Belle (6 page)

“Not Francine.”

“Not Francine.”

Belle knew she’d never be his choice, but the idea of having Cecilia Best as a mother-in-law seemed grand. “Well, maybe he will find someone.”

Cecilia looked Belle in the eye and said, “I’ll keep praying.”

Cecilia headed to the door, but before exiting, looked back. “If you need anything, and I do mean anything, to get you through this heartbreak with your father, let us know.”

Belle nodded. “I will, and thank you—for everything.”

“You’re very welcome. Dinner at five.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jojo had spent the day at Trudy’s. Because there was no public school for the area’s children of color, the parents who could afford to do so pooled their funds and paid for the services of private tutors. Jojo and her fellow classmates had been without a formal instructor since their old one moved west last fall. The new teacher, a young man from Chatham, Ontario, had been hired only days ago. Under the agreement, classes would be taught within the homes of the children on a weekly rotating basis and they began this morning.

“How’d the day go?” Belle asked Jojo, who came up to Belle’s room after her arrival home.

Jojo took one look at Belle’s red-rimmed, swollen eyes and said quietly, “Mama told me about your papa. You must feel awful.”

“I do.”

“Did Mama give you one of her hugs? They always seem to help me feel better.”

Belle wondered if she’d ever meet anyone with a bigger heart than Josephine Best. “No, but Daniel did.”

Jojo smiled. “Good.”

“Well, up to a point. Francine saw us.”

Jojo’s eyes widened. “She was here?!”

“In this very room, and she was furious when she saw your brother holding me.”

“See, this is why I don’t like going to school. I miss everything.”

Belle chuckled. “It wasn’t all that much really. But she was pretty angry.”

“Was she all gussied up?”

Belle shrugged. “I suppose. She had on a beautiful blue cape. I see why Daniel wants to marry her—she’s very beautiful.”

Jojo waved a dismissive hand. “On the outside maybe, but inside she’s rotten as spoiled eggs.”

Belle decided to change the subject. It was plain Jojo had no love for her brother’s intended. “Tell me about the school. What’s the teacher like?”

Jojo swooned dramatically and fell back onto Belle’s bed. “He’s heavenly. So very, very heavenly. Trudy and I couldn’t take our eyes off him. His name’s Mr. Hood. He’s tall, even taller than Dani, and his eyes—oh, Belle—they’re a handsome brown, and he’s fit, not fat like the teacher we had last time. I think I could study with him twenty-seven hours a day, ten days a week.”

Belle enjoyed Jojo so much. “That handsome, huh?”

“Handsomer. And his voice,” she gushed. “He was reading the geography lesson and every girl in the room started to sigh. Oh, Belle, I think I’m in love.”

Belle laughed. “I think your mama might have something to say about that.”

Jo turned her twelve-year-old face Belle’s way and replied, “We just won’t tell her. How about that?”

Both girls laughed, then went downstairs for dinner.

Later
that same evening as Belle prepared for bed, Mrs. Best knocked lightly on Belle’s partially open door, then asked, “Belle, may I speak with you?”

Belle answered affirmatively even though the pain of her father’s fate still hung like weights on her heart and she didn’t feel much like talking. She gestured Mrs. Best to a seat in one of the old stuffed chairs. Belle sat on the bed.

Silence slipped between them for a short while, then Mrs. Best said quietly, “You know, Belle, when my mother was sold, I didn’t think the hurt would ever go away.”

Belle looked up and met her kind brown eyes. “And did it?”

Mrs. Best shook her head. “No, but as time passed, I learned to manage it, as will you.”

Belle bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. How would she live without her father? Mrs. Best said softly, “Something like this leaves a hole in your heart that will always be there.”

Belle understood that. Her heart did feel wounded, and it was bleeding tears.

Mrs. Best then said, “Fugitives all over this nation have walked the path you’re on. Like us, they’ve lost parents. Some, their children. Facing freedom alone can be hard, but we survive. We have to, otherwise all the sacrifices made by those who came before us would be in vain.”

Belle’s tears were running freely down her cheeks.

“Belle, I know you’re without family, but we’d be honored if you’d consider us your surrogate one. You’re welcome here for as long as you wish.”

Belle wondered what she’d done to deserve such special people in her life. “Thank you, Mrs. Best.”

Mrs. Best took a clean handkerchief from the side pocket of her day gown and handed it to Belle. Belle wiped at her tears and blew her nose. She said finally, “Never knew one body could hold so many tears.”

Mrs. Best smiled sadly. “It’s a natural thing. No one will hold it against you if you cry for two months. Lord knows, I did.”

“What was it like for you coming North?”

“Scary, strange—different. I’d never been in a place that had a real winter until I came North. Had no idea snow was so cold.”

Belle gave her a watery smile.

“Then there was all the different types of people. I’d heard about free folks but had never met any, so when I got to Boston and learned there was a large community that dated back to before the Revolutionary War, I was speechless.”

“I’d never met any free folks before coming here either.”

“Then we have a lot in common, you and I.”

“I suppose we do.”

Belle looked into Mrs. Best’s eyes and then asked, “Is it okay if I’m a bit scared of the future?”

“Yep.”

“You said you were afraid when you first came.”

“I was. Still am in many ways.”

Belle hadn’t expected that. “You don’t seem afraid.”

“I am, though. Afraid slavery will never end, and we’ll have to live the rest of our lives fending off slave catchers. Michigan, like other states here in the North, has passed Personal Liberty Laws to protect folks like you and me against the horrid mandates of the Fugitive Slave Act, but they could be voided at any time depending on the political winds.”

“I wish there’d been a law to protect my father.”

“So do I.”

“I know everyone did all they could to find him.”

“Doesn’t dull the hurt though, does it?”

Belle shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

Mrs. Best came over and took a seat beside Belle. “You’re safe here. My family is now your family and we’ll do whatever it takes to make certain you are as successful as you can be.”

Belle still didn’t understand such generosity. “But why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do. You’re me, and every other soul who came North to find freedom. We must help each other if we are all to move forward.”

Belle thought on that for a moment and decided that when she got the chance she, too would lend someone a helping hand.

Mrs. Best said, “It would be foolish to ask if this talk made you feel you better, because I know no amount of words can ease the hurt of losing your father, but I do hope I’ve set your mind at ease about the future.”

Belle nodded. “You have.”

Mrs. Best stood. “Good. Now, get some sleep. The hurt will dull, Belle, I promise.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Best.”

“You’re welcome, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She departed as quietly as she’d come.

As Belle lay in her bed she reflected back on the day. Learning her father’s fate had been devastating—it seemed she’d carry the pain of his uncertain future for the rest of her life. Had she not been in such dire need, being comforted by Daniel would’ve been thrilling. Him holding her while she cried had made her feel so special, so cared about. She’d been embarrassed to the soles of her feet when Francine showed up, though, and Belle didn’t need the ability to read to decipher the sneering, contemptuous look on the Queen’s golden face. Belle hoped she hadn’t made an enemy today. Mrs. Best’s kind words had soothed her hurts, but Belle felt as if she’d been whipped about by a windstorm. She’d no idea where it would blow her or who she might be when everything settled, but she was surrounded by sterling examples of the person she could be. Content with that, Belle offered up one more prayer for her father’s safety, then closed her eyes to sleep.

The next day, Belle placed her father’s memory deep inside her heart and prepared to start her new life as a free young woman of color. To that end she planned to ask Mr. and Mrs. Best if it would be all right if she began taking in sewing and if they had any ideas as to how to drum up customers.

“Well, I need a dress for a ball next month. Maybe if I wear something you’ve created it would stir up interest,” Mrs. Best replied as Belle and the family sat around the breakfast table.

Belle looked so surprised, everyone grinned.

Belle finally found speech. “Mrs. Best, I didn’t mean that I had to sew for you. I’m sure you have your own dressmaker. I—”

“Are you saying you
can’t
make me a fancy gown or you
won’t?
”

Belle studied her for a moment. “You would trust me to do that? Without even knowing if I can or not?”

“I’ve seen some of your work, dear. I trust you can do what you say you can.”

Daniel said, “I could use a couple new shirts if you don’t want to make Mama’s gown.”

Mr. Best asked, “Can you tailor suits, Belle?”

A wondrous Belle looked over at the grinning Jojo who said, “Guess you have your first customers, Belle.”

Belle guessed she did.

After breakfast, Daniel drove Jojo to Trudy’s house for school while Mr. Best headed out to his carpenter shop in the barn behind the house. That left Mrs. Best and Belle to see to the cleaning up, a job Belle didn’t mind in the least.

“How about I wash today and you dry?” she asked her hostess.

“That’s fine, then we can drag out some of my old
Godey’s Lady’s Books,
and see if we can’t find a dress to make for me.”

Since she’d been owned by a seamstress, Belle knew all about
Godey’s Lady’s Books.
Each issue had beautiful plates featuring the latest fashionable gowns and accessories. Because Belle couldn’t read she paid little attention to the many articles on proper etiquette the magazine was also known for but devoured the well-done plates with their lovely dress designs.

“How about this one?” Mrs. Best asked Belle as they leafed through the pages of an issue.

Belle studied all the ruffles and flounces. “May I be truthful?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you’re tall, Mrs. Best, and all those ruffles and flounces will look silly on you. There was a lady back home. Mrs. Parly. She was tall, and I told her the same thing, but she knew better than me. So she made me sew it for her anyway. When she put it on, she looked like a Christmas tree.”

Mrs. Best chuckled. “Then I will let you guide me.”

Belle turned a few more pages, leafed through a few more issues, then said, “This is more you.”

She handed it over. Mrs. Best scanned the clean lines and the stylishly done, lace-edged overdress and asked, “You can make something this beautiful?”

“Yes, ma’am. We just need to do your measurements, make the pattern and go buy the fabric and thread.”

Mrs. Best looked over the plate again. “This is a lovely gown.”

“Yes, it is. Mr. Best will think you’re the prettiest lady at that ball.”

Mrs. Best looked up with a smile. “Then I’m in your hands, Belle.”

The two women spent the next hour talking about the dress and taking measurements. Although Belle couldn’t read words, every seamstress had to be able to read numbers and she was no exception. On a piece of paper provided by Mrs. Best, Belle wrote down the measurements and did a rough calculation of how much fabric would be needed. “Now I need some butcher paper so I can make the pattern.”

Mrs. Best didn’t have any. “How about I have Daniel bring some home next time he goes into town?”

“That would be fine. When is the ball?”

Mrs. Best told her the date. It was over a month away.

Belle did some calculations in her head. “We should have plenty of time, then.”

“Are you sure?”

Belle nodded. “Very sure.”

“Then tomorrow or the next day, I’ll have William take me to Detroit and I’ll pick out the fabric. The Second Baptist Church down there has a Free Produce store.”

“Then maybe after I finish your dress and you like it and your friends like it, too, I can save up enough money for a stitching machine.”

“Sounds like a good way to go about it.”

So that’s what Belle planned to do.

She and Mrs. Best spent a few more moments talking about the various fabrics and color possibilities for the new gown, then cleaned up the mess of magazines and papers spread out on the floor of the parlor.

“Belle,” Mrs. Best said as she headed for the kitchen, “Mr. Best and I are driving over to visit some friends in Ann Arbor this evening and we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll start dinner later. I want you and Daniel to make certain Jo gets to bed at a reasonable hour.”

“Yes, ma’am, but if you’ll just tell me what you were going to prepare, I can cook the meal.”

“No. Although I appreciate all your help around here, you’re not a servant.”

“But—”

“No buts. If you want to make yourself useful, go and take that tray in the kitchen out to the men. And tell William I said to show you the room.”

Belle didn’t think toting a tray a few feet would even begin to repay the Bests what she owed for taking her in, but she’d learned not to argue with Cecilia Best because the lady of the house always got her way. “You really ought to let me do more around here, you know.”

“Young lady, if I did there’d be no need for me. You’ve helped with the cooking, the cleaning, the sweeping, the polishing. The wash.”

Belle heard the praise in Mrs. Best’s words and it warmed her insides. “I just wish to pay you back, and this is the only means I have.”

“Well, William says if you work any harder we’re going to have to pay you a salary, so stop it. At least wait until you get your own house.”

Belle nodded. She really like Cecilia Best’s wit. “Okay. I’ll go and get the tray, but it isn’t going to stop me from offering to help whenever I can.”

Mrs. Best shook her head and said wistfully, “Oh, if only I had another son.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Go take the tray.”

Belle had no idea what Mrs. Best was talking about, so she went to get the tray. Outside it was a bright and beautiful April day. The gentle breeze ruffled the hem of her old gray gown and blew softly against her brown cheeks. The tray in her hands held two steaming cups of coffee and a couple of man-sized wedges of last night’s pound cake. It was the day’s midmorning snack for the family’s carpenters.

Belle liked the smells inside the large barn. The mixture of fragrant wood and oils pleasantly filled her nose the moment she entered. The spread-wide doors let in the sunlight, but the interior still caught and held shadows.

“Well, hello there, Miss Belle,” Mr. Best called out from behind a long bench on the far right side of the barn. He had a plane in his hands and was working on what appeared to be a set of small doors. The wood was still pale and unfinished.

“Brought you coffee and cake,” she called back.

Daniel, clad in a stained carpenter’s apron over his shirt and trousers, looked up from where he stood over some stacked planks. Their eyes met and he asked, “Did you bring some for me?”

Belle tossed back, “Nope. Mr. Best and I are the only invitees to this party.”

He grinned and felt his heart swell just looking at her. The old dress was too short for her tall, lean frame and the used shoes were scuffed, but the dark face with its long black lashes and sweetly curved lips made the hand-me-down garments inconsequential. She’d taken to wearing a long, thin ribbon around her soft, short hair, just like the one he’d seen in her hair that night up in her room. He liked that, too.

He also decided he liked her sassiness. “Well, if you think I’m going to let Papa have both pieces of that cake, you’re mistaken.”

“Oh, am I now?”

Belle knew Daniel would never return the feelings she had for him, so his friendship was her only option. It wouldn’t be easy; her heart still skipped every time she saw him, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life pining for something she’d never have.

The men went to the pump out back to rid themselves of the sawdust and grime, then each took a cup of coffee and a slice of cake from the tray.

“How’re the chairs coming?” Belle asked Mr. Best.

Mr. Best was building an elaborate dining room set for a wealthy White couple in Toledo. The table had been shipped to them last week.

“They’re almost done. One left to go.”

Belle could see them up on the long trestle table near where he’d been working. They were made of a highly polished wood and gleamed even in the barn’s dull light. She thought the table and chairs the most beautiful pieces of furniture she’d ever seen and hoped the new owners would appreciate the fine craftsmanship.