Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” By Cameron Dokey (16 page)

He shifted his weight, as if uncomfortable.

“This is
your
room” he said. “No one may enter except by your permission.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even me.”

Slowly, I moved back across the floor until we faced each other across the

threshold, just a little too close for comfort.

“You deny yourself a place in your own home? Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted you to have a place here you could call your own, a place you

could feel safe.”

“Am I in some danger, then?”

“From me, no,” the Beast said. “But from your own fears of me and your

surroundings, I think the answer may be yes.”

He shifted his weight again. “I would like –” He stopped, then tried again. “Please do not misunderstand me, Annabelle. You’ve been polite, but you’ve shown also that you have a backbone. Both of which are very nice, but they do not alter the heart of the matter.

“You did not come here of your own free will.”

“There’s an easy way out of that,” I answered. “Let me go.”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “Not yet. Not until you can show me what the

Heartwood holds.”

“So until then, no matter how lovely and magical it is, this place is still a prison.”

Now it was the Beast who took a step forward, until the tips of his boots nudged

right up against the doorway. “It has always been a prison,” he said. “A very beautiful one, that much is true, but a prison nevertheless. I find it helps if you don’t try quite so hard
not
to see the bars.”

He took a single step back. “Within the boundaries of this place you may go

anywhere you like,” he went on. “But you may not go beyond them. The same applies to me, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I said. “But it doesn’t.”

“I didn’t think it would,” he replied.

He picked up my shawl and the branch of the Heartwood, both of which had been

sitting beside the door in the hall. “Here are your belongings. Your time is yours to spend as you wish, though I’d like to make a request.”

It’s your house
, I thought.
You can do whatever you like
.

“I’m listening,” I said. Not the most gracious response, but standing there I

realized suddenly how very tired I was. Just getting here had taken all my strength, and now he wanted one thing more.

“Please,” I said, when he still remained silent. “Go on.”

“I’m hoping you will consent to join me each day, just at twilight,” the Beast

replied. “I have become reconciled to many things, but not to being utterly alone as each day gives way to night. If you will give me your company, I think it would make the moment easier to bear.”

“How will I know where to find you?” I asked.

“I’ll find you,” the Beast said. “If you consent.”

“I consent, just don’t…” I sighed. There was no way forward but to sound

ridiculous or to give offense, or both. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t sneak up on me,” I said. “Your sudden appearances and disappearances can be a little alarming.”

“That is fair enough,” the Beast said. “I will do my best not to alarm you. Until tonight then, Annabelle.”

Without another word, he turned and strode away. I closed the door quietly

behind him. Then, carrying the Heartwood branch, I walked back across the room,

opened the door to the balcony, and stepped out. The air was clean and brisk, and I inhaled deeply. I sat down at the table, and though the view beyond my balcony was compelling, all my attention was cradled within my palms.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the tingle that would be the signal that soon I’d

know what the wood held within it, the image it carried in its heart of hearts. But, though I sat all that afternoon, sat until the air grew chill and the sun began to sink in the sky, I felt no stirring of my Gift.

I felt nothing, nothing at all.

And finally, for the first time, I felt truly afraid. Afraid for my own life. Not that the Beast would harm me, but that my existence might come to be as his was. That the loneliness of this place, no matter how beautiful it was, would soon become his and mine combined.

I gripped the Heartwood tightly in my hands, the deeply grooved bark biting into

my palms.

Help me,
I thought.
Help me to see truly. Help me find the secret of your heart
.

Help me find the way to free the Beast, and myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Our days soon fell into a somewhat comfortable routine. The Beast and I kept out of each other’s way as much as possible during the day, but, no matter where in the house or on the grounds I was, he always found me, just at twilight. Sometimes we would sit in the study, while he pointed out his favorite books. But more often, as the weather was warm, we stayed outdoors. Soon, I had been all over the grounds that were within easy walking distance of the great stone house.

I was beginning to learn my way around in other ways, as well. In addition to the panes of glass in my windows, there were doors that would open merely with a wish, set side by side with ones I could not open at all. I had only to think of a food I wanted to eat and it would appear, sometimes literally, before me. The first time this happened I was caught completely unawares and put my foot down squarely in a fresh strawberry pie. I soon learned to be stationary (and preferably) seated when I thought of food.

I tried very hard no to think too much of home. For when I did this, the house felt most like a prison, albeit a lovely and magical one.

But I did not let my explorations distract me from my purpose. Every day, I took

the Heartwood into my hands, trying to listen as it whispered its secrets, straining to see into its heart of hearts. I stood beneath the tree itself for hours on end, gazing up into its boughs. I laid my hands against the trunk, as Papa had. I even kicked off my shoes and climbed into the branches, the bark snagging holes in my stockings.

But no matter what I did, the Heartwood remained silent. The secrets it carried, it kept to itself. And every evening, just at nightfall, the Beast repeated the request he’d made the day I first arrived. That I look into his face and gaze into his eyes for the time it took to count to five. Each and every night I gave the same reply.

“
No. I can’t. I’m sorry
.”

Until, at last, I began to grow tired of the struggle. Of all the things I couldn’t do.

And I wondered how much longer we could go on as we were.

“Why five?” I asked one night. The Beast and I were sitting together in the

pergola, by the shores of the lake. He had not made his daily request yet, but I could tell it was coming. The sun had just begun to sink, plunging into the waters of the lake like a gold coin tossed to make a wish.

“What?” the Beast asked, as if his mind had been far away, drifting on the waters of the lake, perhaps, as his body sat, huge and solid, at my side.

“You always ask the same thing,” I said. “You always ask me to look at you for

the time it takes to count to five. Why that number? Does it mean something, or did you just choose it at random?”

“I didn’t choose it at all,” the Beast replied. If he was surprised that I’d brought up the matter of his request myself, he did not show it. But then, I didn’t have any of the usual landmarks to go by. It’s hard to learn to know someone when you can’t see their face or look into their eyes.

What a curious couple we are
, I though, then sat up a little straighter, as if poked by a pin.
You’re not a couple at all, Belle,
I reminded myself.

“Then why?” I inquired. “If you didn’t choose the number, who did?”

He turned his head then, as if he wished he could read my expression.

“Why do you want to know?”

I felt a burst of emotion, frustration and impatience combined. At least I was

making an effort to understand. All he did was ask the same question every single night.

I stood up. “You know what? Just forget it. I should have known you wouldn’t

tell me anyhow. You never really explain anything, do you? You just give orders.”

I set off, not caring where I was going.

“Belle, wait,” the Beast called. I kept on going. If he really wanted to catch up with me, he’d be able to do it in about thirty seconds, I had no doubt. Sure enough, before I’d gone half a dozen steps, he was beside me again, his long stride easily matching mine.

“Please wait,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to evade your question. I was asking for the simple truth. Why do you want to know?”

I sighed. “I just don’t understand why you always ask the same thing,” I said.

The energy from my outburst had carried me down to the shores of the lake. The

coin of the setting sun had melted now, turning the water a shimmering liquid gold.

“I don’t like knowing that you’ll ask it, even though we both know what my

answer will be, night after night.” I paused. “And I suppose it’s starting to make me…

unhappy that I always say no.”

“I will never harm you because of your answer,” the Beast said quickly.

I considered this for a moment, replaying his words in my mind. I poked my toe at the damp, sandy earth by the shore of the lake.

“I know that,” I said at last.

“Do you?”

“I think I do,” I replied. “I think that I have come to understand, to believe,” I went on, choosing my words very carefully, “that it was never your intention to do me harm. Which is not quite the same thing as saying you’re always happy with me, or that I’m always comfortable here.”

“No, it isn’t,” the Beast replied. There was a pause. At any moment, I expected

his nightly question. But it did not come.

“What’s on the other side of the lake?” I asked at last. “And don’t you dare say

‘the opposite shore.’”

He made the sound I knew to be laughter. “Beyond the lake is one of the

boundaries of this place,” he said. “It lies…not far beyond the opposite shore.”

“Do you ever go out onto the lake?”

He shook his head. “Not often, no.”

“But you must sometimes,” I persisted. “There’s a boat.” I could see it from

where we stood, moored to a short pier not far from the pergola.

“There is a boat,” he agreed. There was a silence. “I take it you’re proposing we go now. It’s getting dark, Annabelle.”

“But there will be a moon soon enough,” I countered. “It was almost full last

night.” I turned toward him then, inching my eyes upward as far as I dared. “Please,” I said. “Might we not at least try? Is three something I should be afraid of in the dark?

Something that intends me harm?”

Though we were often together as the sun went down, I had always stayed alone

in my own room after dark. This had been my own decision, and it had seemed a prudent choice. Even in the world I knew, it was not always safe to be out after dark. And there was so very much about this place I did not know.

“There is nothing in the dark that will deliberately seek you out to harm you,

nothing present in the dark that does not dwell in the light, as well,” the Beast replied.

“But the dark provides a kind of freedom. It is a time when some things here become more of what they truly are.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“Wild.”

I let this sink, weighing the options, for I had the very strong feeling he was

including himself.

“Thank you for the warning,” I said. “But I believe I would still like to go. I can go on my own, if you don’t wish to take me. I know how to row a boat.”

But the Beast was already shaking his head. “No. if going out on the lake is what you wish, then it will be my pleasure to take you.”

“That is what I wish.”

“Then let us go.”

Much to my astonishment, he offered an arm, precisely as if we were a young

lady and gentleman out for an evening’s stroll. I hesitated. Aside from that first day, when he’d tried to lift me from the horse, we had been very careful not to touch each other. And he had not gone near the Heartwood branch again. It was always safe in my room, or on the balcony outside.

I steadied my hand, then tucked my fingers lightly into the crook of his arm. A

shudder passed through him, of pain or pleasure I could not tell.

The Beast wore velvet. He almost always did, and the fabric was rich and smooth

beneath my fingertips. And for once I was dresses as finely as he, for I had at long last given up the simple dress I’d brought with me in favor of one from the wardrobe. I’d put off doing this for as long as possible. Wearing the clothes the Beast provided felt too much like settling in. but I had brought only one dress, and I couldn’t wear it every day forever.

The one I’d finally decided on was a deep blue with a full skirt, and a lace

undershift that showed at the bodice and cuffs. It wasn’t until I was halfway down the stairs that I realized why I’d chosen it over all the others: The dress was the same shade as the gown worn by the woman in the stained glass window, the window that had hid the Beast’s own shadow that first afternoon. Like the Beast’s own clothing, it was velvet. I felt its luxurious weight with every step I took, a far cry from my usual homespun.

“Who is the young couple?” I asked. “The one on the gate, and on the front

door?”

“You are full of questions tonight,” the Beast observed. Not quite the response I was hoping for. We reached the pier and proceeded down it toward the boat, our shoes making hollow sounds against the wood.

“I’m always full of questions,” I admitted with a sigh. “It used to drive my mother crazy when I was a child. I’d try my best not to ask them, but it would always make things worse. I’d store them up only to let them loose in a great flood, just like tonight. I therefore solemnly promise not to ask any more questions this evening.”

“You will have a hard time keeping that promise, I think,” he remarked.