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* * *
Sidney’s head ached. He’d drunk too much wine at dinner last night after Belle’s departure and had decided against any breakfast this morning on account of the rolling waves that continued to crash against his stomach.
He’d slept badly last night, dreaming that giant monsters were chasing after him. All around him bells were ringing, and they would not stop no matter how fast he ran. He was not so foolish as to not realize that the bells in his dream were representative of Belle Reese. He did not need anyone to point that out to him. Yet he did not see the good that knowledge imparted to him.
So what if his dreams reminded him of Belle? What did that say? What did it mean? Nothing.
Yet he could not stop thinking of how angry she’d been, how hurt she’d seemed when she’d discovered not only his attachment to Irene, but that she was staying with Meadow. It had never been his intention to come between sisters, and he felt he owed Belle at least a small talk on the matter and hoped that they might come to some cordiality. Perhaps he might even be able to repair the rift he’d helped to cause last night.
Mrs. James’ boardinghouse was a neat, tight little building. He knew well that she ran the place with immaculate detail; she paid attention to everything from the breakfast she put out to the comings and goings of her customers.
When Sidney rang and asked to speak with Belle, Mrs. James eyed him suspiciously. “I know you,” she said. Her hair was dark and tidy, her eyes a matching shade of brown, and her features presented the overall appearance of a woman bent on being angry at someone for a good portion of her day, whether they deserved it or not.
“You’re the barber,” Mrs. James said. “What do you want with Miss Reese?”
“I only wish to speak with her,” he said, smiling and hoping he passed whatever mental test she was administering against him.
“How’d you know she was here? She only just came to me last night.”
“I called on her sister, Summer, earlier this morning, and she informed me of Miss Reese’s decision to board here for the time being.”
Mrs. James cocked an eyebrow at him. “The breakfast hour’s just finished. You called on Summer so early?”
Sidney hesitated. “It’s important that I speak with Belle,” he said, hoping that enough of an answer to satisfy the woman. He did not like being interrogated, and he did not think it at all necessary simply for him to gain a word with Belle.
Mrs. James evidently decided that he was worthy of Belle’s attention because she let him in and showed him to the parlor. “I’ll just fetch her for you. You stay here.”
He nodded, and she watched him until he sat. Then she disappeared. Sidney stood the moment she was gone, unable to keep his body from stirring. His feet wanted to move; his hands wanted something to do.
When Belle finally entered the parlor, Mrs. James at her side, Sidney was shocked to see bags under her eyes and her cheeks puffy. It looked as though she had not slept for even a minute during the night. He forgot himself for the moment and went to her.
“Belle, are you all right?” He stretched out one hand and lay it gently on her shoulder. She looked at it, her eyebrows drawing together, and stepped away from him.
Mrs. James cleared her throat, and Sidney blushed. “I’ll get coffee. I won’t be long... or far.” She disappeared then, leaving them alone.
“What are you doing here, Sidney?” Belle asked.
“I might ask the same of you,” he said. “Why are you not at Summer’s?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Summer is selfish.”
Sidney’s eyes widened and then narrowed. Her words incensed him for some reason. “No, Belle, you are the selfish one.”
She scoffed. “If you’ve come to apologize, that is a fine way to start it off.”
“I did come to apologize,” he said, his senses suddenly overtaking his rational thought, “but I see already what a mistake that was. You think of no one but yourself.”
“How can you say such a thing to me?” she demanded. “Since my arrival, I’ve thought only of you and my sisters.”
“If that were true, then you would not be so cold-hearted toward them now. Of me, perhaps, you might feel justified in your hatred, but they have done nothing wrong.”
She turned away from him and, almost so quietly he could not hear, said, “I don’t hate you.”
He sighed and crossed the room to her but did not touch her. “Belle, I came here because I do not want to come between sisters. When I made my arrangements with Irene and Meadow, none of us had any idea of your plans to come here. Certainly not of your idea that you and I... might be married.”
Her shoulders shook suddenly, and he took a step to his left so that he might get a look at her face. She was wiping her eyes. She caught him looking and turned the other way.
“If you had but written to me...” he said. “Expressed your desire to see me.”
“It’s no matter,” she said. “I was wrong in my plans, but only in so far as they concerned you.” She turned to him now, and whatever tears she’d shed were gone. Her eyes were steel. “I did not wish to marry you for love, but only because I thought it would make things easier for me. I missed my sisters and wanted to move here, but I did not want to burden them.”
Her words stung him even though they echoed his exact thoughts on the matter from the moment of her arrival. “I thought as much. You cannot really care that Irene and I are to be married next weekend.” He thought her eyes rounded at his words, and her cheeks colored, but the effect went as suddenly as it had come.
“I am happy for you and Irene, and I apologize for my irrational behavior at dinner last night. I was only surprised to find my sisters had been lying to me, but that is not Irene’s fault, nor is it yours.” She spoke coldly, as if reading from a book, and rolled her shoulders back as if daring him to contradict her.
“Do not blame your sisters,” he said. “They were only trying to help me. If you want to blame someone... then I suppose you ought to blame me.”
Her lips parted in mild surprise. “I thought you wished for me to stop blaming you.”
“Better me than them,” he said.
They looked at each other a long moment. “Perhaps I was a bit harsh on Summer last night.”
He nodded, relieved that she was making sense. “Will you speak to her later?”
“Perhaps.” She bit her lip, and he felt a sudden desire to kiss it. He pushed the thought away.
“Will you return to Little Creek?” he asked, part of him afraid she would go, the other part afraid she would stay.
“I cannot,” she said. “I sold the house before leaving.”
He gasped, surprised. “You did not sell it thinking that I... that we... would be married. You cannot be so impetuous as that.”
“I was going to sell it no matter what,” she told him. The moment between them seemed to draw itself out, and he suddenly wondered what had become of Mrs. James and her coffee.
“Can we not start over?” he asked. “Pretend as if you’ve only just arrived and we’ve only just met?”
She smiled at him. “I’d like that.”
“Good. Then the next we meet, we shall do so as friends.”
“Friends,” she said, and he thought her voice sounded hollow.
“Friends,” he repeated with a nod, taking her hand. She let him, and when he touched her, something deep within him stirred as if waking up from a long slumber.
He kissed the top of her hand, and whatever was stirring came fully to life. Friends. He had many of them, and none had ever before stirred such feelings of desire in him. It caught him off guard, and he inhaled sharply. How could he be friends with someone whom he wanted so badly? Impossible. Yet he’d just promised to try.
So long as he didn’t touch her, perhaps he could do it. He dropped Belle’s hand and stepped back just as Mrs. James entered with the coffee. Already, his body felt cold and longed for Belle’s warmth. Instead, he took the hot coffee and brought it to his lips. It was not the perfect substitute, but it would have to do. Belle was off limits to him, and she would just have to stay that way.
* * *
