Five Sisters (57 page)

Although midway through a sentence, Mary finally rose from the chaise and dropped her needles and string where she'd been sitting. Still speaking as she walked, she headed quickly to the door and opened it with a politely placed smile.

But all in an instant, as she saw who it was, her smile vanished and her eyes, like pools of clear blue water, widened. Her mouth opened hesitatingly, finding herself so shocked that she didn't quite know what to say but the one word that was echoing in her mind.

"Charlie!"

Her voice was just loud enough that everyone in the parlor heard. And suddenly the room was completely quiet and all eyes were on the door.

"Oh, Charlie!"
Mary
repeated,
her eyes still wide but her mouth finally able to speak properly, "It's wonderful to see you! But we had no idea . . . We thought you were still far off at sea . . . I can scarcely believe it, even when you're right here in front of me . . . But heavens, have I lost my manners? Come in, come in! You must be freezing!"

She ushered him inside, closing the door quickly behind, and led him further into the parlor. He stood behind the chaise awkwardly, realizing how many people were staring at him and still not saying a word.

He looked the same as ever, though covered in a light layer of snow that was now sinking into and dampening his skin and clothes. Light brown hair, now nearly half silver, fell lazily onto his forehead above those startlingly green eyes. For reasons that need not be stated, he looked more sleepy and thin than he had in years. The half-moons beneath his eyes, a translucent gray, crept lower than they had before, only inches away from the wrinkles beside his mouth. And his chosen garments- tan trousers that dragged on the floor; a simple, plaid collared shirt; dark, charcoal sweater with a hole near the neck; and a long, misshaped wool coat- hung loosely on his thin frame. Trying to best remember his manners, for he hadn't been in such a lovely house in years, he quickly removed his tweed cap, holding it in front of himself with both hands.

"Hello," he fumbled out, not quite knowing what else he ought to say.

Sara was struck senseless. She could barely think, much less move. Her heart began to beat wildly and although she wanted to look at Charlie, was yearning to see him after so long, each moment she looked at him was more painful than the last. With a hollow gulp, she closed her book, running her fingers across its cover so that she would not have to look up and meet his eyes. Although she was holding them back very well at the moment, she was certain that as soon as their eyes met she'd burst into tears.

"Well then," Mary said, taking a breath. She'd decided it was best that she act as hostess, as she'd been the one to first greet him and she could think of no one more suitable present, "For everyone who is not yet acquainted with him, this is Charlie Wilkie. Charlie was a good friend of our father's and he was kind enough to bring us here from Laraford on his ship."

The room was silent for another moment. Even Betsy, who was normally yapping endlessly, didn't say a word. Something about this man and his effect on the room struck her silent.

"And I, er . . . Well, I suppose I should introduce everyone else then, shall I?" continued Mary, "You've met all us girls before, of course. But, er . . . You remember, Ethan, of course?"

Charlie nodded simply and managed to say, "Of course. Nice to see you, Mr. Lindsey," as he gave a nod towards Ethan.

"And these are his parents, John and Betsy."

John gave a small wave while Betsy took Charlie's hand between both of hers, shaking it warmly, and said, Oh it's so wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Wilkie. We cannot thank you enough for bringing over the girls."

"It was my pleasure," Charlie murmured with another forced smile.

"And there at the piano is Brook Lindsey, Ethan's cousin."

Both men nodded quietly.

"And, of course, you already know Nathaniel."

"You're, er . . . You're feeling better, I hope?" Charlie asked. As he spoke, barely able to make out a few words, it was clear to all that his mind was not focused on the conversation.

But Nathaniel nodded, "Much better."

"And, er . . . Well . . ." Mary stammered, "Would you like to sit down?"

"No, no . . . Thank you though."

"Would you like some tea?
A scone?"

"Some biscuits, perhaps?" said Betsy.

"That's alright," Charlie offered quickly, "It's really very kind of you, but I'm not so very hungry at the moment."

Mary's face was blank. She'd said the normal cordialities, introduced him to everyone, suggested he sit down and
drink
some tea, and had no idea where she ought to go from here.

The room was still silent. All eyes were on Charlie and Mary, waiting for someone to speak. Brook shuffled on his seat uncomfortably, Emy looked down to her feet, and Gail shared a frantic glance with Nathaniel. Poor Charlie began to rotate his hat in his hands, wondering what he ought to say. A more awkward silence could not be imagined.

From her invisible position in the corner, where she'd been regarding the situation silently, Sara suddenly rose. At the sight of Charlie her heart had broken and hearing his voice only heightened her misery. Why must he torment her so?

With the book hugged to her chest again, its beautiful leather binding and withering pages a poor substitute for Charlie's arms, she began to cross the room. She just couldn't take it anymore. To sit there crouched beside the fire and listen to the casual, meaningless conversation tore Sara apart. The words of his letter, the letter she'd read countless times in the past few months, were running through her head: He could only regard her paternally; they could never be. The tears were welling in her eyes, poised innocently at the brink and thirsting to crawl down her cheeks. Ashamed and wounded, knowing if she remained her torture would never cease, she tried to flee the room unnoticed.

But of course he saw her. Although all eyes were on Charlie, he could only see Sara.

He said quickly, earnestly, "Please don't go."

And as if his words had thrown a rope around her, Sara stopped as soon as she heard him speak. She stood just before the door, breathing quickly and with her eyes still staring only at the floor. But then, ever so slowly, she allowed her gaze to slowly rise. It ran across the room, up the sofa, up Charlie's figure, and into his eyes. She had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into tears.

"Please stay, Sara," Charlie repeated softly.

Hearing him say her name only made Sara's agony worsen. She felt herself tremble in weakness and gulped to prevent herself from sobbing. Her eyes, unmistakably wet, could no longer leave him and were locked upon his face no matter how much she wished to pull them away.

For a moment Charlie's mouth poised open, as though searching for the right words to say. His mind was racing a mile a minute and he didn't quite know where to begin.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, the words escaping his lips so quickly he could barely control them, "I can see that I'm obviously, er . . . that I'm obviously hurting you and I never meant to. I would never intentionally
cause
you pain, you know that."

Sara didn't say a word.

"I'm sorry I arrived so unexpectedly. I didn't mean to intrude on your holiday but I just . . . I wanted to see you. We were only out on the ocean five weeks or so before . . . before I turned around." Charlie struggled to speak in full sentences. The words came to him in breaks and it was difficult to piece them all together so that she could somehow understand, "I . . . I feel terrible. You haven't left my mind since we parted and I-I just kept thinking over everything I said and everything you said and . . . And I'm sorry, Sara. I hope you know how much I still care for you and how dearly I think of you. Because you've always been . . . always been so kind to me and I never deserved it. I never deserved it at all . . . I can't, and I could never, deny my love for you. Surely you must know that!"

Her legs moving involuntarily, Sara stumbled backwards as though attempting to further the distance between them. With her eyes holding onto Charlie's in a fierce, undeniable grasp, she feared she may run towards him, as though in a trance, if she didn't control herself. Biting her lip again to fight the tears, she sat down upon the ottoman in front of the fire; her legs were so weak they could no longer support her.

"I tried to push you away so desperately," Charlie continued, his voice straining, "But despite all my arguments- my age and my poverty and . . ." he gulped, rubbing his eyes, "And Roy- you never seemed to doubt yourself. And I should have known! I should have never . . . I'm sorry I've troubled you so horribly. If only I'd realized sooner perhaps we wouldn't be caught where we are now . . . But still now, notwithstanding what I'm trying to say, I think of Roy. I think of him so very often. And Amelia too . . . And I wonder what Roy would say if only he knew. If he knew that I . . . and that you . . . But it's useless to dream of his opinion. We'll never know. And yet I think of what you told me that day, back in my office . . . Why shouldn't he want us both to be happy? As a good friend and a good father, I should think that he would. Albeit the shock of it all, if I promised that my intentions were true and that I only wanted to care for you and protect you and . . ." he nearly choked on the word, "and
love
you, I would imagine that he'd understand. If he saw that it wasn't a schoolgirl crush on your part or . . . or some unworthy, despicable desire on mine . . . surely he wouldn't protest. If . . . If he saw how earnestly you pleaded with me and how I've been trying to think of his respect all the while . . . He couldn't have . . . A-Although we can never truly know his thoughts, I no longer believe he would have been opposed to it. Surely if he saw your sweet, ardent face, dear Sara, he'd understand that I . . ."

His voice trailed off as Sara broke into tears. Sitting on the little ottoman with her feet curled beneath her and tears trailing down her cheeks, she was continually reaching up a sleeve in an effort to dry her face though the attempt was futile. In mere seconds, more tears would be flowing. And she was still biting her lip, though it was no longer to hold back tears but to contain and soften her sobs.

The remaining occupants of the room were as still and silent as they could be, positioned around the room like motionless statues. Like spectators, providing an audience to his lament, they watched Charlie and Sara. Only Mary was alert of her actions, ready at the edge of her seat and prepared at any moment to rush to her sister's side if Charlie cast her off again.

With an active restraint, Charlie held himself back. He yearned to rush to Sara's side and calm her tears, but he couldn't. Not yet, anyway. The distance between them, he still standing behind the chaise and she at the opposite end of the room near the fireplace, aided his effort. The chaise became a fence, the only tangible barrier separating him from her.

He turned his cap in his hands again, wringing it nervously, and stuck a hand in his hair, dampened by the snow. Then, shaking his head, he began to speak once more.

"I'm sorry, Sara. Even now, seeing your face and . . . and . . . I haven't even heard you speak yet but that doesn't matter. Just seeing you makes me lose my head. I-I can barely speak. I've been thinking about this moment for five long weeks, more than an entire month, trying to make out what to say . . . and how to say it . . . but even with all that preparation, I haven't an idea what I'm saying . . . My heart's beating so fast I feel I may have a heart attack. And although the house is warm I feel as though I'm still out in the snow, for my hands . . . My hands can barely stop shaking. Because I'm trying, I'm trying ever so hard, to tell you everything all at once. And none of it's coming out exactly as I meant it too. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't a clue what I'm talking about."

Sara still didn't say a word but now she was shaking just as much as he was. Her shoulders and hands were trembling, her cheeks were damp, and she was holding her sleeves to her eyes because the tears were so constant there was no way to control them. In any other circumstance, she would have fell to the floor and crumbled into a little ball or fled the room in embarrassment. To have that many eyes staring at her, boring into her, as she cried would have been humiliating. But at the moment the only eyes she could see were Charlie's and they were what
was
holding her in place.