Just North of Bliss (27 page)

Pursing her lips, Belle decided she’d hit
Win later. Because she liked Kate and felt sorry for her, she
smiled. “I guess I do sort of have an accent.”

“Sort of,” Kate agreed. She was in the
process of securing the elaborate French twist to Belle’s head.

“Huh,” said Win.

“My mother and father grew up in
Blissborough, before the Great Conflict.”

“The great conflict? Which conflict was
that?”

“Don’t get her started,” suggested Win. “She
means the Civil War.”

Instantly, Belle bridled. “It was
not
a—”

“Right. Beg pardon. It wasn’t a civil war,”
Win said, throwing up his hands as if he thought Belle was being
more than usually absurd. “It was a whole bunch of euphemisms for
it.”

“Oh,” said Kate, sounding uncertain.

As well she might, Belle thought
ill-naturedly. “You may think what you like, Mr. Win Asher,
I
know it wasn’t a civil war. It was a catastrophe for my
people.”

“Oh,” Kate said again.

Belle saw Kate and Win exchange a glance in
the mirror and gritted her teeth. “You northerners can never
understand,” she said bitterly. “We lost everything.” With a sniff,
she added, “My mother never got over it.”

Silence spread like a mist through the booth
for a minute, then Kate said, “Gee, that’s too bad, Belle. You mean
she went nuts?”

“Nuts?” This was a Yankee-ism Belle hadn’t
heard before.

“You know, looney.”

“My land, no!”

“Oh. Then, I guess I don’t know what you
mean. Did she lose family members? That’s terrible, too.”

“Two of her cousins were wounded, and an
uncle was killed, but that’s not what crushed her.” Belle tried
hard not to frown at Win in the mirror. He was gazing at her as if
he considered her southern relations just short of Kate’s nuts.

“They lost the family farm,” he said, as if
it were nothing.

“It wasn’t a farm,” Belle said through her
teeth. “It was a tobacco plantation, and it was a terrible
loss.”

“Oh.” Kate stuck one last hairpin in Belle’s
hair and stood back to observe her handiwork. “I guess that must
have been pretty hard, to lose the plantation.” With a grin, she
said, “I guess it pays to be poor sometimes. We never had anything
to lose. Good thing, too, or my pa would have pawned it.”

“Mercy sakes,” muttered Belle. “That puts my
family’s losses in a rather new light.”

Kate laughed. “Aw, Belle, I didn’t mean to
make you feel bad. It’s got to be awful to lose a way of life,
which I guess happened to a lot of you folks in Georgia.”

A sense of triumph swept through Belle. Kate
understood! Win Asher might treat Abraham Lincoln’s War as a mere
nothing that happened and ended, but Kate understood. “Yes,” she
said. “It did. And it was awful.”

She sat still as Kate began rummaging on the
table, lifting pots and boxes and peering at them critically.
“Gotta find the right shade here. I’m sure we have some lighter
stuff that you can use. You’d make a lousy Gypsy.” She laughed.

Belle wasn’t quite up to laughing yet.

“For Pete’s sake, it might have been awful,
but it’s been over for thirty years!”

Win’s bellow made both Kate and Belle jump.
Kate dropped a powder puff. As she stooped to pick it up, she
frowned at Win. “Who put a bug in your ear, Win? There’s no need to
shout.”

“I should say not,” Belle said.

“Applesauce.” Win lurched up from his bench
and began pacing in the confines of Kate’s booth. He bumped a table
and Kate’s crystal ball fell off its stand. Win caught it before it
rolled off the table and crashed to the floor. Remembering how Kate
had used that ball a few days earlier, Belle shuddered.

“It’s not applesauce,” she said stiffly.

“It is too!” He slammed the ball back onto
its stand. “Your family’s wallowing in the past. Why don’t they get
off their duffs and go to work, is what I want to know?
You
did!”

He left off hollering at Belle and commenced
shouting at Kate. “And do you know what her mother wrote her? She
said Belle was wrong to get a job and move to New York! No
thank-you’s. No ‘You’re a very good daughter for sending us all
your money.’ Nothing like that. She wrote that we damned Yankees
are ruining her morals!”

“Shoot. Really?” Kate decided on a box of
powder and a pot of rouge and moved to face Belle. “Shut your eyes
for a minute, sweetie.”

Belle didn’t want to shut her eyes. She
wanted to use them to show Win Asher what a rat she considered him.
Nevertheless, she did as Kate said. Trying to keep her lips from
parting enough to admit powder to seep in, she murmured furiously,
“You’re a lout, Win Asher! That was my private correspondence!”

“That letter was bothering you, damn it! I
wanted to know what was wrong and how I could help you. Your
mother’s a pain in the neck,” he shot back. “You deserve
better.”

His outburst caused Belle to forget her
eyes. They popped open, admitting a few grains of rice powder.
Instantly her eyes watered.

“Belle,” said Kate, sounding both resigned
and amused, “this will never work if you don’t cooperate.” She
shoved a clean hankie into Belle’s hand, and Belle carefully wiped
away the tears, trying to be delicate so as not to ruin any more of
Kate’s artwork on her behalf.

Before Belle could respond with an apology
for neglecting her duty, Win stomped up to the two ladies. “Belle?
Cooperate? Be serious, Kate. She doesn’t know the meaning of the
word.”

“That’s not true! And it’s not fair!”

“Try to keep your mouth closed, Belle.
Otherwise you’ll be eating the rice powder, and it’s supposed to go
on your face.” Kate laughed softly.

Belle didn’t think it was funny. She felt
herself at a tremendous disadvantage. How could she fight
effectively if she had to sit in this chair with her eyes and mouth
shut?

“Huh,” Win huffed.

Belle heard him plop back down onto the
bench. Her mind’s eye pictured him slouched there, looking gloomy,
his long legs splayed out in front of him, and his lovely,
windblown hair falling in gentle waves over his temples. Win Asher
looked like Belle’s notion of Lord Byron, only without the limp. If
one were only to look at him, one might think he was a romantic
poet. If he didn’t look so healthy, one might even pass for a
romantic poet with consumption, thus magnifying his broody good
looks. Drat him. He had no business looking so good.

“I think you two ought to stop fighting and
make up,” Kate said after a few moments of peace in her booth.

For the first time, Belle was glad she
couldn’t open her mouth. She might have shouted again, and such
behavior was both unladylike and atypical.

Win, as might have been expected, said,
“Huh!” again.

Kate’s sunny laugh kissed the air. “Face it,
you two. You were made for each other.” She placed a restraining
hand on Belle’s shoulder so she couldn’t hurl herself out of the
chair and throw things. “It’s true, Belle.”

“Good God.” Win was clearly horrified.

“Phoo,” said Kate. “Win, you’re an artist in
photographer’s clothing, and Belle is the most perfect human
subject you’ve ever encountered.”

A splutter from Win drowned out Belle’s own
muffled “Mercy sakes!”

“Hush up, both of you. Win, you’ve never
created anything as wonderful as that picture of Belle. You’ve
never wanted to. And Belle, if you think just anyone could create
that vision in this morning’s
Globe
, you’re loony. That
photograph was a perfect act of love, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you,” Win pointed out,
sounding as if he’d stiffened up considerably during Kate’s
speech.

Belle envisioned him sitting up straight,
grimacing hideously. Still being powdered, she couldn’t respond
with words, but she did manage to shake her head once before Kate
put a stop to that.

“Fiddle,” said Kate. “You two just haven’t
figured it out yet, is all. I think you make a perfect couple. I’d
like to meet a nice man someday,” she added wistfully. “Somebody
like Win, only not Win.”

Belle couldn’t stand her own silence any
longer, especially since Kate’s words and caused a river of anxiety
to flow through her. “Why not Win?”

“Hush! You need to sit still, Belle.”

“You’re crazy,” growled Win.

Belle didn’t think she’d ever get out of
that cursed chair. When she did, she saw that Kate had done a
masterful job on her. She was so surprised, she forgot about Kate
marrying Win, the thought of which had about caused her a spasm
only moments earlier. “Oh, my! I thought you were going to paint me
up like a scarlet woman.”

Kate’s grin twisted slightly. “Oh, no,
Belle. I’m the only scarlet woman in the room.”

Aghast, Belle whirled around and threw her
arms around Kate. “I didn’t mean it that way! I meant that I’d
never used makeup because I thought proper women didn’t. My mother
taught me that. I don’t know how to thank you! For heaven’s sake,
Kate, you saved my life.”

“Well then, we’re even,” said Kate.

Belle’s conscience smote her. She gave Kate
another impulsive hug. “Thank you so much. I’m looking perfectly
decent and able to meet the Richmonds now.”

Win slouched up to them. “Yeah, Kate. Thanks
a lot.”

“Too bad you didn’t bring your bonnet,” Kate
said. “Most proper ladies don’t go outdoors without one.”

The bonnet. Belle cast a withering glance at
Win, who frowned back. “My bonnet got ruined in the accident.”

Kate tapped her chin with a finger. “Too
bad. Let me see what I can create.”

To Belle’s utter astonishment, Kate actually
did create a hat of sorts for her. When she and Win left Kate’s
booth to meet Amalie and Gladys, Belle realized that she had a
whole new set of experiences and realizations to try to cram into
her southern belief system, which was getting a little cramped.

Chapter Fourteen

Win was moderately certain Kate Finney was
out of her mind, which made his own descent into insanity only that
much more distressing, since it meant he wouldn’t have a friend to
discuss it with. Why, he asked himself at least six thousand times
as he walked into the Congress Hotel, did Kate’s idea of himself
and Belle together sound so appealing? The woman drove him crazy;
he couldn’t seriously conceive of attaching himself to her
permanently. Could he?

The Richmonds were awaiting him in the
elegant lobby of the Congress. Amalie, jumping up and down in
excitement—Win wished Belle would be that glad to see him—waved and
would have called out to him if her mother hadn’t forestalled such
undignified behavior. Garrett, sporting a black eye, grinned
impishly. The Richmonds smiled a greeting. Mr. Richmond, Win noted,
looked particularly self-satisfied this evening. He reminded Win of
a stuffed halibut his uncle had mounted on the wall of his trophy
room in Philadelphia.

His heart plummeted straight into his highly
polished shoes when he saw that Belle was not with the family. His
mouth was open to ask where she was when he realized that wasn’t an
appropriate way to begin a conversation with a family whose
goodwill he needed. Instead of blurting out, “Where’s Belle?” he
forced himself to smile and say, “Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen. Where’s Belle?”

He cursed inwardly. He’d meant to spread on
a shade more butter before asking about Belle.

“She got a telegram,” Amalie announced. It
looked to Win as though she were trying to look serious. “Mama says
cables often mean trouble.”

In spite of himself, Win grinned at the
girl. “Your mama’s right about that, Miss Amalie. Cables often
bring bad news. But what’s this about Miss Monroe getting a
telegram? I hope it didn’t contain anything too bad about her
family or anything.”

Gladys said, “We all hope that. Belle took
the envelope to her room so she could read it privately. I
suggested she do that, since she’s such a dignified little thing.
If it did contain bad news, I didn’t want her to feel constrained
by our presence.”

“That was nice of you, Mrs. Richmond.”

“I asked to go with her, but she said not
to.” Plainly worried about Belle and her telegraphed news, Gladys
shot a troubled glance at the staircase.

Win knew the answer to that one. Without
even asking, he said, “I’ll go up and see how she’s doing.”

“Oh, but I don’t . . .”

Win didn’t stick around to be waylaid by a
kindhearted Gladys Richmond. Without a backward glance, he bounded
up the staircase, glad he’d seen Belle to her room the first night
they’d worked together, since he knew which room was hers. He
trotted down the hall, his heart hammering a quick tattoo against
his ribs. He didn’t know whether that signified worry for Belle or
delight that he was about to see her again, but he feared the
worst.

He was right. As soon as he’d rapped on the
door and she opened it, his entire being lit up like the White City
at night. “Belle!” he cried, whipping off his hat. His beaming
smile suffered a slight setback when Belle grabbed onto the door
and tried to slam it in his face. The flat of his hand stopped her,
and he barged right in. “Hey, what’s wrong? Mrs. Richmond said you
got a telegram. I hope it’s not bad news.” The truth was that he
hoped her fiendish mother had suffered a stroke of apoplexy and
passed on to her reward, which he thought ought to be hot and
stinky, but he deemed saying so would be inappropriate.

Foiled in her attempt to slam the door in
his face, Belle jumped back and tried to slap said face instead. He
caught her wrist in his hand. “What the hell’s going on here,
Belle? What’s the matter?”

“You’re the matter, curse you!”

He’d never actually heard her bellow and
swear before. It was very disconcerting to hear her now, in the
confines of her hotel room. He also didn’t understand why she was
doing so. “What did I do now?” He was becoming resigned to Belle
considering him the author of all the world’s ills.