The Piano Teacher

Part 6

Charlotte was glad that her uncle didn't get angry at her for muddying his clothes in the stream a few days ago, but she certainly wasn't glad that he still had the plan to take her to the town's only restaurant.

She tried everything to convince him otherwise. "I'll make every meal from now on," she said. "I'll make Mother's old recipes. I know you always liked them the most."

"It ain't about the food," Samuel replied. "Well, partly, it is. But the rest is to get you out of the cabin. You know that's as important as anything."

"Why? Why is it so important that I go out and let people see me?" She felt a deep anger in her chest, which surprised her, for she had never been angry at her uncle.

Samuel stared at her, his thumbs hooked into his denim pockets. "You've never been one to spend all your time at home, Charlie. You may not mind it, but I know that whenever you felt well, you always wanted to go out. Wanted to go out to the markets or wander around to see what was goin' on for the day. Most of anythin', you wanted to go out and play the piano where people could see you."

Everything he said was true, but it felt so far away from Charlotte that he might as well have been describing another person. In the past, she had never felt more alive when she played the piano for people. She let the music flow through her, and when she looked up, there were always people with enchanted expressions.

"What happened to all that, Charlie?" Samuel asked. "I know your last faintin' spell got you skittish, but I don't understand how it got you so closed off."

She didn't know how to explain it to him. It wasn't just the fear of fainting and humiliating herself again. That was only the surface layer of her terror. Everything else was so much worse and more complex.

Still, Samuel was unyielding in his desire to take Charlotte into town. "Well, land's sake, Charlie. Your Pa put me in charge of you to help you mend, and I know bringin' you into town to have you see some new and friendly faces ought to help. It's refreshin' to the mind and soul."

Charlotte was still angry and fearful, but she said nothing against her uncle. Meanwhile, Samuel could see that her fists were balled in irritation, her whole body shaking, terrified.

"Listen here," he sighed. "I'll make you a deal. We go to dinner an hour or two before the dinner rush. That way, there won't be hardly nobody there. It'll be a good start for you. How's that sound?"

Charlotte relaxed at the idea. She supposed this was the best deal her uncle would offer since staying locked up in the cabin wasn't an option. "That sounds fine, uncle."

She went to her room, standing in front of the small mirror they had bought from Oleson's Mercantile precisely one week before. It didn't feel like she'd been in Walnut Grove for a week.

Staying in the cabin or resting on the prairie allowed her to lose track of time.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she tried to see herself how others saw her. Once, after a concert, a man from New York told her that she looked like the woman in Whistler's Symphony in White, No. 2.

Ever since her last and perhaps worst illness, much of her beauty had left her. While she had never been the picture of health, her face used to be shapelier. Now, it was gaunt, with her sunken gray eyes looming over her hollow cheekbones and Greco-Roman nose. She was glad that, despite how her illness ravaged her appearance, her dark hair was still long and smooth, with wispy bangs falling over her forehead.

Doctor Baker's pills still seemed to be working somewhat. She certainly had more strength than when she first arrived in Walnut Grove. Her fatigue, difficulty breathing, and yellowed complexion were all lessened but not entirely gone. Her face was still so pale that it was as if she had no blood in her at all.