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Charlotte of South Manitou Island (Great Lakes Romances) (Volume 4)

By Donna Winters

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CHAPTER 1
South Manitou Island Lighthouse
Keeper’s Quarters
Thursday, March 19, 1891

Ten-year-old Charlotte Richards ran up the stairs from the basement kitchen, her waist-length braids flopping against her back. Her father, the assistant lightkeeper, would be proud when she reported that she had again recited her lessons perfectly in school today, and that her teacher had told her she was the best student in the fourth grade class.

At the sound of voices, she stopped outside the office door. It wouldn’t do to interrupt her father’s discussion with his boss, the head lightkeeper. She shouldn’t listen in, either. But she stayed rooted to the floor, catching every word her father spoke.

“John, we can’t wait another day to go for supplies,” Papa insisted. “The beans gave out yesterday. Julia tells me she’s only got a half-pound of rice, hardly enough for a kernel apiece in a household of twelve. She served up the last of the pork and beef for dinner last night, and scant portions they were. Her shelves in the root cellar are empty of all but a quart of applesauce and one of strawberries. She’s got a bag of cornmeal and a couple dozen eggs left for fryin’, but little else.” As Charlotte listened from the hallway, she could imagine her father scratching his grizzled beard before continuing.

“To make matters worse, Charlotte told me this mornin’ Buttercup has eaten most of her share of the hay you bought from Schroeder last fall.”

“The lighthouse tender will surely make her way to us soon,” John Trevelyn stated confidently. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll hitch up Prancer and take the wagon to Otto Schroeder’s and arrange for a few more days’ supplies. You can tell your wife her larder will be restocked by noon. I’ll bring back some cattle feed, too.”

“I’ve got somethin’ else in mind. Nobody expected the Hayward to stop by the island yesterday, but since she’s cut a path through the ice, and the temperatures are mild, Baase says he’s headin’ for Glen Arbor tomorrow mornin’ at sunrise. I plan to go with him and bring back supplies. With any luck, we’ll be back in time for a late supper.”

Charlotte’s heart sank. Her eleventh birthday tomorrow just wouldn’t be the same without Papa.
“I think Baase is pushing his luck on a wooden-hulled boat the size of his,” John insisted. “I’d guess there’s still a good deal of ice in Sleeping Bear Bay, and spring weather in the Manitou Passage can change in an instant.”

“Baase has been out in plenty of spring storms, and so have I,” Papa pointed out. “Neither of us is afraid of ice near Glen Arbor. I’ve set my mind on bringin’ back some necessities, and while I’m there, I’ll pick up a little somethin’ special for my Charlotte’s birthday tomorrow.”

“You’ve set your mind on getting off the island,” John calmly countered.

Charlotte remembered one day last week when the weather had turned mild, her papa had been irritable, scolding her and her sisters for no good reason. Her mother had explained later that after weeks of isolation, he was anxious to get away from South Manitou for a spell.

“Go if you must,” Mr. Trevelyn told her father, “but not on account of our need for supplies. You know as well as I do, we can get by with what’s right here on the island.”

A silent moment lapsed, then a chair scraped the floor.

Charlotte tiptoed away. Why did her father have to go away tomorrow, of all days? Suddenly, it no longer mattered that she was the best student in the fourth grade class. All that mattered was that he wouldn’t be home on her birthday.

Her feet dragged on her way upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her two older sisters. She and her papa shared a very special friendship—more special than he had with her two older sisters. How could he go away on the one day when he was supposed to pay all his attention to her?
Lead settled in her stomach, and her mind tied itself in a double overhand knot. Her papa did have very good reasons for leaving the island, or he wouldn’t have been so insistent, but she wished with all her heart he would pick a different day.

~~~

She remained troubled the following morning as she walked the icy path that led to the barn. She had arisen an hour early, as soon as she had heard her folks stir. She had lain awake most of the night anxious over her father’s trip, and all the worry had made her hungry for breakfast, but first she must tend to feeding and milking Buttercup. That was the rule—no breakfast until chores were finished.

She pushed the creaky barn door open just wide enough to slip inside and went straight to work, offering Buttercup the last of her hay. “Sorry girl, but that’s all you get for now. The rest of the hay in this barn belongs to Prancer. He’s gonna need it to haul home some more for you.” She patted the nose of the brown and white cow and set her stool and milk pail in place.

To her surprise, Seth Trevelyn reached the barn only a few minutes after she did. So sullen was her mood, she failed to bid “good morning” to the fifteen-year-old at work in the adjacent stall. He slung a feed bag over a chestnut gelding’s head, then leaned his arms on the divider between the horse and cow. Charlotte lowered her focus to the scuffed toes of his oversized brown leather boots as she sat on the milk stool.

“My, but you sure are quiet. Why so glum? This is supposed to be your happy day, Charlie!”

Without even looking, she knew he wore a lopsided grin that showed the overlap of his front teeth. She ignored the remark about her birthday, and his use of the hated nickname. Pressing her head against the cow’s flank, she bent to her task. With every splash into the pail, her heart sank lower. Just when she thought tears would surely be added to the white liquid, Seth reached down and yanked extra hard on her left braid, then took off.

Charlotte flew off her stool. “I’ll get you, Seth Trevelyn!” She caught up with him near the ladder to the loft, shoving hard against his back.

He fell forward, grabbing hold of the ladder, then he scrambled up out of Charlotte’s reach, laughing as he tossed what remained of the hay down over her. She shook it off and spun away, returning to Buttercup.

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