by Leen Elle
"Something troubling you, Sara?"
Sara looked up, startled, "No, er . . . Nothing."
"Are you sure? You look rather occupied in your thoughts," Charlie commented.
"Quite sure," Sara nodded, "But thank you."
She returned to her sewing and Charlie went back to his papers, but no matter how hard Sara tried she just couldn't concentrate on the sweater. Her mind kept drifting off to Mary, causing her to forget about her work and prick herself in the finger several times with her needle.
Finally, Sara stopped and set down the sweater. She used a spare piece of plaid flannel to wrap around her finger and stop the bleeding she'd caused from pricking it so many times.
"Charlie?" she said, "Can I ask you something?"
Charlie set down his papers and turned his seat around to face her, "Of course."
"I . . . Well, I was just wondering if . . ."
"What is it?"
"How exactly do you know if you're in love?"
Charlie scratched his head, "I don't suppose there is any certain way to know. I think it's just a feeling."
"But isn't there any way to know for sure?"
"If there is, I don't know of it," Charlie replied.
Sara sat quietly for a few moments, pondering his words, before asking, "Then how do you know when it's right to marry someone?"
Charlie grinned, "You're really asking the wrong man, my dear. But hmm . . . I suppose it starts with love, of course. You must love the person you're planning on marrying. But that's not all. You must also be friends with them. You'll be spending every day with this person for the rest of your life, so you really need to be friends and enjoy each other's company. It's most certainly not all about romance. Then you also need to be comfortable living with this person, I suppose. So if they have little personal habits that irritate and annoy you, then you must realize that you'll be living with those irksome pet peeves for the rest of you life. And, well, that's about it, I think. Of course, I'm not an expert on the subject, but . . ." He looked up suddenly, "May I question why you're asking? Do . . . Do you think you're in love, Sara?"
"Me?" Sara shook her head, "No. No, it's not me. It's just that . . . Well, you see, Mary's not actually ill. She's having doubts about her marriage. She doesn't think that she and Ethan are in love, and she doesn't think they should be getting married."
"Ah," Charlie said, "A blushing bride. Very common. I'm sure she'll get over it in a few days or so."
"That's what I thought," Sara agreed, "But now I'm not so sure. How is she supposed to know for sure?"
"She can't know for sure," Charlie replied.
"But then how will she ever know . . ."
"Love, as wonderful as it may be, is also terribly confusing. Sometimes we find ourselves falling for someone we never imagined and sometimes, like in your sister's case, we find ourselves with someone who seems absolutely perfect for us in each and every way. There's no way to know if we've simply convinced ourselves that we're in love, or if it's the truth. That's simply the way things are."
CHAPTER 11
The Letters and the Photographs
Once Charlie left the office, Sara found she had the room all to herself. She'd finished mending Charlie's sweater and was just about to curl back up in the comfy chair with a good book when something caught her eye.
Beneath Charlie's desk there had always been a rather large number of old boxes, and usually they were all securely closed. But today, the lid of one of these boxes was slightly askew. To anyone else, this wouldn't have been anything worth investigating, but Sara had been in this office almost every day for the past few weeks and she'd come to know it very well. So when something was off balance, she noticed and she wondered.
Charlie must have been looking at the contents inside the box earlier in the day, because no one but he and Sara ever seemed to enter his office and Sara certainly hadn't been rummaging around in Charlie's personal belongings.
Although she felt a bit bad about it, because Charlie did seem rather protective over the items he kept in his office, Sara took out the little box and set it on the desk. With a quick glance around her, to make sure she was alone, she took off the lid and peered inside at a pile of papers. Then, she took out the top piece of parchment, unfolded it, and began to read.
It was dated twenty-one years back, and as soon as Sara examined the writing her jaw dropped. The letter had been written by her father.
Charlie,
It feels as though I haven't seen you in years, Professor, when you've really only been gone for a few weeks.
I've got a job working with the Laraford Post Dispatch, but it's really not anything to be proud of. My stories only make it into the back of the issues, never anywhere near the front. Amelia says I shouldn't worry. She says as long as I give it my all, I'll be making the front page in no time. I can only hope she's right, for both our sakes. It feels like I'm making a penny a day at the moment and that's certainly not easy to live off of, my friend.
We've bought a little house, but it's not much to boast of either. Things can only get better from here, I suppose.
How are things out on the high seas? I still can't believe that you actually bought a ship and are out there sailing on it at this very moment. I'll never forget the look on your mother's face when you told her. If your father hadn't held her back she probably would've boxed in your ears, Charlie boy.
Amelia's not too happy about it either. She keeps telling me to get you to come back. She's worried about you, I know. She thinks you're going to be eaten by whales or something; Amelia's never been very keen on the ocean. It scares her. I'm always saying we should join you on one of your voyages sometime, but she refuses. If it weren't for my love for her, I'd be out there in a minute. Honest.
Imagine us- two pirates sailing the seven seas. I actually thought about changing your name to Captain Blackbeard, Professor, but I thought that wouldn't make much sense since you don't even have a beard, much less a black one. And besides, you've been Professor for so many years that it'd be strange to change things now.
I hope you're enjoying yourself out there, Charlie. And Amelia wants me to let you know that we miss you and that you're welcome to stay with us, in our humble abode, anytime you're in town.
Till next time,
Jester
(Also known as your friend Roy St. James)
He'd sent this letter, Sara realized, just after getting out of school. He and Amelia had only been married a few months before, and Mary hadn't even been born yet.
The effect the simple piece of parchment had on Sara was shocking. She had never known what her father was like as a young man until she met Charlie, and was terribly excited to be able to read something, even a silly letter, from the hand of her own father.
Quickly, she pulled out the next piece of parchment and began to read:
Charlie,
She's the most beautiful child you'll ever see, my Mary. With hair as dark and skin as fair as her mother's. She has the face of an angel; I'm surprised she doesn't sprout wings and a halo.
I wish you could come to town for her second birthday, it's next week, but I know such a dream is impossible when you're so far away. I do hope you're faring well out there. How's ol' Violet? And what about the crew?
Amelia's going to have the baby sometime in the next week or so. I'll write when it happens and hopefully you'll be able to stop by soon after and see the newest edition to the St. James family. I still can't believe I'm the father of one child; I'm not so sure I'm ready for two.
It's strange. If someone had told me five years ago that one of us would be working for the paper with a wife, a baby girl, and another on the way, and the other would own a ship and sail the seven seas, I would instantly have said that you were the family man, Professor. You were always the more responsible one, wanting stability and a wife and home. And I would have been the sailor, traveling the world without a care in the world. Strange how quickly things can change.
But you're doing alright on your own, I suppose? You are happy, right?
If you ever decide to settle down and find a wife, Amelia wants me to tell you that she'd be happy to play matchmaker. A few of her friends still aren't married, and she's constantly talking about how wonderful it would be if one of them fell in love with you. She thinks you're lonely and she wants you to find someone. I've tried to tell her that you're in love with Violet and doing perfectly fine, but she refuses to believe that a man could fall in love with his ship. She's truly a romantic.
Well, I hope to hear from you soon.
- Jester St. James
The baby he wrote of, Sara thought with a smile, must be her. She hadn't even been born yet when this letter was written. But the next piece of paper, much smaller than the last, announced her birth:
Roy and Amelia St. James
joyfully announce the birth of their second daughter,
Sara Marietta St. James
May 20th
6 pounds 7 ounces
It felt strange reading about her own birth, but Sara felt tears coming to her eyes when she saw that it was written in the graceful, smooth handwriting of her mother. Amelia had even taken the time to draw a few little violets in the corner, for Charlie.
The next item in the box was an old, withered enveloped stuffed with old photographs. Sara eagerly pulled out the stack. After seeing the first photograph though, she could barely go on. She stared at the picture for what seemed like an hour, brushing away the tears that had suddenly begun to flow.
It had been taken fifteen years ago, just after Gail was born. Roy was sitting on a sofa holding baby Gail, who had a head of red fuzz. His eyes were bright and he was smiling happily at the camera. Around him were his four older daughters. Mary, with her dark ringlets, was on his right side and she had little Emy on her lap. Nora, holding her teddy bear, sat on his left, and Sara was sitting on the back of the couch with her legs around Roy's shoulders, piggyback style, with her hands on his head. Because Amelia had taken the picture, she wasn't visible.
Seeing her father so young and full of joy, surrounded by all five of his daughters was an amazing thing for Sara. The last time she'd seen him he'd been miserable, on the edge of death.
Once she'd dried up all her tears, Sara set down the picture and began to look at the rest of Charlie's photographs.
The next one showed Charlie holding newborn Mary. It was followed by one of him with Nora, then one of him with Emy, and another of him and baby Gail. The last photograph was flipped upside down, and before Sara looked at the picture she read what her mother had written on the back:
Charlie and Sara, eleven months old
When she flipped it over, Sara could feel the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile.
Charlie was lying on the sofa, the same sofa Roy had been sitting on in the previous picture, wearing an oversized red sweater. A shock of light brown hair fell lazily over his closed eyes, and Sara was surprised to see that although he must have only been around twenty-years-old in the photograph, his hair already had a few streaks of gray. Baby Sara was laying on his chest, stomach down, held in place by the two hands Charlie had placed on her back. She wore a one-piece yellow nightie and had soft dark hair. Like Charlie, she was fast asleep. Her head was lying in the crook of his neck and her hands were pulling down gently on the collar of his sweater.
Sara had forgotten until now how often Charlie used to come over to their house when she was a child. Seeing the photograph of she and him taking an ever so peaceful nap warmed Sara's heart and brought back many memories of her childhood.
Suddenly, behind Sara, the door of the office opened and Charlie entered.
"Oh," Sara said, her voice breathless, "I'm sorry, Charlie. I just . . . I saw that the box was open and I . . ."
Charlie glanced over at what she'd been looking at, "It's quite alright. You deserve to see those. And the letters too," Charlie said. He scratched his head, "I'm not really sure why I've been hiding them from you. I should have shown them to you ages ago." He paused uncomfortably and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Sara bit her lip, "Do you miss them too? My parents, I mean."
"Of course," Charlie whispered, "Everyday." He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his head as though he had a migraine, "I only wish I could have seen them again before . . . before it happened. I wasn't even able to come to the funeral and say goodbye."
There was a moment of silence as Charlie thought back to the day he'd found out that Roy and Amelia had passed away. He'd been miles and miles away, separated from Laraford by an enormous ocean, and had just docked Violet at the harbor of a foreign city. While the sailors went out for a drink, he'd gone straight to the post office to see if anything had arrived for him or the boys. The first letter he opened told the unbearable news.
Charlie never forgave himself for being so far away when it happened. If only he'd listened to Amelia. She always told him that he oughtn't go sailing so far away. If he'd listened he might have been able to make it back before they'd died. Or he would have at least been able to come for the funeral.
He'd never forgiven himself for that.
It took Charlie two months to travel back to Laraford. He'd meant to go say hello to the girls while he was in town, but never did. He hadn't seen them in quite a few years and he was afraid they might not remember who he was. Besides that, he was ashamed to show his face again after he hadn't been around for so long.
Before Sara knew what she was doing she'd risen from the chair and wrapped her arms around Charlie's neck, burying her head in his chest and drying her tears on his old sweater. For two years she'd been trying to forget about her parents and get on with her life; she would remember them fondly of course, but she didn't like to dwell on their deaths. And now, all at once, the tears she'd held back for months were suddenly flowing and Sara couldn't have stopped them if she tried.
At first, Charlie was a bit uncomfortable when Sara embraced him; he didn't know what he was supposed to do. But he finally loosened up a bit and set his hands on her back, holding her close.
Neither knew how long they stood there, but it seemed to last hours. Sara continued to weep into Charlie's chest, while he patted her back awkwardly.
When Sara finally lifted her head, her eyes were red and tear-stained. She bit her lip and looked up into Charlie's eyes. Ever so slowly, she felt herself moving in closer and closer. Their faces were barely more than an inch or two apart.
Sara closed her eyes, but then all at once she felt Charlie's arms drop as he backed away. When she opened them again he was halfway across the room.
"Charlie . . ." she said slowly.
But he wouldn't meet her eyes. Looking towards the floor, Charlie scratched his head and with a hoarse voice he said, "You, er . . . You'd better go start dinner, Sara. Your sisters are probably waiting."
Sara nodded and left the room in silence.
Trying to run her mind back over what had just happened, Sara went blank. She didn't know what she'd been thinking or why she'd felt herself leaning in. Feeling terribly confused, she didn't head to the kitchen, but instead crept downstairs and into the seemingly empty dining room. There, she sat down and leaned back against the wall, pulling her legs up and burying her head in her knees.
CHAPTER 12
A Rather Long Game of Chinese Checkers
The wind was howling on deck, causing quite a bit of difficulties for the sailors as they tried to keep the boat steady by working with the sails. Gail, although she would normally want to be in on all the action, was heading downstairs to have another go with Nathaniel.
His room was as stuffy and as ever and filled with that ominous smell of a sick man. Gail managed to smile as she entered, but her grin wasn't returned.
Nathaniel grimaced at the sight of her, "What are you doing back here so soon? I thought I made it quite clear that I . . ."
"Yes, yes, you did make it clear," Gail nodded, trying he
r best not to make him angry, "But I . . . I just thought that perhaps . . . Well, we didn't really get off to the best start did we? I'm sorry about everything I've said and I'm sorry that I've yelled at you a few times. I'm sorry about the cup and I'm sorry I forgot you. I really didn't mean to. I-I just got a little preoccupied, is all. But I really want to make up for all that. We could play a game if you want, like last time. Chinese checkers or cards . . ."
Nathaniel stared at her for a moment or so, scrutinizing her intentions as well as deciding whether or not he really wanted to give her another chance after all the trouble they'd experienced in their first three meetings. Finally he sighed, "I suppose so."
Gail grinned, "I'll be back in a moment."
She returned with her Chinese checkers board and sack of marbles and then proceeded to set the game up between them.
The game started off well enough; neither Nathaniel nor Gail raised their voice and they were actually having quite a pleasant conversation.
"So have you lived in Laraford your whole life?" Nathaniel asked, jumping one of his marbles across the board.
"Until now, yes."
"And you're heading to Brighton, if I remember right."
Gail brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, pondering her next move, "That is correct, Mr. West."
"You never told me why though."
"Oh, well my oldest sister, Mary, is getting married soon. And since her fiancé's parents live in Brighton, and he's attending school there, he and Mary have decided to live in Brighton. And because we don't want to be separated, my sisters and I are going to move there as well." Gail leaned forward to move her marble into a new hole, "I've only just realized you haven't even met my sisters yet. Well, no matter. You will soon enough, I sure."