“You’ve not kissed me since you were a child, Melissa,” said Amanda, in her rustling whisper. “Kiss me.”
Melissa bent. She had to lean on her stiff arms, her palms pressed against the mattress. She kissed her mother’s cold damp forehead. Amanda turned her head, and her lips brushed Melissa’s cheek. She smiled as if comforted, and closed her eyes.
Melissa did not move for a long time. Her hair fell over her stooping head, and covered her face.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 20
The cold afternoon stood starkly at the parlor windows. The fire snarled and flickered. The three young people grouped near the hearth in a semi-circle stared at the fire, feeling the weight of the dim silence crushing them deeper and deeper into themselves.
They had sat like this hardly six weeks ago, in the same attitudes. But at that time their mother had been with them. None of the three looked at Amanda’s chair. Geoffrey had gone, though he would have remained longer had he received the slightest encouragement. He had read their mother’s will to them, and had waited for comment. None had come, though Andrew had lifted his head and for the first time Geoffrey had noticed the strong resolute line of his chin which so resembled Amanda’s.
“If there is anything, then, that I can do, in any way, you have only to call on me,” Geoffrey had said. Andrew had given him a straight and quiet glance and had replied: “Yes. We know. Thank you.” But Melissa had not looked at Geoffrey. She had let him go like the unwanted intruder she felt him to be.
They heard the harsh and strident ticking of the clock in the hall, but could not arouse themselves from their lethargy. Even Phoebe was not weeping. She sat in her chair, huddled together, her plump face white, her eyes full of fear and misery. They were not red, for she had not shed a single tear. For once, she was mute.
Melissa moved sluggishly, as if weighted down by iron. “We have so much to decide and to plan,” she said, in a dull voice. “It can’t wait.
“Andrew, the farm is yours, with all its debts. It is a liability. It always was. It should have been sold long ago. Now we must put it on the market immediately.”
Andrew gazed at her with his small, shrewd, dark-blue eyes. They narrowed a little as he appeared about to speak. But he said nothing.
Melissa lifted her heavy hand, then let it drop back on her lap.
“We shan’t clear much, that is certain. But it is a little. I have calculated everything. With the proceeds from the farm, after all debts have been paid, and with what is left in the banks, we shall have exactly seven hundred and seventy-five dollars and twelve cents. We can sell nearly all the furniture. Some of it, I have been told, is very valuable. Let us make a conservative estimate and say that we are able to obtain four hundred dollars from the the furniture. None of us will need these things. Then, I understand from Geof—from Mr. Dunham, we have a certain amount due in royalties, in April. Accounting for everything, we ought to have between twelve and thirteen hundred dollars.”
Her voice failed. Her overpowering weariness cut off her breath. After some moments she was able to speak again:
“We must put aside four hundred and fifty dollars for your next semester, Andrew. In the meantime, I must arrange for Phoebe and myself to leave here and go to Philadelphia. I shall write at once to Papa’s old friends and ask them to secure me a post as teacher or governess. Phoebe and I will live in lodgings temporarily. Of course, I shall take no post unless she can be with me or I. am permitted to live outside of any establishment. A room together, under the eaves, will be all we shall need, until Phoebe has completed her book of poems. We shall live quietly, of course, and in accordance with our circumstances. Later, perhaps, when you are practicing law, you can assist us, Andrew. And then there’ll be something from Papa’s books. A lot.”
Andrew looked at her steadily. Why, the poor damned fool! She actually thought she could do these things, and that he and Phoebe would follow meekly where she led! He was very sorry for her, more sorry than he could have believed possible, and therefore he could not tell her outright not to be an imbecile, that he had never wanted to be a lawyer and that he intended to farm his inheritance and make it pay.
No, he could not tell this haggard young woman this, out of his slow compassion. He was two years younger than Melissa, but he felt himself immeasurably older and far more sane. What did the poor thing know about anything, with her airy talk of Philadelphia and a “post” and her silly plans for the lives of all of them? He saw her pale fanatical eyes, the stern trembling of her lips, and he averted his head in pity.
He glanced at Phoebe. She was sitting upright in her chair, fright vivid on her pretty face. She was staring at Melissa with hatred and panic. She began to beat on the arm of her chair with clenched little fists.
“Oh, Melissa, you are so stupid! Do you really think I’ll go to Philadelphia with you, and live like a beggar on cheese and dry bread and tea, and sleep in an attic?”
She thought her sister capable of forcing her to this hideous extremity, and her big blue eyes blazed with mounting rage.
“You and all your foolishness! My poems! Do you think I’ll live like that, with you, just for my poems? I’ll never write another one. I’ll marry Johnnie Barrett as soon as we can arrange it, and I’m not going to wait until April. He spoke to me right at the funeral, before we came back to this horrid place, and we agreed that we’d be married right after the New Year.”
She subsided, panting daintly but ferociously, like an infuriated kitten. But her blazing eyes did not leave her sister, who stared at her, stupefied.
“I want Johnnie!” screamed Phoebe, resuming the pounding of the chair arm with her fists. “I don’t want poverty any more! I want pretty dresses, and a nice house, and a carriage of my own, and furs and feathers and jewels. I’m sick of this misery, and hiding like mice in cracked walls, and never having anything or seeing anything!” She bent her head and beat her forehead, too, on the arm of the chair, and wailed shrilly and desperately.
Melissa could not make a sound. She turned ghastly pale and moistened her lips. She wrung her hands together soundlessly.
Andrew thought this the proper moment, while Melissa was in a state of shock, to break his news.
He said, and his strong voice rose over Phoebe’s wails: “She is right, Melissa. If there is a way out, we ought to take it. She’ll marry Johnnie Barrett, and be off our hands. You’ve got to remember that there is hardly any money.” He paused. Melissa had moved her dazed eyes to him, and he wondered if she could hear him. “Listen carefully, Melissa. I can’t go back to Harvard. There’s no money. The only thing for me to do is to work this farm and make it produce, for both of us. Of course, I can’t prevent you from going to Philadelphia, alone, but I hope you’ll stay here with me. We’ll have to let Sally and Hiram go, and do the best we can by ourselves.”
Did she hear him? Her eyes were so filmed and still. He could not tell.
Melissa thought: It is because we have no money that they are sacrificing themselves. If we only had money, a lot of it, five or six thousand dollars! Then Andrew could complete his law studies, and Phoebe could write her beautiful poems. But they are sacrificing themselves, they feel that they must.
Once or twice she tried to speak, and failed. But finally her voice came, husky and slow:
“Phoebe, please listen to me. You are young, and you have a gift, like Papa’s; you dare not deprive the world of it. Andrew, we must find a way to let you finish your studies. We must find a way.”
Andrew frowned impatiently. He wanted to say: “Let’s be honest. I never wanted the damn law. I want this, the land.” But still he could not say it. It would be too cruel.
So he said, instead: “Melissa, for God’s sake let’s be sensible. There is no ‘way.’ Beggars can’t be choosers. Don’t interfere with Phoebe. Don’t try to interfere with me. You can’t do it. There’s no use.”
“There must be a way,” whispered Melissa.
Andrew shrugg
ed. He went to the windows and glanced out. “Hiram’s bringing in the cows. I’ll have to go out and milk.”
Like something hunted, Melissa glanced at each corner of the room, looking for escape from this horror, this ruin of the dream of years. She saw the little abandoned Christmas tree in the corner. The berries had never been strung for it. The red twisted paper had not been hung on its small boughs. It waited there, dying, its branches outspread like feeble arms.
“Wait Andrew,” pleaded Melissa, in frantic urgency, as her brother started for the door. She looked at Phoebe, she bent towards the wailing girl. “Please, Phoebe. I’ll find a way, I promise you both. There is a way. I’ve never failed yet. Give me a day or two. Just a day or two, and everything will be all right and we can live as you wish. I promise you.”
Had she gone crazy with grief and stress, thought Andrew. He stood by the door and regarded his sister with some anxiety. Her face had suddenly become ignited by a secret resolution.
“What do you mean, Melissa?” asked Andrew quickly, moving a step towards her. If she were going to become violent, he would have to be close at hand.
She stood up swiftly, her black skirts swirling. with her movements. She had the strangest smile. She put out her hand and caught Andrew’s sleeve.
“I know a way, dear. Then Phoebe can have some—pretty— things, and not be frightened, and she won’t need to marry that dreadful farmer. She can live in peace, and write her poems. You, Andrew, can go back to Harvard in a few days, and finish your studies, as Papa planned. Phoebe shall live with me, somewhere—I haven’t thought that out completely. But I’ll find a way. Just give me a day, two days. I see it now: Phoebe shall live with me. It can be arranged. I know.”
He had never seen her like this, so strange, so trembling, so feverish. He put his fingers on the hand on his arm.
“You’re tired, Melissa. Please go upstairs and rest. Yes, everything will be all right. Just go upstairs and lie down. Phoebe, won’t you take your sister up—”
Melissa snatched her hand from his. Her face was bright with elation.
“Never mind, Andrew! I It is all arranged in my mind. Just wait until tomorrow. Yes, yes, go out and milk, if you wish. It doesn’t matter.”
She rushed to Phoebe, knelt beside her and pulled the girl to her breast. Phoebe had been stricken silent with amazement. She pushed back against Melissa’s arms and stared at her shining eyes so pale and brilliant. Something frightened the girl. She tried to wriggle free from her sister’s grasp. She whimpered. “Andrew, Andrew, I’m afraid.”
Disturbed himself, Andrew pulled Melissa to her feet. “What’s the matter with you, Melissa? Look, you’ve frightened Phoebe. For God’s sake, stop shaking. You’ll fall down. You act and talk as if you’d lost your mind. Why don’t you go and rest a while?”
“Take me upstairs, I’m afraid of her,” whimpered Phoebe, crouching as far back in her chair as she could. “Please, Andrew, take me upstairs.”
But Andrew was too concerned with Melissa to hear Phoebe. Melissa stood in the center of the room, smiling as if she had gone mad, her hands clenched together before her, her head flung up, her neck high and strained, all passion and fever.
“Please believe me,” she pleaded. “I know a way. Phoebe, Andrew, just give me a day or two and I promise you that you’ll both have what you want. Please!”
“Of course, of course,” said Andrew, quickly, and with alarm. “You can have ten days, Melissa. Just be quiet now. Nothing has to be settled immediately. You’re tired out, poor girl. Everything has been too much for you.”
He wanted to be angry with Melissa, but he could not. He felt only compassion and consternation. The nurse was gone, but perhaps she had left a sedative behind. If he could only get Melissa to her room, and calm her, he would have gained something. As he considered what to do, he looked at his sister, this brawny, huge young man, and helplessly rubbed the back of his big head.
Melissa controlled herself. The elation did not leave her face, but her voice was less wild when she said: “Please, Andrew, don’t be disturbed. I know what I am going to do. I’m not out of my mind. Phoebe, darling, please don’t cry. Haven’t I taken care of you? Don’t cry like that, you hurt me so. Just leave it all to me, and you’ll both be happy.”
She’s surely mad, thought Andrew, with deep alarm. Melissa pushed his shoulder, and smiled. “The cows are waiting, Andrew.” She gave a little breathless laugh. “Take them, Andrew. I’ve been milking them, and I hate it. Phoebe, please go upstairs and lie down, and I’ll ask Sally to bring you some tea at once.”
Andrew was only too glad to go. He shook his head as if freeing it from cobwebs, and shrugged. Melissa seemed calmer. She had some scheme, of course, but it would come to nothing. He had only to humor her meanwhile.
He said: “Yes, I’ll have to change my clothes to go to the barns. That’s right, Phoebe, go on upstairs. Don’t bother her, Melissa,” he added, as he saw Phoebe shrink away from Melissa’s offered arm. “Let her go alone.”
He went out, and Phoebe fled from the room as though witches were pursuing her. Melissa was left alone. She began to walk up and down, wringing her hands, her head bent in rapid thought. The Dunhams had sent flowers, and the scent still lingered in the cold air. Melissa did not think of her mother, nor even of her father.
CHAPTER 21
Geoffrey Dunham was in a bad humor. He disliked long holidays, and he disliked some of his guests. His nature was inclined to irascibility, and the necessity to be polite for long periods, without intermissions, was very wearing to him. More than once he had found himself on the verge of a quarrel with one or two gentlemen who had been drinking too much, and some of the women, were so vapid as to be unendurable for more than an hour or two. He loved and admired his home, but he agreed with Benjamin Franklin that guests, like fish, stank after three days. These people had been cluttering up his household for nearly seven days now, and would not be gone until January the second. Before their departure, there would be the New Year’s Eve ball, which he contemplated with temper.
He loved the country. It would have given him delight to have spent these days alone in his house, to have gone for long walks over the crisp and sparkling snow, to have visited one or two neighbors whom he liked. There were books to read in the library, and some interesting manuscripts which had come into his offices. He could conceive of nothing more pleasant than to spend the days in the snowy quiet of his land, in the warm silence of his library.
But how was he spending the days now, days which should be given over to quiet work, contemplation, fires, walks with the dogs, and visits with his friends? He was spending them entertaining fools and bores. Only the Eld-ridges made the days bearable, and he saw them only occasionally, Mr. Eldridge being quite delicate of digestion, and needing the services of his wife with various palliatives. So, he must entertain his guests, contrive amusements for them in the silence of the snowy countryside. Backgammon, whist, port, whiskey, anecdotes, charades: all the stupid, time-devouring devices to keep the mind in a soporific condition, and coax the hours to hurry by. Dances in the evening, with the hired musicians finally staggering off at dawn to their quarters on the third floor. He despised it all. Each year he had determined that these festivities should be the last, and each year he succumbed to his pity for Arabella, who spent so many long dull days alone in this house.
As always at this time of the year, he was in a bad humor, but now his temper was a fuming rage against his sister. This was enhanced by his sadness over Amanda Upjohn’s death. James, his man, hovered near him, very quiet and subdued, for he felt Geoffrey’s smoldering anger by the way he thrust the black pearl into his cravat and twitched himself into the coat James held for him. If the master were a gentleman, now, reflected James, he would shout my ears flat, curse me vigorously, and put all his ill humor on my back. But Geoffrey, who was not a gentleman, could never bring himself to discharge his venom upon those who worked for him and who were innocent of
any wrong-doing. So he thanked James in a pent voice for his services, and told him to take the evening off. It was really excellent not to work for a gentleman, thought James happily, as he softly closed the door behind him.
Geoffrey pulled at his chin. James had given him a bad shave that morning, probably because the little man had been doing some celebrating on his own. No matter. But the bristles that cropped out here and there did not increase Geoffrey’s good temper. He went out into the long warm hall, where the candles were burning in their sconces, and knocked loudly on his sister’s door. She called to him to enter. She was putting the last touches to her ringlets and was holding a perfume bottle in her jeweled hand.
Arabella was quite resplendent in rose velvet and lace, with an enormous bustle and much drapery. Velvet roses rested among the puffs of hair on the top of her head. Diamonds glittered at her ears. Her full but raddled cheeks were suspiciously pink, and stiff with powder. The folds of her short neck almost concealed the diamond necklace about it, and her fat wrists sparkled. She flashed her tiny sharp gray eyes at her brother, and smiled a little. “I am almost ready for dinner, dear Geoffrey,” she said. “You have never seen this gown before. Do you like it?”
The gaudy bepuffed bedroom was inundated with scent, and very hot. All the crystal lamps had been lit, and they flooded the room with cruel light. Never had Arabella resembled a stout and bedecked harridan so much as she did tonight, thought her brother with aversion. Then the full force of his anger rushed to his head and his face became crimson.
“Why did you refuse, at the last moment, to attend Amanda’s funeral?” he asked, in a dangerous voice. “I thought it was understood that you were to go with me. After all, to quote yourself, she was one of your best friends. I demand an explanation.”
Arabella stared at him, and shrank a little. “But Geoffrey, I thought I explained. I had one of my headaches. All that death in that terrible house! I have some sensibilities, and I could not endure it, I really could not. Besides, there were our guests. I could not leave them alone with morbid thoughts.” She put her lace handkerchief to her lips and blinked her eyes as if to keep back the tears. “Yes, Geoffrey, Amanda was my dear friend, so dear, indeed, that I preferred not to see her—dead—but to remember her living. Is that so hard for you to understand?”
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