by Hawke, Jessa
Charlotte sat up, night gown rustling against the sheets of her bed. "Yes, Pa! Flowery?" She scoffed. "I think he's...expressive! What should he want to hide? "
Her Pa's face twisted in surprise, one eye brow lifting. "Expressive ain't raisin' your kids for you, Lottie. Ain't warming your house. "
Charlotte considered this, remembering her father's relative stoicism during childhood. It never alienated her, but it did stop her from doing certain things, like discussing her first crush, or going to him first with good news. She had her mother, it was true, and she was joyous enough for the both of them, but Charlotte wondered what her life would be like if she didn't have to think before interacting with either parent.
That had been weeks ago, and now she was readying for her journey West, to finally meet Douglass and start their lives together. Virginia Beach had been virtually empty of men, as had many of the towns on the east coast. This was what finally drove her father to let go of his reluctance, and he hadn't mentioned his apprehension again. He knew Charlotte should marry if she wanted to become a nurse in truth. Her mother was full of advice.
"Remember to sweep every day, sometimes you forget," she reminded her in the days leading up to her train ride. "And it's going to be warmer out there. So get some dresses with shorter sleeves. See if you can't afford a maid later on, it'll make thing easier when you decide to have children. Try at nursing, dear, but never forget that children make your heart whole. And---"
The advice never stopped, not even now, as Charlotte clutched one of her trunks with both hands, feeling ill, studying her reflection in the cloudy mirror in the train station.
She had a slim package tucked under her arm, one that she'd insisted on bringing West - - - her rifle, well-loved and still in excellent condition. It made her feel stronger, and she had become quite good, even at moving targets. Although most of them weren't fat enough to eat, she'd shot many rabbits in Virginia Beach. She wondered if it would be useful to Douglass, or if he'd laugh to see such a petite woman wielding a gun.
Her parents had bid her a tearful goodbye and the train conductor took her ticket. She nervously boarded the train, carrying only her rifle and ignoring the puzzled looks the men of the train were giving her. All of the women on board were traveling with someone else, and Charlotte was very alone. She spied a compartment with an elderly couple on one side and made a beeline for the door.
The seat was plush and very small, but Charlotte was thankful for the seat. The couple, a handsome pair with white hair dressed in formal wear, gave her a polite smile and a nod.
"Hello, dear," the old woman said. "Travelling alone?"
Charlotte nodded. She adjusted the rifle next to her. The old man couldn't seem to keep the question from bursting from his lips.
"That a gun?"
"Ned!"
He smiled sheepishly at his wife. "Sorry, Nora. It's not often you see a girl traveling alone, with a gun. "
"It is a gun," Charlotte said before Nora could scold her husband further.
"Are you heading to a new home?"
She waited a moment before replying, "Yes. I'm staying with family."
This satisfied the couple, and, thankfully, seemed to open a floodgate. They bent Charlotte's ear the entire trip, and though she was grateful, she found herself distracted for much of it. She was thinking about her new life, and how she would convince Douglass that she could be a wife and a nurse. At least for a while. Children made Charlotte jumpy, as she was convinced she'd harm them or lose them or let them drown. It didn't occur to her to try to work around this fear, and it made some of her interactions in her town's clinic downright unpleasant.
When she finally reached her destination, Charlotte's body was crying out for a round meal and a warm bed. The train barreled through the verdant scenery, then melted into plains and patches of towns with factories in between. Enormous carriages idled at the waystation, and the steaming vehicle chugged to a stop just beyond the line of horses. Charlotte took the conductor's hand and moved to find her trunks, clutching her package as if it were a life raft keeping her afloat in a sea of people. The crowd moved around her indifferently, and she waved off a porter who tried to help her with her second case.
Grunting, she carried her items to a tall clock and stood next to it, desperately wanting to blend in. Her rich green dress stuck out among the more casual cotton dresses most of the young ladies wore. One woman strode by wearing a riding habit, heavy skirt swishing around pointed black boots as sharp as her angular, haughty face. Charlotte looked between the bodies, looking for her man.
Finally, she saw a tall figure walking against the crowd, moving toward her. The man wore a simple three piece suit in a dark blue. He had thick black hair styled away from his face and curling gently around his ears. His square face was indeed handsome, chiseled and intelligent, with a curious scar near his right ear in a long line the length of a finger. He wore a neat beard, as black as coal. His blue eyes were the exact shade of a cloudless afternoon sky, and they held all the warmth of a summer day.
When he got to her, he smiled and reached out his hand for hers. His hands weren't as roughened as she was used to. His lips met her fingers briefly, and she felt a flash of heat ripple through her body before she could contain it.
"Miss Charlotte Evans?" He said. His voice was like warm syrup being gently folded over hot cakes.
Charlotte nodded, feeling a blush creep into her face. "Yes."
He lifted both of her trunks easily. "I'm Douglass Owens. But I'm sure you knew that." she saw his cheeks lift in a smile.
Charlotte followed him to one of the carriages, a modest car being pulled by two beautiful horses the color of sandalwood. He loaded her trunks in the back, and Charlotte handed him her rifle.
"A gun?" he asked, surprised. "You shoot?"
Charlotte smiled modestly. "A little. I can do simple things, rabbits and ducks mostly."
She felt him evaluate her, scanning her with his hypnotic eyes. "Good. Maybe bag a few deer for the holidays. Sometimes I give food to some of the town's less fortunate, those folks without children or who are lame or dying."
Douglass helped Charlotte into the carriage. His hands were strong, and she noticed he sat with space between them, careful not to touch her. He seemed so good hearted.
"You're very charitable," Charlotte said, hoping she didn't sound like she was kissing up to him.
Douglass watched the scenery move as the carriage jolted forward and turned a corner, revealing a wide street lined with shops and, further back, with houses. Some shops had apartments on top, but many buildings looked in desperate need of repair. A few children dotted the streets here and there, stopping to watch the carriage pass and peer at the smartly dressed people inside.
"Did your journey go well?" He asked, turning his eyes to her.
She resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. "Quite," she answered shyly.
"Excellent. Do you have any questions, Miss Evans?"
She was shocked at hearing him continue to address her so formally. "Please, call me Charlotte. And I may I call you Douglass?"
"Of course, my mistake," he said, seeming embarrassed. "I simply don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"If we're to be married, I'd like you to be comfortable," Charlotte ventured. "If I may say so."
Douglass' handsome face broke into a relieved smile. "Of course," he said again. "Charlotte."
Her heart skipped a beat to hear her name from his lips. "I hope I'm not interrupting your schedule, by the by. Taking you from patients."
Douglass shook his head. "I cleared my schedule for this. I wanted to give you a proper welcome, and be able to show you around so you can be certain this is what you want."
His voice was so quiet and careful, Charlotte thought he must be talking about a sacrifice instead of a marriage. "I don't see myself changing my mind," she said, trying to mask the uneasiness in his voice. She was under the impression that this was decided---they were to
be man and wife, and they would be there for each other and perhaps eventually fall in love. She would bear him children, or perhaps just one. In any case, she intended to stay for the duration.
Douglass looked at her, his blue eyes unreadable. "I know, but I don't believe in shotgun weddings, and I'd hate to have you here if you decided this wasn't a good fit. You'll have your own room until you're comfortable, and we'll simply be friendly at first. "
Charlotte looked at her hands, thinking hard. She had expected a gentleman, but not to have any courting he might do completely postponed. What sort of man paid to have a woman come across the country to marry him, sight unseen, and then hold her arm's length? Was she too young for him? Or perhaps not pretty enough? Charlotte was quite used to being flattered and chased by most men she met, but everyone had their own tastes. She couldn't fault him if milky skin and red hair weren't his cup of tea.
Douglass was looking at her strangely. "I'm afraid I've offended you, and I didn't mean that. I just don't want to assume you're going to be happy here, until you see everything for yourself."
Charlotte finally looked up him, offering him a weak smile. What else was there to see? A farm, some animals, a house. Was he perhaps still living with his parents? Maybe he wasn't really a doctor? Or maybe, Charlotte thought in a panic, he was already married, and was collecting wives like some sort of pervert. She imagined the woman from the train station with her angular beauty greeting them with a sneer from the front door. Her cheeks burned crimson, and she longed to bury her face in her hands, but she wouldn't dare appear so weak in front of this strange man.
They turned down a street that began to curve gently, leading to wide road ending a sprawling home. A small fruit and vegetable field spread out behind the home, and further beyond, a pack of sheep and a few goats grazed on the verdant landscape. The grass turned into a wood a bit further beyond, and Charlotte couldn't see further than that. There looked to be a body of water somewhere in the wood, briefly visible through the trees as they came to a stop in front of the house.
Douglass got out of the coach first and rushed to her side to help her step down. He handed the driver some money, and led Charlotte up the steps as it drove away. The heavy oak door was polished and smooth, expensive-looking, and the inside was the same: shiny wood floors, plush couches and a bear skin rug in front of an empty fireplace. There was a large kitchen beyond the living room, and a door beyond that opened to a dining room that had an old hand carved table big enough to fit 6 or 8 people.
"We never eat here," Douglass said. "We use the smaller table in the kitchen unless there's company."
We?
"Your bedroom is through here," he was saying. "You have a nice window, a decent closet. The bed is soft, stuffed it myself. We have a privy just off the back. You can also use this chamber pot."
Charlotte was looking at him expectantly. He was fiddling with the buttons on his suit nervously. What was going on?
"I guess you better know now," he said miserably. "Jane! Come on out here."
Charlotte's stomach lurched, and she fought to keep steady. He did have a wife, she thought. She wondered if she could pay for her own ticket home.
But the woman who rounded the corner wasn't his wife. She wasn't a woman at all, in fact. She was a girl, 12 years old if she was a day. She had sharp cheekbones and a sullen expression. Her black hair was braided into two plaits that hung nearly to her elbows, and they swung as she walked. She was all angles, long and gawky as girls in adolescence tended to be. Most shockingly, she had eyes the exact shade of blue as Douglass'--- but hers were guarded and almost hostile, where his were warm and friendly.
The two looked at each other for a moment, not moving. Then Jane moved forward and spoke without looking at her.
"Hullo. I'm Jane."
Charlotte looked at her beautiful downturned eyes and finally remembered her manners. "Lovely to meet you, Jane." She said, thanking her lucky stars that her voice didn't betray her shock. "I'm Charlotte." She held out her hand, but the girl was already turning away and moving to her room. Douglass watched her go, looking as if he wanted to stop her, but Charlotte was grateful for her departure. She thought she might be sick. She moved to one of the couches and sat down heavily.
"Charlotte." Douglass' soft voice came from her side, and she looked through the haze of tears in her eyes to see his contrite face, twisted in shame. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before you came. But---"
"It's fine." Charlotte didn't need to hear more. Of course he'd been frightened of telling her he had a daughter. A nearly grown one, at that. Teenage girls were a handful, as any woman would know, and a young woman like her might have thought twice about coming to marry a man who had a child her age. Charlotte loved children, but she didn't love liars. Had Douglass mentioned this before he brought her across the country, they might have worked it out. It was too late now, though; she felt deceived, and worse, stupid. What was she going to tell her parents?
She gathered her wits and took a deep breath. "I'd like to be shown to my room now."
Douglass glanced at her, unsure of how to react. "Okay." He said finally, standing and lifting her bags and rifle from the floor. He didn't look back at her as he led through the kitchen and down a hall to where two doors faced each other. One had large wooden C on the door, obviously hand carved for her. She felt pain lance her heart as the door opened and she saw sheets in deep green with pillowcases to match---she'd told him her favorite color, and he'd taken time to decorate her room to make her feel welcome. Or maybe to soften the blow he knew was going to deliver. The pain was replaced with anger, and she turned to tell Douglass to leave. He was already gone.
She spent the afternoon napping fit fully on her comforter. Returning home was an option, but she wouldn't be able to stand the pity-filled glances she'd received from her mother and the other women of the town. They'd treat her like a nutter for the first few weeks at least, and she didn't want to go through again. After seeing her brother die, she'd endured months of hushed voices and awkward conversations that suffered from the other person trying too hard to avoid upsetting her. People walked on eggshells, expecting her to burst into tears at any vague mention of Bobby. Instead she'd buried herself in studies, using the months of solitude to become a nurse's aide, and securing a six month position at their hospital. People stopped walking on eggshells then, but it took too long for Charlotte's liking.
She thought about the girl, her slumped posture and the way she skirted around the room. She was familiar with the type---moody and unresponsive to everyone but a few chosen confidantes, perhaps even her father. She'd said three words to Charlotte, and not a word to her own father when she came out, and didn't seem to care much about appearing rude. Was that why Douglass need help? He never said he'd been married, so perhaps his wife died in childbirth. Or maybe she was simply unfit? In any case, Jane was clearly not happy to be in this situation. They were kindred spirits in this regard. A busy man certainly couldn't raise her on his own.
Charlotte had made her decision just as a soft knock came at her door. She'd change into a simpler dress, a butter yellow gown with white buttons down the back. She'd gathered her hair into a knot at the back of her head. She crossed the room and opened the door, unsurprised to see Douglass standing on the other side.
"Charlotte, let me explain. Jane didn't---"
"I'll be staying," Charlotte interrupted him curtly. "But I'll be taking the non-romantic option you offered in the coach."
He looked at her then, his careful expression folding into sadness briefly before he composed himself again. "Thank you for staying," he said quietly.
"Jane needs someone, doesn't she?"
Douglass only nodded, not meeting her eyes. "Dinner is ready," he told her. "We're eating in the kitchen. Pork chops and potatoes and carrots. Are you hungry?"
Charlotte simply nodded and followed him out to the kitchen. She'd write her parents and tell them the truth, she decided. It wasn't
a love connection, and she'd been naive to assume it was going to be. Jane was already sitting at the circular table, pushing her carrots around with a sullen look on her face. Charlotte wondered what she would have to do to put a smile on her face.
"Would you like to say grace, Charlotte?" Douglass asked. The warmth had not fully returned to his eyes, but the pain was gone from his voice.
"Certainly." Charlotte bowed her head and clasped her hands together, reciting one of the few prayers she knew from heart. Her father usually said grace. When she opened her eyes and raised her head, Douglass and Jane were holding hands over the table.
"Amen," they said after her, releasing each other's hands and reaching for their cutlery. Charlotte felt oddly voyeuristic.
She watched Douglass sneak glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. It annoyed her, and she almost wanted to say something, but elected not to in front of Jane. The table was silent as they ate, so Charlotte couldn't even pretend to listen to conversation while she felt herself being watched. The food was very good, she noticed, but beyond that was unable to comment. She wanted to eat quickly and return to her room, where she would be away from those piercing blue eyes.
Jane finished eating and her fork fell to her plate with a clatter. "May I be excused?" She asked without looking at anyone.
"Go on," Douglass said. Jane zipped from the table and back to her room, where her door closed with a slam. Charlotte still had half her food left. She wondered if it would be too much to take her plate to her room, but she didn't want to be quite so cold. Despite her anger, she was going to be here at least until Jane was grown. She should probably learn to be cordial.
"I'm sorry," Douglass said again.
A frisson of anger filled her chest. "That's quite enough apologizing," she snapped. "You sound like a broken record."
Pain filled his features again. "I just want to fix this."
"You can't." Charlotte said shortly, and stood up from her chair. "Excuse me. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
