when tragedy strikes ☾ shirbert

chapter 17: when to forgive

a/n: hi, happy *late 2023! wishing you all a year full of love and learning. i hope you enjoy this chapter, i actually really liked writing it!

vote & comment, thank you! ♡

TW:

slight mentions of an eating disorder, triggering descriptions (e.g starvation)

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SQUELCH

"Aw-" Charlie groaned, wiggling his boot out from under a thick puddle of mud, "Gross."

A large slosh was the price of his foot's freedom.

The unpredictable splatter when he accidentally stepped in it again minutes later, cascaded in droplets across his face. Though with focused eyes, methodically mapping out patches of dry grass as salvation, Charlie found that sometimes even the safest-looking spot of land could be deceitful.

Eventually— though not soon enough— he reached the schoolhouse. Per usual, he wasn't the first, as Ms. Stacey's bike was already leaning against the fence, wheels similarly speckled with mud. On the brighter side of things, which he had a difficult time finding, today would likely be the last of showing up early.

At the start of winter, Ms. Stacey enacted a rotation for the boys to arrive before school and set the fire. She hoped this would teach them a well-needed lesson in responsibility. As for the girls, they'd function similarly, one sticking around after school to help clean up. Both were met with the parent's approval, which none denied (except Billy Andrews— his sister Jane volunteered willingly, despite her mother's words).

Inside, Charlie hung his leather satchel habitually on the first hook, taking off his cap and wool coat. Mornings were still chilly, but it was getting warmer upon the arrival of Spring (therefore soon, no need for a fire).

Swinging open the furnace door, he began going back and forth feeding it logs, which were gathered in a small pile in the mud room. Truthfully, it was quite the mystery where the wood came from every morning. Word was, that Ms. Stacey chopped it herself, but that was neither confirmed nor denied. After all, Josie Pye insisted that handling an axe must solely be a man's job.

'As if a woman could take a strong swing!' She'd say.

"Good Morning, Charlie," Ms. Stacey greeted, smiling at him as he looked up from his task.

"Morning," He nodded, rather informally, as this same exchange had happened many times before.

She then disappeared into the back room, sorting through her plans for the day. In no time at all, sparks began crackling from beneath the logs, pieces of bark falling into the embers. As grand orange flames readily gathered, Charlie shut the furnace door and flicked down a sturdy metal handle, locking it. Still, he observed his work, in the probable case that it needed another log.

"Be-sides," Ruby said in a critical tone, entering the schoolhouse with Diana, "Moody certainly has a way with words, and most I actually understand."