Just North of Bliss

by Duncan, Alice

  She turned her head away and didn’t answer, mainly because she’d have had to say yes, and she didn’t want to.

  “So I asked H.L. to visit Blissborough and find out exactly how much emotional pain and physical agony they’re really going through from all the money you’re sending them.”

  “Agony? Pain?”

  Both Belle and Win frowned at H.L. for interrupting their spat. H.L. backed away, his hands up in a gesture of conciliation. “Sorry, folks. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “No,” said Win. “I want Belle to hear this. I don’t know what you discovered down there in Georgia, either. We can hear it together, from the horse’s mouth.”

  H.L. grinned again. “I’ve been called lots of things in my day, Win, but this is the first time I’ve been called an entire horse. Folks usually refer to me as merely the hindquarters thereof.”

  Win didn’t respond to H.L.’s jolly remark. Rather, he eyed Belle skeptically. “Do you promise not to run away if I let go of your hands, Belle?”

  She didn’t want to say yes, but she also wanted to hear what H.L. had to say. Irked at having to make the decision, she heated up her frown for Win and snapped, “I’ll stay, blast you.”

  She resented Win’s sigh of relief. She also resented his air of doubt as he slowly released the pressure on her hands. “For heaven’s sake, Win, a body would think you didn’t trust me!”

  “I don’t.”

  Belle was so offended, she couldn’t speak. That being the case, she turned her furious frown on H.L. May, who took another step back. Since she really didn’t have any reason to hate him yet, she tried to stop frowning. She wasn’t awfully successful. “Very well. Speak.” She couldn’t recall ever hearing that tone of command in her voice before, and was proud of herself.

  “Yes, ma’am.” H.L. saluted, then smiled, and Belle decided she didn’t hate him quite yet, and might not hate him at all. In spite of his roguish air, which she chalked up to his being born and bred a damned Yankee, he was rather charming.

  Win muttered, “Thank God,” wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and slumped next to Belle on the platform.

  Because Win was slumping, Belle sat up straight and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She gave H.L. a regal nod.

  Although he looked slightly startled by her magisterial mein, H.L. cleared his throat, yanked a chair around, straddled it, and started talking. “All right, then. I took the train from Chicago to Atlanta, and rented a swaybacked hack that took me to Blissborough. They tried to rent me a sound horse, but I didn’t go for it. My wife’s the only one in the family who can ride a horse, so I took the swayback.” He chortled. Neither of his auditors gave him back so much as a tiny smile, so he cleared his throat and continued, tossing a wink at Win. “You’d like Blissborough, Win. It’s very picturesque.”

  Belle bridled instantly. She demanded, “What do you mean by that?” If he thought her home town was “picturesque” because of its relative poverty and lack of sophistication compared to the heathen North, Belle might just have to hate him after all.

  H.L. shrugged. “It’s beautiful. And there are wild flowers growing everywhere. I’ve lived in Chicago for so long, I’ve forgotten how nice rural areas can be. I have to admit that I’ve never seen anything as gorgeous and green as it is around Blissborough. It’s a lot nicer than Atlanta.”

  “Yes,” Belle said, “it is.” She thought about reminding this man—not to mention the other man present—that Atlanta used to be a lovely city until the Yankees got through with it, but she didn’t have the heart to fight the Recent Unpleasantness over again right now. Win would only make fun of her if she did, anyhow.

  “And the trees. My goodness, but I’ve never seen such gigantic, beautiful old trees. And they’re just dripping with moss. Absolutely beautiful surroundings. I don’t blame you for missing it, Miss Monroe.”

  Belle decided that H.L. May wasn’t quite as bad as Win Asher, although he, too, was a Yankee and couldn’t be trusted entirely. “Thank you.”

  Win grunted, but didn’t say anything. It was a good thing. Belle was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from screeching at him if he disparaged her home.

  “And your folks are awfully nice, too. Very hospitable. They welcomed me into their home and fed me and forced mint juleps upon me and everything.” He laughed.

  Belle blinked at him. “They did?” She’d never actually thought about it, but she was rather startled that her folks had actually welcomed a Yankee into their home.

  “Sure thing. The construction crew got in the way a little bit, but your mother didn’t so much as blink an eye. She’s very much the gracious southern lady, isn’t she? She managed to ignore the mess with magnificent aplomb.”

  “Con—” Belle gulped. “Construction?” All the majesty had vanished from her voice. It reflected her state of confusion admirably, however.

  H.L. eyed her strangely. “Sure thing. Haven’t they written you about how they’re redoing everything?”

  Belle opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “Um, I suppose the letter is on its way now.”

  Win said, “Hunh,” and Belle gave him a withering look.

  H.L. nodded. “That must be it. They really appreciate the money you’ve been sending home. They’re installing indoor plumbing and adding a couple of rooms onto the house and doing all sorts of repair and maintenance work. You’re helping them a lot, Miss Monroe. You ought to be proud of yourself. Your folks are sure proud of you.” He gave her such a smile of approval that Belle had to gulp again.

  “I figured as much.” Win’s hunched posture didn’t alter appreciably, but he did sneer a little until he caught sight of Belle’s face and stopped.

  He’d better not sneer, the fiend. Ignoring Win, she said, “How interesting, Mr. May. And did they say anything about me? About my posing as a photographer’s model?”

  “Did they? I should say they did! They’ve got pictures of you in albums, and a framed shot of that first photograph of you that appeared in the Globe in a prominent place on the piano. I guess the Atlanta paper picked it up, and Blissborough ran it because you’re a local girl.”

  “My goodness.” Belle’s anger, which had been directed at Win and his northern neighbors, began to swerve slightly southward.

  “Your folks have been besieged with friends and family members calling on them ever since that picture appeared several weeks ago. They’re enjoying your celebrity a lot. I guess your mother likes to entertain.”

  “Yes,” said Belle. “She does.” And that same mother had had the gall to send Belle telegrams bemoaning her new profession and claiming Belle was shaming the family. Belle had never entertained such intense ire towards her family. Even when she’d disapproved of their profound and continued indolence, she’d not been this angry.

  “The whole town—how big is it, anyway, Miss Monroe? Do you know how many souls live there?”

  “Souls?” What was the man talking about? Oh, the population. Belle shook her head hard to clear it of the fuzz her rage had produced. “Um, I think about three thousand people, give or take a few dozen.”

  “I thought so. Blissborough certainly was abuzz when I visited. The mayor was happy to talk to me about you and how much everyone loves you. According to him, the community always believed you’d go on to fame and glory.”

  “Really.” The mayor, Harvey Clopp, had never mentioned this to Belle.

  “Did your folks write to tell you that the leading citizens want to erect a statue in your honor? You’re bringing business to the community, because people have seen your photograph and want to see where you came from.”

  Belle’s eyes grew large and her mouth fell open.

  It was Win who answered H.L.’s question. “A statue?” He shot a quick glance at Belle. “Uh, no, H.L. Nobody’s mentioned a statue. Or an increase in business.”

  “No,” said Belle. “I mean, no, I hadn’t heard that.” She wanted to tilt her head and thump
on it to get the fuzziness to escape out her ears.

  “Well, they do. They love you there. If you ever go home again, and I’m sure you will, I’ll bet you’ll be feted to within an inch of your life.” H.L. laughed heartily. “I suspect you’ll get a parade and everything, with shy little girls handing you bouquets of flowers and every one of them hoping they’ll grow up and be just like you. I can picture it here.” He tapped his head. “Let me know when you do go home for a visit, because I’d like to cover the story.”

  Belle managed to emit a sick-sounding trickle of laughter. She didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like throwing rocks at her family. Every blasted one of them. How dare they send her whimpering, whining telegrams at the very same time that they—indeed, the entire town of Blissborough—were garnering such grand returns from her new career. She didn’t dare speak for fear she’d shout.

  “I had a feeling they weren’t being open with you, Belle,” Win said, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to risk her wrath.

  “Yes, I know you did, you foul fiend.” She clipped her words.

  “You mean they haven’t written you with the good news?” H.L. appeared understandably surprised. In fact, he appeared almost thunderstruck.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not exactly.”

  H.L. stared. “Shoot, they all but worship you down there. All of them.”

  Win, ignoring H.L.’s stare as well as his comment, cried indignantly, “What do you mean, not exactly?” Turning to H.L., he went on like a train whose engineer had abandoned the controls. “They sent her telegrams. A thousand telegrams, all telling her how miserable they were, and that she was humiliating the family. They sent her a huge load of guff about how they were ashamed of her and embarrassed by seeing pictures of her in newspapers.”

  “Um . . . oh.” H.L.’s glance went from Belle to Win, and it was as full of befuddlement as a glance could get.

  “There weren’t thousands of them,” Belle growled.

  “Maybe not, but the rest of what I said is the truth.”

  Since he was right, she remained mute. Oh, but she was angry with her parents. They’d treated her as badly as Win!

  “Ah, I don’t think your folks meant anything by it, Miss Monroe.” Still overtly puzzled, H.L. added, “Although I don’t understand why they’d write such things to you, because—well—they’re not true..”

  Neither could Belle. She shot Win a glare to let him know he’d better not say one single ‘nother word.

  H.L. went on, “When I was there—and I just got back an hour or so ago—they were proud as punch. Like I said, they have pictures of you up all over town. Not to mention in your parents’ house. Somebody’s aunt—can’t remember whose—she’s a painter?”

  Since he looked questioningly at Belle, she licked her lips and said, “Aunt Mae Scudder, probably. She’s my father’s aunt.”

  H.L. snapped his fingers. “That’s the name!” He smiled broadly at her. When she didn’t smile back, he resumed speaking. “Mrs. Scudder is even painting a canvas of that first picture. Your mother said they’re going to hang it over the fireplace.”

  “In place of Great-Uncle Cyrus?” Belle shrieked. “The hero of Antietam?”

  “Is he that guy with the long beard?” H.L. asked, interested.

  “Yes.” When she was through here, Belle was heading straight to the telegraph office. She was going to blister her parents’ ears with her opinion of them. Or blister their eyes. Bother. She’d probably have to wait until tomorrow since the telegraph office was probably closed by this hour of the night. But she’d do it then, for sure. She jumped up from the platform and started pacing, just as Win often paced when he was in the throes of rage or a creative idea.

  Belle’s ideas at present weren’t the least bit creative. Rather, they were destructive. Rendered heedless of her audience by the stunning news H.L. had delivered, she muttered as she paced. “I can’t believe it of them. The wretched fiends.” That she’d considered Win a wretched fiend not ten minutes earlier didn’t enter her head. Win was nothing compared to her family.

  Win watched her pace and felt horrible. He’d assumed he’d feel good once Belle learned the worst about her family, but he didn’t. He understood that H.L. had delivered a crushing blow to her, and all he wanted to do was enfold her in his arms and give her comfort. And if he tried to do that, she’d most likely punch him in the jaw. He sighed and stood up, sinking his hands into his pockets since he couldn’t use them to any good purpose.

  “Say, Win, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I thought you’d like to know Miss Monroe’s family is benefitting from your great work.”

  Poor H.L. Win made himself smile at his friend. “It’s all right, H.L. This whole thing is a little complicated.”

  “I guess so.” H.L. stood, irresolute, for a moment more, then said, “Well, I need to get to the Wild West. Rose is going to be performing tonight, and I need to see her. She’s retiring from the show after the Exposition closes.” He sighed. “But she’ll still deal with horses. She’s so good with them.”

  Win watched H.L.’s face when he referred to his bride, and his heart hitched. Win had never seen such a transformation in a man as had occurred in H.L. May when he’d fallen madly in love with little Rose Ellen Gilhooley. Win had watched their wedding ceremony, along with thousands of other spectators, since Buffalo Bill Cody had talked them into having the ceremony in conjunction with a performance of his Wild West show.

  Lordy, if H.L. May could get caught in the matrimonial snare and actually like it, Win guessed anybody could. Including him.

  Including him? He left off staring at H.L. and commenced staring thoughtfully at Belle.

  “I’ll show them,” she was murmuring as she tramped circles around his booth. “Blast them! They’ve been so unkind. So deceitful. So horrid to me!”

  H.L. cleared his throat. “Say, Win, I really need to be going, but I hate to leave like this. I’m afraid I made a huge mistake in—”

  “You didn’t.” Win withdrew his right hand from his pocket and clapped H.L.’s shoulder with it. “None of this is your fault. I probably shouldn’t have sent you down there, but I was so angry with her parents that I thought it might help to know the truth.” He glanced at Belle again. “Now I’m not so sure.”

  Belle, through her running diatribe, had apparently heard him, because she spun around. “No! No, you were right, Win. Dash it, they’ve been positively cruel to me!”

  “Um, I guess I’d better be off.” H.L. edged toward the door. He looked alarmed when Belle rushed at him, but she only clasped his hand in both of hers. Win frowned. He realized he didn’t like Belle clasping other men’s hands.

  “Thank you, Mr. May. I appreciate your telling me the truth.” Win felt ghastly when she brushed a tear away. “I needed to know. You’ve relieved my mind, in fact.”

  “It doesn’t look like it to me,” H.L. said.

  “Perhaps,” Belle conceded. “But it’s the truth. I had to find out someday.”

  “It’s been good meeting you, Miss Monroe.”

  “Thank you.” She managed a gracious smile, and Win’s heart hitched again. “I’m happy to have met you. I enjoyed watching your wife perform a few days ago. She’s truly a wonderful bareback rider.”

  “She’s the best.” H.L.’s face lit up. Win shook his head in amazement.

  “And I do appreciate your report on Blissborough and the welfare of my family, Mr. May.” Belle’s tone had hardened, but she sounded sincere.

  “Ah, do you mind if I write a story or two about how your success has altered the lives of your home town and family, Miss Monroe? I don’t want to stir up any more trouble.”

  Win blinked at H.L. He’d never heard the reporter ask permission from a subject before writing a story. Maybe marriage had mellowed him more than Win had heretofore suspected.

  Belle waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Write anything you wish, Mr. May. I’m sure you can’t say anything that might
cause me grief.”

  Win and H.L. exchanged a glance. Belle’s last comment had sounded almost ferocious. H.L. said, “Um, good. Thanks, Miss Monroe. I’ll be kind to them. Truly, I will.”

  “Oh.” Now she sounded disappointed.

  “They were very good to me, ma’am,” H.L. said apologetically.

  “How nice of them.”

  Uh-oh. Win grimaced at H.L., who took the hint and skedaddled.

  Chapter Twenty

  Although he wanted to, Win didn’t dare make a grab for Belle or her hands. Rather, he spoke to her in a conciliatory tone. “Say, Belle, don’t be too hard on your folks. I guess your success caught everyone by surprise.”

  She rounded on him so fast, he stepped back, bumped into his platform, and sat with a thump. “Ha! Don’t you dare try to make me feel better, Win Asher! My family treated me like dirt, and you know it.”

  “Um, yes, I guess I do know it. In fact, I said so first.”

  If her glances got any more withering, Win feared he’d wilt like a daisy. “Oh, yes, you did, didn’t you? Mr. Win, Perfect Person Who Knows Everything, Asher. You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  Feeling helpless, not to mention unfairly abused, Win held out his hands. “Just a minute here, Belle. This really isn’t my fault, you know.”

  She opened her mouth, Win presumed to screech at him, but she ended up merely heaving a huge sigh and slumping. “You’re right.” She sagged onto the platform next to him and buried her head in her hands. “You’ve been right all along, blast you.”

  He sat next to her—not too close, because he didn’t want her accusing him of being a—what had she called him? A foul fiend? That still stung, and he didn’t want any more epithets hurled at him by Belle, whom he loved more than life itself, although he didn’t dare say so because he didn’t fancy being laughed at.

  “It will be all right, Belle.”

  She sat up, lowered her hands, and frowned at him. “Will it?”

  He shrugged. He hated feeling so damned unable to comfort her. “Sure, it will. At least you’ll be making lots of money. And your family won’t be able to complain any longer. Not now that you know how they fibbed to you.”