Just North of Bliss (16 page)

“I’m glad, dear. I felt badly, leaving you
that way.”

“Me, too,” said Amalie, who didn’t look as
if she’d felt badly at all. She was skipping along, as bright and
eager as ever, her blue eyes sparkling.

The truth was that Belle had enjoyed her
time alone with Win. She was ashamed of herself for it. He’d
treated her as if she were special, which was a novelty in Belle’s
experience. She’d been thinking about it all morning long, in fact,
because according to all the values she’d been taught as a child,
being treated as if she were special shouldn’t have been such a
blamed novelty. According to what she’d been taught, southern
ladies
were
special, and southern gentlemen treated them as
such. But it had been Win Asher, a blasted northerner, who’s
pointed out her own lack of special treatment. Fiddlesticks. Still,
it had been a pleasant change for Belle.

What had been really wonderful was that he’d
taken her up on the Ferris wheel after she’d posed for him. Now
that had been truly special. The fact that they’d been in the
carriage with fifty-eight others had removed any hint of
impropriety, too, even though they had been sitting rather close to
one another. Belle got tingles when she thought about it. She knew
that was a bad thing and tried to stop it but couldn’t.

She, Gladys, and the children spent an
enjoyable morning taking in the sights, sounds, and tastes of the
Columbian Exposition. Belle was especially taken with the African
village, with its tribe of Zulu warriors. Or perhaps they weren’t
warriors. They appeared exotic and dangerous, whatever they
were.

“Oh, boy, I wish I was an African,” Garrett
whispered as he stared with round eyes and glowing cheeks at the
enormous spears carried by the tribesmen.

“Good heavens, Garrett!” Belle exclaimed,
astounded. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to give up
civilization for barbarism.

Eyeing the spearsmen more closely, she
decided at last that she could understand the appeal such a life
might have for a small boy child. He could run around practically
naked, act like a perfect savage, kill wild animals, and tell tall
tales about his heroic deeds, and people would praise him instead
of making him change his clothes, bathe, and behave himself.

While she’d lived in Georgia, she’d never
once thought that other ways of life might be as precious to those
living them as hers was to her. It almost, but not quite, gave her
a better opinion of Yankees. Wherever she lived, Belle still
thought she’d prefer a life lived around people with manners and
consideration for others.

A light breeze blew in from Lake Michigan,
carrying with it the tang of the open sea to Belle’s fanciful mind.
She’d seen the ocean a couple of times, but this lake was at least
as impressive as the glimpses she’d had of the Atlantic Ocean.
Gulls and other sea birds apparently thought the same thing,
because they resided on Lake Michigan, too. As well, there were
ducks and geese and any number of other birds flying around,
searching for food.

Pickings were good for the birds, what with
crumbs of bread and kernels of popped corn being dropped by fair
goers all day and practically all night. Belle’s rebelliously
single-minded brain returned to the Ferris wheel, and she sighed
dreamily.

“What is it, Belle?”

Turning to Gladys, Belle was embarrassed to
find that she was being scrutinized by that lovely lady. “Oh,
nothing,” she said, trying for an airy note. “I was just thinking
about . . . something.”

Gladys was silent for a moment. Amalie and
Garrett were so busy taking in the sights and sounds of the fair
that they weren’t paying any attention to their adults. Mr.
Richmond had gone off to some office somewhere in Chicago to
transact business, so the ladies and Garrett were on their own
today. Belle preferred it this way. Men only got in the way. Most
men. Most of the time.

Win Asher hadn’t been in the way last night.
In fact, he’d definitely added to the enjoyment of Belle’s
evening.

“Mr. Asher is a good-looking man,
Belle.”

Gladys’s comment hit Belle’s eardrums with a
thud, and she gave a visible start. She whipped her head around and
gaped at Gladys. “I beg your pardon?”

Gladys smiled sweetly. “You heard me, Belle.
I said I think Mr. Asher is a very good-looking man. He also has a
good business, from the looks of things, and his prospects appear
quite superior, particularly since he’s in an unusual line of work.
A girl could do worse.”

What girl? Belle blinked at her employer,
not sure she’d understood Gladys’s message. Although she wasn’t in
the habit of repeating herself, and she possessed a quick mind and
a sprightly turn of phrase under most conditions, the only thing
she could think to say at the moment was another, “I beg your
pardon?”

Gladys took Belle’s arm in a tender grip.
“Belle, Belle, you’ve been mooning around all morning long. I hope
you won’t allow yourself to fall too hard for the photographer,
dear. At least not until we know more about him. He seems like a
good man, but one can never tell about these things. I’ll be happy
to check into his background if you really think you’re interested
in him.”

More horrified than stunned, Belle could
only continue to stare at Gladys for several seconds. Fortunately
for her, the children were absorbed in watching a couple of
peacocks spread their tails for a peahen who was strolling nearby
and trying to appear disinterested.

It took Belle almost a full thirty seconds
to collect her staggered senses before she burst out, “Good
gracious sakes alive, Mrs. Richmond! Whatever
are
you
thinking?”

Gladys sighed. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t
mean to upset you. But I did think I detected a certain amount of
mutual interest on both your parts.”

The weather on this typical Chicago summer
morning was already moist and quite warm. Now Belle discovered she
needed to fan her face, which had taken to burning like a hot coal.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if steam had risen from the tip of
her nose or her chin. She fumbled in her reticule for a few moments
before she yanked out her fan and applied it vigorously. “Land’s
sake, Mrs. Richmond—”

“Will you
please
call me Gladys,
Belle?
Mrs. Richmond
is my mother-in-law, and I’m
not
that lady, however fine and good she is.” Gladys shuddered
eloquently. “Besides,” she added, sounding almost as if her
feelings were hurt, “I consider us much more than employer and
employee, Belle. I would like you to consider me your friend.”

Belle might have laughed—as, most likely,
Gladys had intended she do—if she weren’t in such a state of shock.
“But Mrs.—er, I mean Gladys, I assure you, I’m not interested in
Mr. Asher. Nor,” she amended, trying not to sound bitter about it,
“is he interested in me.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Gladys patted her
on the arm. “But I have eyes. Whatever his intentions, if it turns
out that they are dishonorable, I want you to tell me, Belle.
Please promise me that.”

“
What
?” Unaccustomed to shrieking in
public, Belle was aghast at the ghastly noise she’d just made. She
was even more aghast when people turned to look at her.

“Gee whiz, Miss Monroe, did a wasp sting
you?” Garrett appeared more fascinated than distressed by the
prospect. “Can I see?”

Amalie whacked her brother on the shoulder.
“That’s not nice, Garrett!” Before Belle could take her to task for
resorting to violence on her behalf, Amalie looked up at her in
sincere concern. “What’s the matter, Miss Monroe? Did a wasp sting
you?”

Belle would have liked to tell her what the
matter was, but she didn’t know what to say. Words swirled around
in her head, but none of them fell into coherent sentence order.
“I—er—um . . .”

“It’s nothing, children,” Gladys said,
taking pity on Belle. With a huff, Garrett grumbled, “That was a
heck of a noise for nothin’.”

Amalie hit him again. “Don’t say
heck
, Garrett! That’s swearing!”

Garrett raised his arm to strike back, and
Belle snapped out of her stupor. Her hand whipped out like
lightning and grabbed Garrett’s wrist before he could lay his
sister out on the Midway. “That’s enough of that, Garrett.”

“But she started it!”

“Yes, dear, I know.” Belle turned and
frowned down at Amalie, whose expression had taken on a mulish
cast. “Amalie, it is very unladylike to strike another person,
especially if he has done nothing to you.”

“But he said—”

“Enough of that.” Belle released Garrett’s
wrist when she judged he was under control. “Never strike another
person, Amalie. It’s wrong and bad, and I’m disappointed in
you.”

“As am I,” said Amalie’s mother, who was a
good support in disciplinary matters, even if she couldn’t have
controlled her own children with an electrified cattle prod of the
sort they’d seen in the Agricultural Building.

Amalie’s stubborn expression didn’t abate
appreciably.

Determining Amalie was under control, if not
happy about it, Belle turned her attention to Garrett. “And as for
you, young man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. No matter what
the provocation, a proper gentleman never strikes a lady.”

“You just said she’s not a lady,” Garrett
pointed out sulkily. “She’s just a bratty little girl.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

In an effort to forestall a fruitless
argument, Belle swept Amalie up into her arms. “That’s enough from
both of you.”

“I should say so!” Gladys, frowning as
fiercely as someone of her gentle disposition could, grasped
Garrett by the hand. He tried to pull away, but she held fast. “No,
young man. If you can’t behave in a manner that doesn’t put your
parents to shame, I shall hold your hand until you can.”

Emitting a noise that sounded like a cross
between a whine and a snarl, Garrett subsided. Belle tried not to
smile, but she recognized his expression as one of sublime
frustration. She was also extremely grateful to the children for
interrupting what had become a disturbing conversation.

She was appalled to learn that her private
feelings about Win Asher were so plainly discernible, at least by
Gladys. Not, naturally, that she had any private feelings about
him. True, she’d enjoyed herself with him last night, but she’d
enjoyed herself with lots of young men before. She was, after all,
a Monroe from Blissborough, and thus sought after by the swain of
Blissborough and its surrounding towns and villages.

It was also true, unfortunately, that her
family had no money, but they had an old and honorable name, and
Belle had been sought by plenty of men. The fact that she hadn’t
taken to any of them—indeed, that she’d found them all flat and
uninspiring—didn’t mean a thing, except that her standards were
high.

And the very notion of falling for a Yankee
was enough to make a young southern lady faint dead away.

Except that Belle, in a gesture so
extravagant as to have given her palpitations at the time, had
dispensed with her corset this morning. With an internal grin, she
guessed she wouldn’t do any fainting today.

She’d intended merely to loosen her stays a
bit. But the weather had boded miserably hot and humid again, and
after considering the matter long and hard, she’d decided to take
the outrageous step of discarding the garment altogether. She’d
been scared to death for the first hour or two of her day, until
she realized nobody seemed to have noticed her shocking
behavior.

Life was infinitely more comfortable without
a corset. Of course, it helped that Belle possessed a slim figure
and had no unsightly bulges or protuberances that might have
embarrassed her if they’d been displayed to the general public.

The Richmonds and Belle been strolling along
the Midway Plaisance, on their way to Win’s booth. They continued
to do so in their new configuration—Amalie in Belle’s arms and
Garrett’s hand being held by his mother—for several more minutes
before Gladys spoke again. Belle wished she hadn’t once she heard
what she had to say.

“I’m sorry if I disconcerted you, Belle. If
you’d like to chat with me about anything, including Mr. Asher,
please don’t be shy about it.” She gave Belle such a speaking look
that Belle felt herself blush again.

“Truly, Gladys, there’s nothing to talk
about,” she muttered under her breath, wishing she believed it. The
truth of the matter was that she’d been thinking about Mr. Win
Asher a lot these past couple of days. She’d also believed that her
innermost thoughts were hers alone; she’d had no idea Gladys had
stumbled on to her secret.

Gladys kept gazing at her in a manner that
let Belle know she didn’t believe a word of it, and it was all
Belle could do not to twitch and squirm. As luck would have it, she
spotted a booth that made her thoughts careen in an entirely
different direction.

“Oh, look over there!” Because Amalie was in
her arms, and Belle was in the North where her parents couldn’t see
her, she pointed. “That’s Madame Esmeralda’s Fortune-Telling
Booth.”

“So I see,” said Gladys, who sounded as if
she didn’t understand Belle’s fascination with the place.

“I met a young woman in Mr. Asher’s shop who
works there. She dances at night at the Egyptian Palace and tells
fortunes during the day.” She paused, wondering if she should
impart any of her initial impressions of the young woman.

“Really?” Gladys sounded interested, so
Belle went ahead and gave her companions a vivid description of
Miss Finney’s attire at the time of their meeting. She left out the
fact that Miss Finney had used profanity, since Belle cringed
inside every time she relived the incident.

“What’s a fortune teller?” Amalie asked.

“Well,” said Belle, glad for this diversion
in the conversation. She really didn’t want to talk about Win Asher
with Gladys. Or anyone else. “There are some people who claim they
can tell a person’s future by reading palms or looking into crystal
balls. I think they also deal out different kinds of cards and
claim they can read a person’s future in the results.”