“How about I wash today and you dry?” she asked her hostess.
“That’s fine, then we can drag out some of my old Godey’s Lady’s Books, and see if we can’t find a dress to make for me.”
Since she’d been owned by a seamstress, Belle knew all about Godey’s Lady’s Books. Each issue had beautiful plates featuring the latest fashionable gowns and accessories. Because Belle couldn’t read she paid little attention to the many articles on proper etiquette the magazine was also known for but devoured the well-done plates with their lovely dress designs.
“How about this one?” Mrs. Best asked Belle as they leafed through the pages of an issue.
Belle studied all the ruffles and flounces. “May I be truthful?”
“Of course.”
“Well, you’re tall, Mrs. Best, and all those ruffles and flounces will look silly on you. There was a lady back home. Mrs. Parly. She was tall, and I told her the same thing, but she knew better than me. So she made me sew it for her anyway. When she put it on, she looked like a Christmas tree.”
Mrs. Best chuckled. “Then I will let you guide me.”
Belle turned a few more pages, leafed through a few more issues, then said, “This is more you.”
She handed it over. Mrs. Best scanned the clean lines and the stylishly done, lace-edged overdress and asked, “You can make something this beautiful?”
“Yes, ma’am. We just need to do your measurements, make the pattern and go buy the fabric and thread.”
Mrs. Best looked over the plate again. “This is a lovely gown.”
“Yes, it is. Mr. Best will think you’re the prettiest lady at that ball.”
Mrs. Best looked up with a smile. “Then I’m in your hands, Belle.”
The two women spent the next hour talking about the dress and taking measurements. Although Belle couldn’t read words, every seamstress had to be able to read numbers and she was no exception. On a piece of paper provided by Mrs. Best, Belle wrote down the measurements and did a rough calculation of how much fabric would be needed. “Now I need some butcher paper so I can make the pattern.”
Mrs. Best didn’t have any. “How about I have Daniel bring some home next time he goes into town?”
“That would be fine. When is the ball?”
Mrs. Best told her the date. It was over a month away.
Belle did some calculations in her head. “We should have plenty of time, then.”
“Are you sure?”
Belle nodded. “Very sure.”
“Then tomorrow or the next day, I’ll have William take me to Detroit and I’ll pick out the fabric. The Second Baptist Church down there has a Free Produce store.”
“Then maybe after I finish your dress and you like it and your friends like it, too, I can save up enough money for a stitching machine.”
“Sounds like a good way to go about it.”
So that’s what Belle planned to do.
She and Mrs. Best spent a few more moments talking about the various fabrics and color possibilities for the new gown, then cleaned up the mess of magazines and papers spread out on the floor of the parlor.
“Belle,” Mrs. Best said as she headed for the kitchen, “Mr. Best and I are driving over to visit some friends in Ann Arbor this evening and we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll start dinner later. I want you and Daniel to make certain Jo gets to bed at a reasonable hour.”
“Yes, ma’am, but if you’ll just tell me what you were going to prepare, I can cook the meal.”
“No. Although I appreciate all your help around here, you’re not a servant.”
“But—”
“No buts. If you want to make yourself useful, go and take that tray in the kitchen out to the men. And tell William I said to show you the room.”
Belle didn’t think toting a tray a few feet would even begin to repay the Bests what she owed for taking her in, but she’d learned not to argue with Cecilia Best because the lady of the house always got her way. “You really ought to let me do more around here, you know.”
“Young lady, if I did there’d be no need for me. You’ve helped with the cooking, the cleaning, the sweeping, the polishing. The wash.”
Belle heard the praise in Mrs. Best’s words and it warmed her insides. “I just wish to pay you back, and this is the only means I have.”
“Well, William says if you work any harder we’re going to have to pay you a salary, so stop it. At least wait until you get your own house.”
Belle nodded. She really like Cecilia Best’s wit. “Okay. I’ll go and get the tray, but it isn’t going to stop me from offering to help whenever I can.”
Mrs. Best shook her head and said wistfully, “Oh, if only I had another son.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Go take the tray.”
Belle had no idea what Mrs. Best was talking about, so she went to get the tray. Outside it was a bright and beautiful April day. The gentle breeze ruffled the hem of her old gray gown and blew softly against her brown cheeks. The tray in her hands held two steaming cups of coffee and a couple of man-sized wedges of last night’s pound cake. It was the day’s midmorning snack for the family’s carpenters.
Belle liked the smells inside the large barn. The mixture of fragrant wood and oils pleasantly filled her nose the moment she entered. The spread-wide doors let in the sunlight, but the interior still caught and held shadows.
“Well, hello there, Miss Belle,” Mr. Best called out from behind a long bench on the far right side of the barn. He had a plane in his hands and was working on what appeared to be a set of small doors. The wood was still pale and unfinished.
“Brought you coffee and cake,” she called back.
Daniel, clad in a stained carpenter’s apron over his shirt and trousers, looked up from where he stood over some stacked planks. Their eyes met and he asked, “Did you bring some for me?”
Belle tossed back, “Nope. Mr. Best and I are the only invitees to this party.”
He grinned and felt his heart swell just looking at her. The old dress was too short for her tall, lean frame and the used shoes were scuffed, but the dark face with its long black lashes and sweetly curved lips made the hand-me-down garments inconsequential. She’d taken to wearing a long, thin ribbon around her soft, short hair, just like the one he’d seen in her hair that night up in her room. He liked that, too.
He also decided he liked her sassiness. “Well, if you think I’m going to let Papa have both pieces of that cake, you’re mistaken.”
“Oh, am I now?”
Belle knew Daniel would never return the feelings she had for him, so his friendship was her only option. It wouldn’t be easy; her heart still skipped every time she saw him, but she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life pining for something she’d never have.
The men went to the pump out back to rid themselves of the sawdust and grime, then each took a cup of coffee and a slice of cake from the tray.
“How’re the chairs coming?” Belle asked Mr. Best.
Mr. Best was building an elaborate dining room set for a wealthy White couple in Toledo. The table had been shipped to them last week.
“They’re almost done. One left to go.”
Belle could see them up on the long trestle table near where he’d been working. They were made of a highly polished wood and gleamed even in the barn’s dull light. She thought the table and chairs the most beautiful pieces of furniture she’d ever seen and hoped the new owners would appreciate the fine craftsmanship.
Mr. Best took a sip of his coffee and asked Belle, “What’s my wife doing?”
“Preparing tonight’s dinner. I volunteered to do it, but she turned me down. Says if I work any harder the family may have to pay me.”
Mr. Best saluted Belle with his cup. “Cecilia’s right. Though we do appreciate your willingness to help out.”
Belle hazarded a look Daniel’s way and found him watching her. Pulse beating, she hastily turned away. “
She said something about you showing me a room?”
Seeking an explanation, Belle glanced between the two men who favored each other so much.
Mr. Best spoke. “Dani’ll show you. There’s something I need to talk to Cecilia about. I’ll take this tray back up to the house.”
He departed, and for the first time since Daniel held Belle in his arms the two young people were alone.
seven
As the silence lengthened in the barn, Belle’s nervousness increased. All she could think about was the last time they’d been together and how embarrassed she’d been when it ended. “I—want to apologize for getting you in hot water with your intended yesterday.”
“There’s no need,” Daniel replied. “Francine understood how innocent it was.”
Belle didn’t believe that for a minute, but kept it to herself. “She’s very beautiful, your Francine.”
“Yes, she is.”
Belle needed to change the subject. She didn’t want to talk about Francine, nor did she want to remember the soft kiss Daniel had placed on her forehead while holding her, but the memory refused to stay buried. “Where’s this room your mother wanted me to see?”
“Over here.”
She followed him to the back of the barn, noting how smoothly he walked and how the muscles in his brown arms bulged above the rolled-up sleeves of his faded blue work shirt as he shoved aside a large pallet of wood that rested on the floor. Beneath the pallet lay a sawdust-covered tarp. He pulled it away to reveal a metal square set into the dirt. When he lifted the ring on the end of the square, Belle realized it was a door.
“Grab that lantern, would you?”
She handed him the lit lamp.
“Follow me,” he said.
A marveling Belle walked over to the hole and looked in. She saw a narrow flight of wooden steps leading down into blackness.
“Watch your step,” he cautioned.
Placing a hand on the cold, damp earth beside her, Belle slowly made her way down into what appeared to be a cellar. Once she stepped onto level ground and the light from the lamp cut through the underground darkness, she realized the space was more than just a cellar. There were two cots and a short, old-fashioned wood stove.
“This is where we hide fugitives,” Daniel responded in answer to her unspoken question. “Took Papa, some of his friends and me almost a year to dig it out and shore it up. I thought we’d never get done hauling dirt back up to the surface.”
Belle looked around the space and tried to imagine having to hide here until it was safe to move on to the next station. It wasn’t big and neither was it cheery, but it wasn’t slavery. “How many people have used this room?” she asked him.
“It’s been here almost ten years, so probably hundreds. Multiply our visitors by the hundreds of others who’ve used stations across the country and you’ll get thousands of runaways. The committee in Detroit boasts they’ve transported over thirty thousand folks to Canada since the mid forties alone.”
Belle found that number amazing. “There are that many people escaping?”
He nodded.
Belle could only shake her head at the sheer size of what that represented. “Yet slavery continues.”
“Yep.”
When she met his eyes this time, their gazes held for what seemed to Belle to be an eternity. The lantern gave off just enough illumination to beat back the shadows, but even in the faint light, Daniel could see the smudge of mud she had on her cheek. “You have mud on your cheek.”
Belle’s hands went to her face. “Where?”
“Here,” Daniel replied quietly, touching his finger to the spot, but he wasn’t prepared for the tingling that resulted or for how soft her brown skin would feel. Seemingly of its own accord, that same finger stroked her cheek again.
Shaking, Belle looked up at him; she’d never had anyone touch her so delicately before. Her blood felt like it was rushing through her veins.
A different sort of silence rose between them then, one filled with unspoken questions and a sense of discovery still too new to recognize.
“Belle, I—”
“Dani! Is Belle down there with you?”
Mr. Best.
Unable to draw his eyes from Belle’s, Daniel called back, “Yeah, Pa. She’s right here.”
“Your mother needs her. You two come on up.”
“Okay.”
Belle felt as if something had passed between them but she didn’t know what to name it. The moment was over, however, maybe never to be visited again. “Thanks for showing me this place.”
“You’re welcome.”
A few moments later, they were climbing to the surface and Belle was hurrying back to the house.
That same afternoon, before Mr. and Mrs. Best set off for their overnight visit with their friends, they called Belle downstairs. When she answered the summons, she saw that they were dressed and ready to go. Daniel was there at the door, too.
Mrs. Best pulled on her gloves. “Now, Belle, you and Daniel do your best to get Jojo to bed on time. Make sure her lessons are done before she starts experimenting with new hairstyles.”
Belle smiled.
Mr. Best added, “There shouldn’t be any visitors tonight, but if you do get a shipment you know what to do, son.”
“Yes, Papa, I do.”
Belle knew he meant fugitives. If anyone did arrive, she vowed to offer them as much assistance as she’d received in her time of need.
After verbal assurances from both Belle and Daniel that everything would be all right in their absence, Mr. and Mrs. Best left with a wave.
Daniel closed the door. “Well.”
“Well,” Belle echoed.
For a moment, neither could say more. The moment they’d shared in the underground room continued to play across both their minds.
Daniel, sensing Belle’s nervousness matched his own, searched for a neutral topic. “I’ll go pick up Jojo in an hour or so.”
“That would be fine.”
Daniel was attracted to Belle. He didn’t want to admit it because of the long-standing assumption that he would marry Francine. In all the time he and Francine had been together he’d never even thought about another girl, but now…now this sixteen-year-old runaway with her sparkling dark eyes and silk-smooth skin seemed to be undermining that assumption.
“Is something wrong, Daniel?” Belle asked. He’d been gazing at her with such silent intensity she felt compelled to ask.
“No.” It was a lie, of course, but in light of the commitments he’d already made, only a cad would further explore these unsettling new feelings. “I—have some cleaning up to do out in the barn. Will you be all right in here alone?”
Belle nodded. She seemed to have missed something but had no idea what it might’ve been. When he departed, Belle went up to her room.
Standing before her vanity mirror, Belle touched the spot on her cheek where his finger had brushed it and the rush through her blood returned. Did he see the same person she saw when she looked at herself in the mirror—a too-tall, sixteen-year-old girl with a dark-skinned face and average features? There was no way she’d ever have hair as long and glossy as Jojo’s or Francine’s, but she liked her short hair. It was the hair she’d been born with and it suited her, but what did Daniel see? Probably nothing, she told herself dejectedly as she turned away and picked up Jojo’s almost-completed banner. She sat down in a chair and began putting the finishing touches on the Liberian flag. He probably saw nothing because he didn’t even know she was alive, she wailed inwardly. The only reason he’d touched her cheek was because she’d had mud on it. She’d be willing to be Francine the Queen hadn’t ever been caught with mud on her face like a dirty child. Determined to put Daniel Best out of her mind once and for all, Belle concentrated on her stitches.
Out in the barn, Daniel was putting away the tools and telling himself to quit thinking about Belle. He was supposed to be thinking about Francine. Francine was the one he pl
anned to marry and raise a family with. He’d known her most of his life—he’d known Belle almost a month. The attraction made no sense, but he couldn’t seem to convince his brain of that, or his feelings for that matter.
When he finished sweeping up and putting all the tools away, he closed the barn doors and went back up to the house. Taking a moment to wash up at the pump, he rid his hands, forearms and face of most of the sawdust and grime, then went inside. Belle was in the kitchen checking on the chicken his mother had left roasting for their dinner.
“How’s it look?” he asked her.
She set the lid back on the roaster and slid it back into the stove. “By the time you get back with Jo it should be done.”
She placed the oven pads and turned to face him. Once again she was struck by just how handsome Daniel Best really was. “Do you want biscuits or cornbread?”
“How about both?” he asked with a straight face.
She smiled in spite of herself. “No. One or the other.”
“You’re starting to sound a lot like my mother.”
“I’ll consider that a compliment,” she said, inclining her head mockingly. “Now, which do you prefer?”
“Which one do you make the best?”
“Biscuits.”
“Then biscuits it is. I’m on my way to fetch Jojo.”
“Dinner will be waiting.”
“Good, because I’m a hungry and growing man.”
Belle smiled and watched him go. After his departure, Belle found herself fantasizing how it might be to have Daniel for her husband and to be cooking dinner for them both. Telling herself she stood a better chance of seeing pigs crochet, she went to the pantry for the flour canister.
Belle had just gotten the biscuits rolled out and in the pan when she heard the sound of the door pull. She’d never been here alone before and never had to answer the door, so she hesitated. What if it was slave catchers? Convincing herself slave catchers wouldn’t be so polite as to use the pull, she wiped her hands on her apron and hastened to the door. She did take a moment to look out of the window that gave a view of the porch. She saw two young men she didn’t recognize.
Belle Page 7
