A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 7ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:36:16 UTC
Midway through the job, she heard the door creak open and glanced behind her. The candlemaker was in the door, looking around a little apprehensively. Henri approached him with the same pleasant smile he gave to all his customers. “Good morning, Charles. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m not entirely sure…you see, my son is just at the age where he should be learning to read. I need a book that would appeal to children and also has a lot of easy words.”
“Well, we have plenty of books of fairy tales,” Henri said, “Perhaps Belle here can make some suggestions.”
Belle was surprised, but quickly stepped off the ladder, grabbing two books on the way down. “Monsieur Roland is right. The bookshop has several wonderful fairy tales. This one here has five tales in all, but they feature a lot of princesses and quests for true love, which might not appeal to your son at this age. But this book here,” and she offered up the second book, her natural enthusiasm for reading taking over, “Has only three stories, but they’re all full of adventure and swordfighting and dragons and all the sort of things that would enthrall a young boy. I think I’d recommend this one over the other one.”
Charles’ eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect! How much?”
As the man left the shop, Henri smiled at Belle. “Your first sale. Well done. I think you’ll be an excellent saleswoman. After all, who knows the books here better than yourself?” Belle just flushed and returned to her cleaning.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful. They got one or two more customers, but the day was mainly spent cleaning up and organizing the books. In the afternoon, Henri went out and bought them some bread and cheese, which they ate while discussing the possibility of arranging the books by genre and author instead of genre and title. As the sun started to set, Henri closed and locked the door to the shop. “What do you think, Belle? The life of a bookseller may not be glamorous, but I would say it isn’t all bad.”
“Oh no,” Belle agreed, “It’s a simple life, but it suits me well enough.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Henri said, lighting a candle and offering her his arm, “Although I’m not surprised. You’re the sort of person who will never be happy unless she has something new to see or do. That’s why you read so much.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Belle mused, “I’ve always wanted to travel more. See other towns and cities, maybe even ones outside of France. But that would make it hard for Papa to make and sell his inventions, so I’ll just make do with the books.”
Henri said nothing for a moment. Then, as they reached the upstairs rooms, he changed the subject. “Would you like to make dinner together? Perhaps you can suggest something other than plain soup.”
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 8ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:37:22 UTC
That night, he remained in the bedroom, although he still politely looked away while she was getting undressed. “Feel free to continue your reading,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the book, “I have some things to look over myself. If you have a question, don’t hesitate to ask.”
So they sat and read together, Belle enthralled by the various techniques, Henri flipping through a book and making little notes. He only looked up when he heard Belle close the book. “Finished?” When she nodded, he continued, “Are there any in there that are of particular interest to you?”
She blushed again. “There were a few. I think the one that interested me most was…”
“Not tonight,” he interrupted politely, “You should have another day to process it all. Tomorrow, we can start to explore. But I’m afraid it will have to be fairly slow; I’m not as young as I used to be.” He laughed a little.
Belle knew he was right, but she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Henri must have noticed, because he softly kissed her cheek. “Hopefully, you will think it worth the delay. Goodnight, Belle.”
He blew out the candle and lay down. She followed his example, tentatively draping her arm around him. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was smiling. He shifted a little, letting her head brush against his shoulder. He smelled like paper and ink, which was comforting enough to let her drift off to sleep.
The next day passed much like the first, but Belle found herself full of nervous energy, drumming her fingers against the tables and shelves and constantly moving around, even when there was nothing to do. Henri had a half-smile on his face all day, but didn’t comment on her fidgeting. And that night, as he closed up the shop, he took her hand and kissed it, which made her body twinge in an unexpected but still oddly satisfying way.
This time, he did not turn away as she undressed for bed, but watched her mildly, something glittering in his eyes. She felt a little awkward, but it was oddly thrilling to deliberately disrobe in front of someone. When she was done, she didn’t reach for a nightgown, but stood there naked, arms hanging loosely at her sides. Henri looked her up and down, and then gestured to the bed. “Find the pages that most interest you,” he said, “And I’ll be ready presently.”
Belle quickly reached for the book and started looking for the illustrations that had most intrigued her. While she did so, she heard the rustling of cloth, and paused in her search every few seconds to peek over the top. Henri might have been old and a little bent, but his body was in remarkably good shape, more wiry muscle instead of brittle bone.
Henri climbed into bed beside her, and she showed him her favorite picture. “Ah, yes, that one,” he said, “A little daunting for a beginner, but I think we should both be able to handle it. But first, you’ll want to feel properly relaxed. Now just lie still for a moment while I attend to this.”
It was like nothing Belle had ever experienced before. There were touches and kisses and a use of tongue that she never could have dreamt of. And when they got into the act proper, it only stung for one brief second, immediately replaced by warmth and odd tingles. It wasn’t perfect-she was never sure what to do with her arms, and Henri’s movements had no pattern, making it hard to find a rhythm-but when it was all over, and they lay pressed against one another, Belle decided that she would be quite happy if they spent every night exploring a different page of that book.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 9ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:38:32 UTC
Before the wedding, whenever Belle had mused over the life she was entering into, she had assumed it would be fairly simple, even a little dull, but with a fairly steady influx of new books to keep her occupied. She had been right, in part; the job of a bookseller was straightforward enough. But when the shop was closed…things were quite different indeed.
Henri, having noticed her desire to learn new things, presented her with several language books, ranging from simple (Spanish), to a book that was filled with odd scratches that represented words (Chinese, or so Henri said). They took to spending their suppertime, as well as their downtime in the shop, looking over the books, Henri teaching her various pronunciations and the occasional new conjugations. As she improved her skills, they would sometimes have entire conversations in other languages, Henri moving from one to the other to keep her on her toes.
“How do you know all this?” Belle asked him one night, as he easily pronounced a word she’d been struggling with for three minutes, “Surely you can’t have simply taught yourself.”
“No, you’re right,” he said, “I traveled a fair bit when I was younger. There was a period of two years where I made my living moving from town to town, doing little jobs here and there, as I drank in the language and culture. It wasn’t always the easiest life, but there was always the potential for something new.”
Belle looked up at him eagerly. “What was it like? Tell me everything!”
He laughed at her enthusiasm. “Very well. But I don’t want you to stop your practice; I’ll be telling you these tales in the appropriate language.” Which he proceeded to do, switching effortlessly from one language to the other, speaking slowly enough that Belle could grasp most of the words and stopping whenever she asked him to define a word. They were wonderful stories, full of amusing incidents and beautiful descriptions of the countrysides and buildings. It was almost as good as reading a book. When he had finished, she looked up at him with glittering eyes. “That’s remarkable, Henri. I never knew you were so well-traveled.”
He shrugged pleasantly. “It was a long time ago. When I felt I was growing too old to travel, I moved here, where life was slower-paced and I could do what I liked.” Belle could understand that, but she couldn’t help but look at him with new eyes.
Sometimes-not every night, but at least several times a week-after the lessons were over, they would retire to bed and try to replicate another one of the pages in the book. Belle found that with each new page, she was growing more comfortable in the act, the sensations feeling ever more pleasurable to her. Here, too, Henri was a patient teacher, and seemed inordinately pleased with himself the first night that she stiffened and actively gasped with pleasure. “Well then,” he said, when she managed to focus her gaze back on him, “I shall have to try to accomplish this every night.” And while he wasn’t always successful, it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 10ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:39:16 UTC
Once a month, Henri would leave to a nearby city to find more books for his shop. The first time, he left her in charge of the store, wanting her to have the experience. He was gone for a week, and Belle felt that the shop and the little rooms were actually too big for her, and although she diligently worked on her lessons, she felt they would have gone so much easier if she’d had Henri there to help her. That was when she realized that the warm feeling she’d always had for him had developed into something more. She wasn’t sure if it was love, exactly, but it was a contentedness that could make its absence painfully known. Belle didn’t know how to put it into words, but when Henri came back, she greeted him with an embrace and a warm kiss, which he accepted with a chuckle and a gentle smile.
The next month, and for many of the subsequent months, he locked up the shop entirely and took her with him. It was Belle’s first experience traveling, and she loved every minute of it. Watching the path change before the wagon, seeing new trees and hills, finally coming over a rise and seeing the city for the first time, far larger than the little town…it was like she had fallen into one of her books. Once in the city, the pleasure only increased, as there were so many more things to see and do. The bookseller’s was far grander than their own little shop, but Belle didn’t overly mind. She was left standing awestruck inside, looking around at the walls, piled floor to ceiling with books. It would have taken her at least a year to get through all of them, and she would have enjoyed every minute. Once she came out of her amazement, she joined Henri at the counter. It seemed that he selected his books based on recommendations from the shopkeeper, a grey-haired man named Rochard who looked far too serious. Henri glanced over at Belle with a hint of a smile and said, “Why don’t you look over some of the shelves and pick out some books that seem interesting to you. I know the customers trust your judgment, so I shall as well.” Belle all but sprinted for the shelves, vaguely aware of Henri’s chuckle behind her. With admirable restraint, she limited herself to the first bookshelf, selecting some two dozen books. When she returned to the counter, she glanced apologetically at Henri. “Does this go over your budget, Henri?”
He laughed. “A little,” he said, “but not by much, and I don’t mind paying a little extra. After all, I know they’ll be read.” He turned back to Rochard and started discussing price, leaving Belle blushing but pleased. Afterwards, they went to a little bistro for dinner and spent the night in an inn, Belle taking one of the new books to read. Then they made the journey homewards, Henri driving so Belle could spend more time with the new books.
In subsequent months, they visited various bistros and stayed at different inns, so Belle could see more of the city. She knew Henri was doing it for her benefit, and was incredibly grateful for it, although he dismissed it with a wave whenever she thanked him for it. “I’m always willing to try something new,” he said, “You just happen to be a handy excuse.” Excuse or not, Belle enjoyed the visits, glad for a chance to have a bit of an adventure, even if it was only a few miles from home.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 11ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:40:50 UTC
Twice a week, they had dinner with her father; once at his cottage, once in their rooms. Henri and her father would talk over Papa’s latest invention, Henri offering little suggestions or just staying quiet and letting her father bounce ideas off him. Belle contributed when she could, but she had her own topics of conversation as well. The three of them would talk about Belle’s studies (her father was delighted to hear the various languages), about the latest news in the village or scraps of gossip about the wider world, or about the various events in their lives. He was the first one to hear, seven months after the wedding, that he was going to be a grandfather; he nearly fell off the chair with joy, and she knew the news would be all over the town by tomorrow morning.
Henri apologetically told her that she should cease accompanying him to the city until after the baby was born-“As much as I love your company, I don’t want to put you or the child at risk.” She understood, disappointed as she was, but was reassured when he told her they could resume their trips together once the child was a few months old and fit enough to travel. Other than those few weeks, Henri was quite attentive to her, bringing her little things to eat to keep her strength up and providing her with hot cloths or herbs to deal with the various aches and pains of pregnancy. When she entered her ninth month, he didn’t go on his trip at all, preferring to be nearby should she go into labor. And when the day finally came, he was quick to send round for the midwife, and stayed in the room despite the woman’s protests, holding Belle’s hand and murmuring reassurances.
Émile Roland was born ten hours after Belle went into labor. He was a healthy baby who started screaming as soon as the midwife began to clean him up. Belle, exhausted, nevertheless reached out for him as soon as the midwife had wrapped him in a blanket. She and Henri looked down at the small bundle with tired but warm smiles. There was just enough energy left for them to decide on Émile as a name, and then she fell asleep, leaving the baby in Henri’s no doubt capable hands.
Belle had thought having a baby in the house would have put everything else on hold, but she was surprised once again. While they weren’t as intimate as before, and she was in the shop less often so she could keep an eye on Émile, the language lessons continued, only now she was rocking her son to sleep and singing him lullabies made up of various foreign words, or practicing her languages on him as she tried to feed him or get him to sit still as she bathed him. Henri watched all this in approval; “Our son will be able to speak in four languages before he ever attends school,” he said proudly, “He’ll have a leg up on me, that’s for certain.”
Belle’s reading habits didn’t diminish much either. She quickly learned how to support Émile on one shoulder while she read with the other, or rocking him in the crib her father had made for him while she read, ready to drop it at a moment’s notice if he cried out. Naturally, she read to him as well, not just the children’s fairy tales but any book that didn’t have inappropriate content. He seemed to like the sound of her voice, and often reached out for the book as though he was eager to try this reading out for himself. It was not a surprise to either of his parents when his first word was “Read.”
Encouraged by his parents, Émile learned to read at a young age, and began to be taught writing not long later. As expected, he was semi-fluent in Spanish and Germanic dialects, although they decided to wait until he was a little older before they started working on Chinese. Belle continued to read to him, although now she avoided works of philosophy, feeling he was a little young to be contemplating the meaning of life.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 12ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:42:20 UTC
As Henri had promised, Belle started accompanying him to the city again, this time with Émile in tow. He seemed as awed by the city as she was, and laughed and waved at everything they passed. When he got a little older, he asked an endless stream of questions from the moment they spotted the first buildings to the moment he was tucked into bed. Passerby seemed charmed by him, and would sometimes chime in to answer his questions. He might have been a handful, but Belle and Henri were delighted by his inquisitive mind. “Perhaps he will be a great scholar,” Henri mused one night, “And answer some of the world’s mysteries.”
“Or perhaps he will be an inventor like Papa,” Belle said, stroking her son’s hair as he slept, “and create something that will change the world."
When Émile was three, Belle once again discovered she was pregnant. Although he was a little bewildered by the concept, he seemed delighted to have a new playmate. He wasn’t even all that put-out by the fact that he and Belle couldn’t go to the city for a while, content to stay at home and ask her questions about the baby (although he fortunately managed to avoid the awkward question of how the baby had come to be in the first place). And when little Mirelle was born, he actually seemed happy that he had a sister. “Now we’ll be able to play fairy tales!” he said happily, and Henri laughed and ruffled his hair.
Thus it all began again-the foreign language lullabies, constantly being read to, journeys to the city-only now Émile was there to help. While he had to be taught that babies had less energy than children, he was allowed to come to Mirelle’s crib and talk at her in various languages, or sit quietly as Belle read to both of them. In this way, Mirelle grew up also able to understand several languages, and although her first word was the more conventional “Maman”, she still seemed eager to be read to and learn new words. She wasn’t as inquisitive as her brother, but she still looked around with interested eyes at everything. She was also more shy, shrinking behind her parents legs whenever someone spoke to her, but Henri tried his best to get her to open up a little more.
(Belle did learn one new interesting fact about her husband in the course of all this. As Mirelle’s hair grew in, it came out reddish-brown instead of pure brown like Émile’s. Henri acknowledged that yes, he had once had a full head of red hair. She tried to imagine it, and decided that she quite liked the image.)
As the children grew up, life in the bookshop became quite pleasant indeed. The children were allowed to come down and help in the bookshop, putting books away and carefully cleaning the floor. Dinnertime was often spent chatting in multiple languages, except for the days when they had dinner with her father, when they returned to French. Her father doted on the children, and brought them toys he’d made himself or sweets he’d bought in the market. He promised them both that they could visit his workshop once they were a little older, and they both seemed quite excited at the prospect. Once they were old enough to start attending school, they took to it happily, although Émile seemed disappointed that they weren’t learning other languages. Although both children seemed happy enough to stay at home, work on their lessons, and play their little games, Henri encouraged them to go out and play with the other children. “They may have new ideas for games to play,” he said, “and perhaps you can teach them some of your own. You can’t learn everything from books, you know.”
Mirelle was a little more hesitant about it, but as long as Émile was nearby, she was willing to try. While they rarely brought friends home to the bookshop, they did spend a little more time outdoors, play-acting with the other children by the fountain in summer and wrestling in the snow in wintertime. Henri seemed satisfied with this, and Belle was glad that they were happy.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 13ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:43:59 UTC
As for Henri and Belle, their relationship remained warm and studious. Belle was fully fluent in the various languages now, so there were no more lessons, but still plenty of chance to practice them. There was still a constant stream of books coming in, so she had plenty to read in her spare time. And although it wasn’t as frequent as it had been early in their marriage, they did, eventually, manage to work their way through every page in the book. It might have been part of the provincial life, but it felt so much more fulfilling. There was no need to dream of the future; enjoying each moment of the present was enough for her.
Émile was thirteen, Mirelle was ten, and Belle was thirty-two when Henri went to bed one night and never woke up. In the back of her mind, Belle had known that he would pass long before she did, but it was still a shock. Although he wasn’t as strong or energetic as he used to be, he was in good health and spirits. The doctor who examined him assured her that he had died peacefully in his sleep, with no pain, but that only provided her with a small comfort. If she hadn’t had Émile and Mirelle to think about, she was sure she would have shut herself up in the shop and been unable to come out. As it was, she did her best to comfort her children.
A surprising number of people came out for the funeral. Gaston appeared briefly to pay his respects, but disappeared almost as soon as he arrived. Belle hadn’t been keeping track of him, and he certainly hadn’t ever come round to the shop, but according to her father, he had eventually married one of his blonde hangers-on, and she had produced five children, four boys and one girl. (Of course, gossip being what it was, a few people couldn’t help but notice that the other two girls also had a black-haired son each, when their husbands had brown hair.) Other than him, however, everyone had wonderful things to say about Henri. Although business had never been brisk, it seemed he’d had an impact on the town nevertheless. Hearing the stories made tears come to Belle’s eyes, but it also shook her out of her numbness a little. She realized that he had made an impact on her life as well, and he wouldn’t want her to spend all her time in mourning. So as painful as it was to wake up and realize he wasn’t there, she would do her best to carry on.
Initially, she had thought that she would continue on at the shop, at least until Émile was old enough to look for a profession (with another painful stab at her heart, she realized that her father would have passed on by that time), at which point she would sell the shop and move to the city with Mirelle, which would give them more opportunities. But all that changed when, a week after the funeral, the solicitor came by to read the will to her.
Belle had managed the ledgers for the store, of course, so she knew that they had enough money to keep the store open and to comfortable take care of four people, but the amount the solicitor read out was positively astounding. It wasn’t enough to qualify her for the landed gentry, but it was enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her days, with enough left over to provide a dowry for Mirelle and a small starting sum for Émile. “There must be some mistake…” she said weakly.
“No mistake,” the solicitor said, producing a sealed letter and handing it to her, “I was instructed to give this to you as well.” Belle immediately ripped open the letter and saw Henri’s handwriting, shaky but legible; it had probably been written when the children were still in single digits.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 14ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:44:48 UTC
My dearest Belle, No doubt you have been taken aback by the sum the solicitor has read out to you. Rest assured, it is very real. I never mentioned it because I felt no need for it. We were all quite happy where we were, and, if I’m honest, I wished this to be one last surprise for you, and perhaps a comfort after I was gone. I told you several tales of my youth and my travels through Europe. However, I did not just travel by foot. I eventually took on a job with a merchant, partially for the money, but mostly so I could travel the world. That is how I came to learn Chinese-I was always surprised that you never asked. I worked as a merchant for most of my adult life, and saved my money carefully. When I was too old to continue the work, I had a fine sum to my name. I decided to retire to this village and open a bookshop, which would provide a little income, but would mostly give me a chance to broaden the horizons of the villagers. I got more than I expected from you. I have left the shop, the books therein, my few possessions, and all my money to you and the children. It has sat idle long enough, and my wish is that you, Émile, and Mirelle spend it how you see fit. While I’m sure some of it will go towards education and dowries, I hope you can find more pleasurable uses for it. Above all, I hope at least a portion of it is spent on travel. I taught you all those languages in the hopes that you would strike out on your own, taking advantage of your widowhood to move about freely without need of a chaperone. No doubt you are still quite young-you have many traveling days ahead of you. Go where you will and do what you will, but please, have the adventures you read about in books. Perhaps you can convince the children to join you. Although I know our marriage was not a love match, I was always fond of you, and you were a wonderful wife and an excellent mother. I could not have asked for anyone better. I can only hope that I was as good a husband and father. Be well, Belle. Look after the children until they’re old enough to look after themselves, and enjoy all that life has to offer. If there is such a thing as an afterlife, rest assured that I am watching over you.
With the tenderest affection, Henri Roland
Belle sat staring down at the letter, reading it over and over again. It wasn’t until her vision blurred that she realized tears were running down her face. She managed to thank the solicitor and send him on his way. Then she put her head down on the desk and cried, her first real, proper cry since Henri’s death.
Émile came in when he heard the door close. “Maman! What is it?”
Wordlessly, she handed him the letter. Even through her tears, she could hear him gasp. “Is this true?”
She nodded. “What…what are you going to do with it?”
“Give me a minute, Émile. Show the letter to your sister. I’ll be upstairs presently, and then we can talk about it.” Belle choked out. Émile carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, and then she heard his footsteps moving off. She cried until there were no tears left. Then she straightened up decisively, wiped her eyes, and headed upstairs.
Émile and Mirelle were waiting for her, looking at her with wide-eyes. She sat down in a chair, and they instinctively came to sit on the floor beside her, heads resting on her knees. Smiling, Belle started to stroke their hair. “Well, you’ve read the letter. And I think it would be doing your father a disservice if we didn’t at least try to do as he asked. But Mirelle should finish her schooling first, and we need to think about the long-term future. Do either of you have any suggestions?”
They talked long into the night, looking up things in books and making calculations. By the time the sky started to brighten, they had worked out a rudimentary plan. Belle rose from the table and embraced her children tightly. Without a word being spoken, they all headed into the main bedroom and prepared for bed. It was a bit of a tight fit-Émile had grown quite tall-but it felt right for them to share the bed as a family.
A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 15 (final part)ioaniteMarch 28 2013, 21:45:52 UTC
“Hurry up, Émile!” Mirelle called out, clapping a hand to her hat as a gust of wind flew past, “We don’t want to arrive too late for the market to close!”
Émile came over to the wagon, a touch of red in his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was just saying goodbye to Claudine.”
“I knew you were sweet on her!” Mirelle teased, pinching her brother’s arm, “Perhaps we should have invited her along.”
“Children…” Belle admonished gently, climbing into the wagon and gathering up the reins, “Let’s not start off this trip by bickering. There will be plenty of time for that in the coming months, after all.”
“Sorry, Maman,” Mirelle said, climbing into the back of the wagon, “It’s nerves.”
Émile sat beside his mother. “Do you want me to take the reins?”
“I can manage,” Belle assured him, “Besides, I feel I owe it to the horses to guide them over the familiar terrain one last time. Now, are we sure we’ve got everything? Trunks?”
“All five of them.” Mirelle acknowledged.
“Necessary Papers?”
“Right here.”
“Books?”
Mirelle laughed. “Yes. And even if we had left some behind, I don’t think it would have mattered much.”
“And have we said goodbye to everyone?”
“Yes,” Émile said, “I even made sure to put flowers on Papa and Grandpapa’s graves.”
“Me too.” Mirelle said. Belle smiled, for she had done the same thing herself. “Then I think we’re ready.” She clicked to the horses and they set off, moving at a slightly slower pace due to the weight of the cart.
It had all been arranged. The bookstore had been sold to a nice young man who was the son of the schoolteacher, who promised to take good care of it. When they got into the city, they would sell the horses and cart for a fair price, and spend a night at the inn. The next day, they would board a carriage bound for the nearest port. They had already booked passage on a ship headed towards Greece, although they weren’t sure that would be their final destination. It all depended what caught their eyes. The books were there to pass the time, and also to use for trade if it came to that.
As the horses reached the outskirts of town, Belle took one last look at the town she’d spent her whole life in up to now. She knew she’d miss it, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back to it. But the great wide somewhere she’d once dreamed of was calling out to her louder than ever, and she would be a fool if she didn’t answer back. With a smile and nod, she turned her eyes back to the road, looking forward to the moment when her eyes lit on unfamiliar ground.
Re: A Beneficial Arrangement, Part 15 (final part)little_elfieMarch 29 2013, 01:45:20 UTC
Oh wow, I was thinking of this prompt just the other day, always hoped someone would fill it and I couldn't be happier with your take on it. Such a lovely, poignant piece! Kudos!
“I’m not entirely sure…you see, my son is just at the age where he should be learning to read. I need a book that would appeal to children and also has a lot of easy words.”
“Well, we have plenty of books of fairy tales,” Henri said, “Perhaps Belle here can make some suggestions.”
Belle was surprised, but quickly stepped off the ladder, grabbing two books on the way down. “Monsieur Roland is right. The bookshop has several wonderful fairy tales. This one here has five tales in all, but they feature a lot of princesses and quests for true love, which might not appeal to your son at this age. But this book here,” and she offered up the second book, her natural enthusiasm for reading taking over, “Has only three stories, but they’re all full of adventure and swordfighting and dragons and all the sort of things that would enthrall a young boy. I think I’d recommend this one over the other one.”
Charles’ eyes lit up. “That sounds perfect! How much?”
As the man left the shop, Henri smiled at Belle. “Your first sale. Well done. I think you’ll be an excellent saleswoman. After all, who knows the books here better than yourself?” Belle just flushed and returned to her cleaning.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful. They got one or two more customers, but the day was mainly spent cleaning up and organizing the books. In the afternoon, Henri went out and bought them some bread and cheese, which they ate while discussing the possibility of arranging the books by genre and author instead of genre and title. As the sun started to set, Henri closed and locked the door to the shop. “What do you think, Belle? The life of a bookseller may not be glamorous, but I would say it isn’t all bad.”
“Oh no,” Belle agreed, “It’s a simple life, but it suits me well enough.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Henri said, lighting a candle and offering her his arm, “Although I’m not surprised. You’re the sort of person who will never be happy unless she has something new to see or do. That’s why you read so much.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Belle mused, “I’ve always wanted to travel more. See other towns and cities, maybe even ones outside of France. But that would make it hard for Papa to make and sell his inventions, so I’ll just make do with the books.”
Henri said nothing for a moment. Then, as they reached the upstairs rooms, he changed the subject. “Would you like to make dinner together? Perhaps you can suggest something other than plain soup.”
Reply
So they sat and read together, Belle enthralled by the various techniques, Henri flipping through a book and making little notes. He only looked up when he heard Belle close the book. “Finished?” When she nodded, he continued, “Are there any in there that are of particular interest to you?”
She blushed again. “There were a few. I think the one that interested me most was…”
“Not tonight,” he interrupted politely, “You should have another day to process it all. Tomorrow, we can start to explore. But I’m afraid it will have to be fairly slow; I’m not as young as I used to be.” He laughed a little.
Belle knew he was right, but she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Henri must have noticed, because he softly kissed her cheek. “Hopefully, you will think it worth the delay. Goodnight, Belle.”
He blew out the candle and lay down. She followed his example, tentatively draping her arm around him. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was smiling. He shifted a little, letting her head brush against his shoulder. He smelled like paper and ink, which was comforting enough to let her drift off to sleep.
The next day passed much like the first, but Belle found herself full of nervous energy, drumming her fingers against the tables and shelves and constantly moving around, even when there was nothing to do. Henri had a half-smile on his face all day, but didn’t comment on her fidgeting. And that night, as he closed up the shop, he took her hand and kissed it, which made her body twinge in an unexpected but still oddly satisfying way.
This time, he did not turn away as she undressed for bed, but watched her mildly, something glittering in his eyes. She felt a little awkward, but it was oddly thrilling to deliberately disrobe in front of someone. When she was done, she didn’t reach for a nightgown, but stood there naked, arms hanging loosely at her sides. Henri looked her up and down, and then gestured to the bed. “Find the pages that most interest you,” he said, “And I’ll be ready presently.”
Belle quickly reached for the book and started looking for the illustrations that had most intrigued her. While she did so, she heard the rustling of cloth, and paused in her search every few seconds to peek over the top. Henri might have been old and a little bent, but his body was in remarkably good shape, more wiry muscle instead of brittle bone.
Henri climbed into bed beside her, and she showed him her favorite picture. “Ah, yes, that one,” he said, “A little daunting for a beginner, but I think we should both be able to handle it. But first, you’ll want to feel properly relaxed. Now just lie still for a moment while I attend to this.”
It was like nothing Belle had ever experienced before. There were touches and kisses and a use of tongue that she never could have dreamt of. And when they got into the act proper, it only stung for one brief second, immediately replaced by warmth and odd tingles. It wasn’t perfect-she was never sure what to do with her arms, and Henri’s movements had no pattern, making it hard to find a rhythm-but when it was all over, and they lay pressed against one another, Belle decided that she would be quite happy if they spent every night exploring a different page of that book.
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Henri, having noticed her desire to learn new things, presented her with several language books, ranging from simple (Spanish), to a book that was filled with odd scratches that represented words (Chinese, or so Henri said). They took to spending their suppertime, as well as their downtime in the shop, looking over the books, Henri teaching her various pronunciations and the occasional new conjugations. As she improved her skills, they would sometimes have entire conversations in other languages, Henri moving from one to the other to keep her on her toes.
“How do you know all this?” Belle asked him one night, as he easily pronounced a word she’d been struggling with for three minutes, “Surely you can’t have simply taught yourself.”
“No, you’re right,” he said, “I traveled a fair bit when I was younger. There was a period of two years where I made my living moving from town to town, doing little jobs here and there, as I drank in the language and culture. It wasn’t always the easiest life, but there was always the potential for something new.”
Belle looked up at him eagerly. “What was it like? Tell me everything!”
He laughed at her enthusiasm. “Very well. But I don’t want you to stop your practice; I’ll be telling you these tales in the appropriate language.” Which he proceeded to do, switching effortlessly from one language to the other, speaking slowly enough that Belle could grasp most of the words and stopping whenever she asked him to define a word. They were wonderful stories, full of amusing incidents and beautiful descriptions of the countrysides and buildings. It was almost as good as reading a book. When he had finished, she looked up at him with glittering eyes. “That’s remarkable, Henri. I never knew you were so well-traveled.”
He shrugged pleasantly. “It was a long time ago. When I felt I was growing too old to travel, I moved here, where life was slower-paced and I could do what I liked.” Belle could understand that, but she couldn’t help but look at him with new eyes.
Sometimes-not every night, but at least several times a week-after the lessons were over, they would retire to bed and try to replicate another one of the pages in the book. Belle found that with each new page, she was growing more comfortable in the act, the sensations feeling ever more pleasurable to her. Here, too, Henri was a patient teacher, and seemed inordinately pleased with himself the first night that she stiffened and actively gasped with pleasure. “Well then,” he said, when she managed to focus her gaze back on him, “I shall have to try to accomplish this every night.” And while he wasn’t always successful, it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.
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The next month, and for many of the subsequent months, he locked up the shop entirely and took her with him. It was Belle’s first experience traveling, and she loved every minute of it. Watching the path change before the wagon, seeing new trees and hills, finally coming over a rise and seeing the city for the first time, far larger than the little town…it was like she had fallen into one of her books. Once in the city, the pleasure only increased, as there were so many more things to see and do. The bookseller’s was far grander than their own little shop, but Belle didn’t overly mind. She was left standing awestruck inside, looking around at the walls, piled floor to ceiling with books. It would have taken her at least a year to get through all of them, and she would have enjoyed every minute. Once she came out of her amazement, she joined Henri at the counter. It seemed that he selected his books based on recommendations from the shopkeeper, a grey-haired man named Rochard who looked far too serious. Henri glanced over at Belle with a hint of a smile and said, “Why don’t you look over some of the shelves and pick out some books that seem interesting to you. I know the customers trust your judgment, so I shall as well.” Belle all but sprinted for the shelves, vaguely aware of Henri’s chuckle behind her. With admirable restraint, she limited herself to the first bookshelf, selecting some two dozen books. When she returned to the counter, she glanced apologetically at Henri. “Does this go over your budget, Henri?”
He laughed. “A little,” he said, “but not by much, and I don’t mind paying a little extra. After all, I know they’ll be read.” He turned back to Rochard and started discussing price, leaving Belle blushing but pleased. Afterwards, they went to a little bistro for dinner and spent the night in an inn, Belle taking one of the new books to read. Then they made the journey homewards, Henri driving so Belle could spend more time with the new books.
In subsequent months, they visited various bistros and stayed at different inns, so Belle could see more of the city. She knew Henri was doing it for her benefit, and was incredibly grateful for it, although he dismissed it with a wave whenever she thanked him for it. “I’m always willing to try something new,” he said, “You just happen to be a handy excuse.” Excuse or not, Belle enjoyed the visits, glad for a chance to have a bit of an adventure, even if it was only a few miles from home.
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Henri apologetically told her that she should cease accompanying him to the city until after the baby was born-“As much as I love your company, I don’t want to put you or the child at risk.” She understood, disappointed as she was, but was reassured when he told her they could resume their trips together once the child was a few months old and fit enough to travel. Other than those few weeks, Henri was quite attentive to her, bringing her little things to eat to keep her strength up and providing her with hot cloths or herbs to deal with the various aches and pains of pregnancy. When she entered her ninth month, he didn’t go on his trip at all, preferring to be nearby should she go into labor. And when the day finally came, he was quick to send round for the midwife, and stayed in the room despite the woman’s protests, holding Belle’s hand and murmuring reassurances.
Émile Roland was born ten hours after Belle went into labor. He was a healthy baby who started screaming as soon as the midwife began to clean him up. Belle, exhausted, nevertheless reached out for him as soon as the midwife had wrapped him in a blanket. She and Henri looked down at the small bundle with tired but warm smiles. There was just enough energy left for them to decide on Émile as a name, and then she fell asleep, leaving the baby in Henri’s no doubt capable hands.
Belle had thought having a baby in the house would have put everything else on hold, but she was surprised once again. While they weren’t as intimate as before, and she was in the shop less often so she could keep an eye on Émile, the language lessons continued, only now she was rocking her son to sleep and singing him lullabies made up of various foreign words, or practicing her languages on him as she tried to feed him or get him to sit still as she bathed him. Henri watched all this in approval; “Our son will be able to speak in four languages before he ever attends school,” he said proudly, “He’ll have a leg up on me, that’s for certain.”
Belle’s reading habits didn’t diminish much either. She quickly learned how to support Émile on one shoulder while she read with the other, or rocking him in the crib her father had made for him while she read, ready to drop it at a moment’s notice if he cried out. Naturally, she read to him as well, not just the children’s fairy tales but any book that didn’t have inappropriate content. He seemed to like the sound of her voice, and often reached out for the book as though he was eager to try this reading out for himself. It was not a surprise to either of his parents when his first word was “Read.”
Encouraged by his parents, Émile learned to read at a young age, and began to be taught writing not long later. As expected, he was semi-fluent in Spanish and Germanic dialects, although they decided to wait until he was a little older before they started working on Chinese. Belle continued to read to him, although now she avoided works of philosophy, feeling he was a little young to be contemplating the meaning of life.
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“Or perhaps he will be an inventor like Papa,” Belle said, stroking her son’s hair as he slept, “and create something that will change the world."
When Émile was three, Belle once again discovered she was pregnant. Although he was a little bewildered by the concept, he seemed delighted to have a new playmate. He wasn’t even all that put-out by the fact that he and Belle couldn’t go to the city for a while, content to stay at home and ask her questions about the baby (although he fortunately managed to avoid the awkward question of how the baby had come to be in the first place). And when little Mirelle was born, he actually seemed happy that he had a sister. “Now we’ll be able to play fairy tales!” he said happily, and Henri laughed and ruffled his hair.
Thus it all began again-the foreign language lullabies, constantly being read to, journeys to the city-only now Émile was there to help. While he had to be taught that babies had less energy than children, he was allowed to come to Mirelle’s crib and talk at her in various languages, or sit quietly as Belle read to both of them. In this way, Mirelle grew up also able to understand several languages, and although her first word was the more conventional “Maman”, she still seemed eager to be read to and learn new words. She wasn’t as inquisitive as her brother, but she still looked around with interested eyes at everything. She was also more shy, shrinking behind her parents legs whenever someone spoke to her, but Henri tried his best to get her to open up a little more.
(Belle did learn one new interesting fact about her husband in the course of all this. As Mirelle’s hair grew in, it came out reddish-brown instead of pure brown like Émile’s. Henri acknowledged that yes, he had once had a full head of red hair. She tried to imagine it, and decided that she quite liked the image.)
As the children grew up, life in the bookshop became quite pleasant indeed. The children were allowed to come down and help in the bookshop, putting books away and carefully cleaning the floor. Dinnertime was often spent chatting in multiple languages, except for the days when they had dinner with her father, when they returned to French. Her father doted on the children, and brought them toys he’d made himself or sweets he’d bought in the market. He promised them both that they could visit his workshop once they were a little older, and they both seemed quite excited at the prospect. Once they were old enough to start attending school, they took to it happily, although Émile seemed disappointed that they weren’t learning other languages. Although both children seemed happy enough to stay at home, work on their lessons, and play their little games, Henri encouraged them to go out and play with the other children. “They may have new ideas for games to play,” he said, “and perhaps you can teach them some of your own. You can’t learn everything from books, you know.”
Mirelle was a little more hesitant about it, but as long as Émile was nearby, she was willing to try. While they rarely brought friends home to the bookshop, they did spend a little more time outdoors, play-acting with the other children by the fountain in summer and wrestling in the snow in wintertime. Henri seemed satisfied with this, and Belle was glad that they were happy.
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Émile was thirteen, Mirelle was ten, and Belle was thirty-two when Henri went to bed one night and never woke up. In the back of her mind, Belle had known that he would pass long before she did, but it was still a shock. Although he wasn’t as strong or energetic as he used to be, he was in good health and spirits. The doctor who examined him assured her that he had died peacefully in his sleep, with no pain, but that only provided her with a small comfort. If she hadn’t had Émile and Mirelle to think about, she was sure she would have shut herself up in the shop and been unable to come out. As it was, she did her best to comfort her children.
A surprising number of people came out for the funeral. Gaston appeared briefly to pay his respects, but disappeared almost as soon as he arrived. Belle hadn’t been keeping track of him, and he certainly hadn’t ever come round to the shop, but according to her father, he had eventually married one of his blonde hangers-on, and she had produced five children, four boys and one girl. (Of course, gossip being what it was, a few people couldn’t help but notice that the other two girls also had a black-haired son each, when their husbands had brown hair.) Other than him, however, everyone had wonderful things to say about Henri. Although business had never been brisk, it seemed he’d had an impact on the town nevertheless. Hearing the stories made tears come to Belle’s eyes, but it also shook her out of her numbness a little. She realized that he had made an impact on her life as well, and he wouldn’t want her to spend all her time in mourning. So as painful as it was to wake up and realize he wasn’t there, she would do her best to carry on.
Initially, she had thought that she would continue on at the shop, at least until Émile was old enough to look for a profession (with another painful stab at her heart, she realized that her father would have passed on by that time), at which point she would sell the shop and move to the city with Mirelle, which would give them more opportunities. But all that changed when, a week after the funeral, the solicitor came by to read the will to her.
Belle had managed the ledgers for the store, of course, so she knew that they had enough money to keep the store open and to comfortable take care of four people, but the amount the solicitor read out was positively astounding. It wasn’t enough to qualify her for the landed gentry, but it was enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her days, with enough left over to provide a dowry for Mirelle and a small starting sum for Émile. “There must be some mistake…” she said weakly.
“No mistake,” the solicitor said, producing a sealed letter and handing it to her, “I was instructed to give this to you as well.” Belle immediately ripped open the letter and saw Henri’s handwriting, shaky but legible; it had probably been written when the children were still in single digits.
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My dearest Belle,
No doubt you have been taken aback by the sum the solicitor has read out to you. Rest assured, it is very real. I never mentioned it because I felt no need for it. We were all quite happy where we were, and, if I’m honest, I wished this to be one last surprise for you, and perhaps a comfort after I was gone.
I told you several tales of my youth and my travels through Europe. However, I did not just travel by foot. I eventually took on a job with a merchant, partially for the money, but mostly so I could travel the world. That is how I came to learn Chinese-I was always surprised that you never asked. I worked as a merchant for most of my adult life, and saved my money carefully. When I was too old to continue the work, I had a fine sum to my name. I decided to retire to this village and open a bookshop, which would provide a little income, but would mostly give me a chance to broaden the horizons of the villagers. I got more than I expected from you.
I have left the shop, the books therein, my few possessions, and all my money to you and the children. It has sat idle long enough, and my wish is that you, Émile, and Mirelle spend it how you see fit. While I’m sure some of it will go towards education and dowries, I hope you can find more pleasurable uses for it. Above all, I hope at least a portion of it is spent on travel. I taught you all those languages in the hopes that you would strike out on your own, taking advantage of your widowhood to move about freely without need of a chaperone. No doubt you are still quite young-you have many traveling days ahead of you. Go where you will and do what you will, but please, have the adventures you read about in books. Perhaps you can convince the children to join you.
Although I know our marriage was not a love match, I was always fond of you, and you were a wonderful wife and an excellent mother. I could not have asked for anyone better. I can only hope that I was as good a husband and father.
Be well, Belle. Look after the children until they’re old enough to look after themselves, and enjoy all that life has to offer. If there is such a thing as an afterlife, rest assured that I am watching over you.
With the tenderest affection,
Henri Roland
Belle sat staring down at the letter, reading it over and over again. It wasn’t until her vision blurred that she realized tears were running down her face. She managed to thank the solicitor and send him on his way. Then she put her head down on the desk and cried, her first real, proper cry since Henri’s death.
Émile came in when he heard the door close. “Maman! What is it?”
Wordlessly, she handed him the letter. Even through her tears, she could hear him gasp. “Is this true?”
She nodded. “What…what are you going to do with it?”
“Give me a minute, Émile. Show the letter to your sister. I’ll be upstairs presently, and then we can talk about it.” Belle choked out. Émile carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, and then she heard his footsteps moving off. She cried until there were no tears left. Then she straightened up decisively, wiped her eyes, and headed upstairs.
Émile and Mirelle were waiting for her, looking at her with wide-eyes. She sat down in a chair, and they instinctively came to sit on the floor beside her, heads resting on her knees. Smiling, Belle started to stroke their hair. “Well, you’ve read the letter. And I think it would be doing your father a disservice if we didn’t at least try to do as he asked. But Mirelle should finish her schooling first, and we need to think about the long-term future. Do either of you have any suggestions?”
They talked long into the night, looking up things in books and making calculations. By the time the sky started to brighten, they had worked out a rudimentary plan. Belle rose from the table and embraced her children tightly. Without a word being spoken, they all headed into the main bedroom and prepared for bed. It was a bit of a tight fit-Émile had grown quite tall-but it felt right for them to share the bed as a family.
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Émile came over to the wagon, a touch of red in his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was just saying goodbye to Claudine.”
“I knew you were sweet on her!” Mirelle teased, pinching her brother’s arm, “Perhaps we should have invited her along.”
“Children…” Belle admonished gently, climbing into the wagon and gathering up the reins, “Let’s not start off this trip by bickering. There will be plenty of time for that in the coming months, after all.”
“Sorry, Maman,” Mirelle said, climbing into the back of the wagon, “It’s nerves.”
Émile sat beside his mother. “Do you want me to take the reins?”
“I can manage,” Belle assured him, “Besides, I feel I owe it to the horses to guide them over the familiar terrain one last time. Now, are we sure we’ve got everything? Trunks?”
“All five of them.” Mirelle acknowledged.
“Necessary Papers?”
“Right here.”
“Books?”
Mirelle laughed. “Yes. And even if we had left some behind, I don’t think it would have mattered much.”
“And have we said goodbye to everyone?”
“Yes,” Émile said, “I even made sure to put flowers on Papa and Grandpapa’s graves.”
“Me too.” Mirelle said. Belle smiled, for she had done the same thing herself. “Then I think we’re ready.” She clicked to the horses and they set off, moving at a slightly slower pace due to the weight of the cart.
It had all been arranged. The bookstore had been sold to a nice young man who was the son of the schoolteacher, who promised to take good care of it. When they got into the city, they would sell the horses and cart for a fair price, and spend a night at the inn. The next day, they would board a carriage bound for the nearest port. They had already booked passage on a ship headed towards Greece, although they weren’t sure that would be their final destination. It all depended what caught their eyes. The books were there to pass the time, and also to use for trade if it came to that.
As the horses reached the outskirts of town, Belle took one last look at the town she’d spent her whole life in up to now. She knew she’d miss it, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever come back to it. But the great wide somewhere she’d once dreamed of was calling out to her louder than ever, and she would be a fool if she didn’t answer back. With a smile and nod, she turned her eyes back to the road, looking forward to the moment when her eyes lit on unfamiliar ground.
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