Belle in Carolina: Times to Remember

By Wynnette Fraser

From 1916 until 1919, Belle works as a bookkeeper, unusual at a time when society considers marriage to be a womans only acceptable goal. She longs for a home and family of her own, but debates the wisdom of marrying Jamie, a poor farmer who goes to serve in World War I. What will her final decision be if and when he comes home again?

This book is a sequel to Belle of Alabama, published by Xlibris in 2010.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490813103

Wynnette Fraser

Wynnette Fraser, a retired social worker and widow, lives in Darlington, South Carolina. Her Mirror Mountain Adventure series for eight- to twelve-year-olds was published by Chariot Publishing Company in the 1980s. She enjoys church activities and sings in the choir. Belle’s story is based on the life of Wynnette’s own mother.

Book preview

Prologue

Peggy Branch, South Carolina, 1919

B ELLE AWOKE TO the sound of the early train’s whistle as it grew somewhat muffled entering the swamp. Usually, when she heard a train, she longed to be on it going somewhere. But not this morning. As she sank languidly into the feather mattress, her entire being seemed to shout the date: February 22 nd . 1919. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered what would be happening on this day, something that would change her life fo rever.

She climbed out of bed and stood barefooted in her nightgown, at the window that overlooked the myrtle grove. She felt no need to reach for her housecoat and slip her feet into her slippers. Although Spring would not come for another month or two, the weather was warm and mild, a plus for the day ahead. The shadows of first light crept across the scene before her. Her lips moved in prayer.

Thank You, Lord, she mouthed, for bringing me through the years. You’ve been there for me a long, long time.

You were with me that time in Alabama when Miz Etta Keith’s doll factory burned down and I no longer had a job. You brought sweet Uncle Denny there with the idea of taking me to Atlanta to go to business school. It didn’t seem to bother him that Aunt Mattie Lou thought a girl wanting to be an office worker was a total disgrace! Thank You that he understood how much it meant to me. The world was changing and he thought it was good that I wanted to make my own living . . . take care of myself. I chose to go to Atlanta to get the best training to be a bookkeeper.

You walked beside me all the way. Why do I still feel scared? I could just plain crack up today if I didn’t feel so sure You’ll pull me through. But I wonder . . . how did I get from way back then till now?

A gentle rapping sounded on her door and she heard her friend Grace’s voice call, Hey, Belle, you said you wanted to get up early? Well, Rose has a bang-up good breakfast going, so hurry it up, girl. We’ve a big day ahead of us, you know.

I’ll be there sooner than she can flip a hot cake! Belle reached for her housecoat. Jiminy… seems like all those years stood in front of me just then. But I can’t dwell on what’s past now . . . . too much else to drive my mind today. Please stay close by, dear God. I need You.

Chapter One

Atlanta, Georgia, 1916

T HE WINDS OF March whirled down the sidewalks of Atlanta, strewing loose papers and dust everywhere. Belle McLaren’s new hat abandoned her bountiful dark hair and bounced carelessly in the breeze. With her bag strung over her shoulder and carrying an umbrella she had folded up after a brief shower, she chased the hat down the sid ewalk.

Oh, no-ooh Belle wailed as she ran after it. Uncle Denny had bought the hat for her birthday when he was in town last week. If Aunt Mattie Lou had been with him, it would not have been such a fine one, Belle surmised. Her aunt was forever on guard against frivolous spending for her husband’s niece. But on that day, he had left his wife back at Springhill Farm in Newman Falls, Alabama. Belle was proud of the beautiful hat.

She had first gone to live on his farm when she was thirteen. The McLaren family had been ready to send her to an orphanage when Uncle Denny Mathers intervened and took her home with him. Uncle Denny had always loved buying pretty hats for her. and Belle loved wearing them.

The chase defied everything except her determination to catch the hat. Now her treasured birthday gift rode the breeze down the dusty street, past Mrs. Nellie’s Coke & Cookie Shop and George’s Cobbler Shop. Belle ran at full speed, glad she had worn low-heeled shoes to work at Jones Chapel Piano Company that day. Dress shoes would never have allowed her to have any speed at all.

In the distance she saw a boy catch the yellow hat. "Thank you, she prayed softly, running toward him to retrieve her treasure. But the boy turned quickly and began to run away. Stop running! screamed Belle as she kept pursuing him at top speed. That’s my hat!"

The boy suddenly darted into an alley between two stores. She began to fear the worst, but sped into the alley after him, shouting, Bring my hat back!

The boy kept going, past garbage dumpsters that overflowed with debris, on and on until he was slowed by a high fence at the other end of the alley.

Belle reached the fence as he scrambled on in an effort to get over. She lifted her umbrella and began to pummel him furiously.

You obstreperous little thief, she shouted. Let go of my hat this instant!

With a cry of agony, he let the hat fall back against Belle, whose anger and physical exhaustion had caused her fair face to redden.

She was startled by the sudden appearance of a policeman who had run after her into the alley and immediately had the straggly-headed young boy in his strong grasp.

Calm down, Belle, the policeman said, causing her to turn and recognize Stephen O’Toole, one of the Irishmen that ate at Mrs. O’Donnell’s Boarding House where she stayed.

O’Toole often joined the other Irishmen in teasing her and jesting at the dinner table, but now he was serious. What’s your name, son, and where do you live?

At the moment, Belle couldn’t see any reason why O’Toole shouldn’t take the boy on to headquarters and book him. She was angry enough to feel that way, but she respected O’Toole’s authority and stood quietly by as he questioned the boy.

M-m-my name’s Ernie Melton and I live over on Pringle Street, the boy said. He was obviously frightened, and Belle felt her anger waning. He couldn’t have been much older than ten or eleven.

Who’s your papa? O’Toole asked.

Ain’t g-got one, the boy muttered. H’its just me and my ma."

Well, let’s go to your house and have a wee talk with her, the officer said.

I’ll go with you, Belle volunteered.

No need to, the policeman told her, I can handle it. And you got your pretty hat back, didn’t you?

Yes, but I want to talk to his mama, and see how she feels about what he did. She should have taught him better.

Suit yourself. You told us you wasn’t Irish? You sure act a lot like the women in the old country.

You know I’m just of Scots-Irish descent, she said with a pert nod. Officer O’Toole shrugged his shoulders.

She drew in a quick breath, and followed O’Toole and the boy out of the alley, around the corner and down Pringle Street past Mrs. O’Donnell’s Boarding House until Ernie stopped in front of a ramshackle old two-story house. It looked far too insignificant for Sherman’s army to have bothered burning it during the Great War.

W-W-we live upstairs, the boy said. They passed an elderly woman sitting on the porch. How do, Mrs Mulligan, Ernie said to the woman. Belle and O’Toole nodded, and Mrs. Mulligan glanced at them indifferently.

Mrs. Mulligan lives downstairs, the boy explained as he led them through a door and up a darkened stairway that shouted for repair.

A few moments later they found themselves in a drab dingy room with fading curtains on the window. There was a small wood-burning heater and a heavy cardboard box of wood scraps beside it. On the table, a pitcher of water and a dishpan of dirty dishes awaited attention. A cot with dingy covers sat in one corner of the room. A few bowls and dishes on open shelves used up one wall, and an ugly icebox stood under the shelves.

Ma’s sick, Ernie said as he opened a door to another room.

The musty kitchen odor followed them into a bedroom where Belle felt her heart sink to her stomach at the brooding dimness she encountered.

Ma, these folks want t-to talk to you, Ernie said to a lump hidden beneath a heap of tattered covers on the bed.

A woman’s emaciated face emerged and feebly faced her visitors.

Ma’am, O’Toole said, we caught your Ernie running away with this lady’s hat. Don’t know why he’d want a woman’s hat.

Err-nie! the woman cried feebly, when I told you how much I always loved hats, I wasn’t hintin’ for you to go an’ steal one! Oh, Officer, he knows better. I wouldn’t believe he’d do such a thing. Ernie, You know I taught you to never take what ain’t yours. Her voice was weak, but firm.

"I know, Ma, but it was such a pretty one, and it was like the wind jus’ blew it straight to me. I so w-wanted you to have it." The boy’s brown eyes were wide and sorrowful.

Belle’s heart melted. She moved closer to the bed, holding out her hat. Then I want you to have it like he meant you to, she told the woman. I have other hats. She did, just not new like this one. She placed the hat in the sick woman’s hand.

With a puzzled look, O’Toole ruffled his curly hair. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Now, Belle, you don’t need to do that, he said.

Oh, no, the woman in the bed agreed. One thing I don’t need is a hat, she said shakily. The doctor says I’ll not get out of this bed as long as I live. What good would a hat do me now? It’s your hat, and I insist that you keep it."

Belle looked around the room. It needed a good cleaning. Do you have any family to come and help you, Mrs. Melton?

The woman shook her head with a dismal look. Just me and Ernie’s all. My husband left when Ernie was three, and we been gettin’ along with me cleanin’ folk’s houses till I come down sick. Ernie’s really a good boy. He tries to take care of me as best he can. And please call me Millie. She handed the hat back to Belle. Thank you, dear, but you must see I really can’t use a hat. My boy shouldn’t ‘a done what he did. I’m so sorry.

Belle stroked the hat and smiled as she nodded. It was obvious that Mrs. Melton did not need a hat, but she needed help. Ernie, Belle said to the boy, I understand you wanting to give your mother something she loved, but you know what you did was wrong.

Yes’m. I won’t do nothin’ like that—never again. He looked at his mother, then at Belle. I’m sorry I did it. Millie Melton gave a weak nod at her son.

You and your mother need help, Belle said, and I’m going to get it for you.

O’Toole shook his head in dismay at Belle’s abrupt proposal.

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A few minutes later Belle and O’Toole entered the dining room at the O’Donald’s boarding house as the other boarders sat down to eat. O’Toole gave the diners a brief report of the hat incident, then turned to Belle.

And how are you gonna see that that dying woman gets help? I didn’t know you wuz a social worker.

Belle breathed a quick breath. I teach the Helping Hands Sunday School Class at the Baptist Church down the street, she said. Those women don’t just sit and listen all the time. They’ll put together a cleaning crew of themselves in a heartbeat. While I keep books at the piano company, they’ll make things better for the Meltons.

Sure ‘tis a lotta Irish in her, Michael, Mrs. O’Donnell’s husband, noted as they took their places at the table where eight other people sat.

Belle smiled at the compliment a true Irishman often repeated. Apparently, doing good for others was admired by the people from Erin, and they took credit for it. Belle felt good hearing it. The Irish people were generous with pleasing flattery. Besides Meara and Michael O’Donnell had been in Atlanta before Belle arrived.

Stephen O’Toole and Colin Patrick had come from Ireland a year ago. Stephen’s fiancée, Bonnie, was still in the old country, and Colin’s wife, Aine, and baby son, Brendan, were still waiting till he earned enough at the Coca Cola Plant to bring them over. All of the men worked at the plant. They were lonely, but their good humor and cheer made Belle find the evening meals bright and happy.

She felt a sudden shiver of fear run over her, causing chill bumps to dot her arms and legs. What if the women at church refused to do what she had promised? O Father, please make the ladies willing, especially that Mabel Huggins. Mabel’s the wealthiest woman in the church since she inherited her big old home and a bunch of money. But she’s always disagreeing with the rest. I think most of the women are free to go help the Meltons. Please let them be willing. You know that poor little woman down the street only has that half-grown boy, and she ís so sick and weak!

Come down from wherever you are, Belle, Colin coaxed. I’m startin’ to tell a funny joke. Get ready to laugh!

She put aside her sudden anxiety to join in the fun.

Chapter Two

A S BELLE DRESSED for work Saturday morning, she still had a feeling of misgiving running through her . I should not have told Mrs. Melton I was getting help for her. Grandma Mathers always said I was too quick to jump into things without thinking them through. She was right. Why do I do that? What if the women don’t agree to help? Precious Lord, please let them agree   .   .   . I’m in a real pickle here, but You will surely bless anything we can do for those two down the street. They need hel p bad.

She hurried downstairs, and after an ample breakfast, was glad to find that the sweater she had decided to wear was warm enough for her walk to work. Her mind was frustrated with a myriad of thoughts bouncing around. She would go back to the Melton’s again after work today, and take something from the bakery. But they needed more than that. A doctor was seeing Millie, she learned (or had seen her.) If only she could talk with the doctor. The woman’s illness seemed to be serious. Was that young boy her only caretaker? He should be in school, but then who would be with his sick mother during the day? No, she didn’t think he was going to school.

It was a bright, sunny morning, and Belle walked three blocks to work as she usually did, but along the way, she was still talking quietly to God about the Melton situation, asking Him to make her faith stronger that the Holy Spirit would be present with the women tomorrow, for them to be willing to help the Meltons. There were only two of the women she feared might stir all of them with negative ideas, the main one being Mabel Huggins. Lord, help me say the right words to convince all of them. I know it’s Your will!

A few minutes later, Belle weaved her way through the rows of pianos as she walked to her little office where the company books awaited attention. Her boss, Mr. Manford, was talking with a man and woman beside one of the best, most expensive pianos on the floor. Belle read favorable looks on all faces, and in a few minutes a smiling Mr. Manford stuck his head in her office door to say Good Morning.

Just made another sale, he went on as he approached her desk. That man and woman bought the biggest and best piano on the floor for the hotel they manage. He proudly handed Belle a sizable check to be posted to the ledger and deposited later in a local bank.

That’s great, Mr. Manford. Belle carefully placed the check in an open ledger.

Oh, yes, and that’s not all the good news, he said. The company is opening a store in Columbia, South Carolina. With the new one operating now in Mobile, Alabama, it looks like business is still spreading, despite the slow times."

Belle smiled as he continued, Yep, guess I’d better get the delivery man going now. See you later, but call if you need me! The grey-haired man was in the door now, looking out. He’s here, Belle—that long-haired musician that can’t stay away from you.

Not Brad Picole? She cringed and let a weary sigh escape. Please tell him I’m not here.

Mr. Manford grinned mischievously. Now you know I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be true. You’ll think of something to get him to leave. I trust you, Belle.

Belle pursed her lips and squinted her blue eyes at her boss. I rue the day he started coming here, she said, but I know he’s a good customer and I won’t do or say anything to upset that, Mr. Manford.

Brad Picole was a local piano teacher who had apparently become smitten with Belle. He kept finding little excuses to visit the store—music books, metronomes, and other small accessories a piano teacher might use.