he felt was his due for telling his mother about Daniel Wilson. But he believed it his duty as a brother. He thought to himself repeatedly that, even if it made Phoebe bitter towards him forever, he would have done the same thing. He would do the same thing for Fiona if the occasion ever came up. Though, had she been older, Fiona would have put up a lot more fuss than Phoebe if he interfered in a matter of hers. Thomas could see what his mother had told him: Phoebe had a great deal of sense, especially for a girl her age. And, though he knew Phoebe was hurt, he could also see that she bore it well. Thanksgiving had shown up the same as any other November day, but the goings-on were much different. The preparations of the week were nothing compared to those of the day. The kitchen was astir for hours before dinner, and now, Mrs. O’Malley had a bored husband and a son who was running out of

ways to entertain his younger brothers on her hands. More than once, Thomas came to his mother in the kitchen, wondering when they could eat. “I’ll tell you what,” she replied with a flushed face on the fifth visit, “why don’t you take Fiona’s place scrubbing the potatoes, and she’ll go play with the twins.” “Good idea, Mam,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “Thank you, Effie.” Fiona reluctantly gave her job to her brother and looked at her mother in confusion. Mrs. O’Malley winked in return, and Fiona, knowing she would soon be back at her post, went to play with the boys. Fifteen minutes ed, and no change of duties occurred. Five more minutes ed, and Fiona began to wonder if there had been some miscommunication between her and her mother, when Thomas came back to the sitting room and collapsed on the couch. “Your turn, Fiona,” he said, out of breath. His face was red, and there was sweat on his forehead and a bandage on his finger. “Are you crying?” asked Fiona incredulously. “No!” he said quickly. “I’ve been chopping onions for Mam’s stuffing.” Fiona then gladly resumed her place in the kitchen as the twins pounced on Thomas, asking for another horsey ride, and she returned to find her mother, Phoebe, and Betsy, in quiet paroxysms of laughter. Fiona was disappointed at having missed out on the fun, but they happily repeated the whole story to her. After Fiona had left, Thomas began happily whistling as he scrubbed away at the spuds, but his mother saw that he wasn’t applying enough pressure, so she advised him accordingly. He then focused more on his task, which made him stop whistling, and soon the potatoes were sparkling—all twenty-seven of them.

He was slightly winded after this, but his mother hadn’t finished with him yet. Mrs. O’Malley needed Phoebe to get a pan and hold it steady for her, so she asked him to take Phoebe’s job of chopping onions. He took the job with relish, and his mother advised him more than once to be careful with the knife. But a commiserating gasp from Phoebe soon told Mrs. O’Malley that he hadn’t been careful enough. A temporary halt in the proceedings was necessary to attend his finger, but he was still eager to help, so Betsy let him keep an eye on the pies to make sure they didn’t burn. But the poor fellow had not yet acclimated to the kitchen’s heat, and peeking regularly into a hot oven for ten minutes straight was enough to send him reeling back into the sitting room at the advice of his mother. Fiona then had her fair share of laughter at her poor brother, and those in the kitchen began operating in their own system once again. Mr. O’Malley and his sons were beginning to despair of Thanksgiving dinner ever being ready when Mrs. O’Malley stepped into the sitting room, saying, “What are you sleeping for? It’s time to eat!” Everyone over four feet then took a dish from the kitchen and brought it to the table. There was more than enough food for the O’Malley family, so much that even the hungriest of them began to despair of ever eating it all. The table was laid out with turkey—with Mrs. O’Malley’s famous stuffing—cranberry sauce, buttered rolls, green beans, corn on the cob, potatoes, apple pie, pumpkin pie, and walnuts. Fiona had decorated the table with wreaths, leaves, acorns, and pinecones, and everyone took their place at the table and ed hands. Mr. O’Malley thanked the Lord for their many blessings and carved the turkey. The twins were the most eager of anyone to be served, and it would seem that a small, relatively unnoticeable piece of apple pie went missing before their plates came around to them. An hour later, most of the food on the table was no longer in sight. Before dinner, Mrs. O’Malley had assumed they would have plenty of food left over, but upon surveying the table, only half of what she had expected was there. She was not in the least disappointed. On the contrary, she was rather proud of her family’s large appetites. It was all anyone could do after dinner to sit in front of the fire to digest their

food, but no one minded the silence. It was one of those moments when one can’t help but think of how truly blessed one is, regardless of material possessions or fullness of stomach—but it often seems that the latter is a contributing factor to such thoughts. Supper was hardly necessary, except for a few apples and some popcorn placed over the fire for the children. Mrs. O’Malley played some hymns, and everyone said goodnight. As Mr. O’Malley put out the fire, he noticed a peculiar ache in his bones, and smiling to himself, he went to a window and peered out. A snowflake hit the glass in response, and his smile remained permanent as he climbed the stairs to bed, feeling as if there were a mischievous secret between God and himself about the next day’s weather. He was still smiling when he woke the next morning to hear the children screaming in delight. A snow day to Mr. O’Malley also meant less work on the farm, and the cows were safely inside the barn, so his smile turned over and shut its eyes again. Breakfast could hardly be managed with the children. They were fairly bouncing out of their seats, and even calm little Phoebe ate her breakfast in a hurry. Thomas didn’t help anyone by running down the stairs as he pulled on his hat, shouting, “Last one out is a rotten egg!” with Nicodemus following close behind him, barking. This remark brought the other children out in a frenzy in half the time. Only Phoebe had the presence of mind to help wash the dishes, but Mrs. O’Malley came into the kitchen and took the dishes out of Betsy’s and Phoebe’s hands. “Go on, you two,” she said. “It’s too fine a day to spend in the kitchen unless you’re my age. Now, run along.” They obeyed instantly and ed the others. In the time between breakfast and dinner, the children managed to build an entire family of snowmen, make snow angels, build a fort, and throw snowballs at one another. Mrs. O’Malley eventually stepped outside with Jack on her hip to call them back into the house but was met by a group of children so unlike her own that they protested in outrage, stating that she was unfair.

Betsy had come willingly, but Mrs. O’Malley had to sweeten her orders to the others with an offer of hot chocolate and cookies. They were in the house in an instant, and Mrs. O’Malley looked at her youngest with a nod of satisfaction. He giggled at his mother, and they returned into the house behind the others. Counting sheep was not necessary that night. All slept soundly, and though the children were too tired to play outside again the next day, they found much amusement in the house. Jigsaw puzzles were a favorite pastime of the O’Malley children, mainly because of the method they had invented of solving them. They gathered in a circle and divided the pieces more or less equally. Then they chose who went first, and that person was given ten seconds, counted aloud, to place as many pieces as they could, even if they could not place any. The next person then took their turn, and the first one to run out of puzzle pieces won. They would also tell each other stories, where every time someone ended a sentence, someone else would begin another, and this kept the children, as well as Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, thoroughly entertained on cold nights around the fire. Thomas’s dog, Nicodemus, loved the cold months. There was snow, which he still could not quite figure out, but he loved to run around in whatever-it-was and sometimes eat it. It was the only time of year he was allowed to spend most of the day inside, where he would lie on the floor in front of the fireplace. Sometimes his boy would lie with him to keep him company, and at the end of the day, Nico would follow his boy to his room and lay at his feet. Life was pleasant in these months, and Nicodemus always hated to see them end. Thankfully, they weren’t over just yet, so Nicodemus and the rest of the family looked forward to the rest of winter.

DECEMBER WELCOMED MORE snow, the days ed quickly towards Christmas, and a wing of the old house was opened and aired out just for the occasion. This wing consisted of a drawing room that once complimented the dining room, and two adjacent bedrooms that the O’Malleys used as guest rooms. The drawing room was decorated two weeks in advance for the children’s eager excitement, which could not be dampened by any means except giving them their way. Therefore, the whole family, well bundled from the cold, set out to select the perfect tree. This undertaking was the work of some thirty to forty minutes, for the family had trouble deciding on the same one. Once chosen, Thomas and his father cut it down as the twins watched excitedly. Bob had the important task of dragging the tree home, and the twins had the important task of adding to the tree’s mass and weight. Fiona was, perhaps, the most eager of all the children to decorate the drawing room before Christmas Eve, and she did so with extraordinary vigor. Phoebe was her faithful assistant and smilingly watched her work. Ribbons, tinsel, greenery, ornaments, candles, and stringed popcorn adorned the tree alone. Everywhere else, there was an overflow of such decorations. Above the mantlepiece, there was a garland of greenery that Fiona had gathered from a holly tree; stuck to the corners of the ceiling and above the windows was more greenery adorned with red ribbons tied in bows; and in every place that seemed appropriate, there was a sprinkling of tinsel or an ornament, and sometimes both. “I think Christmas is my favorite holiday of all,” said Fiona, twirling barefoot on the rug in the drawing room, surveying her work with satisfaction. “My birthday is my favorite holiday,” said Jimmy. “Mine too!” said Georgie. “You both have the same birthday, and besides, a birthday isn’t a holiday, or else everyone in the country would celebrate it.” “Don’t they?”

“Of course not.” “That’s right, George,” interceded Thomas. “Everyone in the country may celebrate my birthday, but they don’t celebrate yours.” “Why not?” “Because you wear your tros inside out.” “I do not!” “Look at the seams.” Disillusioned, George looked down and pulled out the side of his pants to see that the seams were indeed on the wrong side of the cloth. “They’re supposed to be that way.” “Are not,” said Thomas smugly. “Now don’t you start with him,” said Phoebe. “He dressed himself this morning. Didn’t you, Georgie?” “Yes, I did!” he said proudly. “And I think he looks very handsome, and so does Jimmy.” They beamed with pride. “What about me?” asked Thomas with a big smile. Phoebe kept a straight face and said, “I would have thought Mam told you that when she got your clothes this morning.” The younger children laughed, and Thomas tossed a handful of popcorn at Phoebe. She retaliated with a pillow, which he threw back with equal force. Fiona, Georgie, and Jimmy all took Phoebe’s side, Jack watched in high diversion, and Mrs. O’Malley, happening to through to the extra bedrooms with a stack of sheets, looked at her children to see a pillow fight in full bloom. “Children?” she said calmly.

They froze when they saw her. “He started it,” said Fiona, George, and Jimmy, all pointing to the culprit. “What!” said Thomas innocently. Jack cooed in agreement. “Phoebe?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. Phoebe nodded mischievously. Thomas looked at her in surprised horror. “Never mind, children,” said Mrs. O’Malley, taking her youngest in her free arm. “I’m going to need all of you to help me make the beds. It won’t get done by itself.” She was off, with the rest of her children following behind like ducklings, muttering to herself about how the Christmas season “does something to children.”

MR. AND MRS. O’MALLEY allowed Thomas to invite a friend or two from college to spend Christmas with them, and they arrived as expected. Sam Walter, a youth of sixteen, was a mathematical prodigy and had been enrolled in college with a full scholarship at the age of twelve. He was awkward socially but was soon relieved to see that, though friendly, the O’Malley family did not expect fashionable small talk from their visitors, and if a subject came up that he was well-read upon, he could discuss it with enthusiasm. Charley Thorne, Thomas’s other friend, was a more typical age for attending college, though perhaps not of the typical character. He had a bright, smiling countenance, and a tall, athletic build that made one feel sorry for him due to such awkwardness as inevitably follows in the manners of such a youth. Sam and Charley were welcome guests in the O’Malley household and felt this as soon as they tramped in from the snow. The family took great interest in them, for they received few visitors in the course of a year. Thomas showed them to their rooms, and the boys prepared to spend a pleasant week at their friend’s queer but happy home. The younger children were happy that Thomas now had other means of enjoyment than making fun of them. In fact, they seldom saw Thomas and his friends, unless they wanted to, for they knew they could always be found outside in the snow, eating at the big table in the kitchen, or romping with Nicodemus in the drawing room. Christmas Eve was spent in high anticipation of the coming day. Presents were deposited under the tree, carols were sung, and Mr. O’Malley told a story to keep the twins from tampering with their gifts so they might open “by accident.” The story served well enough for a temporary distraction, but its effects would not last the night.

PHOEBE WOKE IN THE dim blue light of pre-dawn glinting off the snow outside. She had been dreaming about her parents again and was tossing and turning, about to go back to sleep when she heard voices. They were hushed and sounded a lot like the twins’ voices. A stifled laugh broke out to confirm her theory. She then sighed, rolled out of bed, donned her robe, and sleepwalked downstairs to see what the matter was. But it didn’t take much guessing on her part. She used an alternate stairway that led more quickly to the drawing room, where, she suspected, the twins were opening their Christmas presents early. She was half humored at the idea but didn’t think Mrs. O’Malley would approve, so she made her way downstairs before they could do much harm. But before she reached the bottom of the stairs, something met her eyes that she did not expect. The twins were in the drawing room, but they were not alone. Thomas and his friends were with them, but the three of them did not appear any older than Georgie and Jimmy in their behavior. They were eating candy and apples from the stockings that hung over the fireplace, unwrapping their gifts in the process, and tossing bows and ribbons upon each other’s heads. Thomas had already unwrapped a sled that his father had made for him and sat on it, eating an apple. Sam was in the process of devouring a book that Thomas had gifted him, and Charley, who to Thomas’s latest knowledge had taken an interest in pugilistics, was trying on a new pair of gloves. Jimmy and George stood nearby, enjoying candy canes and wearing new coats that their mother had made for them over their nightshirts. Phoebe was one of those unfortunate people who do not possess the power of speech upon waking up, and if she had, the goings-on in the drawing room would have rendered her speechless. She stood blinking in the light of the fireplace, and Thomas spotted her after his friend Charley stumbled over himself, and he ran to make her them before she had the presence of mind to pretend she had seen nothing and go back to bed. She was not up to reprimanding anyone and was on the point of returning upstairs when he led her ceremoniously into the drawing room.

“Welcome, fair lady!” he said, “to the Society for Children Against the Customs and Traditions Ordinated by Parents, for Parents, on Christmas Day. Help yourself to a present. Would you like a cinnamon stick?” It was all Phoebe could do to glare at Thomas reprovingly as he seated her on a cushion from the couch on his sled. He placed a large square box wrapped in brightly colored paper on her lap, and she laid her head upon the bow. “Ah, come on, wake up, Phoeb!” he said, rocking her shoulder. “We need to open all of our presents before Mam and Da find out, it’s part of the fun. Is Effie awake yet?” “Right here,” came a voice from behind the tree. Fiona had seen Phoebe leave their room and followed to see what was going on for herself. She was already unwrapping a present, tossing shreds of paper over her shoulder. Jimmy walked up to Phoebe, and placing a bow on her head, he kissed her cheek and said, “Mewwy Chwisthmas!” All Phoebe’s sternness melted away, and she kissed him back and said, “Merry Christmas, Jimmy.” He ran off to bashfully wipe his cheek, and Phoebe began to open her present. “There you go, Phoeb!” said Thomas, happily resuming his apple. But she was interrupted by the voice of Mr. O’Malley coming from the foot of the stairs. “Looks like we were mistaken, Mother,” he said to his wife. “I knew we should have put coal in their stockings.” Mrs. O’Malley laughed and set down her youngest. He ran on his wobbly legs to the others and fell into a pile of paper with a squeal. Thomas rescued him as Mrs. O’Malley observed Phoebe sitting with a halfopened present in her lap.

“Really, Phoebe,” she said in mock severity, “I would have thought at least you would have more sense than this.” “Don’t worry, Mam,” said Thomas, laughing. “She tried to stop us, but I made her sit down and stuck a gift in her lap and a candy cane in her mouth. She succumbed heroically.” “Well, I guess it’s all right then,” said Mrs. O’Malley, smiling, but she still held to her conviction that Christmas does something to children. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley then ed their children in the process of opening gifts, and the noise soon woke Betsy. They received her with a great welcome, and she quickly began opening her own presents. By the time everyone had finished, the sun was well up, and the little ones had fallen asleep. They were carried off to bed, and Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy prepared breakfast.

CHRISTMAS DINNER PROVED even more festive than Thanksgiving and consisted of ham, roasted potatoes with butter, sourdough bread, sweet peas, Christmas pudding, and plum cake. After dinner, the children ran outside to play with Thomas’s new sled, and for supper, they ate roasted chestnuts and baked apples as they sat around the fire in the drawing room. Mr. O’Malley opened his Bible to read the Christmas story, Mrs. O’Malley played the piano, which had been brought into the drawing room for the occasion, and they sang carols before going to bed. Thomas’s friends had planned to leave the day after Christmas, but he urged them to stay one more day, and they readily agreed. And since the next day was sunny, they spent it giving Bob plenty of exercise pulling Thomas’s new sled. It was impossible for Charley and Sam to be unaffected by the atmosphere at the O’Malleys’. The love and happiness that endured there made a lasting impression on their minds, and little did they know that this impact would help them grow into better men in the future. But most visits, however pleasant or unpleasant, cannot last forever, and Thomas’s friends left for certain the next day. After taking their leave of everyone, Thomas transported them to Hillbrook Station on his sled. Thomas was not to return to college until January, so after taking a hearty farewell of his friends, he promptly returned home to enjoy the remainder of his holiday. Christmas spirit lingered in the air in the week that followed, though daily life was still pressing. Thomas continued to refrain from teasing the younger children, but his somberness worried them. He dreaded going back to school, and common sense told him that his professors would no longer allow him to take his examinations early. Thomas felt himself crossing the barrier inevitable to all children at some point in their lives. For him, it was the one that stood between boyhood and manhood. It would be a longer journey for him than most, but that made it no less painful. Mrs. O’Malley saw this and felt sorry for him. She began to routinely tell herself to be patient with him, that he would soon be himself again. But, aside from

growing pains, there was a matter that had been weighing on Thomas’s mind since he had come home. Once the merriment of the holidays had subsided, Phoebe returned to her new habitual gravity of manner and lessening of familiarity with Thomas, which made him wonder if she had not forgiven him for revealing Daniel Wilson’s character. Nothing would ever make him regret this, but he wished Phoebe wouldn’t carry on as if she blamed him for it. He wished to speak to her before leaving, but he did not know how, until one afternoon gave him the opportunity. Phoebe, Fiona, and Thomas were all sitting on the rug around the fire in the drawing room, which had been kept open for the family’s enjoyment after Thomas’s guests had left. Fiona had just left the room to find a pair of scissors, and Thomas, afraid that this would be his only opportunity, but more afraid of what to say, stared into space with a troubled expression. “What’s the matter?” asked Phoebe. He looked up. “Oh, nothing,” he said before clearing his throat and looking back at his book. “You’re not reading,” she said after a moment. He looked up again and smiled on top of his troubled expression. She couldn’t be fooled. “It’s nothing,” he said, “just...well, I was wondering—Just so you know, I wouldn’t bring this up for anything—but...I’d like you to tell me something—if you’d rather not talk about it, just say so.” “What is it?” she asked worriedly. “Are you—do you blame me at all for what happened with Daniel Wilson?” Phoebe did not say anything. It was silent for what Thomas thought was an hour, and he began to scold himself for bringing it up.

He was no longer comfortable enough to wait for a response, but before he moved, he heard a quiet but decided, “No.” “I can’t blame you for anything,” she said. Thomas sighed from relief. “I might have at first,” she added, for her conscience pricked her, “but it didn’t last very long. I realized that you wouldn’t have said anything, and Mamma wouldn’t have asked me to stop writing him, unless there was a good reason.” Thomas grew pensive. His mother was right: Phoebe was sensible about things, but now he almost wished she did feel bitter towards him. “And you forgive me now?” he asked humbly. She looked at him in smiling pity, and coming to his side, she kissed his cheek and said, “There is nothing to forgive, brother. I have only to thank you for what you’ve done to protect me. It’s more than I can ever repay, and I love you for it.” Thomas’s face nearly matched his hair as he gave an awkward shrug, saying, “It was nothing.” Phoebe chuckled, for it was certainly not “nothing” in her mind, and Mrs. O’Malley ed through the room with the day’s washing. “Nice to see you two getting along again!” she said, coming and going. “...hardly spoken to each other these four weeks...” could be heard echoed from the hallway, at which Thomas and Phoebe laughed between themselves. Thomas felt so much better after this conversation that, as he prepared to leave again, he seemed to have the lightest heart in the world, and Mrs. O’Malley despaired less about her boy. The rest of the family noticed this improvement and assumed Thomas was either looking forward to his return to school or putting on a brave face. Either way, the day after New Year’s came, and the family piled onto the cart and rode to the train station. Goodbyes were said, perhaps not as tearful this time as the last, cheerful waves followed Thomas as the train carried him away to school, and the family returned home.

Part II

A Journey

Chapter 13

Time ing More than a year ed before much of anything exciting happened in the O’Malley family. Spring gently pushed the veil of winter aside, and daily life went on the same as ever, excepting the celebration of a few birthdays. Betsy’s came first, though she claimed she didn’t have a birthday. Then came Mrs. O’Malley’s, who, at this point, hardly viewed her own birthday as something to be celebrated. Then came Jack’s, but a first birthday to a child is hardly anything to celebrate either, though for different reasons. Mr. O’Malley welcomed his birthday with a little more glee than his wife and youngest did theirs, but was exceeded by the ever-zealous Fiona upon her own. But the most special observance to the family in the spring was the celebration of the day Mrs. O’Malley brought Phoebe home. Phoebe had not expected this event to be celebrated, but on that morning, she woke up and stumbled sleepily to the breakfast table to find a bouquet of flowers by her plate and a heartfelt note from Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley. She thanked them with loving tears and treasured the note for the rest of her life. Summer brought Thomas home from college for a few months, during which time he turned back into a little boy with the help of his family. In these months, which were chiefly spent outside, the twins’ celebrated their seventh birthday, and then came Phoebe’s sixteenth. Then the family saw Thomas back off to college, where he would inevitably return to being a young man. Thomas did not take advantage of his academic standing this year, which brought a lonely birthday for himself and a lonelier Thanksgiving for the entire family. But when Christmas arrived, Thomas came home, and all were happy again, and when he returned to school, life returned to normal once again. But normal was not enough in Mrs. O’Malley’s mind to help Phoebe recover from an interrupted childhood, followed by a broken heart and disappointed

iration. It was not enough to make the glimpses of spring that Phoebe got in her step permanent, nor to keep her momentary smiles lasting. Mr. O’Malley tried to comfort his wife by pointing out that Phoebe’s behavior may have been her natural disposition, even as a young child. Mrs. O’Malley did not believe this. She knew the look on children’s faces when they had grown up without much joy, and Phoebe did not have that look. If anything, it was the sad, grave expression that did not seem to come naturally to her, however often it appeared in the past year. At the first signs of Phoebe’s despondency, Mrs. O’Malley had decided to let time run its course, hoping it might bring about some improvement. But the ing of the year had brought no perceptible change, and Mrs. O’Malley prayed for a solution. This solution one day presented itself in the form of a letter from her sister. Mrs. Fiske was a widow who lived on the coast of Massachusetts, and having been the only daughter who married suitably, she inherited the majority of her parents’ property. The two sisters were dearly close, and though they possessed some differences of opinion, they had been inseparable as children, and no influence of time, space, or principles served as an excuse for permanent estrangement. They wrote to each other frequently and on the most intimate of and details. Mrs. Fiske’s letter to her sister primarily contained expressions of how long it had been since they had last seen each other and ended with an invitation to come and spend a month or two with her as soon as possible. Mrs. Fiske was the last one of the sisters who had traveled to see the other, so she felt it her due that Margaret come and see her this time. Mrs. Fiske, from the s of her sister’s letters, had also taken an interest in Phoebe. Therefore, the invitation specifically included her, as well as the rest of the family. Mrs. O’Malley felt the validity of her sister’s request and presented it to her husband. He had never gotten along with her sister, nor she with him, but he knew the importance of the sisters’ relationship and respected it. Though he couldn’t resist making an occasional joke at his sister-in-law’s expense.

He expressed reluctance to leave the farm when his wife informed him of her sister’s letter and refused to make the requested visit. “But you go, dearie,” he said, “and give her my best.” “And what is your best?” said Mrs. O’Malley quietly. “You’ll take Jack with you, of course,” he went on, paying no heed to her sarcasm. “He’s still too young to be away from his mother.” “That goes without saying, dear. She says she would like it if I brought Phoebe along with me, and I figured I might as well take Fiona—We had better go in the summer when Thomas will be able to help with things here, but it has been such a long time since Dottie’s seen him. I’m sure she would enjoy it if I brought all the children. “My dear,” she continued in a different tone, “I know you dislike the idea of having a stranger care for your cows, but they’re just cows after all. Suppose we only hired someone for the summer—It wouldn’t even have to be a stranger. Bill Morrison is just retired from business, and he’s driving his wife mad—she told me so herself. He’d be a wonderful help to you!” “Heart’s dearest,” replied Mr. O’Malley in a tone of patient stubbornness, “not until these ts are rusted stiff, and I can’t make my way out of bed in the morning, will I leave this farm in the hands of another person.” “Very well then. Summer it is, and I will take Phoebe, Fiona, and Jack, and leave Thomas, the twins, and Betsy to help you with things here. Is that all right?” “That’ll be fine,” he said. Mrs. O’Malley then left her husband without a reply and went to tell Phoebe and Fiona the news. To say that Fiona was excited would be an understatement. She loved her aunt. However, a visit to the seashore was the chief source of her excitement. “Oh, Phoebe, it’ll be so much fun!” she said. “Have you ever been to the seashore?”

Phoebe had been once, but it was when she was a baby, so she said, “Not that I can .” “Oh, it’s wonderful! And Aunt Dottie is so nice and interesting! Wait till you see how she does her hair! When do we leave, Mam?” “Well, we will have to wait until Thomas gets home for the summer so he can help your father with the farm.” “The summer? Oh, well, that’s only a few months away, and the weather will be much warmer then. Oh, I can’t wait!” Mrs. O’Malley was glad Fiona was coming too, for there was a chance her enthusiasm would keep Phoebe in high spirits. Spring ed with the observance of the usual birthdays, Fiona’s lengthy wait for a trip to her aunt’s house somewhat lessened by her own, and another month ed, bringing Thomas home from school. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t plan on leaving until a week after her son’s return so she could enjoy some time with him. Unfortunately, most of this time went to preparations for the journey, but she still managed to find time to spend with her boy. She repeatedly thanked him for agreeing to stay with his father while they were away and often found herself explaining her wish to hire someone to help with the farm. Thomas agreed with his mother on that point, but for a different reason. Going to college had refined a sense for business he’d had from a young age, and he took the opportunity to present an idea that had been growing in his mind for some time. “To tell you the truth, Mam,” he said, “I think Da could use several hands around the farm.” “Several?” “Well, at least a few—Mam, did you know that here on our farm, we produce the best dairy in the country?”

“You sound like a newspaper item, son.” He chuckled. “I’m sure I do, but you know what I mean. That’s a small part of what makes me so homesick when I’m away.” “And so skinny?” she said with an evaluating glance at her child. “Hey, I look a little better this year, don’t I?” he said in his full stature. “Yes, son, very handsome,” said Mrs. O’Malley, distractedly patronizing him as she rummaged through a sock drawer. “Well, I’m not surprised. Your father practically feeds the cows from the breakfast table and rocks them to sleep every night. But why does that mean we should get several hired hands unless we were to run a full-fledged business?” “Exactly, Mam. It could be a whole business. Da wouldn’t have to slave away as he does with his ts, you wouldn’t have to worry about the responsibility falling on any of us children, and we could all take these trips to see Aunt Dottie together.” Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of these things already, Thomas. That’s why I suggested hiring Mr. Morrison in the first place. But your father is particular about his farm—it suits him, you know. I don’t know how keen he’ll be on hiring out a whole group of workers when he doesn’t even want someone he knows personally to look after things for a month or two.” “But he can’t go on like this forever, Mam.” “No, he can’t,” she agreed, “but if you can talk some sense into your father and explain to him that he doesn’t have to work until he’s half-dead, I’ll see that he puts you in charge of these matters.” Mrs. O’Malley wasn’t exactly serious, but Thomas’s eyes brightened, and he said, “It’s a deal, Mam.” And with that, he shook her hand and stepped out of the room, leaving her to wonder if she should regret her own words.

THE DAY OF DEPARTURE was a little on the cheerful side for such a close family as the O’Malleys. Fiona practically danced from the door to the train, and Thomas, cheered by the proposition his mother had presented, viewed it as a challenge to keep him occupied in his spare time. Mrs. O’Malley felt jilted by her husband’s choosing to remain with his cows rather than come with her, so her goodbye to him was colder than usual. The twins were disappointed at not being able to look for crabs at the seashore, and they would miss their mother, but they didn’t mind not being submitted to Aunt Dottie pinching their cheeks, so they happily stayed behind as long as Fiona promised to bring them back a crab. Fiona made no such promise. Mrs. O’Malley felt sorry for Betsy staying behind and told her to take care of herself as much as possible while they were gone. Betsy didn’t mind, for she felt that this would be her holiday as much as anyone else’s. Phoebe was the only one going who would have been fine staying home, but the curiosity excited by a visit to Aunt Dottie, the seashore, and the idea of riding on a train, enabled her to look forward to the journey. This excursion would be Phoebe’s first time to ride on a train, and Fiona, who was far more experienced in the matter since she had ridden a train once when she was six years old, was more excited for Phoebe than Phoebe was for herself. She led her onto the enger car, ran with her down the aisles between seats, and looked out the windows until her mother bid her to sit down. Fiona obeyed, but unconsciously reminded Phoebe of the twins in church as she fidgeted within her boundaries. The train rolled away, the family waved goodbye to each other, and Fiona began an endless stream of verbal thoughts. “Isn’t this so much fun, Phoebe! It’s been years since we’ve been to see Aunt Dottie. Ooh! We need to collect some seashells while we’re there so we can make necklaces. Auntie can show us how! Oh, I can’t believe we’re finally going! Look how fast the world is moving by, Phoebe! Isn’t it amazing?”

Phoebe was indeed amazed. Trees and fenceposts reeled away as quickly as she saw them. It was exciting, yet somehow it made her sad. It felt significant, but she couldn’t think why. She moved closer to the window to watch the world by and managed a smile for Fiona’s sake, but she still couldn’t imagine why she felt the way she did. Mrs. O’Malley covertly watched Phoebe and could see something happening in her mind. And with a blink of her eyes, she saw that her Phoebe was growing up, more quickly than she had expected. She figured this was because of all the grief that the child had endured. It did not seem fair. Would Phoebe ever get to experience the joys of girlhood longer than a few weeks at a time? Mrs. O’Malley also felt an injustice to herself, for this child, who seemed such a gift from heaven, was slipping through her fingers as quickly as she had come. The door of womanhood was opening to Phoebe, and life was already pushing her through. If Phoebe asked Mrs. O’Malley about the significance of the things rushing past the windows, she might have found her answer, for Mrs. O’Malley had learned this lesson many years ago: The things we experience in this life are gone as quickly as they come, and we’re left with the memory of them impressed on our minds. Every now and then, an occasional feeling of giddiness comes from the knowledge that time has ed, for life provides nothing steadfast, except the love of the One who journeys with us and meets us at our destination with open arms. This would be one of the most important lessons Phoebe would ever learn, but unfortunately, she did not think to ask someone who had already learned it. She would have to find out the harder way, as many people do, for lack of asking questions. After a couple of hours, the train’s novelty wore off, and the travelers lapsed into a languid silence. Another hour ed, and they pulled into a station. Fiona jumped up excitedly, thinking this was their stop. “No, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “We’re still two stations away.” Fiona flopped down, disappointed. An exchange of engers took place, the

conductor attended to some technical matters, and they were off again. Another hour ed, and Fiona’s stomach began speaking for itself. Mrs. O’Malley pulled out the lunch basket and set out their meal of chicken and biscuits, and they helped themselves. A moment later, Phoebe became aware that they were being watched. She looked in the general direction and saw a black young lady in her mid-twenties with a baby and two children. The children were younger than George and Jimmy, and the baby couldn’t have been any older than Jack. He was crying, and soon attracted the notice of Mrs. O’Malley, for, being a mother herself, she recognized the type of cry it was. She set down the basket, and, handing Jack to Phoebe, she walked across the aisle to the lady. Phoebe could hear bits and pieces of their conversation. The young lady was the first to speak, apologizing for the noise, but she was spared further apology by Mrs. O’Malley, who requested her to them for lunch. The lady began to protest, but Mrs. O’Malley stated that she was afraid they had brought too much food and didn’t want it to spoil. The young lady hesitated a moment before smiling and gratefully accepting the invitation. She gathered her children and followed Mrs. O’Malley to where Phoebe, Jack, and Fiona sat. “Children,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “this is Mrs. Baker. She’s kindly agreed to us for lunch.” Phoebe shook hands with her, and the lady smiled as they began a pleasant hour of food and conversation. Mrs. Baker found herself telling her new friends much of her recent history. She had been born in New York to wealthy parents, and, at the age of eighteen, she married a man who had run away from his master’s house at his mother’s urging. At the onset of the Civil War, he felt an urge to for the sake of his mother and fought bravely to his death. Her children’s names, she said, were Christian and Catherine, and the baby, whose name was Lincoln after the late president, belonged to her sister, who died in childbirth.

“It was his mother’s last wish,” she said, indicating her youngest. “She was a fervent er of President Lincoln.” “As am I,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “It wasn’t in vain that he or your husband devoted their lives to the cause of freedom for all men. Nor others who devoted themselves to the same cause.” At the end of her sentence, Mrs. O’Malley ed a significant look to Phoebe, who was nearly brought to tears. “You’ve lost loved ones?” asked Mrs. Baker. “My parents,” said Phoebe in a thick voice. “I’m very sorry. But I’m grateful for their sacrifice, and yours. It must have taken great courage for someone as young as you are to endure that loss.” Phoebe had never considered before that she had made any sacrifice in light of her parents’ effort, but she smiled at Mrs. Baker for her kind words and found confirmation of them in Mrs. O’Malley’s eyes. They finished their lunch and parted congenially, for Mrs. Baker and her children were getting off at the next stop. She was returning to New York to live with her family and to seek out her mother-in-law, who, she suspected, was living nearby. But she didn’t leave the train without exchanging addresses with Mrs. O’Malley. “I want to thank you, Mrs. Baker,” said Mrs. O’Malley aside to her before she left, “for everything you’ve done. It seems to be a gift from God, our meeting you today.” “For me too, Mrs. O’Malley. Thank you for feeding my children,” she added, for she knew Mrs. O’Malley had been pretending the food would spoil. “It was a pleasure,” said Mrs. O’Malley, smiling. “We enjoyed your company.” They took leave of each other, and the train set off again.

Chapter 14

Whitecrest Phoebe had much to think about during the remainder of the journey. The feelings she had associated with her parents going off to war had only come from her own experiences. But meeting Mrs. Baker had opened her world. She could now see through the eyes of someone else, a woman ten years older than herself, who related her story, bravely speaking of her loss, who knew that the outcome of her sacrifice was worth not only her future but that of her children and many other people in America. For once since the loss of her parents, Phoebe felt a sense of pride in what they had done. They had seen a cause worth fighting for, and they didn’t refuse to fight for it. She could see the amount of courage this would have taken. And the feeling that her parents had left her began to be pushed out by the knowledge that they hadn’t left her at all. Through their efforts, she could live in a country with the freedom to love and respect as equals, not just people like Mrs. Baker and her family, but every human being that called America home. She now realized how truly proud she was of her parents, of her country, and of anyone who made any effort towards the cause of freedom for mankind. And just then, another cause entered her mind, not of societal freedom but of spiritual freedom, a cause she had known from a young age and had been reminded of since coming to live with the O’Malleys, one that had been paid for by the One who willingly gave His life for such a cause. This analogy brought the truth of the matter closer to Phoebe’s heart and lent her a better grasp of its meaning. Her eyes were opening in many ways, and she could look back on every moment with her mother and father and cherish it eternally. She could face the past, present, and future with open eyes and open arms. As doors were opening in her country, they were opening in her mind, and in the future, where she was certain she would see her parents again, one day. The world looked beautiful from where she stood, and she was excited to think about what might come next.

Since their conversation with Mrs. Baker, Mrs. O’Malley could see an inexpressible peace in Phoebe’s countenance and sighed to herself, thinking that her girl might be all right at last...

MRS. O’MALLEY WOKE from a nap to see Fiona bouncing in front of her, announcing that they were there. “We’re here, Mam! We’re here! Wake up! Wake up!” “Fiona darling, I love you more than life, but sometimes I regret that you inherited your father’s good lungs,” mumbled Mrs. O’Malley as she slowly sat forward. “Sorry, Mam,” she whispered and hastily kissed her mother’s cheek in apology. “But this is our stop. I’m sure this time!” she said, looking out the window. Phoebe was gathering their things while she held Jack in one arm as Mrs. O’Malley was accustomed to doing. Mrs. O’Malley smiled at this picture before saying, “Fiona, take that basket from Phoebe. Phoebe, give Jack to me. You’ve got too much to carry already. I’ll take that bag. There! Are we all set?” “Yes, ma’am,” they replied harmoniously. “Good. Now, come along. Stay close behind me.” They followed as directed, and as they stepped off the train, they were met by a man wearing overalls and a straw hat. “Mrs. O’Malley?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “How are you, Marley?” “Oh,” he said dopily, “same as ever, I suppose. It’s good to see you again, Miss Margaret. Miss Dorothy sent me to fetch you. Right over here!” “Excellent,” she said, following him to an open carriage. “Would you take these, please? And we have some other things on the train too.” “I’ll see to that right away, ma’am.” He deposited the things she had given him and went to fetch the other items.

After Marley returned, they set off from Whitecrest Station towards Aunt Dottie’s house. The scenery was beautiful. Whitecrest was a well-populated, civilized town, in which nearly every building was white. The architecture was simple yet elaborate, consisting of white marble, stone, and painted brick. Such simplicity showcased the lush landscaping, which consisted of wild grasses, sandy soil, and native flowers. The flowers especially attracted Phoebe’s attention, for they bloomed in the most vibrant of reds and pinks with occasional blue. Saline breezes floated in from the ocean and flitted back and forth among the buildings like the butterflies that soared upon them. Everything about the atmosphere was conducive to life, filling one with a sense of youth and innocence, especially for Mrs. O’Malley, who had spent her own childhood in the house they were now approaching. They turned onto a lane that led, so it appeared, directly to the ocean. Phoebe had never seen anything so blue in her life, and she unconsciously rose from her seat and leaned against the opposite bench. She breathed in the sight as she did the air that filled her lungs. She couldn’t believe such a place existed in the entire world, and if someone suddenly asked her how she wanted to spend the rest of her life, she would have replied that she wanted to stay there forever. Mrs. O’Malley, as much as she loved seeing Phoebe enjoy herself, was concerned about her safety, for they were about to round a hill, and said, “Phoebe, dear, do sit down. You’re getting as bad as Fiona.” Phoebe, after realizing what she was doing, sat down, a little embarrassed but still smiling and enjoying the scenery. She couldn’t look away and seemed to be making up for all the years she hadn’t been to the seashore. She was too busy looking at the ocean to notice the carriage turn beneath her and roll onto a drive, but suddenly they came to a stop, and Mrs. O’Malley said, “Come along, girls.” Phoebe looked around to see a grand white house standing like an old friend waiting to say hello. It matched the style of the buildings in town, so much that it seemed the house had been built first and every other structure to imitate it. This was not far from the truth, for Mrs. O’Malley’s grandfather had acquired a

considerable fortune early in his lifetime, and when he retired, he built the house and established the town simultaneously. He had intended the structures to be designed simply in order to display the surrounding natural beauty but also exhibit a certain elegance of their own. This was accomplished beautifully and inspired awe in Phoebe, for, though the house was large and imposing, it reflected the splendor around it as if modestly saying, “Don’t look at me; look around.” Phoebe was in a daydream as she followed Mrs. O’Malley up the steps to the front door. They were shown into a spacious foyer designed with similar taste to the outside of the house, grand, white, and elegantly simple. Fiona suddenly turned bashful. She loved her aunt and was excited to be at the seashore at last, but it had been a few years since she had last seen her, and she felt as if she would be meeting her aunt for the first time all over again. A cheery voice came from the top of the stairs. “Is that you, sister?” “Yes, dear. Shall I come up?” said Mrs. O’Malley. “No, no, no, dear. I’m already on my way down. Dreadful stairs! One can never get down as quickly as one likes.” The owner of the voice made her appearance. And what an appearance it was! A fashionably informal lady in her late thirties tripped lightly down the stairs in a seashell pink, Marie Antoinette style dress. Her light auburn hair was braided into a coil around the crown of her head and fell in a plait over her left shoulder. “Oh, my sweet sister!” she said, running to Mrs. O’Malley to embrace her. “It was so good of you to come and see me. You don’t know how lonesome I’ve been out here all alone. I suppose that’s why I took that trip last year, to get my mind off things. But still I missed you so!” “Oh, I missed you, dear,” returned Mrs. O’Malley. “How are you?” “Oh, I’ve never been better,” she said, kissing Jack, “especially now that you’re here. But, is this my little Fiona?” she gasped. “Oh, my lovely little faerie, how

you’ve grown!” “Hello, Aunt Dottie!” Fiona said, embracing her aunt, her bashfulness melting away. “And this must be Phoebe,” she said, turning to her. “How do you do, Phoebe?” she said embracing her. “It’s so nice to meet you at last! Oh, dear, sister, I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time keeping her to yourself for long. She’s simply breathtaking.” Phoebe blushed at this statement as Mrs. O’Malley replied, “Thank you, sister, but I’m afraid that’s no fault of mine. And I’ll have to hold on to her as long as I can. She’s only sixteen, you know. Besides, I’ve grown rather fond of her.” “As have I already,” said Aunt Dottie. “Thank you, Mrs. Fiske,” said Phoebe. “You’re very kind.” “Oh, please, call me Aunt Dottie, dear. Mrs. Fiske sounds so formal. It makes me feel old. You must call me Aunt Dottie—or just Aunt or Auntie, if you like.” “Yes, Auntie.” Phoebe smiled. “That’s better! Let’s all sit down, shall we? Have you had lunch yet?” “Yes, we ate a few hours ago on the train,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Oh, of course. I forget what early hours you keep, living on a farm. It must be wonderful. I don’t suppose one of you would mind waking me up in the morning. We would have so much more time together during the day.” “Oh, that’s an easy solution,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Just don’t draw the drapes in the evening. The sun will do you that favor.” “Oh, the thought! Seems a rather harsh way to wake up, but I’ll try it tonight. I have so many things planned for us to do! Have you all got a new summer wardrobe for your stay?” “We have a few things, dear, but we were going to leave the rest up to you.”

“Oh, sister!” exclaimed Mrs. Fiske, “you’ve made me so happy! We’ll set about it tomorrow. There’s something just arrived at Bonnit’s that I think would look charming on Fiona. And you all must have new sun hats. I love the little things. I’ve got a whole collection of them in my room.” “That’d be lovely, sister. But right now, I think Jack could do with a nap, and I’m sure the rest of us would like to freshen up from our journey.” “Oh, dear me!” she said. “Some hostess I am! Right this way, dears. I’ll show you to your rooms.” “Thank you, Dottie dear. It’s so good to see you.” “It’s good to see you too, Daisy. I don’t think I shall ever let you leave me again. You’ll have to bring the rest of the family to live here with us.” Mrs. O’Malley, though flattered by this, could not deem it possible and said so to her sister, who then resigned herself to the original agreement of a month or two. Aunt Dottie showed them to their rooms. Mrs. O’Malley had a room next to her sister’s, and a crib had been placed in it for Jack’s use. Phoebe and Fiona’s rooms were side by side, dividing a large gable in half that overlooked the ocean. They were both delighted, as was Aunt Dottie, who loved to see them happy. After seeing that her nieces were comfortable, Mrs. Fiske returned to her sister’s room. Mrs. O’Malley had made her sister promise to come back and speak with her after showing the girls to their rooms, and she happily obliged. She entered the room quietly, for Jack had fallen asleep. “Oh, this is just like old times,” sighed Mrs. Fiske, “when I would watch you getting ready for a dance or some sort of engagement and wait for my turn to grow up. I used to hope I would be as elegant as you.” “Oh, yes, very elegant,” chuckled Mrs. O’Malley with a glance at her figure, “six children later, and one sleeping in the corner.” “How are the other children? I wish you had brought them along too.” “Oh, so do I, sister! But the twins are perfect handfuls, and Seamus needs

Thomas’s help on the farm.” And with another chuckle, she added, “You know, I have to keep reminding myself that Thomas is hardly a child anymore.” “Oh, dear! Well, I guess it happens to the best of us. How is Seamus? Did he not want to come see me?” “As good as ever. I’m sure he’d love to see you, but he doesn’t like to leave the farm. Thomas and I have been scheming to talk him into hiring help, even if it’s for times like this, but he won’t hear of it.” “It’s a shame,” said Dottie. “I was hoping to see all of you. Oh, well! And is poor Phoebe getting over her broken heart? I could hardly have guessed it when I first saw her!” “Yes, she is doing much better. She took it a little harder than I thought. But it was all for the best that we put an end to it.” “I should think so,” said Dottie adamantly. “Imagine, a perfectly nice young man in college, writing to our Phoebe and turning out to be a gambler! It’s just terrible!” Mrs. O’Malley hushed her sister. “I don’t want Phoebe to know. She’s still so young. I don’t want her knowing all the evils of the world, at least not for a while, anyway.” “But don’t you think, if she is struggling with forgetting him, it would do her good to know his real character? Suppose some unlucky mistake should make them meet again, and she wasn’t aware of how wicked he was. Wouldn’t that lack of knowledge put her in some danger?” “No, it wouldn’t,” said Mrs. O’Malley firmly. “I hate to think what would happen if they should meet again. But just the same, I’ve recently learned from Thomas that he’s no longer attending the university, and I haven’t seen him in church for at least a year now—I hate to think what’s become of him. But Phoebe trusts me enough to know what is best. I have promised to tell her everything when she is older if she wants to know. This trial has already made her grow up more than she should have to, on top of losing her parents. I want her to enjoy her life and youth while they’re still hers to enjoy.” “And if another young man comes along?”

“Oh, Dottie, I hope he doesn’t. Not that I never want her to get married, but it doesn’t suit me to be a mother to a girl with irers. I sincerely hope no one comes along until she is ready to be married, and that it’s a nice, steady, upright young man who won’t give her any heartache.” Dorothy laughed. “That’s a pretty picture, sister! But you forget it’s always the right young man that gives girls the worst heartache.” “Then I hope he doesn’t come along until Phoebe has gotten over her last heartache, or until I have.” “Poor Daisy! You always were a comionate soul.” “I just hope her head doesn’t get turned again by the wrong sort of young man. It would make life so much easier.” “Don’t worry. I think she’s more sensible than that. I can tell just by looking at her that she has a good head on her shoulders.” Mrs. O’Malley smiled, for she ed saying the same thing nearly a year and a half ago. “Thank you, dear,” she said to her sister affectionately. “You’ve made me feel so much better.” “I’m so glad!” returned Dottie. “I’m happy I could help.” After another moment together, during which they continued to catch up on the children, Mrs. Fiske left her sister to watch over Jack and sought out her nieces’ company. She didn’t have to look far, for when she left her sister’s room, she was instantly met by Fiona, who asked her aunt if she would take her and Phoebe down to the beach before dinner. “Of course, darling! Let me get my parasol,” said Aunt Dottie, and they were off at once. They descended the stairs and made their way through a hallway and a small sitting room that—though Phoebe and Fiona were at the beach in their minds

already—made Phoebe retrace a few steps to examine it. She thought it was charming. It was furnished with pieces similar to those of the rest of the house, yet older and more worn. There were embroidered cushions like those on the O’Malleys’ porch, but with designs better suited to a house at the seashore. Shells rested randomly about the room, on tables, on the mantelpiece, even as bookends and paperweights. And the dim, golden light that permeated the room reflected off the sand-colored walls, illuminating whispers of peaceful, happy memories. Aunt Dottie soon noticed that Phoebe hadn’t followed her and Fiona outside, and she went back to find her observing the room. Phoebe didn’t notice her entrance until she spoke. “This was Mother’s room,” she said. Phoebe quickly apologized for her bad manners. “Oh, no!” said Aunt Dottie. “No need to apologize. It’s quaint, isn’t it? The room.” “Oh, yes,” said Phoebe. “It’s lovely.” “I never took as much of a liking to it as Daisy did—she was always close to Mother. But I’ve never wanted to redecorate it. I’ve left it just as it was. It always seemed like such a part of her that she’s still here with me.” Phoebe could understand this sentiment and smiled respectfully. Fiona ran back in her bare feet, wondering what had become of her aunt and sister. “Isn’t it lovely?” she said, echoing Phoebe’s thoughts. “Aunt Dottie keeps her shells in here. Show her that one, Auntie.” Aunt Dottie didn’t have to look where her niece pointed. She walked to the mantlepiece, where rested a beautiful conch shell. She picked it up gingerly and brought it to Phoebe.

Phoebe examined it in wonder. It was curved perfectly around itself and curled upwards on the outer edge, the outside looked as if it had been painted with gold, and the inside was pink of the most delicate shade. “It’s beautiful,” said Phoebe. “Look at this one,” said Fiona, trading her for another. “This is the twins’ favorite.” Phoebe looked at it and was intrigued. It curved around in a perfect circle, and the outside reminded Phoebe of pictures she had seen of tigers in Asia. “That one is called a Nautilus,” said Aunt Dottie. “My father found it when he was a boy.” “I like this one,” said Phoebe, picking up a shell that wound about in a delicate spiral with gray-blue stripes that resembled fine china. “Ah, yes. That is a whelk, and rather pretty too.” “Tell her about these,” said Fiona, bringing her aunt a simple pair of brown bivalves. Aunt Dottie took them in her hands and smiled thoughtfully as she held them together in their original form. For a moment, Phoebe wondered why a woman with such an obvious affinity for the ornate would cradle such plain shells in her hands even more carefully than she had the conch shell. “Your grandmother,” began Aunt Dottie, looking at Phoebe and Fiona, “found these a long time ago—she would have been about your age, Fiona. Anyway, she was rather self-conscious about her appearance, for, though she was pretty, she had three sisters who were far more beautiful than she was. “But her father—my grandfather—did not agree with her. He saw beauty as something that could not be detected by the human eye. He thought humility, kindness, love, and comion were what made one beautiful, and he thought that she was the most beautiful of all his daughters. But poor Alice had trouble believing this, especially when she constantly compared herself to her sisters, so

she needed frequent reminding from her father. “One day she ran to him crying because of something she overheard about herself—but we won’t name names. He took her on a walk and spoke to her about many things, about the weather, fishing, the ocean, and about seashells. Now, it so happened that, as they were walking, Alice picked up these shells— mind you, they were stuck together at the time—and, proud of what she had found, she showed them to her father. He knew what kind of creature it was, and it inspired him to tell her a little parable. “He said that people were like seashells; sometimes they had outward beauty and sometimes they didn’t. He reminded her of a shell she had brought to him a few days before. It was that shell that I first showed you, Phoebe.” Phoebe considered the conch again with new eyes. “Yes,” she continued, “and he told her that, however beautiful it was on the outside, the inside was completely hollow. Therefore, it contained no real beauty. “‘How can you tell?’ she asked her father. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘sometimes they show their beauty to the unaided eye, and sometimes their beauty lies on the inside, only to be revealed at the proper moment,’ and, taking a penknife, he pried open the shells, where, lo and behold, what should be there but a beautiful pearl!” As Aunt Dottie finished her story, she picked up the end of a necklace she was wearing and handed it to Phoebe. It was indeed a beautiful pearl of pinkish, opalescent hue, fixed to a gold ring and hanging on a matching chain. “Alice was so delighted with it that her father took the pearl into town and had a ring made of it for her, and from then on, it served to remind her what true beauty was.” “What a wonderful story!” said Phoebe. “And it’s true, every word of it. Isn’t it, sister?” She addressed Mrs. O’Malley, who had just come down with Jack and caught the last part of the tale.

“Yes, except for the setting of it. They were speaking in the study, and Grandfather had caught the clam himself.” “Oh, well, what difference does that make?” “Nothing, except those of us who don’t know better might take every word for certain.” “But it made the story so much better, didn’t it?” “Yes, just as long as the children know the truth.” They continued speaking for quite some time, and Fiona almost despaired of getting to play outside before dinner. But Auntie noticed this and led them all outside as she continued her conversation with her sister and Phoebe.

Chapter 15

On the Dangers of Swimming Afew minutes of sea air and some cartwheels on Fiona’s part were all they had time for before the housekeeper, Mrs. Dillon, called them in for dinner. “How are you, Mrs. Dillon?” asked Mrs. O’Malley as they neared the house. “Oh, I’m managing, Miss Margaret. The old rheumatisms are at me again, but I get along fine. How are you?” “Not far behind you, I’m afraid.” “Oh, you don’t know how good you have it! Just thank the good Lord you’re as far behind as you are.” Dinner was eaten, and the travelers retired early. Phoebe surprised herself by the extent she felt at home at Aunt Dottie’s house. Perhaps if Mrs. O’Malley had never treated her like a daughter, she would not have felt as comfortable as she did. But so it was, and Phoebe slept soundly in her room. Ocean breezes greeted her when she opened her eyes and invited her to them, but she ignored the call long enough to spend time in quiet devotion. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley had given her a Bible on her last birthday, and, as instructed by her guardians, she made a habit of reading it by heart. At first, she had done so from a willingness to please them, but she slowly grew to realize the comfort it brought, and in life’s difficult moments, verses of wisdom from its pages would return to her as if whispered in her ear. That morning, her heart was full. It was not a heavy fullness, but more like a balloon filled with air that threatens to burst. It was a pleasant feeling, and nothing but gratitude overflowed in her prayer.

It was still early when she went downstairs towards the room she had fallen in love with the day before. Fiona was probably not awake yet, and Phoebe would have woken her up, but she wanted to have the morning to herself for a while. She ed through the room, smiling briefly at her whereabouts, skipped past the terrace, and made her way down to the surf, where she stood in her bare feet to greet the morning. She breathed in the ocean air and felt enlivened. Had she been several years younger, what she suddenly wanted to do would have seemed perfectly natural. But, as it didn’t seem so, she looked about to make sure no one was looking before tucking in her skirts and skipping along the ebbing and flowing bubbles of the ocean. Phoebe then realized she had never learned how to cartwheel, and she ran to the house to wake Fiona so she could teach her how. She had wandered off much farther than she thought, for, once she ascended the steps to the house, Phoebe realized it was the wrong house. It was even a different color, but her giddiness had confused her, so she hadn’t noticed. “Good morning,” said a voice on the veranda. Phoebe started and realized her mistake. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “Pardon me.” And she ran away immediately. But the owner of the voice was not sorry in the least to have had a visitor and looked after her with an amused smile. Phoebe regained the privacy of the correct house and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. She was embarrassed to the point of tears and looked down at her exposed ankles and bare feet. A quiet moan let itself out, and she trudged upstairs fixing her skirt. Cartwheels forgotten, Phoebe didn’t bother to wake Fiona. Thankfully, no one noticed that she had been down, and she went back to her room unnoticed to put on some shoes and stockings. She had just finished when Fiona burst into the room. Phoebe was not the only one who had the idea to enjoy the beach before breakfast, but Fiona had the good sense to take another person along. Phoebe was about to object when she realized how suspicious it would seem, and she agreed as if it were a novel idea.

They played like small children, though Phoebe with less enthusiasm than Fiona would have expected. Phoebe kept covertly glancing in the direction of a certain house in the distance, trying to reassure herself that it was far enough away that no one would see her. Mrs. O’Malley stepped out onto the terrace to see her daughters thus occupied. “Good to see you haven’t run off too far,” she called. “Little does she know,” Phoebe thought despairingly to herself. “Breakfast is ready,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Where’s Jack, Mamma?” asked Fiona as they came into the breakfast room. “Keeping Mrs. Dillon occupied for the moment. I’m glad to see you two looking like regular frights for breakfast. Go tidy up before Aunt Dottie sees you and turns us all out of the house!” “I hope you’re joking, sister,” said Aunt Dottie, drowsily walking into the room. “You’re all my prisoners until these two months are up, perhaps longer so I can see Jack grow up a bit.” She sat herself down gently to pour a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Auntie,” said Fiona, kissing her aunt. “Good morning, Aunt Dottie,” said Phoebe, following suit. “Yes,” said Mrs. O’Malley in reply to her sister, “but I can assure you, no matter how long you keep us here, these two will never get any older.” “I’m glad to hear it,” droned Aunt Dottie as she took her first sip of coffee. “I must say, sister,” she said, setting her cup down, “that trick you told me of, sleeping with the windows open, it worked like a charm. I don’t believe I’ve ever woken up earlier.” “I’m sure you haven’t, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley as she waved off her daughters to tidy themselves up as quickly as possible.

They returned promptly and were seated just as Aunt Dottie began to wake up. Mrs. O’Malley said grace, and they began to eat. “It’s a pity,” said Aunt Dottie, “that we don’t have a man at the table. Don’t get me wrong, dear, your prayer was lovely. But it’s times like these when an old girl like me misses her old husband.” “You could remarry,” suggested Mrs. O’Malley. “It’s nice of you to think so, but I’ve grown to like things the way they are. Besides, by the time a man gets into his forties, he’s usually married. I just need plenty of company to keep me busy. Which is why I’ve got our whole day planned. After breakfast, we’ll go straight into town and snatch a few things at Bonnit’s, then we’ll go to the tailor’s, and we must get you some bathing outfits, and by then, if we’ve worked up good appetites, I’m treating you all to luncheon and tea and ice cream. And...let’s see—we’ll see about some new shoes for all of you—I found some wonderful ones the other day—perfect for summer. I would have bought some for you then and there, but I wasn’t sure of your sizes, so we must get some today—Say, I hope it doesn’t rain! Oh, well, we’ll take the closed carriage.” It was a wonder Aunt Dottie ate any breakfast that day, for she was so excited to have her sister and nieces and nephew visiting that she practically spoke nonstop until going to dress. Their first stop was to buy sunhats and bonnets. Though Aunt Dottie expressed extravagant taste in her own attire, she had a sixth sense about what would suit others, and she tastefully selected various items for each of her guests, leaving the extravagance to her pocketbook. They made two more stops for shoes and dresses before going to the aforementioned tea, luncheon, and ice cream. By this time, Phoebe was thoroughly enjoying herself and had nearly forgotten about her embarrassing morning until the antics of Jack, who was sitting next to her in Mrs. O’Malley’s lap, sent her napkin falling to the floor. She was bending to retrieve it when a vaguely familiar voice said, “Allow me.” It was the stranger. He picked up her napkin and handed it to her.

She was nearly too embarrassed to speak and politely whispered, “Thank you.” “Why, Edward Davies!” said Aunt Dottie. “It’s been ages! How are you, sir?” “Just fine, Mrs. Fiske, and how are you?” he responded in an unmistakable British accent. “I’m doing fine myself. I’d like you to meet my sister Mrs. O’Malley, her daughters Phoebe and Fiona, and her son Jack.” He bowed politely. “How do you do?” he said in turns. Phoebe detected half a smiling glance in her direction and blushed in her seat, wishing she were under the table. He was pretending they had never seen each other before, but Phoebe could not forget that, no matter how he acted. “What brings you here, Mr. Davies?” asked Mrs. Fiske. “Business in New York, but I’m paying a visit to my family first. They’re staying here for the summer.” “Oh, that’s wonderful news! And how is your family?” “They’re all well, thank you. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind if you called.” “I will certainly do that, sir. Good day to you!” “And the same to you, madam!” he said, tipping his hat and nodding once more to the others as he walked off. Phoebe noticed with amusement that Aunt Dottie’s tone had grown excessively proper as she spoke with this man, and when he had gone, she resumed her usual informal manner. “That was Ed Davies Jr.,” said Mrs. Fiske to her sister. “He and his family are from England. They come here once a year for Davies Senior’s ts, but I’m afraid their visits are getting longer and more frequent—poor thing! But I don’t mind the company. They’re simply charming people. I must take you all for a visit tomorrow. They live practically right next to me.”

Mrs. O’Malley glanced at Phoebe. She had been up early with Jack and witnessed Phoebe’s morning escapade from her bedroom window. She noticed Phoebe blushing when Mr. Davies had come to the table, and now she put two and two together. Phoebe saw this look with some surprise and then sighed in tragic defeat. It was inevitable. Mrs. O’Malley knew everything. They finished the rest of their shopping and returned to Aunt Dottie’s house in the rain, where they spent the rest of their afternoon wishing it would stop.

THE NEXT DAY, AUNT Dottie determined to pay her visit to Mrs. Davies if her guests would come along. They agreed and walked next door with her. Aunt Dottie stepped onto the Davies’ front porch unreservedly and tapped the door with the tip of her parasol. Nothing happened for some time, but she waited nonetheless. At last, the door opened, but no one was visible. That is, until a curly brown head peeked from behind it. “Hello, Tillie!” said Aunt Dottie. “Hullo,” said the girl. “Is your mother home?” The little girl nodded. “Would she care for a visit?” The girl ran off, leaving the door open. Aunt Dottie, after glancing at her companions, walked in behind her and was met by a distinguished-looking lady with a rosy complexion. “Mrs. Fiske,” said the lady, “how are you?” “Just fine. How are you, Mrs. Davies?” “Well enough. Mr. Davies has been a bit fussy today. He won’t go fishing, so he’s brooding in his study and putting a fog upon the whole house.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Aunt Dottie. “Perhaps you’d like a visit some other time?” “Oh, no. I could use the company. I’ll just put on some tea. Tillie, run and tell Emily we have visitors.”

The little girl ran off, and Aunt Dottie spoke through the doorway into the next room, where Mrs. Davies was getting the tea. “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion. I ran into your son yesterday, and he informed me that you were vacationing here, so I simply had to come and pay you a visit.” “I’m glad you did,” said Mrs. Davies, returning to the parlor. “It’s been so long. We’re considering moving here permanently, whether or not Mr. Davies’ gout gets any better.” “Oh, I do wish you would! I was just telling my—Oh! forgive me—This is my sister Mrs. O’Malley, my nieces Phoebe and Fiona, and my nephew Jack.” “How do you do?” said Mrs. Davies. They replied congenially as a girl a year or two older than Phoebe thundered down the stairs. A cough from her mother reminded her to curtsey, and she went about shaking the visitors’ hands, including Jack’s, saying, “How do you do?” before taking a chair in relief that her duties were over. Another clearing of her mother’s throat reminded her to sit up straight, which she did at once so perfectly that one would have thought she was posing for a portrait. Phoebe could not help smiling at her as Aunt Dottie said, “Emily! How are you, dear?” “Deliciously well, and you?” said Emily in exaggeratedly proper English that made her mother roll her eyes. “Quite well, thank you, dear. My sister Mrs. O’Malley, and her daughters Phoebe and Fiona, and her son Jack. “‘O’Malley’!” she said. “Excuse me, but is your husband from Ireland?” “Yes, he is,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Did he come to America during the Potato Famine?”

“I think so.” “Oh, how romantic! It must be wonderful to be from another country!” “You forget, Em,” said Mrs. Davies, “that to our guests, we’re from another country.” “Oh, but it’s only England, Mother!” “‘Only England!’ There’s patriotism for you. Mrs. O’Malley, I must warn you not to let your daughters near mine too long, or they will learn some very bad manners. Though I daresay my daughter could learn something from yours.” “I think she’s charming, Mrs. Davies,” said Mrs. O’Malley, speaking to mother and daughter at the same time. As the conversation continued, Phoebe became aware that the little girl Aunt Dottie had addressed earlier as Tillie was bashfully edging closer to her along the wall. Eventually, she was at Phoebe’s side, and seeing that Phoebe had a kind face, she whispered, “I’m Tillie.” “Hello, Tillie,” Phoebe said quietly. “That’s a beautiful name.” Tillie smiled with bashful pride. “How old are you, Tillie?” She thought a moment. “Forty-five.” “No,” said Phoebe, trying to keep a straight face. “Why, I wouldn’t have guessed you were a day over thirty-two!” “How old are you?” “I’ll be eighty-seven in June.” Tillie was overcome with giggles and covered her face. A few moments later, she was sitting next to Phoebe, telling her everything that came to mind. The visit ended with mutual goodbyes, good wishes, and an invitation for the Davies to come next door any time. Emily became instant friends with Phoebe

and Fiona, and Tillie with Phoebe. Edward Davies Jr. returned from town soon after this visit and was sorry to hear that he had just missed their neighbors. But Tillie, to her brother’s pleasant surprise, was happy to relay the whole afternoon to him.

EMILY DAVIES BARELY waited a day to Phoebe and Fiona in a swimming excursion, and she took the opportunity to show them a place where the rocks were perfect for diving into the water. Having spent a great deal of time swimming in the warmer months on the farm, Phoebe and Fiona already knew how to swim, and they enjoyed diving immensely, and Mrs. O’Malley looked on with pleasure to see her girls having fun. Time went on, and the girls barely noticed the sun going down. They were still swimming and diving when Mrs. O’Malley called them inside. Phoebe was just preparing for her turn to dive when she looked in her direction and a false step sent her falling towards the water. She screamed in panic and tried to save herself, but this didn’t help. She hit the water, and an unfortunately projected rock struck the bottom of her foot. The water overwhelmed her, and she was losing strength to surface. She sank lower into the depths of the ocean and began to wonder in alarm if this was the end, when an arm ed under her and pulled her up. Phoebe coughed and gasped when she reached the surface. Air had never felt so good, but she was barely conscious of what was happening. Whoever saved her soon began to struggle to reach the shore and was quickly relieved by another who carried her out of the water. She heard Mrs. O’Malley’s panic-stricken voice saying, “Is she breathing? Is she all right? Oh, thank Heaven it was only her foot.” She was carried some distance, laid upon something in the cool of the indoors, and wrapped with blankets. Someone was rubbing her head. Pressure was applied to her foot. She yelled in pain. “Fetch Dr. Newton,” said a voice. She heard a girl sobbing nearby and moved her hand in the direction of whoever it was. Her hand was taken and pressed between two others. “Make room,” someone said. Something was held to her nose, and she breathed in sharply. Something cold was rubbed on her temples, and her eyelids slowly blinked open. Her dim eyes

wandered to those around her. Aunt Dottie stood holding a perfume bottle and handkerchief. Emily was at her feet, wet and sniffling, along with Mrs. O’Malley, who was quickly wrapping a bandage around the injured appendage. To Phoebe’s dismay, her hand was being held by a bedraggled Mr. Davies, who was looking at her with the utmost concern. She drew her hand back and looked up at Fiona holding her head. Fiona stared down at her worriedly, and Phoebe reassured her with a pale smile. She lay on a sofa in the room with all the fascinating seashells, and Phoebe thought to herself how ironic it was to feel so much pain in so peaceful a room. “How do you feel?” asked Mrs. O’Malley, coming to her head. Phoebe was still weak, but all she could think of was how badly her foot was hurting. “My foot,” was all she could get out. “I know,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “A doctor is being sent for.” Somehow this didn’t reassure Phoebe, but she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Mrs. O’Malley thanked Mr. and Miss Davies for saving Phoebe and all their help and said she was sure they were ready to get home and dried off, but they were both unwilling to leave as long as they were not intruding, so she fetched them some towels and let them stay. The doctor arrived quickly, and having been accustomed to the region for many years, he was no stranger to Phoebe’s injury. “They once had a sign out by those rocks,” he said in a feeble voice through his white mustache while he examined Phoebe’s foot, “as a warning. Trouble was, the sign gave people the idea that those rocks could be used for diving, so we had more trouble with the sign up than we had with it down, so we don’t put those signs up anymore. Now, people just dive at their own risk, and, believe it or not, we have less of these sorts of cases. “But,” he continued, “this may be the worst I’ve seen yet—Lucky it was only her foot, Mrs. O’Malley—I don’t think she’ll be able to walk any time soon. There appears to have been some minor bone damage. I recommend complete rest for at least a month or so.” Satisfied with his examination, he gave Phoebe’s foot some stitches and prescribed treatment to Mrs. O’Malley for the patient’s wound, leaving Phoebe

in better hands than he usually saw with his clients. Though her foot was still yelling at her, Phoebe was resting easier by the time the Davies left, and they both felt better about their friend’s well-being. Mrs. O’Malley thanked them profusely as they prepared to walk home, and they both set off, Emily feeling guilty for suggesting such a terrible way to spend a day at the beach, and Edward, secretly panicked that they might have lost their young neighbor for good. Mrs. O’Malley, Aunt Dottie, and Fiona then set about making Phoebe as comfortable as possible, and the elder two prepared for a long night.

Chapter 16

Beads and Shells Mrs. O’Malley and Aunt Dottie were on sharp lookout for signs of fever or infection, and they took turns sitting with Phoebe all night. For the first time since she could , Aunt Dottie greeted the sunrise with open eyes and decided it was not pleasant. Aunt Dottie would have done this for few people, and Phoebe was one of those lucky few. Aunt Dottie discovered herself to be a skilled caretaker, as did Phoebe, and there wasn’t a comfort that wouldn’t be provided if it were in her power. Mrs. O’Malley relieved her sister after sunrise and looked upon her tired face with pity. “Are you all right, sister?” she whispered, for Phoebe had just fallen asleep. Aunt Dottie nodded in sleepy delirium. “I’m afraid,” she said, “you won’t have an easy time of leaving me again, dear, not if you plan on taking this one with you.” Mrs. O’Malley chuckled softly. “She’s stolen your heart, hasn’t she?” “I’m afraid so. Well, good night—or I should say good morning, shouldn’t I?” “Rest well, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, seeing her sister off. She peeked at Phoebe’s bandaged foot and felt her head before sitting in the chair next to her. Assured that Phoebe was resting comfortably, she closed her eyes.

“MAM?” ... “Mam.” ... “Mam!” Mrs. O’Malley opened her eyes with a jump to see Fiona holding a very seriouslooking Jack. “I can’t figure out what he wants,” said Fiona. Mrs. O’Malley knew, and rising from her chair, she took Jack and said, “Sit with Phoebe.” Mrs. Dillon rose and served breakfast to those who were awake. Phoebe smelled butter and coffee in her dreams and then realized that she wasn’t dreaming. She looked over to see Fiona with a tray propped upon the arms of her chair with rolls and marmalade, scrambled eggs, sausage, and a glass of milk. “Good morning,” said Phoebe. “Mornmm!” said Fiona, chewing. “Are you ready for your breakfast?” Phoebe smiled and nodded, and Fiona stood up, setting her tray on the coffee table to call Mrs. Dillon from the doorway. Fiona helped Phoebe sit up, and the housekeeper entered with Phoebe’s tray. She set it on her lap, and Phoebe was disappointed to see a plain bowl of oatmeal, a baked apple, and a steaming cup of broth. “Eat hearty, dear,” said Mrs. Dillon kindly, and she left the room. Phoebe, let down about her bland breakfast, began to eat and soon realized that, though she was hungry, it was all she could do to digest what she had been

given. She was just finishing when Mrs. O’Malley entered the room. “How are my girls?” she asked in a weary voice. “Good,” answered Fiona. Phoebe gave a tired smile and said, “Better.” Mrs. O’Malley took her tray and felt her head. “Did you get enough to eat?” she asked. Phoebe nodded. “I’m sorry to say you won’t be having any coffee or tea until your foot’s a little better.” “I don’t mind.” “That’s my girl.” Mrs. O’Malley took Fiona’s tray. “Well, I hope my little Fiona got enough to eat! If you keep this up, I won’t be able to call you ‘little’ much longer!” Fiona smiled at her mother, and Mrs. O’Malley left the room. The day ed slowly for Phoebe, but the monotony was eventually broken by an afternoon visit from Tillie and Mrs. Davies. Tillie made her entrance before Mrs. O’Malley could announce their visitors. She tottered in holding a small bouquet of violets, ran to Phoebe’s side, and held them up to her. Phoebe looked up in pleasant surprise and said, “Tillie! It’s so good to see you! Are these for me?” Tillie nodded as Phoebe took them and kissed her head. “Thank you, Tillie. They’re beautiful.” Tillie ran off to smile bashfully from behind her mother’s skirt.

“How do you do, Mrs. Davies?” Phoebe asked with a smile. “I should say, how do you do?” said the lady, entering. “I hear that was quite the accident you had yesterday!” “Yes, but I’m all right now, thank you.” “Won’t you have a seat, Mrs. Davies?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Thank you,” she said, taking the seat offered. “I’m glad to hear that you are feeling better, Miss O’Malley.” Though Phoebe was in no way offended, she politely corrected Mrs. Davies. “Oh, my last name isn’t O’Malley. It’s James, but, please, call me Phoebe.” “‘James’? But I thought—” She left off, looking at Mrs. O’Malley. “No, Mrs. Davies,” said Mrs. O’Malley kindly. “You see, we adopted Phoebe two years ago. She lost her parents in the war.” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Davies, softening in manner but looking uncomfortable. “Oh, that’s most unfortunate.” “Yes,” said Phoebe, “it was difficult for me at first. But I’m proud of what my parents have done, and I don’t believe I could have been taken in by a kinder family than the O’Malleys.” Mrs. O’Malley was touched to hear this, and it showed in her eyes as she looked at Phoebe. “Well,” said Mrs. Davies, “Well, in that respect, I suppose you have been fortunate to have found such a family. And how have you been enjoying your stay at Whitecrest? Aside from yesterday’s accident, that is.” Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at this addendum. “Yes, aside from that, I’ve enjoyed it very much. Mrs. Fiske is so nice, and this is the first I’ve been to the seashore since I can .” “I don’t suppose your parents could have afforded to travel?”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Davies. Mother and Father loved to travel and often took me many places, but they visited the seaside less frequently.” “And was your education neglected amidst all this travel?” “Not at all, Mrs. Davies. I attended a private school for several years in a neighboring town, and my parents and I traveled in the summer months.” Mrs. O’Malley, noticing the uncomfortable minuteness of these questions, wished to change the subject for Phoebe’s sake. “I’m afraid Phoebe has fallen in love with it here at the seashore, Mrs. Davies,” she said, “but Tillie may be part of the reason.” During the conversation, Tillie had silently made her way over to Phoebe’s lap, and each was playfully putting violets in the other’s hair. “Now, Tillie,” said Mrs. Davies. She was on the point of apologizing and taking her child when Phoebe protested. “No, please, Mrs. Davies. Let her stay. I like the company.” Mrs. Davies resignedly left her child and resumed her seat. “I’m afraid I must apologize to you both,” said Mrs. Davies, “for Emily’s sake. It was her idea to jump off those dreadful rocks yesterday. I’ve already forbidden her to come here again.” “Oh, please don’t do that, Mrs. Davies!” begged Phoebe. “I would love to have her come, and very often. She apologized for herself repeatedly yesterday. I’m sure we all know better now. Please, say you’ll let her come.” Mrs. Davies was used to having her way but found herself awkwardly relenting to this girl’s entreaty. “Well, I suppose she may, but,” she said, turning to Mrs. O’Malley, “you send her right back home if she ever becomes a nuisance.” “Oh, I doubt that will happen, Mrs. Davies. Emily is a lovely girl.” “Nevertheless, you can’t say you weren’t warned,” said Mrs. Davies. “Well, Tillie and I had best be going. Come along, child. Good day to you, Miss James,

and to you, Mrs. O’Malley.” She left abruptly. Mrs. O’Malley saw her out, and Phoebe sat wondering about Mrs. Davies’ behavior. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t approve of the way Mrs. Davies had asked Phoebe such exacting questions for a visit to a young convalescent. In a short amount of time, the lady had found out that Phoebe was adopted and that her parents had possessed enough money to give her a private education and to travel in the summer. She left soon after receiving this information, and Mrs. O’Malley was left to frown upon the matter. Upon returning to Phoebe, she apologized for Mrs. Davies’ peculiarity of manner, saying that, next time Phoebe had callers, she would announce that she was indisposed. Phoebe laughed. “That’s not necessary, Mamma. It was nice of her to visit, but she did seem a bit queer today, didn’t she?” Mrs. O’Malley tried to keep the tone of disapproval out of her voice as she replied, “Very queer indeed.” Phoebe resumed her book. Upon hearing about Phoebe’s accident the day before, Mrs. Davies planned to pay a visit to inquire after her health, but something made her even more curious about this girl. Her son and daughter had returned home, both in a pitiful state from the events of the day, and Mrs. Davies asked what happened. They told her together, as it was difficult for both of them, and at the end of their , Mrs. Davies scolded her daughter for her carelessness. But she could see that her children were shaken by this experience. After they had dressed and eaten dinner, Mrs. Davies noticed her son’s pensive attitude increasing as the evening wore on, and she set out the next day to learn as much about this girl as possible within the boundaries of good manners. Speculation made her cautious about Miss James, but she managed to find out enough to make her genuinely concerned for her son. Aside from being an orphan, Miss James had been brought up well, had reasonably good manners, and to crown it all, was completely charming.

Phoebe remained unaware of Mrs. Davies’ silent appraisal. All she knew was that Mrs. Davies had come to inquire about her health, had acted strangely during her visit, and left suddenly, and her monotonous day drew on, punctuated by uncomfortable twinges in her foot. Mrs. Davies returned home to see her son just arrived from town and on the point of going next door. She informed him that she had already done so, and another visit from their household would be improper. He then resigned himself to stay and asked his mother how Phoebe was. “Quite well, I should say, considering what happened. It must not be as serious as you painted it.” “I assure you it was, Mother. There’s no telling what would have become of her if Emily hadn’t been there to rescue her, and, I suppose, if I hadn’t helped.” “If Emily hadn’t been there, there would have been no need of rescuing.” “It was only an accident,” he said. “Emily would never have gone next door if she knew what was going to happen. I know she regrets this more than anyone. If anything, she will need encouragement to face that girl and her family again.” Mrs. Davies was forced to see the truth of her son’s words, and sighing, she said, “Call Emily in here, would you?” He did as told, and a sullen-faced Emily walked into the room. “Sit down, please,” said Mrs. Davies. Emily did so, dreading what was coming. Edward stood with a hand on the back of her chair to hear what his mother had to say, and Tillie hovered nearby to listen. “Emily, dear,” Mrs. Davies began, “I would like to apologize to you for the way I’ve treated you since yesterday evening. I’ve been unfair to you. I’m sorry.” “Oh, Mother, please don’t apologize to me, it upsets me so!” “Then I won’t anymore. I just wanted to put your mind at ease.”

“Yes, Mother.” “I called on Miss James today.” “Who?” asked Emily. “The young lady you rescued yesterday—She’s an orphan and does not share a name with Mrs. O’Malley and her last name is James—I have been to see her, and she is doing well.” “Oh, good,” sighed Emily. “And I have found her to be a stable, well-mannered sort of girl, and I give the three of you permission to visit whenever you like, beginning at least a day or two after today. We don’t want to make her tired of all our company at once.” Edward Davies smiled at his mother, Emily crossed the room to thank her heartily, and even Tillie was in childish raptures of delight.

THE DAVIES CHILDREN took advantage of their mother’s permission the next day and walked next door in the afternoon. Aunt Dottie was showing Phoebe and Fiona how to make jewelry out of some seashells Fiona had gathered that morning, when Tillie ran through the open door into the room. Mrs. O’Malley had gone outside with Jack and left the door open for some fresh air for Phoebe. Tillie brought another bouquet of flowers and unceremoniously took a seat next to Phoebe on the sofa as she gave them to her. Phoebe thanked her sweetly and asked if she had come all that way by herself. She was answered by Emily, who timidly entered the room. “No, she was just the first to arrive.” “Emily! How are you?” said Phoebe happily. The sight of poor Phoebe on the sofa, helpless and pale, but with a smiling face nonetheless, moved Emily to tears again. “Oh, Phoebe!” she said, running to her and falling in a heap of skirts on the floor. “Oh, can you ever forgive me?” “Whatever for?” “Oh, don’t say that! You know what an imbecile I was to make you two dive off that rock! To think you might have both been hurt, or even—It’s too much to think of! I should be imprisoned!” said Emily wretchedly. “Emily, dear!” onished Phoebe, “you mustn’t say that! It was a wonderful idea! Accidents can happen any time. Don’t speak of my friend like that. I forbid it.” “Am I really your friend?” said Emily, looking up from where her head had fallen on Phoebe’s lap. “Of course you are! Now, no more tears. Fiona and I had a splendid time the

other day because you made it special. It doesn’t matter what we were doing. We would have enjoyed your company all the same. And now is our turn to repay the favor. Aunt Dottie is teaching us how to make necklaces out of seashells, and we want you to us.” Emily embraced Phoebe and dried her tears, saying, “Thank you, I’d love to.” “Good,” said Phoebe as Mr. Davies made his entrance. He arrived in time to witness this tender scene of friendship from the doorway and went to Phoebe with a smile. “I must congratulate you, Miss James,” he said, taking a nearby chair. “That’s the fastest anyone has been able to get my sister out of one of her melancholy fits.” “I could easily believe that of either one of my nieces, Mr. Davies,” interjected Mrs. Fiske. “They’ve been like sunshine to my cloudy soul ever since they arrived.” “Indeed, and how is the wounded sunshine?” he asked. “Still improving?” “Yes, thank you,” said Phoebe. “Dr. Newton paid another visit today,” said Aunt Dottie. “He said he was impressed by her progress.” “Excellent news,” he said, echoing his sisters’ thoughts. “Mr. Davies,” asked Aunt Dottie, “do you care for beads and shells, or would you prefer to read to us as we work?” “The latter, madam, if you please,” he said congenially. She ed him a book, and he began reading at once. The afternoon ed quickly, Emily distracted from her remorse by shells and string, Tillie making something of her own next to Phoebe, and Edward Davies hardly less pleased at his own station. Phoebe was intent on her work, and Mr. Davies frequently glanced in her

direction while reading. A few moments later, he chanced another look. Her work lay idle in her lap, and she had laid her head back on the sofa. She looked pale, and Mr. Davies stopped reading out of concern that the company was tiring her. Phoebe opened her eyes. “Is that the end of our story?” she asked. “No,” he said quickly, “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t tiring you.” “Not at all,” she replied, shaking her head. Thus encouraged, he continued reading. Aunt Dottie’s watchful eye detected all of this, and she felt for her sister, for it seemed that Phoebe’s head was slowly being turned by this young man. She began to daydream of having Phoebe settled close by, perhaps next door, which would be more reason for Margaret and her family to visit, even to live in Whitecrest, and she began to silently encourage Mr. Davies in his attentions to her niece. When the time came for the Davies to leave, the sun was nearly too low for their walk home, and not realizing how the time had ed, they set out after taking amiable leave of their neighbors. Despite the gap in their ages, Emily and Fiona had discovered themselves to be kindred spirits, and they continued talking to one another as the Davies left. Tillie hugged Phoebe before running out the door, and Edward bowed slightly to the ladies before following his sisters. Edward and Emily were just out of sight through the doorway when Phoebe, realizing the deep debt she owed them, called them back, and they obliged her. There were many words she wanted to say, but they could only surface through her expression as she looked at them both and said, “Thank you.” Once again, Emily fell with her arms around Phoebe, and any tears she had repressed earlier came now. Phoebe returned her embrace with one arm and held out a hand to Mr. Davies, who pressed it in return.

But time was still urgent, and the Davies had to return home before nightfall, so they quickly followed their little sister after Phoebe had expressed her appreciation. Mrs. O’Malley, Aunt Dottie, Fiona, and Jack ed Phoebe for dinner that evening. A small, wheeled dinner table replaced the coffee table in the center of the room, and they ate together. Phoebe continued to eat a bland diet for the sake of caution and slept on the sofa for the sake of convenience. Phoebe’s foot now required less vigilance, but it was still agreed that someone should sleep on the settee opposite the sofa until she was better. Mrs. O’Malley took this job, and Jack slept in Fiona’s room.

Chapter 17

A Birthday The Davies children continued to pay regular visits next door and nearly spent more time there than at their own house. Edward was frequently called into town on business, so he visited less than he might have liked. Emily provided Fiona the playmate that Phoebe temporarily couldn’t—needless to say, they no longer ventured to the rocks for enjoyment—and Tillie provided excellent company for Phoebe. It was a convenient arrangement, and Edward did his best to fill whatever place was vacant in the neighboring household, watching for every opportunity to avail himself of Miss James’s society. However, he was not certain if she enjoyed his company or not. She was generally good-natured and had a peaceful, smiling countenance, but he could not discern whether it was more so whenever he was present. Mrs. Fiske seemed to delight in the attention he paid Phoebe, which seemed a sign that her niece might have the same pleasure. But he could not satisfy himself with this idea, and probably never would unless he could see it for himself. So he watched, and he waited, and waited further still. This wasn’t, perhaps, the best time for him to observe Phoebe’s behavior, for a solid week on the same sofa in the same room, however much she liked the room, was enough to make her impatient and sometimes irritable. She longed to be outside with Emily and Fiona. They spent at least half their time with Phoebe, but she was beginning to think they were abandoning her. Tillie’s visits brought her some joy, but the life of a girl of five—or rather, forty-five—often has other demands on it than sitting with an invalid. Another week ed and brought lessened improvement in Phoebe’s spirits. Mr. Davies regularly offered his company, more so than before, in hopes that it might make her feel better. But Phoebe’s gratitude to him began to turn into reluctant dread. He saw her restlessness with pity, for at this point in their acquaintance, he considered her incapable of any negative emotion, unless caused by such a trial as her injury. He sought to console her in some way, but she began to seem tired of his company and did not attempt to disguise it. And

with a considerable amount of regret on his part, his visits became less and less frequent. Another week brought Dr. Newton to remove Phoebe’s stitches, and Fiona, our young Florence Nightingale, assisted the doctor and helped her mother comfort Phoebe in the process. Dr. Newton bid Phoebe to rest for at least another few weeks, and she agreed resignedly. He then took his leave and, on his way out, advised Mrs. O’Malley to keep a watchful eye on their patient, as it was common for those who are injured and otherwise healthy, to become depressed, push their own limits too quickly, or both. Mrs. O’Malley assured him of her vigilance, and he departed satisfied. Mrs. O’Malley informed her sister of Dr. Newton’s warning, which worried her, but she agreed most heartily to help keep an eye on Phoebe. Another week ed, during which, Phoebe found her situation more than she could bear. Her foot, though better, still ached, and was beginning to itch terribly. And despite her loved ones’ efforts to keep her happy, loneliness and rancor began to settle in, and there was more than one instance when Mrs. O’Malley or Aunt Dottie detected a silent tear rolling down her cheek. In these moments, Mrs. O’Malley set to work in her mind about what to do for the child, but poor Aunt Dottie could only observe her with a breaking heart. Nearly everyone but these two were driven away by Phoebe’s languidness, and it was up to them to see her through her tunnel. Mrs. O’Malley kept those at home up to date on Phoebe’s condition, but they felt helpless being so far away. They sent Phoebe words of encouragement in their letters, but this accomplished little of the effect everyone hoped for. Phoebe had a birthday coming up, but she didn’t have much to look forward to if she was confined to a couch because of an inconvenient wound. And the coming days ed much the same as the ones before.

PHOEBE’S BIRTHDAY DAWNED, and she greeted it lying on her back with open eyes. She didn’t feel any different, though she was an entire year older. And for the first time in her life, at the age of seventeen, the thought of being older made her sad. Aunt Dottie had taken the post of vigilant that night and was still asleep. Phoebe sat up and looked at her foot. At no surprise to herself, it still looked ill and bruised, and she wondered if she would ever be able to walk again. Today, it did not seem possible. She laid back and waited for everyone else to wake up. Five minutes ed, and it felt like an eternity. She then picked up a large book she had already read four times in the past three weeks and was thus occupied an hour later when Aunt Dottie rose and stepped across the room. “Happy birthday, darling,” she said. Phoebe had not noticed that she was awake, and she put down her book. “Thank you, Aunt Dottie.” “Are you ready for breakfast?” Phoebe nodded, and Aunt Dottie went to see if Mrs. Dillon was awake. Phoebe resumed her book and was interrupted by a more conspicuous greeting from Fiona. She flew into the room and lit upon the sofa to wish her a happy birthday. Phoebe thanked her, and Mrs. O’Malley followed, leading a toddling Jack in front of her. “How is our birthday girl?” she asked, checking Phoebe’s foot as a matter of habit. “Better, I think,” said Phoebe, hoping Mrs. O’Malley might notice some

miraculous improvement, but she tsked her tongue as usual. Aunt Dottie entered the room with Phoebe’s breakfast. To her surprise, it was not the usual porridge with broth, but a dish of scrambled eggs, a cup of hot chocolate, buttered rolls, and cantaloupe. Phoebe, pleased as she was, was hardly half as delighted as Fiona, Mrs. O’Malley, and Aunt Dottie were for her as they ed her for breakfast. Phoebe didn’t see much of them after breakfast. Fiona had already given her her present. It was a headband of sorts, decorated with beads and small seashells. Phoebe was delighted with it, and Fiona happily arranged it in her hair. All was quiet for some time, and Phoebe had begun to drift into a nap when the quiet turned into loud whispering—which somehow gains better attention in silence than normal conversation—and murmuring outside the door, followed by stirring in the foyer. Phoebe was only half conscious of this before hearing her name questioningly pronounced by Mrs. O’Malley and opening her eyes to see a familiar face. It was Thomas’s face! Mrs. O’Malley had quietly knocked on the door and opened it to see if Phoebe was awake, and Thomas, unable to wait for a more ceremonious entrance, stood smiling at her from the doorway. “Happy birthday, Phoeb!” “Thomas!” she cried, forgetting her injury. For half a second, she put both her feet on the ground to run to him, and Mrs. O’Malley gave a cry of horror. Thomas thought ahead of his mother and ran to stop Phoebe. After giving her the expected embrace, he quickly propped her feet back on the sofa and covered her with the blanket, saying, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going to ruin your chances of having a few larks before summer’s over.” He busied himself tucking the blanket into the cushions around her and she threw her arms around him and kissed his head in excitement. He returned the gesture, tousled her hair patronizingly, and went back to tucking. “We’ve gotta

get you well in record time,” he continued, “and we’re not going to do that if you jump off this couch every time you see one of us. Now, you’ll have to prepare yourself ‘cause Da and the twins and Betsy came too.” “They’re here? Where are they?” shouted Phoebe, grabbing his sleeve and jumping up and down as best as she could with her now restricted movement. “Now, don’t you get up again! I’ll go get them if you promise to stay where you are like a good girl.” Phoebe nodded excitedly, and he left the room, smiling from contagion. Poor Mrs. O’Malley, still recovering from her fright, sat down in the chair next to Phoebe without taking her eyes off of her. Phoebe, sorry as she felt for Mrs. O’Malley, could not keep her shoulders from shaking in inward laughter at the wonderful surprise. Thomas brought the others in, and a flood of birthday wishes, hugs and kisses, and inquiries for each other’s health went around the room, accompanied by cautions of safety from Mrs. O’Malley about Phoebe’s foot. The world felt complete. Phoebe was overcome with joy and happily hated her injured foot and the couch to which she was confined. The family spent nearly two hours catching up after a month’s absence. Since Thomas had taken literally what his mother said to him before leaving, he had set about easing his father into the idea of having help around the farm. At first, he had a hard time of it, but upon hearing about Phoebe’s injury, Mr. O’Malley became more pliant towards the idea and took his wife’s advice about hiring Bill Morrison. And since Betsy wanted to come along as well, Mr. Morrison’s wife agreed to look after the house until they came back. Mrs. O’Malley, though slightly ruffled that someone else was looking after her home, was impressed by her son and husband and was flattered that Seamus had taken her advice at last. As they all continued speaking to one another, Phoebe kept looking at each and every one of them, trying to believe that they had really come, and the others were so happy that they would have forgotten about another surprise if it hadn’t been for a reminder from the twins.

This caused another stir among the family, especially in Aunt Dottie. Phoebe was at a loss to know what was happening until she was told to cover her eyes as Georgie and Jimmy watched intently to make sure she wasn’t peeking. Strange noises ensued, more whisperings, and some scraping noises, and something was moved close to where she sat. The noise subsided, and Mrs. O’Malley told Phoebe to open her eyes. She did so, and right before her was a wheeled wicker chaise parked next to the sofa. “It’s beautiful,” said Phoebe. “But doesn’t it make the room a bit crowded?” “Only temporarily, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Your Aunt Dottie thought you might like a chance to get some fresh air.” Phoebe smiled in thanks at Aunt Dottie, who was beaming with pleasure. Mr. O’Malley and Thomas helped her into the chaise and wheeled her onto the terrace to greet the ocean air. Lunch was served outside, and Mrs. Dillon ed them. The events of the day had taken Phoebe from despondent to overjoyed, and she was thinking to herself what a perfect day it was and how she couldn’t have asked for anything more when the opening of presents was suggested. Phoebe said from her heart that she didn’t need any more presents, that their being there was enough for her. And Thomas, who was walking into the house with the twins to get her gifts, said, “All right then. The twins and I will split your presents among the three of us.” Phoebe replied that they would not and quickly charged Fiona with making sure they didn’t. Fiona took this charge seriously and ran after her brothers to carry it out. She successfully returned with the presents, and after some argument as to which one should be opened first, Phoebe unwrapped her gifts. But it did not matter what they were, for the presence of her family was enough to make her feel loved. She

thanked them all and was so pleased with her birthday that she forgot about cake. Nevertheless, a cake of beautiful decoration and sizable dimensions was set forth by the proud Mrs. Dillon, and Phoebe then decided that it was the best birthday of her life. Candles would have been futile, as it was a windy day, but the thought was still there, and everyone asked for the biggest piece, except Aunt Dottie, who was watching her figure. The excitement dissipated after several slices of cake had been disposed of, and the twins, with permission from their mother, went to look for crabs while Fiona and Betsy walked. The others sat in mutual silence until Jack wanted to play on the beach, and Mrs. O’Malley obliged him as only a doting mother could. Mr. O’Malley had fallen asleep, and Aunt Dottie watched George and Jimmy from the terrace, thinking how quickly they were growing up. Phoebe was reading a book that Thomas had given her for her birthday, and he was reading the one she had grown tired of during the last few weeks. A few moments ed, and Phoebe’s attention started wandering to her surroundings. It was too wonderful a day to spend in a book, so she imitated Aunt Dottie and observed her family. She then spotted an addition to the company on the shore. It was the Davies. Phoebe sat up and caught Tillie’s attention by waving to her, and Tillie didn’t bother waving back but ran as fast as her little legs could carry her across the sand, up the steps to the terrace. “How are you, Tillie?’ asked Aunt Dottie. She didn’t receive an answer, for Tillie was busy depositing some shells in Phoebe’s lap and taking her customary place at her side. “Happy birthday,” she looked up and whispered bashfully. “Thank you, Tillie,” Phoebe replied, and Tillie began playing with her shells. “Who’s this?” asked Thomas, putting down his book. “This is Miss Tillie Davies,” answered Phoebe with dignity, “our neighbor of forty-five years old—”

“Forty-six yesterday,” said Tillie quietly. “Forgive me, forty-six.” Thomas kept a straight face as he shook Tillie’s hand, “How do you do, Miss Davies?” Seeing that he had a kind face, Tillie asked, “How old are you?” “Let me see,” he said. “I lose count sometimes. Um, two hundred and seventyone in October.” “What sort of game is this?” asked Aunt Dottie over Tillie’s giggles. “I think I understand it,” interjected Mr. O’Malley. “And if I do correctly, wouldn’t that make you, sister, about two thousand ninety-eight?” Thomas snuffled a laugh, but Phoebe didn’t think it was very funny. Aunt Dottie caught the joke and nodded knowingly. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I dare not calculate your age, sir. We mustn’t boggle the little one’s mind.” Phoebe laughed this time. “May I the fun?” came Mr. Davies’ voice from the terrace steps. “Mr. Davies,” said Aunt Dottie enthusiastically, “how kind of you to grace us with your company! I’d like you to meet my brother-in-law Mr. O’Malley, and his son Thomas.” “How do you do?” he said to one, then the other, shaking hands as he went. He then paid his birthday respects to Phoebe as Emily made her entrance. “Miss Davies,” said Aunt Dottie, “how nice to see you! This is my brother-inlaw Mr. O’Malley and his son Thomas.” She barely acknowledged the customs of introduction before going directly to Phoebe. “Oh, my dear Phoebe,” she said, “how well you look! I’m so glad to see you out

in the fresh air again! I now truly believe it does wonders!” “Yes,” Phoebe smiled, “it seems we’re all firm believers in fresh air.” “My father isn’t,” said Emily dejectedly. “Mr. O’Malley, perhaps you can talk some sense into him. Mother and I simply cannot, and he does as he likes. What’s the purpose of going to the seashore,” she asked generally, “if one never actually visits the seashore?” “I’ll pay him a visit first thing tomorrow, if it’ll be of any use, Miss Davies,” said Mr. O’Malley. “Oh, thank you, yes. That would be so kind of you! Well, Phoebe,” she said, turning to her friend, “do you feel as well as you look? Oh, of course you do, it shows in your eyes, and such pretty eyes you’ve got! Don’t you think so, Ed?” Mr. Davies was smiling at Phoebe as if he agreed, but he was caught unawares by the sudden attention directed to himself. “Why, yes, of course,” he said uneasily. Phoebe averted her eyes to something besides the principal speakers and caught Thomas’s amused expression. She then looked safely down at what Tillie was doing with her shells and tried to ignore the conversation as best as she could. “What color are they, Phoebe? Hazel? No, they’re bluer than hazel. What do you say, Ed?” “I must say I’ve never thought to name the color, sister.” “I know!” said Emily. “They’re aquamarine like the gem!” Phoebe was now blushing painfully. “What about moldy gray?” said Thomas, who, in this sudden insult, attempted to divert Phoebe’s embarrassment. Phoebe was the only one grateful enough to laugh at such a comment, and the conversation dwindled for a moment.

“Oh, Ed!” said Emily, jumping up. “I almost forgot! Some brother you are, forgetting to remind me.” And, clearing her throat, she stood ceremoniously before Phoebe and retrieved something from her pocket. “On behalf of the entire family of Davies, I present to you, with many good wishes, a gift on your birthday.” She offered a package to Phoebe, who smiled her thanks as she accepted it. By this time, Mrs. O’Malley, Jack, Betsy, Fiona, and the twins had returned for their guests. Phoebe opened the package to reveal a small, hand-painted teacup that displayed the scenery of Whitecrest. “It’s beautiful,” said Phoebe. “Our mother painted it,” said Emily. “You’ll thank her for me, won’t you? And I thank the whole ‘family of Davies’ as well.” “It’s our pleasure,” said Emily Edward smiled and nodded in response. “You’re welcome,” said Tillie. The Davies soon took their leave, and after enjoying the sunset a few moments, the O’Malleys and Aunt Dottie returned into the house. Phoebe was wheeled back to her sofa, and Fiona took a turn on the settee that night.

Chapter 18

“Jelly Fingers!” Phoebe’s melancholy state had now entirely dissipated, her foot was quickly on the mend, though it still couldn’t bear weight, and when sitting in her chair on the terrace made her fidgety, Mrs. O’Malley would agree to let Thomas or Mr. O’Malley carry her down to the beach where she could sit and participate in the fun as much as possible. Her agreeable mood once again drew the neighbors to her company. Tillie was overcoming her shyness and often ventured to look for sea creatures with Georgie and Jack, who decided they didn’t mind, even though she was a girl. Phoebe watched Tillie with pride, for she knew the struggle of coming out of one’s shell, and Tillie’s recently diminished tendency to keep Phoebe company was filled by Mr. Davies, who entertained Phoebe by reading or talking to her. She grew to enjoy his company, and it was clear enough that he liked her. Aunt Dottie was pleased, and the others made no apparent objections. Sometimes Thomas would purposely station himself near the two, in order to discern what he could of Mr. Davies’ character. To Thomas, Mr. Davies seemed a boring chap, but an honest one, so he couldn’t complain. Phoebe often wondered if Mr. Davies had any interests besides reading and talking. He looked at the children playing as if those days were far behind him. He had a good excuse for this in his mind, for he was the ripe old age of twentyfive. Excuses or not, Phoebe wondered if he would still like her if he saw her romping about with the others as she wanted to. One day, an opportunity came for Phoebe to be herself in front of him. The children were playing ball and Mr. Davies was reading poetry to her. He was feeling rather sentimental and chose a poem he hoped might resonate with his fair friend.

But the words were lost on her, for every aspect of her being except the physical was with the children playing a short distance away. He was not aware of this distraction until his companion shifted her weight onto her knees with a laugh, picked up a ball that had rolled in front of her, and threw it back with impressive force. “You’re out, jelly fingers!” she called to Jimmy. “Am not!” he yelled and resumed playing. She rocked back into her original sitting position with a breath of fresh air. Whether or not she cared about Mr. Davies seeing her as herself, it felt good to participate at last. Mr. Davies was stunned into silence, and Phoebe looked at him innocently. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, closed his book, and began conversing on general topics. His visit ended quickly, and he walked home. Phoebe counted herself a fool after this. Boring and sentimental as he was, Mr. Davies may have been the only man that would offer her any security in life. As much as the O’Malleys loved and cared for her, she knew their financial situation was not likely to her into her elderly years. She hated the direction her thoughts were heading, but there they went. She knew she didn’t love Mr. Davies, but at least love could grow from gratitude, and she was grateful to him for rescuing her, that was something. Ridiculous as Phoebe sounded to herself, there was a practicality that got the better of her, and she altered her behavior accordingly in the days that followed. Aunt Dottie watched the instance with the ball in great distress and witnessed the effect it produced with even greater distress. But the rest of the family was immune to such anguish, for they were nothing other than thrilled at how well Phoebe was doing. Mrs. O’Malley was proud of her girl for finding a way to play in her predicament, and the children were excited at the idea of having Phoebe on their team again. This gave Thomas an idea. He thought it over for an entire afternoon before presenting it to his mother, who consented to the idea as long as Phoebe didn’t

get too tired, and it was carried out the next day, as was Phoebe. Emily and Tillie had just arrived in time to see that Thomas had invented a new game—one that required no running. They sat in a circle and chose a song or poem. As they sang, they would throw the ball randomly to one another, and the one holding the ball when the song ended was out. They would play several rounds, and the person left would be the winner. They all agreed to the rules and played the game for some time with great enjoyment. The third round put Phoebe out, and she carefully made her way out of the circle, soon to be ed by Emily. “Oh,” said Emily, out of breath from exertion and laughter, “What a nice brother you have! It was so sweet of him to think this up so you could play with us. I’ve been lonesome for you all these weeks.” “And I for you, dear,” said Phoebe. “Yes, I feel unfortunate not to have had a brother more than half my life. I think brothers are wonderful.” “Except when they’re not,” ed Fiona, to whom Thomas had thrown the ball at the last second, putting her out of the game. Emily agreed. “Of course every brother has their faults, but it seems yours has less of them than others do.” “Thomas?” said Fiona. “What are your brother’s faults?” asked Phoebe curiously. “His perfection,” said Emily. “He’s always been outshining me since we were young children. I confess there was a time I couldn’t stand him for it. But I don’t care as much now as I did then.” “And you shouldn’t,” said Phoebe adamantly. “I should think you’d have plenty to be proud of yourself for.”

“Such as?” asked Emily, ready for a compliment. “Your personality.” Fiona nodded. “You’ve got lots more personality than your brother.” Emily shook her head. “That isn’t saying much. He has no personality.” Even Phoebe, who didn’t like to laugh at things that were unfair, couldn’t help herself in this instance. Georgie won the game, and another began. Phoebe had grown tired, so she didn’t the next, and the children fell to playing other games. Thomas helped Phoebe into her chair, which had been brought down to the beach for her enjoyment, and she read a book as the others played. Mrs. O’Malley sat on a blanket nearby, watching Jack play in the sand. Behind her book, Phoebe was thinking about her previous conversation with Emily when she noticed a shadow in the corner of her eye. She looked up to see Mr. Davies greeting Mrs. O’Malley and closed her book as Jack reached up to him, indicating that he wanted to be tossed into the air and caught a few times. Mr. Davies merely patted him on the head and walked to Phoebe. “Good day, Miss James.” “Hello,” she said distractedly, for she was thinking about Jack. Mr. Davies asked if her health was improving, Phoebe replied that it was, and their conversation went on much the same as usual. Mrs. O’Malley added some interest by making a comment here and a statement there. Phoebe could tell Mrs. O’Malley liked Mr. Davies, but how much, she couldn’t tell. Nonetheless, her friendliness towards him encouraged Phoebe to express her own, and Mr. Davies was highly gratified by this attention. Mr. Davies later took his leave with a handsome smile on his face. But as he walked away, he bumped into Thomas, encumbered with three squabbling children, all trying to take a piggyback ride at once. “Sorry, old chap,” said Mr. Davies.

Thomas looked up with a flushed and smiling countenance and said, “I don’t suppose you’d like a ride yourself, sir?” The joke was lost on Mr. Davies, and he bowed and left. The others then burst out with laughter, and Mr. Davies went home, thinking he had been made fun of.

AUNT DOTTIE WAS NOT long deprived, after her complaint several weeks earlier, of having a man preside over the dinner table. Mr. O’Malley gladly took the post during his stay, and, as much as the two didn’t get along, she appreciated her brother-in-law for such things as this. Only two weeks remained of the O’Malleys’ stay, but Aunt Dottie had been hoping they might forget this and stay longer. But all hope was lost when her tongue slipped at the breakfast table. “Oh, dear me!” she sighed, “I’m going to miss all of you when you leave. Wouldn’t you consider staying just a week or two longer, dear?” she addressed her sister. “I’m afraid not, Dottie dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Two months was the longest we had planned, and we’re going to need to get things settled at home before Thomas returns to the university.” “Well, that’s a shame. But—Phoebe’s poor little foot! Surely you aren’t going to go off with her still on the mend. She might get worse!” “I should be fine enough to travel in two weeks, Auntie. I’m doing much better,” said Phoebe reassuringly. “We’ll take good care of her, Aunt Dottie,” said Thomas. “I just wish the time hadn’t flown by so!” said Aunt Dottie. Aunt Dottie had more than one reason for wishing this, no matter how well her family comforted her. She still harbored a wish to see Phoebe settled nearby, and Mr. Davies was such an agreeable young man! But he hadn’t proposed to her niece yet. She then resigned herself to the idea of the O’Malleys leaving in two weeks and taking Phoebe, with no engagement. “Ah well,” she thought to herself, “it was a nice thought while it lasted.” But apparently hope was not yet lost. Mr. Davies himself was aware of the imminent departure of his neighbor’s guests, and he began to spend more time

with Miss James, as to determine whether he might have a chance with her. He often found himself speaking on specific subjects without quite meaning to. But he rarely regretted doing so, for in these blunders, he found out such things as would encourage him in his endeavors. He discovered that Phoebe loved Whitecrest and that she would be willing to live anywhere near the seashore. But she especially loved home. She described it with eagerness and joy, and when he expressed a desire to visit one day, she openly declared that he would love it. But something happened when she said this. A change came over her face, and she went from joy and excitement to something like embarrassment. This happened frequently when she spoke to him, but he couldn’t think why. One day this happened again, and he ventured to ask, “What troubles you?” She smiled when she looked at him. She thought it was a nice change from his usual small talk, but she couldn’t tell him her exact thoughts. “Nothing,” she said. The roar of the surf overwhelmed the silence. They happened to be alone on the terrace, whether or not it was by some contrivance on Aunt Dottie’s part. But it seemed opportune for Mr. Davies to speak his mind. “Phoebe,” he began. She looked at him, surprised at his use of her first name. He went on, “do I have any chance to—might I, one day...?” He looked at her unwaveringly, almost pleadingly, and Phoebe was unable to do anything but guess his full meaning. She looked down, searching for an answer, but none came for many seconds. She had prepared herself for this moment, should it ever come. She was determined to answer him favorably. It was the smart thing to do. He was a nice man, and she would be well provided for. That was all she could have asked of anyone who liked her enough to marry her.

Her silence made him fearful. “Phoebe,” he said, “if you could bring yourself to one day marry me, I promise, you would never regret it. We could live here, if you like, or New York, and visit Europe every year. That would be grand, wouldn’t it?” Phoebe suddenly felt homesick. “Would we have to go?” He was confused. “Well, I it business would be pressing there, I might have to travel often. But you could stay here, if you like.” “Could I visit my family?” “Of course,” he said. “We could spend every Christmas with them.” “Just Christmas?” “Well, not necessarily. But isn’t that enough for one’s family? They’re not even your true relatives.” She looked away, and the only noise for some time was the breaking of waves on the shore. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, “but I can’t.” He did not respond and sat in disbelief. She looked at him again, and, feeling sorry for him, she explained herself. “I’ve already had a family taken from me once. I can’t marry anyone who will take me away as often as you propose.” “But,” he hesitated, “I thought you would like the idea of traveling, of seeing greater places even than this. Most young ladies would.” “I’m not most young ladies,” Phoebe said quietly. He was dumbfounded. “And you expect to marry someone who will be as much a part of your family as yourself? Is it possible to ask of any man?” “I never did expect it before today. Believe me, Mr. Davies, I intended to accept

you, really I did. Most young ladies would be truly blessed to have you, but...I think you helped me see what I wanted by showing me clearly what I didn’t want.” His face bore a strange expression. “Maybe it is impossible,” she continued. “Maybe no man will have me on those , but why should I care? I have what I need. God has given me everything I need, and if I ever need a husband, He’ll give me that too.” And, taking his hand in order to shake it warmly, she said, “Thank you, Edward. You don’t know how you’ve helped me. Maybe one day I can return the favor.” But he was not in the mood to be thanked or done favors. He rose from his seat, looking pale as he put on his hat, and bowed slightly. “Miss James,” he mumbled. He walked away and down the terrace steps, leaving Phoebe to feel like a criminal. He left her by herself. It was the first she had been alone in a long time, and in her privacy, she began to cry. After a few moments, her cry was over, and she was ready to go inside. But how? Everyone had gone inside nearly an hour ago. She called out for help. No one answered. She called again. Nothing. What would she do? Surely someone would come soon. Soon came and went. The sky dimmed, and Phoebe grew cold. Of all the evenings not one member of the O’Malley family or Aunt Dottie came

out to enjoy the ocean air, it had to be this one, she thought to herself. Someone would be out soon... Night fell, and Phoebe was sleepy. “Oh, well,” she thought to herself as she watched the ocean, “this isn’t the worst place to sleep outside.” She drifted. Phoebe sat up with a start, for in her drifting, she had begun to dream of her parents, and, just before waking, she heard her name whispered in her ear. Breathing heavily, she looked left and right and behind her chair. No one was there, and she began to suspect Aunt Dottie’s house of having ghosts. Trembling, she leaned back again without blinking. What was that? She gazed at the shrubbery on the corner of the terrace. Had it always looked like that? she wondered silently. By this time, the family was preparing to eat supper, and Mrs. O’Malley, who knew her sister had been the last one in charge of Phoebe, asked where she was. “Oh,” said Aunt Dottie casually, “I suspect she’s all right, sister. Don’t worry, dear—Mrs. Dillon, we may need another place at the table.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Mrs. Dillon. “Did you leave her alone?” “Not at all, Daisy, what do you take me for? I left her in the company of that nice young gentleman from next door.” The sound of an outcry and a crash came from the seashell room and sent Mrs. O’Malley and her sister running. Phoebe had collapsed in the doorway that led out to the terrace. Mrs. O’Malley

ran to her but was not quite strong enough to her. “Thomas!” she called. “Oh, Seamus just had to go fishing all day, didn’t he?” she said to herself. Aunt Dottie was too shocked to respond in any way other than nonsensical questions and horrified tears until her sister sent her from the room. Thomas had already been on his way when he heard his mother calling him. He took Phoebe and placed her on the sofa, and Mrs. O’Malley inspected her foot. She lifted her eyes and thanked heaven that it was not visibly worse. “Phoebe, what happened?” she asked. “I tried to run in,” said Phoebe almost inaudibly. “Why?” “I was afraid.” “Were you by yourself?” Phoebe nodded. “For how long?” “Since Mr. Davies left.” “He left you by yourself?” She nodded. “Did you call for help?” Phoebe nodded again. “No one came.” She shook her head. “How long did you wait after that?”

“I don’t know. I fell asleep.” “Thomas, stay with Phoebe.” Mrs. O’Malley was off in a tempest. Thomas had been looking out the window with an unnaturally darkened brow as if he wanted to see Mr. Davies there so he could go out and teach him a lesson. But when his mother charged him to look after Phoebe, he didn’t need telling twice. He stationed himself on the floor at her side, still in deep thought, torn between thinking Mr. Davies was a heartless brute and trying to recall if he had heard anything when Phoebe said she called for help. Either way, he deemed himself the worst brother in the world for neglecting her. He was so occupied with his thoughts that, for some minutes, he didn’t notice that there was something on his head. He touched it to find out what it was and looked at Phoebe. She had been closing her eyes, tired from her scare and the pain in her foot, but she sensed that Thomas was in some sort of mental anguish, so she instinctively reached out her hand and placed it on his head. It had rested there for a minute or two before he noticed, and her eyes had drifted closed again. But when he took her hand from his head, looked at her face, and saw her, pale and exhausted, he felt the full weight of the blame fall upon his own shoulders. Phoebe heard a sniffle and opened her eyes. Thomas’s face was not visible, his elbows rested on his knees, and his head was low. “Thomas?” said Phoebe quietly. Hearing his name, he looked up before thinking to wipe his face. When he saw that nothing was urgent, he turned away like a little boy and wiped his face on his sleeve. “Why are you crying?” she asked as she stuffed a handkerchief into his hand. He inhaled sharply. “I’m not crying,” he said in a thick voice.

“Even Georgie its when he’s been crying.” He looked at her and forced a smile. “Georgie its everything,” he said. “Why don’t you?” Just then, Mrs. O’Malley reentered the room and nudged Thomas aside to get to Phoebe. She began asking her questions. Thomas did not listen to the first few as he stared into the fireplace. “He did ask you?” Phoebe nodded. “What did you say?” “I told him I couldn’t,” said Phoebe quietly. “You couldn’t? How do you mean?” Phoebe answered by breaking into tears and putting her arms around Mrs. O’Malley. She sobbed for several moments into her shawl. “I told him,” she said, catching her breath, “I told him I’ve already had a family taken from me once, and I didn’t want to be taken from another.” Her tears increased as she said, “He wanted to take me away on trips to Europe every year, and we would live in New York, and I couldn’t bear it, Mamma, I couldn’t bear to leave my family.” She resumed sobbing. “Oh, my girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley, glancing at Thomas with tears in her own eyes. Thomas gave a distracted smile. “And he left after you said that?” said Mrs. O’Malley, resuming her questions. Phoebe nodded. “He must’ve been so hurt, Mamma, or he wouldn’t have forgotten that I couldn’t walk very well. Oh, I can’t help feeling like I’ve murdered him or something. It’s so awful!” She laid her head on Mrs.

O’Malley’s shoulder. Thomas strode out of the room with heavy steps and was not seen by another member of the family for the rest of the evening. Mrs. O’Malley continued to comfort Phoebe and encouraged her to eat something. And Mr. O’Malley, having spent the day fishing with the elder Mr. Davies, walked into the room, bragging to his wife about something he caught. He was met by a grim expression and led out of the room for a brief explanation. In his mind, Phoebe was nowhere near marrying age, and Mr. O’Malley broke out laughing. As his humor wore off, he began questioning the mental condition of Mr. Davies Jr. in mock concern. Mrs. O’Malley was glad someone could find humor in the situation, for she certainly couldn’t, and she promptly returned to her daughter.

Chapter 19

Poor Aunt Dottie The next morning, Thomas O’Malley woke before dawn, and after realizing that part of the blame for what happened to Phoebe could be attributed to Mr. Davies, he set out to go next door before breakfast. As was customary for Mr. Davies, Thomas knew he would be going into town for the rest of the day, and he wanted to inform him of the consequence his actions had produced the previous afternoon, and if the man had any sort of heart, he might feel the remorse that was due to him for his inattention to Phoebe. Thomas knocked on the door, and Emily answered. She and her brother were the only ones up, and Thomas, ing his manners, requested to speak with her brother. She invited him in, but he refused, saying he would rather speak to him outside. Emily’s face fell. Having read many books, she knew this was the prelude to something interesting, a duel perhaps, but Thomas was only thinking of those who may have still been asleep. Emily went to get her brother with a strange smile on her face, and Thomas waited patiently. Mr. Davies came to the porch, wearing his best manners. “How do you do, Mr. O’Malley?” he said. “I might ask the same of you, sir,” said Thomas. “I beg your pardon?” “I understand you paid my sister a visit yesterday afternoon.”

“I did.” “Am I right to assume that when you left her, you knew she had no means of getting from one place to another?” Mr. Davies’ civil expression dropped completely. “Is she all right?” he demanded. “She will be,” said Thomas. “No one knew she was alone until nightfall, which, I may reassure you, was due to the inattention of myself and my family.” “I must go to her,” said Mr. Davies, thinking out loud, “No—no, that wouldn’t do.” And, facing Thomas, he said, “Will you make my apologies to her? I would hate to have her think ill of me.” “Believe me, Mr. Davies, Phoebe is incapable of thinking ill of anyone, including yourself.” “I’ve been a fool,” Mr. Davies thought aloud. Thomas said nothing. Mr. Davies, surprised at his lack of response, silently considered the young man before him. “I suppose she deserves someone better.” “That she does,” said Thomas, about to lose a temper he never thought he had. “Good day, Mr. Davies.” He began to descend the steps of the Davies’ porch when Mr. Davies called out behind him. “Such as yourself?” This remark hit Thomas in the back of the head like a stone. His steps slowed, and he turned to Mr. Davies in wonder. For a moment, he struggled with the insult towards himself and curiosity at what made Mr. Davies think such a thing. “What makes you say that?” won out in the end.

“I believe you could easily guess, if you wanted to.” “I’m afraid you go too far, sir,” said Thomas. “I will gladly it that the kind of man my sister deserves does not resemble me in any way. I might also say, with some confidence, that he does not exist on this earth, but I am more than willing to be proven wrong one day, and if I am, and she so wishes, I would see her go with a happy heart. I would say the same of my sister Fiona, and if I ever have another sister, I will say the same of her. Does that put your mind at ease, Mr. Davies?” Mr. Davies merely bowed, and Thomas walked home in peace.

SINCE AUNT DOTTIE SERVED breakfast later than usual, Thomas returned before the family was down and had a moment to compose himself in his room before the breakfast hour arrived. It came quickly, and Thomas made his way downstairs. No one was in the breakfast room, and Mrs. Dillon came to tell him that the family was in “Miss Phoebe’s room.” She gestured to the seashell room. He found the door open and walked in. Phoebe was seated on the sofa with her sickly foot propped upon a stool. Aunt Dottie was seated next to her with an arm around her and a cup of coffee in the other hand. Mrs. O’Malley looked on with approval. A table had been wheeled into the room for breakfast, and everyone had found a place around it. “Hello, m’boy,” said Mr. O’Malley. “Hello, Da.” Mr. O’Malley covertly slipped his son a wink as he handed him a cup of coffee. Thomas was too tired to wonder what his father was thinking, so he pretended not to notice as he proceeded to eat breakfast. A week now remained until the O’Malleys went home. It was just as well, for it gave Phoebe time to rest before traveling and the twins time to collect specimens from the beach. During that week, Mrs. Davies, Emily, and Tillie came to take leave of their neighbors. It was a pleasant visit, and the next day, Mr. O’Malley went for a farewell fishing trip with the elder Mr. Davies. The day for traveling arrived quickly. Phoebe was in good health and spirits, and the weather couldn’t have been nicer, so the family prepared to set off. Aunt Dottie took affectionate leave of all of them, especially Phoebe. Had she

not already grown fond of her, the guilt of scheming to make her a good match and its failure was enough to endear Phoebe to her for life. Two carriages were required to convey the entire O’Malley family to the station, providing Aunt Dottie with plenty of opportunity to wave goodbye as they rolled one after the other out of sight, leaving her once again to herself and her enormous house. Fiona had suggested they bring her along to live with them, but poor Aunt Dottie, lonely as she was, did not want to sacrifice the comfort of her own home, nor her proximity to the city, so she stayed behind and watched them go with a wave of her handkerchief. Mr. O’Malley’s arthritis was acting up that day, so the task of assisting Phoebe fell to Thomas, and he traveled in the same carriage as his mother and Phoebe. Phoebe watched Thomas during the trip to the station. His attention was fixed on things outside. He would not make eye with her, nor did he speak or make jokes as he usually would have. Something was wrong, but Phoebe couldn’t tell what. He eventually noticed her concerned expression, and smiling for her sake, he did away with his pensive attitude for the rest of the journey. Once at the station, Mr. O’Malley saw to the tickets and baggage, and the others boarded the train. Phoebe attracted stares as she was carried aboard, which was too much for her self-conscious mind to bear. Embarrassed, she hid her face in Thomas’s shoulder. If only a week ago she’d had the patience to wait for someone to have helped her, had she not been so afraid and run into the house without thinking, she might have been able to walk onto the train on her own, even if it was with some assistance. But no, she thought to herself, she had been hasty and foolish, and now people looked on, thinking she was a helpless invalid, and her pride was hurt. Contrary to what she assumed, most of the people who did look were not thinking this at all. They were wondering who the pretty stranger was and what sort of misfortune had befallen her to make such a seemingly healthy individual

so helpless. Thomas, knowing how Phoebe cared what others thought, felt sorry for her when she hid her face like a child. “Come on, Phoeb,” he said quietly. “You’re the one steering this boat. Where to?” Phoebe looked at him and smiled. This sounded more like the Thomas she knew. He still wasn’t looking at her, but she continued smiling in appreciation as she looked about the train for a place where the whole family could sit near each other. She pointed and was settled accordingly. Mrs. O’Malley instantly set about making her comfortable, and Thomas left to see if his father needed help. The other children flocked in with Betsy to where Phoebe and their mother were, the sound of running footsteps like a mighty rumble of thunder upon the train floor. Mrs. O’Malley assigned her children to their appropriate seats as Mr. O’Malley and Thomas boarded the train. Mrs. O’Malley, Betsy, Fiona, and Jack took places on Phoebe’s side of the train, and in the adjacent booth, sat Thomas, Mr. O’Malley, George, and Jimmy. A few minutes later, the train rolled away, and Mrs. O’Malley charged Fiona to sit next to her younger brothers and make them stop asking the engers random questions. An hour ed, and Jack wanted to sit with “Bee-be.” Mrs. O’Malley denied his request, and he became more adamant. Phoebe then dotingly stated that she wouldn’t mind the company, so Mrs. O’Malley gave in. Jack amused himself for a moment by playing with the fringe on Phoebe’s shawl. He then began murmuring to himself, and, thinking Phoebe didn’t understand what he was saying, he spoke louder, making full sentences in fluent Gibberish. Phoebe thought it was adorable when he did this, but engers began

expressing their displeasure by looks. Jack grew louder, and Mrs. O’Malley, getting anxious, was about to retrieve her son when Phoebe began humming to him. Being a smart child, he realized he couldn’t hear the singing if he kept raising his own voice, so he grew quiet. The twins also liked it when Phoebe sang, and they slipped through Fiona’s fingers to squeeze onto the floor in the next booth. Mrs. O’Malley then gave up and let them do as they liked. Fiona followed since she had no further occupation in the adjacent booth and resumed her seat by Betsy. Mr. O’Malley had been sleeping for the past half-hour, and Thomas, who had not gotten much rest lately, closed his book, took the seat vacated by Fiona and the twins, and stretched upon it with his hat over his face. But his eyes would not close. He was in deep thought before he noticed a tear rolling down his cheek, and he then decided that he really needed some sleep, so he shook himself and determinedly closed his eyes. Phoebe continued humming, worried that she would soon be the only one awake. Jack was silent and had fallen into a deep slumber upon her arm. The twins had fallen asleep, each leaning on one of their mother’s knees. Fiona dozed on Betsy’s shoulder, and Betsy blinked sleepily upon Fiona’s head. Mrs. O’Malley’s head was laid back on the seat, and she looked out the window. Mr. O’Malley and Thomas, it appeared, were long gone, and Phoebe kept humming out of boredom. She wandered along random, lulling notes and soon noticed them changing into a familiar tune. It was her mother’s lullaby. She stopped due to a catch in her throat, and shakily sighed as she looked towards the window. Another hour ed, with Jack’s head rising and falling from her breathing. “What’s on your mind, dear?” Mrs. O’Malley eventually asked. Phoebe’s eyes didn’t move from the window. “I want to do something useful with my life.” “Anything in particular?” asked Mrs. O’Malley without seeming too surprised.

“I’m not sure yet. But I think I want to make a living at something, like teaching, or...or something.” “Or housekeeping?” asked Betsy. Phoebe smiled. “No, I haven’t quite learned how to do that properly enough to make a living at it.” Jimmy chimed in, “Thomas says he’s going out west with the cowboys and Injuns when he’s done with school, and he’s going to have a housekeeper and horses. You could be his housekeeper!” Had he been in a more convenient position, Jimmy would have received a silencing look from his older brother. “No, Jims,” said Fiona, “that wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t pay her well enough. Besides, we would miss her too much if she went out west.” All this was news to Mrs. O’Malley, who looked at her now agitated son in curiosity. But he was more concerned with what Fiona had just said. “What makes you think Phoebe wouldn’t get paid well enough?” asked Thomas. Fiona merely thought her brother was stingy, but she placidly replied, “No one could ever pay Phoebe enough to take her away from home, no matter how bad she was at keeping house.” Phoebe laughed, and Thomas, satisfied with this answer, resumed the book he had been reading before his nap. “Now,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I don’t know where you children got the notion that I would let you venture off to the great unknown without any idea whether you would see your family again, but I can assure you this, Thomas: If your heart is set on it, and you do travel west, the only housekeeper you’re going to have is Fiona until you two can learn to get along better.” “I don’t want to be his housekeeper!” said Fiona. Thomas smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Mam. I was only daydreaming with Jimmy the other day, and he took it seriously.”

“Well, next time, daydream a little closer to home, please.” “Yes, ma’am.” Jack woke from his nap and wanted his mother, and upon receiving her son, Mrs. O’Malley was struck with an idea. “Phoebe,” she said, “what do you think about being a music teacher?” Phoebe’s face lit up. “Of course!” she said excitedly. “Well, I don’t know anything beyond piano—and I’m not exactly proficient at it, but I could teach children. That’s a wonderful idea! Oh, thank you, Mamma!” Mrs. O’Malley appealed to the opinions of her other children, and they agreed in the affirmative. She applied to her husband, who did not object, and looked to her eldest son, who was quiet. “What do you think of Phoebe teaching piano, son?” “If she likes,” he mumbled, still looking at his book. Phoebe wondered, from this response, if Thomas’s newfound behavior was bitterness towards her about something. “But,” said Phoebe, “do we even know anyone who needs lessons? Or would I have to in the paper?” “I think Mrs. Smithson has a daughter who would like lessons,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “If she doesn’t have a teacher already, you could offer your services. That is, once your foot was healed enough.” “Oh, yes,” said Phoebe. “It would be a little difficult to walk into town on this,” she nodded towards her foot. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a month or so, and then you had better take Bob until you get your strength back. It’s about time for Seamus to get another farm horse anyway.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mag,” said Mr. O’Malley. “Bill brought his horses along to work on the farm, so I’d imagine Bob’s got a bit lazy by now. He could use the exercise.” “Well, that sounds perfect,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Now, all we have to do is get your foot well, Phoebe.” “Yes,” said Phoebe as she fell back to reality, “I suppose so.” “Don’t worry,” said Betsy. “We’ll have you walking again in no time.” “But not too soon,” said Mrs. O’Malley, still shaken by what happened. Phoebe smiled at the culmination of this conversation, thinking of what she had to look forward to. Finally, she could do something useful. She could help her family, her loved ones, who had already helped her so much. In her mind, it was the least she could do. But she did not mention this aloud. She merely thought about it for the rest of the journey home. A few more hours of the world zipping by brought them to Hillbrook Station. It felt good to be home, even if it was only the train station. Mr. O’Malley had written to the Morrisons, telling them when to expect their return, and he was the first to leave the train to make sure they had come. Mrs. O’Malley made him request that they bring the cart, but the Morrisons felt they could do better than that on such a warm day with a young invalid. The Morrisons had come to live in an old guest house on the O’Malleys’ property, and since they had come in a carriage of their own, they decided to let the O’Malleys use it whenever they liked. That day was the perfect occasion, and they hitched their team of horses to the carriage and Bob to the cart for the remainder of the company. Mrs. Morrison drove the cart, and Mr. Morrison drove the carriage, and it was just as Mr. O’Malley stepped off the train that they rolled up in a short train of their own. He greeted them jovially and shook Mr. Morrison by the hand. After a few words of familiarity, he went to get his family.

He returned in the same cheerful mood he had greeted the Morrisons with, and eagerly took some luggage from his wife to carry to the cart. Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy gathered the children and the remaining items, and Thomas resumed the office of helping Phoebe. The end of the family’s last conversation had put an idea in Phoebe’s mind, and not only had it not left, but it had grown stronger as their journey progressed. Thomas walked to her to follow with her behind the rest of the family, but she touched his arm, saying, “Wait.” She waited until Mrs. O’Malley was out of earshot as Thomas looked at her, wondering what she was thinking. Once Mrs. O’Malley was no longer in hearing range, Phoebe looked at him and said, “Help me walk.” Thomas was taken aback. “Help you walk?” he repeated. Phoebe nodded, meaning that she would lean against his arm and slowly limp her way off the train. She began to stand with his help when he picked her up and proceeded to follow the others. “What are you doing?” she said. “Helping you walk,” he stated simply. “I didn’t mean like this.” “I know what you meant, but don’t think I’m going to let you have your way at the risk of your foot getting worse. Mam would have my hide for it!” Phoebe looked down dejectedly. “Don’t worry, Phoeb. You’ll be able to walk again before you know it, hopefully before I return to the university. I don’t think Da’s ts can be counted on anytime soon.” “No,” said Phoebe sadly. And, reg herself, she added, “Don’t you worry, Thomas! I’ll be a good girl. You’ll be able to go back to school, and I promise I won’t try to walk again until Mamma says I can.” “Good,” he said. “Then don’t tempt me to give you your way again.”

“No, brother, I’m sorry.” She kissed his cheek in penitence. No response was given her, save a slight twitch of his face and a return to the grave expression that had recently become so common to him. Once in the open air, Phoebe instantly met the Morrisons. They were comfortable people with parental airs and kind countenances. Phoebe liked them at once. The weather was pleasant, and Phoebe wouldn’t have minded a ride on the cart. But amongst so many people who were anxious for her health, it would have been futile to state her wishes, so she settled for the carriage. Mrs. O’Malley took her place by Phoebe and cleared her skirt out of the way for her son. He was about to climb in when he suddenly stopped and said, “If you don’t mind, Mam, I’ll let Betsy or Fiona ride with you, and I’ll take the cart.” “All right,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Just make sure you can help us when we get home.” “Right, Mam.” He traded places with Fiona, and the family went home.

Chapter 20

Home As soon as the cart rolled towards the house, everyone’s relief to be home was apparent, and weariness set in with even the most effervescent of the children. Nicodemus ran barking to his boy. Thomas hopped down to see him before they stopped and sent him to wait on the porch. Nico obeyed and was very focused on doing so until he saw Phoebe. He gave a slight whimper and ran calmly to her, rewarded by her reaching down to stroke his head. She said something kind to him, and he walked proudly alongside her into the house. Thomas deposited Phoebe in the sitting room, and Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy tended to her. He then went to help his father with the luggage, and Mrs. Morrison offered to prepare supper. Mrs. O’Malley gladly accepted the help, and Betsy went to help as well. “It’s so good to be home,” said Phoebe once she was settled, and Mrs. O’Malley seconded this statement as she placed a blanket on Phoebe’s lap. Nicodemus stuck to her side with his chin upon the blanket, and she rubbed his head, soon to drift into an involuntary sleep. Phoebe woke after darkness had fallen. A fire was burning in the fireplace, and Mrs. O’Malley sat nearby with some knitting. Phoebe, in her drowsiness, tried to talk, but no words came out. “Hello, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “You were resting so well I didn’t want to wake you for supper. Would you like something now?” Phoebe shook her head.

“Are you comfortable enough to sleep here?” She nodded. “All right then. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you in the morning. Good night, dear, and God bless you.” Phoebe returned the wishes and was asleep a second later. Mrs. O’Malley smiled over her before leaving the room, feeling blessed to call this child her daughter.

THE NEXT MORNING, THOMAS was up early to offer his help on the farm. As he ed the sitting room, something big, furry, and black and white caught his eye. Nicodemus had spent the night lying next to Phoebe’s sofa instead of at his feet, and when his boy peeked in at him, Nico questioningly cut his eyes upward. “Traitor,” whispered Thomas before leaving. Nico resumed his nap with a moan. The ability to walk could not come soon enough for Phoebe, and after a few days, Mrs. O’Malley agreed to let her try sitting with her feet on the floor for a start. Phoebe couldn’t help thinking this sounded too meager of a beginning, but she quickly realized she could not comfortably sit this way longer than half an hour without her foot swelling beyond comfort. But this time began to lengthen, and the day soon arrived when Mrs. O’Malley allowed her to stand on her better foot with the assistance of a piece of furniture or, to Mrs. O’Malley’s preference, someone’s arm and put a little pressure on her injured foot without much discomfort. But the cautious effort on her part and the anxiety of those watching made her tired, albeit excited, not to mention the state of Mrs. O’Malley’s nerves. Therefore, these trial efforts were put to a minimum over the following week. Everyone celebrated these small victories, including Mr. and Mrs. Morrison, who had become like family to the O’Malleys, and the day soon came when Phoebe was able to stand briefly on both feet with nearly equal pressure. She still required assistance with this, for being confined to a couch the past two months had made her weak. Mrs. O’Malley allowed Phoebe to try standing once or twice a day if she wasn’t by herself. Phoebe took every opportunity she could, and the day finally came when she practiced standing, and, testing a little more weight on her injured foot, she smiled at the floor.

“Let go,” she said excitedly to Thomas, who was her assistant then. His face dropped, and he looked to his mother for her opinion. She looked just as concerned as he did, but after an initial look of fright, her face slowly softened, and she silently conceded with clasped hands. Thomas drew back only slightly, and Phoebe came to her full height with a nervously victorious chuckle. But this didn’t last long, for a slight twinge in her foot made her lose her balance. Mrs. O’Malley gasped, and Thomas caught her. “That’s enough for today,” he said, making her sit back down. “I stood by myself!” said Phoebe, smiling. She was beginning to see the light at the end of her tunnel, and her heart beat joyfully within her chest. Thomas and Mrs. O’Malley looked at each other in pity, for their hearts were beating anywhere but their chests, but they were happy for Phoebe, nonetheless. “Yes, you did, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, taking a seat herself, “but I’m too old for this.” “So am I,” said Thomas. “Da’s helping you, next time, Phoeb.” Phoebe’s laughter then turned to pity for Thomas and Mrs. O’Malley, but a permanent smile stayed on her face for the rest of the day. Contrary to his ultimatum, Thomas faithfully took his post at Phoebe’s side the next day. Mrs. O’Malley was almost too nervous to watch and made Fiona be her eyes, despite being unable to look away herself. Though bid by Mrs. O’Malley and the rest of the family not to try standing on her own for at least another day, Phoebe was allowed to try putting a little more weight than usual on her injured foot. Still elated by her progress, Phoebe cooperated with their wishes, knowing that freedom was close at hand. The following day, Phoebe was again allowed to try standing on her own, but Mrs. O’Malley practically hid herself in the kitchen. She had Fiona, Betsy, and

Mr. O’Malley take her place in the sitting room, and Fiona was to come get her if anything at all should happen. Phoebe’s attempt was much more successful this time, though Thomas insisted on keeping hold of her left hand. Mr. O’Malley was at her right, but she barely held on, and for some seconds, she required no and looked about, smiling. Those looking on clapped and cheered, and Mrs. O’Malley promptly returned to make sure Phoebe didn’t tire herself. She found Phoebe standing without help, despite Thomas standing cautiously with both hands under her arm. Phoebe was beaming, but no less than the proud Da standing next to her, and Mrs. O’Malley went to embrace her. “That’s my girl,” she said, kissing her cheek. She helped Phoebe sit down again, the rest of the family piled on the couch next to her in joyous celebration, and Thomas left the room without a word. Amidst all the jubilation, Phoebe watched him go in wonder. Thomas was certainly not himself, but she didn’t know why. With further assistance, Phoebe soon began limping along the edge of the sofa. Thomas and Mr. O’Malley’s services were required less and less, and eventually, even Fiona could help her walk a little each day.

ONE MORNING, ALMOST three weeks after the family’s return from Whitecrest, Phoebe, who still slept in the sitting room for convenience, woke to see something leaned against the chair across from her. She blinked and picked up her head to get a better look. It was a walking stick of beautifully carved wood. She reached out and grasped it to examine it more closely. There were roses and leaves carved on the sides, and the handle curved perfectly for a hand to rest upon it. Phoebe then considered her surroundings. No evidence was apparent that anyone else was awake, save the walking stick. But upon further inspection, through a window to the porch, the silhouette of someone’s head could be seen against the sunrise. Nicodemus wasn’t on the floor beside her, as was his custom lately, so she figured the person on the porch was Thomas. She rose with the of her new cane. It was the perfect height, and she walked carefully outside using it, as well as a piece of furniture or the wall. Thomas was in a chair facing away from the door, and she walked to his side. He did not notice her. A book lay in his hands that he was not reading. He simply stared into space, and the expression upon his face made Phoebe sad, but she did not know why. All at once, she saw him as old man and young man mingled together in the same person. Leaning on the chair, she picked up the walking stick. “Did you make this for me?” she asked. He saw her and nearly jumped out of his chair. “Phoebe!” he said in surprise, “You’re not supposed to be up by yourself!”—“I’m not by myself,” Phoebe said quietly—“What are you thinking? Mam will have both our hides!” As he spoke, he began putting cushions in the chair he had been sitting in, preparing it for her use. She quietly objected and made her way to the porch

swing. He didn’t let her go two pitiful steps before placing her in it himself and putting the cushions around her. “There,” he muttered to himself. “Now, where’s...? Don’t move.” He ran into the house with Nico staring intently at Phoebe to make sure she didn’t move. Thomas returned with a blanket from the sofa and some books. He covered her lap and placed the books at her side. “Now,” he said, surveying his work, “do you need anything else?” Phoebe tried not to laugh at him as she shook her head, saying, “No, thank you.” Her restrained laughter then bubbled over as she added, “You’re worse than Mam, you know.” He smiled, looking as if he were going to say something else, but he returned to his chair and picked up his book. That strange new expression had briefly shown itself before he turned back to his chair, and Phoebe sat in confusion for some time before picking up her Bible. She finished reading and considered Thomas again. He was staring intently at his book, but his eyes were not moving. “You didn’t answer my question earlier,” she said lightheartedly. He looked up. “What question?” She picked up the cane. “About this. I was wondering if you made it for me.” “No, it’s for Da,” he said with a straight face. Phoebe suppressed a smile. “I’m sure he’ll love the roses. Did you make it yourself?” “Mm hm.”

“Thank you.” “Welcome.” ... “What’s wrong?” “Hmm?” “What’s wrong? You used to talk more.” “I’m talking now, aren’t I?” “Hardly—No, I mean you used to confide in me when something was on your mind...Have I done something wrong?” she asked, almost dreading what his answer might be. “Terribly wrong,” he said with a playful glance. “What?” she said, still concerned. “Absolutely nothing.” Phoebe was on the verge of frustration. He saw this and sighed before closing his book and thinking a moment. “Phoebe,” he said finally, “can you trust me when I say that, no matter how much I’d like to tell you, some things are meant never to be told, to anyone.” Phoebe frowned. “Not even one’s parents?” “No,” he said slowly. “No, I don’t think so. Not in this case.” “Never?” “Possibly.” “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never have to,” he said with his new grave expression. “But I need you to trust me. From now on, no matter what I do, no matter what I don’t tell you, I need you to believe it’s for the best. Can you promise me that?” “I promise,” she said uncertainly. “Thank you.” “Just one question,” she said a few seconds later. “What?” “Is your life in danger?” The clouds on his face cleared into a smile. “No, Phoebe, it isn’t anything like that.” “Good.” “Well, good morning, Jack,” she said a minute later, for just then, he came groggily waddling onto the porch, still holding his blanket. “Good morning, children,” said Mrs. O’Malley, following behind him, nearly as sleepy. “Good morning,” they replied. “Look what Thomas made for me,” said Phoebe, holding up her walking stick. Mrs. O’Malley surveyed it with pleasure. “Oh, son, it’s beautiful. How sweet of you to take care of our girl!” She went and kissed the top of his head. “It was nothing, Mam,” he said, quickly rising from his chair and going inside. That was not like her son. Mrs. O’Malley looked at Phoebe, and Phoebe shrugged with a helpless expression.

AT BREAKFAST, THOMAS was more somber than ever, and before the dishes had been cleared, he presented his parents with a proposition to return to the university early. They were both surprised. Everyone in the room was surprised for that matter, though Phoebe had been better prepared to expect anything from Thomas from that point on. But to the rest of the family, this was a blow. Thomas, who nearly two years ago had taken his examinations early so he could have more time at home, wanted to go back to school before his classes had even resumed. “It would give me time,” he explained, “to get settled before I got too busy with my studies.” “Plenty of time, I should say,” said Mr. O’Malley, aside to his wife. “What about Phoebe?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Your father hasn’t really been up to—” “She’s been getting along fine without much help for almost a week now,” interrupted Thomas. “And Mr. Morrison has the farm well under control. Father will do fine without me.” “But we would miss you terribly, son.” “And I would miss you, Mother.” “Is there any reason you want to leave other than getting settled early?” asked Mr. O’Malley. “No, Father,” said Thomas, and his conscience stabbed him. After a moment’s deliberation, and some mind-reading between Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, Mr. O’Malley said, “Well, son, I think it’s a responsible notion, and if you wish to leave early, then you have our blessing.” “Thank you, Father.” Thomas then kissed his mother, heartily shook hands with his father, and went

upstairs to pack. “Since when did he start calling me ‘Father’?” said Mr. O’Malley when Thomas was gone. “I like ‘Da’ better.” “He’s grown up now, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley quietly. The others sitting at the breakfast table looked at each other. They didn’t know whether or not they liked grown-up Thomas either. Compared to his wife, Mr. O’Malley did not have much intuition about certain things, but one thing he was able to discern that his wife had not, was the cause of Thomas’s desire to return to school early. After the breakfast table was empty, Mr. O’Malley checked into some matters about the farm with Mr. Morrison and then went to speak with his son as he packed his things. A few innocent but well-put questions were enough to confirm Mr. O’Malley’s suspicions and bring his son to tears. Poor Thomas had not expected his father to see through him so well, but he had, and Thomas was relieved to have someone to speak to on the matter. Not much conversation was required, but Thomas sought his father’s advice on some important concerns, and the two ended their conversation closer than ever. If Thomas had his way, he would have left as quickly and quietly as possible, but upon descending the stairs to leave, his mother reminded him to say goodbye to his siblings before he left. Thomas loved his family, but the idea of a long goodbye made leaving more difficult. A look from his father encouraged him, and Thomas obeyed his parents. They awaited him on the porch, where Phoebe had returned after breakfast. He said goodbye to Jack on his way out, having taken him from his mother to carry him outside, and Mr. O’Malley put Thomas’s luggage on the cart while he told the others goodbye. Thomas said goodbye to Betsy, and she took the baby. The twins climbed upon a piece of furniture and attacked him from behind, evoking his old playfulness,

and he repaid their antics with interest. He then embraced Fiona and tousled her curls by habit. Phoebe had risen to say goodbye and stood leaning on her chair. Her face was downcast, and she resembled a small child. “Take care of yourself, Phoeb,” said Thomas. She sniffled. “We’re not rid of you yet, are we?” He smiled and said, “Don’t worry.” He hadn’t directly answered her question, and she looked at him for a response. The one she wanted was not there, and a tear fell on her face. He briefly wiped it away and gave her a brotherly kiss before turning to say goodbye to his mother. He left quickly, and a lull fell upon the house of O’Malley.

Chapter 21

Simon Says Phoebe’s foot continued to improve in the weeks that followed, and she took every available opportunity to regain her strength. Mrs. O’Malley frequently had to tell her to rest and one day felt so helpless as to appeal to her husband. “She’ll be confined to that couch again, either from sheer exhaustion or from being on that foot too long. Seamus, tell her, won’t you? Tell that child to rest herself!” Mr. O’Malley looked at Phoebe standing meekly by the fireplace with a broom in her hand. “Ah, come on, Mag,” he said, “it’ll do her good. Look at that bloom in her cheek!” “That ‘bloom’ is probably from being flushed. She’s already worn herself out!” “I feel fine, really, Mamma,” said Phoebe. “You do not, you’re just being stubborn. You’re getting as bad as Betsy! Now, sit down this instant. That’s enough work for you today,” said Mrs. O’Malley, taking the broom from Phoebe and leading her to a chair. Phoebe looked to Mr. O’Malley for help. He winked and nodded to the chair, and she obeyed. She smiled to herself over how Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley were arguing about her as if they were her real parents, and she felt so loved from such an unextraordinary event as their bickering about her health. However, Mrs. O’Malley was eventually resigned to acknowledge Phoebe’s improvement and be satisfied enough to allow her to begin teaching, especially since the weather was growing milder and would be less likely to make her tired. Phoebe, now with Mrs. O’Malley’s permission, wrote to Mrs. Smithson to offer

her services. Mrs. Smithson replied that she had already engaged a music teacher, but she mentioned a Mrs. Benson, a neighbor whose six-year-old son required instruction. Phoebe then wrote to Mrs. Benson and received a reply much sooner than expected, stating how happy she was to hear that Phoebe could teach her son and requesting her to come as soon as possible. The day after receiving this letter, Phoebe interrupted Bob during a nap and prepared him to convey her into town. Mrs. O’Malley sent her off with a request to get the mail on her way home and to be back no later than sunset. Phoebe agreed and set off. By the time she rang the bell at Mrs. Benson’s front door, she itted a little nervousness to herself. The door was answered by a friendly-looking housekeeper, and she was shown in at once. Her visit was for the sole purpose of settling and conditions, but Mrs. Benson, not having a thing to do with her son by the time he was done with his studies, asked Phoebe if she would begin lessons at once. Though surprised, Phoebe agreed, and Charles, her first pupil, was summoned. He was a thin, angry-looking child with dark hair and a pale face that might have daunted any new teacher. But Phoebe greeted him in smiling cordiality. “Hello, Charles,” she said. “How are you?” “I was bad to-day,” he stated bluntly. “Oh, I can’t believe that, you look like a very nice boy. Do you like games?” Charles nodded. “Shall we play one now?” asked Phoebe. Charles shrugged. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “What about ‘Simon Says’?”

“Can I be Simon?” “We’ll take turns.” “Okay.” As they spoke, she led him to the piano, at which point he became dubious, but after Phoebe played a short tune a few notes at a time and asked if he could repeat it, he accepted her challenge with childish tenacity. They continued playing for at least an hour, with Charles taking his fair share of turns at being Simon. The big clock behind them eventually chimed four, and Phoebe rose to go. “Where are you going?” asked Charles. “Home,” said Phoebe. “Why?” “Because Mamma says.” “Is ‘Mamma’ more important than ‘Simon’?” “Always,” said Phoebe, taking her hat. “I enjoyed our afternoon, Charlie. Thank you for playing with me.” She touched his head fondly on her way out and closed the imposing front door behind her with a great deal of satisfaction over her first lesson. Phoebe made her way to the post office on her way home as requested. Since Thomas had left again for college, Fiona had taken Phoebe’s job of getting the mail until her foot was better, but today, Phoebe was only too happy to resume her old post. The sun was getting a little low for Mrs. O’Malley’s taste when Phoebe rode up the path. She dismounted, lowering herself gently to the ground and catching most of the weight on her better foot, as per Mrs. O’Malley’s request, and handed her the letters. She was about to lead Bob to pasture when Mrs. O’Malley stopped her.

“Let your Da take care of that today. He could use the exercise. You come with me and rest. Seamus!” Mr. O’Malley answered his wife’s call a moment later. “Take Bob, will you?” she asked. “It’s time this one got some rest.” And turning to Phoebe as they walked into the house, she said, “Have you stayed off your foot enough this afternoon?” “Yes, ma’am,” answered Phoebe, smiling. “All the same, you need some rest. Betsy dear, get Phoebe some tea, please? Where would you like to sit, dear?” Mrs. O’Malley, Fiona, and Betsy had been folding laundry, canning preserves, and preparing supper in the kitchen before Phoebe had returned, so she requested to sit at the kitchen table where she could them. Mrs. O’Malley would have preferred a location more conducive to proper rest, but she gave Phoebe her way, as long as she propped her bad foot upon another chair. “What brought you home so late?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “I hadn’t expected your visit to take longer than half an hour.” “Neither had I, but Mrs. Benson wanted me to start right away.” “And what are your ?” “She said she would like me to come twice a week for an hour.” “What about your student? Is he well-behaved?” Phoebe smiled. “Not by his own . I think he’s just a little particular about some things.” “That’s a nice way to describe a spoiled child,” said Betsy. “I think I’m going to enjoy teaching him, though. We got along well, considering that I’m a perfect stranger to him and it was his first lesson.”

“I’m glad to hear it, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, now distracted, for she was reading her son’s letter. Thomas’s recent notes to his family were not quite what they used to be. When reading his previous letters, one would have thought he was in the room speaking to them. This year, they had not only lost that effect but seemed mere s of his day to day activities. Mrs. O’Malley was worried about her son. He reported excellent health and exceptional marks on his studies, but something was amiss. “Well,” she said to herself, folding his letter, “at least we’ll see him for Christmas, then I’ll know if something really is the matter with him.” But Thomas did not make this expected visit, nor did he make mention of it until he announced that his friend, Sam Walter, was having some difficulty in his family and needed a friend at the time. This was more like what they would have expected of Thomas, but for one who was so close to his family, he expressed little reluctance at not being able to see them. Mrs. O’Malley bore this distance from her firstborn as any patient and loving mother could have, but Phoebe began to see that Mrs. O’Malley’s heart was slowly breaking over her son, which made her wonder if Thomas’s behavior was completely justifiable. At first, Phoebe wondered if this was another one of Thomas’s surprises, if he would make his appearance at the last moment and had sent this letter to avoid suspicion. But Christmas Eve arrived with no sign of Thomas. Then came Christmas Day, which ed with no surprise visit, and Phoebe finally gave up hope that Thomas would be home for Christmas. She did her best to make the season cheerful for the entire family, and perhaps ease some of Mrs. O’Malley’s pain at missing her son. But despite the holiday cheer, with each ing day, Phoebe grew more and more dissatisfied with Thomas’s conduct, and his letters grew shorter and fewer in between. Unfortunately, this reminded Phoebe of a certain young man that once brought some grief to herself, and thus to her family, and it did not bode well in her mind.

She did not reveal these thoughts to her family, for fear of making matters worse, nor did she acknowledge them to herself, for fear of desiring to break her promise. But the feeling felt itself within her, and she wanted to do something about it, nonetheless. She had half a mind to write to Thomas and tell him exactly what she thought of the matter, but every time she sat down at her desk, pen in hand, paper ready, she did not know where to begin. She was torn between being too angry to write anything and reluctance to break her promise. In some moments, Phoebe no longer cared to keep this promise, but she felt that breaking it would be a sign of weakness that no girl at the age of seventeen cared to exhibit, even to herself. Therefore, she would abandon her pursuit with a sense of futility and a sigh of frustration. Sometimes, before leaving her desk, she wondered if laying her mind before him when the family needed him so badly would really be breaking that promise. But she was always undecided on this point, so no letter was sent. The holidays ed, a new year arrived, and Thomas returned to college with no visit to his family. One thing was now clear: Thomas had better visit over the summer, or he certainly would hear from her, promise or no promise. Mrs. O’Malley was growing despondent, and Phoebe, along with the rest of the family, did her best to keep her in good spirits. Fortunately, Phoebe’s lessons served as a means of temporary distraction. She had grown popular as a music teacher, and even the finicky Mrs. Smithson dismissed her daughter’s instructor in order to have her taught by Phoebe. Phoebe’s former acquaintances learned of her recent occupation, and though it gave her a feeling of joy and usefulness, rumors began to spread that Miss James was on the verge of destitution. Among those that heard of this were the Wilsons, which was a case of some wonder, for the family now practically lived in seclusion, due to news spreading that their son had abandoned his education and fallen to idle ways. The family had long ceased to attend church, due to the “stares” that started pointing in their direction, and it proved too much for their self-conscious souls. But the Wilsons—or rather, Mrs. Wilson—received some feeling of relief upon hearing that Miss James now had to work for a living, and she rejoiced over the

narrow escape her darling son had from making a match with such a poor, homely girl. But no one cared for this except herself, and Phoebe went about her work with considerable happiness and comfort in the knowledge that she did not have to depend on this employment for her own provision.

Chapter 22

A Stranger Summer arrived, and no letter came from Thomas, saying to prepare for his arrival. Mrs. O’Malley grew sadder with this absence of news, and Phoebe grew angry, though still doing her best to keep Mrs. O’Malley in good spirits. She still held out some hope that Thomas would prove himself to be a thoughtful son, and upon this hope, she waited to write her dreaded letter. Phoebe’s lessons continued into summer, but a most unhappy incident made her write apologies to her pupils and their parents, stating that she did not know when her lessons would continue, as it was a case of considerable emergency. She had ridden home one afternoon to find the house in quiet chaos. Her first anxious thoughts were for Mrs. O’Malley and outright indignation at Thomas as she began to run towards Mrs. O’Malley’s room. But when she saw Mrs. O’Malley herself brush past her with a bowl of water, Phoebe asked what the matter was. “We don’t know,” was the only answer she got, and Phoebe followed her into the kitchen. Her first sight was of Betsy kneeling down on the rug in the kitchen. Phoebe ran to her, asking if she was all right when she realized that Betsy was perfectly fine, but Nicodemus was not. He lay upon the rug with his head cradled on Betsy’s apron, panting as if he were thirsty, but he refused the offered water. He whined when he saw Phoebe, and she knelt beside Betsy to comfort him. A helplessly miserable hour followed, in which every member of the house took turns tending to him and trying to figure out what was wrong. It naturally followed that they wished God had given animals the ability to speak, then they might have known what to do for poor Nicodemus.

This instance only served to fuel Phoebe’s dislike of Thomas’s recent behavior, for if he had been there that summer as he should have been, he might have known what to do for his dog. An hour stretched into a week, and Phoebe, out of necessity, had developed some ability to read Nicodemus’s mind. Therefore, she became his principal caretaker. Long nights followed, and even longer days, but no one saw the slightest trace of improvement in poor Nico. Mrs. O’Malley had written Thomas the first day of his dog’s illness, and a reply came, requesting that they comfort Nicodemus as best as they could, that it was probably just from the heat, and he should be fine in a few days. Those few days ed without a glimmer of hope, and upon being temporarily relieved from her post at Nicodemus’s side, Phoebe sat down to write Thomas a letter. She was unable to write as harshly as she wanted to, but the full meaning was there. She described Mrs. O’Malley’s situation in depth, Nicodemus’s predicament, and expressed her own disappointment in his character. “I am not breaking my promise to you,” she ended, “in asking that you show some concern for your family. I have continued to hope that you might still love them as much as I know you always have, until now. I’m afraid nothing can ever possibly amend the neglect you have shown to your own mother and now to Nicodemus. I don’t care what you think of me for saying this, nor do I care if you think I am breaking my promise, but if you care in the least for Mamma or anyone else in this family, please do something to show it.” She closed the letter with all the coldness and formality she could muster and sealed it with a sniffle and trembling hands. An accidental tear splashed near the signature, and, conscious of what it implied, Phoebe dried her face and reached for another sheet of paper. Sadly, just then she heard Mrs. Morrison’s carriage coming from the guest house. Earlier, Mrs. Morrison announced that she was going into town on an errand, and all Phoebe’s hopes of getting a letter to Thomas without raising uncomfortable questions were tied to this errand. Therefore, Phoebe, momentarily frowning at the wet mark on the paper, dried it as best as she could and resigned herself to sending it off as it was.

She sneaked down the back stairs and through a door that hadn’t been used in so many years it had to be wrenched open and ran to stop Mrs. Morrison. She reached the guest house just in time. Mrs. Morrison had already stepped onto her buggy and was about to tap the horse into motion. Phoebe called out as she ran to her, and Mrs. Morrison turned to her with a kind and curious expression. “Well, hello, dear,” she said. “What can I do for you?” “Would you mind taking this to the post office?” said Phoebe, handing her the letter. “Of course, dearie. Anything else?” “No, thank you,” said Phoebe, turning away, but a second thought instantly struck her. “Actually, yes. If it’s no trouble.” “Not at all.” “Could you stop by the butcher and see if there are any good scraps for Nicodemus?” “Ah, Mrs. O’Malley asked me to do just that while I was out. Is that all?” “Yes, Mrs. Morrison. Thank you.” “Not at all. Goodbye!” Phoebe waved goodbye and returned to the house. She was about to enter by way of the side porch when she ed how she had come out and quickly retraced her steps. Relief sank in once Phoebe had taken care of sending her letter. It had been long overdue, and now that it was finished, she was left with a clear mind. She only hoped that Thomas would answer it favorably and preserve what little hope she still had in his character. A week ed, and no answer came. Phoebe went on tending Nicodemus, which was perhaps a good thing, for it distracted her from her disappointment. By now,

Nicodemus was in a sad state and could barely move. He stayed in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, and Phoebe spent many nights in a row sleeping on the floor next to him in case of an emergency. It was on one of these nights that the family received a visit from a stranger. Mrs. O’Malley had been keeping Phoebe company late into the night with some knitting, and Phoebe was in her usual place, huddled around Nicodemus’s head with a pillow and blanket. The stranger entered the house without a noise and stopped in his path up the dining room stairs at this scene. He quietly moved to the sitting room. Once there, he knelt next to Phoebe and rubbed some hair away from her forehead. She stirred, but she didn’t wake. He then went to Mrs. O’Malley and woke her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Mam,” said the stranger. “Thomas!” she whispered in surprise. “Is it you, or am I dreaming? No, never mind. In my dreams, you never had a beard.” Thomas laughed quietly. “Oh, bless you, Mother!” he said, taking her hand. “I suppose,” she said quieter than a whisper, “you’ve come to take over as nursemaid?” Thomas looked over at the pair by the fire and nodded. “That, and to try to make up for my extended absence,” he said, looking at his mother penitently. Mrs. O’Malley shook her head. “Not on my part, if that’s what you’re worried about. I knew long ago I would have to let you go someday.” “But it’s about time you had a visit from your boy. If I was a good son, I would have at least come home for Christmas.” It was not without eyes that shone from tears that Mrs. O’Malley said, almost inaudibly, “You are a good son. You needn’t prove anything to me.” Thomas looked at Phoebe with a preoccupied expression before saying, “Well, it’s time I took my place as nursemaid,” and he rose from the couch.

“It wouldn’t hurt to wait until morning, son. You sound as if you were getting over a cold.” “No, Mam,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep a wink. Either way, I can’t leave her here.” “Then we’d better move her to the sofa, dear.” “Right, Mam,” he whispered, removing Phoebe from Nico’s side. Nico woke and looked at his boy with pitiful eyes. A thump from his tail and a quiet whimper was the most enthusiastic greeting he could manage, but Thomas shushed him at this, and Nico resumed his rest. Mrs. O’Malley went to fetch a pillow and some extra blankets for Thomas, and Thomas found himself shaking his head over the state of things as he gave Nicodemus his due greeting. Mrs. O’Malley returned with the blankets and helped her son make a bed for himself. “Good night, son,” she said before leaving the room. “G’night, Mam,” he replied with a childish smile. Mrs. O’Malley smiled to herself as she retired. Thomas was home.

WHEN PHOEBE WOKE EARLY the next morning, she felt for a furry head next to her but couldn’t find it. Cloth gave way to air, and she woke with a start to find that she was lying on the sofa with a blanket. Worried that she had walked in her sleep and left poor Nicodemus alone, she sat up to find that someone had taken her place. In shock, she did not recognize the person and was on the point of shouting in alarm when the stranger turned inquiringly at the sound of her anxious fidgeting, and she saw his eyes. “Thomas?” “How are you, Phoeb?” he said, groggily sitting up. A laughing sigh escaped her. However cross she planned to be if she ever saw him again escaped her as well, and she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. He gently released himself and smiled at her. “It’s so good to see you!” she said. “But,” her smile faded, “you look all grown up.” “And you look a fright!” he said, attempting to tease her out of her disappointment. A shadow of a smile reappeared as she stared at him. He couldn’t meet her gaze much longer. “What kept you away?” The sentence asked itself before Phoebe could stop it. He shuffled a moment before shaking his head and saying, “I’ve been busy.” “Doing what?” He shook his head again as if trying to send something away. “Please don’t ask me,” he said quietly. Silence filled the room like a cloud.

Phoebe looked at Nicodemus, who, though comforted to have his boy home again, was still not any better. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, steadying her voice. Thomas quietly watched his dog before venturing to speak. “It would seem,” he said slowly, “that he’s making his journey to the land of Tír na nÓg.” She looked at him in shattered disbelief, and he went on. “He was given to me for my tenth birthday. He was just a pup from a litter that our old farm dog Nellie had, and he was the only one we didn’t give away. “His mother didn’t live longer than about ten years, and this boy would have been eleven about two months ago.” Phoebe then gave a gasping sob as she looked from Thomas to Nicodemus, and then laid her head on the dog’s furry shoulder. She wanted Thomas to say that he was only making a cruel joke, but deep down, she knew he wasn’t, and she gave way to her tears. If Thomas was attempting to comfort her in any way, she was insensible of it. She wanted to cry until everything was right in the world. Mrs. O’Malley had risen early to check on Nico and her children and walked into the sitting room to witness this. Thomas looked at his mother with tear-filled eyes, and she came and knelt beside them. “You told her?” asked Mrs. O’Malley quietly. Thomas nodded. Mrs. O’Malley touched Phoebe’s shoulder. “Darling?” Phoebe sobbed in reply.

“Come here.” Phoebe then transferred her tears from Nicodemus’s shoulder to Mrs. O’Malley’s. “We can’t keep our loved ones forever, sweetheart.” “But it hurts so!” “I know it. But there’s nothing we can do. Nicodemus has lived a good life, longer than we expected, and now we must let him rest. He’s earned it after so many years of service and friendship. Look at him now, Phoebe. There’s no pain in his eyes. His breathing is easy. This is the beginning of his peace.” Phoebe, though reluctant, turned her face to see Nico. Peace was the only word that came to mind as she beheld the truth of Mrs. O’Malley’s words. Her sobs slowed to steady, quiet tears as she watched him, but she soon couldn’t look any longer, and she turned the other way and shook from tears. Thomas embraced Phoebe and his mother, and the three of them stayed thus for some time. Fiona made her entrance an hour later, by which time, Betsy had risen and fixed breakfast for those who were up. She was surprised to see Thomas and found her family in the act of having a picnic in the sitting room, which was the only way Phoebe could be coaxed into eating. They sat around Nicodemus, alternately feeding themselves and allowing him to lick preserves off their fingers. Fiona quickly ed them, followed by the other children and Mr. O’Malley.

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED slipped away too soon for anyone’s comfort. Every moment the family had, they spent with their beloved Nicodemus, and at the end of these days, they bid farewell to their dear friend. It was a dim day, despite the sunshine, and to those who felt it, it seemed only natural that the whole world should feel it too, so pardon Fiona for angrily shutting the window sash to a family of birds who greeted the morning in joyous song. Gloom and quiet reigned over the O’Malley house. The family hardly spoke a word to one another, until one eventless day when Mr. O’Malley made a small speech. George had just been saying how he wished Nicodemus was still with them, and the others agreed in silence. “Now, what are we doing?” asked Mr. O’Malley of the reigning silence. “We sure are a sorry bunch to be going on as we have lately. If you ask me, it seems selfish to be wishing that poor dog was with us, when he’s probably happier where he is now by far. And now that he’s in a better place, are we going to just sit about, wishing he hadn’t gone? I would have thought my family more sensible than that—If you ask me, we should be celebrating for him!” Mrs. O’Malley gave her husband a meaningful look, worried that his speech might only make the children feel worse. “Now, this is a perfectly fine day,” he continued, “and I believe your mother taught you all better than to waste such a day sitting indoors. Now, I want you all to get some fresh air and exercise, and anyone who doesn’t come in with a smile gets a double serving of vegetables for supper.” This evoked a rapid response from the younger children, and the elder followed behind. Betsy, though not usually included in these orders, took her mending to the porch, and Mrs. O’Malley smiled shrewdly at her husband.

THE CHILDREN FELT AWKWARD attempting to play when they were weighed down by their troubled hearts. After a while, they managed well enough —at least the younger ones did. Thomas and Phoebe, and soon Fiona, sought rest after only a few minutes, and the twins resorted to racing each other around the garden with Jack pattering behind. The heat, though broken at intervals by a refreshing breeze, proved too much for Betsy, and she went to prepare supper. “I can’t believe summer’s almost over,” Fiona thought out loud. “I think I can,” said Phoebe. “The time’s gone by much too quickly, but, in a way, it’s gone by slowly too.” “You’ll come home for Christmas this year, won’t you, Thomas?” asked Fiona. Phoebe looked at him in equal curiosity. Thomas was quiet for a moment before saying, “I’ll try to, Effie.” “What does that mean?” asked Fiona. “It means,” he said, “that you can count on me being here for every Christmas if I can manage it.” Fiona then abandoned her curiosity, and she went into the house with a forced smile to escape her extra vegetables. Phoebe was burning to ask Thomas some questions of her own. But she figured his reason for being so vague pertained to what he had asked her not to question him about, so she closed her book and was about to follow Fiona into the house when Thomas asked her to wait. Phoebe was not entirely willing to listen to what he had to say, unless he had suddenly changed his mind about being so secretive, and it was for this reason that she hesitated and resigned herself to sit down again. “About your letter,” he began.

Phoebe made a brief involuntary glance around where they were sitting, and so answered Thomas’s first question without knowing what it was. He nodded to himself and proceeded with his second thought. “You said you were disappointed at my conduct towards my family.” Phoebe hugged her knees, a little embarrassed about what she wrote, but still having the memory of why she wrote it fresh in her mind, she nodded her head without looking at him. “Are you still?” She looked up, and seeing not the slightest bit of remorse in his expression but mere curiosity, she said, “Tell me this, Thomas: if I hadn’t written to you, would you have come anyway?” “No, Phoebe, I wouldn’t have.” “Why?” came out before she could stop herself. He could see that she hadn’t meant to say that, and for the trouble he was causing her, he simply said, “I’m sorry, Phoebe.” Phoebe looked around in disbelief. What sort of terrible secret would keep him from coming home to his grieving mother and his dying dog? It was too much for her to imagine. She was about to leave again when he asked, “What made you keep your letter a secret?” Her expression was not what he had expected, for, after her initial surprise, a look nearing anger pervaded her innocent countenance, and when she spoke, her voice shook from suppressed tears. “Because I wanted everyone to think, if you did come, that it was all your idea, and maybe they would have a better opinion of you than I do.” He looked surprised and hurt at the same time. Phoebe looked at the ground, for fear of crying.

“Then you’re still disappointed in me?” he said quietly. “Why should you care?” she said in tears, about to run into the house again. But before she moved, he stopped her gently, and said, “Phoebe, please tell me.” She faced him, no longer worried about whether she would cry or not. Her expression would have been eloquent enough to answer Thomas’s question, but she drew to her full posture and said, “Yes,” with ruthless honesty. “Yes, Thomas, I am disappointed that whatever it is you won’t tell anyone about, is so much more important than your own family. Suppose it hadn’t been Nicodemus that became ill and died, suppose it was your mother. What if she had come down with some sort of terrible sickness, and...” she let the words drop with a sigh, “...even if it was from the grief of not seeing her son in such a long time?” By now Phoebe was crying bitterly, but she hadn’t finished. “You were gone a year, Thomas. A whole year! And no matter how Mamma may act when you’re home, you don’t see her when you’re not. Her heart has been breaking. Am I supposed to fill that void for her? No one can! You hardly wrote to us at all. I won’t ask you why—I won’t break my promise to you, but I wish I had never made it. I would never have expected you to be so cruel, so uncaring, to see you take your own family for granted! Yes, Thomas, I am disappointed in you.” She ran into the house and upstairs to her room. Needless to say, she got an extra helping of vegetables that evening. Mr. O’Malley meant it as a joke, for he knew she liked carrots, but she didn’t notice whether there were one or one hundred carrots on her plate. She merely ate out of necessity and went to bed.

Chapter 23

Troubles Agood night’s sleep was enough to make Phoebe regret what she said to Thomas. Disappointed as she had been, she could see the effort he was putting forth. She ed how heartbroken he had looked as she spoke to him, and she hastened downstairs to apologize. They’d had their fair share of squabbles in the past, but this one was the worst by far, and Phoebe felt it was her fault. The whole family was at breakfast, except for Thomas. It was still early, so Phoebe assumed he hadn’t risen yet. She took her seat and noticed something amiss. No one had returned her “good morning,” and Mrs. O’Malley sat holding a handkerchief in one hand and her husband’s hand with the other. A note lay open before her on the table, and when Phoebe noticed it, she rose to read it. Mrs. O’Malley, as if she had just noticed Phoebe’s presence, quickly refolded the letter and pocketed it. “Good morning, dear,” she said, patting Phoebe’s hand. “What’s wrong?” asked Phoebe anxiously. Mrs. O’Malley shook her head, forcing a smile. “Nothing, dear. Thomas has just left early, that’s all. He’s gone back to the university and says that a friend’s father is interested in including him in an important business opportunity.” Phoebe was torn in the middle of thinking this was wonderful news, wondering why Mrs. O’Malley had been crying, disappointment that she didn’t get to apologize to Thomas, and sorrow that he left without saying goodbye. Phoebe blamed herself for the last two things, and amidst her turmoil of emotions, she had no words.

“You had better sit down and eat something, dear.” Phoebe knew for certain that something was wrong, but she also knew that Mrs. O’Malley would not likely tell her what it was, so she did as she was told. It was evident that Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley now knew about Thomas’s secret, but Phoebe wondered why it had to be kept from the rest of the family, and the fact that they didn’t tell her anything about it made her wonder if it was her fault. Thomas was close to his mother, that much would have been apparent to anyone. But to Phoebe, it seemed that ever since she had come, they had grown farther and farther apart. Then it dawned on her that Mrs. O’Malley had practically given her her undivided attention for the past three years. Phoebe had assumed that the other children did not mind this, that they welcomed her and loved her just as much as their mother had...hadn’t they? She thought of Fiona, the twins, and Jack, and to the best of her memory, she could not any instance when they seemed jealous or resentful of her. It was only when she thought of Thomas that she grew doubtful. She thought of the time she had stayed with the Wilsons and he had seen her in town, then the following Sunday when he would not look at her, but those instances seemed to be amended by her return home, for he had been happy to see her then. He had been happy to see her! He was the one who helped her escape through Clarissa’s window. That alone was evidence that he had nothing against her. But when she thought of the time at Aunt Dottie’s house when Mrs. O’Malley had asked him to watch her, and he had been crying. He would not tell her why, nor would he it that he had been crying. And when Mrs. O’Malley returned, she had pushed her son aside to get to Phoebe and held her crying in her arms. It was after this that Thomas walked out of the room, looking so dejected. This instance marked the beginning of Thomas’s mysterious behavior in her mind. Maybe he had always been undecided about whether he liked having her as a sister, and in moments such as those, he leaned in a more unfavorable direction. From that point on, Phoebe ed how Thomas had been unusually quiet towards her. She had received so much attention from everyone, especially Mrs. O’Malley, since her foot had been injured, and poor Thomas had to be his

mother’s main helper with her. Phoebe ed how weary and quiet he had been and recalled how she had been worried that he might have been growing resentful towards her. But the kind gesture of carving her a walking stick, and all the other voluntary services he had done for her, had temporarily dispelled her fears. However, those fears now began to creep back into her mind. To the best of her memory, he had hardly looked at her from that point on. If that wasn’t an indication of bitterness, Phoebe couldn’t think what was. He had left as soon as he was sure Phoebe no longer needed his help, which may have been his reason for making her a cane. She also ed asking if she had done something wrong, and he, without much hesitation, had replied, “Terribly wrong.” He had said that in jest, of course, and then said she had done absolutely nothing, which, in Phoebe’s mind, would still be a logical explanation if, at the time, she was unaware of the trouble she had caused. And after he left, he stayed away for a year and probably would have stayed away longer if she had not written to explain the state of things at home. With the idea in mind that a struggle with jealousy had kept Thomas away, Phoebe now realized how hurt he must’ve been for her to write to him so outspokenly about his own mother, pleading on her behalf, and making Nicodemus, his pet and best friend, so close to herself in his absence. Not that Phoebe would have done these things deliberately, but she could see how it must have looked to Thomas, who would have painfully missed his family. Had Phoebe not felt that it did Mrs. O’Malley some good to see her son, she might have regretted ever writing to him in the first place. But now that Thomas had left again, and Mrs. O’Malley had a greater appearance of grief over her son, Phoebe began to lean dangerously into the territory of regret. She wondered if part of the struggle Mrs. O’Malley had was over the fact that she now knew of her son’s troubles—especially if those troubles were Phoebe’s fault. Mrs. O’Malley always strived to keep peace among her children. Therefore, if Thomas had revealed the truth to his mother in his note, she wouldn’t have

wanted Phoebe to see it. She knew how close they were, and if she found out that Thomas didn’t like having Phoebe as a sister, she would most likely keep this information from Phoebe and try to talk some sense into her son or let him work things out on his own. It all made sense to Phoebe now. It made sense why Thomas couldn’t tell her about his struggles. He must have disliked how he felt and tried to hide it for all this time, Phoebe thought, for he was naturally too good and noble to feel such a thing unless it were forced on him. Whether this realization was comforting or not, Phoebe did not know, but it now seemed certain that Thomas had grown jealous of her and was trying to hide it. If ever Phoebe felt a sense of intrusion upon the O’Malley family, it was now, more than three years after they had taken her in. It disturbed her to every time she acted as if she had always been a part of their family, of all the times she behaved as a sister towards Thomas, and she felt ill ing how blatantly she told him she was disappointed in him. The thought made her disappointed only in herself. He had probably kept himself away because he was ashamed of the way he felt. All his actions now seemed honorable in her mind, and all hers to blame. Phoebe pitied him and wanted to make things right, if it wasn’t too late. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t and wouldn’t be by the time she thought of something to do. Phoebe’s mind was spinning over the next few days. She could write to him, but she didn’t know if that would do any good, depending on how bitter he had grown. She had promised him several times that she wouldn’t bring it up anymore, so that left her helpless. He once mentioned that he possibly wouldn’t bring it up to his parents, but it was now obvious that Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley were aware of his predicament, so Phoebe felt that approaching one of them for advice would not necessarily be breaking her promise. Therein lay another problem: approaching them for advice about something she wasn’t supposed to know. Therefore, Phoebe was trapped.

THOUGH NOW WITHOUT half of her original students, Phoebe resumed teaching and faithfully kept her task of bringing home the mail. Mrs. O’Malley read Thomas’s letters aloud to the family by habit. Occasionally a second letter was enclosed, addressed specifically to “Mother” or “Father,” which they would later read in private. These letters began to grow fuller and more frequent, and Phoebe often thought miserably to herself about the reason for it. One day, as Mrs. O’Malley was reading one of these letters, she caught Phoebe with a distressed expression on her face. “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked as she refolded the letter. Phoebe hadn’t realized the face she was making until it softened upon looking at Mrs. O’Malley. “Oh,” she said uncertainly, “nothing.” “I’ve never known ‘nothing’ to trouble my girl so much.” “I know what’s wrong with Thomas,” Phoebe blurted. “Or—or at least, I think I do,” she added quietly. “You what?” “I know why Thomas has stayed away so long.” For a moment, Mrs. O’Malley was quiet from shock. “How long have you known?” “About a week.” “Has he ever mentioned it to you, or—?” “No, I—I just figured it out.” Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I would never have had you know this for anything in the world, and neither would Thomas, if you can believe

that.” “I can,” said Phoebe. “But what’s to be done about it? I never wanted anything like this to happen. I wouldn’t have behaved as I sometimes did if I had known.” “You haven’t done anything wrong, dear. You’ve behaved as any sister would have, which is what we expected of you when we brought you here. I’m sure things will work out in the end and Thomas will forget all about this. He just needs time.” “But how much time? Will we ever see him again? Surely he should be able to come home without having me in the way. Maybe I should go away, at least for a little while. I could spend the holidays with Aunt Dottie. That way Fiona, the twins, and Jack won’t be disappointed about him not being home another Christmas.” When Mrs. O’Malley spoke again, it was with a degree of sternness Phoebe had never heard in her voice before. “Phoebe, listen to me. I will not have you taking responsibility for any of this. If Thomas needs to stay away until he can come to with things, that’s his problem. He is a grown man now. He can take care of himself and make his own decisions. I won’t have you giving in to a burden that is entirely his own. “You’re still entitled to a place in this family as much as ever, Phoebe. Don’t let this push you away. Maybe one day, if Thomas can see reason, we can all be together again as a family.” And embracing Phoebe comfortingly, she said, “With or without this trouble, Phoebe, I’m glad you’re my daughter.” Phoebe had no words, but she nodded gratefully with tears in her eyes and felt immense relief knowing that Mrs. O’Malley was aware of her recent understanding. Phoebe was now resigned to let time take its course and to stop thinking of a way to make amends to Thomas. Mrs. O’Malley helped her with this, and all that was left for her to do was pray for the day when all would be right again.

Part III

A Soldier

Chapter 24

Dreams Time indeed took its course and brought the holiday season to greet the O’Malleys once again. Thomas did not come home, but his absence was filled by a visit from Aunt Dottie. Fiona was blossoming quickly behind Phoebe into young womanhood, the twins were outgrowing some of the gruesome hobbies that accompanied their interest in insects—though they still retained a general interest in that which creeped and crawled—and Jack was a perfect miniature gentleman and still more loving of his family than one could have expected of one so young. Mr. O’Malley, almost two years after his wife and son eased him into the idea, began hiring additional workers for the farm. He interviewed all such employees meticulously, for he still did not trust any stranger with his precious Jerseys. The farm prospered steadily under its new system, and one day, Mr. O’Malley ed the reins of management to Mr. Morrison with a clear conscience, to the gratification of his wife and eldest son. Almost a year had ed since the family had last seen Thomas, and spring brought the family news of his graduation with an enclosed photograph of the successful alumnus. This letter also brought news of a position offered by an acquaintance’s father, Mr. Simpson, who was developing his own railroad company and searching for an ambitious young man willing to be his associate. Thomas jumped at the opportunity and proved to be an excellent help to Mr. Simpson, and Mr. Simpson, who had been impressed with Thomas on their first meeting, was not disappointed by his own instincts. In the following months, Thomas wrote many glowing reports about his new job, and his family was happy for him and rejoiced from afar. It pained Phoebe during all this time to think that her suspicions about Thomas had been correct, but Mrs. O’Malley frequently reiterated to Phoebe that she did

not want her taking any responsibility for the matter. Once, in a moment of sadness over the situation, Phoebe again suggested that she pay a visit to Aunt Dottie, but Mrs. O’Malley would not hear of it unless Phoebe wished to make the visit for social reasons only. At which point, Mr. O’Malley interjected, saying that any expenses that arose from such a visit would also be applied to Aunt Dottie. Phoebe then smiled at them both, resigned to accept matters as they were. But no matter how many times Mrs. O’Malley reassured Phoebe, Thomas’s resentment still loomed above her head like a dark cloud and eventually precipitated into her dreams. Many of these dreams consisted of a wish to see Thomas home again, but once he was home, she was either invisible to him, or he would look at her with an unnatural contempt. Phoebe woke in tears from these dreams, trapped in a situation where she was causing unwarranted pain, only to fall asleep to another nightmare. Phoebe often dreamt of her parents after coming to live with the O’Malleys. And these dreams, painfully pleasant as they were, eventually began to subside, only to become more frequent in recent months. Her mother and father were not portrayed in her dreams as she ed them. They looked different. They were older, and her father had his arm in a sling. They were looking for her, and she for them, calling out to one another, and it was in these moments that Phoebe would wake up, sweating and delirious. This happened nearly every night, and Phoebe grew exhausted. Still, life went on, and since she had become invaluable as a music teacher, she continued her lessons. At the end of the day, she would come home, eat, and sleep, hardly speaking two words to her family altogether, and they wondered if she was all right. Phoebe’s next dream affected her worse than all the previous ones combined. She was in a dark, foggy forest, looking for her parents again. She heard their voices. They were calling to her, but this time, her mother’s voice came far away on her left. “Phoebe!” it cried desperately.

Her father’s voice came like a whisper from the right, and she ran toward it. She figured if she could find her father first, they could both find her mother together. But the fog was too much for her. She could hardly breathe and was beginning to suffocate. All at once, her father stood in front of her, and she woke with a gasp. Her covers had been over her head, and she pushed them away, wiping sweat and tears from her face. The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. O’Malley ran in ahead of Fiona. She perched herself on the edge of the bed, taking Phoebe’s hand and rubbing her damp hair away from her forehead. “It’s all right, dear,” she said, shushing her. Phoebe sat up and buried her face in Mrs. O’Malley’s shawl, no more sobbing than hyperventilating. “It’s my parents,” she gasped. “They’re in my dreams—They’re—they’re right there with me—but they’re not. They’re looking for me—calling me, and I can’t find them!” Mrs. O’Malley kept comforting Phoebe and shushing her. “I saw my father,” Phoebe said quietly. “He looked...different.” “It was just a dream, darling.” “But my mother—I couldn’t see her...and she’s always far away. Mamma, what does it all mean?” “You need some sleep, dear. Try to forget about this for now, and we can sort it out tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll be able to it well enough if you wish.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Phoebe, taking a deep breath. “Good girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley, suddenly feeling silly for calling such a grown young lady a girl, but there it is, for Phoebe was still a little girl in her mind.

Fiona crawled into her bed as Phoebe began resting more easily, and Mrs. O’Malley tucked them in with kisses and blessings before returning to her own bed to think.

THE NEXT MORNING AT breakfast, Mrs. O’Malley still didn’t know what to make of Phoebe’s dream, but, with or without any resolving of the matter, Phoebe set off into town for a music lesson. She was absentminded during her lessons. Some of her students noticed this, and some noticed it out loud. But, considering her recent circumstances, it must be itted that Phoebe went about her day very well. Mrs. O’Malley couldn’t go about her day quite as well. She was worried about her girl and was mentally searching for some means of helping her. She and Fiona were preparing to go into town with Mrs. Morrison, for they needed new knitting and sewing materials to meet the needs of four growing children. But they were stopped at the door by the arrival of General Johnson. Mrs. O’Malley greeted him cordially and invited him in. She explained that she and her daughter were just on their way to town for some errands, but Mr. O’Malley would be glad to keep him company. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. O’Malley,” said the general, “I came to speak with you and Mr. O’Malley about an important matter.” “Of course, General,” she said, leading him into the sitting room. “Is it a matter for children’s ears, or shall I send them away?” General Johnson smiled. “I’ll leave that up to you, ma’am. It concerns Miss James’s parents.” Mrs. O’Malley went pale, sought a chair, and sat down quickly. “Er, please be seated,” she said hoarsely, ing her manners. “Thank you,” he said. “I must it, I’ve had a most trying few months, and my old injury isn’t exactly thanking me for it.” Mr. O’Malley laughed in congenial reply as Mrs. O’Malley attempted to calm herself.

“What about Phoebe’s parents, General?” she said, unable to help herself. “Oh,” he said, turning to her. “Well, ever since Mr. O’Malley came to me some years ago, explaining your desire to adopt Miss James, I’ve been seeking out information on what happened to them during the war. “I’m afraid, for the first two years or so, there was not much hope of finding anything. So I put more effort where I could. I sent a volunteer and several former soldiers to search out any evidence they could find. “This took a long time, longer than I had expected. But, at last, one of my men reported rumors from the South that a man and woman, who had been living there poorly for some time, answered their description.” Mrs. O’Malley gasped. “I urged him to follow this lead, not daring to think it might have been Mr. and Mrs. James, but at this point, I was eager to find out anything.” “And was it they?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. General Johnson inclined his head solemnly. “It was.” “Was? You don’t mean...” A short silence lapsed. “Unfortunately, Mrs. James was very ill by the time our man found them. Her husband was nursing her as best as he could, and she ed away before I could see them both. “She contracted the illness caring for a widow and her child, who had been sadly affected by the war, and by the time Mr. and Mrs. James might have had a chance to return home, she was too ill, and they were too poor to travel anywhere.” “And what of Mr. James?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Is he all right?” “He’s perfectly fine, except for a rather persistent injury in his left arm. He’s staying at my house for now. We both thought it wise to let Phoebe and the rest

of you recover from your shock before he paid a visit. Though, I must it, he is impatient to see his daughter, and to thank the family that cared for her all these years.” Mrs. O’Malley was overcome. “Oh, poor, dear Phoebe! Oh, this is wonderful news, General! But how are we ever going to tell her this gently?” “Well,” said General Johnson, “I would offer my help, but in such cases, I think the task is better suited to loved ones.” “Yes, of course.” General Johnson then took his leave with much appreciation and good wishes from Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, leaving a joyously stunned and heartbreakingly sad family behind him.

ONE OF PHOEBE’S STUDENTS had come down with a cold. Her afternoon lesson was canceled, and she rode home at a walk with plenty of time and silence to consider her dream. Nothing about it made sense, and thinking about it only made her more confused. She arrived home without realizing it, and Bob’s coming to a stop at his usual post woke her from her reverie. She saw another horse in front of the house, one so well-behaved that he hardly paid any attention to her and Bob. It was General Johnson’s horse, the one he so often bragged about, that had carried him through many adventures. Phoebe then dismounted Bob and went to stroke the magnificent veteran’s muzzle. It was then that the general left the O’Malleys’ house to find his valiant steed allowing himself to be petted and prattled to by a young lady. “How do you do, Miss James?” he interrupted. “How do you do, General Johnson? It’s good to see you! What brings you here today?” “Well, I can’t say just yet, but it’s good to see you too. And do I find you well after all this time?” “Yes, sir, and what about you, General?” “Well enough. The old leg’s been acting up again, I’m afraid.” “I’m very sorry. I’ll be praying for you.” “Bless you, child,” he said, mounting his horse. “It thrills my old heart to know there are devout young ladies like yourself in the world. Our country is in good hands.” But to himself, he thought, “If ever a child had her mother’s heart, it’s this one.” Phoebe smiled. “It is also in good hands with gentlemen such as yourself, sir.” And, smiling from the compliment, he said, “Good day to you, Miss James,” and

touched his hat as he rode off. “Good day, General!” she called after him. She turned Bob loose in his pasture before entering the house. “Hello, family!” she called out cheerily before seeing anyone. She entered the sitting room and was greeted by an embrace from Fiona. She was in tears and smiled at Phoebe with a bittersweet expression. “What’s happened?” asked Phoebe. She looked about the room, remarking to herself that she had never seen so many forlorn faces in her life. “It’s Thomas, isn’t it? He’s had an accident! Is he ill? Someone tell me! Oh, it’s all my fault!” “It isn’t Thomas,” said Fiona when her parents wouldn’t speak. “Then what is the matter? I can’t stand it anymore!” “Phoebe,” said Mrs. O’Malley at last, “General Johnson was just here.” “Yes, I just saw him. He seemed in perfect health, except for his old injury.” “Did he tell you why he was here?” A sudden realization hit Phoebe, and she slowly shook her head, saying, “No,” but no sound came out. She now realized it had something to do with her parents, and she took a seat, prepared for anything...so she thought. “Do you ,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “a few years ago, when we looked into adopting you legally?” “Yes. Has the poor general been looking into that all this time?” “Yes, dear, and—it would seem that your parents...have both been alive, until recently.” Phoebe was shocked beyond words. Her head felt light, and her breath grew shaky. At one point, she swayed where she sat, and Mrs. O’Malley and Fiona steadied her.

“They’re gone?” Phoebe said quieter than a whisper. “No, dear, not both of them.” Phoebe looked directly in Mrs. O’Malley’s face. “My mother.” Mrs. O’Malley nodded slowly, and Phoebe fell to sobbing more deeply than ever. This only lasted a minute or two, for Phoebe realized the other part of Mrs. O’Malley’s words. “But,” she said vacantly, “my father. Where is he? Tell me! Tell me now, I have to see him!” she demanded with tears streaming down her cheeks. “You must promise not to do anything rash, dear.” “I promise. Where is he?” “He’s staying with General Johnson.” Phoebe felt an urge to run to her father at once, but she obediently kept her promise. “When can I see him?” “Well, as soon as we can overcome our shock a bit. General Johnson said he would bring him tomorrow.” “How is he? Did the general say?” “He’s fine. He just has an injury—” “In his left arm?” said Phoebe with a sudden revelation. “Well, I don’t which arm it was, but yes, he has an arm injury.” “Oh, Mamma, I need to see him. I can’t wait a whole day!” “Now, dear, I would take you to see him this instant if I thought you were up to it, but I think you need some supper and a good night’s sleep first.”

“How can I eat or sleep now?” “You must, dear. It’ll do you good. The sooner you eat and sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come, and the sooner you’ll be with your father.” Phoebe took a deep breath and nodded, resigned to wait as best as she could. She could hardly what happened the rest of the day, for her head was so full of the next. But amidst her distraction, she did not fail to think of her family. She didn’t know what would happen after she and her father were reunited, but, once all was quiet and she lay trying to sleep, a disturbing thought opened her eyes: would she have to leave the O’Malleys? The thought made her nearly as heartbroken as she was happy to have her father back. She naturally assumed that she would live with her father, wherever that was. Tears came to her eyes, and she scolded herself for this after everything her father had been through, and considering how much she missed him. He would especially need her now that he was older and injured and no longer had her mother to help him. She could be his housekeeper. This thought brought a warm smile to her heart, and she sighed as she fell asleep. But another thought woke her: Thomas! He would now have nothing to be jealous about, except maybe the past five years, but surely that could be forgiven if she was giving his family back from that point on. The idea thrilled her heart. There was almost certainly a chance he could forgive her, and everything would be all right again. She hoped.

Chapter 25

Blue-grey The next morning, Phoebe jumped out of bed, flew downstairs to the breakfast table, and kissed everyone good morning before sitting down. She tried not to appear too happy, for the idea of having to leave the O’Malleys made her truly sad, but the thought of being with her father added such a strong mixture of happiness that Mrs. O’Malley looked upon her confused girl with pity. Mrs. O’Malley requested Phoebe to sit next to her at the table, for her thoughts had traveled as far and farther than Phoebe’s, and she already missed her girl. She ate breakfast with her left hand, for she held Phoebe’s with her right, but she didn’t mind the inconvenience. Between bites, Phoebe placed her free arm around Fiona, and Jack spent most of his breakfast going back and forth between his plate and Phoebe’s lap, but his mother didn’t reprimand him. Breakfast was cleared away, and Mrs. O’Malley asked Fiona to help Betsy with the dishes and urged her other children to do their chores and get some fresh air and exercise. Phoebe was then left with Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley at the table. They each knew what the other was thinking. Mrs. O’Malley verbalized these thoughts. “You know, Phoebe, you’ll probably be living with your father from now on.” “Yes,” said Phoebe softly. “I’ll miss you all so much.” “I know. We’ll miss you too, dear.” “I wish there was some way I could stay, but I know my father needs me.” “Yes, dear,” Mrs. O’Malley replied. “It’s what’s best.”

“Besides,” said Phoebe, looking down, “once I’m gone, Thomas can come home whenever he likes, and maybe he won’t be angry with me anymore.” “Angry with you?” said Mrs. O’Malley with a slightly incredulous smile. “How do you mean?” “Oh, I know you’ve told me that I haven’t done anything wrong, that he just needs time, but I can’t help thinking that, once I’ve gone to live with my father, Thomas can come home without being jealous of all the attention you give me. I just hope he can forgive me for all the years I didn’t see how he felt.” Mrs. O’Malley’s astonishment was visible to any who might have looked at her then. However, the only person to see her reaction was her husband, who had a similar expression on his own face, though a bit more amused than his wife’s. “Should we tell her?” asked Mrs. O’Malley’s eyes. Mr. O’Malley shook his head. Mrs. O’Malley was at a loss for a response, and she continued looking at her husband. He winked and gave an encouraging nod in Phoebe’s direction, and Mrs. O’Malley found words at last. “Well,” she said, “again, I will tell you that there is nothing to forgive on your part. And if there is any bitterness in him towards you, it is entirely his responsibility to mend, and if he doesn’t mend it soon, he is a fool. I can say that because I’m his mother.” She added this last statement in answer to a concerned expression Phoebe wore. “But, do you think,” asked Phoebe, “that things will be all right again soon?” Mrs. O’Malley blinked thoughtfully as she matched Phoebe’s inquiring gaze. “Yes, Phoebe, I think they will.” Phoebe smiled, reassured. “Now,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “you had better get some fresh air with the others. Run along now.”

Phoebe obeyed after giving each of them a kiss, and she ran off, trying to suppress tears that threatened to come over missing her guardians. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley stared at each other in open surprise. Phoebe thought Thomas resented her! Laughter came to Mr. O’Malley’s eyes, and Mrs. O’Malley’s pity rose to the utmost. Phoebe’s time with Betsy, Fiona, George, Jimmy, and Jack was little more than melting snow under a summer sun. She wanted things to stay as they were just a little while longer, for at that moment, Phoebe felt as if she had never fully appreciated her wonderful family. All too soon, Mrs. O’Malley stepped onto the porch to tell her children to freshen up before their visitors came, and Phoebe fell back to earth—a happy earth, but a somber one. As she dressed, Phoebe tried to define her emotions. It was as if she were at the end of a beautiful dream, waking up to a new reality. For all dreams, even the beautiful ones, must end. Only, she had never expected it to end, nor had she expected how extraordinary the cause of its ending would be. Once she finished dressing, she surveyed herself in the mirror with a new sense of heartbreak. She looked at herself, ing how young she was when she had last seen her parents. The contrast was painful. She had already reached her full height and form, her face had matured, and the cares of life had touched her youthful expression. It had been eight years. Phoebe then pulled herself together and said one comforting thing. “I’m still Phoebe,” she stated resolutely and went downstairs, more ready than ever to see her father. She would prove to him that, despite her appearance, she was still his little girl. Waiting was agony. Phoebe paced in the sitting room, sat down, paced to the porch, sat down again, and paced in the hallway.

Her family watched her in concern, though they were almost as anxious as she was. The sound of horses called their attention outside, and Phoebe couldn’t wait any longer. She ran outside with eyes only for her father, and he hopped off his horse to meet her in a joyous embrace. Phoebe was both laughing and sobbing against her father’s rough overcoat, and he hardly less so, and the others looked on in sympathetic joy. Phoebe stepped back and looked into her father’s eyes. They were just the same as she ed them, blue-grey like hers, mirroring her expression exactly. It was not a question to onlookers whether they were related, but if it had been, the mere scene of paternal happiness would have silenced that question. “Can this be my little girl?” he said to himself, returning her stare. “It’s me, Father,” she said, resting her head on his coat again. “It’s still me.” “And are these the people I’m so indebted to for looking after my Phoebe?” Mr. O’Malley rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s this lady’s fault, sir.” Phoebe’s father smiled. “Well, I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. O’Malley.” “It’s been our pleasure, Mr. James. Phoebe is a wonderful girl.” Phoebe adhered to her father’s side, but she smiled her gratitude to Mrs. O’Malley. “Yes, she is,” said Mr. James. “And I think we all have the general to thank for everything he’s done.” Statements of agreement followed. Phoebe held out her free hand to him in thanks, and he pressed it in return. “It was the least I could do,” replied the general. “You have all become like family to me, and it makes my old heart so grateful.”

“Well, let’s go inside, shall we?” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Dinner’s almost ready.” This statement received an enthusiastic response, especially from the gentlemen young and old, and they all moved inside. Phoebe led her father to a seat at the table and ran off to help with dinner. He observed as she set a platter here, a dish there, and chided one of the twins for bringing a toad to the dinner table. Her eyes were on him nearly as often as his were on her, and she noticed how surprised he was at her behavior. She smiled at him, for she knew what he was thinking: She had been raised with servants to prepare the meals, the correction of a child was usually left to a mother or governess, and the handling of amphibious creatures was not fit for a distinguished young lady. She took a seat next to him, smiling as she folded her napkin. She knew he was trying to decide whether he liked the change in his daughter, and she knew he would decide that he did, just as she had. Mr. O’Malley blessed the food, and Phoebe peeked an eye open at her father to see his reaction. He had nearly forgotten to bow his head, for he was looking in wonder at Mr. O’Malley for the way he expressed himself in prayer. Phoebe knew this feeling too, and she closed her eyes again in amusement. They all said amen and began eating. “I’m curious, Mr. O’Malley,” spoke Phoebe’s father a moment later, “what is your religion?” Phoebe, Mrs. O’Malley, Betsy, and Fiona exchanged glances. “I don’t have one.” Mr. James paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down again, saying, “You don’t have one?” Mr. O’Malley shook his head as he buttered a roll. “Nope,” he said before taking

a bite of it. “Religion tends to get in one’s way when one is trying to please the Lord.” “My dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley with a nervous smile, “I’m afraid you’re giving our friend the wrong impression. Mr. James, we are all of us devout Christians, but my husband had a rather strict upbringing concerning religion and, as I understand, was pushed away by it when he was young. So, I believe what he is trying to explain is that one person can easily get too involved in his religion just as another might get too involved in his work, and both can tend to drown out the meaning of what it is to be a true believer. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?” “Well, y-yes, I suppose so,” conceded Mr. James. “Well put, Mag,” said Mr. O’Malley. “We do attend church if that is what you were wondering,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “But we do not prefer to call ourselves by any other name than Christian.” Mr. James did not know what to think, but he replied with well-mannered interest. Phoebe pitied her father. She knew this was a lot for him to grasp, and she felt a slight twinge of guilt as she realized how much she had changed since she had last seen him, and something that threatened to make this guilt fester was the thought that she liked the change and would not part with it for anything. General topics were discussed after this, and well after the food had vanished, the conversation continued on the porch. During this movement, Mr. James paid Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley a compliment by remarking his daughter’s brightness and vivacity, saying that he was reluctant to reclaim her, for she seemed so happily settled and cared for where she was. Phoebe worried for a moment that he was serious. Mrs. O’Malley thanked him for the compliment. “But,” she added, “I think part of the happiness you see is merely from having you with her once again.” Phoebe seconded this with a smile. She sat on a low stool next to her father’s chair and leaned on his knee. He returned the smile, affectionately touching her cheek.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I’m glad to know my girl missed me, but I’m afraid what may become of her if I take her away. I might be taking her from the other part of her joy.” Phoebe knew she would miss the O’Malleys terribly, but she said, “You mustn’t say that, Father. I will miss the O’Malleys, but my place is with you. We still have our old house! It wouldn’t be too far away. You and I could visit the O’Malleys often, and they could visit us.” “A sound notion, dear. But I don’t know if we can afford to keep up such a large house. I’m a little too old and tired for business now, and my pension won’t be enough to hire the servants we would need.” “Suppose we did as the O’Malleys do and only use a few of the rooms? I could be your housekeeper, and we could hire a cook and a gardener.” “I would hate to see my daughter lift even one finger to work—” “But, Father, I love to work! And it wouldn’t really be work if I were doing it for you! Please say you’ll let me?” “One more thing: How long has the house been closed up?” “About five years.” “Mm-hm. It’s going to take some time to make it habitable again, and probably more work than the two of us are up to.” “We can help!” said the twins. “Me too!” said Jack. “So can I!” said Fiona. Mrs. O’Malley smiled at her children. “I think you can count on all of us to help with anything you need, Mr. James.” “And me,” said General Johnson. Phoebe’s father looked at his new circle of friends and smiled in humble

gratitude. “I thank all of you,” he said, “But do you think it will work? I mean, do you think I can afford it, General?” “I don’t see why not,” said the general, “I should think you’re due a few years’ pension by now.” “Do you think Thomas could help too?” Phoebe asked Mrs. O’Malley. “I’ll write to him this evening. I’m sure he’d love to.” “Thomas?” asked Mr. James. “Our eldest son,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “He’s away now, working for a successful railroad company. Yes, Phoebe, I think it’s time he paid us a visit. And if General Johnson can spare his guest, we would all like it if Phoebe and her father would stay with us until their house is ready.” Phoebe looked at her father for approval before getting too excited. If he were the only person the matter concerned, he would have politely declined the offer, but one look at his daughter’s face made him say, “Thank you, I’d love to,” and Phoebe gave way to her joy, kissing her father’s cheek, and running to embrace Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley. “How long have you been planning this?” Phoebe asked Mrs. O’Malley suspiciously. “Since yesterday evening. After you went to bed, we prepared the guest room just in case. You’re welcome to stay too, General, if you like. It is getting rather dark.” “That’s very kind of you, but I sleep much better in my own house. Thank you for pointing out the time to me. I’d better retreat while courage is high.” And, rising, he said a fond goodbye to everyone and was bid by Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley to visit often. He gladly accepted their request, mounted his horse, and rode off, leaving the others to sup and sleep.

Chapter 26

Where the Heart Is Phoebe wished every evening could have been like the one that followed. If her mother had been there, and she knew Thomas was at ease with her, her world would have been complete. But, as it was, Phoebe could hardly have asked for anything more. Mr. James was struck by the quaintness of the O’Malleys’ way of life, but what further amazed him was how well it suited his daughter. She seemed happier than he had ever dared hope in his years of survival, yet it was evident that she missed him, for, since his arrival, she had hardly left his side, but she also shared her affection equally with the O’Malleys. He couldn’t help but notice that they treated her as if she belonged to them, not in a possessive way but a familial way, as if she had been raised under their roof her whole life. He could see that they loved her and that frequent visits would be a necessity once he reestablished his home. At the end of the evening, Mr. James observed how affectionate his daughter was as she bid the O’Malleys good night, possibly because of the knowledge that she would be leaving them. But he looked at their reactions and found no surprise at her behavior. She ended by picking up the youngest to kiss him good night, complaining of how much he had grown. “Are you leaving us, Phoebe?” said the tot with his head against her cheek. “Not yet,” she said reassuringly. “Good night, Jack, and sleep tight.” Jack stumbled up the stairs, and Phoebe returned to her father’s side. “You love these people, don’t you, daughter?” he said.

“Very much,” she said with a note of sadness that she tried to hide unsuccessfully. “But no more than I love you, Father.” “Well, perhaps we can take as long as possible to put our old house to rights,” he said, winking at her. She smiled at his kindness and said, “No. It’s right that I go with you, but you mustn’t blame me for missing them. They’ve been so good to me.” “I’m glad, daughter. I just want to make sure you will be all right when we leave.” Phoebe nodded. “Yes, Father, I’ll be more than all right.” And with this reassurance, Mr. James said good night to his daughter.

PHOEBE HAD NO DREAMS that night, but excitement made it difficult to get enough sleep. Still, she woke as bright and energized as ever, briefly wondering if the past two days had been a dream. As the quickest means of proving herself wrong, she rose to look out the window and see her father’s horse grazing next to Bob. She then dressed with a smile, and since she was one of the first few people up, she helped Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy with breakfast. It was Sunday, therefore most of the breakfast had been attended to the night before, but Phoebe wanted to help anyway. Fiona came down to breakfast, followed by the twins, Jack, and Mr. O’Malley. Phoebe greeted them in her customary way as her father walked in to see her cheerfully setting breakfast on the table and delivering her familiar “good mornings” to everyone. It was a sweet picture, he thought, but the sweetest picture of all was her greeting as she helped him to his chair and poured his coffee. It would soon be known to everyone in town that Mr. James had returned from the grave, for he and his daughter set off that morning in the company of the O’Malleys and the Morrisons to attend church. A happy countenance had Miss Phoebe James as she walked into church, leaning upon her father’s good arm—it had indeed been his left arm that was injured, but Phoebe was not surprised. Many stares were turned in their direction, but Phoebe minded less on this day than any other; she wanted it openly celebrated that her father had returned. Mr. James returned a few of the gapes with a friendly nod and took his seat. Phoebe sang that morning with a joyous heart. She felt she didn’t deserve to be so blessed as to have her father back, but so it was, and she was inexpressibly thankful. Once service was over, many came to express their welcome to Mr. James and to tell Phoebe how happy they were about his return. The father and daughter

civilly accepted these compliments and good wishes while attempting not to seem amused at the lingering expressions of surprise. At last, after all pleasantries had been said, the O’Malleys and the Jameses were allowed to leave church. That afternoon, Phoebe had the opportunity to speak with her father about many things that happened while he was away. She mostly wanted to hear about her mother, a subject he was more than willing to speak of. “She missed you, daughter,” he said, “as did I. I hope you can believe that after all these years.” Phoebe nodded. “I can, Father. I know now why you had to go, and I am so proud of you both.” “It was for a far greater cause than the freedom of our country, Phoebe. It was for the freedom of mankind, of people just like you and me, perhaps with different stories, but just as deserving of freedom as the next man.” Phoebe didn’t need convincing, but she humbly said, “Yes, Father.” “Do you know there were times when she was braver than I? It took someone as special as your mother to care for those soldiers as well as she did.” “Is it true she took your post when you were wounded?” asked Phoebe. Her father looked at her, wondering how she knew that. “General Johnson told me,” she said meekly. “Well, it seems I have some business to settle with the general on our next meeting. But, yes, I was wounded and unable to move, and I wouldn’t have been with you today if it hadn’t been for her using her apron to make a bandage for me and taking up my rifle to defend me against my opponent. I have to it, she was an excellent shot. Mind you, she never wanted to take anyone’s life. So, when she did shoot, it was only to stop the man in his tracks and render him unable to shoot as well.” Phoebe smiled.

“She moved me away from the danger, where she could tend to my wound. And after that, she went to find the soldier who had shot me and bandaged his wound as well.” “What!” said Phoebe in disbelief. Her father nodded. “She did! She told him she would forgive him for wounding her husband if he would forgive her for shooting his arm.” “And he agreed?” “Yes, and do you know what else?” “What?” “As soon as he healed enough, he began to fight for our side and proved an excellent soldier.” “Oh,” Phoebe said, thrilled, “what a wonderful story!” “You would have been so proud of your mother. She did so much good in such terrible circumstances. She inspired our infantry daily, reminding us of the reasons we were fighting, just by keeping true to her own convictions.” A thoughtful silence lapsed, in which Mr. James reached into his vest pocket. “I have something for you,” he said, pulling out a small, slightly dirty piece of paper and slowly handing it to her, as if loath to part with it. Phoebe took it carefully, examining it in wonder. By now, Mr. James had moist eyes and a shaky voice. “She wanted me to give this to you if I ever saw you again.” Phoebe could not speak. It was a letter from her mother, addressed to her and dated several months back. For some time, she could do little more than stare at it in deep longing for the one who wrote it. Eventually, she grew brave enough to open it. A few tears had to be wiped from her eyes before she could make anything out.

“My Darling Daughter,” it read. “No words can describe how I’ve missed you all this time. By now, I know you have grown into the beautiful young woman I always knew you would become, and I wish so much that I could be with you now. I know this has not been easy for you, but I want you to know how much I truly love you. Nothing could ever change that, my little one. As I write this letter, I begin to realize that these may be the last words you receive from me, so I must convey all the motherly advice I had prepared to give you into your womanhood. First, do not be anyone other than who God made you to be. There are too many people in this world who look and act alike for you to them in such foolishness. Second, I must ask that you do not marry solely for practical or monetary reasons as so many young women do. Life has far too many troubles not to have someone you love, and who loves you ever so dearly, walking beside you. I have learned that money and material matters may be managed with the right amount of wisdom, without interfering in something so sacred as marriage. Thirdly, raising a child is perhaps the most wonderful and frightening thing you may ever do, but if they have food in their stomach, a roof over their head, and all the love you can give them, then you might consider it the best task ever appointed to you. And lastly, do not fear what may come in the future, even from the darkest moments of your life to the ones that are too bright to look at. There is something greater that those who hold fast have the hope of one day experiencing together. Hold fast, my love! Do not let go of Him who loves you as no one else can. Be strong in the Lord. I know without a doubt that I will see you again.

“With all love and affection to my dearest Phoebe, My little Rose, Your Mother.”

By now, Phoebe was crying bitterly upon her father’s shoulder, carefully pressing her mother’s letter within her arms. All the pain of missing her parents before did not compare to what she felt now. It was almost too much to bear. But it soon occurred that her father must have felt the same way for some time now, and pity stayed her tears, allowing her to comfort her father through his. She was grateful that he had been spared to her, and the comforting words in her

mother’s letter reminded her that she would see her again too. All she had to do was pray for patience.

MONDAY DAWNED THE SAME as any other day in late summer, but it was greeted by a very excited Phoebe James. Had her father not returned to her, she might have said she didn’t care to see her old house again, but now that he was with her, and the prospect of returning to their home within reach, she could not wait to see it again. Her excitement was apparent to all as she took her seat at the breakfast table and the matter of inspecting the James’ house was openly discussed. The younger children mirrored Phoebe’s excitement, though for a different reason. Daily life afforded them little novelty in the way of travel and new experiences, so the prospect of visiting Phoebe’s old house and helping set it to rights gave them the novelty they wanted. Once breakfast was comfortably digested, the entire party set out with a lunch basket, in case it proved to be a long day. Phoebe rode Bob alongside her father’s horse, for she had a lesson that afternoon, and the O’Malleys borrowed the Morrisons’ horses to pull the cart. Phoebe, as a matter of courtesy, planned to continue teaching with the notice that she would soon be retiring to keep house for her father. It was now safe to assume that every person in town would know of his return, which would save her some trouble of explanation. It had been agreed on Saturday evening that the family would meet General Johnson to bring him along for the inspection. Mr. James wanted to have his financial advice to ensure that it would be a practical decision, and that they shouldn’t simply purchase a smaller home. Phoebe wished they could live in their old house, but she understood her father’s wish to make sure the decision was a sensible one, and she figured she wouldn’t mind where they lived as long as they could be together. But she still wished it might be in their old house. They arrived at the general’s house, and he, being a firm believer in punctuality, met them already mounted upon his horse, for he had seen them coming up the road.

He was as chipper as anyone on this occasion and whistled as they rode along together. Mr. James soon ed in the tune, then Mr. O’Malley, and the ladies of the expedition looked at one another, wondering if they would have to be the ones to survey this matter in a practical light. They neared the neighborhood, and Mr. James and his daughter grew silently nostalgic at the familiar sights. The chestnut trees in the avenue had grown, as well as the landscaping, but the atmosphere was the same. A few of the nearby houses had been painted, but the structures remained unchanged. It was a nice feeling, albeit strange, to be in a place so familiar yet so different. They approached the gate of their house, and an ominous feeling took hold. The ivy had overgrown the ironwork on the fence and covered the gate, looking dried out and neglected. Mr. James dismounted and led his horse to the gate. He tried to open it, but it was more work than he could manage with one arm, so the general helped him. It finally gave way and swung back to reveal their old friend. At first glance, it looked the same as always, but years of emptiness had lent an unmistakable gloom to its appearance. The company left horse and cart to approach the front door. Cobwebs stretched across every corner and had to be wiped from the doorknob before entering the house. Everyone was silent as they walked inside, and with a pang of memory, Phoebe saw her house just as she had left it. The furniture was still covered in white sheets, and every door still closed. It was difficult to see the proper condition of the house, for the shutters were closed on the outside. Mr. O’Malley and General Johnson then walked outside to remedy that. They opened the shutters to the parlor first, and the light was painful to the longdarkened atmosphere. The daylight revealed much about the house’s interior state, for, though a considerable amount of dust had gathered, it was not quite as neglected as the outside. A streak of light in the corner of Phoebe’s eye indicated that the shutters to the study had been opened. Eagerly, she ran and threw open the doors to greet another old friend.

Phoebe had spent many childhood days in that room with her father and mother, and she felt five years old again. Her eyes wandered to an object covered in white cloth in front of the fireplace. It was her father’s chair, and, unable to restrain herself, she gently rolled back the sheet, expecting to find it exactly as she ed it. A short scream escaped her, for an insolent mouse had chosen the chair’s cushion to be its final meal and resting place. The sight of such sacrilege brought her to horrified tears, and she turned to her father, who had come to see the source of her distress. He comforted her patronizingly. “It’s all right, dear. I never liked that chair anyway,” he lied. “I did,” sniffled Phoebe. “Then we’ll fix it. It only needs some straightening up, and we can replace the cushion. No worries, daughter.” Phoebe dried her tears, feeling childish at this point, as General Johnson and Mr. O’Malley returned. “Good news,” said the general. “Your house is still in excellent condition—on the outside, that is. I took the liberty of examining the structure.” “It only needs a little pruning,” said Mr. O’Malley, tucking a wildflower into his buttonhole. “Just the same,” said Mr. James, “there’s still the matter of cost. Phoebe just found a mouse in my old chair, and restoring all the furniture would run up quite a sum.” “Well, there’s only one way to know if you’ll have to do that,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “We must examine the furniture.” Phoebe was now reluctant to do this, but curiosity got the better of her, and after the others found a few pieces in good condition, she ventured into the parlor to inspect the piano. She slid the sheet towards the floor to greet yet another old friend, this time with

no unwelcome inhabitants, and she smiled at its condition. She played a few keys, which were out of tune, but that could easily be fixed. She then set about uncovering the rest of the parlor furniture and discovered a few more pests, but not enough to discourage hopes of having her home restored to her. The sight of the furniture uncovered, still mostly in good condition, encouraged Mr. James enough to think this idea might work. But another obstacle presented itself in his mind. “What about sleeping accommodations?” he asked Phoebe. “It might be too much for my daughter to keep house on two floors.” Phoebe thought a moment. “Suppose we use the two bedrooms in front, at the top of the stairs. One for you, one for me, and the one downstairs for a guest room.” “Let’s have a look at them before we decide anything,” he said, and Phoebe started up the stairs before he could speak another word. Fiona, the twins, and Jack followed excitedly, and the grown-ups trailed behind. Incidentally, Phoebe’s old bedroom was one of the two in front, and she entered it first. Darkness met her when she opened the door, for the shutters opened from the inside. She traversed the unknown in great bravery to the large window and opened the glass and shutters. Light flooded her room, illuminating her four-poster bed, and the shapes covered in sheets that she knew were her desk, dresser, nightstand, and wardrobe. A few multi-legged creatures had put the room to use in her absence, but the sight of these intruders no longer daunted her. She was now certain that she and her father should live in their old house. She only hoped that he could be just as certain. She began uncovering her furniture, which had only been populated by a few spiders in random yet harmless places. Mr. James had gone to inspect the other room while Betsy and Mrs. O’Malley examined the guest room. Mr. O’Malley and General Johnson offered help where it was needed, as did the children, and once the rooms had been surveyed, Phoebe detected a trace of optimism in her father’s eye.

They returned downstairs to assess the kitchen and dining room, where they discussed matters over their basketed lunch. The kitchen was in the worst condition of the examined rooms, and Mr. James was doubtful about those that remained unexamined, but it was nearly time for Phoebe’s piano lesson, and a decision had to be made. Mr. James considered his budget and what it would cost to restore the house to its proper state, and after a few minutes’ conversation with General Johnson and Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, he figured it could be managed with his pension, especially if they repaired one room at a time. But Mrs. O’Malley made a point that, whether he decided to live in his house or sell it, it wouldn’t hurt to set it back to rights, and a decision could be made afterwards. Mr. James approved of this idea, and everyone present agreed to help put the house in order and to contribute financially where it was needed. “Thank you,” responded Mr. James, “but if I can manage it, I would like to handle the financial matters myself. I wouldn’t ask for the physical help if I knew my daughter and I were capable, but, as it is, we are already indebted to you for all you’ve done.” “You forget, sir,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “it is we who are indebted to you for what your daughter has been to us all these years. Not to mention the service you have done for our country. Please, allow us to help where we can.” Mr. James agreed, and they all left the house together. Phoebe walked arm-inarm with her father down the steps to their horses, unsatisfied with the afternoon’s conclusion. “Father,” she said before mounting her horse, “are we going to try to keep our house?” There was a pleading tone in her voice that she tried to hide, but her father heard it plainly. “Would you like to, dear?” he asked dotingly. “Very much.” “Then we will certainly do our best,” he said with a smile, and she was encouraged enough to embrace him thankfully before mounting Bob and setting

off for her lesson.

Chapter 27

News Phoebe discovered that saying goodbye to her students would be more difficult than she thought. The lessons went well enough and were uneventful as usual, until she brought herself to explain the new state of matters to her clients, parents and children alike. This brought some dismay to the parents and utter confusion to the children, for both were unsure as to what they would do without her. Before she left, Phoebe did her best to explain that there were many excellent piano teachers in town, far better than herself, but it was not until she promised to visit often that the families allowed her to go home. Phoebe was eager to return to her father and rode home in haste. But when she arrived, she discovered that he had gone out to the farm with Mr. O’Malley to satisfy a matter of curiosity, so she went to play with Jack and Fiona. The following days were spent in frequent, lengthy visits to the James’ house. The first order of business was a new cushion for Mr. James’s chair, for, whether they sold the house or not, Phoebe wanted to keep her father’s chair. She might have requested the same of her mother’s piano, but she knew that would be far less practical. Mrs. O’Malley took charge of removing drapes and linens to wash at home, and Mr. O’Malley and Fiona attended to the “pruning” on the outside. General Johnson, the twins, and Jack saw to the matter of extermination with no small degree of morbid enthusiasm, and Betsy and Phoebe took care of cleaning and dusting. Phoebe carefully watched Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy at work with the thought that she would soon manage the cleaning and laundering herself and, for her father’s sake, wanted to do her very best. Mr. James, amidst all the activity in his house, began to see things falling into

place and, in his realistic mind, saw that his and his daughter’s living there could be quite easily managed on his budget. The reason for this vision was partially due to a business opportunity provided by Mr. O’Malley. Ever since Mr. O’Malley had employed Mr. Morrison and a few hired hands, his small dairy farm had turned into a successful business, of which he was excessively proud. He took greater pride in the establishment with each ing day and wished to make it grow. But he required some expertise. Mr. James, having been a successful businessman before his battleground days, offered some free advice, and Mr. O’Malley gladly accepted it, on the condition that Mr. James would be so kind as to continue his wise counsel, and in return, receive a regular dividend from the company’s profits. Mr. James agreed, and also requested to purchase a percentage of the business. After some initial reluctance, Mr. O’Malley agreed, and they shook hands on the arrangement. Mr. James held his end of the bargain out of a small sum he had been saving to buy gifts for his daughter. He was reluctant to do so at first, but in his mind, he figured that this money, if well-invested, would provide him further opportunity to spoil her in the years to come. He began by putting an ment in the paper for a cook and a gardener as a means of telling Phoebe that he had decided to keep the house. He slid the paper under her plate at breakfast and waited for her to see it when she sat down. When Phoebe did take her seat, the item itself did not attract her attention, but what made her keep a firm grip in the act of returning the paper was the sight of her father’s name. At first, she wondered if it were an announcement of his return, but then she examined the page more carefully:

HELP WANTED:

Residence seeking service of one cook and one gardener. Must be of upstanding character and moral background. References required.

Write to: Samuel P. James, 71 Eastgrove Lane, Hillbrook, Pa.

“Father!” she said, turning to him. “Does this mean we can keep the house?” “I should think so,” he said. “I would hate to have to reply to all the applicants and tell them that I’ve changed my mind.” “Oh, Father, thank you!” she said, throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad we can keep it! And I’m going to be the best housekeeper you could ever wish for. Just wait and see!” “Now, about that,” he said. “I don’t want to solely depend on my daughter to keep house for me. I would like for you to have the time and energy to do as you wish in your leisure. So, since the idea seems to please you so much, I will allow you to be my housekeeper for a time, and if you enjoy it, I will ‘keep you on,’ so to speak. But, if it proves too much for you, I’m afraid I’ll have to put another item in the paper for a housekeeper. I don’t want my little girl to run herself ragged on of her lazy father and his enormous house.” “Lazy,” she repeated in disbelief. “Don’t worry, Father, it will be nothing but a pleasure to take care of you and our home, and I’ll look after myself.” “As will I,” he said, still making his point. Phoebe smiled, and from then on, her head was above the clouds to know that she and her father would live in their house again. It gave a special motivation to her efforts in turning their house into a home, and there was not a happier nor a more eager worker than Phoebe on this undertaking.

MRS. O’MALLEY HAD WRITTEN to her son the night of Mr. James’s return, explaining that Phoebe’s father had been miraculously discovered through the tireless efforts of General Johnson, that he and Phoebe were in need of some help making their old house habitable again, and asking if he could get away from his work. It was a short, cheerful letter, written tactfully to prepare its reader for quite a shock, which is what Mrs. O’Malley knew Thomas would receive from such a message. She also conveyed her discovery of Phoebe’s assumption that he had resented her for the past five years, and her own subsequent attempt at reassuring her on that point. He was setting out to work from his boarding house room in the small but prosperous town of Clifton when the landlady announced the arrival of the mail. He stopped at the door to receive his letters and thanked the kind lady. She smiled after him as a grandmother would a child she was fond of, and he walked along, surveying his letters. He found one from his mother, and, quickly pocketing the others, he opened and skimmed it, perhaps a little too quickly for such astounding news. Thomas’s head swam. He paused in his walk, studying his mother’s note, trying to comprehend it. But the more he read, the lighter his head became, and he sat on a nearby bench. Finally, he put the letter down and held it between his hands, staring into space. A young man walked up to him. “What’s the matter, old boy?” said the young man. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” “Hi, Fred,” said Thomas, still with a vacant expression. “Anything wrong?” asked Fred, taking the space next to Thomas. Thomas said nothing. “Anything right?”

No answer. “Well, that’s good news.” “Fred,” said Thomas suddenly, “I’m quitting my job.” “Have you gone mad?” asked Fred. “Where are you going to find a job this good? Simpson won’t last a day without you.” “I have a job waiting for me back home that’s far better than the one I’ve got now,” he said, folding the letter and placing it in his pocket. “My family needs me. Mr. Simpson will get along fine, and besides, when I’m gone, you’ll be promoted.” And with this statement and a good-natured smile, he clapped Fred on the shoulder and set off to speak with his employer. Mr. Simpson was an excellent manager, but a demanding one, and few of his employees could meet those demands like Thomas O’Malley. Thomas had become a favorite of his, and Mr. Simpson expressed this regularly—that is, when he was in a good mood. Fortunately, he was in one today. Unfortunately, it was not likely to last with the news headed his way. Thomas, in his sudden excitement, wished he could start home immediately, but wisdom kept him walking in the direction of Mr. Simpson’s office. Fred kept looking at Thomas, wondering what was making his wheels spin so visibly. He knew that further questions would be futile, so he contented himself with following in silence on their way to work. Thomas was spinning his wheels to determine how much longer he should stay on with his job for the sake of courtesy. Two weeks was much too long, but anything less than a week hardly seemed polite to Mr. Simpson. He then decided that a week to ten days would be manageable for him and courteous to his employer. At the door of Mr. Simpson’s office, Thomas knocked intrepidly.

“COME IN!” said a booming voice. Thomas walked in resolutely. “Morning, Sir.” “Mm-hm.” Mr. Simpson was standing in front of a large map on the wall, holding a smaller one in his hands. “O’Malley!” he said in a burst, “Do you realize the progress this company has made in the past year alone?” Thomas knew this information well, but he also knew that the question was rhetorical. So he remained silent as Mr. Simpson enumerated all the ways his business had grown. Thomas’s attention wandered, but he maintained the appearance of interest as best as he could. Finally, one phrase captured his attention, making him aware of his surroundings. “...so, I’ve decided to give you a raise!” Thomas blinked, speechless. “Well, what do you say, m’boy?” Thomas’s salary had already been more generous than he required, and most of it had gone to savings and charity. “Um,” said Thomas. “I hardly think that’s necessary, sir.” “Necessary! HA! Of course it isn’t necessary! But I like to reward hard workers, and, O’Malley, you’re a hard worker, and you deserve it!” Thomas took a moment to consider this proposition. “What do you say, m’boy?” he repeated. It didn’t take two seconds for Thomas to think before he spoke. “I’m reg, sir.” For the first time in his life, Mr. Simpson was speechless. He stared at Thomas

nearly a full minute with unwavering eye-, which Thomas returned with the utmost surety. At length, Mr. Simpson spoke. “You’re reg?” “Yes, sir.” “Why?” “Something important has come up.” “Important?” “Yes, sir.” Mr. Simpson was silent again. What could have been more important than a successful position that paid well? “Today?” “No, sir. I came intending to give you a week’s notice.” “A WEEK?” “Or ten days.” “A month.” “Two weeks?” “Mm. Three.” “Two weeks.” “Two and a half.” “Two, sir, and no more.” A strange smile came to Mr. Simpson’s face. This was one of the remarkably few occasions this young man had ever been adamant towards him.

“Agreed,” he said at last and offered his hand. Thomas shook it eagerly. “Thank you, sir.” “I hope you know the sacrifice I’m making for you, O’Malley.” “No greater than mine, sir,” said Thomas, smiling. “Get along, then.” “Yes, sir,” said Thomas, and he set about to work, leaving Mr. Simpson to question this young man’s priorities. Thomas fulfilled his service faithfully. But Mr. Simpson regretted agreeing to two whole weeks for his young associate to finish his work, for Thomas, though a diligent worker, was now distracted, as his thoughts had wandered over a hundred miles away.

BY THIS TIME, MR. JAMES was busy reviewing the answers to his ment. He was particular as to who should fill the required offices, but even this was not enough to narrow down all the applicants. He then requested the help of his daughter, who was happy to give it. Had he sought her help sooner, he might have had a larger stack of letters to narrow down. She was interested in the lives of each applicant, and if any letter implied difficult circumstances, she would look at her father with pity in her eyes saying, “Maybe we should hire this person,” or, “I think they need our help,” to which her father would reply, “I appreciate your concern, daughter, but it is not a question of charity. It is a question of who seems best suited to the positions offered, and since we have the final say in the matter, it is our responsibility to make the best possible choice for everyone concerned.” “Yes, Father,” she responded, and with this planted firmly in her mind, she reexamined the applications. A few letters were consolidated at last from the most suitable candidates, and Mr. James sent replies requesting a personal interview. The house was nearly ready, and as the final preparations were made, Mr. James assumed the use of his study to interview applicants. The applicants were curious about all the commotion within the residence, and some were run away by the assumption that such was the house’s usual state, occupied by a rather numerous and boisterous family. This was perhaps a blessing in disguise, for those who were not alarmed by the presence of so much noise and so many children, proved to be of a steadier, more even temperament. Mr. James quickly grew tired of interviews, and for some time, it seemed useless to hope that any of the applicants might suit his and his daughter’s habits. To Phoebe, hiring servants seemed more of a matter of inviting people into their small family, and for this reason, Mr. James interviewed the applicants alone, for he secretly felt that his own business-minded attitude was best.

However, the task did not wholly escape the powers of Phoebe’s kind and generous heart, for she could not help being present when the applicants were filing into the house. She had been on the point of carrying some fresh linens upstairs when an elderly couple walked up to the door. Her father was interviewing his final applicant for the gardener’s position—the cook’s position had not yet been filled, for none of the applicants were satisfactory to his standards. He opened the library doors with a refreshed smile and saw the hopeful applicant to the door, saying a few words of encouragement, for he was sure this man would fill the position suitably, and the man went away equally satisfied. It was then that Phoebe flew towards her father from the parlor. “Father,” she said in an excited whisper, “have you placed anyone yet?” “Not quite. Why?” “Oh, Father, you must come and meet these people. Please come!” And with this, she led him to the parlor, where sat the elderly couple. They rose to greet Mr. James, and each shook his hand cordially. Phoebe introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Bell, explaining that they had come to apply for the positions of cook and gardener, but only if one could have the other. Phoebe had already found out their general life story. The reason they wished to work together was that they were recently married. They had courted in their youth, but, at the time, their parents didn’t approve. After a long separation, during which neither had wed, they happened to meet again and figured their deceased parents could have no qualms at that point, so they married at last. The only difficulty was that neither of them had much money, so they agreed to work for a living together. Phoebe explained this as best as she could, with some help from the Bells about facts she accidentally omitted. Mr. James, who had apprenticed in his father’s law office in his younger days, wondered, as with all his applicants, if the Bells could have some mercenary ulterior motive. He watched them carefully as Phoebe recounted their story. Mrs.

Bell nodded encouragingly when Phoebe asked if she had stated something correctly, and she would politely interrupt if certain details had been amiss. Such pains would not have been taken if the story had been fabricated, and Mr. James watched Mr. Bell to see if he could detect anything less than satisfactory about his character. Mr. Bell sat on the edge of his seat, obviously self-conscious about his appearance compared to his surroundings. He wore a suit of tidy appearance that had been washed and mended a good many times. And the attitude he bore of trying to be socially acceptable did away with any fears Mr. James had about the man’s dishonesty. Phoebe’s explanation ended, and Mr. James made a civilly interested comment before asking some questions of his own, which the Bells answered favorably with evident honesty. At the end of the interview, the couple produced letters of recommendation. Mr. Bell personally vouched for his wife’s cooking skills, and Mrs. Bell gave her own testimony to her husband’s green thumb concerning her gardenias. Mr. James then found himself, with a slight blow to his pride, discussing when they might begin service. It was settled that their wages should be reasonably generous, and that they would receive Sunday afternoons off with pay. Phoebe assisted the Bells in these negotiations with quiet comments made aside to her father, to which he would compromise a little, and the Bells hardly had to stipulate anything for themselves. They were then shown their quarters, which Phoebe had arranged with pride, and told that they were welcome to take up residence whenever they liked. The Bells thanked Phoebe and her father heartily and took leave in order to prepare for their new duties. Phoebe embraced Mrs. Bell and shook hands with Mr. Bell, and Mr. James shook hands with both before they said temporary goodbyes. Each party was mutually pleased with the other. However, Mr. James remained somewhat confused regarding his own methods of hiring help compared to his daughter’s.

Chapter 28

Dr. Livingstone During the Bells’ interview, Mr. James said their service would be required in a week. A week seemed much too soon in Phoebe’s mind, though she surveyed the house and found little left to do before they moved in. She floated down to earth with the realization that she would soon be leaving the O’Malleys. They would visit each other often, that much had been reiterated by everyone concerned, but in less than a week, she would no longer be under their roof, no longer come downstairs to kiss everyone good morning, no longer help with chores, nor help keep the twins and Jack in line at mealtime. Poor Jack! she thought to herself. Some of his earliest memories were of her. She was just as much family to him as any of his siblings, and he to her. Phoebe couldn’t think about this for long, for, if she had, she might have changed her mind and asked if she and her father could live with the O’Malleys forever. She also knew this wouldn’t work well, for her father was an independent man, and she could tell that, after a week of being the O’Malleys’ guest, he was ready to be in his own home. He was growing restless, but he did his best to hide it for the sake of politeness. Another thought that kept Phoebe from changing her mind was that her father needed her. At this point, she was his only family, and she was determined to make life as pleasant for him as possible. And for his sake, she wished their house would be ready sooner. She knew it would be if they had more help, and it was a week after her father’s return that she asked Mrs. O’Malley, “Have you heard from Thomas?” Mrs. O’Malley, who was unfurling clean drapes in the parlor, said, a little out of breath, “Oh, yes, dear. Fiona brought a letter from him just the other day. I’m afraid I forgot to tell you, but he says he’s happy to hear the news and will come

as soon as he can.” “Do you think he’ll come in time to help us?” Mrs. O’Malley smiled. “I don’t know. I’m sure he would have been here at the drop of a hat if it weren’t for his work. He says Mr. Simpson can’t spare him now, but he will come at the first opportunity.” This was encouraging to Phoebe, but she wondered when that opportunity would come. She knew Thomas liked to show up at the most unexpected of times, therefore she spent much of the following week anticipating his return. But by the time she and her father hired Mr. and Mrs. Bell, and she learned that he planned to occupy the house in the coming week, she was forced at last to give up hope of having Thomas’s help. On one , Phoebe figured this was a good thing, for if he had come, the house would have been ready much more quickly, and she would have had to say goodbye to the O’Malleys that much sooner. The week following the Bells’ interview was bittersweet, but Phoebe used this time to convey to her family by every means possible just how much she would miss them. Mr. James did not mind the absence of attention to himself, for he knew his daughter would miss the family she had called her own for the past few years. He could only feel grateful it had been a family that was so kind to her. As Phoebe and her father went about their final preparations, Phoebe searched for things she could leave to the O’Malleys as keepsakes. This was not difficult for Fiona, for, as Phoebe sorted through her clothes, she found several things she had outgrown and left them to her. Phoebe saw with sisterly pride how much Fiona had grown, as she saw with Jack and the twins as well. Even George no longer liked to be called “Georgie,” for it sounded too babyish. Along with keepsakes, Phoebe made a secret errand to buy gifts, and once her mission was complete, she privately assembled the gifts in her room.

For Jack, she bought a book, and since he had a habit as a baby of pulling out her hair ribbons, she altered one to be used as a bookmark. For George and Jimmy, she bought a glass cage for a toad that lived in the garden. The twins had often used this toad to frighten Phoebe when they were younger, but she had grown accustomed to their pranks and began using the poor amphibian in revenge. The twins and Phoebe had grown rather fond of this creature, and the twins had long wanted to make him a pet but were lacking a proper habitat. Phoebe set the terrarium aside with a mental note to make a secret trip out to the garden to complete the twins’ gift. She bought a new bonnet for Fiona that matched a certain dress she had ired for years and would soon be ed down to her. Phoebe replaced one of the bonnet’s pins with one of her own, in memory of all the times Fiona had so happily fixed her hair. She also bought a new pipe for Mr. O’Malley, some embroidered lace handkerchiefs for Mrs. O’Malley, and a fan for Betsy. Phoebe enjoyed having an excuse to spend some of her teaching money, and all the ideas for her gifts came easily, except one. She had no idea what to give Thomas. He almost seemed like a stranger now, for it had been more than two years since she had last seen him. She had many fond memories of him, but when she thought back, she wondered if he had ever regarded those memories as happy ones. After changing her mind about a few different ideas, she decided the best gift to give him was her absence. He had shared his family long enough, and it was with a heavy heart that she realized she must give them back, and how pleased he must be to know she was leaving. She put the gifts back in their proper hiding places and sought distraction. She found Fiona in the garden and donned an apron and a pair of gloves to harvest some potatoes. The exertion did her good and gave her opportunity to spend time with Fiona. “Oh, I’ll miss you so, Phoebe!” said Fiona, laying her dirt-smeared cheek on Phoebe’s shoulder.

“I’ll miss you too, Fiona,” said Phoebe. “But don’t worry, I’ll come every day until all these potatoes are harvested if you like.” “Oh, no. We wouldn’t waste your time on gardening. We’ll have to make it a special occasion—we’ll have a picnic every time you come, and go swimming.” “What if it snows?” “Then we’ll go skating and eat popcorn.” “And apples!” shouted Jack from across the garden. He and the twins were digging up worms for an experiment, and the girls’ conversation had drawn his interest. It was nearly time for the apple harvest in the orchard, and this was his favorite time of year. “Of course we would eat apples!” Phoebe shouted back. He returned to digging with a smile. It was simple moments like these that made Phoebe’s heart sink at the thought of leaving, and she always had to think of her father to keep her original resolution.

THE NEXT DAY WAS THE one decided upon for Phoebe and her father to move to their house, and Phoebe rose earlier than anyone else to prepare her gifts. She had covertly collected some dirt, leaves, and small branches from the garden the previous afternoon and arranged them in the terrarium in such a way that might look suitable to a small toad. She then stepped onto the garden porch to look in the usual place the twins were in the habit of feeding Toady. He was there, waiting expectantly, and she scooped him into her hands to place him in his new home. Ensuring the cage was closed, she placed it on the table between George’s and Jimmy’s chairs and went to get the other gifts. She set these in their respective places at the table, and without anything else to do, she prepared breakfast. In her shopping expedition, Phoebe had not neglected to buy something for her father. She had chosen a pair of slippers and placed them satisfactorily upon the table with everyone else’s gifts. Mrs. O’Malley reached the kitchen before Betsy and was surprised to see Phoebe already cooking breakfast. “Phoebe,” she said, “what are you doing? You have a big day ahead of you. You need to save your energy.” She had one of her new handkerchiefs proudly tucked into her apron as she set about scrambling some eggs Phoebe had gathered in her trip to the garden. Phoebe smiled. “My big day has already started. Is anyone else awake?” “I just woke Jack and the twins. They should be down soon.” Phoebe went to set the table and found that the boys were already downstairs and had found their gifts, for she was encumbered by them the moment she entered the room. They were each shouting their thanks above the other. Fortunately, Phoebe had developed the ability to hear all three of them at once. “It’s the one I wanted!” said Jack, jumping up and down with his book.

“Thank you, Phoebe!” shouted the twins at the top of their voices as they ran to ask their mother if they could keep their gift. Jack proceeded to describe his new book to Phoebe as if she had never seen it before and followed her around the table as she worked. She reached his chair and pulled it out to place him in it, and he kept talking, following her with his eyes after she had seated him. “I’m glad you like it, Jack,” she said, kissing his curly head as she ed his chair once again. He continued talking to her, but, at the age of five, his intuition was beginning to sharpen, and he noticed that Phoebe looked sad. “Are you leaving us?” he asked simply, pausing in the middle of his ramblings. Phoebe’s attention was arrested, and she couldn’t look at his innocent face for very long. She then set down her last plate, went to him, and knelt to his level. He kept looking at her searchingly with his large green eyes. “Not forever,” she said. “I’m going to come see you so often you won’t even know what to do with me.” He put his little arms around her neck, and she did her best not to cry as she returned his hug. Fiona treaded downstairs. “Good morning!” she said. “Good morning,” said Phoebe in an unsteady voice. “Oh, Phoebe!” said Fiona, running to her place at the table and picking up her bonnet. “Is this for me? I love it! How did you know I wanted this?” “I didn’t,” said Phoebe in happy frankness. “I just thought of you when I saw it.” “Really?” said Fiona, trying it on. “It looks perfect,” said Phoebe delightedly.

Fiona thanked her and went to show her mother. Phoebe followed to get a dish and returned just as her father came to breakfast. “Good morning, Father!” said Phoebe. She set down the dish and picked up his slippers. “These are for you,” she said as she pulled out his chair, kissed his cheek, and poured his coffee. “Thank you, dear,” he said, sleepily pressing her hand. “I got a book!” said Jack, showing it to Phoebe’s father across the table. “That’s very nice, Jack.” Just then, Betsy came downstairs, surprised to see that she was one of the last to rise. “Aren’t we early this morning?” she said, surveying the room. “Good morning, Betsy!” said Phoebe. “Just a minute! I have something for you!” She set down the coffee pot and presented Betsy with her fan. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Phoebe! Thank you!” Betsy embraced Phoebe before making her way to the kitchen. “Good morning, Miss Martin,” said Mr. James. “Good morning, sir,” said Betsy before ing through the kitchen door. Phoebe took a seat next to her father as Mr. O’Malley made his way downstairs. “Good morning, family,” he said. “Good morning!” was the general reply. He sat down and picked up his napkin to find his new pipe resting on the table. Phoebe watched to see his reaction.

He picked it up and examined it closely and then put on his spectacles to consider it more carefully. “Well!” he remarked to himself. “Is something wrong?” asked Phoebe. “I was just wondering what mischievous faerie has taken my pipe and changed it into a handsomer one.” He looked up with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you like it?” “Well, it’s certainly pretty, but I won’t know for sure until I use it. I suppose I should wait until later?” “Yes, you should,” said Mrs. O’Malley, coming into the room. Mr. O’Malley grumbled quietly and set down his new pipe, sending a thankful wink in Phoebe’s direction. Phoebe smiled, and breakfast began. It was over too soon for Phoebe’s liking, and before she knew it, it was time for her and her father to leave. She went about her preparations with a distracted mind, and Fiona, Mrs. O’Malley, and Betsy came to help her. The last of her things were packed, and the sound of a carriage came from outside. In the process of restoring his house, Mr. James had bought a reasonably priced carriage from town, and after hiring the Bells, he charged Mr. Bell with the task of conveying him and his daughter to their house. Mrs. O’Malley called for help with Phoebe’s trunk. Mr. O’Malley and Mr. James then came to retrieve it and convey it to the carriage. The rest of Phoebe’s things were brought by the others following behind, and Phoebe came last, carrying nothing and feeling as if she had

forgotten something. When she tried to think what it was, nothing came to mind. Her things were placed on the carriage, and Phoebe stood watching with her head on Mrs. O’Malley’s shoulder, dreading to say goodbye. Mrs. O’Malley knew Phoebe’s thoughts and gently said, “Come on, dear.” “Can I come tomorrow?” Mrs. O’Malley smiled sadly with a glance at her husband. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, dear.” Phoebe looked at Mr. O’Malley pleadingly. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “we’ll come see you tomorrow.” Phoebe embraced him thankfully. She then hugged Fiona in tears. Words weren’t necessary, and they parted with a mind-reading smile. Phoebe hugged Betsy next. “You’ll come tomorrow too, won’t you?” asked Phoebe. Betsy smiled and nodded. “Of course.” “We will too!” said the twins. “And me!” said Jack. “I was hoping you would!” said Phoebe, embracing all three of them at once. She then returned to Mrs. O’Malley for another hug. “Take good care of yourself, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “I will,” said Phoebe with an encouraging nod. “And you’ll let me know when Thomas comes back?” Mrs. O’Malley was about to reply in the affirmative, but something over Phoebe’s shoulder distracted her. With a smile, she glanced back at Phoebe and

nodded in the direction of the distraction. Phoebe looked over her shoulder to see a tall stranger with reddish-brown hair and green eyes smiling at her. “We’re not rid of you yet, are we, Phoeb?” “Thomas!” Phoebe ran to him. He dropped his bags, caught her in a bear hug, and kissed the top of her head. “How are you, Phoebe?” he asked, looking into her eyes. Phoebe was too surprised and happy to say anything as the rest of the family caught up with her. His arms were pinned to his sides as they embraced him. He continued smiling at Phoebe with an expression she didn’t understand, and she stepped back, trying to make sense of it. He then turned to his family, reaching out to squeeze a hand here and touch a head there, thinking how long it had been since he had last seen them. Mrs. O’Malley was in happy tears to see her son, and the younger children danced about him in joyful hysterics. Mr. James, while his daughter was saying her goodbyes, had gone to retrieve his carpetbag, and he returned to discover this recent development. He stopped at the sight of Thomas. “Mr. James,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I’d like you to meet my son Thomas.” Thomas ascended the porch steps to meet him “How do you do?” said Mr. James. “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” said Thomas, heartily shaking his hand. “How are you, sir?” A smile made its way to Mr. James’s face as he civilly replied, “Just fine, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m very thankful for the service you’ve done for our country, sir.” “Yes,” said Mr. O’Malley, “Thomas would have done the same service when he was a lad if his mother would’ve let him.” “Well,” said Mr. James, “I am just as thankful for your patriotism as you are for my service, Mr. O’Malley.” The elder Mr. O’Malley glanced at Phoebe’s father, confused for a moment, and then looked at his son in comprehension. The younger O’Malley children were no longer able to restrain their excitement at seeing their brother, and as soon as he and Mr. James finished their conversation, Thomas turned to them in equal excitement. “Jack! How are you, old fellow?” said Thomas, and he caught him and tossed him up in the air as he used to when he was a baby. Jack screamed in happy terror, and the twins jumped on Thomas, bringing the pair down in a heap. Fiona stood next to Phoebe and watched, for she felt she was getting past the age for play, and Thomas looked up in amusement. “Getting old, are we, Fiona?” “Older than you, I think,” said Fiona. “But that may not be saying much.” Thomas laughed, and Phoebe slipped off to her father’s side, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Mr. James did not understand his daughter’s behavior, but he quickly and graciously shook hands and took his leave. Phoebe covertly pressed Mrs. O’Malley’s hand when Thomas was not looking, and Mrs. O’Malley kissed Phoebe’s cheek. Phoebe walked to the carriage as her father was shaking his last hand, and she was overtaken by Thomas, who quickly opened the carriage door and offered his assistance.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, taking her seat. He lingered half a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden presence of her father, who shook his hand once again to take his leave. “Goodbye, Mr. O’Malley,” said Mr. James. “Goodbye, sir,” said Thomas, and he helped Mr. James place his luggage upon the coach. Mr. James then took the seat opposite his daughter. “Goodbye, Phoebe,” said Thomas before closing the door. Phoebe managed a weak smile in reply. Thomas seemed happier than ever. She assumed this was because she was leaving, and a painful lump came to her throat. The carriage rolled away, and an outburst of goodbyes from the younger O’Malley children irresistibly called Phoebe to wave at them from the carriage window. They kept this up until they reached the end of the lane, and Phoebe retreated into the carriage, where her smile melted into tears. She crossed to her father’s side and sought his shoulder. Mr. James was perplexed at his daughter’s state of emotion. He sincerely began to worry that leaving this family might be detrimental to her health, and he comforted her as best as he could. Phoebe missed the O’Malleys already, and now that Thomas had returned, she would probably never be able to express this in his presence without wounding his feelings. Therefore, as much as she had looked forward to his return, his presence now felt like further separation from her family of five years, and it hadn’t occurred until then that she would have to behave less familiar with the O’Malleys if she truly wanted him to forgive her. Her crying began to cease as she noticed her father’s knitted brow. “Don’t worry, Father,” she said, brightening up. “I’ll be all right. I didn’t mean to be so upset. I would still rather be with you no matter what.”

“Thank you, daughter, but I don’t feel slighted by your grief. I think I understand what you must be feeling. You don’t have to worry about me.” “Nor you about me, Father,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder again. “It’s going to be such fun living in our old house, and I’m going to be the best housekeeper you could ever wish for! There’s going to be so many things I can do for you...” She continued speaking this way, mostly for her own sake, until they reached their house. And Mr. James and his daughter, with the help of the Bells, made quick work of getting settled. Mrs. Bell prepared dinner with great pride at having a family to serve, and Phoebe began her housekeeping duties at once. She was happy to take on her responsibilities, but the mixture of emotions brought on by the novelty and the melancholy of the situation made her mind a little absent.

THE O’MALLEYS WERE hardly less melancholy at the loss of Phoebe, but Thomas’s arrival afforded the distraction they needed until they saw her again. “It’s good to be home,” he said repeatedly, first as he returned to the porch with his family, then as he collapsed onto the sofa in the sitting room, and half an hour later as he took his seat at the dinner table. “It’s good to have you home,” Mrs. O’Malley replied tirelessly, and the evening ed much like when Thomas was a child, except when the time came for the younger children to go to bed, he could stay up as long as he liked. He remained in the sitting room to spend time with his parents, but his mind was elsewhere. “Everything all right, son?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Mm.” He nodded without looking up. “This might just be the best pipe I’ve ever had,” said Mr. O’Malley mostly to himself as he tried out his new pipe. Thomas smiled at his father. “Where’d you get that, Da?” “Phoebe gave it to me,” he said proudly, “before she left today.” Thomas continued smiling, and his thoughts drifted again. “Such a sweet girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “I’m going to miss not having her with us.” A silent minute lapsed. “What am I going to do?” The question quietly released itself from the recesses of Thomas’s mind. “About what, dear?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Mm? Oh, nothing.”

“Do you think she knows?” came a moment later. “Son,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I told you everything she thinks she knows by letter. No recent knowledge of hers has come to my attention, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Thomas kept thinking. “Now, I think you’re worrying far too much,” she continued. “All that’s required of you is to prove to Phoebe that you don’t resent her, and in time, if I know our girl, you will be able to explain all there is to know about this little matter, and everything will be all right.” “Well put, mother,” said Mr. O’Malley. Thomas grew silent again, looking troubled. “How’s your leg, dear?” asked Mrs. O’Malley. “Fully recovered,” said Thomas absentmindedly. Mrs. O’Malley shook her head over her knitting. “Where does he get it from?” she asked the air. “I’ll leave that for you to discover,” said Mr. O’Malley, rising out of his chair. “Good night, my darling. Good night, son.” “Good night, dear.” “Night, Da.” The room became silent again except for the crackle of the fire. “I guess I’ll go to bed too. Good night, Mam.” “Good night, son.” He kissed the top of her graying head and turned to leave the room. “Thomas?” She held him by his hand.

“Yes, Mam?” She looked at him probingly. “Do you the letter I sent you, asking if you might try to—” “It’s impossible, Mam.” “But, for your own sake, did you try?” “I promise you I did.” “All right then,” she said, releasing his hand. “Good night.” But he stayed. His mind was now on something else. “Mam?” he said, taking a stool by her feet. “How do I go about it?” “Tell her the truth.” Thomas looked perturbed. “I don’t suppose you could tell her for me?” Mrs. O’Malley chuckled. “No, dear. You’re better equipped than anyone else in this world to explain yourself. It has to come from you.” Thomas rubbed his hair away from his forehead in distress, and Mrs. O’Malley smiled at her boy. “Does she have to know everything at once?” “Look,” Mrs. O’Malley said patiently, “you’ll know when the best time is to tell her. In the meantime, do as I said before, prove by your behavior that you have no resentment towards her, and everything will work out all right in the end.” “Poor Phoebe. What she must think of me!” “Do you really think anything you could do would make her think badly of you?” Thomas responded with a distant smile, which quickly faded into a frown. “No,” he said quietly. “No matter what anyone says, she’s more likely to take the

blame upon herself than to think badly of someone else. Oh, Mam,” he turned to her, “I have to tell her immediately!” He rose as if to carry out the deed, and the wise boy Mrs. O’Malley was smiling upon a moment ago had risen, fully grown, thinking impractically. “Now, son, you’ve got the right attitude, just the wrong timing. It would hardly be courteous to wake Phoebe and her father at this hour for a matter that could be settled just as well at any other time of day. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep, and after church tomorrow, if you can behave yourself, you may accompany us to see Phoebe and her father. She’s invited us all to come tomorrow, and even your Da’s agreed to go.” Thomas lit up at this and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mother,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be a good boy and get a good night’s sleep, and from now on, I’ll be on my best behavior. Good night!” He disappeared upstairs, and Mrs. O’Malley shook her head over her pitiful son as she rolled up her yarn and smiled to herself as she put out the light.

Chapter 29

Bitter Tea The next day found Thomas O’Malley already having eaten breakfast and in his Sunday best before the rest of the family had risen. The younger children greeted him happily, and the rest of the family soon matched his progress towards the day. Mr. O’Malley, having recently made a considerable profit in his farming business, had taken a carriage for himself when Mr. James did, one large enough to convey his entire family to church on Sundays. The weather was pleasant, and the family took their places in the carriage and rolled ahead of the Morrisons to church. They arrived well before service began, and a large crowd was gathered in front of the doors. For the past three weeks, news of Mr. James’s return had circulated throughout town, and many previous acquaintances sought to be renewed. Phoebe and her father stood at the center of the crowd, their view completely obstructed, but Phoebe knew exactly when the O’Malleys arrived. Happy as she was to see them, she had determined not to behave too familiarly with them for Thomas’s sake, but when a slight clearing in the crowd made way for Jack to come running to her, all was lost. She hugged him in her arms without a care for what even Thomas would think. The twins followed Jack, then came Fiona and Thomas. Bystanders looked on in pleasure and curiosity as Phoebe affectionately greeted them one after the other. She was all smiles at the sight of her family, but when she saw Thomas, her smile fell. She realized the promise she had broken to herself and stood looking guilty as he approached her with a smile.

“How are you, Phoebe?” he said, warmly shaking her hand. “Fine, how are you?” she managed to say. “I’m happy to see you,” he blurted, and realizing he was still holding her hand, he dropped it and reddened. Phoebe did not notice, for Betsy and Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley had come to see her and greet her father, and service began. Phoebe sought her father, who had just come to her side, and they walked inside arm-in-arm. As they took their seats, Thomas’s words returned to Phoebe. He said he was “happy to see her.” She wondered if it had been an automatic pleasantry or if he had meant it. He looked as if he had meant it, and Phoebe smiled at the memory of his expression. It was pure joy, and Phoebe gathered that his statement had been more than civil politeness. Her heart swelled to think he must no longer be bitter towards her. It was evident in her praise, and she could hardly pay attention during the sermon. When service was over, the O’Malleys followed Phoebe and her father to their house. It was close to the church, and they soon rolled through the gates and up the gravel drive. Thomas ran to open the James’ carriage door but was too slow for Phoebe, who burst from the carriage in order to be the first to the front door. She opened it ceremoniously, saying, “Welcome,” as everyone walked inside, first Fiona, who giggled at Phoebe’s dignified manner, then the rest of the family. She took hats, coats, and shawls as they entered, quickly depositing them in the coat closet. Mrs. O’Malley smiled fondly at Phoebe as she handed her her shawl to be put away. It was endearing to see her girl playing housekeeper. “Thank you, dear,” she said, patting her cheek before walking into the parlor. Upon entering, Thomas began disposing of his own effects, but Phoebe quickly assisted him, saying, “May I?” And before he could respond, she took his hat and coat with a smile. “Thank you, Phoebe,” he said. Phoebe looked at him. The last time she had seen that expression on his face was

two years ago, only now it was less guarded, and for some reason, she felt grieved. Thomas saw this and resumed his usual good-natured smile before walking into the parlor. Phoebe then sought Mrs. Bell before realizing that the Bells had Sunday afternoons off, and she quickly fetched the tea things and returned to the parlor. She set them on the table and went about preparing the tea. It was steeping successfully as she turned her attention to the conversation. Her father was taking great interest in Thomas, asking him about his work. Thomas answered his questions readily as Mrs. O’Malley silently reassured her husband that it was all right to discuss business on a Sunday, especially if it was brought up by another person in his own home. “Mr. Simpson,” said Thomas, “my previous employer, recommended me to an acquaintance of his here in town, a Mr. Redgrave. I plan to visit him tomorrow morning.” “Ah, yes, I know Redgrave!” said Mr. James. “We worked together many years ago. Feel free to drop a line from me, if you like.” “I will, thank you, sir.” Mrs. O’Malley drew Phoebe’s attention and nodded to the teapot. It was time for the tea to be served, and Phoebe realized this with a jump. She knew how most of the people in the room took their tea. Those she didn’t, she asked during a break in the conversation. Mr. O’Malley took milk and sugar. Mrs. O’Malley took milk. Her father took his plain. “Milk or sugar, Betsy?” “Just sugar, thank you,” she said. “Milk or sugar, Thomas?”

“Neither, thank you,” he said, rising to take his cup from her. Fiona took hers with plenty of milk and a little sugar. For the twins and Jack, Phoebe prepared cups of milk with only a drop of tea, as requested by Mrs. O’Malley. Phoebe then prepared hers. She was so happy to preside over the teapot as lady of the house that she was startled out of her fantasy by a sip of strong tea. It was not entirely disgusting, but Phoebe wanted it to be perfect, and she counted it a slight failure as she placed her cup back in the saucer. Several of her guests kindly requested more tea. She filled their cups with a grateful smile, and before the visit was over, Thomas had finished a fourth cup. Mr. O’Malley soon indicated that it was time to leave, at which Phoebe, Fiona, and the boys openly complained. “Now, now,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “we’ve stayed long enough. It is Sunday, and we must let our sweet hostess and her father have a restful afternoon.” Phoebe grew embarrassed when Mrs. O’Malley referred to her as “sweet hostess” and came to kiss her cheek. She looked at Thomas’s reaction to this endearment and found that he merely glanced at her with a smile, bearing no visible offense. Phoebe had risen with Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley and went to retrieve the shawls, coats, and hats. She held up Mr. O’Malley’s coat for him and handed him his hat. She wrapped Mrs. O’Malley’s shawl about her and said an affectionate goodbye. Fiona and Betsy came next, then the boys, and Phoebe placed their hats and coats on them, kissing them on the cheek one after the other as they walked out the door. Jack lingered behind to wrap his arms around her skirts as Thomas and Mr. James came from the parlor, discussing one last point of business. They found her thus hampered in her capacity to move, and Thomas, quickly donning his coat, removed Jack from Phoebe’s hem and held him perched on one arm. Jack reached out and put his arms around her neck. “Will you come see me tomorrow?” he asked an inch away from her face.

Phoebe, amused as she was, glanced nervously at Thomas. His expression seemed to ask the same question, and she said tentatively, “I’ll come as soon as I can, Jack.” Satisfied with her reply, he smiled a babyish smile, kissed her cheek, and leaned back against Thomas’s shoulder. “Take care, Phoebe,” said Thomas, smiling and shaking her hand. She smiled in reply, and he walked out the door with Jack waving goodbye over his shoulder. Phoebe waved her hand before closing the door, and the O’Malleys drove away in their carriage. As happy as Thomas was to see Phoebe, he left the James’ house, daunted about the task that lay before him. It was clear that Phoebe thought him bitter towards her all those years, and he saw this with great distress. The way she glanced at him uncertainly whenever she wished to display affection to any member of his family, or they to her, writhed his stomach. His mother was right, he would have to tell Phoebe the truth, but only at the right moment. Until then, how could he dispel all the apprehensions she had accumulated towards him over the past few years? “I’m sorry about the tea, Papa,” said Phoebe after the O’Malleys left. “I know it was stronger than you like, but I’ll do better next time.” “Say nothing of it, dear,” he said dotingly. “I might actually prefer it that way from now on.” Phoebe smiled. “You’re too good to me, Father. But I promise I’ll get the hang of things before long.” “I’m sure you will, dear,” he said from behind the book he had taken up. Phoebe straightened up a few things before taking the chair opposite him at the fireplace with some knitting. Mr. James allowed his daughter to think she was in charge of the housekeeping, but after the first day, he secretly asked Mrs. Bell to look after any housework

Phoebe might overlook in the future, ensuring that things were well in order before taking Sunday afternoons to herself, and she would receive ample wages for her trouble. Mrs. Bell agreed, and Mr. James let Phoebe tend to the obvious matters, and she was happy.

THE NEXT MORNING AT breakfast, Mr. James asked his daughter if she had anything planned for the day. “I thought I might pay Jack a visit,” she replied with a smile. “Oh, yes,” Mr. James smiled. “I him asking you yesterday.” “Would you mind it, Father?” “No, not at all,” he said. “I thought I would call on General Johnson later, and maybe this afternoon we could take a walk.” “That sounds lovely, Father,” said Phoebe. “I’m so happy you’ve come back.” “So am I, daughter.” After breakfast, Phoebe went to dress and make her way to the O’Malleys’ but was delayed on her walk out the door by a caller. It was Mrs. Winston, a lady that had spoken to them in church only the day before. Phoebe explained that she had an important appointment, and the lady quickly replied that it would not be a long visit, that she had simply come to relate an idea about a welcoming party for Mr. James. Phoebe loved the idea, and half an hour later, Mrs. Winston chattered happily out the door, already planning the details. Phoebe then set off towards the O’Malleys’ house on one of her father’s horses. She enjoyed the ride, and once she gained the shelter of the tree-bordered path, she gave way to reveries of the past, from the day she first arrived, to the morning she left. She was so torn in her affection for the O’Malleys compared to the love and loyalty she had for her father. But things as they were, were not so bad, she thought. She sought anyone’s familiar face or voice as she rode up to the house. A farmhand came to take her horse, as was the new custom when the O’Malleys had visitors. He had not realized who it was before they were within ten yards of each other. “Why, Miss Phoebe!” he said. “We weren’t expecting you today!”

“Jack invited me,” said Phoebe, smiling. “Is the family inside?” “No, Miss. They’re in the orchard.” “The orchard? Have the apples already ripened?” “Yes, ma’am, and mighty big, too!” “Thank you,” said Phoebe, and she ran towards the orchard. She could hear the children’s voices from a distance where they were climbing trees and shaking the boughs. “Ow!” said Fiona. “Georgie O’Malley, that’s the last time you drop an apple on my head again!” “I didn’t mean to!” said George. “I didn’t even know you were there!” “He’s right, Fiona,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “You were standing in a rather dangerous place for him to be shaking the apples down.” “All the same,” said Fiona, still addressing her brother, “you should learn to keep an eye out for people!” Unnoticed, Phoebe approached the orchard where this conversation took place and looked for Jack. She found him right where she suspected he would be, sitting astride a tree branch, quietly smacking on an apple or two. A spirit of mischief took hold of Phoebe, and she climbed up behind him under the cover of the others’ voices and perched in the base of the tree. “Hey, little Cricket,” she said, using Jack’s nickname, and just then, Mrs. O’Malley discovered gravity, for Jack dropped an apple in surprise. Laughter answered Mrs. O’Malley’s inquiring glance upwards, and she saw the Phoebe bird for herself. They all spent a happy afternoon in the orchard, and Phoebe was so distracted she nearly forgot that she and her father had planned to take a walk. “Oh, dear me!” shouted Phoebe after a few hours. “I have to start home. I told

Father I would walk with him this afternoon!” “Then you’d better leave at once, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “but thank you for spending the day with us!” “It was my pleasure,” said Phoebe, quickly hugging and kissing the others and running off with a final wave. She mounted her horse and hastened home, arriving just in time to freshen up before her father returned from visiting General Johnson. She met him at the door with his walking stick, and he met her with a smile. “How are you, daughter?” he said, greeting her. “Did you have a nice visit?” “Yes, Father,” she said. “Are you ready for our walk?” “Only one moment,” he answered. “I borrowed a book from the general, and I’d like to leave it in my study.” “Do you think he would have liked to walk with us?” asked Phoebe as her father disposed of the book. “I asked him, but he wouldn’t come. He says he’s past the age for walking beyond what’s necessary.” Phoebe laughed as she set off on her father’s good arm. It was a beautiful day, and after speaking of the general and remarking the weather and the trees changing colors, they enjoyed their walk in silence, making their way into town. A few minutes later, Phoebe recognized a familiar face. Thomas was just then on his way home from Mr. Redgrave’s office, looking preoccupied. Phoebe pointed him out to her father, and Mr. James hailed in his direction. He caught his attention, and Thomas waved back, still walking along. Phoebe looked at him, wishing he would them, and once he realized this, Thomas crossed the street.

Greetings were exchanged as he fell into step with Mr. James, who asked how things had gone with Mr. Redgrave. “Excellent,” said Thomas enthusiastically. “He practically hired me on the spot, and we spent the rest of the time speaking of Mr. Simpson and of yourself, sir. It seems he was not aware that you had returned, and he means to pay you a visit before long.” “I should be happy to see him. I have many things to ask you about, but I’m afraid the topics might bore my daughter. She paid a visit to your family today, and I believe she had an enjoyable time.” Phoebe involuntarily glanced at Thomas to see his reaction and found him smiling back at her. For some reason, she could not return his gaze. “I’m glad,” said Thomas sincerely. “Yes, my father announced this morning that it was time for the apple harvest. It’s practically a holiday on our farm, sir, when the apples are ripe. By the way, my mother makes the best apple pie. I must ask her to make one for you. And did Jack eat his fill of apples today?” A smile was coaxed from Phoebe as she said, “One might think he did, but I’m afraid that wouldn’t ever be possible for him.” “No, I guess not. But the day might come when he can’t even look at another apple, and then we’ll be left wondering what his next favorite food is.” “Do you think that’s possible?” “It’s inevitable,” said Thomas, addressing both Phoebe and her father. “I was once the same with honeydew melons, and then one day when I was around his age, we had a large melon harvest. I ate my fill and never looked at a honeydew melon again. Fiona did the same with tomatoes.” “Did she? She never told me!” said Phoebe, amused for the moment, forgetting to be cautious in her enthusiasm, but wondering what made Thomas so amiable as he had been when he was younger. Just then, an acquaintance recognized Mr. James and delayed him in his walk. Phoebe and Thomas waited for him, but when the acquaintance showed no sign of ending his discourse, Mr. James began to walk along slowly as a hint to the

man, and the man walked right along with him, chatting cordially. They paced right past Phoebe and Thomas, who were then left to themselves, and they walked along behind the man and Mr. James. Phoebe, smiling at the man speaking with her father, said to Thomas, “Mrs. Winston told me today that she wished to plan a welcoming party for Father.” “Do you like the idea?” “Oh, yes, I thought it was nice of her, but I haven’t thought to tell him yet. He’s much more of a homebody than he used to be, it probably won’t happen at all. But I don’t mind. I like being home too.” “And you’re happy that he’s come back?” Phoebe looked up in surprise. “Of course.” Thomas smiled. “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be. I was only going to say how happy I am for you.” “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “Yes, he’s a wonderful father, and so good to me! I really couldn’t be happier except—” “Except what?” She wished she hadn’t said anything. She was about to say, “except if I hadn’t had to leave,” but she stopped for fear of what he might think. She shook her head and said, “Nothing.” “I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been meaning to ask if your foot ever healed completely.” “Oh,” she said, ing her injury, “yes, it’s all right now, but for some reason it seems to ache on rainy days.” She laughed, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. He took her hand and tucked it under his arm with a smile. “You’re a real trooper, Phoeb.”

Of all the things he could have said, it was this that brought tears to Phoebe’s eyes. It was so like the way Thomas had been as a boy that she saw him once again as she knew him, and she laid her head on his shoulder in gratitude. She no longer cared what kept him away so long, nor that any years had gone by. Thomas was back. “Phoebe,” he said after a moment, “there’s something I need to—” “Well,” said Mr. James, coming to Phoebe’s other side, “it would seem that Mr. Knickerbocker has been married and had three children in my absence.” Phoebe laughed. “It would seem, Father, that you found out more about Mr. Knickerbocker in five minutes than I could have in five years.” “Indeed,” said Mr. James, noticing how Thomas released Phoebe’s arm upon his return. “Shall we turn back now?” Phoebe agreed, and Thomas took his leave, for he was headed in the other direction. Mr. James was quiet for the rest of their walk, and it was not until after dinner as they sat next to the fire that he said, “So, what happened to your foot while I was away?” Phoebe looked up. “Oh,” she said, “I’m sorry, Father, I guess I forgot to tell you.” “Well, what happened?” “Well, one summer, a few years ago, we were visiting Mrs. O’Malley’s sister— Mrs. O’Malley, Fiona, Jack, and I. She lives next to the seashore, and one day, Fiona and I were playing with her neighbor on some rocks, and we were diving from them into the ocean.” “Oh, Phoebe!” “I know, Father. It wasn’t a good idea. Well, anyway, I was standing on the topmost rock, and I guess it was too wet because I slipped into the water.”

Mr. James looked uncomfortable. “And that’s how you hurt your foot?” “No, it was afterward when I was kicking about, trying to swim. Apparently, there were some sharp rocks under the water, and the bottom of my foot grazed one of them.” “Oh, Phoebe!” he said again. “I’m all right now, Father. Though I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Emily and her brother. They’re Aunt Dottie’s neighbors.” “And who is Aunt Dottie?” “Mrs. O’Malley’s sister, Mrs. Fiske.” “I see. And they rescued you?” “Yes.” “And then what happened?” “Well, I don’t much. But someone sent for the doctor, he gave me some stitches, and I was unable to walk for about two months.” “Oh, my poor girl,” said Mr. James, touching his daughter’s cheek. Phoebe was sitting on a stool next to her father’s chair, and she chuckled at his pity. “I told you I’m all right now, Father.” “But I was not there to comfort you, nor was your mother.” Phoebe’s expression softened. “I know,” she said quietly. “I missed you both, but I had good friends and a wonderful family to take care of me. The rest of the family came after they found out about my accident, and they were all so patient with me, even after I gave them a terrible fright one evening.” “You did?” Phoebe nodded meekly. “Yes, you see, one day I had been sitting outside with Edward Davies—he’s the one that helped rescue me—and, well, he was a little distraught because I had refused him.”

“He asked you to marry him?” “Yes, but I refused because he wanted to take me away often, off to Europe and New York and other places. But that wasn’t the kind of life I wanted, so I turned him down. Anyway, he was feeling distraught, so he left me alone, forgetting that I couldn’t walk properly.” “Why, of all the—!” “Papa, please! It was not his fault.” “Well, we can discuss that later. Go on.” “Well, I was left by myself for some time, and I realized that I would need help getting inside, so I called for help, but no one could hear me.” “No one heard you?” “No, you see, the surf was so loud it must’ve drowned out my voice. It was getting dark, and my foot seemed all right, so I figured I had better manage on my own somehow.” “It would have been wiser, perhaps, if you had spent the night outside, Phoebe.” Phoebe smiled. “I know that now, Father, and I was prepared to, but at the time, it seemed urgent that I go inside—I was afraid, you see—so I made my way as best as I could. That was my mistake. By the time I had gone a few steps from my chair, I realized that it would have been better to stay where I was, but the door was so close I thought I could make it. “I was nearly there when my foot started hurting, and I fell just inside the doorway. Mrs. O’Malley and her sister heard me and came running, and Mrs. O’Malley tried to help me to the sofa, but she wasn’t able, so she called Thomas, and he helped carry me to the couch.” “He did.” “Yes. He was always such a good brother and so patient with me.” “Why should anyone have to be patient with you, my dear?”

Phoebe smiled at her father before saying, “Oh, you’d be surprised! Some days I made everyone in the house feel like they had to tiptoe around me. I didn’t mean to be so disagreeable. I was just tired of not being able to walk,” said Phoebe, looking down. “There were even times I used to assume too much as a sister and a daughter when I wasn’t really that. It’s just that they treated me so well I used to forget that they weren’t my real family.” “Well, I’m glad to hear that, but what’s this about ‘assuming too much as a sister and daughter’?” “It embarrasses me to think of it,” she said reluctantly, “but there were times when I had been so unfeeling that I could cry just thinking about it.” “To whom?” “No one in particular,” she said, and then, realizing she had told a falsehood, she corrected herself. “To Thomas.” “Thomas O’Malley?” Phoebe nodded. “How so?” “Well, I think he used to feel somewhat replaced by me in the family, like he was being pushed out because of me. I didn’t see it at first. I assumed he liked having me as a sister as much as everyone else did.” “Didn’t he?” “He might have, but he felt neglected. I could tell, eventually. He wasn’t receiving as much attention from his family because of me, and he kept himself away at college and at friends’ homes more often than usual. That was not like him, Father, Thomas loves to be home, he loves his family, and I—Well, the last time I saw him before the day you met him was about two years ago.” “I see. And you think he’s been pushed away all this time merely by your presence in the family?” Phoebe nodded miserably. “After I figured it out, I spoke to Mrs. O’Malley. She

told me it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t believe I didn’t see how he was suffering all that time! I didn’t realize it until after he left.” “Well,” said Mr. James, “he certainly seemed to enjoy your company today.” “Did he?” asked Phoebe hopefully. “I’m glad you think so! It’s been difficult for me to tell lately, but I think he’s forgiven me. Anyway, I hope he has, then everything will be all right again!” “Yes, dear. Now,” said Mr. James suddenly, “I think it’s time you were in bed. And don’t worry, in everything you’ve told me, I have found nothing to reproach you for. I hope you can rest easy tonight with that knowledge.” Phoebe nodded. “I can, Father, thank you.” “Good night, dear.” “Good night, Papa.” She kissed his cheek and ran off to bed with a heart ten years lighter. Mr. James sat before the fire late into the night, pondering everything his daughter had told him. And at the end of his quiet discussion with himself, the fire was nearly out, and he was determined to find out young Mr. O’Malley’s own of things.

Chapter 30

Playing Housekeeper Over the rest of the week, Phoebe grew quite comfortable with her housekeeping duties. She oversaw three meals a day plus tea, answered the door, and hosted visitors. She lit the fires, dusted, and swept. She laundered, kept things in perfect order, and each room was well supplied with flowers from their small garden. And behind it all was dear Mrs. Bell who saw to anything that Phoebe overlooked, allowing the praise to go to her young mistress. Phoebe informed her father of Mrs. Winston’s idea, and, though he was amused by it and did not exactly care for a party, he determined that it would be kind to accept the gesture. Now that her father agreed to the party, Phoebe discovered how much she liked the idea in the first place. She decided to pay a visit to Mrs. Winston one morning to inform her of her father’s consent to the party, and after seeing things settled at home, she dressed and set out. Just as she stepped out the door, she ran into Fiona and met her in a happy embrace. It was Fiona’s day to fetch the mail, and on her way home, she decided to visit Phoebe. “Where are you going dressed so fancy?” asked Fiona between giggles. “I’m calling on Mrs. Winston. Do you want to come with me?” “Yes, but you should have let me fix your hair.” “I know it isn’t anything like what you can do, but in my defense, I didn’t know you were coming. Besides, I haven’t much time,” said Phoebe, stroking Bob’s neck as they walked past him. He nodded his nose in greeting and watched as the girls walked out the gate

without him. They found much to speak of and laugh about on the way to Mrs. Winston’s house and nearly missed their destination. They walked to the door, and Phoebe rang the bell. A butler answered, saying that Mrs. Winston was out for the day, so Phoebe left her card and walked home. “Any more social calls to make today, Miss James?” asked Fiona playfully. “None, unless you have any,” said Phoebe. Fiona scoffed. “Then you can have lunch with me and my father and show me how to arrange my hair properly. I’m going to need to know how because Mrs. Winston is giving a party to celebrate my father’s return.” “Oh, wonderful! Can I come?” said Fiona. “Of course you can! I wouldn’t have it otherwise. Mrs. Winston will have to agree on those conditions, or I won’t come to her party, and if I don’t come, I’m sure my father won’t.” “That would put Mrs. Winston in a pickle, wouldn’t it?” “Yes, it would,” said Phoebe with a nod of her head. Fiona laughed. “You know, sometimes you remind me of Mam.” “Thank you. I’d much rather resemble her than any other woman in town, and you may repeat that to anyone you wish.” “Oh, I will,” said Fiona mischievously. They returned to Phoebe’s house, where Phoebe greeted her father in his study. “I’ve invited Fiona to lunch, Father,” she announced. “Happy to have you, Miss O’Malley,” said Mr. James, nodding to Fiona.

Fiona mimicked his nod. “Thank you, sir.” Phoebe then went to inform Mrs. Bell about their guest, and the girls went to Phoebe’s room until lunch was ready. “I wish your father wouldn’t call me Miss O’Malley. It sounds like I’ve done something wrong or something.” Phoebe laughed. “He doesn’t mean it that way.” “Oh, I know. It’ll just take some getting used to. I suppose it does sound rather elegant.” She went about fixing Phoebe’s hair as she spoke, and it was soon becomingly arranged in a coiled braid in the back of her head. Phoebe expressed her gratitude, and they returned downstairs just as lunch was ready. Phoebe thanked Mrs. Bell as she, her father, and Fiona all took seats at the large table. Mr. James said grace in an automatic tone, and they proceeded to eat. Mr. James began the conversation by complimenting his daughter’s hair. “Fiona fixed it,” said Phoebe. “She’s very talented, Father.” “I can see that,” he said amiably. “You must come every day and arrange it the same way, Miss O’Malley.” “Oh, I’d love to come every day,” said Fiona, “but I never fix anyone’s hair the same way twice. There are far too many options.” Phoebe smiled. “Don’t worry, Father. Anything Fiona does will come out beautifully.” “I’m sure it will,” he said. Lunch ed without much notice taken of the food, for the conversation was highly entertaining to all, especially to Mr. James. He was beginning to see where his daughter had developed some of her queer ideas in his absence, and he was excessively diverted by the red-headed girl that Phoebe still called sister.

Fiona stayed well after lunch, relaxing comfortably in the parlor with Phoebe and her father until the bell rang. Phoebe rose to answer it and found Thomas standing there. “Thomas! How are you today?” she said pleasantly, shaking his hand and pulling him by it into the house, genuinely happy to see him. For, since her conversation with her father, Phoebe was no longer worried about the past and only sought to enjoy Thomas’s visits. “I’m very well,” he said smilingly. “How are you?” “Thomas?” came Fiona’s voice from the parlor. She followed it into the foyer and asked her brother what had brought him there. “Mother sent me to bring you home and to deliver these pies.” He indicated a basket he was holding. “Won’t you come in?” asked Phoebe, gesturing to the parlor. His mother had bid him to return home with Fiona as soon as possible, but he found himself unable to refuse Phoebe’s invitation. “All right,” he said hesitatingly. “Just for a moment.” “Good,” said Phoebe happily. She took the basket and led him into the parlor. “Thomas O’Malley, Father.” “Well, how do you do, Mr. O’Malley?” said Mr. James. “How do you do, sir?” said Thomas, shaking his hand. “Won’t you sit down?” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Thank you,” said Thomas, beginning to worry that his visit wouldn’t be as brief as requested. Mr. James inquired into business matters, and Phoebe returned with tea and sandwiches. To Phoebe’s relief, Mrs. Bell had prepared the tea, and she was certain it would not be too strong this time.

After serving everyone, Phoebe sat with some needlework. Fiona watched interestedly, for she was new to any sewing that was more art than necessity, and Phoebe explained it as best as she could. Mr. James found young Mr. O’Malley an excellent conversation partner. But, though he made perfect eye , his attention sometimes wandered. Where, Mr. James did not know, but he was soon able to guess. At one point, his companion gave a slight jump in his seat as a quiet gasp came from the corner where Phoebe and Fiona sat. “Are you all right, daughter?” asked Mr. James. “Yes, Father,” said Phoebe, quickly sucking a finger she had accidentally pricked with her needle. Thomas looked in her direction with pity. “It would seem,” said Mr. James, “that my daughter is rather prone to accidents, Mr. O’Malley.” Phoebe smiled at her father, for she was used to his sense of humor. “Indeed, sir,” said Thomas civilly. “But she makes an excellent housekeeper, I must it.” “Thank you, Father,” said Phoebe fondly. “You must be proud of her, Mr. James,” said Thomas. “Indeed, I am.” At this point, Phoebe began to blush and left her needlework for Fiona to try, and she went to mend the fire where her face could be hidden. The conversation turned to more general topics, and Phoebe was thankful, for it allowed her to recover from her sudden embarrassment. But this did not last long, for, from where she was stationed, Fiona’s handiwork was on full display, and Mr. James called attention to it.

“I must compliment your sister’s skills at braiding, Mr. O’Malley. She’s done excellent justice to my daughter’s hair this afternoon.” Phoebe glanced at her father pleadingly. She wished he wouldn’t carry on so, but he did not catch her plea. “Yes,” said Thomas, “it’s charming.” “Thank you,” said Fiona, who was eager to accept any compliment whatsoever from her brother. Phoebe was thankful for Fiona drawing the attention to herself, and she quickly finished her work at the fireplace. “But,” continued Thomas, “I think it would be just as pretty without your help, Fiona.” Just then, Phoebe’s hand grazed the hot metal screen in front of the fireplace, and she suppressed another gasp. This accident would have gone unnoticed if Mr. James hadn’t been watching Thomas so intently. “Be careful, dear,” Mr. James said to his daughter. “Yes, Papa,” she said quietly. Thomas had risen out of his chair in distress, but Phoebe, pretending nothing had happened, resumed her seat next to Fiona, still blushing. Phoebe wondered at Thomas’s behavior. She figured he had forgiven her by now, but it seemed that he had more than forgiven her, and her embarrassment faded into utter confusion. Thomas forgot his mother’s orders about punctuality until the sun began to sink into the trees outside the window. He then rose, saying he regretted he couldn’t stay longer, but he had to pay a visit to General Johnson to deliver one of his mother’s pies. Mr. James shook his hand and apologized for keeping him so long. “But,” he

added, “if you’re paying a visit to the general, I might accompany you to return a book. Would you like to come, Phoebe?” Mr. James and Thomas turned to where Phoebe was sitting, but she had disappeared. “No, thank you, Father,” came a voice from the foyer, and an unconsciously charming sight presented itself in the doorway. Phoebe had thought ahead when she heard where the conversation was going, and she placed her father’s and Thomas’s hats, one atop the other, on her head, and came around the corner, carrying her father’s scarf around her neck and holding both coats in her arms. She held up her father’s coat with a smile, and he accepted the sleeves with a “thank you, dear,” and she transferred his hat from her head to his as they walked to the door. “It’s a bit chilly, Father, you’d better wear this,” she said, arranging his scarf, “and keep it snug.” “Yes, thank you, dear,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Goodbye.” He then walked out the door, and she turned to Thomas, holding up his coat with a willing smile. He mirrored her smile, feeling as if some perverse cupid, instead of shooting his heart, smacked him upside the head as he took his coat out of her hands and removed his hat from her head. “Thank you, dear,” he said, mimicking Mr. James, and was on the point of imitating the same act of affection when his hostess offered her hand to shake, saying, “Thank you for coming,” which he took and kissed the mark left by the fireplace screen. And, putting on his hat, he left, saying, “Take care, Phoebe!” At this point, Phoebe was completely dumbfounded as to what had come over Thomas. He was more chipper and affectionate than he had ever been, even as a boy. This, she supposed, was because he had his family back, and it made him feel young again. She was happy for him and happy that things worked out so well at last. She could convince herself of that. She was in the middle of this thought when Fiona came downstairs putting on

her shawl and bonnet. Phoebe had forgotten that Fiona was still there until she was tidying up the coat rack, humming distractedly, and she heard a voice behind her. “Are you all right, Phoebe?” said Fiona. “Oh,” said Phoebe, startled. “Yes, of course I’m all right.” “Well, goodbye then.” “Goodbye, dear,” said Phoebe, embracing Fiona. “I enjoyed our day together.” “So did I. Will you come tomorrow for the pumpkin harvest?” “I’d love to. I’ll come as early as I can if my father can spare me.” “Excellent! Well, goodbye again!” “Goodbye,” said Phoebe, closing the door. She then found herself running to the window in her father’s study to watch them ride away. Mr. James waited for Thomas, and Thomas waited for his sister. Fiona ran down the steps to Bob’s side, and Thomas, who hadn’t mounted yet, helped her up with a smile. The trio set off, and Phoebe left the window, thinking to herself what a good brother Thomas was.

“FATHER,” SAID PHOEBE during breakfast the next day, “do you need me for anything in particular today?” “No, dear. What did you have in mind?” he asked. “It’s time to harvest the pumpkins at the O’Malleys’ and Fiona wanted me to come.” Mr. James assured his daughter that he would not be needing her, and she set off on her horse after breakfast and a morning call from Mrs. Winston. Phoebe informed her that her father agreed to the party, and she took the opportunity to ensure that the O’Malleys would be invited as well. At first, Mrs. Winston seemed reluctant about the idea, but Phoebe’s adamancy soon made itself clear, and Mrs. Winston was forced to give in. The cool air was invigorating as Phoebe rode to the O’Malleys’, and she arrived well-energized with rosy cheeks. She took a detour on her way to the garden through the kitchen and sitting room and delivered affectionate greetings to Betsy and Mr. O’Malley. Everyone in the garden welcomed Phoebe enthusiastically, especially Mrs. O’Malley, for she had not seen her since the previous Sunday. They spent the day occupied with the pumpkins, Mrs. O’Malley with the day’s washing on the porch. It was long and tiresome work for all, and after several hours, they rested on the porch with pie and milk. It was not until Mrs. O’Malley remarked that Thomas should have been home that Phoebe realized how long she had been gone. “Oh dear!” she said, sitting up. “I must be going. My father will be worried sick.” “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “you must go before it gets too dark. That’s my girl. Everyone, say goodbye to Phoebe. Oh, good! There’s Thomas,” she said, discerning her son beyond the picket fence that surrounded the garden.

As soon as Phoebe finished saying her goodbyes, Thomas made his appearance on the porch. “Hello, family,” he said cheerily. “Phoebe, are you leaving?” “Yes, she must,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Not alone?” “No, I was going to ask you to see her home safely for us.” “Oh, no,” said Phoebe. “It’s not dark yet, and I have plenty of time to get home safely. Besides, Thomas looks fatigued already. Thank you anyway. Goodbye!” She walked away to her horse. A nod from Mrs. O’Malley sent her son back to his own horse. He went to Phoebe’s first to offer his help, but she refused, then he mounted his own and waited for her. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself home,” she said. “I know you are,” said Thomas. “But it isn’t safe for you to travel alone.” “My father lets me. That should be enough for everyone concerned,” said Phoebe, starting off. Thomas followed. “I’m sure he would object to you traveling alone this close to nightfall. Or does he not think much of your safety?” Phoebe turned to Thomas suddenly. “My father takes excellent care of me, and he always thinks of my safety.” “Then he won’t mind my seeing you home.” He smiled. Phoebe turned away and said nothing. They rode in silence until reaching the gate at Phoebe’s house. “Thank you for seeing me home,” said Phoebe, “but surely I can manage from here.” “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with your father before leaving.”

“About what?” she said, worried. “Your safety,” he said obviously as they ed the gate. “You wouldn’t!” He avoided her eyes, and Phoebe grew horrified. What would her father think? A young man he hardly knew, advising him about his own daughter’s safety. And then fear that it might be misconstrued as something else made Phoebe dismount quickly and stand between Thomas and the door. “Thomas, please don’t do this!” she said frantically. “Please, don’t say anything to him.” “Why?” “You have no right.” He froze in surprise. The beginning of a smile played across his face, but he looked as wounded as he was incredulous. “Not even as a brother, Phoebe?” “No,” she said after some silence. The strangest expression showed itself for half a second before he replied, “But, I thought—Phoebe, I promised you, years ago...” “That you would always be my brother, no matter what. That was before I knew my parents were still alive. My father doesn’t know how close we were. If you spoke to him about my safety, he might think...Anyway, we can’t go on pretending anymore, it wouldn’t be viewed the right way, not by my father or anyone else.” “Pretending?” he repeated. “Oh, Phoebe! What about Mam and Da? What about Fiona and the twins and Jack? Phoebe, you wouldn’t have the heart to tell Jack that he was no longer your brother, why do you tell me this?” Nothing came to her, and the idea that she was inflicting pain made her hang her head in tears. He was about to comfort her when she ran into the house, and he was left to wonder as he started home what might have happened if she stayed.

Phoebe ran straight to her room, unnoticed by her father in his study, and had enough time to wash her face before going to see him. “Hello, Father,” she said quietly, for he was dozing away in his chair over a book. “Oh,” he said, noticing her. “Hello, daughter. Did you enjoy yourself today?” “Yes, Father,” she said. “But I’m sorry for coming home so late.” “Whoever said it was late?” he asked rhetorically, checking his watch. “Why, it isn’t even dinnertime yet.” “I don’t know,” she said, taking a seat beside him. “I just thought you would want me to be home before it was too dark outside, that’s all.” “Oh, there’s still some daylight to spare, and I know you’re a sensible enough girl to be home before dark. Don’t worry, daughter, I won’t send you to bed without supper, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Phoebe forced a smile and said, “No, Father,” as he kissed her head, and she went to offer her help with dinner.

Chapter 31

Hopeless Mr. James and his daughter didn’t see much of the O’Malley family until Sunday, when Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley invited Phoebe and her father to dinner. Mr. James accepted before catching his daughter’s reluctant expression, and they followed behind the O’Malleys as they went home. Thomas ran to Phoebe’s door to help her out of the carriage, but she stepped past his offered hand and ed the others as they walked into the house. Mr. James gave Thomas a friendly clap on the shoulder as he stepped out of the carriage, but it was little encouragement to the disappointed lad. Phoebe helped Betsy prepare dinner. It was just like old times—last month to be exact—as she prepared each dish as she ed. Phoebe hated to own it to herself, but she had such a deep sense of home at the O’Malleys’ that did not compare with life at her father’s house, and she despised herself for it. She went about her tasks like clockwork, setting out the dishes, food, and butter, quietly telling Jack to wash again, and taking her usual seat at the table. She allowed her mind to be occupied with old habits, no longer caring about how her behavior would seem to Thomas. She was home, and she wanted to enjoy it without worrying about his feelings. Fiona knew something was wrong with Phoebe, and she watched her intently, trying to discover what it was. She looked around to see if anyone else could tell that Phoebe was much less cheerful than she used to be, but no one seemed to notice. But when Fiona saw Thomas’s face, her eyes popped open. He was watching Phoebe too, but not as if he were trying to figure out what the matter was. It was as if Phoebe were a part of another universe, and he a mere mortal simply granted the ability to be in her presence. Fiona’s world crashed around her. Thomas was in love with Phoebe! Her head

swam. Did Phoebe know? Was that what was making her so quiet?... “Fiona, dear, are you all right?” Her mother looked at her in earnest solicitude. Fiona blinked and slowly nodded, “Yes, Mam. I’ll be fine.” “All right then,” said Mrs. O’Malley, unconvinced. Everyone was now seated at the table, and Mr. O’Malley cleared his throat to say grace. Everyone held hands, except Phoebe and Thomas. He had placed his open hand next to hers on the table, but she pretended not to see it. Mr. O’Malley looked at Phoebe and nodded towards Thomas’s hand. Phoebe took it without looking, and everyone bowed their heads. Amens were said, and Thomas still held Phoebe’s hand, trying to make eye with her. She took her hand away and proceeded to eat. Fiona smiled. Good for you, Phoebe! Mr. James’ best topics were business, politics, and philosophy, but Mr. O’Malley could not be persuaded to discuss these things on Sunday. Therefore, once the weather and the morning’s sermon were exhausted, silence prevailed, and lunch was soon over. Mr. James politely indicated that it was time he and his daughter were leaving, and goodbyes were said. Mrs. O’Malley kissed Phoebe’s cheek, saying, “Take good care of yourself, my darling.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Phoebe. She told Fiona, Betsy, and Mr. O’Malley goodbye, and then the twins and Jack. She knelt to embrace Jack and couldn’t resist lifting him in her arms as she used to. “Goodbye, Jack,” she said. “Will you come tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know if I can.” “Then I’ll come see you!” Phoebe smiled and, without thinking, said, “As long as you have someone with you.” Her words echoed in her own ear. She detected a smile from Thomas in the corner of her eye as Jack kissed her cheek, and she set him down. Thomas was still smiling as he shook hands with her. “Take care, Phoebe,” he said. She nodded briefly and turned to Mrs. O’Malley again for her final goodbye. Mr. James helped his daughter into the carriage, and they departed amidst shouted goodbyes and waved hands. “I have to it, daughter,” said Mr. James half a mile later, “I had never expected you to treat anyone so ill as you treated Thomas O’Malley today.” Phoebe looked at her father in surprise. “How do you mean, Father?” “I think you know, my dear.” She blushed and looked down. “I didn’t mean to be so rude to him today.” “Is there any particular reason for it? I wouldn’t be concerned, but I feel that he has been a good friend to us, and I would like to be aware of any defects in his character.” “Nothing in particular, Papa.” “What is it then? Or do I ask too much?” “Not at all,” she said quickly. “But—” “What is it, daughter?” “Father, is it right for a young man who once considered someone his sister to

continue behaving in a familiar way, even after circumstances change?” “Ah,” said Mr. James, nodding his head slowly. “Well, I would say that depended on the way he behaved—theoretically speaking, of course—Can you offer me an example?” At this point, Phoebe decided he might as well know everything. “Well,” she said, “the other day, he nearly addressed you about my safety.” “Indeed? And what stopped him?” “I did.” Mr. James tried to keep a straight face and simply nodded in comprehension. “You see, Father, it hardly would have been proper, would it?” “Mm, no,” he said slowly. “No, I can see your point. But if one was truly concerned about your safety, would propriety then have much weight on one’s behavior?” “I suppose not,” Phoebe itted quietly. “What, may I ask, prompted this concern?” “I was about to ride home alone the other evening. Thomas and Mrs. O’Malley objected to it, but I told them you let me go many places alone, and that I had plenty of time to get home before dark. But he accompanied me anyway.” Mr. James spent a moment in deep thought. “Well,” he said at last, “I can see both sides of the argument. I have let you go places on your own before. But, on the whole, I think I must agree with Thomas O’Malley and his mother. They were wise to make sure you were safe, and I think they both deserve our gratitude.” “Yes, Father. But you don’t think that would have been taking too much liberty? I mean, wouldn’t you have been surprised at his speaking to you?” “I probably would have,” he itted honestly. “But, just the same, it shows

some strength of character to push beyond the limits of decorum to ensure the safety of someone we care about.” Phoebe felt herself blush at this, but she didn’t know why. “So,” said Mr. James, “if it’s all the same to you, I would like for you to be a little kinder to our friend from now on. And I think I shall take the advice he never gave me: I no longer want you to travel more than, let’s say, half a mile away from home by yourself, and never in the dark or close to sunset. Furthermore, I will accompany you personally on these excursions to see the O’Malleys, so that we may relieve the minds of everyone concerned.” Phoebe, hearing beyond the sternness of her father’s voice, smiled at this arrangement, for it would allow her to spend more time with her father, and it would give him opportunity to know and love the O’Malleys as she did, so she happily replied, “Yes, Father.” Satisfied, Mr. James began his Sunday nap, only to be interrupted by the carriage coming to a stop in front of the house and a short walk indoors to his chair by the fire.

MONDAY BROUGHT FORTH a disappointed Phoebe. She was disappointed in herself for the way she behaved towards Thomas the day before, and the recesses of her mind were filled with how she might make amends to him. She hoped Jack would still want to visit her, and that Thomas would be the one to accompany him. She realized if he did, it would be later in the afternoon since Thomas had to work. Therefore, her mind would be uneasy till then. That morning, Phoebe did so much housework that hardly anything was left for Mrs. Bell. She sought distraction and found plenty. She dusted shelves, swept the floors, made beds, lit the fires, and organized her father’s books, all before standard calling hours. She was sweeping the hearth in the parlor when the doorbell rang, and, thinking what a sight she must’ve been, she answered the door to a small boy with freckles and dark curly hair. “Jack!” said Phoebe, sweeping him up with one arm and looking about anxiously. “You didn’t come all this way by yourself, did you?” She continued looking left and right, growing angry at the thought that this might be some cruel joke on Thomas’s part. “No, he didn’t,” came a tired, motherly voice from the walk in front of the house. “Oh, thank goodness!” sighed Phoebe. “No, thank the good Lord I still have the strength to keep up with my child.” “Hi, Phoebe!” said Jack, kissing her cheek. “Hello, Jack,” said Phoebe, relievedly setting him down. “Thank you for coming to see me.” “You’re welcome!” he said, standing proudly. “He did not let anyone forget that he was coming to see Phoebe today, from yesterday afternoon till this morning,” said Mrs. O’Malley exhaustedly.

“Mamma,” said Phoebe in concern bordering reproach, “did you walk all this way?” Mrs. O’Malley touched Phoebe’s cheek with a smile. “Don’t worry, dear. The exercise did me good, and it suits this one better than being confined to a moving box longer than ten minutes,” she indicated her youngest. “Come sit down,” requested Phoebe, moving towards the parlor. “Oh, thank you, dear. It’s a bit warm today, isn’t it, for October? I brought you a jar of preserves. But I’m afraid you’re wearing yourself out with all this housework, my girl.” “Not at all,” said Phoebe, “I like to be busy. It keeps me out of trouble.” “Yes, unless, of course, one is busy getting into trouble,” said Mrs. O’Malley, removing a trinket from her son’s hand. Mr. James then came from his study to greet their guests. “Jack came to pay us a visit, Father, and he brought Mrs. O’Malley along as well. Isn’t that nice?” explained Phoebe, smiling playfully at Mrs. O’Malley. “Yes, that was very kind of him. How do you do, Jack?” he said, shaking the boy’s hand in a distinguished manner. “How’d’you do?” mimicked Jack. “And how are you, Mrs. O’Malley?” “Well, to be polite, Mr. James, I’m doing just fine. How are you?” “Excellent,” he said. “This crisp air makes me feel younger every day.” “Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind walking my son back home once our visit is over?” Mr. James chuckled. “Well, I’d be happy to, but I think it might be more practical if Mr. Bell drove you home in our carriage.” Phoebe smiled at her father as Mrs. O’Malley replied, “That’s too good of you,

sir, but I would not hear of it if you had intended it for another use.” “Not at all. It would be our pleasure.” “Well, thank you. You’re very kind.” Phoebe had fetched some tea and brought it directly to Mrs. O’Malley. And, seeing that she had good company in her father, Phoebe sought to amuse Jack on the lawn. Jack, by a lucky chance, had brought a ball, and they played with it for several minutes before Mr. Bell’s dog ed in, and half an hour later, Mrs. O’Malley and Mr. James sought the whereabouts of their children. They were outside under a tree. Jack was exercising his reading skills with Phoebe’s help on the hard words, Phoebe had brought out some knitting, and the gardener’s dog lay nearby with Jack’s ball next to her nose. Mr. James and Mrs. O’Malley perceived this scene from the parlor window, and Mrs. O’Malley, now revived from her walk, announced her departure to her host. “I’m afraid I must tear my son away now, Mr. James, or he might never come with me.” “It was kind of you to bring him. It does my daughter good to spend time with her other family.” Mrs. O’Malley, flattered as she was by this acknowledgment, saw the father’s heart behind it. “It does us good too. But you mustn’t forget, sir, nothing can ever take a father’s place in a girl’s heart, no matter the distance of time or space. It’s true, we were family to her, and she was loved as a daughter and a sister. She still is. But you are her father, and no one can replace you.” Mr. James smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Malley.” Mrs. O’Malley patted the back of his hand in a motherly fashion and went to perform the deed of taking her son home.

Mr. James ordered the carriage, and Mrs. O’Malley made her way to the pair in the shade. “All right, my darlings, I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome.” “Already?” exclaimed Jack. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said Phoebe. Mrs. O’Malley touched a finger to her lips at Phoebe and encouraged her son to come with her. Phoebe then had an idea. “Suppose he stays for the afternoon, and Thomas comes to get him on his way home? Father mentioned a book yesterday that he wanted him to have. He could come for that as well.” Mrs. O’Malley considered this a moment and, looking at her youngest, said, “Would you be a good boy if I left you with Phoebe for the afternoon?” “Yes, Mamma.” “Will you come obediently with your brother when he comes to get you?” “Yes, Mamma.” “All right. Give Mamma a kiss and be on your best behavior. Are you quite sure, Phoebe?” “Yes, Mamma,” she said. “We’ll be on our best behavior, won’t we, Jack?” “Mm-hm,” said Jack, looking confidently at his mother. “All right then. Goodbye, my loves. Phoebe, don’t get too tired, and take care of each other.” “Yes, ma’am,” they called after her, resuming their previous activities.

MRS. O’MALLEY STOPPED at Thomas’s office on her way home to leave him a message, but word quickly spread that she was there, and Thomas left his desk to receive the message in person. “Hello, Mam,” he said enthusiastically. “Hello, son.” “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “To whom, dear boy—Phoebe and Jack. I took your brother for his little visit this morning, and the two of them refused to be parted for the afternoon. You’re in charge of bringing him home later.” Thomas smiled. “Sure, Mam. I’ll be happy to.” “Now, he’s promised to be well-behaved and to come quietly with you this evening, and Phoebe mentioned something about a book her father wanted you to have.” “Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” “Yes,” she said, reaching into her basket. “You forgot your lunch today. I’ll expect you to it in the future, unless you want to starve one of these days. I won’t always be able to bring it to you, dear.” “Okay, Mam. You’re the best!” “Thank you, son. Now, you’d best get back to your work, and please don’t forget your brother like you did your lunch.” “I won’t, Mam. I promise.” And with a satisfied nod, Mrs. O’Malley parted from her son.

IT WAS A PLEASANT AFTERNOON to everyone in the James’ house, to Phoebe and Jack because they enjoyed each other’s company, and to Mr. James because of the glimpse he caught of what his daughter had been like in his absence. He only wished his wife could share in his pleasure. Phoebe put off her housekeeping duties for the day, and Mr. James happily watched his daughter enjoy herself at home. The afternoon ed quickly, ending with the three of them sitting in the study, Mr. James in his chair, Jack huddled in the one opposite, and Phoebe sitting on a stool, reading a story, mostly to Jack, but to the enjoyment of her father as well. The front door stood open, allowing a slight breeze to enter of its own accord. Sweet autumn air filled the house, and Jack fell asleep as Phoebe read to him. She was about to close the book, but her father requested her to finish the chapter for his sake. They were thus occupied when a visitor arrived at the open door. He pushed it further to it himself and followed the sound of Phoebe’s voice. He paused in the open doorway to survey the picture and stood for a moment in perfect happiness. Mr. James eventually noticed his presence and touched his daughter’s shoulder. She stopped reading and looked up. An instantaneous smile overspread her face, and she rose to greet him. “How are you, Thomas?” she said just above a whisper. “Miss James,” he said, smiling politely, and he moved to shake her father’s hand. Phoebe was offended by the formal “Miss James,” but she realized she deserved it after her recent behavior to him, and she felt hopeless. Mr. James invited Thomas to be seated, and Phoebe began to bring a chair around for him. But Thomas went to the opposite chair with a patronizing smile and brushed Jack’s hair out of his eyes. Seeing that he wouldn’t wake, he scooped him out of the chair and laid him against his shoulder to take a seat. “Phoebe was just reading to us,” explained Mr. James. “Would you like her to

continue?” “Please,” said Thomas. “Don’t let me interrupt.” Phoebe resumed her seat and finished the chapter her father was so interested in. She felt Thomas watching her for some moments before his attention strayed to something beyond the room. He stroked his brother’s head absentmindedly as his mind wandered. Phoebe closed the book after ending the chapter. “That was lovely, dear,” said Mr. James. “Don’t you think so, sir?” he addressed Thomas. “Mm? Oh, yes. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better be going now.” He rose with his sleeping brother in his arms, who woke at the sudden movement. “Mam-m?” he mumbled. “No, we’re going home to Mamma,” said Thomas. “Say goodbye.” But the powers of speech were not yet restored to the child, and he reached out a hand to Phoebe in goodbye. She kissed it with a fond smile, and Jack gave a babyish wave to Mr. James. Thomas proceeded to carry Jack outside, but not before pausing at the coat rack, attempting to retrieve his things with one hand. Phoebe then took his coat and held it up for him. He had no choice but to accept her help, and with a reluctant smile, he allowed her to assist him. She placed his coat on his shoulders and his hat on his head. It rested at a funny angle because of his relative height to hers, and she opened the door for him, beaming with pride that he let her help. A polite “thank you” was all he said. But as he spoke, there was an irrepressible smile that he tried to hide. It showed itself plainly to Phoebe, and she no longer

felt as hopeless as she had before.

Chapter 32

Where Thomas Was Phoebe was much occupied in the following weeks as the date of Mrs. Winston’s party drew nearer, but this did not prevent her from spending time with her father and the O’Malleys. Mr. James was true to his word that he would accompany his daughter on her visits to see the O’Malleys, and since he owned a share in the farm, he had a secondary inducement to make frequent visits. This allowed Phoebe some freedom to do as she liked, whether she helped with housework, gardened with Fiona, or played with Jack and the twins. They seldom saw Thomas on these visits, but he amended for this by regularly calling on his way home from the office. Mr. James grew fond of his company and enjoyed discussing business and philosophy with him and exchanging books as he did with General Johnson. Every now and then, Thomas was allowed a day off from work if the previous days’ work was satisfactory, and on these occasions, he paid his visits in the morning. One such morning, Phoebe was setting off to pay Mrs. Winston a return call and stepped out the door, feeling scatterbrained, and nearly ran into Thomas. He steadied her and politely said, “Good morning, Miss James.” Phoebe ignored his formality and warmly said, “Good morning, Thomas. I’m sorry I can’t stay, but Father’s in his study. He’ll be happy to see you. Maybe I can make it back in time to play for you. I’ve just bought some new music for the piano. It’s Schubert. I know he’s one of your favorites.” “Where are you going?” “To Mrs. Winston’s house.”

“Oh, yes. Fiona told me you were planning your father’s party. When is that to take place?” “In a week. Have you not received an invitation?” “Yes, my mother told me, but the date slipped my mind.” “You’ll come, won’t you?” “I suppose so, but I don’t generally like parties.” “But it’s for Father. Surely you would want to celebrate his return as much as anyone. He thinks of you as his friend, you know. He might be disappointed if you didn’t come.” “Would you be?” “I certainly would.” “Then I will certainly come.” Phoebe beamed. “Thank you, Thomas.” Thomas quickly averted his eyes. “Your father is in his study?” “Yes. Shall I announce you?” she said eagerly. “No, thank you,” he said, ascending the steps. “Good day, Miss James.” “Good day, Thomas!” she called, walking down the driveway. Thomas entered the house and knocked on the study doors. “Come in,” said Mr. James. He was sitting at his desk, reviewing his household s. “Good day, sir,” said Thomas. Mr. James looked up over his spectacles. “Thomas O’Malley, how are you?” He rose to shake his hand.

“Well enough,” he said. “Glad to hear it. My daughter was kind enough to leave me a pot of tea for company. Help yourself.” “Thank you.” “Are you enjoying the book I lent you?” “Very much. I must compliment your taste in literature.” “Well, to be honest, that book belongs to the general. He lent it to me because he wanted my opinion on it, but I didn’t get past ten pages before deciding to lend it to you. I was hoping you might tell me what it was about.” Thomas enjoyed the joke thoroughly and said, “Then I’ll read it through your eyes as well, sir.” “Excellent. What is it about so far?” “Honestly, I have no idea, but it is very well written.” It was Mr. James’s turn to laugh as he helped himself to the tea. “My daughter’s housekeeping skills are improving daily. Though I must it, I had not thought it possible at first. Mind you, I was against it for a time, but it seems to make her happy.” “Yes,” said Thomas, “I believe some people receive even more joy from serving others than the ones being served.” “Her mother was the same way. Always giving. She never grew tired of it, even unto her death.” Mr. James grew pensive. Thomas maintained a respectful silence before saying, “I’m sorrier than I can express about your loss, sir.” “As am I, but your condolences are deeply appreciated.” Silence lapsed for some minutes before Mr. James spoke again.

“We did our best, didn’t we?” Thomas looked up, then nodded, setting down his teacup. He gulped before speaking. “I would have never known such resilience was possible had I not seen it before in your daughter.” “And now you’ve seen where she gets it from,” said Mr. James with a smile. “She so wanted to see Phoebe again.” Thomas was quiet from a sudden lump in his throat. “What made you volunteer?” asked Mr. James. Thomas unconsciously glanced about the room, for fear that someone was listening. “There is always something,” said Mr. James, “beyond mere patriotism that keeps a man going in such situations. What was it for you?” Thomas was uncomfortably quiet. “May I venture a guess?” “Yes, sir,” Thomas said quietly. “You see, first of all, there is something that has been puzzling me for quite some time, but I have not had the opportunity to mention it until now. It would seem that my daughter has had reason to believe that you once resented her presence in your family, and possibly still do.” Thomas was about to contradict Mr. James when he spoke again. “I’m not saying I believe her apprehensions,” he said quickly. “I’m the kind of man who likes to find out things for himself before drawing conclusions. I hope you don’t mind, but I made a point to observe your behavior until I could ask you about it personally, and I found nothing that ed her fears. “In fact, I have seen much evidence to the contrary. So much that I now have

reason to believe that you could never have resented her for anything in the world.” “Sir?” “What I’m trying to say, Mr. O’Malley, is I believe you are in love with my daughter and have been for quite some time.” Thomas set down his cup and saucer again, for his hand began to tremble. He rose from his chair and stood facing the fireplace, fidgeting in his pockets. ... “What you say, sir,” said Thomas at length, “is true.” “Ah,” nodded Mr. James. “As a matter of curiosity, may I ask how long?” “About three years, sir.” “Hm,” Mr. James nodded again. “Well, I think I begin to understand.” Thomas looked at Mr. James. “Sir,” he said, “before you proceed much further in your thoughts, will you allow me to explain myself?” “By all means.” Thomas felt intimidated and did not know where to begin. At last, he found it. “To be honest with you, sir, I have loved her since the first moment I saw her.” Mr. James nodded, for he knew that was usually the case in such matters. “But I didn’t know it at the time. She was truly like family to me, and I treated her as such, and you may know by now that she never considered me anything but a brother.” Mr. James nodded again. “Yes, that’s been apparent to me for some time. Your mother informed me the other day about an incident with Mr. Wilson. I must thank you for that, but I have since wondered if your efforts were purely disinterested then?” “They were, sir.”

There was no room for Mr. James to doubt Thomas’s honesty. “Mm. Proceed.” “She had been grieved over that instance, and I was worried that she might never forgive me, but I’m afraid I only earned her trust all the more, and she depended on me as any sister would have her older brother. “You must forgive me and my family, sir, for taking such liberty as to treat her like a blood relative. We had assumed it was certain that you and Mrs. James had...” “Oh, yes, I know. So did we, at one point. But, please continue.” “Well, one summer, my mother planned a trip to see my aunt at the seashore. Phoebe went along with her, and while she was there, an accident occurred.” “About her foot, you mean?” “Yes, sir. Those of us who stayed home received news of it and went to see her as soon as possible. My mother said she had grown despondent from being confined to a couch for so long. But when we arrived, she almost forgot she had been injured and nearly overexerted herself a few times. “We took turns looking out for her and helping her get some fresh air every day. It did her good, and she healed quickly, but one day, her recovery was set back.” “You needn’t recount that. Phoebe told me. She said Mr. Davies had proposed to her, and she refused him, and that he left her alone, so she tried to manage walking on her own.” “Yes,” said Thomas, growing pale, “my mother was upset that no one had listened out for her, and she left me to look after Phoebe while she spoke to my aunt. “This, sir, is when I must confess that I discovered how I felt about her. I never told her, nor did I ever express it to her or anyone else. I continued to help her while considering myself the worst sort of person that ever lived. I prayed that the burden would be taken from me, at least for Phoebe’s sake, but it only grew worse. I had to leave home, but they needed my help until she could walk again.

So I waited until she had healed enough. I even made her a cane, hoping it would allow her to walk sooner.” “Yes, she’s shown me that before. I must compliment your craftsmanship.” “Thank you,” said Thomas, barely listening. “The morning before I left,” he continued, “I gave that to her. But she could tell something was wrong. I worrying that she had guessed the truth, but I had taken such pains to hide it. I almost had to lie to her, but no false explanation came to mind that was good enough. So I asked her to believe that, if I could have told her, I would have. “She was then resigned not to know the truth. She had been so used to me confiding in her over the years, it was hard for her to understand, but she trusted me anyway. “I left that afternoon, hoping I might eventually forget about her, but you can imagine how difficult that was. So, after a month or two, an idea came to me. I ed that, the year Phoebe came to us, she wanted my parents to adopt her. My father had inquired into the legality of the matter and learned that proof was required...” Mr. James nodded in comprehension. “So he went to General Johnson to explain things, and he sent out a search party to discover what had become of you and Mrs. James. Well, at this point, I was more curious than ever, so I wrote to the general, asking for any information he could give me. He replied that some of his former officers were working tirelessly to find out anything they could and had followed the trail of several rumors, all of which had come to nothing. He said if there had been another man or two on the job, it might have been quicker work, but I don’t think he suspected I would offer my own services.” “Which you did.” “Yes, sir. I was enrolled in the university at the time, but I still had a few weeks before courses began, so I wrote to him, offering my help. He was surprised, but he said one lead hadn’t been investigated yet. It didn’t seem hopeful, but he gave me permission to follow it, and I accepted, asking him to keep it a secret. I did all I could within the time I had. I even had a trusted friend in my dormitory

forward my mail from home and send my replies so that my family wouldn’t suspect anything. “But I was forced to give up the search and return to school. I reported my lack of success to General Johnson, who was grateful that I had ever gone in the first place, and he advised me to focus on my studies. “I took his advice, but as soon as the holidays arrived, I requested another assignment. By this time, the general was confused. All his men had requested to be at home with their families except me. My family he knew personally, so he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to be with them. But he let me have my way without any questions. Again, it was another hopeless trail, one I had to abandon in the middle of the search, only to discover that it was futile the following summer. “I returned to my dormitory with an illness that took many weeks to recover from. At one point, I wondered if I would have to confess everything to my family and have them come see me. In moments of delirium, I nearly did just that. “Thankfully, I started showing signs of improvement and didn’t think any more about writing a letter of self-pity and confession. But the letters I received from home had become a bit grave. My mother missed me, and our dog was ill and in his last days. I sent as much comfort as I could by letter, but I knew that wasn’t enough. “A week later, I received a letter from Phoebe, asking if I cared for my family at all. She said she was disappointed in my behavior, and whatever secret I was keeping was surely not worth such neglect. She was right. I had not proved myself to be a very good son or brother by abandoning them for what felt like a selfish pursuit of information. I struggled between keeping my distance from Phoebe for the sake of propriety and proving myself to have the same love for my family as ever. “Eventually, I went home, only to find that Phoebe had taken better care of my family than anyone else could have. But she was exhausted, and I felt that I had done her a greater injustice than anyone else.” Thomas paused a moment, wondering where to go on.

“She forgave me too easily,” he continued. “We saw Nicodemus through his last days, and we grieved together as a family—I would be lying, sir, if I did not it that I enjoyed what little time I had at home. I might have stayed longer than necessary, but I soon realized that I had to leave. “After many months of searching for you and Mrs. James, I began to wonder, if you could not be found, if there was some chance Phoebe might feel the same way about me as I felt about her. The fact that she had written to me secretly made me hopeful, but, once I learned the reason for it, I gave up any hope of that sort. Her motives were nothing but the purest and most selfless I could have imagined of anyone, including herself. “I left early the next morning, leaving a note of explanation to my mother. My father had already guessed one aspect of my secret, but he did not know what I had been doing with my summer and Christmas holidays. By this time, I felt it right to tell them both, for I had determined not to go on any more excursions that would be a threat to my safety and a possible detriment to my family. I was resigned to be eternally miserable where Phoebe was concerned, and I focused all the more on my studies. “I graduated the following year and took a promising job with Mr. Simpson. By that time, I had begun to accept the way things would be from then on, until I received another letter from General Johnson, saying that a lead from the South had not yet been traced and none of his men were willing to go. I was his last hope. I had done many favors for my employer, so I requested the time that I thought would be necessary for such an expedition and wrote to the general, telling him I would go.” Thomas smiled before continuing. “I must say, sir, if you were trying to make yourself difficult to find, you did an excellent job of it.” Mr. James laughed. “I’ve told you before why we were encamped by that swamp. Hostility was still high. People were looking for us, besides you and the general. If we hadn’t been hidden so well, all your efforts would have been in vain, and Phoebe would not have her father with her today.” Silence lapsed. “Does she know?” asked Thomas.

“Not by my own . Though, I must say, your recent history makes it a far greater temptation for me to tell her.” “No, sir, please,” said Thomas quickly. “I would hate to have her think she was indebted to me for something I felt was only for myself. I couldn’t bear the thought.” “All right then, have your own way. But, regardless of your motives, we are deeply indebted to you. You have reunited a family and braved hardship where no other man would dare go. You have done a great service, not just for me and my wife and daughter, but for your country as well. It takes a true soldier, not just to fight a battle, but to care for his fellow man and to restore hope where it was lost. You will always have my gratitude and esteem for your efforts.” Thomas was too moved for many words. “Thank you, sir,” he managed. “May I ask you something?” said Mr. James. “Of course.” “If what you say is true, and you didn’t search for me and my wife to earn Phoebe’s love, but to satisfy a matter of curiosity to yourself—which, I’m gathering, was whether or not you might hope that she could love you without worrying about the propriety of the matter—how do you intend to court such a young lady without her knowing the truth?” “I have no intention of the sort, sir.” “I beg your pardon?” “I do not intend to show her any more feeling or attention than I ought, without evidence that she may have some regard for me beyond that of a former family member.” Mr. James took a moment to absorb this. “How strange,” he said quietly to himself. “A young man, who has every advantage in the world of making the young lady he loves, love him in return, does not want to reveal himself unless he knows the young lady has some partiality for him first.”

“More or less, sir. I once resigned myself to be satisfied if I never saw her again. I am now more blessed than I could have ever imagined, and, as long as she is happy, I can endure anything.” Mr. James considered the human being before him as if he were another creature entirely. He then looked at the air, raising his eyebrows. “Well,” he said finally, “I can honestly say I wish you well. You have proven yourself to be honorable in every respect—whether you meant to or not. I have found nothing to reproach about your character, and I have seen proof for myself that you are an exemplary young man. So, I regret to say that, should she ever grow to love you as much as you do her, I will gladly give you my blessing.” Thomas, during this conversation, had not expected it to take such a turn. He was far too glad for many words and shook both of Mr. James’s hands, saying, “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much!” Mr. James smiled back into the youth’s eyes that mirrored so well the expression he himself wore many years ago about a certain young lady, and suddenly, he felt sorry for him. The sound of the front door opening came from outside the study. “Father?” Thomas smiled at the sound of Phoebe’s voice but quickly turned to Mr. James. “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” he said, taking his things from a nearby chair, “I’d like to leave unnoticed today.” He indicated a side door. “Ah, yes,” said Mr. James, opening it. “Good day to you.” “And a good day to you and yours, sir!” called Thomas as he ran toward the avenue. “Father?” came Phoebe’s voice again. She opened the study doors to see her father reading by the fire with his feet propped upon a stool as if he had been there for hours. “There you are, Papa!” She kissed his head. “Has Thomas left already?” she

asked, taking off her coat and sitting opposite her father to warm her feet. “Yes. Only just.” “In all this rain?” she said incredulously. “He won’t notice, dear.” “He might catch cold.” “I believe he has a stronger constitution than that.” “Suppose I run after him with an umbrella,” said Phoebe, moving to do so. “Stay where you are. I’m more worried about you catching cold than him. He was well covered when he left. I wouldn’t worry, dear.” “Yes, Father,” said Phoebe, reg herself to stay, and she curled up in her chair with a book. Phoebe absentmindedly rubbed her bad foot as she read. It was a rainy day, and the smarting of her old injury made her think back to the day she walked with her father, how Thomas had asked her so kindly how her foot was. A smile made its way to her face as she ed how he had taken her hand and told her she was a trooper. And just then, it occurred to her that any time she felt offended by his behavior, the offense had only been brought on by herself. This thought made Phoebe regret not having made her visit to Mrs. Winston shorter so she might have had opportunity to be kinder to Thomas as requested by her father.

Chapter 33

The Ball Unfortunately for Thomas, one of the reasons Mr. James wished him well regarding his daughter was that he was apparently not her only irer. Flowers and notes arrived at least twice a week, some of which Phoebe smiled and blushed over, others she laughed about to her father. And poor Mr. James, amidst this turmoil of youths vying for Phoebe’s heart, could not reveal to her the one he was secretly encouraging. But Phoebe, however flattered she was by such attention, always ended up in the same place, seated near her father, professing that she would never leave him for the affection of another. “But,” he once said, unable to help himself, “suppose a young man comes along who loves you, possibly more than I do. Surely you wouldn’t let such a poor fellow be miserable for the sake of your old father?” Phoebe looked shocked for a moment before smilingly reassuring him that no young man could ever love her as her dear “old father” did. Mr. James then sighed to himself over the pitiful state of things, leaving the rest of his thoughts unspoken. During the following week, the excitement of a ball made Phoebe behave several years younger than she really was. This excitement inherently transferred to Fiona whenever she visited, giving Phoebe a ready companion in her enthusiasm. “This will be my first party!” exclaimed Fiona one afternoon. “Probably the only party I’ll ever go to, but still, isn’t it fun, Phoebe? Oh, whatever shall I wear?” “Do you still have the organdy I gave you? I think that would look sweet.” “Yes, but I’ve worn that to church so often. I want to look fancied up a bit.”

Phoebe thought a moment. “Come with me,” she said. She dragged Fiona upstairs to her room, leaving Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy in the company of her father. Fiona, Betsy, and Mrs. O’Malley had come to discuss the party with Phoebe, and the visit was essentially led by the younger half of the foursome. Phoebe ran to the wardrobe in her room and rummaged about for something unbeknownst to Fiona. Fiona waited curiously as Phoebe mumbled to herself. “Where was...? No, that’s not it. I was sure I had—Oh! wait... Here it is!” Pulling out something coral-colored, Phoebe displayed it ceremoniously to Fiona. It was a befringed shawl that complimented Fiona’s red curls beautifully. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Phoebe,” said Fiona, surveying the shawl. “But do you think it will look all right with the organdy?” “If I can persuade my father to take me to the farm today, we can compare the two, but I think it will look fine.” “Yes, I think it will,” said Fiona with a contradicting tone in her voice. Phoebe laughed. “One moment,” she said, quickly disappearing. She returned to say that her father would be happy to take her. “Oh, good! Thank you, Phoebe!” “Just a minute,” said Phoebe, gathering a few more items. “May we go now, Father?” she asked, descending the stairs. “If it seems agreeable to Mrs. O’Malley and Miss Martin.” They consented, and Mr. James and his daughter followed the O’Malleys’ carriage on horseback. At the O’Malleys’, Phoebe tied her horse and followed Fiona into the house. A familiar red head was just visible above an armchair by the fireplace, and Phoebe, on her way to her old room, dropped a kiss upon it.

“Hello, Dad!” she said, running off behind Fiona without waiting for a response. The owner of the head rose to see the last of Phoebe running up the stairs, and Thomas didn’t know whether to be offended that Phoebe thought he was his father, or to smile because she had kissed him. Once upstairs, Phoebe and Fiona had an outfit assembled within a few minutes, and Fiona was finally at ease. “But,” she said, “what are you going to wear, Phoebe? I meant to ask you earlier.” “Oh, never mind,” said Phoebe mischievously. “I’d like to surprise you. My father allowed me to buy something new just this once, but I’d rather you didn’t see it just yet.” “All right then,” said Fiona, a little disappointed. By that time, word had spread that Phoebe had come, and George, Jimmy, and Jack burst into the room to Fiona’s dismay. “Now, look here!” she cried. “Can’t you see that we’re busy? Get along! All of you!” But poor Fiona had no helper in Phoebe, for she was just as happy to see the boys as they were to see her and found herself in the middle of a heap of children on the floor. “Now, Fiona,” said Mrs. O’Malley, ing the doorway, “you mustn’t expect to have Phoebe all to yourself when she comes.” “But she came particularly to help me with my outfit, not to play with the boys,” said Fiona to the now vacant doorway. “But we’ve got your outfit taken care of, haven’t we?” said Phoebe. “And now I have plenty of time to play. Come on, Fiona.” Phoebe ran out the door led by the boys, and Fiona found it hard not to follow. They ran past the unnoticed Mr. O’Malley, Mr. James, and Thomas sitting on the

porch discussing business. They began a game of blind man’s bluff, and Mr. James was surprised to see his dignified young lady romping about in a blindfold. One shock gave way to another as the younger Mr. O’Malley politely excused himself and ed the others. But Mr. O’Malley was not surprised at all when Mr. James looked at him questioningly. “My wife,” explained Mr. O’Malley, “has always encouraged the young’uns to get plenty of fresh air and exercise.” “And after they’re young, Mr. O’Malley?” Mr. O’Malley looked up from his pipe, realizing what his companion meant. “Youth, I believe,” he said sagely, “is purely a state of mind, sir, and here we only view it as such.” He resumed his pipe, and Mr. James observed those in the garden with a watchful eye. He regretted to own to himself that Mr. O’Malley was right. Of all those playing, not one of them seemed to be older than the other, whether they were five or twenty-five. Phoebe was still unaware that Thomas was home for the day, but while she was “it,” she quickly determined that there was someone playing besides Fiona who wasn’t shorter than she was. She caught Jack, then George, and then Fiona, and Phoebe was now certain that someone was there besides Jimmy. A tap on her shoulder made her grasp the sleeve on the person’s wrist, and the younger children made fun that Thomas was out. Among those making fun was Fiona, who loved any opportunity to tease her older brother, but her fun was over much too soon. For, as Phoebe removed her blindfold, there appeared a look on her face, visible for only half a second, that reflected the look on Thomas’s face. Once again, Fiona’s world fell apart, and amidst the shouting and hoorays for Jimmy, she watched in dismay as Thomas and Phoebe stood looking at each other longer than necessary. Phoebe blushed slightly and walked away to congratulate Jimmy before going to sit near her father until he was ready to leave. This moment came later than she would have liked, and she went with him readily after bidding everyone goodbye.

Phoebe was quiet on the ride home, giving automatic replies at regular intervals to her father, and once they arrived, she went to her room on the pretense of dressing and fell upon her bed in tears. She refused to own to herself why she was crying. All she knew was that her eyes had been opened that afternoon, and it was a terrible shock.

THE NEXT MORNING, FIONA sought her mother and found her on the porch with a tub of suds and some sheets. “Mother,” said Fiona resolutely. Mrs. O’Malley looked around before shaking her head over the washing. “Any time one of my children calls me ‘mother’ it means something bad is coming.” “It is,” said Fiona, walking to face her mother. “In fact, it’s already here.” “What is?” Fiona was now red in the face. “Mother,” she began again, “Thomas loves Phoebe.” “Well, I should hope so,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “No, I mean like Romeo loves Juliet, only weirder. We’ve got to stop this.” “Stop what? Fiona, what do you know?” “About Thomas and Phoebe,” said Fiona impatiently. Without asking how she found out, Mrs. O’Malley began to wonder if Thomas had finally told Phoebe, and then Phoebe told Fiona. “Why? What’s happened?” she demanded, taking Fiona’s dry hands in her soapy ones. “Mam, haven’t you been listening?” “Of course I have, darling, but has he told her yet?” “Then you know?” said Fiona, repulsed. Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “You’d better sit down, dear.” Fiona sat down on the porch, cross-legged, on the opposite side of the washtub without blinking. Mrs. O’Malley proceeded to explain what was necessary for Fiona to know

about Thomas’s secret but was soon enlightened by an interjection from her daughter. “I knew that already, Mam, but now she loves him.” “Has she told you that?” asked Mrs. O’Malley interestedly. “No, but I’ve seen it. They stood looking at each other for ages yesterday, and then she blushed and walked away.” “Hmm.” “What are we going to do about it?” asked Fiona after some silence. “Should anything be done about it?” Fiona leaned back in horror. “Mam, you can’t be serious!” “Why not?” “She doesn’t need him. He’s a regular tyrant!” “Has he ever been that to her?” Fiona thought back. She ed a time when she suspected that Phoebe was Thomas’s favorite sister, simply because Phoebe had a way of understanding him better than she did. But amidst all this remembrance, something else struck Fiona. “Mam?” “What, dear?” “How long has Thomas been in love with Phoebe?” “Now, never you mind about that. But I believe I can make you feel better about one thing.” “What?” “About yesterday. Just because Phoebe blushed when she looked at Thomas, it

doesn’t necessarily mean that she loves him.” Fiona frowned. “Then what does it mean?” “She may have realized how he felt about her.” This was too much for Fiona, and, still confused, she went to do her chores.

IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, Mr. James often remarked to himself how somber his daughter looked and assumed he knew the cause. “I shall miss her terribly,” he would think to himself and then seek some form of distraction. But Phoebe frequently sought his company and clung to him more than ever. Hardly any visitors came in the days preceding the party, but Mr. James couldn’t help wondering if Phoebe’s behavior would have changed if one visitor in particular had come. This visitor kept his distance on purpose, for he painfully realized the error he had made in not being guarded enough towards Phoebe, and with a sinking heart, he often recalled the expression he had last seen on her face. To what extent she had discovered the truth, Thomas did not know, but he feared his mistake might have distanced her from him forever. The day of Mrs. Winston’s party dawned, and Mr. James saw an improvement in his daughter’s spirits. He was glad of this and silently rejoiced at her gaiety. She spent most of the day in preparation for the ball, and Mr. James did his own part before opening the front door to it the O’Malley family. Fiona barely said hello before learning that Phoebe was in her room, and she ran upstairs to see her. Phoebe had just put on her dress and was straightening the folds of her skirt when a knock came at the door. “Come in.” Fiona entered to see Phoebe standing excitedly in her new dress. It was satin of a light teal color, trimmed with lace, and barely resting upon her shoulders. A small nosegay of soft pink roses adorned her belt, and a floral fan and white gloves waited to complete the outfit. “Oh, Fiona, you look so pretty!” she said clasping her hands in delight. “You look magnificent!” said Fiona. “Just like a princess! Oh, your dress is absolutely beautiful!”

“Do you like it?” asked Phoebe, genuinely anxious but nonetheless conscious that the dress suited her well. “I love it!” Phoebe thanked her modestly. “But I still need your help with this,” she said, picking up a handful of her hair. “No worries, dear,” said Fiona seriously. “Have a seat, please.” Phoebe smilingly occupied the stool at her dressing table as Fiona set to work. Ten minutes later, Phoebe’s hair was a work of art consisting of braids and ringlets, and Fiona stepped back in satisfaction. Phoebe, in all honesty, didn’t care whether her hair looked becoming or not, but it did, and she thanked Fiona happily. She then gathered her effects and started downstairs with Fiona. Mr. James had shown his guests into the parlor and was in absorbing conversation with them when his daughter made her appearance. Thomas had been in the middle of a sentence and broke off abruptly to battle a sudden lump in his throat, Mrs. O’Malley smiled with pride over Mr. James’s shoulder, and Jack ran past everyone to hug Phoebe from the mere excitement of seeing her. Mr. James turned to see his daughter waiting anxiously for his opinion. He stood in iration, saying, “You look beautiful, daughter,” and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, smiling. She then went to Betsy and Mrs. O’Malley to compliment their appearances. “Shall we go?” said Mr. James. Everyone agreed, and he offered his arm to Phoebe before leading the way out the door. They filed out of the James’ gate in their carriages and made their way to Mrs.

Winston’s house. The O’Malleys arrived first, and Phoebe and her father were close behind. Thomas waited on the steps to see that they arrived safely and beat Mr. Bell to the carriage door. “Thank you,” Phoebe managed without looking up as she accepted his help. The frosty autumn air smote her cheeks as she waited for her father, and taking his arm, they ascended the steps together. Mrs. Winston had a beautiful house, perfect for a party, Phoebe thought to herself as they entered the grand foyer. They were not aware of what awaited them beyond the doors to the large hall Mrs. Winston had set apart for the occasion. But, as they rounded the corner, they were met by the applause of over a hundred pairs of congratulatory hands. Phoebe, upon realizing the reason for the gesture, took a step away from her father and applauded him with a proud smile. Thomas also ed the crowd to applaud and received an eloquent look from Mr. James for doing so, but he pretended not to notice. Mrs. Winston went to receive Mr. James with a handshake, and the returned soldier proceeded about the room, shaking hands in appreciation. The first of which he made a point to be Thomas’s, and once he made his way to him, he gave General Johnson the same hearty gesture of gratitude. After he had made his way through the room, there was a general outcry for a speech, and Mr. James indulged them with a raise of his hand to request silence. “Alas, where to begin?” he said quietly, which warranted some courteous laughs from those who stood close enough to hear. Standing next to him, Phoebe smiled, pressed his arm, and nodded encouragingly. He patted her hand fondly, and began, “My friends, first of all, I want to thank each and every one of you for the kindness you’ve shown me and my daughter by your presence tonight and Mrs. Winston for arranging this gathering. I know I am indebted to many of you for kindnesses beyond that, some of which may never be acknowledged as they should, but you may be assured of the warmest and most sincere gratitude on my part.

“I would not be standing before you today if it were not for the valiant and tireless efforts of General Johnson (applause) and the brave men who volunteered their time and energies to the search of an old infantryman and his wife (silence). Had she been here for this occasion, you may all rest assured that you would now be receiving twice the gratitude that I alone can offer and might have had a better speaker standing before you this evening (laughter). “I cannot begin to describe what it means to be reunited with my daughter after so many years. I am certain her gratitude is as great as mine and would be even greater if she were fully aware of all the effort that went into our reunion. “I was fortunate enough upon my return to Hillbrook to find my daughter in excellent health and spirits, due to the kind-hearted efforts of Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley (applause led by Phoebe) and their children (applause led by Jimmy). I shall be eternally grateful to the O’Malley family for caring for my daughter as if she were their own and contributing to the remarkable young woman she is today. “I count myself as most unfortunate not to have known the O’Malleys until recent months. However, I now feel most fortunate to regard them as my esteemed friends and, through the connection of my daughter, my family. “And now, I believe I have spoken long enough, and, if I may take the liberty, (a nod from Mrs. Winston) and if the orchestra will oblige us, may I say, ‘Let the festivities begin!’” Amidst the sound of cheer and applause, the orchestra struck up a merry tune, and Phoebe kissed her father’s cheek before receiving further welcome at his side. Her happiness increased at the sight of General Johnson, and she expressed it in eager appreciation that he had come. He reciprocated her happiness by saying that only a party for an old friend could persuade him from his fireside and books, and she thanked him again before greeting the next guest. “That’s a fine filly you have, sir,” said the general aside to Mr. James. “Thank you, General. I’m afraid I must echo your sentiments.”

“I should think you have some difficulty keeping the bees away from your little rose.” “Indeed, General, but I’m afraid the one I approve of hovers too far away,” he said, covertly nodding towards Thomas O’Malley. The general looked and saw the young man standing in a circle of acquaintances with no attention for their conversation, for his eyes continually wandered to where Phoebe stood greeting the party guests. “Ah, I see,” said the general. “Well, I congratulate you, sir. He’s a fine young man.” “Thank you, General. I think so too.” The general nodded and went to pay his respects to Mrs. Winston. After all pleasantries were exchanged, the orchestra began a waltz. Phoebe and her father led the first dance, and many followed. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley ed in, as well as Thomas and Fiona, and Betsy was asked by a young man that Thomas worked with. The dance soon ended, and another took place. Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley rested, and Mr. James asked Betsy for the honor. Mr. Young, the gentleman from Thomas’s office, asked Phoebe to dance, and Fiona danced with another gentleman. Several more dances took place, and at the end of them, Phoebe went to speak to the general. “Does the old injury prevent us from dancing tonight, General?” “Perhaps,” he said, “but not from enjoying myself, m’dear.” “Well, I happen to know that this next dance will be a bit slower and well suited to old injuries if you’d like to oblige me.” And smiling with a resolute tap of his cane on the floor, he said, “By George! You sure make it hard for an old man to refuse.”

“Then you’ll dance with me?” “I’d be honored to.” She smilingly took his arm and led him to the next dance. Having little memory of her grandparents, she enjoyed the general’s company immensely and felt endeared to him as she would to a grandfather. Despite the pleasure of the dance, the general soon apologized for having to sit down. Phoebe followed and sat nearby. “I’m still your partner, sir,” she explained when he thanked her for the dance, “if you’d like the company.” “I would indeed,” he said, “but it’s a shame for such a pretty girl to have to sit this out, especially with so many agreeable gentlemen in the room.” “The most agreeable of which is yourself, sir.” “Well, thank you. That is very generous of you. But I will only allow you to keep me company now if you are truly enjoying yourself, and if you promise to let me see you dance the next dance.” “Yes, sir,” she said. “I will if I can find a partner.” General Johnson laughed aloud. “I don’t think that’ll be any trouble for you. About half the young men in the room look as if they envied me my companion. But, if it helps us the time, shall I help you select one?” “Oh, no,” giggled Phoebe. “I have been dancing a good deal already. I’d be fine if I saved my remaining energy for another dance or two with my father and kept you company for the rest of the evening.” “I won’t allow it,” he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Now, let’s see...You there! Yes, come here, my lad!” he said, addressing Thomas O’Malley. Thomas came quickly, wondering about the cause of the general’s urgency. Phoebe felt herself blush as she anticipated the general’s purpose.

“Is anything wrong, General?” asked Thomas upon his approach. “Yes, there is,” said the general. “This young lady is at a loss to know who her next partner will be. I wonder if you might oblige us?” “I’m surprised to hear you say that, sir. Miss James has been in high demand all evening.” “I agree with you there, my lad. But she seems to think otherwise and was about to spend the rest of her evening with an old man like me. Now, isn’t that a pity?” “Indeed, sir. But if you ask me, it shows excellent taste in character.” “Well, you young folks certainly have the gift of flattery!” he laughed. “But do me a favor, and don’t let such a pretty girl waste her evening on me. I should like to see her dance some more. It would do my old heart good,” added the General petulantly. “Shall we oblige the general, Phoebe?” asked Thomas, offering his hand. Phoebe couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Thomas was using her first name again, and she took his hand in reply. Thomas proved to be a much better dancer than Phoebe expected, and many glances of iration were cast in their direction, the least of which was Fiona’s, who, though much occupied in her enjoyment of the evening, did not fail to notice that Thomas and Phoebe were dancing. It was yet another blow to her world to see the only person she particularly viewed as a sister dancing happily with the only person that ever made her life miserable. Thomas and Phoebe made an excellent pair to onlookers, but they were both unconscious of this. Phoebe could not put words to what she felt, but Thomas knew his own feelings exactly. He figured heaven itself could not have felt much different. He only wished that moment would last longer than a few minutes, for it was certainly not a moment eternal. For an instant, Phoebe’s expression mirrored his before giving way to one of the utmost gravity. Tears filled her eyes as the dance ended, and Thomas thought himself the lowest being on earth, for, aside from her tears, Phoebe seemed flushed and winded, and he blamed himself for not noticing it before.

“Phoebe, you’re tired,” he said. “Come, let’s find you some air.” Before she could protest, he led her to a seat in a nearby solarium. Intrigued at his behavior, she sat as requested and watched him open a window. “There,” he said, dusting his hands satisfactorily. “Are you feeling any better?” Phoebe, not realizing she had felt unwell before, but noticing an improvement in temperature, sniffled, “Yes, thank you.” He gave a sad grimace in reply and gave her a handkerchief, saying, “Here.” She took it gratefully, but no matter how much she tried not to, she only cried more, and the handkerchief lay in her hand, unused. “Now,” he said, taking the handkerchief and performing the office for her, “we can’t have that, can we?—blow. Am I that bad of a dancer?” She laughed through her tears and shook her head. “Then what is it?” She shook her head again. “I can’t tell you.” Just then, a noise came from outside the room. People were moving into the dining room for supper. “Are you hungry?” She shook her head again. “All right,” he said, moving a chair towards her and sitting in it. “Phoebe,” he said, “if I tell you my secret, will you tell me yours?” She looked up, surprised, but her face fell again. “I know what yours is,” she said, “and it’s why I can’t tell you mine.” Thomas thought for a moment. “You mean to say that you think I’ve resented you all these years for taking my place in the family?”

Phoebe, shocked, nodded with a sob. “H-how did you know?” “Mam told me.” Phoebe felt betrayed, but nonetheless relieved and miserable that Thomas knew. “I-if I had known before,” she said, “I wouldn’t have acted the way I sometimes d-did. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Phoebe, do you really think that’s the truth?” “I-isn’t it?” “Phoebe, if I had ten families, I would give them all to you. Nothing could ever make me resent you, even if you tried.” By now, tears flowed unnoticed down her face as she stared back at Thomas. Another expression came to her face that Thomas recognized, and with a hopeful smile, he said, “Now may I tell you my secret?” “What is it?” After a moment, he suddenly found he could not look at her, and he stood facing the mantelpiece on the opposite wall. He rubbed his forehead in distress, but the gesture was so familiar that it made Phoebe utter a quiet laugh. “Phoebe,” he said, facing her, “you are my secret. I have loved you ever since I first knew you, and I will never love another as long as I live. You may think it rotten of me—you may never want to see me again after hearing this, but at least now you know the truth. If I could have gotten over it by now, I would have, and both our minds may have been at ease. I’m so sorry, for your sake, but there it is. I’m a wretch.” Phoebe, beneath her tears, gave a chuckle of pity, and smiled so encouragingly that Thomas found himself returning to her side, but not before her tears multiplied bitterly, and she bent over in misery and sobs. He wanted to comfort her, but, thinking her misery had come only from himself, he merely resumed his chair and rested his chin upon folded hands. Why did he have to tell her? She was perfectly happy before he said anything!

He was considering leaving the room when she spoke. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “What?” She faced him with wet eyes. “I’m so sorry for you, Thomas. Of all the young ladies in this world who would be so blessed to have you, why did you have to choose me?” Thomas considered her a moment, not knowing how to respond to such a statement. “I didn’t,” he said. “You chose me without meaning to. I’ve belonged to you these many years without you even knowing it.” Poor Phoebe gave way to another bout of tears, and Thomas moved quickly to say, “No, Phoebe, I’m sorry. But why should it be so terrible that it was you, now that you no longer consider me a brother?” “Don’t you understand? My father...I’m all he has! He needs me. I can’t give you what you deserve.” “Oh, Phoebe,” he sighed. “I don’t ask anything of you in telling you what I have. I only sought to put your mind at ease in some way. Every moment I have ever spent with you has been joy itself. I want nothing in return, only for you to be happy, whatever that requires of me.” Phoebe couldn’t speak. She was so miserably happy that she feared her tears would never stop threatening to come. “Then will you do one thing for me?” she ventured. “Anything.” “Try to forget me.” He was not prepared for that. His heart stopped beating a moment before he managed, “What?”

Phoebe looked at him in sympathy. “Thomas,” she said carefully, and rising to stand before him uncertainly, she continued, “this is what I didn’t want to tell you before—I don’t know whether it was harder to think of when I thought you hated me or now that I know you love me, but here it is: You’re the dearest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known, I love you more and more every day, and you’re the only person in the world that I would ever want to marry. But I can’t leave my father, it would break his heart.” Thomas barely heard the last part of this statement and expressed his joy without words before explaining himself. “Phoebe, your father knows. He’s seen right through me all this time. He told me just the other day, and before I left, he gave me his blessing! Phoebe, do you mean what you said?” Phoebe hesitated a moment. “Just because he gave you his blessing doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be heartbroken to lose me.” “What if he doesn’t have to lose you? Suppose all that changed was that I became a part of your family, and things could be just the same for you.” Phoebe considered this a moment, so very humbled by what he was willing to do for her, before saying quietly, “But it wouldn’t be the same, Thomas. Can you imagine that I would have time to take care of my father and be your wife?” Thomas’s face grew radiant, but Phoebe looked down. “No, Thomas,” she whispered. “I can’t ask it of you, and I can’t ask it of him. Please trust me. You deserve so much better. Try to forget me. Say you understand, please, Thomas? If you truly love me, then surely you can do this for me. A man your age should marry if he wants to...” “Phoebe?” “...and if you can find another...” “Phoebe.” “...I must ask that you marry her instead.”

“No, Phoebe!” “You can’t wait for me, Thomas.” “I would wait forever.” Phoebe’s tears came again. “There is no one in this world,” said Thomas, “who could capture my heart the way you have. I would wait until the end of my days if necessary. You are the only one I have ever loved or ever will for the rest of my life.” All Phoebe could say behind her tears was, “Please try.” Thomas, realizing how earnest she was in her plea, took her in his arms one last time as if to shelter her from the world, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Phoebe James, you are not of this earth.” He left immediately, and Phoebe, suddenly feeling dizzy, sat in a nearby chair to finish her cry. The party was over an hour later, and Phoebe had recovered enough to say her goodbyes. The O’Malleys were the last ones besides her and her father to leave Mrs. Winston’s house, and Phoebe took affectionate leave of them. Thomas was not among them. Mrs. O’Malley said he left early to take the boys home. Phoebe did her best to seem disinterested at this information and gave an automatic response. The O’Malleys said goodbye, and Mr. James and Phoebe took leave of Mrs. Winston and her grand house. “I am afraid, daughter,” said Mr. James as they made their way home, “that this evening proved too much for you. You look tired.” “No, Father,” she said, “I’ll be all right. I’m glad we had this party. It was kind of Mrs. Winston to plan it for you.” “Yes, it was,” agreed Mr. James. “I only hope word doesn’t travel that you and I are on the lookout for our next ball, or I shall have a great many invitations to turn down.”

Phoebe forced a smile, and they fell into a mutually tired silence the rest of the way home.

Chapter 34

A Cold Phoebe did not sleep that night, nor did the next offer her any relief, but she had previously planned on paying a visit to a former pupil that day, and she kept this appointment faithfully. On her return home, the beginnings of a sinister-looking storm left their mark upon her, and she was on the point of running up to the front door when she recognized Thomas’s horse. She wanted to see him, but she did not want another encounter to deter him from keeping his promise. Therefore, she walked around the side of the house to enter by way of the kitchen. She did this successfully, and, assuming Thomas and her father were visiting in the study as usual, she climbed the stairs to her room. “Phoebe!” came her father’s voice, and she realized her mistake. She turned to see him, but her sight was only for the one who stood waiting by the door. Him she watched intently in her peripheral vision as she listened to her father. “Our guest is leaving, daughter. Won’t you come and say goodbye?” Phoebe then walked to Thomas against her own will and offered her hand. Thomas, in a silent panic that Phoebe had become so cold and wet on her walk, politely shook her hand, saying, “Take care of yourself, Phoebe.” Phoebe could not speak, but she nodded, smiling her gratitude and affection. Thomas then tore himself away and rode into the gray curtain of November rain. Phoebe and her father spent a quiet day at home as Phoebe went about her usual duties, mostly unaware of what she was doing. Her father watched her thoughtfully, thinking about what his young friend had informed him of that

morning and wondering what could be done about it. The next day dawned brilliantly clear in the autumn sky, and Phoebe had a headache. She made her way downstairs to breakfast, which had already been set forth by Mrs. Bell, took her seat at the table, and was about to say, “Good morning, Father,” but was interrupted by a violent sneeze. “Gesundheit!” said Mr. James. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, catching her breath behind her handkerchief. “Good morning.” “Good morning, daughter. Are you feeling well today?” “My head hurts a little, but I’m fine.” “Have some coffee,” he said, offering to pour her some. “No, thank you, Father. I think I’d prefer tea.” He then poured her some tea, saying, “It’s a beautiful day.” Phoebe thought it was much too bright of a day. “Yes, Father.” “Have you anything planned?” “Nothing. Have you?” “Yes, I thought I might pay a visit to the O’Malleys today. Would you like to come?” “No, Father, thank you.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, Father. I’m sure.” He said nothing more and resumed his newspaper. After breakfast, Phoebe curled up in her father’s chair with a book and was on the point of drifting into a heavy sleep when her father appeared.

“Goodbye, daughter,” he said with his hand on her head, “and feel better. I shan’t be away long.” “Yes, Father.” “And you’re sure you wouldn’t like to come along?” “Yes, I’m sure, but send them my love.” She then blushed slightly at her own words. “I’ll do my best, dear. Take care of that headache.” “Yes, Father.” He walked out the door, and Phoebe heard his whistle fade down the avenue. The interruption was not enough to keep Phoebe from resuming her nap by the fire, and she slowly drifted again. When she woke, daylight had dimmed. Her father had returned and was sitting in the chair across from her, reading a book. “Hello, Father,” she mumbled. “Hm? Oh, hello, daughter. Feeling any better?” “A little. How are the O’Malleys?” “As well as ever I’ve seen,” he said. “Business is thriving for Mr. O’Malley, Fiona believes she’s having another growth spurt, the twins are getting into more mischief than ever, and Jack misses you, as always.” “How is Thomas?” “Oh, I almost forgot! He’s gone to stay in Massachusetts with his aunt. He left yesterday. The poor chap’s been working too hard, I’m afraid. I hope it does him some good.” Phoebe was surprised at first, but then she wasn’t, and another sneeze interrupted her thoughts, followed by a cough.

“I think you are getting ill, my dear,” said Mr. James. “Don’t worry, Father,” said Phoebe. “I always do this when the weather changes. I’ll be better tomorrow. I’m sure of it.” The next day, Phoebe was not better. She woke to a sore throat and a throbbing head, and she ached to the soles of her feet. She attempted to get out of bed but struggled. It was later than she thought, for Mrs. Bell had already served breakfast, and halfway through, Mr. James requested her to check on his daughter. A knock came from the other side of the door. Phoebe attempted to say, “Come in,” but all that came out was a moan. The door opened, and Mrs. Bell walked in. “Why, Miss Phoebe!” she said upon seeing her. Phoebe was unnaturally shivering under her covers, and Mrs. Bell went to feel her forehead. She tsked her tongue and went to dampen a cloth. “Now, don’t you move, dearie,” said Mrs. Bell after gently laying the cloth across Phoebe’s forehead. She went to get Mr. James. “Miss Phoebe’s taken ill, sir.” Mr. James barely heard this before ascending the stairs to his daughter’s room, where she lay miserable. “Oh, my dear. I was afraid you were getting ill, but I didn’t know it would be this serious.” “It’s all right, Papa,” she whispered. “I’m sure I don’t feel as bad as I look.” “I hope not. Just the same, I’m going to send for Dr. Radovic.” “Oh, I should like to see him again,” said Phoebe. “It’s been ages.” Mr. James humored her by saying, “Yes, dear,” secretly concerned that she was

growing delirious. He calmly walked out of the room to avoid worrying her, but once he gained the staircase, he fled downstairs to Mr. Bell, who was tending the roses on the front walk. “Bell!” he said, “Fetch Dr. Radovic immediately! And take my horse. Phoebe is ill.” “Right away, sir,” said Mr. Bell, and he was off in a second, to the satisfaction of his employer. Mr. James returned upstairs to see Mrs. Bell attending his daughter and stood anxiously in the doorway. Memories of his wife flooded his mind, and he returned downstairs to seek solitude in his study, where he paced up and down, not knowing what to do with himself. Finally, he sat in his armchair, bending forward over his hands, and this attitude put him in mind of what he should have been doing all along. He then prayed earnestly for Phoebe to be healed and spent what felt like an eternity in prayer before the bell rang. He opened the door to it a flustered Mrs. O’Malley. “Where is she?” she asked, flinging her hat and shawl over the bureau. “In her room. But, what brings you here, Mrs. O’Malley?” “Never mind. There are more important things to do than explain what happened five minutes ago. If you’re so curious, ask Mr. Bell or the doctor, but I must see Phoebe now.” She disappeared towards Phoebe’s room, and Mr. James welcomed Dr. Radovic. “Thank you for coming, doctor. I’m glad to see you.” “Glad to see you too, sir,” said the doctor in a long goatee and a thick Polish accent. “And may I congratulate you on coming back from the dead!” he chuckled in his small voice.

“Thank you, doctor.” “I hear something is wrong with your little girl?” “Yes, doctor, right this way, please.” He led the doctor upstairs as Mrs. Bell came down with a humored smile on her face. “She’s in good hands, sir,” she said aside to Mr. James on her way down. Mr. James preferred to be the judge of that, and he showed the doctor into Phoebe’s room. “Hello, doctor,” Phoebe said weakly but happily. “Halloo! How’s our little Phoebe bird?” said the doctor gaily as he took the seat vacated by Mrs. O’Malley. “But I guess she’s no longer little, is she?” “I suppose not,” said Phoebe. “It’s been so many years, doctor!” “I’m glad of that,” he said. “The less you see of me, the better.” Phoebe attempted to laugh, but all that came out was a shuddering sigh. The doctor went about examining her as he continued his conversation. “I the last time I saw you, you had the measles, and a bad case it was! But you pulled through like a little trooper. Best patient I’ve ever—Are you in pain?” he asked suddenly, for at the word “trooper,” she slowly turned her head, and a tear transferred from the corner of her eye to the pillow. “No, doctor,” she said just above a whisper, but her expression said otherwise. At last, he folded his stethoscope, closed his bag, and smiled, telling Phoebe to get some rest. He then sought counsel with Mr. James outside the door, and Mrs. O’Malley ed them. “Is it serious, doctor?” asked Mr. James. “Just a little cold. Physically, it is not serious.”

“What do you mean by physically?” “Before I answer you, I’d like to ask some questions first. Has anything happened lately to upset her in any way?” Mr. James was on the point of answering in the negative when Mrs. O’Malley ed him a significant look. “Um, possibly, sir—Yes.” “Well, I’m afraid if there is anything keeping her spirits down, it will be difficult for her to recover.” “What do you suggest, doctor?” “I will leave a tonic for her to take mornings and evenings. It will help her cough. But the most important thing I would suggest is to give her encouragement, try to keep her cheerful, and if there is some way to rectify the source of distress, then I must ask that you take any measures necessary. She seems to have a more fragile constitution than she did as a child, and it seems to be due to low spirits. I hope she will get over this.” Dr. Radovic did not sound hopeful to Mr. James. He thanked him anyway and saw him out. “I will make another visit in a few days for another examination,” said the doctor as he left. “Thank you, doctor. Goodbye.” “Goodbye!” Mrs. O’Malley stood looking at Mr. James after the doctor left. “How much has Thomas told you?” she asked. “He gave me the brief particulars of a conversation he had with Phoebe the other evening.” Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “You’re her father, so I must ask you, can you tell if she

loves him?” “She does,” he said. “But she can’t bear the thought of leaving me, nor of dividing her attention from me.” “The general told me that Thomas was the one who discovered you.” Mr. James nodded. “Should we tell her—” “I’ve asked Thomas twice, but he won’t have it. I would have hoped that he told her the other evening, but he didn’t.” “That boy will never bring his own good deeds to light. It has to come from one of us, but now is not the right time. She won’t dream of leaving you if she thinks you need her in the slightest. Suppose you tell her about Mrs. Bell?” “And how would that make her feel with the state she’s in now? Tell her that I never needed her help in the first place? If she knew that now, she would have little reason to feel better.” “Then, for now, you must convince her that you need her, and, once she is on the mend for your sake, you may it to secretly paying Mrs. Bell to be your secondary housekeeper, which will convince Phoebe that you need her less than she thought. It may set her back again, but if we can talk some sense into Thomas—if we can convince him not to listen to a word she says and come back —then perhaps he can give her the reason she needs to recover.” Mr. James took a moment to absorb Mrs. O’Malley’s plan, trying to think if it could work. “But there is something else you’ll have to do,” she added. “Then, for Heaven’s sake, tell me.” “You must convince yourself that you can let her go.” These words pierced Mr. James, forcing him to see an uncomfortable truth. True, he had given Thomas O’Malley his blessing in advance and wished him well,

but to Phoebe, he merely acted the pitiful, doting father who had lost his wife and therefore clung to his daughter all the more for the sake of the only family he had left. He had never been conscious of this until Mrs. O’Malley addressed it, and he slowly seated himself with a shaking frame from suppressed tears. “You can never lose someone you love,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “especially when they’re your child. But if you fear that loss, so will she, and she will be miserable for your sake. Do you know why?” she asked, kneeling before him as if he were a small, forlorn child. “Because she loves you. Enough to send away someone she loves at the risk of her own heart. Mr. James, you will never lose a daughter like Phoebe.” Mr. James was silent. “However,” she said, rising, with a lighter tone in her voice, “I rather like the idea of the pair of them living here when all is said and done. There’ll be plenty of room for a growing family, and a man like you who enjoys his study might have to lock the door behind him to ‘escape all the hullaballoo,’ as my husband says.” Mr. James smiled pensively as Mrs. O’Malley went about scribbling on a piece of paper. “Then you think your plan will work?” “Lord willing.” “Thank you, Mrs. O’Malley.” “No thanks necessary. Fiona and I will be your guests for now. So send your man to the farm with this note, if you please, and when Fiona arrives, send her to Phoebe’s room.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Good man,” said Mrs. O’Malley. She returned promptly to Phoebe in order to mother her and requested broth and towels from Mrs. Bell. Fiona was off within a minute of receiving her mother’s note. She gathered the requested items and rolled away in the James’s carriage to help her mother nurse Phoebe back to health.

She hardly waited for Mr. James to welcome her before running upstairs with a quick, “Hello, Mr. James,” on her way up, and she gave a light rap on Phoebe’s door. A whispered, “Come in,” came from inside, and Fiona opened the door. “Hello, dear,” whispered Mrs. O’Malley, for Phoebe was asleep. “How is she?” “She’s all right. She just needs rest and comfort right now. Did you bring my workbasket?” “It’s downstairs. Do you want me to get it?” “No, dear. You sit with Phoebe. I’m going to see if the guest room is ready.” “Sure, Mam,” said Fiona, taking the chair. Mrs. O’Malley left the room, and she and Fiona began a long week of tending to Phoebe. Phoebe was happy to see Fiona and glad that she and Mrs. O’Malley were staying, but she dejectedly protested that such attention was not necessary and claimed in a congested voice that she was not as bad off as all that. “Then you get better, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “and then we’ll leave. Otherwise, we’ll make you so tired of our company that you’ll never dare to be sick again.” Phoebe gave a tired smile, once again on the verge of tears, and agreed to get better as soon as possible. “That’s my girl,” said Mrs. O’Malley as she resumed tending to her. The following days were miserable. Phoebe’s headache would not go away, more than twice a day her fever threatened to render her insensible, and the fatigue of being physically ill did nothing to contribute to the lightening of her spirits.

Her father saw her often, always seeking to bring her comfort or amuse her in some way. But he often found that such attention made her so painfully sad that he was afterwards forced to seek some form of comfort for himself. At the end of the week, a gray morning dawned where Phoebe felt strong enough to move to the study by the fire, and it was during this time that the doctor paid a visit. “Well,” he said, happy to see her up, “it seems our little Phoebe bird is trying her wings today! Are we feeling better?” “Yes, doctor,” she said weakly. He made a few examinations. “Good, good. How is her appetite?” he asked Mrs. O’Malley. “We’re seeing some improvement, doctor.” “Good, good. Well, Miss Phoebe-bird, I can see that you are in capable hands. So this will be my last visit for a while, I hope.” “But you can visit when I’m well, can’t you?” asked Phoebe. “Oh, yes,” he said, nodding with his eyebrows raised, “yes, I’ll find an excuse one of these days to include your house in my rounds,” he said, winking. “Thank you, doctor,” said Phoebe, smiling. Mr. James showed him out, and Dr. Radovic walked away with a little more spring in his step than usual. Another day or two brought sufficient improvement in Phoebe’s health that Mrs. O’Malley was satisfied enough to return home with her daughter. But, however well Phoebe’s health had improved physically, upon Mrs. O’Malley and Fiona’s departure, her spirits sank once again. Mr. James saw this and began to despair again for his daughter’s well-being, but he was soon relieved to see that Mrs. O’Malley intended to check on Phoebe

regularly, either herself or by proxy. Betsy paid the first visit, for the past week had made Mrs. O’Malley tired, but she sent a basket of pie and some fresh cream in her stead. Betsy had only planned on delivering the basket and visiting Phoebe long enough to see if her health was satisfactory for Mrs. O’Malley’s taste. But, once there, she was pressed by father and daughter alike to stay another hour, and by the time she went home, it had been two. Once Phoebe was regularly sitting downstairs, well-guarded from the cold, she had plenty of opportunity to see how well Mrs. Bell took care of the house without her help. Mr. James saw this and began to hope he might be saved the trouble of explanation. He figured this way was better; it would be less harsh than telling her outright if she could gradually come to realize the truth. The realization was inevitable but not any less severe than if her father had told her himself. Phoebe began to comprehend that, however much her father loved her, he did not need her, at least not in the way of housekeeping and simple favors, and she began to feel useless.

A FEW DAYS AFTER BETSY’S visit, it was Fiona’s turn to check on Phoebe after fetching the mail. Phoebe’s cold was nearly gone, and her spirits a little higher than usual, and she was able to reciprocate some of Fiona’s enthusiasm. Fiona ran in the door, calling out, “Hello?” Phoebe and her father were in the parlor next to the fire. “Oh, come in, Fiona!” said Mr. James. “Don’t mind if I do,” said Fiona, already having entered the room. “Oh, no, don’t get up!” she said to Mr. James as she took a seat on the arm of Phoebe’s chair. “Feeling better?” she asked, dropping an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “Yes, but aren’t you cold? Father and I were just thinking it looked like snow!” “Oh, no, I’m not cold since I’ve come in. I took the liberty of fetching your mail, Mr. James,” she said, handing it to him. “Thank you,” he said, amused at such liberty, and proceeded to file through his letters. “Any news?” Phoebe asked Fiona, attempting nonchalance. “No, not yet,” said Fiona distractedly. “Ah, here’s something! A letter from Aunt Dottie, and a letter from—no, Mam will want to read that first—Mr. James, I noticed your newspaper hasn’t been delivered yet, so feel free to read ours,” she said, placing it on the table next to him. “Thank you, Fiona.” Fiona smiled. “Now, let’s see,” she said, opening her aunt’s letter and skimming it. “She says she misses us all and hopes the weather will allow her to visit soon!” she said excitedly. “She proposes coming back with Thomas when he returns.” “I should like to see her again,” said Phoebe quietly.

“The Davies are wintering in Whitecrest this year, and she says Tillie has grown at least two feet since we saw her last!” “I wonder if she could come too?” “Maybe. She says Emily has become quite a sophisticated young lady—How tragic!—and Thomas spends a great deal of time next door. Mrs. Dillon says she’s nearly ready to retire, and Aunt Dottie despairs as to what she will do when she’s gone—poor thing...” Phoebe didn’t hear anything past the line about Thomas. She was wondering if he had taken her advice about forgetting her by courting Emily Davies. She was flattered and heartbroken at the same time, and from one second to another, she did not know which to be more. She tended to feel more betrayed than flattered. In fact, she felt far from flattered! Thomas had taken her advice rather quickly to be so—This thought ended with a teeter in another direction. When Fiona finished summarizing the letter, ending on a happy note, she looked smilingly at Phoebe to see one side of her tear-streaked face. Fiona’s quiet gasp went unnoticed, for Phoebe was much occupied with her thoughts, and Mr. James was occupied with the newspaper. The silence reclaimed Phoebe’s attention as Fiona refolded the letter. “Oh, thank you, Fiona. That’s wonderful news,” said Phoebe without hearing her own words. “It’s so sweet of you to come and spend time with us today, especially with the weather so cold! Can you stay long enough for tea?” “Um, no,” said Fiona. “No, Mam only wanted me to stop by for a few minutes since the weather might take a turn for the worse. It’s been so good to see you, Phoebe. I hope you keep feeling better.” She hugged Phoebe once again. “Goodbye, Mr. James!” She quickly saw herself out and slammed the door behind her. Mr. James looked up and began to stop her when he realized she had already gone. “She forgot her newspaper,” he said, folding it to place it back on the table. “It’s a pity she left so quickly. I could have ordered the carriage for her.”

“Hmm? Oh,” said Phoebe. “Don’t worry, Father. Fiona always loved riding Bob even on colder days than this. She’ll get home quickly enough.” Fiona indeed rode home as quickly as possible. Her head was reeling by the time she arrived, but not from Bob’s speed. “Mam!” she said, running into the house. She found her in the kitchen with Betsy making cakes. “Is everything all right?” asked Mrs. O’Malley urgently. “Mam, we have to write Thomas. He needs to come home immediately. I know he doesn’t deserve her, but the poor thing loves him. Her heart is breaking with him gone! We have to bring him home!” As Fiona spoke, Mrs. O’Malley led her to the sitting room where they could speak privately. But Betsy heard enough to make her curious, and she followed behind, wiping batter off her hands. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Phoebe’s in love with Thomas?” Mrs. O’Malley looked hopelessly from Betsy to Fiona, and after receiving a guilty grimace from her daughter, she returned to the kitchen. “Come with me, Fiona,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “You can tell us about it while you help with the cakes.” Fiona ran to the basin to wash her hands, and Betsy came into the kitchen, still confused. “Mam,” said Fiona, still trying to make her point, “we have to write to him before he changes his mind.” “Changes his mind? Fiona, I think you underestimate your brother’s loyalty.” “But I don’t, Mam. It came to me while I was riding home. I was—I’m sorry, Mam, but I was trying to cheer her up—I read her a letter from Aunt Dottie— you know how she loves Aunt Dottie...and—” “Fiona, you didn’t,” said Mrs. O’Malley, pausing in her work.

“I didn’t think about the letter mentioning Thomas, Mam, really I didn’t!” said Fiona, on the verge of penitent tears. “All right, now, what did the letter say?” Fiona wordlessly went to take the mail out of her coat pocket and handed it to her mother. Mrs. O’Malley fanned it through to find her sister’s letter and dropped the rest on the kitchen table. She skimmed it with a sigh. “And you read all of this to her?” “More or less.” “What did she say?” “She didn’t say anything while I was reading it to her, but when I looked up, she was crying.” “Oh, Fiona,” Mrs. O’Malley sighed. “I’m sorry, Mam,” she said pitifully. Mrs. O’Malley went to her daughter to comfort her. “It’s all right, dear. Your heart was in the right place, I know. Things just turned out wrong. I know how you must be feeling.” “Then can we make him come home?” “It wouldn’t help, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley as she began to unfold her son’s letter. “Why not?” said Fiona, utterly confused. “Because,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “Phoebe thinks her father needs her. He doesn’t, but she does. And Thomas went away because she asked him to forget her.” “What! Why?” Betsy listened with a smile. “That sounds just like Phoebe.” “Yes, doesn’t it?” said Mrs. O’Malley without looking up. “But I don’t know if

Thomas can do that as easily as your Aunt Dottie’s letter implies.” “But what if he can, Mamma?” said Fiona pleadingly. “We have to bring him back home this instant!” “For what purpose, Fiona? His return would only make them both miserable if she’s still determined to take particularly good care of her father.” “But surely Mr. James cares too much about Phoebe to let her do that! He’s her father! Can’t he just tell her to marry Thomas?” Mrs. O’Malley smiled at her daughter. “It isn’t that simple, dear.” “But what if Thomas marries someone else?” “I doubt he will. But, if he does, then he would be honoring Phoebe’s wishes, which, if you ask me, is better proof of love than almost anything else. I’m not saying I would approve. It would be most unfair to everyone concerned, but I have no other right than a word of caution, which I have given him already. What he decides is his own concern.” Fiona couldn’t wrap her head around this. “But he’s always been such a steadfast boy,” said Betsy fondly. “Don’t worry, Fiona. I’m sure your mother is right. Whether Thomas marries someone else or waits indefinitely for Phoebe, either one is proof that he loves her. And Phoebe, dear and sweet as she is, is unknowingly choosing her own misery. At this point, there is nothing we can do except pray that they will both be wise in this matter.” “Thank you, Betsy,” said Mrs. O’Malley, relieved that she was not alone in her opinion. Fiona did not care to agree with Betsy, and she sulkily resumed her job of cracking eggs. “Be careful, dear! You’ll smash them.” Fiona realized how much force she was using and eased it accordingly. But she could not go about her day as easily as Betsy and her mother did. She felt that they did not care about Phoebe and secretly resolved that, if Phoebe did not get

better soon, she would bring Thomas home herself.

Chapter 35

A Shadow in the Snow Contrary to what Fiona thought, Mrs. O’Malley and Betsy were genuinely miserable on Phoebe’s behalf, but, being somewhat more experienced in life, they had mastered the art of releasing worry where they could do nothing. They still frequently wondered what could be done about the situation, but this train of thought always came to an abrupt stop. Meanwhile, from that day on, Phoebe’s health took a turn for the worse. Her cold had improved, but her spirits were continually weighed down. She did not allow herself to think of Thomas anymore, nor of what he might be doing at any given moment. But putting these things in the back of her mind did not ease the effect of having them in her mind at all. Phoebe’s father witnessed her decline in paternal agony. The spring in her step had vanished, and the smile that often came so naturally had left, both without any trace of a previous existence. She seemed at least ten years older than she was, even through the eyes of Mr. James, who would forever see his Phoebe as a little girl. He urgently desired to help her, but the one thing he knew would help, he could do nothing about. Another week ed, and it was only a few days away from Thanksgiving. Phoebe’s cold was gone, and she felt well enough to amass several layers of clothing and pay a visit to a former pupil. Her father had been against the idea of her walking on such a cold day, but she protested, saying that it would do her good, that it always livened her up to see her old friends, so he let her go. She walked home, perhaps a little more cheerful from her visit, and the sight of a stranger walking away before she turned through the gate made her curious as to who might have paid her father a visit. She was struck by the stranger’s appearance, for he reminded her of someone, but she was sure it was not him. He was still visiting his aunt. Besides, everyone she saw lately looked like him. She walked at a snail’s pace to the house and met her father, who had begun to

worry about her. “Hello, dear!” he said, standing in the open doorway. “How was your walk?” “Good,” she said, attempting to reflect his smile. “You must have missed me to be already on the lookout.” “I did miss you, but I was seeing out a guest.” “Oh? Who came?” she asked as she began taking off her things. “Thomas O’Malley.” She nearly dropped her scarf. “That was him?” And running to the window, she tried to see if he was still within view. Mr. James ignored her behavior and continued talking. “Yes, he came to see how we were doing and to invite us to Thanksgiving dinner. He came shortly after you left and wanted to see you, but he said he couldn’t stay long.” Phoebe was quiet for a moment. “How did he seem?” “Oh, fine, I think. Unusually chipper for such a cold day as this, but he always was an energetic soul.” Phoebe never ed whether she replied to her father. She was questioning what had made Thomas so happy and didn’t dare think it was anything besides a recent infatuation with Miss Davies, which made her reluctant to see him ever again. “Father, do we have to go?” she asked suddenly. “What do you mean?” he said. “I would have thought you’d be happy to see the O’Malleys again.” “I would, but—” “Yes?” “Do you think I’ve recovered enough to travel in such cold weather?”

Mr. James chuckled. “I should think if you were well enough to walk to the Millers’ house on a day like this, you could ride in a carriage to the O’Malleys’ in any weather.” Phoebe then realized how ridiculous she sounded and said nothing else. But her anxiety over the next few days added a certain vigor to her mannerisms that whispered to her father that she was on the mend and might soon be her old self again.

IF EVER PHOEBE WANTED to feel worse than she did, it was when Thanksgiving morning dawned and she felt perfectly fine, and again during breakfast, when her father asked how she was feeling, and she was forced to it the truth. “I feel fine, Father,” she said sadly. “Good,” he said. Her last hopes rested with her father’s well-being and the weather. “How are you feeling?” “Very well, daughter, thank you.” “Do you think the snow will be too deep to travel in?” “No, I think it will be fine.” “It looks like it might snow again.” He looked out the window. “Well,” he said, “if it does, I don’t think it will be heavy.” Phoebe was then out of excuses. “Father?” she asked tentatively, “Do you think the O’Malleys will mind very much if I don’t go today?” He folded down his paper and looked at her. “Don’t go? What do you mean?” “Well...” she said, and, suddenly getting another idea, she continued, “Father, this is our first Thanksgiving together since you’ve returned. Wouldn’t you much rather spend it at home?” “It makes no difference to me, daughter. Besides, it would be rude of us after accepting their invitation to suddenly decide to stay home if neither of us is ill.” “I suppose it would,” Phoebe itted. “Now, you had better finish your breakfast.”

Phoebe obeyed, and her father sat puzzled, and yet not so puzzled, at her strange behavior that morning. Phoebe, now dreading the day, went to her room to dress in silent dudgeon. She descended the stairs to meet her father at the front door, prettily dressed but wearing such a contradictory expression of martyrdom that offset the effect completely. “Phoebe,” said her father, “at least try to appear happy today. It’s terrible manners to be glum at a holiday gathering.” “Yes, Father,” she said and walked out the door. Mr. James’s efforts to enliven Phoebe on their journey were futile, and as a last resort before turning onto the path to the O’Malley house, he said, “Can you at least manage a smile, daughter?” She attempted to comply with his request as they neared the house, but at the sight of a handsome gentleman running to the carriage door, no further attempt was necessary, and the smile came of its own will. She could not speak, but her father took care of the necessary pleasantries as she stepped out of the carriage. “Thomas O’Malley. How are you, sir?” “Hello, Mr. James,” said Thomas distractedly as he helped Phoebe out of the carriage. “How do you do, sir?” He turned to shake hands once Phoebe had safely made her way across the snow and ice to the porch steps. Phoebe was on the point of entering the house when the door was thrown open by another familiar face. “Aunt Dottie!” was all Phoebe had time to utter before being embraced with an excited, “Phoebe, dear! It’s so good to see you! Why, you’ve grown prettier than ever, as if that were possible! How do you do, Mr. James? I’ve heard so much about you!” Thomas introduced his aunt to Phoebe’s father.

“How do you do, Mrs. Fiske?” said Mr. James. “Well, how do you do, sir?” she said, and, still speaking, she led him into the house. Thomas waited with a smile as Phoebe walked in, but she had not yet acquired the courage to look at him. The family gave her a warm welcome and the twins led her into the festively decorated drawing room, which had become tradition to be opened every year around the holidays. Aunt Dottie took the liberty of catching everyone up on the events of the year. She informed them of her own affairs, of things happening in Whitecrest, that some of her favorite shops were closing, so she would have to begin taking regular trips to New York. She told them of the Davies, of Tillie’s growth, of Emily’s recent elegance of manner, that Edward was newly engaged, and amidst the steady flow of conversation, she let a piece of information slip that she had forgotten to keep secret. “...and,” she said with a significant, smiling glance at Thomas, “I suspect we may look forward to some good news of that sort in our own family soon.” Thomas reddened and gave a formidable glance in his aunt’s direction. Thankfully, she caught it and said, “Oh, but never mind. I must complain about all of your terribly short letters. Even my little Fiona hasn’t told me nearly enough lately!” she said with a caress of her niece’s red curls. Fiona proceeded to make up for her lack of information as Phoebe looked in sad wonder at Thomas. He had not yet recovered from his aunt’s mishap, and Phoebe was now certain that Aunt Dottie had been alluding to Emily Davies. Phoebe felt ill, and the conversation continued without much participation from herself. Mrs. O’Malley came to announce that dinner was ready, and the family moved into the dining room. As usual, Phoebe sat next to Thomas at the table. She behaved irably under the circumstances and inwardly rejoiced when dinner was over.

It was then that Aunt Dottie, with her keen eye for matchmaking, took an opportunity to speak to Mr. James. “How remarkably well Betsy looks this evening, Mr. James,” she said, easing into the conversation somewhat gracefully, “don’t you think so?” “Indeed, Mrs. Fiske,” he said politely. “Such a sweet girl! Have you ever thought of remarrying, sir? Or are you of the mindset that one does not love more than once in one’s lifetime?” “I must it I have not recently given it much thought. I may be ill-equipped to answer that question just yet.” “Oh, yes, I understand. And what do you think, Phoebe?” she said, turning to her, for Phoebe had hardly parted from her father’s side during the visit. “Do you believe that true love only befalls us once in our lives?” “I used to, but that doesn’t seem to be the case for some people.” She said this conversationally, but the statement’s meaning was caught by Thomas, who stood within hearing range. He looked as if she had wounded him, and Phoebe left the room, thankful that her father and Mrs. Fiske no longer required her opinion on the subject. She ran out to the porch without a second thought for the temperature and huddled herself in the corner of the swing, where tears fell fast against her will. She had not gotten past her cold enough to be exposed to the elements without some harm, and before she knew it, a violent sneeze reared its head. “Bless you,” said a voice behind her, just before something heavy was laid around her shoulders, and a handkerchief held out to her. It was hers, with her initials, embroidered by her mother when she was a child. “Thank you,” she said automatically. She held it in her hand as she ed the time she had given it to him. It was the night she had collapsed at Aunt Dottie’s house, and Thomas had been sitting next to her, crying. She had never noticed that he hadn’t returned it to her before, and it was with a pang in her heart that she said, “I suppose you’re returning it.” “If you like,” said Thomas.

She still hadn’t used it. “I guess congratulations are in order. I couldn’t help but notice what Au—what your aunt said earlier. I wish you well.” “Thank you, Phoebe.” She wanted to be angry, to be upset, to feel betrayed, but it all pointed back to herself, and she looked up at him and said, “Thank you, Thomas.” A tear came to his eye as he looked at her, and she rose to return his coat and enter the house by way of the kitchen. Phoebe spent a moment before the kitchen fireplace bent over with grief, and she soon realized that it was time she left. She couldn’t stand being there any longer; it would only make her more miserable, which, according to her father, would be bad manners at a holiday gathering. She then rallied herself to appear as composed as possible and left the kitchen to seek her father. He was in the drawing room, speaking with Mr. O’Malley about the condition of the farm. Phoebe sat next to him, quietly requesting his attention, which he gave her as soon as Mr. O’Malley paused to speak to his wife in the next room. “May we leave soon, Father?” she asked. He was on the point of acting surprised at her request when he saw her face. It was wearier than he had ever seen it before, and he said, “Right away, dear.” They rose and took their leave. Phoebe managed to appear relatively normal as she gave everyone affectionate goodbyes. Thomas, she figured, was still outside, and when she and her father made their way to the porch, he exhibited only mild confusion at their leaving so soon. “Goodbye, Thomas,” said Phoebe. He said nothing but walked with them to the carriage. Mr. James said his goodbye, shook Thomas’s hand, and climbed in, prepared to set off at once for his daughter’s sake.

“Phoebe,” said Thomas, taking her hand before she stepped into the carriage, “I must explain something to you before you leave. May I have a moment?” Phoebe, assuming she knew what he wanted to say, shook her head, saying, “Please,” in such a way that he was forced to give her her way. He helped her into the carriage and stood watching as she drifted away, wondering if he would ever see her again.

PHOEBE DID NOT CRY on the way home, nor once she and her father entered their house again, not even when the solitude of her room welcomed her. She wished she would cry, then she might have felt better, but alas, she couldn’t, and she went about the rest of her day as a matter of routine, without any means of relief for her despairing heart. She had little known what the consequences of her own words, her own wishes, would be. She supposed, despite what she asked of Thomas, she had secretly hoped things might have gone on just as they were, that he would continue to visit her father and, in doing so, herself. But that was too good to be true; she had chosen her future, little knowing how difficult it would be. Thomas would marry another, and she would remain a spinster to the end of her days, devoting all her love and attention to her father. Holding to this thought, she felt better equipped to carry on about her day and, for her father’s sake, be a little more cheerful. As long as Phoebe could manage to avoid Thomas, she now believed that she could learn to be fairly happy within her circumstances. She did not know how she would manage on holiday dinners such as the last one, especially if they one day brought a new addition to the O’Malley family. Perhaps she could persuade her father to travel with her every winter. At least Thomas no longer visited at random hours of the day. However dull this made her father from lack of company, she could be thankful that Thomas had the good sense to avoid her. Unfortunately, the day soon came for Phoebe’s estimation to be proven wrong. It was four days after Thanksgiving, and Thomas decided the explanation he wanted to give Phoebe was well worth whatever risk that might come from telling her something she seemed afraid to know. He rang the bell while restlessly holding his hat, and Mrs. Bell answered. Phoebe had been in the parlor, fetching a book for her father, and upon hearing the visitor’s voice, she flew like wind into the kitchen, where she took the servant’s stairs up to her room. Mr. James was then called upon to receive their guest and entered into

conversation upon business matters and the weather, but he was soon interrupted. “If I may, sir,” said Thomas, “I’d like to speak with your daughter while I am here.” “Oh, but of course! Mrs. Bell?” “Yes, sir?” “Tell Phoebe we have a visitor who wishes to speak with her.” “Right away, sir,” she said and left immediately. “Won’t you be seated?” “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I don’t believe I can stay long.” “All right. You won’t mind if I have a seat then?” “Not at all, please.” They were silent, for Mr. James did not believe young Mr. O’Malley was interested in conversation just then. Mrs. Bell returned, and Thomas looked hopefully towards her entrance, expecting Phoebe to follow shortly behind. But she was alone and came to inform Mr. James that Miss James was indisposed and was feeling unwell. This statement evoked an expression of concern from Thomas and one of suspicion from Mr. James. “Thank you, Mrs. Bell,” was all the response she received, and upon her absence, Mr. James turned to his visitor with his still suspicious countenance. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, rising, “I believe this may be an occasion to fetch her personally.” “Oh, no, please, sir. That isn’t necessary. But, if you wish to do me a favor, may I have a pen and ink?”

“Right over there.” Mr. James gestured to his desk. “Thank you,” said Thomas, and as he took a seat, he caught sight of a recent photograph of Phoebe, lying next to a lock of her hair tied with a black ribbon, in a drawer. The sight was enough to put her more clearly in his mind than usual, and he began his letter.

Dearest Phoebe,

Please forgive me for any mistaken conclusions that may have entered your mind in the past few days due to my aunt’s blunder and my consequent behavior. Fiona has since told me of an insinuation about Miss Davies that my aunt made in her last letter, and I want to put that out of your mind. No one could ever take your place in my heart—my love will always be yours. Any acceptance of your good wishes that I recently expressed was for a hope that sures anything I could dare dream of, but I hope for it nonetheless. You may always be assured of my faithfulness, for one hope I will never have is to forget you, and I will always be

Your own

Thomas

“Will you see that she gets this, sir?” he asked, folding the letter. “You have my word.” “Thank you. Goodbye, sir.” Thomas proceeded to the foyer, followed by Mr. James’ voice.

“As a matter of curiosity, did you reveal to whom we are so much indebted for my discovery?” Thomas paused in putting on his scarf to think for a moment. “No, sir. I think I’ll leave that for you to tell her when it seems fitting.” “All right then.” “Goodbye, Mr. James.” “Goodbye, son.” “Here is the book you wanted, Father,” said Phoebe half an hour later. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, receiving it. “Did you find it at last?” “Yes, Father.” “Good. Are you feeling better?” “Yes, Father, thank you. Can I get you anything else?” “No, you’ve done enough for one day.” And before she sat down, he added, “There’s something for you on the desk there.” She stood frozen a moment in hesitation. Finally, she stepped towards the desk and touched the letter carefully before picking it up. And without so much as an, “Excuse me, Father,” she walked out of the study and upstairs to her room. In the time Phoebe spent poring over Thomas’s letter, it brought her no comfort. It was the most beautiful, most painful letter she had ever received. Tears came inevitably, then anger at Thomas’s foolishness, and finally, her heart sank to the floor, and she was miserable. It took longer than she would have liked to recover, and when she returned downstairs for dinner, her father could tell how bitterly she had been crying. He kindly said nothing but grieved for her inwardly, longing to convey the news he was now at liberty to give. However, he feared doing so would only add to her

heartbreak, so he decided to wait for the best opportunity.

IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, Phoebe tried to determine whether or not Thomas’s letter deserved a response. She was often certain that it did, for the very reason that he was being insensible and unrealistic, and she wanted to tell him so, and that any matters involving himself were no concern of hers. But, just as often, she decided it was best not to send anything and let matters run their course. After all, he would have no further reason to write to her if she did not send a reply, and he would be more likely to forget her. Her mind went back and forth for several days. Unfortunately, an impulse struck her one afternoon when her father was paying a visit to General Johnson, and she was left alone. In her pursuit of occupation, her father’s writing desk called to her temptingly, but she avoided it for an hour with other distractions. Finally, unable to deny the fact that sending a reply to Thomas might once and for all dispel the hope he had mentioned, she sat down at the desk and grabbed a piece of paper.

“Thomas,” she began. (“Dear Thomas,” wouldn’t do.)

“Any reassurance on your part is not necessary. You do not owe me an explanation. As for the hope you allude to, I wish you would abandon it, for I cannot do anything to encourage it. Please, don’t send me another letter. I wish you well, and God bless you!

Phoebe.”

Whether or not Phoebe was aware of it when she sat down, the postman would be arriving soon, and she would be able to entrust this letter to him before her father’s return, and she would be safe from uncomfortable questions. Only a few minutes remained before the arrival of the mail, and Phoebe, who had been

nervously pacing in the foyer, greeted the postman to receive the mail personally and hand her letter off. “Good day, Miss James!” said the man, tipping his hat as he left. Phoebe was a little more at peace in the following days. Every now and then, she couldn’t help but wonder if she should regret her decision, but she eventually saw reason enough to put the thought out of her mind. The day this letter was written, Thomas walked home from work, stopping at the post office on his way home. Phoebe’s letter did not wait to be opened, and he read it several times as he walked home in a world all his own. Phoebe’s letter did not achieve the effect she might have wanted, for Thomas, reading beyond the words, saw her heart. And though he was heartbroken at her request that he not write to her anymore, he was willing to do anything she asked that was within his power. Truly there was not a happier nor a more tortured soul that walked upon the roads of Hillbrook that day, and Thomas O’Malley would not have traded places with any other.

Chapter 36

On the Dangers of Skating Two weeks brought December weather and a frozen pond to the O’Malley farm. The children viewed this as an early Christmas present from God, and they made good use of it several days in a row. Thomas ed them on their first outing but found he was not enjoying himself, so he sat on the swing nearby to watch the others. Mam had requested him to be present on these outings for the little ones’ safety, and possibly for his own diversion. The latter was impossible, but he kept an excellent watch on the others. On the third day, he merely went through the motions of ensuring their safety, for he figured they knew how to skate safely by then, and he enjoyed his time outdoors in peace. In the privacy of his thoughts, his mind wandered to summer, when he was younger, when he felt younger, when all the innocent enjoyment of life abounded before him. He touched the rope of the swing, ing how frequently she occupied it, especially whenever she was sad or had something on her mind. How she would speak to him as if her thoughts were speaking themselves, as if he were the only person in the world that would know them. Everything reminded him of Phoebe, from the tops of the trees to the grasses that lay dormant beneath his feet... “THOMAS!” Fiona’s voice shrieked. She was stretched across the ice, clutching an old tree branch. The twins held on to her as she reached toward something. Where was Jack?

THE DOOR AT THE JAMES’ house was pounded upon in the middle of the night and answered by a very sleepy Mrs. Bell. It was Fiona, telling her to wake everyone in the house—it was an emergency. She did not wait for a response from the bewildered housekeeper but ran straight into Phoebe’s room, knocking upon Mr. James’ door in her path. “Phoebe!” she cried with tears in her eyes. “Phoebe, wake up. Wake up now!” “Fnmm?” Phoebe managed in her half-sleeping paralysis, “Whatsmnner?” “Get dressed! You need to come with me.” “Whatshappnd?” “Mam told me to tell you on the way. Now, come on!” Phoebe obeyed without knowing half of what she was doing, but she realized Fiona’s urgency and accepted her forced help. “Good,” said Fiona. “Now, never mind your hair. We have to hurry.” “Phoebe?” asked her father, coming to the doorway. “Fiona! What brings you here at this hour?” “No time to explain, Mr. James. I must take Phoebe. Mam said you can follow in your carriage as soon as you are able.” By this time, Fiona was dragging Phoebe by the hand downstairs, and Phoebe confusedly called, “Goodbye, Papa,” as she disappeared around the corner. Mr. James determined he had better set off after them as soon as possible, and he did so with impressive speed. Once in the O’Malleys’ carriage, Phoebe asked every question imaginable of Fiona, who, even for her talkative self, could only respond with tears. Phoebe then gave up her questions and comforted Fiona as best as she could, given her lack of information.

“Oh, Phoebe, it’s awful!” she cried. “It’s so awful!” Phoebe knew it would be futile to ask what was so awful, and she made herself be patient until they arrived at the O’Malleys’ house. Once the carriage stopped, Fiona flew out, taking Phoebe with her. They entered the hallway and proceeded to the sitting room, where Betsy sat on the sofa in the firelight, holding a bundle of blankets. Phoebe quickly distinguished a face on one end of the bundle. “Jack!” she said, running to him. “What happened?” A small hand appeared from under the blanket, and Phoebe took it, remarking how cold it was, and proceeded to rub it between her own, kissing it at intervals. “It’s good to see you, Phoebe,” said Betsy wearily. “Oh, Betsy!” said Phoebe, embracing her. “What happened?” “He was skating on the pond today, and he fell through the ice.” Phoebe gasped. “Oh, Jack! My poor, poor boy. My poor little man!” she said, laying her face next to his. Fiona was still sobbing in the corner, but, concerned as Phoebe was, she could not think why Fiona seemed so heartbroken. Mrs. O’Malley came slowly downstairs, and upon seeing Phoebe, she came to her in an instant, saying, “Oh, my girl!” and embraced her tightly. “Mamma, what’s wrong?” she asked quietly for fear of raising Jack’s anxiety. Mrs. O’Malley looked at Fiona, who shook her head helplessly. “Fiona hasn’t told you?” “Well, I could see for myself when I came in. Betsy told me what happened, but how serious is...” Mrs. O’Malley shook her head as Phoebe spoke.

Comprehension sank in. “Thomas?” Mrs. O’Malley nodded. “No,” Phoebe whispered. Mrs. O’Malley and Fiona had to help Phoebe into a chair. The room faded in and out of view by turns, and after a moment, Phoebe uttered, “Where is he?” “In his room. He’s been sleeping for a while now.” Phoebe looked up, slowly feeling her strength return to her. “You mean he’s...?” She broke past Mrs. O’Malley and flew up the stairs. Thomas’s door was open, and she paused on the frame, for the sight that met her eyes broke her heart. There lay Thomas, underneath many quilts and blankets, accompanied by a roaring fire in the fireplace, and his face was white as a sheet, shining from an unnatural sweat. A vacant chair faced him, and Phoebe made her way to it and fell into tears. No sobs came, just wordless grunting in the midst of a quiet flood. She placed her head on the blankets where his shoulder lay beneath and moaned in grief. If Thomas had been in a natural sleep, this would have waked him, but Phoebe released her emotions in silence until Fiona and Mrs. O’Malley made their appearance. They slowed their steps when they saw her, but she took no notice of them. Mrs. O’Malley came to her side and laid a hand on her back. But Phoebe did not want comfort or pity. She wanted Thomas to be all right. She wanted him to wake up and say, “How are you, Phoeb?” just like he used to. She sat up and looked at his face and stroked his cold forehead before leaning back in the chair to wipe her tears. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

Mrs. O’Malley looked to Fiona, asking her to tell the story, for she had not been there herself. Fiona then explained how they were skating on the pond that afternoon, and Thomas had come along to keep an eye on them, when, all of a sudden, Jack fell through the ice. She and the twins tried their best to rescue him, but Jack was too cold to climb onto the tree branch they were using, and before they knew it, Thomas had slid into the hole to push Jack out. Jack had been struggling in an involuntary panic, and once he was nearly out of the water, he accidentally kicked Thomas’s hand from the tree branch, and Thomas fell beneath the water for a few seconds, during which time the others were panicking. “He surfaced again,” said Fiona, “and asked where Jack was and if he was all right. Then I grabbed his hand and made him hold on to the branch. I pulled him out as best as I could, but the ice was so slippery I thought...” she couldn’t finish. “But he saw George holding Jack a few feet away, and somehow, he pulled himself out and took Jack and carried him into the house faster than anything I’ve ever seen. “That was all he could do, though. Once he gave Jack to Mam, he collapsed in the hallway.” Phoebe gasped, and Fiona could barely talk anymore. “We took care of them both as quickly as we could,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “Seamus and Mr. Morrison helped us carry Thomas up here, and we got him warm and dry—Fiona dear, would you check the irons?—He was restless for many hours. At one point, he came to a little, asking how Jack was. He wasn’t satisfied until we brought him in here so he could see for himself. He was easier after that—he told Jack what a trooper he had been. Then he closed his eyes, and we feared he might not wake. About an hour later, he was fidgeting in his sleep and murmuring. I came to his side to find out what he needed, and he opened his eyes and looked about the room. Then he looked at me and said, ‘Tell Phoebe.’ He had to repeat it to me, I couldn’t hear him the first time. He reached for my hand, and I gave it to him, and he said, ‘Tell her. Please, Mam,’ and he closed his eyes again. “It was late, but I knew how urgent it was, and Fiona didn’t know what to do

with herself, so I sent her to get you in the carriage.” Phoebe listened quietly as she watched Thomas’s face for any sign of consciousness and watched Fiona uncover his feet to check for signs of warmth from a pair of irons that lay there. She then replaced the blankets, fetched another pair that lay on the hearth, and switched one for the other, meticulously surveying her work before seating herself on the floor at her mother’s side. “Thank you, dear,” said Mrs. O’Malley. “I’m going to check on Jack. Let me know if he wakes up again.” “Yes, ma’am.” Fiona and Phoebe sat in silence, and Thomas did not make any movement or noise. Phoebe continued to watch Thomas as silent tears flowed down her face, and Fiona, getting a glimpse of how much Phoebe loved him, began to cry herself and took Phoebe’s hand. Phoebe looked at Fiona and squeezed her hand in return, putting an arm around her shoulders, and in that moment, the two of them were closer than ever. A few more minutes brought the sound of a tap at the hallway door downstairs. The house was quiet enough to carry the sound to Phoebe’s and Fiona’s ears, and they looked at each other in wonder for a moment before Phoebe said, “My father.” There was an instant in which she was about to rise and go downstairs to greet him, but with a sinking of her heart, she realized she would much rather stay at Thomas’s side. This brought a fresh supply of open-eyed tears as she realized what had become of her. “What have you done to me?” she asked the sleeping figure before her, too quiet for Fiona to hear above the sound of the fire. The sound of footsteps came from the staircase and brought Mrs. O’Malley and Mr. James within view through the doorway. He entered and stood looking at Thomas in pity, and Phoebe rose to hug her father without taking her eyes off Thomas longer than a second.

“How are you, daughter?” he asked. Phoebe merely shook her head against his coat. He understood. “Is there anything we can do, Mrs. O’Malley?” he asked. Phoebe looked at her, eager for a response. Mrs. O’Malley looked at her son and said, “I’m afraid there isn’t much any of us can do. Time will tell. If he wakes up, he will need warm fluids. Fiona and I have been managing all right, but Betsy may need help with Jack, and I think Fiona could use some sleep.” “No, Mam,” said Fiona. “Betsy’s worse off than I am. I can watch Jack while she rests, and Phoebe can take my place with you.” Mrs. O’Malley thought a moment and sighed. “All right then, but if this keeps up any longer, I’m likely to wake my sister and make her help.” “Aunt Dottie?” asked Phoebe. “She’s still here?” “Yes,” sighed Mrs. O’Malley, straightening her apron. “She’s decided to stay until the new year and be bored to death, bless her.” Phoebe managed a chuckle, at which Thomas fidgeted and started breathing more heavily. Everyone in the room was at attention, and Phoebe resumed her previous station. “Thomas?” she whispered. No response came except the heavier breathing. “Thomas,” she said, touching the quilt where his hand was. His breathing slowed, and he sank back into his previous stupor. They all stopped holding their breath, and gloom reigned over the room once again.

“Well,” said Mrs. O’Malley, “I must go and check on Jack. Mr. James, may I prepare the guest room for you? It won’t be any trouble, and if we run out of nurses, we may need your help.” “Well, if you put it that way, Mrs. O’Malley, I’d be glad to stay.” “Good,” she said. “Now, come with me, Fiona. I’m going to need your help persuading Betsy to get some rest. If Thomas wakes up, Phoebe, make sure I know.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Phoebe as they left the room. Phoebe, with her new order of priorities, now felt somewhat guilty before her father, and she could not look him comfortably in the eye longer than two seconds. He knew this and smiled at her, and taking a nearby chair, he placed it next to her, took her hand, and patted it fondly. Phoebe glanced at her father and looked at the floor. “You love this young man, don’t you, Phoebe?” She nodded with tears in her eyes. Mr. James smiled. “Then there’s something I think you should know about our friend.” “What, Papa?” “Do you know,” he began in a story-telling tone, “that I would not be with you today if it weren’t for him?” “What do you mean?” “Do you General Johnson telling us who it was that searched for me and your mother?” “Yes, he said it was ‘volunteer soldiers,’ or something like that.” Mr. James shook his head. “It was ‘a group of soldiers and a volunteer.’ Have

you ever wondered who that volunteer was, Phoebe?” Phoebe looked at Thomas as if he could give her some sort of confirmation. “That’s why he was gone all those years?” Mr. James nodded. “But why didn’t he tell me? He assured me his life wasn’t in danger. Didn’t he know that was dangerous?” “And why were you worried that his life was in danger?” Phoebe grew quiet as she realized a simple truth. “I loved him even then,” she said mostly to herself. “Oh, Papa!” She laid over on her father’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?” she said pitifully. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” “Now, now, daughter, you mustn’t think that way. That sort of talk might have lost the war, you know. Can you imagine what would have happened if your mother had thought that way while tending to all those soldiers on the battlefield? There are more kinds of battles than one, Phoebe. And right now, you’re in the greatest one you’ve ever fought. You have your mother’s spirit in you. I’ve always seen it—Thomas has seen it. It was what gave those men the courage to fight when they were at their breaking point. Even to the death, your mother never gave up, and that same spirit is what lives in my Phoebe now.” “But I don’t have it now, Father. I don’t have the strength she had, nor the bravery. If I ever had it, it’s gone now.” “Now, Phoebe, . When times were hard, what did your mother do?” “She prayed.” He nodded. “Your mother was always in prayer. She taught me why it was so important, especially in the hard times. She knew that, when we have nothing left, God is the only One who can fill us with the strength and the courage we need. I don’t know how she managed it with everything going on, but during the war, she was walking, sleeping, and breathing in God’s presence. She never let

go of it, and she had such great peace amidst all the turmoil and suffering. And so can you, Phoebe, in the midst of your battle. We all can.” “Thank you, Papa.” It was silent again as Phoebe laid on her father’s shoulder and watched Thomas. “He knew Mother?” she said at last. “Oh, yes. He helped me look after her when she was sick. He’s a good man, Phoebe.” “Did they like each other?” “They were like mother and son from the very beginning.” Phoebe couldn’t help but smile, and Mrs. O’Malley returned to inform Mr. James that the guest room was ready. “Thank you, Mrs. O’Malley,” he said, rising. But Phoebe held him pleadingly by his hand. “Stay and tell me more?” Mr. James lovingly touched her cheek. “No,” he said, “I’ll let him tell you when he wakes up.” “Do you think he will?” “Have faith, daughter. Good night.” “Good night.” Left to her charge, she sat in wonder for many moments. “Thank you,” she whispered to Thomas. No response came, but she felt better, and she prayed that Thomas would wake up.

AN HOUR AND A HALF ed, in which Thomas did not wake up, and Mrs. O’Malley went back and forth between her sons. Phoebe once suggested letting Jack sleep in Thomas’s room for ease of care, and Mrs. O’Malley explained that this idea had already come to her, but Jack was not quiet enough in waking moments to make good company for Thomas, and, should Thomas wake in an agitated state again, it might frighten Jack. Therefore, the circumstances remained unchanged. Another hour woke Betsy to relieve anyone who had grown tired. Fiona drew this lot, but Jack wanted his mother, so, after making sure Phoebe had things in order with Thomas, Mrs. O’Malley kept watch over her youngest, while Betsy took the office of assisting both. Two more hours went by, in which Mrs. O’Malley had fallen asleep holding Jack, and Phoebe went about checking irons, warming them, and feeling Thomas’s pulse and temperature. Betsy eventually came to see if Phoebe would like to get some sleep. “Your bed is still made up with fresh sheets,” she informed her with a smile. “No, thank you, Betsy. I couldn’t possibly sleep now.” “All right. Let me know if you need anything,” she said, returning downstairs to keep an eye on the pair that had fallen asleep. A most uneventful half-hour ed, in which Phoebe spent leaning her head back in the chair, trying not to drift off, when Thomas started fidgeting. She sat up and felt his head. It had grown even colder, and he was shivering uncontrollably and muttering illegibly. Phoebe quickly rose to call down the stairs. “Mamma!” She ran back to Thomas, who was groaning and breathing frantically in his trembling. She laid a warm cloth on his forehead and rubbed his head.

“Shh. It’s all right,” she said. “You’re going to be fine. Hold on, Thomas.” Mrs. O’Malley, ing her youngest off to Betsy, came quickly upstairs. She entered the room with hurried steps, and after examining her son, she sighed in distress. “What is it?” Mrs. O’Malley could hardly speak. “He’s—” she broke off, shaking her head. Phoebe looked at Thomas as his head lay in her hand. “No,” she said. “He can’t be! Thomas, don’t do this to me! You have to get better! You can’t leave me!” Mrs. O’Malley quieted Phoebe and comforted her, and Phoebe laid her head on Thomas’s shoulder, stretching her arm across him. “Don’t go!” she cried. “You can’t leave! You’re supposed to tell me about my mother. You got to be with her before she died, and I didn’t. And you kept that a secret all this time! Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with that, you selfish beast! You come back to me, or I’ll never speak to you again, Thomas O’Malley! Don’t you dare leave me!” She broke off in tears and lay weeping on his shoulder. “Please don’t go,” she whispered. Sometime while she was shouting at him, his trembling had stopped, his breathing slowed, and Mrs. O’Malley had been holding her and crying with her. Phoebe wouldn’t have been surprised if every occupant of the house had come to see what the matter was. But for all she cared, the whole world could have been standing in that room, she wouldn’t have moved a muscle. She felt Mrs. O’Malley leave her side and reassure whoever had come into the room, telling them she would take care of her. She did not make Phoebe move as Phoebe feared she would but laid a blanket over her shoulders and settled herself into an armchair in the corner to rest. An hour later, Phoebe looked up at Thomas to see, by the light of a dying candle, that his expression was no longer pained. It was peaceful—too peaceful. Every muscle in his face was relaxed, giving him no expression. It was just Thomas. Phoebe felt his wrist, which had dropped so drastically in temperature that, even to her icy hands, it felt cold. His pulse was nearly imperceptible, and she no longer saw the layers of quilts rising and falling with his breathing.

All at once, the candle burned out, and Phoebe’s head fell upon the quilt in desperate prayer. “Please, don’t take him,” she cried, for just then, she felt a strange disconnection of Thomas’s spirit, like he was more next to her than beneath her, trembling on the brink between worlds. “Give him back!” she cried. “I know I’ve been unkind and unfair to him at times. I know he would be happier if he were... but please don’t take him,” she sobbed. “Please, God...... please...”

Chapter 37

Christmas Phoebe woke to blinding sunlight. She squinted her burning eyes against it, tired to her bones. Her back ached, and her eyes took in her surroundings. She then ed where she was and what had brought her there, and she dreaded to sit up and look at Thomas’s face and see what terrible news awaited her. The delay was enough to make her sob uncontrollably from fear and nerves. A comforting hand was laid upon her head, probably Mrs. O’Malley’s, and Phoebe did not look up. She soon realized that Mrs. O’Malley was probably more tired and grieved than she was, and she reached up to reciprocate the comfort. But it did not feel like Mrs. O’Malley’s hand. Had her father come to check on her? She looked in the direction it must have come from, and no one was there. She sat up, still holding the hand and saw Thomas smiling at her. “How are you, Phoebe?” he mumbled. She gasped and answered by kissing his face, and then, ing the most important job she had while watching him, she ran to Mrs. O’Malley and shook her awake. “Mamma! Wake up! Thomas is awake!” She ran into the hall and called out, alternately opening doors and leaning over the banister, “Betsy! Fiona! Papa! Dad! Georgie, Jimmy! Aunt Dottie! Come quickly! Thomas is awake!” She returned at a run to find Mrs. O’Malley fussing over her son, asking him what he needed. “Oh, Phoebe,” said Mrs. O’Malley, interrupting herself, “what have you done? Now they’ll come bursting in here and tear his nerves to shreds!” But Thomas’s nerves looked fine as he lay smiling from his mother to Phoebe. Mrs. O’Malley was off to fetch him some warm broth and to slow the influx of

excited family . Phoebe pulled aside the chair she had slept in and knelt by Thomas’s head to hold his hand. Neither looked away from the other, and Thomas, with a weak and trembling hand, rubbed Phoebe’s hair out of her face and said, “Do you really think I’m a selfish beast?” Phoebe laughed and shook her head, too happy for words, as the others came running in one by one. She started to move away to make room for the others, but Thomas kept her hand. Phoebe reassured him by smiling and pressing his, and he let her go. She took the chair Mrs. O’Malley had slept in and watched Thomas greet his family with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. The twins were the first to make their appearance, cautioned by Phoebe and Fiona to be careful, but Fiona was hardly less energetic in her greeting. Mr. O’Malley came next, like a child himself in his excitement, and Aunt Dottie, upon her own appearance, was nearly speechless, standing in the doorway repeating, “Oh, thank Heaven!” Betsy came in, carrying a well-bundled Jack, who, once he heard that Thomas was awake, would not behave himself until he was taken to him. “Jack,” said Thomas when he saw him in the doorway. “How are you, old boy?” “Good,” he said quietly and reached for his brother, who took his little hand in his own weak one. “Mamma gave him permission to stay up here if it won’t make you too tired,” said Betsy. “Not at all,” said Thomas with as broad a smile as he could manage. Betsy came around and laid Jack on the quilt next to his brother, and the two of them began talking and making jokes as Betsy checked on Phoebe. Aunt Dottie and Mr. O’Malley had already come to see her, and she had already been asked the same question twice. “Are you all right?” Phoebe nodded tiredly as her father made his appearance, coming first to shake hands with the convalescent, then to kiss his daughter’s head. Mrs. O’Malley came in with the broth, asking Fiona and Betsy to take the twins and prepare

them some breakfast, and dismissed the others, for she needed room to get to Thomas. She had two bowls of broth, one for Thomas and one for Jack, and Phoebe offered to help, but Mrs. O’Malley refused, saying it was time she got some rest. Phoebe was about to protest when Thomas seconded his mother’s request. “You’d better go, Phoebe. I’ll still be here when you come back.” She smiled at him and, with great reluctance, said a temporary goodbye. ing what Betsy said about her old bed, Phoebe went to Fiona’s room and, without a second thought, lay upon the bed and fell asleep. Phoebe woke in the afternoon to a noiseless house. Faint voices came from downstairs, and regardless of how tired she was, she rose, washed her face, and went to see what had become of everyone. She went to Thomas’s half-open door, first to see Fiona reading in the armchair, then to see that Jack was gone and Thomas was asleep. Fiona smiled in greeting when she saw Phoebe, and Phoebe went to embrace her. “How are you?” Phoebe asked quieter than a whisper. “I’m fine. How are you?” Phoebe smiled. She was not yet aware of how she was, but overall, she thought she was fine. “Mam has some breakfast for you. She’s been checking on you just in case you were hungry and too tired to get up, but she told me to send you down immediately if you did get up.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Phoebe playfully as she rose to go. She walked out slowly, looking at Thomas, secretly hoping he might wake before she left. He did not, but Phoebe was happy to see that his slumber was restful, almost cheerful for one so tired, and there was no evidence of discomfort upon his face.

The family had just finished dinner as Phoebe came downstairs, and she received a quiet, affectionate welcome as Mrs. O’Malley went to get her breakfast. “Where’s Jack?” she asked. “Ah,” nodded Mr. O’Malley, “he’s in there,” he said, indicating the sitting room. Phoebe, despite Mrs. O’Malley’s urgent request that she eat something, went to see him. He was laid in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in blankets, with Betsy sitting at his feet, reading him a story. “Phoebe!” he cried when he saw her, and she came to him, urging him to be quiet for his brother’s sake. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, making the blankets snug. He nodded smilingly. She would have stayed to hear the story with him if Mrs. O’Malley hadn’t come to retrieve her from Jack’s side so that she would eat. “Come along, dear,” she said motheringly. “Now, you sit down and don’t get up until you’ve eaten something.” Phoebe smiled at her. She felt so loved, so happy, so tired that food, even when it was right before her, was nowhere near the forefront of her mind. But she ate obediently and found that she felt better for it. She was just finishing her tea when Fiona shouted downstairs that Thomas was awake. “Is that to be our catchphrase of the day?” said Mr. O’Malley, who had begun to drift off in his chair. “‘Thomas is awake!’ Forget Paul Revere and his redcoats...” Phoebe was the first to respond to Fiona’s call, smiling at Mr. O’Malley’s ramblings as she disappeared upstairs. Thomas was regaining his health quickly, and it was fortunate that he showed such improvement in one afternoon, for if he hadn’t, Mr. James might not have regained the comfort of his own home that evening. The only thing that could persuade Phoebe away from the O’Malleys’ house was

the promise of a return visit the next day, which she made her father keep as early as possible. Mr. James was fatigued from their last visit, so he allowed his daughter to take the carriage alone if she promised to return before dinner. He sent her off, charging the gardener to drive carefully through the snow and ice. Mr. Bell agreed heartily, and Phoebe rode off, waving affectionately to her father. And now more than ever, Mr. James realized just how much his own happiness depended upon his daughter’s.

AS RAPIDLY AS THOMAS was recovering, it took a full week for him to be able to sit up without getting tired. Those days in the O’Malley household were either uneventful or chaotic, and nothing in between. Phoebe’s help was required daily with the two convalescents, for, now that they were well enough to feel half normal, but still unwell enough to be confined to rest, they often made the entire house miserable. “Oh, Phoebe, you’re here, thank goodness!” greeted her from one family member or another whenever she visited, and she would be sent straight to the two miscreants, who usually by that time were either irritable or enjoying a good joke at their family’s expense. Phoebe had ways of getting them to behave when others could not, and she enjoyed what seemed to be her special job in its own right. But this job was not always easy. Phoebe often suspected that they caused trouble just to get her attention, which would either annoy her or touch her heart, depending on the day. But, through it all, she could see that Thomas merely wanted her company, and Jack wanted the care and attention that his mother could not constantly give him. Unfortunately, Phoebe, as much as she loved her job, grew tired of caring for such petulant children—for that was what she called them on her last visit of the second week—and she returned home, leaving behind two remorseful little boys. Phoebe did not visit the day after as they hoped, but Thomas and Jack were more agreeable to their family and hoped that news of their good behavior might spread to her. It did not. But Christmas Eve brought Phoebe and her father for a visit, and she was bright-eyed and rosy as ever. The family, to her surprise, was in the large drawing room. Thomas was settled on the sofa with plenty of blankets, and Jack, who had recovered more quickly than his brother, felt well enough to sit on the floor and play for a while, and Phoebe rejoiced in her heart. “Merry Christmas!” she said, greeting everyone with her hands behind her back. She ran gaily to Thomas and stood before him, still with her hands concealed.

“I have something for you,” she said in restrained excitement. “It’s your Christmas present, but I was too impatient to wait until tomorrow.” He merely smiled and said, “You’re beautiful, Phoebe.” She blushed. “Now, none of that. Close your eyes and open your hands.” He obeyed, opening his arms a bit wider than necessary, and Phoebe gently smacked the back of one of his hands for such impertinence. “No,” she said, “smaller.” After correctly placing his hands for him, she made sure his eyes were still closed and handed him his gift. His eyes opened in surprise. “Merry Christmas,” said Phoebe, still smiling. It was a puppy, similar in appearance to Nicodemus, but with different coloring and markings. Mr. Bell’s dog recently had puppies, and Phoebe had asked for one to give to Thomas. Thomas was speechless. He thought no one had known how much he missed Nicodemus since he had ed, but in that moment, he realized Phoebe must have known all along, and he gulped before saying, “Thank you, Phoebe.” “You’re welcome,” she said quietly as the others came to see Thomas’s gift. Phoebe and her father were to be the O’Malley’s guests over Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Therefore, no urgency on Mr. James’ part was necessary when afternoon faded into darkness and the family was settled comfortably around the fire. Carols were sung, a story was read, and several hours ed like a few minutes. Mrs. O’Malley eventually urged her three youngest children to go to bed, hinting that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her eldest either. “Ten more minutes, Mam?” he asked. “All right,” she said with a smile, gathering her younger sons to make them go upstairs.

Mr. James, out of the corner of his eye, had been contentedly watching his daughter read to Thomas during the evening, and he rose to touch her head fondly and say, “Good night, daughter. Don’t stay up too late.” “No, Father. Good night,” she said, squeezing his hand and smiling at him. Fiona and Aunt Dottie had retired early, and Mr. O’Malley, who had long ago fallen asleep in his chair, was the only one remaining besides Phoebe, Thomas, and Puppy. Phoebe continued reading quietly until she noticed that Thomas’s attention had wandered. She put down the book, rested her chin on her hand, and looked at him questioningly. “What’s wrong?” she asked silently. He was smiling at her, but his face bore a serious expression, and he shook his head, “Nothing,” in response. “I was going to give you something for Christmas,” he said, “but I wanted to ask you something first. “You when I was unconscious, when you thought I was dying? You told me to come back to you.” “And you did,” said Phoebe, taking his hand and smiling to keep from crying. “And I did. But...why did you?” At first, Phoebe was going to say something along the lines of, “Why shouldn’t I have?” but Thomas appeared to be searching for a different answer, and Phoebe, with the memory so fresh in her mind, looked down in tears. “You know why,” she whispered shakily. “Phoebe,” he said, “must things go on as they are? Or will you give me the hope that you once asked me to abandon?” She looked at him so eloquently that all doubt whatsoever was put to rest, and Thomas was encouraged enough to give her her Christmas present. “This isn’t wrapped,” he said, “so, now you must close your eyes and hold out

your hands, or rather, just one.” Phoebe did as requested, and to her surprise, Thomas did not place anything in her hand but turned it over and slid something onto her finger. If Phoebe had been surprised with her eyes closed, she was more so with them opened, for encircling her finger was the pearl ring Aunt Dottie had shown her years ago. Phoebe loved that ring and what it signified, and she couldn’t have received a greater compliment. Mrs. O’Malley soon returned to wake her husband and to tell her eldest son that his ten minutes were up ten minutes ago, and she cleared her throat upon reentering the room. “Nice to see you two getting along,” she said with a smile. Phoebe laughed and rose to embrace her. “Oh, Mamma!” she said somewhere between laughter and tears. “Now I shall truly be your daughter! But, may I? Surely such happiness must be wrong! Please say you approve.” “Do you mean to say that you need my permission? Darling, if ever you didn’t need my blessing for anything, it’s to marry my son. It is I who would be truly blessed to call you my own dear daughter.” Phoebe kissed her cheek and performed the office of waking Mr. O’Malley. “Dad!” she said. “Da, wake up! I’m going to be your daughter! Isn’t it wonderful?” “You mean that cheeky rascal finally asked you to marry him?” he said, waking up a little more quickly than natural. “Well, it’s about time, I should say!” She kissed his cheek in appreciation and returned to Thomas, who was standing at his mother’s insistence that he keep an early bedtime. Phoebe, knowing how weak his illness had left him, placed his arm around her shoulders and helped him up the stairs, guided by Mrs. O’Malley. It was slow progress, for Thomas knew that the end of this short journey would

part him from Phoebe longer than he would like, and not leaning on her in the least, he slowed his steps, and when his mother walked ahead to lead the way, he kissed the dear head next to his shoulder. Mrs. O’Malley soon became aware of her son’s mischief, for, innocent as his face looked, Phoebe’s expression betrayed everything, and at the top of the stairs, she made them bid each other good night. Phoebe returned downstairs to the guest room next to her father and hesitated a moment, wondering if she should wake him to tell him the news. Another moment made her decide to wait until first thing the next morning, and she retired in a dream.

PHOEBE GREETED THE sunrise with smiling eyes. But her mind was occupied, wondering how she should go about telling her father. It did not come to her, but it had to be done, and it had to come from her. She slowly went about preparing for the day as she listened for signs of stirring to come from beneath the door to the adjacent room. Finally, once she had finished dressing and was wondering what to do with herself, the stirring came. She waited a few minutes and knocked on the door. “Come in.” “Merry Christmas, Father,” she said, repressing an overly joyous smile. “Ah,” he said, attending the last button on his vest, “Merry Christmas, daughter. Feeling well today?” “Yes, Father,” she said, her smile escaping her. “Something’s on your mind,” he said with a smile as he put on his jacket. Phoebe nodded. “Anything in particular?” She broke into happy tears and ran into his arms. “I came to ask your permission about something,” she said in a muffled voice. He smiled, sat in a chair, and took her hands in his, saying, “What is it, daughter?” but not before detecting an object upon her left hand. “Ah,” he said, glancing up at her afraid-to-be-too-happy expression, “I see congratulations are in order.” Phoebe regretted not having the idea to remove her ring before asking her father’s permission, and she looked guilty. He merely smiled and said, “I’m happy for you, daughter.”

Her tears came again, and she knelt by his side to say, “But will it make you happy, Father? I mean, would you like to have him as...?” “He would be more than a son-in-law to me, Phoebe. He’s been a friend to our whole family. If he loves you, and you love him, I could not wish for a better son-in-law.” After Phoebe expressed her gratitude with another embrace, she said, “I suppose you can forgive me now for how rude I’ve been to him?” Mr. James laughed. “Yes, daughter, I think you’ve more than made up for that.” Phoebe returned to the drawing room by her own door. She had long ago heard Jack and the twins—who had woken Thomas early to help him downstairs so they could unwrap their presents together—in the drawing room, making their customary mischief around the Christmas tree. Fiona was there also, speaking excitedly with Thomas. Once she entered the drawing room, Phoebe found herself unable to breathe for Fiona’s hug, and her excitement made her almost unintelligible. “Why didn’t you wake me? Oh, but this is the best Christmas ever! Let me see the—Oh, you’re going to be the most beautiful—But, Thomas, when did Aunt Dottie—Oh, never mind! Say you’ll be married in the spring! It’ll be so lovely!” “Married?” said Aunt Dottie as she entered the room. “Who’s getting married?” “Phoebe is, Aunt Dottie,” said Thomas mischievously. “Phoebe, show Aunt Dottie your Christmas present.” Phoebe, understanding the joke, cast a glance in his direction somewhere between love and reproval as she let Aunt Dottie examine her ring. “But!” said Aunt Dottie, looking back and forth between Thomas and Phoebe. Thomas’s expression was happy, Phoebe’s pitying. “Oh, dear me! But, of course,” she said with a slow smile. “Oh, how wonderful!” After reaching Fiona’s level of excitement, Aunt Dottie soon provided her an adequate partner in conversation.

Thomas felt well enough that morning to sit at the breakfast table and was quickly regaining strength and appetite alike. His sense of mischief and the permanent smile so characteristic of him as a boy were returning to him as quickly as his health. During breakfast, as he sat across from Phoebe, he enjoyed catching her eye and staring her blushingly out of countenance or saying something as he ed a dish that made her stifle her own laughter. “Thomas,” said Mrs. O’Malley eventually, “do stop that or you’ll make Phoebe spill the coffee.” “Stop what, Mam?” he asked innocently. Mrs. O’Malley sent him an onishing look, and he smiled and focused on eating. After breakfast, the younger children went to play in the snow with Puppy as Mrs. O’Malley, Betsy, and Phoebe prepared Christmas dinner. Fiona soon came to relieve Phoebe in the kitchen, leaving her brothers to break every good rule of a snowball fight, and gave Puppy to Phoebe, who quickly sought a blanket for the snow-laden bundle of fur. She brought him into the drawing room and sat on the rug by the fire to dry him off. Thomas quickly proved to be a terrible conversation partner, for he was constantly diverted by Phoebe’s attempts at making the dog be still so she could dry him. And with a laugh, he broke off mid-sentence to assist her, and they made a game of it, which turned into a conversation about what Puppy should be named. “I say, Mr. James,” said Mr. O’Malley, remarking the pair sitting by the fire, “we have before us the oldest pair of children that were ever betrothed to one another.” “I believe you’re right,” said Mr. James, “but I’ve never seen my girl happier.” Just then, Thomas whispered something to Phoebe that made her blush, and she whispered something back that made him lose his composure entirely, and she laughed at the effect. Aunt Dottie shook her head at herself for not having seen this match before, and she wondered aloud when the wedding would be.

“Please say it’ll be in the spring!” said Fiona quickly, who came to announce that dinner was ready and forgot her task. “Oh, out in the garden! That would be lovely!” said Aunt Dottie. “So would hay fever!” said Mr. O’Malley. “How about an autumn wedding?” said Betsy, coming into the room. “How about we discuss it over Christmas dinner?” said Mrs. O’Malley, following behind, and they all agreed by general movement into the dining room. But Thomas, though recovering quickly, was still not in perfect health, and during the conversation, he had fallen asleep with young Alphaeus snoring upon his chest and Phoebe stroking his head. Mrs. O’Malley returned to see this picture and smiled at Phoebe. They spent a moment contemplating the situation before Mrs. O’Malley said, “Should we wait for him to wake up?” “No, Mam,” came his voice quietly, “that could take ages,” he said, rolling into a sitting position. “But I’d better be there so the twins don’t eat all the pudding!” And rising, he left Alphie to finish his own nap by the fireplace and ed those at the table. After Christmas dinner, the families took leave of each other with promises of return visits, and before her departure, Phoebe charged Thomas to keep feeling better and to look after himself for her sake. He agreed obediently, and she promised to come back soon. She said goodbye to the rest of the family, giving Jack a similar charge to keep feeling better, and before she knew it, she was traveling home, feeling as if she were leaving home as well. “It would seem, daughter,” said Mr. James after they left, “that you have forgotten to ask me for your Christmas present.” “Oh, Father, I’m almost too happy for anything else!”

“Nevertheless, I want to give it to you,” he said, removing something from his pocket. “I don’t believe my girl could ever have too much happiness.” Phoebe received the gift from her father. It was a small, silken drawstring bag containing what felt like lightweight marbles on the inside. She opened it to find a string of pearls just like one she had seen in a portrait of— “Oh, Father!” she said, looking up to see him smiling at her with shining eyes. “She would have given them to you herself.” Phoebe held the necklace before her, ing the painting of her mother on her wedding day, wearing the same pearls her father was giving her now. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, hugging him. “I wish she could have been here,” he sighed. Phoebe, carefully holding her mother’s necklace, quietly replied, “She is.”

Chapter 38

Spring That winter proved to be the coldest of many past decades, but it was no match for the sunshine that reigned over the houses of James and O’Malley. It had been decided that Thomas and Phoebe should be married in the coming spring, and Aunt Dottie resolved not to return home until after then. Many preparations had to be made and were attended to faithfully despite the weather. However, a terrible snowstorm put a temporary halt in the proceedings, forcing the families to face reality for many days. But a day soon dawned bright enough to melt ice into slush, bringing a brightfaced gentleman riding through the elements to visit the James household. After an enthusiastic welcome, the visitor received a good scolding from Phoebe, and she led him to a chair by the fire before he could even give a proper greeting to her father. “What are you thinking of?” she said, arranging a footstool and getting him a blanket. “You can catch pneumonia on a day like this! How do you think that’d make me feel? Mrs. Bell!” she called and ordered tea. “Imagine, such foolishness...” Thomas amusedly allowed her to go about arranging things for him, never catching the full meaning of her scoldings, for she was happy to see him above anything else. “How are you, Phoebe?” he asked once she had calmed enough to hear him. A smile broke out, and she relented in her manner of welcoming him. One thing had been troubling Phoebe since she received Thomas’s letter in November, and she had not yet had opportunity to ask him about it. After seeing him properly settled and warmed, she perched herself on a stool facing him, and they discussed many things before Phoebe had the pleasure of satisfying her

curiosity. She was curious why his aunt said in her letter that he paid frequent visits to the Davies’ house if he had no interest in Emily. “Oh,” he said, “I was visiting Tillie.” “Tillie!” “Yes, she’s quite grown up since you’ve seen her last, very mature for her age.” “Do be serious!” “Well, she was the only person within a hundred miles who didn’t get tired of hearing me talk about you all the time, and we were perfect company for each other.” Phoebe laughed at the compliment, and a happy afternoon unfolded before the three in the James house, at the end of which, Phoebe insisted that her father order the carriage, and she sent Thomas home, well-guarded from the cold. Thomas announced during his visit that the doctor had deemed him well enough, and the weather warm enough, for him to return to work. This was not only good news in and of itself, but it meant that he would once again be paying frequent visits as he made his way home in the afternoon. These were happy visits, in which Phoebe and Thomas sometimes acted as much like mischievous children as ever. They felt as if they were in possession of some great and beautiful secret that only they knew. But the truth of the matter was that many others had shared this secret before, and many would for centuries to come. Nevertheless, they liked to imagine that they were the only ones. As the snow and ice melted, and the sun warmed the earth once again, the family resumed preparations for the wedding. Dresses were made, a cake was baked, and Fiona put the flowers in her garden to good use. Aside from the guests consisting of half the population of Hillbrook, Mr. and Mrs. Davies brought Emily and Tillie; Thomas invited Mr. Simpson and his family, his recently promoted coworker Fred, and his friends, Sam Walter and Charley Thorne; and Mrs. O’Malley invited Mrs. Baker and her family. And on the appointed day, the

minister arrived at a certain spot on the O’Malley farm, where, nearly six years previously, a beautiful day had been spent in a picnic. So ends our story, in a moment of ethereal joy, among dearly loved ones, on the day I was granted the honor of changing my dear wife’s name to Phoebe O’Malley.

Five Years Later...

“R ose!” came a voice from the top of the staircase as a tiny pair of feet tripped lightly beneath a pink muslin frock into the study. “Rosie O’Malley, what will your father say if he comes home and sees you like this?” came the voice again as it reached the doorway. A giggle came from behind a mass of golden-red curls that sought shelter in Papa’s lap. Phoebe smiled against her own will at the pair of them as her father pleaded on behalf of his granddaughter. “Surely Thomas won’t mind whether her hair is combed or not.” “He won’t,” said Phoebe quietly, “but I mind, and if she runs about the farm today with untidy hair, it’ll be nothing but a matted mane by the time we get home. Now, you do as I say, young lady, or there will be no picnic for you today.” Rose slid off Papa’s chair and came meekly to her mother. “That’s better. Now, be still for Mamma.” “You look tired, daughter,” said Mr. James. Phoebe smiled. “I’ll be able to rest this afternoon at the picnic. Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Rose looked eagerly at Papa for his response. “Yes,” he said, “I’m quite comfortable here with a book, but thank you, dear.” “All right then,” she said, tying the final plait of her daughter’s hair with a pink ribbon. “There!” she said with satisfaction. “Looks charming, daughter.” “Fiona taught me well. All right, darling, now you may sit with Papa,” she said,

kissing her darling in appreciation. Rosie then settled herself between Papa and his book to help with the easy words, and Phoebe went to tidy herself up, but not before a resounding bark from Alphaeus announced Thomas’s arrival. Phoebe sighed and turned from the staircase to welcome her husband. He opened the door and ran to greet her, having no thought for her appearance except that which is blind and irable. “How is my love?” he asked, smiling into her eyes. “All right,” she said in undisguised fatigue. “And how’s Junior?” he said, looking down. “Still hiccupping. Do you think that’s normal?” “Ask Mam. She’ll tell you hundreds of stories of how I hiccupped for months before I was born. Where’s my little Irish Rose?” he called out to the house generally and was answered by the pitter-patter of bare feet coming from the study. “There’s my girl!” he said, taking her up in his arms. “Did we stay out of trouble today?” “Yes, Daddy.” Rose smiled with her mother’s blue eyes into his green ones. “Good girl!” he said affectionately. “May we still go on a picnic today?” she asked without the slightest fear that he would say no. “May we, Mamma?” he asked Phoebe. “As soon as I can dress,” she said, carefully ascending the stairs. Thomas was at her side in an instant to help her, and she smiled at his concern. “I’m perfectly fine, Thomas,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll make sure of that,” he said. “But I think it’s time we get settled in the guest room again.” “All right,” she said. “We’ll see about it tomorrow.” “I’ll see about it tomorrow, and we’ll ask Fiona if she can stay and help you look after Rose.” “Oh, that would be so nice! I’m sure she’d love to.” “Watch your step,” said Thomas. Phoebe giggled at his absurdity, and after reaching the top of the stairs, she asked him to visit with her father until she was ready. “I’ll call for you when I’m ready to come down,” she said in order to satisfy him. He left her hesitantly, and she smilingly shook her head over his apprehension. “Thomas!” she called patiently a few moments later, and he answered instantly. She ceremoniously held out her hand to make fun of his gallantry, which he kissed and placed around his shoulders to carry her down the stairs. “My dear,” she said, “this is hardly necessary, is it?” “Not necessary,” he said, “but highly practical. I have better balance than you do right now. Besides, you’ve carried two of our children thus far, the least I can do is carry you.” Phoebe smiled and kissed his cheek in humble gratitude, which he returned with interest at the foot of the stairs. “Let’s be off!” he said. “Not without the picnic basket,” said Phoebe. “Let me,” he said, quickly taking it from her, but not without a grimace at its weight, and he looked at her in astonishment. She giggled in reply and called Rose from the study. Her father followed behind and came to watch as his daughter arranged Rose’s hat, who looked like a young

martyr at being subjected to such frivolity. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Thomas asked his father-in-law. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “You three run along and have a good time.” “All right, Father,” said Phoebe, kissing him goodbye. “Take care.” “I will, daughter.” Phoebe stepped out the door, and Mr. James silently charged his son-in-law to look after his daughter. Thomas replied with a salute and followed Phoebe with Rose perched upon his arm, and she waved over his shoulder at her grandfather. “G’bye, Papa!” she said, reminding him of his daughter. “Goodbye, my love!” he said, standing in the doorway, blessing the little family that rolled away singing merrily in the carriage.

UPON THEIR ARRIVAL at the O’Malley farm, two identical youths of seventeen opened both carriage doors, making the occupants feel as if they were trapped inside a mirror. “Georgie! Jimmy! How are you?” asked Phoebe excitedly as she accepted George’s help. “We’re hungry!” said Jimmy, coming around from the other side, pretending to be unaware that his niece’s arms were clasped around his neck from behind. “Mam wouldn’t let us eat until you got here.” “Well, you take Rosie and the basket and get everything ready. We’ll be there soon.” Phoebe walked towards the house as Thomas finished greeting his brothers. The carriage had arrived at the front of the house, which had been restored to its former use and glory. But Phoebe set off on a different path than the obvious, walking around to a side porch bordered by a garden. She came upon a brown-headed lad in spectacles, sitting on a step, poring over a book, unaware of her arrival. “How’s my boy?” He looked up in surprise and shouted, “Phoebe!” and ran to embrace her. “How are you, Jack?” “Did you bring Alphie?” “Yes, he’s with Rosie and the twins now. They’re setting up the picnic if you want to them.” “Oh, I can’t!” he said suddenly. “I was supposed to let Mam know when you got here!” “Why don’t you let me tell her myself, and you can go play with Rose and

Alphie,” suggested Phoebe. “No, I think I’d better tell her first,” he said cautiously. Entering the kitchen, Jack looked for his mother but couldn’t find her. They found Mr. O’Malley in the sitting room with a pipe and a newspaper, and Phoebe stopped to greet him. “Hello, Dad.” “Well, bless my—” he said at the sight of Phoebe, “but I was just...” He then broke out in hysterical laughter, and Phoebe and Jack looked at each other in concern. “Ah, they’re in for a jig!” he said in the midst of his laughter. “Who is?” asked Phoebe. “Yer Mam an’ sister!” he said, still laughing. “Ah, that boy o’ mine! If t’weren’t fer that heart o’ gold, I’d say—Oh, but never mind. You’d best go an’ put their minds at ease. Ha-ha-ha!” Phoebe confusedly walked towards the front door, which stood open, letting the sound of raised voices reach their ears. “What do you mean she probably walked?” shouted Fiona. “Well, you know Phoebe,” said Thomas. “She’s not likely to let an ignorant husband get in the way of visiting her family.” At this point, Jack was about to triumphantly announce Phoebe’s arrival when she placed her hand on his shoulder as a motion to keep quiet. She smiled at him in fun and silently made her way to the doorway behind Mrs. O’Malley, who then spoke. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself! A grown man of—Now, be serious and tell us, where is she?” “She’s probably walking on her way here now,” he said, trying not to smile, for in the corner of his eye, he could see Phoebe slowly making her way towards

them from inside the house. “Some husband you are!” said Fiona, red in the face and on the verge of tears. “You won’t even turn back to get her! Imagine she did decide to walk! By now, she’s probably hungry and tired and—and in her condition too!” “Yes,” interrupted Phoebe, “but I made excellent time, didn’t I?” “Oh, Phoebe!” said Mrs. O’Malley in startled relief as she embraced her. “Oh, you!” said Fiona to her brother before welcoming Phoebe. Phoebe took turns responding to them, first to Mrs. O’Malley about her health, then to Fiona about Thomas, all the while mirroring her husband’s smile. As they spoke, they made their way to the grounds where the twins had set up the picnic. Rosie was running in circles being chased by Alphaeus, and Jack ran to catch up with them. Betsy saw the arrival of Thomas and Phoebe from where she stood and came to greet them. The picnic began, and the twins were finally able to relieve their stomachs. Thomas’s anxiety for Phoebe’s health quickly made itself apparent, and Mrs. O’Malley, after receiving a comically tragic glance from Phoebe, said, “You know, son, an expectant mother can handle much more than you think. What do you suppose Phoebe does all day while you’re at the office? A child like Rose doesn’t raise herself, you know.” “Which reminds me, Mam,” said Thomas, “I was going to ask if you could spare Fiona for the time being. I’d like Phoebe to have some help around the house while I am gone.” Phoebe merely smiled as Thomas suggested this, but Mrs. O’Malley considered the idea, and slowly began to nod in agreement. Fiona saved her a response by agreeing to the arrangement at once. “Oh, I’d love to!” she said. “Could I, Mam?” “Yes, you may,” said Mrs. O’Malley, but she was barely heard above Fiona, who

was still speaking. “Won’t it be fun? Rosie, how would you like for me to come and stay with you?” Rose’s answer was all bounces and giggles, and Fiona ran to start packing as soon as she had taken her last hurried bite. The children, after finishing their meal, fell to having fun and playing games as their elders watched and enjoyed themselves in boring conversation. After an hour, the party grew quiet, and they sat or lay in mutual silence, listening to the wind in the trees. And Rosie, who easily grew bored, interrupted her father in a brown study as he lay back on folded hands. “Tell me a story, Daddy.” “A story? Oh, all right then,” he said, sighing into paternal submission. “Once upon a time,” he began, “there were three bears, Baby Bear, Mama Bear...” “No!” giggled Rose. “Tell me about Mamma.” “Again?” She nodded. Phoebe sat nearby with some knitting and smiled at their conversation. “All right,” he said. “Remind me to write it all down for you someday.” “Okay,” she said, settling onto her elbows. “It was a cloudy...” “Afternoon.” “Afternoon—thank you—and Mamma was sitting...” “No, Daddy!” “No what?”

“You have to call her Phoebe.” “All right. Phoebe sat on the front steps of her house, luggage at her feet, hat on her head...

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