Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” By Cameron Dokey (3 page)

combination of sun and salt. Even his eyes reminded me of the sea, for they were the blue-black of deep water.

I noticed all this in the time it took his eyes to scan the room, as if I might be hiding in one of the corners.

“Where is
la petite Belle
?” he asked again. “Is she not coming?”

How is it possible he does not see me
? I wondered. For I was standing right in front of him, so close that I could have taken no more than two steps and touched his toes with mine.

I pulled in a breath, determined to speak and call his attention to me, but felt the air refuse to leave my lungs. My entire body began to flush with embarrassment, the way it does when you’ve been caught in an outright lie – for suddenly it seemed that this was precisely what had happened. Monsieur LeGrand’s inability to see me had exposed a falsehood. The only problem was that I didn’t have the faintest idea what it was.

I’ve got to get back to my proper place
, I thought.
Surely everything will start to
make sense again if I can just get back to my place in line.

Slowly, fearing to call attention to myself now, I took one step back, while my

sisters each took a sliding step toward each other. The space between them was now filled. There was no room for me anymore. Safely behind their backs, I took two quick sidesteps to the left. I was on the far side of April now. All I had to do was take two more steps, forward this time, and I would be exactly where I was expected to be.

Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I eased forward into my proper place in

line.

“Ah.” I heard Maman exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath as well.

“Here she is, Alphonse,” Papa said, for that was Monsieur LeGrand’s name.

“Here is Belle.

I stepped forward again, intending to make a curtsy, though my legs had begun to

tremble so much that I was afraid they might not hold me if I tried. But before I could even make the attempt, Monsieur LeGrand stepped forward as well. To my astonishment, he knelt down – in that way grown-ups have sometimes when meeting a young person for the first time. Not condescendingly, just wanting to view the world from their

perspective.

For several moments, Monsieur LeGrand and I gazed at each other, face-to-face

and eye-to-eye. I’ve often wondered whether I’d have seen what happened next if we hadn’t been so close.

For, ever so slowly, Monsieur LeGrand’s face began to change. The only way I

can describe it is to say it became kind. As if he found the way to smooth out all the harsh angles until what lay beneath was revealed: kindness in it purest, most generous form.

I forgot my aching feet and trembling legs then, as a terrible possibility, an

explanation for everything that had happened since I’d first entered the room, shot like a bolt of lightning across my ten-year-old mind.

What if my name was wrong? What if Monsieur LeGrand’s kindness was not

only a simple gift but also a consolation prize, one designed to make up for the fact that I was not a Beauty, not truly
Belle
at all? What if my bane was not my true measure, but was the lie I told?

It would explain so much
, I thought. Such as why Monsieur LeGrand had not seen me standing between my sisters, as close as the reach of his arm. He had looked for a Beauty to go with theirs, but he failed to find it. My face did not live up to the promise of my name.

My legs did give way then, and I heard Monsieur LeGrand give a startled

exclamation as I suddenly swayed and closed my eyes. If I stared into his one moment longer, I feared I might begin to weep, for now I could see that there was more than kindness in his look. There was pity there as well.

“Why, Belle!” I heard my mother exclaim as, with a swish of silk, she, too, knelt down. I sensed Monsieur getting to his feet even as I felt my mother’s arms enfold me. I leaned my head against her shoulder, drinking in the scent of lavender that always hovers about her like a soft and fragrant cloud.

“Whatever is the matter? Are you ill?” my mother inquired.

Maman
, my heart pounded out in hard, fast strokes.
Oh, Maman, Maman. Why
didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you warn me that this day would come?

For I had heard more than just the way my mother’s dress moved. My legs might

have been refusing to function, but my ears still worked just fine. Running through my mother’s voice like a strand of errant-colored thread was a tone that was the perfect match for the expression in Monsieur LeGrand’s eyes. Maman pitied me too.

It must be true, then
, I thought.

I was not a Beauty, and my own mother knew it.

How long had she known? Surely she must have believed I was beautiful on the

day of my birth, or she would not have insisted on calling me
Belle
.

When had I lost my Beauty? I wondered. Where had it gone?

“Belle?” I suddenly heard my father’s quiet voice. Say. “Are you all right?”

At the sound of it, I felt the rapid beating of my heart begin to slow. For Papa’s voice sounded just at it always did. There was nothing in it to show that he had noticed anything different about me, nothing to indicate that anything was wrong.

And suddenly, with that, nothing was. I opened my eyes and stepped out of the

circle of my mother’s arms.

“I’m fine, Papa,” I assured him.

Maman got to her feet and went to stand at Papa’s side, a faint frown between her brows. I curtsied then, the buckles on my new shoes squeezing like vise grips. As I straightened, I snuck a quick glance upward at Monsieur LeGrand. If his expression held any hidden meaning now, for the life of me, I could not see it.

“I am pleased to meet you, Monsieur,” I went on. “I apologize for causing a

fuss…I didn’t mean…it’s just…”

“It’s just that she’s so excited to meet you, Alphonse,” my father said, coming to my rescue. “It’s all she’s talked about since your letter arrived. It came on her birthday.

Did I tell you that? She declared it her favorite gift.”

“Is that so?” Monsieur LeGrand inquired, and then he smiled. His eyes grew

brighter, and all the wrinkles on his face seemed to join together to form a new pattern of lines more complex than that on any sea chart. “That’s the nicest bit of news I’ve had in a good long while.”

“Yes, Mare Louise?” my mother’s voice slid beneath Monsieur LeGrand’s.

“Luncheon is served, Madame,” Marie Louise murmured from just inside the

parlor door. Three paces in and not a step farther unless she is requested to do so.

“Thank you,” my mother said, nodding. I stepped back, so that my sisters and I

were standing in a perfect straight line.

We all knew what would happen next. Monsieur LeGrand would offer Maman his

arm. He would lead her into the dining room, pull out her chair, then sit down to her right, the position a guest of honor always occupies. Papa would take Celeste in. April and I would follow along behind. All of us would be in our proper place, our proper order. Things would be completely back to normal.

But Monsieur LeGrand surprised us all. For instead of turning to offer his arm to Maman, he closed the distance between us and offered it to me.

“Will you give me the pleasure of taking you in to lunch,
ma Belle
?” he asked as he executed an expert bow. “Think of it as the rest of your birthday present.”

I laughed in astonished delight before I could help myself. For here was a gift I had never even though to wish for: the chance to be first in line.

I shot a quick glance in Papa’s direction and saw his lips lift in an encouraging smile. I didn’t quite dare to glance at Celeste, who was now destined to follow along behind. I wondered if she would recognize my back, for it would be unfamiliar to her. I remembered to keep it perfectly straight as I dipped a curtsy in response to Monsieur LeGrand’s bow.

“Thank you, Monsieur,” I said. “I accept your gift with pleasure.”

Both of us straightened up, and I stepped forward to meet him. Slipping my

fingers into the crook of his elbow, I let him lead me out of the parlor and into the hall.

It wasn’t until at least an hour later, when lunch was nearly over, that I realized I’d walked the entire distance from the parlor to the dining room without feeling the pinch of my new shoes at all.

CHAPTER FOUR

Late that night I lay in bed, rolling the events of the day over in my mind.

The rest of Monsieur LeGrand’s visit had passed as smoothly as the silk he had

exported for so long. In the excitement of the day and listening to his stories of lands far away, I had allowed the strange and unhappy moments in the parlor to steal away to the farthest corner of my mind.

This was not the same as saying I’d banished them forever, though. They were

still there, simply biding their time. Now that the house was quiet and my mind had no other distractions, the memories of what had happened crept forward once more.

Belle
. I mouthed the word silently in the darkness.
I am Annabelle Evangeline
Delaurier, but everybody calls me Belle
.

Everybody called me Beauty, in other words. But what if what I had feared in the

parlor this afternoon was true, and I wasn’t so very Beautiful after all?

How do you recognize Beauty when you see it?

What
is
Beauty, anyhow?

I turned my head, the better to see April’s where she rested in the bed beside

mine. Even in the dim light of the moon coming through the window, April’s hair

glimmered ever so faintly, like a spill of golden coins. I was pretty sure there wasn’t another head in our entire city that could even dream of doing this, of shining in the dark.

If anything is Beautiful, surely that is it
, I thought.

But was shining hair enough? Was that all it took to make my sister Beautiful? Or was it also the way her green eyes sparkled when she laughed? The way her laughter sounded like clear water dancing over stones. Everything about April was like a hand outstretched, inviting you to reach out to join her.

That is truly what makes her Beautiful
, I thought.

I lifted myself up onto one elbow now, straining to see beyond April to Celeste’s sleeping form. My oldest sister did not give off her own light. If anything, it was just the opposite. The place where she lay seemed plunged in shadow, as if Celeste always

carried some part of midnight, the time of her birth with her.

Whereas April’s look shone out to meet you, Celeste’s looks were of a different

kind. Something about her always seemed mysterious, hidden from view, even when she was standing in direct sunlight. She made you look once, then look again, as if to make certain you hadn’t missed anything the first time around.

That is Beauty too
, I decided. Not as comfortable a kind of Beauty as April’s, perhaps, but Beauty just the same, for it made you want more. So that made both my sisters Beautiful with a capital B.

Where does that leave me
? I wondered.

Yes, I know. It sounds as if I was edging right up to self-pity, but I swear to you that wasn’t how it seemed at the time. It was simply the logical next question, the next piece of the puzzle I had suddenly discovered I needed to solve.

All of us come to some moment in our childhoods when we realize that the world

is bigger than we imagined it could be. Wider than the reach of our arms, even when they are stretched out as far as they can go. That is what happened to me on the day of Monsieur LeGrand’s visit, I think. As if standing between my two sisters had hidden me from view, but opened up the world all at the same time.

Before Monsieur LeGrand’s arrival, I had never really taken the time to consider

my relationship with my sisters. Or if I had, it was only to think about our order: Celeste, April, Belle.

But if my name was not the true match to my face, was last my true place in line?

What if there was something different mapped out for me? If I didn’t even know myself, how could I begin to find out what that something was?

All of a sudden, I could bear lying in bed on moment longer. My body felt

foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. So I tossed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, hissing ever so slightly as my bare feet hit the cold floor. Quietly, so as not to awaken my sleeping sisters in all their loveliness, I pulled a robe on over my nightdress, slid my feet into my oldest and most soft-soled pair of shoes, and slipped out the bedroom door.

A house is a strange thing at night, even when that house is your own. For even

the most comfortable, well-lived-in houses has its secrets. If you get up unexpectedly in the night, you can sometimes catch a glimpse of them. Our house seemed to whisper to itself in voices that were quickly hushed as I hurried along its darkened corridors.

Was it talking about me? Discussing my lost Beauty, perhaps? I pursed my lips,

pressing them tightly together so I wouldn’t be tempted to pose the question. I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to know.

I sped along the upstairs hallway on swift and silent feet, then hurried down the stairs at a pace I would dearly have loved earlier that day. I swung right, toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Easing open the door, I poked my head around it, then slid all the way inside.

There, resting on the kitchen windowsill, between a pot of marjoram on one side

and oregano on the other, was a single lantern, its flame burning clear and bright. At the sight of this, I felt some of the terrible strangeness that pulled me out of bed begin to ease.

Papa was working late in his workshop.

Do you fee closer to one of your parents than to the other? I do, and I here admit that, much as I love my mother, I have always been closer to Papa. I think it’s the way his mind works makes sense to me, in a way that Maman’s never does. I understand the