Beauty and the Beast

by: Tiger Lily21

Scene 4: Dad Comes Home and Charlotte Makes a Decision

A/N: This is not Part 2 of the story. This is, specifically, Part 1 of Part 2. Or it might be Part 4 of Part 1. It doesn't really matter. It's the next part of the story. I promised some of you reviewers an update by Thursday but I didn't have the entire second part done (I only have this part of the part done) and I felt bad not updating when I said I would, so here's this. It's not really a scene. There are two scenes in it, I think. Really I ought to just break down and call each scene a chapter and post them as a separate story. But I won't! Not yet anyways. After NaNoWriMo is over, this story and "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" (and possibly one more that is only a twinkle in my eye right now but will hopefully be written and up by the end of the month in this collection) will probably get major overhauls and be turned into novel-length stories. They have so much potential, after all! I love them. :-)

Anyways, here's the next bit of Charlotte's story. I particularly like the ending conversation. Let me know what you think of it. :-)


Charlotte was washing the supper dishes when she heard the front door open. Dorine and Petunia gasped in delight and then Dorine said, "Oh Papa, what happened to you?"

Alarmed, Charlotte dropped the pan she was scrubbing back into the soapy water and rushed into the parlor, drying her wet hands on her apron as she went. She found her father sunk into the chair closest to the fire with Dorine and Petunia hovering around him.

"Papa!" Charlotte said, kneeling on the floor in front of him. "Papa, what happened? What's the matter?"

Mr. Morris heaved a great sigh. "Nothing, my dear," he said, but his face told a different story. It was more lined than when he had left, his eyes were troubled, and Charlotte could have sworn his hair was grayer than it had been.

"Didn't your business go well?" she asked.

"It went fine. Splendidly, even."

"Then you got the money?" Petunia asked before Charlotte could ask another question.

"Yes, my dear. I got the money."

"And our presents? Did you get our present?" asked Dorine eagerly.

"Yes, my dear."

Charlotte glared at her sisters. "Really!" she said in the voice she used to scold her student. "You might let Papa rest a bit and get settled back in here before you go begging him for what he brought you!"

"Oh hush up, Charlotte," Dorine snapped back. "Papa has said that he is fine and so I feel no shame in asking for my golden dress. You did get it, didn't you, Papa?"

"Yes," said Mr. Morris in a very tired voice. "It's out in one of the saddlebags, along with Petunia's necklace. You may go and fetch them if you like."

Dorine and Petunia both squealed and rushed off, leaving Charlotte alone with her father. She reached up and took his hand. It was cold and clammy in hers and she saw a look of fear cross his face.

"Papa, please, what's wrong? Did something happen during your trip? Did you really get all the money you were supposed to, and did you really buy those expensive things for Dorine and Petunia, and did you really, are you really, are you sure you're not ill, Papa?"

Mr. Morris managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, my dear," he said. "Just tired. My trip went perfectly well. Your sisters will indeed find their gifts in my saddlebags, and I have your gift as well."

"My gift?" Charlotte repeated in surprise.

"Yes. Your rose. It's here, in my pocket." He reached into a pocket and pulled out the delicate glass rose. Charlotte took it from him as if it would break if she closed her hands around it too tightly.

"Oh, Papa," she breathed. "Oh, Papa, it's beautiful!"

"You like it then?" he asked.

Charlotte could only nod. She could not take her eyes off the object in her hands. It was the single most beautiful thing she had ever, ever seen. She had seen other glass roses before, years ago when they had lived in the city, but none of them had been like this. None of them had been colored, or looked so lifelike. This rose looked so real that she was sure if she lifted it to her nose it would have a scent. If she had been so inclined, she could have plucked off the petals.

"Where did you get this, Papa?" she asked. "And how much did you pay for it? It's wonderful!" Gently, she transferred the rose to one hand and reaching up with the other arm to wrap it around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Mr. Morris looked at her with tears in his eyes. "I paid a great price for it," he said. "A great price. Your rose cost me more than your sisters' presents put together."

"Papa, you didn't have to do that," said Charlotte. "I only wanted a little one, made of clear glass, something I could keep on my desk at school for the children to look at. This—I don't know what to do with it! It's too beautiful to do anything with! Wherever did you get it?"

Mr. Morris was spared from answering by Dorine and Petunia, who rushed back into the room, clutching the golden gown and the ruby and emerald necklace respectively, and flung their arms around him. Charlotte pulled away quickly so they wouldn't break her rose. She got to her feet and slipped out of the room, her mind whirling. What was wrong with her father? Why wouldn't he tell her where he had gotten the rose? Surely no glassmaker in the city—in the whole country!—made such beautiful glass roses. What had he meant about how much he had paid for the rose? He had looked so sad when he'd said it.

He's hiding something, she thought. He's trying to keep something from us, from me. Horrible ideas raced through her head. She lay down in the room she shared with her sisters but found she couldn't sleep a wink all night. I have to find out what he's hiding, she decided. I must find out.

The next day, Charlotte tried to fish the truth out of her father at every opportunity. He was feeling poorly enough that he decided not to go to the shop that day. Charlotte tended him—making him soup and tea, bringing him blankets when he felt cold, and questioning him every chance she got. She asked him what his business had been exactly. She asked him how long it had taken, and why he had be away so long after his business was finished. She asked for the names of the tailor and the jeweler and finally the glassmaker. He avoided every one of her attempts to pry the answer out of him. She persisted.

Finally, after supper, he gave in and confessed. He told her the whole story of getting lost and ending up in the beast's home and taking the rose. He told her of the promise he had made.

When he had finished the story, he said with tears in his eyes, "I will go back myself at the end of the week and let the beast do what he wants with me. Tom Bell can take over the shop and support you; he asked me months ago about courting Dorine. With that and your school salary you girls should be able to get along without me, and once your sisters are married you won't even need Tom's help. This is the best way."

Charlotte sat in complete silence for nearly ten minutes after he finished, trying to take it all in. It sounded rather like one of the stories she might have made up for her students. A talking beast living in the middle of the forest and protecting a glass rose? It could have come straight out of a fairy tale. And yet it was real. It had to be real. Her father did not make up stories the way she did, and she had seen the fear and the sorrow in his eyes. What made it worse was that he planned to sacrifice himself to this beast to spare her, when it had been her foolish request that had caused all of this. He planned to take her place, to let the beast devour him for breaking his promise, so that she could live and care for her sisters until they got married. It was noble, and perhaps what a father ought to do for his child, but it was not right. Charlotte could not have managed the household all by herself and she knew it would all fall to her. She would not be able to explain to her sisters why their father had disappeared. She would not be able to tell them why he would not give them away when they married or why he would never hold his grandchildren. In those ten minutes, Charlotte made a decision that would change her life forever.

"You can't go, Papa," she said at last. "We need you. I'll go. The beast asked for me and perhaps, if I bring back the rose, he'll let me come home again. If not—" She faltered, but only for a moment. "If not, well, no one really needs me here. They can get a new teacher, and it's not as if I'm engaged. Once Petunia marries Wilbur you won't need me to bake, his cook can take care of everything, or you can hire someone for that. With me gone, there'll be more money for that sort of thing. I'll go to Lord Verdon tomorrow and tell him that I can't teach anymore. There are two weeks left before school starts; he can find someone to take my place. Then I'll spend the rest of the week here and then I'll go."

"No, Charlotte," said her father. "I will go. I cannot send you to that monster. Not when it was my own foolishness that caused the trouble."

"It wasn't your foolishness, Father," said Charlotte, "it was mine. I asked for the rose in the first place. I thought it would be something easy to find, something simple. But it's caused all this trouble. I asked for it, and I ought to pay for it." She lifted her chin boldly. "Even if it means paying for it with my life."

"You will not go," her father said, his chin rising in the same way hers had. "I won't let you. I'll lock you in the house if I have to, Charlotte. You will not go."

"What's to stop me from leaving after you go yourself? I could find the beast's castle and beg him to let you go."

"He might eat me first."

Charlotte paused for a moment. Then she said, "He might come here to get me before you even get a chance to leave. He said that he would come after me if you didn't send me within a week."

"He said that he would come and kill me if I didn't send you within a week," her father corrected.

"If he comes, I will explain to him that you kept me here against my will but that I'm willing to go with him."

"And what if he kills us all before you can say a word?"

"And what if you just let me go, Papa, and we forget the idea of anyone's dying?"

Mr. Morris sighed. "I can see it's no use arguing with you, Charlotte," he said. "I will not stop you. But I will regret this for the rest of my life…"

Charlotte smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "You may not have to. If the beast takes the rose back and lets me come home, all of this will be over in little more than a week." She looked at the clock. "It's late. We should both go to bed. Tomorrow morning I'll go to Lord Verdon and tell him to find a new teacher. I love you, Papa." She stood up and kissed his cheek.

"I love you too, Charlotte," he said as she left the room. Both of them went to bed that night with heavy hearts, one resolved to do her duty, the other resigned to the fact that he could not change her mind.