"You are the worst boy, Theodore Laurence."
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For centuries, humankind has used the stars. Whether it be for navigating across unfamiliar oceans, for preserving myths and legends of great heroes who were bestowed a spot in the heavens by the gods...
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"THERE ONCE WAS a little frog named Amy."
"I am not a frog!" Amy cried out, interrupting Charlotte's story.
In the four days since they had been sent away, Charlotte and Amy had fashioned themselves a little fort in one of Aunt March's dressing rooms and reclined among the jewels and heavy skirts tucked away in the drawers. It was their little refuge away from the squawking old parrot that tormented them and pecked their heads, the lazy lap dog that barked and growled at anything that moved, and the cutting insults Aunt March sputtered out as easily as she breathed. As Aunt March napped in her library, the girls would escape to their little hiding place and don paper crowns and pearl necklaces as they enjoyed the little bit of peace they could carve out in the turbulent house.
"No interrupting!" Charlotte swatted Amy's arm gently. Amy laid her head on Charlotte's lap as they sat together on a plush sofa. Charlotte was braiding and unbraiding pieces of Amy's hair as they told each other stories. The morning had been plagued by early autumn storms and the girls had holed themselves up in their little oasis as the gray clouds began to clear. "And little Amy lived by a pond."
"I don't want to live by a pond." Amy huffed, but Charlotte ignored her and continued on.
"One morning, little Amy went out to fly a kite. Her kite got stuck in a bramble bush, and no matter how hard she tugged and pulled, she couldn't get it loose." She gave the braided strands of hair a little soft tug, which sent Amy's hands flying upwards to tear her hair away from Charlotte's grip.
Footsteps paused outside the door of the dressing room and Charlotte and Amy's eyes met each other's in terror. Costumes and jewelry were strewn about the room with reckless abandon, and the books Charlotte and Amy had collected from the library laid in tilting piles along the floor. If Aunt March saw the disastrous state of her dressing room, both girls were sure they'd never hear the end of it.
The testy old woman already hated Charlotte and her distaste was made very well known from the first time they laid eyes on each other. Upon their arrival to her house, Charlotte and Amy were still teary eyed and fearful for Beth's fate, and Aunt March had chastised them for being worried and unladylike. And when her eyes examined Charlotte closely for the first time, she grimaced with an air of repulsion. "Ah, yes the cousin from up North." Aunt March had frowned at her messy brown curls that cascaded over her shoulders wildly and the state of her muddy boots and wrinkled skirts. "Yes..." Aunt March's eyes then trailed up from Charlotte's feet to her face with a deeply set scowl. She said nothing else to Charlotte for the rest of the night, but her glaring eyes that seemed to bring every discomfort and uneasy thought of Charlotte's to the surface, never wandered.
"In here, sir." Aunt March's maid creaked opened the door slowly, peering inside with a suspicious face at Charlotte and Amy. She made no comments about the mess, having already discovered their secret hideout yesterday and being begged by the girls into keeping its existence a secret. But her allegiance was a shaky one, and she didn't enjoy looking at the haphazard state of the room and the piles of clothes and toys thrown around.
