by Sarah Banks
“I knew you could do it.” He looked around. “I almost didn’t recognize the place,” he said.
She blushed. “I purchased a few things at the mercantile. I hope that’s okay. Not all of them were exactly necessary but—”
“I like it,” he insisted. “It looks nice.”
She finally met his eyes and smiled. “Thank you for the bookshelves.”
“You like them?”
“I love them,” she replied quietly, her eyes holding his. They appeared darker now, more brown and gold. His heart started to beat faster. He swallowed.
This time it was he who had to look away because all he wanted to do was carry her upstairs and there was at least two hours before that was possible not to mention children that had to be put to bed first.
He cleared his throat. “It smells good in here too. I thought you said you couldn’t cook.” He raised a brow.
She pushed a filled plate across the table toward him with a grin. “Try it.”
He looked down at his plate warily. There had been something in the tone of her voice that made him question whether it could possibly taste as good as it looked.
Charlotte looked at Claire and gave her a wink. Claire giggled.
He lifted his spoon and pushed around the thick brown gravy filled with beef, carrots, celery and potatoes. It looked edible. And it smelled good. He filled his spoon and brought it to his mouth. He looked at Charlotte again and the teasing smile that curved the edges of her lips.
“Go ahead,” she said, nodding encouragingly.
He stuck the spoonful in his mouth deciding to get it over with and was pleasantly surprised. It was…good. “It’s delicious.”
She laughed and nodded. “Claire’s been giving me cooking lessons. I think I’ve perfected the stew. We eat it almost every night,” she said with another laugh, buttering a biscuit and breaking it into pieces for Ben. Then she blew on a spoonful of stew and began to feed him.
He watched her in fascination. She was much more confident than when he had left her. He had felt badly having to leave her so quickly after the wedding, especially in a situation she hadn’t been prepared for. But it looked like she had managed quite well.
“Now I’m teaching her how to make flapjacks,” Claire piped in.
“You are?”
Claire nodded.
“Yes, this morning was my first flapjack lesson. The batter turned out fine. It’s pretty foolproof with the proper measurements. But the actual flipping of the flapjacks and the temperature of the pan, now that’s something I need to work on.”
Claire giggled and he could just imagine them in the kitchen this morning, covered in flour, with flapjacks flying all around, some burnt and some runny. He laughed. “I look forward to breakfast tomorrow.”
“Brave man.”
∞∞∞
Later that night he lay in bed with his wife. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her but he knew it was still too soon. She didn’t know him well enough yet plus he wasn’t sure how he felt about it with his niece and nephew sleeping just across the hall. Their grandparents would be here soon enough. Maybe by then he and Charlotte would be more familiar with each other and he could revisit the subject.
That didn’t stop him from kissing her though. He leaned over her in the darkness, careful to keep the bulk of his weight off of her and rubbed his lips across hers once, twice and then deepened the kiss. He was surprised when her arms came around his neck and she kissed him back rather enthusiastically. He felt like she must have missed him. And he liked that she seemed to enjoy kissing him. It had been a mild concern in the back of his mind when he advertised for a wife that they might not have chemistry like this. No, this was better than he could have ever possibly imagined. He kissed her a few minutes longer but then eventually pulled away.
“We have to stop or soon I won’t be able to.”
He could feel her nod in the darkness, her hair brushing his chin. He wished the lamp was still lit. He wanted to see her eyes dark with passion, her flushed cheeks and well-kissed lips.
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Thanks for looking after them Charlotte. I know it was a lot to ask. But you did a wonderful job and I’m very proud of you. I haven’t seen Claire that happy in quite some time.” Since before his sister had died, he realized. “Will you be able to sleep if I hold you?”
“I think so,” she whispered.
He pulled her back against his front, buried his nose in her unbound hair and promptly fell asleep.
∞∞∞
When he awoke in the morning he was surprised to find Charlotte gone. He lay there for a moment getting his bearings. He had slept better than he could ever remember sleeping, only waking once for the briefest of seconds sometime in the night, Charlotte wrapped tightly in his arms. The sound of voices and the smell of cooking coming from downstairs invaded his thoughts. He quickly washed and dressed before poking his head into Claire and Ben’s room. It was empty and both beds were made.
It was only a little later than he usually slept. Still plenty of time to get to work. He was surprised he hadn’t felt or heard Charlotte get up and dress, let alone the children. He wasn’t usually such a heavy sleeper.
He quickly descended the steps and found Charlotte and Claire in the kitchen working over a fry pan. He picked up Ben who sat on the rug gnawing on a wooden spoon and went into the kitchen.
“Good morning ladies,” he greeted them. It was a sight to behold, the pair talking and laughing while cooking breakfast together. His house not only looked like a home but filled with chatter, laughter and family, felt like a home. Not the empty, cold house he was used to each morning before work and every evening after only a few weeks ago. This was something new, something he hadn’t even really realized that he wanted until he had it. Now he couldn’t imagine life without it.
He would miss Claire and Ben when they left. He ignored the pain in his chest at the thought. They would be better off without him. He knew their grandparents longed to see them again and be a part of their life. He remembered them visiting every other year since Claire’s birth. John’s parents had experience raising children and he didn’t. Although he didn’t think he was doing half bad, especially with Charlotte’s help, their grandparents taking over was probably for the best.
Charlotte looked at him over her shoulder, her brow relaxed from being knit in concentration. She smiled. “Good morning.”
He returned her smile, his gaze taking in her half-loose chignon, bright eyes and cheeks pink from working over the stove and a smudge of flour on one cheek. He would never get over how beautiful he found her or the way she made him feel just being around her. “How fairs today’s flapjack efforts?”
Charlotte showed off the stack of golden brown cakes. “Much better than yesterday. We only had one bad one, the first one and the first one never usually turns out very good anyway according to Claire. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to spare my feelings or not,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
“I wasn’t,” Claire insisted. “My first ones never turned out very good either. Ma said that was normal for the first one. We gave it to Mister Micer.” She giggled.
“Breakfast’ll be on the table in five minutes. I’m cooking the last set now,” Charlotte said, turning her attention back to the stove.
“No problem. I’ll just get Ben squared away.” He put Ben in the highchair and stole a pancake from the top of the pile, breaking it into bite-sized pieces for him. Then he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to a small pile of mail Charlotte had left beside his plate.
He was rereading a letter from John’s parents when Charlotte set the platter of pancakes in front of him asking, “Is everything okay?”
He refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope. “Yes. That letter was from your grandparents Claire. It looks like they were unavoidably delayed.” He didn’t mention why – that her grandfather had broken his arm in a fall. He glanced at the date on the f
ront of the envelope. “But this is dated a few weeks ago. They should be on their way soon, if not already.”
“I don’t mind. I like it here,” Claire said, pushing her fork into the stack of flapjacks and claiming two for herself.
Ethan tried to catch Charlotte’s eye but couldn’t. She had suddenly gotten quiet and was no longer smiling. Now she had a look on her face that he couldn’t quite decipher. He wondered if she was upset that they would have the children even longer than anticipated.
When she sat down he reached out and took her hand. She looked up with a startled look. “Shall we say Grace?” He mostly just wanted an excuse to touch her, to look into her eyes and promise that everything would work out. Her gaze was shuttered and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking or feeling.
“Of course,” she answered.
He would need to talk to her later to make sure that everything was okay, but it would have to wait for now. He had just enough time to eat breakfast and get to work.
Chapter Eleven
When Ethan walked through the front door later that evening he felt right away something was wrong. The inside of the house itself looked much the same as it had the previous evening when he returned from his business trip – the air was warm and again smelled of stew, the table was set, this time with a place for him as well, the cat was even on the same chair.
Claire had been on the rug in front of the hearth with her brother. She stood up when he came through the door and gave him a solemn look and lackluster greeting, “Hi Uncle Ethan.” She didn’t smile or laugh or throw herself into his arms as she had the night before, instead she looked wary, casting a quick look upstairs.
“Hi Claire,” he replied. Instead of taking the time to remove his jacket, he tossed his hat aside and took a few steps toward her. He tipped her chin, examining her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong with Aunt Charlotte. She’s been in her room most of the afternoon. I think she’s crying,” she whispered.
Ethan bolted for the stairs taking them two at a time and burst into their bedroom. Charlotte was sitting on her side of the bed. She wasn’t crying at the moment but she most definitely had been. Her face and eyes were red and puffy. She jumped as he burst into the room. She had been holding a letter, which she placed on the nightstand when she saw him.
“Are you okay?” He closed the door and walked to her. Instead of sitting beside her on the bed, he dropped to his knees in front of her and took her hands. They were cold and he rubbed them between his own to warm them up.
She bit her lip and nodded but didn’t say anything. Tears threatened to overflow.
“Charlotte? Honey, what’s the matter?” He briefly wondered if it had anything to do with this morning and the letter from Claire and Ben’s grandparents but he couldn’t imagine her reacting quite this way. He would expect anger from that if anything because he had promised her the situation would only be temporary, not the sadness he saw in her eyes now.
He barely caught her as she launched herself into his arms and she began to cry in earnest. “Aw hell, honey what’s the matter? Please tell me and I’ll do what I can to fix it.” His promise only made her cry harder.
He lifted her into his arms and sat on the bed, cradling her in his lap and just let her cry until she was ready to talk.
Finally, the front of his shirt soaked with tears, her crying had tapered off into sniffs and hiccups. He dug his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Does this have anything to do with the letter from Claire and Ben’s grandparents?”
“N-no,” she hiccuped.
He raised his head and peered at the letter on the nightstand. It wasn’t the letter from John’s parents. The return address was different. From Philadelphia. He had a sinking feeling. “Who’s the letter from Charlotte?”
“My f-father.”
His brows drew together. “Your father. Can I read it?”
She nodded against his neck. He reached over with her still in his arms and retrieved the letter. Still holding her tightly he pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope and read:
Dear Lottie,
I was happy to receive your letter although I admit I was disappointed it wasn’t longer and more detailed. I miss you more than words can say. I will always feel badly about the way we left things. My intention wasn’t to push you away but rather for you to realize there’s a world outside your books waiting for you and has so much to offer. I pray nightly that you’ve found happiness. If you haven’t Lottie, I will come for you, no matter where you are, I will always be there for you. I love you.
Your father,
Rory Stewart
Ethan slowly refolded the letter feeling a wealth of emotions. First, he hadn’t realized that Charlotte and her father ended on bad terms. Had it something to do with her coming west to marry him? Somehow he felt it must. Second, her father had put forth a serious sounding offer of coming to get her if she was unhappy. That was what caused his heart to squeeze painfully. Because the truth was, he didn’t know if Charlotte was happy with him. So far he hadn’t given her quite the life he had promised.
She took the letter from his limp fingers and reached over, tucking it inside a book that lay on her nightstand. He pulled her back into his arms and she only resisted for a moment before laying her head against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss against her temple and she let out a shuddery sigh against his collar.
“Tell me what happened before you came to Sweet Creek.”
“You already know. My father remarried.”
“And why did you never marry Charlotte? You’re young, incredibly beautiful and sweet. I can’t believe there wasn’t a line of suitors knocking down your door.”
She seemed startled at his question. Did she not know how beautiful she was? For that reason alone, a stream of men would be interested in making her his wife. Amongst her other good qualities, she was a prize, one he had been lucky enough to win.
“There were a couple men at the end. But before that no one. I suppose it was because I never gave them a chance. I spent most of my time at home.”
“Is that what your father meant by a world outside of your books? Meeting eligible men? Was he trying to marry you off to get you out of the house after he remarried?”
“No!” She defended. “It wasn’t like that. He never mentioned me marrying anyone, at least not directly. When my father remarried, it was sudden. I had no idea he was even seeing someone seriously. He married in a matter of weeks and when his wife Margaret moved in, she began changing everything and well, I liked it just fine the way it was,” she ended in a whisper.
He held her quietly, hoping she would continue speaking, so he could better understand what her life was like before he met her. He hadn’t been all that curious when he advertised for a wife what her life was like back east, only what her life would be like with him, but he supposed that was because he didn’t know enough to care, not until he met her. But now he knew Charlotte and he cared about her and he wanted to know more about her. He didn’t only want her present, he wanted her past and future.
“Margaret immediately started to remodel and the house that my father built and my mother decorated changed.” She wiped away a tear. “I know I can’t blame her for making her new house into a home and I don’t, not really, but it did make me sad when every time I came downstairs, something else was changed, the home my mother created became just memories. After that, she, they,” she corrected, “pushed me to be more social and to go out. Shopping, making calls and receiving, attending parties, throwing our own. None of those things had ever interested me and I was miserable and I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you ran away,” he said quietly.
She buried her face in her hands. “I suppose, in a way. I saw an advertisement for mail order brides in the newspaper and I answered one, yours. I didn’t really expect to be chosen but it was an escape and I was searching for one.”
He tried no
t to flinch.
“When I received your acceptance and train ticket my father was incredibly angry. I’ve never seen him that way before and he forbade me to marry you and I learned something new about myself that day – I can be very stubborn when I want to be. And that was how things ended. I left shortly after. We weren’t fighting any longer but neither did we make up. And I’ve felt sick about the way we left things. I have never fought with my father before. I love him. He’s all I had since my mother passed away. I reacted poorly and I wish I could go back and change things.”
He stiffened but she didn’t seem to notice. Did that mean she wished she hadn’t answered his ad and traveled west to marry him?
“I wrote him to let him know I arrived safely and I wanted to write more, an apology, but I didn’t.”
Ethan needed to know. “Charlotte, are you h—” He had been just about to ask her if she was happy here with him in their marriage. To find out if there was any chance that she would leave him to return east but right then Claire pushed the door to their bedroom open. Charlotte immediately moved off of his lap and out of his arms and he felt bereft.
“Aunt Charlotte, are you okay?” Claire asked, her brother at her hip. “I heard you crying.”
Charlotte held out her arms. She took Ben from Claire’s arms and then patted the bed beside her. Claire sat beside her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just feeling a little bit blue. I received a letter from my father today and it just made me realize how much I miss him and love him and wished that I had behaved differently. I owe him an apology and right now I can’t give that to him.”
“I don’t want you to be sad.” Her lower lip wobbled.
“I know you don’t.” She drew Claire into a quick hug. “It’s just that I did the wrong thing and I need to fix it but I’m not sure how I’m going to do that yet.”
“You can write him a letter,” Claire offered helpfully.
“Or something like that,” she replied, getting to her feet. “Come along, it’s past time for supper.”
