Belle (10 page)

“I’ll do my best to keep my needs in check.”

Francine raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Belle’s small show of backbone and declared, “Please see that you do.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw the smile on Jojo’s face.

Francine then looked to Jojo and said, “Is your brother out in the barn?” Jojo nodded.

“Then be a plum and go tell him I’m here.”

“Tell him yourself.”

Her mother snapped warningly, “Josephine, go and get your brother.”

Jojo dragged herself off the sofa. “Yes, ma’am.”

Since Belle had no desire to watch Daniel and Francine bill and coo, she said to Mrs. Best, “Is there anything you need help with in the kitchen?”

Mrs. Best smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. Jojo’s been raving about your biscuits. Show me how they’re made.”

Belle could’ve kissed Jojo’s mama for boosting her spirits. “Of course. Lead the way. Good-bye, Francine.”

“I’ll see you soon, Belle.”

It sounded like a warning, but Belle shrugged it off, blaming it on her imagination.

Belle didn’t get a chance to view the contents of the carpetbag until later that evening. She and Jojo were sequestered in Belle’s room working on Mrs. Best’s gown; rather, Belle was working, Jojo was still sputtering about Francine’s visit.

“I still don’t see why Daniel wants to marry her.”

“Obviously he sees something there,” Belle said in an attempt to be charitable, even though she personally thought the girl a snake.

Jo asked, “What did those dresses of hers look like? I bet they’re hideous.”

“I don’t know,” Belle replied, setting aside one of the gown’s sleeves. “Haven’t had time to look.”

Belle dug the first few out of the bag. Jojo was correct: they were hideous. Most were at least two inches too short and far too small across the middle. None were even close to new. “She knows you’re at least four inches taller than she is; why would she pick those?” Jojo asked critically.

It was quite plain Francine wanted Belle to be the most ridiculously attired person at her affair. The rest of the gowns were no better. Belle wished she hadn’t agreed to attend the party.

Mrs. Best walked in then. Seeing the dresses lying across the bed, she asked, “Any of them suitable?”

Jojo cracked, “Only if you want Belle to be a laughingstock.”

Mrs. Best scanned the offerings. One had a badly frayed hem; another she picked up had torn seams beneath the badly stained underarms. “If her mother, Dessa, were alive she’d take a buggy whip to that girl’s behind for sending you these rags.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Best. I wasn’t really wanting to go in the first place.”

“No, it isn’t, and yes, you did, and even if you didn’t want to go, you should. It’s time you were around people your own age.”

Belle looked over the dresses again. “You know, if I put this bodice on this dress—”

An epiphany resonated through Belle like a thunder-clap. She looked to Jojo and said excitedly, “Hand me those scissors.”

It
took Belle a day and a half, and she was up most of Friday night, but by the time Saturday evening rolled around, she’d created a dress worthy enough to be worn anywhere. Using various pieces of this one and the lace and sleeves of that one, Belle put together a dress so uniquely fashionable it was hard to imagine it had come from rags.

“My goodness!” Mrs. Best gushed once she got a look at Belle all dressed up. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

Jojo had curled Belle’s short hair and draped a ribbon around her head that matched the lovely, dark blue gown. The hooped petticoat borrowed from Mrs. Best gave the dress a subtle fullness. The new black slippers, given to her as a gift from Mr. and Mrs. Best, brought tears to Belle’s eyes. Now, looking at herself in the mirror, Belle felt like a dark-skinned princess. She’d never, ever worn such finery before. Never. It amazed her that the confident-looking young woman staring back at her was actually her. Less than two months ago, she’d been a slave, and now…“This is the first dress I’ve ever made for myself.”

Mrs. Best came over and gave her shoulder a short hug. “May it be the first of dozens, my dear. You’re going to need a club to beat back the young men.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

Belle had butterflies in her stomach all of a sudden. “I don’t know anything about talking to young men. What if they want to know where I’m from?”

“I’m sure everyone in Daniel’s set knows all about your circumstances, and they’ll be respectful.”

Belle didn’t know if she believed that or not. She wasn’t ashamed of her past, but she didn’t want to be whispered about or pointed at either.

Mrs. Best seemed to read her mind. “Just put on your confidence and hold your head high. You’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Belle hoped she was right.

When it was time to depart, Bell found Daniel waiting in the parlor. Her entrance made him turn away from the conversation he’d been having with his father, and she saw his eyes go wide. He seemed speechless, so Mr. Best offered up, “What my son is trying to say is, you look very lovely, Belle.”

“Thank you, Mr. Best.”

Daniel wondered how long it would take for his heart to start beating again. Belle looked radiantly confident yet shy. One would never believe this well-dressed young woman to be the same girl he’d had to carry upstairs because she’d walked her feet raw. He finally found his voice. “My father’s right, Belle. You look—fine.”

“Thank you, Daniel.”

Daniel couldn’t help himself. He stared and stared so long, Belle finally asked, “Are you ready to go?”

He shook himself. “Um—yes.” He gestured her to the door. “Shall we?”

Belle left the room. Daniel took a moment to look back at his father and saw a smile in his eyes.

His father said, “Have a good time.”

“We will.”

Once Belle and Daniel were under way, Belle admitted, “I’m a bit nervous about this.”

“About what?”

“Going to Francine’s party. What is a mind feast, anyway?”

“A real mind feast has food and things for the mind: like a lecturer or an author. Sometimes money is raised for the Cause, or for a fugitive family in need, but Francine’s is just an excuse for her friends to get together and have a good time.”

Belle hazarded a look his way. “I see. Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, but you sound like you don’t approve.”

“Truthfully, Belle? I don’t. Mind feasts serve a legitimate purpose—they’re special, honored. They’re not supposed to be the setting for parlor games and gossip.”

“It might be fun.”

“That’s my point: it’s not supposed to be fun.”

Belle chuckled. “Oh, Daniel, are you always so serious?”

“Yes.” He glanced away from the road a moment to look her way. “It’s who I am. Is it so wrong?”

Belle searched his eyes, then slowly shook her head. “No, it isn’t,” she reassured him softly. “But you’re free, Daniel; you should enjoy it sometimes.”

As if he were thinking over what she’d said, he didn’t speak for a moment, then offered, “Never thought about it in those terms before.”

“It is a different way of looking at it, I know, but from where I sit, freedom is too wonderful not to spend some of it having fun. Or am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. I guess having been a slave gives you a different outlook on things. You haven’t had much fun in your life, have you?”

“Nope. Started sewing when I was little and been doing that all my life. My mistress frowned on me going to any of the social events the planters sometimes let their slaves have, like on Christmas or New Year’s. She wanted me to believe the folks I’d meet would be bad influences; said she didn’t want those influences to rub off on me and offend her customers.”

Daniel shook his head. “Then we have to make sure you have some fun at Franny’s.”

“No, just being here like this is fun enough for me. I don’t need anything special.”

He looked over at her. “A special girl deserves a special time.”

Belle smiled. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Belle smiled inside for the rest of the way to Francine’s house.

As soon as Belle saw Francine’s big house and all the buggies parked out front, the butterflies in her stomach came back with a vengeance. How would Francine’s friends treat her? Would they be accepting, or look down their noses? The last thing she wanted was to embarrass herself or Daniel, so she vowed not to do anything that might bring attention to herself while inside.

Their knock on the front door was met by a short, red-haired White man dressed in a very nice suit. He broke into a smile upon seeing Daniel. “Ah, Mr. Daniel, how are you?”

“Fine, Hodges. This is my cousin, Belle.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Belle. May I take your cloak?”

Belle gave him the garment, all the while wondering where Hodges fit into Francine’s family.

“Miss Franny’s in the parlor,” Hodges offered kindly. “Go on in.”

After they left him, Belle quietly asked Daniel, “Is Hodges a member of the family?”

“Nope, he’s the butler.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “She has a White servant?”

“Yep. It’s not that uncommon.”

It most certainly was where Belle came from. She’d never encountered such an arrangement before. “What does Francine’s papa do?”

“He’s in lumber.”

The rest of Belle’s questions had to be set aside because Francine pounced upon Daniel as soon as they entered the parlor.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You made it.”

Francine was wearing a yellow gown with a sheer embroidered overdress that Belle knew some seamstress had sewn on for weeks.

Daniel smiled and gave his beautiful intended a quick peck on her forehead. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Francine then turned to Belle and seemed shocked by the way Belle looked in her finery. “Why, Belle. You look—”

Adam Morgan sidled up and filled in the blank, “Stunning?”

His brother Jeremiah slid to Belle’s other side. “Spectacular?”

Belle couldn’t help her grin. “How are you two?”

“Infinitely better now that you’ve arrived,” Adam claimed.

His brother added, “The afternoon is much brighter. Come, let us introduce you around.”

Each brother offered her an arm, so Belle played along and let them lead her away. For the next little while Belle was introduced to the ten or so other young people gathered for Francine’s affair. She couldn’t remember all of the names, but did notice that the young men seemed a lot more pleased to make her acquaintance than Francine’s girlfriends did.

One girl, with a horse face and pale skin, critically looked Belle’s gown up and down, then said, “I had a dress with a bodice similar to that, but it was so terribly out of fashion, I donated it to some poor runaway Francine’s trying to help. Isn’t she noble?”

Belle wondered how she was expected to respond to such a question.

Adam answered for her by cracking sarcastically, “Yes, Franny’s so noble, we’re thinking of taking up a collection and sending her to Liberia as a missionary.”

That said, he led Belle away to an unoccupied chair on the far side of the room. Once she was seated she told him, “Thanks.”

“It’s what knights are for. If she offended you, just remember that everyone calls her Horse-Face Harriet, and that should make you feel better.”

Belle smiled.

“That’s my girl. How about some punch?”

“I’d love some.”

So off he went, only to be replaced by his brother a second later. “Has Adam deserted you?”

“No, he went to get me some punch.”

Belle knew good manners dictated she pay attention to Jeremiah, but her eyes kept straying across the room to Daniel standing so contentedly by Francine’s side.

Jeremiah said, “They make a good-looking couple, don’t they?”

Embarrassed that she’d been caught staring, Belle nodded. “Yes.”

“Franny’s a beautiful woman, but Dan deserves better. If he marries her, he’ll want to hang himself within a week.”

Belle looked over at him. “That’s not nice to say.”

“Ah, but it’s the truth. Franny’s beautiful to look at, but she’s like a painting. All lacquer, no substance.”

Adam returned with Belle’s punch.

“Thank you,” Belle told him as she took the crystal cup from his hand.

“You’re welcome. What are you two gossiping about?”

“The beautiful but vapid Francine,” Jeremiah confessed without shame.

Adam raised his cup. “One of my favorite subjects,” he drawled sarcastically.

Belle shook her head with amusement. “You two need a keeper.”

“We have one, but Francine’s got him all tied up right now, so we’re on our own.”

“That’s very frightening.” Belle laughed.

Jeremiah replied, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Daniel spent the afternoon listening to Francine go on about this and that, but his eyes were on Belle. He’d been watching her being escorted around by Adam and Jeremiah, and although he was grateful to them for taking her under their wings, he envied their time with her. He couldn’t get over her transformation. The dress fit her well, and the ribbon circling her short hair gave her a playful but fetching air. Belle was truly lovely, but Daniel knew he was drawn to her by more than that. Francine detested going to rallies or listening to speeches, but he sensed Belle would not. Belle appreciated the gift of freedom. He seriously doubted Francine would have walked her feet raw for anything, unless it was a new hat.
Yet you’re going to marry her,
his inner voice said. The questioning voice seemed to be growing stronger with each new day, but Daniel pushed it aside, and directed his full attention back to whatever Francine was talking about now.

As Francine went on and on about a new dress she’d seen in a Whittaker shop window, Daniel became distracted by the small group of people gathered around a card table. Excusing himself from Francine, he wandered over to see what was going on. To his surprise he found a seated Belle playing checkers. “Belle?” he asked questioningly.

She looked up, her eyes sparkling happily. “Hello, Daniel. Do you play?”

He nodded. “I do.”

Jeremiah stepped up and pulled out the chair left vacant by Belle’s last opponent. “Oh, do have a seat. She’s beaten all comers so far.”

Daniel wondered how many more fascinating facets his “cousin” Belle had hidden behind those coal-black eyes. Drawn by her, he sat, but warned, “I’m very good at this, Belle. They don’t call me Best for nothing.”

Everyone groaned at the awful pun, but Belle just smiled. “You can go first.”

“No, ladies first.”

And so it began.

Daniel had always been the reigning checker king of his set, able to trounce challengers in no time flat, but he soon realized that Belle was the checker
queen.
By the time the game wound down, Daniel had three men remaining; Belle had more kings than the Bible lined up on her side of the board.

In a kind voice she pointed out, “There’s nothing you can do, Daniel. I have you.”

Daniel continued to study the board as if looking for a way out of the traps she’d set. “Not until I concede, you don’t.” He looked up at her and grinned. “You’re very good at this, Belle.”

She grinned in response. Noticing the frowning Francine for the first time, Belle ignored her, then went back to studying the defeated Daniel. “Do you give?”

“No,” he declared, then after a few more moments of study, said, “Yes, I give.” He looked around and said, “Gentlemen, do not play checkers with this lady. Tell your friends.”

He stood then, and the Morgan brothers began to applaud. Adam said, “Belle, you’ve no idea how happy you’ve made us. He’s been whipping us mercilessly since he was ten.”

Jere said, “Forget that; I think I’m in love. Marry me, Belle, and we could have lots of checker youngins.”

Belle laughed, as did everyone else. Well, Francine didn’t. Instead, she cracked, “Checkers. That quite a skill you have there, Belle. I thought slaves spent all their time picking cotton.”

In the complete silence that followed, Belle heard a few muffled snickers. It was not a nice thing to say. Belle swore she’d pluck out her eyes if she started to cry, but she felt like she might.

Seeing Belle’s face made Daniel’s heart twist with pain. “Apologize, Francine.”

Francine had the nerve to act offended. “Whatever for?”

“For being such a…it rhymes with witch!” Adam Morgan snapped.

“How dare you say that to me in my own house!”

An angry Jeremiah threw back, “You didn’t care when it was Belle!”

“Get out!” Francine demanded.

Belle threw up her hands. “Stop this!”

You could hear a pin drop. Belle turned to Francine and said, “No, we slaves didn’t spend all our time picking cotton. Any other nasty remarks?”

Belle’s voice was so cutting, Francine shrank back.

Belle cracked, “Thought not.”

The silence was thick enough to cut and serve on a plate. Belle turned her eyes on Daniel next, and she had to give it to him: he didn’t flinch in the face of her quiet anger. She saw sympathy, but didn’t expect him to take her side over his intended’s.