Rose in Bloom Part 16

Rose's life just now was the gayest, but Phebe's the happiest. Both went out a good deal; for the beautiful voice was welcomed everywhere, and many were ready to patronize the singer who would have been slow to recognize the woman. Phebe knew this, and made no attempt to a.s.sert herself; content to know that those whose regard she valued felt her worth, and hopeful of a time when she could gracefully take the place she was meant to fill.

Proud as a princess was Phebe about some things, though in most as humble as a child; therefore, when each year lessened the service she loved to give, and increased the obligations she would have refused from any other source, dependence became a burden which even the most fervent grat.i.tude could not lighten. Hitherto the children had gone on together, finding no obstacles to their companionship in the secluded world in which they lived: now that they were women their paths inevitably diverged, and both reluctantly felt that they must part before long.

It had been settled, when they went abroad, that on their return Phebe should take her one gift in her hand, and try her fortunes. On no other terms would she accept the teaching which was to fit her for the independence she desired. Faithfully had she used the facilities so generously afforded both at home and abroad, and now was ready to prove that they had not been in vain. Much encouraged by the small successes she won in drawing-rooms, and the praise bestowed by interested friends, she began to feel that she might venture on a larger field, and begin her career as a concert singer; for she aimed no higher.

Just at this time, much interest was felt in a new asylum for orphan girls, which could not be completed for want of funds. The Campbells "well had borne their part," and still labored to accomplish the much-needed charity. Several fairs had been given for this purpose, followed by a series of concerts. Rose had thrown herself into the work with all her heart, and now proposed that Phebe should make her _debut_ at the last concert which was to be a peculiarly interesting one, as all the orphans were to be present, and were expected to plead their own cause by the sight of their innocent helplessness, as well as touch hearts by the simple airs they were to sing.

Some of the family thought Phebe would object to so humble a beginning: but Rose knew her better, and was not disappointed; for, when she made her proposal, Phebe answered readily,--

"Where could I find a fitter time and place to come before the public than here among my little sisters in misfortune? I'll sing for them with all my heart: only I must be one of them, and have no flourish made about me."

"You shall arrange it as you like; and, as there is to be little vocal music but yours and the children's, I'll see that you have every thing as you please," promised Rose.

It was well she did; for the family got much excited over the prospect of "our Phebe's _debut_," and _would_ have made a flourish if the girls had not resisted. Aunt Clara was in despair about the dress; because Phebe decided to wear a plain claret-colored merino with frills at neck and wrists, so that she might look as much as possible, like the other orphans in their stuff gowns and white ap.r.o.ns. Aunt Plenty wanted to have a little supper afterward in honor of the occasion; but Phebe begged her to change it to a Christmas dinner for the poor children. The boys planned to throw bushels of flowers, and Charlie claimed the honor of leading the singer in. But Phebe, with tears in her eyes, declined their kindly offers, saying earnestly,--

"I had better begin as I am to go on, and depend upon myself entirely.

Indeed, Mr. Charlie, I'd rather walk in alone; for you'd be out of place among us, and spoil the pathetic effect we wish to produce,"

and a smile sparkled through the tears, as Phebe looked at the piece of elegance before her, and thought of the brown gowns and pinafores.

So, after much discussion, it was decided that she should have her way in all things, and the family content themselves with applauding from the front.

"We'll blister our hands every man of us, and carry you home in a chariot and four: see if we don't, you perverse prima donna!"

threatened Steve, not at all satisfied with the simplicity of the affair.

"A chariot and two will be very acceptable as soon as I'm done. I shall be quite steady till my part is all over, and then I may feel a little upset; so I'd like to get away before the confusion begins.

Indeed I don't mean to be perverse: but you are all so kind to me, my heart is full whenever I think of it; and that wouldn't do if I'm to sing," said Phebe, dropping one of the tears on the little frill she was making.

No diamond could have adorned it better Archie thought, as he watched it shine there for a moment; and felt like shaking Steve for daring to pat the dark head with an encouraging,--

"All right. I'll be on hand, and whisk you away while the rest are splitting their gloves. No fear of your breaking down. If you feel the least bit like it, though, just look at me; and I'll glare at you and shake my fist, since kindness upsets you."

"I wish you would, because one of my ballads is rather touching, and I always want to cry when I sing it. The sight of you trying to glare will make me want to laugh, and that will steady me nicely: so sit in front, please, ready to slip out when I come off the last time."

"Depend upon me!" And the little man departed, taking great credit to himself for his influence over tall, handsome Phebe.

If he had known what was going on in the mind of the silent young gentleman behind the newspaper, Steve would have been much astonished; for Archie, though apparently engrossed by business, was fathoms deep in love by this time. No one suspected this but Rose; for he did his wooing with his eyes, and only Phebe knew how eloquent they could be.

He had discovered what the matter was long ago,--had made many attempts to reason himself out of it; but, finding it a hopeless task, had given up trying, and let himself drift deliciously. The knowledge that the family would not approve only seemed to add ardor to his love and strength to his purpose: for the same energy and persistence which he brought to business went into every thing he did; and, having once made up his mind to marry Phebe, nothing could change his plan except a word from her.

He watched and waited for three months, so that he might not be accused of precipitation, though it did not take him one to decide that this was the woman to make him happy. Her steadfast nature; quiet, busy ways; and the reserved power and pa.s.sion betrayed sometimes by a flash of the black eyes, a quiver of the firm lips,--suited Archie, who possessed many of the same attributes himself: while the obscurity of her birth and isolation of her lot, which would have deterred some lovers, not only appealed to his kindly heart, but touched the hidden romance which ran like a vein of gold through his strong common-sense, and made practical, steady-going Archie a poet when he fell in love. If Uncle Mac had guessed what dreams and fancies went on in the head bent over his ledgers, and what emotions were fermenting in the bosom of his staid "right-hand man,"

he would have tapped his forehead, and suggested a lunatic asylum. The boys thought Archie had sobered down too soon. His mother began to fear that the air of the counting-room did not suit him: and Dr. Alec was deluded into the belief that the fellow really began to "think of Rose;" he came so often in the evening, seeming quite contented to sit beside her work-table, and snip tape, or draw patterns, while they chatted.

No one observed that, though he talked to Rose on these occasions, he looked at Phebe, in her low chair close by, busy but silent; for she always tried to efface herself when Rose was near, and often mourned that she was too big to keep out of sight. No matter what he talked about, Archie always saw the glossy black braids on the other side of the table, the damask cheek curving down into the firm white throat, and the dark lashes, lifted now and then, showing eyes so deep and soft he dared not look into them long. Even the swift needle charmed him, the little brooch which rose and fell with her quiet breath, the plain work she did, and the tidy way she gathered her bits of thread into a tiny bag. He seldom spoke to her; never touched her basket, though he ravaged Rose's if he wanted string or scissors; very rarely ventured to bring her some curious or pretty thing when ships came in from China: only sat and thought of her; imagined that this was _his_ parlor, this _her_ work-table, and they two sitting there alone a happy man and wife.

At this stage of the little evening drama, he would be conscious of such a strong desire to do something rash that he took refuge in a new form of intoxication, and proposed music, sometimes so abruptly that Rose would pause in the middle of a sentence and look at him, surprised to meet a curiously excited look in the usually cool, gray eyes.

Then Phebe, folding up her work, would go to the piano, as if glad to find a vent for the inner life which she seemed to have no power of expressing except in song. Rose would follow to accompany her; and Archie, moving to a certain shady corner whence he could see Phebe's face as she sang, would give himself up to unmitigated rapture for half an hour. Phebe never sang so well as at such times: for the kindly atmosphere was like sunshine to a bird, criticisms were few and gentle, praises hearty and abundant; and she poured out her soul as freely as a spring gushes up when its hidden source is full.

Always comely, with a large and wholesome growth, in moments such as these Phebe was beautiful with the beauty that makes a man's eye brighten with honest admiration, and thrills his heart with a sense of womanly n.o.bility and sweetness. Little wonder, then, that the chief spectator of this agreeable tableau grew nightly more enamoured; and, while the elders were deep in whist, the young people were playing that still more absorbing game in which hearts are always trumps.

Rose, having Dummy for a partner, soon discovered the fact, and lately had begun to feel as she fancied Wall must have done when Pyramus wooed Thisbe through its c.h.i.n.ks. She was a little startled at first, then amused, then anxious, then heartily interested, as every woman is in such affairs, and willingly continued to be a medium, though sometimes she quite tingled with the electricity which seemed to pervade the air. She said nothing, waiting for Phebe to speak; but Phebe was silent, seeming to doubt the truth, till doubt became impossible, then to shrink as if suddenly conscious of wrong-doing, and seize every possible pretext for absenting herself from the "girls' corner," as the pretty recess was called.

The concert plan afforded excellent opportunities for doing this; and evening after evening she slipped away to practise her songs upstairs, while Archie sat staring disconsolately at the neglected work-basket and mute piano. Rose pitied him, and longed to say a word of comfort, but felt shy,--he was such a reserved fellow,--so left him to conduct his quiet wooing in his own way, feeling that the crisis would soon arrive.

She was sure of this, as she sat beside him on the evening of the concert; for while the rest of the family nodded and smiled, chatted and laughed in great spirits, Archie was as mute as a fish, and sat with his arms tightly folded, as if to keep in any unruly emotions which might attempt to escape. He never looked at the programme; but Rose knew when Phebe's turn came by the quick breath he drew, and the intent look that came into his eyes so absent before.

But her own excitement prevented much notice of his; for Rose was in a flutter of hope and fear, sympathy and delight, about Phebe and her success. The house was crowded; the audience sufficiently mixed to make the general opinion impartial; and the stage full of little orphans with shining faces, a most effective reminder of the object in view.

"Little dears, how nice they look!" "Poor things, so young to be fatherless and motherless." "It will be a disgrace to the city, if those girls are not taken proper care of." "Subscriptions are always in order, you know; and pretty Miss Campbell will give you her sweetest smile if you hand her a handsome check." "I've heard this Phebe Moore, and she really has a delicious voice: such a pity she won't fit herself for opera!" "Only sings three times to-night; that's modest I'm sure, when she is the chief attraction; so we must give her an encore after the Italian piece." "The orphans lead off, I see: stop your ears if you like; but don't fail to applaud, or the ladies will never forgive you."

Chat of this sort went on briskly, while fans waved, programmes rustled, and ushers flew about distractedly; till an important gentleman appeared, made his bow, skipped upon the leader's stand, and with a wave of his baton caused a general uprising of white pinafores, as the orphans led off with that much-enduring melody, "America," in shrill small voices, but with creditable attention to time and tune.

Pity and patriotism produced a generous round of applause; and the little girls sat down, beaming with innocent satisfaction.

An instrumental piece followed, and then a youthful gentleman, with his hair in picturesque confusion, and what his friends called a "musical brow," bounded up the steps, and, clutching a roll of music with a pair of tightly gloved hands, proceeded to inform the audience, in a husky tenor voice, that

"It was a lovely violet."

What else the song contained in the way of sense or sentiment it was impossible to discover; as the three pages of music appeared to consist of variations upon that one line, ending with a prolonged quaver, which flushed the musical brow, and left the youth quite breathless when he made his bow.

"Now she's coming! O uncle, my heart beats as if it was myself!"

whispered Rose, clutching Dr. Alec's arm with a little gasp, as the piano was rolled forward, the leader's stand pushed back, and all eyes turned toward the anteroom door.

She forgot to glance at Archie, and it was as well perhaps; for his heart was thumping almost audibly, as he waited for his Phebe. Not from the anteroom, but out from among the children, where she had sat unseen in the shadow of the organ, came stately Phebe in her wine-colored dress, with no ornament but her fine hair and a white flower at her throat. Very pale, but quite composed, apparently; for she stepped slowly through the narrow lane of upturned faces, holding back her skirts, lest they should rudely brush against some little head. Straight to the front she went, bowed hastily, and, with a gesture to the accompanist, stood waiting to begin, her eyes fixed on the great gilt clock at the opposite end of the hall.

They never wandered from that point while she sung; but, as she ended, they dropped for an instant on an eager, girlish countenance, bending from a front seat; then, with her hasty little bow, she went quickly back among the children, who clapped and nodded as she pa.s.sed, well pleased with the ballad she had sung.

Every one courteously followed their example; but there was no enthusiasm, and it was evident that Phebe had not produced a particularly favorable impression.

"Never sang so badly in her life," muttered Charlie, irefully.

"She was frightened, poor thing. Give her time, give her time," said Uncle Mac, kindly.

"I saw she was, and I glared like a gorgon, but she never looked at me," added Steve, smoothing his gloves and his brows at the same time.

"That first song was the hardest, and she got through much better than I expected," put in Dr. Alec, bound not to show the disappointment he felt.

"Don't be troubled. Phebe has courage enough for any thing, and she'll astonish you before the evening's over," prophesied Mac, with unabated confidence; for he knew something that the rest did not.

Rose said nothing, but, under cover of her burnous, gave Archie's hand a sympathetic squeeze; for his arms were unfolded now, as if the strain was over, and one lay on his knee, while with the other he wiped his hot forehead with an air of relief.

Friends about them murmured complimentary fibs, and affected great delight and surprise at Miss Moore's "charming style," "exquisite simplicity," and "undoubted talent." But strangers freely criticised, and Rose was so indignant at some of their remarks she could not listen to any thing upon the stage, though a fine overture was played, a man with a remarkable ba.s.s voice growled and roared melodiously, and the orphans sang a lively air with a chorus of "Tra, la, la,"

which was a great relief to little tongues unused to long silence.

"I've often heard that women's tongues were hung in the middle and went at both ends: now I'm sure of it," whispered Charlie, trying to cheer her up by pointing out the comical effect of some seventy-five open mouths, in each of which the unruly member was wagging briskly.

Rose laughed and let him fan her, leaning from his seat behind with the devoted air he always a.s.sumed in public; but her wounded feelings were not soothed, and she continued to frown at the stout man on the left, who had dared to say with a shrug and a glance at Phebe's next piece, "That young woman can no more sing this Italian thing than she can fly, and they ought not to let her attempt it."

Phebe did, however; and suddenly changed the stout man's opinion by singing it grandly; for the consciousness of her first failure p.r.i.c.ked her pride and spurred her to do her best with the calm sort of determination which conquers fear, fires ambition, and changes defeat to success. She looked steadily at Rose now, or the flushed, intent face beside her; and throwing all her soul into the task let her voice ring out like a silver clarion, filling the great hall and setting the hearers' blood a-tingle with the exulting strain.

That settled Phebe's fate as cantatrice; for the applause was genuine and spontaneous this time, and broke out again and again with the generous desire to atone for former coldness. But she would not return, and the shadow of the great organ seemed to have swallowed her up; for no eye could find her, no pleasant clamor win her back.