Charlie went to gather up her school work, fielding questions from Murdoch and Teresa about how old Burl had been
faring.
Charlie relayed that yes, he'd seemed as though he appreciated the food; and yes, she and Scott had already had
their evening meal, eating with Burl; and yes, they'd stayed out of the rain for the most part. Teresa went agreeably to
begin heating the water for Charlie's bath, and Charlie took her arithmetic up to her room. She shed her overalls and wrapped
a quilt around herself. The overalls felt damp and uncomfortable, and the quilt felt warm. Sitting on the window seat,
she worked on the sums, until Teresa came to tap on her door.
"Your bath's ready," Teresa said. "Johnny carried the water up for me."
"Alright," Charlie said.
"You'd better go and get in," Teresa said, when Charlie just sat there. "It's nice and hot now, but it won't stay that
way."
Charlie went to the washroom, shedding the quilt and her underthings, and stepping into the hot water of the bathtub.
She sank down in the water, letting it come up to her chin. She scrubbed herself, feeling as warm as she'd been for several
hours. After a time, Teresa came into the room.
"Want me to wash your hair for you?" Teresa offered.
Charlie nodded without speaking, and Teresa poured warm water over Charlie's auburn curls, and began to shampoo vigorously.
"Where's Scott?" Charlie asked, in the midst of the shampooing and rinsing.
"In the library, having a drink with Murdoch."
Charlie sighed heavily.
"He said Burl seemed well, and that the meal he prepared was really good," Teresa said.
"It was. It was squirrel."
"Burl probably eats a lot of squirrel and rabbit meat, since he doesn't have access to beef," Teresa mused.
"I told Scott about what happened with John," Charlie said, brushing her wet hair from her eyes.
Teresa, reaching for a towel to rub Charlie's wet hair with, paused. "I'm glad."
"He would have found out anyway," Charlie said, in discouragement.
"Yes. Probably. But, you'll feel better now that it's out in the open."
"That's a falsehood," Charlie said, and Teresa smiled, rubbing Charlie's hair with the towel.
"Are you getting out?" Teresa asked, laying the towel aside.
"Uh uh," Charlie said.
When Teresa had gone, Charlie kept sitting there, until the bath water was cooled. A firm rap on the door
of the washroom startled her.
"Charlie. Time to get ready for bed."
Charlie sighed. She got out of the chilly water, and dried her skin, and then pulled her nightgown over her head.
She opened the door, and into the vacant hallway, down the hall to her own room. Scott was sitting on the window
seat, looking over her arithmetic sums.
"Did I get a lot of them wrong?" she asked.
"No more than two or three," he said. "You did well."
Charlie stood there, watching him, and he laid the paper aside, and patted the spot next to him.
"Come and sit," he said.
When Charlie was sitting next to him, he asked her if she'd been thinking, while she took her bath, about what she'd
done.
When Charlie said that yes, she had, Scott asked her, "And why was it wrong to do that?"
"Because it's never right to let someone think something that's not true," Charlie recited.
"Well, that's part of it. So you understand why it's important that you apologize to John?"
Charlie hesitated, and then said, "I understand why it's important that I tell him I can't do magic, that I can't make him disappear."
"What about the apology? You don't understand that?" Scott asked.
Charlie regarded him seriously. "I guess I'll say yes, that I do, because I don't want you to be mad at me."
Scott looked startled, and then said, "Explain that to me."
"John's a nuisance. He's not nice. I'll tell him that I can't do anything to him, but-" she hesitated, and then
plucked up her courage and told the truth. "I don't feel sorry for it."
Scott took that in, looking nonplussed, and then he ran a hand over his face, letting it rest a moment on his chin.
Finally he said, "I see."
"Are you angry, because that's the way I feel?" she asked, anxious, and already regretting her honest statement.
"No. That's how you feel." He took hold of Charlie's wrist, and gave a gentle tug, pulling her to her feet, and
to the position, right in front of him. The position that most nearly always meant that he was getting ready to
scold her, or lay down a rule.
"Charlie, I can't make you feel sorry for something that you've done. Nobody can do that. A person has to make up their
own mind when they feel regret for something. The thing about apologies is, usually they don't mean much if they don't come the
heart. Sometimes, though, it's still the right thing to apologize. Even if you don't feel it. In those cases it's for the other person's
benefit. And it helps the one that's doing the apologizing to feel a little more humble."
Scott waited a few moments, watching Charlie's face, which clearly expressed her emotions as she took in everything
that he'd said.
"This is one of those times. Where I'm going to have you apologize to John, even though you don't feel that you owe
him one," Scott said.
Charlie met his eyes with her own huge brown ones. There was no use to protest. He'd said his piece, and there
would be no swaying him otherwise.
"Alright," he said, giving Charlie's hip a pat, "Hop into bed, and we'll read a few pages of our book."
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Driving towards town the next morning, Charlie sat beside Scott on the buggy seat. She was, without first noticing,
twisting her hands together nervously. When she did realize it, she placed them on each side of her, under her legs,
determined to keep them still.
Scott was quiet, and since Charlie's thoughts were jumping around, she didn't feel inclined for conversation. Thus, it was
a quiet ride for the most part.
At the street that John and Monte lived on, Scott pulled the buggy to a halt. It was a nice house. Large, with a wraparound porch, and
lots of flowers out front.
Charlie sat there, after Scott had parked, staring towards the house, and feeling dread creep up onto her.
"It won't get any easier by waiting," Scott said, quietly.
Charlie looked at him, beseechingly, but Scott looked intractable.
Charlie jumped down from the buggy, and then stood there, again looking towards the house.
She took a couple of steps forward, and then twisted back, to look up at him, her hand on the buggy wheel.
"Will you come with me?" she asked, hopefully.
"I'll walk with you to the gate," he said, and got out of the buggy. They walked over to the gate, which led
by a flower-covered path, to the porch. At the gate, Scott stopped just outside.
Charlie looked at him, yet again, and he said, quietly, "Go on."
At that moment, unable to sway Scott to sympathy enough to accompany her the rest of the way,
Charlie vowed to herself that if she ever had a daughter, she would not make her ever, ever, ever, apologize to a little weasel like John.
Charlie walked to the porch, and up the vast steps, and standing before the ornate door, she lifted the heavy
door knocker. There were steps sounding from inside the house, and then the door was opened by John's mother.
"Good morning," she said, and then she seemed to recognize who it was that stood there on her porch.
"You're Charlie," she said then, her tone decidedly frosty.
"Yes, ma'm."
"What do you want?"
"I wondered if I could talk with John for a bit," Charlie said bravely.
John's mother's gaze swept out to where Scott stood outside the gate.
"John's not feeling well."
"Yes, I know that, but if I could talk to him for a minute-"
"You are the reason he's not feeling well, young lady. Are you aware of that?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
Standing there under the scathing tongue and piercing eye of John's mother, Charlie wished she could just turn and run back to the
buggy.
"I'm sorry about that," Charlie said, hoping that Scott was right about an apology making her seem more humble to this
angry mother. It certainly was making her feel humbled by saying it. And then, to Charlie's further horror, Mr. Johnson came
to stand beside his wife. He said nothing, just listened, and regarded Charlie with a stony look.
"I want to explain to John," Charlie said. John's mother appeared unmoved, but John's father said, sounding
gruff, "The boy can come and speak to her."
"Bart-" Mrs. Johnson began to protest.
"Lettie. Go and get John," Mr. Johnson said, sounding firm.
"Alright," Mrs. Johnson said, giving in. "But, I don't know that he's going to want to hear anything she has to say."
She went into the inner part of the house, and Charlie stood, feeling like Mr. Johnson was searing a hole thru her with his
eyes. He was frightening. That's what he was, alright.
Mr. Johnson stepped on out onto the porch, and raised a hand in greeting to Scott.
"Howdy, Scott," he called out.
"Morning," Scott called back.
Mr. Johnson reached into his pocket, and took out a cigar, lighting it, and taking a long draw.
It seemed an interminable amount of time before Mrs. Johnson and John returned. Charlie had to restrain herself from turning to look back towards
Scott.
"What happened to cause this?" Mr. Johnson asked, suddenly.
Charlie flicked her glance up to him, startled. "What?"
"Why'd you tell my boy you were a witch?"
"I didn't-" Charlie began, aghast. "I never said such! I said I could do magic-" she admitted, her face feeling hot. "But, I didn't
say I was a witch, honestly I didn't, Mr. Johnson!"
John's father regarded her out of a gaze that had Charlie feeling rattled. Truly.
"You felt you had reason to say you were able to do magic?" Mr. Johnson asked, then.
Charlie hesitated, and then answered honestly, "I thought I had reason."
"Hmm," the older man responded, still watching Charlie keenly.
Finally, Mrs. Johnson stood there again, in the doorway, and John was standing just behind her. John looked strange. He looked pale
and his eyes were huge as he looked at Charlie.
"Here's John," Mrs. Johnson said, rather unnecessarily.
"Hello," Charlie said, gathering her courage, and greeting John.
John was silent, peering around his mother.
"I came here to talk to you," Charlie said, trying to sound confident. "To explain some things-"
"Ma, I don't wanna talk to 'er," John said, in a whine.
Charlie blinked, in surprise. John sounded like a really small child. Not like how he usually talked at all.
Mrs. Johnson was busy patting John, soothingly. "I know," she said, softly.
Wondering whether to plunge on into an explanation, and apology, or wait, Charlie hesitated. She felt her face flame
hot in embarrassment.
"John can listen to her," Mr. Johnson said, surprising Charlie.
"I don't wanna-" John whined again. "She's gonna do somethin' to me-"
"Hush, boy," Mr. Johnson said, so severely that John fell silent, though he was still watching Charlie as though he was petrified. Charlie
realized that John really did believe that she could do harm to him.
"The girl came here, so you'll hear her out,'' Mr. Johnson went on. And, then, he gave a nod to Charlie. A nod, which quite plainly
said, 'Speak up'.
So Charlie began, stumbling over words at the first. "The apple was just a trick, not-magic. And I saw your spelling by
accident. I-well, I can't do any magic, or make things disappear, or any of that."
John stepped further behind his mother, and Charlie saw that he was genuinely frightened. She felt a prickling of
conscience.
"John, I shouldn't have told you that I could do magic. I'm sorry if I scared you. It was wrong of me to do," Charlie said.
What she could see of John's face, he did not appear to be convinced. A flicked glance at Mr. Johnson bolstered Charlie a bit.
He nodded at Charlie, and she thought he looked approving of her apology.
She straightened, standing taller, and looked back at John.
"I hope you come back to school soon," Charlie said, and found that she meant it. Partly, in truth, because then she wouldn't feel
so guilty.
"It's not likely that he'll feel up to that-" Mrs. Johnson began, harshly.
"Lettie," Mr. Johnson said. That one word had his wife halting her talking.
"You can go on along inside the house, Lettie," Mr. Johnson continued. "John, you stay."
Mrs. Johnson was obviously upset by this declaration. But, she turned to go, trying to pry John from the grasp he had
around her waist.
"Come here, son," Mr. Johnson said, and pulled John to his side. Mrs. Johnson went, giving Charlie a last withering look.
John stood there by his father, kept in place only because of Mr. Johnson's firm hold on his shoulder.
Charlie didn't know what else to say. She'd confessed. She'd even apologized. She'd told John she wished his return to school.
Surely, there was nothing else to do?
"Now, she's told you that she can do you no harm," Mr. Johnson spoke to John. "She's come here to make things right. You
can acknowledge that."
John was quiet, still giving Charlie furtive glances, though he didn't look as frightened or pale as he had before.
"John," Mr. Johnson said, giving him a mild shake.
"Alright. I guess," John said, sounding less scared, but sullen.
"What'd you do to help bring this whole trouble along?" Mr. Johnson asked John.
John shook his head, looking up at his father. "I didn't do nothin' to her, Pa!"
Something inside of Charlie told her to keep still, not protest.
"Is that so, young lady?" Mr. Johnson asked.
"No. He's been following me around, and-" Charlie hesitated, thinking that John's father wouldn't find any real fault in that.
"And generally making a right nuisance of himself, hmm?" Mr. Johnson continued, raising an eyebrow at Charlie.
It took Charlie a full-on moment to realize that Mr. Johnson was understanding about John, and not only that, but he was
making a joke, too.
She found herself nearly smiling at Mr. Johnson. "Yes, sir," she said.
Mr. Johnson nodded, and then gave John another bit of a gentle shake. "What say you, John?"
John looked at Charlie, and said, reluctantly, "I won't bother ya no more."
Another press of his father's hands on his shoulders, and John added, "Sorry."
"Alright," Mr. Johnson said. "You go on along inside now, son, and get ready for school."
John didn't look happy, but he went. To Charlie's surprise, Mr. Johnson went walking down the path, towards
the gate where Scott stood, waiting.
She followed, wondering. She watched as the two men shook hands, and then John's father said, "I believe the young'uns
have gotten things cleared up, Scott."
"That's good to hear," Scott said.
A few minutes later, as they were driving the short distance to school, Charlie found herself thinking that she quite
liked Mr. Johnson, after all.
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