Love Can Heal Anything Part 1

"Charlotte! Charlotte!" cried out Mrs. Richardson, who stood at the stairs.

"Yes, mother?" asked twenty-year old Charlotte, who stood at the top of the stairs.

"I want you to go to the strawberry field and pick the berries. They are all ripened and ready to harvest. Take a big basket and go."

"Yes, mother," was the reply.

Charlotte was a very ordinary girl. She lives in a big farmhouse with many acres of farmland. She lives many miles away from the town of Harton. She has two older brothers, John and Thomas, and one younger sister, Jane. They all work in the farm, doing whatever they had to do. Her mother was a woman renowned for her jam-making. Since her husband died when Charlotte was ten years old, making jam was how she supported her family. She did, though, make money out of selling them, as her preserves were considered the best to many people.

Charlotte never spoke to anyone, not even her own family, about how she feels about losing her father. It was truly heart-breaking. Mr. Richardson had been murdered by criminals while he was selling wood in Harton. When the family had found out about the tragedy, they wept, all except Charlotte. She was weeping on the inside, but never showed it. You could only see her somber and depressed visage.  Even at his funeral, Charlotte did not shed one tear.

Now, Charlotte, when she went downstairs to get her basket, wore a long striped dress with a bonnet, as was the ordinary fashion of girls at that time. She had blond hair and possessed deep, brown eyes. She bore her mother's looks, and inherited the personality of her father. She was a very quiet girl, always reading books in the family's library. That was what her father was like. Her family could not afford to send her to the University of Harton, so she decided to stay and work in her farmhouse until she could finally go to the school. Girls at that time attend universities when they were twenty years old.

After Charlotte had taken her basket from the kitchen, which smelled of boiling blueberries, she went out the front door and into the morning sunshine and blue skies. Before her eyes lay vast fields. A dirt road was between the golden wheat fields and the strawberry fields. The latter looked as if a red blanket had covered the ground. Blood-red strawberries were on the bushes, just begging to be picked and made into Mrs. Richardson's preserves. It was not long before Charlotte knelt and began to pick the strawberries.

Hours passed. The sun was shining greatly upon Charlotte, but she did not mind one bit. She loved picking the berries. She enjoyed eating some of them. The basket she had was very large, and only one-quarter of it was filled.

It was in the late afternoon when Charlotte heard what sounded like the hooves of a horse riding through the road. Charlotte went to see who was there. A young man was mounted on the horse. He had coffee-brown hair and lake-blue eyes. He wore a black and white suit, as well as a gray hat.

When the man saw Charlotte, he tipped his hat. He smiled. "Good afternoon. Are your parents home?"

"Good afternoon," replied Charlotte, doing a curtsy. "My mother is home. Who are you?"

"I am Isaac, the taxman. I have come to receive the taxes. Might I ask what is your name?"

"I am Charlotte."

"Charlotte," said Isaac. "You bear a beautiful name. I need to go now to your mother. It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you, too, Mr. Isaac."

"Please, call me Isaac." With that, he rode off towards the farmhouse.