A Family Arrangement. Gabrielle Meyer
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you’re always moving on to bigger and better things—to the detriment of your family—”
“This time is different.” Abram ran his hand through his long hair, causing the sawdust to drift down to his shoulders. “Little Falls will rival any town on the Mississippi. Susanne believed in my vision—”
“Of course she believed in you. She saw the best in everyone—” A sob choked off her words and she turned from him lest he see the tears she could no longer contain. How could her sweet sister be gone? Her short life was snuffed out far too soon and her babies had lost their mama. Robert, the oldest, had just turned five, Martin would be three, and the baby, George, was not quite a year old. The boys had been without a mother for three months. Though Charlotte could never replace Susanne, she would honor her sister’s wishes and do her best.
She finally looked back at Abram. Susanne had been sick for months before she died. She should have gone to a city doctor, yet he had failed to leave his scheme behind to take her. That thought strengthened Charlotte’s resolve. “You can do what you will with your life, but Susanne’s boys deserve better than this, and I intend to give it to them. It’s what she wanted.”
Abram was still a young man, not much older than Charlotte at the age of twenty-five, yet the weight on his shoulders and the anguish in his eyes made him look much older. The fight was gone from his stance as he studied Charlotte. “Do you have the letter she sent you?”
Charlotte nodded and opened the door. Susanne’s wishes were as plain as could be. As soon as he saw the letter, he would agree, and Charlotte could get the boys ready to move.
She left the sawmill and walked across the board plank to the riverbank. Her trunk sat next to the house and she quickly opened it and found the stack of Susanne’s letters bound in red ribbon. She had put the letter on top, knowing Abram would want to see it, and rightfully so.
“Here.” She stood and handed it to her brother-in-law. “This is the letter she wrote right after Robert was born.”
He took the letter and scanned the paper, his brow furrowed.
Charlotte had the words memorized by heart. “‘Now that I’m a mother, I understand how much you sacrificed to provide for me after Mama and Father passed away. If anything ever happens to me, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to take care of my children.’” It was quite common for a family member to take over the responsibilities of child care when a father was widowed—especially when there was no one else to help. Surely that was what Susanne had had in mind.
Abram handed the letter back to Charlotte. “She didn’t ask you to take them to Iowa—”
“Of course she did.” Charlotte glanced at the letter to make sure she had given him the right one.
“I’m afraid this trip has been a waste of your time.” He closed the lid of her trunk and effortlessly hefted it to his shoulder before she could stop him. “You’ll have to wait here until the stagecoach returns. Until then, you’ll sleep in my room and I’ll bunk with my employees in the room across the hall.”
He turned to grab the doorknob but she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Please, Abram. Let me take them back to Iowa.”
He stopped and glanced down at her gloved hand. It looked pristine next to his dingy work shirt. “The children are staying at the mission. I will take you to see them before you leave.” His eyes were filled with a warning. “But I will not let them go to Iowa.”
Charlotte’s chest rose and fell with her disappointment, but she wasn’t surprised by his declaration. Somehow she would convince him that sending the boys to Iowa was the best thing for all of them.
Somehow.
* * *
Abram pushed open the door to his home, cringing at what his sister-in-law would think of the dirty interior. It had been three and a half months since Susanne had died and she’d been sick for several months before that. The house was in need of a good cleaning—especially since five men now occupied the premise.
“I’ll haul this up and put it in the room you’ll use.” He stepped over the threshold and couldn’t help but look to see her reaction.
Charlotte’s brown eyes trailed over the main room and she lifted the hem of her fancy green traveling gown, as if she didn’t want it to get soiled.
He didn’t blame her. It was filthy—but when Susanne was alive, his home had made him proud. A large fireplace dominated one wall and modest furniture was spread around it. Four glass windows, a rare treat in Minnesota Territory, looked out at the river. Susanne had kept them shining, just for him—yet now they were dull with grime, just as his soul felt dull with grief. A shelf with Susanne’s books was near the desk in the corner and several muddy rugs were tossed about the room in no particular order.
A chicken ambled in from the kitchen and he winced. Caleb must have left the back door open again. It cackled at them and Charlotte squealed.
Abram balanced the trunk on his shoulder as he pushed the chicken toward the door with his boot.
“I was under the impression that this was the house.” She glanced around the room once again, a wrinkle wedging between her eyes. “Have we mistakenly entered the barn?”
He couldn’t help but goad her. “Hopefully only the chicken wandered in. We’ve been known to attract a few skunks and weasels, too.”
Her eyes grew wide and he tried not to smile. Instead he cleared his throat. “As soon as I get your trunk to your room, I’ll rustle up some supper.”
“Aren’t we going to see the boys?”
“It’s getting too late tonight.” Abram started up the stairs.
“Why did you wait?”
He paused and turned. The agony on her face twisted his heart. “Wait for what?”
“To tell me Susanne had died.”
He frowned. “I wrote to you immediately.”
She pulled a letter out of the pile she still held in her hands. “This didn’t arrive until three weeks ago—almost three months after she died.”
He readjusted her trunk on his shoulder. “Look at the date at the top of the letter. You’ll see it says July sixteenth, the day after her death.”
She glanced at the piece of paper and shook her head. “There is no date.”
He hadn’t put a date on the letter? She couldn’t blame him for the oversight. Right after his wife had died, he’d barely been able to put two thoughts together. “It must have been lost in the mail.”
“Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t come until now?”
“Frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Charlotte—and neither did Susanne. Not after the way you treated us when we said we wanted to marry.”
Anguish passed over her brown eyes yet he couldn’t help but say what he had wanted to say for the past six years. “You broke Susanne’s heart when you didn’t give us your blessing and when you never once inquired about our marriage in your letters. Until her death—” He choked on the word and didn’t have the heart to tell her that Susanne had wept on her deathbed over their broken relationship. “She carried the pain with her until the end.”
Tears fell down Charlotte’s cheeks but Abram didn’t wait for her response. Instead he continued up the stairs.
He stopped at the top and took several deep breaths. He had always hoped to convey to Charlotte how much she had hurt Susanne, but it didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.
With a sigh, he opened the door to his left and stepped into his modest-size bedroom. It had a large bed, a bureau, a rocking chair, the boys’ cradle and a washbasin. He had packed up all of Susanne’s things, except her Bible, and put