Salvation of Ignorance

Chapter 13: Right To Deny Him

A maid was unpacking Phoebe's luggage when Mima appeared before Phoebe's doorway. 

"'Tis be February Twentieth," Mima announced. 

Phoebe looked up from her sketches and inquired of the maid, "Would you mind fetching some tea?" 

The maid glanced away from Mima to curtsy to Phoebe. Then she made her way past Mima and out of the room. 

"Her name's Olivia, I think," Phoebe said from the seat that the bay window provided. The room seemed much more improved toward her liking since her minimal stay before the winter departure. The previously wooden finished base had been altered to provide cushion. Even the curtains were friendlier for leaving open. 

"Yer father say he be wantin' y'home in t'ree days." 

Phoebe giggled while fingering the wooden panels of her window. "I don't think that could be feasible at this rate. I suppose a few more days will make none the difference at this rate." 

The silence prompted Phoebe to glance at Mima. The coal-faced woman made no attempts to hide her censure. 

Phoebe sighed  and plopped atop the fresh bedding. "Oh, Mima. It's only a few days." 

Mima raised a brow. "I believe y'tolds me yer gov'ness be d'few days too." 

Phoebe frowned. "I told you, I was only trying to be nice. I would've said 'no', but Nana can be quite persuasive." 

"Yes, well, yer 'Nana' be not d'one who be tryin' ta tell me she be a friend of d'fam'ly." 

Phoebe smiled. "Technically she is a family friend. She merely happened to second as a convenient governess." 

Mima was less than amused. 

"Oh, come now, Mima." Phoebe rolled onto her back and began fingering the seams in the quilt. "I was intending to stay the winter here, regardless. I merely took advantage of the offer." 

"Yes, but d'winter be endin'." 

Phoebe rested her head on her flattened, overlapping arms. Before she could speak, she heard a muffled voice yelling in the distance outside. Returning to the window, she placed her fingerprints on the window panes and peered out. Down the street, she could see a gathering before a man with his mouth wide enough to eat curious flies. 

"You hear that?" Phoebe inquired, of the coal-faced woman, once the words were comprehensible. "That is the sound of men fighting for the freedom of color. White men. Publicly." 

"Yes, and there bean white folk burnin' scarecrow George in Pittsburgh fer liberty. And we be gotten war." 

Phoebe turned back to smirk at Mima. "Yes, and now we're Americans." 

"Yer right. We be 'merican," Mima said blank-facedly. 

Phoebe frowned and moved to the chest at the end of the bed. With her back turned, she took a seat with her arms crossed and lips pursed. "Why must you and Homer be so closed minded? The world is changing. The world is round. There are ancient civilizations." 

"Yer father be wantin' y'b--." 

"Yes, well, he's not here and I doubt he would be willing to return just for me." 

"Y'be going--." 

"No, I will not. And you have no legal power to tell me otherwise," Phoebe spat the words, but wished to swallow them the minute she turned to face Mima. 

So many words were on her face and Phoebe's own went white. 

"I'm sorry." 

Mima nodded and turned on her heel.