Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” By Cameron Dokey (13 page)

“In fear of your life, sir,” Dominic put in quietly. “Surely you need not honor a bargain made under such terms.”

“Perhaps not,” said my father. “But –”

“Papa isn’t going to go at all,” I heard myself say. “I’m the one this Beast really wants. He’s made that clear enough. I’m the one who can carve the wood. If not for me, Papa never would have picked up the branch in the first place. I’m the one who should keep the promise.”

“How can I allow that?” my father asked, the anguish in his voice ringing as clear as a bell. “What kind of father sends his daughter into danger while he himself stays safe at home?”

“The kind of father who trusts his daughter,” I answered. “And who is wise

enough to recognize that he has no choice. Surely this Beast only wants what we all do: to see the face of true love. If I can show him that –”

“True love!” my mother suddenly exclaimed. “What can a Beast know of love?”

“Perhaps this is what he wishes to discover,” I said.

“
Perhaps
,” cried Maman. “All I hear you say is
if
and
perhaps
. Those are fragile words to pin your hopes on, let along your life,
ma
Belle
.”

I leaned forward then, and did what I’d feared to do, until now. I took the branch of the Heartwood Tree between my hands. The rough bark bit into my palms.

“I have felt…different for as long as I can remember,” I said quietly. “Even

before the space between my name and my face became so great that I found a way to disappear inside it.”

I lifted up the wood, as if to test its weight, and felt the fine tingling in my hands that always heralded my ability to picture what the wood was holding in its secret heart of hearts.

“I do not know if what I will find inside this wood will be what the Beast wants.

But we all know that I’m the only one of us who will find anything at all. I may
not
, but we all know Papa
cannot
. In which case
perhaps
and
if
may be stronger than they sound.”

“I do not understand you,” my mother said. “It is almost as if you wish to go into danger.”

“Of course I don’t,” I replied. “But I won’t send Papa back, not if I can help it.”

My father pulled in a breath to speak. I stood up before he could, still cradling the Heartwood bough.

“You are tired, Papa,” I said. “All of us are confused and frightened, but none of us need to go anywhere right this moment. Let us speak no more of this for now.”

I gave Maman a tired smile. “
Perhaps
tomorrow will bring a way out that we cannot see today.”

“Perhaps,” said my mother. She stood up. “Come upstairs, Roger,” she said. “You

are tired. A proper rest in your own bed will do you good. Belle is right. Whatever must be decided can wait until at least tomorrow.”

Papa and Maman climbed the stairs, their arms around each other. April and

Dominic went outside, speaking in quiet voices.

“I’ll do the dishes, just this once, mind you,” Celeste said. She paused for a

moment, gazing at the branch of the Heartwood Tree. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “Do you suppose it wants some water?”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing myself,” I said.

And so, while Celeste cleared the dishes, I took the heaviest of our pitchers and filled it with water. I placed the Heartwood branch in the pitcher and carried them both up to my room. I set the pitcher on the windowsill beside my bed. Then I curled up on the bed, gazing at the blossoms of the Heartwood tree, listening to the sound of my parents’

voices as they spoke quietly in the next room.

I closed my eyes and felt the small house, which had become our home, safe and

snug and comforting, around me. But even with my eyes closed, I saw the petals of the Heartwood Tree, as if their image had been etched onto my eyelids. White as freshly fallen snow; red as heart’s blood.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Heartwood branch sat in its pitcher on my windowsill all week, its petals never fading, its fragrance filling the house. I cannot say my family ever grew comfortable with our strange new situation, but they did become…resigned.

There were no more emotional scenes or arguments, though every time I looked at

my mother, I saw the fear and sorrow in her eyes. Much as it grieved me to see it, it only strengthened my resolve.

I would not send my father back into the Wood. I must be the one to leave home.

On the morning that Papa or I needed to honor the agreement, I awoke early, even

before Celeste, who is always the first one up, to stir up the stove. I washed my hands and face, then stood a moment considering.
What does one wear when going to pay a visit to
a Beast
? I wondered.
What else should I bring along
? For I had no idea how long I’d have to stay.

This last thought was all it took to send me hurrying into motion.

Moving quietly, so as not to awaken my sisters, I put on my plainest everyday

dress, the one of gray homespun, and laced up my sturdiest pair of shoes. Then I spread my favorite shawl out on the bed and set my bundle of carving tools in the very center, adding an apron and several pairs of stockings to the pile. I folded the ends of the shawl into the middle, and tied it into a bundle I could carry by slipping my arm through the knots.

It wasn’t much. But then that was precisely my intention.
That ought to send a
message
, I thought. I wasn’t coming to impress, and I would stay no longer than I must.

Finally, I lifted the pitcher containing the branch of the Heartwood from off my

bedroom windowsill. A scatter of blossoms sifted down. I reached to sweep them up, then decided to let them be.
Let them stay, to welcome me
home, I thought.

I slipped the bundle over my arm and tiptoed from the room. Downstairs in the

kitchen, I placed the Heartwood and my belongings on the stool by the back door, went to the stove, stirred up the fire, and put on the kettle. While it was heating up, I opened the back door and looked out. It was as fine a spring morning as anyone could have asked for.

I could see the neat rows of the vegetable garden from where I stood. I had

planted carrots, lettuce, beets, peas, pole beans, and tomatoes earlier in the week, trying hard not to wonder whether or no I’d have the opportunity to taste any of the vegetables whose seeds I was so carefully placing in the ground. A faint layer of dew lay on the freshly turned earth. It steamed slightly, where the sun touched it, wisps of ghosts rising up from the ground.

I heard the rattle of the kettle, the signal that the water had begun to boil. I turned toward the stove, but Celeste was already there. She’d come downstairs so quietly I hadn’t heard her arrive.

“Thank you for getting things started for me, Belle,” Celeste said as she lifted the kettle from the stove and poured the steaming water over the leaves in the teapot.

“I left the real work for you,” I said. I stepped back into the kitchen, but left the door open. It was nice to smell the morning air. “All I did was boil water.”

“And a fine job you did of it too,” Celeste said. “What would you say to pancakes this morning?”

“When have I ever said no to pancakes?” I asked, though, to be honest, I didn’t

think I could eat a thing. My stomach was full of knots.

Celeste fetched her favorite blue mixing bowl down from the shelf and carried it

to the table as if she were preparing to make breakfast as she did on every other morning.

But when she went to set down the bowl, it slipped from her hands, gouging the smooth tabletop.

Celeste gave a horrified cry. She rested her hands flat on the table and leaned over them, as if to catch her breath. “I can’t do this,” she gasped. “I can’t act like everything’s normal. I just can’t. You’re really going, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m really going,” I said. I moved to stand beside my sister and laid a

consoling hand on her arm. “I have to go. You must see that, Celeste. One of us has to, and I can’t let Papa…”

My voice faltered, and broke. It was impossible to speak past the enormous

weight in my chest, the lump in my throat. All week long, I’d told myself I would be brave. I didn’t feel so brave right at the moment.

“Don’t,” Celeste said. She put her arms around me and held on tight. “Don’t you

dare cry, Belle. If you start, then I’ll start, and we’ll wake the whole house. I understand.

I think we all do. I just wish there were some other choice.”

“I wish that too,” I said. “With all my heart. But there isn’t one. Unless this Beast, whoever or whatever he is, changes his mind.”

“Maybe he will,” Celeste said, her tone determined and hopeful. “Or maybe he’ll

just forget. He said he’d send for you, didn’t he? What if –”

She stopped, abruptly, and I felt her arms tighten around my waist. But I was

already stepping from the shelter of her arms. For I had heard the same thing she had: the sound of hooves outside.

“Don’t look, Belle,” Celeste pleaded. “If you don’t look, maybe it will go away.

We can pretend it isn’t there.”

“But it
is
there,” I said. “And we both know it.” I moved to the open door and looked out.

There was a horse standing in the yard beside the vegetable garden. He was the

most astonishing color I’d ever seen, a black so deep it was as if the night had changed its form. His mane shimmered blue, like a raven’s wing does in bright sunlight.

“I thought princes in fairy tales were supposed to have white horses,” Celeste

said.

“Ah, but this horse belongs to a Beast and not a prince,” I said. “And this is not a fairy tale. It’s real life.”

“Look,” Celeste said. She pointed at the horse’s saddle, bit, and bridle. “Silver buckles.”

As if he had heard her, the horse tossed his head.

“Silver buckles,” I echoed softly. “It seems he doesn’t like them any more than I do.”

Without warning, Celeste snatched up the Heartwood branch and the shawl with

my belongings, and thrust them into my arms.

“Go, Belle,” she said. “If you’re really determined to do this, then go now, before anyone else comes downstairs. It will only be harder to leave once they do.”

I caught my breath. “You’re right,” I said. “You’re absolutely right.”

Together, we flew down the back steps and stopped nest to the horse. He took a

few prancing steps away, then steadied. I set my belongings on the ground turned to Celeste.

“Help me up.”

Celeste bent and made a cradle with her hands. I put one foot onto them, and she

boosted me up. I tossed my leg across the horse’s back, riding like a boy. I tucked my skirts in as best I could.

“Say good-bye to them for me,” I panted, as Celeste handed up my shawl. I set it

on the saddle before me, tucking the branch of the Heartwood through the knot. “Tell April not to wait to marry Dominic. And…I want to say thank you,” I said. “I should have said it long before now.”

“Thank you?” my sister asked. “To me? What for?”

“For not telling Paul de la Montaigne I was standing right behind him at that

stupid garden party,” I said. “For putting my pain before your own. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you, but I promise you, if I come back, I’ll try.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; of course you’ll come back,” Celeste replied. “And for the

record, Papa was right. Paul de la Montaigne is as dumb as a pailful or earthworms.

Forget about him. I certainly have. He was never worth your pain, or mine. Now you’d better get going.”

“Tell Papa and Maman I love them,” I said.

“I will,” Celeste promised, her own voice as breathless as mine. “But I think I’ve changed my mind. There is something you can do to make up for Paul de la Montaigne.”

“What’s that?” I asked, even as I felt the horse’s muscles bunch beneath my legs.

“
Come
home
.”

“I will,” I vowed. “I swear to you I will. I’ll find whatever it is this Beast wants, then come straight home.”

“
I’ll
hold you to
that
promise,” my sister said.

She stepped back just as the horse reared up, forelegs pawing the air, and uttered one great cry. Then, with a force so hard it made my teeth jar together, his hooves came back down to earth and we galloped from the yard.

“You could consider slowing down,” I panted some time later, though it was a miracle I could speak at all. The horse had kept a steady pace, as if afraid to go any slower lest I slip off his back and try to run off on my own.

At the sound of my voice, I saw his ears twitch.

“Our destination isn’t going anywhere, is it?” I went on. “I don’t expect to make a good impression. I’m already far too windblown for that. And I don’t actually imagine your master cares all that much about what I look like anyhow. But it might be nice if I could arrive in one piece. You keep this up, you’re going to shake my bones apart.”

The horse tossed his head, as if he disapproved of my remarks. But he did slacken his pace, first to a canter and then to a trot. Whether this had to do with my request or the fact that the Wood was up ahead, I could not tell. I brushed my hair back from my face and settled the bundle more firmly in front of me in the saddle.

As we passed beneath the first of the trees, the horse settled into a brisk but easy walk.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate you kindness.”

He turned his head and lipped the edge of my skirt.

“Oh, so now you want to be friends, do you?” I said with a smile. “After you’ve

gotten your way the whole time.”

The horse whickered, a sound like laughter.

“I wonder what you’re called,” I mused aloud as we continued on. “I hope it’s

something more imaginative than Midnight. And I wish you could tell me how much