The Letter (Carter Sisters Series Book 4)

by Morgan Dawson

  “I think it would be so much fun to go somewhere new.” Ophelia’s eyes seem to sparkle.

  I chuckle. “It has been fun, but also terrifying at times.”

  Oliver laughs. “You’re just not used to the city life.”

  “I suppose not.”

  We sit quietly for a while until I feel Oliver’s hand slip into mine.

  He turns his head to look down at me. “How’s it been at the Harris’s?”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. They aren’t around much. Yesterday, all of them left in the morning to go to another family’s house to discuss some sort of business. I explored their house a little more. It seriously has endless corridors and stairs. I like Anna, she’s really nice, but I feel like she has to follow after her husband all the time.”

  Oliver nods. “That’s what I’ve always thought most wealthy households are like.”

  “And the eldest daughter, Josephine is quite nice. But I haven’t really gotten the chance to speak with her much. Sadie, she’s rather reserved, and stays in her room most of the time. And Russell is mostly quiet during meals, and I don’t see him much after. It’s so odd.”

  “Would you ever want to stay there forever?” Ada tilts her head slightly.

  “Heavens no! I miss being around my family all the time. It’s just because the house is so large that it seems so lonesome.”

  Oliver smiles, his eyes moving to look out the window. “We’re here.”

  I feel my heart pounding in my chest as the carriage door opens, and I eventually hop down.

  Oliver points across the street at the school. It’s small, but larger than the one in Riverbend, made of a reddish-brown brick with a large peaked roof. There are a few steps up to the dark wooden door.

  Ophelia smiles. “I used to go to school here, but my ma ended up teaching me most of my life. And when she passed away, I took on the responsibility of learning on my own, and teaching Ada.”

  My eyes meet hers, and I nod. “I didn’t attend school until I was fourteen, my ma taught us as well. And then when she died, my sisters taught us. We’re rather the same then.”

  Reaching for Oliver’s hand, we make our way across the street and up the steps of the school. Ophelia pushes the squeaky door open. Inside is a large hall, the floor made of some sort of polished while material, with a door on both sides of the corridor.

  “There are two classrooms here. One is the younger students, and the other for the older children,” Ophelia says quietly.

  I look around, trying to take everything in around me. “The school I went to had only one classroom.”

  “Most only have one. But a few have more,” Oliver explains, pulling me farther down the hall.

  I run my hand down the brick wall as I walk. “My ma walked this hall. She taught here.”

  Oliver smiles at me, seeming to understand how hard it is for me to imagine.

  We sit down on a small bench against the wall. With my free hand, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “The children should go on recess soon. Then we can perhaps ask to see in the classroom,” Oliver says, his voice a whisper.

  I nod, still looking around.

  The roof is high, with wooden beams stretching from one side of the roof to the other.

  Ada seems equally amazed by this building.

  “How old is this place?” I ask.

  Oliver lets out a long breath. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it was built in the early eighteen-hundreds. Maybe one of the teachers will know.”

  When recess comes, the door to one classroom opens, and the children rush out. They make their way down the hall and out the door.

  Oliver stands, and we all do the same.

  Right now, I’m feeling grateful that these three came with me, otherwise I’d be too scared right now.

  “Excuse me ma’am?” Oliver asks, stepping into the class.

  I follow after him and my eyes search until I find a young woman sitting on a large wooden desk at the far end of the room.

  She smiles, standing up. Her blonde hair is in perfect curls as she walks toward us.

  “How may I help you?”

  Oliver smiles. “I’ve brought Lydia Carter here to see the school. Her ma used to teach here when she was young. Her ma died a few years ago, but she received a letter telling her about the places her mother wanted her to see. We were wondering if we could just look around.”

  She smiles, her blue eyes wide. “Oh, how lovely. Of course you can. The children won’t be back in for another fifteen minutes anyway. Who was your ma?”

  I clear my throat. “Elsie Foster.”

  “I can check the records. There might be something you’d like to see. This school has kept everything.”

  She leaves the room, her shoes clicking on the floor as she walks down the hall.

  Oliver lets go of my hand as I begin walking down a row of tables and chairs. The tables are a dark wood, and the chairs match. On the desks are slates and chalk. Some have letters written on them, others have words.

  At the far end of the room is a large green chalkboard and I brush my finger across the bottom piece where the chalk is stored. There is a small bookshelf by the teacher’s desk. Though, I know these aren’t the same books my ma used to teach with because she had brought them with her when she moved.

  And now they’re in the Riverbend schoolhouse. Those books have traveled a long way.

  “What do you think?” Oliver asks, still by the door with his sisters.

  “It’s…it’s amazing. I never thought I’d be able to see the school she taught at for so many years,” I say breathlessly.

  Ophelia walks down the row of tables, looking around too. “When did your ma teach here?”

  “When she was eighteen, I think. Until she was twenty-one. She met my father then and got married.”

  The teacher comes back in with a few papers. “I think I’ve found some things you can take home with you. We’re running out of storage down there, and I know we will likely throw them out soon anyway.”

  She sets them down on the table. On top is a piece of paper with messy handwriting on it.

  Dear Miss Foster,

  You are a wonderful teacher. Thank you for helping me learn to count to one hundred. Now, I do it every night to make my mother prod.

  Prod? I tilt my head. I realize it must mean proud. I run my hand down the yellowed and torn piece of paper.

  It’s signed at the bottom.

  Claude Tomsyn.

  I move the piece of paper over and find another one. It’s got neat handwriting this time.

  Dear parents of Charlotte,

  I’m writing this letter to tell you how much of an improvement I’ve seen in your daughter these past few months. She is a wonderful speller and always is willing to learn. I know we had some difficulties with her feeling safe around the other children earlier in the year. But I am pleased to tell you she is doing well with the other children now. She talks with the other girls and seems to enjoy being

  The note has a slash over the writing. Ma must have been unhappy with the letter and written a new one.

  “Why was this kept?” I ask, confused. Why would they have kept an unfinished letter?

  The teacher shakes her head. “I haven’t a clue. It was in the box labeled Miss Foster. At this school, all teachers have to keep a box. They are supposed to put things in it to document the years that pass. I’m willing to bet your ma wanted it in there for some reason.”

  I move the paper to reveal a black and white photo. I pick it up, my hands shaking slightly. Oliver moves to stand behind me, looking over my shoulder.

  It’s a picture of a bunch of children sitting on the steps outside the school. And on the far left is a young woman. I know instantly who it is because she looks exactly like Darlene does now.

  I feel a tear run down my face as I point at her. “That’s her, Oliver. That’s my ma.”

  He lets out a short breath, as I turn over the pic
ture. On the back, in faint writing is,

  Miss Foster’s class. 1874.

  There are a few other things, but the teacher picks it up and hands it to me. “The children will come in soon, but I hope this was a good experience for you.”

  I wipe the drying up tear off my face. “Thank you. This was more than I thought I would get.”

  I make my way out of the classroom, still trying to remember everything. I make my way outside and feel Ophelia wrap her arm around me as we walk to the carriage.

  “That was pretty nice. You got all of that stuff that was your ma’s.” Ophelia looks down at everything I’m clutching in my hands.

  I nod and sniff a little. “You know what may sound kind of bad? I forgot what my ma looked like. I mean I had the basic picture of her, but I couldn’t remember her smile, the way her eyes were always large and bright. She looks just like my sister Darlene in this photograph.”

  Ophelia pulls me closer, and we reach the carriage. Once we’re all in, Oliver smiles at me.

  “Can I see that picture?”

  I nod, and hand it to him.

  He looks at it for a minute. “She must’ve loved children.”

  “Loved is not a word to describe it. It was more than that. Anything to do with children was her world.”

  He sets the picture back down on the pile.

  As we drive, I look through the other things. There are a few letters to my ma from children and there’s a verse of poetic writing I don’t know.

  “Lydia, I think you should stay for supper. Since you say you’re so lonesome at the house you’re staying at,” Ada says, her dark brown eyes meeting mine.

  “I would like that very much, Ada.”

  The rest of the way back, we ride in silence. It’s like they all seem to know I need a bit of time with my thoughts to think about it all.

  Chapter 22

  I’m stirring the stew Ophelia had set on the stove earlier, the warmth from it spreading through me.

  “Lydia?” Ada asks, setting the plates down on the table.

  “Yes?”

  “What was your favorite part about living on the farm? Without anyone nearby?”

  I pause my stirring for a moment, thinking about it. There are so many things I love. But what is my favorite? I finally say, “Being able to spend a lot of time with my family. There’s nowhere we can go really, so we’re all in the same area most of the time.”

  “If we lived on a farm, father wouldn’t be able to waste his time at the saloon.”

  Oliver looks up from his seat at the table. “Ada.”

  “What? It’s true.”

  He shoots her a quick glance, before looking back down.

  Ophelia rests her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Now is not the time to start an argument about father again.”

  I look down at the stew, beginning to stir again. Nothing more is said, though, but I now can tell the topic of their father is a tense subject.

  Eventually, supper is ready. I dish out the stew and we all sit down at the table. I sit next to Oliver while Ophelia and Ada are on the opposite side of the table.

  “So,” Ophelia starts, looking across the table at me. “What’s the next thing you have to do here?”

  “I was told to go visit my grandma. I think I will do that in a couple of days. And then I need to find my aunt Beatrice so she can take me to some hill somewhere.”

  “When did you last see your grandma and aunt?” Oliver asks, taking a bite of the stew.

  I think for a few seconds. “Grandma came out the second Christmas after my ma died. She used to come every year for Christmas, but now Ma’s gone, I sense she feels unwelcome coming. I also think since Grandfather died, the trip there by herself was too much. And I haven’t seen Aunt Beatrice in years.”

  “That’s what it’s like for us as well. Our family don’t come at all anymore.” Ophelia pushes her long hair behind her shoulder.

  We continue visiting while we eat, and when we’re all finished, I help Ophelia and Ada clean up. We do dishes while Oliver looks at the papers I’d gotten from the school earlier.

  “Why’d your ma keep all of this stuff?” he asks, sliding a piece of paper over to look at another.

  I set a dry plate down on the cupboard. “I’m not sure. I think she may have not liked to throw things away. We have so much of her stuff at home still.”

  “It’s rather nice. You’ll be able to take this to show your family when you go home.”

  “They will be pleased to see it, I’m sure.”

  * * *

  When we’re done clearing up, I decide to walk home. I had forgotten to tell the chauffeur what time to come and get me. They had long gone back, so now that’s my only choice. I don’t even try to argue when Oliver opens the door and follows me outside.

  Besides, I realized last time how dark it gets, and I don’t want to walk alone. I’ve also realized, rather belatedly that this is the proper thing for him to do as a gentleman.

  Walking down the street, Oliver takes my hand in his. His hand is warm compared to my icy fingers.

  He lets out a breath. “Lydia. Why is your hand so cold?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve always had rather cold hands.” I smile, looking down at my hand in his.

  Oliver laughs lightly as we continue walking.

  It’s not completely dark out right now, but the sun is almost down. There aren’t as many people out now either.

  “Lydia?” Oliver starts.

  “What?”

  He seems to hesitate for a few seconds. “Do you like it here?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If you had to, could you cope with living here?”

  “Oliver, yes. I quite like it here actually. It’s really helped me to be here, I think.”

  He smiles, nodding.

  We continue in the direction of the Harris’s house in silence. Not an uncomfortable sort of one, but one that is comforting. And safe.

  * * *

  “Goodbye, Lydia. I’m glad you got to go to the school and get some of your ma’s things.”

  “Me too.”

  We’re standing outside the house now. It had been a chilly walk, and the thought of crawling under my warm covers overwhelms me.

  Oliver leans in and gives me a kiss. It lasts a few seconds, before he pulls away smiling.

  I smile at him, feeling my face heat up.

  Before I can say anything, he puts both his hands in his pockets and begins walking home.

  I think back to all that’s happened today. I got to see where my ma taught at, got a picture of her, spent the day with the Hayes family, and also realized that not only on this journey have I found bits of my ma, but I’ve also found love.

  Chapter 23

  It’s been a few days since I went to Autumer School with the Hayes family.

  The sun shines in the window, and I sit up in my bed, instantly regretting it. My vision clouds over completely, and I feel nauseous. I soon can see again, but my whole body trembles, and my skin is very warm. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  I decide I should find Jane as soon as I can. I quickly step onto the cold floor, but my legs don’t seem to hold me. I tumble onto the floor, hitting my head on the cupboard with my clothes in it, and let out a cry.

  As I’m lying here, my stomach heaves and I’m sick all over the polished floor. What a way to begin my day.

  * * *

  “Miss Lydia!” Jane shrieks when she sees me on the ground.

  I’ve only been lying here for a few minutes. It’s been a rather unpleasant few minutes, though.

  “I’m not well.” I moan, trying to get up.

  “Well I can see that. Here, let me help you.” Jane rushes over and offers her arm. I take it, and she wraps her other arm around my waist, guiding me to the bed.

  I sit and then move to lie down, curling into a ball on the center of the bed.

  “I will go fetch a cloth for you, Lydia. You’re very warm.�
� Jane runs out of the room, leaving the door open.

  I lie on the bed, trying to stop my stomach from hurting. I remember now, when I went to bed last night, I’d been a little uneasy. But I thought it was just from the heavy meal earlier.

  Feeling that I’m about to be sick again, I manage to crawl across the bed where it goes all over the floor.

  Jane rushes back in with some damp cloths. “Oh, miss. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  * * *

  I’m now propped up with pillows, my blanket over my legs. Jane’s sitting in the chair beside my bed, holding a cool, wet cloth on my forehead. She also wrapped a bandage on the cut from where I hit the corner of the cupboard. It was bleeding quite a bit.

  I’m still shaking terribly. And feel horribly sick.

  Another maid comes in and begins to wipe up my mess on the floor.

  I feel terrible. “I’m sorry.”

  The woman looks up, her red hair falling over her shoulders. “It’s all right, miss.”

  Jane furrows her eyebrows. “Did you feel okay last night?”

  “Not really. But not like this.” I take in a breath. “What do I… I h-have?”

  “I… I don’t know, Lydia.”

  “Thank you for helping me.” I begin to shiver, feeling ice cold.

  I pull the covers farther up, over my shoulders.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Anna come into the room, still dressed in her nightgown.

  “Oh, you, poor girl. Jane. What does she have?”

  “I’m not sure, Lady Anna. I wish I could tell you, but perhaps you could get a doctor to come in?”

  Josephine comes running in. “Mother. Sadie’s sick also. The maids are tending to her now.”

  “I’ll be right there, dear,” Anna replies, before looking back to me. “If anything gets worse, tell Jane immediately.”

  I force a nod, and Anna rushes out of the room.