Just North of Bliss (19 page)

Kate tried to come up with her usual mein of
cocky insouciance, but couldn’t quite do it. “I already owe you a
quarter, Win. You’re going to own my soul pretty soon.”

“Applesauce. Consider this one a gift. Damn
it, Kate, let somebody help you for once, will you?”

Kate heaved a big sigh, then touched her
throat, as if the warm breath had hurt coming out. “Thanks, Win.”
She turned to Belle. “And thank you, too, Belle. I—I—well, I don’t
know how to thank you.”

Belle’s smile was soft and sweet, and it did
funny things to Win’s innards. “Nonsense. Anyone would have done
the same thing under the circumstances. That man—” Another shudder
wracked her slender body. “That man was—was— He was—”

“My beloved father,” said Kate in bitter
irony.

As if she couldn’t hold back her emotions
another second longer, Belle burst out, “Oh, Kate! I’m so sorry. I
can’t even imagine having a father like that!” She fumbled in her
silly little handbag and drew out a hankie with which she wiped her
eyes.

Kate stiffened. Win knew how little she
appreciated any hint of sympathy, even though she deserved as much
as she could get. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m doing all right.”

“Except today,” Win pointed out, irked with
Kate for rejecting Belle’s solicitude.

“Yes,” said Belle, ignoring Win, who ought
to have expected it. “You do very well. I doubt that I’d have
flourished under such trying circumstances, as you’re doing.

Both of her companions visibly demonstrated
their amazement at Belle’s words. Win goggled at her. Kate did
something even more remarkable. She blushed. Until that second, Win
hadn’t known she had a blush in her.

“Please take good care of yourself, Kate,”
Belle added, offering her right hand, which Kate peered at
uncertainly. “I hope Mrs. Richmond and the children and I can come
by and visit soon. When you’re feeling better.”

Hesitantly, Kate took Belle’s hand and shook
it. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” She turned to Win. “And thanks for
the two bits, Win. Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. I’m not, you
know.”

“I know.” She looked so abashed, he forgave
her for being so damned touchy. “Get some rest, Kate.”

“Right.” She offered the two a jaunty
salute, spotted a cab, and emitted a piercing whistle through her
teeth. Win was used to it. Belle, obviously, was not. She drew back
and uttered an inarticulate sound indicative, if Win judged
correctly, of surprise and pain. Kate’s whistles were
ear-splitting. Then, with another wave to her companions, Kate took
off at a trot to catch up with the cabbie.

Belle and Win gazed after her, Win with
frustration. He didn’t have any idea what Belle thought about the
whole Kate Finney situation, so he decided to ask. “So, you
performed a gallant act and probably saved Kate’s life, Miss
Monroe. Congratulations.”

She turned and gazed at him as if she
suspected him of irony. Win resented it. “I mean it,” he announced
harshly. “Damn it, you’re as bad as she is.” He waved his hand in
the direction of Kate’s cab. “Neither one of you will accept a
single word from anyone without examining it first.”

Belle bridled. What a surprise. Win jammed
his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel. “Come on, come
on. You can rake me over the coals later. I have to show you
something. That’s the reason I ran headlong into Kate’s booth this
morning. I wanted to show her, since I had no idea when
you’d
show up.”

“You needn’t sound as if I were late for an
appointment,” Belle said indignantly. “We hadn’t set a time to meet
today, if you’ll recall.”

Kicking at a crumpled paper sack that had
once held popcorn, Win grumbled, “I recall.”

Shooting a scathing look at Win, Belle
stooped and snatched the paper off the Midway. With her back
straight, she marched to a trash container and threw it away. When
she turned around, she stopped walking when she caught Win staring
at her. “What?” she said, looking uncertain. “What are you staring
at?”

Win gave himself a revivifying shake. “You.
Good God, you can bend at the waist!” He rued his impetuosity as
soon as he saw her stiffen. Damn his too-ready tongue.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, resuming
her progress toward him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the
Richmonds.”

“But I want to show you this photograph!”
Win cried, forgetting all about Belle’s abandonment of her corset.
“It’s great! You’ve got to see it!”

“I shall see it as soon as I’ve found the
Richmonds.”

Her voice had gone all prim and prissy
again. Win wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d spouted some
barbed comment about the Civil War. Rather, the Recent
Unpleasantness. Or the War Between the States. Or the Northern
Aggression. Sheesh. She was more than a human male should be
expected to take.

And she didn’t give a rap about his
photograph of her, either. That, although he loathed acknowledging
the truth, was what really hurt. She didn’t even
care
about his masterpiece, of which she was the
central object.

“Fine,” he said in a voice as prim and
prissy as her own. “Stop by any time, Miss Monroe. In the meantime,
I’m going to deal with the photograph on my own.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He was gratified to see her expression
change from one of pique to one of wariness. Good. Let her be wary.
He’d show her.

“That’s my concern,” he shot back, feeling
smug. She didn’t have to know that he’d already made arrangements
to have the photograph published in the
Globe
. Let her
suffer.

“But you said you were going to sell the
photographs to Germany.”

Damn. She would have to remember that,
wouldn’t she? “Don’t worry about it,” he said airily. “If you’re
not interested, I’ll take care of it myself.”

“But . . .”

“Don’t worry,” he lied, “I’ll adhere to our
agreement.”

Damn it, he’d already broken their
agreement, because he’d been so elated by the results of
yesterday’s shoot, he’d rushed straight to H.L. May’s house as soon
as he saw the prints. Win didn’t know how he was going to talk his
way out of this one with little Miss Priss, but he guessed he’d
have to think of a way. And soon. H.L. had been almost as delighted
with the photograph as Win himself, and he’d promised that the
story would be in the paper either this Sunday, if there was room,
or next.

“Well . . .” Belle continued to look
uncertain for a moment, then she sighed. “Very well. As soon as I
find Gladys and the children, I’ll go to your booth. You said you
want to shoot more photographs of the children today.” She said it
as if she no longer trusted Win to keep his word.

He cast a glance at the heavens in a manner
meant to show her how idiotic he considered her doubts. “Of course.
I need to take at least five more poses. I have the series firmly
fixed in my mind, and it won’t take too much longer.” Then he was
going to concentrate on more pictures of Belle. Inside, he was
rubbing his hands together in glee. Outside, he portrayed a sober
man of business—or hoped he did.

“Very well,” she repeated. Then she turned
and walked away from him, and Win experienced a sudden rush of
devastation, as if he were losing something precious.

He decided he was only nuts, turned in the
opposite direction, and went back to his own booth, whistling “A
Policeman’s Lot is not a Happy One,” as he walked.

# # #

Belle couldn’t decide if she was more
jealous of Kate Finney’s easy relationship with Win Asher, or
horrified of Kate’s deadly relationship with her father. The only
thing she knew for certain was that she was glad her own home life
hadn’t held the terrors Kate’s must have.

She found the Gladys, Amalie, and Garrett
gazing wistfully at the Ferris wheel and chomping popcorn. Amalie
spotted her first and rushed over to her.

“Is that lady all right, Miss Monroe? Is
that man really her father?”

Belle sighed heavily. “She’s going to be
fine, Amalie. And, yes, I fear that awful man really is her
father.”

“Good Lord,” whispered Gladys.

Belle knew just what she meant. “Yes. I
suppose we should all be grateful to God that our own homes are
free from that sort of ill-usage.” Good heavens, she sounded like a
self-righteous puritan. But it was true.

“You bet,” said Garrett. “Papa would never
do anything like that.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” agreed Belle. “Your
father and mother love you two dearly. Which,” she added, “is as it
should be.”

“I should say so,” agreed Gladys.

As they strolled along the Midway, Belle
kept her eyes on her two charges, but she was eager to chat with
Gladys about the ghastly incident they’d witnessed. She’d had to
throw her parasol away, since there was no mending it. Neither lady
could comprehend the bestiality of a man behaving in so abominable
a way toward his own daughter.

“You know,” Belle admitted at last, “when I
first met Miss Finney, I thought she was—well—a little outrageous.
You know, with her flashy clothes and jewelry and so forth. But I
think I understand her situation now. She’s only trying to better
herself. She ought to be commended for it, not censured.”

“I suppose so,” Gladys said. Generally the
most tender-hearted of women, Gladys had her blind spots, as Belle
well knew. One of them surfaced now. “Although I can’t imagine a
truly decent woman telling fortunes or dancing in a public arena.”
She sniffed.

Belle eyed her from under her lashes and
tried not to think harsh thoughts. She liked Gladys. A lot. But
Gladys had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth.
She’d never had to overcome the types of obstacles that had faced
Kate Finney from the day of her birth. Or those that Belle had
faced, for that matter.

As for Belle herself, she’d been born into a
poor family, but at least they weren’t violent. She sometimes
became annoyed with members of her family for not making more of a
push to better themselves, but they loved her. Poor Kate. Belle
couldn’t even imagine having a father like Kate’s.

On the other hand, why should Belle’s
family, who only had inertia and poverty to overcome, continue to
sit on their backsides and languish in want when all it would take
was a little get-up-and-go to better their lot in life. Look at
Kate, for heaven’s sake! And even Belle herself. Shoot, her family
was still annoyed with her for seeking paid employment.

Belle didn’t know what to make of any of it.
She feared she was doing her family an injustice. But still and all
. . . If Kate Finney could take care of her mother and herself
after climbing up from circumstances so appalling as to be off the
scale of Belle’s understanding until today, why the deuce couldn’t
her father get a blasted job and support his family? Was family
honor—whatever that word meant—more important than food, for
heaven’s sake? Was it better to do nothing than get an honest job
for honest wages, even if it wasn’t as grand a job as one’s
ancestors might have wanted for one?

She pressed a hand to her brow. Her head
ached. Small wonder. “Do you think we could get a bite to eat,
Gladys? I have quite a headache, and believe I need to sit down for
a while.”

Instantly, Gladys’s sympathetic side
surfaced. She grabbed Belle’s arm and looked stricken. “Oh, Belle!
I’m so sorry! Of course, you need to sit down and eat something.
You’ve been through an awful ordeal. I’m so sorry I didn’t think of
it at once.”

Before Belle could protest—she hadn’t wanted
to cause a fuss—Gladys called to her children. “Garrett! Amalie!
We’re going to have luncheon. You can watch the puppet show later.”
The children had been staring, fascinated, at an elaborate booth
made up to resemble a stage, where a couple of puppets were hitting
each other with sticks.

Recalling the earlier events of the day,
Belle decided children shouldn’t be allowed to watch such violent
sketches, although she kept her opinion to herself. “Really,
Gladys, I’ll be fine. I guess it’s just a reaction to that awful
scene in Kate’s booth.”

Gladys patted her arm. “I’m sure you’re
right, dear, but we need to get you out of the sun and into a shady
spot and feed you something. Maybe a glass of cold tea will help
your headache.”

“Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”

The cold tea helped. So did lunch. By the
time she was through with both and she and Gladys had discussed
Kate Finney’s problems until they were threadbare, Belle guessed
she was ready to face Win Asher again.

She wasn’t quite sure she trusted him,
though. He’d said something about a photograph and arrangements. If
that picture, whatever it was, showed up anywhere but in Germany,
Belle might just have to take her other parasol to Win.

Chapter Ten

“My darling, darling Belle. Your papa and I
do so enjoy your entertaining letters home, even though it would be
much more comforting to have you here with us. As much as I try to
calm myself with regard to your welfare, I fear my nerves remain in
a state.”

Belle clamped her teeth on her lower lip and
forged onward through her mother’s letter. “I know you do your very
best to hide your unhappiness and are attempting with every waking
breath to portray your ordeal in the best light, but I can’t bear
to feature you up there in the frozen north, my dearest, only
daughter.”

Wiping perspiration from her neck and face
with her hankie, Belle wondered what her mother had been thinking
when she’d penned the words on the letter she was reading. Frozen
north? At the moment, Belle only wished it were frozen. She was
about to melt into a puddle of perspiration right here in Win
Asher’s booth. And she was only sitting still on the padded bench
beneath the window in Win’s booth. God alone knew what would happen
to her if she got up and moved around. She’d probably die of heat
prostration.