Chapter 7 Shouldering Burdens

Two weeks earlier…

Belle moved the paper far away from her before she began crying again and ruined her second attempt at writing Roger. She had refused to dwell on anything too melancholy, it was bad enough that she revealed her state of mourning at all. The letters were supposed to be upbeat, encouraging, positive, and so she had tried very hard to remain so until the last revelation. Ruby's letter was much harder to write, for she exposed her soul a little more, feeling she had the ability to do so.

'Ruby,

I knew that Papa was being more absentminded than usual, and I told you that I knew something was going on, but how was I to know, dearest friend? How was I to know that it was a signal that he would soon pass away? The doctor says it was his heart, but I know his mind was in a muddled state for at least six months or so-it's so hard to remember what was his normal absent mindedness and when it morphed into him forgetting weekly and daily habits, and getting so frustrated with himself for forgetting how things went. It all came on so gradually that when I walked down to find that he was no longer with me, it took me totally and completely by surprise.

I am to stay with Morris. He is being his normal self about the whole thing-I'll spare you the details. I will be fine, in time, I'm sure. I'll be a good soldier, and do my duty for the only family I have left.

I saw Granny at the funeral, and she has been such a comfort. She is doing well, so well, you know. She and the Woman's committee at church have been volunteering, sewing, and doing more baking enough to feed and clothe and help the entire Allied force, I think.

You and your dear wounded soldiers are in my prayers, and I am asking that while you read this letter, perhaps I could be in yours?

Belle'

She had been accurate in her description of her shock for when Belle walked down that dark and horrible morning, one week ago, she had found herself unable to move or think, or do anything. For a girl that could delve into tears at the thought of a distant acquaintance having someone they loved pass away, it would have surprised her at her lack of tears, if she would have had half a mind to even think about it. Her legs had become jelly and her head had become mush and she had hardly an idea what she did.

She knew she called someone, and because of what followed, she knew it must have been Morris. It was the right thing to do, of course, her Papa was his Papa too. And for once he did not give annoyed sighs or groan at Belle's request for him to come, but did so right away. He walked in and took charge immediately. She was grateful for his no-nonsense ways in the moment.

Church members came by, casseroles were sent, hugs and kisses and prayers were given by them all. By this time it had been two days and Belle had cried until she thought she hadn't a single tear left.

When the funeral came and they came back to the little house that had always been hers and Papa's and was filled with all his things, she found that she could, indeed cry some more. Morris' boys ran the length and breadth of the house a million times over and trying to reign them in a little, took mental energy Belle didn't think she possessed. She had to do it covertly-she now understood Cathy's conundrum. For while Morris was around, he felt that every suggestion that the boys should perhaps calm themselves a bit was accompanied by scowls from Morris that she should have any problem with the boys at all, while he himself barked at them incessantly if they did anything which he himself did not like.

Granny had come after the funeral was over. She glared just as strongly at Morris from above her glasses, though Morris always seemed above such things, that he hardly noticed. Thankfully she did notice that Belle had not slept well for the past couple of days and insisted that she could play hostess to the people coming in and out of the house for a while, and Belle could take a nap.

Belle tried, but her brain was too awake with all the things swirling within. It was all a mix of nostalgic memories, worries over the future, and how she both wished she could stay forever in a house that reminded her of her father, and at the very same time, wished to stop seeing things that reminded her of him. If Ruby leaving caused the earth to alter beneath her feet, this was an earthquake on a scale Belle could not measure. Her entire life was up in the air and she had no idea what steps to take next.

After an hour of attempting to rest, she went downstairs to go back to the people that had congregated in the living room. She stopped at the door when she heard her name mentioned.

'Belle will be coming to live with us.' She heard Morris speak and could almost feel Granny's disbelieving stare. Belle never spoke ill of her brother in front of Granny, but Ruby knew they weren't close and of some of Morris' resentment, and had an idea that Ruby might have said something about it before.

'She is my sister, so she'll come and stay with us.' He spoke this confidently, and as if this was the only logical conclusion. At first Belle's heart swelled-could her brother have some warmth in his heart towards her after all? But she was too sad to think more of it, and somewhere in her mind was too aware of how many times she had tried to impress her older brother before with no positive results. However, she had always known Morris to have his own sense of duty and inner compass, or so it seemed anyway, and she did not question his sentiments on the subject. Belle sighed and made herself known in the room. Granny gave her a look of sympathy, realizing that it hadn't been very long since she had sent Belle upstairs to try to get some sleep.

Awkward companionship followed. Cathy had gone home with the boys, the youngest had tired himself out and would take a nap, the visiting mourners had come and gone, and all that was left was Belle, Granny, and Morris. The clock was ticking loudly, each bell-like ding reminding Belle of the time her Papa had brought the thing home. He had liked the looks of it, it only was a little broken he had assured her, and by the evening he had it providing melodic tunes at each hour. Tears that she thought had been fully spent were stinging her eyes again. Granny patted her hand, Morris was pacing the floor giving the certain bits of the house a closer look. Belle hoped it might be out of something sentimental, but that was just a hope.

Eventually Granny left. She had offered to stay with Belle, but she had smiled and said that she was fine and wouldn't want to bother Granny with her current poor sleeping habits. Granny had been even more reluctant to leave then, but Morris had said Belle would be fine and they had things they needed to speak about anyway. Granny had given one good glare from her glasses and then looked over at Belle-who weakly smiled and nodded her head, which produced a sigh from Granny before she finally took her leave.

'It's come to my attention that it's my responsibility to take care of you now, so you'll be getting your things ready to come and stay with me.' He began in cold clipped tones.

So much for believing he might have some brotherly care for me after all.

'You wouldn't have to have me come stay though, would you?' Belle muttered. Belle didn't exactly relish staying in a house full of memories by herself, but she also didn't want to be a burden on her brother when he didn't seem exactly willing for her to come. 'The house is in good shape…'

'Yes it is, and I mean to lease it.'

'What?' Belle's head suddenly ached with having to try to provide some rational thought to the whole ordeal while also wanting to curl up in a ball and have no thoughts of the future whatsoever. How could he? 'How can you-it was Papa's house-Surely at the very least it's both our house now, why can't you just let me…'

'No, it's the company's house-in my company's name.'

'Why…?' She couldn't seem to finish any of her sentences, she was in such a state of bewilderment.

'I explained to Maurice the positives of the company owning the property. Tax purposes, privacy, the overall worth of our company…'

She knew enough of Morris' powers of persuasion, especially with her father. There was no doubt that her papa had been easily coaxed into putting everything in his son's name, thinking he was doing right the whole time. Belle wondered that he never once discussed this with her. Had he never given thought to what might happen to her if he passed away? Then again, he most likely thought that Morris would take care of her if something happened, because he imagined everyone to be like and to react like him. She supposed Morris was suggesting he take care of her, but her stomach was already starting to churn at the cold businesslike manner he spoke of everything.

'And what will you do with all of Papa's beautiful things, if you don't mean for me to stay here?' She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Morris shrugged. 'I mean to sell it.'

A sob stuck in her throat and came out as a whimper. 'Can I at least bring some things with me?' She attempted with a trembling voice.

'You can bring whatever can fit into the linen closet. Cathy is cleaning it out for you to use. I won't have the boys having to share a room to cater to you, so you can make due with the couch and use the linen closet to store your things. Speaking of…I've got to take these papers over in the morning so I'll leave and be back tomorrow. Figure out what you are going to bring with you and I'll have someone come and begin figuring things out for an auction.' The papers he spoke of were all the legal things to do with Papa's death. It had come out that he had no will-why had he made no will? Papa had never been much of a businessman but he had always been a wonderful father-he might have been absent minded, a little too relying on her, and on Morris too, but he loved her. If she knew one thing she was certain of that. But right now, with Morris speaking of her picking a suitcase full of things she could bring, and sleeping on the couch when there was a whole house she could use if it wasn't for his desire to make money off of it, made Belle less sure of what her father's feelings were towards her. If he would have just left her the house, she would have found work if needed. She wanted to rant and yell at Morris, she wanted to rant and yell at her father, but then remembered he wasn't there to chastise and fled back upstairs and cried herself to sleep on the bed.

So here she was, suitcase laid out on her bed, a tiny case that her father had always carried around with him that was full of miniature tools, his notebook that he had sketched his ideas (the particular one she chose was filled with both inventions that had been put into the assembly line, and those that would forever be placed under the thought of 'fanciful' and ridiculous' but she loved it for its inclusion of those things that had been products of his imagination), and a book that had actually been her mothers that she had kept because of her mother's name being written down on the front cover and her papa having read aloud so many of the stories contained inside. She was wearing her mother's necklace, and so she filled the rest of the suitcase with things that would be necessities.

She had written her letters, and now, as she waited to be parted forever from the little house in which she grew up, she walked the length and breadth of both floors, touching tenderly a piece of art, a book, a tool on the dining room table that she had no heart to move to put away. She memorized the placement of each thing and moved on to the next room.

A car honked.

It was Morris. The time had come for her to leave and she hardly felt strong enough to climb up the stairs to retrieve her suitcase. Somehow she managed and she hardly felt the blast of cold air as she opened the door to the January winds. She would make the most of this. She didn't have a great relationship with Morris, but surely Cathy would be a friendly presence full of the comfort that Belle so longed for at this time. Then there were her nephews who were rambunctious, but sweet in their own way, she had always thought. She was sad now, things felt bleak right at this moment, but people had carried on from worse. Had not Roger glazed over such things that would make Belle's current troubles feel small? She could read between the lines, when he spoke of 'details he wouldn't bore her with'-he had left his own home, his own country even, worked hard to try and make it in her country only to be drug against his will to another country to fight in a war where he was in danger at every waking moment? If he could carry on, then so could she, and she wrapped her coat closer to her, put her suitcase in the back of the car and then went to get on the passenger's side of the car where Morris was tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently.

Morris said nothing on the way to his house and for that Belle was grateful. She didn't think she could stand anymore cold descriptions of what was to be done with her precious home.

Cathy gave a sad, almost sympathetic smile before going back into the kitchen to begin preparations on cornbread to go with a pot of beans she was making. Her nephews were squealing with delight that 'Auntie Belle' was to stay. David, the oldest, looked downright sheepish when he directed her to the closet that had been set aside for her and gave her an apologetic look when he showed her the blanket that was designated to her for the duration of her stay-however long that was to be, she wistfully sighed.

Dinner was eaten and the boys listened to their favorite radio program before being pushed towards their beds by a frazzled Cathy that had been only too glad to let Belle finish the dishes as she did so. Morris had sat in his chair with a cigarette in his hands (Belle detested the smell, but could do nothing about it now) and watched everything go on without actually watching or seeming to care, unless it was to give orders for one of the boys to do this or that.

Finally, the adults lingered in the living room. Cathy sat with a bit of knitting, looking down at her clicking needles and Belle nervously pulled at her dress with nothing much to say. Morris put out his cigarette and left it in the bowl and then looked at the two of them as if he were making some sort of proclamation. It wasn't far from what he was doing, she supposed.

'I am going back to the plant tomorrow. I've been away long enough as it is.' His tone was sharp and cold, but Cathy looked up and pulled at the ends of her hair with one hand, leaving the little project she was working on held onto by the other. This was a little nervous habit of hers, of which she had many. Her nails were bitten to the quick, her pens all had bite marks on the ends, and she used to tap her foot, but hadn't done that one publicly in a few years. Morris seemed to notice this and added. 'I know, it couldn't be helped, but anyway, I go back and Belle, you'll be ready at eight in the morning to go with me, alright?'

'What?'

He rolled his eyes. 'You are living here on my dime, Belle, the least you can do is come and help and not put an extra burden on my family. It is the family company after all-you should learn how it is run.'

Belle would have bristled at his tone, but she found she was too tired and overwhelmed to say anything at all. She had thought that if she must, she would have tried to find something to do to earn money and stay at her father's home. She guessed it made sense that it would be at her brother's company, but now she would be forever dependent on him, a burden. She rubbed her arms from a chill that wasn't from the lack of heat coming from the dwindling fire place (radiators were in the other rooms of the house, and Morris saw no need to add to the number of logs he had always used in order to accommodate his sister who would have to use this room as her own room).

'Well, the work day comes early-Belle, I want you to be up early enough to help Cathy pack the boys' lunches for school. Cathy.' He said his wife's name in a way made her start and quietly follow her husband when he got up.

'I-I set up some extra blankets in that basket over there.' She stammered and threw a quick sympathetic glance at Belle before hurrying to head down the hall.

Author's Note: History Notes: houses were heated either by coal or wood. I did a mix here. At Belle's house the house was heated by wood heaters as the house was older so I thought that would make sense. Morris' house is newer, so I could see him using radiators.

Story Notes: I hope it makes sense why Belle wouldn't be in a state to really fight back about the living situation. First, this is the 1940s-women living independently wasn't as much of a thing, and Belle just isn't in the state of mind to do a whole lot of mental fighting.
Also- I've based Morris on my uncle who I stayed with while I lived overseas. If it's not clear yet, Morris is a narcissist, and a miserly one at that (which my uncle was as well). The similar ways my uncle manipulated me while I was there (and isolated from all my family and friends) was the inspiration for this character. Obviously, I made him a successful businessman in the 1940s and there are many ways in which they are dissimilar (for one thing, my uncle had no children, thankfully!). I basically said : what if my uncle were thrown into this situation, how would he behave, and went from there.