Chapter 19 Rose in Bloom by Louisa M. Alcott
BEHIND THE FOUNTAIN
Two days after Christmas a young man of serious aspect might have been seen entering one of the large churches at L——. Being shown to a seat, he joined in the services with praiseworthy devotion, especially the music, to which he listened with such evident pleasure that a gentleman who sat nearby felt moved to address this appreciative stranger after church.
“Fine sermon today. Ever heard our minister before, sir?” he began, as they went down the aisle together among the last, for the young man had lingered as if admiring the ancient building.
“Very fine. No, sir, I have never had that pleasure. I've often wished to see this old place, and am not at all disappointed. Your choir, too, is unusually good,” answered the stranger, glancing up at several bonnets bobbing about behind the half-drawn curtains above.
“Finest in the city, sir. We pride ourselves on our music, and always have the best. People often come for that alone.” And the old gentleman looked as satisfied as if a choir of cherubim and seraphim “continually did cry” in his organ loft.
“Who is the contralto? That solo was beautifully sung,” observed the younger man, pausing to read a tablet on the wall.
“That is Miss Moore. Been here about a year, and is universally admired. Excellent young lady couldn't do without her. Sings superbly in oratorios. Ever heard her?”
“Never. She came from X, I believe?
“Yes, highly recommended. She was brought up by one of the first families there. Campbell is the name. If you come from X, you doubtless know them.”
“I have met them. Good morning.” And with bows the gentlemen parted, for at that instant the young man caught sight of a tall lady going down the church steps with a devout expression in her fine eyes and a prayer-book in her hand.
Hastening after her, the serious-minded young man accosted her just as she turned into a quiet street.
“Phebe!”
Only a word, but it wrought a marvelous change, for the devout expression vanished in the drawing of a breath, and the quiet face blossomed suddenly with color, warmth, and “the light that never was on sea or land” as she turned to meet her lover with an answering word as eloquent as his.
“Archie!”
“The year is out today. I told you I should come. Have you forgotten?”
“No I knew you'd come.”
“And are you glad?”
“How can I help it?”
“You can't don't try. Come into this little park and let us talk.” And drawing her hand through his arm, Archie led her into what to other eyes was a very dismal square, with a boarded-up fountain in the middle, sodden grass plots, and dead leaves dancing in the wintry wind.
But to them it was a summery Paradise, and they walked to and fro in the pale sunshine, quite unconscious that they were objects of interest to several ladies and gentlemen waiting anxiously for their dinner or yawning over the dull books kept for Sunday reading. “Are you ready to come home now, Phebe?” asked Archie tenderly as he looked at the downcast face beside him and wondered why all women did not wear delightful little black velvet bonnets with one deep red flower against their hair.
“Not yet. I haven't done enough,” began Phebe, finding it very hard to keep the resolution made a year ago.
“You have proved that you can support yourself, make friends, and earn a name, if you choose. No one can deny that, and we are all getting proud of you. What more can you ask, my dearest?”
“I don't quite know, but I am very ambitious. I want to be famous, to do something for you all, to make some sacrifice for Rose, and, if I can, to have something to give up for your sake. Let me wait and work longer I know I haven't earned my welcome yet,” pleaded Phebe so earnestly that her lover knew it would be in vain to try and turn her, so wisely contented himself with half, since he could not have the whole.
“Such a proud woman! Yet I love you all the better for it, and understand your feeling. Rose made me see how it seems to you, and I don't wonder that you cannot forget the unkind things that were looked, if not said, by some of my amiable aunts. I'll try to be patient on one condition, Phebe.”
“And what is that?”
“You are to let me come sometimes while I wait, and wear this lest you should forget me,” he said, pulling a ring from his pocket and gently drawing a warm, bare hand out of the muff where it lay hidden.
“Yes, Archie, but not here not now!” cried Phebe, glancing about her as if suddenly aware that they were not alone.
“No one can see us here I thought of that. Give me one happy minute, after this long, long year of waiting,” answered Archie, pausing just where the fountain hid them from all eyes, for there were houses only on one side.
Phebe submitted and never did a plain gold ring slip more easily to its place than the one he put on in such a hurry that cold December day. Then one hand went back into the muff red with the grasp he gave it, and the other to its old place on his arm with a confiding gesture, as if it had a right there.
“Now I feel sure of you,” said Archie as they went on again, and no one the wiser for that tender transaction behind the ugly pyramid of boards. “Mac wrote me that you were much admired by your church people, and that certain wealthy bachelors evidently had designs on the retiring Miss Moore. I was horribly jealous, but now I defy every man of them.”
Phebe smiled with the air of proud humility that was so becoming and answered briefly: “There was no danger kings could not change me, whether you ever came or not. But Mac should not have told you.”
“You shall be revenged on him, then, for, as he told secrets about you, I'll tell you one about him. Phebe, he loves Rose!” And Archie looked as if he expected to make a great sensation with his news.
“I know it.” And Phebe laughed at his sudden change of countenance as he added inquiringly, “She told you, then?”
“Not a word. I guessed it from her letters, for lately she says nothing about Mac, and before there was a good deal, so I suspected what the silence meant and asked no questions.”
“Wise girl! Then you think she does care for the dear old fellow?”
“Of course she does. Didn't he tell you so?”
“No, he only said when he went away, 'Take care of my Rose, and I'll take care of your Phebe,' and not another thing could I get out of him, for I did ask questions. He stood by me like a hero, and kept Aunt Jane from driving me stark mad with her 'advice.' I don't forget that, and burned to lend him a hand somewhere, but he begged me to let him manage his wooing in his own way. And from what I see, I should say he knew how to do it,” added Archie, finding it very delightful to gossip about love affairs with his sweetheart.
“Dear little mistress! How does she behave?” asked Phebe, longing for news, but too grateful to ask at headquarters, remembering how generously Rose had tried to help her, even by silence, the greatest sacrifice a woman can make at such interesting periods.
“Very sweet and shy and charming. I try not to watch but upon my word I cannot help it sometimes, she is so 'cunning,' as you girls say. When I carry her a letter from Mac she tries so hard not to show how glad she is that I want to laugh and tell her I know all about it. But I look as sober as a judge and as stupid as an owl by daylight, and she enjoys her letters in peace and thinks I'm so absorbed in my own passion that I'm blind to hers.”
“But why did Mac come away? He says lectures brought him, and he goes, but I am sure something else is in his mind, he looks so happy at times. I don't see him very often, but when I do I'm conscious that he isn't the Mac I left a year ago,” said Phebe, leading Archie away, for inexorable propriety forbade a longer stay, even if prudence and duty had not given her a reminding nudge, as it was very cold, and afternoon church came in an hour.
“Well, you see Mac was always peculiar, and he cannot even grow up like other fellows. I don't understand him yet, and am sure he's got some plan in his head that no one suspects, unless it is Uncle Alec. Love makes us all cut queer capers, and I've an idea that the Don will distinguish himself in some uncommon way. So be prepared to applaud whatever it is. We owe him that, you know.”
“Indeed we do! If Rose ever speaks of him to you, tell her I shall see that he comes to no harm, and she must do the same for my Archie.”
That unusual demonstration of tenderness from reserved Phebe very naturally turned the conversation into a more personal channel, and Archie devoted himself to building castles in the air so successfully that they passed the material mansion without either being aware of it.
“Will you come in?” asked Phebe when the mistake was rectified and she stood on her own steps looking down at her escort, who had discreetly released her before a pull at the bell caused five heads to pop up at five different windows.
“No, thanks. I shall be at church this afternoon, and the oratorio this evening. I must be off early in the morning, so let me make the most of precious time and come home with you tonight as I did before,” answered Archie, making his best bow, and quite sure of consent.
“You may.” And Phebe vanished, closing the door softly, as if she found it hard to shut out so much love and happiness as that in the heart of the sedate young gentleman who went briskly down the street humming a verse of old “Clyde” like a tuneful bass viol:
“Oh, let our mingling voices rise
In grateful rapture to the skies,
Where love has had its birth.
Let songs of joy this day declare
That spirits come their bliss to share
With all the sons of earth.”
That afternoon Miss Moore sang remarkably well, and that evening quite electrified even her best friends by the skill and power with which she rendered “Inflammatus” in the oratorio.
“If that is not genius, I should like to know what it is?” said one young man to another as they went out just before the general crush at the end.
“Some genius and a great deal of love. They are a grand team, and, when well driven, astonish the world by the time they make in the great race,” answered the second young man with the look of one inclined to try his hand at driving that immortal span.
“Daresay you are right. Can't stop now she's waiting for me. Don't sit up, Mac.”
“The gods go with you, Archie.”
And the cousins separated one to write till midnight, the other to bid his Phebe good-bye, little dreaming how unexpectedly and successfully she was to earn her welcome home.