Phœbe

“Dear little daughter� ran the telegram “when you get this fill a suit-case with a few things that you’ll need most and leave with Daddy for Grandma’s.—Mother.� The train was already moving. Phœbe with all the solemnity of her fourteen years puckered her brows over the slip of yellow paper winked her long lashes at it reflectively and pursed a troubled mouth. How strange that dear Mother should leave the New York apartment in mid-morning with the usual gay kiss that meant short separation; and then in that same hour should send this message—this command—which was to start Phœbe away from the great city where all of her short life had been spent toward that smaller city where lived the Grandmother she had never seen and the two Uncles—one a Judge and the other a 12clergyman—who though her father’s own brothers were yet strangers to their only niece! Somehow without having to be told Phœbe had always understood that Mother did not like Grandma or the Uncles judicial and ecclesiastic. Then why was Mother without a real farewell and without motherly preparation in the matter of dress and with no explanations sending Phœbe to those paternal relations? It was all very strange! It was mysterious like—yes like stories Phœbe had seen in moving-pictures. Out of the gloom and clangor of the great station the train was now fast winding its way past lights that burned Phœbe thought like those in the big basement of the apartment house where she had lived so long. Now the coach was leaving one pair of rails for a new pair—changing direction with a sharp clicking of the wheels and a heavy swaying of the huge car’s body. And now the line of coaches was straightening itself to take as Phœbe knew that long plunge under the southward flowing Hudson. She let the telegram fall to her lap and closed her eyes with a drawing in of the breath. She was picturing all that lay above the roof of the car and 13the larger domed roof of the tunnel—first there was the river-bed which the domed roof upheld; next the wide deep reach of water which in turn held up the ferries and any other passing ships; last of all the sky cloud-flecked and sun-lit through which winged the birds. What a load for that narrow domed roof! Her father had been busy with the luggage directing the porter about the disposal of the two suitcases while taking off his own overcoat and hat. But as he glanced down at Phœbe he misunderstood the lowering of telegram and eyelids and dropped quickly to a place beside her. His hand closed over hers lovingly and with a pressure that showed concern. “Phœbe?� he questioned tenderly. [Excerpt of the Author's work]