"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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ON A WARM summermorning, months after the joyful events of Meg's wedding, Charlotte relaxed on a blanket in the garden, staring up at the swaying sunflowers and roses as the sunlight scattered across her face in warm rays. The Marches house had returned to its state of organized chaos rather quickly, but still the loss of Meg left conversations faltering where she should have spoken, and chairs empty where she should have sat. Awkward holes in daily routines afflicted the house, but they were quickly learning to make do without the oldest March sister. Jo went to work in a crazed passion, staining her hands with new layers of ink as she turned out short stories and poems in record time. Beth played her piano with such cheery delight at all hours of the day, filling the house with sweet songs whenever they felt saddened. And little Amy was fantasizing about her trip to Europe, dressing herself in cotton scarves, pretending they were made of the finest Parisian silks. And between her chores and galavanting around in the fields with Jo and Laurie, Charlotte managed every morning to carve out a little piece of peacefulness in her hectic day to admire the fresh air and sunny skies.
A sudden approach of footsteps shook Charlotte from her daydreams and made her sit up to inspect who had come to the fence.
"A letter for you, Miss Kohler." The friendly face of the postman greeted her as he tipped his hat. He pulled a cream colored envelope from his bag of letters and handed it to her.
"Thank you." Charlotte smiled as she took the letter. She flipped it in her hands, inspecting the curly letters written across the envelope. It was strange to receive a letter. The only ones she got now were from Laurie, who addressed them to the entire March family. And this one couldn't be from Laurie. He was spending his first summer as a college graduate entertaining anything that caught his whimsy, which usually meant involving himself in the March girls' games. Today he had pranced up to the door early in the morning, and been sucked into Jo's newest production.
The address of the sender on her letter was unfamiliar, but it was definitely addressed to her, so despite her skepticism, she leaned against the garden fence and carefully pulled the letter from its envelope.
"Dear Charlotte Kohler," it started.
Allow me to express my condolences regarding the passing of your mother. The news has only recently reached me. News across the continents is upsettingly slow, especially from our two corners of the world. I would also like to express my uncertainty about the contents of this letter. I have agonized about how to write this for many days and I admit that I am not a talented writer. I can only hope that my words can bring you some clarity and persuade you to agree to what I am asking.
I am unaware if your father has ever mentioned me, but I am your Uncle Oscar. Your father was my younger brother. We lost contact when he left our home for America, and we parted on unfavorable terms. My brother and I refused to speak to each other for many years, and I only heard of his passing after I made some inquiries to a friend in New York.
