“That busted bell has a lot of people running late these days.” Poppy Peck smiled and placed her ever-present Bible under her chair. Someone had crocheted a cover for it featuring a white cross on a background of spring flowers. She was married to Mitchell Peck, the longtime pastor of Fort Myers’s Methodist Church.
Next to Poppy was Amelia Polk, who owned the town’s apothecary. Drugstores and boardinghouses were fair game for women who wanted to own businesses. Like Abigail to Baker’s, Amelia was married to Polk’s and no one else. Her face was striking, but not in a pleasant way. Everything but her nose read like an upside-down crescent moon. Her eyes and mouth frowned, and her skin was dragged downward by gravity’s mean streak. Ironically, Belle found Amelia to be one of the happiest, friendliest people in town.
“It’s curious how much we rely on that bell, isn’t it?” Paulette York’s voice had its own bell-like quality, sonorous and pleasing. You wanted to listen to her for hours and look at her even longer.
“My house is so noisy all the time,” Sadie said, “I never even hear that bell.” She chuckled and tried to rock a chair with no rails.
“Why are we here?” Alice Bishop blurted out, staring at the stuffed animal she held as if she’d asked it the question.
Belle had never heard Alice’s voice. She’d often wheeled by the girl, who looked in age about nineteen, but had never spoken to her. Talk around town was that Alice was a bit off—perhaps mentally afflicted—because she wandered the streets talking mostly to cows and other animals that crossed her path. The worst way Belle overheard someone describing Alice was “a dandelion seed head with some of the parasols blown off.” Alice often carried furred or feathered stuffed creatures, and the critter she currently cradled featured the body of a rabbit and the head of a roseate spoonbill. Her father owned the town’s taxidermy shop and often practiced “botched” taxidermy. Belle could only imagine what it was like to live around the smell of soured salt, gamy guts, and the relentless buzz of a thousand feeding flies. That would be enough to make anyone seem “a bit off.”
“A good question, Alice. I’d like to wait for Hazel, though,” Belle said. “Let’s give her another minute or two.”
The door opened as if on Belle’s cue, but it was Abigail who entered, not Hazel.
“Afternoon, ladies. Refreshments have arrived.” Abigail walked to the center of the chairs and slowly turned in a circle, holding a tray of assorted sandwiches.
“I see mine,” Alice said, and took what appeared to be roast beef between a biscuit from the pile.
Abigail greeted each of the women as she spun.
“Sadie, I’ll bet you could use a nap, too,” she said, eyeing the drowsy baby.
“Howdy do, Amelia?”
When she got to Belle, she handed her a sandwich layered with smoked turkey. “Your favorite, my dear.”
Once Abigail stepped to the side and set the tray on a table, Belle addressed the group. “Abigail kindly agreed to provide snacks for this meeting, and if we decide to have more, for those as well.”
The ladies lightly clapped, aside from Alice, who got up for a second sandwich.
Abigail had left the door to the schoolhouse open, allowing Ida to charge through it, followed by Hazel holding out her postcard like a ticket. Abigail looked at Belle, who lightly shook her head.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Cravins?” Abigail asked, moving forward and placing her hands on Belle’s shoulders.
“We received a postcard from Belle inviting us to this meeting,” Ida said, sizing up the room. “We’re late because no one will take it upon themselves to fix that broken bell.”
Poppy smiled. “Lord knows, Ida, it’s not for lack of desire. Seems our townsfolk would rather spend money to improve our sandy streets than fix our bell.”
Abigail chimed in. “We know how hard you pushed for shelled surfaces, Ida. Remember the last town meeting?”
Hazel looked down at the floor, her perfect blonde curls dangling. A stiff red bow sat atop her head, as if she were a child, not a twenty-four-year-old woman.
Belle was certain she’d addressed the postcard to Hazel only. “I . . . um . . . don’t have enough chairs. I was only expecting Hazel.”
As Ida moved to drag another chair into the circle, Amelia piped up.
“I’m normally a more-the-merrier gal, Ida, but as Belle said, she invited Hazel.”
Ida crossed her arms. She looked in disdain at Alice and then into the glass eyes of the stuffed spoonbill. “Well, it appears you’re including everyone and every . . . thing . . . in your little group.”
Abigail wrapped a sandwich in a napkin and moved toward Ida. “Please enjoy this treat on your way out, Ida. We’ll take good care of Hazel.” She put her hand on the doorframe and held out the sandwich.
Ida pinched her eyes nearly shut and twisted swiftly away from the group, her long skirt swishing. Without a single goodbye, she pushed away Abigail’s offering and left. Abigail quickly shut the door behind her.
Hazel remained standing in place.
“Please join us, Hazel,” said Paulette. She swept her hand across the seat next to her, as if to clear it and the room of anything unpleasant. Hazel sat and pointed to her name only written on the postcard.
“Of course,” Paulette said softly.
“Ladies, I’ve left the snacks on the table and will pick them up whenever you finish,” Abigail announced. “As I told Belle, I’m just not good being at rest, even for an hour. If you’ll have me, I’ll be the member who cooks for the club.”
“I’ll make you a member of my family if you cook for my brood,” Sadie joked.
Everyone chuckled. Gratitude ushered Abigail out and all eyes turned to Belle.
She cleared her throat. “So. I, um. I’m curious about thoughts you may have.” She shifted in her seat. “I have an idea about why we should gather, but I’d like to know what all of you think.” She sat for a moment and hoped someone would speak. No one did. The baby burped, which made everyone laugh.
“Finally!” Sadie said. “My patter was getting sore.”
Paulette spoke next. “Well, my sister in Chicago is in a women’s club. She’s mailed me minutes from their meetings. They talk about projects that could beautify the city or help children in need.” She smiled, her white teeth perfectly aligned. “I never thought I’d have the chance to be a part of something similar. But that may not be what you have in mind, Belle.”
“That could certainly work here, Paulette,” Belle said, jotting down notes.
“Why did you include me?” Alice asked. She was dressed, as always, in men’s trousers, a blouse, and alligator boots, perhaps handmade by her father. She kept her hair short. Belle had seen her exit the barbershop more than once.
Hazel perked up, as if wondering why she, too, received a postcard.
“Well, I suppose because you seem to have quite a connection with our town’s four-leggeds.” Belle tilted her head slightly. “I sense that you’re kind. I’d like to get to know you better.”
Alice just shrugged.
When Sadie saw Belle’s eyes move to her, she said, “I don’t care why you invited me, Belle. I’m just glad to be out of that damn house!”
The ladies laughed, and Poppy held up her hand to the heavens. “Amen!” she said. She and her husband had raised four children.
“Seems to me,” Belle explained, “that the wisdom of a wife and mother could be of value to us.”
Paulette said, “And, I’d be curious to know what both Sadie and Poppy think about the women in my sister’s club who say that wanting more out of life does not make an inferior mother.”
Poppy laid open her palms. “More of what? While you’re raising your children and tending to your home—and serving the Lord—you can’t imagine finding the energy for anything more.”
Sadie nodded. �
��More comes after the children.” She shook her head. “But, who am I kidding? With five little ones, my more is never coming.”
Belle smiled and turned to Amelia. “Instead of having a family, you chose to start your own business, Amelia.”
“I know. What was I thinking?” Amelia said, knocking her knuckles on her head.
The women laughed.
“I do love it,” Amelia said. “My drugstore is like my child, I suppose.” She paused. “I sure do wish the bottles could grow up and help with my chores, though.”
Sadie chuckled and spoke to the baby. “Rest up while you can, little one.” She looked up. “This one’s mother is upset that she’s dry, that she can’t feed her baby.” She shrugged. “I suggested she worry less and sleep more. She’s got a long road of mothering ahead.”
“When does it stop?” Hazel asked, her voice a surprise in the room. “The mothering . . .”
All heads turned toward Hazel. She was wearing a green silk dress with a yellow sash and white socks that led to black shoes, shiny, with a strap. Belle was certain her mother gave Hazel the once-over before they left the house. In younger years, Belle often saw Ida marching down the street with Hazel in tow. One particular day, she’d heard Ida’s loudly delivered instructions to her daughter.
“Hold tight to your doll, Hazel,” Ida had said in front of the Abbotts’ house, the yard dotted with Seminoles. “It appears the Abbotts have attracted savages. Again.” Hazel hugged her toy to her chest and parroted her mother’s tone. “Again.”
Having grown up with parents who paid her little attention, Belle couldn’t imagine Hazel’s day-to-day life with a mother who seemed to consider it her duty to raise a person in her exact image.
“What are you talking about?” Alice said.
Hazel crossed her arms and sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does, dear,” Sadie said. “We’re all familiar with Ida’s . . . way.”
Hazel stared into her lap. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
Poppy offered, “We can and should listen without judgment, Hazel.” She held up a finger. “‘Judge not, and ye shall not be judged.’”
“Maybe next time,” Hazel said. “We’ll see.”
Next time. Belle sat up straighter. There would be a next time? Her idea for a club may have taken hold. Her heart raced with excitement.
“To be heard is a gift, isn’t it?” Belle said. “My hope for the club is that we can share ideas and speak freely.” She saw that several of the women were nodding.
Poppy sat to Belle’s left, rubbing a kneecap. The years had been kind to her, a woman in her early sixties whose only signs of aging were weak knees, perhaps the result of frequent praying on hard wooden rails.
“Poppy, I was a member of the church growing up,” Belle said, “but as you’ve surely noticed, I haven’t attended for years.”
For Belle, church was every time she set foot in nature, not a building. To watch a monarch butterfly draw nectar from a pink milkweed blossom with its thread-thin proboscis was proof enough for her that a gentle and artistic creator existed.
“It has been a while, hasn’t it,” Poppy said, smiling. She folded her hands in her lap, as if sending up a prayer for her.
Belle continued, “We know your faith is strong.” She paused. “I could use some guidance and perhaps we all could. For me, forgiveness comes to mind.”
Amelia nodded. “That’s a tough nut.”
Poppy offered a warm smile. “‘For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you,’” she recited. “The Bible is filled with verses about forgiveness. For eons, people have wrestled with letting go of anger and pain. There’s much to discuss.”
Belle turned toward Paulette. Tall and curvaceous, the twenty-seven-year-old wore her fiery red hair long with fashionable bangs. She’d been crowned Miss Tampa years earlier and last year received stellar reviews for her lead role in the local troupe’s stage rendition of Lady Audley’s Secret. Her multiple engagements followed by disengagements were fodder for much speculation about why she wasn’t yet married. Trying to argue that it was no one’s business was futile in a town as small as Fort Myers.
“Paulette, you seem very comfortable in front of a crowd.” Belle placed her palm on her chest and shook her head. “Even with all eyes on you . . .”
Recrossing her long legs, Paulette smiled. “I’ve been blessed to share what I love to do.” She paused. “Honestly, though, I would like to contribute off the stage, too.” She pointed to the wooden pineapple atop the teacher’s desk. “I’m expected to do only that—stand tall and wear a crown.”
Belle nodded. “Noted. If you’d like, we can discuss more ideas on how we might contribute . . . as a club.”
“Anything but tackle the cow plop problem,” Amelia joked.
Alice giggled. “They are good at it, aren’t they?”
“Will others be allowed to join the club?” Hazel swept a palm over her skirt, straightening a fold.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Belle said. “Maybe we can decide together.”
Hazel raised her hand with a bent elbow. “I would vote to leave the group as it is.”
All the women—but one—agreed.
Alice made her odd stuffed animal hop, then fly. “It’s easy to close off a group once you’re in it, isn’t it.”
The room stayed silent until Amelia offered, “Well, why don’t we keep the option open to other women, but never for Ida?”
Alice said, “Agreed.”
Hazel pulled on a curl. “Thank you.”
Sadie rebundled the cooing baby in its blanket. “I’ve enjoyed this but I need to go, ladies. Virgil may be hog-tied to the kitchen table. Our little cherubs are also hoodlums.” She stood and bounced the bundle. “Belle, thank you for inviting me. Let me know if there’s another meeting. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Sadie,” Belle said. She then addressed the remaining women. “So, are we in agreement that a second meeting should happen?”
A yes resounded from all.
Belle popped up off her seat, thrilled her idea was well received. “All right, ladies. I’ll drop off postcards with details about next time.” She scanned her notes. “We’ll talk more about our club’s purpose, oh . . . and we’ll need a name.”
As the women stood and headed for the door, Alice suggested, “How about the Circle Club?” She pointed to the empty chairs.
The women agreed, and with that, Belle had introduced a big-city movement to her small, sun-kissed town.
•••
Boone had replaced a small section of lumber that wood roaches had devoured on the Edison home. He was coating it for a second time with yellow paint. The late-afternoon breeze was light and dry—good conditions for brushwork. He smiled when he spotted Belle walking toward him at a brisk pace from across the yard. She began to skip on her final steps toward him. He hadn’t yet seen her so carefree.
“Hello, Boone.”
“Hello there, Belle.” He put down the brush and stood to properly greet her.
“I’d like to take you up on your offer to go for a sail.”
Boone smiled. Several surprises, all at once. He silently cursed the day’s weather—perfect for painting, horrible for sailing. “A sail sounds wonderful, Belle.” He put a finger in the air. “But I’m afraid we’d have to use oars today.” He paused. “No wind.”
“Oh yes. Of course,” she said. “Of course we need more wind.” She spun in a circle, holding her dress out on both sides. “Does this help?” She giggled as she continued to spin, her long hair extended like the mane of a horse at full run.
Boone half hoped she’d take a dizzy fall so he could catch her. They laughed together until she stopped.
“When the wind finds its spirit again, we’ll sail,” Boone said.
He grabbed her elbow to steady her as she stumbled slightly. Her skin was soft and warm.
“All right, then,” she said. “We’ll wait for the wind.”
As he watched her walk away toward Baker’s, Boone’s resolve to deny his desire lessened.
•••
At Duggan’s, Merle was dragging heavy bushel baskets from the porch into the store, each thump on the threshold the sound of closing time. Whiskey was waiting on the counter next to his evening cigar, potato wedges sizzled in a skillet. When the produce was safely tucked in for the night, he began sweeping the day’s dust and debris off the porch slats and stairs. Eager to relax after a busy day, he dismissed the oddity of a small pile of winged insects on the top step. With a flick of the broom, he launched the stack of dead dragonflies onto the ground.
•••
River Street was dark and deserted but for two drunk men fake fighting and laughing between throaty grunts. Each had a whiskey bottle clutched in his armpit. The awkward grappling led them off the street and onto someone’s property, where a garden had been freshly fertilized. When one man gave the other a hard shove, he tumbled backward onto a slat of an unfinished fence, his bulk snapping the board in half.
“Oww,” groaned the downed man. “Ass.”
The other stumbled over to him. “You’re the jackass.” He poured whiskey down onto the man’s shoes. Attempting to step over the low fence, he clipped his boot and fell forward to the ground with a thud.
A clumsy roll brought the other man right next to his friend. He whistled toward the starless sky. “You stink, Frank.”
Frank belched and rolled onto his back. “This whole town stinks.”
“Well, Franky,” said the other man, “you play your cowboy games, and I’ll settle some . . . business.” He paused to sip whiskey, which dribbled down his stubbled chin. “Then, we’ll go back to Tampa, where it smells like cigars, not cow shit.” He grabbed at the ground, gathering a fistful of muck. He launched the smelly clump onto Frank.
After the Rain Page 9