Samuel tried to return to his cheery self in the coming days for Charlotte's sake, though she could still tell that something was amiss. Though he still left home quite often and for many hours, he did it less so than before. Charlotte decided that whatever must be wrong was very important to her uncle, and she now knew it had nothing to do with her, so her fears lessened, and she let her uncle be.
She tried to focus more on getting ready for dinner at the Oleson residence on Friday. She found herself breathless and clammy. She hadn't been to eat at someone's home in quite a few years. She had either been too busy or too sick.
She was terrified of what the family would think of her once they got to know her. Being in a town full of strangers was already hard enough; she didn't want it to be made more difficult with people who disliked her.
For the first time since she arrived in Walnut Grove, she wore her dark blue dress. It had a few layers of black frills on the skirt to make it more interesting. It was a modest dress but certainly nicer than the others she brought with her, and the most appropriate for the evening.
"You ain't goin' to visit the president, you know," Samuel said from the other room. He was already dressed in a blue button-up shirt that Charlotte ironed for him along with a black string tie.
"I'm sorry for taking so long," she said, emerging from her room once she was dressed. She felt quite plain to be going out for the evening since she had no jewelry. Her father never allowed her to have any, except her mother's old pearl necklace that she always wore to concerts.
She only had her piano broach from her father, which was very simple and could hardly be considered real jewelry, and she avoided it anyway because the bad memory associated with it would only make her more nervous.
"You look mighty fine, Charlie," Samuel said, standing. "Let's hope your beauty'll strike that Mrs. Oleson so hard, she won't have much to say at dinner. Don't care much for her voice, I must say."
She smiled, and they went out to the buckboard that Samuel prepared ahead of time. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning amber, the prairie becoming more golden than gold itself.
But by the time they made it to town, the sun had mostly set, and the sky had then turned a rich shade of magenta. They parked outside of the Oleson home, which was attached to the mercantile. The light inside shined brightly out the windows.
Once Samuel hitched the horses, they knocked at the door. Mrs. Oleson answered with a smile. She was dressed nicely in a maroon dress with a lace collar and shiny, dangling earrings. "Oh, Mr. and Miss Richmond, welcome! You've arrived just in time, dinner's nearly served. Please, come inside."
She ushered them into the parlor, which boasted a piano, fine blue wallpaper, heavy curtains, and many trinkets and artworks. It reminded Charlotte somewhat of her home in Minneapolis, though her home had almost no knickknacks or art around, as her father disliked clutter and preferred the ascetic life.
A scruffy little boy in a suit tried running past them into another room, but his mother caught him by the collar. "This is my wonderful son, Willie. Willie, what do you say?"
The boy, who had big, distracted eyes, droned, "Hello, Miss Richmond, hello, Mr. Richmond." He then bolted into the other room, which led into the mercantile and up a set of stairs that likely led to the bedrooms. From that same area, Mr. Oleson emerged wearing a gray three-piece suit, the chain of his pocket watch glinting in the lamplight.
He smiled when he saw them and nodded politely. "Miss Richmond. Samuel."
"Nice place you've got here," Samuel commented.
"Indeed," Mrs. Oleson cut in. "Nels, where's Nellie?"
"She's still getting ready upstairs."
Mrs. Oleson struggled to hide her annoyance. "Well, tell her to hurry up before the food gets cold." Mr. Oleson said nothing as he went back up the stairs.
Mrs. Oleson smiled broadly at them. "I'm sorry about that. My Nellie likes to look her best. I'm glad to finally have you two for dinner. My husband has only good things to say about both of you. Miss Richmond, it's to my understanding that you have a sort of penchant for the piano?"
Charlotte smiled bashfully. "I suppose one could say that, ma'am."
"Well, you see, I've overheard the same thing from a few other people in town. You know how news travels. It interests me because I was once classically trained in the instrument. Even to this day, I believe I have a certain gift for it. I only bring this up because I worry about my children. My Nellie certainly knows how to play, but I would love for her to be better. And Willie, well. It's always been a challenge for him to learn things, but I believe the natural discipline of the piano would be good for him."
"The piano is a fine instrument for anyone to learn, Mrs. Oleson," Charlotte replied, feeling increasingly nervous as the older woman's blue eyes drilled into her with unusual interest.
"Yes, that's just my point," Mrs. Oleson continued. "I suppose what I'm getting at is... of course, if you have the time, would you consider giving my children lessons sometime? There are so few piano teachers in the area, and it makes it so difficult to provide a proper education."
Charlotte was surprised that she had now been asked twice to give piano lessons. It was nothing new to her since she had taught a handful of children before, mostly the bratty children of her father's friends. She had always preferred concerts over teaching, so she never pursued it for very long.
"I'll... I'll have to think about that," Charlotte stuttered.
"We'll pay by the hour, of course. Most other people in this town can't afford the going rate of a high-quality teacher, but we can, so there's no need to worry about being underpaid."
Charlotte was relieved that before she could answer, Mr. Oleson returned and interrupted the conversation accompanied by his son, but not his daughter. "Nellie says she'll be down in a minute."
"Did you tell her to hurry?"
"Of course I did."
Mrs. Oleson gave her husband a distasteful look. "I'm sure you weren't firm enough. I'll do it. Nels, show them to the table."
They went into the dining room, which was blue with a reddish wood trim. There was a luxurious red lamp above the square dining table that was covered with a white tablecloth.
The table was stuffed with fine china, two cooked hams, meat pies, buttered peas, green beans, and even a few bowls of grapes and melon. "This looks like some Thanksgiving dinner, Nels," said Samuel.
"Well, Harriet wanted to make sure there was enough food for everyone. Please, sit down. I'm sure they'll be down in a minute."
Charlotte sat next to her uncle, opposite Mr. Oleson and Willie. The boy hungrily reached for a bread roll, though his father snatched his wrist and made him drop it. Mr. Oleson directed his eyes toward Charlotte, who kept her gaze firmly planted on a bowl of peas.
"How are you liking your piano now that it's fixed?"
"It's perfect, Mr. Oleson," she replied.
"I'm glad. I'm sure that if you play anything like what I heard you play in the schoolhouse, your cabin can double as a theater."
"When she plays, she really plays," Samuel said. "Lucky me, I always have a front-row seat."
"I imagine," Mr. Oleson replied, smiling. "Oh, I almost forgot. Miss Richmond, I have to say that apple tart you made was one of the best things I've ever tried. You said it was your mother's recipe?"
Charlotte was surprised the man was talking to her so much. In her experience, whenever she was with her father or uncle, company would talk mostly to them. But Mr. Oleson seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, which flattered her.
She turned her face more toward him, though still didn't truly look at him, but more at his hand that rested on the table. "Yes. My mother was a wonderful cook. I... always struggled to keep up with her but... she had patience. She made wonderful things. Cherry tarts, egg custard, pudding cakes.... I can follow her recipes, but her versions were always better."
"Is she back in Minneapolis?"
Charlotte hesitated. "No. She passed away many years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," Charlotte said quickly, not wanting to make the conversation awkward. "Time heals wounds like that.... And you needn't be afraid of asking about my father, Mr. Oleson, as he's still very much alive." She grinned to show that she wasn't upset by his previous question.
They and Samuel chatted for a minute before Mrs. Oleson and her daughter finally joined the table. Nellie was dressed in a peach-colored dress with a big pink bow in her hair. Her hair was curled and as fair as spun gold. She had a very static face and big blue eyes, like a porcelain doll that might sit in a store window around Christmas.
"Hello, Mr. Richmond," the teenager said, curtsying before sitting down. "Hello, Miss Richmond." Upon addressing Charlotte, she hesitated, a strange expression washing across her face, though she said nothing more.
"Well," started Mrs. Oleson. "Now that we're all here, let's pass around the platters." They did just that, adding several mouthwatering slices of ham and big scoops of sides to their plates. The food smelled delicious, and tasted wonderful.
"I haven't had such good food in a while," said Samuel. "Thanks again for havin' us."
"Of course," said Mrs. Oleson, cutting into her ham, though she didn't seem particularly enthused when talking to him. Most of the time, she kept her eyes on Charlotte. Nellie did the same, but with a more unreadable expression.
They ate for some time before Mrs. Oleson continued. "Miss Richmond, where did you learn to play the piano? I imagine it must have been a very prestigious place for you to play as well as I've heard you do."
"I didn't really go anywhere to learn, ma'am. I... usually lacked the energy to go very far. My father hired piano teachers to educate me at home."
"I see. It must have taken you a long time to play so well."
Charlotte was uneasy about talking too much about her skill. Talking about it always sounded like boasting, even if that was the last thing she wanted.
"It took some time, yes. I started learning when I was very young. After two years or so, I had progressed to a point where I no longer needed a teacher. From there, I continued to educate myself."
Mrs. Oleson stopped eating, her fork and knife perched in her hands. "Two years?"
Willie, who hadn't been part of the conversation, smiled and butted in. "Ma said she had a teacher for seven years, but she still can't play nothin' good."
Mrs. Oleson gave her son a look so venomous that he shut up immediately and continued shoveling ham and peas into his mouth. She then smiled somewhat awkwardly. "I'm sorry about him. He takes after his father. Now, Nellie, she takes after her Mama. She's naturally gifted in the way of the arts. She sings, she plays the piano, but of course, there's always room for improvement. Isn't that right, dear?"
"Yes, mother," Nellie replied, though she refused to take her eyes off Charlotte, which made Charlotte's skin feel prickly. She decided that talking to the girl might dislodge her gaze.
"Nellie, do you like the piano? Or do you prefer other pastimes?"
"I suppose it's all right," the girl replied.
They ate in silence for some time, and Nellie's gaze didn't let up. Fortunately, Mr. Oleson noticed. "Nellie, stop that. You know it's rude to stare."
"I'm sorry, Father. It's just that I didn't know we'd be in the presence of a celebrity this evening."
"What are you talking about?" said Mrs. Oleson.
The girl giggled. "Mother, I'm surprised you don't know. It was in those magazines I like to read about a month ago. See, from what I read, Miss Richmond was a famous pianist. Hundreds and hundreds of people went to see her shows. I read it would even be a struggle to get a ticket to see her perform, people loved her so. That is until she made a fool of herself at her last performance. She fainted in front of 300 or 400 people—I can't remember the exact number—and had to be carried off the stage."
Nellie started giggling more, covering her mouth with her hand. "Isn't that a funny image? The journalists said she went as limp as a ragdoll; they couldn't even slap her awake. And what are the chances the very same lady would show up here? If that had happened to me, I'd never dare show my face again."
Charlotte felt like someone had put a shotgun to her stomach and pulled the trigger.
Mrs. Oleson was surprised at the story as well as amused, using the tips of her fingers to cover the curl of her lips. Samuel and Mr. Oleson had become grave and silent. "Now, Nellie," said Mrs. Oleson. "Let's not make light of this poor girl's problems. It sounds like she has quite a lot of them."
Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't produce any sound.
She jumped out of her seat and ran out of the house, not looking back. Her heart pounded painfully as she moved so quickly, but she would rather die than stay in that place. Samuel raced after her, and Mr. Oleson started shouting something at his wife and kids, but by then, Charlotte was out of earshot.
She raced down the main street of Walnut Grove, which, at this late hour, was deserted. The town was almost pitch black from the lack of lights, the only illumination coming from the faint crescent moon and stars. She heard Samuel calling for her far behind, but she didn't stop. Her fine boots and the skirt of her sapphire dress soon got filthy with dirt.
Tears streamed down her face, and she gasped for air, feeling like a thousand knives were penetrating her lungs. She sprinted beyond the road and into the prairie, battling thick, tall grass. She could hear her uncle gaining on her, but she didn't want to be caught. She wanted to leave and never be seen again.
She knew now that God didn't care for her at all, not like she thought. He must have hated her to douse her in her greatest fear. Just as she had begun to crawl out of her shell into the public realm, she was gutted.
The grass whipped her skin. She soon found that she couldn't breathe. Not at all. She had such little stamina that her sudden sprint took everything out of her, and the moon above became a blur that trailed around in the sky like a silver snake.
She collapsed into the grass, wheezing like a dying animal. She tried to crawl forward, away from her uncle, away from the town, but her hands gripped uselessly at the dirt.
Finally, Samuel caught up with her, dropping to his knees beside her. She got her voice back as soon as he tried to pick her up. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. Her voice had never been so loud, it almost tore her vocal cords. "Leave me alone!"
"Charlie, please." Samuel tried holding her by the shoulders, but she fought him, pushing him away.
"I knew it," she wailed, twisting her body in agony. "This is all I'll be remembered for. The idiot woman fainting in the theater. No one knows why, no one cares, no one knows there was nothing I could do. They don't remember the music, they just remember the mistake. That girl was right. I should have never shown my face. Look at what I've been reduced to, what people think when they see me. They don't see music like they used to, they don't see skill. They see sickness and idiocy."
"Charlie, that girl's a wicked thing. She ain't right. For whatever reason, she wanted to upset you."
Charlotte couldn't listen. She couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop crying. "I want to die," she wheezed. "I want to die. I wish someone would kill me."
"Now, listen here," he shouted. "You think this is the end of the world, but it ain't. Nothing's changed. One bad moment in your life can't destroy everything."
"Everything is over," she breathed, manic. "Everything's ruined. If I hadn't fainted, if I hadn't gotten that fever, if I hadn't pushed myself to go on that stage, everything would have been all right. I could have gotten on with my life, I wouldn't have to be stuck in this town, Father wouldn't have sent me away. I could still be home, performing, doing what I love. But now everything's made of fear."
"Only because you make it that way. You've seen all the progress you've made, Charlie. You have the potential to lead a good life again."
"Not this way," she croaked. "Not anymore. Not as a fool for people to laugh at."
"The only people who'd dare laugh are those who are fools themselves. You said yourself that there wasn't nothin' you could do to stop it. You were sick and you went out anyway. You cared about puttin' on that show, about not lettin' nobody down."
"This was the one place where I might have some escape, and even that's been destroyed. I'll never show my face again."
"You will. I'm not lettin' you throw away your life anymore. We're gonna keep goin' as we've been doin'. I don't care if I have to drag you kickin' and screamin' into town."
She wished her uncle would let her die, but it was impossible. Everything was impossible. She felt her life had regressed to a point that was even worse than when she first arrived in Walnut Grove. She couldn't even run away anymore because her muscles had become shaky and limp.
Samuel dragged her up to her feet. "You can't define your life by one mistake, Charlie. If folks can't remember your music, your skill, that's their loss. Let's get home. You're sure to need your rest after this fiasco."
Nels Oleson could not remember the last time he'd been so angry.
Seeing Charlotte Richmond run out of his house in tears—due to his wife and daughter of all people—broke his heart. It was obvious that she was an extremely shy and sensitive girl, but very sweet.
Nels was used to the rude behavior of his children and wife, but their actions at dinner were beyond his belief. They had been having a fine conversation beforehand, too. It was perhaps the first time that he had ever heard the young woman speak in a full conversation instead of just a few quick and awkward sentences.
She never looked at him once in the face, though she seemed to want to. She spoke very quietly and quickly as if she was always short of breath. It was obvious that she was nervous, so he listened patiently to her, engaging her in the conversation to make her feel included, as it was obvious his wife wouldn't do it unless it would benefit her somehow.
It was the first time he got a clear look at her face without her bonnet. Though he had seen her by the stream without it once before, she had been obscured by mud. But that evening, the glass lamp above the dinner table shined down on her, illuminating her features. Her cheekbones were prominent due to her thinness. Her gray, heavy-lidded eyes showed like old silver platters under the shadow of her eyelashes, and her lips were delicate, though almost always tightly pressed together. She couldn't have been older than 25.
He was curious about her and how she came to be.
He couldn't imagine that she had always been so anxious, especially if it was true that she used to be a professional pianist, and it certainly seemed to be true. After their catastrophic dinner, his daughter tried showing him the information regarding Charlotte in her old magazines, but Nels snatched them out of her hands and threw them away.
"But Papa," the girl whined, forcing fake tears into her eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong. It's just what the magazines say."
"You embarrassed that poor girl for the sake of worthless gossip," Nels snapped. "I know you've been cruel before, Nellie, but running people of the house is raising your nonsense to a new level."
By the time he raised his voice, his wife came running over to comfort the child. "Nels, how dare you? This child did nothing wrong. She was just... excited that someone she read about in her magazines was in our home. How could she keep that information to herself?"
"Most people can," he retorted. He felt the heat of rage in his face, and he pointed at his wife. "And you're no better."
Harriet gasped as if she had taken some serious offense. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Acting like some child who overheard a crude joke."
"W-well, it was an amusing story that Nellie told."
"There was nothing funny about it. That girl and her uncle were guests in our home, and you drove them out."
"I did nothing of the sort," Harriet hissed, pressing her wailing daughter to her breast. "It's her own fault she's so sensitive. Besides, I never wanted to invite them here. It was your doing."
Nels was so angry he felt like he could break something. "I won't stand for this."
Harriet looked at him with wide, skeptical eyes. "What are you going to do?"
"I have a mind to put a switch to the both of you, but I won't. Nellie, tomorrow I'm driving you straight up to the Richmond place, and you're going to apologize."
The girl immediately stopped crying as if, indeed, she had never really been crying in the first place. "But Papa, I didn't mean any harm by what I said. Do I really have to?"
"Absolutely."
"Oh, Nels, please," Harriet interrupted. "It would put Nellie in such an embarrassing situation if you made her do that."
"I hope so," Nels insisted. "Whatever discomfort Nellie feels will only be a fraction of what Miss Richmond feels, I'm sure." He glanced sharply at his wife. "And you're coming along."
"Why me?" Harriet said, startled.
"You know exactly why. I won't hear any more of it. Nellie, go to your room." The girl rushed up the stairs without looking back. He didn't say anything to Harriet, but the discontent on his face was intense enough that she also hurried to bed.
Then, he was left alone in the dining room with a table full of half-eaten food. He held his head in his hands, listening to the silence of the house.
He hoped that the incident didn't poison his relations with the Richmonds. He enjoyed talking with Samuel, and Charlotte was an equally enjoyable presence on the rarer occasions she was around. He just felt terrible for Charlotte, for it seemed that she was finally starting to become more comfortable, and his own daughter had to make a mess of things.
He felt a bit embarrassed for himself, for the behavior of his family reflected poorly on him as a husband and father. Everyone in town knew that he was his wife's doormat most of the time, but he certainly meant to show that he held some initiative over his family.
Overnight, Samuel seethed with anger, hardly sleeping, while Charlotte sobbed for hours. He paced in the cabin and at a certain point, he shouted, "We're goin' down to the mercantile first thing in the mornin'."
"You wouldn't dare take me," Charlotte gasped, raising herself from her bed.
"I damn well will take you. I'll take you and demand that girl and her mother apologize to you. Never in my life have I seen such a nasty pair."
"Don't make me go," Charlotte croaked, barely able to talk beyond her stuffed nasal passages. "Please, I couldn't stand it. I want to be left alone."
"I'll be takin' you for the sake of your dignity. I won't have nobody disrespectin' you like that."
"They won't apologize."
"They will, or we'll take our business elsewhere. I know the next nearest mercantile's over an hour away, but if that's what it takes to keep our self-worth intact, then so be it."
Samuel held his word, and, in the morning, he set up the buckboard. Charlotte was in a state of misery she hadn't been in before, and she moved slowly, barely holding back tears. In agony, she pulled on her brown dress and her bonnet, the duo that made her as unnoticeable as possible. Her eyes were so red from crying all night that it only fueled her desire to remain unseen.
And physically, she felt terrible.
She had a migraine from all the sobbing, she was lightheaded, and her whole body hurt so badly from running that it felt like her limbs were made of broken glass. Even so, her uncle helped her onto the buckboard when she was ready, and they rode to town.
Charlotte tried incredibly hard to stop crying on the way so her eyes would stop being so puffy, which partially succeeded. She closed her eyes for most of the trip, trying to imagine that she was anywhere but here.
"Now, listen, Charlie," said Samuel once they reached Walnut Grove. "I know you're anxious, but don't be. The fault's with Mrs. Oleson and her girl. The attention's on them, they'll fix their mistake, and that'll be the end of it."
"Yes, uncle," Charlotte murmured miserably. She was devastated because she knew what the whole Oleson family thought of her now. She was certain that even Mr. Oleson, as friendly as he was, must have had a chuckle at her misfortune after she left.
Samuel parked outside the mercantile and helped Charlotte up the stairs, her legs unbelievably shaky. Just as they entered the store, they ran into Mr. Oleson, Mrs. Oleson, and Nellie, all dressed to go out somewhere.
Charlotte couldn't stand to look at any of them and hid behind her uncle. She felt like a child that couldn't fend for herself. "Nels," said Samuel. "I've got to speak my piece."
"Samuel," Nels said, taking off his brown hat and looking extremely apologetic. "My family and I were just about to go to your place. I know what this is about. I'm sorry for my wife and daughter and how they treated your niece. But I'm sure you don't want to hear it from me."
Mr. Oleson grabbed his daughter, who was hiding behind him, by the arm and dragged her in front of them to face Charlotte. She looked more irritated than regretful, with a certain fire behind her blue eyes. When she remained silent, Mr. Oleson said, very firmly, "Nellie."
"I apologize for my behavior last night, Miss Richmond," Nellie droned. "It was improper, rude, and disrespectful. I'm sorry."
"Thank you, Nellie," Charlotte said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. The apology was fine, but it meant more to her uncle than to her.
Nellie rushed out of the room as soon as Charlotte closed her mouth. Mr. Oleson then took his wife by the arm, who had also been trying to stand behind him. She pretended to be busy adjusting her fascinator and lace cuffs, barely looking at either Charlotte or Samuel. "Harriet," Mr. Oleson muttered.
Mrs. Oleson gave her husband a malicious glare. "Miss Richmond, I suppose I must...." She hesitated and then threw her hands down at her sides, exasperated. "Nels, I will not apologize. I have done nothing wrong, and I am not a child that you can tell what to do."
"Harriet," Mr. Oleson hissed, trying to control his tone.
"Don't 'Harriet' me. I refuse to apologize for no reason. If you want to put anyone on the spot like this, it should be you. You're the one who invited them. I have no reason to grovel to this odd little creature—"
"THEN GET OUT!"
Mr. Oleson shouted so loudly that Charlotte jumped and finally raised her head to see what was happening. She had never heard his voice so loudly before.
Mr. Oleson pointed to the other room at the back, staring down his wife with a steel gaze. His sharp jaw clenched, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"How dare you talk to me like that?" Harriet gasped. "You awful mouse of a man, I—"
"I said GET OUT! If you can't behave like a respectable human being and do what's right, I will not have you making a mockery of everyone here. GO!"
Mrs. Oleson's jaw hung open, and it looked like she meant to say something, but for once, she stormed away without having the final word.
It was the first time that Charlotte ever saw Mr. Oleson stand up to his wife, or to anyone for that matter.
She didn't think he was capable of it, and suddenly, her entire perception of him changed. He was not the powerless and meek man she thought he was. He was someone with principles, morals, and respect.
She found herself staring at him directly for the first time as if she had forgotten to hide behind her bonnet.
Mr. Oleson heaved a deep sigh. When he made eye contact with her, she felt an intense urge to look away, but couldn't.
It was as if she was glued in place.
"Miss Richmond, I'm sorry," Mr. Oleson said. "I feel terrible for all this. You deserve to be treated better than how my family treated you last night." He briefly reached out to touch her shoulder.
Charlotte looked up at him from under her bonnet, a lump stuck in her throat. The only other time he had been this close to her was when he dragged her out of the muddy stream, but she had been too overwhelmed to really look at him then.
She knew she was perhaps staring a bit too much, but she noticed that his eyes, which she always thought were dark brown, were instead a deep shade of blue, like denim.
A few strands of his dark hair, which was usually neatly combed back, fell onto his forehead.
His trimmed sideburns were all gray.
He had fine lines at the corners of his eyes and smile lines around his wide and slightly slanted mouth.
When he touched her shoulder, which only lasted a second, the tightness in her throat got worse, and she realized that she had been holding her breath for almost a whole minute.
She forced herself to relax, inconspicuously taking a breath. "There's no need for you to apologize, Mr. Oleson. It's all right. I feel that I may have overreacted last night."
Her words calmed him somewhat, but he still seemed worried. "Well, I'm sorry anyway. I hope this hasn't ruined your stay in town."
"Oh, no," Charlotte expressed. A moment ago, she was sure that her stay in Walnut Grove had indeed been ruined, but she now somehow felt that the trauma of last night was very distant. Even Samuel was confused by her change in attitude. "I'm really all right. You needn't worry about me."
"Oh," he said, relieved at her positive attitude. "Then, I'm glad you're in good shape. You know, fainting is really nothing to be bashful about. In my college days, I knew quite a few people, even men, who lost consciousness for one reason or another, and it was never any big deal. All that really matters is that you wake up at some point, right?"
"Yes," she replied, feeling odd, her heart pounding in her ears. "But I'm afraid you must excuse me now, Mr. Oleson. I have a few things to do."
"Of course," he expressed. He gave her a small smile, revealing his white teeth with cuspids that were pointier than average. "Don't let me keep you."
Charlotte believed she smiled back, but she was so distracted that she wasn't sure if she actually did before she hurried out of the establishment, her uncle following her.
"What 'things' do you have to do?" Samuel asked once they climbed onto the buckboard.
"Nothing, uncle," she admitted. "I'm so exhausted, the only thing I can do is rest."
As they rode back home, Samuel stared at her with confused, squinted eyes. She simply sat on the buckboard with her hands neatly folded in her lap, no longer crying, very calm as she stared out at the fields. "Either somethin' happened in that store that I'm not aware of, or someone replaced my niece when I wasn't lookin'."
"It's nothing, uncle. I'm just feeling a bit better now, is all."
Samuel didn't fully trust her words, since she had been the most upset he had ever seen her not more than an hour ago, and now she was totally calm. While Charlotte was not over what happened last night, the issue seemed so distant from her mind that it didn't bother her right now.
She just felt strange.
Not a sickly strange, as was common with her, but a different type of strange. As if someone had lit a candle in her stomach, and the warmth was spreading as far as the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
She figured a long nap would get her back to normal.