Win’s grin tipped a little. “I know, it’s kind of silly, but that’s what American enterprise is all about, I guess. Image matters more than the truth.”
“That sounds horrid, Win.”
He shrugged. “I suppose so, but it’s the reality of the world today. I do a lot of marketing on my own. I’ve approached a man who wants to manufacture engine-driven horseless carriages. I suggested that I photograph you, wearing goggles and a long scarf, riding in the seat of an automobile machine.”
Belle could only stare. The mere thought of getting into one of those monstrous, noisy, smelly machines, such as she’d seen in the Transportation Building, made her feel sickish.
But Win was becoming enraptured by his own words. He shook his head in a gesture that Belle identified as awed anticipation. “I can see it all, Belle. God, that would be great. I can’t wait until they get to producing motorized carriages. What a great day that will be for the transportation business. And for us, the American public. I can feel the wind in my hair as I sit here.”
“Can you?” All Belle felt was sick.
Win jumped up from his chair and started to pace. “You bet! Why, if anyone ever starts to produce those babies, you can bet I’ll be first in line to buy one. Just imagine it, Belle.”
Belle imagined it; she imagined one of those demonic machines crashing into cows and trees and ditches and walls. With her in it. She shuddered.
Fortunately, Win didn’t notice or he’d have said something cutting, she was sure. “Golly, Belle, we could motor to the West! We could see California!”
“What’s in California?”
“Trees! Gold! Oranges! The ocean!”
“There’s an ocean to the east as well,” she pointed out. “And all we have to do is take a short train ride to get there.”
“Pooh! The automated, motorized horseless carriage will be a boon to mankind.”
But not womankind. Belle almost said it aloud, but caught herself in time. Rather, she said, “Oh.” She had a faint recollection of one of her brothers harboring sentiments similar to Win’s about motorized carriages. Was this what the Twentieth Century would bring? Motorized carriages, smoke, noise, and horrid, bloody crashes? Would America one day be covered with the things? Like ants? Her heart quailed at the thought.
Because she truly did have a commitment with the Richmonds that evening, Belle said, “I’d better finish reading this thing. Not that it will do me much good, since I don’t understand half of it.”
Win stopped pacing and returned to his chair. His buoyant mood had collapsed when Belle brought up the contract and he was compelled to stop thinking about motorcars. “Right.”
Silence prevailed as Belle tried to read and Win stared at her. He made her nervous, not a little because his expression was so strange. He looked as if he were hurt, and there was absolutely no reason for that. She was the one who’d been taken advantage of.
Of course, if he loved her as she loved him, that wouldn’t be so, and she might even have understood why her attitude of coolness this evening had initiated a little sensitivity. But she’d been a fool, and he’d been a Yankee, and the notion of him possessing so much as a pinch of sensitivity would be laughable if Belle believed she’d ever laugh again. She didn’t. Now she had to bear the consequences of her foolishness.
The only good aspect of this scenario was that she had come to a better understanding of her family. No longer could they make her feel guilty for trying to better herself. She regretted their pain, but they weren’t being fair, and Belle knew it for a fact. She would honor and cherish them always, and she would try her best to be a good daughter and sibling, but she no longer felt compelled to abandon her career and return to Blissborough. They weren’t being fair to her, and while she would continue to try not to resent their attitude, she would not take them to task for it. Rather, she would continue to do her job, send money home, and hope that one day, they’d be able to forgive her for breaking with family tradition.
After she read the last word of the contract, not understanding one sentence out of ten, she said, “This looks all right to me.” She prayed she wasn’t making another monumental mistake. Another monumental mistake.
“I’ll get a pen.”
“Thank you.” She glanced over the document once more, wishing she didn’t have to sign it. She wasn’t used to signing things. Signing things seemed so masculine and official and unladylike. Stiffening her spine, she reminded herself that she was a business woman now and would have to start being hardheaded someday. The sooner, the better.
“So, can you come here tomorrow night, Belle? I want to get started on a series of photographs I’m sure will make us a bundle.”
“Certainly.” A bundle was good, wasn’t it? Even her family couldn’t whine too much if Belle sent them a big hunk out of a bundle.
She took the pen Win produced and waited until he’d uncorked the ink bottle. Then, as delicately as possible so as not to get ink spots on her gown, she dipped the pen in the bottle, sucked in a deep breath, and signed her name on the line specified. Win watched with interest.
“Oh, that’s right. Your first name’s Rowena, isn’t it? I’d forgotten.”
“Yes. I’ve always preferred to be called Belle. My mother adored Sir Walter Scott’s book, Ivanhoe.”
“I had to read Ivanhoe when I was in Miss Cavendish’s class at school. I thought Rowena was a peach.”
Looking on the desk for a piece of blotting paper, Belle said with some acid in her tone, “I’m sure. Most men do. Personally, I preferred Rebecca. At least she had some spunk.”
“Spunk,” Win said thoughtfully, handing her a tattered piece of blotting paper. “You know, Belle, I never would have thought of you as someone who honored spunk in a woman.”
How typical of him, Belle thought bitterly. He never gave her credit for anything. “I’m not at all surprised by that.” She rose from the chair, determining that her duty here was done.
Win rose, too, rather abruptly. “Say, Belle, I didn’t mean that as an insult. It’s only that you project the image of a serene southern gentlewoman. Or something. I don’t know anything about southern gentlewomen. But honestly, a fellow doesn’t look at you and think spunk. If you know what I mean.”
She eyed him, aiming for frost and achieving only tepidity. “I’m sure.”
He grabbed her hand before she could slip her kid gloves back on. She stiffened, his touch reminding her too vividly of the extreme intimacy they’d shared in this very booth the night before. Oh, law’s a mercy, she wished things were different between them! She’d like to lie in his arms for the rest of her life, if he could only love her.
“But you are spunky, Belle. In fact, you’re better than spunky,” he said in a pleading tone. “You’re brave and full of—of heart.”
She wasn’t sure she trusted him. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t. After all, he’d made his priorities painfully clear earlier this same day, when he’d spoken to her of business contracts—on the very morning after they’d made love. In order to maintain her resolve not to falter, she said, “I’m sure that’s very kind of you. Now, if you will excuse me . . .”
He dropped her hand. “Dash it, Belle, I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong! It’s not fair, you not talking to me about what’s bothering you.”
Right. Indignation swelled in Belle’s bosom. In truth, her heart felt so full, she feared her pretty topaz brooch might just pop off her gown. In spite of her rigid control, some of her anger leaked out. “Stop trying to act so innocent, Win Asher! You know very well that the only reason you pretended to want me is so that I would go along with your business scheme. Well, I went along with it! Now leave me alone!”
She saw Win gape at her as she slammed out of his booth, and she hated him for it. The miserable wretch! The fiend! The . . . “Oh, my land.”
As Win’s numb, “But Belle . . .” echoed in her ear, Belle fumbled frantically in her small brown handbag for a handker
chief. She felt like an idiot when she climbed aboard the northbound trolley and headed back to the Congress, because she couldn’t stop tears from leaking from her eyes. That evening, she found it very difficult not to snap at Amalie and Garrett while their parents enjoyed their theatrical evening.
It was all Win’s fault, and she hated him for it. Almost as much as she loved him.
Chapter Nineteen
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?
Clearly, he was losing his mind.
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.
“That’s fine. Hold still now. This one’s going to be great.”
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.
“H.L.! You’re back!”
“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.
“Don’t pay any attention to it, H.L., she’s just in a fuss.”
“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, listen to me.” Win clasped her hands more tightly.
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?”
Just North of Bliss Page 28
