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Charity and the Seven Sisters

By Joi Copeland

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Chapter ONE

Charity Watson paused at the bottom of the staircase. Her hand gripped the banister. The room began to spin. She closed her eyes, her free hand pressing against her stomach. Inhaling, she counted to ten before opening her eyes. The sweet face of her maid loomed before her.
"Dear girl, it's going to be alright." The short, round woman with bobbing white hair looped her arm around Charity's waist.
Charity bit back a sob. "Is it? My father just died, Liza." Tears pooled in her eyes.
Eliza pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed Charity's cheeks. "There's always your stepmother."
Charity snorted. "I've only known her for a few short months. While she's been cordial, she's never been inviting."
Eliza frowned. "I know. I hoped she'd take a liking to you."
Charity wished for the same thing. Not having a mother most of her life, she desired someone to confide in, to share her burdens with. When her father remarried four months ago, the woman he'd brought home was nothing like the person Charity had imagined.
Pearl Watson stood rigid; her narrow brown eyes always seemed to hold animosity whenever Charity was near. Her pitch-black hair clung to the nape of her neck in a tight bun while her lips were pinched together more often than not. Charity always thought she was tall at five foot seven, but her stepmother towered over her by at least three inches. Whatever did her precious father see in the severe woman?
"Come, child." Eliza grasped Charity's hand, pulling her toward the drawing room. "Your stepmother’s been inquiring about your whereabouts."
"She didn't actually expect me to come to dinner, did she? We only had the funeral a few short hours ago."
"No. But guests are arriving with food and would like to spend some time with you."
Charity allowed Eliza to drag her to the double doors. She licked her lips and smoothed her black dress with her free hand. So many people attended the service to say goodbye to her father. How would she be able to entertain them? Her father's funeral was the first one she'd ever attended. No one would guide her on etiquette.
The double doors flew open, her stepmother directing sending a frown in Charity's direction. Of course, her stepmother would guide her, whether she wanted her to or not.
"Charity, where have you been?" Disappointment crossed the woman's face.
Charity lowered her gaze. "I apologize, Stepmother. I was resting a bit."
"Now is not the time for that. We have people arriving in a few moments to grieve with us." She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and brushed it over her nose.
"Yes, I know. I only needed a bit of time to compose myself."
"Well, let's not waste another second." Pearl turned toward Eliza. "Wait by the door so that when the guests arrive, they will not have to linger in the snow."
"Yes, ma'am."
Pearl raised one eyebrow. Charity rolled her eyes.
"Sorry, ma'am. I forgot." Eliza curtsied.
"That's better. I know my dear Charles never had you curtsy, but it is a sign of respect. Now that he is gone, I must require it."
Her father never required that of his hired help. Yet, the woman of the manor now ordered it. Charity's father always told her respect was earned, not demanded.
Eliza nodded.
"Come, Charity. My brother is waiting for us."
Charity followed her stepmother into the drawing room. Jasper Higgins lounged in her father's chair. Charity's blood boiled. That chair belonged to the wonderful man who raised her, not the brother of a woman who despised Charity.
"Charity, you remember Jasper."
Charity nodded. "Mr. Higgins."
Jasper stood, his beady eyes roaming over her body. Charity shivered. He always made her uncomfortable.
"Please, Charity. We are family and must not be so formal. It's Uncle Jasper."
"Ma'am," the Watson butler bowed. "Your guests are arriving."
Pearl clasped her hands; for a moment, glee crossed her face. As soon as it came, it disappeared. Her lips tightened. "Send them in."
Charity moved to the far corner of the room, sadness engulfing her. How would she endure the next few hours without losing her composure?

Two days later, Charity roamed through the gardens. Her shoes crunched over the snow that still covered the ground. February in Boston always brought about a new layer of snow to the earth. No flowers bloomed, no birds sang. Clouds covered the sky, hiding any traces of warmth and sun.
Charity inched toward the bench sitting next to her father's favorite tree. Leaves would soon decorate the tree, but today it sat barren and alone. Much like herself. Not too long ago, she and her father had strolled through the garden together. Her heart ached, pushing the memory aside. She didn't wish to go down memory lane. Not today. Not when her life appeared so bleak.
Charity brushed away the snow and sank onto the bench. Closing her eyes, she could see her father's round face. She wiped away the tears streaming down her face.
"Pearl, we cannot act now."
Jasper's voice broke the silence of the garden.
"Why not? Wouldn't it seem natural for the girl to take her own life after the loss of her father?" Her stepmother's whine grated on Charity's nerves.
Surely, they wouldn't be talking about her, would they? And where were they coming from? Charity glanced up and down the walkway, straining to listen for their footsteps. Their shoes crunched over the ground, just as Charity's had moments ago. She bolted up and moved with quick steps to the nearest hedge, hoping to remain undetected.
"Do not let your greed overtake your common sense, dear sister. Her friends would never believe Charity could do such a thing."
"I don't know how much longer I can go on living with that girl. She mopes around all day. She won't see any of her callers. I barely tolerated her father. Now I have to deal with her." Pearl sniffed.
Charity's heart pounded. Her stepmother didn't love her father? How could that be? Everyone who knew him loved him.
"Let's wait until spring. Then we can put our plan into action. Once she is dealt with, all of this will be yours."
Pearl giggled. "Ours, you mean."
"Yes, little sister, ours."
Their footsteps echoed in the distance. Charity's hand flew to her chest, her breath visible from the cold. They meant to do her harm. What could she do? Where could she go? She ran to the house as fast as she could without slipping or being caught by the siblings.
Eliza. She had to talk to Eliza. She would know what to do and how to get Charity out of harm's way.

#
Dearest Sisters,
I write with grave news. My wonderful employer has left his earthly home and now resides with our Lord. My poor Charity is left to deal with her awful stepmother and uncle. I know she is in harm's way, and I must ask for your assistance. As soon as the passes thaw, I am going to send her directly to you in Montana. Would you take her under your wing until she is safe once again? I do not know who else to turn to, as Charity's stepmother is well connected here in Boston. And her brother is quite shady, if I may say so.
I worry about Charity, dear sisters. She has gone through so much in her young life, not even twenty years of age yet. She needs love, guidance and protection. Please, do what you can for her. I am so thankful you decided to stay in Montana. If you were here, I do not know what I would do. Know I am forever in your debt.
Charity is a rather tall girl, standing at five foot seven with long, raven black hair. Her eyes are the blackest you have ever seen, and very cat-like. Her complexion is quite pale, having never been in the sun without a bonnet. Look for her on the stage sometime after March. I will send money each month to cover her expenses. I know her father kept some stowed away for such emergencies. I will send all of that with her. Pray for her. Pray for the truth to be revealed so that she can come home to a place of peace.
Thank you, dearest sisters, for heeding this request. I know I can count on you.
Much love,
Eliza

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