Chapter 4
Charlotte knew something was wrong the moment she set eyes on the stranger. Although it had only been a week since she had last seen her, she looked noticeably worse. She had lost a significant amount of weight, her eyes were red and sunken, and she seemed tired. She still moved with the same effortless grace she did last time, but she was slower, and looked as if her limbs were weighing her down.
When the stranger started coughing, Charlotte should have helped her lay down or given her water to drink. Instead, Charlotte had tried to be polite and hadn’t done anything to help until it was too late. Because she had tried to turn a blind eye, the stranger had passed out on her floor.
Charlotte had stood when the stranger had been struggling to get her feet under her and leave, despite the painful coughs wracking her body. She had offered water, but nothing else. The stranger had been adverse to taking any help from her. When the stranger’s legs collapsed under her, Charlotte had finally snapped out of her shock and rushed to her side.
For a painful moment, Charlotte thought the stranger wasn’t breathing. The silence after the coughs subsided was horribly quiet. As she got closer, however, Charlotte could hear the stranger breathing. Despite the sound being ragged and strained, it was music to Charlotte’s ears. When she placed a hand on the stranger’s chest, she could feel it slowly rise up and down with her breaths. Now that she was close enough to see the stranger’s face clearly, she could see small flecks of blood on her lips.
Charlotte felt terrible. She didn’t have any medical training and had no way to get the stranger to a doctor. She had forced the stranger to teach her to shoot and listen to her prattle on about her life, all while she was so obviously not well. Even when she was in the midst of her coughing fit, she didn’t want to trouble Charlotte.
She felt helpless. It was the same feeling of terror that had gripped her when Cal was slowly dying in his bed and Charlotte had not been able to do anything to save him. She couldn't let the stranger die, but she didn’t know how to help.
She reached out and grabbed the stranger’s hand, which was now limp and clammy in hers, nothing at all like what it felt like only a few minutes prior.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte knew that the stranger couldn’t hear her, but she felt like saying nothing would be unbearable, “You’re going to be alright.”
Knowing that she had to do something, Charlotte gave the stranger’s hand a final squeeze before standing up. She would do whatever she could, at least to make her comfortable until she woke up. The stranger had to wake up. She couldn't dig another grave.
Determined, Charlotte moved into her room to prepare her bed for the stranger. She made her bed and moved the pillows to give the stranger a place to comfortably rest. While she didn’t know much about medicine, she didn’t want to leave the stranger laying flat on her back. If the stranger had another coughing fit and started coughing blood, she didn’t want the stranger to choke.
Walking back into the main room where the stranger was laying, Charlotte wondered how she was going to move her. The stranger was taller and bulkier than her, even with the recent weight loss, and Charlotte didn’t know if she had the strength to lift her. She grabbed the stranger under her arms and attempted to lift her into a sitting position. The stranger was all dead weight and with a bit of struggle, Charlotte was able to maneuver her so her back was laying against her chest.
Deciding that dragging her across the floor was the best that Charlotte could do, she apologized, “I’m sorry. I’m not nearly strong enough to lift you, so this will just have to do. I hope you don’t mind.”
Lifting the stranger’s upper body, Charlotte managed to drag her towards the bed she had set up for her, though her booted feet dragged across the floor. When she managed to get the stranger to her room, she hefted her up as best she could and pushed the stranger into bed. The stranger lay on her side, crumpled and unmoving. She looked large on Charlotte’s small bed, but also vulnerable. Even in her sleep, the stranger seemed troubled. There was a small wrinkle in between her eyes, and Charlotte yearned to take her thumb and smooth it out, promising that everything would be okay. Instead, she rearranged the stranger so she was laying comfortably, propped up on the pillows.
She didn’t take the stranger’s boots off, arguing to herself that her sheets would already need to be washed, so a little extra dirt didn’t hurt. She did, however, go back into the main room to grab the stranger’s hat. It had fallen off when she had fallen over, and was laying on the dusty floor. She leaned over and picked it up, dusting the rim with her hand where it had been laying on the ground. The hat had a bullet hole through the rim, and Charlotte once again worried about the life the stranger lived.
Charlotte placed the stranger’s hat on the bedside table next to her head and stood, looking down at the stranger’s sleeping face. Like Charlotte herself, she had a few wrinkles radiating out from her eyes. Charlotte’s eyes traced the stranger’s nose down to look at her chin, where she knew a scar lay. She wondered what had happened to mark the stranger so permanently.
The stranger was a beautifully gruff woman, Charlotte thought. She was big and strong and kind, everything one could want in a woman.
Ever since she was a child, Charlotte had known that she was different from other girls her age. When her friends had started talking about boys, she had been confused. She felt nothing like what her friends told her they were feeling. While they talked about which boy they had a crush on, and which boy they wanted to kiss, Charlotte felt miserably left out.
Until, one day, she met a girl that changed her mind. A new student came to Charlotte’s class, and suddenly she understood what her friends were talking about. She was beautiful, and Charlotte wanted to hold her hand, she wanted to kiss her. When Charlotte told her friends, she had hoped for a sense of camaraderie in their shared experiences. Instead, they had laughed at her and told her that two girls couldn’t kiss.
Charlotte was devastated. She didn’t know why her feelings were any different from her friends. That night, she had cried to her father, telling him what had happened, trusting that he would know what to do, and would reassure her. Her father had paled and gripped her shoulder hard enough to hurt, telling her that she couldn't feel that way. He told her that God only accepted relationships between a man and a woman, and anything else was a sin.
It had taken Charlotte many years to tell anyone else about her feelings, and even still she often felt guilty when she stared at a woman for too long. Cal was the only person she had ever managed to confess to, but only after he had told her that he had no interest in marrying a woman. He had been the only person to tell her that her feelings were natural and that she shouldn't be ashamed. Charlotte missed Cal so much it hurt, and she didn’t think she would ever completely get over his death.
Pushing herself out of her thoughts, Charlotte decided she needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air to clear her mind. She almost left, before realizing that she didn’t want the stranger to be confused upon waking. Charlotte grabbed a pencil and a paper to write a letter, hoping that the stranger was literate enough to read it. If not, Charlotte hoped that she wouldn’t be offended.
My Dear,
I have forgotten once again to ask you for your name. I hope you will forgive me. Next time we meet, I ask that you will share it with me. I feel rather silly referring to my friend as only “the stranger”.
I have gone out hunting. Not a phrase I l thought any pen of mine would ever ink but nonetheless one I am very proud to finally be able to write. I am so very grateful to you for all the help and encouragement you've given me. You met me at one of my lowest points and showed me the way back to the person I really am. It pains me greatly to see your pain.
There is some money in the box on the nightstand. Please take it, I have more than I need back in the city and I'd like you to have it. Perhaps you can do some good with it or can use it to help yourself in some way.
Please take care and remain true to the woman I know you are.
Yours fondly,
Charlotte
Once Charlotte left some money in a jewelry box by the bed (she wasn’t lying, she truly had no need for it now), she glanced once more at the stranger sleeping in her bed. She hoped that she wasn’t in pain. She also selfishly hoped that the stranger wouldn’t wake up before she left. It would be nice to talk more before the stranger took her leave. However, from what Charlotte could tell, the stranger wasn’t one to linger.
She grabbed Cal’s rifle from where it leaned against the wall and left the stranger to recover in peace. Hunting would give Charlotte a chance to clear her head and the stranger a chance to rest. Since the stranger had first shown her how to hunt, she had tried her hand at it herself, but had failed because any shot she fired at an animal missed. She hoped that now that the stranger had shown her how to properly shoot Cal’s rifle, she would have a much better chance. They had just eaten the last of the rabbit, and she needed to shoot something if she wanted to survive.
The woods were shockingly calm and serene after the shock of the stranger collapsing. She could hear birds chirping softly and the distant sound of rushing water. A gust of wind rustled the canopy and made goose pimples rise on her uncovered forearms. Charlotte took off on a brisk walk, trying to warm herself up. She would try her luck, once more, at the hunting grounds the stranger had led her to last time. She hoped she would have luck actually shooting something this time.
Since Charlotte had first met the stranger, she hadn’t left her mind for long. She told herself it was only because she was grateful for her help whenever she ate the rabbit the stranger caught for her, that she was only thinking of the one person to show her kindness in a long while. Someone who saved her. It was hard to keep the facade up when she was trying to sleep and glimpses of blue eyes, sturdy arms, and callused fingers gently holding hers wouldn’t leave her mind. Despite Cal helping her accept her feelings towards other women, she had never had the courage to actually act on those feelings.
Charlotte knew what happened to people like her and Cal. At best, they would be exiled, their families disgraced and cut off from any financial support. At worst, they would be killed. Many people would take offence to the thoughts she was having, some enough to get violent. The fear kept her from experimenting, no matter how Cal tried to convince her that he knew places where people like them could mingle in peace. Cal always was braver than her, up until the very end.
Charlotte’s wandering had led her to a small clearing close to the river. She decided that this was as good of a spot as any to wait for an animal to pass by. She sat against a tree and scanned the surrounding forest, seeing nothing. She hoped that if she sat still for long enough, something would come close enough for her to shoot. Still unsure about her ability to hit a moving target, Charlotte checked the rifle to make sure it was loaded properly. She would have to be quick, once she fired a shot, every animal in the area would run, and she had no chance to hit a running animal.
In contrast to herself, Charlotte had no doubt that the stranger could shoot anything she put her mind to. She was very competent, she had even managed to shoot a scurrying rat. While she had tried to play it off, Charlotte was impressed. Grateful as well, that rat had been tormenting her for weeks. Once again, the stranger had helped her, even if Charlotte had little to offer in response.
Charlotte felt her stomach flip and her chest grow warm. Despite what the stranger seemed to think, Charlotte felt sure that she was a good woman. If the stranger was the type of person to help a starving widow, Charlotte had no doubt about her decision to trust her. Charlotte knew that most people would have either ignored her or worse.
Despite this, Charlotte could see that the stranger wasn’t someone she would want to cross. Nobody carried that many guns for no reason. She didn’t know how she made a living, but if she had to guess, Charlotte would say she used them. Maybe she was a bounty hunter. Maybe she was an outlaw. Whatever the answer, Charlotte would only judge her based on what she saw and how the stranger treated her. There was no use in speculating. Her mother had always taught her that gossip was rude (even if Charlotte used to sneak out of her room to hear her mother and her friends gossiping about anyone who dared to step out of the mold high society dictated) and that was what she was doing, even if it was just to herself.
Sighing, Charlotte scanned the forest once more, this time stopping when her eyes came across a duo of deer at the edge of the clearing. Charlotte gasped. The meat on a deer would last her a long time, much longer than a rabbit. Slowly, as to not disturb the pair, she stood and aimed the rifle. She took a deep breath, pointing the rifle at the closer deer’s head, before exhaling and pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed around the forest, and the other deer scampered away. The deer she had shot at, though, was on the ground, still desperately trying to run, despite being unable to. It was making a horrible whining noise.
Charlotte felt bad hearing the animal in pain but she had no choice. She wanted to live. She walked a couple of paces closer, watching the deer’s wide eyes peering at her in fear.
“I’m sorry.”
Charlotte aimed the gun at its head once more and pulled the trigger, putting the poor creature out of its misery. Looking closer at the large animal, Charlotte realized that she had no way of getting it back to her cabin. She had barely been able to drag the stranger a few feet to her bed, how was she supposed to carry a full grown deer all the way back to her cabin.
Not for the first time, she wished she knew how to fish. Fishing seemed much easier than this. But, unluckily for her, fishing was yet another task she was woefully ignorant about.
Charlotte had a wheelbarrow in her shed. If she hurried, she could bring it here before any scavengers started to pick at her catch. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and jogged back towards her cabin.
Now that the initial shock of seeing the deer in pain had worn off, Charlotte felt relieved and excited. She had never been able to hunt anything before! The deer would feed her for a long time. Charlotte finally felt confident in her ability to actually survive, before it had felt like futile hope.
As Charlotte neared her cabin, she wondered if the stranger had left yet. She hoped not. If she was awake she could help Charlotte with the deer. Or maybe not, Charlotte thought, she was very ill. Still, Charlotte wanted to tell the stranger of her success. She was proud and wanted to share her happiness with the stranger. Afterall, the only reason she was actually able to shoot the deer was because of the stranger.
Charlotte thought about how it would feel to have the stranger praise her. Maybe the stranger would be proud enough of her that she would run up to her and hug her so strongly her feet would lift off the ground. Charlotte pushed such thoughts from her mind and told herself to stop those foolish daydreams. The stranger would probably be long gone by the time she got home. Even if the stranger hadn’t left yet, it would only be because she was sick enough she couldn't leave.