The Piano Teacher

Chapter 8

For a few days, Charlotte did nothing but eat, sleep, and play the piano. She played anything that came to mind, and she often played until she fell asleep at the piano, and Samuel had to carry her to bed.

She felt that as long as she played the piano, she had no other problems in her life. 

After the second day, her fingers began to ache, but the sensation was far from her mind. On the third day, her fingers grew so tired that she started missing notes, and only then, when the music became desecrated by too many mistakes, she stopped.

She sat at the piano in silence, and Samuel watched her carefully, unsure what she would do next. After countless hours of enchanting music, the silence sounded unnatural. She sat thinking for a long time about her life, or what was left of it.

She supposed, deep down, despite her hopes, she knew she would never be truly well.

It was a fact that cracked her soul, but she supposed her uncle and her doctor were right. She could still lead an enjoyable life. Playing the newly tuned piano reminded her of it. She felt that the world was beautiful when she played it.

Yet, despite having a piano at her disposal now, she felt lost. The piano had lifted her out of her melancholy, but it had not solved her woes. She had no idea where her life was heading, and it struck her with ever more fear.

From the piano, she turned to her uncle, who was sitting at the dinner table smoking a cigarette and eating a slice of buttered bread. "Uncle," she said seriously. "If you approve, I'd like us to go to church on Sunday." Samuel's eyes widened, wondering if he heard her correctly. "I... I feel that it might give me some answers. Do you think that's foolish?"

"No," he said quickly, eager that Charlotte would ever suggest going anywhere. "I think it's a fine idea, real fine. But you aren't... frightened by the people that'll be there?"

In truth, she was terrified.

She knew the church would be filled with people on Sunday. But she felt that going was the only solution she had left. Though a part of her felt it was a silly prospect, another part believed she could get some answer from God there, an answer to make her life clearer. "We'll sit in the back," she replied. "Fewer people will see us. I think... I'll feel more comfortable that way."

"Whatever you want, Charlie. I'm just glad you're finally keen on goin'."

She hesitated. "Uncle, do you think Mr. Oleson will be there?"

"I reckon so. Why?"

"I want to thank him for calling the piano tuner for us. I might still be in bed if the piano hadn't been fixed. I feel terrible for not having thanked him while he was here, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.... Do you think I should make something? Mother always made an apple tart to show her thanks. I remember her recipe; everyone always adored it."

Samuel chucked. "That's a kind idea, Charlie. But I think you're underestimatin' the power of your Ma's recipe. Make one of those tarts for Mr. Oleson, and the old fella might fall in love with you."

Once Sunday morning arrived a few days later, Charlotte felt deeply nervous. Physically, she felt better than earlier in the week, but her nerves about going to such a public place made her hands tremble. 

She wore her gray-blue dress and bonnet as she waited in the cabin's main room for her uncle to set up the buckboard. All the cabin's windows were open, and the fresh breeze hit her from all directions, tickling her face. She watched the thin curtains shutter, and occasionally, a fruit fly would fly inside before wandering out again.

Eventually, she heard her uncle call for her outside. She grabbed the apple tart she made this morning from the table, wrapped it in a checkered cloth, and carried it outside. It had the most delicate notes of caramelized apple and warm cinnamon.