to
see the fair, too.”
Belle could have wept with appreciation. She
did so like Gladys Richmond.
“Of course, of course,” the complacent Mr.
Richmond said. “And we’ll be sure she does.” Giving Belle a wink
that she didn’t accept with gratitude, he added, “And we’ll be sure
to take her up on the Ferris wheel. But Mr. Asher needs her at the
moment.” Transferring his attention from his wife to Win, he said,
“How long did you say you’ll need her, Mr. Asher?”
Win shrugged. “An hour or two ought to do
it. I want to see how much I’ll need to adjust light levels and so
forth.”
Belle had never heard of such a thing. If
she didn’t know that Win had been chosen by the fair directors to
be the Exposition’s official photographer and, therefore, a morally
sound individual, she might have questioned his motives. She
remained silent, knowing herself to be akin to a piece of furniture
in the overall orchestration of the Richmonds’ life.
At least Gladys cared about her feelings.
“Would you mind, Belle, dear? We’ll come back to get you before we
take luncheon.”
“Having your picture taken is fun, Miss
Monroe,” Amalie assured her.
As if a five-year-old girl could assess such
a thing. Belle knew she’d be wise to put the best face on things,
so she pumped up a smile from somewhere and offered it to the
Richmonds. “Of course, I don’t mind. As long as you don’t need
me.”
“We do need you,” Mrs. Richmond said stoutly
before her husband could drop any more comments into the
conversation. “At least I do.”
“And me, too,” said Amalie.
Garrett, being a boy and knowing that
because of his gender he was a select entity and didn’t need
anything, much less a nanny, kept mum. Belle wasn’t surprised,
although she’d have liked to shake him.
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Richmond said
soothingly. “We all need Miss Monroe.”
Belle decided she’d like to shake him, too.
“Very well,” she said in a prim voice. “I shall remain behind.”
“We’re going to dine on hamburgers at
noontime, Belle, and I’m sure you’ll want to participate. They’re
new, you know.”
“I’ve heard of them,” she told Gladys, who
still appeared slightly uncertain about the wisdom of leaving the
nanny behind as she went off with the rest of her family.
Belle understood. She loved Gladys dearly,
but the poor woman was hopeless when it came to disciplining her
children. The decision had been taken out of her hands, however.
Therefore, she turned, clasping said hands at her waist, and asked
her torturer—that is to say, she asked the photographer—“Very well,
Mr. Asher. What shall I do now?”
Gladys gave her a quick kiss on the cheek,
which surprised and gratified Belle, and hustled her children out
of Win’s booth. Mr. Richmond smiled his thanks and took off after
the rest of his family.
Win grimaced at Belle, which prompted a
frown in return. “First off, will you please try to relax? This
isn’t going to be an arduous ordeal or anything. And the series I
aim to shoot featuring you alone—”
“I didn’t consent to that!” cried Belle,
miffed.
“Balderdash. Your employers want you to do
them, so you’ll do them. Am I right?”
Yes, blast it, in spite of knowing the
Richmonds would allow her say-so over the solo pictures of herself,
he was right. She’d pose for the dratted pictures because she
wanted to please the Richmonds, whom she not only esteemed, but who
were responsible for her current status as—well, no longer dirt
poor, at any rate. Belle’s lips pinched together tightly.
Pointing at her mouth, which made Belle take
a startled step back, Win said, “See? That’s exactly what I mean.
In order for us to work together, you’re either going to have to
give up hating me or pretend to.”
“I don’t hate you!” Belle was so shocked by
this accusation that she unclasped her hands.
“Could have fooled me,” Win grumbled.
Shrugging out of his coat and
see the fair, too.”
Belle could have wept with appreciation. She
did so like Gladys Richmond.
“Of course, of course,” the complacent Mr.
Richmond said. “And we’ll be sure she does.” Giving Belle a wink
that she didn’t accept with gratitude, he added, “And we’ll be sure
to take her up on the Ferris wheel. But Mr. Asher needs her at the
moment.” Transferring his attention from his wife to Win, he said,
“How long did you say you’ll need her, Mr. Asher?”
Win shrugged. “An hour or two ought to do
it. I want to see how much I’ll need to adjust light levels and so
forth.”
Belle had never heard of such a thing. If
she didn’t know that Win had been chosen by the fair directors to
be the Exposition’s official photographer and, therefore, a morally
sound individual, she might have questioned his motives. She
remained silent, knowing herself to be akin to a piece of furniture
in the overall orchestration of the Richmonds’ life.
At least Gladys cared about her feelings.
“Would you mind, Belle, dear? We’ll come back to get you before we
take luncheon.”
“Having your picture taken is fun, Miss
Monroe,” Amalie assured her.
As if a five-year-old girl could assess such
a thing. Belle knew she’d be wise to put the best face on things,
so she pumped up a smile from somewhere and offered it to the
Richmonds. “Of course, I don’t mind. As long as you don’t need
me.”
“We do need you,” Mrs. Richmond said stoutly
before her husband could drop any more comments into the
conversation. “At least I do.”
“And me, too,” said Amalie.
Garrett, being a boy and knowing that
because of his gender he was a select entity and didn’t need
anything, much less a nanny, kept mum. Belle wasn’t surprised,
although she’d have liked to shake him.
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Richmond said
soothingly. “We all need Miss Monroe.”
Belle decided she’d like to shake him, too.
“Very well,” she said in a prim voice. “I shall remain behind.”
“We’re going to dine on hamburgers at
noontime, Belle, and I’m sure you’ll want to participate. They’re
new, you know.”
“I’ve heard of them,” she told Gladys, who
still appeared slightly uncertain about the wisdom of leaving the
nanny behind as she went off with the rest of her family.
Belle understood. She loved Gladys dearly,
but the poor woman was hopeless when it came to disciplining her
children. The decision had been taken out of her hands, however.
Therefore, she turned, clasping said hands at her waist, and asked
her torturer—that is to say, she asked the photographer—“Very well,
Mr. Asher. What shall I do now?”
Gladys gave her a quick kiss on the cheek,
which surprised and gratified Belle, and hustled her children out
of Win’s booth. Mr. Richmond smiled his thanks and took off after
the rest of his family.
Win grimaced at Belle, which prompted a
frown in return. “First off, will you please try to relax? This
isn’t going to be an arduous ordeal or anything. And the series I
aim to shoot featuring you alone—”
“I didn’t consent to that!” cried Belle,
miffed.
“Balderdash. Your employers want you to do
them, so you’ll do them. Am I right?”
Yes, blast it, in spite of knowing the
Richmonds would allow her say-so over the solo pictures of herself,
he was right. She’d pose for the dratted pictures because she
wanted to please the Richmonds, whom she not only esteemed, but who
were responsible for her current status as—well, no longer dirt
poor, at any rate. Belle’s lips pinched together tightly.
Pointing at her mouth, which made Belle take
a startled step back, Win said, “See? That’s exactly what I mean.
In order for us to work together, you’re either going to have to
give up hating me or pretend to.”
“I don’t hate you!” Belle was so shocked by
this accusation that she unclasped her hands.
“Could have fooled me,” Win grumbled.
Shrugging out of his coat and
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