Just North of Bliss

It took Win at least ten minutes to stop gawking at the space Belle had occupied. Had she actually meant the words she’d flung at him? Did she honestly believe he’d pretended to want her? In order to make her sign that contract?

Good God, he’d been all but trembling with desire from the moment he’d met her. It had been pure dumb luck that at first he’d disliked her, or he’d have made a push to bed her much earlier. Hell, he’d have gone so far as to marry her if he’d had to!

That thought brought him up short, and his brain ceased whirring like a broken engine part.

Good God in heaven, would he have gone so far as to marry Belle Monroe just to get her into bed? What an appalling notion.

But would it have been merely to get her into bed? The truth of the matter was that Win wasn’t sure about that; he was unsure about a lot of things lately. Truth to tell, marriage to Belle didn’t sound nearly as frightening as it had only days earlier. It actually sounded rather nice. Homey. Comfortable.

Comfortable? Having Belle scold him for calling the Civil War the Civil War and fussing about his manners twenty-four hours a day for the rest of his life?

He sat with a thump on the padded bench he’d so often seen Belle sit on. He missed her; that much was crystal clear. She’d been gone from his booth for approximately six minutes, and he missed her like thunder. Glancing at his desk, he took heart.

At least she’d signed the contract. She wouldn’t go away and leave him immediately. By the time she did leave him, maybe he’d have gotten over her.

The sick, sinking feeling in his middle put the lie to that happy thought. Win buried his face in his hands and wished he were still a little boy and only had to think about marbles, school work, avoiding spankings, and baseball.

Belle showed up at Win’s booth the next day at seven in the evening, punctual and prepared. And she showed up the next day and the next and the day after that, as well. She was proud that she managed, with very few slips, not to let her feelings show.

She’d lectured herself for hours at a time about how to behave. She cherished a feeling that if she acted as if she were a professional photographer’s model long enough, eventually she’d end up feeling like one.

Win acted like a professional photographer, too, which helped everything but her heart. Her heart felt as if somebody had ripped it out of her chest cavity, stamped on it with spiked boots, used it as a baseball for several innings, and then pierced it with poisoned darts. She’d jump out of the highest carriage on the Ferris wheel before she’d allow her agony to show in Win’s presence.

“All right, Belle, now turn so that your back’s about three-quarters aimed at me, and do that thing with your head at about a quarter turn.”

It sounded complicated, but by this time Belle understood Win’s directions. One time he’d told her to pick up a book, hold it in front of her, and then look off into the distance. She hadn’t understood the purpose behind that pose, either, yet Win had crowed over the result. Therefore, she turned as he’d requested and looked at him over her shoulder. “Is this far enough?”

She didn’t understand why he seemed to have to swallow, or why he looked distressed for a moment. Perhaps it was her imagination, because the expression she thought she saw lasted only an instant.

According to Win, they were all going to be great. Belle hoped he was right. If she got nothing but money from their association, it would be worth it. It would be worth it.

Fiddlesticks. It was no use. No matter how often she told herself money would be enough, she didn’t believe it. However, she wouldn’t give in to her emotions or give up her new profession.

Her family, while perhaps not exactly the most perspicacious, or even the most honest, group of human beings in the world, had taught her the value of perseverance. They persevered in their poverty, blame, and hatred of northerners, for instance. And they persevered in their campaign of hateful telegrams, much to Belle’s continued distress. Belle would persevere in her career as a photographer’s model, as a source of monetary relief for her family even if they didn’t appreciate her for it, and as a sound-hearted, whole human being. Not for Belle the torture of wallowing in her lost love. She didn’t want to be miserable, blast it.

“Perfect,” Win crooned. “Hold still for another little bit.” He darted over to a light standard and twisted the lamp head so that the light blazed in Belle’s eyes. She squeezed them shut; she’d learned long ago that if she dared lift her hand to shade her eyes, Win would shout at her. A sigh escaped her as Win dashed back to his camera. “Perfect. Great. Hold still.” He replaced the flash plate with another, ducked under the black curtain, and said, “Open your eyes, damn it!”

She didn’t respond with so much as a grimace to his rude command, because she knew a retort from her would only provoke a scene. Win claimed he didn’t know what he was saying during these moments of intense concentration. While she didn’t altogether believe him, she was learning the business fast. Her heart might be ripped in two and its eventual repair unlikely, but she could darned well be a professional. She opened her eyes.

The flash powder caught just as the door to Win’s booth burst open. Both Belle and Win were surprised, since not many people visited him during the evening hours. His Exposition business was carried out primarily in the daytime, and attracted ladies and gentlemen desiring family portraits or photographs of children and babies.

As soon as she saw Win duck out from under the black curtain, Belle dared to move. She was grateful for the interruption, since her neck had started aching from having to hold the strangely angled pose. A jaunty young man in a gray plaid suit and a soft cap stood in the open door of the booth, his fists on his hips, and a huge grin on his face.

“Win!” The man’s voice boomed so loudly, Belle flinched. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the noisiness these Yankee persons seemed so fond of.

A smile wreathed Win’s face when he recognized the visitor. Belle realized it was the first time in several days she’d seen him smile that way, freely and without strain.

“Perspicacious as ever, Win.” The vociferous intruder grinned like an oversized imp.

Aha. So this was the famous H.L. May, newshound and husband to Wind Dancer, Bareback Rider Extraordinaire—which she was. Extraordinary, that is to say. Wind Dancer, A.K.A. Rose Ellen May, also appeared to be a rather nice woman. It was difficult for Belle to imagine the Rose Ellen May she’d met having married a vicious or loathsome man. Therefore, Belle decided not to hate H.L. May on sight, but to wait until he did something rotten before she took to loathing him. She had no doubt that he would, Wind Dancer or no Wind Dancer. He was, after all, a friend of Win Asher, wretched deceiver of innocent young women.

“And this,” Mr. May continued, charging at Belle with a hand extended and frightening her into taking a step backward, “must be Miss Belle Monroe. How-do, Miss Monroe? I’ve just this minute, more or less, returned from your beautiful home town of Blissborough, Georgia.”

“Oh!” Too shocked to think about it, Belle allowed her hand to be pumped by Mr. May. “Whatever were you doing there?” A sneaking, burning thought began to nag at the back of Belle’s mind.

H.L. winked at her. Belle jerked as if he’d hit her. Good heavens, but these northerners were free with their manners. “Win sent me there to interview your family. You’re quite a star, Miss Monroe. Quite the local celebrity, in fact.”

“Good Lord have mercy.” Belle’s knees gave out on her and she sat with a hard thump on the platform she’d lately graced in a variety of absurdly dramatic poses. She’d forgotten that Win had threatened to send this man to torment her family. She hadn’t truly believed he’d do so dastardly a thing, although she should have. Nothing was beneath Win Asher.

“Belle! Belle! What’s the matter?” Win rushed over, sat next to her, and grabbed her hands. She tried to yank them away from him, but he was stronger than she. Plus, he now had reinforcements, the rat. Belle had no doubt that Mr. H.L. May would be on Win’s side, should he be compelled to take sides.

Since Win wouldn’t release her hands, Belle frowned at him. “You sent Mr. May to spy on my family? I remember now that you threatened to do just that very thing, but I didn’t think even you would sink that low, Win Asher.”

“Spy? Low? Damn it, Belle, your family was blackmailing you! I wanted to find out exactly how much they were suffering, and H.L. was just the man to do it, since he was itching to write about you. Damn it, before you accuse me of lowness listen to him, will you?”

“Uh-oh,” H.L. murmured, his grin not altering an iota. “Looks like I hit a nerve.”

“Ha,” said Belle, unable to find words powerful enough to annihilate the two men.

“A fuss!” Belle lunged up from the platform. Since Win didn’t release her hands, she sat down again with an even harder thunk than before. “Ow.” She wished she could rub her bottom, but naturally she couldn’t. Not in front of two men. Especially these two men.

Belle said, “Ow,” again, staring pointedly at her hands, and he let up a smidgeon.

“The only reason I wanted H.L. to visit Blissborough was because I didn’t think your family was being fair to you. Dash it, you know it’s true! They sent you all those mean-spirited telegrams, didn’t they?”

She turned her head away and didn’t answer, mainly because she’d have had to say yes, and she didn’t want to.

“So I asked H.L. to visit Blissborough and find out exactly how much emotional pain and physical agony they’re really going through from all the money you’re sending them.”

Both Belle and Win frowned at H.L. for interrupting their spat. H.L. backed away, his hands up in a gesture of conciliation. “Sorry, folks. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No,” said Win. “I want Belle to hear this. I don’t know what you discovered down there in Georgia, either. We can hear it together, from the horse’s mouth.”

H.L. grinned again. “I’ve been called lots of things in my day, Win, but this is the first time I’ve been called an entire horse. Folks usually refer to me as merely the hindquarters thereof.”

Win didn’t respond to H.L.’s jolly remark. Rather, he eyed Belle skeptically. “Do you promise not to run away if I let go of your hands, Belle?”

She didn’t want to say yes, but she also wanted to hear what H.L. had to say. Irked at having to make the decision, she heated up her frown for Win and snapped, “I’ll stay, blast you.”

She resented Win’s sigh of relief. She also resented his air of doubt as he slowly released the pressure on her hands. “For heaven’s sake, Win, a body would think you didn’t trust me!”

Belle was so offended, she couldn’t speak. That being the case, she turned her furious frown on H.L. May, who took another step back. Since she really didn’t have any reason to hate him yet, she tried to stop frowning. She wasn’t awfully successful. “Very well. Speak.” She couldn’t recall ever hearing that tone of command in her voice before, and was proud of herself.

“Yes, ma’am.” H.L. saluted, then smiled, and Belle decided she didn’t hate him quite yet, and might not hate him at all. In spite of his roguish air, which she chalked up to his being born and bred a damned Yankee, he was rather charming.

Win muttered, “Thank God,” wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and slumped next to Belle on the platform.

Because Win was slumping, Belle sat up straight and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She gave H.L. a regal nod.

Although he looked slightly startled by her magisterial mein, H.L. cleared his throat, yanked a chair around, straddled it, and started talking. “All right, then. I took the train from Chicago to Atlanta, and rented a swaybacked hack that took me to Blissborough. They tried to rent me a sound horse, but I didn’t go for it. My wife’s the only one in the family who can ride a horse, so I took the swayback.” He chortled. Neither of his auditors gave him back so much as a tiny smile, so he cleared his throat and continued, tossing a wink at Win. “You’d like Blissborough, Win. It’s very picturesque.”

Belle bridled instantly. She demanded, “What do you mean by that?” If he thought her home town was “picturesque” because of its relative poverty and lack of sophistication compared to the heathen North, Belle might just have to hate him after all.

H.L. shrugged. “It’s beautiful. And there are wild flowers growing everywhere. I’ve lived in Chicago for so long, I’ve forgotten how nice rural areas can be. I have to admit that I’ve never seen anything as gorgeous and green as it is around Blissborough. It’s a lot nicer than Atlanta.”

“Yes,” Belle said, “it is.” She thought about reminding this man—not to mention the other man present—that Atlanta used to be a lovely city until the Yankees got through with it, but she didn’t have the heart to fight the Recent Unpleasantness over again right now. Win would only make fun of her if she did, anyhow.

“And the trees. My goodness, but I’ve never seen such gigantic, beautiful old trees. And they’re just dripping with moss. Absolutely beautiful surroundings. I don’t blame you for missing it, Miss Monroe.”

Belle decided that H.L. May wasn’t quite as bad as Win Asher, although he, too, was a Yankee and couldn’t be trusted entirely. “Thank you.”

Win grunted, but didn’t say anything. It was a good thing. Belle was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from screeching at him if he disparaged her home.

“And your folks are awfully nice, too. Very hospitable. They welcomed me into their home and fed me and forced mint juleps upon me and everything.” He laughed.

Belle blinked at him. “They did?” She’d never actually thought about it, but she was rather startled that her folks had actually welcomed a Yankee into their home.

“Sure thing. The construction crew got in the way a little bit, but your mother didn’t so much as blink an eye. She’s very much the gracious southern lady, isn’t she? She managed to ignore the mess with magnificent aplomb.”

“Con—” Belle gulped. “Construction?” All the majesty had vanished from her voice. It reflected her state of confusion admirably, however.

H.L. eyed her strangely. “Sure thing. Haven’t they written you about how they’re redoing everything?”

Belle opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “Um, I suppose the letter is on its way now.”

H.L. nodded. “That must be it. They really appreciate the money you’ve been sending home. They’re installing indoor plumbing and adding a couple of rooms onto the house and doing all sorts of repair and maintenance work. You’re helping them a lot, Miss Monroe. You ought to be proud of yourself. Your folks are sure proud of you.” He gave her such a smile of approval that Belle had to gulp again.

“I figured as much.” Win’s hunched posture didn’t alter appreciably, but he did sneer a little until he caught sight of Belle’s face and stopped.

He’d better not sneer, the fiend. Ignoring Win, she said, “How interesting, Mr. May. And did they say anything about me? About my posing as a photographer’s model?”

“Did they? I should say they did! They’ve got pictures of you in albums, and a framed shot of that first photograph of you that appeared in the Globe in a prominent place on the piano. I guess the Atlanta paper picked it up, and Blissborough ran it because you’re a local girl.”

“My goodness.” Belle’s anger, which had been directed at Win and his northern neighbors, began to swerve slightly southward.

“Your folks have been besieged with friends and family members calling on them ever since that picture appeared several weeks ago. They’re enjoying your celebrity a lot. I guess your mother likes to entertain.”

“Yes,” said Belle. “She does.” And that same mother had had the gall to send Belle telegrams bemoaning her new profession and claiming Belle was shaming the family. Belle had never entertained such intense ire towards her family. Even when she’d disapproved of their profound and continued indolence, she’d not been this angry.

“The whole town—how big is it, anyway, Miss Monroe? Do you know how many souls live there?”

“Souls?” What was the man talking about? Oh, the population. Belle shook her head hard to clear it of the fuzz her rage had produced. “Um, I think about three thousand people, give or take a few dozen.”

“I thought so. Blissborough certainly was abuzz when I visited. The mayor was happy to talk to me about you and how much everyone loves you. According to him, the community always believed you’d go on to fame and glory.”

“Did your folks write to tell you that the leading citizens want to erect a statue in your honor? You’re bringing business to the community, because people have seen your photograph and want to see where you came from.”

It was Win who answered H.L.’s question. “A statue?” He shot a quick glance at Belle. “Uh, no, H.L. Nobody’s mentioned a statue. Or an increase in business.”

“No,” said Belle. “I mean, no, I hadn’t heard that.” She wanted to tilt her head and thump on it to get the fuzziness to escape out her ears.

“Well, they do. They love you there. If you ever go home again, and I’m sure you will, I’ll bet you’ll be feted to within an inch of your life.” H.L. laughed heartily. “I suspect you’ll get a parade and everything, with shy little girls handing you bouquets of flowers and every one of them hoping they’ll grow up and be just like you. I can picture it here.” He tapped his head. “Let me know when you do go home for a visit, because I’d like to cover the story.”

Belle managed to emit a sick-sounding trickle of laughter. She didn’t feel like laughing. She felt like throwing rocks at her family. Every blasted one of them. How dare they send her whimpering, whining telegrams at the very same time that they—indeed, the entire town of Blissborough—were garnering such grand returns from her new career. She didn’t dare speak for fear she’d shout.

“I had a feeling they weren’t being open with you, Belle,” Win said, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to risk her wrath.

“You mean they haven’t written you with the good news?” H.L. appeared understandably surprised. In fact, he appeared almost thunderstruck.

Win, ignoring H.L.’s stare as well as his comment, cried indignantly, “What do you mean, not exactly?” Turning to H.L., he went on like a train whose engineer had abandoned the controls. “They sent her telegrams. A thousand telegrams, all telling her how miserable they were, and that she was humiliating the family. They sent her a huge load of guff about how they were ashamed of her and embarrassed by seeing pictures of her in newspapers.”

“Um . . . oh.” H.L.’s glance went from Belle to Win, and it was as full of befuddlement as a glance could get.

Since he was right, she remained mute. Oh, but she was angry with her parents. They’d treated her as badly as Win!

“Ah, I don’t think your folks meant anything by it, Miss Monroe.” Still overtly puzzled, H.L. added, “Although I don’t understand why they’d write such things to you, because—well—they’re not true..”

Neither could Belle. She shot Win a glare to let him know he’d better not say one single ‘nother word.

H.L. went on, “When I was there—and I just got back an hour or so ago—they were proud as punch. Like I said, they have pictures of you up all over town. Not to mention in your parents’ house. Somebody’s aunt—can’t remember whose—she’s a painter?”

Since he looked questioningly at Belle, she licked her lips and said, “Aunt Mae Scudder, probably. She’s my father’s aunt.”

H.L. snapped his fingers. “That’s the name!” He smiled broadly at her. When she didn’t smile back, he resumed speaking. “Mrs. Scudder is even painting a canvas of that first picture. Your mother said they’re going to hang it over the fireplace.”

“In place of Great-Uncle Cyrus?” Belle shrieked. “The hero of Antietam?”

“Yes.” When she was through here, Belle was heading straight to the telegraph office. She was going to blister her parents’ ears with her opinion of them. Or blister their eyes. Bother. She’d probably have to wait until tomorrow since the telegraph office was probably closed by this hour of the night. But she’d do it then, for sure. She jumped up from the platform and started pacing, just as Win often paced when he was in the throes of rage or a creative idea.

Belle’s ideas at present weren’t the least bit creative. Rather, they were destructive. Rendered heedless of her audience by the stunning news H.L. had delivered, she muttered as she paced. “I can’t believe it of them. The wretched fiends.” That she’d considered Win a wretched fiend not ten minutes earlier didn’t enter her head. Win was nothing compared to her family.

Win watched her pace and felt horrible. He’d assumed he’d feel good once Belle learned the worst about her family, but he didn’t. He understood that H.L. had delivered a crushing blow to her, and all he wanted to do was enfold her in his arms and give her comfort. And if he tried to do that, she’d most likely punch him in the jaw. He sighed and stood up, sinking his hands into his pockets since he couldn’t use them to any good purpose.

“Say, Win, I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I thought you’d like to know Miss Monroe’s family is benefitting from your great work.”

Poor H.L. Win made himself smile at his friend. “It’s all right, H.L. This whole thing is a little complicated.”

“I guess so.” H.L. stood, irresolute, for a moment more, then said, “Well, I need to get to the Wild West. Rose is going to be performing tonight, and I need to see her. She’s retiring from the show after the Exposition closes.” He sighed. “But she’ll still deal with horses. She’s so good with them.”

Win watched H.L.’s face when he referred to his bride, and his heart hitched. Win had never seen such a transformation in a man as had occurred in H.L. May when he’d fallen madly in love with little Rose Ellen Gilhooley. Win had watched their wedding ceremony, along with thousands of other spectators, since Buffalo Bill Cody had talked them into having the ceremony in conjunction with a performance of his Wild West show.

Lordy, if H.L. May could get caught in the matrimonial snare and actually like it, Win guessed anybody could. Including him.

Including him? He left off staring at H.L. and commenced staring thoughtfully at Belle.

“I’ll show them,” she was murmuring as she tramped circles around his booth. “Blast them! They’ve been so unkind. So deceitful. So horrid to me!”

H.L. cleared his throat. “Say, Win, I really need to be going, but I hate to leave like this. I’m afraid I made a huge mistake in—”

“You didn’t.” Win withdrew his right hand from his pocket and clapped H.L.’s shoulder with it. “None of this is your fault. I probably shouldn’t have sent you down there, but I was so angry with her parents that I thought it might help to know the truth.” He glanced at Belle again. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Belle, through her running diatribe, had apparently heard him, because she spun around. “No! No, you were right, Win. Dash it, they’ve been positively cruel to me!”

“Um, I guess I’d better be off.” H.L. edged toward the door. He looked alarmed when Belle rushed at him, but she only clasped his hand in both of hers. Win frowned. He realized he didn’t like Belle clasping other men’s hands.

“Thank you, Mr. May. I appreciate your telling me the truth.” Win felt ghastly when she brushed a tear away. “I needed to know. You’ve relieved my mind, in fact.”

“It doesn’t look like it to me,” H.L. said.

“Perhaps,” Belle conceded. “But it’s the truth. I had to find out someday.”

“It’s been good meeting you, Miss Monroe.”

“Thank you.” She managed a gracious smile, and Win’s heart hitched again. “I’m happy to have met you. I enjoyed watching your wife perform a few days ago. She’s truly a wonderful bareback rider.”

“She’s the best.” H.L.’s face lit up. Win shook his head in amazement.

“And I do appreciate your report on Blissborough and the welfare of my family, Mr. May.” Belle’s tone had hardened, but she sounded sincere.

“Ah, do you mind if I write a story or two about how your success has altered the lives of your home town and family, Miss Monroe? I don’t want to stir up any more trouble.”

Win blinked at H.L. He’d never heard the reporter ask permission from a subject before writing a story. Maybe marriage had mellowed him more than Win had heretofore suspected.

Belle waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Write anything you wish, Mr. May. I’m sure you can’t say anything that might cause me grief.”

Win and H.L. exchanged a glance. Belle’s last comment had sounded almost ferocious. H.L. said, “Um, good. Thanks, Miss Monroe. I’ll be kind to them. Truly, I will.”

“Oh.” Now she sounded disappointed.

“They were very good to me, ma’am,” H.L. said apologetically.

“How nice of them.”

Uh-oh. Win grimaced at H.L., who took the hint and skedaddled.