Charlotte's heart fluttered like a frightened bird in her chest as she got ready for the festival. She wore her dark blue dress with black trim and fixed her hair so it rested high on her head except for her curled, wispy bangs. She couldn't believe she had agreed to go.
She supposed she had become somewhat acclimated to socializing again, though not entirely. If it was up to her, she would have stayed inside, but her uncle wouldn't have it. He knew it was the perfect occasion to get her out and about.
Her palms sweated and her whole body shivered. She hated that she didn't know what to expect. She knew there would be music and food, but once it came down to interacting with people, it all got so complicated. She hoped no one would notice her once she arrived. That was the best thing she could ask for.
She knew Mr. Oleson would be there. She wanted to see him. And yet, another part of her wanted to avoid him. She felt so guilty for liking him, yet being around him made her feel alive and well.
When she and her uncle rode into town at sundown, they could hear the festival before they even saw it. People laughing and whooping, children running through the dusty streets in their nice clothes, someone distantly playing a piano. Once they arrived in the heart of town, they found the main street packed, everyone surrounding Nellie's restaurant where most of the entertainment was.
Because the restaurant wasn't very large, there were long tables set up outside filled with all kinds of food that different people had brought. From pot roast and whole chicken to fruit tarts and huge bowls of buttered squash and punch, it was a kind of buffet Charlotte had never seen before. She had seen many a feast, but not one that could feed a whole town.
Nellie's restaurant had all its lamps lit, shining golden light into the street, while most of the other buildings in town were dark. Everyone in town, young and old, was there smiling, dancing, and laughing. Inside, the tables had been removed and the chairs had been moved to the corners, most of which were occupied by children watching their parents dance.
A small piano on wheels had been moved into the restaurant, and to accompany its tune was a fiddler. The whole place was decorated with colorful ribbons made of paper and string. "Ain't this a fine sight?" Samuel said, smiling over the scene.
She had to admit that it was all very charming. All the festivities she had ever been to had been very formal and strict, and though there had also been dancing and music, it somehow didn't seem as enjoyable as this more humble environment. The people here seemed much happier, perhaps because they were more focused on being themselves than on being perfect.
They went into Nellie's restaurant which was packed with dancing couples. "Might as well find something to eat," Samuel said, hanging his hat at the entrance. He coughed a few times, finding relief once he located the punch bowl and swiftly drank two glasses.
Charlotte stayed very close to him, clutching his arm, as if she would get lost in the sea of people. She wasn't very hungry, but decided to eat a few cherry tarts, which were really very delicious. Despite that, she wasn't able to focus much on the taste due to her nerves.
They sat down on a couple of wooden chairs in a corner, watching the sway of many couples brush by them as they munched on biscuits, small slices of pot-pie, and hot corn bread. Charlotte felt safe in the corner with her uncle, as she felt that no one could see her.
She could pick out a few faces in the crowd. There was Caroline Ingalls who was smiling and dancing with a strong-looking man with curly, dark hair. "That's Charles," Samuel muttered to her, tapping his foot to the tune of the fiddle and piano. "I've been working with him at the mill. Real nice fella. Pretty sure those are his kids over there."
Beyond them was Eliza Jane Wilder standing alone with a glass of punch clutched in her hands, looking sadly over the stream of dancing couples. Charlotte felt bad for her and wanted to say hello, but that would have required her to pass across the entire restaurant, which she felt she did not have the courage to do.
Then, she spotted Mr. and Mrs. Oleson dancing together, smiling and laughing in a way that Charlotte had never seen. They seemed so gleeful that it was as if they had never argued a moment in their lives.
The sight made Charlotte feel strange, because perhaps, indeed, it was a strange sight.
She didn't think that the two could ever get along. Yet, there they were, dancing away, chatting about something that made them snicker.
It made Charlotte feel very lonely. She knew she'd feel better if she looked away, but she had a hard time doing so.
Perhaps because Mr. Oleson looked so fine this evening.
He wore a dark brown three-piece suit, almost black, with a matching string tie. The suit highlighted his angular shoulders, the trimness of his physique. The gold chain of his usual pocket watch dangled from his waistcoat, catching in the yellowed lamplight. The same lamplight shined over his face, illuminating his shiny dark hair and deep smile lines.
He's beautiful, she thought.
She jumped when her uncle nudged her in the arm. "Charlie, let's have a dance. We didn't come all the way to town just to sit."
Before he could say anything, he took her by the arms and dragged her out of her chair, the two of them joining the dancing crowd. The way her uncle moved in such a lively way made her laugh.
For many years, her father had her professionally trained to dance, but it had never been her strong suit. She had a persistent lack of stamina that made it difficult to do much dancing, save for the slowest ones, and an equally persistent clumsiness that seemed to affect every part of her body except for her hands. That clumsiness affected her now as she kept accidentally kicking her uncle's ankles, which made his face red with laughter.
"Land's sake, girl," he said. "If you'd only have spurs, I'd mistake you for a seasoned cowpoke with all that kickin' you're doin'. I told you comin' here wouldn't be so bad, didn't I? And look at you now, laughin' and smilin', havin' a good time. I'm right, ain't I?"
"Yes, uncle," she admitted with a smile. Though she was still nervous, especially dancing in the middle of the crowd, she realized that no one was looking at her. Everyone was focused on their own partners or on their food, which made her feel much better.
The music was very jaunty, and they jumped around with it across the dance floor, though Charlotte couldn't keep up for very long. Her breathlessness and racing heart soon caught up with her, and she and her uncle sat down again, though she was in a much better mood than before.
Once they sat down, Samuel coughed heavily a few times, only stopping when he got another glass of punch. "You've had that cough a few days now," Charlotte pointed out. "You should have gotten it checked out when we last saw Doctor Baker."
"Ain't no cough," he replied, clearing his throat. "Just got some food stuck down my gullet." He took a deep sigh, taking his red handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Listen, I see your friend Eliza Jane ain't got nobody to dance with. I'll take a spin with her and after that, you and me can dance again if you're up to it. Sound all right?"
"Of course," she said eagerly. "I think Eliza Jane would like that."
He nodded and slipped away from her through the crowd. Charlotte craned her neck and smiled when she saw Eliza Jane's delight when Samuel asked her to dance. He had been the only one to ask her all evening.
Charlotte slid back down in her chair, holding a hand to her chest as she urged her heart to slow. It hurt when it raced so quickly and made it difficult to catch her breath. She took a few sips of punch, which seemed to help, though even that little dance made her feel quite tired.
It was a beautiful evening. The front door of the restaurant was open and let in the cool autumn air which prevented the interior, with all its moving bodies, from getting too hot. And the smell of all the food was divine, along with the sound of laughter, the fiddle, and the piano.
Amidst those joyous sounds, she heard a sharp voice, though she couldn't tell where it was coming from.
A moment later, near the restaurant's exit, she saw Mrs. Oleson rush out, furiously gripping the skirt of her pink-striped dress to move faster across the ground. Mr. Oleson went after her, suddenly looking miserable. Harriet shouted something at her husband, though it was drowned out by the sound of everyone else having a good time.
She ran out into the empty street toward the mercantile, and Mr. Oleson followed, saying something, likely an apology of some sort. He would have followed her all the way to the mercantile if Mrs. Oleson had not started throwing small rocks at him, keeping him at bay. Then, she finally retreated into the mercantile across the street, slamming the door, and leaving Mr. Oleson standing alone in the street.
Charlotte watched the scene closely, curious about what argument they could have gotten into when they were having such a good time just a moment before. She watched Mr. Oleson drag his feet back into the restaurant where he stood leaning against the wall for a while, watching everyone dance.
Charlotte felt terrible for him. She wished she could do something, but knew there wasn't really anything in her power to change. So, she sat quietly in her chair in the corner with a glass of punch in her lap, watching everyone. Her gaze kept going back to Mr. Oleson leaning against the wall until she noticed he wasn't there anymore. She glanced around, but couldn't find him.
"Nice to see you made it here, Miss Richmond." The sound of Mr. Oleson's voice so close by startled her, and she turned to see that he had appeared just to her right. "I didn't see you before. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"N-not at all," she said, surprised.
He sat just to her right in a small wooden chair, resting his elbows on his knees, looking tired. "Didn't you come with your uncle?"
"Of course. He's dancing with Miss Wilder."
"Oh, so he is," Mr. Oleson replied, spotting them in the crowd. "Haven't you danced yet?"
"Some, with my uncle."
"Hasn't anyone else asked you?"
She glanced down awkwardly at her lap. "No, not really."
The older man looked surprised and shook his head. "Well, we can't have that. Come on." He stood and offered her his hand.
She was so stunned and slow to move, uncertain whether he was actually asking her, that Mr. Oleson simply grabbed her hand and brought her to her feet, and they began to dance.
She rested one hand on his shoulder while his wrapped around her waist, and their remaining hands clasped together. Her whole being vibrated with excitement and nervousness at this sudden change of events. She blinked quickly, expecting that at one of those blinks, she'd wake up and find herself in bed.
But that did not happen. She could feel the warmth and pressure of Mr. Oleson's hand on her back, guiding her across the floor. He was a very smooth dancer, better than she expected.
She could not look at him.
She looked past him, right past his ear at the wallpaper that covered the room. She felt that if she looked him in the eyes now, being so close to him, her heart would run too fast and simply stop.
But he looked at her.
"You're a very fine dancer, Miss Richmond," he said.
"Oh, that isn't true," she replied with a breathy laugh.
"Why not?"
She raised her face to him, but her eyes were still glued to the wall. "Mr. Oleson, if I was a betting woman, I'd put all my money on the guarantee that I'll step on your toes at least twice by the time this song is over."
Just as she said that, she made a wrong move in their side-step and accidentally kicked his ankle as she had with her uncle.
Though she worried she might have hurt him, she stopped worrying a moment after she noticed his eruption of laughter. He tried to keep his lips tightly shut to keep himself quiet, but he burst out laughing anyway.
She smiled in return, and felt a certain warmth wash over her, starting in her stomach and branching outward. She never realized how good it would feel to make him laugh. Though she was still very nervous being so close to him, she felt a new sensation of comfort and openness, for if he was not irritated by her kicking him, then she doubted he would get irritated by most of anything she did.
"Maybe you should be a betting woman, Miss Richmond," said Mr. Oleson, composing himself.
"In another life, perhaps. Have you tried any of the food here yet? It's very good."
"Well, yes, I think I cooked about a quarter of it."
Surprised, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm the sole party responsible for the pot roast, pot pie, and that plumb pudding over there."
She felt slightly bad at the laughter that bubbled up from her, but she couldn't help it. "I never met a man who cooked such things."
"And I never met a woman who went fishing."
She felt her cheeks grow prickly and heated along with her ears.
Mr. Oleson smiled softly down at her. "Why, Miss Richmond, you must be on the mend because I've never seen you blush like that before."
His words shocked her and made her blush even harder, forcing her to look away from him out of sheer bashfulness. She had been so pale and anemic for so long that she rarely ever blushed enough for it to be noticeable. Having it pointed out now of all times, of all places, made her feel shaky and warm.
She didn't want to linger on the subject. She wanted to know a certain truth. It might be an unimportant detail to most, but it was significant to her. "Mr. Oleson, I must ask you an important question."
"Well, sure."
She forced herself to look at him, despite how difficult it was. "Did you hire me out of pity?"
His eyebrows raised for a moment and then furrowed. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"
She hesitated. "I... suppose it's ridiculous to take heed of the gossip one hears, but... some say that I was only hired for pity's sake."
"Well, gossip is really only gossip, you know. I hired you for the obvious reason: you're a very fine piano player."
His words sparked a joy in her she had never known. It felt as if a whole layer of grief that weighed her down had just been vaporized. She smiled broadly and felt as if she was filled with nothing but fresh air. He doesn't think I'm pathetic. He did hire me for my skills.
"And Miss Richmond?" Mr. Oleson began.
"Yes?"
"I must ask you a question, too. Why do you hide who you are from everyone? You've been here several months already, and from what I can tell, the only people who know who you really are include me and my family, and that discovery was just by chance."
She kept her eyes on her hand that rested on his shoulder. "Mr. Oleson, I think you can assume why I do such a thing, especially... considering how you found out and what you discovered."
A small, slanted smile appeared on his lips. "I didn't discover anything other than that you're likely the best piano player I've yet encountered."
She looked up at him, her whole body filling with glee. Perhaps he was just being nice, but his words comforted her so. For him to say such a thing meant so much to her. She felt as if she liked this man even more than before. He was wonderful. Wonderful.
She wanted to be close to him. Even as they danced, there was much space between them, their hands being the only points of contact. Anything more seemed impossible.
That thought shifted Charlotte's mood abruptly. It occurred to her that the feelings she had for Nels Oleson, the feelings that seemed to be growing stronger by the minute, had no meaning. He was married, and that was that.
No matter how strongly she felt for him, that would not change, more than anything because she knew, surely, he did not feel the same way. She had interacted with many men his age before, and they always saw her as some fragile, sickly little girl who needed more care than what she was worth. She assumed, most likely, that Mr. Oleson saw her the same way, or perhaps something like a daughter or a little friend he could go fishing with occasionally.
The thought overcame her with melancholy. At one point, she had to excuse herself from the dance, claiming she was tired, which she was, but more than anything, she was too depressed to continue. Mr. Oleson returned her to her seat.
"I'll see you around," he said with a friendly grin before disappearing into the crowd.
Charlotte sat there for what she felt was an eternity. She could no longer eat or drink. All she could do was sit there and stare into nothingness, feeling sad enough to cry, and yet, the tears refused to come.
Soon, the evening became very late, and much of the crowd started to sit down, becoming too tired to dance the usual, energetic jigs. Many of the children curled up on chairs to have a nap now that the evening had far surpassed their usual bedtimes. The old man who had been playing the piano retired to a chair to smoke a cigarette. Only the fiddler was left to play a sweet, slow song.
Out of the blue, Miss Wilder came to her with a smile. "Oh, Charlotte, there you are. Your uncle is such a fine dancer. I'm just exhausted. But I remembered that I had to ask you just once more: won't you play something to close the evening?"
Charlotte took a moment to process her words. Slowly, she looked up at her and responded in a way that surprised herself. "Yes. I think I will play something."
Eliza Jane clasped her hands together excitedly and led her over to the piano. The instrument was small and rickety, but it was enough. No one in the restaurant noticed she had moved to the piano. Everyone was too focused on their drinks and food and lively conversations.
She spotted her uncle chatting with Nels Oleson at the far side of the room, the two laughing about something. Though she could see him just there, it seemed to her that Mr. Oleson was a million miles away.
She felt such an ache in her chest that she knew immediately what she wanted to play. A song that would still be appropriate for slow-dancing couples, and equally appropriate to hide her anguish within.
Un Sospiro. Liszt.
The moment she touched the piano, her fingers moved so quickly and softly that the instrument sounded more like a harp than a piano. Up and down the keyboard, up and down.
And then came the melody, with such melancholy, and such passion, as if this, above all other songs, was the tune for falling in love.
People started to turn their heads toward her, watching her, and she knew it, but for the first time in a while, she did not care. Her fingers moved automatically, so fast that she lost sight of them. But she didn't need to see them. She played with her eyes half-closed. She listened to the music burgeoning, moving like a thousand birds taking flight.
The sweet and tragic notes hit every beat of her heart. She played as if this was the last time she would ever play something beautiful. Her soul seemed to drain out onto the keyboard, and she couldn't stop it. She knew that, even though what she felt for Nels Oleson was stronger than anything she had ever felt for other men before, it meant nothing and would lead to nothing, except perhaps more suffering that she had to hide.
If only she had been in a theater now, if only her father could see her, she would surely make him swell with pride, because that evening, she played better than she ever had in her life. Her previous performances all had passion, the passion of her sheer enjoyment of the music, and perhaps the anguish of her own life-long problems.
But this was different. She wove herself into the music, something that was played fast but sounded slow, something that was romantic, inspiring, and miserable.
Charlotte could feel the tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She inclined her head and dug deeper into the music, feeling it ripple across her body.
As the song came to an end, it grew slower and slower, like a dying swan, until it came to the last few chords. And then, it was over.
All the energy she had that spurred her to play in the first place was gone. Now, she was shaky, as if everything inside her had been sucked out. She stood, barely able to do so, hanging onto the edge of the piano.
She could not look at the crowd, for she knew they were all looking at her. She felt like if she met the eye of any one of them, if she acknowledged all the attention on her, she would collapse.
So, she kept her eyes on the floor.
Her uncle rushed up to her at once, taking her by the arm and carefully leading her out of the restaurant, step by step. As she went, she heard a sharp sound behind her, and then another, and another. A few claps turned into a storm of applause.
The sound surprised her so much that it urged her to look back over the crowd. Seeing them clap for her brought back all the memories of all the beautiful concerts she performed, how she used to behold hundreds of people applauding just for her.
The tears clinging to her eyelashes finally fell down her cheeks. She was so pleased with the applause, bowing her head wholeheartedly, and yet, deep in her heart, she still felt so lost. She continued with her uncle out of the restaurant, only pausing when she spotted Mr. Oleson near the door.
With his eyes wide, he stood as still as a statue. He stared at her with an expression she had never seen on him before. She looked at him for just a moment, and then turned away, embarrassed by the tears that streaked her cheeks.
Finally, her uncle led her outside into the cool air of the dark autumn evening.