THE SCARLET TANAGER
THE days that followed were busy days at the gray farmhouse. Phoebe was
soon deep in the preparations for her stay in the city. Her meagre
wardrobe required replenishment; she wanted to go to Philadelphia with
an outfit of which Miss Lee would not be ashamed. Much to her aunt's
surprise the girl selected one-piece dresses of blue serge with sheer
white collars for every-day wear in cold weather; a few white linens for
warm days; and these, with her blue serge suit, her simple white
graduation dress, and a plain dark silk dress, were the main articles of
her outfit. Aunt Maria expressed her relief and wonder at the girl's
choice--"Well, it wonders me that you don't want a lot of ugly fancy
things to go to Phildelphy. Those dresses all made in one are sensible
once. I guess the style makers tried all the outlandish styles they
could think of and had to make a nice style once."
But when Phoebe purchased a piece of long-cloth and began to make
undergarments, beautifying them by sprays of hand embroidery, Aunt Maria
scoffed, "Umph, I'd be ashamed to put snake-doctors on my petticoats."
The girl laughed. "They aren't snake-doctors, they are butterflies," she
said.
"Not much difference--both got wings. I don't see what for you want to
waste time like that."
"It makes them prettier, and I like pretty things."
"Ach, you have dumb notions sometimes. I guess we better make your other
dresses soon, then you won't have time for sewing snake-doctors or
butterflies. You better get your silk dress made in Greenwald, it's so
soft and slippery that I ain't going to bother my old fingers makin' it.
Granny Hogendobler wants to come out and help to sew, and David's mom
said she'll come down and help us cut and fit the serge dresses. She's
real handy like that. If those dresses look as nice on you as they do on
the pictures they will be all right. Granny and Barb dare just come and
both help with your things--they both think it's so fine for you to go
to the city! Granny Hogendobler spoiled her Nason by givin' him just
what he wanted, and now what has she got for it? And I guess Barb is
easy with that big boy of hers. Mebbe if she was a little stricter he'd
be in the Church like Phares is, though David is a nice boy and I guess
he don't give his mom any trouble."
"I just love Mother Bab; don't you say such things about her!" Phoebe
exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
"Why, I like her too," the woman said. She looked at Phoebe in surprise.
"You needn't be so touchy. For goodness' sake, don't take to gettin'
touchy like some people are! Handling them's like tryin' to plane over a
knot in wood; any way you push the plane is the wrong way. This here
going to Philadelphy upsets you, I guess. You're gettin' as touchy as
the little touch-me-nots we get on the hill; they all snap shut when
you touch 'em--only you snap open."
Phoebe laughed. "I guess I am excited," she admitted. "I'm sewing too
much for summer days and it makes me irritable. I think I'll let the
butterflies wait and I'll go outdoors. Shall I weed the garden?"
"Weed the garden? Now you're talkin' dumb! Don't you know yet that abody
don't weed a garden on Fridays? Ours always gets done on Monday. But if
you want to get out you dare take some of the sand-tarts I baked
yesterday up to David's mom, she likes them so much. And you ask her if
she can come down next week to help with the dresses. But don't stay too
long, for it's been so hot all day and I think it's goin' to storm yet."
"Don't worry about me if it rains. I won't start for home if it looks
threatening. I'll wait till the storm is over."
Aunt Maria filled a basket with her delectable cookies and the girl
started up the hill. It was, indeed, a hot day, even for August. Phoebe
paused several times in the shelter of overhanging trees as she plodded
up the steep road. On the summit she climbed the rail fence and perched
in the cool shade for a little while and looked out over the valley
where the town of Greenwald lay.
"It's lovely here, and I'm wondering how I can be happy when I know that
I am going to leave it soon and go to the city for a long winter away
from my home. But there's a voice calling to me from the great outside
world and I won't be satisfied until I go and mingle with the multitude
of a great city. It is life, life, that I want to see and know. And yet,
I'm glad I'll have this to come back to! It gives me a comfortable
feeling to know that this is waiting for me, no matter where I go--this
is still my home. Sometimes I wonder if Aunt Maria could possibly be
speaking wisely when she says it is all a waste of money to run off to
the city and study music. But what is there on the farm to attract me? I
don't want to marry yet"--the remembrance of Phares Eby's pleading came
to her--"and if I do marry some time, it won't be Phares. No, never
Phares! Ach, Phoebe Metz, you don't know what you want!" she said to
herself as she jumped from the fence and ran down the road to the Eby
farm.
At the gate she paused. Mother Bab stood among her flowers, her
white-capped head bare of any other covering, the hot sunshine streaming
upon her.
"Mother Bab," she cried, "you are simply baking in the sun!"
"No," the woman turned to Phoebe and smiled. "I'm forgetting it's hot
while I look at the flowers. You see, Phoebe, I was in the house sewing
and trying to keep cool and all of a sudden my eyes grew dim so I
couldn't sew. The fear came to me, the fear that my sight is going,
though I try not to strain them at all and never sew at night. Well, I
just ran out here and began to look and look at my flowers--if I ever do
go blind I'm going to have lots of memories of lovely things I've seen."
Phoebe drew Mother Bab's face to her and kissed it. "You just mustn't
get blind! It would be too dreadful. There are many clever specialists
in the city these days. Surely, there is some doctor who can help you."
"They all say there is little to be done in a case like mine. But, let's
forget it; I can see and we'll keep on hoping it will last. I went to a
doctor at Lancaster some time ago and I'm going to give him a fair
trial. I guess it'll come out right."
Phoebe brightened again at the woman's words of contagious cheer and
hope.
"Isn't the garden pretty?" asked Mother Bab as they looked about it.
"Perfect! Those zinnias are lovely."
"Yes, I like them. But I like their other name better--Youth and Old
Age, my mother used to call them. She used to say that they are not like
other flowers, more like people, for the buds open into tiny flowers and
those tiny flowers grow and develop until they are large and perfect. I
would think something fine were missing in my garden if I didn't have my
Youth and Old Age every year. But you will be too hot in this sun; shall
we go in?"
"No, please, not until I have seen the flowers. I need to gather
precious memories, too, to take with me to Philadelphia. Oh, I like
this"--she knelt in the narrow path and buried her face in fragrant
lemon verbena plants.
"I like that, too. Mother used to call it Joy Everlasting. We always put
it in our bureau drawers between the linens. David likes lavender
better, so I use that now."
"How you spoil him," said Phoebe.
"You think so?" asked the mother gently.
Phoebe smiled in retraction of her statement. "We'll both be parboiled
if we stay out here any longer," she said as she linked her arm into
Mother Bab's. "Aunt Maria sent you some sand-tarts."
"Isn't she good!"
"Yes, but"--the blue eyes twinkled mischievously--"they are just a
bribe. We want you to come down and help us with the dresses some day
next week. You are not to sew, but if you are there to tell about the
fit of them I'll feel better satisfied. Whew! If it's as hot as this
I'll have a lovely time fitting woolen dresses!"
"You won't mind."
"I don't believe I shall, so long as the dresses are to be worn in
Philadelphia. Granny Hogendobler is coming out, too. Will you come?"
"I'll be glad to. David can eat his dinner at his aunt's."
They entered the house and sat in the sitting-room, a room dear to both
because of its association with many happy hours.
"I love this room," Phoebe said. "This must be one of my pleasant
memories when I go."
"I like it better than any other room in the house," said Mother Bab. "I
suppose it's because the old clock and the haircloth sofa are in it.
Why, Davie used to slide down the ends of that sofa and call it his boat
when he was just a little fellow. And that old clock"--her voice sank to
the tenderness of musing retrospect--"why, Davie's father set it up the
day we were married and came here and set up housekeeping and it's been
ticking ever since. Davie used to say 'tick-tock' when he heard it, when
he first learned to talk. I like that old clock most as much as if it
were something alive. A man who comes around here to buy antique
furniture came in one day and offered to buy it. I'll never forget how
David told him it wasn't for sale. The very thought of selling the old
clock made Davie cross."
"Davie cross! How could he keep the twinkle out of his eyes long enough
to be cross?"
"Ach, it don't last long when he gets cross."
"Where is he now, Mother Bab?"
"Working in the tobacco field."
"In the hot sun!"
"He says he don't mind it. He's so pleased with the tobacco this summer.
It looks fine. If the hail don't get in it now it'll bring about four
hundred dollars, he thinks. That will be the most he has ever gotten out
of it. But tobacco is an awful risk. If the weather is just so it pays
about the best of anything around this part of the country, I guess, but
so often the poor farmers work hard in the tobacco fields and then the
hail comes along and all is spoiled. But ours is fine so far."
"I'm glad. David has been working hard all summer with it."
"Sometimes he gets discouraged; Phares's crops always seem to do better
than David's, yet David works just as hard. But Phares plants no
tobacco."
At that moment Phares Eby himself came into the room where the two sat.
He appeared a trifle embarrassed when he saw Phoebe. Since the June
meeting under the sycamore tree by the old stone quarry he had made no
special effort to see her, and the several times they had met in that
time he had greeted her with marked restraint.
"Good-afternoon," he murmured, looking from Phoebe to Mother Bab and
back again to Phoebe. "I didn't know you were here, Phoebe. I--Aunt
Barbara, I came in to tell you there's a bright red bird in the woods
down by the cornfield."
"There is!" cried Phoebe with much interest. "Is it all red, or has it
black wings and tail?"
"Why, I couldn't say. I know David and Aunt Barbara are always
interested in birds and I heard David say the other day that he hadn't
seen a red bird this summer, that they must be getting scarce around
this section. So I thought I'd come up and tell you about it. I know it
is bright red. Do you want to come out and try to find it again, Aunt
Barbara?"
"Not now, Phares. I have been in the sun so much to-day that my head
aches."
"Would you care to see it?" he asked Phoebe in visible hesitation.
She answered eagerly, her passionate love of birds mastering her
embarrassment. "I'd love to, Phares! I am anxious to see whether it's a
tanager or a cardinal. I have never seen a cardinal."
South of David Eby's cornfield stretched a strip of woodland. There
blackberry brambles tangled about the bases of great oaks and the
entire woods--trees and brambles--made an ideal nesting-place for birds.
"Perhaps it's gone," said the preacher as they went along to the woods.
"But it's worth trying for," she said.
They kept silent then; only the rustling of the corn was heard as the
two went through the green aisle. When they reached the woodland a
sudden burst of glorious melody came to them. Phoebe laid a hand
impulsively upon the arm of the preacher, but she removed it quite as
suddenly when he looked down at her and said, "Our bird!"
The bird, a scarlet tanager, aware of the presence of the intruders and
eager to attract attention to himself and safeguard his hidden mate,
flew to an exposed branch of an oak tree. There he displayed his
gorgeous, flaming scarlet body with its touch of black in wings and
tail.
"It's a tanager," said Phoebe. "Isn't he lovely!"
"Very fine," said the preacher. "What color is his mate? Is she red?"
"She's green, a lovely olive green. When she sits on the nest she's just
the color of her surroundings. If she were red like her mate she'd be
too easily destroyed."
"God's providence," said the preacher.
"It is wonderful--look, Phares, there he goes!"
The scarlet tanager made a streak of vivid color across the sky as he
flew off over the corn.
"I wonder if he trusts us or if his mate is not about," Phoebe said.
"He's a beauty, so is his mate in her green frock. A few minutes with
the birds can teach us a great deal, can't it?"
"Yes, Phoebe, here, right near your home, are countless lessons to be
learned and accomplishments to be acquired. Tell me, do you still wish
to go away to the city?"
"Certainly. I am going in September."
"You remember the verse in the Third Reader we used to have at school:
"'Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest.
For those who wander, they know not where,
Are full of trouble and full of care;
To stay at home is best.'"
"But I have ambitions, Phares. All my eighteen years of life have been
spent on a farm, in the narrow existence of those whose days are passed
within one little circle. I want to see things, I want to meet people, I
want to live, I want to learn to sing--I can't do any of these things
here. Oh, you can't understand my real sincerity in this desire to get
away. It is not that I love my home and my people less than you love
yours. I feel that I must get away!"
"But your voice, Phoebe, like the scarlet tanager's, is right as God
made it. Because we are such old friends it grieves me to see you go. I
was hoping you would change your mind--there is so much vanity and evil
in the city."
"I'll try to keep from it, Phares. I shall merely learn to sing better,
meet a few new people, and be wiser because of the experience."
"It is useless to try to persuade you, I suppose. I hoped you would
reconsider it, that you would learn to care for me as I care."
"Phares, don't. You make me unhappy."
"Misery loves company," he quoted, trying to smile.
"But can't you see that marriage is the thing I am thinking least about
these days? I am too young."
She looked, indeed, like a fair representation of Youth as she stood by
the crude rail fence at the edge of the woods, one arm flung along the
rough top rail, her hair tumbled from the walk through the cornfield,
her eyes still gleaming with the joy of seeing the tanager, yet shadowy
with the startled emotions occasioned by the preacher's wooing.
He looked at her--
"Oh, look! Our tanager is back!" she exclaimed.
"I guess she is too young," he thought as he saw how quickly she turned
from the question of marriage to watch the red bird.
Phoebe's lips parted in pleasure as she saw the tanager again take up
his place on the oak and burst into song. So absorbed were man and maid
that neither heard the rustle of parted corn nor were aware of the
presence of a third person until a voice exclaimed, "Oh, I beg your
pardon. I didn't know you were here."
As they turned David Eby stood before them, his expression a mingling of
surprise and wonder. The flush on Phoebe's face, the awakened look in
her eyes, troubled the man who had come through the corn and found the
girl he loved standing with the preacher. The self-conscious look on
the preacher's face assured David that he had stumbled through the field
in an awkward moment, that his presence was unwelcome. He turned to go
back, but Phoebe stepped quickly to him and took his hand.
"Ah," thought Phares with a twinge of jealousy, "she wouldn't do that to
me. How quickly she dropped her hand a while ago. They are such good
friends, she and David. It's wrong to be envious; I must fight against
it--and yet--I want her just as much as David does!"
"David," Phoebe begged, "come back! Why, I was just wishing you were
here! There's a scarlet tanager--see!" She pointed to the brilliant
songster.
"I thought he was coming to this woods so I came to hunt him," said
David, his irritation gone. "I saw that fellow over by the tobacco field
and followed him here. I bet they have their nest in this very woods.
We'll look better next spring and try to find it and see the little
ones. Tut, tut," he whistled to the bird, "don't sing your pretty head
off." His eyes turned to the sky and the smile left his face. "It looks
threatening," he said. "I thought I heard thunder as I came through the
corn."
"That so?" said Phares. "Then we better move in."
Even as they turned and started through the field the thunder came
again--distant--nearer, rolling in ominous rumbles.
"Look at the sky," said David. "Clear yellow--that means hail!"
"Oh, David"--Phoebe stood still and looked at him--"not hail on your
tobacco!"
He took her arm. "Come on, Phoebe, it's coming fast. We must get in.
Come to our house, Phares, that's the nearest."
Just as they reached the kitchen door, where Mother Bab was looking for
them, the hail came.
"It's hail, Mommie," David said. The three words held all the worry and
pain of his heart.
"Never mind"--the little mother patted his shoulder. "It's hail for more
people than we know, perhaps for some who are much poorer than we are."
"But the tobacco----" He stood by the window, impotent and weak, while
the devastating hail pounded and rattled and smote the broad leaves of
his tobacco and rendered it almost worthless.
"Won't new leaves grow again?" Phoebe tried to cheer him.
"Not this late in the summer. My tobacco was almost ready to be cut; it
was unusually early this year."
"Well," spoke up the preacher, "I can't see why you always plant
tobacco. Smoking and chewing tobacco are filthy habits. I can't see why
so many people of this section plant the weed when the soil could be
used to produce some useful grain or vegetable."
"Yes"--David turned and addressed his cousin fiercely--"it's easy enough
for you to talk! You with your big farm and orchards and every crop a
success! Your bank account is so fat that you don't need to care whether
your acres bring in a big return or a lean one. But when you have just a
few acres you plant the thing that will be likely to bring in the most
money. You know many poor people plant tobacco for that reason, and that
is why I plant it."
"Davie," the mother said, "Davie!"
"I know," he said bitterly. "I'm a beast when my temper gets beyond
control, but Phares can be so confounded irritating, he rubs salt in
your cuts every time."
"Just for healing," the mother said gently.
"David," said Phoebe, "I guess the temper is a little bit of that Irish
showing up."
At that David smiled, then laughed.
"Phoebe," he said, "you know how to rub people the right way. If ever I
have the blues you are just the right medicine."
"I don't want to be called medicine," she said with a shake of her head.
"Not even a sugar pill?" asked Mother Bab.
"No. I don't like the sound of _pill_."
David looked across at the preacher, who stood silent and helpless in
the swift tide of conversation. "You may be right, Phares. It may be the
wrath of Providence upon the tobacco. I'll try alfalfa in that field
next and then I'll rub Aladdin's lamp. I'll make some money then!"
"Where do you find Aladdin's lamp?" asked Phoebe.
"I can't tell you now. But I know I'm tired of slaving and having
nothing for my work, so I am going after the magic lamp."