Gabrielle Meyer - A Family Arrangement

“She is nice.” At least, Abram hoped she would be. Most of the experiences he’d had with the woman suggested otherwise. “Your mama often talked about how much she loved Aunt Charlotte.”

The baby, George, sat in a high chair next to the table. Susanne had never fully recovered after his birth, and the military doctor had suggested that her illness was somehow connected to birthing their youngest son. They would probably never know.

George also had blond hair, though his was darker than the other two boys, and his eyes were brown—like Susanne’s and Charlotte’s. He reached for the child and lifted him out of his chair, but George looked a bit uncertain. He remained stiff in Abram’s arms and looked at his teachers for reassurance.

“I’ll take the boys to meet their aunt and then we’ll go to the church,” Abram said to the teachers. “After the service, I’m taking the boys home with me for good.”

The teachers nodded. “That will be nice for all of you.” The one with blond hair glanced at Robert, a sense of relief on her face.

Abram took Robert’s hand on instinct and motioned for Martin to follow them into the parlor.

George reached toward Abram’s thick beard and tugged on it, as if he wanted it gone.

Grief gnawed at Abram’s gut as he thought of Susanne and how much he missed her. She would never see her sons grow, and wouldn’t be there to help him navigate through the difficult years ahead. The thought was almost too much for him to bear.

His little family walked over the threshold and into the parlor. Charlotte sat with Mrs. Ayers, but the moment they entered, she stood and clasped her hands together, bringing them to her mouth. For the first time since her arrival, a smile spread across her face and her entire countenance was transformed.

The gesture made Abram stop short.

She looked...beautiful, and not just on the surface. Something deep and lovely radiated from within her at the sight of the boys.

Charlotte knelt in front of them, looking over Robert and Martin as if trying to memorize every detail of their faces. “Hello. I’m your aunt Charlotte.”

Martin buried his face into Abram’s pant leg and Robert took a step closer to his side.

“Where are your manners, Martin?” Abram asked. “Say hello to your aunt.”

“Hello,” Martin said quietly.

“Hello,” Charlotte said. “Your mother told me all about you in her letters.”

“This is Robert.” Abram indicated his oldest son. He touched Robert’s shoulder, and when the boy looked up at him, Abram raised his hand and took Charlotte’s in a handshake.

Charlotte paused for a moment and Abram caught her look of surprise.

He swallowed. “I want him to learn his manners whether he can hear or not.”

Charlotte slowly removed her hand from Abram’s and extended it to Robert.

Robert looked at her offered hand and then shook his head and stepped behind Abram.

Charlotte lowered her hand. “I wish I could tell him who I am.” She paused. “Maybe I can.” She opened her reticule and took out a thin metal case.

Robert peeked from behind Abram and watched her closely.

Charlotte unlocked a clasp on the metal square and opened the object. It was a daguerreotype.

She turned it for Robert to see.

Abram glimpsed a picture of two young women sitting side by side, their arms linked. He looked up at Charlotte. “Is that you and Susanne?”

Charlotte nodded. “It was taken about six months before—” She paused and finally looked at Abram. “Before she left Iowa City.”

Charlotte knelt before Robert and pointed to Susanne’s picture.

Robert took a tentative step away from Abram and put his hand on the picture. “Mama,” he said in his nasally voice.

Charlotte nodded vigorously and then looked at Mrs. Ayers helplessly. “Is there some sign for ‘mother’? Something that we can teach him?”

Mrs. Ayers held up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know any sign language. We’ve taught him some basic signs that we created, such as touching his mouth when he’s hungry, but we are at a loss to communicate further.”

“There has to be some way we can learn and teach him sign language,” Charlotte said. She looked back at Robert. “Mama.” She spoke slowly, pointing to Susanne’s image. Next she pointed to her likeness and then to her chest. “Charlotte,” she said, again slowly, as if she wanted him to somehow read her lips.

Robert looked from the picture to his aunt and back to the picture.

“Does he understand?” Charlotte asked Abram.

Abram shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Charlotte allowed Robert to take the picture out of her hands and her face filled with a longing that made Abram’s heart ache.

He quickly put his hand on the baby’s chest. “This is George.”

She looked up at George and stood straight. “The other two look like you. George looks more like Susanne.”

“I think he looks like you,” Mrs. Ayers said. “He has your eyes.”

“Do you think?” Charlotte asked, a sense of hope in her gaze.

George looked at Charlotte with his deep brown eyes and a smile dimpled his chubby cheeks. He reached for Charlotte.

“Oh, my!” She took him in her arms and offered a surprised giggle.

The sound made Abram lift his brows. A giggle? It suited her.

Charlotte snuggled George close, closing her eyes as she placed her cheek against his soft hair.

Realization dawned on Abram. These were Charlotte’s only living relatives. She had no one else.

“Mrs. Ayers,” Abram said, clearing his throat. “Miss Lee has agreed to stay on as my housekeeper for the time being. I plan to take the children home with me this afternoon.”

Mrs. Ayers smiled. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“We’re going home, Papa?” Martin asked.

Abram nodded.

“Is Mama there?”

The question felt like a kick in his gut and he had to speak around the wedge of emotion clogging his throat. “Mama’s in Heaven, remember?”

Martin dropped his chin to his chest and Abram made the mistake of looking up at Charlotte. She still cuddled George but pain glinted in her eyes.

It was hard enough shouldering his grief and that of his children—could he also shoulder the grief of Susanne’s sister?

It was a task he was willing to take if it meant having his boys at home.

Chapter Four

It would be hours before the sun rose on another cold November morning, and hours before the boys woke up expecting breakfast. Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, a kerosene lamp making a small halo of light for her to work by. She held Abram’s best trousers in one hand, a needle and thread in the other. Last night, after everyone had gone to bed, she had washed his clothing and set it out to dry.

The potbelly stove radiated heat and boiled the pot of coffee percolating on the burner. Susanne’s irons sat next to the coffee, drawing heat from the fire beneath.

“Are you always an early riser?”

Charlotte jumped at the sound of Abram’s voice. He stood in the doorway wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday, his hair a mess and his beard just as shaggy as before.

She snipped the loose thread and set the pants on the table to be ironed. His sudden appearance left her heart pounding a bit too hard. “Yes.”

“Are those my clothes?” His sleepy eyes grew wide and he took one pant leg in hand. “They look brand-new, Charlotte. I don’t know what to say.”

She slipped the needle and thread into her sewing basket. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m only doing my job.”

“No. You went above and beyond your job.” He studied her, as if gauging whether or not she had done it out of kindness or duty. “Either way, thank you.”