Phoebe James: a novel: Phoebe James, #1

By C. G. Eppinette

"As doors were opening in [Phoebe's] country, they were opening in her mind, and in the future…The world looked beautiful from where she stood, and she was excited to think about what might come next."

 

In 19th century America, Phoebe James, a rich girl orphaned by the Civil War, goes to live with the O'Malleys, an eccentric Irish family in the country. Life with the O'Malleys is not what Phoebe's used to, but it's a life she grows to love. Does she love it enough to forget what she left behind? Opportunities arise for Phoebe to return to her old way of life, but after embracing another world, is she still suited to the "proper" upbringing she used to know?

Find out with Phoebe as she embarks on a surprising journey during the most transformative years of her life.

Told in a classic storytelling mode with modern humor, fans of Louisa May Alcott and L. M. Montgomery will enjoy Phoebe James, a revival of the timeless stories that have entertained us and warmed our hearts for generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. G. Eppinette
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393803713

Book preview

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 Passing

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 account 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 joined 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 passed 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 passed 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 supported 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 adjoined 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 passed 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 remember 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 members 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 contact 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 remember 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 remember 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 remembered 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 passed 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 passed 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 pass, 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