DIARY—PLAIN FOR A NIGHT
February 21.
Last night was the masquerade. I wore the plain gray dress, apron and cape and a white cap on my head. I felt rather like a hypocrite as I looked at myself in the glass, but Virginia said it was just the thing and certainly would not be duplicated by any other guest.
I was dressed early and started down the stairs, my black mask swinging from my hand. As I rounded a curve in the stairway I glanced casually down the wide hall. The colored servant had admitted visitors. I looked in that direction—the mask fell from my hand and I ran down the steps and into the arms of Mother Bab! I couldn't say more than "Oh, oh!" as I kissed her over and over. When she got her breath she said happily, "Phœbe, you're plain!"
Oh, how it hurt me! I took her and David to a little nook off the library where we could be alone and then I had to tell her that I was wearing the plain dress and white cap as a masquerade dress. Even when I told her I learned to dance and do things she thinks are worldly there was no look of pain on her face like the look I brought there as I stood before her in a dress she reverenced and told her I wore it in a spirit of fun. I'll never get over being sorry for hurting her like that. But Mother Bab rallies quickly from every hurt. She soon smiled and said she understood. David came to my aid. He assured his mother that they knew I could take care of myself and would not do anything really wrong. I couldn't thank him for his kindness. I felt suddenly all weepy and tearful. But David began to talk on in his old friendly way and tell about the home news and about the Big Doctor he had taken Mother Bab to see in Philadelphia and how he hoped she would soon be able to see perfectly again. While he talked Mother Bab and I had a chance to recover a bit. I noted a quick shadow pass over her face as he spoke about her eyes—was she less hopeful about them than he was? Had the Big Doctor told her something David did not hear? But no! I dismissed the thought—Mother Bab could not go blind! She would never be asked to suffer that! I soon forgot my troublesome thoughts as she hastened to say that perhaps her eyes would improve more quickly than the doctor promised. Then she changed the subject—"Now, Phœbe, I hope I didn't hurt you about the dress. I guess I looked at you as if I wanted to eat you. I love you and wouldn't hurt you for anything."
"Mother Bab!" I gave her a real hug like I used to do when I ran barefooted up the hill with some childish perplexity and she helped me. "You're an angel! Mother Bab, David, having a good time won't hurt me. Our views up home are too narrow. It's all right to expect older people to do nothing more exciting than go to Greenwald to the store, to church every Sunday, to an occasional quilting or carpet-rag party, and to Lancaster to shop several times a year, but the younger generation needs other things."
"I guess you mean it can't be Lent all the time for you," she suggested with a smile.
"I just knew you'd understand."
Just then Royal began to play and the music floated in to us. It was Traumerei. Mother Bab's tired face relaxed as she leaned back to listen to the piercingly sweet melody. David looked at me—I knew he was asking whether the player was Royal Lee.
"Oh, Davie," Mother Bab said innocently as the music ended, "if only you could play like that!"
"If I could," he said half bitterly, "but all I can do is farm. Are you coming home this spring?" he asked me, as if to forget the violin and its player.
"I don't know. I'll probably stay here until early June. I may go away with Virginia for part of the summer."
"Not be home for spring and summer!" he said dismally. "Why, it won't be spring without you! We can't go for bird-foot violets or arbutus."
Arbutus—the name called up a host of memories to me. "How I'd like to go for arbutus this spring," I told him.
"Then come home in April and I'll take you to Mt. Hope for some."
"Oh, David, will you?"
"I'd love to. We'll drive up."
"I'll come," I promised. "I'll come home for arbutus. Let me know when they're out."
"All right. But I think we must go now or we'll miss the train."
"Go?" I echoed. "You're not going home to-night? Can't you stay? Mrs. McCrea has vacant rooms. I've been so excited I forgot my manners. Let me take you to the sitting-room and introduce you to Mrs. Lee and Royal."
"Ach, no," Mother Bab protested. "We can't stay that long. We just stopped in to see you."
David looked at his watch. "We must go now. There's a train at eight-twenty-one gets to Lancaster at ten-forty-five and we'll get the last car out to Greenwald and Phares will meet us and drive us home."
I asked about the home folks as I watched David adjust Mother Bab's shawl. He looked older and worried. I suppose he was disappointed because the Big Doctor didn't promise a quick cure for Mother Bab's eyes.
As they said good-bye and left me I wanted to run after them and ask them to take me home, back to the simple life of my people. But I stayed where I was, the earthiest worldling in a dress of unworldliness.
"I—I believe I'll take it off," I thought as I stood in the doorway.
Just then Royal opened the door and saw me. "Ye Gods!" he exclaimed, "you look like a saint, Phœbe."
"But I'm not! I'm far from being a saint!"
"Don't be one, please. If you turn saint I shall be disconsolate. I don't like saints of women and I want to keep on liking you, little Bluebird. Remember, you promised me the first dance."
"I don't know—I don't feel like dancing."
"Oh, but you must! You look like a Quakeress but no one expects you to act like one to-night. I'm going up to dress—I'm going as a monk to match you."
He ran off, laughing, and I went in search of Virginia. My heart was heavy. The sudden appearance of Mother Bab and David brought me a vivid impression of the contrast between their lives and mine and the thoughts left me worried and restless. What was I doing? Was I shaping my life in such a way that it would never again fit into the simple grooves of country life? The dance lost its charm for me. I danced and made merry and tried to enter into the gay spirit of the occasion but I longed all the time to be with Mother Bab and David riding to Lancaster County.
