Belinda by Peggy Webb

ceremony.
    That evening, he sat quietly through dinner,
watching and marveling at the rapport between Belinda and the
children.
    “Can we show Daddy our secret now?” Betsy
said in a loud whisper as she leaned toward Belinda.
    “After dinner,” Belinda told her. Her glance
slid toward Reeve. He smiled. His life had taken on an order and a
routine that was exceedingly pleasing to him.
    “And what is this big secret, sweetheart?” he
asked his daughter.
    “If she tells, it won’t be a secret,” Mark
chimed in.
    “Can we skip dessert, Daddy?” Betsy bounced
up and down in her chair, clapping her hands. “Can we?”
    “If this big secret is waiting until after
dinner, I suggest we adjourn to the den. We can have dessert
later.”
    Betsy and Mark jumped out of their chairs and
scampered out of the room, laughing and chattering. “We’ll meet you
in the den, Daddy,” Mark called over his shoulder.
    “Shall we?” Reeve offered his arm to
Belinda—a habit he had developed in the past few days—and escorted
her to the den. She glided along beside him, tall and lovely, like
a long-stemmed summer flower. He had a vision of her in her new
dress. It seemed that tonight was a night for surprises.
    Reeve took his customary chair in the den,
and Belinda sat on the sofa and spread her skirts. He watched her,
waiting for another ritual—the smoothing of her stockings. Her hair
swung forward in a bright fan of gold as she leaned down and ran
her hands down her legs. This time her stockings had tiny sequined
diamond shapes.
    A satisfied sigh escaped Reeve’s lips. It was
funny how these small nightly rituals soothed him. Even more
mystifying was the way he looked forward to finding out what sort
of decorations would adorn Belinda’s stockings. Sometimes, late in
the afternoons, he found himself gazing out the window of his
office, wondering whether she would have hearts or diamonds or bows
marching in a glittering row down her slim legs.
    Thank God nobody around here could read
minds. He leaned back in his chair, content.
    Betsy and Mark bounded into the room, trailed
by Quincy.
    “Lord have mercy, Mr. Reeve,” she said,
puffing as she lumbered toward her chair. “The children are enough
to wear Belinda to a frazzle. But she’s always just as lively as if
she’d come up from eight hours’ sleep on a feather comforter.” She
fanned herself with her apron. “I never saw a woman take to a job
the way she has.” She smiled over at Belinda.
    Reeve laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, Quincy?
Belinda’s job is permanent.”
    “Nothin’ has ever been permanent with you
before. Specially where the children’s concerned. I just thought
I’d get my two cents’ worth in. That’s all.”
    “Point taken, Quincy.” He hugged Betsy close
as she sidled up to him. “Now, sweetheart, what’s this big surprise
you and Mark have been keeping for Daddy?”
    “This.” Betsy pulled a willow whistle from
behind her back.
    Mark came forward with his whistle. “And
guess what? Belinda helped us make them!”
    Reeve inspected the whistle. It was a small
willow flute, ingeniously made.
    “You keep surprising me, Belinda. You’re a
woman of many talents.”
    “Shoot. It’s just a little old whistle. Daddy
taught us how to make them down in Georgia. See, we didn’t have
money to spend on fancy toys and stuff, so we had to make do with
what we had. Anyhow, that’s not important. The important thing is I
always remembered my daddy showing me how to make that whistle and
the good times we had picking out tunes. I just think it’s good to
really be a part of children’s lives.”
    She paused, her cheeks flushed, then turned
to Betsy and Mark. “Are you ready for the show, children?”
    Betsy and Mark stood side by side in front of
Reeve’s chair, their faces important-looking, and lifted their
flutes to their lips. At first he couldn’t tell that the sounds
they were making were music; but gradually he began to distinguish
the