by Bush, Holly
She nodded.
Reed wheeled away and took a deep breath and stared out the window. “The doctors said I could.” Without thought or planning, a vision revealed Belle in his bed. Her smile in his dream closed his throat.
“Thank you,” she said, rolled to her side and pulled the covers over her shoulders.
Reed slept another night in his chair. He awoke, dressed and went to the courthouse. Reed found more clients as they haggled in the map room over the layout of boundaries. He went to the bank and checked the balance in his account. He had a small amount of silver hoarded and some paper money in the bank. The teller behind the metal bars directed Reed to an office door. He knocked.
“Yes, sir. How can I help you?” the bank president said.
Reed wheeled back to the Ames Hotel. A stranger had helped him negotiate the sidewalk and he wheeled up the ramp to the back of the hotel. Henry came flying through the door, a dead mouse in hand.
“What do you have there, Henry?”
“The reason the Shelbys in three are leaving.” Henry tossed the rodent and turned to Reed. “Where have you been all day?”
Reed blew out a breath and his shoulders slumped. “Working. And at the bank.”
“What did you need at the bank, Reed? I could have gone for you.”
Reed looked up at his cousin. “You’ve done too much already.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’m trying to find a house for Belle and me. Spent the day at the bank finding out cripples rarely get loans.”
“A house? You’re going through with this then?”
Reed nodded.
Henry pulled his mouth to one side and tapped his cheek with his finger. “Hey, what about the Walker house?”
“Can’t get a loan, Henry.”
“But old Mrs. Walker lives with her daughter at her farm, now. The house sits empty. Her son-in-law told me the old woman wouldn’t give it up.”
“If she won’t give it up, Henry, what good is it to me?”
A broad smile lit Henry’s face. “Maybe she’ll rent it.”
Reed wondered. If he rented it, maybe in time he’d have the silver to buy it. And Mrs. Walker would be ready to sell. “Where is it?”
“Right near the edge of town. We’ll go see it and maybe call on the Walkers tomorrow, Reed.”
“How’s Belle?”
“Mary Ellen says fine. Sore. But fine,” Henry said.
Beulah carried a tray out of his bedroom as Reed entered. “How is Belle?”
“Got an appetite. Dr. Lowell was here. She’s resting,” Beulah said.
Reed knocked on the bedroom door and peaked inside. Belle was propped up reading. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll be fine, Mr. Jackson. With all this wonderful food and a soft bed, I’ll be up and around before you know it.”
“We’re going to married, Belle. Call me Reed or Jackson.”
Her head dropped. “You don’t have to.”
“I said I would, Belle. I meant it.”
“But Mr. Jackson, Reed,” she said, “I’m just a poor farm girl, can barely read. You’re schooled and grew up in a big house.”
Reed thought about the ugliness that he saw occasionally in that big house. “My family is far from perfect, Belle.”
Her eyes opened wide, and her hands came to her face. “Your Ma and Pa. I never thought of them. What will they think when they find out you’re marrying from the wrong side of town?”
Reed had wondered that all day. He grimly recalled his father’s face and his unending challenge to live up to the proud Jackson history. Reed’s mother, although she may be surprised at his choice, would never reveal it. What would Winston and Belinda think? Reed looked at Belle as she worried her hands and frowned. She was nothing like the women Reed courted in the past. Their pleas for marriage were often followed by Reed’s drifting to another woman, another place, another anything. Why did this woman draw him in, like a ship caught in tides leading to a harbor?
“I doubt you’ll ever meet my parents and brother.”
Belle’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.”
“They rarely traveled before the war. I doubt they’d venture away now.”
“What are they like?”
Reed settled back in his chair. “Typical Southern family, I guess.”
“Typical? What does that mean?”
Reed smiled. “Usual. The same as everything or everyone else.”
“Well, what’s that like?”
“We own a plantation. Ten thousand acres. We grow cotton.”
“Ten thousand acres,” Belle said in wonderment. “I can’t even imagine that much land. Let alone it all belonging to one family.”
“Bristolwood is large and very beautiful. My family home sits in the middle surrounded by gardens and verandas and cypress trees.”
“Does everybody own that much land? Is that, is that typical?”
“No. Many families do, but there’s poverty in the South, too. And, of course, the Negroes owned nothing. That was before the war. We sold countless acres during and afterwards to survive, and the house needs repairs. Hopefully Winston and my parents will be able to see to its upkeep.” Reed folded his hands in his lap.
“You miss it.”
He looked up at her. “Ah, yes, some things.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My mother told me it was time for a fresh start,” he replied.
“Did you do something wrong?” she asked.
Reed’s head snapped to her. “I came home from the war in this chair.”
“Oh,” Belle said and added softly, “at least you came home.”
“I know I’ve heard time and again how lucky I am to be alive. My eldest brother wasn’t. He died of dysentery in a Northern prison camp. Truly, I wonder who was lucky, though,” he trailed off.
“How can you say that?” Belle asked.
“For God’s sakes, look at me. I lost my legs in a war that I wonder why I fought in and came home to find my birthright handed past me. To a younger brother. And my fiancée as well.”
She flinched. “Don’t holler at me, please. My Pa and brother yell all the time.”
“I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean to shout. But the war cost me much more than I’d ever bargained for,” Reed said.
“Poor old you,” she said softly.
“Self-pity. That’s what you’re implying. That I feel sorry for myself.” He pulled his chair around and headed to the sitting room. He stopped and turned back to Belle. “I’m a landowner, a lawyer, a man now without property, clients and my legs. My fiancée, a beautiful, delicate woman I’ve admired my whole life, took one look at me seated and set her sights on my brother. My father never blinked or apologized when he scratched my name from the deed to Bristolwood. Things have not turned out as I envisioned, Miss Belle.”
Belle tilted her head back and forth. “Well la-de-da. I grew up with no Ma and a Pa who’s a drunk. My brothers blame me and everybody else for their problems. Miss Beulah was a slave. Owned by another person. All while you were growing up on a big farm and going to school and courting pretty women on the veranda.”
They stared at each other, both breathing hard.
“We’ve both had difficulties,” he said.
“Yeah, we have. But at least I don’t sit around stewing over them. I have a dream, Mr. Jackson.” Belle’s voice wavered. “A little house, a man to love and babies. It ain’t much besides your ten thousand acres, but I’m going do everything I can to get there.” She looked away and added, “Without you I’d probably never get there. I am eternally grateful.”
“My mother used to tell my brothers and me we had to do our best with what we’re handed. I suppose she’s right.”
“Yeah, well my Pa says no use dreaming.”
“It didn’t stop you from dreaming, Belle,” Reed said. He looked down at his hands and back to Belle’s face. “I think that’s what I admire about you most. You haven’t quit dream
ing.”
Belle’s eyes filled with tears. “Sometimes that’s all there is to hang on to.”
He sat silently. “I may have found us a small house to rent. Henry is going to take me to meet the owner tomorrow. Doesn’t sound like it’s a big …”
Belle sat up straight. “What? A house?”
“A four room house near the edge of …”
“For us? For you and me?” Belle’s hands came to her chest.
“Well, yes, Belle. We can’t live in a hotel. We’ll get something bigger one day or maybe find we like it and stay. We have to start somewhere.”
Belle’s lip trembled and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t care how big or small it is. That’s not why I’m crying.”
She moved to the edge of the bed and swung her feet to the floor. Her hair fell forward as she leaned down and picked up Reed’s hands in hers. “That’s the nicest, kindest, sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I’m crying ‘cause I’m happy.” Belle settled back on the pillow. “Is there some ground for a garden?”
“I don’t know.”
Belle lay back down, and her eyes drifted to the ceiling above her bed. “Do you think there’s a walk to the door?”
“I don’t know, Belle. I won’t know till I see it tomorrow.” Reed wheeled from the room and closed the door. She was battered and bruised and still in grateful awe over a four-room house. Her smile was the sweetest thing he’d seen in recent memory.
Reed awoke early the next morning, dressed and went on a search of Henry. Arlo and Henry helped Reed onto the seat and fastened his wheelchair to the back of the carriage. The two men rode to the Walker farm, and Reed left the negotiations to his cousin.
Henry waved his goodbyes, keys in hand, and snapped the reins on the horse’s back. “Old Mrs. Walker doesn’t have all her wits about her anymore, Reed. Her son-in-law promised his wife he wouldn’t sell her mother’s house till the old woman dies, but if he rents it, he won’t have the upkeep to worry about. A perfect situation.”
Reed breathed a sigh of relief. “How much is the rent?”
“Fifteen dollars a month. A might steep, but I think it will be worth it. All the furnishings are still there.”
Reed realized he had not given a thought to pots, pans, furniture and the like. “If my practice continues well, we’ll be fine.”
Henry looked ahead down the dirt road they traveled and up to the green leaves that over hung them like a canopy. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and turned his head to Reed. “You’re sure about this.”
Bizarrely enough, Reed was surer of this than of anything he had ever been in his life. No indecision, no questions but rather a yearning to see a smile light Belle’s face. So often in his past, Reed’s decisions were merely extensions of another’s goals, but this house, this marriage, this woman was solely his. His to make work or muddle through or fail miserably. The first time since childhood his destiny was at the mercy of his will.
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Mary Ellen told me to ask.”
Reed lifted his brows to Henry. His cousin shrugged.
“She doesn’t want to see you hurt,” Henry added.
“Are you saying you weren’t curious?”
“Well, yes, of course, I’m curious. But you’re thirty some years old, Reed. Your business, I’d say,” Henry answered.
“But you disagree.”
“Disagree is too strong a word. When Mary Ellen and I met for the first time, I could barely draw breath. I counted the hours till I saw her again. I loved her. Marriage can be difficult. I wouldn’t want to do it if I didn’t love my wife,” Henry said.
“I know nothing of love. May never know. But Belle needs me,” Reed replied. “And I, well I … I think I may need her as well.”
“Then I hope it’s enough, Reed,” Henry said.
Henry pulled up to a small house as they approached town. He slowed the horses and stepped down from the carriage. “What do you think, Reed?”
Reed pushed aside the black fringe that edged the black canvas top of the carriage. “Hurry, Henry. Get my chair.”
Reed wheeled himself through the gate of the white picket fence while Henry tried the keys in the lock. Reed wheeled in the level entrance and let eyes adjust to the dim shadows. He was in the sitting room, he realized. Henry opened curtains and pulled up shades. Light flooded the room. Reed looked around and hurried into the next room and onto the kitchen. He looked out a back window to a small yard and a band of trees. “Come on, Henry. Let’s go.”
“Well do you like it? We just got here. Don’t you think we should …”
Reed was already out the door and Henry hurried to catch up. Reed pulled himself upright with the handles on the carriage while Henry lifted him. Henry banged Reed’s leg against the carriage and he apologized. “I’m fine. Just hurry,” Reed said.
Henry gibbered on the ride home, and Reed heard nothing but clamor in the distance.
“Belle, where are you?” he called as the screen door slammed on the back door of the hotel and he wheeled into his rooms.
“In bed. Mrs. Ames and Miss Beulah won’t let me get up to do anything,” she called.
Reed’s face was flushed and he hurried to her bed. Oliver Twist lay open in her lap. “Belle. There’s a walk and a fence and room for a garden. The furniture’s old, but it’ll do and the kitchen is big and bright. No steps, either.”
Belle clapped her hands together. “A walk to the door?”
“It’s perfect. Small, but perfect.”
“Dr. Lowell was here today. He said I’d be out of bed by the end of the week. Will you take me to see our house?”
Belle smiled like she had done the day before. Reed knew he would take her to the ends of the earth if she asked and would but grant him that smile. “Our house” she had said, and Reed repeated in his head. Our house. Not a plantation nor a hotel room or the hovel she had grown up in, but their house. “As soon as the doctor says you can go.”
“I’m so happy I could bust,” Belle said.
Reed laughed. “Looks like the house will need a cleaning.”
“Cleaning, that’s nothing. I’ll fix it up just right for you. You’ll be proud of me and that house when I’m through,” she said.
“I’m sure I will, Belle.”
Chapter Six
Beulah helped Belle dress after the doctor left on Friday. Her bruises were fading, and Jim Lowell had said her ribs were healing nicely.
“Mr. Jackson got us a house, Miss Beulah,” Belle said.
Beulah picked up the wash water basin. “Hmm.”
“Has a picket fence and room for a garden,” Belle added.
“Hmm.”
Belle pulled a new chemise over her head. “I caused you trouble, huh, Miss Beulah.”
“No. Not yet.”
“I’m chattering away like a magpie, and you’re worried about my Pa. I’ll be quiet.”
Beulah’s hands dropped. “Chatter away, girl.”
“It’s just that I always dreamed about a house of my own. Now I’m goin’ to get one.”
“And a husband too,” Beulah said.
“Don’t you like Mr. Jackson? I thought the two of you were friends?” Belle asked.
Beulah looked up from lacing Belle’s shoes. “Not my place to say. I’ll not be marrying him.”
Belle sat quietly. “You think I could have gotten away if I hurried. I fiddled around and talked to him and missed my chance.”
“Chances are sometimes rightly taken. And sometimes just as well missed. What we choose and what God chooses for us are often two different things.” Beulah stood up and stared at Belle. “Why didn’t you go when you could have?”
Belle shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Your life with Mr. Jackson will not be easy, Belle. I doubt if he’ll beat you, but he has his own problems.”
“Like what?”
“Not for me to say,” Beulah replied.
Beulah turned Belle’s shoulders to face her. “This is your choice, Belle. I can still help you get away. With no one the wiser.”
This was one of those chances Beulah spoke of. Freedom lay before her in a yes. Marriage to a man she barely knew if she stayed. Belle thought of Reed when they argued and the irony of a man, wealthy and well-educated feeling sorry for himself. He had been gifted with so much. Reed wheeled into the room at that moment and held his hand out to her.
“Let’s go see our house,” he said.
Belle looked at Beulah. The black woman laid a shawl over her shoulders.
“Hurry, now. You don’t want to keep Mr. Jackson waiting,” Beulah said. “Come back and tell me all about your new home.”
Belle looked from Reed’s face to Beulah’s. The choices in her past stripped away by her father and brother was hers to make here and now. What do I want? What do I want for a lifetime? Will he wipe my tears and comfort me when life drags me down? Will he smile for me and give me babies and my own table to scrub? All her worries fled, and Belle had no answer for why his out-stretched hand beckoned her to one choice.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Their new home was only a few blocks from the hotel. Belle walked head high and smiling as Reed wheeled. The sidewalk ended, and Belle tilted Reed’s chair back and guided him down the step.
“You don’t have to do that,” Reed said.
Belle looked at him. “Didn’t your Mama ever teach you to be grateful when help’s offered?”
“Thank you.”
“Just riles you something awful I can help you, don’t it?” Belle marched ahead and shouted. “Well nothing you do or say can make me mad today. I’m seeing my new house, and I’m mighty grateful to you for it.”
* * *
Reed smirked. There probably was nothing this day that could keep a smile from Belle’s face. How many days could he not bear cheerfulness in any form? Did his gloominess change his life or the decisions he made? Other than make all that happened to him gray and grim even, he supposed, when something good did come along. The least he could do would let Belle have her day without his frown. “Wait.”
