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Chapter 4
Two mornings later, Charlotte’s mother appeared at the breakfast table for the first time. Charlotte and her father leapt from their chairs to assist her, both frankly surprised that she’d had enough strength to drag herself from the depths of her bedroom. She sat delicately—fluttering her fingers in the air and whispering, “It’s quite all right. I can manage.”
She ate slowly. Charlotte and her father traced every movement, praying that she would remain upright. As she finished, she drew her chin towards her chest and spoke to her half-empty plate.
“I know that it’s been selfish of me to spend such time alone in my bedroom weeping,” her mother finally uttered. “I realized that the root of my sadness was fear for my sister. I know that now, now that I’ve collected myself, I must prepare myself to tend to her.”
“That’s kind of you, Mother. But everyone is allowed their own time to grieve,” Charlotte affirmed.
“Be that as it may, I would like to go to town today,” her mother continued. “I’d like to purchase black fabrics, so that I may mourn with my sister appropriately.”
“I’ll come with you,” Charlotte said. “And assist you with anything you require.”
“Thank you, Charlotte.” Her mother paused and delivered a gentle smile. “I do hope I find a way out of this darkness. I never imagined the torment a murder would cause. Here we are, living in a far different reality. I hadn’t ever considered that the world could be so cruel.”
The table held silence after that. Charlotte’s father’s spoon scraped the bottom of his bowl.
“Are you both quite sure you can manage that?” he asked suddenly.
“Of course,” Charlotte affirmed. “We won’t be gone long.”
Charlotte and her mother prepared for a trip to town. Once in the carriage, her mother’s eyes filled with tears that didn’t fall. Charlotte gripped her mother’s hand and squeezed hard for a moment. When her mother turned to face her once more, her expression seemed empty.
“What do you think happened?” she asked softly.
Charlotte felt the words like a slice through the heart. “I don’t know.”
“Was he involved with something horrible?”
“I don’t know. I only saw him occasionally. We weren’t as close at the end as we once had been.”
Her mother nodded contemplatively. Charlotte supposed she would have to carry these questions with her for several weeks. She would have to answer just the same, with patience and understanding. It would become a part of her mother’s process.
The fabric shop was located in an old building just south of the main square. Charlotte and her mother appeared before it, blinking at the shop window.
“They always decorate the shop window so elaborately,” her mother said.
There it was: her mother’s familiar judgmental attitude towards everything else.
“Does it bother you?” Charlotte asked.
“Only slightly. I imagine that they could really busy themselves with something more reasonable. It’s not as though we have many other fabric shop options. Shall we?”
Charlotte and her mother entered the fabric store. As they marched, it struck Charlotte that they were really only a few blocks from where she’d met Florentia several days before. Her mother paused at a long aisle of glowing fabrics, lifted her fingers to rub a portion of it, then turned a sharp eye towards the fabric shop worker.
“I don’t suppose this is all you have?” her mother enquired harshly.
“Whatever do you mean?” the worker asked.
Her mother cleared her throat. “I supposed the fabric you had would be more traditional. This seems quite cheap to me.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. Her mother adored this sort of activity: picking apart the rest of the world, forcing them to fall to their knees before her.
At this, Charlotte realized that her mother would probably find a way to remain in that very fabric store for the better part of an hour.
“Cheap?” the fabric store hand said with a frown. He hustled towards her, a measuring tape hanging from his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You must understand it,” her mother returned. “I’ve come to this very fabric shop for the better part of twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
