by Susan Foy
The crackling logs in the fireplace echoed in the silence.
“Perhaps I have been precipitate.” She could hear the trembling in his voice, and she felt very sorry for him. “I don’t mean to rush you. Perhaps you need some more time to consider?”
Phoebe opened her mouth to agree. But that would be the easy way out. It would be cruel to give him false hope.
“I’m sorry,” she managed miserably. “I never intended to give you false encouragement. I apologize if I did that without intending to. But Mr. Quincy, I really believe you should be courting some other girl.”
* * *
She escaped up to the bedroom after his departure and lay face down on her bed, hoping to cool her face in the quilt. The triumph of receiving an offer of marriage could not make up for the look of sadness and shock on his face as she said farewell. She knew now that her politeness, meant only as kindness, had given him false encouragement and ultimately compounded the pain of her refusal.
She lay on the bed for perhaps ten minutes, telling herself she had done the right thing, the only thing, that Miles Quincy would soon get over his disappointment and begin courting some other girl. She had given the only answer she could give. She couldn’t have accepted him; she would have been miserable and would have disappointed him as well.
She heard her mother’s voice at the door. “Phoebe? Are you in there?”
Her mother! Of course, she could never keep this from her mother. She sat up and scrubbed at her cheeks. “Come in.”
Sarah entered the bedroom and studied Phoebe, a crease between her brows. “Did Mr. Quincy leave already? What happened, Phoebe?”
“He left.” Phoebe studied the triangular pattern on the quilt.
“You didn’t—you didn’t—gracious, Phoebe, you didn’t send him away, did you?”
“He asked me to marry him, and I told him I couldn’t—I couldn’t—” Phoebe couldn’t continue.
“You foolish girl.” Her mother’s voice was less angry than she had expected, but rather sad and incredulous. She shook her head slowly in disbelief. “You foolish, foolish girl. The one decent suitor you have, and you throw him away, all because of some simple romantic notions. You’ll never get another offer like this one. Never.” Sarah turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Phoebe lay down again on the quilt, torn between shame at her mother’s words and relief that the lecture had been so brief. She thought of Nicholas then, his quick smile and his mischievous ways and his flashes of sympathetic understanding. All the longing she had struggled to contain for the last six months swept over her. If only Nicholas had been the one—but she was only a sister to Nicholas. He had said so on his last visit. Maybe Mother is right. Maybe I’ve thrown away my only chance. But I couldn’t marry Miles—even if I never get another offer. Even if Nicholas never wants me.
Chapter Twelve
The winter seemed to drag on forever. It was cold outside, but Phoebe’s discomfort from the bitter weather was intensified by the chill in the Fuller household. Alice attended to her duties in mournful quiet, and Sarah rarely spoke to Phoebe in a gentle tone. Phoebe wondered if she would ever be forgiven. She tried not to offend in smaller ways, to be more diligent than normal around the house, and especially to stay out of her mother’s way. She spent most of her time with Sally and her brothers, helping with their lessons and chores. Whenever possible she escaped to visit Rhoda Kirby and her family, where she always found approval.
On one visit Mr. Kirby told his family the latest war news. The British and Hessians appeared content to remain east of the Delaware and no longer threatened Philadelphia, while the rebel army had moved into winter quarters north, in Morristown, New Jersey. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t seen Nicholas in many weeks. She remembered him constantly and prayed for him every morning when she first opened her eyes. She prayed he was continuing to read his Bible and that he would spend time with other Christians in the army who could be an encouragement to him. In the evening she continued to knit on his scarf, and by the end of January it was finished. Sally told her it was very handsome and Phoebe privately agreed, all red, black, and white stripes. She wished she could give it to him, yet felt a bit nervous at the prospect.
Sometimes during the long, cold evenings, she sat up with a candle and her small collection of books, reading and rereading them. Her favorite was still Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, and she read her favorite sections again although she had finished the entire volume during the summer. She would have felt foolish admitting that, as she read, she liked to picture herself and Nicholas as the characters in the book. The naughty, irrepressible Mr. B certainly reminded her of Nicholas in many ways. And virtuous Pamela was true to her principles and won her man in the end. She found comfort in the happy ending of the story, although she knew life did not always work out that way.
Toward the end of January she heard about him once through his sister. Lavinia wrote to thank Phoebe again for her role in the reconciliation and to tell her Nicholas had written to his family. Her father and Nicholas, Lavinia said, had not made any direct contact, but her father had heard of the meeting at Christmas and seemed relieved that Nicholas was alive and doing well. Lavinia, Charlotte, and their parents would be leaving for New York in February and would probably depart for England in early March when the worst of winter was past. Lavinia hoped Phoebe would write to her in England and keep them informed about Nicholas. Phoebe quickly wrote a reply and assured her friend that she would do her best.
By mid-February she had almost given up hope of seeing or hearing from him before the spring and sighed to think her lovely scarf would be wasted. But one unseasonably mild day she was scrubbing the kitchen floor when she heard a knock at the front door. She waited for Martha to answer it, but when the second knock sounded she rose and went to the door.
On the front step was Nicholas.
Her heart leaped at the sight of him, still so handsome, yet drooping and shivering from his long ride. She held the door wider for him. “Nicholas! Come in!”
He smiled as he stepped in the door and his glance swept over her. Phoebe realized with a sudden blush how she must look. She was wearing an old, stained petticoat, her hair had escaped in straggly tendrils from her cap, and she felt soiled and sweaty. She wiped her red, chapped hands on her petticoats. Why did she have to look so terrible when Nicholas showed up in town? Just like the day last July, at the State House!
“Let me call my mother,” she told him, leading him into the parlor. “She’s gathering in the wash, but she’ll be here in a moment.
She called out the back door to her mother, then escaped up to her bedroom to change her petticoat, wash her face and comb her hair. When the mirror told her that her appearance was presentable, she returned to the parlor.
As Phoebe entered the room her gaze met Nicholas’s and she thought she saw his eyes register a smile, either in approval or amusement at the change in her appearance. She was glad her mother was engrossed with a letter in her lap.
She chose a seat on the other side of him. “Did you bring my mother a letter?”
“Aye, a letter from your brother. I knew I was coming south and found a chance to ask him if he wanted to send word.”
Phoebe sat next to her mother and glanced over her arm at the letter. “I know she’s so happy to hear from George.” And the letter would give Nicholas a warmer welcome than he might otherwise have found. “Is the army in Morristown now? You must have had a long ride.”
“Aye, we’re staying there for the winter. It took me longer to get here than it normally would have. I had to make a wide circle around the British army.”
Phoebe gazed at him with compassion. “You must be so cold from your ride. Move closer to the stove and get warm.”
He met her glance and smiled smile she loved. “I’m plenty warm right now. It feels like heaven to be here.”
Phoebe tried not to blush at his words. “I didn’t think we would see you
again until spring, until the army is on the move again.”
He nodded. “Aye. I haven’t needed to come to the city for a while, and I probably won’t be here again soon. I’m only in town for this one night, and I have to start back again tomorrow.”
Phoebe’s heart fell at this information. But at least he was here for one evening. She wondered what business had brought him.
“Do you think your mother will let me stay the night here?”
“I’m sure she will.” Phoebe looked to her mother for confirmation of the offer.
Sarah glanced up from her letter and nodded, but omitted a smile, and Phoebe suspected her mother felt less enthusiasm for the visit than she had in the fall. Perhaps she blamed Nicholas for Phoebe’s refusal of Miles Quincy. Perhaps she believed Nicholas was sporting with her younger daughter, encouraging her infatuation. But really, it wasn’t true. Ever since the one time he had kissed her last summer, he had never treated her as anything but a friend, by word or deed.
However her mother might feel about the visit, the rest of the family was excited by the news from George and pleased to have a guest for supper. When they gathered around the table Sarah permitted Phoebe to read the letter aloud to everyone. The two boys asked Nicholas many questions about life in the army, and the women shivered and pitied George as he told them about the wretched conditions under which the men were living.
“At least you aren’t likely to fight any battles until the spring.” Sarah refilled Nicholas’s noggin with hot cider. “I hate to think of him cold and starving, but at least he won’t be killed in battle.”
“Thank goodness for the two battles we did win.” Nicholas swallowed another gulp of the steamy fragrant brew. “Now if we can just get more supplies and ammunition by springtime, we’ll be ready to take on the British again.”
Phoebe nodded and leaned toward him, her eyes bright. “Mr. Kirby says that Congress is trying to buy supplies in Europe. That will make all the difference.”
Nicholas grinned as he met her eyes. “I won’t tell you what some of us in the army have to say about Congress, but I hope this time its actions are as good as its words.”
“Enough melancholy talk about the war.” Sarah rose from the table and began gathering up empty plates. “Come, Martha, don’t dawdle. Let’s get these dishes done and perhaps we’ll have time for a little music. Alice, dear, we haven’t heard you play the harpsichord in ever so long. I’m sure Nicholas would enjoy hearing you play.”
“It would be delightful.” Nicholas smiled at Alice, and Phoebe suppressed a tiny dart of jealousy. “I feel I’m truly back in civilization. First a delicious meal and now music.” He threw an amused smile and a wink at Phoebe as he and Alice moved to the door.
“Phoebe, you help Martha with the dishes so Alice can play,” Sarah ordered her daughter.
Phoebe swallowed hard but began to gather the dishes together as the rest of the family disappeared into the parlor. She filled the basin with hot water from the fire and washed faster than she ever had in her life as the tinkling sounds of the harpsichord drifted into the kitchen. Martha watched in amazement as she threw the dirty water out the back door and tossed her apron on the table.
In the parlor she found Nicholas standing by the harpsichord, watching Alice’s graceful fingers on the keys. Phoebe hesitated until he glanced at her, smiled, and beckoned to her. Phoebe joined him, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
“Perhaps your sister can play some of your Methodist hymns,” he suggested to Phoebe at the next pause. “You sang a few to me that day last August—do you remember?”
Phoebe gave him a sideways glance and smiled archly. “Last August? I’m sure I cannot recall.”
She would never forget anything about that day.
Alice immediately chose a hymn, while Sally, Kit and their mother joined the other two at the harpsichord.
“They are so different from the hymns I grew up with,” Nicholas said. “They have such a modern, lively sound.”
Phoebe grinned up at him. “Some of the tunes are tavern drinking songs. Maybe that’s why they seem familiar to you.”
Nicholas laughed. “What about that one you sang last August? I liked that one, but I don’t remember how it goes.”
“‘Come ye that love the Lord,’” Phoebe suggested, and Alice began to play.
The hills of Zion yields a thousand sacred sweets
Before we reach the heavenly fields or walk the golden streets.
Then let our songs abound and every tear be dry,
We’re marching through Emmanuel’s ground to fairer worlds on high.
“I like that one,” Nicholas said. “Sing it again, so I can learn it.”
They all sang the song again, and the second time Phoebe quoted each line to him as it came up so he could sing along. She had never heard him sing before and was pleased with his rumbling baritone. Whenever he made a mistake she struggled to keep her composure, but finally at one particularly glaring error they both burst into laughter.
“Write the words down for me,” he told Phoebe as the hymn ended, “that way I can carry them back to Morristown.”
Phoebe rejoiced in seeing him so happy and content and comfortable with her family. It was almost like a little party, and she tried not to care that she had no private time alone with him. It was enough that Nicholas was here and she was able to stand beside him, singing with him and trying not to glow in the face of her mother’s disapproval.
“I think it’s time for everyone to go to bed,” Sarah declared when the next song ended. “Come, Kit, Sally, we have a busy day tomorrow and it’s past your bedtime.” She threw Phoebe a pointed glance that indicated her adult daughters were included in the command.
Phoebe gave her mother a pleading glance in return. She was enjoying the evening with Nicholas so much, and the hour was not so late that they couldn’t have sung a few more songs. But she didn’t want to provoke her mother, especially in light of the tension that had existed between them in the last few weeks. She looked up at Nicholas with a last smile and turned toward the stairs, trailing Alice.
She expected him to follow them upstairs to the room he shared with Kit and Jonathan when he visited, but when she glanced over her shoulder she saw he had moved to the corner of the parlor where her father was sitting next to the Franklin stove. Her mother had disappeared into the kitchen. Phoebe saw Nicholas lean close to her father to speak to him, and though she couldn’t hear the words, she saw her father nod and gesture to the seat next to him.
Well, that was odd. But how nice that Nicholas was making an effort to talk with her father. She would have loved to know what they were talking about, but probably wouldn’t have a chance to ask him.
The next morning he breakfasted with the family and told them he needed to leave to return north. He met Phoebe’s eyes across the table with a pointed look. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but she was determined to find a moment alone with him, to give him his gift.
As soon as breakfast was over she whispered a few words to Sally, then ran upstairs to retrieve the two scarves from her chest. Nicholas would need to go to the barn for Syllabub, and so she decided her best chance of finding him alone was to meet him there. But to her surprise she found him waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“I have something I want to give you before you leave,” she told him, a little breathless.
He nodded as if pleased. “Can you come out to the barn with me for a minute?”
Phoebe fetched her cloak and followed him out the door, careful to avoid her mother in the kitchen. She clutched her gifts to her chest underneath her cloak. Outside the winter sun lit up the sky to an azure blue. The air was so mild, it was more like April than February.
“At least you have fair weather for your ride back to the army,” she remarked as they stepped into the barn.
“Aye, the day was so fair yesterday, I thought spring was here to stay.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I’m afr
aid we have more winter weather ahead of us.”
“I fear you are right.”
He closed the barn door and leaned against it, watching her expectantly, a half-smile on his face. Phoebe felt suddenly nervous and flustered.
“I made you a gift.” She opened her cloak and held out the scarves, one in blue and yellow wool, the other in red and black. “This one is for George, and this is for you. I thought they might help keep you warm in this terrible cold.”
“Why Phoebe, I’m honored. You made these?” He took the red and black scarf and unrolled it, then draped it around his neck. “The other men will be so envious, I’ll need to make sure none of them steal it from me. And somehow I’ll make sure this one gets to George.”
Phoebe nodded, her face warm. She repeated the line she had been practicing for the last month. “I made one for George first, and I wanted to make one for you too, because you’re like another brother to me.”
She felt she had delivered her line with reasonable poise and started to breathe easier until she saw a look of surprise cross his face. Then he laughed. Phoebe felt her pink face turn red. Had she said the wrong thing? What was so funny? She bit her lip and turned away from him, but he was leaning against the barn door and she had nowhere to go.
“A brother?” He was still laughing. “Is that really the way you think of me, Phoebe?”
She found herself annoyed at his laughter and even more annoyed at herself. In spite of her efforts she had made a fool of herself anyway. Of course Nicholas knew she didn’t think of him as a brother. He wasn’t that blind.
“You were the one who said so,” she returned, stepping away from him, but he reached out and caught her hand in his.
“I did? When did I say something like that?”
She remembered the words so clearly she was amazed he could have forgotten. “The last time you were here. You remember. You said you would defend my honor like a gallant brother if Miles ever forgets himself.”