Chapter Text
Feeling nervous was something Belle hadn't felt for a long while, not since she first was instructed to flee by Martha back at Fort Spencer. Before that moment of hesitation, to flee or not to flee, Belle recalled feeling entirely nervous the first time she met Francis. She'd hidden half her body behind Papa, staring at the man with a timid gaze. He certainly stood in a manner that made her nerves freeze, so proud and so straight. Even the air around him radiated with a strangeness, a spark of power that she'd never known or felt before His eyes had been so cool, his mouth set in a neutral line. But oh, how it'd changed upon introducing himself to her. His eyes lit and flooded with warmth, he'd even kissed her hand, his rugged lips leaving fire on her knuckles-
Belle physically jerked her head to stir away the thoughts, lifting her eyes to the looking glass she held, borrowed from Father MacAvoy. The small home had previously belonged to his grandmother, as he had told her upon giving her a few items, a hairbrush, the looking glass and a few other antiques. Belle felt ashamed to use any of these things, especially the looking glass. It only made her achingly aware of how hollow and pale her face had become. She remembered herself before all of...this had happened. Scrawny, but slightly plump in certain places. Now, she reminded herself of the stray dogs she'd seen in the town she and Papa had lived in for so long, with their ribs stuck out and skin nearly sagging on their haunches.
She looked nearly dead. A walking husk.
Joseph MacAvoy, on the other hand, never noticed her appearances in such a way. If anything, he abashedly found her worn eyes and pale skin to make her nearly angelic. Hadn't the son of Christ gone through constant torments, only to rise again? Belle, however, didn't seem to know her own worth. Joseph was extremely aware of how her eyes always darted towards the nearest door, how her hands always seemed to be wringing together or fidgeting with her dress. Today, however, her hands wrung at her arms as he led her from his small home. His worrisome eyes found a line of blood upon her mouth caused by the girl worrying at her chapped lips with her teeth.
With a trembling hand to her shoulder, he halted her and lifting her gaze to his with a gentle thumb pressed to her chin. The priest paused for a moment, astonished at how much strength the girl gave him. He could hardly even speak to women without choking or saying something outrageous, let alone touch them, but with Belle, it was nearly as if his hands acted on instinct. He carefully removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket, finding a clean corner and carefully dabbing the blood from her lower lip.
"Why are you afraid?" he gently questioned, hunching himself down to her level of sight.
He understood the fear of his parishioners, as he quite feared their gazes alone. When they looked to him, all he saw was the plea in their eyes, please for help, redemption, to rid of their sins. Their dependence terrified him.
He was nothing more than a drunkard pretending to understand the Bible, trying to make some sort of twisted peace with himself by filling the shoes of the last priest of their tiny town. The priest before him had taken Joseph in when he'd found the young man drunk beyond comprehension, nearly like Joseph had found Belle. The previous father had been a man many looked up to, a man that taught Joseph that he had self worth. When the man soon died, however, Joseph reverted completely, deciding that he'd surely find heaven if he took on the role of priest.
"I'm afraid of their looks," the girl's soft, lilting voice shook him from reverie, Joseph's heart giving a quavering stutter as he processed her words. She doesn't like the eye-contact either? He glanced down to see her hands clenched together, almost in a violent fashion. "I'm afraid of how they'll see me, i-if they'll think I'm a victim...or a...harlot."
Belle's eyes jolted up to his as his hands cupped hers, the action partly to ease his own discomfort from the way she held them together.
"You're brave, Belle. If you resume to be brave, you'll feel brave," it was a wise statement for a drunken bastard, Joseph thought, his chest flooding with pride. "They know nothing of you and while they will wonder, as all church-goers seem to do, they won't know whatever truth it is that you're so afraid of. I'll tell them you had tuberculosis."
And then she laughed. An honest, real laugh. It was a laugh solely uttered from the irony of his suggested illness, but the priest instead assumed that she was simply laughing at his own stupid optimism. Yet to Joseph, Belle's laugh was still a sound so sweet that the priest uttered a humiliating, choking giggle of a laugh he'd ever heard from pure elation.
Belle seemed taken aback from his response, but not in the way he automatically assumed, of disgust, but of endearment. She nearly looked at him like a troublesome...puppy. It wasn't a comparison that he minded in the least. "Tuberculosis isn't something that people...recover from, Joseph," she chided. If Joseph's pathetic adoration from her hadn't already been existent, it certainly would've come to light now by the way Belle spoke to him in a way that wasn't at all condescending, but soft. "It's killed wagons upon wagons full of people," Her expression then grew bitter, as Belle knew this because Ives had told her. He prided upon teaching her these things, of filling her mind with all he knew.
Joseph noted her grimace and slowly removed his hands from hers, "We'll be late if we wait any longer," he stated, as if it were much more important to make it to mass than he felt. If anything, the idea of Belle sitting in his church terrified him even more.
He said nothing more, though, but even if he had, Belle wouldn't have heard a thing.
She simply stared at the line in front of the small white church ahead of them. Families, woman, children. Wouldn't want to break apart families, would we? Wouldn't want to break up...
Her eyes shut for a moment, a sudden flash of a jumbled conversation jolting through her ears, forcing her heart into a frantic beat. She forced her eyes open and tried to steady her breathing, but their voices, their laughing, smiling...
Belle felt as if someone had submerged her into a vat of bubbling tar. It wasn't just the confusion of a conversation she hadn't recalled hearing now, it was her past, before Francis.
Once, she'd been a good priest's daughter, she'd known every man, woman and child in their parish, volunteered to watch many of their squalling newborns and delivered baked goods to those who were ill. In the end, however, her good deeds were sucked away by her father.
Papa had been a leech in her neck, each penny she made from helping was stolen, no matter where she tried to hide it. She always knew he'd found her stash when he had a new bottle in his hand. She'd even tried taking it from him, she'd tried and yet a solid blow would land against her face and her resolve would break.
She wanted to run.
She wanted Francis.
And in a moment, when nothing but fear seemed to inhabit her body, Joseph's warm hand pressed to the small of her back and she stepped forward.
Belle knew that Joseph had considered her a personal investment from the day he found her. He wanted her to flourish for all of these men and women to see, his diseased, personal saint that defied death.
He was so very wrong.
Belle was not the woman adorned in tattered silks, feeding the starving from her bare palms.
She was the one killing their parents, watching as her rampant wolf tore them all to shreds.
But Ives was a respectable wolf, he wouldn't tear a family apart.
He'd kill them together.
Belle suddenly felt sick from all the images flickering to life in her mind, of blood and guts and dismantled bodies; the image of Ives tearing into each of these bodies with such glee that she felt inclined to join.
Her attention was abruptly brought to surface as a set of hands gripped her shoulders, Belle's body jolting violently in response.
As quickly as they'd smacked onto her shoulders, they were gone. "Ruby!" Belle followed the harsh bark to a woman she could only describe as wizened. Her stout shoulders were squared and her gray brow knit together, worn spectacles teetering precariously upon the bridge of her nose.
The scrawny girl held in her grip seemed to be the exact opposite, carefree blue eyes and hair that reached her buttocks. Her crooked grin nearly reminded her of Ives and the girl even winked at Belle, as if they were in on some sort of secret. "Ruby" jerked out of the woman's grip, rubbing her arm with a wince, "Yeesh, Granny, I was just greeting her like a part of the flock and the flock's a family, isn't it?" the girl huffed and rolled her eyes, shooting her hand out towards Belle, "I'm Ruby and this is Granny and we're really glad to meet you. I mean, surviving tuberculosis is really a big thing, I bet the papers would-"
"I will gag you with that damned long hair, you stubborn mule," said Granny, causing Belle to give a sudden snort of amusement.
"It's all right," Belle answered, quick to feel guilty from finding such humor from a situation she surely had been the cause of.
"So, anyway, you really survived?" Ruby was quick to hop back into their previous topic, ignoring the glare Granny gave her before turning her back. "I mean, Joseph said you did when I just asked him, uh...a minute ago, but you seemed all spaced out and...you survived it?"
Belle bobbed her head, and for some reason, she felt no guilt for lying at all. As of late, Belle nearly found everything about herself loathsome, but the girl realized then and there that sometime, someday, she would have to forgive herself. It hadn't even been her lie, after all. Joseph, the sweet thing, had gone ahead and lied for her, ignoring her comment on the inability to survive from the ailment.
Ives had certainly found his own cure, of course, but would all the the churchgoers be that dim and believe that she actually conquered it? Would she even be around long enough to know them that well?
Belle found herself finding a solace of sorts standing next to Ruby and Granny as the procession made its way into the church, Ruby completely at ease with filling the silence with her own voice and Granny occasionally harrumphing.
Once Joseph came into sight, standing with hunched shoulders beside the steps leading into his small church, Belle found herself wondering why the man was a priest. He seemed so terribly cast aside with himself, his confidence withered and she imagined that his chest filled with an anxiety of nearly any social situation. As soon as he caught sight of Belle, a smile, or rather, a hopeful smile stretched across his face and he scrambled to straighten himself and puff his lanky chest out as much as he could.
She couldn't help but feel guilt, he was smitten with her, but she felt nothing. She cared for the man, of course, but she could never love anyone again, not the way she'd loved Francis. Or...could I?
She doubted herself as she watched him him down the procession line and clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder, his head bobbing anxiously. "Are you still feeling well? Are you sure you're content to be here?" his eyes were so worried, nearly concentrating as if he believed he could see any threatening ailments if he looked hard enough into her eyes.
"Of course," Belle quickly assured, offering a genuine smile towards him. She felt a flutter in her chest, a lancing warmth flooding her cheeks and dismissing her previous contemplations. It was an elation, something that she hadn't felt for a long time. She hadn't felt so happy and pure since she'd been sat behind Colonel Ives on Napoleon, behind Papa and Mr. Janus and Jones and Spade.
She knew she should be ashamed, she knew it was a betrayal, but she felt no intimidation nor pain so long as she held the priest's gaze.
A priest. You would ruin him.
MacAvoy seemed to consider her answer, looking over her face once more to assure himself she was well and gave her shoulder another soft pat before moving back towards the church doors.
"I've never seen him so perky," Ruby commented, giving Belle's arm a nudge. Belle's face seemed to grow even warmer at this, her eyes looking to Granny's for support, only to find a wry smirk on the older woman's mouth.
"He's smitten, girl. Too bad he isn't the right type of priest," said Granny with a soft tut, Belle feeling a bit of shame at the truth of the statement.
She could ruin him.
Belle immediately found any worriment of the situation as Ruby started at her once again, asking her anything and everything as to where she came from and why she was there. As overwhelming as it became to struggle with answers that weren't truthful, but also not too far fetched, Belle was actually relieved. She'd become so used to fighting with her own mind that she'd forgotten how distracting company could be. In fact, she hardly thought of anything else that gave her any sort of grief until they entered the church.
She luckily managed to lose the chattering girl and her grandmother in the small jumbled mess of people taking seats, finding herself a place in a very empty pew in the second row. Tentatively glancing around, Belle noted just how alone she was in her small pew. She supposed the mention of illness had plenty of the parishioners hesitant, but soon enough, Ruby and Widow Lucas stood up and pointedly joined her.
"Erm, thank you," Belle softly muttered with a shy duck of her face, only to get a scowl from Granny.
"Hush, girl, you needn't any more grief in your state."
While Ruby rattled on about how idiotic the rest of the parish was, Belle took a moment to take in her surroundings. It wasn't like the Catholic churches that her father had described, with decadent murals and plush cushions, stained glass and golden chalices. Joseph's church was a homely little room with a single podium facing a few wooden pews and a single stained glass window. Despite the raggedy appearance, it felt...warm to Belle, safe.
A silence fell over the group as Joseph entered, followed by an alter boy who briskly set to lighting the few candles surrounding the podium. Joseph truly was a different man in his proper robes, almost as if they gave him a completely new persona. The Joseph in front of her looked proud and confident, not meek and so easily startled. The mass began with a simple song, and instead Belle stuck her face into the bible she'd found in her pew, inhaling its earthy, musky smell. She missed this scent, even if it took her back to her father's shame and drinking, to her forced engagement, to the times she'd hidden her face in the same book to not see his hungover sermon. The book itself was comfort, knowing that the mass in her hands was something she found solace in, it was nearly as if it were an old friend.
Her timid voice joined the singing surrounding her, Joseph leading the song with his own quivering voice. He looked perfectly perfect in front of the mass, his eyes gleaming with a pride, his chest risen.
The following mass went by in a rush of confusion, Belle never sure if she was meant to remain standing, seated or kneeling. Nonetheless, something new had entered her body, a thrumming feeling of enlightenment. The church felt so warm, homely, safe, but his sermon had truly sealed her into a new feeling of happiness.
Joseph's sermon had been simple, discussing the morality of man and the "righteous" path, but she could still hear a particular passage he quoted running circles round her head. It was nearly as if fate itself planted the quote into his sermon: "Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves." It nearly felt as if Belle had been given a new chance to live, to breathe.
She didn't know if it was the simple idea of religion or if it was Joseph himself, but it was a safety net, something she could fall back upon and rely on.
All she knew was that something inside finally felt right. She'd gone months on her own, trudging through the snow, living only for the child inside of her, only to lose it.
There was no child, you know.
Belle twitched at the voice that seemed to linger within her head, the one that tried to erase those memories of blood seeping from her skirts, a painful cramping in her pelvis.
It did happen. You just think I'll live better if I forget.
"Did you, ah...enjoy the service?"
Belle jolted upwards to see the church was empty. Had she she fallen asleep, or had she simply fallen into stupor from revelation? "I'm sorry," she was quick to blurt out, surprised at the warm expression that slid onto the priest's face.
"It's all right," he assured, gently placing one of his warm hands upon her shoulder, "I wouldn't expect I could pay full attention to mass if I weren't the one leading it, though sometimes I do daze off and forget what I'm speaking about at all," he admitted with a soft noise of mirth and a humble bob of his head, offering his arm to her.
After a moment of staring blankly at his arm, Belle slowly slid her arm though it. She peered up at him as they started a slow pace towards his small home, pursing her lips tentatively, "To tell the truth, Joseph, your service..." Belle felt a rush of embarrassment slide from her toes to constrict her throat, the idea of explaining something so personal and...meaningful making her feel incredibly vulnerable. "You service made me feel elated. I don't understand it, but it...comforted me." Belle's free arm was tightly latched around her stomach, her eyes glued to her own toes.
"Belle," Joseph urged softly, releasing her from his arm and lifting her reluctant eyes to his with a soft tap from his finger to her chin. "I-I've never asked before because I didn't want to be a...pest, but what happened to you? For you to be so horribly...withdrawn and...and to...hurt yourself...Please, tell me, I truly want to help."
She knew this would happen, she knew she'd want to tell the truth, but she knew it would ruin everything. She couldn't hide from Francis forever, no, but couldn't she lavish herself in this wonderful little life with this wonderful priest and his flock? It was a daydream, wishful thinking, she knew Francis would find her eventually, she knew he'd kill anyone that'd touch her and resume chasing her until he could toss her over his shoulder and claim her once more. Belle knew she should shut herself in, like she used to when her father's parishioners had questioned after the bruises that would appear on her body, but she wanted to tell him.
"I'd...I'd rather tell you later," she hollowly stated, not failing to note the way his brow knit with concern.
"Of course," the words were forced and disappointed, "I'd better go through and chat," he then stated, nodding to the congregation gathered outside. Belle knew it was a lie, she knew he'd been directing her towards his house, but instead of calling him out upon it, she simply waved and turned on her heel.
Belle slipped easily disappeared from the nearby crowd of Joseph's followers, her small frame and pale face gone unnoticed.
She found refuge in the stables with Napoleon, hugging his thick neck only to have the horse retract and snort in her face with a glare.
"We've got to go, I know," Belle muttered, clamping her teeth against her cheek.
The horse replied with a loud whinny, jolting Belle backwards a step. "Really, Napoleon, I know," she closed her eyes for a moment, pinching her brow as she struggled to sort out her cluttered thoughts. Everything was so very jumbled and noisy that she hardly could sort them at all.
The biggest concern was evading Ives for good. She couldn't kill him, she never could. As much as Belle would've enjoyed pretending that she loathed him, she didn't. She could simply return to him, but at what cost? He would do the same thing to her again, find a new group to kill, find a new Boyd, a new reason to humiliate her. She could run for the rest of her life. Belle knew she'd been aging without the constant supply of flesh, surely she'd die eventually.
She didn't want to choose any other option but to stay with Joseph, in a place where she felt a sense of normalcy.
Napoleon jerked her from her thoughts once again, kicking his water trough and bringing an immediate thought to Belle.
Of course.
With a cheeky grin, Belle turned to return to Joseph's home.
Belle's newfound pride, however, was short lived. She had to tell Joseph, she had to confess or else she' surely go insane. She knew that if worst came to worst, she could simply kill him, but she cared for him. She cared too much. That had been Francis' critique of her when he'd tried to teach her to properly hunt on one of their lazy days at the cave, she simply cared too much for the creatures.
It was true, though, and she accepted it.
Belle took slow steps to her makeshift room and glared at herself in the looking glass Joseph'd given her, criticizing her face, her thoughts, everything. How could she tell him without losing him as she'd lost the stable boy when he'd stumble upon her. Would he try to kill her? Call her a monster and flee to the sheriff?
Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.
She busied herself with reading one of her mother's old books to pass the time, her body stilling as soon as the smell of dinner found her nose.
Belle walked downstairs as if she were about to approach the gallows, her hair loosely tied behind her neck, her hair often got in the way of reading and this made it less hindersome, and mustered a weary smile to scarcely match Joseph's doeful grin.
"I've made stew, it's certainly not a masterpiece, but it'll help bring back some of the strength you've lost," he assured adamantly with a bob of his head, ushering her to sit herself down at his small dining table.
Nothing but silence followed, Belle trying to start her tale time and time again only to die off into silence, the only sound emitting from either of them the clack of their spoons.
"I..."
Both heads jerked up as the other spoke at the same moment, Belle surprised to feel her cheeks heat up once more.
"Belle," Joseph steeled himself, taking a long breath and mustering a smile as he reached across the small table to touch her hand. "Whatever's happened to you, whatever you've done, I won't judge you."
She couldn't find comfort, she knew it would be a lie soon enough, she suspected he would run from her. "You'll hate me, though," she heard herself say, voice bitter and cold.
"I don't think I could ever hate you."
The look in his eyes was one she recognized all too well, the look Ives often had given her, that warm gaze that wrapped her up and filled her with happiness.
However, she only worried with this look from the priest. Only a few days and he was in love, how could anyone love her in the state she was in, how...
Belle steadied herself in her seat and drew in a long breath before giving a bob of her head.
"My father and I were hoping to find passage through the Nevada's to relocate his parish—"