Samuel knew something was amiss when Charlotte started playing Etude No. 6 almost nonstop in the cabin. As soon as he brought her home that evening, she played the song deep into the night, until she grew tired. Then, she only slept a few hours before she woke up again in the early morning to play some more.
That song that had petrified her for so long now leaped from her fingertips as if it was as natural as breathing. Samuel did not tell her to stop at any point because he knew the importance of the piece to her, how long she had been trying to play it, and now she finally could. But he couldn't understand why, and it bothered him.
He had never seen her so lively. In all his years of caring for her, she had only been able to get to a certain point of wellness. Now, she had surpassed it point, or so it seemed to him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that the catastrophe of her fainting spell in the theater never happened. The confidence she had before that time had returned in a way he never expected.
Samuel let her play the instrument through the morning while he sipped on his watery coffee. It was a Sunday, and neither of them had work. He watched her play, all the intensity flowing between her and the piano as if they were joined. A part of him worried if this breakthrough of hers had something to do with Nels Oleson.
How could it not? She had been her usual, timid self when he dropped her off yesterday, and when he picked her up in the evening, she was different, or rather, how she used to be, or even better. Samuel liked Nels and saw that he had a greatly positive influence on his niece; for a long while, he seemed to be one of the few people in town she would open up to.
But he also feared that the extra layer of emotion between them would cause everything to fall apart.
What's that man thinking? Samuel thought, sipping quietly on his coffee and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. It was obvious that Nels cared for Charlotte, as was evident by how he took such good care of her when she fell ill. He had even cared for Samuel when he was ill and Doctor Baker had to step out from time to time.
There was no doubting that he was a fine man, finer than most. But Samuel could see that there would be complications if things continued as they were. It wouldn't be half as troublesome if that man wasn't married. It wasn't as if his wife treated him well anyway, he pondered. But he supposed that didn't matter.
It reminded Samuel of a similar situation he found himself in when he was a young man. He had fallen deeply in love with a lady from Kentucky, a beautiful creature with red hair. He knew she had been married, but she insisted that her husband was out of her life.
And yet, one day, that husband came back one day from a long business trip, found them together, and shot Samuel with a revolver, thankfully only giving him a flesh wound in the thigh. He raced away on his horse and never saw that woman again. Josephine. Though he still often thought about her and what had become of her on that farm in Kentucky.
That incident taught Samuel that nothing good could come from getting involved with someone who was married, whether they were unhappily married or not. But maybe I'm getting too far ahead of myself, Samuel contemplated.
The other matter that bothered him was how much older Nels Oleson was than his niece. While Nels was more than a decade younger than Samuel, he was several decades older than Charlotte. He couldn't make out why Charlotte preferred him to a man her age.
Samuel had met the old beaux that his brother set up for her, and never had he seen her look at them the way she looked at Nels Oleson. Like he was made of something shiny and special. But it was true that he was one of the few who had not been deterred by the severity and constancy of her illnesses. Even many of Charlotte's platonic companions throughout her life, beginning in childhood, inevitably drifted away from her when they found she couldn't keep up with them.
It had given Charlotte a sort of complex relating to relationships, a fear and expectation that any relationship she formed would be doomed to fail.
Yet, Nels stuck around without even a complaint.
It made it impossible for Samuel to have any kind of animosity toward that man, despite his certain fondness for his niece.
Yet, he knew that Charlotte spending so much time with him at the mercantile day after day may pose issues. But Samuel couldn't bring himself to say much. He had never been one to weigh Charlotte down with demands and orders; that had always been James's job. Samuel always let Charlotte explore the more enjoyable aspects of life that James rarely permitted, like fishing or horse riding when she was well enough.
But an affair waiting to happen was another matter.
A part of Samuel always believed that she would never find a man simply because she was always too ill. Never in his life had he ever expected a strange situation like this to appear. He could see the excitement in Charlotte that bloomed whenever he took her to work at the mercantile in the early mornings. While a part of him believed that the right thing would be to take her away from all that, the other part wanted to let her enjoy her life for once.
Because an even deeper piece of Samuel, a piece of fear hidden away, believed that his niece would ultimately not live long. To him, a man who had done enough living to fill several lifetimes, it seemed that cutting all this short for her would leave her with a life defined by sickness and pain.
But he just had to know one thing.
"Charlie," he said, interrupting her playing.
She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. She had more color in her face than he had ever seen. A glow in her eyes like the stars. "Yes, uncle?"
"Are you in love with Nels Oleson?"
She paled at his question and was silent for some time. "Uncle, I don't see what that has to do with—"
"It's a simple question, Charlie. Either you do or you don't. I ain't askin' out of curiosity. I'm askin' for you. Anyone who doesn't know what's in their heart's in for a world of sufferin'."
Charlotte had a hard time responding, though she already knew the answer. She wished she could keep it all to herself. She wished she could keep it hidden like it was before. And yet, a part of her was bursting to stay it, as painful as it was. It wasn't just infatuation, it wasn't just the passing feelings a schoolgirl would have. She could feel it weighing down her soul, like a rock dragging her to the bottom of a river.
"Yes," she whispered, some fear in her tone. She wished she could lie to her uncle, but she couldn't, and she worried how he would respond.
But Samuel was very calm, tipping his head back as he drank his last sip of coffee. In a way, her answer pleased him. Love was a maddening thing, and he always felt that one should experience it at least once in their life, even if it didn't amount to anything. And he was glad, most of all, that she was sure. Even if it was hopeless, it was still better to be sure about it.
"All right, Charlie. All right." He put his cigarette in his mouth and stared up at the ceiling for a while.
The next morning, Charlotte desperately did not want to return to the mercantile. She knew the awkwardness she would have to face as soon as she saw Nels Oleson after what they did two nights ago. But it was inevitable that she went in. A part of her even wanted to quit just to avoid similar situations in the future, but she knew she needed the money and that Nels needed her help in the store.
Now that it was winter, the mornings were especially dark. She walked quietly into the store, using a spare key that Nels had given her a while ago. The whole store was pitch black except for a lantern that glowed from the counter. It was cold inside, too, as the wood heater hadn't been stocked yet, and she watched her breath rise up in front of her.
She stiffened when she heard footsteps coming from the parlor and Nels Oleson came into view, tiredness slathered across his face, his apron gripped in one hand. He stopped when he saw her, becoming ridged. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment. He bowed his head to her as he often did, assuming a formal air. "Miss Richmond," he said, meeting her eyes, and then averting his gaze.
"Mr. Oleson," she muttered. It felt ridiculous to still call him that, and yet she didn't know what else to say. She had no idea where they stood now. She didn't know if everything had been ruined.
Nels put his apron on the counter and tugged on the bottom of his vest. "Business... will be picking up soon, with Christmas nearing."
"I'm sure," she replied. Her heart beat low and heavy in her chest, like it was drowning.
He looked at his apron on the counter for some time before deciding to put it on. "I... ought to get the heat going in here." He retreated to the storeroom to fetch some firewood.
Slowly, Charlotte wandered behind the counter to put on her apron. The coldness she felt wasn't just from the low temperature in the room. Will he treat me this formally from now on? She wondered.
She watched him as he passed her with an armful of firewood, going to the wood burner at the center of the room and lighting it. A flash of orange light filled the room for a moment before he closed the iron burner's door, and the faint crackling of burning wood emerged. Nels turned back in her direction, wiping his hands on his apron.
"We should be receiving a shipment of dried fruit soon," he began, glancing down at his pocket watch.
"Mr. Oleson," she interrupted. She felt bold. She felt bold ever since she had been able to play Etude No. 6 again. "I understand that you want to forget what happened, and I agree with that decision, but that doesn't mean that we must treat each other as strangers."
He looked at her from across the counter. He had never heard that firmness in her voice before. Even the way she stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, with a certain air of confidence and without arrogance, was new. It made her look all the more beautiful to him, so much so that his knees felt weak.
He had almost forgotten what that felt like, and as he stared at her in her dark brown dress, standing as solitary and firm as a Roman statue, he feared that he might love her.
"You're right," he said, fighting the lump in his throat. For two days straight, his mind had been replaying the moment that he kissed her. How could he even pretend to forget? He couldn't stop himself. His body seemed to make the decision for him.
The moment her lips touched his, he felt the need to completely bury himself in her.
Kissing her was a sensation that made him feel ageless. He felt as if he could sprint across the prairie or climb a mountain or lift a wagon. Even now, as he tried to treat her as formally as he could, the moment he looked at her, all he could think about was kissing her again and again and again.
What happened to me? He thought. He knew it was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. And yet...
Oh, Charlotte....
"You're right," he repeated. "I'm sorry. Let's put it behind us. We're good friends, remember?"
"Of course," she said, smiling sweetly.
That smile made Nels realize that he liked everything about her. Not just the way she looked, but the little chats they had together, the way she reacted to little things, how she'd tug on the collar of her dress when she was nervous. And her music. Everything she did seemed to be music.
It made him feel so guilty he was almost sick. All he could think of besides Charlotte was Harriet. His wife. The woman he loved. Sometimes, he didn't even know why he loved her, but he did. For years, they spent their time together running the store, building their business, caring for their children and making sure they had the best of everything, even if they didn't always deserve it.
And arguing. So much arguing that it was hard for Nels to remember a moment of peace between them. And yet, he always remained at Harriet's side. But he couldn't be with her now because she had removed herself from the formula he had been used to for so long. The lost feeling he harbored from the situation seemed to mean nothing to Harriet. But he supposed she always had a preoccupation with herself.
The whole thing just about drove him crazy. And as much as he knew it wasn't right, he knew he felt something of great importance for Charlotte Richmond. While both Harriet and Charlotte spurred deep emotions in him, Charlotte did so in a way he had rarely ever experienced.
His whole life as a husband, Harriet had worn the pants. She told him what to do and when to do it. He obeyed her to a certain extent; he wasn't one to argue if he didn't have to, even if he disagreed with her. But with Charlotte, there was no need to argue. She had a certainty to her presence, a kind that didn't require her to be arrogant, spiteful, and vain as Harriet could be.
Her quiet confidence blended with her shyness and mild dependence allowed Nels to imagine what the roles in his life would be like reversed. Instead of him needing Harriet and her making the decisions for him, Charlotte seemed to need him, and she actually cared what he had to say, as if for once in his life he could experience what it meant to have value.
And besides valued, it made him feel like a real man, which went against all the insults his wife ever said about him.
All his life, he thought he had ultimately been making the right decisions, but now that this piano player from Minneapolis was here, dropped into his life by pure chance, he started to question everything that his life had become until this moment. But he couldn't think about any of that now, because he had a day of work ahead, and Charlotte was waiting for him to tell her what to manage.
So they worked, bringing in shipments, unpacking them, organizing the shelves. They didn't talk much, but they enjoyed each other's presence. And yet, Nels had a certain amount of fear in him, because he wondered how long all this would last. Charlotte working for him in the mercantile, her spending time with him in the parlor, talking, going fishing, just being with each other.
Harriet would return eventually, he was sure, and she would never want the younger woman working in the store. And he supposed, too, that someday, Charlotte's father would bring her back to the city. Perhaps she would return to playing the piano at grand metropolitan concerts, go back to her old life when she used to be famed, and she would forget everything and everyone from this little town of Walnut Grove.
The thought of never seeing Charlotte Richmond again put an ache in his heart that was so strong it shocked him. The thought of her forgetting him was even worse.
"Mr. Oleson, is something wrong?"
He turned in the direction of Charlotte's voice, finding her standing by a shelf as she stocked it with books. He realized that he had been standing completely still in the storeroom for several minutes, holding a couple of vases he had meant to bring to the front room. "Fine," he replied, shaking himself back to reality. "Just fine."
I wish I could tell her how much I care for her, he thought. But what would that accomplish? It would only make everything worse, more complicated.... He wished he felt differently for her. He wished he could feel only friendship as he used to feel for her. Then, everything would be easy... pure.
But it wasn't like that. He wasn't sure if it could ever again be like that, but he had to pretend it was. How difficult it was, especially when he knew that she had a soft spot for him as well.
He felt so overwhelmed with warmth at the thought. It made it hard to think about anything else. At his age, he was certain that it had become impossible for anyone to find him remotely attractive. The idea of Charlotte having any feelings of meaning for him was... immensely flattering. And surprising.
The day matured and the sun gazed through the shop's front windows, illuminating the customers that came and went. Shipments came several times that day; it was necessary to stock up on as much as everything before the holiday season. Nels knew from experience that this period was when the mercantile would make the most money. It was instinct to try to take as much advantage of it as possible, as he was used to hearing Harriet's endless complaints otherwise.
But when he brought in a big crate meant to be filled with serving bowls and plates, the contents shifted with an unpleasant rattle. When he opened the box, he found that most of the ceramics had been turned into fractured chips. Most of the other boxes in the same shipment held the same broken pieces.
The sight of the glazed white chips all glistening together in the hay-stuffed box made him miserable beyond miserable. He was so tired already and the day wasn't even over. He felt like God was trying to pin every kind of stress on him just to see what he would do.
In reality, he didn't do much of anything. He sat on a barrel in the storeroom, alone, dragging a hand down his face. So many times, he had come to this storeroom to think, to get some peace and quiet, though it never lasted long. Usually, a customer would come calling, or Harriet would yell and drag him out, complaining that he was being lazy.
She never knew the value of quiet, he thought sadly, staring down at the shiny, broken ceramics in the box on the ground. Expensive ceramics, too. He'd have to figure out how to fix the problem now, how to get his money's worth, how to get the proper ceramics in time....
Charlotte walked in then, folding a piece of blue cloth in her arms, pausing when she saw him looking so depressed on that barrel in the corner. She noticed the broken vases a moment later, her brows raising at the ruined sight of them. Yet, the sight of a thousand broken ceramic pieces did not affect her nearly as much as the sight of a melancholy Nels Oleson.
They looked at each other for a moment, and Nels opened his mouth to say something, as he felt he had to. But before he could, she went over and took his hand, quite gently. "Did the man who brought these already leave?" she asked.
"He's about to," he replied hesitantly.
Without saying anything, she left him, going through the back door of the store and coming back a few moments later with the man, who carried the boxes of broken pottery back outside. "I told him to bring the crates back to the supplier," she began. "And I'll call the supplier to ensure that they ship the vases properly next time. If they don't give us our money's worth and quickly, I think we ought to change where we get our ceramics... but of course, that's your decision, Mr. Oleson."
He stared at her and gave her a slow, tired smile. The timid little woman that had first come into this mercantile with her bonnet pulled over her eyes had blossomed before him. He saw her as she was now, how she was supposed to be. And he knew he had helped unveil her, as she had told him so, though perhaps not in as many words.
"You're a wonderful woman," he told her. He surprised himself that he had said such a thing out loud. He had only meant to think it. But once it was out in the air, he didn't regret it.
She averted her eyes bashfully, and the tips of her ears turned rosy. "I'd best make that call, Mr. Oleson."
A few hours later, Nels welcomed the closing of the store and the quiet that followed. Now that it was winter, the darkness arrived earlier and earlier. It had been snowing quite a lot more too, and instead of sweeping dust off the mercantile's front steps, Nels had to scrape away snow and ice.
This evening, as Charlotte handed her apron to him, there was a certain silence that fell between them as they looked at each other. "I... suppose there's no need for us to spend time at the piano anymore," Charlotte murmured.
Only when she said it did it occur to him. For a long time, his mind had been stuck on helping her play Etude No. 6. But now, she could do that as easily as taking a breath. And yet, he wished she didn't have to go home just yet. "You could teach me how to play the Turkish March again," he suggested, partially joking and partially not.
She laughed softly. "There's not much use in teaching you something you already know."
He smiled. "I suppose so. It's just that... you're fine company, Miss Richmond."
She gave him a clever look. "Remember, Nels, when we're off duty, you're to call me Charlotte."
"Yes, Charlotte," he said, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. He couldn't remember the last time a woman made him feel like this. Every moment he spent with her was a delight, even if the dullest day enveloped them.
"Nels, would you like to go fishing with me Friday evening? I expect it'll be one of the last days we'll have before the river freezes over."
"I'd love to," he replied, though surprised at her request. "But aren't you concerned about the cold? You might catch something."
"I'm not worried about that," she said, a sparkle in her eyes from him accepting her offer. "Besides, I ought to try out that fishing rod you gave me before it's too late."
They grinned at each other, and he kissed her on the forehead as he had done many times before. Perhaps it wasn't appropriate, but it was impossible to resist; she had a face made for kissing. And how he loved the way she looked every time he pulled away, her eyelashes fluttering and her ears as red as rubies.
It made him want to hold her and kiss her over and over again just to see how red she could get.
They both jumped when a loud rickety sound echoed from the street. It surprised them because the street was usually silent by this time and it would remain that way till the morning, and it was dark all but for the rusty tone of the setting sun. Yet, just outside the window came a stagecoach with a few heavy bags on top.
"That's odd," said Nels, going to the window. "The coach doesn't usually come at this hour."
The coach's door swung open and a girl dressed in fine pink silks and a boy in a little suit he obviously didn't like came trotting out. The sight of them made Nels's blood run cold.
The moment Nellie and Willie saw him in the mercantile's window, they hurried up the stairs shouting, "Father!"