Just North of Bliss

by Duncan, Alice

  “Thank you.” Kate gave Belle a truly glorious smile. “Please call me Kate.”

  The policeman walked over to Belle. “Just a moment if you will, young lady. I’d like to take your statement. Perhaps someone else can get the other young lady some water.”

  Belle swallowed again. “But, I—”

  Gladys interrupted, much to Win’s appreciation. He knew he ought to offer to get Kate the water, but he wanted to stick around and hear Belle’s side of the story. “Do you need us, Officer? The children are restive, and perhaps we can fetch Miss Finney some water and then ride on the Ferris wheel or something while you interview Miss Monroe.”

  “Thank you, Gladys.” Belle gave Gladys a smile Win wished she’d given him.

  “Did you see anything, ma’am?” The policeman frowned at Gladys. Win wished he had his box camera with him so he could take a picture of the fellow. He looked exactly like Win’s idea of a police officer in The Pirates of Penzance.

  “No. We came in after—after it all happened.” Gladys gulped audibly. Amalie stood so close to her mother that she might have been glued to her skirts, and Garrett was staring at the doctor’s equipment as if he itched to peruse it by hand.

  “I think you can take the kiddies off then, madam,” the policeman said, giving his version of a kindly smile, which made him look like a benevolent walrus.

  Very softly, Win began whistling “A Policeman’s Lot is Not a Happy One,” to pass the time until he could talk to Kate. Or Belle. Either one.

  He’d originally come to Kate’s booth to show her one of the photographs of Belle he’d taken the night before. He’d been so excited about the plates, he’d stayed up late to develop them. His hunch about Belle had paid off. She was unquestionably the Perfect American Female. He’d already gone to the Globe and showed H.L. May, his reporter friend, the photo, and H.L. had agreed to write an article to accompany the photograph. He’d told Win not to worry about what he’d write, and that he’d connect Belle’s photograph somehow to the fair. Win had faith in H.L., who was good at that sort of thing.

  By damn, Win Asher was poised on the threshold of worldwide photographic fame. He could hardly wait to show everybody his genius in photographic form.

  The mustachioed policeman licked the point of his pencil. “All right, Miss Monroe, can you tell me what happened in your own words?”

  “I don’t know who else’s words I’d use,” Belle said.

  Her sharp tone jerked Win out of his blissful contemplation of impending fame and fortune. He glanced at her.

  “Er, yes, ma’am,” the policeman said, sounding slightly annoyed.

  “I opened the door—”

  “You were coming in to visit with Miss Finney? Or were you going to partake of her services?”

  Good God, Win thought, it sounds as if Belle had been coming in for a massage or something.

  Belle evidently didn’t appreciate the policeman’s wording, either. “We—Mrs. Richmond and the children and I—were going to have our palms read.” She shot a glance at Kate. “For fun. We don’t really believe . . . I mean, we thought it might be fun.”

  “It’s all right, Belle,” Kate said over the doctor’s shoulder. “I don’t believe in it, either.” She grinned her spunky grin.

  Belle smiled, and Win noticed how her huge chocolate-brown eyes could glow when she was in the presence of someone she liked. They’d never looked like that when she was with him. It was something of a shock to know she liked Kate, who, by Win’s way of thinking, was totally unlike her, when she didn’t seem to like him, who was sort of her equal in class and upbringing. Well, except for the North-South thing, but that was only her problem. Win didn’t care one way or the other. He heaved a sigh in spite of himself, then started whistling again.

  Belle cleared her throat and resumed her explanation of events. “Anyhow, we were going to have our palms read. I left the others and opened the door first, because—” She stopped speaking all at once and appeared puzzled.

  “Yes, ma’am?” the policeman said encouragingly.

  “I don’t know. I just felt—well, I had a—a premonition that something wasn’t quite right.” She lifted her arms in a gesture of befuddlement. “I can’t explain it.”

  “I can,” came Kate’s voice again.

  Belle lifted her head, which had been bowed, so that she could study her clamped hands as far as Win could tell, and stared at Kate. “You can?”

  “My father gives off bad karma.” Again, Kate gave the room one of her cocky grins. The bruises on her throat were purpling, and Win wished he could do something for her. She’d never let him; she was too damned proud. “That’s what Madame Esmeralda calls it, anyway: Karma. If you’ve got any sort of sensitivity at all, you can feel the badness before you see him. I felt it before he came in here and throttled me.”

  Belle gave a delicate shudder. “I guess that’s it, then. Karma.” She said the word as if she’d never heard it before. Neither had Win.

  The policeman gazed first at Kate, then at Belle, then at Kate, and then at Belle again. He cleared his throat. “I see.” After licking the point of his pencil once more, he scribbled for what seemed like a very long time in his small notebook, murmuring, “A bad feeling.”

  “Yes,” said Belle in a firm voice. “It was definitely a feeling that something was wrong.” She glanced again at Kate. “Bad— Fiddle. I can’t remember the word. What was it you called it?”

  “Karma.”

  “Karma. Yes. That was it, all right.”

  “What’s karma?” Win asked.

  “I don’t know.” Belle shrugged. “Whatever it is, it was bad. Wrong. I sensed something wasn’t right in the booth.”

  “And you were right,” muttered Kate. “Thank God you came in when you did. Armed with that umbrella.”

  “Parasol,” Belle murmured absently.

  Kate waved a hand in a dismissive gesture and didn’t respond.

  The policeman finished interviewing Belle shortly after that, and the doctor finished with Kate. He gave her a small bottle of laudanum for pain, but Kate thrust it aside as if she were afraid of it. Win knew the reason for her reluctance to take the drug. Where Kate grew up, people abused all sorts of things other people used medicinally.

  Madame Esmeralda blew in right before the policemen and the doctor left. She was a real whirlwind of a female, and Win hadn’t yet been able to figure out if she was really a Gypsy, or if she only portrayed one to the hilt.

  Belle rose upon the fortune-teller’s entrance and said, “Well, I hope you’ll be better in a day or two, Kate. I’d better find the Richmonds now.”

  Kate rushed over to her and threw her arms around her in an embrace Win could tell Belle found both unexpected and slightly embarrassing. “I can’t thank you enough, Belle. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be dead right now, and God alone knows what would happen to my poor mother.”

  “Er, I was happy to help,” Belle said in a slightly smothered-sounding voice. Win could tell she wasn’t accustomed to spontaneous displays of gratitude.

  “Any time you and your friends want to get your palms read, just pop on over.” Kate released Belle, much to the lady’s relief.

  “Not today,” Madame Esmeralda intoned. Either she believed her own publicity, or her voice was naturally mystical. Or unnaturally. “Today, Kate will rest.”

  “Good idea,” said Win, tired of being left out.

  “Well . . .” Kate herself didn’t seem so enthusiastic about taking a rest, but she was finally persuaded to do so. When Belle pointed out that her mother would appreciate having her home for the rest of the day, Kate acceded to Madame’s wishes.

  Kate, Belle, and Win left the booth together and proceeded toward the Columbian Exposition’s main gate. Kate carried her crystal ball in a calico sack. “Got to take it home and wash it off,” she said as if cleansing a crystal ball of her father’s blood were an everyday occurrence for her.

  Belle shuddered.
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br />   When they reached the gate, Win dug into his trouser pockets for a two-bit piece and handed it to Kate. “Here,” he said. “Take a cab home. You’ve been through enough today without having to walk a mile.”

  Kate tried to come up with her usual mein of cocky insouciance, but couldn’t quite do it. “I already owe you a quarter, Win. You’re going to own my soul pretty soon.”

  “Applesauce. Consider this one a gift. Damn it, Kate, let somebody help you for once, will you?”

  Kate heaved a big sigh, then touched her throat, as if the warm breath had hurt coming out. “Thanks, Win.” She turned to Belle. “And thank you, too, Belle. I—I—well, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Belle’s smile was soft and sweet, and it did funny things to Win’s innards. “Nonsense. Anyone would have done the same thing under the circumstances. That man—” Another shudder wracked her slender body. “That man was—was— He was—”

  “My beloved father,” said Kate in bitter irony.

  As if she couldn’t hold back her emotions another second longer, Belle burst out, “Oh, Kate! I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine having a father like that!” She fumbled in her silly little handbag and drew out a hankie with which she wiped her eyes.

  Kate stiffened. Win knew how little she appreciated any hint of sympathy, even though she deserved as much as she could get. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m doing all right.”

  “Except today,” Win pointed out, irked with Kate for rejecting Belle’s solicitude.

  “Yes,” said Belle, ignoring Win, who ought to have expected it. “You do very well. I doubt that I’d have flourished under such trying circumstances, as you’re doing.

  Both of her companions visibly demonstrated their amazement at Belle’s words. Win goggled at her. Kate did something even more remarkable. She blushed. Until that second, Win hadn’t known she had a blush in her.

  “Please take good care of yourself, Kate,” Belle added, offering her right hand, which Kate peered at uncertainly. “I hope Mrs. Richmond and the children and I can come by and visit soon. When you’re feeling better.”

  Hesitantly, Kate took Belle’s hand and shook it. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” She turned to Win. “And thanks for the two bits, Win. Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. I’m not, you know.”

  “I know.” She looked so abashed, he forgave her for being so damned touchy. “Get some rest, Kate.”

  “Right.” She offered the two a jaunty salute, spotted a cab, and emitted a piercing whistle through her teeth. Win was used to it. Belle, obviously, was not. She drew back and uttered an inarticulate sound indicative, if Win judged correctly, of surprise and pain. Kate’s whistles were ear-splitting. Then, with another wave to her companions, Kate took off at a trot to catch up with the cabbie.

  Belle and Win gazed after her, Win with frustration. He didn’t have any idea what Belle thought about the whole Kate Finney situation, so he decided to ask. “So, you performed a gallant act and probably saved Kate’s life, Miss Monroe. Congratulations.”

  She turned and gazed at him as if she suspected him of irony. Win resented it. “I mean it,” he announced harshly. “Damn it, you’re as bad as she is.” He waved his hand in the direction of Kate’s cab. “Neither one of you will accept a single word from anyone without examining it first.”

  Belle bridled. What a surprise. Win jammed his hands into his pockets and turned on his heel. “Come on, come on. You can rake me over the coals later. I have to show you something. That’s the reason I ran headlong into Kate’s booth this morning. I wanted to show her, since I had no idea when you’d show up.”

  “You needn’t sound as if I were late for an appointment,” Belle said indignantly. “We hadn’t set a time to meet today, if you’ll recall.”

  Kicking at a crumpled paper sack that had once held popcorn, Win grumbled, “I recall.”

  Shooting a scathing look at Win, Belle stooped and snatched the paper off the Midway. With her back straight, she marched to a trash container and threw it away. When she turned around, she stopped walking when she caught Win staring at her. “What?” she said, looking uncertain. “What are you staring at?”

  Win gave himself a revivifying shake. “You. Good God, you can bend at the waist!” He rued his impetuosity as soon as he saw her stiffen. Damn his too-ready tongue.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, resuming her progress toward him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the Richmonds.”

  “But I want to show you this photograph!” Win cried, forgetting all about Belle’s abandonment of her corset. “It’s great! You’ve got to see it!”

  “I shall see it as soon as I’ve found the Richmonds.”

  Her voice had gone all prim and prissy again. Win wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d spouted some barbed comment about the Civil War. Rather, the Recent Unpleasantness. Or the War Between the States. Or the Northern Aggression. Sheesh. She was more than a human male should be expected to take.

  And she didn’t give a rap about his photograph of her, either. That, although he loathed acknowledging the truth, was what really hurt. She didn’t even care about his masterpiece, of which she was the central object.

  “Fine,” he said in a voice as prim and prissy as her own. “Stop by any time, Miss Monroe. In the meantime, I’m going to deal with the photograph on my own.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  He was gratified to see her expression change from one of pique to one of wariness. Good. Let her be wary. He’d show her.

  “That’s my concern,” he shot back, feeling smug. She didn’t have to know that he’d already made arrangements to have the photograph published in the Globe. Let her suffer.

  “But you said you were going to sell the photographs to Germany.”

  Damn. She would have to remember that, wouldn’t she? “Don’t worry about it,” he said airily. “If you’re not interested, I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “But . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” he lied, “I’ll adhere to our agreement.”

  Damn it, he’d already broken their agreement, because he’d been so elated by the results of yesterday’s shoot, he’d rushed straight to H.L. May’s house as soon as he saw the prints. Win didn’t know how he was going to talk his way out of this one with little Miss Priss, but he guessed he’d have to think of a way. And soon. H.L. had been almost as delighted with the photograph as Win himself, and he’d promised that the story would be in the paper either this Sunday, if there was room, or next.

  “Well . . .” Belle continued to look uncertain for a moment, then she sighed. “Very well. As soon as I find Gladys and the children, I’ll go to your booth. You said you want to shoot more photographs of the children today.” She said it as if she no longer trusted Win to keep his word.

  He cast a glance at the heavens in a manner meant to show her how idiotic he considered her doubts. “Of course. I need to take at least five more poses. I have the series firmly fixed in my mind, and it won’t take too much longer.” Then he was going to concentrate on more pictures of Belle. Inside, he was rubbing his hands together in glee. Outside, he portrayed a sober man of business—or hoped he did.

  “Very well,” she repeated. Then she turned and walked away from him, and Win experienced a sudden rush of devastation, as if he were losing something precious.

  He decided he was only nuts, turned in the opposite direction, and went back to his own booth, whistling “A Policeman’s Lot is not a Happy One,” as he walked.

  # # #

  Belle couldn’t decide if she was more jealous of Kate Finney’s easy relationship with Win Asher, or horrified of Kate’s deadly relationship with her father. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was glad her own home life hadn’t held the terrors Kate’s must have.

  She found the Gladys, Amalie, and Garrett gazing wistfully at the Ferris wheel and chomping popcorn. Amalie spotted her first and rushed over to her.

  “Is that
lady all right, Miss Monroe? Is that man really her father?”

  Belle sighed heavily. “She’s going to be fine, Amalie. And, yes, I fear that awful man really is her father.”

  “Good Lord,” whispered Gladys.

  Belle knew just what she meant. “Yes. I suppose we should all be grateful to God that our own homes are free from that sort of ill-usage.” Good heavens, she sounded like a self-righteous puritan. But it was true.

  “You bet,” said Garrett. “Papa would never do anything like that.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” agreed Belle. “Your father and mother love you two dearly. Which,” she added, “is as it should be.”

  “I should say so,” agreed Gladys.

  As they strolled along the Midway, Belle kept her eyes on her two charges, but she was eager to chat with Gladys about the ghastly incident they’d witnessed. She’d had to throw her parasol away, since there was no mending it. Neither lady could comprehend the bestiality of a man behaving in so abominable a way toward his own daughter.

  “You know,” Belle admitted at last, “when I first met Miss Finney, I thought she was—well—a little outrageous. You know, with her flashy clothes and jewelry and so forth. But I think I understand her situation now. She’s only trying to better herself. She ought to be commended for it, not censured.”

  “I suppose so,” Gladys said. Generally the most tender-hearted of women, Gladys had her blind spots, as Belle well knew. One of them surfaced now. “Although I can’t imagine a truly decent woman telling fortunes or dancing in a public arena.” She sniffed.

  Belle eyed her from under her lashes and tried not to think harsh thoughts. She liked Gladys. A lot. But Gladys had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. She’d never had to overcome the types of obstacles that had faced Kate Finney from the day of her birth. Or those that Belle had faced, for that matter.

  As for Belle herself, she’d been born into a poor family, but at least they weren’t violent. She sometimes became annoyed with members of her family for not making more of a push to better themselves, but they loved her. Poor Kate. Belle couldn’t even imagine having a father like Kate’s.