Somber Island

She watched as an insignificant raindrop hit the already splatter-filled window.  First the raindrop went slowly to the right and joined with another drop, then turned its direction to the left and travelled a little faster as it made its way to another waiting drop and headed right again.  The drop meandered this way down the pane, gaining speed and volume as it went.  The young woman watched the raindrop do its tiny dance all the way down to the windowsill where it puddled and joined more raindrops and drip, drip, dripped down into the waiting flowerbed below.

The hidden bulbs in the soil would germinate from these raindrops. No one but she knew they were hibernating below, waiting for the warm sun of spring to make them burst forward with life.

Phoebe felt as insignificant as the raindrops that zigzagged down the window.  She was the youngest of three sisters. Francine was the beauty and first daughter to Gilbert MacIntire, and his pride and joy.  She would marry someone of means and Mr. MacIntire would be set financially in his old age. His second daughter, Faith, was not as pretty as her older sister, but she knew her place and would make a fine wife to a hard working pillar of the community.  It was Phoebe that was the problem, the thorn in Mr. MacIntire's plans.  She was plain, she was odd, and she had been a sickly child.

Mrs. MacIntire had died giving birth to the premature girl. When Phoebe was six, she contracted polio and nearly died.  Mr. MacIntire paid expensive doctor bills for many months and constantly reminded Phoebe of the debt he had incurred.  Though she did not die from the disease, it did leave her with a bad limp. Mr. MacIntire knew Phoebe would never marry anyone with means and so he treated her as a slave in her own home.

The other girls were given lovely dresses and sent to the finest parties; after all, they were his future - an investment, so to speak. But Phoebe was shunned to the basement, where she had a tiny cot and befriended the mice.  She cooked and cleaned and did all the chores in the house as Francine and Faith were paraded around like shiny baubles.

Phoebe really didn't mind, though.  She found the whole thing to be a silly facade, where her sisters were just puppets on a string for their father's greedy agenda.  She actually felt sorry for her sisters. At least Phoebe was not the object of his attention, unless something was amiss with the household.  No. It was good not to be seen or noticed. She felt safe in her ordinary, inconspicuous haven.  It was when she had to venture out into the world to purchase items in the marketplace that she hated.

In the 1850’s, being an unmarried, plain woman with a disability was like being marked with a scarlet letter.  They might as well have put her in the stocks and thrown rotten food at her.  The children teased and taunted her. The young women snubbed her and whispered as she walked by, and the gentlemen, well, they just laughed and joked behind her back.

She hated being out of her element. She knew every inch of her garden and of her home.  She had cleaned it, primmed it, and had lovingly taken care of all its needs, and in return it gave her sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world.

But that would all change with one small envelope. The flowery calligraphy addressing her father mocked her. The noble red wax seal scoffed at her. When she had set it on her father's desk that afternoon she had thought it quite beautiful and wondered what secrets it held inside.  She thought nothing of it until she had cleared away dinner, cleaned the dishes, and settled on her cot with a book in the dingy, dank basement with a tiny candle. Above her cot was a window where she watched the trickling raindrops as they wiggled their way down the pane of glass to her waiting bulbs.

She had just opened her book when she heard heavy footsteps in the kitchen above her and the stomp, stomp, stomp of her father's heavy feet on the stairs to the basement.  She set her book next to her as his face came into view.  He was holding an oil lamp and descending the stairs rapidly.  His stern face was fixated on Phoebe.  Though his brows were furrowed, he had a most peculiar smirk on his face as if quite pleased with himself when he addressed Phoebe.