by Bush, Holly
Mary Ellen had found a desk in the basement of the hotel and had it brought by that morning. Belle planned on the room being Reed’s workroom. She stacked Reed’s books on the shelf there and fussed over where the desk would sit to get the most light. Belle understood why Beulah and Mary Ellen had wanted to use the room for storage, but she would not hear of it. The small pantry in the kitchen held clean sheets and linens and canned goods as well. She didn’t care. Belle wanted Reed to have an office like every other attorney would have.
The women left shortly, and Belle sat at the kitchen table and thought about this upcoming marriage and her husband-to-be. And her first kiss. Her vision, right and left had blurred, with just Reed’s face clear before her. From the haziness she saw his hand reach for her face. She had leaned into his fingers and closed her eyes. His hand was warm and sure, and intimate and she felt an energy when his lips touched hers, as if her strengths and his would now be forever shared and tangled and would produce a single stronger being. Kiss me forever, she had thought to herself.
Belle slowly alphabetized Reed’s books. She touched the mantel and moved the red glass candlesticks an inch. She stared at the dreary brown curtains and decided on a yellow print of some kind. Her new clothes now lay in the dresser and hung beside Reed’s in a closet. She fingered a taffeta dress. Reed could not know what it meant to her when he had called her stunning. She had looked it up in the dictionary to make sure of its meaning. A lifetime of repeated slurs warred with his compliment. He thinks I’m beautiful. Nobody has ever told me that, she thought, as she looked into the mirror above their dresser and turned her face right and then left. Belle did know the clothes would suit the wife of a lawyer. And Reed wanted her to look and be the part.
Belle turned and looked about their bedroom. The clean white sheets of the bed were pulled tight, covered by a wool spread and topped with pillows. She could not in her wildest dreams have imagined a house like this for a girl like her. A farm house, yes. A rancher’s cabin, yes. But never, ever a house with a picket fence, near town with gleaming store-bought furniture. Belle pulled the door shut and locked it, smiling.
* * *
Reed was at the altar, with Henry beside him. The day had dawned crisp and cool, and he sat silently while Henry spoke to the minister. Tom and Frank Richards sat in the first pew. Reed caught the faint smell of liquor.
Reed knew Belle was in the vestibule of the church with Mary Ellen. His wife-to-be, a stranger at best, soon to be walking down the aisle to him. Reed had written his parents of his upcoming wedding, never thinking their absence would matter. But now as he looked around the silent church he wished something familiar were here. Lilies from his mother’s garden, the scent of his father’s boot soap, something, anything to connect this future to his past. But would he have been happy with Winston as best man and Belinda as bridesmaid? No. Henry had fussed over him and elbowed him and straightened his tie time and again, gallantly pushing aside a groom’s nerves with chatter.
Mary Ellen and Henry planned festivities surrounding this event as if they were indeed a family. Champagne was chilling, and cook was fussing over his creations for the bridal breakfast at the hotel. Beulah and Mary Ellen dragged themselves back from his new home the last two nights, looking worn for wear. They were helping Belle ready the house and neither woman smiled as he pointed out cobwebs in Beulah’s black hair or the grime marking Mary Ellen’s face.
Henry had helped him pack his things, and when Reed protested the fuss, Henry muttered something about not being the one to tell Mary Ellen the packing was not complete. Reed had seen nothing of his bride. But he knew this morning, as maids scurried around clutching ribbons and thread, that Mary Ellen and Beulah helped her dress. Everyone seemed cheerfully tense, and Reed supposed this, too, was part of making the wedding day memorable. It was certainly nothing compared to the wedding he had envisioned. The ceremony would have been held at the gazebo near his mother’s gardens with hundreds of guests in attendance, cypress trees swaying gently as a Southern belle daintily made her way to him on the arm of her father. Belle had wanted to walk down the aisle alone.
Reed turned when he heard rustling in the foyer. And he knew if he didn’t soon breathe, he would pass out and embarrass himself on his wedding day. But the vision of Belle did not allow his brain to focus on any small detail such as air to his lungs. She smiled at him. He could not respond. She stepped into the beam of light coming through the window, and Reed lost his sense of time and space. Belle was beautiful, without a doubt. Upswept, chocolate-colored hair, drifting down in ringlets to grace white shoulders. A gold dress shot through with green made her eyes twinkle like jewels. She carried summer flowers in gloved hands.
But it was not Belle’s dress or hair that made him swallow. Nor was it the graceful curve of her neck. Not the swell of her bosom above a low-neck line that drew him. It was her. Simply her. Stunning or not, it was Belle who connected to him with an invisible thread that he could not yet fathom. Belle that spooled closer with every step. Suddenly, she was beside him. Reed’s head snapped to the minister as the other world, holding he and Belle alone, dimmed, and the presence of reality reminded him to take her hand.
* * *
Belle listened carefully to every word the minister said. This was her first and last time at the altar, and she wanted to be able to replay the words in her head. She glanced down at Reed. He seemed grim and, maybe, afraid. His head raised to her bowed one, and he looked at her as if he were clinging to her for dear life. Or facing a rattlesnake without a pistol. Belle smiled with the silly thought, and she noticed Reed’s mouth trembling into a smile. The minister instructed them to seal the vows with a kiss, and Belle leaned down to Reed.
He wound his hand through curling tendrils on her neck to the soft skin at the base of her hair. He held her still, staring into the eyes, and kissed her tenderly. Belle straightened, blushing, and Mary Ellen wiped her eyes and hugged her. Henry pumped Reed’s arm and kissed Belle on the cheek. Reed handed Henry a small pouch.
Her father stood and took the bag from Henry’s outstretched hand. Frank stood beside their father and smiled a silly, lop-sided grin. Belle smiled back and looked for Beulah.
The wedding breakfast that followed was a quiet affair. Just Henry, Mary Ellen, Reed and Belle. It was fine with Belle. She felt like a princess and yet wanted to hurry home to her new life. Belle declined champagne and watched Reed drink her share and his. Had she traded one master with a drink in his hand for another? She sat her chin in her hand and listened to her husband discuss a client with Henry. He didn’t seem angry like her father did when he drank. Reed’s eyes didn’t water and weren’t red-rimmed. He talked more when he drank, she decided. Maybe he’d tell her why he was so often dour and unsmiling.
Mary Ellen helped her change late in the afternoon. The dress she was to wear home lay on the bed. Otherwise, the room was devoid of anything that was hers. The Ameses would rent this room tonight, and she would sleep with her husband.
Mary Ellen stood and held Belle’s hands. “Trust your instincts, Belle. And trust your husband. Everything will be fine.”
Belle smiled. She wasn’t really nervous. Some butterflies in her stomach but otherwise sure of her marriage. “I’ll be fine. I could never repay you or Mr. Ames for the kindness you’ve shown me. The clothes, the roof over my head, but most of all for treating me like family when I’m not.”
“We are family now, Belle.” Mary Ellen tilted her head. “And somehow I think that whatever God puts in your path, you’ll overcome and make your way through. You’re a strong woman, Belle Jackson. You will have to be strong for Reed sometimes, I think.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Belle dropped her head. “Men have the last word. I learned that lesson long ago.”
Mary Ellen shook her head with a wistful smile. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Belle. Or women for that matter. Women make homes, raise children and keep families together against all odds. That’s what you did all
those years after your mother died. Men go off to work or war and never wonder why there is food on the table or why their children read. But we know why. While they fight for money or ideas, we fight for the most important thing in the world.” Belle tilted her head, and Mary Ellen continued. “We fight for love, everyday. For our children, for ourselves, for the men in our lives.”
Mary Ellen kissed Belle’s cheek and spoke to her like she was someone worthy of words. They had talked. This is what it feels like, Belle thought, to listen, to learn, to share with someone else. Mary Ellen voiced those untouchable subjects that Belle yearned for. Belle greeted Reed at the bottom of the steps with new confidence.
* * *
Twilight approached when Reed and Belle entered their new home. Reed wheeled through the house and saw the fruits of Belle, Beulah and Mary Ellen’s efforts. The furniture and floor gleamed, and the house smelled clean. The davenport now sat in front of the fireplace with two chairs on either side. Someone had lit the fires, and the room had a soft, homey appeal, something his hotel room had lacked. The bedroom door sat ajar, and he noticed as he wheeled to the kitchen the spread on the bed was turned down. He swallowed.
“You didn’t go in the other room,” Belle said from behind as he looked about the kitchen, stocked and readied.
“What other room?”
Belle smiled. “The one behind the kitchen. Come on.”
Reed was pleased with what Belle had accomplished, but this was hardly a castle. Nothing compared to Bristolwood. The slaves’ quarters were larger, and the furniture he now rented would have been given to charity years ago. She seemed expectant though, as she opened the door to a small room.
He went past his wife into the room and stopped. A large desk sat between two windows. Although old and scratched, it gleamed in the light from the setting sun. His law books stood neatly in shelves near the desk. Belle fluttered around him, moving books a smidgen and turned to face him.
“You have an office now. Just like other attorneys,” she said. “I know it’s not big, but the light’s the best in this room.”
He wheeled up to the desk and laid his hands flat on the piece of felt that someone had placed there. Reed looked up to Belle. “You planned this?”
Belle nodded.
“Thank you, Belle. Very nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
Reed took her hand. “The house looks wonderful. You’ve done a good job. Especially this room.”
“I thought you didn’t like it.”
Reed shook his head. “No. I was thinking of my office back home. It was huge with bookcases to high ceilings.” Belle’s face fell. “I never felt comfortable there. This is much better.”
Belle smiled as she moved past him, and he followed her to the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat? Mary Ellen and Beulah left all kinds of things for us.”
Belle peered into an icebox.
“I couldn’t eat anything. Too much at the breakfast,” Reed said.
Belle took a deep breath and folded her hands at her waist. “Well, then. Let’s get to it. I’ll go change.”
“What are you talking about?” Reed asked.
Belle motioned with her head down the hall.
Reed eyed her. “The bedroom?”
Belle nodded.
“We don’t have to hurry, Belle …”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to now.”
“I thought maybe we could open one of those bottles of wine and sit in front …”
“That’s like waiting at the barber’s before he pulls one of your teeth. Just sitting there, thinking about it.”
Reed drummed his fingers on his thighs. Maybe his young bride was wise beyond her years. He both dreaded and anticipated their first time. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to change in the bedroom and get myself into the bed.”
Belle looked at the ceiling. “That’s fine. There’s a basin with water in there. I’ll wash at the sink. And put my night clothes on.”
Reed went to the bedroom. He pulled himself up on to the bed, took off his clothes and brought the blanket to his waist. He waited.
“Can I come in?” Belle said as she knocked, opened the door a crack and saw him in bed. She came in the small room and stared at him.
Belle was sexy and lovely and virginal all at the same time in a fluttering, filmy gown and robe. “Come lay beside me,” he said. “Are you comfortable? Anything you want to ask is fine. We’re married now,” Reed asked as she lay down and turned over to face him. His eyes drifted from hers to a mountain of cleavage above her nearly see-through gown. He licked his lips.
“Well,” Belle began, “my pa …”
“Forget everything your father told you.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean to sound gruff.” Reed said and pulled her into his arms. He smelled roses. “Did you want to ask me something?”
“Are you going to be able to get on top of me?” she whispered in his ear.
“There is more than one way for a man to make love to a woman.” Reed’s eyes dropped to Belle’s mouth. “Did you know that?”
Reed ran his hands down the smooth skin of her arms, around her collarbone, drifting slowly to her breasts. Dear God, give me some control, Reed thought to himself. It had been a long, long time since he made love. Reed kissed her long and hard until her tongue touched his. He groaned in her mouth. He opened his eyes and found her staring at him. Lazy eyed. Her lashes fluttered, and she licked her lips.
“What do you want me to do?” she whispered again.
This was more than he could have hoped for or dreamed of. A sultry virgin waiting for his command. She was a temptress, a marble goddess, come to life. And she was in his bed. His voice grated, and he began again. “I want to see you, Belle.”
“What part do you want to see?”
“Everything,” he whispered and stared. Belle’s cheeks flamed.
“I’m as big as a barn on top.”
He arched his brows and grinned. “I know.”
“Jed called me …”
Reed put his finger to her lips. She spoke around it. “They may not, well, make you happy.”
Reed laughed. He sobered when he looked at the hurt in her eyes. “Men love breasts, Belle. Trust me. And I know,” he said and traced a finger up her bare arm, “yours are the most perfect, most beautiful ones in the world.”
She watched his finger make a lazy path to her cleavage. She stood up, loosened satin ribbons, shrugged off the robe and pulled the nightgown over her head. Reed groaned, grabbed her hand and pulled her back in bed. Her breasts rubbed his chest, and he traced the nipples with his tongue. Reed rolled on his back and pulled her on top of him.
The picture he beheld was nearly more than he could take. Pale white skin peeked through waves of dark hair to Belle’s flat stomach. Her thighs inched back and forth, rubbing the very thing he was losing control of. He pulled her to him, and her breasts fell in his face, as he ran his hands down her side, holding her lightly at her hips. He slowly began to lower her when she moaned and dropped her body onto his in a fury. It was not long before Reed gave in. “Sweet Jesus, Belle,” he whispered and shuddered.
Belle flopped down on Reed and stretched out. He brushed her hair aside and looked at her. “God, Belle. That was good. Are you alright?”
She nodded and smiled.
He kissed her nose. “It will only get better. You’ll see.”
Belle rolled off of him and snuggled under the blanket. “That’s not possible.” She rolled on her side, head propped in her hand. “That was better than cream in your coffee. Better than wading in July. Better than um,” she whispered, “than reading.”
Reed laughed and kissed her. “Better than my mammy’s crawfish stew. Better than seeing the ocean at night. Better than William Shakespeare any day.”
Belle narrowed her eyes. “Who’s he?”
“William Shakespeare?”
“Yeah.”
Reed laughed out loud till he held his stomach. Tears streamed from his eyes until Belle hit him with a pillow. “He’s an author, a writer, Belle. He’s been dead for hundreds of years,” he chuckled and pulled her close.
Belle giggled. “Oh, I get it now.”
Reed stared down at her. “Of course, you do.” He pushed the hair from her face and surveyed the woman in his arms. “You are beautiful and sweet and smart.” His eyes landed on her lips. She licked them.
“Reed?” He looked up at her. “If it gets better, I don’t want to wait. Like sitting in the …”
“Barber’s chair,” he finished.
“More kissing this time,” she said.
Reed woke up and reached for Belle. She wasn’t there. Clean clothes were stacked neatly on his chair. He heard her calling Millie.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Come get your milk.” She peaked around the door to their bedroom. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
Reed stared. “I was hoping to have you for my breakfast.”
Belle turned from the doorway and shouted over her shoulder. “You better start getting up earlier. There’s plenty of work to do.”
Reed spent much of the day at the kitchen table watching his new bride. Bread was rising under checked cloths, something simmered on the stove while Belle measured with newsprint the width of each window. Reed was thinking of a nap near three o’clock when Belle asked if he had any new paper to spare.
“I know there’s a stack in your desk drawer. Do you mind if I use some?”
Reed shook his head. Belle dropped Oliver Twist and a pile of paper onto the kitchen table. She opened the book, inked the pen and began to write. She seemed to be copying the book word for word. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Her head did not rise. “Practicing.”
“Practicing what?”
“Miss Beulah says my reading’s just fine.” Belle looked at him. “But I’ve got to know how to write, too.”
“You’re practicing penmanship?”