by Sarah Banks
“Better?”
His voice sent a shiver through her. Her wide eyes focused on his, then dropped to his lips. She had never kissed anyone before. She had never had the urge. But Ethan made her feel something that she couldn’t quite explain. She didn’t think she’d mind the feel of his lips on hers. She reached up and traced her fingertip along his upper than lower lip. He closed his eyes under her touch and when she stopped he opened them again, his eyes dark and liquid.
Not understanding the compulsion, she reached up and cupped his head, drawing his lips to hers. Once their lips touched, he groaned, startling her but he offered her immediate comfort by pressing his front against hers, the cool wood of the building against her back and his warmth against her front.
He finally pulled away, breathing heavily. He swept a loose lock of hair behind her ear and pulled her back into his arms. He didn’t kiss her, just held her and it felt so comforting that she wrapped her arms around him underneath his jacket and they stood there, arm in arm, for a few minutes.
“We should get back,” he murmured against her hair.
She nodded and pulled away. The spell was broken. They returned to the house and she unpacked her clothes while Ethan packed a bag for traveling. Soon after Ben awoke and they walked to the restaurant for supper.
When it was time for bed Charlotte was so nervous that her fingers shook while fastening the tiny buttons of her nightgown, the task taking much longer than it should have. She slipped underneath the cool covers and waited for Ethan who appeared not long after. She wondered if he had been listening to her movements. He quickly undressed in the dark and slipped underneath the covers. He was a large man but it was a large bed and he didn’t touch her. She couldn’t even feel his heat until her fingers inched closer before she finally pulled away just shy of touching him.
“Goodnight Charlotte.”
He didn’t kiss her again and she told herself she wasn’t disappointed. They lay side by side for quite sometime before she finally fell asleep first. She woke up briefly in the middle of the night in his arms. When she woke up the second time, he was gone.
Chapter Seven
Her first day as a married woman wasn’t exactly how she had envisioned it. Her husband was miles away by now. She was okay with that part, his ad had said he traveled a lot although she supposed she hadn’t expected it on their first full day as husband and wife. And she definitely had not expected to be responsible for children.
There was no sleeping in for her. She awoke to a babbling Ben and the shaking and rattling of his crib. By the time she washed and dressed and entered Claire and Ben’s room, Claire was already awake, dressed and laying on her made bed with a book.
“Good morning Claire,” Charlotte greeted her, reaching for Ben and pulling him from his crib. It wasn’t until she lifted him that she realized her muscles were sore from the previous day of carrying him around.
“Morning.”
She was about to set him on the changing table and learn how to change her first diaper when Claire interrupted, “I already changed him.”
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, picking him up again and settling him at her hip. “Are you hungry? Shall we go to breakfast?”
Downstairs she found a note Ethan had left for her on the dining room table. Basically a list of people she could go to for help if she needed it and where she could find them. That was something she supposed. Bundled in their jackets, they made their way to the restaurant.
Claire took along her book and read throughout breakfast but Charlotte didn’t mind. In fact she wished she had a book of her own. Her father had never let her read at the table as a child or an adult. She fed Ben instead and then herself. She was ravenous. Must be the country air she decided.
After breakfast she convinced Claire to take a walk with her, basically following the route that Ethan had taken her on the previous afternoon encompassing all of Sweet Creek. Charlotte felt people staring at her. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her bright red hair or because she was new in town but she shyly avoided their gazes and made her way toward the mercantile. She averted her eyes from the alleyway next to the mercantile that Ethan had kissed her in, her cheeks burning just at the thought and ducked inside with Ben at her hip and Claire in tow.
A gentle bell tingled overhead as she entered. The woman behind the counter acknowledged her with a friendly but curious smile and Charlotte wandered around the interior while she helped the customers that had arrived before her. She took her time looking at everything and eventually found herself in front of a small selection of books which was the reason she had come in the first place. She usually liked to read romance, adventures or mysteries and if a book had all three, more the better. This time though she had something all together different in mind. She scanned the titles.
“May I help you?” A woman asked from behind Charlotte. She turned. It was the woman from behind the counter.
“Yes please. I am, uh, looking for a cookbook.”
“Oh of course, they are right here,” she said moving forward and running her finger along five or six book spines.
“Is there one in particular you would recommend?” Charlotte asked, studying the spines. Even though there were only a half dozen titles, she was overwhelmed by the selection.
“This one’s my favorite and also sells the best,” the woman said, pulling a thick yellow-bound volume from the shelf. “It has a little bit of everything.”
“Alright, I’ll take that one.” She followed the woman back to the counter.
“I don’t recognize you and I know pretty much everyone in town. My name is Jenny. Jenny Martin. My husband Nathan and I own and run the mercantile and the feed store next door with our daughter Laura and our son-in-law Adam.”
“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Charlotte Stewart, I mean Morgan. Charlotte Morgan,” she corrected, using her new name for the very first time. It felt strange. “I’m Ethan Morgan’s wife. He owns—”
“Of course I know Ethan. He’s been a resident of Sweet Creek for nearly as long as we have. I didn’t know he up and got himself a wife.”
When Charlotte didn’t offer any further explanation Jenny continued, “Anything else you need?” She asked, neatly wrapping the book.
Charlotte bit her lip before adding a few more items she had seen while looking around the store to her husband’s tab. She took the book with her after Jenny promised delivery of the other items later that afternoon by way of her son-in-law. Charlotte thanked her, collected Claire and left the store.
When they returned home, Claire disappeared into her room. Charlotte followed, putting Ben briefly back into his crib while she made her own bed. Then she returned and attempted to change Ben’s diaper before hopefully putting him down for a nap.
Her third attempt wasn’t any better than her first, the diaper kept slipping off. Claire, who had been silently watching from her bed, giggled.
Charlotte blew out a puff of air, ruffling her hair which was already in disarray despite it being barely ten in the morning.
“Can you show me how?”
Claire jumped up and guided her through a successful changing of Ben’s diaper. “I might need you to show me another time or two until I get the hang of it. I’m afraid I haven’t been around children much.”
“You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. No brothers or sisters, so no nieces or nephews. My mother died when I was about your age and it was just me and my father for quite a number of years. He recently remarried.”
“My mother died last year giving birth to Ben,” Claire said, tickling the bottom of Ben’s foot. Ben kicked out and laughed. Charlotte caught him before he could fall over the changing table. “And my father died a couple of weeks ago.”
“I know,” Charlotte said softly. “I was really sorry to hear about your parents.”
Claire retreated to the bed and her book without another word. Charlotte feared she had said the wrong thing
but she wasn’t sure what else she could have said. She knew from firsthand experience, one couldn’t be consoled after losing a loved one. Ben wasn’t agreeable to a nap so she took him downstairs so he wouldn’t bother Claire and sat him on a blanket with a bunch of toys. She stacked a tower of wooden blocks for him which he promptly knocked down with a giggle. Then he grabbed the closest block, chewing and slobbering on it. She realized they were all still wearing their jackets so she tried to start a fire to warm up the downstairs.
After several failed attempts she swallowed her pride and called down Claire who helped her get a blaze going. It was embarrassing to ask a twelve-year-old how to do things she had never had to do herself but she had to learn somehow.
She restacked Ben’s blocks and then sat at the dining room table with the newest book in her collection. She flipped through the entire cookbook from front to back. For as much as she loved books, the cookbook read like an unknown foreign language to her. She set it aside with a sigh and pulled out her stationery and began to write a letter to her father.
Her pen hovered over the paper for quite some time. She wasn’t sure what to write. It had only been a couple weeks since she had seen him and she already missed him terribly. She wanted to apologize for their arguments and leaving so abruptly. Charlotte still remembered the look of hurt on his face, after he had gotten over his initial anger that is. But he had hurt her too. It wasn’t so much that he had remarried, she wanted him to be happy more than anything. But she felt as if he had put his wife of only a short time in front of his daughter. In the end, she kept the letter short, letting him know of her safe arrival, that she loved him and promised to write again soon.
Then she hunted for the broom, wondering if Ethan even had one or if she should have purchased that too at the mercantile. She finally found it tucked in the back corner of the closet along with a dustpan. Using a rag and then the broom, she spent the next hour dusting every surface of the downstairs and then sweeping away the cobwebs and every inch of the floor. She was grateful the house was tidy otherwise after she finished, pressing her sleeve against her damp brow. The kitchen looked like it had never been used and she figured as a bachelor Ethan had never cooked for himself.
Not long after she finished cleaning, the items she had purchased at the mercantile were delivered just before lunchtime. She added the newly purchased blankets and pillows to the sofa, the clock to the mantle and unrolled a large rug in front of the sofa for Ben to play on instead of using a spare blanket.
Ben picked at the tightly woven rag rug, delighted with the colors and she felt confident that the craftsmanship would hold up underneath his inquisitive fingers. As the final touches she retrieved a picture of her parents, setting the gold frame on the mantel next to the clock and she placed a stack of books onto the end table next to the sofa, laying the cookbook on top. She dusted off her hands and stepped back. A few purchases along with some personal possessions made the space homier. She decided this must have been how Margaret felt after marrying her father and moving in, she had wanted to make their house into what she considered a home.
Another change of Ben’s diaper, easier this time around, she collected Claire and they went to lunch. She posted the letter on the way to the restaurant. She was already getting tired of dining out so frequently. She had little experience in the kitchen but she would need to figure out her cookbook sooner or later. She wouldn’t improve by just sitting there and thinking about doing it.
Thankfully after returning from the restaurant after lunch Ben was droopy eyed and went down for a nap without much fuss. She lay down on her own bed with a book but didn’t get past page two before falling asleep herself. She slept just as long as Ben. They went for another walk despite the cold before eating supper, again at the hotel restaurant, and then returned home where she played with Ben while Claire read until it was time for bed.
All in all, it hadn’t been a bad day. Thank goodness for Claire’s help. Tomorrow was Sunday and except for church, she supposed it would be much like today. She would get through these few weeks with the children without Ethan, she just needed to take it day by day.
She lay down with her book again and at least this time made it to chapter two before finally nodding off.
Chapter Eight
Charlotte didn’t know what woke her and it took her a moment to remember where she even was. She had left the lamp burning low and a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand read after midnight. She closed the book she had fallen asleep reading and set it aside. It was absolutely quiet, something there rarely was back in the city. Then she heard it, quiet sobbing. Claire?
She quickly pushed the covers aside and opened the door to her bedroom, the light from her room following her out into the hall. The door across the hall to the room Claire and Ben shared was slightly ajar, the way she left it after putting Ben to bed hours earlier. She pushed the door open and could see the outline of Claire sitting on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest and covered in her white nightgown, her head buried against her knees. She was sobbing quietly.
Her crying hadn’t woken up Ben yet. Charlotte pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. “Claire? Did you have a nightmare?”
Claire’s head whipped up at Charlotte’s whisper. Charlotte’s heart broke at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks. She sat next to Claire and not knowing what else to do, pulled her into her arms and hugged the little girl. “It’s okay. You’re alright now.”
Charlotte’s words and actions seemed to have the opposite effect and Claire started to sob louder. Charlotte braced herself for Ben to wake up any moment and join in and she knew if he did, she’d probably start crying too.
She continued to hold Claire against her, rubbing her back and whispering nonsensical words, the same type of thing her own mother used to do for her after she had nightmares. Tears pricked her eyes. She hadn’t thought of that in a long time. Her mother had died when she was around Claire’s age. After that when she had nightmares, which had only increased after her mother’s death, her father would come to her room. He’d hold her until she calmed down and fell back asleep but as much as she loved him, it hadn’t quite been the same.
Eventually Claire’s crying tapered off into soft hiccups and sniffles until she was finally quiet and limp against Charlotte.
“I used to have nightmares too. Do you want to tell me about it?” She asked softly. “Maybe that will help.”
Claire didn’t respond at first and Charlotte thought perhaps she had fallen back asleep and was just about to untangle their arms when Claire replied, “I didn’t have a nightmare.”
“What is it then?” Charlotte asked gently, even though she thought she might already know the answer. The little girl had lost both her mother and father in such a short period of time and now her uncle was away. She was most likely feeling scared and alone and Charlotte wasn’t quite sure how she could comfort her. They were still strangers after all.
“It was my fault.”
Her brows drew together in confusion. “What was?”
“My Pa died because of me.”
She leaned back and tried to meet Claire’s eyes but the girl was curled up tightly against Charlotte’s chest. “That’s not true. He fell from a ladder. It was an accident.” Not to mention that Ethan had told her he suspected Claire’s father had been drinking and that had most likely been the catalyst in his fall.
“But he was up there because of me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mister Micer,” was all she said, as if that explained everything.
She shook her head. “Who’s Mister Micer?”
“My cat. He had gotten up onto the roof somehow and couldn’t get down. I asked Pa to get him down but he said that Mister Micer got up there and he’d figure out a way down eventually. But a couple more hours and he still hadn’t and he was mewing pitifully and I started to cry. So Pa got the ladder and he went up to get Mister Micer and he fell and he did
n’t get back up.” She started to sob anew.
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry. But I promise you, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was! He wouldn’t have been up there if it wasn’t for me. If I hadn’t cried, he wouldn’t have gotten the ladder and he was probably right, Mister Micer would have made his way down eventually. And now he’s dead. And Ma’s dead. And I miss them so much!” Her last words were barely coherent amid her sobs.
Ben was awake now. It took him a few moments to get to his feet and he was now standing at the edge of the crib, his lower lip wobbling. Charlotte peeled Claire from her and quickly picked him up and sat back down on the bed, pulling Claire back into her arms. “Hush now, honey. Listen to me.”
When her voice could finally be heard over Claire’s crying she said firmly, “It was an unfortunate accident. I don’t know why but things like this happen to everyone everyday all over the world. What I do know is that your father loved you and he would never ever want you to blame yourself for something that was an accident.”
Claire’s liquid eyes met hers. “How do you know?”
“Easy. Imagine yourself in the same situation but with your roles switched. If you had fallen from the ladder and died getting something for your father. Would you want him to feel badly for the rest of his life or would you want him to know that it was an honest accident and that no matter what you loved him?” Charlotte finished. She watched Claire bite her lip and tip her head to the side as she considered Charlotte’s words. Her eyes met Charlotte’s again with understanding.
“That’s how you know,” Charlotte said softly.
“But I still miss him. And Ma. And Uncle Ethan. And Mister Micer. He’s probably dead too.”
“Mister Micer?”
Claire nodded, another tear falling down her cheek before she dragged the sleeve of her nightgown across her eyes and then her nose. “When my Pa died I could only carry Ben into town. Mrs. Thompson, our neighbor, brought some of our clothes to town the next day but said she didn’t see a cat. It’s been weeks and since I’m not there to feed him he probably starved to death.”
