Cecilia drawled, “Belle, you’ll learn that no one’s problems are more pressing than Franny’s. I can’t wait to see what kind of grandchildren William and I are going to get.”
“You don’t like her either.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No, child, I don’t. Every day, I pray I’ll wake up and be told she’s gone to California to mine for gold.”
Belle laughed; she couldn’t help herself.
Downstairs, Daniel escorted Francine into his father’s small study and closed the door. She flounced down onto one of the chairs like a petulant child, saying, “I do have a reason to be angry, you know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Daniel Best, you were practically kissing that girl. Whatever is your mother thinking of, keeping a fugitive above stairs, anyway? Shouldn’t she be off to Canada or some such place?”
In the past few months, Daniel and Francine seemed to be butting heads more and more often over his commitment to the Cause. Francine had been free all of her life. Although her wealthy widower father was a member of the Vigilance Committee and donated generously whenever called upon, she herself didn’t give a hoot about abolitionism or its ancillary issues because it didn’t affect her personally, or so she maintained. She’d much rather Daniel spend his time taking her shopping or attending balls than waste the day away setting the groundwork for political rallies or distributing broadsides. “Belle’s a guest.”
“She’s a fugitive, Daniel.”
“So was my mother, and at one time, your parents.”
“But neither of us knows anything about that. Slavery is an abomination, yes, but we’re all free now.”
“There are three million slaves in this country, Francine. Half are women and children.”
“Oh, please,” she drawled out tiredly. “Must we discuss this now?”
“Yes, we must, because this is part of my life and it’s going to be part of our life if we marry.”
She threw up a gloved hand. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I won’t have runaways sleeping in my bedrooms, Daniel. We need to get that settled now.”
She opened her small reticule and extracted a miniature pot of rouge. Using the mirrored lid to guide her, she touched up the color on her lips, then put the pot back inside. “Are we agreed?”
“No.”
She eyed him for a few silent moments, then stated, “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why, because I got upset about you hugging that ill-dressed little runaway?”
Daniel’s lips thinned, then he simply shook his head. “No. It’s a lot of things. Mostly it’s that you don’t seem to care about what’s happening in the world around you, Francine.”
She chuckled a bit sarcastically. “I know you’re upset when you address me as Francine—”
Getting up from the chair she came over to him and placed her arms around his waist. Looking up at his chiseled face, she cooed, “Kiss me so I’ll know no matter what, you still love me.”
Smiling, she softly pressed herself against him and Daniel closed his eyes in response to the reaction that caused. Eighteen-year-old Francine was a well-brought-up, well-educated young woman from a good family. She was also what some folks called a “fast girl.” Since they were fourteen, Franny’d let him kiss her and touch her in ways that would get him a beating if their fathers ever found out. In fact, she was so fast Daniel didn’t know what to do with her sometimes, like now.
“Kiss me,” she whispered again in a voice as seductive as Eve’s.
As if Daniel were Adam being tempted in the Garden, he pulled her closer and complied.
When they finally ended the kiss, Francine held him tight and laid her head on his chest. She instantly felt the moisture left behind by Belle’s tears. She stepped back. “Ugh, your shirt’s all wet!”
Daniel touched his hand to his shirtfront. Memories of Belle surfaced but he pushed them away. “Sorry.”
Francine rolled her eyes impatiently. “So, are we going to Cissy’s tonight or not?”
He nodded. Francine was both smart and beautiful; he’d never been able to stay angry with her, no matter how frustrated she made him. Lately, however, it seemed to be taking him longer and longer to get over the frustration and to remember that he loved her. He was also beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake two years ago when he promised Franny’s dying mother that he’d take care of Francine always. “Yes, what time?”
“About half past five.”
“With those slave catchers about, we shouldn’t be out late tonight.”
“I know, and I wish someone would do something about them. It’s going to be warm again soon. We can’t have them ruining all our evenings.”
Daniel smiled and shook his head. “You’re something, do you know that?”
“Yes, I am,” she tossed back with certainty. “But I’m all yours and you’re all mine. Now, kiss me again so I’ll know that girl upstairs means nothing to you.”
Daniel grinned down. “You’ve had enough kisses for today and that door there’s been closed long enough for my mother to come knocking wondering what we’re doing in here.”
She pouted prettily. “Your sense of honor can be very tiring sometimes, Daniel Best.”
He kissed her forehead. “See you this evening.”
“Oh, all right.”
Daniel went to the door and opened it. Francine sashayed by him and he escorted her outside to her buggy and the waiting liveried driver.
“Later, darling,” Francine cooed.
A blink of an eye later, her fancy rig was moving down the street. Daniel turned to head back inside. He glanced up at the house, and just as he did, he saw the curtains in the window of Belle’s room drop. Had Belle been watching him or had it been his mother? he wondered. Unable to answer, he resumed the short trek to the front door.
Cecilia turned from the window. “Well, she’s gone.”
Good riddance, Belle thought, but kept the opinion to herself. “How long have she and Daniel known each other?”
“All their lives. Franny decided in primary school that Daniel was the one for her and it’s been that way since.”
“Sounds like a girl who knows what she wants.”
“And what she can’t get, her papa will buy for her. She’s terribly spoiled.”
Belle got that impression. “Is she an abolitionist?”
“Her father is. She’s a shopper. We practice Free Produce here, but Franny continues to order her gowns from questionable sources.”
“What’s Free Produce?”
“It’s a movement designed to punish slave owners in their pocketbooks. Free Producers don’t purchase any goods made by captive hands.”
Belle found that idea quite impressive. “None?”
“None. No American sugar, cotton, leather goods. Nothing. It was a campaign started by the Quakers but our communities have embraced it, too.”
“So what did you mean when you said Francine was ordering her gowns from questionable sources?”
“You’re a seamstress, Belle. Have you ever seen British cotton?”
“On a few occasions, yes. It’s coarser and a bit harder to work with.”
“Well, Free Produce women buy the higher-priced British cotton for their gowns because England doesn’t have slaves. Those ladies who can’t afford the British cotton make do with their old ones.”
“Francine doesn’t?”
“No. She tells her father she orders from Windsor and Quebec, but in truth she buys American fabric. Admitted as much to Daniel. Said she didn’t like the way it chafed her skin.”
“But she’s helping slave owners.”
Cecilia shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to matter to her. That’s why I was hoping Daniel would find him someone new while away at Oberlin, but he didn’t. My son is a strong, dedicated young man. The issues of the day mean a great deal to him and he deserves a woman as special as he.”
?
??Not Francine.”
“Not Francine.”
Belle knew she’d never be his choice, but the idea of having Cecilia Best as a mother-in-law seemed grand. “Well, maybe he will find someone.”
Cecilia looked Belle in the eye and said, “I’ll keep praying.”
Cecilia headed to the door, but before exiting, looked back. “If you need anything, and I do mean anything, to get you through this heartbreak with your father, let us know.”
Belle nodded. “I will, and thank you—for everything.”
“You’re very welcome. Dinner at five.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jojo had spent the day at Trudy’s. Because there was no public school for the area’s children of color, the parents who could afford to do so pooled their funds and paid for the services of private tutors. Jojo and her fellow classmates had been without a formal instructor since their old one moved west last fall. The new teacher, a young man from Chatham, Ontario, had been hired only days ago. Under the agreement, classes would be taught within the homes of the children on a weekly rotating basis and they began this morning.
“How’d the day go?” Belle asked Jojo, who came up to Belle’s room after her arrival home.
Jojo took one look at Belle’s red-rimmed, swollen eyes and said quietly, “Mama told me about your papa. You must feel awful.”
“I do.”
“Did Mama give you one of her hugs? They always seem to help me feel better.”
Belle wondered if she’d ever meet anyone with a bigger heart than Josephine Best. “No, but Daniel did.”
Jojo smiled. “Good.”
“Well, up to a point. Francine saw us.”
Jojo’s eyes widened. “She was here?!”
“In this very room, and she was furious when she saw your brother holding me.”
“See, this is why I don’t like going to school. I miss everything.”
Belle chuckled. “It wasn’t all that much really. But she was pretty angry.”
“Was she all gussied up?”
Belle shrugged. “I suppose. She had on a beautiful blue cape. I see why Daniel wants to marry her—she’s very beautiful.”
Jojo waved a dismissive hand. “On the outside maybe, but inside she’s rotten as spoiled eggs.”
Belle decided to change the subject. It was plain Jojo had no love for her brother’s intended. “Tell me about the school. What’s the teacher like?”
Jojo swooned dramatically and fell back onto Belle’s bed. “He’s heavenly. So very, very heavenly. Trudy and I couldn’t take our eyes off him. His name’s Mr. Hood. He’s tall, even taller than Dani, and his eyes—oh, Belle—they’re a handsome brown, and he’s fit, not fat like the teacher we had last time. I think I could study with him twenty-seven hours a day, ten days a week.”
Belle enjoyed Jojo so much. “That handsome, huh?”
“Handsomer. And his voice,” she gushed. “He was reading the geography lesson and every girl in the room started to sigh. Oh, Belle, I think I’m in love.”
Belle laughed. “I think your mama might have something to say about that.”
Jo turned her twelve-year-old face Belle’s way and replied, “We just won’t tell her. How about that?”
Both girls laughed, then went downstairs for dinner.
six
Later that same evening as Belle prepared for bed, Mrs. Best knocked lightly on Belle’s partially open door, then asked, “Belle, may I speak with you?”
Belle answered affirmatively even though the pain of her father’s fate still hung like weights on her heart and she didn’t feel much like talking. She gestured Mrs. Best to a seat in one of the old stuffed chairs. Belle sat on the bed.
Silence slipped between them for a short while, then Mrs. Best said quietly, “You know, Belle, when my mother was sold, I didn’t think the hurt would ever go away.”
Belle looked up and met her kind brown eyes. “And did it?”
Mrs. Best shook her head. “No, but as time passed, I learned to manage it, as will you.”
Belle bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. How would she live without her father? Mrs. Best said softly, “Something like this leaves a hole in your heart that will always be there.”
Belle understood that. Her heart did feel wounded, and it was bleeding tears.
Mrs. Best then said, “Fugitives all over this nation have walked the path you’re on. Like us, they’ve lost parents. Some, their children. Facing freedom alone can be hard, but we survive. We have to, otherwise all the sacrifices made by those who came before us would be in vain.”
Belle’s tears were running freely down her cheeks.
“Belle, I know you’re without family, but we’d be honored if you’d consider us your surrogate one. You’re welcome here for as long as you wish.”
Belle wondered what she’d done to deserve such special people in her life. “Thank you, Mrs. Best.”
Mrs. Best took a clean handkerchief from the side pocket of her day gown and handed it to Belle. Belle wiped at her tears and blew her nose. She said finally, “Never knew one body could hold so many tears.”
Mrs. Best smiled sadly. “It’s a natural thing. No one will hold it against you if you cry for two months. Lord knows, I did.”
“What was it like for you coming North?”
“Scary, strange—different. I’d never been in a place that had a real winter until I came North. Had no idea snow was so cold.”
Belle gave her a watery smile.
“Then there was all the different types of people. I’d heard about free folks but had never met any, so when I got to Boston and learned there was a large community that dated back to before the Revolutionary War, I was speechless.”
“I’d never met any free folks before coming here either.”
“Then we have a lot in common, you and I.”
“I suppose we do.”
Belle looked into Mrs. Best’s eyes and then asked, “Is it okay if I’m a bit scared of the future?”
“Yep.”
“You said you were afraid when you first came.”
“I was. Still am in many ways.”
Belle hadn’t expected that. “You don’t seem afraid.”
“I am, though. Afraid slavery will never end, and we’ll have to live the rest of our lives fending off slave catchers. Michigan, like other states here in the North, has passed Personal Liberty Laws to protect folks like you and me against the horrid mandates of the Fugitive Slave Act, but they could be voided at any time depending on the political winds.”
“I wish there’d been a law to protect my father.”
“So do I.”
“I know everyone did all they could to find him.”
“Doesn’t dull the hurt though, does it?”
Belle shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
Mrs. Best came over and took a seat beside Belle. “You’re safe here. My family is now your family and we’ll do whatever it takes to make certain you are as successful as you can be.”
Belle still didn’t understand such generosity. “But why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”
“Sure I do. You’re me, and every other soul who came North to find freedom. We must help each other if we are all to move forward.”
Belle thought on that for a moment and decided that when she got the chance she, too would lend someone a helping hand.
Mrs. Best said, “It would be foolish to ask if this talk made you feel you better, because I know no amount of words can ease the hurt of losing your father, but I do hope I’ve set your mind at ease about the future.”
Belle nodded. “You have.”
Mrs. Best stood. “Good. Now, get some sleep. The hurt will dull, Belle, I promise.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Best.”
“You’re welcome, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She departed as quietly as she’d come.
As Belle lay in her bed she reflected back on the day. Learning her
father’s fate had been devastating—it seemed she’d carry the pain of his uncertain future for the rest of her life. Had she not been in such dire need, being comforted by Daniel would’ve been thrilling. Him holding her while she cried had made her feel so special, so cared about. She’d been embarrassed to the soles of her feet when Francine showed up, though, and Belle didn’t need the ability to read to decipher the sneering, contemptuous look on the Queen’s golden face. Belle hoped she hadn’t made an enemy today. Mrs. Best’s kind words had soothed her hurts, but Belle felt as if she’d been whipped about by a windstorm. She’d no idea where it would blow her or who she might be when everything settled, but she was surrounded by sterling examples of the person she could be. Content with that, Belle offered up one more prayer for her father’s safety, then closed her eyes to sleep.
The next day, Belle placed her father’s memory deep inside her heart and prepared to start her new life as a free young woman of color. To that end she planned to ask Mr. and Mrs. Best if it would be all right if she began taking in sewing and if they had any ideas as to how to drum up customers.
“Well, I need a dress for a ball next month. Maybe if I wear something you’ve created it would stir up interest,” Mrs. Best replied as Belle and the family sat around the breakfast table.
Belle looked so surprised, everyone grinned.
Belle finally found speech. “Mrs. Best, I didn’t mean that I had to sew for you. I’m sure you have your own dressmaker. I—”
“Are you saying you can’t make me a fancy gown or you won’t?”
Belle studied her for a moment. “You would trust me to do that? Without even knowing if I can or not?”
“I’ve seen some of your work, dear. I trust you can do what you say you can.”
Daniel said, “I could use a couple new shirts if you don’t want to make Mama’s gown.”
Mr. Best asked, “Can you tailor suits, Belle?”
A wondrous Belle looked over at the grinning Jojo who said, “Guess you have your first customers, Belle.”
Belle guessed she did.
After breakfast, Daniel drove Jojo to Trudy’s house for school while Mr. Best headed out to his carpenter shop in the barn behind the house. That left Mrs. Best and Belle to see to the cleaning up, a job Belle didn’t mind in the least.