Their knees had touched. Seven times.
Their hands had severed for even less.
And she had been insensible for the majority of it.
Phoebe wrapped her arms around her torso, quite convinced she was on the verge of expiring. Her left arm began to twitch and her chest tightened. Each symptom was manageable in intervals, but an ambush watered her eyes.
A knock, at the door, put a curtain to her dramedy. "Phoebe, yer grandma be waitin' fer ya."
Phoebe cleared her throat with a stentorian reply, "I'll be there promptly."
She was still, very much, breathing, but her skin was enflamed and she was trying to recall when she drank salt. Placing her hands to her cheeks, she hoped the bloodless phalanges would absorb the excessive pooling in her face. Her grandmother was waiting, and Phoebe seemed in no state to see her.
Her grandmother.
After the incident, Lucrecia decided she would like to show Phoebe her summer home. During the winter. When the lakes were frozen and the roads inaccessible. Perfect for slaughtering risible grandchildren.
Phoebe was left to consider nothing more plausible, given that Lucrecia had refused to touch on any subject pertaining to the day Phoebe had arrived on the verge of expiring. In fact, the call for Phoebe's company confounded the girl.
"She be in d'green'ouse."
Phoebe stiffened, realizing that Mima had no intention of leaving until Phoebe exited her private chamber. Then forcefully exhaled at the likelihood that Mima had eavesdropped on Phoebe's sudden onset of anemia. An easy feat compared to the silent upper-wing. The America Girl wasted no time to force the door open and squeeze past Mima.
Lucrecia was to be found where Mima claimed. The later opted out of joining in the summoning.
The elder aristocrat basked in the snowy sun. A mild contrast, to the luminosity, was made solely by the greenery and stone and marble base. Lucracia had been seated at a white, weaved table when she feebly lifted her head to acknowledge Phoebe.
Phoebe thought Lucracia looked older today.
"Might you join me?"
Phoebe had already begun making her way to the circular table, but nodded to emphasize her intentions. The diameter was narrow, and, given that Lucrecia's legs were established beneath it, Phoebe situated her own to the side of her chair.
"A little birdy informed me of your studies in Botony."
Phoebe swallowed, suddenly noticing how uneven her nails were of late. "I've read some on the matter, but 'studies' gives it too much justice."
"But it fascinates you?"
"Plants are fascinating." Phoebe dared a fleeting smile.
Lucrecia flexed the fingers of her right hand.
Phoebe was in the midst of examining a nearby fern when she had an epiphany. "Oh, you have a wonderful display."
"Thank you, dear." Lucracia turned from the fogged window to smile. "From a Botanist, I'll give that merit."
Phoebe considered correcting her, but she wasn't certain if the woman was truly unaware what defined a 'Botanist' or if she was merely giving a compliment without interest in the validity. So Phoebe simply laughed in appreciation.
"Actually, I called you here for a reason."
Phoebe went light headed.
"I had intended to bring this up earlier, but the move was so sudden that my attention was required on the particulars."
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Phoebe latched on to the subtext. "If there are any last arrangements to be made, I'd be more than happy to assist."
"No need, everything is situated. However," Lucrecia placed a wooden box upon the table, "My back has been noncompliant for some time, and I've missed my morning walks in the greenhouse. I would appreciate a second eye."
Phoebe's impatience and curiosity had her fingering the case before Lucracia had finished. But the last statement earned Phoebe's attention. "'A second eye'?"
Lucracia leaned over to examine the success of her granddaughter's phalanges. "You're welcome to open it."
She didn't need to repeat the permission.
Inside the slender rectangular case was a bounded book of unprinted paper. Beneath was a layer of pencils, but not the ordinary charcoal pencils she'd become accustomed to. Instead, they were whole sawn graphite pencils. After the revolution, trades had been limited, which included graphite. The last time she had used one was after finding one in her father's office as a child.
Phoebe stated the obvious, "These are drawing supplies."
"I'd imagine so."
"How did you know I can draw? Well, 'can draw', gives too much justice. But 'like to'? Or did you? These are drawing supplies, yes? Or am I to use them for something else?" Phoebe's grasp on the box had tightened in fear of them being cruelly reclaimed.
Lucrecia smiled and even gave a laugh exempt from mockery. "I'm quite certain they are for art, but you're welcome to use them as you see fit. And I received the information from Mary after one of the maids informed me of finding charcoal on your dresses. I've been informed these may salvage your white dresses."
The absence of 'your' before 'Mary' did not go unnoticed.
But it was not enough to ease Phoebe's conscious. In fact, it had an adverse effect. Here she was receiving a gift and all she had given in return was trouble.
Phoebe ran her hand across the polished oak. "Thank you, but I cannot accept them. I mean, I can take them off your hands and use them as you wish. But it would be wrong to accept them."
Lucrecia speculated toward Phoebe. "And what if I wish for you to accept them?"
"Why?" The question came abrasively before she could stop herself. She closed the case and place her hands in her lap. "I mean, you can, of course. And I'm not questioning your intention--well, partially, but not under the belief of them being ill-willed--but you should be displeased. I mean, I'm happy you're not, but a gift..."
Phoebe sneaked a glance at the box, too fearful to directly catch Lucrecia's face.
But she caught Lucrecia's nod and awaited the verdict.
"I will admit, I am not," Lucrecia shrugged her lip at Phoebe, "pleased with the event. But I'm not upset with you."
Phoebe nodded, but remained unsatisfied.
"If anything, I'm upset with the gentleman who presented you--."
"You are? But, why? Did you find anything wrong in his manners? He did help me, though. I shouldn't have been out alone, especially when unfamiliar with the weather. But what were you displeased with in his regard? Was it his manners?"
Phoebe realized she was beginning to cycle the same inquiry and finally chose to sit back in her seat.
Lucrecia extended an arm to Phoebe. "Come, you look too energized to sit. Help a brittle women enjoy her garden."
Despite being professed brittle, Phoebe was more concerned with her own shaking hands than taking responsibility for her grandmother's weight. Although there wasn't far to go in the collection, Phoebe was earnestly impressed.
"I had little conversation with him," Lucrecia began again once in locomotion, "So I shan't speak on the majority of his upbringing. However, his...conduct in this situation was unseemly."
Lucrecia glanced to the side to find possession of her granddaughter's full attention.
"Firstly, it is unseemly for you to have been alone with him, even if in motion."
Technically, it was unseemly for her to be alone in general, but that statement was still valid.
"And to parade around town with a carriage bearing his family crest. He could have had the decency to cover it."
"True."
"But," Lucrecia placed a hand atop of Phoebe's now steady one, "I suppose I must be grateful to him for returning you. Perhaps the urgency in the matter clouded his judgment."
Phoebe extended her lips in appreciation.
"However, I--." Lucrecia halted and placed a contemplative finger to her lips. "I've been meaning to mention this for some time, but I...I know it's not my place to comment on the manner. It's why I've been avoiding the topic for some time. But after this incident..."
Phoebe played with the material at her elbow. "If you're displeased with me, you're welcome to speak your mind--."
"Oh, no dear. I could never think such. You're the perfect little gift for a grandmother, all wrapped up in...such a pretty bow," Lucrecia finished by toying with the strip of ribbon that had escaped the binding of Phoebe's blonde locks.
"They're block printed."
"I like block print." Lucrecia retracted her hand. "But, as I was saying, this is a concern of mine, but I understand if this is a topic beyond my boundaries. I simply feel I would be more at ease if this was addressed before I returned you home and separated until the next lifetime."
"Oh, I could certainly return in the fut--."
"No, no. I've placed your life in enough peril as it is with my selfish wish. I shan't have the sin repeated." Lucreacia caught the decent of Phoebe's head. "Oh, no dear. I would wish for nothing more than to extend our visit. But I shan't have you doing so at the risk of your safety."
"Then which topic do you wish to address?"
"I...I'm concerned with your safety. Well, more specifically--oh, dear, I'm not certain how to say this--essentially, I don't--I feel as though you may have been neglected of certain teachings. Certain basic essentials."
Phoebe blinked. Quite certain that she had just been told she was intellectually inept.
"How do I put this? There are certain materials that are intended to be covered by governesses."
Phoebe's stomach sunk, now realizing where the critique lied. Generally racists never blatantly stated their distaste. Phoebe believed it to be a sign of ignorance of the boundaries of the definition. It was what allowed her to take their statements lightheartedly.
"Yes, I suppose so." She was curious how this related to her safety.
"I mean, you seem to have a solid foundation in academics--."
Well, given that she couldn't speak French without Spanish, she doubted that.
"--But there seems to be a lack of emphasis on etiquette."
Phoebe rose a brow.
"Not to say that you're rude, but there are certain social protocols that women--and men--are taught as they become of age. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"I'm ill-mannered?" Phoebe theorized blank-facedly.
She could've sworn, a second ago, this was a conversation about Mima's birth condition.
"Ah, heh heh, yes and no." Lucrecia clasped one of Phoebe's hands in two of hers, then ran a contemplative thumb across Phoebe's index. "I'm certain I've bet about the bush and back. So, I'll put it in laymen's terms. Essentially, your governess--Mary...she may be educated, as I suspect your father may have taken care of. But there are certain societal aspects that have yet to be open to...persons of color."
"'Have yet'?"
Lucrecia rose her head to Phoebe's. "Oh, yes, I know slavery is still favorable in the Southern settlements. But, here, the younger generation are fervid in their opposition of the trade."
"You mean they wish to abolish it?"
Lucrecia placed a hand to her lips. "Oh, that's right. I'm not certain as to what your father has enlighten you with in regards to his childhood--though, certain politics have changed. Well, I suppose that lack of information may be my fault as well. I have been negligent in giving you a tour of the country. No wonder your curiosity sent you out that day."
Reclaiming Phoebe's arm once more, the two ladies made their way back to the table.
Her grandmother continued, "At the present, with Mary's likely upbringing, she may not have had the societal experience as someone of privilege may have had. Some experience that may have assisted you during this last incident."
"Well, I understand I shouldn't of been alone with him, but I wasn't quite sensible at the ti--."
"No no. I'm certain you're familiar with such decorum. I mean as far as conversational skills."
There was no argument that Phoebe was the least qualified conversationalist. But--. "How would that assist in my safety?"
Phoebe assisted Lucrecia into her seat.
"Well," her grandmother replied, "For starters, there are certain emotions that we may possess that we wish to remain guarded. Fear, pain, illness. Weaknesses. And certain etiquettes allow us to better conceal such burdens."
Phoebe was suspicious of the atrocious claim but placed a hand over her tensing stomach. "But we will still feel them?"
"Such unpleasant emotions are natural, but we can lessen and even remove them. With practice, of course."
"So, just to clarify, I'm not concealing the emotions, but I'll know how to desensitize?"
Lucrecia raised a brow. "Is there anything in particular that ails you?"
"No, of course not." Phoebe's stomach tightened.
"Well, if there is, it will. Though, it is socially acceptable--and encouraged--to share any troubles amongst family."
"No, I've recovered--I mean 'I'm fine'."
Lucrecia smiled a bit too knowing smile. "I see. Well, in the event that particular emotions may arise in the future, perhaps you may be interested in some lessons? It may take a bit to find a tutor, however."
"May you not teach me?"
"Oh, you do me a service with such a compliment." Lucrecia flattened her skirts. "No, no. I'd be happy to assist, but it's best to have a qualified individual in this task."
Phoebe played with the table cloth. "Well, I'd have to speak with Mary."
"Oh, you shouldn't have to ask your father for permission. If you're reluctant for the lessons, your word is enough to cease them."
"No, no. I'm happy to take them." Actually, she needed Mima's permission. "Perhaps it would be better if Mary didn't know about them. To surprise Homer. Mary can be quite the snitch."
Lucrecia giggled. "Well, if you insist. Then I shall have to send out a notice tomorrow. But for today--," Her grandmother nudged the neglected box forward, "It's been too many wasted weeks. Tell me about my delightful granddaughter."