A week passed, and Charlotte did not leave the cabin.
Samuel tried to make her come to church last Sunday, but the idea had made her so upset, the idea of being surrounded by a room packed with people, that she developed a debilitating migraine that lasted several days.
It saddened Samuel to see his niece so fragile. Ever since she was a child, it had always been the same problem. Sometimes, she would be in good shape for a while, and then something would happen that would almost destroy her.
And now, every new person struck fear into her, and Samuel couldn't think of anything he could do to fix it. He was so accustomed to fixing things in a hands-on manner. Mending broken wagon wheels or taking a thorn out of a cow's hoof was one thing, but fixing his niece seemed harder than anything he'd ever faced.
Samuel sat in the cabin's main room and wrung his hands that were calloused from a lifetime of struggling with reins and ropes. Now, more than ever, he wanted to get on a horse and go out into the wilderness as he had done many times before. Ride across strange new mountains, cross rushing streams, find odd jobs on the shrinking frontier.
But he would never leave Charlotte without support. Though he likely would never make another great journey into the West, caring for Charlotte was just as important to him as he often felt she was like his own daughter.
He was angry at his brother James, Charlotte's father.
The week previously, when he told Charlotte to write her father a letter, Samuel wrote a letter of his own to James, expressing his sentiments:
James,
I have never seen you so cowardly. Sending your daughter to a place she's never been without you when she needs you most.
You keep using your work as your excuse, and your grief, but neither makes up for the lack of attention you give her. You only care when she's deathly ill, and when she mends, you're too busy for her. Charlie has become a fearful and desperate girl.
I try my best to soothe her nerves, but what she needs is her father. I've had her send you a letter, and you'd best write her something nice. She's looking to hear from you.
You have no right to be cross at her for her fainting spell. You should have expected something along those lines to happen sooner or later, with the way she pushes herself for you, to try and impress you. She's in a state of tragedy because of it.
Any other woman wouldn't think twice about fainting, but you've made the slightest mistake akin to the end of the world for Charlie. And you'd best get a clearer idea of how long you want her to stay here.
Don't write to me about your usual problems, all your debts with your law practice. Your responsibility is to your daughter. Make yourself present in her life, and not just as some manager who dictates where and when she plays the piano.
Write fast, James, at least to Charlie, and write her something pleasant.
Samuel had gotten along with his brother when they were young, and they used to come out to this very cabin with their father to hunt and fish. But the siblings drifted as they grew, James becoming so much more serious and smug once he started law school, and Samuel becoming more carefree as he went West.
Of course, Samuel still cared about his brother, but Charlotte needed his care more.
While Charlotte's migraine was a setback, Samuel found that after a few days, it subsided, and Charlotte got her wits about her again. But she still did not want to go back into town, too fearful. It confused him because he was sure she had made some progress by meeting a few new faces.
It reminded him of a young cowpoke he once knew who was so terrified of drowning that he even skirted around the shallowest puddles after a rainstorm. The boy instead died by being thrown from his horse, and all his fears had been for nothing.
Samuel didn't want his niece to be so mortified of people, of being out in public. He supposed he couldn't really understand since he had never seriously feared anything. He just wished he could do something to make the girl feel better. Today, she was out in the prairie in the sun, rereading Black Beauty for the third time.
And then it struck him.
A new book would be perfect. Besides the piano, Charlotte had always enjoyed reading. He might not have been able to repair the cabin's piano, which was what Charlotte really wanted, but he could do the next best thing.
Charlotte was feeling relatively well today, so Samuel wasn't too worried about leaving her alone. There was no need to take the buckboard, being alone, so he saddled one of their two horses and went to town.
He took in the scenery as he trotted along, remembering his time here as a boy. Walnut Grove had barely been on the map. Everything was tall, golden grass dancing in the stiff breeze that came down from Canada. The lack of trees opened the sky wider than any other place, like a lazy, yawning mouth.
Riding alone down the long and empty dirt path allowed him to imagine for a moment that he might be a young man again. A lone young man with dark brown hair and a shine in his eyes, looking over the explosive sunsets of Texas or the misty blue grass of Kansas. But his lumbago and constant worry for Charlotte told him otherwise.
He went straight into the Oleson's Mercantile as soon as he tied his gray horse.
There were a few other people in the store, mostly women going through different colored fabrics or buying food for their families. Mrs. Oleson was working the counter, which Samuel was not thrilled about since he hadn't had a good first impression of the woman.
Still, he was cordial as he stepped up to the counter. "Good day, ma'am."
"Oh, Mr. Richmond," she replied, adjusting the sleeves of her black and burgundy striped dress. She raised her eyebrows and craned her head as if she were looking down at him, even though he was more than a foot taller. "Nice to see you're still in town. How can I help you?"
"Well, I'm lookin' for a book for my niece."
"Of course. We have a marvelous selection of books just on that shelf there. Your niece isn't with you today?"
"No, she's resting back home."
"I see," she replied in a disapproving tone, resting the tip of a pencil on her lip. "She must do a lot of resting. I rarely see her around as often as you."
"She needs it."
"I imagine so. She looked like such a fragile little creature when I last saw her, and—if I may say with the greatest delicacy, Mr. Richmond—a little... peculiar. I mean, with her wearing that bonnet the way she does and hardly talking or looking at any place but the floor."
Samuel was a calm and pleasant man, but the woman's words irritated him so much that he felt like he could break something. "That girl's gone through a lifetime of suffering, Mrs. Oleson," he said gravely. "And I'd advise you to be careful with what you say about her in my presence."
An expression of deep offense spread across her face. Before she could say anything, Samuel continued. "Now, I think I'll take a look at those books." He nodded politely to her before he moved to the far side of the store, browsing the shelves.
Much of the selection consisted of school textbooks about history or arithmetic, which he doubted would be interesting for Charlotte. There was a small section with a few leatherbound novels that he thought looked nice.
He quirked an eyebrow when he spotted Moby Dick. It was perhaps the only book on the shelf he ever read, and he remembered he enjoyed it for its adventurous tone.
He grabbed it from the shelf, finding that the hard leather was dyed blue like the ocean, which he thought was very striking. When he turned back to the counter, he found Mr. Oleson had appeared beside his wife, both arguing in hushed tones as the man restocked some of the shelves with pots and pans.
"You never keep things organized," Mrs. Oleson hissed, removing a pot from the shelf as soon as her husband put it down. "You dress the store like a pigsty."
"At least I make an effort to keep the shelves stocked," Mr. Oleson retorted, holding up a heavy iron skillet. "You were supposed to do this this morning, and who's doing it now?"
"It's the least you can do," his wife spat. "Always dallying, reading the paper. And I told you I was busy tending to our customers this morning, which you certainly were not doing, you poor excuse of a man."
Samuel could tell their argument was getting too intense, so he stepped up to the counter to interrupt them. "I'd like to buy this book."
"Certainly," Mrs. Oleson replied shortly, her lips tight.
"Hello, Mr. Richmond," Mr. Oleson said, exasperated but trying to be friendly. "Let me take care of that for you."
Mr. Oleson took the novel, but his wife immediately snatched it. "I will do it," she hummed. "I won't have you cheating the store out of decent revenue like you did last time, at least not until you remember your basic economics."
Mr. Oleson's jaw clenched, and Samuel was surprised when he said nothing. Instead, he picked up a box of skillets from the floor and went to the other side of the store to stock the shelves. Never in Samuel's life had he seen a man obey his wife so blindly.
"Now, Mr. Richmond," Mrs. Oleson said haughtily. "You've chosen a very nice book. This will be $2."
"Harriet!"
Samuel jumped at Mr. Oleson's loud voice calling from the front of the store.
"Do not contradict me!" Mrs. Oleson warned, pointing a short, manicured finger at him.
"I will not let you charge this man $2 for a book that shouldn't be more than $0.75."
"Oh, you won't let me? What will you do to stop me? This book is $2, and that's all there is to it."
Samuel wasn't keen on arguments, and he had the money, so he handed $2 to the woman. "Well, that's the end of it, isn't it?"
Mrs. Oleson smiled coldly. "Yes, it is."
Samuel took the book, thanking Mrs. Oleson out of pure courtesy and nodding kindly to Mr. Oleson, who looked miserable, before he left the store. He stood on the store's porch for a moment, heaving a sigh. He could still hear the two bickering even from outside the establishment.
A moment later, Mr. Oleson burst out of the store, breathless with anger. "Oh, Mr. Richmond. Good, you're still here. I'm sorry about my wife. Once she gets started like that, there's no stopping her."
"That's all right, Mr. Oleson."
"I wish there was something I could do, but—"
"Say no more, I understand. I know how wives can be when they get a bee in their bonnet. Thank the Lord I've never had the time to get hitched."
"I'll thank the Lord for you, too," Mr. Oleson laughed. He relaxed slightly, combing back a few loose strands of hair with his hand. He gestured to the book Samuel held under his arm. "Plan on doing some reading?"
"Oh, not me. My niece."
"How is she? I'm afraid she's gotten shy around me because of our run-in at the river."
Samuel furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"
Mr. Oleson briefly explained their encounter, which surprised Samuel, mainly because he had never known Charlotte to withhold the truth from him. He supposed it wasn't anything important, but it perplexed him nonetheless.
Mr. Oleson then revealed something else: he had caught Charlotte playing the piano in the schoolhouse last week. Samuel saw her leave the building but wasn't sure what she had been doing. "It was really something incredible," said the shopkeeper. "Too bad she's so shy; she might have been able to make a career out of that talent."
Samuel smiled, for he realized that perhaps no one in Walnut Grove knew who Charlotte was. At her height, there had been articles about her in magazines and posters advertising her performances outside theaters. Now, he wondered if such things would ever return.
"The piano's always been her talent," Samuel admitted. "I figure she was drawn to the schoolhouse's piano since ours at home is plumb out of tune."
"That's a shame. You know, I might be able to call up a piano tuner."
Samuel was intrigued. "Think you could? Why, she'd be as happy as a clam if she had a piano again."
"Well, sure," Mr. Oleson said. "It's the least I can do for you after being overcharged for that book. And a rare talent like your niece's shouldn't be wasted."
"I'd be mighty obliged to you."
"I warn you, he can run a hard bargain."
"Oh, that's all right. I never imagined anyone could drag a tuner all the way out here."
"Well, it has yet to be done, but I'll see what I can do."
Samuel was so delighted, he shook Nels Oleson's hand with both of his quite fervently. "Why, Mr. Oleson, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I'm right thankful. Good day, and I'll tell Charlie the good news."
Charlotte was so excited about the prospect of the cabin's piano being tuned that she jumped up from the grassy spot in the prairie where she had been sitting to hug her uncle. The sudden movement made her lightheaded, and she sat down immediately after, though her excitement didn't wane. "When will the tuner come?" she asked.
"Well, I'm not sure, but it sounds like soon."
She smiled broadly. "That was very kind of Mr. Oleson to call."
"I expect he felt bad about a poor deal his wife made me for that book."
Charlotte was equally happy that her uncle had thought to buy her such a fine book like Moby Dick. "You shouldn't spoil me, uncle."
"Well, it's good to see you smilin' again. And I figured now you can't deny me a trip into town, specifically to visit Doctor Baker to check up on your health."
He was right: she couldn't make a fuss about going to town after he'd been so nice to her, though she wished she didn't have to go. "Of course, uncle."
As usual, she sat nervously with her uncle on the buckboard as they rode into town, her bonnet low and tight on her head. But she calmed when she entered Doctor Baker's office. "Business seems to be slow, doc," Samuel said, noting that there was no one else there.
Doctor Baker smiled, in the process of putting together some papers on his writing desk. "It usually is in the summer. Now, Miss Richmond, let's take a look at you."
"I've taken almost all of the iron pills you gave me," she said. So far, she felt more comfortable with the doctor than she did with any other resident of Walnut Grove, perhaps because she perceived him to be her only route to wellness.
"Good," the man answered, dragging over a chair and sitting before her. He had a strong face with a high, wrinkled brow. "I'd say your color has improved. Not perfect, but better. Do you feel any different?"
"Better than before. I can walk longer distances. I always feel awfully lightheaded when I stand or move too quickly."
"I see," the doctor replied. He briefly listened to her heart with a stethoscope before leaning back in his chair, knitting his fingers together. "Well, I believe the iron is doing you some good, so we'll continue. Many people don't see big improvements until after several months of treatment." He went to the back room and retrieved another vial of iron tablets for her.
She grabbed it, the glass cold in her hand.
"I'd advise against strenuous activity for some time," said the doctor. "Your heart has an abnormal sound. There's a strong possibility that it correlates with your anemia. I believe the issue will improve if you continue taking the iron."
"Doctor, will I ever be truly well?"
The doctor hesitated, his expression growing melancholy. "Miss Richmond, being truly well is something that's very difficult for some people. I believe you are one of those people, but don't let that cause you to lose hope. Based on what your uncle has told me, you've been in worse shape before, and seeing how you've improved now, I believe you can achieve a state of health that will allow you to lead an enjoyable life."
"But never a healthy life, as a normal woman might?"
The doctor met her eye. "I... don't believe so. Your medical history shows you are in a state of constant fragility. As a doctor and as a human being, I can only do so much. But I'll still do what I can to help you get as well as possible."
Charlotte sat silently for a moment, staring at her hands in her lap. His words devastated her, but she wasn't all that surprised. For a long time, a part of her had become so deluded that she believed that becoming completely healthy was possible, especially with Walnut Grove's fresh air.
She feared what her father would think if he heard the doctor's words. She feared what this meant for her future, her life. She feared, she feared, she feared.
"Thank you for being honest, doctor," she said, desperately trying to keep tears out of her eyes. "I appreciate it."
They left the doctor's office, squinting at the sun as they emerged. They clamored up the buckboard and sat in silence. Samuel saw how distraught she was but couldn't think of anything to say because he knew no single word would comfort her.
She was startled out of the depths of her mind when a woman hurried toward them, calling her name. Charlotte's eyes were blurry with tears, but she recognized the woman as Miss Wilder from the schoolhouse once she was close enough.
"Miss Richmond," she said eagerly, holding her magenta fascinator to her head so it wouldn't blow away. "I'm glad to catch you. I've been hoping to run into you again for some time. The music you played in the schoolhouse so deeply inspired me, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, and it frustrates me that my own piano playing is so rudimentary. Well, I suppose my point is that, if you'd be willing, I'd love for you to teach me the more advanced techniques of the piano. I'd be willing to pay for your time and skill, of course.... Miss Richmond?"
Charlotte was so overwhelmed that she couldn't get out a word even if she wanted to. Every muscle was frozen, and her misery was so intense that she could hardly breathe.
"I'm real sorry, ma'am," Samuel butted in. "My niece is feelin' mighty sickly right now. Let's continue this another time." Though Miss Wilder opened her mouth to say something, Samuel wasted no time rushing their buckboard out of Walnut Grove.
From that point, Charlotte stayed in bed for almost a whole week.
She barely moved, ate, or spoke. She just slept, and when she was awake, she stared at the sooty oil lamp on her nightstand. The words of Doctor Baker, a trained professional, confirmed Charlotte's worst fears. If she would never be well, she didn't see any point in living. She was tired of the constant cycle of illnesses. She held no ill will against the doctor, only against herself.
"Didn't you hear the rest of what the doc said?" Samuel persisted, holding Charlotte's hand as he knelt beside her bed. "He said you can still lead an enjoyable life. Perfectly enjoyable."
She made no response. She looked through him.
"Charlie, please. Is there any man or woman that's perfectly healthy? Look at me. I've got my aches and pains. You can't call me truly healthy, but I lead a fine life, don't I? Why, I don't think there's a single person who doesn't have at least one thing wrong with them. You know I'm right. And you might make some improvements yet."
Charlotte wished she would be left alone.
Samuel drifted into the other room, feeling especially nervous. He had never seen her this dejected. Out the window was a beautiful, sunny day, but inside the cabin, it seemed like they were in a storm.
Each day that passed, he got more and more nervous, especially since Charlotte was barely eating. The last thing she needed to do was lose more weight. He felt as useless as he had when Charlotte had her last fever, as she lay sweating and delirious on the cusp of death. But now it was worse because she didn't even want him around.
Samuel couldn't stand to stay still, so he burst out of the cabin into the fresh air, startled to see two men on a buckboard approaching. They parked close to the cabin, one man unfamiliar to Samuel and the other steering the buckboard, wearing a simple brown coat, was Mr. Oleson.
"Mr. Oleson," Samuel said, unsure why the two men were there.
"Mr. Richmond," Mr. Oleson greeted, stepping up the hill toward him. "I've finally got the man you've been waiting for. This is Gregory Moore, the piano tuner."
Samuel's brows raised. "I'm surprised you came all the way out here to deliver him, Mr. Oleson. Don't you have the mercantile to tend to?"
"Not today, it's Sunday."
Samuel supposed he was right. He had been so overwhelmed with Charlotte most of the week that he forgot what day it was.
"And more than that," Mr. Oleson continued. "Mr. Moore got lost three times trying to find your cabin, and came to me three times asking for directions, so I decided to take him here myself to save us all the trouble. Nice to get out of the house anyway.... You see, Mr. Moore, I told you it was the very last path to the left on the outskirts of town. This place used to be abandoned for a while."
Mr. Oleson smiled and was friendly, though Mr. Moore seemed in a bad mood. "Where's your piano?" he asked in a thick country accent.
"Just inside. Come on in, both of you."
Mr. Moore didn't say anything once he saw the piano in the corner and went right to work on it. Samuel glanced awkwardly at Charlotte's room, which had no door, though no one could see her since he had installed a curtain in the doorway.
"You have a very nice cabin here, Mr. Richmond," said Mr. Oleson, looking around the warm wood interior. "You know, I've always wanted a place like this, a nice abode to rest after hunting or fishing without anyone shouting your ear off because you tracked mud into the house."
"Oh, yes. I used to do just that when I was a boy, hunting and fishing here, I mean."
"I don't see your niece. Is she around? I imagine she'll be in a good mood once she sees the piano fixed."
"She's resting. She's not feeling her best."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mr. Oleson replied earnestly.
If there was one thing Samuel liked about the man, it was his sincerity. When Nels Oleson said something, one could sense the genuine nature of his tone. "I haven't seen her in some time," Mr. Oleson continued. "But she seems like a nice girl. It must be hard for her when she feels unwell. I imagine you've already taken her to see Doc Baker?"
"Certainly, and he's done some good, but he can't perform miracles."
"No, I suppose he can't."
"You want some coffee? It ain't very good, but it's coffee." Samuel wasn't exactly sure why he was keeping Mr. Oleson around since the company would likely make Charlotte even more determined to stay in her room. But he kept the story in mind of Mr. Oleson and Charlotte sharing a laugh at the stream.
He had talked to Charlotte about it some time ago once he learned the story from Mr. Oleson, and she had been shy to tell him the whole tale, mainly because she thought she'd get in trouble for pestering the shopkeeper. Of course, Samuel gave her no trouble and thought it to be an amusing story, glad to see that it was still possible for her to have a healthy interaction with another person who wasn't him.
A part of Samuel hoped that Charlotte would come out of her room and chat with Mr. Oleson since he was so agreeable and easy to talk to, but that hope might have been as far away as a dream.
Samuel knew how to make coffee only one way: by pouring hot water and coffee grounds into a cup. He never minded drinking the grounds or the watery coffee. On the contrary, Mr. Oleson winced at the taste but nevertheless thanked Samuel for the cup. Meanwhile, Mr. Moore repeatedly pressed the piano's middle C to try to tune it properly.
"How are you liking Walnut Grove so far?" asked Mr. Oleson.
"It's a fine place, much like I remember in my younger days, only with more people. You like doin' business here?"
"Oh, yes, though it's a struggle sometimes. Keeping track of shipments, keeping everything stocked... meanwhile, my children are always trying to take something, a toy or a handful of candy."
"Oh, yeah? How many kids you got?"
"Only two, but they act like ten sometimes. Nellie and Willie."
"Nellie? Like the restaurant?"
Mr. Oleson sighed dejectedly, sipping on the coffee he so obviously disliked but was too polite to stop drinking. "Yes, that's the one. Her mother bought that place for her, and she hates it. I have to warn you not to go there when Caroline Ingalls isn't cooking, or you'll end up with charcoal on your plate and an argument if you complain about it."
Samuel laughed. "Your girl doesn't like to cook, I take it?"
"Far from it," Mr. Oleson chuckled. "If you can imagine it, I end up doing most of the cooking. Harriet doesn't like the chore much either."
"I do most of the cooking for Charlie, though she's a much better cook than me, just so she doesn't strain herself. And I met that Caroline Ingalls you mentioned at the restaurant some time ago. Seems like a fine woman."
"Oh, she is, along with the rest of her family. Her husband, Charles, he's a good friend of mine.... You know, I ought to introduce you sometime. I feel that you'd get along. And I can tell you're a fine person to get along with, Mr. Richmond, based on how you managed to keep a level head when my wife charged you $2 for that novel you bought. Even I couldn't keep my patience in the face of that."
Samuel chuckled. "Well, if we're gonna be friendly, you might as well call me Samuel."
Mr. Oleson smiled. "All right. And please, call me Nels."
Samuel watched Mr. Moore continue tuning the piano, pressing various keys. He took two hours to tune the thing, but fortunately, Samuel and Mr. Oleson were kept busy with their own stories.
By the time Mr. Moore slammed the back of the piano shut, it was dark outside except for a sliver of sky near the horizon, which remained a pale blue against black clouds. "I'm done here," he said.
"Swell," Samuel said as he stood up. He paid Mr. Moore so he'd no longer be in the way. He then called for Charlotte to come out of her room, hoping the news of the tuned piano would lure her out, but he still received no response. "She must be asleep by now," he said awkwardly.
"Well, I'm sure she needs her rest," said Mr. Oleson, shrugging his brown coat back on. "It's about time I head home and make sure my family didn't burn down the store trying to make dinner. I hope your niece feels better soon so we can see the two of you around town more often. Give her my best."
Mr. Moore and Mr. Oleson returned to their buckboard and rode into the dark. Samuel sighed, depressed. He felt that if Charlotte hadn't come out during all this time of Mr. Moore audibly tuning the piano, she'd never come out.
But when he turned back into the cabin, he saw Charlotte standing at the entrance to her room.
She stood there with her eyelids drooping halfway over her sad, stormy eyes, swaying slightly. "Mr. Oleson is a very kind man," she murmured. "He cares. Cares more than most people."
"Oh, Charlie, you're up," Samuel expressed, rushing over and hugging her tightly.
"Uncle," Charlie muttered, staring blankly across the room. "Take me to the piano, please."
He didn't hesitate, allowing her to lean on him as they padded across the floor to the instrument. Her knees were shaky. He wasn't sure if she had really grown so weak again or if perhaps she was half asleep.
She sat down and rested her hands on the keys. She held down middle C with her thumb, letting the note continue until it drifted into silence.
The note was perfectly in tune. Something about it, as soon as it struck the air, changed her.
She straightened her posture, and her eyes fluttered open. The sound of the piano was like an angel's voice to her, lifting her out of her depression, perhaps not forever, but at least for now.
She played for hours, fingers racing across the keyboard, not thinking of anything, not looking at anything, but just listening until the sun came up in the morning.