“Daniel, you’re not that old—” she pointed out.
“I know, Mama, but—”
“But what, son?”
He thought for a moment more. “I like Belle—not in a sweetheart kind of way, but she’s nice. Do you know what I mean?”
Mrs. Best smiled a bit secretively. “I do, and even though you don’t like her in a sweetheart kind of way, you have to admit she is a pretty thing. Once your father thinks it’s safe for her to become a real member of the community, I expect quite a few young men will come courting.”
Daniel didn’t know why that idea should bother him, but it did.
His mother began listing Belle’s good points. “She’s not lazy, she can sew like an angel and she’s been so sweet to Jojo. If I had another son, he’d have to marry her.”
Daniel laughed. “Then it’s good I have Franny. Otherwise you’d have me and Belle engaged before Christmas.”
His mother nodded her head. “You always were a smart child.”
They both laughed.
The sound of girlish laughter drifted from the room upstairs again. “Sounds like they’re having fun up there,” Daniel said.
“It’s good to have laughter in the house again. It’s been so solemn and silent since Gran died. Jo’s missed her so much. Belle’s been good for her.”
Daniel looked toward the stairs. “Yes, she has. She told me her mother was sold when she was nine. She witnessed it.”
Cecilia Best shook her head sadly. “There’s nothing more painful. I know.”
Daniel knew from his mother’s stories that both her parents had been sold away. She’d been twelve at the time. Determined to find them, she’d run away that very same night. Her search had been a vain one and she had been lost for days. Hungry and exhausted, she finally stumbled across a farmhouse owned by a Quaker couple. They took her in, fed her and put her on the Road north to Boston. At present, even though Black abolitionists and their Quaker associates were at odds over many things, including the Friends’ continued commitment to segregation within their churches, his mother refused to hear a bad word against them. She’d declared many times that the Quakers were the best friends that the race ever had, and if you didn’t agree, be prepared to defend yourself and your position.
“You know, Daniel, your father and I have never taken a runaway into our home this way before, but from the moment I laid eyes on Belle—I can’t explain it, but I felt as if she belonged here.”
“Woman’s intuition?” he asked her. Daniel looked back up to where the laughter continued to flow. What are they laughing about? he wondered. The sounds drew him in an inexplicable way.
She shrugged. “Maybe, but in many ways, she reminds me of myself when I first came North. I was just as scared as I imagine she was before you found her.”
His mother’s voice then took on a more serious tone. “Your father’s right about keeping her close to the house for a while. Who knows what Watson and his slugs are after. I pray it’s not her.”
Daniel didn’t want it to be either. Like his mother said, Belle was good for Jojo and he loved the pest very much.
Cecilia sniffed the air. “Smells like Jo’s doing hair. Go up and tell her to put her toys away and get ready for bed. They can continue their giggling in the morning.”
Daniel nodded and headed out of the room.
Upstairs, Daniel poked his head around the open door, then knocked upon it. “May I come in?”
Sure enough, Jojo was doing Belle’s hair. The smell from the small brazier being used to heat the irons filled the hallway. Both girls turned at his entrance and Daniel stared dumbstruck at the lovely vision that was Belle. Jojo had used a curling iron on Belle’s short hair, making it fuller and glossier. She’d also tied a thin, emerald green ribbon around it and the ribbon ends played fashionably over one shoulder.
“How does she look, Dani?”
A highly embarrassed Belle instantly tore the ribbon free and set it aside on the small mirrored vanity table she was sitting at. “Don’t put your brother on the spot like that, Jojo. It isn’t fair.”
No, it wasn’t, Daniel thought to himself. He decided his mother was wrong: Belle wasn’t pretty—she was beautiful. That thought bothered him, too. Being on the edge of an engagement, he wasn’t supposed to be eyeing anyone else. Since he couldn’t answer his sister’s initial question honestly, he ignored it and replied instead, “Mama says get ready for bed.”
Belle could see him reflected in the mirror behind her. She noticed that he wouldn’t meet her eyes, so she wondered if he hadn’t answered his sister’s question because he hadn’t wished to hurt her feelings. Belle knew she was no beauty and no amount of fancy hair doing would change that. At least he hadn’t called her ugly to her face, she told herself.
Daniel could see that Belle looked a bit hurt and he was caught between reassuring her that she did indeed look very fine and his strong sense of loyalty to his soon-to-be fiancée, Francine. Since he saw no way out of the dilemma, he said hastily, “Good night. I’ll see you two in the morning.”
Perplexed by her brother’s seemingly odd behavior, Jojo asked after his departure, “Wonder what’s wrong with him?”
Belle shook her head, silently intimating that she didn’t know.
Later that night, Daniel doused the lamp on his desk and went to stand before the window. It was a clear, cloudless night, not a safe night to be moving freight because the moon lit up everything for miles around. He hoped his father and the others didn’t run into trouble.
Daniel had gone on his first Road mission at the age of twelve. His mother had been against it, saying he was too young, but his father had insisted.
“He’ll have to start sooner or later because we need all the soldiers we can get,” Daniel remembered his father saying, and much to Daniel’s delight, he’d been allowed to accompany his father on the very next trip. He found it not as exciting as his twelve-year-old self had imagined. It was January, it was cold, and after sitting in the wagon with his father for two hours waiting for the fugitives they were supposed to transport to show themselves, he wanted nothing more than to be home in his warm bed sleeping as soundly as he knew six-year-old Josephine was.
In the dark, Daniel smiled at the memory. That had been six years ago. Since then, he’d grown up, spoken at rallies, finished the men’s program at Oberlin and learned that sitting in a cold wagon meant nothing when compared with the danger fugitives faced in the quest for freedom. He’d met fugitives and prominent abolitionists, and this summer would be able to shake hands with the great Mr. Douglass himself.
In those same six years, the country had grown increasingly divided over the issue of slavery. The Supreme Court’s 1858 decision in the Dred Scott case had caused an uproar. In deciding that Mr. Dred Scott was still subject to slavery, Justice Taney had also written that members of the race were so inferior in the eyes of the Constitution that “they had no rights which a White man was bound to respect.” It was pointed out quite loudly by Black and White newspapers all over the North that not only were the Southern majority justices wrongheaded in their decision, they’d distorted history in order to make their claim. In 1788, when the Constitution was initially adopted, the nation’s free Black population had many recognized rights, including those related to the buying and selling of property, and the ability to seek justice in the courts. When the Constitution was ratified, five of the thirteen states in the Union allowed their Black citizens to be active participants in the ratification of the document and to vote on the issue.
Now there were rumors of war. Many in abolitionist circles believed taking up arms to be the only way to end slavery once and for all. Daniel believed it, too; he saw no indications that slave owners were going to free their captives out of Christian kindness. In fact, Northern newspapers had been reporting on the schemes of some Southern slave owners to move their plantations and slaves to the remote jungles of Central and South America in order to escape the U.S. ban
prohibiting further importation of human slaves. Such blatant arrogance infuriated abolitionists, Daniel included. John Brown of Osawatomie was reportedly massing an army now, and if that was true, Daniel planned on being among the first men in line.
Granted, his mother would undoubtedly throw a fit over the idea, but Daniel had always had a serious bent, even as a youngster. He’d preferred books to marbles, and found listening to speeches far more exciting than dipping girls’ pigtails into inkwells. His parents often teased him about taking life so seriously, saying he’d been born old, but in Daniel’s mind these were serious times. Three million souls were enslaved in various states across the nation, and those seeking freedom by escaping North were being hunted down like rabid animals by slave catchers armed with federal warrants. Yes, Daniel viewed life seriously; he was a Black male living in a country whose constitution counted him as three-fifths of a person. He couldn’t afford to be any other way.
Musing upon the slave catchers made him think back on Belle. He realized he didn’t know that much about her. He did know that she’d made him smile at the train station this afternoon, and touched a chord within him by relating the tragic story of her mother. If his mother had her way, Belle would live here forever and ever, amen, an arrangement he truly didn’t mind; Belle was nice and she seemed to be filling the role of the older sister Jojo had always wanted. But Daniel could still recall how soft she’d felt and how clean she’d smelled that day he’d first carried her upstairs, and those memories coupled with his reaction to how lovely she’d looked in front of the mirror this evening had not evoked siblinglike feelings at all. The way she was beginning to make him feel was much more complex, much more personal. He hoped once the newness of having Belle around the house wore off and he became more accustomed to the sparkling light in her dark eyes and the curve of her smile, wanting to know more about her would fade, and he’d view her with no more passion than the cousin she was pretending to be.
In the meantime, he’d concentrate on doing the Work and looking ahead to a future that included Francine as his wife.
Lying in bed, Belle was thinking, too—about many things: her father, the Bests, Daniel. She’d put them all in her prayers before burrowing beneath the covers. Now as the darkness surrounded her, she thought about herself. What next? Where would she go, who would she become? The thought of all she’d have to learn to be a success here in the North just about made her hair spin. Maria W. Stewart, Frances Ellen Watkins, Frederick Douglass. There was so much to learn. At this juncture, she didn’t even know all the things she’d need to learn, but she was very thankful for the Bests, and she’d told God just that. Without them she might still be wandering the countryside lost.
In the end she echoed what she’d vowed this afternoon at the station—she’d learn as much as she could as fast as she could. If her father had been recaptured, maybe she could make enough money as a seamstress to buy his freedom, if his master, Benjamin, was willing. She didn’t think he would be willing, though; her father was a skilled laborer, very valuable, and Master Benjamin had never been a kind man. But then, Belle never thought she’d ever be anything but a slave, so in her mind, with the help of the good Lord, anything was possible. She would see her father again; she just knew she would.
five
Belle’s hopes were dashed a few days later when Mrs. Best asked her to come into the parlor early that morning.
Belle took a seat. She could tell by the somber faces of Mr. and Mrs. Best that something was amiss. Before they could say anything, Belle stated, “It’s my father, isn’t it?”
Cecilia nodded. “Word has it that he was recaptured and is now on his way back South.”
The pain in Belle’s heart made her eyes close. She and her father had been so close to freedom. Now? Now, he was on his way back. She knew deep inside that no matter his own fate, he’d want her to live out the dream he’d hoped she’d find here.
William Best pledged sincerely, “Belle, we’re going to do everything we can to find him and bring him back—everything.”
“If he isn’t killed first,” Belle added softly. “He’s run before.”
Mrs. Best agreed. “Sadly, that is a serious possibility.”
Belle felt numb, as numb as she’d been watching her mother sold. “Is there anything else?”
Mrs. Best shook her head. “No, dear.”
“Then, may I be excused?”
“Of course,” Mr. Best told her solemnly. “Of course.”
Belle held on to her tears until she reached the privacy of her room. There, as the bright April day filled the interior with sunlight, Belle Palmer put her head in her hands and sobbed out her grief.
Later that day, Belle’s sad mood was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called.
It was Daniel. Belle had been crying all day. She knew she probably looked a fright, but didn’t care. “Hello, Daniel.”
“Hello, Belle.”
Daniel had just returned from putting up flyers about this weekend’s antislavery rally. His parents had related the terrible news about Belle’s father. Seeing her pain filled him with an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and shoulder some of her sorrow. “I know nothing’s going to cheer you up, but would you like to take a walk or something?”
Belle wondered if he’d come up here on his own, or if his mother had sent him. Either way, she appreciated the kindness. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”
“Not if you spend your day brooding. Would your father want that?”
Belle shook her head no. Wherever he was, living or dead, he wouldn’t want her to worry about him, but how could she not? “He was the most important person in my life, especially after Mama was taken.”
“Did the two of you live together?”
“No. He was a bricklayer. He and his master traveled around, but after Mama was sold, he never missed a Sunday. Not in seven years.”
Daniel appeared confused by her last words, so she explained further: “Many slaves are allowed to visit their kin on Sundays as long as they have a pass from the master and get back before the horn blows them to work Monday morning. He’d come every Sunday.”
Belle paused as the memories rose. “I’d wait on my mistress’s porch watching the road. Soon as I’d see him I’d fly down the steps and run to meet him. He’d grab me up and say, ‘Hey, June bug, you’re prettier every Sunday morning’.”
Daniel saw the tears in her eyes and the watery smile.
Belle whispered, “I miss him so much….”
Daniel’s heart twisted. “Aw, Belle. Don’t cry. Come here….”
The next thing she knew he was holding her against his chest and she was sobbing all over the front of his red plaid shirt.
Daniel didn’t know what else to do, so he held her tight, stroked her soft hair, and murmured nonsensically. He kissed the top of her brow and told himself if he’d received such tragic news he’d need comforting, too. He could feel the warmth of her limbs against his and smell the scents in the oil Jojo had given her for her hair. Solace was all he was supposed to be offering, but holding her so close evoked stirrings that had more to do with him as a male and less to do with a show of sympathy.
“Daniel Best! What in the world are you doing?!”
The familiar voice struck Daniel like a bolt of lightning. He swung himself around and stared into the furious tan eyes of Francine, his soon-to-be fiancée. Beside her stood his mother. He wondered why his mother seemed to be smiling.
Francine snapped, “For heaven’s sake, turn her loose!”
Daniel hastily separated himself from Belle, who, wiping at her damp eyes, appeared equally as embarrassed. Daniel had been so content holding Belle, he hadn’t even realized she was still in his arms when he swung around.
“Now,” Francine said with a fake smile on her golden, doll-like face, “an explanation, please.”
Mrs. Best took over. “Belle, this is Francine Fleming. Francine, Belle Palmer.”
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“And she is?” Francine asked shortly, looking Belle up and down critically.
“A guest,” Mrs. Best replied with just a touch of bite.
The firm tone in Cecilia Best’s voice seemed to get the young woman’s attention. Evidently she’d tangled with Daniel’s mother and lost before, because Francine suddenly found her manners. “How are you, Belle? Excuse my outburst. Daniel’s my intended. I’m sure you must know what a shock it was for me to find you two in such a—delicate situation.”
Belle now understood Jojo’s aversion to the beautiful Francine the Queen, but returned politely, “I understand. I received some bad news today. Daniel—” Belle looked to him for a moment, then added as she turned back to Francine’s cool eyes “—Daniel was comforting me is all. I’m sorry his generosity upset you.”
Daniel felt like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he didn’t like the feeling at all. He cared very deeply for Francine, but at times she tried to ride him as if he were already saddled, and this was one of those times. “Belle’s father was taken back to slavery, Franny. She’s had a rough time of it.”
Francine, swathed in a sweeping cape made of fine blue wool, replied, “That’s terrible. You have my sympathy, Belle.”
Francine then turned to Daniel. “Were you planning on escorting me to Cissy’s tonight or not? She needs to know so she’ll have the correct number of place settings.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. Belle’s world had fallen apart and all Francine could think about was a dinner party. He looked to his mother and saw the ice in her eyes. “Let’s talk downstairs,” he told Francine.
Francine turned to leave. With a dismissive wave of her hand she said, “Been a pleasure meeting you, Betsy.”
Belle’s chin tightened as she met Daniel’s eyes.
He looked grim. “I’ll see you later, Belle.”
Belle nodded.
His departure left Belle and Cecilia alone.
Belle Page 5
