Chapter 2: How Much Wood Can a Papa Chuck?

Smoke was billowing from the doors of the storm cellars. Belle grunted as she pulled one of them open and descended the stairs through the haze leading down into her father's basement workshop. Through the smoke, she could hear frustrated grunts and the bangs of machinery, and the striking young woman coughed.

"Papa?"

Sunlight percolating from a nearby window at the ground level helped to dissipate some of the smoke, which was now rapidly fading as Belle emerged in her father, Maurice's, workshop. The aging man had gotten caught in some kind of part – a circle of wooden planks lashed together with coil was now around his portly middle, resembling an almost DIY kind of skirt. Huffing with frustration, Maurice yanked the odd skirt down, but unfortunately took his trousers with it; he quickly yanked the latter back up.

Belle bit back a smile, even as her eyes were still concerned. Her father was the most brilliant man she had ever met, and yet he never failed to leave her fretting over his safety. A subterranean bunker invited a whole host of problems when it came to his inventing, explosions being one of them. Their simple little cottage hadn't burned down – yet. "Are you all right, Papa?"

"How on earth…. did that happen? Doggone it! I'm about ready to give up on this hunk of junk!" Maurice gave it a kick, and the entire contraption shuddered.

Belle couldn't hide her smile anymore, shaking her head sentimentally. "You always say that…" And he did.

"I mean it this time!" her papa insisted. "I'll never get this boneheaded contraption to work!"

"Yes, you will," she crooned. "And you'll win first prize at the fair tomorrow…" Belle left the best incentive for last. "And become a world-famous inventor…"

"You really believe that?" Maurice's eyes gleamed at his only daughter's admiration.

"I always have," she chuckled.

That was all the encouragement Maurice needed. "Well, what are we waiting for? I'll have this thing fixed in no time!" He wriggled underneath the entire hulk of the machine. "Hand me that…. that doglegged clencher there."

Belle rifled through the toolbox on a nearby table and immediately found the right tool. Her Mama had used to help Papa like this, when they lived in a small flat in Paris while Papa was studying engineering at University. Belle had just been a baby in Maurice's graduate days; she didn't remember it. But she had learned the basics of mechanics at her father's knee ever since she was a little girl.

"So: did you have a good time in town today?" Maurice's voice floated up to her.

"I got a new book," she murmured, rounding the invention to pass the clencher down to her father. "Papa…. Do you think I'm odd?"

"My daughter? Odd? Huh, where'd you get an idea like that?" Maurice scoffed, as Belle handed off the tool when he briefly wheeled out from under the contraption.

"Oh, I don't know," Belle sighed. "It's just that I've never fit in here… there's no one I can really talk to."

"You talk to that Gaston. What about him? He's a handsome fella…"

Belle was glad her father was all the way under the machine, so he couldn't see how her cheeks turned pink. She didn't think he'd noticed how she and Gaston jousted around town. "He's handsome, all right! And…. manly! And… unfiltered!" She sat down heavily. "Oh, Papa… I don't know if he's for me." She knew Papa wanted to see her married and provided for, at least before he died. Maurice had found her Mama later in life; he had been an older father. He never said so, always acted like it wasn't his business, but Belle knew he hoped to perhaps see a grandchild before he passed. At the very least, Belle appreciated the lack of pressure from him. The townspeople weren't nearly so tolerant. A young French woman without a husband and not at least on the path to becoming a mother was regarded in the countryside, especially in a provincial town like Villeneuve, as very, very suspect.

"Well, don't you worry, cause this invention's gonna be the start of a new life for us!" Maurice crawled out from under his machine. "I think that does it!" He grinned, flush with preemptive victory as he wiped his hands on a rag. "Now: let's give her a try!"

He pulled a lever and a foghorn whistle tooted. Maurice and Belle took a cautious step back, bracing themselves. There was an old saying about failure being the precursor to success, but Belle couldn't remember the exact phrasing. Still, in this basement, she and Papa had seen a lot of failures, so it was best to be ready to duck and cover.

Another piercing whistle, higher in pitch, heralded spinning from the far end of the machine. Suddenly, an axe blade came down on a pre-set log, chopping it in half. A springboard then flipped one half of the log at the exact moment… right on the woodpile at the far wall.

Belle gasped. "It works!"

"It does?" Maurice stared. When the woodchopper completed its designed purpose again without incident, he laughed. "It does!"

"You did it! You really did it!" Belle squealed.

"Hitch up, Philippe, girl! – I'm off to the fair!" Maurice crowed.

Less than an hour later, Philippe was hitched to the family wagon, and the chopper loaded safely inside. Belle waved from the cottage door. "Goodbye, Papa! Good luck!"

"Goodbye, Belle! And take care while I'm gone!"