CHAPTER TEN

Belle tugged on the edge of her shawl, drawing the cambric material tighter across her shoulders and elbows. After spending nearly a day alone in the woods, shrouded by soaked leaves and cold grass, the chill sank through her skin and into her bones. One that she could not easily shake off. No amount of blankets, teas, chocolate drinks or fires dispelled it either. A cold could be coming on, or perhaps it was something else entirely. As traumatic as it was, being manhandled by Gaston Harcourt, he was not the one who occupied her thoughts. The moment Mr. Gold brandished his cane at Gaston and more or less chased him off, her fears dissipated.

Her employer had showed up, like a knight in shining armor wielding a sword, on a white horse. Not even a scene straight out of one of her novels could trump that.

She laid the book of poetry aside and walked to the parlor window, which faced the small garden at the front of the property. Mr. Gold was out there, barking out instructions to the gardeners on his newest plans for the shrubbery. By the terminal state of the plants, they had been left unattended for years. Why he bothered with them now was beyond her, especially considering that the year was nearly over. Winter was not far off and soon enough nothing would grow. Although, she supposed that great houses and castles such as this tended to their shrubberies in the cold months too.

As if he sensed her presence, he turned suddenly and spotting her in the window, he touched the brim of his hat and tipped it to her. The corners of his mouth upturned before flattening out again. Could that have been the beginnings of a smile?

She gave a small wave. He nodded to her. Seconds later he had resumed speaking to the servants. The man appeared so slight and slender compared to the burly gardeners that he was ordering around. Despite his size and the cane he relied on, he seemed fearless. The breeze tussled his crop of shaggy hair, making him look boyish. When she first saw him, she thought him unattractive. Now, the longer she knew him, the more handsome she thought of him. Mr. Gold's one advantage to Gaston was that he was none the wiser about his good looks. Gaston's beauty was only skin deep; Mr. Gold was entirely in the dark about his charms.

Her employer was such an oddity. She was raised believing that there an ounce of good existed in the worst of people…and then she met him. From the start of their association, he was churlish. The way he treated others, as though they were chaff to be discarded in the wind, sickened her. He trampled down those in his path. And his temper, that was a force not to be reckoned with! He was destructive towards material objects and valued nothing. Yet, the other day, after Gaston had attempted defile her, Mr. Gold had shown her a great amount of compassion.

The man had been gentle and caring. He made it clear that she did not have to resume her chores until she felt she was ready and went as far as inviting her to use his library.

Sweetheart.

That was what he had called her. When he said it, it sent a shiver down her spine. Rather than repulsing her, it now excited her. Mr. Gold went on as far as to apologize for his behavior in regards to the forbidden room and vowed to protect her from Gaston. Then he gave her his overcoat to keep warm and escorted her home. Later on, she learned he had cooked her that cup of chocolate himself that he brought her.

In light of all that, one fact remained, one she could not wrap her mind around.

Mr. Gold was a father. He had a child.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Belle jumped and whirled around. She wondered if the guilt in her features betrayed her thoughts.

Mrs. Potts was leaning into the doorframe, with a bemused expression on her face. The woman then joined her at the window, and encircled her waist with her arm. Her friend was such a warm, giving person. She often reminded Belle of her Mother. Just when she needed maternal counsel the most, Mrs. Potts was there to share her wisdom and comfort.

Still, Belle wondered what her Mother might think of her current situation. Would she have approved? What would she make of Mr. Gold?

"I hadn't heard you." Belle forced a small, self-conscious laugh.

"So I see." Mrs. Potts brushed the curtain aside and surveyed the view. "Allow me to repeat myself: a penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm afraid it would require more than a penny." She nodded to the man out on the lawn and then propped her chin on her friend's shoulder. "I don't understand Mr. Gold."

Mrs. Potts made a small harrumph. "You and every other human being in the world." She placed her hands on her widened hips, sounding like a mother who was on the verge of disciplining her wayward boy. "What did that man do wrong now? Did he say something untoward to you? Shall I speak to him?"

"No, I mean... his child." She lowered her voice. There was no possible way Mr. Gold could hear her through the glass of the window, however, she didn't want the other servants to overhear. They might not know about that poor forgotten child. She didn't wish to provide them fodder for their gossip. After all, word would eventually get back to her employer and only cause him further agony. "Mr. Gold is a father, but he acts as though his baby never existed."

Mrs. Potts made no immediate response and recoiled from her. The woman's features pinched together, leading Belle to think that the housekeeper was fighting her own set of emotions. How old was the child when it died? Five or maybe ten years old? Perhaps Mrs. Potts held the poor thing or played games with it, or doted on it as a grandmother would. Her friend had a big heart, big enough to love a child that was not her own.

Another mystery that troubled her: what had become of Mrs. Gold? Had she died too? Or perhaps she was still living somewhere out there in the world.

Mrs. Potts fingered the fringe on her collar. "When his son died, the best part of Mr. Gold died too. There is nothing worse for a parent than to watch your only child die." Despite her wobbling voice, she took Belle by the hand. "The light was rekindled though, when you walked into Mr. Gold's life. When he first met you, though he tried to hide it, there was something there."

"Mrs. Potts, it could never be." Belle looked at her friend as though she had been driven mad. "There is a darkness that has taken root in him."

"If he is darkness, then you are light. You can be his light."

"You know that better than anyone that that would never work." Belle reminded her.

"True." Mrs. Potts nodded and then suggested, "You are quite persuasive and have him wrapped around your baby finger. He would do anything for you, you know. There is no doubt he would reform himself for you, if you asked."

While it sounded simple enough, changing Mr. Gold would take nothing short of a miracle. No, it wouldn't be that easy or that quick. Not only would he oppose it, it might send him in the opposite direction. If Mr. Gold was looking to reform or redeem himself, he would have to do it because he desired it. Not to please her.

"That wouldn't do, Mrs. Potts. Besides, I don't love him." Belle said.

No, Mr. Gold would not be a suitable husband for her. From the time she was a young girl, she knew what she wanted in a husband. A kind, honest man who sought to do good; a fellow believer in Christ. Her parents' union was fine example of a happy couple who shared their same beliefs and dreams. Mother loved Father until her dying breath, refusing to close her eyes until he placed a tender kiss upon her forehead. And Father could not utter a word about Mother without crying; he would live out his years in mourning. They were two incomplete halves only whole when they were together.

Only a marriage a marriage like that would suite me. Belle decided.

Her employer did not meet those standards. He was the exact opposite. In fact, he was known far and wide as the Beast, which was a nickname for the devil. And he did what he could to live up to that reputation. If grief was what plagued him, that was a poor excuse for being such a wicked soul. Her own pain didn't drive her to commit sins and cause intentional pain others.

"Ah, well, you could have fooled me." Mrs. Potts said. "Mr. Gold wants to take you on a picnic. Will you deprive him of your company?"

Belle peered back out the window. Mr. Gold had finished speaking to the servants and stood back, his arms crossed to watch them work. He was scrutinizing their every move, waiting for them to make a mistake. She certainly did not envy their occupations at the moment.

Why he would want to spend time with her perplexed her. Prior to his rescue of her in the woods, they did not get on at all well. However, it seemed that after that, he was going out of his way to be charitable to her. If this was a meager attempt on his part to be kind, the least she could do was meet him half way. Though his dealings with her had changed, she knew that it had nothing to do with falling in love with her. Men like Mr. Gold did not fall in love.

But they could become friends.

"Friends can enjoy picnics." Belle said.

If Mr. Gold could be gentlemanly to her in her time of need, the least she could be charitable to him. Perhaps friendship was what he needed to guide him onto reforming himself.

#

Adam extended his arm as Belle made her descent from the carriage. She took his elbow and leaned on him. To his dismay, the touch did not last long, for he had to carry the basket and the blanket in one hand and lean on his cane with the other. Still, she remained close to his side. He ordered the driver to stay with the carriage, rather than accompany them. The last thing he wanted was for a servant listening in on whatever was said between them and then gossiping to the others about it.

What he wanted to tell her was for her ears and her ears alone.

Belle cast a pitying glance at the driver. She would never enjoy herself knowing that another soul was in need.

"Don't worry, he won't be deprived. The cook sent a meal along with him." He jutted his chin in the direction of the woods. "This way."

Crossing the field, the tall, wild grass left is saliva-like residue on his pant legs, however, he didn't mind. Stains were a small price to pay to show her his sanctuary. In the end, it would be worth it.

She lifted her skirts, tentatively trying to avoid the worst of it. Her daintiness was comical enough to watch. "Where are you taking me?"

"It's not far. Just have patience." He said. "That is what the religious believe, isn't it?"

She giggled at the irony of his words.

He hoped that an excursion near the pond wouldn't remind Belle too much of her last encounter with Gaston. Perhaps what he was about to reveal to her would dispel those bad memories and give her brighter, happier ones. Maybe, he too could develop new reminiscences... with her.

When they happened upon the well-trodden pathway, he led her down the length of it and sliding between two chestnut trees, they stepped out into the large cliff overlooking the valley. The blood color leaves were dwindling to the earth, blanketing the ground haphazardly. White transparent sunshine glinted off the shiny leaves as though they were rubies. A soft breeze rippled the pond below the cliff, releasing a sweet hint of humid scent. Clusters of ducks bobbed on the surface, snipping at one another and flapping and stretching their wings. Birds cooed from the tree branches, serenading them with their own little harmonious tune. It was far better than any symphony that could be heard in London.

Adam felt satisfied when he heard a small gasp escape from her parted lips. He dropped the basket on the stump that he usually reclined on. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Belle approached the edge of the cliff and peered down. Her skirt snapped sharply in the breeze. She turned back to him, gushing, "Beautiful is an inadequate word to describe this, Mr. Gold."

Now when he looked out over the rocky peaks below, he wouldn't contemplate throwing himself over the edge. He would only remember her joy, as well as his own.

He unfolded the blanket it, shook it open and smoothed it out on the flattest part of the ground. "It improves too, towards sunset." He opened the basket lid and laid out the plates and silverware.

"Have you been here often?" She raised her brow at him.

"Many, many times." He was going to leave it at that, but decided that if he had a chance of winning her, he could not keep her at a distance. He would have to open his heart to her.

Adam blinked, amazed by his own ponderings. Winning her? Yes, he had admitted to himself that he was in love with Belle. But it was as if his mind made the giant leap from love to marriage in a solitary second. He continued to situate the meal, yet he could not tear his eyes from her. Would someone as good, young and comely as she was seriously consider him?

Belle lowered to her knees onto the blanket and placed a sandwich on each of their plates.

If he had any hope of her falling in love with him, he would have to show her who he really was. Warts and all.

"My son Bae and I would come here on Sunday afternoons, after church." He sensed her surprise and snickered. How different he was then, setting foot in church to appease others and be a fine example for his boy. Now no force on heaven or earth could make him go. "Aye, Miss French, I use to regularly attend services. Now this is my special, sacred place; my sanctuary, my church."

"Thank you for sharing this with me." Belle took a bite of the sandwich, chewed and swallowed. "That is the first time you ever spoken of your family, of your child. Bae is a lovely name."

"Short for Baeden. I have not mentioned him to anyone since he died. Frankly, it hurt too much." No longer hungry, he laid his sandwich back on the plate. His stomach rolled, cramping up at the thought of what he was about to tell her. But to stop would be futile. He had to continue on, despite how he felt physically. "My wife, Milah…well, she had lovers; I guess that is what you would call them. She contracted Scarlet Fever from one of them. She brought the sickness back to our house and she died the next day." He covered his mouth, to conceal his emotion. For him there was nothing more mortifying than for him to cry in front of this girl. Real men did not weep in front of ladies, but his son was more than worthy of his tears. "My Bae contracted it and he fought the best he could, but my poor boy never did have a strong constitution. His wee body plain wore out."

Belle had put her sandwich back on the plate, and was staring at him through stunned, glistening eyes. The loathing she had for him visibly dissipated. He could feel her compassion and he loved her for that.

"My wife… it was never a love union and though I thought we would be faithful to one another, that didn't happen. After Bae was born, we lived very separate lives. She was a good mother and we were committed to raising our son. When she died, I was sad, but…You will understand one day. It is inevitable; however, one spouse will outlive the other. That is the way life. It is natural."

Belle shyly slipped her hand into his. "But, your son."

She understood and for that he was grateful.

Adam nodded. He folded his arms, still hanging on to her hand, and could almost envision his son laying there. "My son, my little boy. My life made sense when I held him in my arms." Despite his resolve to maintain his strength, a lone tear trickled down to his chin. "But when your child dies, you are no longer a parent. You are nothing, you cease to exist. What am I if not a father? Allow me to give you a piece of advice, Belle. You should never have just one child. Because there is always that awful possibility that you could lose him one day."

Belle dipped her head, kissing where droplet lay. Her cool breath caressed his jaw, like a light breeze. "Bae's absence cannot change the fact that you are a father." She raised her hand and thumbed the remainder his face dry.

Her soft fingers felt hot on his skin, as though her touch was searing straight to the bone. He both loved and hated it. Her presence convicted his unruly spirit far more than any clergyman or church ever could.

"Do you really believe in all of it?" Adam sucked in a haggard breath. He swallowed and softened his words. "Do you really believe in God and Jesus, heaven and hell, forgiveness and redemption? Because I have a difficult time trusting in a God who gives me this beautiful, beautiful gift and then destroys it right in front of me. What kind of God strikes down an innocent lad, who never caused an ounce of pain a day in his life? All while forcing me to watch and be helpless."

To his regret, Belle slowly slid her hand from his cheek and placed it in her lap. She lifted and dropped her shoulders. "I wish I had an answer for you, but I'm afraid I don't." She said with a weary sigh.

Grief. He knew that look all too well. The sentiment was an unwanted friend of his that had plagued him for years. She too was in pain and he had been too wrapped up in his own wretchedness that he hadn't noticed. That or he hadn't cared. How many desperate souls had he encountered who were in the midst of wallowing in their own sadness and he ignored?

Adam blinked back his remaining tears. "What is the tragedy of your life?" Fearful of being too familiar or frightening her off, he settled for resting his hand on her shoulder. "Come now, sweetheart, we all have one. I have shared my deepest, darkest secret with you. Feel free to do the same with me."

Belle had a hanky hidden in the sleeve of her spencer jacket. She withdrew it and patted her face. "My mother, who had been in good health for most of her life, died a year ago. Our closest friends told me, 'At least you didn't have to see her grow old and decrepit.' They meant well, but that only made it worse. I was close to her and after she died, I fell into a deep sadness. It has only been the last few months that I was raised out of it. I have begun to live again." She chewed on her lower lip, her straight white teeth peeking out. "The day we met, was the first time, in a long time that I felt good. Like my old self. Life and good cheer had returned to me. My greatest fear is that it will happen again, that this time I will lose my Father or one of my sisters, and the melancholy will return and I won't come out of it. Next time, it will swallow me whole."

He had made several attempts to conjure up a recollection of Mrs. French. The vague memory of her was too fragmentary to be reliable. He had never associated with the lower classes. Though he did hear that for a farmer's wife, she had a reputation of being a lady and was a pillar of the community. What he did recall was that she was far superior to her pathetic excuse of a husband. She would never have permitted Belle to live with him…Mrs. French would have gone to work for him herself. Unlike her husband, that lady would not have slinked off. She would have laid her life down for her family. No doubt Belle inherited her spirit.

Adam was dumbstruck for a minute. Belle was possibly the only person in the world sadder than he was. She was far better at hiding too. He may have pushed others away, but he did not fall into a despair that sapped his strength. From the way she spoke, it sounded as though as she suffered from reoccurring melancholy that rendered her listless. Even now, in a better state, she hid her feelings behind a mask of happiness.

"Don't worry." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple. He spoke softly in her ear. "If you fall, I will catch you."

Belle leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Adam knew this wouldn't last forever, but relished in every second that it did. He combed his fingers through her curls that the wind had set free.