Charlotte disliked that she didn't have nearly as much time to herself as she used to. Four times a week, she taught the piano. Two days for Miss Wilder, two days for the Oleson children. It was very tiring, and sometimes she feared she was pushing herself, but she needed the money.
She continued this for a few weeks, eventually getting into the rhythm of things.
Teaching Miss Wilder was just fine, as they only became dearer friends the more time they spent together. But teaching the Oleson children stressed her.
Willie was not nearly as bad as his sister. His worst fault was being distracted or playing the occasional prank like leaving a pin on the piano bench for Charlotte to sit on. But none of that was as bad as dealing with Nellie Oleson with her constant sneers and backtalk, and especially her meltdowns which would occur as soon as Charlotte gave her any sort of criticism.
It didn't help that, as soon as Nellie threw a fit, Mrs. Oleson would come running and give Charlotte a good scolding, sometimes threatening to fire her if she wasn't gentler with her daughter.
Charlotte frankly had no idea how she was still hired anyway, with all the troubles the children and Mrs. Oleson caused that made it so difficult to teach. She only had two solaces: Willie seemed to have a slight, growing interest in the piano, or at least the idea of playing ridiculously difficult pieces for the sake of showing off, and Mr. Oleson had prevented his wife from firing Charlotte at least twice.
It wasn't necessarily that he "stopped" his wife from making such a decision, but rather he reminded her that there weren't any other alternatives at the moment. This allowed him to avoid conflict as much as possible.
The very last day of summer had been memorable, being an unusually warm and lazy day. The sky was cloudy and the air thick with mugginess.
Hardly anyone came to the mercantile, and Mr. Oleson focused on cleaning the counters while Mrs. Oleson leaned on one of the said counters, fanning herself.
Meanwhile, Charlotte sat at the piano in the parlor with Willie, the windows open and the humid air rustling their hair. Charlotte repeatedly tugged on her white blouse to cool herself as beads of sweat formed on her chest. She tried to focus less on the hot, stale air and more on the duet of Mozart's Turkish March she was performing with Willie.
It was a catchy, choppy tune, and quite uplifting. Willie smiled as he played it with Charlotte, surprised that he could play such a piece. "You've been practicing," Charlotte pointed out once they finished.
"I guess," the boy replied, his brown hair unruly in the hot weather.
"He wants to impress a girl at school," Nellie chimed in from the back of the room, slumped in an armchair with her arms folded over her chest.
"Do not!" Willie shouted. "Albert bet me a nickel I couldn't play nothin' worth hearin', so I'm gonna prove him wrong."
"It doesn't matter," Charlotte laughed. "Willie, you're doing well enough that you'll be able to impress any of your schoolmates. Nellie, let's play the same song together."
The siblings switched places next to Charlotte on the bench. As soon as Charlotte and Nellie began their version of the Turkish March, Charlotte could tell that it was off to a bad start. She wondered if Nellie was purposely making mistakes as there were so many of them, even after weeks of lessons, that it seemed intentional.
She stopped the girl halfway through. "Nellie, haven't you been practicing how I told you?"
"I don't have to practice," she answered sharply. "Playing the piano comes naturally to me. These little lessons of yours may be enough to fine-tune my skills, which I think were already quite high-class. If you think that my playing is anything less than ideal, that might demonstrate that you're not a very skilled teacher."
"Nellie, you haven't been making any significant improvements since we began. Now, your brother is studying, and you aren't. That shows in how you play. Don't you want the music you play to sound nice?"
Nellie stood, wide-eyed and looked about ready to scream. "My music does sound nice! And Willie's being unfair! He never studies, never! He's doing it now just to spite me."
"Nellie, no one is trying to spite you. I'm here to teach both of you how to play this instrument. I can't do that if you don't listen to my requests for you to practice. Now, your brother is much younger than you, but he might surpass your playing skills soon if you don't take this more seriously."
Nellie's eyes immediately filled with tears and she produced a cry much like that of a wounded animal. She retreated from the room using her usual route up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming her feet on the stairs and making as much noise as she went.
Mrs. Oleson, who had been sleepily leaning against one of the mercantile's counters for some time, perked up and immediately went after her daughter. "Nellie, darling, what's wrong?" The older woman shot a glance at Charlotte in the parlor. "What did you do to her? How in the world have you gotten her so upset?"
Charlotte was too stunned to say anything. Mrs. Oleson clicked her tongue in frustration and stomped up the stairs after her daughter.
Mr. Oleson peered up the stairs but didn't bother to follow, too busy cleaning out a glass jar with a rag. He glanced at Charlotte and gave her a tired smirk. "It gets a little old when she does it for the third or fourth time, doesn't it?"
"Mr. Oleson, I'm sorry. I worry I don't... have the skills to teach her."
"Oh, it has nothing to do with your skills, Miss Richmond. If skills were the issue, then I don't think anyone in the world would have enough to teach my daughter. Nellie's very stubborn, and she likes to think that everything she does is perfect.... You're quite a lot tougher than I thought you were, coming back every week to teach her and Willie. If I was in your place, I think I would have packed up and left by now."
His words created a little spark in her mind.
For the past few weeks, she had been very depressed. Her uncle had tried to cheer her up with his usual stories and jokes but to no avail. She had been thinking too much about being considered pathetic by everyone who saw her, especially Mr. Oleson. She didn't want someone who she considered a close acquaintance to think of her like that.
However, Mr. Oleson's offhanded words today changed her perspective slightly. Perhaps he doesn't think I'm entirely pathetic. Perhaps he didn't hire me solely out of pity.
Willie, who Charlotte forgot was there, ran up to his father. "Pa, can I go play ball outside?"
"Well, all right. The hour's just about up anyway." The boy raced past him like a firework and was gone. Mr. Oleson grinned and put the jar he was cleaning on the mercantile's counter once it was spotless. Then, he stepped into the parlor next to the piano where Charlotte sat, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat. "How's my son doing with his lessons?"
"Surprisingly well. He's no savant, but he's right on track. He's been practicing."
"That is a surprise," Mr. Oleson replied, raising his eyebrows. "I thought I heard him playing something pleasant from out in the store."
"It was a duet I played with him of the Turkish March. Mozart." She played a few seconds of the song to prove her point.
"That's right," the man replied, smiling broadly. He hummed the tune briefly as if it was familiar. "You know, I think that's the song my mother used to play. She taught me to play one part, and she played the other. I was always so awful, I could never get the hang of it."
A grin slowly melted onto Charlotte's lips. "Perhaps you just needed a bit of extra practice. Do you still remember how to play it?"
"Oh, I don't think so," he chuckled. "It's been quite a few years."
"It's easy when you have two people. Would you like to try? If your son can play it with me without much practice, I'm sure it shouldn't be too hard for you, especially if you've played it before. It's all muscle memory, you know."
The man hesitated and then nodded cordially. "All right. I can spare a moment. The shop's deserted today anyway." He sat beside her on the piano, adjusting his crisp white sleeves, his hands hovering above the keyboard. "Now, Miss Richmond, I'm afraid you'll have to remind me where to put my hands."
She smiled, charmed by his humbleness and hesitancy. "Just do as I do." She played the first part of the song and had him copy. She didn't have to show him much before his old muscle memory kicked in and he remembered the rest. From there, they jumped into a simple little duet, just as she had done with Willie earlier.
"I didn't think I could still do this," Mr. Oleson laughed, closely watching his fingers to ensure they hit the right keys.
Charlotte laughed as well, pleased at the jaunty music they produced. He missed a few notes here and there, but he always went right back into the music, never getting frustrated.
Charlotte originally watched their four hands move together, but without realizing it, she found herself looking aside at Mr. Oleson.
His dark hair neatly combed back, the gray at his temples, his wide and slanted grin, the lines that formed around the edges of his eyes when he smiled, his Roman profile. In the heat of the stagnant day, a few beads of sweat hovered at the nape of his neck, right above his collar. The straps of his suspenders were just visible at the arm holes of his waistcoat, pressing against the crisp white fabric across his chest.
He is a lovely man, Charlotte thought absentmindedly.
As soon as she thought it, she was overrun with horror.
He's as old as my father. And a married man.
She forced herself to believe that she thought of him as lovely in a strictly objective and aesthetic sense, much in a way someone would consider a nice vase lovely.
But he is no vase.
She started feeling inexplicably warm sitting next to him, almost close enough to touch him. It clouded her mind so much, and the feeling terrified her so that her fingers slipped, and the piano made an awful, stunted sound.
Mr. Oleson turned to her, surprised. "I'm sorry," she said, retracting her fingers into her fists. "I was thinking of something else."
"Well, that's all right. We played almost the whole song anyway. It was refreshing. It's good to know that my mother's time didn't go to waste trying to teach me this song. But Miss Richmond, I'd like to ask something of you."
"Yes?"
"I know how dull it must be for you to play children's songs all day, classically trained as you are. And... I suppose I'm just curious. You see, so far, I've only heard your best skills from the glimpse I got of what you played in the schoolhouse. Why not play something like that now, or maybe a favorite piece of yours? Only if you'd like, of course."
She glanced at him. She supposed it was true that he had never heard her play truly and completely, only a glimpse. I can show him what I'm capable of, she thought. He wants to know the limits of my skills. I can show him that there is one part of me that is not weak, not pathetic.
But the only thing she could think to play was Étude No. 6.
That monstrous song haunted her every second of every day. She heard it when she slept, she heard it when she woke, positively seeing that forest of notes dance across the ceiling. Even when she experienced a rare moment of calm, that song would seep back into her consciousness one way or another, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach.
She knew that every time she tried to play the piece since her fainting spell, it left her with such a sick feeling she could never continue. She always stopped in the exact same place each time, the same spot when she fainted before hundreds of people.
It was as if each time she played the piece, she pictured herself back in that theater, back with that horrifying fever that tore out her heart and everything that went with it.
"Mr. Oleson," she said solemnly, staring at the piano. "The song I would like to play for you is something I don't think I can ever play again."
"Why?" he said, furrowing his brows.
She told him about Étude No. 6 and when she last played it, but she didn't go into many details about herself or how she felt during that time. She told him mostly of the song, because if she couldn't play it, no matter how much she wanted to, then the least she could do was tell him how it was supposed to sound.
"It's a terrible piece," she said, almost in a whisper.
"Terrible in the sense that it makes you feel so strongly, you wish you could tear yourself to pieces. It's nothing but chaos and nerves. It is like ten thousand people shouting at you, and you shout ten thousand times in return. And then, as if in a conversation, there is a lilting, a joke, a flirt, before that anger returns, like a madman beating his horse half to death. And then misery, regret, even fear. That is how, through the terror, it becomes beautiful.... Oh, Mr. Oleson, if I could play that song, you would know everything there is to know about me. But perhaps the fact that I can no longer play it says even more."
Mr. Oleson wanted so badly to ask why she couldn't play it, but decided against it. He could see the pain in her face as she spoke. "I wish there was something I could do to help," he said.
She smiled sadly. "Thank you, Mr. Oleson. I'm afraid I'm feeling rather tired now, and I should return home before my uncle starts to worry."
In the evening, Charlotte and Uncle Samuel were both exhausted, though in different ways. Samuel had been moving heavy planks of wood at the mill all day and his hands were filled with splinters. As for Charlotte, her exhaustion had more to do with her own emotions than anything.
Samuel insisted on making dinner, but Charlotte insisted harder, because, as much as she wanted to lie down and rest, she didn't want her uncle straining himself anymore for the day. So, she cooked a couple of small, fatty steaks and fried eggs and served them with the last of the hard bread they had. Though Charlotte had been making good money these past few weeks, she didn't want to spend too much, and neither did Samuel.
Their finances had become so unstable that they wanted to be careful.
While she cooked, her uncle had fallen asleep at the dinner table with his neck craned back against the back of the chair, his mouth hanging wide open. Once she was done cooking and turned to see the sight, she smiled mischievously. She quietly brought the two plates of food over to the table and set them down.
Then, she ripped off a piece of bread from the loaf and dropped it into her uncle's gaping mouth. Samuel immediately choked himself awake, spitting the bread across the room. "Lands sake, Charlie," Samuel hacked, his eyes fluttering open. "You tryin' to kill me and take me for all I'm worth?"
Charlotte laughed hard enough that her sides hurt. "Your boots and your hat, you mean?"
The old man's cough turned into a gruff laugh. "Boots and hat is right. You'll be lucky if you can get a loaf of bread if you sell them." He became fully awake when he noticed the dinner placed in front of him. "Well, I suppose I ought to doze off more often if it means I get to wake up to a plate full of food each time. How was bein' a piano teacher today? Can't imagine too well with those two youngins."
She sat down across from him and took a few bites of steak. "It... went as usual. Though, I will say, the boy isn't bad."
"And the girl?"
She smiled down at her plate. "Well, you know the girl."
Samuel huffed, dunking some bread into his fried eggs. "That I do. Can't believe that restaurant in town is hers. I went there a moment on my break once, and it turned out she was there cookin' instead of Caroline. Ordered a steak with potatoes and got a pile of charcoal instead. Had to eat it because it cost me a nickel."
Charlotte laughed. "And I suppose she gave you an earful if you complained."
"Oh, yes. Let me tell you, I feel right bad for Nels havin' to deal with a family like that."
The mention of Nels Oleson roused a pulling sensation in Charlotte's stomach. She pushed around the food on her plate. "Uncle, I forget. How much older was Father than Mother?"
Samuel shrugged, relishing the taste of the salty steak before him. "Don't remember exactly. Maybe ten... eleven years."
"Oh," she said.
"What about it?"
"Nothing. I was just curious. Have you... have you ever known couples that had larger gaps in their ages?"
"Oh, I don't know. I ain't one to hang around couples. Though, I remember a pair in Nebraska with nearly twenty years between them."
"Do you find that strange?"
"Don't know about strange. Maybe a little. There are stranger pairings, though. Don't see what the appeal would be for the lady, havin' to deal with an old man for the rest of her life... or more like it, the rest of his."
Charlotte was quiet for some time. "Mother died before Father, and she was younger."
Samuel squinted at her. "This is an odd conversation for you, Charlie. What's on your mind?"
"I was only considering the suiters Father might match me with in the future," Charlotte said quickly. "He told me in my letter he was eager to see me married. The pool of suiters is smaller now, I'm sure, after my many failed attempts and... after all that unfortunate publicity about me in the papers. I assume whoever he finds for me will be older."
"Well, I wouldn't worry much about that right now," Samuel replied, wiping some egg off his mustache. "I doubt your father will worry about that either, with all he's got to deal with."
She ate in silence for some time while Samuel lit his hand-rolled cigarette, the fine, warm smell of the tobacco filling the room.
After some time, she asked, "Uncle, do you think Father will write to us soon? I wish I could write him myself, but we don't know where he is now."
Samuel sighed, blowing a stream of smoke up at the ceiling. "I imagine he'll write to us at some point. I assume he's real busy doin'... whatever it is he thinks is important."
"I'm a little down that we can't go home at the end of fall like he said we might."
"Well, you don't know that for sure. Fall's just about to begin."
"I suppose. But I miss him. I'm angry at him, certainly, for wasting all that money, but I miss him dearly."
"Of course, you do," he said, patting her hand. "If he don't write you soon, I tell you, I'll get on my horse, go straight to Chicago, and drag him right back here so you can see him. How's that sound?"
Charlotte laughed softly. "Hopefully, it won't come to that. I... hope things will go back to normal, and we can go home."
Samuel looked at her sadly. "Lots of time for hopin'. In the meantime, you go and rest. I'll fix these dishes. I'm glad you've been spendin' more time out of the cabin, but I worry sometimes you're strainin' yourself, teachin' the piano all the time."
"It's only an hour every day. Sometimes two hours at the Olesons."
"Yeah, that it is, but remember, you're still not in the best shape. You remember what happened last time you pushed yourself too much, and you're still recoverin' because of it. Now, go on and lie down."
"Yes, uncle."
She did as he said, going to her room and plopping down on the firm bed. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling for a long time, thinking.