Belle (5 page)

Daniel could see that Belle looked a bit hurt and he was caught between reassuring her that she did indeed look very fine and his strong sense of loyalty to his soon-to-be fiancée, Francine. Since he saw no way out of the dilemma, he said hastily, “Good night. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

Perplexed by her brother’s seemingly odd behavior, Jojo asked after his departure, “Wonder what’s wrong with him?”

Belle shook her head, silently intimating that she didn’t know.

Later that night, Daniel doused the lamp on his desk and went to stand before the window. It was a clear, cloudless night, not a safe night to be moving freight because the moon lit up everything for miles around. He hoped his father and the others didn’t run into trouble.

Daniel had gone on his first Road mission at the age of twelve. His mother had been against it, saying he was too young, but his father had insisted.

“He’ll have to start sooner or later because we need all the soldiers we can get,”
Daniel remembered his father saying, and much to Daniel’s delight, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on the very next trip. He found it not as exciting as his twelve-year-old self had imagined. It was January, it was cold, and after sitting in the wagon with his father for two hours waiting for the fugitives they were supposed to transport to show themselves, he wanted nothing more than to be home in his warm bed sleeping as soundly as he knew six-year-old Josephine was.

In the dark, Daniel smiled at the memory. That had been six years ago. Since then, he’d grown up, spoken at rallies, finished the men’s program at Oberlin and learned that sitting in a cold wagon meant nothing when compared with the danger fugitives faced in the quest for freedom. He’d met fugitives and prominent abolitionists, and this summer would be able to shake hands with the great Mr. Douglass himself.

In those same six years, the country had grown increasingly divided over the issue of slavery. The Supreme Court’s 1858 decision in the Dred Scott case had caused an uproar. In deciding that Mr. Dred Scott was still subject to slavery, Justice Taney had also written that members of the race were so inferior in the eyes of the Constitution that “they had no rights which a White man was bound to respect.” It was pointed out quite loudly by Black and White newspapers all over the North that not only were the Southern majority justices wrongheaded in their decision, they’d distorted history in order to make their claim. In 1788, when the Constitution was initially adopted, the nation’s free Black population had many recognized rights, including those related to the buying and selling of property, and the ability to seek justice in the courts. When the Constitution was ratified, five of the thirteen states in the Union allowed their Black citizens to be active participants in the ratification of the document and to vote on the issue.

Now there were rumors of war. Many in abolitionist circles believed taking up arms to be the only way to end slavery once and for all. Daniel believed it, too; he saw no indications that slave owners were going to free their captives out of Christian kindness. In fact, Northern newspapers had been reporting on the schemes of some Southern slave owners to move their plantations and slaves to the remote jungles of Central and South America in order to escape the U.S. ban prohibiting further importation of human slaves. Such blatant arrogance infuriated abolitionists, Daniel included. John Brown of Osawatomie was reportedly massing an army now, and if that was true, Daniel planned on being among the first men in line.

Granted, his mother would undoubtedly throw a fit over the idea, but Daniel had always had a serious bent, even as a youngster. He’d preferred books to marbles, and found listening to speeches far more exciting than dipping girls’ pigtails into inkwells. His parents often teased him about taking life so seriously, saying he’d been born old, but in Daniel’s mind these were serious times. Three million souls were enslaved in various states across the nation, and those seeking freedom by escaping North were being hunted down like rabid animals by slave catchers armed with federal warrants. Yes, Daniel viewed life seriously; he was a Black male living in a country whose constitution counted him as three-fifths of a person. He couldn’t afford to be any other way.

Musing upon the slave catchers made him think back on Belle. He realized he didn’t know that much about her. He did know that she’d made him smile at the train station this afternoon, and touched a chord within him by relating the tragic story of her mother. If his mother had her way, Belle would live here forever and ever, amen, an arrangement he truly didn’t mind; Belle was nice and she seemed to be filling the role of the older sister Jojo had always wanted. But Daniel could still recall how soft she’d felt and how clean she’d smelled that day he’d first carried her upstairs, and those memories coupled with his reaction to how lovely she’d looked in front of the mirror this evening had not evoked siblinglike feelings at all. The way she was beginning to make him feel was much more complex, much more personal. He hoped once the newness of having Belle around the house wore off and he became more accustomed to the sparkling light in her dark eyes and the curve of her smile, wanting to know more about her would fade, and he’d view her with no more passion than the cousin she was pretending to be.

In the meantime, he’d concentrate on doing the Work and looking ahead to a future that included Francine as his wife.

Lying in bed, Belle was thinking, too—about many things: her father, the Bests, Daniel. She’d put them all in her prayers before burrowing beneath the covers. Now as the darkness surrounded her, she thought about herself. What next? Where would she go, who would she become? The thought of all she’d have to learn to be a success here in the North just about made her hair spin. Maria W. Stewart, Frances Ellen Watkins, Frederick Douglass. There was so much to learn. At this juncture, she didn’t even know all the things she’d need to learn, but she was very thankful for the Bests, and she’d told God just that. Without them she might still be wandering the countryside lost.

In the end she echoed what she’d vowed this afternoon at the station—she’d learn as much as she could as fast as she could. If her father had been recaptured, maybe she could make enough money as a seamstress to buy his freedom, if his master, Benjamin, was willing. She didn’t think he would be willing, though; her father was a skilled laborer, very valuable, and Master Benjamin had never been a kind man. But then, Belle never thought she’d ever be anything but a slave, so in her mind, with the help of the good Lord, anything was possible. She would see her father again; she just knew she would.

Belle’s
hopes were dashed a few days later when Mrs. Best asked her to come into the parlor early that morning.

Belle took a seat. She could tell by the somber faces of Mr. and Mrs. Best that something was amiss. Before they could say anything, Belle stated, “It’s my father, isn’t it?”

Cecilia nodded. “Word has it that he was recaptured and is now on his way back South.”

The pain in Belle’s heart made her eyes close. She and her father had been so close to freedom. Now? Now, he was on his way back. She knew deep inside that no matter his own fate, he’d want her to live out the dream he’d hoped she’d find here.

William Best pledged sincerely, “Belle, we’re going to do everything we can to find him and bring him back—everything.”

“If he isn’t killed first,” Belle added softly. “He’s run before.”

Mrs. Best agreed. “Sadly, that is a serious possibility.”

Belle felt numb, as numb as she’d been watching her mother sold. “Is there anything else?”

Mrs. Best shook her head. “No, dear.”

“Then, may I be excused?”

“Of course,” Mr. Best told her solemnly. “Of course.”

Belle held on to her tears until she reached the privacy of her room. There, as the bright April day filled the interior with sunlight, Belle Palmer put her head in her hands and sobbed out her grief.

Later that day, Belle’s sad mood was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called.

It was Daniel. Belle had been crying all day. She knew she probably looked a fright, but didn’t care. “Hello, Daniel.”

“Hello, Belle.”

Daniel had just returned from putting up flyers about this weekend’s antislavery rally. His parents had related the terrible news about Belle’s father. Seeing her pain filled him with an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and shoulder some of her sorrow. “I know nothing’s going to cheer you up, but would you like to take a walk or something?”

Belle wondered if he’d come up here on his own, or if his mother had sent him. Either way, she appreciated the kindness. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”

“Not if you spend your day brooding. Would your father want that?”

Belle shook her head no. Wherever he was, living or dead, he wouldn’t want her to worry about him, but how could she not? “He was the most important person in my life, especially after Mama was taken.”

“Did the two of you live together?”

“No. He was a bricklayer. He and his master traveled around, but after Mama was sold, he never missed a Sunday. Not in seven years.”

Daniel appeared confused by her last words, so she explained further: “Many slaves are allowed to visit their kin on Sundays as long as they have a pass from the master and get back before the horn blows them to work Monday morning. He’d come every Sunday.”

Belle paused as the memories rose. “I’d wait on my mistress’s porch watching the road. Soon as I’d see him I’d fly down the steps and run to meet him. He’d grab me up and say, ‘Hey, June bug, you’re prettier every Sunday morning’.”

Daniel saw the tears in her eyes and the watery smile.

Belle whispered, “I miss him so much….”

Daniel’s heart twisted. “Aw, Belle. Don’t cry. Come here….”

The next thing she knew he was holding her against his chest and she was sobbing all over the front of his red plaid shirt.

Daniel didn’t know what else to do, so he held her tight, stroked her soft hair, and murmured nonsensically. He kissed the top of her brow and told himself if he’d received such tragic news he’d need comforting, too. He could feel the warmth of her limbs against his and smell the scents in the oil Jojo had given her for her hair. Solace was all he was supposed to be offering, but holding her so close evoked stirrings that had more to do with him as a male and less to do with a show of sympathy.

“Daniel Best! What in the world are you doing?!”

The familiar voice struck Daniel like a bolt of lightning. He swung himself around and stared into the furious tan eyes of Francine, his soon-to-be fiancée. Beside her stood his mother. He wondered why his mother seemed to be smiling.

Francine snapped, “For heaven’s sake, turn her loose!”

Daniel hastily separated himself from Belle, who, wiping at her damp eyes, appeared equally as embarrassed. Daniel had been so content holding Belle, he hadn’t even realized she was still in his arms when he swung around.

“Now,” Francine said with a fake smile on her golden, doll-like face, “an explanation, please.”

Mrs. Best took over. “Belle, this is Francine Fleming. Francine, Belle Palmer.”

“And she is?” Francine asked shortly, looking Belle up and down critically.

“A guest,” Mrs. Best replied with just a touch of bite.

The firm tone in Cecilia Best’s voice seemed to get the young woman’s attention. Evidently she’d tangled with Daniel’s mother and lost before, because Francine suddenly found her manners. “How are you, Belle? Excuse my outburst. Daniel’s my intended. I’m sure you must know what a shock it was for me to find you two in such a—delicate situation.”

Belle now understood Jojo’s aversion to the beautiful Francine the Queen, but returned politely, “I understand. I received some bad news today. Daniel—” Belle looked to him for a moment, then added as she turned back to Francine’s cool eyes “—Daniel was comforting me is all. I’m sorry his generosity upset you.”

Daniel felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he didn’t like the feeling at all. He cared very deeply for Francine, but at times she tried to ride him as if he were already saddled, and this was one of those times. “Belle’s father was taken back to slavery, Franny. She’s had a rough time of it.”

Francine, swathed in a sweeping cape made of fine blue wool, replied, “That’s terrible. You have my sympathy, Belle.”

Francine then turned to Daniel. “Were you planning on escorting me to Cissy’s tonight or not? She needs to know so she’ll have the correct number of place settings.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. Belle’s world had fallen apart and all Francine could think about was a dinner party. He looked to his mother and saw the ice in her eyes. “Let’s talk downstairs,” he told Francine.

Francine turned to leave. With a dismissive wave of her hand she said, “Been a pleasure meeting you, Betsy.”

Belle’s chin tightened as she met Daniel’s eyes.

He looked grim. “I’ll see you later, Belle.”

Belle nodded.

His departure left Belle and Cecilia alone.

Cecilia drawled, “Belle, you’ll learn that no one’s problems are more pressing than Franny’s. I can’t wait to see what kind of grandchildren William and I are going to get.”

“You don’t like her either.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No, child, I don’t. Every day, I pray I’ll wake up and be told she’s gone to California to mine for gold.”

Belle laughed; she couldn’t help herself.

Downstairs, Daniel escorted Francine into his father’s small study and closed the door. She flounced down onto one of the chairs like a petulant child, saying, “I do have a reason to be angry, you know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Daniel Best, you were practically kissing that girl. Whatever is your mother thinking of, keeping a fugitive above stairs, anyway? Shouldn’t she be off to Canada or some such place?”

In the past few months, Daniel and Francine seemed to be butting heads more and more often over his commitment to the Cause. Francine had been free all of her life. Although her wealthy widower father was a member of the Vigilance Committee and donated generously whenever called upon, she herself didn’t give a hoot about abolitionism or its ancillary issues because it didn’t affect her personally, or so she maintained. She’d much rather Daniel spend his time taking her shopping or attending balls than waste the day away setting the groundwork for political rallies or distributing broadsides. “Belle’s a guest.”

“She’s a fugitive, Daniel.”

“So was my mother, and at one time, your parents.”

“But neither of us knows anything about that. Slavery is an abomination, yes, but we’re all free now.”

“There are three million slaves in this country, Francine. Half are women and children.”

“Oh, please,” she drawled out tiredly. “Must we discuss this now?”

“Yes, we must, because this is part of my life and it’s going to be part of
our
life if we marry.”

She threw up a gloved hand. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I won’t have runaways sleeping in my bedrooms, Daniel. We need to get that settled now.”

She opened her small reticule and extracted a miniature pot of rouge. Using the mirrored lid to guide her, she touched up the color on her lips, then put the pot back inside. “Are we agreed?”

“No.”

She eyed him for a few silent moments, then stated, “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why, because I got upset about you hugging that ill-dressed little runaway?”

Daniel’s lips thinned, then he simply shook his head. “No. It’s a lot of things. Mostly it’s that you don’t seem to care about what’s happening in the world around you, Francine.”

She chuckled a bit sarcastically. “I know you’re upset when you address me as Francine—”

Getting up from the chair she came over to him and placed her arms around his waist. Looking up at his chiseled face, she cooed, “Kiss me so I’ll know no matter what, you still love me.”

Smiling, she softly pressed herself against him and Daniel closed his eyes in response to the reaction that caused. Eighteen-year-old Francine was a well-brought-up, well-educated young woman from a good family. She was also what some folks called a “fast girl.” Since they were fourteen, Franny’d let him kiss her and touch her in ways that would get him a beating if their fathers ever found out. In fact, she was so fast Daniel didn’t know what to do with her sometimes, like now.

“Kiss me,” she whispered again in a voice as seductive as Eve’s.

As if Daniel were Adam being tempted in the Garden, he pulled her closer and complied.

When they finally ended the kiss, Francine held him tight and laid her head on his chest. She instantly felt the moisture left behind by Belle’s tears. She stepped back. “Ugh, your shirt’s all wet!”

Daniel touched his hand to his shirtfront. Memories of Belle surfaced but he pushed them away. “Sorry.”

Francine rolled her eyes impatiently. “So, are we going to Cissy’s tonight or not?”

He nodded. Francine was both smart and beautiful; he’d never been able to stay angry with her, no matter how frustrated she made him. Lately, however, it seemed to be taking him longer and longer to get over the frustration and to remember that he loved her. He was also beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake two years ago when he promised Franny’s dying mother that he’d take care of Francine always. “Yes, what time?”

“About half past five.”

“With those slave catchers about, we shouldn’t be out late tonight.”

“I know, and I wish someone would do something about them. It’s going to be warm again soon. We can’t have them ruining all our evenings.”

Daniel smiled and shook his head. “You’re something, do you know that?”

“Yes, I am,” she tossed back with certainty. “But I’m all yours and you’re all mine. Now, kiss me again so I’ll know that girl upstairs means nothing to you.”

Daniel grinned down. “You’ve had enough kisses for today and that door there’s been closed long enough for my mother to come knocking wondering what we’re doing in here.”

She pouted prettily. “Your sense of honor can be very tiring sometimes, Daniel Best.”

He kissed her forehead. “See you this evening.”

“Oh, all right.”

Daniel went to the door and opened it. Francine sashayed by him and he escorted her outside to her buggy and the waiting liveried driver.

“Later, darling,” Francine cooed.

A blink of an eye later, her fancy rig was moving down the street. Daniel turned to head back inside. He glanced up at the house, and just as he did, he saw the curtains in the window of Belle’s room drop. Had Belle been watching him or had it been his mother? he wondered. Unable to answer, he resumed the short trek to the front door.

Cecilia turned from the window. “Well, she’s gone.”

Good riddance,
Belle thought, but kept the opinion to herself. “How long have she and Daniel known each other?”

“All their lives. Franny decided in primary school that Daniel was the one for her and it’s been that way since.”

“Sounds like a girl who knows what she wants.”

“And what she can’t get, her papa will buy for her. She’s terribly spoiled.”

Belle got that impression. “Is she an abolitionist?”

“Her father is. She’s a shopper. We practice Free Produce here, but Franny continues to order her gowns from questionable sources.”

“What’s Free Produce?”

“It’s a movement designed to punish slave owners in their pocketbooks. Free Producers don’t purchase any goods made by captive hands.”

Belle found that idea quite impressive. “None?”

“None. No American sugar, cotton, leather goods. Nothing. It was a campaign started by the Quakers but our communities have embraced it, too.”

“So what did you mean when you said Francine was ordering her gowns from questionable sources?”

“You’re a seamstress, Belle. Have you ever seen British cotton?”

“On a few occasions, yes. It’s coarser and a bit harder to work with.”

“Well, Free Produce women buy the higher-priced British cotton for their gowns because England doesn’t have slaves. Those ladies who can’t afford the British cotton make do with their old ones.”

“Francine doesn’t?”

“No. She tells her father she orders from Windsor and Quebec, but in truth she buys American fabric. Admitted as much to Daniel. Said she didn’t like the way it chafed her skin.”

“But she’s helping slave owners.”

Cecilia shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to matter to her. That’s why I was hoping Daniel would find him someone new while away at Oberlin, but he didn’t. My son is a strong, dedicated young man. The issues of the day mean a great deal to him and he deserves a woman as special as he.”