Five Sisters (13 page)

"Me?" Sara shook her head, "No. No, it's not me. It's just that . . . Well, you see, Mary's not actually ill. She's having doubts about her marriage. She doesn't think that she and Ethan are in love, and she doesn't think they should be getting married."

"Ah," Charlie said, "A blushing bride.
Very common.
I'm sure she'll get over it in a few days or so."

"That's what I thought," Sara agreed, "But now I'm not so sure. How is she supposed to know for sure?"

"She can't know for sure," Charlie replied.

"But then how will she ever know . . ."

"Love, as wonderful as it may be, is also terribly confusing. Sometimes we find ourselves falling for someone we never imagined and sometimes, like in your sister's case, we find ourselves with someone who seems absolutely perfect for us in each and every way. There's no way to know if we've simply convinced ourselves that we're in love, or if it's the truth. That's simply the way things are."

Once Charlie left the office, Sara found she had the room all to herself. She'd finished mending Charlie's sweater and was just about to curl back up in the comfy chair with a good book when something caught her eye.

Beneath Charlie's desk there had always been a rather large number of old boxes, and usually they were all securely closed. But today, the lid of one of these boxes was slightly askew. To anyone else, this wouldn't have been anything worth investigating, but Sara had been in this office almost every day for the past few weeks and she'd come to know it very well. So when something was off balance, she noticed and she wondered.

Charlie must have been looking at the contents inside the box earlier in the day, because no one but he and Sara ever seemed to enter his office and Sara certainly hadn't been rummaging around in Charlie's personal belongings.

Although she felt a bit bad about it, because Charlie did seem rather protective over the items he kept in his office, Sara took out the little box and set it on the desk. With a quick glance around her, to make sure she was
alone,
she took off the lid and peered inside at a pile of papers. Then, she took out the top piece of parchment, unfolded it, and began to read.

It was dated twenty-one years back, and as soon as Sara examined the writing her jaw dropped. The letter had been written by her father.

Charlie,

It feels as though I haven't seen you in years, Professor, when you've really only been gone for a few weeks.

I've got a job working with the
Laraford Post Dispatch
, but it's really not anything to be proud of. My stories only make it into the back of the issues, never anywhere near the front. Amelia says I shouldn't worry. She says as long as I give it my all, I'll be making the front page in no time. I can only hope she's right, for both our sakes. It feels like I'm making a penny a day at the moment and that's certainly not easy to live off of, my friend.

We've bought a little house, but it's not much to boast of either. Things can only get better from here, I suppose.

How are things out on the high seas? I still can't believe that you actually bought a ship and are out there sailing on it at this very moment. I'll never forget the look on your mother's face when you told her. If your father hadn't held her back she probably would've boxed in your ears, Charlie boy.

Amelia's not too happy about it either. She keeps telling me to get you to come back. She's worried about you, I know. She thinks you're going to be eaten by whales or something; Amelia's never been very keen on the ocean. It scares her. I'm always saying we should join you on one of your voyages sometime, but she refuses. If it weren't for my love for her, I'd be out there in a minute. Honest.

Imagine us- two pirates sailing the seven seas. I actually thought about changing your name to Captain Blackbeard, Professor, but I thought that wouldn't make much sense since you don't even have a beard, much less a black one. And besides, you've been Professor for so many years that it'd be strange to change things now.

I hope you're enjoying yourself out there, Charlie. And Amelia wants me to let you know that we miss you and that you're welcome to stay with us, in our humble abode, anytime you're in town.

Till next time,

Jester

(Also known as your friend Roy St. James)

He'd sent this letter, Sara realized, just after getting out of school. He and Amelia had only been married a few months before, and Mary hadn't even been born yet.

The effect the simple piece of parchment had on Sara was shocking. She had never known what her father was like as a young man until she met Charlie, and was terribly excited to be able to read something, even a silly letter, from the hand of her own father.

Quickly, she pulled out the next piece of parchment and began to read:

Charlie,

She's the most beautiful child you'll ever see, my Mary.
With hair as dark and skin as fair as her mother's.
She has the face of an angel; I'm surprised she doesn't sprout wings and a halo.

I wish you could come to town for her second birthday,
it's
next week, but I know such a dream is impossible when you're so far away. I do hope you're faring well out there. How's ol' Violet?
And what about the crew?

Amelia's going to have the baby sometime in the next week or so. I'll write when it happens and hopefully you'll be able to stop by soon after and see the newest edition to the St. James family. I still can't believe I'm the father of one child; I'm not so sure I'm ready for two.

It's strange. If someone had told me five years ago that one of us would be working for the paper with a wife, a baby girl, and another on the way, and the other would own a ship and sail the seven seas, I would instantly have said that you were the family man, Professor. You were always the more responsible one, wanting stability and a wife and home. And I would have been the sailor, traveling the world without a care in the world. Strange how quickly things can change.

But you're doing alright on your own, I suppose? You
are
happy, right?

If you ever decide to settle down and find a wife, Amelia wants me to tell you that she'd be happy to play matchmaker. A few of her friends still aren't married, and she's constantly talking about how wonderful it would be if one of them fell in love with you. She thinks you're lonely and she wants you to find someone. I've tried to tell her that you're in love with Violet and doing perfectly fine, but she refuses to believe that a man could fall in love with his ship. She's truly a romantic.

Well, I hope to hear from you soon.

- Jester St. James

The baby he wrote of, Sara thought with a
smile,
must be her. She hadn't even been born yet when this letter was written. But the next piece of paper, much smaller than the last, announced her birth:

Roy and Amelia St. James

joyfully
announce the birth of their second daughter,

Sara Marietta St. James

May 20th

6 pounds 7 ounces

It felt strange reading about her own birth, but Sara felt tears coming to her eyes when she saw that it was written in the graceful, smooth handwriting of her mother. Amelia had even taken the time to draw a few little violets in the corner, for Charlie.

The next item in the box was an old, withered enveloped stuffed with old photographs. Sara eagerly pulled out the stack. After seeing the first photograph though, she could barely go on. She stared at the picture for what seemed like an hour, brushing away the tears that had suddenly begun to flow.

It had been taken fifteen years ago, just after Gail was born. Roy was sitting on a sofa holding baby Gail, who had a head of red fuzz. His eyes were bright and he was smiling happily at the camera. Around him were his four older daughters. Mary, with her dark ringlets, was on his right side and she had little Emy on her lap. Nora, holding her teddy bear, sat on his left, and Sara was sitting on the back of the couch with her legs around Roy's shoulders, piggyback style, with her hands on his head. Because Amelia had taken the picture, she wasn't visible.

Seeing her father so young and full of joy, surrounded by all five of his daughters was an amazing thing for Sara. The last time she'd seen him he'd been miserable, on the edge of death.

Once she'd dried up all her tears, Sara set down the picture and began to look at the rest of Charlie's photographs.

The next one showed Charlie holding newborn Mary. It was followed by one of him with Nora, then one of him with Emy, and another of him and baby Gail. The last photograph was flipped upside down, and before Sara looked at the picture she read what her mother had written on the back:

Charlie and Sara, eleven months old

When she flipped it over, Sara could feel the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile.

Charlie was lying on the sofa, the same sofa Roy had been sitting on in the previous picture, wearing an oversized red sweater. A shock of light brown hair fell lazily over his closed eyes, and Sara was surprised to see that although he must have only been around twenty-years-old in the photograph, his hair already had a few streaks of gray. Baby Sara was
laying
on his chest, stomach down, held in place by the two hands Charlie had placed on her back. She wore a one-piece yellow nightie and had soft dark hair. Like Charlie, she was fast asleep. Her head was lying in the crook of his neck and her hands were pulling down gently on the collar of his sweater.

Sara had forgotten until now how often Charlie used to come over to their house when she was a child. Seeing the photograph of she and him taking an ever so peaceful nap warmed Sara's heart and brought back many memories of her childhood.

Suddenly, behind Sara, the door of the office opened and Charlie entered.

"Oh," Sara said, her voice breathless, "I'm sorry, Charlie. I just . . . I saw that the box was open and I . . ."

Charlie glanced over at what she'd been looking at, "It's quite alright. You deserve to see those. And the letters too," Charlie said. He scratched his head, "I'm not really sure why I've been hiding them from you. I should have shown them to you ages ago." He paused uncomfortably and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Sara bit her lip, "Do you miss them too? My parents, I mean."

"Of course," Charlie whispered, "Everyday." He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his head as though he had a migraine, "I only wish I could have seen them again before . . . before it happened. I wasn't even able to come to the funeral and say goodbye."

There was a moment of silence as Charlie thought back to the day he'd found out that Roy and Amelia had passed away. He'd been miles and miles away, separated from Laraford by an enormous ocean, and had just docked Violet at the harbor of a foreign city. While the sailors went out for a drink, he'd gone straight to the post office to see if anything had arrived for him or the boys. The first letter he opened told the unbearable news.

Charlie never forgave himself for being so far away when it happened. If only he'd listened to Amelia. She always told him that he
oughtn't
go sailing so far away. If he'd listened he might have been able to make it back before they'd died. Or he would have at least been able to come for the funeral.

He'd never forgiven himself for that.