by Bush, Holly
“Your sheets are changed, and there are clean towels, Mr. Jackson,” Beulah said as she swept down the hall.
Reed entered his bedroom, tentatively. The blinds were pulled with sheer curtains closed over them. She sat propped up against pillows in a white nightgown. Her dark hair was loose and brushed to a shine. Belle’s face bore the beginnings of bruises. Yellow patches gave contrast to red, scabbing cuts and her lower lip was large and gray. Her left eye was swollen closed.
“I’m staying till I’m better. Sorry I got your bed,” she said.
Reed shook his head. “Don’t worry yourself, Miss Richards. I offered.”
“You told Jed you were a lawyer. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
A smile lit her face. “You get to read all the time.”
Reed laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“I dream about that.”
“About what?” Reed asked.
“Why, reading, of course. Anytime. All the time,” she replied.
“You learned from Miss Beulah and her brother?”
She nodded. “That’s why I got to get away from here. I owe her everything.”
“And your family. They don’t take kindly to you knowing how to read, I’d say,” he said.
Her head dropped. “They don’t take kindly to nothing. Worse that a darkie taught me. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Jackson. I gotta stop saying darkie. I know she’s your friend.”
“Some habits are hard to shake,” he replied.
“Miss Beulah and Brother Freeman gave me the greatest gift in the world. They deserve respect. Sometimes it just slips though. Those kind of words,” she said. “I read in the paper about Negroes everywhere doing things I’d never be able to do. They don’t need some silly white girl calling them names.”
“Silly?” he said. “I’d hardly call you silly. Wanting to learn how to read is noble, I’d say.”
“Noble. Sure sounds good. What does it mean?”
* * *
“It is good. Noble describes a person of high moral character.” Reed watched the girl concentrate, listening intently to his explanation.
She nodded and bit her lip. “Noble. Spell it.”
“N-o-b-l-e.”
Belle mouthed the letters.
“What makes you so interested in reading?” Reed asked.
“I’ve got me a dream, Mr. Jackson.”
“What do you dream of?” Reed wondered to himself why he cared. She was beautiful without a doubt, but her upbringing reminded him of the many people around him, on the train, during the war and here at the hotel whose birth and destiny was without consequence. Were they without significance in the grand scheme of things? Was he? Or is each victory, individually, no matter how small worthy of notice? No small win for this woman to be alive.
She took a breath and stared dreamily away. “A house, a garden. Children. A husband to love.” She turned to him. “If I can read, then I’ll be able to teach my children.” She hugged herself and continued, “Maybe even send them to school.”
“That’s not so much to ask for, Miss Richards,” Reed said.
“Maybe not for you.”
“Certainly your father wants you to marry well,” Reed replied.
“The only thing my family wants out of me is food on the table and clean clothes. And a good price when they sell me to a husband,” she replied.
The women from Reed’s world were treated with respect. Honored for their place in a home. Like Belinda. Beautiful, delicate Belinda. She would have become his bride and joined two formidable properties and families. Surely their marriage would have made her happy. Reed tapped his mouth. I don’t recall ever asking her, he thought. Belinda was to be handed over in payment for a stretch of rich soil, much like this woman. “I guess men and women look at things differently.”
“I guess,” she said.
“Where will you go?” Reed asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been further than town.” She looked at Reed with a smile. “Someplace new. Someplace I’ve never been. I’ll work somewhere and meet a nice man …”
“And have that little house with curtains and children at school.”
“That’s right.”
Reed watched as Belle tired and her eyes fluttered closed. Such simple yearnings this woman dreamed of. There will be a man for her, he thought. A poor, but hopefully kind farmer, who will build her a house and give her those children she desperately wants. She knows so clearly what will bring her joy. This uneducated farm girl has a plan and would risk her life to fulfill it. I look forward to nothing. And day after day of the same. I risked my life for the Confederacy, Reed thought, the shining South, full of charm and mysticism, cotillions and empires with a brutal underpinning that lay on the backs of the weak and imprisoned.
Reed worked on a case at his desk all afternoon. Belle dozed and awoke occasionally. At four o’clock he readied himself for dinner and checked on Belle before leaving. He came back to his room as evening approached. He lit the lamp beside Belle’s bed, his bed and laid a book on the table next to her.
* * *
Belle opened her eyes and realized most of the day had passed. The kerosene lamp glowed on the table and a book lay beside it. She peeked around the door, from her bed and saw Mr. Jackson working at papers on his desk. Her eyes remained on him as she lifted the book to her lap. Oliver Twist. It was a big thick book crammed full of words and letters. Too much for me, Belle thought. She opened to the first page and began to read.
She didn’t hear him come into the room until he was beside her bed. “I’m sorry,” she stammered.
“About what,” he asked and marked her page with a scrap of paper.
“Touching your things. I didn’t dirty the pages or nothing.”
He stared at her. “I put the book here for you to read, if you wanted.”
“Oh.”
“Did you like it?”
Belle’s eyes opened wide. “Oh yes. There are some words I don’t get, but that’s all right. I figure them out.”
Mr. Jackson wheeled to his desk and returned with a large book covered in black leather. “Here’s a dictionary. Look the words up or ask me.”
Belle marveled at the beautiful book he handed to her. “What’s a dictionary?”
“A book that has all the English words in it with their meaning.”
“All the words?”
He nodded.
“How do ya find them? I mean the word I want. How do I find that word?” Belle asked as she opened the book on her lap.
“They’re in alphabetical order.” Mr. Jackson wheeled closer. “See here are all the words that begin with the first letter, ‘a’ and ‘b’ and so on.”
Belle reverently turned the tissue-thin pages. Every word, she thought. “I never saw anything like this.” Tears pooled in Belle’s eyes. “I found a word I know.”
“Of course, you did. You can read.” Mr. Jackson said. “Keep the book.”
Belle’s head shook. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. Not something this fine. I couldn’t.”
“Keep the book, Belle,” he said.
She clutched the book to her chest and looked at the man in the wheelchair. He gives me a treasure. Surely a man this generous must have God in his heart. So sad mostly, she thought. Is there nothing that brings him joy or lightens the pain that marks even his rare smile? Belle watched his eyes and knew that this giving, in fact, did bring him some happiness. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Mr. Jackson turned from her when they heard a commotion in the hallway. He wheeled close to the door and listened. He swore softly.
“What’s going on, Mr. Jackson?” Belle asked. She heard a soft tap and Beulah bustled into the bedroom.
“Your brother’s here, Miss Belle. We’ve got to get you out of here. Where are your shoes?” Beulah asked.
Belle blanched. Her time was up, she supposed. The time she had listening to this man’s words, in a soft b
ed in clean clothes reading a book. But she would not bring pain or harm to these people who had treated her so well. “There’s no place to hide, Miss Beulah. I’ll go with them.”
Beulah straightened from the task of pulling Belle’s cotton stockings up her leg. “Now listen to me. This is no time for fear. I will get you away from here. But you must be brave.”
Belle’s head shook and she sniffed. “They’ll find me and bring trouble to you.”
“I’ve had trouble before and will again,” Beulah said and wrapped a blanket around Belle’s shoulders. The shouting in the hallway grew louder, and she heard doors open and slam closed.
“Where will you take her?” Mr. Jackson asked.
Beulah didn’t look up. “The less who know is best. My people will keep her safe.”
“She’s not well. How will she travel?” he asked.
“Belle has two choices, Mr. Jackson. To go with the family who beats her or trust me to get her somewhere no one knows her,” Beulah said.
Mr. Jackson wheeled close to Belle. “What do you want?”
Belle looked from Beulah to Mr. Jackson. She knew she didn’t want to go back with her father and brother. The children I want will be impossible if I’m dead. But what if the man I’m to love is here? Belle shook her head and tears flew as she considered her last thought. Too much for a poor farm girl to wish for. She squared her shoulders and looked up at Beulah. “I trust Miss Beulah.”
Beulah wrapped a blanket around Belle and whistled low out the window. A whistle returned. She peeked out the door. “Hurry, now,” Beulah said.
Belle looked back at Mr. Jackson. His grim resignation tore at her. He hurried away to the bedroom and returned with the dictionary.
“Take this, Belle. It’s yours.”
She smiled resignedly. “I don’t know where I’m going. Won’t get the chance to use it. You keep it. Smart man like you won’t need it, but …”
“Belle,” Beulah hissed. “Hurry.”
Mr. Jackson stared at her, and Belle could not look away even as Beulah called her name.
“Marry me,” he said softly.
His eyes bored into hers and she suddenly felt as though she was at the depths of his sorrow. Her destiny and hopes rushed by her in a whirlwind when he said the words. Marry me.
Beulah cursed and locked the door. “They’re coming down the hall. Out the window.”
Beulah seated Belle on the sill and pulled her leg out the window. Belle inched out and turned back to Mr. Jackson. Confusion blanketed her. His face, solemn, tugged at her on some level she was previously unaware of. Could not understand. Hearing Jed’s voice, she turned to Brother Freeman’s arms.
Jed Richards barreled through the door with his father limping in behind him. Henry followed wide-eyed. Jed ran to the window and yanked Belle back inside. She felt the blood rush from her face and thought she might vomit when her brother pulled her to her feet.
“Whoring trash. Running with niggers and sleeping in some Johnny Reb’s bed.” Jed Richards growled and hurried to the window. “I know who you are, niggers. No place to hide.”
Tom Richards approached Mr. Jackson. “You dallying with my girl?”
“She slept here, Pa,” Jeb Richards growled.
“Shut up,” the man shouted to his son.
Mr. Jackson met her father’s stare unwavering. “I don’t ‘dally’ with young girls or beat them,” he replied.
“Mr. Richards,” Henry said with a shaking voice. “I have guests. Keep your voice down.”
Tom Richards pulled his shotgun up to his chest, and Mr. Ames’s eyes dropped to the weapon. “Then I’ll just take the girl and git.”
“No,” Mr. Jackson said.
“Nigger-lovin’ cripple, don’t you ever smart off to my Pa,” Jeb Richards said. “This here’s the one from the nigger church.”
Tom Richards hushed his son. “She’s my girl till a husband takes her. Nothing you or your uppity friends can do about it.”
Mr. Jackson pulled a pistol from his side. He smiled wryly. “You can kill me with the shotgun. But not before I put a bullet in your heart.”
“No, Pa,” Belle said. “I’ll come.”
“Damn right, you’ll come,” Jed said and raised his hand. Belle cowed and fell to the floor.
“Leave her be, Jed.” Tom Richards stared at his daughter. “Looks too much like her Ma for her own good. Where she ever got the notion to read, I dunno. She won’t do it again. Come on, Belle. I won’t beat ya no more. I should but I won’t. There’s chores tomorrow.”
Belle lifted her head, and she struggled to stand. Every bone hurt, and she wondered if fear could make a body ache the way hers did. Mr. Ames rushed to steady her.
Tom Richards turned to him. “Leave her be. I said I won’t beat her no more, but the pain she’s in she brung on herself. Let her be.”
Mr. Ames’s hands dropped to his side. Her father may have promised not to hit her anymore but Jed … well, the thought of what Jed would do made bile rise in her throat. There would be no salvation for her. Why had she thought there would be? Her dreams of a home with snowy white curtains faded. She’d never read again. Never do more than cook and clean and try to stay out of Jed’s way. Never find that man to love and have those children to read to.
“I have silver, Mr. Richards. I’ll pay a dowry,” Mr. Jackson said.
“Reed!” Mr. Ames exclaimed.
“Don’t want no Confederate cripple marrying in to this family,” Jed shouted.
Tom Richards rubbed his hand over his jaw. “How much?”
With those words, Belle felt her fate being sealed. She looked up from the floor to the face of the man who may be her salvation. He was kind. He was surely the smartest man she’d ever met. He had asked her to marry him before Jed burst into the room. She had been too shocked, too frightened to even consider such a thing. Now, without even a nod she had been bargained away. Her father had sold her. But could this marriage be God’s path Beulah always spoke of? The chance, oh please, God, the chance for children and love?
Chapter Five
“But, Reed,” Henry said.
“I’ll decide, Henry.”
Reed sealed the bargain with a handshake. He grimaced, touching the man. His father-in-law to be, he realized. Belle stared away at some unknown spot as Tom Richards set the day to meet at the church. He heard Henry’s protests when Mary Ellen came into the room from her spot outside the door. She knelt beside Belle and pushed the hair from her face. Tom Richards reached to his daughter, and Mary Ellen knocked his hand away.
“She’ll stay here until her wedding day.” Tom Richards began a protest, and Mary Ellen rose to her feet. “I will brook no argument. Be on your way.”
Tom Richards acquiesced, perhaps not wanting to jeopardize his newly acquired wealth. He dragged his son away as he pumped his fist and threatened.
Reed heard their retreating footsteps and saw Beulah inch into the room. Mary Ellen called to her, and the women helped Belle into bed in the next room. The door closed.
Henry’s hands shook. “Reed. What were you thinking? Pity is no reason for marriage. It’s a lifetime together. You hardly know the girl.”
Reed looked at Henry. “Don’t you think I know that?” Reed wheeled to the table and poured brandy. He threw back the liquor and handed Henry a glass. “I couldn’t let them take her, Henry.”
“How noble,” Henry said and lifted his hands in the air.
“I’m not noble, Henry. She is. All she wants to do is read,” Reed trailed off.
“We could have done something if you feel this strongly. Gone to the sheriff in the morning or the judge,” Henry said.
“I’m a lawyer for Christ’s sake. They have all the rights. I already reviewed Missouri law,” Reed replied.
Henry stared. “You’ve been thinking about this, then.”
“Not consciously,” Reed replied. Where had this thought of marriage come from? Desperation, he imagined. He could not brin
g himself to let this woman be dragged off into the night, no hope, no dreams fulfilled of children and kitchen curtains. Had he been brave or insane when faced with Belle’s violent family? He only knew in some deep recess of his mind that this woman gave him hope, gave him some purpose, some sense that he was needed by someone.
Mary Ellen filed past. She stopped, began to speak and closed her mouth. Henry escorted her from the room. Reed sat in his chair and stared. His thoughts were broken when Beulah spoke.
“Belle is nearly asleep.”
“Miss Beulah. I forgot you were still here,” Reed said.
Beulah sat down. “Belle will not ease your pain.”
Reed shrugged.
“You are the only one able to heal these wounds,” Beulah’s said as her fist came to her heart.
Reed flustered. “You said, don’t let your fear stand in your way. You asked if I could shoulder the responsibility if we helped her. I am. Don’t condemn me now.”
“I didn’t tell you to marry her.”
Reed looked at his lap. “There was no other way.”
“I know,” Beulah said as she heaved herself from the chair. “Good night, Mr. Jackson.”
Reed wheeled himself into the bedroom. She was turned on her side and her shoulders shook. “I know this isn’t what you dreamed of Belle. But I couldn’t watch your father take you away. I didn’t know what else to do.” He waited for her to turn over. “If you want I’ll take you somewhere after we’re married for an annulment or a divorce.” “Your injuries?” she asked quietly.
Reed’s shoulders dropped. “My right leg is of little use to my hip. My left leg is gone below the knee.” Henry was wrong. Even this uneducated farmer’s daughter wants a whole man.
“I know. Mrs. Ames told me.”
“What do you want to know then?”
She turned over and faced him. “Will they keep you from, well, will you be able to …”
“Just say it, Belle.”
“Can we have children, Mr. Jackson?”
Reed’s lip trembled beyond his control. His despair and rejection wavered with her words. “You want children? With me?”
