Belle

by Beverly Jenkins

  “For being such a…it rhymes with witch!” Adam Morgan snapped.

  “How dare you say that to me in my own house!”

  An angry Jeremiah threw back, “You didn’t care when it was Belle!”

  “Get out!” Francine demanded.

  Belle threw up her hands. “Stop this!”

  You could hear a pin drop. Belle turned to Francine and said, “No, we slaves didn’t spend all our time picking cotton. Any other nasty remarks?”

  Belle’s voice was so cutting, Francine shrank back.

  Belle cracked, “Thought not.”

  The silence was thick enough to cut and serve on a plate. Belle turned her eyes on Daniel next, and she had to give it to him: he didn’t flinch in the face of her quiet anger. She saw sympathy, but didn’t expect him to take her side over his intended’s.

  Belle slowly scanned the rest of the young faces around the room. Some met her gaze with contempt and disdain, but a few had admiration in their eyes. Satisfied she now knew friends from those who would never be, Belle decided she’d endured enough for one afternoon. “Would you see me home?” she asked Jeremiah.

  Both brothers stepped to her side, and Adam said quietly, “We’d be honored.”

  They offered her their arms. Without giving Daniel or Francine a backward glance, Belle let the Morgans escort her out.

  Mrs. Best was in the parlor reading the paper when Belle returned. Cecilia took one look at Belle’s distant face and set her paper aside. Standing, she asked with concern, “What’s the matter? Where’s Daniel?”

  “He’s still at Francine’s.”

  Mrs. Best came closer. “How’d you get home?”

  “The Morgans.”

  Mrs. Best peered into Belle’s face. “Belle, did something happen?”

  “I got into a row with Francine. Daniel will probably never speak to me again, but Mrs. Best, she’s so mean.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “You didn’t sock her, did you?”

  Belle smiled. “No, but Lord knows I wanted to. Guess I’ll never be invited back.”

  Mrs. Best smiled, too. “Probably not, but is that so bad?”

  “No.”

  “Well, Francine was probably just jealous because you were the prettiest thing there. Go on up and change clothes. We can talk afterward, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” Belle offered genuinely. “I’ll see you later on.”

  Mrs. Best nodded.

  Up in her room, Belle removed her dress and carefully hung it in the armoire. Off came Mrs. Best’s borrowed hoop slips, the new slippers and the stockings that had been another surprise gift from Mrs. Best. Belle put on one of her old everyday dresses and tried to banish Francine’s taunting remark from her mind. It was hard, though, and harder still to banish the image of Daniel’s sympathetic eyes as he stood rooted to Francine’s side. Belle had been having such a good time up until then; she’d actually thought she’d been accepted by Francine and Daniel’s friends. Silly me, she said to herself. Had it not been for the Morgan brothers, she might still be there fielding Francine’s verbal barbs.

  Belle looked over at the basket holding the parts and pieces of the gown she was making for Mrs. Best. Bringing it over to the bed, Belle searched out her needles and went to work. No, she didn’t pick cotton, but she could sew.

  eleven

  When Daniel returned later that evening, he found his parents and Jojo sitting and talking in the parlor. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello,” his mother replied, peering closely at his face. “What happened between Francine and Belle?”

  Daniel’s lips tightened. “Francine was particularly nasty. I tried to get her to apologize—”

  Jojo interrupted. “But you couldn’t, could you?”

  Daniel’s eyes were chilly. “No.”

  Mr. Best looked at Daniel with concern, and asked, “Are you sure she’s the girl for you, son?”

  “I know she isn’t,” Jojo interjected sarcastically.

  Her mother cut her a look. “You are not in this conversation, Josephine.”

  Jojo replied grudgingly, “Yes, Mama.”

  Mrs. Best turned her attention back to her son. “Your father’s question is a good one, Daniel. I promised myself I’d never interfere with my children’s choice of a mate, and I’ve set aside my own feelings about Francine because you say you love her, but are you sure this is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

  Daniel didn’t reply. No, he wasn’t sure, hadn’t been for weeks now, but he was a man of his word, and he’d made a promise to Francine’s mother.

  His mother’s next words brought him back. “Belle acted as if her feelings had been hurt badly.”

  He nodded. “They were. I should probably talk to her.”

  “Good, because she thinks you’re never going to speak to her again. That must’ve been some row.”

  He shook his head at the memory. The hurt in Belle’s eyes pained him still. “I’ll tell you about it later. Is Belle in her room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Upstairs, Daniel softly knocked on the partially closed door.

  Belle looked up from the gathering stitch she was running through one of the sleeves. “Come in.”

  Seeing Daniel made her go still for a moment, then, setting aside her sewing, she said, “Hello, Daniel.”

  He nodded a greeting. “Belle. Can we talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “I—want to apologize—”

  “You don’t have to. Francine said it, not you.”

  Daniel held her eyes. He could still see the hurt lingering in them. “Francine had no right—”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Will you let me complete my sentences?”

  Belle bit back a retort. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, a bit exasperated. “What Francine said was wrong. I don’t expect you to forgive her right away—”

  Belle couldn’t believe her ears. “But you want me to forgive her at some point. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Well, yes. I don’t want you two at odds—”

  “Is she planning on apologizing?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then, Daniel Best, what in the world are you thinking, hitching yourself to somebody like that?”

  The words came out of Belle’s mouth before she could call them back. “I’m sorry. That’s not my place.”

  He shook his head. “No need to apologize. Truthfully, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

  Belle stilled. “Really?” she asked softly.

  He met her eyes and confessed, “Really, but—”

  “But what?”

  He shrugged. “Before her mother died two years ago, I promised her I’d take care of Franny.”

  “Do your folks know?”

  “No, and please don’t tell them. I have to work this out for myself.”

  Belle now understood. Daniel’s sense of honor was at play here also. “You should talk to them. Your folks are very understanding; maybe they can help.”

  “But I made a promise, Belle.”

  “One you’re coming to regret.”

  Daniel sighed with frustration. “That’s the truth.” And all he kept seeing was how crushed Belle looked after being cut down by Francine. “You’ll keep my secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Their eyes held for a moment more.

  Daniel said, “You’re easy to talk to.”

  “Glad you think so. Does that make us friends?”

  He nodded in response. “I think so.”

  They both smiled.

  Belle asked, “So when do I get to whup you at checkers again, friend?”

  “That was a fluke.”

  “Fluke, my foot. I can beat you with my eyes closed.”

  “You and me, downstairs for a rematch in, say, fifteen minutes?” />
  “You have a date, but it’ll take me no time to send you packing.”

  “And I can’t wait to make you eat those words.”

  Their grins filled the room.

  Daniel said in parting, “Fifteen minutes.”

  Belle tossed back, “Don’t forget your crying towel.”

  And so, the official friendship between Belle Palmer and Daniel Best began.

  Downstairs, the checker game ended the same way the previous game had; only this time, Belle trounced him three games out of three.

  Daniel finally pushed the board away and asked wondrously, “How do you do that?”

  A triumphant Belle explained, “My mistress had a stable hand named Quincy. Quincy could play checkers like nobody’s business and he and I would play every evening before I went to bed. It was one of the few amusements Mrs. Grayson allowed, so over the years I learned to play real well so Quincy wouldn’t get fed up and find another partner.”

  Mr. Best patted her shoulder in admiration. “Never thought I’d see the day he’d get trounced three to nothing, but you, my dear, are a charmer. Keep whipping him. Humility’s a good thing.”

  “Papa?!” Daniel laughed, his voice shot through with humorous disbelief.

  Jojo asked Belle, “Do you think you can teach me to play that well? He’s been beating me since the day I was born.”

  “Anytime, Jo,” Belle offered. Belle looked across the table into Daniel’s smile. “One more?” she asked.

  Daniel looked back as if she were insane. “No.” He chuckled. “I’ve left enough blood on the floor. Trounce Mama for a while.”

  Cecilia, seated across the parlor perusing the newspaper, shook her head. “Oh, no. I’ve no desire to be her next victim.”

  Belle looked around at the smiles on everyone’s faces and noted once again how blessed she was to have been taken in by them. Even in the face of Francine’s bitter remark, Belle felt loved and appreciated here. The only thing missing from her new life was her own parents. She continued to pray for a reunion with her father even though she knew the probability of it ever happening was becoming more remote with each passing day. At last report, neither Mr. Best nor any of the other conductors on his line had heard a word concerning his fate, but they promised to keep searching.

  Daniel’s soft voice broke into her thoughts. “Belle, are you all right?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Yes. Just thinking how glad I am to be here.”

  Mr. Best offered up, “And we’re glad to have you here. Anybody who can beat my boy at checkers can live here forever.”

  “Amen!” Jojo declared, and everyone laughed, even Daniel.

  That evening as the Best household prepared for bed, Mrs. Best stuck her head around Belle’s door. “Just came to check on you. It seems you and Daniel have sorted everything out.”

  Belle, dressed in her nightclothes, was in the process of turning back her sheets. “We did.”

  Mrs. Best looked pleased. “Good.”

  Mrs. Best came farther into the room, saying, “You know, I had to face a few Francines myself when I first came North.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, though none of them were as fast, as mean or as spoiled as this Francine.”

  Belle raised an eyebrow. “Fast?”

  “Fast,” Mrs. Best repeated firmly.

  Belle vowed to ask Jojo about that later.

  Mrs. Best then asked pointedly, “Can you read, Belle?”

  Belle dropped her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No, ma’am. And since I’m already sixteen, I figure I’m too old to learn. I don’t really need reading to sew anyway.”

  “Mastering the written word is essential, Belle, no matter your age.”

  Belle searched her face. “You think so?”

  “I know so. You can’t best the Francines of the world without it.”

  Belle mulled that over for a moment. “Is learning how hard?”

  “In some ways, yes. Other ways, no.”

  Belle thought on the idea some more. Did she really need to learn to read? Mrs. Best certainly seemed to think so. It was easy to see the benefits of an education; the members of the Best family were the smartest people she knew, but Belle wasn’t sure book learning was for her. “Would I have to go to someplace and learn with little children?”

  “No, dear. I’m sure we could work it out so you could be tutored here at home. No one wants you to be embarrassed in any way.”

  Belle found that encouraging. “Do I have to make a decision right now?”

  Mrs. Best smiled kindly, “No. When you’re ready just let someone know.”

  “All right.”

  The next day was Sunday, and Sunday meant church. During the first few weeks of Belle’s stay with the Bests, she hadn’t been allowed to attend services at the small, whitewashed African Methodist Episcopal church because of concerns for her safety. Slave catcher Otis Watson and his despicable, mounted minions were known to lurk in the trees surrounding the church before and after services. It was their way of sniffing out fresh prey. Since Belle was new to the community, the Bests didn’t want her presence to pique his interest. Watson, however, seemed to have vanished; his livery had been closed for a fortnight, and no one had seen him, his men or his dogs.

  As Mr. Best drove the wagon down the rutted road that led to the church, Mrs. Best sat beside him on the front seat. Behind them, on the bench in the wagon bed sat Daniel, Belle and Jojo. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. While the wagon rattled along, Belle noted the beauty of the glorious, blue-skied day. The trees had lost their early spring sparseness and were now full and leafy green. The wind was warm, and the lushness of the land stretched out as far as the eye could see. It was now the first week of May and Belle had been free a little over a month’s time. Who knew this would be where life would lead her—Michigan, a place she’d never seen before, among people she’d never met. The only thing marring her complete contentment was the unknown fate of her father.

  A short while later, Cecilia Best asked her husband, “Where do you think Watson could be?”

  William shrugged his dark-suited shoulders. “Don’t know. It’s a question everybody’s asking.”

  “Well,” Cecilia said firmly, “if he shows up sniffing around our church today, I may shoot him myself.”

  Daniel laughed. “Mama, it’s Sunday. You’re not supposed to be talking about shooting people.”

  “I know, Lord forgive me, but we should be able to worship in peace. The sooner vermin like Watson are sent to stand before St. Peter, the better off we’ll all be.”

  “Amen, Mama,” Jojo chimed in supportively.

  Belle grinned, but she, too wondered where Watson might be. She’d never met the man, nor did she have a desire to; anyone who made his living the way he did would not be considered a friend, but she knew the community would breathe easier if Watson’s whereabouts were known.

  The grove surrounding the church was filled with buggies and wagons. After Mr. Best parked the buggy, Daniel politely helped his sister step down and then it was Belle’s turn. She had to force herself to remain calm as she placed her hand in his, and then pretend her heart wasn’t beating like a drum when he guided her down.

  “Thank you,” she said softly when he turned her loose.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Still masking her reaction, Belle walked with him and his family toward the church.

  As they approached, they were greeted enthusiastically by fellow parishioners. It was indeed a beautiful Sunday morning, and everyone in attendance seemed particularly pleased to see everyone else. Inside, the family found seats. While waiting for the service to begin, Belle and Jojo sat quietly but watched as people filed in. Jojo leaned over to her brother and whispered, “Franny’s here.”

  Daniel turned and, like Belle, saw Francine being escorted in by two men: one middle-aged and distinguished, the other young and handsome.

  Because Belle had never seen either man befor
e, she whispered into Jojo’s ear, “Who’s that she’s with?”

  Checking to make certain she wasn’t going to draw her mama’s ire for whispering in church, Jojo whispered back, “Her papa, and our teacher, Mr. Hood.”

  Belle wondered if Daniel noticed the proprietary hand the smiling, well-dressed Francine had on the handsome Mr. Hood’s escorting arm. He must have, because Daniel watched them both a long time. When he turned back, his jaw was tight, his eyes directed straight ahead.

  Before Belle had the chance to ask Jojo anything else, the pianist sounded the first rousing chords of the processional, and everyone stood.

  Once the service was over, it was traditional for the members of the congregation to gather outside in the grove to drink punch, socialize and catch up on any news neighbors might have to share. Mr. Best was standing under one of the trees conferring in hushed tones with some of the men. Jojo had gone off to drink punch and giggle with her best friend Trudy Carr, leaving Belle to stand with Mrs. Best and Daniel.

  Francine was making such a show of introducing Mr. Hood around, folks were beginning to look Daniel’s way, as if gauging his reaction, but his face gave nothing away.

  When Francine finally made her way over to where the Bests stood, she walked up with her hand still possessively holding on to Hood’s arm, and said, “And these are the Bests. This is Mrs. Best, and her son, Daniel. This is Paul Hood.”

  Both Mrs. Best and Daniel nodded, but since Francine had made no mention of Belle, who stood right next to Daniel, Belle assumed she’d somehow been made invisible. To let Mr. Hood know that she did exist, Belle said, “Hello, Mr. Hood. My name is Belle. I’m a Best cousin. Have you known Daniel’s intended long?”

  Hood stared first at Belle, then down at Francine. “Intended?!”

  Daniel’s smile was brittle. “Yes. Didn’t Francine mention that?” Daniel noticed that Francine took that moment to fiddle with the bracelet on her arm and would not meet his eyes.

  Hood, who appeared to be at least five years older than Daniel, looked Daniel up and down, then drawled, “Why, no. She hasn’t. Pleased to meet you, Dan.”

  “Pleased, as well,” Daniel allowed. The men shook hands grudgingly.