Chapter 2: Arriver

Fifteen year old Belle scrubbed the wooden table and chanced to see the small pot of dried flowers, the flowers her papa always brought from his travels. Putting the rag to the side, she paused to smell the sweet perfume wafting from them. She sighed. She and Sophie were worried, and though she was too stubborn to admit it, Colette was too. Papa's travels had never taken more than a month and yet, here it had been two months and a week and he had not returned. Belle could not help but feel responsible. She knew that looking for flowers always took a good amount of time, and finding a rose in the middle of winter would be nearly impossible.

One time she had told Aurelie about how she and her sisters always waited eagerly to hear the perilous tales of how Papa had gotten the flowers. Instead of being amused and perhaps even jealous as Belle had thought she would be, Aurelie was highly disapproving and even went so far as to cuff her on the ear.

"Foolish girl!" she had cried, "Don't you realize that your papa is getting old? You are pushing him closer and closer to death with such silly whims!"

Belle had not appreciated that, nor the cuff on the ear. She liked Aurelie, but she had always been secretly glad that her father had never married her like some of the ladies in the village had said he should.

Regardless, after that exclamation, Belle had paid closer attention to Papa after he returned from his trip. Of course, he had the occasional wrinkle, but she had concluded that he wasn't as old as all that. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Abandoning cleaning the table, she strode over to the room she shared with her two sisters. Their cottage was not large, so it took only a few of her brisk steps to reach it.

She found Sophie dozing and Colette fixing her hair before the looking glass.

"Belle," said Colette, " thank goodness you're here. Would you be a darling and hold my hair up just like this? No-" she said, as Belle tried to hold it the way Colette had, "Like this- perfect. That's a good girl."

Colette began fastening her hair, and Belle rolled her eyes. Colette, if anything, was an expert at accentuating her natural good looks with the latest fashions she could get her hands on. Not that Belle blamed her- she knew that Colette was nearing an age too old to marry. She was certain that her sister tried to make up for their father's humble money with her exceptional appearance.

"Thank you Belle." Colette said. She got up from her seat and began to rummage through the bureau, searching for an extra petticoat.

Belle, now standing in the direct way of the looking glass, was in view of her own reflection. She examined herself, ignoring what her sister was babbling about the family she had visited earlier that day.

Belle was not what she would consider ugly. She had features that had potential to be beautiful- soft brown hair, blue-green orbs, and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. However, she was also round, and she did not feel that her plump features could compare to her sisters' delicate willowy frames. Next to them (on the rare occasions they all ventured out together) Belle felt she was invisible.

Belle's thoughts were interrupted by Colette saying in a would-be casual tone, as her sharp eyes glanced out the window, "Oh, Papa is here."

Belle allowed herself a grin and slipped out of the room. Seeing Maurice's pathetic attempts to run out of the front door, she allowed him through first, then bounded after him. She quickly got ahead of him, and laughed as she felt the wind and landscape rush past her. She knew that Colette was probably still sitting at her chair, rolling her eyes at her, but she didn't care. All thoughts of this were put out of her head as her father's face became clear. She leaped into his arms, allowing herself to feel like a very young child once more. She buried her face into the tall man's chest.

"Papa," she said in a voice muffled by his shirt, "you're home! Thank goodness!"

She noted at once that her father was not only unnaturally quiet, but softly shaking. Belle found herself wondering where his horse was. She got a feeling that it would be better if she did not look up, for it became more and more certain that she would not like what she saw there….

"…Papa?" she said again, slowly looking more carefully at him. She was aghast at the sight of tears coursing down his face.

"Papa!" she gasped.

"Do not look at me, Belle." he said gruffly. He ducked his head as though to hide his tears.

"What is it? What has happened?"

He said nothing. Maurice's somewhat labored barks were all that pierced the silence as he reached Belle's feet. She picked up the small brown dog and was shocked when Jean shook his fist at it.

"Curse you, worthless animal!" he shouted, voice thick with tears.

"Stop it!" Belle cried angrily, clutching the now shaking dog. Neither she nor Maurice was used to Jean raising his voice. "He hasn't done anything! What is wrong?"

"Go inside."

"What?"

"Get in the house. Now. I'll tell you soon."

"But-"

He struck her across the face. Belle fell to the ground, though the hit was not strong. She, too, began to cry, feeling a childlike sensitivity to her father's forlorn countenance and a tinge of her own fear.

Jean looked down at her and said, in a broken voice, "I am sorry. I am so sorry, ma chere."

Belle got up and walked behind him as he went inside, not looking at him. Instead, she focused her attention on Maurice, who had gotten over his fear and was now squirming to get out of her arms to lick Jean's face.

When they reached the cottage, Sophie and Colette could see at once that it was not to be a joyful reunion, and were wise enough to hold their tongues as Jean gathered them together and told them of all that had happened.

When he had finished, the girls sat in stunned silence. Were it not for their implicit trust in their father and his convincing tears, the older girls would have thought him joking, and Belle did not even question the sincerity of it all, though, for a brief time, she considered the possibility that he might be going mad. After all, many people in the village did say….

But no, she knew it was the truth, and knew that she deserved it. It was all her fault, her and her silly whims for flowers in winter. She had been shocked out of tears, but she felt a heavy weight settle in her chest. She might never see her family again. Thinking of this, she grabbed for her sisters, who were sitting on either side of her. Sophie clutched her hand at once, but Colette shoved it away.

"Surely, we are not actually telling this lion that Belle was the first thing you met," she said, as though any other option would be crazy, "we will simply tell him you were met by some small animal, or even that nobody came to meet you."

Jean seemed to consider this, but Belle shook her head.

"That will not work." she said, "The lion has already shown that he knows when somebody is lying. If Papa goes back saying any of those things, he could be killed!"

Colette bit her lip. She looked at Belle and her father, as though she had just been asked to choose between them. Actually, Belle reflected, in essence, she was.

"Belle," said Jean earnestly, "It is of no matter whether I live or die. I am old; you still have life to live. I will simply tell the lion that I have changed my mind."

"Or," said Sophie, speaking for the first time, "you could just not go."

"No." said Belle, making up her mind, "That will never do. Papa made a promise, and now he must keep it."

"Belle, you can't-"

"I can, and I shall." she retorted sharply, "If I go to the lion, perhaps I could soothe him. And do not protest, Father," she added, for she saw that he was about to do so, "if you go, I will only follow you, and then we will both be at the lion's mercy. If I follow you, it is almost certain that I will die, while there is still a chance of life if I go straight to him."

It was no easy task, but finally she was able to convince Jean to let her go. Still, it was with a heavy heart that he told her how to get to the garden. The next morning, she kissed them all good bye and began the journey on the back of her favorite horse, carrying a bag that held clothes, food, and all the flowers that her father had ever gotten her, including the rose. With some of the stubborn foolishness of youth, she was convinced that she could persuade the lion to let her go. Surely he had a heart, if he let her papa go! At least, that was what she had told herself.

This solid reassurance in her ability was soon stripped away when she reached the forest. When she sat before it, she clutched her horse's mane as cold fear came flooding through her.

"For Papa." she breathed, "For Colette, and Sophie, and-" she hesitated, and then said clearly, "for Mama."

Belle had never mourned not knowing her mother, as she could not imagine what life with a mother was like. But now, as unlikely as it was, she mourned the loss a great deal. As she persuaded the horse, Nicole, to go forward, she had the thought that, perhaps, this was what happened when someone suspected they would die. She shivered involuntarily.

Hours later, tying Nicole to a tree and sitting on the ground where she would sleep, Belle pulled from her bag the flowers her father had given to her. She fingered each one fondly, and remembered the stories that went along with them. She could recite them by heart from the amount of times she had forced Papa to repeat them. Here was the one that he had spent a whole week bargaining for. There was the one that he had gotten from a wandering gypsy. Each one had a different history, and she felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of it.

"No." she said firmly to herself. "I will not do this." In spite of her words, a tear or two managed to roll down her cheek. She thought to herself about how like the ridiculous maidens in the village she was acting, and how Aurelie would have scolded her. With these thoughts, she forced herself to stop. She decided after a long time of battling her emotions, that she needed to get rid of the flowers in her hands. She could always recall them in her mind, when she wanted them, but they brought her too much pain otherwise.

It was with eyes squeezed tight, therefore, that she threw each one in the small, recently defrosted pond that lay close to where she and Nicole were camped. She stopped when she reached the last one, the rose.

"I will keep this one," she murmured to herself, "for it is the reason I must get rid of all the rest." So she tucked it back into her bag and, after eating some hardening bread, she went to sleep on a patch of ground not covered in half melted snow.

The next morning, Belle woke up and shivered, the morning dew clinging to her and the cloak wrapped around her. She rubbed her eyes and drowsily woke Nicole. The horse ate some ground meal from her hand while she herself had a bruised red apple. Then she clambered onto Nicole's back and continued in the direction her father had told her, away from the path.

Belle kept her eyes trained on Nicole's back, where bead of dew were still drying. Suddenly, a wolf howled, and Belle tightened her grip on the reins that had hung limply from her hands. She encouraged the horse to trot a bit faster and it complied, the hair raising slightly on her chestnut back as she became more alert. Belle rubbed her comfortingly, and did so all the more briskly when they entered the darker woods her father had told her about.

"Shh…" Belle said quietly, "It's alright, good girl…"

A roar punctuated her words of comfort, and Belle let out a scream, not at all expecting it. Nicole whinnied and went on her hind legs, Belle clutching her neck and holding on for her life. The horse went back on all fours and began pounding the ground, farther and farther into the darkness.

"Calm down Nicole!" Belle gasped helplessly. Of course, Nicole was too frightened to even hear her. Even when they reached the lighted path, she veered off it and ran even faster, and Belle knew that she had completely lost calm and control. Out of a cluster of trees, a lion came flying out. It leapt straight for Nicole, and hit her with such force that Belle toppled off. The lion clawed Nicole relentlessly until she fell to the ground, and then bent over to devour her lustily.

Belle trembled violently until the creature looked up from the carcass, as though only just realizing that she was there. Blood dripped from its mouth and it said, quite clearly, "Hello, Girl. Master is waiting for you." The accented voice was distinctly feminine.

Belle curled herself up in a ball and let out a tiny whimper. She was appalled at her own behavior, even as she did it, but she couldn't control herself. She managed, by some semblance of strength that she did not know she possessed at the moment, to say, "You ate my horse." She was shocked to hear how much braver her voice sounded than how she actually felt.

The lioness laughed.

"I am sorry, my child." she said, and she did sound like she was sorry, in a way. "But, you must understand, I saved you. Had your horse continued running, you would have headed straight into a pack of wolves. Both you and your horse would be dead."

Belle felt her blood run cold.

"Besides," the lioness continued, "I cannot fight what nature intended to be the instinct of a lion. But do not worry-" she added, seeing the expression on Belle's face, "my instinct does not go so far as to tell me to eat you, for my master told me to escort you to the Chateau, as it is called in France."

"Chateau?" Belle asked, curiosity easing her fear, "But Papa said it was a garden."

"Yes, a garden," said the lioness, using her paw to wipe blood from her face, "but it is the castle garden. Come," she said, rising and heading toward the path, "I will show you."

Belle hesitated, then slowly rose. She smoothed her skirts and, straightening her pack, she cautiously followed the lioness.