Waiting for Spring (11 page)

The party had gone well. At least Barrett thought it had. His guests had lingered longer than he'd expected, and when
they had departed, it had been with what appeared to be genuine reluctance. Now they were gone, and he was ready to sleep. But Harrison, who appeared as wide awake as he had at nine that morning, had insisted on a final cup of coffee. That was why Barrett was sitting in his office, staring at the clock on the wall and wishing he were upstairs in bed, while his brother poured himself a second cup of Mrs. Melnor's dark brew. He'd talked about the party, complimenting Barrett on the food, mentioning each of the guests by name. And all the while, Barrett had been waiting for the shoe to fall. When Harrison was like this, it was because he had something unpleasant to say and he was trying to soften the blow.

The sobering of Harrison's expression told Barrett the time had arrived. “You probably don't want to hear this, but I'm going to give you some brotherly advice anyway.”

“Can't this wait until morning?” Though he knew the answer, it was worth a try. Barrett would have preferred to bask in the memory of a successful evening. Mrs. Melnor had outdone herself with the food, and Mr. Bradley had been the perfect butler, but the memory that shone the brightest was Charlotte's reference to Barrett's muscles. He wasn't certain what had touched him most, the fact that she had noticed his shoulders or her obvious embarrassment that she had. When he'd realized she would be even more chagrined if he acknowledged the comment, he pretended he hadn't noticed. Sweet Charlotte!

“Nope.” Harrison's voice brought Barrett back to the present and the prospect of an unpleasant conversation. “You said we were going to the range tomorrow to check on your cows. Cattle,” Harrison corrected himself. “When that happens, you won't be thinking about anything else. That's why it's gotta be tonight.”

Trying not to sigh, Barrett nodded. There was no point in postponing the inevitable. “Go ahead. I'm listening.”

Harrison placed the cup back on its saucer and faced Barrett, his eyes more serious than normal. “You're making a mistake if you marry Miriam Taggert.”

It wasn't what Barrett had expected. He'd thought Harrison might try to dissuade him from running for office. He'd even considered that his brother might suggest selling the cattle. But he hadn't expected Harrison to care about his choice of a wife, much less disagree with it.

“Why on earth would you say that?” he demanded, his voice harsher than it might have been if he weren't so tired. “Richard and Warren think she's perfect. Miriam is an attractive woman who's been groomed for a role in society. As a bonus, her father publishes an influential newspaper. What could possibly be wrong with her?”

“You don't love her.”

“Don't I?” It was easier to counter with a question than to admit that Harrison might be right.

“I don't think you do.”

Big brother saw more than he was supposed to. That was one of the problems with big brothers. Still, Barrett wasn't going to confirm Harrison's supposition. Instead, he equivocated. “I'm not sure I believe in love.”

The way Harrison's eyes narrowed told Barrett he'd seen through the ruse. “Our parents loved each other.”

“That's true. They did, but Pa said it didn't start out that way. The way he tells it, they grew to love each other. I figure that'll happen with Miriam and me.”

Harrison leaned forward, pointing his index finger at Barrett. “Are you willing to risk your future happiness on that
possibility? Seems to me it's a mighty big risk. Why would you do that when you've got a much better alternative?”

It was late. That was the only reason Barrett could find for his brother's nonsensical words. “What are you talking about?”

Harrison shook his head. “It's a who, not a what.”

“All right.
Who
are you talking about?”

As he had when they'd been children, Harrison closed his mouth, looking around the room slowly, as if he wasn't about to deliver a salvo. The technique had never failed to irritate Barrett then, and it didn't fail now. But Barrett was older and, he liked to think, wiser. He rose and headed for the door. “Time for bed.”

Harrison chuckled. “So, you've learned something. Well, you're not going to escape so easily, little brother. The woman you ought to be considering is Charlotte. She'd be a much better wife for you than Miriam.”

Barrett stopped in midstride and stared at his brother. Surely he was joking. But Harrison's solemn expression said this was no joke. “Nonsense! A widow with a young child is all wrong for me.” Barrett knew that. It was only a passing problem that he couldn't seem to get Charlotte out of his mind, no matter what he did. “You're wrong, Harrison. Dead wrong.”

 7 

I
t was too nice a day to remain inside. Though it had snowed on Monday and Tuesday, most of the snow had melted, the sun had emerged, and the wind no longer howled. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, perhaps the last fine day of the year, and Charlotte had no intention of wasting it. She hung the closed sign in the shop window and settled David in the wagon. Though she doubted Rose would be able to walk the entire distance, the little girl refused to ride. “I big,” she had announced when Charlotte offered to pull her. “I walk.”

Rose had pouted when her mother left with Mr. Duncan—Warren, Charlotte corrected herself. He had insisted both Gwen and Charlotte call him Warren, although he continued to address her as Madame Charlotte. The little girl was decidedly miffed that Gwen had gone for a drive in the park without her, and rather than let Molly deal with the inevitable tantrum, Charlotte had offered to care for the children.
It wouldn't hurt to close Élan early, especially since no one was scheduled for a fitting today.

“You've been very good,” Charlotte told Rose and David, “so we're going for a treat. We'll see what Mr. Ellis has in store for good children today.” They probably would not recognize the shopkeeper's name, but that didn't matter. Charlotte had learned that the word
treat
was enough to ensure good behavior.

Today's excursion was an experiment, the first time Charlotte had taken David for a long ride. In the past, she had told herself that he didn't need the exposure to possible scorn, that he could learn about the outside world in their backyard, where no one would stare at him. She had even convinced herself that if by some chance the baron were passing through Cheyenne, she was keeping David safe from his prying eyes by not taking him with her when she explored the city. But the minister's words about the dangers of lies had echoed through Charlotte's brain long after the sermon had ended. The truth was, she had been lying to herself. She hadn't wanted anyone to know about David's blindness because she feared the scorn—not for David, but for herself. That was why she kept him sequestered. She had seen Molly's reaction when she realized David was blind, and although the girl had grown to accept him, the initial shock had wounded Charlotte. Her son deserved better. He deserved to be treated like any other child. David couldn't see the pity on others' faces, but Charlotte could. That pity hurt, and so she had protected herself.

No longer. She couldn't unravel all the lies until she was certain that the baron had given up his search for her and the money he believed she had, but she could stop acting as if she were ashamed of her son. She wasn't.

“We've just turned south, David,” she said as they left the store. “Can you feel the sun on your face?” David nodded and giggled, his giggling intensifying when she told him they were crossing the street and he had to hold on tighter. A pang of regret stabbed Charlotte as she realized that her fears had resulted in her cheating her son out of such simple pleasures.

Determined that today would be different, she put a smile into her voice. “The post office is right here on the corner,” Charlotte said, giving both children a verbal tour of the city.

David sniffed and wrinkled his nose as a horse made a deposit in the street. He tipped his head to one side, listening intently as a buggy with a squeaky wheel approached. And all the while, he grinned. There was no doubt that David was having fun.

So was Rose. She clapped her hands when they passed the hardware store. “Hammer,” she said, pointing to the display in the plate-glass window.

“That's right. It is a hammer. And that's a shovel.” Charlotte stopped to let the little girl enjoy the sight of tools. Though shoppers filled the street, no one seemed to mind that Charlotte and her wagon were blocking the view of Arp and Hammond's main window. The women smiled, and the men tipped their hats in greeting. No one paid them any undue attention. No one stared at David's sightless eyes. No one appeared to notice his resemblance to Jeffrey. Charlotte's fears had been unfounded.

“We're here.” She lifted David out of the wagon when they reached their destination. Opening the door, she admonished Rose to stay by her side, then carried her son into Mr. Ellis's bakery and confectionary.

“Foo.” David grinned as he turned his head in both
directions, trying to absorb all the aromas. The smells of freshly baked rye and pumpernickel mingled with the aromas of chocolate and citrus, and it was clear that David was enjoying all of them.

“Yes, David, it's food.” Though Rose had started to scamper toward the glass-fronted cabinets filled with pastries, Charlotte snagged her arm and placed her firmly on a chair. In the past, when Charlotte had shopped here, she had carried the baked goods home, but today she and the children would enjoy their treats seated at one of the small round tables that lined the left side of the store.

When she had ordered macaroons and hot cocoa, Charlotte seated David on a chair. “You need to be careful,” she admonished him. “There are no arms on this chair, but you're a big boy. You can sit here.”

His expression once more solemn, he felt the chair back, then as he let his hands grip the edge of the table, he smiled again. A round table was a novelty for David, and he appeared to be enjoying the sensation of curved wood under his palms. Charlotte was enjoying watching him. The store, with its pressed tin ceiling and elaborate chandeliers, had helped inspire the interior of Élan, and the pastries never failed to satisfy her craving for sweets, but nothing compared to the sheer pleasure of seeing her son's delight in the new surroundings.

“They're called macaroons,” she told both David and Rose as the cookies were delivered to their table. “Here you go, David.” Charlotte guided his hand to one of the coconut confections that she'd chosen because they would be simple for him to eat. Rose slurped her cocoa, giving herself a chocolate mustache, while David stuffed the macaroon into his mouth.

“I didn't expect to see you here.”

Charlotte looked up, startled. Though she had glanced around when they'd entered the store to see if she recognized anyone, once the food arrived, she had been so engrossed in watching her son that she hadn't noticed Barrett's approach. Surely it was her imagination that he appeared more handsome than ever today, his blue eyes sparkling, his lips curved in a smile. He was the same Barrett Landry. It was only she who, like a schoolgirl, found something new to admire each time she saw him.

“Harrison's a bit under the weather.” Barrett frowned as he added, “I don't think he's adjusted to the altitude yet, so I thought I'd risk Mrs. Melnor's wrath by buying him some of Mr. Ellis's pastries.” Barrett glanced at the empty chair. “May I join you?”

When Charlotte nodded, he settled himself across from her, then gave her an expectant look. It was time for introductions. “I'd like you to meet my son David and Gwen's daughter Rose. Children, please say hello to Mr. Landry.”

Predictably, David mangled the name, but he grinned in Barrett's direction before reaching for another macaroon, his hands moving slowly across the table until he encountered the plate.

“Yes, David, you may have another.” Though she addressed her words to her son, Charlotte kept her eyes focused on Barrett, and as she did, the pleasure she had taken in the day evaporated. There was no disguising the pity and revulsion that flitted across his face. He did his best to hide it, trying to force his lips into a smile, but Charlotte knew she had not mistaken his initial reaction. This was worse—far worse—than Molly's response had been, because the pity came from Barrett.

“Your son is blind,” he said slowly. There was something faintly accusatory in his voice, almost as if he were angry that she hadn't told him about David's blindness. Charlotte dismissed the notion, for anger or even disappointment would not explain the expression she had seen.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to control her pain. “Whether or not he can see, David is my son, and I love him deeply.”

Barrett waited until he'd given the waitress his order before replying. “As you should.” His expression changed subtly, making Charlotte believe he pitied her as well as David. “I'm simply surprised you haven't placed him in a school or asylum where he can be cared for.”

Charlotte took another deep breath. No good would be accomplished by responding in anger, although that was what she longed to do. Instead, she spoke softly, her voice little more than a whisper. “My son is not a package to be boxed up and sent away.” The words were firm, but though she tried to remain calm, Charlotte knew that her flushed cheeks betrayed her distress. Rather than respond, Barrett rubbed the bump on his nose in what Charlotte had come to realize was an involuntary gesture when he was troubled.

It was what she had thought. He didn't understand. She had been foolish to believe that he could, when he had no children of his own. He didn't know what it was like to love and want to protect an innocent, helpless being. “David is my son, and his place is with me,” Charlotte said firmly.

Unaware of the currents that swirled around them, David and Rose were chattering happily about the macaroons and cocoa, David making cooing noises while Rose expressed her approval with frequent repetitions of the word
dee-lish
.
Though Gwen had reminded her that the word had three syllables, Rose preferred to abbreviate it. On another day, Charlotte would have been amused. Today she barely noticed, for her attention was focused on Barrett.

He kept his eyes firmly fixed on her as he sipped his coffee. Surely he must realize how hurt and angry she was. When he spoke, Barrett's voice was as low as Charlotte's. “Have you considered that you might be being selfish? Those places you don't want to talk about have teachers who are trained to deal with—”

She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “That's a word I hate:
deal
. You deal a deck of cards, not a person. You love a person. You care for them. You keep them safe. That's what David needs, and no one can give him that better than me. As for teaching, I'm not as unskilled as you might think. I taught school when I lived in Vermont.” Charlotte rose and reached for her son. “And now, if you will please excuse us, it's time to take David home. At least there he will not be subjected to scorn.”

She bundled both Rose and David into their coats, refusing Barrett's offer of a ride in his carriage. The sooner she was away from him, the better. She wouldn't listen to Barrett. She wouldn't send David to an asylum, not so long as she drew breath, and she was not—she absolutely was not—being selfish to want to keep him near her.

“Him not nice,” Rose said as they left the store.

Charlotte sighed. It appeared that Rose had not been as oblivious to the conversation as she had hoped. Still, she could not prejudice the child. “Normally Mr. Landry is a very nice man.”

Rose wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Him not talk to me. Mr. Warren tol' me I'm pretty.”

“You are pretty.” Charlotte bent down and hugged David. “And you're the finest boy ever born.” She turned back to Rose. “I'm sure Mr. Landry thought you were pretty. It's just that he was worried about grown-up things.”

Nodding sagely, Rose said, “Grown-ups don't have fun.”

That had been the case today, at least for Charlotte, and she had no one to blame but herself. She should not have let her anger rule her. She knew better, for whenever she failed to control her anger, she blurted out things that should not have been said. Like today. No one, not even Gwen, knew that she used to be a teacher and that she had once lived in Vermont. She had guarded that information, afraid that it might somehow lead the baron to her. No one was supposed to know anything of her past except that she was a widow. Now Barrett was privy to important details of her life.

Charlotte sighed. She had thought she was ready to unravel the cloak of deception she had woven with her lies, but it appeared she was not. She might tell Gwen—she probably should—but she would not reveal the truth to a man who regarded David as if he were an object.