"You are the worst boy, Theodore Laurence."
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For centuries, humankind has used the stars. Whether it be for navigating across unfamiliar oceans, for preserving myths and legends of great heroes who were bestowed a spot in the heavens by the gods...
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THAT NORMAL NOVEMBER morningwas blanketed in an air of the usual idleness and tranquillity that came from early autumn. The mornings moved by stagnantly like glaciers of blue ice before dipping into the darkness of night, where the soft breeze blew the orange-yellow leaves from the trees and scattered them across the grass. The Marches kitchen always smelt faintly of spiced tea and apples, about which no one complained as it added to the festivities and liveliness of the house. But in pleasantly normal days, a darkness lurks, and that's when the most upsetting things were bound to happen.
The sun lazily rose and tendrils of sunlight danced across Charlotte's face as she started to wake from her dreams to the sound of Amy muttering about the unfashionable state of her dresses. A harsh frown lined her lips as the last sleepy remnants of her dreams slipped away. She had dreamed of her mother again— they were sipping tea beside their window, watching the distant sea and fields of rolling grasses, and in Charlotte's opinion, these were the worst dreams. As she started to slip from her dreams she could still feel her mother's hand pressed against her cheek and hear her laugh ringing in her ears. But as she opened her eyes, her mother's touch vanished and her laugh dissipated into silence, and Charlotte was left reaching for fragments of a person she was trying not to forget.
"Hurry up, Charlie!" Amy leaned over the bed and shook Charlotte's shoulders to rouse her from the warmth of the blankets. "Hannah and Beth made turnovers!"
Charlotte and Amy soon joined the others at breakfast, where they grabbed at the freshly baked apple turnovers and allowed the hot pies to warm their hands and faces, as the weather took a turn away from the warmth of summer and towards the bitter cold of autumn. They all prepared for the daily tasks as their routine dictated, sullenly pulling on their mittens and scarfs after enjoying a summer without the scratchy woolen garments. Meg sighed about the King children she was governess for and the woes of her heart for being poor was utterly dreadful for her, Jo complained about how terrible Aunt March was and the dreariness of Belsham, Beth kissed Marmee's cheek and gathered up old coats and scarfs to bring to the Hummel's, and Amy poked and prodded her nose in attempt to shape it into a pleasant point.
"Coming, Charlie?" Beth asked, extending one of the baskets to her.
"Coming!" Charlotte said. She hurriedly braided her wild hair with half of her turnover stuffed in her mouth, and shoved her feet into her ill-fitting boots as quickly as she could. She took the basket from Beth and the two of them set off towards the little Hummel's shack.
Over the past few months, Charlotte had found much joy during her visits to the Hummel's, even when the children teased her for her muddled Swiss-German and tangled their hands in her hair, creating knots that took ages to brush out. Their little giggles and smiles warmed her heart and she gleefully visited as often as she could.
