Authors: Leen Elle
The stars were twinkling in the sky overhead like diamonds in a sea of black velvet. A strong breeze blew past and the cool wind chilled the faces of Sara, Nora, and Emy. All three wore thick sweaters and were leaning over the edge of Violet's railing, gazing down at the dark waves below.
Gail was downstairs with Nathaniel, as she so often was these days, and Mary had disappeared sometime after dinner. None of the girls knew where she'd gone.
Emy sighed and murmured, "I miss home." She paused, "Don't you?
Nora shook her head, "There's not much to miss in Laraford. And you just wait until we get to Brighton. It'll be a hundred times better than any home we've ever had, you just wait and see."
"I don't miss Laraford. I miss land," Emy whispered, "And I miss . . . I miss . . ." her voice trailed off, "I'm just tired of the sea, I suppose."
"I'm not tired of the sea. Not yet, at least," Nora replied.
Emy grinned, "That's only because you know leaving this ship means leaving a certain sailor, am I right?"
Nora giggled, "I don't know what you're talking about."
The night was a silent one except for the soft rustle of the waves and the sound of the men laughing downstairs, where they were in the middle of a game of poker. As Nora shifted her weight the deck's wooden boards squeaked beneath her.
"Have you noticed anything different about Charlie lately?" she asked.
Sara looked up, a growing interest apparent in her eyes, but didn't say anything.
"What do you mean?" replied Emy, "He wasn't feeling well today, I thought. His head was bothering him.
Right Sara?"
Sara simply nodded.
"Yes, I know, but it's not that exactly," Nora continued, "I mean, that's definitely part of it, but have you noticed that he's been looking very tired lately?"
Emy shrugged, "He always looks tired, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but not like this," said Nora, "I saw him nodding off at dinner a few nights ago; it looked as though he could barely keep his eyes open. I'm not even sure if he sleeps at all. I've heard the floorboards of his room creaking in the middle of the night, as though he's pacing the room. I don't understand it. And that headache he had today, I don't think it had anything to do with the storm last night. Something strange is puzzling him, I just don't know what."
Emy nodded and murmured, "I haven't an idea what it could be."
Nora suddenly looked towards Sara curiously and commented, "You've been awfully quiet tonight, Sara. It's not like you.
Anything wrong?"
"No, I'm fine," Sara lied, "But I'm just going to, er, to check in on Charlie for a moment. You know, see how he's faring."
Her voice was distant and she walked slowly away towards Charlie's office, leaving her two sisters perturbed and confused. Nora heard a soft rumble and she looked up towards the sky. The gray clouds from the previous night had returned and were preparing for another storm. Raindrops began to fall, and the two girls headed downstairs just before the downpour began.
*****
"Charlie?" Sara said, walking into the office, "Charlie?"
He was sitting with his arms upon the desk and his head was lying upon them. He still wore the pair of gray plaid pajama pants, but he'd exchanged the blanket he had draped around his shoulders earlier that day for an oversized, lumpy, navy blue sweater.
Sara stepped up beside Charlie's chair for a better look. His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly, fast asleep. Beneath his arms though, Sara saw something that made her eyes widen. He had been looking at old photographs, very much like the ones Sara had found several days before in the box beneath his desk.
The rain had begun to pound down upon the deck outside, and Sara peeked out the shabby black curtains to watch. Luckily, it wasn't a very terrible storm like their last, but rather just a bit of rain, so Sara turned her attention back to Charlie.
Very cautiously, so as not to wake him, she slipped the pictures out of his grasp and moved to the other side of the room. Brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, she eagerly looked down at the images.
The first photograph showed her father and Charlie outside at school; Sara suspected that it must be lunchtime because her father was holding a half-eaten apple.
Both wore the standard school uniform: gray trousers, a white Oxford shirt, black tie, and a black sweater. Her father obviously didn't like the uniform too much though; his sweater was a lump on the ground, he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow, and his tie hung loose around his neck. Charlie, on the other hand, wore every piece of his wardrobe exactly as it was meant. Sara did notice though that his sweater had a small stain on the sleeve and a hole near the collar. His tie was an older version than Roy's and none of the garments seemed to fit correctly. Sara suspected that he must have bought them second-hand.
Charlie looked rather like he did now. His hair was still a bit long and rather floppy, yet it wasn't streaked with silver, and his eyes still looked fairly tired with small, dark shadows hanging beneath each. Unlike her father, he appeared to be a bit camera shy and wore an uncomfortable grin. The books beneath his arm were trying to slip out of his grasp, which wasn't surprising considering how many he had.
Roy, on the other hand, was smiling broadly, his arm thrown around Charlie's shoulders. He had dark, chocolate brown hair, much like Sara's own, and brown eyes, like the ones Sara, Nora, and Gail claimed as well. A trail of freckles ran across his nose and his ears stuck out a bit- they always had.
Turning the photograph over, Sara read in an extremely neat, yet miniscule, penmanship:
Roy St. James and Charlie Wilkie
The next photograph showed Roy and Charlie at some sort of sporting event. Roy was out of his seat with his fist waving and his mouth wide open as though he'd been shouting. Charlie sat beside him with sleepy eyes and no apparent interest in the game, contently reading a book.
Sara flipped through few numerous photos of her father and Charlie: goofing around before class; at more sporting events; during lunch; several were solely of Charlie, usually depicting him hiding from the camera behind a book; and there was even one of Roy hanging off the balcony in the library while Charlie sat at a table beneath, laughing. Piles of books and papers surrounded him.
Whenever a strong gust of wind blew by and the rain pounded down upon the windows, Sara would glance over to see if it had woken Charlie, but it never did. She was surprised he could sleep through such weather; the water pelting down on the top of the office resembled the sound of beating drums.
Finally, when the wind grew so forceful that it threw open the door, Charlie stirred. He rubbed eyes and looked around him to see what had happened while Sara rushed over to the door and closed it.
"Have a good sleep?" she asked.
Charlie yawned, turned around to face her, and scratched his head before nodding.
Sara held up the photographs, "I hope you don't mind, but I saw you looking at these and I just . . . I haven't seen many photographs of my father as a boy."
"Of course I don't mind."
"Are you feeling much better?"
Charlie nodded, "Very. You were right. I just needed a bit of rest, I think. I didn't even mean to fall asleep, but then I started looking at those old pictures and before I knew it I'd just . . . I dozed off."
Lighting flashed across the room and just moments later a loud clatter of thunder made Sara jump. Charlie stood up and glanced out the window a moment before walking towards Sara and taking one of the photographs she'd set down.
He walked over to the wall beside the sofa and leaned against it, peering down at the image. Sara stood up across from him. The corners of Charlie's lips turned up in a small smile as he glanced from the photograph to Sara, "You really do look a lot like your father, Sara. The hair," his hand reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind Sara's ear, "and the nose. And something about the forehead is just . . ." His voice trailed off and when he spoke again it was in a whisper, "Just similar."
Sara blinked, but didn't say anything. The lightning lit up her face and when thunder struck, she didn't jump or jerk. She stood perfectly still. The sound of the rain pounding against the office's windows was rhythmic and almost resembled music.
Sara felt herself moving involuntarily forward; Charlie was doing the same. His hand reached out to her shoulder. Their faces were so close now Sara could see each and every line around his eyes and the wrinkles on his forehead. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she suddenly leaned in until their lips met. But the kiss hadn't even begun before Charlie firmly pushed her away.
"No, no, no," he mumbled beneath his breath, moving to the other side of the room, "No, we can't."
"But why not?"
"Why not?"
Charlie repeated, as though the answer was more than obvious. He began to rub his eyes and gulped, "I can't even believe that we . . . That I . . ."
"You wanted to, Charlie," Sara said, "I know you did. So I don't understand why . . ."
"How can you not understand?" he sighed. And then suddenly his eyes began to widen and he questioned, "What would your father think? If Roy . . . If he knew that I . . . No, I can't even imagine it. I . . . I can't think straight right now."
"He cared about us both so why should he want us to . . . to be happy."
"I didn't want this to happen," Charlie said, "I've known that I . . . But I can't . . . Whenever I thought about it, about you, I'd open that box beneath my desk- the one you looked through. I'd read those letters and I'd look at the pictures of Roy and I'd realize how foolish I was being. And when I looked at the photograph of you and
I
, nineteen years ago, sleeping on the sofa, I'd know I must have gone crazy. How could I feel that I . . . How could I feel the way that I-I was feeling for that little baby in the picture?" He paused a moment, letting Sara take in what he'd just said.
She gulped, "Is that why . . . why you were looking at the photographs today?
Because you were thinking of me?"
Charlie's eyes widened and he tugged on the sleeve of his sweater, but didn't answer.
"You don't want me, Sara," he continued quickly; his voice almost pleading with her, "You want someone young, someone who can take care of you. Not me. Not this tired old man."
"No," Sara shook her head, "No, that's not true."
Charlie leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes as his terrible headache returned; he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes and instead stared at the floor, "I-I'm too old for you.
Far too old.
And far too poor.
Do you know why I've been so miserable lately? I can't make my payments anymore. I can't afford this ship. I-I haven't even told the sailors yet, I don't even know how." He knew in his heart that his money problem wasn't the only thing making him so miserable lately. He hadn't been able to get Sara off his mind and it troubled him more than he could bear. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about her; he knew it was wrong. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't help it. He glanced up for a moment before returning his eyes to the floor, "And I can't let you think that
I . . . that
we . . . C-Can we please just forget this? Forget this ever happened and . . ."