Reconstructing Jackson

by Bush, Holly

“Hang on,” Frank said as he grabbed a black shawl hanging on a hook near the door and picked up a teacup from a shelf above the sink. He lowered his eyes as he handed Reed the two items.

  “That’s Ma’s cup,” Jed said. “She don’t need it. Belle ain’t no longer part of this family.”

  “Shut up, Jed,” Frank replied. “You don’t want it. You just don’t want her to have it.”

  “Let it go,” Tom Richards said and took a long swig of amber liquid from a bottle. “Was your mother’s, but she’d want Belle to have it.” The man slumped down on a chair and stared away.

  “If you got what you need, why don’t you take your chair and your Southern stink out my house,” Jed said to Reed. Jed turned abruptly, knocked a dish from the table and stormed out the back door.

  Frank shoved his hands in his pockets. He followed Reed to the front door and outside. “Hey, mister,” he said. Reed turned. “My sister’s a good girl. Sweet girl. Don’t ever let me hear you treated her bad.”

  Reed was confounded by the irony of it all. She was a sweet girl. How had she grown up in this shack, with this family and become the woman that looked in his eyes, a near stranger, her fiancé and claim she didn’t care that he’d never walk. He hadn’t been that close to tears since he learned of his brother’s death. Even a poor farm girl would wish for a man who could play and chase after the children she so desperately wanted, one that didn’t need help over thresholds. But there is not a false bone in her body, he thought, stubborn, yes, but not false.

  Her family sorely took advantage of Belle, and yet this man looking at him from under bushy brows was clearly concerned. “I’ll treat your sister with the utmost respect,” Reed said.

  Reed was near the carriage and Henry’s nervous stare.

  Frank shouted. “Tell Belle, tell her … I said hey.”

  Reed nodded and looked at the man now kicking the dirt where he stood. “Once we’re settled and if Belle wishes, you may visit your sister on occasion as long as I’m there.”

  Frank turned to the house. Reed drew a sigh of relief and fresh air and looked at Henry waiting for him beside the carriage. “This is what we came for,” he said. Both men stared at the wretched pile of things in his lap. Henry helped Reed into the seat and stowed his chair in the back. As Henry began to cluck the horses to turn, a cat flew out of some pine trees, causing Henry’s mare to grow skittish.

  “Whoa, there,” Henry said. “Damned cat.”

  Reed stared at the tabby approaching the carriage. Her fur was matted, and she limped. This was Millie, Belle’s cat, he knew. She meowed pitifully and wound her way around the wheels of the carriage. Henry shouted and Reed shushed him. “That’s Belle’s cat, Henry.”

  “How do you know?”

  Reed told Henry about Millie saving her life, and the two men stared down at the miserable creature. “Can you get her, Henry?”

  Henry jumped down from the carriage, muttering. The cat wound near the horses hooves and slunk away from Henry’s hands each time he neared. Reed could see Henry’s frustration and heard his curses. Henry rose, less fastidious than when he began the chase, holding the tabby by the scruff of her neck. He handed Reed the animal. Millie sniffed the bundle on Reed’s lap and began a tortuous push and pull until finally curling into a ball on Belle’s things. Henry stared at him, Reed knew, but he would not look at his cousin. Henry climbed in and shouted to the horses to turn.

  Millie waited patiently on the carriage seat as Arlo unhitched the wagon and Henry helped Reed into his chair. One smooth jump from the crippled cat landed her on top of Belle’s bundle on Reed’s legs. She sat regally eyeing her surroundings.

  The laundresses in the back yard giggled as Reed wheeled by, and Henry straightened and dusted his suit. Mary Ellen met them at the back door.

  “Henry. You’re filthy. Did you get into a scuffle with Belle’s family?” she asked.

  “No, I did not scuffle with the Richards. Reed had me chasing Belle’s cat.”

  Mary Ellen turned and focused on Reed and his rider. She grinned. “She’s in your rooms.”

  Reed wheeled through the open door to his rooms and saw Belle bent down over a stack of books.

  “Did Pa give you any trouble?” she asked without turning. The cat meowed.

  Belle turned around, open-mouthed. She knelt down as the cat flew to her. She picked up the tabby, and Reed heard purring and low, soft words of thanks. Tears brimmed in Belle’s eyes when she looked up at him, and her lip trembled wildly. “Where did you find her?”

  “She came trotting out of some trees as we were leaving.”

  Belle stroked the cat’s ears. “I got the feeling you don’t like cats.”

  Belle was so happy. He knew she was. The cat cuddled, and Belle kissed her head. This grim animal was probably Belle’s only friend. And the damned thing, now exploring his room, saved her life. “Not particularly,” he replied.

  Belle inched over to Reed and knelt before him. “You’ll never know how happy this makes me. I could never put the right words together to tell you. But Millie here followed me, slept with me and even,” Belle dropped her head, “even listened to me. She knows every dream I have.”

  “It’s just a cat, Belle.”

  “Thank you,” she said and sniffed.

  Why did she look so beautiful and sweet and grateful as she thanked him? Her words did not convey what her eyes did. They swam with tears and emotion and something else Reed could not identify but that drew him nonetheless. Touch her, his mind shouted, and his hand complied, touching the smooth white skin of her neck. Her smile answered Reed’s unspoken questions. He knew why he brought the pitiful cat to Belle, knew why he would have wheeled through the forest for a month. The tearful thanks in her eyes had changed before him to something more. He felt as if he could read her thoughts now and had never experienced a connection, a blaring union of two strangers like he did now. His rock hard, cynical heart softened to the pulse, beating under his fingertips. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Reed pulled himself upright in his chair. Belle got up from her haunches onto her knees at the same time and Reed found his face inches from hers. She tilted her head, as if in wonder and Reed allowed himself the luxury of surveying her face. From clear skin to emerald eyes to lips parting now of their own volition, he saw her eyes drop to his lips and his own shaking ones touched her perfect mouth.

  “Here’s milk for the … oh, dear, pardon me,” Mary Ellen said.

  “Come in. Millie loves milk,” Belle said.

  Belle laid her hand on his knee, touching the stump of his leg as she did. He was mortified and torn at the same time. For Mary Ellen to see them so and for Belle to gently rub his leg. He wheeled back abruptly and Belle’s hand fell to her lap. She looked at him, confused.

  “Come in, Mary Ellen. Belle’s things are there. She’ll need to see a dress maker,” Reed said.

  Belle’s face reddened. “I don’t need anything.”

  “Nonsense. The two dresses you have are threadbare. Mrs. Ames will help you.”

  Belle rose and faced Mary Ellen. “I can sew. Maybe you can help me pick some cloth at the general store.”

  Mary Ellen opened her mouth to speak but Reed interrupted. “No more calicos, please.” He turned to Mary Ellen. “Some day-dresses, something for evening, and of course something for our wedding day.”

  “I’m here in this room, Reed. I’m not, I’m not,” Belle raised a shaking hand to Reed’s desk, “a book you can open and close as you please. If I need new dresses, I’ll decide.” She turned to Mary Ellen again. “Will you go with me to the general store?”

  Mary Ellen hustled Belle from the room. His bride-to-be had grit, although those beautiful green eyes he’d been staring into moments ago were confused. And why not? I went from kissing her to belittling her. Damn, Reed thought. The cat stared at him from the hearth of his fireplace, and Reed turned away.

  * * *

  Mary Ellen convinced Belle of the importan
ce of compromise. They purchased solid wools for skirts and heavy white linen for blouses. A few prints for day dresses completed their trip to the general store. Belle entered the dressmaker’s shop with hesitation. Two other women were in Miss Ann’s, and Mary Ellen spoke.

  “Belle, I would like you to meet Miss Emmarine Walcott and her mother, Mrs. Florence Walcott. This is my husband’s cousin’s fiancée, Miss Belle Richards,” Mary Ellen said smoothly.

  Belle held her hand out to shake. “Hey,” she said.

  Mary Ellen reached for Belle’s hand and held it at her side. “We’re here to do some shopping for Belle’s trousseau.”

  Both women stared openly, and Belle watched Emmerine coyly tilt her head.

  “Mr. Jackson is a fine-looking man. And so smart. Why you’ll never find yourself without interesting conversation as some married couples do,” Emmerine said smiling as she batted her eyelashes.

  Belle felt as if she had been insulted yet none of the woman’s words were unfounded. She hardly knew how to reply. “Reed is handsome.”

  Florence Walcott huffed. “Very familiar before the wedding, Mrs. Ames.”

  “We all use Christian names at the hotel. Henry and I prefer the informality,” Mary Ellen replied.

  “Let’s just hope things haven’t gotten too informal, Mrs. Ames,” Mrs. Walcott said and picked a speck of dust from her vast bosom. “I’ve tried to teach Emmarine that good manners and a rigid adherence to propriety command respect, especially for a wife.”

  “But poor Belle here,” Emmarine paused to touch her mother’s arm, “may not have been fortunate enough to have you to set an example.” She batted her eyelashes. “Certainly your mother is thrilled to have Mrs. Ames guide you.”

  “My mother is dead.”

  “Oh, dear,” Emmarine tittered. “That’s terrible. Your poor father a widow. Where does he reside? Oh, wait. I remember seeing you ride into town on occasion. From the direction of Tremont Gulch.”

  Belle knew the young woman played a game with her. When she mentioned Tremont Gulch, her mother had gasped, but Emmarine smiled sweetly, managing to conjure up an image for Belle of riding into town with her father and brothers in a broken-down wagon pulled by a mule. Miss Emmarine knew Belle’s upbringing and was enjoying Mary Ellen’s embarrassment and her mother’s shock.

  “Um,” Belle replied and pointed at Emmarine’s blue velvet gown. “Something like that dress would be nice for my wedding dress, Mary Ellen.” Belle leaned in and whispered, “Of course, I think I’d need a little more fabric up top.” Belle did her best imitation of Emmarine’s tittering. “I have lots more to cover than Miss Emmarine.”

  Mrs. Walcott’s eyes widened, and Emmarine’s narrowed. The matron turned to the door. “Good day, Mrs. Ames. Miss Richards.”

  The bell above the door tinkled as Florence Walcott pulled it closed with a huff, and Belle turned to Mary Ellen, expecting anything but laughter.

  “Why, Belle, I’ve never seen Florence speechless in my life. Well done,” Mary Ellen said with a chuckle. “Let’s ask Miss Ann about your wedding dress.”

  Belle touched the beautiful fabrics laid before her, reverently. Miss Ann and Mary Ellen held fabrics against her and tilted their heads. The afternoon flew by for Belle as Mary Ellen helped her pick out a ready-made day dress and a green velvet evening dress. But what stopped her and the conversation around her was a bolt of gold brocade. Belle touched the tiny green leaves sewn into the fabric and grinned shyly to Mary Ellen. “This is beautiful,” she said.

  Miss Ann and Mary Ellen nodded and smiled and hurried to decide on a pattern and what could be completed in less than a week. Mary Ellen shoved Belle behind a curtain and handed her new underthings, including enormous petticoats and a new day dress. “Put this on, Belle.”

  When Belle emerged from behind the curtain, both women turned and stared. “What? Do I have it on backwards?” Belle asked and ran her hands down the yellow muslin.

  “Oh my,” Miss Ann said.

  “I agree,” Mary Ellen said and stared.

  Miss Ann pulled a chair in front of the mirror and told Belle to sit down. Mary Ellen brushed through her hair while Miss Ann fitted her with brown calf half-boots and green slippers. The seamstress pulled a box down from a high shelf and dug through its contents. She stood up triumphantly with a small beaded purse.

  Belle accepted the reticule and turned. The image before her stopped her heart. She looked like a lady. Mary Ellen had piled her dark hair on top of her head, and the purse and leather shoes completed the picture.

  “Stunning,” Miss Ann whispered.

  Mary Ellen grinned. “Thank you, Miss Ann. We must be going. Good day.”

  Belle looked down at her hands and back to the smiling gray-haired woman who had performed a miracle. “Thank you, ma’am. Good day,” Belle said.

  Mary Ellen and Belle walked back to the hotel carrying wrapped packages and hatboxes. Men nodded and tipped their hats, and Belle mimicked Mary Ellen’s replies. Henry stood on the front porch talking to guests when he spotted them. He did a double take and excused himself. He kissed Mary Ellen’s cheek and turned to Belle. “What a beautiful outfit, Miss Belle.”

  Belle smiled. “Mrs. Ames picked it out.”

  “But you are the one to wear it, and I must say it is very becoming,” Henry replied and slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. Mary Ellen smiled victoriously.

  “I suppose I better tell Mr. Jackson how much all this stuff cost. I hope he won’t be mad,” Belle said as she smoothed her skirt.

  Henry harrumphed and smiled. “I doubt he’ll be angry.”

  Belle picked up her skirt as she had seen Mary Ellen do. Arlo stood from his sawing and doffed his hat as she passed him in the back yard. Belle knocked on Reed’s door. “Can I … May I come in?”

  * * *

  Reed sat in his shirtsleeves hunched over his legal work. His eyes watered, and he rubbed them. “Come in,” he said. He was not in the mood to battle with Belle. Reed knew he had been short with her and didn’t imagine Belle often backed down from a fight. It was his fault, really, he conceded. Maybe if I’d asked her to buy new things rather than order her about like a twelve-year-old, she would have complied.

  “Hello, Reed,” Belle said.

  Reed turned in his chair. He blinked. This was Belle, he knew. He recognized her voice. Other than that he would have sworn a different woman stood before him. Belle was always beautiful, but now seeing her in a soft yellow dress with her hair pulled up she was breath-taking. Gorgeous. He shook his head and looked again.

  Belle fidgeted with her skirts. “I’m not sure I need all this stuff. Maybe I should return some of it.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Reed whispered.

  “Are you angry?” Belle asked.

  “No.”

  Belle nodded and turned to leave, picking up a round hatbox.

  “You look beautiful, Belle. Absolutely beautiful,” Reed said, and Belle stopped abruptly.

  “The clothes, they sure are pretty. I’ve never had anything so fine,” she said softly and ran her hand down the fabric of her skirt.

  “The clothes are beautiful, Belle. But they would be just cloth on another woman,” Reed said.

  Belle shrugged. “It is just cloth. They’re just clothes.”

  Just clothes, she said. Belinda fussed for days over new dresses and matching hats and gloves and parasols. During the war, when money was tight, she pouted, bereft of a new wardrobe that spring. Maybe Belinda knew the clothes made her. Made her delicate with gauzy prints and desirable with scooped necklines. Even his mother, practical as she was, dressed formally for dinner each night and fashioned last year’s wardrobe into the new year’s style.

  “Even still, they complement an already stunning woman,” Reed said.

  Belle blushed and looked at the ceiling. “They make me feel like a lady.”

  Reed nodded and watched as she left his room. Reed did not see Belle for the next two days, othe
r than when she stopped by to get the key to their new house. She wore one of her old dresses and a scarf pulled around her head. Beulah and Mary Ellen directed Arlo, carrying boxes and crates along the sidewalk of the hotel. He imagined they readied the house, for their wedding was Friday. Just three days away.

  Chapter Eight

  Belle, Beulah and Mary Ellen sneezed from dust, scrubbed floors and windows and turned the mattress. Belle enjoyed the time, knowing what to do and how. Cleaning was simple compared to the other things Reed expected. They readied the kitchen, beat rugs and polished furniture. The house smelled clean and sparkled with their efforts.

  Thursday afternoon the three women sat at the kitchen table and drank coffee, admiring their efforts. “Some new curtains in the sitting room would be just the thing. A light fabric to let the sun in.” Mary Ellen said.

  “Do you think Mrs. Walker would mind?” Belle asked.

  Mary Ellen smiled. “I don’t think so. I know Mrs. Walker, and I think she would be glad someone is taking care of her home.”

  Belle looked around the kitchen absently. “Do you think she would mind if I packed away some of her knickknacks?”

  “You and Reed will live here. Although rented, it’s still up to you how the furniture will sit and what decorations to hang,” Mary Ellen said.

  Belle was thrilled. When Beulah and Mary Ellen left, she would move furniture in the living room and push the bed from the corner of the bedroom it now sat in. The two women rose, and Belle looked up at Beulah. “You’re coming tomorrow to my wedding, aren’t you? And your brother and his wife too?”

  “I’m staying at the hotel. Mr. and Mrs. Ames will be at the church, and I must ready the bridal breakfast,” Beulah said.

  “Oh,” Belle said, the disappointment clear on her face. “I wanted you and Brother Freeman to be there.”

  Arlo huffed into the kitchen, dragging boxes and a trunk behind him. “This here’s the last of Mr. Jackson’s books. Where do ya want ‘em?”

  Belle jumped up and directed him to the fourth room of the house. “In here.”

  He dragged the trunk to a small room behind the kitchen with two large windows.