Chapter Two
1872 Words
Chapter Two
San Fransisco 1862
Charlotte
Charlotte sat at the head of an overtly long mahogany table that was consistently set for sixteen, eyeing the organized mess with scrutiny as it never served more than three at any given time.
Each wooden chair skirting the gleaming table had been ornately hand carved, the velvet cushions adorning the seats had also been hand sewed. Silk napkins, fine silverware, shining crystal goblets, white bone china dinner plates; all of it perfectly poised and ready for extravagantly entertaining guests. No expense spared.
The only entertainment these place settings would see of this late evening was Charlotte, underdressed in her emerald satin sleeping robe with a crystal tumbler of fine Sherry liqueur in her diminutive hand, in her other she held a letter and in her lap rested an old hat box full of more, full of the reasons for her brooding and libation.
Frowning at the piece of paper, wondering how such an inconsequential thing could hold such crippling words written in beautiful cursive, as if the words themselves were capable of destruction.
She took another sip of Sherry, the sweetly bitter bite a far cry from the fire of the whiskey from her hometown in the hills of West Virginia.
She looked away from the letter to look at the grand furnishings of the dinning room, the colossal chandelier dripping with crystals like falling stars, the gold filigree patterned wallpaper, the glass hutch filled with priceless dinnerwares.
Charlotte mused that she had never known of such things before this victorian townhouse had become her home, she had known nothing more than the cabins made of strong red oak nestled on the banks of the Tug River.
‘How far I have come’, Charlotte thought bitterly.
She set the empty tumbler on the table off to the side of the place setting as to not disrupt its perfect facade of normalcy and read the letter again.
She carefully digested each sentence, trying to understand which part had broken her the most, which line set the fissures in her heart to tear wide open like a festering wound.
Was it the part when Doctor Lewis wrote that Charlie’s Father Dermot was dead and had been for two years?
Or was it the response from Josephine swearing him to secrecy in his future correspondence so that Charlie would never know the truth, so she would never return to Tug River Valley.
‘How dare she.’
Charlotte thought and in that moment she resented Joey with her whole heart.
She stood from the mockery of a table and grabbed her empty tumbler to refill it.
“Damn you, Joey-“
She spoke harshly to the empty room, her tears fueled with rage instead of heartache.
“-Damn you for not telling me the truth-"
Her voice shook with the emotion, the utter hurt and confusion.
“-and damn you for leaving me.”
Her words broke, the sorrow that overtook her was so strong that she used the table for support as sobs wracked her body and stole her breath.
The weight of the world seemed to settle on her delicate shoulders and it felt to be far more than she could bear.
Joey’s recent death, learning that the whole reason she was living in secrecy; wrapped in a life of velvet and fine furnishings, was buried in the Tug Valley Cemetery.
It was too much.
She wiped her eyes with the satin sleeve of her night robe and straightened her spine, resolved to find her composure and took an unladylike gulp of her Sherry.
Her father was dead, Dermot, the monster of her nightmares was gone, there wasn’t a need to hide anymore.
There hadn’t been for two long years.
She was furious with Joey for keeping the truth from her, but she was also forever grateful to the woman who had taken her in five years prior.
Joey owed her nothing, knew her from Eve when she took in the dirtied skirt girl from the backwoods of West Virginia with open arms. Charlie felt that she owed Joey and Doctor Lewis everything for saving her in ways she did even know she needed saving, even if that meant lying to her.
If it weren’t for Doctor Lewis finding Charlotte barley clinging to life as she bled freely in the leaf litter covering the floor of the woods, she would have never met Joey and Willa would not be sleeping peacefully in her room upstairs.
Even resentful, Charlie still felt immensely grateful.
A smile played on Charlie’s lips as she remembered the day she had arrived in Joey’s care.
She had been terrified of the bustling city, the high homes standing in uniform like soldiers along the boardwalk, terrified of meeting Doctor Lewis’s Sister.
Joey was a tall woman with silver hair piled high on her head in intricate curls, a serious face with thin tight lips, and so many jewels that they seemed to drip from her neck and fingers.
“Rule number one of living under my roof:”
She held up her long pianist pointer finger for Charlie to see while she stood statuesque in her foyer.
“We as women do not need men for survival, we use them for entertainment.”
Then she had smiled, a beautiful woman emerging under the stoic mask she wore.
“I am Josephine Delaney, you may call me Joey.”
And she had welcomed Charlie with open arms.
Joey had given her every opportunity an affluent girl could have and asked for nothing in return.
When Charlie’s belly started to show with the growth of a child shortly after arriving, Joey didn’t bat an eye,
“You’re a widow, from Arkansas.”
She had said simply.
“But I’m not, Joey.”
Charlie had cried, terrified of the changes in her still healing body, terrified of becoming a mother.
“Are you the same girl that left the back woods of West Virginia, Charlotte?”
Charlie shook her head.
“Then you’re a widow of sorts for that girl from Tug valley died that morning and here you are, thriving.”
Joey had knelt before her, raising Charlie’s chin and wiping away her tears with a silk handkerchief.
“You have a new life now Charlotte, you can be anyone you want to be with any past you choose to have.”
And then she kissed her forehead.
“I hope it’s a girl, god help us if it has a pecker and brings me frogs.”
She had quipped before sipping her chilled champagne.
Joey doted upon little Willa, giving her everything she had given Charlie as if the two were her own flesh and blood.
Charlie sorted through the letters in the old hat box, stilling when she found one addressed to her in Joey’s perfect cursive. She carefully opened the sealed envelope, stomach sinking and hoping that there were no more secrets to uncover, not sure just how much more she could take.
Charlie Girl,
If you're reading this it means that I am no longer with you, an unfortunate fact that withers my heart just to think of it.
I have done everything in my power to see that you and Sweet Willa are taken care of in my absence and want for nothing.
You two were my greatest accomplishment, the only things in my long life that I could be proud of.
You made me a mother.
I needed you just as much as you needed me, Dear Charlotte, which is why I’m asking you to try to understand why I kept your father’s death a secret.
Had I told you of your father’s demise I know you would have left me and taken Willa with you.
I am selfish in the fact that I wanted to hold you both close to me for just a little while longer. I am selfish in the way that I wanted so much more for you and Willa than a life in West Virginia could ever offer you.
I know this will hurt you and I am so sorry to be the cause.
I simply wanted the best for you, Charlie, because you are so deserving of it.
You are so much more than I had ever expected, such a delightful surprise in such a dreary world. Thank you, for giving me the best years of my life.
I’ll always be with you, Charlie Girl, wherever you choose to go.
All my love,
Joey
Charlie sank slowly into the chair, letter still in hand as she read Joey’s words, her motives, her unconditional love in writing.
In her heart Charlie knew that she would have done the same had it been Willa and her anger subsided.
She found herself standing in the doorway of Willa’s room, the beautiful girl dreaming peacefully in a four poster bed, covered in warm lavender colored linens.
She watched the steady rise and fall of Willa’s chest as she slept blissfully unaware of the mess in her mother’s heart, blissfully unaware of how cruel the world outside could be.
‘Because of Joey.’
Charlie thought, tears falling anew.
She looked at her beautiful daughter, healthy and strong, intelligent and curious.
She was the spitting image of her father, William Hatfield with her stark blonde hair, sun kissed skin, cerulean blue eyes and innocent freckles on her cherubic cheeks.
Charlie’s heart ached for Willa’s father, for Will.
She felt blessed that she could catch glimpses of him everyday through Willa, but her heart longed for him.
She wondered what had become of Will Hatfield.
She imagined he had grown, surely he was taller, stronger, even more handsome than the last time she had seen him.
The last night they had shared together was bittersweet and she wished she had stayed with him a while longer, prolonged the inevitable just a few moments more. Maybe if she had, things would be different.
She wondered if he had married and started a family of his own or if he was still waiting for her.
The thought of him waiting for her return twisted painfully in her chest.
She hoped he had moved on even though the thought of him with another woman hurt, but the thought that he hadn’t…
She rubbed her hand on her chest just over her heart to ease the stinging feeling.
She was free now and she felt light with that knowledge, her father was dead and Joey was gone. There was nothing holding her here, she could go to him, to Will.
She could go home.
The life that Joey had given Charlie was lavish but it had lost its luster with her passing. Charlie had never felt that she fit here in Joey’s high society, like Joey’s friends and acquaintances could see right through her carefully crafted exterior that hid the stains of the muddy water of Tug River Valley.
Will deserved to know that he was a father, that his daughter was well cared for and loved, but she felt it was too much to write in a letter. She needed to see him in person.
She needed to go home.
- Writer
