#pere robert

Belle sniffed again. She rubbed haplessly at her nose and tried to straighten her back. She had very large eyes, that were shiny with tears, but her voice was almost steady as she said, “I - I’m fine, Père Robert. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You’re crying, Mlle. Last I checked, that tends not to be what someone does when they’re happy.” He bit his tongue almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth, although metaphorically because he didn’t actually want to hurt himself. Stupid, stupid, don’t upset her more -

- But Belle didn’t look particularly upset. She peered at his face instead for a few seconds, wide gray eyes still shiny. This went on for several seconds, long enough that Robert started shifting. Eventually, she said, “It could be.”

“Hmm?” It was his turn to blink like an owl.

“You know. People cry happy tears. When Mssr. Stanley the weaver’s friend Mssr. Tom got married, he cried a lot.”

“A fair point,” Robert conceded. “I wasn’t aware you were invited to his wedding. I saw neither you or your father?”

A sly smile crossed the young girl’s face. “No one else saw me either.” Pride threaded its way through every vowel and consonant of that sentence.

“Ah, sneaking into weddings now, are you? What did you want to see?”

Belle shrugged. “I’d never seen a wedding outside of a book before. I was curious. Also, I knew there would be cake. There’s always cake at weddings, and bells and flowers and wine and kissing and things,” she said with the utter conviction of someone who saw the world through a printed lens. She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t know there would be Gaston getting in a fistfight, though.”

“It’s the usual amount of tact he displays when drunk,” Robert muttered. “What do you think of him?”

The look of utter disgust and revulsion that crossed Belle’s face was truly priceless. It was as if he’d been asking about something she’d found stuck to the bottom of her shoe instead of a human.

He smiled at her, and stood, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet. Belle discreetly tried to wipe her eyes. Robert frowned.

“Why aren’t you at home with your father?”

Belle tensed. “I - I don’t want to worry him,” she said weakly. “He’s been so tired recently - I can manage on my own.”

Robert nodded, brow furrowed. “Would you like to come in to the chapel for a few minutes?”

Belle looked at him, eyes narrowed. After a few seconds of scrutiny, she nodded. 

“It’s a lot nicer in here at night,” Belle said. She’d arranged herself on one of the pews, a scrawny little thing staring out from a nest of over-sized clothes and a blanket he’d managed to scrounge up, a little beast come in from the cold. He fought the urge to ruffle her dark hair.

“Mmm, yes,” he nodded. “When I’m in here alone, at night...I really feel the presence of the Lord.”

“What does it feel like?” Belle asked.

Robert leaned on the back of the pew in front of hers, directly in front of her, and considered, bringing his hands up to his mouth as if in prayer. “Warm, and comfortable. Protecting, nurturing. Safe.”

“How do you know it’s really God?” she asked, and then flinched. “Sorry, sorry, shouldn’t have asked -”

“No, no,” Robert protested quickly. It’s an interesting question, and one he’d never really thought of before. He took some time forming an answer.

Finally, he said, “In all honesty, I’m not sure I could prove that what I feel is God. But, it gives me peace and reassurance to believe that it is, and I certainly have seen things in my life that could only be described as miraculous.”

Belle nodded. “Do you live in the chapel?”

“Live in here?” Robert’s lips twisted up in a smile. “Come now, Mlle. There’s not even a bed!” He paused. “Although, I won’t deny spending a few nights in here.”

“It’s nice,” Belle said. “I can tell you love it.”

He looked at her, but seeing only cherubic innocence, nodded. “I do.”

“Do you...” Belle’s voice trailed off. She looked away, into the chapel’s shadows, and sat up with a start. “Are those books?” she exclaimed.

“Hmm?” Robert looked over, towards the little shelf shoved up against the wall. “Oh, yes - I try and buy at least one whenever I leave town -”

“Can I -” Belle’s voice faltered, but the sheer hunger in her eyes could have swallowed all the harvests of France. Robert went and retrieved Romeo and Juliet and the Bible from the shelf.

“Here,” he said, handing them to her; she took them with a reverence most oft reserved for the holy. “Romeo and Juliet is one of the most brilliant stories ever written, and every good Christian ought to know what they believe.”

Belle nodded, but he could see he’d lost her attention. She was fixated, like a man in a desert who’d just found an oasis. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yes, I suppose they rather are.”

“I love reading,” and the words came out in a rush, like she was afraid they’d be stolen from her mouth. “I always have, it’s like - a gateway to other worlds. You can go anywhere and be anyone and do anything...” Her hand traced the cover of Romeo and Juliet, with a touch as light as a hand running through hair. She finished with, “Books are special.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Robert settled back down on the pew.

She shook her head, before pausing, glancing down at the books in her lap, and saying, “Romeo and Juliet?”

He laughed. “You don’t even know what it’s about!”

“Yes I do,” she said. A smirk flitted across her face like a bird to a branch. “It’s about Romeo and Juliet!”

He couldn’t help it. He started laughing in earnest. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. After a second or two, Belle began to laugh as well.

Laughter subsiding, Robert gestured to the remaining books on his little shelf. “If you tell me why you were crying, I’ll let you borrow my books whenever you want.”

Belle’s face was an open book. She opened her mouth, closed it, looked down at the books, back up at him, and then sighed, all the fire going out of her at once.

“It was the triplets,” she muttered.

“Vivian’s girls?” The triplets were the model of the perfect Villeneuve girl. Belle...was an antisocial bookworm who’s father was the town artist, a profession generally regarded as unmanly. Oh boy.

“What did they say?” he asked.

Belle shrugged. “Oh, just the your father’s a loon and you’ll never find a husband bit. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

They were both silent for several seconds. Then, Pere Robert leaned over and tapped the books Belle was holding. “You know,” he said, “nothing like a book if you’re looking for an excuse to ignore someone.”

Belle tilted her head. She looked down at the books. “You think that’d work?”

“Trust me,” Robert nodded. “I know Vivian’s girls, they’ll probably stop if they don’t get a reaction. It’s a ready-made excuse not to talk to people.”

“Do you use books like that often?” Belle asked with a smirk.

“More than I probably should,” Robert replied while thinking, cheeky. “In any case,” he added. “No matter how bad it gets here in Villeneuve, or anywhere in the world...” and here he stared at the books on his shelf, voice going slightly distant -

- “Books will always give you a way to escape.”

Belle stared at him for a few seconds, and then launched herself at him. Robert jumped at the feeling of slim arms around him.

“Thank you,” she said as she stepped back.

Robert, still slightly reeling, said, “No, thank you, mlle. I mean, one of the most pleasurable parts of a story is discussing it with others, and until now I haven’t had anyone to talk to.”

“You can talk to me,” Belle said, tone as declarative as if the statement was a royal command. She gripped his arm. “We’re friends now.”

“Absolutely,” Robert answered. That tone left no room for argument.

Belle smiled at him, her eyes wide and bright, and Robert felt a rush of affection. He found himself wondering what it would be like if Maurice wasn’t her father.

He straightened up. “Come on, Belle,” he said. “Your father must be worried sick.”

As Robert walked Belle to her house, and Belle met Maurice at the gate, and the two embraced, and as Belle ran inside, sparing a glance and a smile backwards for her new friend, and as Robert exchanged a few words with Maurice about the night’s events before walking home, he didn’t feel even a little bit sad.

In fact, a small smile graced his lips.

This would definitely not be the last time he talked to Belle Durant.