“Oh, no. I only wondered.” Charlotte changed the subject, lest Mrs. Beebe misinterpret her interest as something it was not. “And what will you and Mr. Beebe do on your Sabbath day of rest?”
“We’re to dine with my daughter and her husband. They’re the ones with the four little girls. It’s my son in Worthing what’s got the two older boys. We’ll see them Sunday week.”
“How blessed you are to have your family so close at hand.”
“Indeed, Miss Charlotte. And close in heart.” The woman surprised Charlotte by reaching out and squeezing her hand. “Someday you will as well, my dear.”
A few days later, Charlotte borrowed Mr. Beebe’s pride and joy—the baby carriage he had built for his own grandchildren. It was much lighter and simpler than the large, ornamental conveyances afforded by only the very rich. His was fashioned after the invalid chairs he had once seen in the spa town of Bath, with a hood and push-handle. Promising to be careful, Charlotte put Anne securely inside, and together they strolled along the sea. The large wheels of the carriage turned more easily on the water-worn pebbles of the shingle beach than they likely would have on sand. Enjoying the breeze and the rhythmic roar of the waves, Charlotte walked for nearly a mile, she reckoned, passing the rooftops of several houses on the ridge as she did. In the sky ahead, she saw a kite flying. The sight cheered her somehow, the colorful diamond, soaring on a wind. She picked up her pace, hoping to catch sight of the child flyer.
She soon realized the flyer was not on the beach but up on the ridge, hidden from view. As she passed a path leading up to the nearest house, the kite came crashing down beside her. So startled was Charlotte that she shoved the carriage to the side too quickly and it struck a large stone. She heard something snap.
Oh no...
Charlotte sunk to her haunches between the injured carriage and the fallen kite and almost immediately heard feet crunching over the pebbles toward her.
Looking up, she saw a boy of nine or ten years, spool of thread in hand, brown curls flopping up and down on his head as he ran.
“I didn’t brain you, did I?” the child called, worried.
“No. Not quite.” Charlotte smiled, and as the child stepped closer she realized it was not a boy after all, but a girl with hair cropped short around her face and dressed in boys’ trousers.
“When I saw you down on the ground like that, I thought I must have.”
“I was just examining this wheel. I seem to have knocked it from its, em, rod there.”
“Axle.”
“Right.”
The girl peeked beneath the carriage hood to look at Anne. “What’s your baby’s name?”
“Her name is Anne. But she isn’t mine. I’m her nurse.”
“She’s lovely.”
“As are you. I like your hair.” Charlotte looked at the loose, springy curls, much like her own hair would be, she guessed, if she cut it that length. “Must be less fuss short.”
“That’s what Mother says. Keeps all our hair short.”
“All?”
“My sisters and brothers. I have three of each.”
“I see. Shall I help get your kite back up?”
“Do you know how to fly a kite?”
“No. My mother and I tried once, but there was insufficient wind.”
“Plenty today.”
“What shall I do?”
“Well, if you’ll hold the kite while I take out the slack and start running ...”
Charlotte was already picking up the kite and flicked a piece of lichen from it.
Over her shoulder, the girl called, “Just let it go when I say.”
