Charlotte didn't want her hope to sweep her head into the clouds too quickly. She had already taken one of Doctor Baker's iron pills with a dry mouth; she was so eager. Of course, it produced no immediate effect. She was sure the pills would help her eventually, but what if they didn't?
Relax, she told herself. There's no point in moping before anything bad happens yet.
But she still couldn't shake the usual fears that sat front and center in her mind. As her uncle stopped the buckboard outside the Oleson's Mercantile, Charlotte's mind relentlessly tormented her with the imagery of the worst period of her life. Those thoughts bombarded her, even when she was in a better mood than she was this morning.
She remembered the evening she fainted, in her fine evening dress, off the shoulder, with her mother's pearls heavy at her collarbone. For most others, fainting might not be anything of mention, but for her, the way it happened, was the thorn in the heart of her reputation, her dignity.
She remembered the lights flickering at the base of the stage where she performed in the theater, bathed in golden light.
The cool feeling of the ivory keys, positively immaculate, with the piano's body as shiny as spilled oil.
The audience of hundreds of perfectly dressed men and women all watched her, excited to hear her exquisite music. The beads of sweat she tried to conceal on her feverish skin.
And then the terrible clamminess, the numbness in her fingers that struck her just as she was in the middle of Liszt's Étude No. 6.
Just when her fingers had to move the fastest, they went limp, pressing all the wrong keys. Stumbling across those keys felt like a sin, to ruin such music at the prime moment.
She could feel herself slipping into the dark, yet still hearing the growing murmurs in the audience, judging her.
And then it was all gone. The piano, the audience, herself.
Everything went red. Hot. Suffocating. Then, the hard thud on the floor.
She hadn't awoken for two weeks. Though she had been unconscious, she felt that she might die, or that she was already dead. Though family members swarmed around her day in and day out, she couldn't hear their whispers, their chatter.
All she could hear was laughter, laughter that echoed to her from the concert auditorium's crowd in the dark.
And Étude No. 6.
The crescendo, the one she never got to play. The one she felt would burst from her fingers and her heart if she never got the chance to play it for someone, to show someone that she could do it and do it well.
But everything was ruined now anyway. She had not only humiliated herself in public but her father, too. She doubted he would ever let her perform again, and she doubted she would let herself do so either.
And yet, the constant reminder of humiliation was not the only reason she wanted to stay hidden, though it was a significant one. Another reason, one that she only realized upon waking from her fever, spurred her misanthropic behavior more intensely than anything else.
"Come on, Charlie," said Samuel, offering his hand up to her from where he stood on the ground.
His voice shook her out of her terrible thoughts, and she smiled nervously, pulling her bonnet tightly around her head. Her gaze followed up the stairs at the front of the mercantile, and the quaint little store still managed to strike her with fear.
What if I ever faint again? In front of everyone? This town is so much smaller than the city. Everyone will remember me more clearly, who I am. They'll remember me as the girl who dropped like an idiotic stone and nothing more. Nothing more.
"Charlie, look, there ain't no one in there."
It only takes but a moment to buy a mirror, she thought. Just a mirror, and we can go back to the cabin to rest.
She put the vial of iron pills in her skirt's pocket. She didn't want to be separated from it for even a moment, lest she lose it. Her last hope.
Her uncle helped her up the stairs. She was shocked at herself, so weak that even climbing a few stairs made her lightheaded, breathless, and shaky. "I'm like an old woman," she said miserably.
"Now, don't you go moping on me now, Charlie," said Samuel. "You were over the moon about those pills a moment ago. If you lose hope that quickly, how can you ever enjoy it."
"You're right," she admitted. "But we should have asked the doctor when the pills would start working. I don't feel much different."
"Well, you can't expect these things to work right away. You've been sick for a long time, so I expect it'll take some time for you to mend."
"I hope it won't take as long to work based on as long as I've been sick, or else I'll be waiting another lifetime."
Samuel grinned and led her into the store. Charlotte couldn't help but be delighted with the store's interior... and the fact that no one seemed to be there.
The store had a fine smell, like fresh paint, clean linens, wood, and, in the distance, candy. There was a table filled with beautiful fabrics (and some that were not so beautiful) and shelves with yarn, thread, lamps, and other objects.
There was an entire shelf filled with pots and pans, ceramics, bowls, and vases and basins for washing. It was impossible to miss the section filled with food items: flour, sugar, eggs, and jars of jam glinting like big gemstones. Several big jars of colorful candy were the most striking of all. The sun filtered through the windows in a cozy way, casting golden strips across the wood floor.
"Uncle, where do you believe the mirrors are?"
"Don't bother lookin' for mirrors yet. We've got to find someone who'll sell us mirrors first."
Samuel went to the front desk where the heavy jars of candy were, looked around, and called, "Anyone home?" Charlotte fiddled her thumbs, looking at the exit, counting the seconds she was there.
There was a sudden stumbling from the adjacent room. A middle-aged woman with raven hair tied into a bun briskly appeared. "Hello!" she said, her voice as high and clear as a bell. She had a firm presence and bright blue eyes, quite cold, though there was a certain opportunistic sparkle in them.
She looked them up and down for a moment and did not seem impressed. "I can't say I've seen either of you around here before. Farmers?"
"No, ma'am," Samuel replied, his hands in his pockets. "Just doin' a little vacationing from the city with my niece here. Name's Richmond, Samuel Richmond. This's my niece, Charlotte."
The older woman's expression changed with a jump of her eyebrows and a sudden smile.
"Oh, you're from the city; why didn't you say so before? I have my share of experience with city life myself. City folk are such fine, distinguished people, not like the sort you'll find around here.... I'm surprised you chose Walnut Grove for your vacation in the first place. Oh, but where are my manners? Harriet Oleson, I run the mercantile. What can I help you with?"
"Well, we was just lookin' for a mirror."
"A mirror," Ms. Oleson repeated, glancing around. There was no mirror in sight in the main part of the store. "Yes, of course. Let me see what we have." She trotted over to a door to the right, swung it open, and hissed, "Nels, bring out some of our mirrors, the nice ones." She turned immediately back to Charlotte and Samuel with a smile, though it didn't seem entirely sincere.
"You see, we have a marvelous selection of mirrors," she said. "Better than any others you might find around here. Many country stores don't even sell them."
She glanced back inside the other room, which was unpainted wood and seemed to be mostly tools and construction materials, with a flash of irritability in her eyes. "Nels, hurry up."
They heard some clattering from the storage room, and a moment later, a man emerged, heaving so many rather large mirrors that they completely concealed him. Charlotte got a flash of her own reflection in them before the man put all the mirrors gently down on the wood counter.
Some of them had beautiful, gilded frames, looking like the old French frames one would find in a museum. All of them were very sumptuous and large.
"These are some of our finest mirrors," Mrs. Oleson simpered. "Many of them produced in the grand old cities of Chicago and New York, you know how it is. You can't doubt the quality, the craftsmanship, and for the same reason, the price."
The man who brought out the mirrors looked at Mrs. Oleson, bewildered. "Harriet, not one of these mirrors comes from Chicago or New York. This one came to us from Sleepy Eye just last week."
Harriet Oleson's ears turned red as she gave the man a cold stare, though she still managed to force a smile for her new customers. "I'm sorry about my husband, he doesn't know what he's talking about. Isn't that right, Nels?"
Nels Oleson said nothing but looked highly exasperated. He turned to Samuel and Charlotte, giving them a small grin in greeting that was infinitely more sincere than Mrs. Oleson's big-toothed smile. He was a tall man, middle-aged as well, though still slim. His hair thinned at the crown, but the rest remained dark and thick. "New in town?"
"Yes, sir," replied Samuel. Charlotte partially hid behind her uncle, still bundled up in her bonnet, as she wished the purchase of the mirror would hurry up. "Here with my niece, Charlotte. You'll have to excuse her, she's a shy one."
Charlotte felt like her uncle pointing her out like that was one of the worst things he could do. She was suddenly just as embarrassed to hide behind him as she would be if she stepped out of his shadow. She wanted to greet the man politely and properly, but being put on the spot made the words catch in her throat.
So, she remained where she was, very silent, and wishing she would disappear.
Though she couldn't see him well from under her bonnet, she heard Mr. Oleson chuckle. "Well, that's all right. What kind of mirror did you folks have in mind?"
"Wouldn't you like this one?" Mrs. Oleson butted in, holding up the most luxurious mirror Charlotte had ever seen. Even the mirrors at home in Minneapolis, though large, were not as ridiculously decorated as this one. Even the glass was etched. "It's the finest we have."
"Why, yes, it's very fine," Samuel said hesitantly. "But ma'am, we ain't exactly lookin' for the finest. Just a nice, simple mirror will do to help my niece get presentable in the mornin'."
Mrs. Oleson's lips twisted in disappointment. "Yes, well. How about this one? It's simpler, if that's what you're looking for."
She held up a slightly smaller, though still very large mirror, with a more minimalistic frame. "I suppose that might be a contender," Samuel replied. "How much?"
"$5."
"$5?" Samuel said, almost choking.
"Harriet," Mr. Oleson interrupted, his exasperation returning. "That mirror is not $5, and you know it."
"But of course, it is, we raised the price, remember?"
"I remember no such thing."
"Well, you see," Samuel said, having to raise his voice to overcome the growing argument. "I ain't lookin' for no mirror that will bankrupt me. Got anything around $1?"
"$1?" said Harriet Oleson in disgust. "Why, I... I thought you said you were from the city. You don't need to settle for anything cheap. Why not get something more luxurious, like you're used to?"
"I'm an old cowpoke, ma'am," said Samuel. "I ain't used to much luxury. The money I have is mostly my brother's, and I ain't about to waste it on a fancy mirror."
Mrs. Oleson looked so scandalized it seemed she might either melt or burst into flames. But instead, she rushed off into another room, murmuring to her husband, "You take care of them. You're more their crowd."
Once she was gone, Mr. Oleson sighed in relief, as if a dark storm had dissipated. "Stay right here. I think I have exactly what you're looking for." He carried away the luxurious mirrors and came back with a few smaller, simpler ones, though they were still quite nice.
"These are more like it," Samuel said, leaning over one and pulling on his mustache. "Charlie, looky here. What do you think? This one or this one?"
He took her out from behind him, guiding her up to the counter. She felt her ears tingling as she was put in plain sight, though the rest of her skin was ice-cold. At least her face was still almost completely covered by her bonnet.
She felt that her bonnet was her shield from the world, a shield from future humiliation and misery, and it would work as long as no one really saw her face, and if she never looked anyone in the eye.
She glanced between the selection of mirrors. They were all nice and convenient, without any fancy frames or etchings. "Any of them are fine, uncle."
"Any of them? Alright, how much for this one, Mr. Oleson?"
"$0.75."
"Not bad," said Samuel, reaching into his pocket for the money. "I myself am used to using a shiny blade or a quiet stream for my reflective needs, but my niece here's a lady, and she needs somethin' proper to do her hair and things."
"Of course," said Nels Oleson in a friendly tone. "I'll pack this so it won't break on your way back."
"Thank you kindly, sir."
"So, where are you two from?" Mr. Oleson asked as he took the mirror into the other room, searching for packing supplies.
"Minneapolis. Or at least Charlotte is. I'm more of a wanderer myself."
"Minneapolis?" Mr. Oleson replied from the other room. "What spurred you to vacation here in Walnut Grove, of all places?"
"We've got an old summer home here. Seemed like the most convenient choice. And the air here's clear as crystal, which is a primary reason why we came. See, my niece isn't in the best of health."
"Uncle," Charlotte said, gripping his sleeve. She hated having her health discussed, especially with strangers.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Mr. Oleson as he reentered the room. She still couldn't see him from under her bonnet, but she was surprised at his gentle tone. He held the small, packed mirror out to her. "Well, Miss Richmond, hopefully, this mirror can serve as a sort of distraction from your hurts."
"Thank you, Mr. Oleson," Charlotte replied quietly, taking the mirror.
"Charlie," said Samuel. "Why don't you wait outside? I'll be there in a minute. Just need to get a few more things."
Charlotte didn't argue and went hurriedly outside, sitting on the steps. She always felt better outside, where the air could hit her skin. It hadn't made too much of a difference in Minneapolis, for opening a window for "fresh air" would only let in smoke and dust.
She realized she was trembling.
She had been so nervous inside the mercantile that she hadn't noticed it sooner. She raised her hand in front of her face, her skin fair, her fingers long and thin, shaking like a leaf. She never used to be this nervous going into public.
Though she used to be somewhat shy in the face of strangers, she used to have charisma. She knew how to banter, laugh, make a joke from time to time. She knew how to be charming. In her small circle of musicians, people enjoyed her company. She was noticed and admired both for her musical talent and personality.
But it seemed now the only thing left of her was fear.
The pills will help, she told herself, taking a deep breath. They'll help me feel better, and then I can relax. Then I can live again. They must help.
Uncle Samuel came out of the mercantile a moment later with a few things under his arm. "Got us some more eggs and bacon," he said, helping her down the stairs and onto the buckboard, handing the groceries to her. "Got some flour, too, so I can make you some of my famous biscuits. The doc said you've got to eat well, and I suppose I'll be the one to feed you."
"But I would like to cook."
"Well, maybe I'll let you soon. This week, I want you to do nothin' but rest and take your medicine, maybe socialize a bit. Walkin' into the mercantile and the doctor's office wasn't so bad now, was it?"
"No," she said quietly, though in truth, she wasn't sure how she would ever get used to socializing again.
She felt like something terrible would happen to her at any moment, that another humiliating catastrophe would strike her down and push her even further from society's edge. Forcing herself to merely stand in the mercantile caused her heart to race and her mind to grow cloudy with nerves.
And she knew Samuel would make her do it all again, thinking it would be good for her. Maybe it was good for her, but it didn't feel like it. She just felt so hopeless all the time, so afraid of every unknown moment that paved her future. "I'm glad we got the mirror," she said, smiling at her uncle so he wouldn't worry.
"I'm glad too. But I tell you what: I've got a surprise for you. I'll show you as soon as we get back."