Chapter 12 Cloudy days

It felt like a continual rainy cloud was positioned over Belle's head. Morris scowled and scolded over her clothes as he sat at the breakfast table. One day, they were too childish, the next, too old, too new, too fashionable, not practical enough, the list went on. Then there was the breakfast itself. If she made an easy breakfast, so that she might help Cathy get the boys' lunches ready for the morning, she was scolded for the breakfast's simplicity. If she made the extra effort to prepare a big breakfast, he told her exactly how much money she was wasting by making extravagant meals. The squeeze of a hand and a shy comforting smile from David as he left for school with his tin lunch pail, was all the tenderness that Belle was to receive for the day. The other two boys either ignored her completely now, sensing their father's lack of sympathy towards her, or played some sort of prank or joke on her before leaving.

The car ride to the factory was tense and quiet, unless Morris was in a particularly lecturing mood. Most of the time, however, she was allowed the twenty minutes of quiet to keep all her thoughts inward, wrapping her arms around herself as if it might protect her from any words that Morris might have for her, if he found something wanting.

At the factory she was completely ignored to go and find the remaining trays from the day before, and receiving a few sympathetic smiles from those coming into work who had long since realized that the sister of the plant owner received no special favors or privileges, and received nothing but food and shelter for her troubles-and even that was a poor exchange! Once, Cathy must have felt particularly sorry for her (though Belle never could trust her again) and packed her a lunch to take with her. The lecture she had received on the way to work had taken any appetite she might have and she thought of the verse in Proverbs about the miserly man who offered food. Even dainty morsels would turn to bile as you ate. She had thanked Cathy but told her she wasn't really hungry for lunch, which she had to ask God's forgiveness for the lie later. It wasn't a complete lie, as Morris made her not really hungry for lunch.

The work day was not so bad. She was blessed in the fact that her position would change from time to time, therefore, though she might go mad for a day, the next day might prove maddening in a different area. The monotonous work was sprinkled with conversation from her fellow workers which was the only thing that really did help keep her sanity during this time. Mary-the girl she had worked with on her first day, the one who had put in the six screws on each item, had proven a sweet girl and Belle liked working with her most of all. Their conversation was light-it was with all the co-workers. For though they realized that she was not like her brother, her brother was the boss, the reason for them being employed, and thus, the reason that they would never speak against him in her company. In that way, Belle could never be one of them. They smiled at her, they talked to her, shared lighthearted stories with her, and even sometimes (out of pity she imagined. She hated that sometimes her stomach betrayed the hunger she felt) would smile a sad smile and share their food with her. Yet, never would they be anything deeper than common acquaintances, for she was Morris' sister-and that was that.

Belle would stretch any aching muscles at the end of the day, and then go and find her way to Morris' office. This day it was filled with cigarette smoke as both he and the two overseers were in deep conversation. Belle coughed from the thickness of the smoke, which alerted her presence to them. Morris was apparently speaking on something important…and private.

'What are you doing in here?!' His voice became louder with every word he spoke. 'This is a private conversation-Get out! Get out!' And he slammed the door behind her as she scurried out. She cringed in mortification, being seen as an intruder. Morris would forever confuse her. If she had not gone to his office straight away (as she did each day unless he met her before she arrived to tell her whatever task needed to be done) he would have scolded her for shirking her evening duties.

She walked the halls for a good thirty minutes. He had not told her what to do. She could catch a lingering worker and ask if they could take her back to the house-or perhaps even to Grannys or a place to look for work? Would she dare? Her heart beat hard and erratically and she felt her whole body tremble as she contemplated doing such a thing. Her head thumped in rhythm with her heart and by the time she had finally obtained control of her thinking, allowing the more logical side win out over the terrified emotions she was feeling, it was already too late to catch anyone. The factory floor was empty-she went ahead and completed two trays, trying to control the tears that were escaping over her cowardice and lack of control over her body and mind. What was happening to her? Morris found her that way with only the two trays to show for her time.

She lifted her head-there were still defiant moments that overtook her at the strangest of times and she prepared herself for the lecture to come. He did not even seem to notice the lack of progress and told her to stop dilly dallying and come along. Ever confused by him, she took her coat and followed him.

The evening routine commenced. Supper would be plentiful and satisfying if Morris' scowl would ever allow her to eat it. She had once gone to eat seconds and he scolded her for taking food away from his children. David made a throw away comment about already being full, and not really wanting seconds, himself, before his father put such a glare on his head that he took the last scoop of mashed potatoes to try to appease him. After that Belle only ate what was given to her and dished out what she thought she could get away with eating. Somedays Morris acted as if she was not there-others, he watched her every move and made comments on each one.

It was now the unspoken rule that Belle clean up after supper. David would come in and help dry dishes if he had no homework, or if he did, come bring it into the kitchen to talk to Belle about it. Morris had to admit (or he actually didn't admit but did not speak against her helping them-and actually encouraged it, rather) that Belle had some intelligence and was patient and helpful with the boys. Their grades improved while Belle was there, and therefore she was now the tutor as well as all the other roles she held. Belle didn't mind that particular role. She often asked what books David was reading and to 'help' him would get him to read some aloud to her while she worked. The kitchen cleaning became her favorite hour of the day, as it allowed some time away from Morris' eye, and time with David, who was becoming a fellow ally to her and growing to become a nice young man. Belle became exceedingly proud of him.

On this particular night, as she put up the last dish and placed the towel where it belonged, David came up to her and slipped a letter in her hand, saying nothing but his eyes sparkled with adventure. She whispered a 'thank you' and placed it in her pocket to be read that night.

One of her least favorite hours of the evening was completed last of all. It either consisted of trying to get the two youngest unruly boys ready for bed with the sounds of a barking Morris scolding her and not the boys for their behavior, or of Cathy doing so without complaint from her husband and she sitting across from Morris where he might comment on her work at the factory, lack of enthusiasm in her place in his home, or any other such topic.

Then the time came when the living room was finally quiet. She crouched down by the waning fire-for electricity cost a great deal, Morris was quick to remind her, and she owned nothing. This particular evening, she used the dying flame to pull out her letter and read the words from her dear friend.

'Belle,

Your letter has both been one of exceedingly great comfort (and I would not blot or cross out one word of it, so perfect is it in every way), and one of great shame to myself. Please forgive me for allowing you to worry so. I have no excuse to give, and I hang my head in utter shame. Jeffries is more than forgiven, since it means that I've heard from you after all. He knew I was being an idiot, well, now it is truly confirmed.

I am doing well, so the nurses and doctors tell me. So well, in fact, that they expect that I will be released to the world in a few weeks, ready to take my place among society once more. I am a wounded veteran, so I will get half pay for as long as Uncle Sam says I may-so my logic tells me that I am not as bad off as I currently feel. I am not as bad off as so many around me, yet I can't seem to exit the black sense of doom most days-that my life before, such as it was, has ended and as much as I saw no great beauty in it before, I still find that I mourn it.

Now, if you think it possible to forgive me, would you tell me how you are doing? I know I have a lot of nerve to beg you for these details when I have been so remiss in writing to you. I may have been unkind to leave you in the dark but it was not for want of thinking of you (that is, when my brain was not in a right fog, some of my medicines have had the unfortunate effect) and hoping you were well. Did you make your decision? Are you truly alright? I have been worried that your brother's place is a less than ideal situation. Am I correct? My hope for you is that you are happy. I know it's a difficult thing to feel, especially after losing someone as you have, but your letters are so full of life and light, and if anyone ought to have some joy, it's you, Belle.

I am trying to be a better patient as of late. I was a little snappish before (this is probably an understatement, I'm afraid to say) and your letter brought me enough renewed hope that I dared try to do something with all this time I've got to spend lying on a bed. There is a nurse here that noticed my lack of visitors and asked if there was something she could do for me (she's a brave lass-I had snapped at half a dozen other nurses but she didn't hold it against me, it seems), asked if she could bring me a deck of cards, a magazine or the like. I asked for a book and she was kind enough to find one for me. Here I now sit with a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland here on my little side table. Have you read it? It's a bizarre tale but the play with words is rather entertaining and probably suitable to what I need right now-a diversion.

In other words, when I woke, yesterday morning, I thought I knew who I was-I'll not give you a description, just know it was rather ridiculously shameful, but 'I've changed a few times since then' or rather, when I got your letter I remembered a little better what I should be.

And what I would like to be, is someone who is more worthy of the kindness that you've shown me.

Your friend,

Roger'

Belle held the letter to her heart for several minutes, as if by doing so the words would sink into her soul and dwell in her heart forevermore. There was so much of something in his letters, something deeper than she had experienced thus far. He did not tell her his injury, that was alright, she just hoped that he was not in pain from bottling it all up. However, his letter had as much hope as it had pain and then at the same time concern for her and her wellbeing. He was wonderful. She felt no anger towards him for not writing-she quickly forgave him, for she could read all the self hatred that he had put himself through and how much he yearned for their correspondence to continue now that she had initiated (God bless Lieut. Jeffries!).

The fire was such an abysmal thing now, there would be no writing back to him in such light. She would have to wait until her next chance to do so. Instead, she grasped the letter firmly, tried to bury herself in covers to ward out the aching cold, and tried to adjust herself so it would not affect her back and shoulders so badly the next morning. Nothing could really hurt her right now. For all the moments her eyes were closed in the blissful middle between awake and sleep, she could only think that her friend Roger had written, and had written so warmly and so sweetly and for all those moments the dark little cloud that had been over her head that day had some sun peaking through.

Author's Note:

History Stuff:

Half pay for wounded veterans would turn into what was disability compensation, as well as other benefits that other veterans would receive such as funds for education and healthcare.

Story Stuff:
The Quote: "—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." Is from Alice's Adventure in Wonderland by Lewis Carol. Belle will tell what she thinks of the story, and that will mirror my own thoughts so I'll share them then, lol

The unpredictability of a narcissist's behavior is another one of those things that are a part of their manipulation tactics. I remember my uncle being upset over things I thought inconsequential, and then things that I worried over, he acted like he didn't even notice. The lectures-making the person feel as if they are always at fault for everything (and if you have a soft heart for anyone, they describe how you've not only been a bad person to them, but to the person that you care about). With all that being said, hopefully this will give you a sense as to how Belle could get so wrapped up in the abuse (for that's what it is, really) that she isn't as defiant as we might want her to be.