The days progressed in a murky blur.
Samuel said nothing about Charlotte continuing to work at the mercantile, but sometimes, he would give her a careful look before he dropped her off in the morning. The fact that her uncle had an idea of her feelings for Nels Oleson made her miserable. She felt that it made what she felt all the more real, and it made it all the more difficult to fight.
It made her feel unstable. While she worked at the mercantile, when she glanced at Mr. Oleson and felt a deep longing in her stomach, her uncle's words would pop into her head and make her feel cold: the way you look at Nels Oleson is a dangerous thing.
She wished she could tear this love out of her chest and burn it. It felt so wonderful, but it already brought so much pain. A part of her wanted to quit working at the mercantile just to stop seeing so much of him, but she couldn't do it. Not just because she needed the money, but because the thought of not seeing Nels Oleson almost every day was agonizing.
She had become so used to his presence. She felt comfortable with him. They worked well together, too. Sometimes, he wouldn't even need to say anything to her. He would simply give her a glance, and she'd know exactly what to do. The store ran perfectly with both of them. Despite its simplicity, it made Charlotte feel like she was part of something important.
But perhaps what Charlotte looked forward to most was the time after the mercantile closed for the evening. Because it had become a habit for them to go to the parlor and for Charlotte to play Étude No. 6 until she couldn't anymore.
It always ended the same with her stopping halfway through, arrested by her fear, by her memories. Nels was never disappointed in her. No, not like her father with his cold gray eyes that never seemed happy no matter what she did.
No, for when Charlotte could no longer play, shivering and gasping, Nels would kiss her on the cheek and tell her how well she did before sending her home.
She didn't understand why her practicing that song meant so much to him. She supposed it was because he wanted to help her. He could see how much it pained her, how it was a constant thorn in her side. And while it was agonizing to play that song, deep in her heart, she had an intense need to play it. If only she could play it all the way through, everything would be different.
But she settled with playing only half of it every other evening in Nels Oleson's parlor. She felt that if she played it anywhere else, even in the comfort of her own cabin, she would be too overrun with fear to ever even think of it again. But when she played it in Nels's house, she felt supported, protected. The slightest, slightest part of her even looked forward to failing, because it meant that he would hold her by the shoulders to calm her and kiss her face ever so briefly.
It made her feel so warm.
Could he really be fond of me? She contemplated. Could he really be fond of me in a way a man is fond of a woman, after all the sickness he's seen in me? All the trouble and strife?
The truth was that Nels Oleson had come to adore every second he spent with Charlotte Richmond. Perhaps it hadn't entirely dawned on him, but he felt such a deep need to see her each day. In the early morning before she was there, and in the evening once she left, he felt emptier than he had ever been.
Of course, he was partially distracted by the thought of his family. He did hope that Harriet would send the children to him, as he missed them terribly, but he didn't take his wife's words as gospel. He just wished that this spite that she held for him would dissipate. He didn't know what to do to fix the problem. He hated conflict and each day that all this nonsense went on made him feel more and more hopeless.
And yet, despite all that he wanted Harriet to return and for things to go back to normal, a part of him also dreaded that reality, of going back to being stepped over and insulted every moment. But she was still the woman he married. He had grown so accustomed to her that he wasn't sure if he could ever do without her.
That evening, just before they closed the mercantile, it snowed for the first time.
Charlotte noticed it first and hurried to the window with a bright smile. "Isn't that a sight?" she said happily. The snow was fine enough that it barely clung to anything, but the slow-falling flakes were still picturesque. "The snow in Minneapolis is always a shade of gray, but here, it's whiter than I've ever seen."
The sight of Charlotte's wonder and glee made Nels's heart feel soft and tender like a piece of overripe fruit. God must favor me if he allowed such a woman to cross my path, he thought.
"We'll get more attractive snowfall soon enough," said Nels, taking off his apron and taking hers, folding both and putting them away. "And then there'll be so much snow you'll be sick of it."
She laughed quietly. They didn't have to say anything before they retired to the parlor as they often did. He made some tea and they sipped and chatted for a while before Charlotte took her usual place at the piano. Her approach to the Etude had evolved.
Before, the very thought of playing it had made her feel sick. But now, that fear had diminished to a certain extent. Now, she could play most of the first half without much discomfort at all. But it always came back when it came to that particular point in the middle, and then the floodgates of her fear would break all over again.
Yet, she felt that she was closer to pushing past it than ever. Playing it over and over again, forcing herself as much as it pained her, seemed to help. Though each session would leave her heart racing and her hands trembling, she felt more than ever that, one day, she could play the whole song again as she used to, and play it in a most spectacular way.
She loved that Nels never pushed her in this aspect. He was always patient with her. He just wanted to help her and see what she could do, and she wanted so badly to show him. She tried again this evening, her fingers racing across the keys, Nels observing her from the armchair over her shoulder.
She loved the feeling that filled her when he watched her play.
It made her body feel hot and jittery. In addition to the passion she poured into the music, it allowed her to feel more alive than at any other time.
She expected this evening to be no different in terms of being unable to finish her song. And sure enough, as she kept playing, she could feel the sickening lurch in her soul that would soon grow to a point that her hands would pull away and stop.
But this time, as she played and started to shake, Nels stepped up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Come on, Charlotte," he said gently, encouragingly.
"I can't," she whispered, her voice shrouded by the music, beginning to feel her hands stiffen up. The feeling of his hands on her was delectable; she wished he would touch her more. She knew it was a sinful thought, but she couldn't deny it.
"You can," he insisted. "Come on. I want to see what you look like without any fear in you, even if it's just for a moment."
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. It lasted longer than any of the other pecks he had given her. It felt different. Less friendly and... more of something else.
It made her whole body fill with warmth, from her toes to the top of her head. Her eyelids drooped and she was so focused on the feeling of his lips on her cheek that, for a moment, all her trepidation went away.
Why does he do this to me? She thought, her mind floating in a soup of emotions. Does he know how I feel about him? Does he do it just to tease me? Or does he enjoy it just as much as I do?
When Nels's lips left her cheek, she realized that she had played beyond the point where she always failed. Her fingers moved automatically, remembering what they were supposed to do, playing the notes that she never got to play on that stage all that time ago. Her eyes widened, watching her hands as if they didn't belong to her.
The music that came from the keyboard sounded godly to her because a part of her never truly believed that she would ever be able to play it again, not all the way through. But the music kept going, building and lilting, her fingers moving so fast that they went numb, the music becoming a wall of pure sound.
Faster and faster, louder and louder, until those final grand sweeps across the board, her fingers ultimately crushing down on those last few chords in a way that made her heart almost leap out of her chest. Once those last few notes reverberated through the piano and she removed her hands from the board, she almost screamed with pure shock and joy.
Tears flooded her eyes immediately, and though she was shaking, it was no longer from fear. She felt that this moment changed everything.
Everything.
For so long, that song had haunted her, had reminded her of her failure and humiliation at every moment of every day. But now, she conquered it. It was as if she erased that evening in the theater, erased the memory of her most profound disappointment and weakness.
Now, she felt powerful. She felt new. She felt better than she ever felt before.
"Oh, Nels!" she gasped, jumping out of her seat.
She turned and threw her arms around him. She couldn't contain herself; she couldn't remember when she had ever been so happy or so thankful. All her life, she had been able to play just about any song with ease, but this Etude had haunted her until now. Nels Oleson, who could not play more than rudimentary songs, managed to help her play a piece that had just about destroyed her.
She held him tighter when she felt his arms wrap around her, her whole body pressed against his. Her face was buried in his shoulder as she laughed and cried. "Nels, Nels," she breathed, tears still running down her face. "You don't know how much this means to me."
"I knew you could do it all the while," he said happily, his lips close to her ear.
She still trembled, so full of excitement. She couldn't believe it, couldn't believe it. She felt so good. She felt like she might burst.
Her hands gripped desperately at the back of Nels's vest. She couldn't imagine letting him go. He means so much to me, more than any man before.
She kissed him on the cheek as he had done to her. She wanted to show her thanks. She could feel his light stubble against her skin.
She pulled back just a little to look at him and saw that he was flushed.
He's beautiful when his face is all red.
It made her realize how warm her own face felt. She became acutely aware of how they were touching each other. Her arms around his shoulders, one of her hands against the nape of his neck, skin to skin. His arms tight around her, pinning her to his chest, making her almost breathless.
"Nels," she kept whispering, as if it had some profound meaning. Her face hovered a few inches away from his. "Nels, Nels...." The truth was that she liked the way his name felt in her mouth.
And the way she said it made it hard for Nels to think. The sound of a woman murmuring his name like that... of Charlotte murmuring his name.... He knew he ought to step away, and Charlotte knew the same, and yet, and yet....
"Nels Oleson," she said. "Let me show you my thanks."
With the gentleness of a lamb, she raised her head and brushed her lips against his.
It was as innocent as a child kissing their parents... or so she told herself.
Innocent, it's still innocent.
She kept her eyes half-open as she did this, to see him. He looked at her through half-open eyes, too. Her lips barely touched his, and for only a second. It couldn't really count as a kiss. Just as a gesture of deep thanks.
She told herself that as well.
Just as she was about to pull away, Nels's mouth melted firmly against hers, kissing her properly and well.
This movement of his shocked her and made her gasp, but she could barely catch her breath because of how this man kissed her so deeply. The only thing she could breathe was him. His hands pressed against her back, holding her there.
A part of her wanted to protest, knowing how wrong it was, but the rest of her was so weak against him, just as weak as he was against her. It felt like she was dreaming. It didn't feel like this could happen.
She had never been kissed this way before.
Her previous beaux had all kissed her, of course, but they had all been young. When they put their lips to hers, they were cold, sloppy, selfish. And then, when they grew bored of her, they would peck her aloofly on the lips, or they wouldn't try at all.
Nels Oleson kissed her in a way that was robust, mature, entire. His lips barely parted as he kissed her, and yet the pressure, the little movements of his head as he pressed against her, made her feel like she was going to fall apart.
He does feel for me, she thought, floating in pure bliss. I can feel it. He likes me more than my old partners ever did.
Charlotte felt like if they stayed like that for a moment longer, she would be lost in the feeling of it. Her hands slid to his chest and she pried herself away, their lips parting with a light click. She took a deep, rattled breath. They looked at each other for a moment, and the reality of the situation sank into them like ice water through one's clothes. "Charlotte," Nels began, releasing her, deep concern in his eyes.
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but her voice was gone. Her whole body tingled as if it had gone to sleep. Too horrified to face the consequences of her actions, she ran out of the mercantile and went home as fast as she could.