A Reluctant Belle

by Beth White

  For the very reason that the forge fire was in constant danger of getting out of control, the smithy had been built near a small pond. While Levi organized a line of buckets from pond to forge, Joelle ran to the house and banged with both fists on the door.

  “Nathan! Charmion! Wake up! The shop is on fire!”

  Nathan jerked open the door. “What?” At the sight of his smithy in flames, his mouth fell open. “Charmion! Get up!” He ran back for his wife and brought her out, supporting her bulky pregnant body with a strong arm. Leaving her with Joelle, he ran to join the bucket brigade.

  When Charmion would have followed her husband, Joelle held her back, made her sit on the soggy ground. “Sit here, Char, don’t put the baby in harm’s way. How are you feeling?”

  “They did this on purpose.” Charmion put a hand to her head. “Our business. Joelle, it’s all gone.” She started to cry, and then jumped to her feet, shrieking, “The house! The roof’s on fire!”

  Joelle looked over her shoulder and saw that Charmion was right. The breeze had flung sparks from the smithy to the house in spite of the water brigade’s best efforts. Levi hadn’t seen it yet. She ran toward him, screaming and waving her arms. “The house! Levi, the house!”

  By this time the smithy fire had been doused, the building half destroyed. The fire on the roof of the house burned with fresh ardor. Charmion was going to lose everything after all.

  Charmion no longer sat on the grass beside the house. Where was she?

  Horrified, Joelle saw that the front door was open. Charmion wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t go inside.

  But she might, if there was something valuable enough in there.

  Joelle looked around and realized that she was the only person close enough to have any chance of getting back out before the fire got dangerous. She ducked her head inside the dark house. “Charmion!” she called. “Are you in here?”

  “I’m looking for your dress. It’s right here.”

  “Charmion, no! We don’t have time for that.”

  “But it’s finished, and I worked months on it. We’re going to need the money.”

  “I’ll pay you! Come on!” Joelle reluctantly stepped inside. “What if you—”

  Something crashed. Charmion screamed.

  “Where are you, Char?” It was so dark, Joelle could barely see her hand in front of her face. Smoke was starting to seep through cracks in the ceiling. She was terrified. Not once, but twice in one night to be trapped in a house on fire. But she couldn’t leave Charmion alone, not even to get help. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no answer—Charmion must be unconscious. If only she had a light. Cautiously she moved farther into the room, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually shadows appeared, and she saw the outline of Charmion’s body near the rocking chair. The glint of a heavy mirror frame lay near her head, perhaps knocked over as Charmion had fumbled around in the dark.

  Heat built inside the little room, and Joelle knew she only had a few minutes to get herself and her friend out before the roof collapsed on them both. Taking shallow breaths, praying with every step, she moved toward Charmion, crunching on broken glass with every step. Squatting beside her, she saw that Charmion’s gown had tangled in a hooked curve of the wrought-iron table beside the rocker, and Joelle was going to have to turn it over to get her loose.

  Hearing a crackle and crash overhead, she knew time was running out. Gritting her teeth, she took the table in both hands and heaved it upward and over on its side, groaning as pain seared her palms. Charmion was free.

  At that moment the ceiling buckled.

  twenty-seven

  ONCE HE MADE UP HIS MIND which direction to go, Schuyler rode hard. He pushed the bay faster than he would have liked, a sense of unreasonable urgency driving him back toward Daughtry House.

  When he rode through the front gate, the house looked much like it had two hours ago when he and Levi came back together, but something was different. The stillness, he realized as he rode around the side of the house. No noise of music and laughter came from the front windows, where family and company gathered in the parlor and dining room.

  As soon as he rounded the back of the house, the smell of smoke and burning embers from the cottage roof hit him in the face. In the distance he could see flames of another building, either the smithy or Nathan and Charmion’s house—possibly both.

  Leaning forward, he dug in his heels, begging his mount for one more burst of speed, and the bay responded gallantly. Sooner than he would have thought possible, he arrived at the pond, where a line of sooty-faced men and women, half in evening garb, the other half in nightwear, toiled at putting out the blacksmith fire.

  Flinging himself from the horse, he looked for Levi and Nathan, saw that the two of them and the other men had the situation under control. Then his anxious gaze fell on the house. “The roof of the house is on fire!” he shouted and ran, looking for Joelle as he went.

  She should be among the other women, carrying water, but he couldn’t find her. He saw Selah, Aurora, ThomasAnne, Horatia, even Delfina and Mrs. Forrest. But no Joelle. Charmion was missing too.

  He grabbed Selah. “Where is Joelle?”

  Selah looked around. “I don’t know—she was right here with Charmion a minute ago! Schuyler—”

  But he was already running for the open door of the house. “Joelle! Charmion!” As he stepped inside, he heard a crunch overhead and looked up. Oh, God, save us.

  “Schuyler!” Joelle’s voice came from the interior, somewhere near the back fireplace wall. “Help me get her out. She’s unconscious and I burned my hands—”

  Hold that ceiling, God, he begged. “I’m coming. Say something so I’ll know where you are.”

  “I love you,” she blurted.

  He laughed. “That will do.” He moved toward her voice, crunching on broken glass. “What have you done?”

  “Me? I didn’t do this. One of your dragon-breath friends apparently decided to set the world on fire. Wait! Let me help.”

  Schuyler lifted Charmion, staggered a little under the awkward shape, regained his balance, and headed for the door. “Come on, I’ve got her. Be careful, there’s”—he heard Joelle shriek—“glass everywhere.”

  They made it out just as the ceiling collapsed in a shower of sparks and ash.

  Schuyler stood cradling Charmion, looking over his shoulder at his little love, seated on the ground picking shards of glass out of her size eleven feet. She was crying, which created white streaks on her black cheeks and made rivers of soot run down her chin onto her dress. Her braid had come loose and caught fire at some point, singeing about a third of her hair off below one ear.

  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “Doc!” he shouted. “Come here and take a look at Charmion.” He carefully laid his unconscious burden down in the grass, waited until the doctor and Nathan came running, and considered himself free to tend to Joelle. He walked behind her and reached down under her armpits to help her up. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m capable of lifting you straight off the ground.” Once she was vertical, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward his horse, placidly grazing not far away.

  She looked up at him and sniffed. “You’re pretty strong after all.”

  “I assume you don’t mean I smell this time.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  After a moment he said, “Thank you would be appropriate.”

  “I already told you I love you. What else do you want from me?”

  He stopped beside the horse and kissed her hard. “Stop talking.”

  “All right.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “I’m really tired.”

  “So am I. Can you get on, if I boost you a little?”

  “Certainly. Do I look like a damsel in distress?” She put one bare foot into the stirrup and hopped onto the saddle astride. “Don’t tell ThomasAnne I rode this way. She’ll have palpitations.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t know. ThomasAnne might surprise you. She was handling a bucket with the best of them.” He called out to Levi that he was taking Joelle back to the house, received an answering shout, and headed that direction. He walked beside the horse, Joelle quiet in the saddle above him.

  Finally she said, “Where did you go?”

  “I thought I was supposed to go to a smokehouse at Saltillo plantation. But it turned out I needed to be here.”

  She laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you came back. But I meant all day.”

  “Levi sent me over to Itawamba County. Turned out he was following me the whole time. You know, now that I think about it, that’s a lot like walking with God, isn’t it? You think he’s taking you into dangerous places, but it turns out he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s with you. Not that Levi is God, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I know what you mean. Levi said your friend Jefcoat is a traitor. That he was the one who killed your father. Sky, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll tell you about it sometime. Not tonight, not when I’ve just got you to myself. Now I have a question for you. Where are Mr. Frye and his lovely wife?”

  “Well, it turns out we are a resourceful bunch, we Daughtry girls. After dinner, we dressed Mr. Frye in one of Wyatt’s suits and hats, and put a pillow at Mrs. Frye’s stomach to make her look like Charmion. Doc let them take his wagon to town, saying he wanted Charmion to stay in his office for a while, since he’s worried the baby might come early.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Mine,” she said modestly. “I’m sure these fires tonight were an attempt to smoke them out. I saw Hixon snooping around the schoolroom, and thought he might suspect they’d been here. I had them in my room for a while, but then I worried that even that might not be safe.”

  “I didn’t see Hixon around tonight. Where is he?”

  “I imagine he’s snoozing peacefully under the dining room table. Doc put a little extra toddy in his wineglass.”

  Schuyler laughed out loud for the first time all day. “Resourceful indeed.” They had arrived at the front door of the manager’s cottage, and he halted the horse to look up at Joelle. “Listen to me, beautiful. Here’s what I want to do. I want to carry you inside your room. I want to bathe and bandage your hands and feet. I want to wash your hair and brush it dry, and hold you until you go to sleep. But if I don’t walk away right now, all my newfound good intentions are liable to go to, well, where they ought not go. You understand? I’ll be back in the morning.” He paused and winked. “After I’ve had a bath.”

  Joelle stood at the office window, watching for Schuyler.

  He was true to his word. Last night he had treated her like a perfect gentleman would treat a perfect lady. Carrying her into the kitchen, he’d seated her in the rocker, then brought her a bowl of water, a pile of linen rags, and some ointment for her cuts and burns. Politely he said good night without so much as kissing her hand. And left.

  But he’d said he would be back. ThomasAnne claimed not to know where he’d spent the night, though she assumed he’d taken the bedroom in the main house that had been vacated by Hixon and Jefcoat (Hixon being still beneath the table and Jefcoat languishing in a Fulton jail). It was now broad daylight, fully nine a.m. Presumably he’d managed to find a bath, maybe even breakfast by now.

  Joelle herself had risen with the first cry of the rooster. In spite of her burnt palms and stinging feet, she’d slept solidly, relaxing for the first time in weeks. She’d already had breakfast and been dressed and styled by Miss Aurora. She put her bandaged hand to her curly, now chin-length hair. Aurora had at first refused to cut it off, but even she could see the writing on the wall when the burnt third fell off in her hands as she brushed it. No matter, it would grow.

  He had called her beautiful. She had heard that word so many times in reference to herself that it had lost all meaning. But when he said it, she knew he wasn’t referring to the awkward, cinder-covered personage sitting on his horse, but to the girl on the inside. The one who wanted to love him well, to treat others justly, to write with passion and truth. Maybe they could be beautiful together.

  There he came, walking up the path from the garden with that loose, familiar stride. And he looked so fine in dark pants and white shirt open at the throat, his golden hair blowing in the morning breeze. She heard his knock on the door and ran to open it.

  She felt breathless, possibly too eager. So she scowled. “What took you so long?”

  He laughed. “It’s customary to greet one’s suitor with a ‘Good morning.’”

  “Oh. Are you my suitor?”

  “I think so. Unless I’ve mistaken you for that girl with the soot all over her face.” He squinted. “No, it’s you. I like your hair.”

  She put her hand to the curls behind her ear and twisted one. “It’s really short.”

  “Yes, it is, but it suits you. Can I come in?” She backed up and watched him swing inside, bringing with him springtime and a handful of daylilies, which he’d held behind his back. Now he presented them. “Mose said I could give these to you.”

  “Thank you. Would you like to sit down?”

  “I suppose.” Suddenly he looked a little unsure of himself. “Where?”

  She realized they were still standing in the little entryway. “Come into the office. I made some coffee.”

  That seemed to make him happy. Schuyler liked his coffee in the morning. She gave him the best chair, the one with the extra-long seat and comfortable back cushion, then poured coffee into the biggest cup in the kitchen and handed it to him. Seating herself across the rug from him, she looked at him inquiringly.

  He was silent for a long moment, then finally blurted, “Can we call this a party?”

  She blinked.

  “I mean, I know we’re having a real party on Friday, with music and dancing and lots of company, but honestly, Jo, I don’t think I can wait that long.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “You said a party. And fireworks. I’ve got the ring.”

  “You’ve got a . . . you’ve got fireworks?”

  “Come here. I’ll show you.” He set down his coffee cup with a rattle of china and bolted to his feet. Grabbing her hand, he took her to the back door, which he threw open, then put two fingers to his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle.

  Wyatt appeared from the barn, holding a paper canister trailing some kind of fuse. He set the canister on the ground, produced a flint from his pocket, and lit the fuse. It sizzled for several moments, just sitting there.

  “I hope this works,” Schuyler murmured over Joelle’s shoulder. “It would be better at night, of course, but I couldn’t wait.”

  Suddenly the canister exploded with a burst of light and color that soared into the air like a rocket.

  It was a rocket—blue and red and orange and purple—brilliant and loud. Mouth open, Joelle watched it fly skyward, still popping and spitting color, until it disappeared over the barn. Wyatt shouted and jumped, throwing a fist into the air.

  Joelle whirled. “Where did you get that?” she demanded.

  “Wyatt made it. This morning. Which is why it took me so long to get over here.”

  She tackled him. Flung her arms around his neck and walked him backward into the office, pushed him down into his chair, and sat in his lap. “Yes, this is a party. That was a pretty fine firework. Now where’s the ring?”

  He looped his arms around her waist, relaxed at last. “That’s my Cinderella. I wondered where she went. I can’t get to my pocket.”

  “Oh!” She jumped to her feet, allowing him to fish in his pants pocket. When he pulled out a small ring, she sat back down and nestled close.

  Arms around her, he picked up her left hand, poor bandaged thing that it was, and held it gently. At least her fingers were free. He slid a gold band, set with a big dark-blue sapphire, onto the third finger. “This is your grandmother’s,” he said. “When I told h
er I wanted to marry you, she insisted I bring this with me.”

  She stared at the familiar ring. She’d admired it on her grandmother’s hand hundreds of times. “Wait.” She held Schuyler’s face with her fingertips and stared directly into the ocean-blue depths of his eyes. “When did you talk to my grandmother about this?”

  “I think it was . . . about this time last week. She was very relieved to hear you weren’t going to marry the preacher after all.”

  “Schuyler, I didn’t know I wasn’t going to marry the preacher then!”

  “Well, it’s obvious you’d make a terrible preacher’s wife.” He squeezed her and nuzzled her throat. “I mean, look at you.”

  She lifted her chin to give him better access. “But I’ll make a perfect wife for a . . . what is it that you do?”

  “I manage hotels. I am an entrepreneur. We are going to make lots of money and lots of children, not necessarily in that order.”

  “And we are going to found a school. And maybe one day a college. And I am going to write a novel.”

  “And I’ll read it.”

  “Perfect,” they said simultaneously and leaned in for a celebratory kiss.

  twenty-eight

  THE REMAINDER OF TUESDAY and most of Wednesday passed for Schuyler in a love-drunk delirium. By Wednesday at dinnertime, he had begun to recover to the point that he was able to hear and comprehend words that did not proceed from the honeyed mouth of Miss Joelle Daughtry.

  Over chicken and dumplings, he heard the company talking about Levi’s disappearance, after the arrival of a mysterious gentleman from Chicago. This man had been closeted all afternoon with Levi in the Daughtry House library, then the two of them had left for Memphis—leaving behind a very disappointed Selah.

  “I knew he would do this periodically when I married him,” she told her family philosophically. “It’s a good thing I have the hotel to keep me busy.”

  Schuyler, who now considered himself one of the family, looked at Joelle with smug self-righteousness. “I’m never leaving you.” He lifted her hand, linked with his under the table, and kissed the sapphire ring.