Belle of Batoche (2 page)

Belle didn't care about the paper; she wanted to be the one to set Marie-Antoinette's voice free every Sunday. Her stomach fluttered. To be the bell ringer at St. Antoine de Padoue would be the most wonderful job in the world!

Belle sang in the church choir and had been told she had the best voice of all the children. She had often sung the exact same note the bell was chiming as she walked to church. Why, she and Marie-Antoinette already sang together every Sunday. It made Belle feel very special.

Belle rounded the corner of Monsieur Letendre's dry goods store and ran smack into Sarah Johnson. Belle and Sarah had never seen eye to eye on anything.

Sarah was Belle's age. She had moved to Batoche earlier that year from Fort Carlton. Her family was not Metis. They were very wealthy and had built a large house near the ferry crossing.

Sarah always wore beautiful clothes, all new and made by a factory in the east. She even had a petticoat that made her dress rustle when she walked! She was also very pretty, which she never let anyone forget. Even at school, she wore her pale blonde hair combed in an elaborate style and tiny gold earrings on her ears.

When they'd first met, Belle had tried to be friends with her, but Sarah disliked getting dirty or playing with anyone she called “riff raff.” Belle had decided she must be riff raff, because Sarah never wanted to play with her. The other children at school said Sarah was so stuck-up that “her nose hid the sun.” Belle liked Sarah's five-year-old brother Samuel who was not stuck-up at
all. He was always smiling even when his mama dressed him in silly short pants.

“Look out, you clumsy girl!” Sarah exclaimed, a frown creasing her pretty forehead. “You should watch where you're going, Belle Tourond! You could have damaged my new hat!” She dusted off the bright blue hatbox she was carrying. “My mother ordered it for me all the way from Regina, and I don't want it ruined before Sunday.”

Ignoring Sarah's rude comment, Belle stared at the box with new respect. A hat all the way from Regina! Unbelievable! “Can I see it?” she asked, her voice a reverent whisper. “I've never worn a real hat to mass before, just the scarf I got for Christmas three years ago.”

Sarah hesitated, as though weighing whether or not Belle deserved the honor. Then she carefully lifted the lid off the round box. Inside, nestled in crisp white tissue paper, was the most beautiful hat Belle had ever seen. It was made of pale pink velvet and had an honest to goodness feather sticking out of the side.
The feather exactly matched the velvet hat. What magical bird had produced such a feather?

“It's wonderful!” Belle breathed. She reached out a finger to stroke the delicate pink feather, but Sarah snatched the hatbox away.

“Don't touch!” she cried, replacing the lid. “You'll get it dirty.” She grinned slyly at Belle. “I shall wear it to church on Sunday when Father Moulin announces that I will be the new bell ringer. I want to look good for my picture.”

Belle's mouth dropped open.

2
Stepping in It

The next day at school, Belle was still thinking about Sarah's announcement. The rude blonde girl had no business wanting the job of bell ringer! After all, Sarah and her family were new to Batoche. They had no roots here as Belle's family did.

“Did you hear?” Bertha Lange asked as soon as they'd taken their seats. Bertha sat in front of Belle and had masses of carrot-colored hair that stuck out from her head like an orange haystack. The unruly mop often blocked Belle's view of the small blackboard at the front of the classroom.

“Hear what?” Belle asked, already knowing the answer.

“Sarah Johnson wants the job of bell ringer at the church!” Bertha's face was red with excitement. Sarah was Bertha's ideal of a perfect lady.

Belle looked to where Sarah sat giggling as she showed two boys her new black patent leather shoes. They must have come in yesterday with the hat, Belle decided. She looked down at her own scuffed brown shoes. Although they were hand-me-downs from her cousin who'd never been careful with her things, they were still much more suitable for playing in than those glossy dancing slippers Sarah had on.

Sarah looked over at Belle, made a face, then bent over and dusted off the shiny shoes before taking her seat.

Miss Onesime Dorval, their teacher, who was also the choir director at church, tapped her ruler on the desk. She taught all the grades in their one-room school and was very old and very strict. “Today we're going to read one of my favorite poems by a gentleman called Mr. William Wordsworth. It is entitled
I Wandered
Lonely as a Cloud
. Bertha, please hand these out.” She pointed to a pile of papers with her ruler.

While the pages were being distributed, Miss Dorval scanned the room, a scowl creasing her already wrinkled forehead. Then her gaze fell on Sarah and one corner of her mouth twitched into what passed for a smile.

Belle groaned inwardly. Sarah was Miss Dorval's pet.

The teacher nodded at her favorite student. “Sarah Johnson, please read the opening stanza.”

Sarah, her blonde curls bouncing, stood and walked with exaggerated steps to the front of the room, drawing as much attention as possible to her new shoes.

She cleared her throat loudly. “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills. When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils … ”

Belle glanced out the window and was surprised to see Daisy, Madame Carriere's cow, eating the flowers out of the Garnot's yard. What flavor would the milk
be after the cow had eaten all the bright red tulips, she wondered.

“Belle Tourond!” Miss Dorval's stern voice made Belle jump.

Sarah, enjoying the spotlight, had almost finished the poem before Miss Dorval got her stopped. “Thank you, Sarah. Beautifully done. You may take your seat,” she said, bestowing a warm smile on the beaming Sarah.

She turned to Belle. “Since we were all paying attention and following along on our sheets, I know you will be able to finish reading the poem for the class.”

Belle looked down at her paper. Her reading skills weren't the best and she had no idea where Sarah had stopped. She swallowed as she scanned the poem trying to figure out where to start. Hadn't she heard Sarah say something about money or … wealth! That was it, the second to last stanza talked about wealth.

Belle took a deep breath and read the last verse of the poem. “And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.” She sat down. It really was an
interesting poem. Sometimes words made pictures in your head and this poem, with its beautiful description of the bright yellow flowers, made wonderful images appear in Belle's mind.

“Sarah, would you please explain to the class what wealth Mr. Wordsworth was talking about in this great poem.” Miss Dorval picked up her chalk and stood waiting beside the blackboard.

Sarah shuffled through the pages several times as though looking for the answer hidden on one of them, then slowly stood. “Oh, well, of course, Miss Dorval. Mr. William Wordsworth was talking about flowers … daffodils.” She paused and swallowed. “And how he could pick them to sell at the local store to make money.”

Belle snorted and Miss Dorval glared at her. “That's not quite right, Sarah, but a wonderful try. Belle, what do you think the reference to wealth means?” The scowling teacher folded her arms and waited.

Belle looked down at the paper. The other students giggled. “I think he's saying he didn't realize it when he was watching them down by the shore, but the best thing the flowers did for him was to make a picture in his head that he could conjure up anytime he wanted.”

Miss Dorval stared at her for a moment. “Actually … actually, you're correct.” She looked like she hated saying it. “The wealth the flowers gave him was the recurring pleasure the memory of the dancing daffodils was able to provide.”

Sarah glared at Belle from her seat at the front of the room.

Belle stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes at Sarah. She might not be able to read as quickly as Miss Perfect Sarah, but somehow when she read the meaning of the words came into her head all the same. Belle liked books. Heck, reading one could take her an entire month! And her mother never interrupted her when she was doing important stuff like reading, which meant sometimes she could put off doing her chores for a little longer.

When Belle left the classroom after school, all the kids were gathered around the steps of the schoolhouse listening to
Sarah talk about being named the new bell ringer.

“ … And as my family contributes so generously to the poor box, it is only fitting that I be named the official bell ringer on Sunday.” She looked at her crowd of admirers as though daring them to disagree.

“Belle Tourond wants the job too, but her family can't possibly give as much to the church as yours does, Sarah,” Bertha Lange gushed in a flowery voice that made Belle want to gag.

The gauntlet had been thrown down. Everyone turned to stare at Belle. She had no choice but to defend her family's honor.

“That's true, but my family does other things for the church. Last fall, my father and brother reshingled the roof so we wouldn't be leaked on for the Christmas pageant.” Everyone murmured agreement with Belle.

Sarah came back, both guns blazing. “So what? When we moved here, my mother donated two silver candlesticks for the altar. Real ones, from England,” she added, pointing to the east as though she could
see the store where the candlesticks had been bought. The crowd, nodding their heads, jumped back onto Sarah's side.

Belle pursed her lips trying to think of something to top the silver candlesticks, something that would stop Sarah in her tracks. Then she remembered a very important fact that no one had mentioned. “Hey Sarah. Aren't you forgetting something about the person who will be named the bell ringer? Something that has nothing to do with money?”

Everyone turned to Sarah. A hush fell over the crowd. This was unexpected. Sarah was silent, waiting to hear what could possibly be more important than money.

Belle screwed up her face in concentration. “If I remember correctly, the person named to be the official bell ringer is going to be chosen from the church choir. Last time I was at practice, I don't remember seeing you there.” This was true. Father Moulin had clearly said only choir members were being considered for the important job. She smiled sweetly at Sarah whose face was now an ugly shade of red with purple blotches on her neck.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. “Oh really?” she hissed. “Well, I will be by Sunday! And I'm going to win this contest, so there!”

Belle glanced beyond Sarah to the dirt path that ran in front of the school. From the evidence left behind, she now knew where Madame Carriere's cow had gone after it had eaten the tulips.

Before Belle could warn her, Sarah turned with a whirl that made her full skirt flare out around her and stepped onto the path. There was a wet squishing sound, then a gasp from Bertha.

Looking down at her shoes, which were now covered with fresh cow manure, Sarah let out a wail that could be heard all the way to Regina. The other children laughed and pointed at the disgusting mess on Sarah's patent leather shoes, no longer so new or so shiny.

As Miss Dorval rushed out of the schoolhouse to see what the noise was about, Belle stuck her hands in her pockets, strolled past the shrieking Sarah and headed for home. No matter what, she was not going to let Sarah beat her.

3
Beautiful Bells and Stinky Smells