Samuel didn't want to tell his niece the truth, but at a certain point, once Charlotte became too worried, he knew he had to. He told her what he had discovered in his letter from James.
Everything was gone.
Samuel knew that his brother was always in debt, but he never dreamed it would get this bad. It was because of his brother's primary vice: gambling. James did well to hide it as it would otherwise take away from his perfectionist image.
Even when James lost, he didn't worry, because he knew the work at his law firm would keep the money coming in. But then the business slowed, and the gambling sped up.
"It can't all be gone," Charlotte said in a horrified whisper.
"It is," Samuel replied gravely. From his pocket, he produced a $10 note. "This is what he sent with the letter. Just about the last of his fortune. The house is gone, the furniture... everything."
Samuel could hardly stand to look at his niece once tears started filling her eyes. "But that's our home. It's always been our home. I lived there with Mother. Father keeps her chair by the fireplace. It can't be gone. I refuse to believe it."
Samuel hugged her, and her body shook with fear. "I managed to get a job at the mill not long ago," he said. "That's where I've been goin' in the mornings, to make sure we have the cash to... live comfortably. That $10 note helps, but it won't last us forever."
"Father told me that I could return at autumn's end," she sobbed. "He said so in my letter. How could I return if there's nothing to return to? Why would he lie to me?"
"Your father's hard to understand sometimes, Charlie," he said, trying to keep the anger for his brother out of his voice.
"He must have used my money, too," she said, sitting down. "He always managed the money I made from my concerts. He must have wasted it all."
Samuel said nothing, a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Where will Father go?" she asked. A part of her wanted him to come here, to Walnut Grove. Despite everything, despite her anger and misery, she wanted to see him.
"He told me he'd be headin' over to Chicago. Has some friends over there, I suppose. He thinks he can get back on his feet, get enough cash to buy the house back."
Her crestfallen expression was obvious. "Do... you think it might work? That he could get the house back?"
"I suppose so," he replied, though, in truth, he didn't believe it for a moment. But he knew telling Charlotte so would crush her. That house in Minneapolis had been her whole life. It used to be beautiful many years ago, when Charlotte's mother had been alive. But after her passing, James let the house grow dusty and cold.
They only had the cabin now, likely because James's creditors didn't know it existed. There was no money for Charlotte to fall back on either. If anything happened to Samuel or James, she would be on the street. She had no one else. The thought of that, considering how fragile she was, made Samuel feel sicker than he'd ever felt in his life.
He got a job at the mill right after he got that letter, ensuring that there was a stream of money coming from somewhere, though the mill hardly paid anything.
Still, he tried to make light of the situation. "Well, it won't be so different for us here. We just got to be a bit more frugal. Just the essentials."
He fought the lump in his throat as he spoke. Though Charlotte's father hadn't been rich, he always had enough money to buy her a nice dress or coat. And the food they ate was good and plentiful.
But for the first time in her life, Charlotte would have to settle for much less. Fortunately, living in the cabin had already helped her get used to the simpler life. But things would have to get much simpler still if Samuel couldn't find a way to make more money soon.
Samuel squeezed her hand to try and comfort her, but she was lost. "I need some air," she whispered, slipping out of the cabin without a sound.
She rested in the tall golden grass for a long time.
She stared up at the sky, watching the clouds cut through the vast blue. She knew if she worked herself up, nothing good would come of it. She had come all the way to the country for fresh air and relaxation, but she only turned up with the air.
She feared how hard her uncle was working. Though he was strong for his age and youthful in spirit, he was still an old man in his mid-60s. He could not work such a hard job forever, and she didn't like seeing him so worn down.
She could not believe her father had lied to her, wasted her money, and didn't even have the courage to come and see her.
She didn't know what to do. Without Samuel, they'd really have nothing. No food, no roof over their heads....
She was shaking again.
It made her angry. Angry because she felt so weak and useless. She wanted more than anything to help her uncle, but what could she do?
The only job that came to mind was that of a teacher, but, though she was sharp, she had no credentials to become one. And besides, Walnut Grove already had Miss Wilder.
Charlotte sat up suddenly.
Piano lessons, she thought. She forgot that Miss Wilder once asked her for piano lessons and that she would pay to have them. It had been quite some time since she asked, and Charlotte worried that she might have forgotten about the matter. But it was an avenue to pursue.
"Uncle," she said breathlessly, reentering the cabin. "I want to teach Miss Wilder the piano. She'll pay me. Even if she doesn't pay much, it will be easier for us here. You won't have to work so hard at the mill."
He looked up at her, surprised and concerned. "Charlie, are you sure? You haven't taught nobody in a long time. You're still in a weak state, and I don't want you to worry none about me. I can handle the mill."
"Uncle, please. I know I can do it. I want to help. I couldn't stand just sitting around here while you're working so hard. Teaching the piano is the only thing I can do."
Samuel hadn't seen her so eager to do something in a long time. It pained him to see her so worried about him, for he wished that she never had to worry about anything, but that was never the case. "If that's what you want, Charlie. I won't stop you."
The next day, they went into town asking for Miss Wilder.
Though summer school was not in session that day, they still found her in the schoolhouse alone organizing some student projects for later in the week. Samuel remained with the buckboard while Charlotte went to confront the teacher alone, asking if her request to learn the piano was still standing.
Miss Wilder's little eyes blinked quickly behind her spectacles, surprised. "Oh, Miss Richmond. I didn't think you would have remembered my asking. Well, if you're up to it, then yes."
They chatted for some time about the details, and Charlotte agreed to go to Miss Wilder's home about twice a week for hour-long lessons. "I'm very glad that you've agreed to all this, Miss Richmond. The piano has long been one of my preferred pastimes, though I've never been particularly good at it. Though I doubt I'll ever be able to play as well as you, I hope I can improve somewhat."
"You will," Charlotte assured. For the first time in a long time, she felt very sure of herself. "If it's alright with you, we can start tomorrow evening."
"That would be wonderful. I look forward to it."
Charlotte returned to her uncle on the buckboard, smiling. "I'm right pleased you're doin' this, you know," Samuel said, surprised by this burst of ambition and optimism in her. "You ain't nervous?"
"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I know this will be easy for me, and it's worth it if I can help with... our new situation."
Samuel smiled, albeit somewhat sadly, and patted her on the shoulder before they drove back home.
Charlotte grew excited the next day once evening arrived. She stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her cuffs and fixing her hair while Samuel got the buckboard ready to drive her out to Miss Wilder's house. She felt a little breathless, but it wasn't any worse than usual. Her iron pills had certainly given her some of her more typical strength, though she still struggled if she stood for too long or moved too quickly.
She wore a white blouse with a tall collar and puffy sleeves paired with a long black skirt. She felt that the ensemble was the most crisp and proper for teaching the piano, though Samuel joked that she looked more like a secretary or a headmistress.
She went outside when she was ready and found it to be a beautiful evening. It took about 30 minutes to get to Miss Wilder's house, which was a nice little home far out of town, simple but more luxurious than their cabin. Samuel dropped Charlotte off there, wishing her luck, and decided to go fishing while he waited for their hour to pass.
Charlotte didn't even have the chance to knock on the front door before Miss Wilder swung it open excitedly. "Oh, you've arrived," she said, wearing a red and white flannel dress. "I'm so pleased. We so rarely receive visitors. It's usually just my brother Almanzo and I. Please, come in."
"Thank you," Charlotte replied, stepping in. The home was very quaint with a red patterned carpet, lots of wood furniture, and a gramophone in the middle of the parlor. A few pictures and paintings hung about next to lit oil lanterns.
"I have everything prepared," said Miss Wilder, sweeping over to another part of the house where the piano rested. The piano was small and like the one Charlotte had at the cabin, though much newer. "I have some of my old piano music books out. I rarely used them because I could never go beyond the first few songs... the simplest ones."
"That's all right," Charlotte said. Looking around the home, which was very quiet, she realized she hardly felt nervous at all. She leaned against the piano as Miss Wilder sat down before the keyboard, and she felt... fine. Very fine. And focused.
It was instead Miss Wilder who seemed nervous, though very eager to learn. "Why don't you play me something you already know?" Charlotte suggested. "That way, I can judge your skill."
"O-oh, of course."
Her long, skinny fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then she got started on a choppy version of Camptown Races. Though she clearly knew the song and all the notes, the tempo was off, and she played some notes so acutely that they turned into unwelcome staccato. "I'm sorry," she said, once she finished the song. "I'm not very good. I never had much of a real teacher. My mother taught me when I was a girl, and I suppose it didn't account for much."
"That's all right," Charlotte said again, smiling. "Miss Wilder, the beautiful thing about the piano is that it does not punish you when you make a mistake. The only punishment comes from yourself. You'll enjoy this process much more if you think of every mistake as an improvement."
Miss Wilder grinned sheepishly. "It's just... compared to you, the way you play... my music sounds as if a toddler was slamming their hands on the keyboard."
"Don't worry about how I play. That doesn't matter. We're focusing on your skills and how we can improve them. Do you have a metronome?"
"Why, yes. Let me fetch it."
For the hour, they focused on being able to keep up with the steady beat of Camptown Races. Miss Wilder remained a little frustrated with her trouble with the tempo, but later in the hour, she relaxed as she realized she was making progress.
It was pleasant for Charlotte to see this transition. She supposed she enjoyed teaching more than she remembered. She also liked Miss Wilder's company and felt a certain kinship with her. She seemed quite shy, much like her.
By the end of the lesson, they were both smiling, and Miss Wilder could play Camptown Races in a much more fluid fashion. "It sounds much better now, doesn't it?" Miss Wilder laughed.
"I told you it wouldn't be so difficult to improve. I'd like you to go through that piano music book of yours and find some songs you'd like to play next time. Then, over the next few weeks, we can move to the more intermediate pieces."
"Of course," said Miss Wilder, standing and leading Charlotte to the door. "I'm so thrilled. I thought for sure my musical skills were completely stagnated; I hadn't done any real practice in so long. But perhaps I was wrong. It's just... I would love to play beautiful music."
"Why does it interest you so?" Charlotte asked, curious, as she pulled on her crochet shawl.
Miss Wilder turned bashful again, inclining her head. "I suppose, in the beginning, it was because I thought it would attract a husband. That's why all parents want their daughters to learn the piano, isn't it? But the moment I heard you play in the schoolhouse, I realized that what was really important was the beauty of the music alone. You see, I'd never heard anything like what you played then. It was really something special."
Charlotte smiled shyly. "It's not just me that can play that way. If you go to the big cities, you'll find others who can do the same, playing for theaters full of people."
"Did you ever perform in theaters, Miss Richmond?"
The question slapped Charlotte hard, back into her painful reality. The first thing she thought upon hearing that question was falling hard on the cold theater stage from the piano seat that one fateful evening, the whole world laughing at her. "No," she said.
"Oh, what a shame. You really should have. Perhaps, one day when we have the time, you could play me one of your favorite pieces...? Oh, but please, don't let me keep you. Good evening."
Nels Oleson sat at his usual fishing spot at the stream enjoying some peace and quiet.
He so rarely got those two luxuries at home. Either he was tending to customers, or he was battling with his wife, or yelling at Willie for stealing candy, or being driven half-insane with Nellie's awful singing and piano playing.
Harriet hated when he went fishing, but he didn't care. It was the only time he had to himself. It wasn't even that he liked being alone that much; he sometimes went fishing with old friends, like Charles Ingalls or Hiram Baker, and enjoyed the company very much. But the main attraction of fishing for him was that he could get away from his family for a couple of hours, away from the feeling of being a servant.
He knew he would get an earful from Harriet once he returned, complaining either that he had been gone for too long, or that he was tracking in mud, or that he left his fishing pole in the wrong place.
He loved her, but there was always something for her to yell at him about, and it just about drove him crazy.
But for now, there were no complaints and no shouts. Just the sun filtering through the branches above, glittering atop the gently moving water of the stream. The weather was getting a bit cooler now, and autumn was soon to arrive, but there was still time to enjoy the summer weather.
He remained at his fishing spot for about an hour until he decided that he ought to move somewhere else for better luck. He trudged along the water's edge, his boots squelching in the mud. He spotted a few small fish beneath the surface of the water, but they were not worth catching. He knew that further down the river, there was a deeper spot where bigger fish liked to congregate.
He walked for a while, passing thick, old oak trees, until he saw a small figure crouched by the river with a rudimentary fishing pole. At first, he thought it was a young boy, or perhaps a small man, but once he moved closer, he saw it was Charlotte Richmond dressed in her uncle's clothes.
He hadn't seen her by the stream in a very long time, not since the first time he caught her here about two months ago. She was balled up on a rock with her fishing pole, quiet as she stared blankly at the water.
He thought she looked sad, but then again, she almost always looked sad, even when she smiled.
"Miss Richmond, we meet again!" he called, coming over.
She jumped at his voice, glaring at him like a bewildered deer. "M-Mr. Oleson," she said, relaxing slightly once she saw it was him, but still very tense.
"I hope I'm not interrupting you. I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought you might have given up fishing for good."
"Oh, no," she replied quietly. "I don't think I could. It's one of the few things that help me relax."
"I'll second that," he said, smiling. "Have you caught anything?"
She glanced defeatedly at her fishing pole. "No, sir."
"I haven't caught much either. That's why I'm moving down the stream. There's a deeper spot about half a mile down where I bet I'll find more fish. You're free to come along."
She stared at him, her mouth agape for a moment before her expression turned melancholy. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Oleson, but I don't think I can. And I don't want to intrude."
"Well, nonsense. The spot's big enough for more than one fisherman."
She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. "I would love to go, but half a mile is... quite far for me. I know it doesn't seem far, but I... I wouldn't have the stamina. And the footing down that way seems rather slippery; I fear I would fall."
Nels watched her as she spoke, with the small movements of her hands, her downcast gray eyes. She was so delicate that anyone who saw her had the urge to protect her, to help her.
He didn't like that life had given her a hand of bad cards. And he didn't like the idea of himself going down to that fishing spot to enjoy his time while Charlotte Richmond was stuck here, wishing she could go and catch something.
"Well, I'll give you a hand," he said. He went to her side of the stream, hopping on a few wobbly rocks to get there.
Charlotte was surprised at his agility, being an older man, and she doubted she could have done such a thing. "M-Mr. Oleson, I wouldn't want to waste your time."
"Oh, come on now. I'm going down there anyway. Just hold onto me."
He offered his arm. Hesitantly, she took it. "Let's try not to get ourselves covered in mud like last time, hm?" he said with a grin.
The lower half of the river was indeed very rocky and slippery. They had to move carefully to avoid falling. Charlotte gripped Nels Oleson's arm so tightly with both hands that she feared she might hurt him, but even if she did, he didn't say anything.
She was so thin that she feared if she fell on the rocks, she might break something. She was becoming breathless as well, but she tried to hide it. She really did want to get to the lower part of the stream and catch a fish or two.
Nels was glad he brought her along. Helping people always gave him pleasure. And he felt it was the right thing to do to be nice to her since she and her uncle had always been kind and courteous to him.
Their side of the stream ahead became very sharp and unstable, while the other side was flatter. "Let's hop over," Nels suggested.
"How?" Charlotte expressed, staring at the rushing water that had become much stronger in this area.
"That ridge in the middle of the stream is sturdy enough. I've used it before. Here...." Just barely touching her shoulders, he moved her to a flat rock at the edge of the stream while he hopped to a rock poking out of the water. He reached a hand out to her. "Come on. The worst that could happen is we get washed down to the fishing spot."
She made it this far and supposed she might as well continue. So, with one hand gripping her pole, she reached out with the other. Mr. Oleson pulled her onto the rocky ridge and to the flatter side of the river. "See?" he said. "It's not so bad, and we're still dry."
Charlotte had a hard time speaking because she was feeling that strange feeling again. The same feeling that struck her when she saw Mr. Oleson stand up for himself against his wife. The sensation had gone away after being overwhelmed with her father's bad news and Miss Wilder's piano lessons.
But the feeling snuck up on her again. It made her want to grip her chest, to reach into her ribcage and grab her heart as if it were a flighty bird.
But she couldn't do that because she was still holding Mr. Oleson's hand.
She meant to let go but hesitated. His hand was firm, though certainly not as rough and calloused as her uncle's. And it was warm, much warmer than hers, which were always cold.
She didn't know why, but without thinking, she muttered, "You have very fine hands, Mr. Oleson."
Her words horrified her as soon as they left her mouth. Immediately realizing that it was such an odd thing to say, she released his hand and quickly added, "D-do you play the piano?"
"Well, a little, but not really," the man replied with a slanted smile, confused at her question. "Why?"
"I... I only mention it because p-people with large hands have an advantage at the piano. T-they say the famous composer, Mr. Franz Liszt, has some of the largest hands of all, and that's why his works are so hard to play for most." She felt so shaky and awkward that she wished she would disappear.
"Seems like a lot of unfair competition," he laughed. "Come on, the fishing spot's over here."
They reached a spot by the river that was grassy and sunny, and the water came to a gentle ripple. A few large roots stuck out of the ground, making for perfect benches. Indeed, the stream here held many larger fish that were barely visible in the cloudy water. Nels chose one spot to cast his line while Charlotte chose an adjacent area about a yard away.
They were quiet for a while, not wanting to disturb the fish. Charlotte had to admit that this was certainly a better fishing spot, and within the first ten minutes, she caught a trout larger than any she had caught in the stream before. She laughed triumphantly, forgetting all her woes for a moment as she dragged the fish out of the water.
"That's a nice one," Mr. Oleson said. "Now I have to catch up with you."
Nels found that Charlotte was a pleasure to fish with. He couldn't think of any other woman who went fishing. The women he knew didn't seem to be interested in such things, especially his wife, who despised the whole concept.
Charlotte seemed more content here, catching fish, smiling, though she rarely looked at him. "Will you and your uncle still be in town for the harvest festival?" he asked.
"When is it?"
"About a month from now."
Charlotte thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. It seems likely.... Our stay here has recently been prolonged by some... unfortunate circumstances. Some trouble with my father."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Well, there are worse places to be than Walnut Grove. I mention the harvest festival because, if you ought to see anything of interest in this town, it should be that festival."
"Is it grand?"
"Oh, yes. Mostly music and dancing, food. It's a nice time."
"Well, if my uncle and I are still here, I imagine we'll go. I'm fearful of crowds, but... the festival seems too enjoyable to pass up."
"Why, I've never heard of anyone afraid of crowds."
"I didn't always have that fear," she said, staring at her boots. "But it seems stuck on me now."
Nels wanted to ask her more but worried she would close up at his questions, so they sat in silence for some time.
He caught himself staring at her while she fished.
Though she was gaunt, she hadn't become ugly from her sickness. Her dark hair hid a few strands of red that were only revealed in the sunlight. Her neck was long and as pale as alabaster. He was surprised that a woman of her age, though she was still young, was not yet married. She seemed as kind as she was pretty.
He turned away, too moral to look for too long. Then, Charlotte turned to him. "Mr. Oleson?"
"Yes?"
"I think I would like to return home now. My uncle will be missing me. I'm... afraid I'll have to ask for your help to return, or else I'll be stranded."
The rest of Nels Oleson's day was as dull as one could imagine. It was all stocking shelves, carrying in new shipments, tending to customers. He didn't mind the work, truthfully, as he enjoyed the productivity of running a business. What frustrated and drained him was his wife telling him what to do at every given moment.
He let her order him around because he knew going against her would create conflict, which he couldn't stand. In the evening, Nels cooked dinner, as usual, and sat at the table with his wife and children. Nellie and Willie dug into their food as if they were starving. "You're not feral, you know," Nels said as he cut into his roast and potatoes. "You'll get sick eating that fast."
"Nels, don't pester them," Harriet chided, getting a slice of roast for herself. She ate a few bites before her eyes flashed deviously. "I've been hearing some interesting anecdotes recently. Miss Charlotte Richmond has been teaching Miss Wilder the piano. That's been going on for at least two weeks by now."
"That's not interesting," Willie commented.
Harriet gave him a firm look that shut him up. "It becomes interesting when you add it to another little piece of information I've gathered. I noticed that her uncle started working at the mill about the same time. I'm sure you've noticed him there too, Nels. Now, remember, they said they're supposed to be on vacation, but who gets jobs when they're on holiday? My intuition tells me that something is amiss with their finances."
"What are you getting at?" Nels asked.
"Well, I'm just saying that there's a good chance that they're much poorer than we thought they were. I'm glad we never extended them any credit; I doubt they could pay it back now with whatever's going on. And if that sickly girl must work, then they must be in serious trouble."
Harriet started giggling as if she thought of something funny. She started laughing so hard that she had to fan herself with her napkin.
"What is it, Harriet?" Nels sighed, knowing that whenever she laughed like that, it was usually at someone else's expense.
"I was just thinking about that Richmond woman. It's a good thing that I didn't hire her to teach the children the piano, with all her problems. I can't believe she's teaching Miss Wilder. Can you imagine if she faints again? If she falls like a dead fish as soon as she touches the piano? If I saw such a ridiculous thing, I think my sides would split. A woman like that isn't capable of properly teaching. Children, don't worry, I'll find you someone better to teach you."
Nels didn't know why he became so angry suddenly, but his fists balled with vexation. He had grown so used to Harriet's insulting talk of others that he was mostly numb to it, but not this time. "You won't hire that woman to teach our children the piano because of what? A fainting spell?"
"Well, I—"
"I've seen you faint more than once. Does that make you unfit to run the mercantile?
"That's not the same," Harriet shouted, offended. "I had reasons to faint."
"We don't know the cause of Miss Richmond's fainting spell. She could have had the very same reasons as you. Would that change your opinion?"
"It hardly matters. She's got a bad reputation; Nellie tried to show you what her magazines said about it. Fainting like that in front of such a massive audience makes you sort of a... an automatic fool, don't you think? It shows that she doesn't have much self-control or much—"
"Much what?"
Harriet stared at him with her cold blue eyes, the same eyes that his daughter had. "Why are you getting so upset about this stupid girl?"
"When the Richmonds were here for dinner, you were practically stumbling over yourself trying to convince that woman to teach the children. Then, when you learn one unfortunate and unrelated fact about her, you decide she's the last option you want."
"There are better options for teachers—"
"Where? I haven't seen any, not with her skill. You didn't hear her play in that schoolhouse, but I did, and so did Miss Wilder, which is probably why she was so eager to get lessons from her in the first place."
"I was there too," Willie chimed in. "I don't know what she was playin' but her hands moved faster than I could see 'em."
"Willie, shut up," Harriet hissed. She faced her husband with a terrible glare. "I will not hire that woman to teach our children. She'll do something... ridiculous."
"Like what?"
"I don't know what, but I don't like her. I don't want her here!"
"I don't like her much either," Nellie commented airily, eating petite bites of sliced potatoes. "If she's as flippant as it seems she is in my magazines, and as Mother says, then we shouldn't let her teach."
"Shut up, Nellie," Nels snapped, standing from his seat. "That woman and her uncle have been nothing but kind to us; you have no right to dislike them. I consider them our friends and our neighbors. Harriet, if you want the children properly taught the piano, you're not hiring anyone but Miss Richmond."
"You can't make that decision," she spat.
"Oh, yes, I can. In fact, I've made up my mind. She is hired. I'll tell her as soon as I get the chance. She might be the only one who can teach these children to actually play the piano instead of bang their fists on it."
Harriet's lips thinned. "And what if she says no?"
"Then that's her decision, and a smart one for the sake of her sanity. But I have a feeling that she'll agree."
"And why is that?"
"Because we're going to pay her and pay her well."
"How well?" Harriet exclaimed.
"Well enough that it'll be hard for her to deny the offer. They say the piano teaches discipline in children, and that's certainly something you haven't taught ours. Now, I won't hear any more of it. I've made my decision."
"Damn your decision," Harriet hissed. "You're only doing this because she's a charity case, and so is her uncle. You could never resist idiots in need; you'd be one yourself without me." She ran upstairs to bed with Nellie pursuing her.
Nels didn't follow, instead sitting down and heatedly eating his dinner in Willie's silent company. Harriet's disrespect and coldness toward the Richmonds reminded him of how she treated the Ingalls family when they first came to town and needed help.
He had been too weak to stand up to her then, but he wouldn't make the same mistake.
He was tired of how she treated good people. He might fall to his wife 1,001 more times, but this was not one of those times. He was even surprised at himself at his outrage. But he felt the need to stand up both because of Charlotte Richmond's sickness and her talent.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with her health, but he thought it was terribly wrong to talk poorly of her for it, something that she surely couldn't control. And if she could consistently play like she did in the schoolhouse, he had no doubts that she was one of the best choices to teach his children the piano.