Just North of Bliss (15 page)

“Yes,” said Belle, trying not to sound stiff
and repressive, “Caring for children does require a good deal of
running around.”

“Well, then, there. You see?” As if she’d
embarrassed herself enough and didn’t care to do it any more,
Gladys subsided into a corner with her hands folded at her waist.
“That’s a nice wrapper, dear. It will look wonderful on you, I’m
sure.”

Belle wasn’t. Turning to gaze at the
garment, she guessed it wasn’t bad. Win had selected a garment
crafted from a blue fabric decorated with light yellow stars. Not
that the colors would show in the photograph. But it was rather
pretty, especially with its lacy white collar. In truth, Belle
wouldn’t mind owning such a garment, although she could never
afford to buy one. She might be able to sew one up.

But that was a frivolous thought, and Belle
was not a frivolous girl. She was a working woman, and needed to
keep her family’s straitened circumstances in mind at all times.
After all, they depended on her.

A tiny itch of resentment surprised her, and
Belle felt guilty. Good heavens, what kind of an unnatural daughter
was she, that she could even think of buying herself an unnecessary
bed-time wrapper when her family in Georgia remained in need?

Of course, if the rest of them would get up
off their bottoms and go to work, as she’d done, they might not be
in such need all the time.

Belle slapped her hand over her mouth, as if
to squash the words before they could leak out. Whatever was she
thinking? This was terrible.

Before her mind could formulate other
rebellious thoughts, she grabbed the wrapper from the back of the
chaise over which Win had thrown it, and slipped it over her head.
Oh, it did feel good. Cozy. Comfortable.

Maybe Belle ought to take Gladys’s advice
and loosen her stays tomorrow. A little. It wouldn’t hurt to be a
trifle more comfortable as she went about her daily business.
Gladys was right in that caring for children was an energetic
pastime; it wouldn’t hurt to be able to do it more easily. In fact,
she might do her job better if she weren’t always out of breath.
She felt more comfortable in her mind when she considered loosening
her corset as being in the line of duty.

Win’s voice interrupted her train of
thought. “Are you almost ready, Miss Monroe?”

Belle realized she’d been dawdling and
hurried to button herself up the front. The fabric felt so good
against her skin. It was a soft flannel and perfect for the
photograph Win had proposed next. “I’ll be right there,” she
called, forgetting to get mad at him for sounding exasperated. “One
more little minute, please.”

“Mr. Asher’s got us on a couple of cots,
Miss Monroe,” Amalie informed her in a yell, presumably so that
Belle could hear her better. “He said he bought them special for
us, for these pictures.”

“Goodness,” said Belle, glancing at herself
in the mirror set up in the dressing room. “That’s exciting.”

She’d almost forgotten Gladys was still in
the dressing area with her until that lady said, “I’ll just step
out now, Belle. You look wonderful.” She left the dressing
room.

She also left Belle wondering why she should
have sounded so wistful. Surely, Mrs. George Richmond could have
any number of pretty wrappers sewn up, in which to tuck her
children into bed. Mr. Richmond, while something of a bore, was a
genuinely fond husband and father. He’d never balk at buying Gladys
anything she asked for.

It occurred to Belle as she left the
dressing area that perhaps Gladys had been wistful about something
else, although she couldn’t think what it might be. “I’m ready
now,” she said, fussing with the folds of the wrapper. When she
glanced up, she was alarmed to see all the people in the booth
staring at her.

“Oh!” she cried. “What is it? Do I have a
spider in my hair or something?” She batted at her hair, horrified
that something of the sort might have occurred. Belle wasn’t fond
of bugs.

Win was the first to move. He lurched toward
his camera. “No,” he said. “You’re fine. Fine.”

“You look beautiful, Miss Monroe.”

Belle glanced sharply at Amalie, the little
girl’s tone of voice having startled her. Good gracious, the child
sounded awestruck. Looked it, too.

Finally deciding she simply didn’t
understand Yankee sensibilities, Belle laughed indulgently and
said, “Thank you, Amalie dear.”

Garrett yawned, from which gesture Belle
assumed that he was unmoved by her purported beauty. She smiled at
the boy, thinking how nice it would be to have a little boy and a
little girl of her own; a little girl upon whom to lavish her
womanly knowledge—such as it was—and a little boy to keep her
vanity in check. She stopped before the platform, turned, and
looked for direction from Win.

She was a little disconcerting to find him
standing beside his camera, arms folded over his chest, scowling at
her. Again, she patted her hair. “What is it?”

He gave a little start, as if her question
had jolted him out of a brown study. “Nothing,” he said. “You’re
fine.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you get up on the
platform, Miss Monroe, and stand beside Miss Amalie’s cot.”

With one last glance at him—Belle didn’t
understand why he looked at her so oddly—she did as he’d requested.
Amalie was still gazing at her as if she’d been stunned by a hard
blow, so Belle smiled down at her. “You look comfy, Amalie.”

“I am,” the little girl said. “When I grow
up, will I be as pretty as you?”

The question so astonished Belle, she nearly
tripped on her hem and went sprawling. “Good heavens, darling, of
course you’ll be pretty when you grow up!” Because Belle knew, from
lessons imparted to her as a child, that beauty was only skin deep,
she added conscientiously, “You’ll be pretty inside and out. It’s
the inside prettiness that counts the most.”

Amalie appeared unconvinced. She sounded it,
too, when she grumbled, “I don’t know what good a pretty tummy will
do me.”

Surprised by the comment, Belle laughed.
Amalie frowned, and Belle regretted her impulsive laugh. Children
often didn’t know how amusing they were, and didn’t like it when it
was pointed out. She didn’t have time to apologize to the girl
because Win interrupted them.

“All right, now bend over, as if you’re
giving Miss Amalie a good-night kiss, Miss Monroe.” He still hadn’t
ducked under his black cloth.

Presuming that he was merely seeing how
different poses looked to him, Belle did as he’d asked. She bent
over Amalie and put a hand out to brush the hair away from the
little girl’s brow. She remained bent over under her back started
to hurt, and still Win said nothing. At last, she glanced at him.
“Is this all right, Mr. Asher?”

He jerked, as if he’d been lost in
contemplation of the picture she and Amalie made. Garrett had sat
up on his own cot and was engaged in making faces and twiddling his
thumbs. “Sorry,” Win said. “Yes. That’s fine. Master Garrett, it’s
time for you to lie down again.”

With a noisy sigh, Garrett complied with
Win’s request.

“All right,” Win continued, “that was good,
Miss Monroe—when you had your hand on Miss Amalie’s forehead.”

Belle brushed the hair away again. “Like
this?”

“Right. Keep your hand there.”

She did so. Finally, much to the relief of
Belle and her back, Win ducked under the curtain. “Don’t move!” he
called. “Garrett, stay still.”

The flash powder produced its explosion,
light jarred Belle’s senses, and Win called out, “Great! That’s
perfect.”

She stood up and pressed a hand to her lower
back. “Ooh, staying bent over that way was very uncomfortable, Mr.
Asher.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, fiddling with his
camera.

Belle got the impression he didn’t have any
idea what he’d just apologized for. She sighed, realizing she ought
to have expected such a reaction from him. He was a decidedly
single-minded young man.

“According to Miss Isabella Chalmers Primm,”
Gladys said from her bench, “the longer a lady relies on her
corsets to keep her posture, the more her back muscles will
weaken.”

“Is that so?” Belle said politely, wondering
when it had become proper to refer to ladies’ nether garments in
the presence of men. Yankees. She chalked up all of these shocks to
her nervous system to being in the presence of Yankees.

Still and all . . . Perhaps it would be a
good idea to strengthen her back muscles. After all, one’s back was
important to one’s overall health. At least, she supposed it
was.

At last her abuser—that is to say, her
photographer—stopped fooling with his equipment and turned to her.
He even smiled. “That was good,” Win said. “Now, if you’ll move out
of the way, Miss Monroe, I’m going to fix those cots in a different
position.”

The session continued for another hour,
until Amalie and Garrett started whining. Belle didn’t blame them;
she felt like whining herself, especially when she had to take off
the cozy wrapper and don her corset once more. That did it. She was
definitely going to loosen her stays as soon as she got back to her
hotel room.

Win foiled her fond musings. “Say, Miss
Monroe, would you mind remaining here for a little while?” As if he
didn’t care what she minded, he turned at once to Gladys. “Would it
be all right if I borrowed your nanny for about an hour, Mrs.
Richmond? I have an idea for the first of the Perfect American
Woman series.”

“But . . .” Belle wasn’t given the chance to
complete her thought.

“I don’t know,” Gladys said doubtfully.
Belle imagined she was thinking about how difficult it had been for
her to handle the children by herself the day before.

She said, “I don’t—”

Again, she wasn’t allowed to finish her
sentence. Win said, “I promise I won’t keep her for more than an
hour, and I’ll see her safely to the hotel.”

Gladys frowned as she eyed her children.
Belle tried again. “I really think—”

This time it was Amalie who interrupted her.
“We’ll be good, Mama.” She eyed her brother and said in a menacing
tone, “Won’t we, Garrett?”

Garrett shrugged. “Sure.”

This support from her darlings gratified
their mother. Gladys smiled tenderly at her offspring.

Belle was beginning to feel like a piece of
furniture; a frustrated and angry piece of furniture. “But—”

“I think that will be fine, Mr. Asher,”
Gladys said at last. “As long as the children behave. And Mr.
Richmond will be there to see that they do behave.” She turned to
Belle. “Is that all right with you, Belle?”

Finally! Belle opened her mouth to state
emphatically that it was
not
all right
with her, but she wasn’t allowed to speak.

“Wonderful!” Win jumped up onto the platform
and shook Garrett’s hand energetically. “You did a bully job this
evening, Master Garrett.” Whirling and grabbing Amalie’s small
hand, which made the little girl giggle, he lifted said appendage
to his lips and said, “And you, too, Miss Amalie. You’re both
terrific subjects, and I appreciate your cooperation. You behaved
exceptionally well, and I’m looking forward to seeing the results
of our joint effort.”

Gladys beamed at him.

Belle did not. “But I don’t
want
to
stay here for another hour!” she shouted at last.

Everyone turned to stare at her, and she
felt like an idiot. At least she’d succeeded in getting their
attention. Win glared at her. She glared back. “I’m tired,” she
announced stoutly.

“But you promised,” he said.

“I said I’d sit for you, but I didn’t say
I’d remain all night!”

“You won’t have to stay all night!” He
sounded exasperated. Looked it, too. “For God’s sake, Miss Monroe,
you saw how busy my booth is during the day. This is the only time
it’s practical to take the pictures!”

Fiddlesticks. He was right. Glancing at
Gladys, Belle thought she detected a pinch of disappointment on
that good woman’s face. Perfect. Now Belle was not merely an idiot,
but an inconsiderate one as well.

Feeling as if the fates were conspiring
against her and resenting it, she acquiesced. “Oh, very well. I’ll
stay for another hour.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so
reluctant,” Win said grouchily. “The children are having fun. Why
can’t you have fun?”

“It
is
fun,” Amalie agreed.

“Yeah,” said Garrett. “It’s loads of fun. I
can’t wait to see the pictures.”

Gladys remained silent, a consideration
Belle appreciated. She tried to come up with a pleasant expression,
for Gladys’s sake. “I’ll be fine.” Her smile felt like a grimace.
“And I won’t be longer than an hour.” Shooting Win a ferocious
glare, she asked through gritted teeth, “Will I?”

He snarled, “Oh, for God’s—” He sucked in a
gallon or two of air. “No. I won’t keep you for more than an hour.
And I’ll see you to the door of your hotel room.”

“We have a suite at the St. Clair,” Gladys
said helpfully.

Win’s smile for her appeared quite friendly,
which Belle didn’t understand. It was she, after all, who was the
one being detained and persecuted—er, she meant photographed—after
all.

Garrett, Amalie, and Gladys all waved as
they left the booth. Belle waved back, feeling as though her last
friend on earth had deserted her.

From the look Win cast at her after the door
to his booth closed, he felt the same way.

For land’s sake, that wasn’t fair. A body
would think she was being difficult, and she wasn’t. She was doing
him a favor, in fact. For a hundred dollars.

Bother. For the first time in her life,
Belle wondered if people were right when they claimed the love of
money was the root of all evil.

Chapter Eight

“No,” Belle said as she walked along the
Midway beside Gladys, “it wasn’t too bad.” It was the morning
following her evening of martyrdom, and Belle needed approval of
her sacrifice, although it hadn’t felt much like a sacrifice after
the first few minutes.