Waiting for Spring (18 page)

“No!”

Charlotte chuckled. “You've discovered his favorite new word.”

Undaunted, Barrett leaned closer to David. “Yes, David. Yes.” He emphasized the word. “Balls are meant to be rolled. Please give it to me.” His reluctance evident, David handed the ball to Barrett. “Now I'm going to roll it to you.” Barrett scooted back a few feet so the ball had a chance to gain momentum. “Hold out your hands. No, put them on the floor.” When David was properly positioned, Barrett sent the ball toward him. The boy caught it and giggled. “Good job, David. Now it's your turn. Roll it back to me.” But the child would not. Once again he clutched it to his chest.

“I'm afraid my son is a little stubborn,” Charlotte said, her voice tinged with amusement.

“He must have inherited that from his father.” As he pronounced the word, Barrett realized that Charlotte had never spoken of her husband. Surely most widows referred to them occasionally. Gwen did. Barrett had overheard her telling Warren the story of their first meeting and how her husband had been stationed at Fort D.A. Russell until he died of influenza. But, though he'd spent considerably more time with Charlotte than with Gwen, Barrett knew nothing about the man she had married, not even his name.

Before he could ask, Charlotte shook her head. “I wouldn't be so quick to blame David's father. My sisters claim I'm stubborn.”

Her sisters. That reminded Barrett of another conversation. “Have you told them about David yet?”

Charlotte's fingers flew as they wielded the needle. “I thought I'd wait until after the holidays. I know it's cowardly of me, but I don't want any unpleasantness now. I just want everyone to be happy.”

“I understand.” That was Charlotte, always thinking of others. Undoubtedly her life would have been easier if she had told her sisters that David was blind when she'd first learned of his condition, and yet she had not, because she hadn't wanted to distress them. “Don't wait too long, though. My experience is that delays only make it worse.”

What a hypocrite he was! If he had taken his own advice, he would not be waiting until Christmas to give Miriam a ring. Everyone expected the betrothal. Now that he'd chosen the ring, he should have gone directly to Miriam's house and asked her to become his wife. Instead, he was sitting on the
floor in a small apartment, trying to teach a blind child to roll a ball.

Charlotte chuckled, and as she did Barrett's heart began to pound. It was probably an ordinary chuckle, but somehow it seemed so intimate that he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“You sound like my father.” A smile colored Charlotte's words. “He was a firm believer in not procrastinating.”

Barrett raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. He'd wanted to learn about her husband, but he'd take any glimpses he could get into what had made her the extraordinary woman she was. “Was he a teacher too?”

“No, a minister.” Charlotte blinked, as if surprised that she'd said that. It was an unexpected reaction, and yet there was little about Charlotte that was predictable. Though she was forthcoming, even outspoken, on many subjects, she was uncommonly reticent about herself.

“Was the church in Vermont?”

Charlotte nodded. “Churches.” She emphasized the plural. “We moved frequently.”

“No wonder you weren't afraid to come to Wyoming Territory. You must have inherited your father's love for travel.”

Biting her lip, Charlotte shook her head. “It wasn't that he loved moving,” she admitted. “His ideas were sometimes too modern for the parishioners, and the church elders would ask him to leave. I hated being uprooted.”

Which might explain why she had remained in Wyoming after her husband's death.

“What brought you and your husband out here?” he asked. “Was he stationed at D.A. Russell with Rose's husband?”

Keeping her eyes on her sewing, Charlotte shook her head again. “His family were farmers.”

Though many had come to Wyoming Territory as part of the military or to build the railroad, others had been lured west by the Homestead Act. It was a difficult life, battling the harsh weather, and while Barrett couldn't picture Charlotte—perfectly coiffed Charlotte with her elegant gowns—as a farmer's wife, there was no reason to think she was lying.

“I don't know how I'm going to finish all this in time,” she said as she resumed her sewing. The hint couldn't have been clearer: subject closed.

“I'll try to be quiet,” Barrett said and turned his attention back to her son. Though Charlotte had not said a great deal, she'd given him new insights. An image of the opal ring flashed into his brain, reminding Barrett of the way light revealed its inner fire. He'd been right when he'd thought it the perfect ring for Charlotte. If he could give it to her. But he could not. That would be not only unseemly but downright scandalous. He could give Charlotte nothing more than trinkets and small gifts for her son.

“All right, David. What would you like to do?”

A grin on his face, David began to crawl toward the other side of the room.

“He wants you to chase him.” Charlotte interpreted her son's activity. “I think he enjoys the sound of our footsteps.”

Barrett rose and began to stalk across the floor, making his footsteps heavier than necessary, and as he did, David peered over his shoulder, grinning with obvious delight. “That's it!”

“That's what?” The lines that formed between Charlotte's brows told Barrett she was perplexed.

“You'll see.” If he was right—and he thought he was—her
simple words had unlocked the key to teaching David to roll a ball. “Does he have any wooden blocks?”

Though her expression still registered confusion, Charlotte nodded and gestured toward a small crate. “They're in the box.”

Excellent. Barrett retrieved a dozen blocks, arranging them in a row three feet from where David had been sitting. “I'll chase you once,” he told the boy, “but if I catch you, we're going to play my game. Okay?”

David scuttled into the kitchen. Barrett let him almost reach the stove before he strode across the floor and swept him into his arms. “My turn.” While David squealed with pleasure, Barrett carried him back to the parlor and placed him on the floor in front of the settee. Though the child couldn't see them, the blocks were arranged directly in front of him. After retrieving the ball that David had abandoned when he began to play chase, Barrett handed it to him. “Now, you give it back to me. Just for a minute.”

“No!”

“Please, David. This will be fun.”

His reluctance evident, the boy handed his toy to Barrett. “Baw.”

“The game we're going to learn is called bowling. We're going to bowl. Can you say that, David?”

“Bowl.” To Barrett's surprise, the youngster's pronunciation was perfect. When Barrett looked at Charlotte, she mimicked eating. No wonder David knew the word. It was one his mother would have used every day as she taught him to eat.

“That's right. Now, listen.” Barrett laid the ball on the floor in front of David, guiding the boy's hands to it, placing his own over David's. “We're going to roll it.” Barrett aimed
the ball and gave it a firm push before pulling David's hands away. “Listen,” he said. As the ball gained momentum, the sound of it rolling across the floor changed, and then it happened. The ball hit the middle blocks, toppling them over in a loud crash.

For a second, David's face mirrored puzzlement. Then he laughed. “Bowl!” He tipped his head to one side, considering the direction of the sound he'd heard. An instant later, he was crawling toward the blocks. Reaching out, he touched them, and as he did, Barrett could see comprehension dawning. David laughed again. “Bowl,” he announced.

And they did. Again and again. Though David was too young to learn to arrange the blocks, he soon released the ball without Barrett's hands guiding him. And through it all, he laughed.

“I think you've created a monster.” Charlotte had laid her sewing aside and watched the process of her son learning to bowl. “Now he'll want to play that all day.”

If she expected Barrett to be repentant, she was mistaken. “Look at how much fun he's having.”

Her face softened. “I know, and it's wonderful. Thank you, Barrett.
You're
wonderful.”

Barrett felt his heart swell until it threatened to break through his chest. Perhaps this was the way those medieval knights felt when they scaled walls or slayed dragons or whatever it was they were supposed to do. Charlotte was no damsel in distress, waiting for him to rescue her, but her smile made him feel as if he were some kind of hero. That felt good. Very, very good.

“Where were you?”

Charlotte gasped as Gwen's hiss filled the kitchen. Perhaps it had been too much to expect that Gwen would not discover her early morning forays to 15th Street, but Charlotte had clung to the hope that she wouldn't have to explain why she disguised herself in widow's weeds and snuck out of the apartment. With a small smile, she switched on the light and waited for the reaction.

It wasn't long in coming. “You're wearing mourning clothes.” Gwen frowned at the heavy black veil that covered Charlotte's face. “Charlotte Harding, what on earth have you been doing?”

“Let me make some coffee, and then I'll explain.”

Gwen pushed back her chair. “I'll make the coffee. You'd better change out of those clothes. I know you won't wear them to the shop.”

Minutes later, Charlotte returned to the kitchen, clad in a simple navy dress. “Why were you waiting in the dark?” she asked as she wrapped her hands around the cup of coffee, letting the warmth penetrate her still chilled fingers.

Gwen shrugged as if the answer should be evident. “I didn't want Rose to know anyone was awake. She had a nightmare last night, and I'd just gotten her back to sleep when I heard the outside door close. I thought we had an intruder, but it turned out to be you leaving. So, where did you go?”

“Mrs. Kendall's.”

Gwen's eyes widened. “You went to 15th Street in the middle of the night?”

Nothing would be gained by pointing out that it was actually early morning. “When you talked about living there, you made it seem that that was the safest time, and it has been. I haven't seen anyone unsavory.”

Though Charlotte hadn't thought it possible, Gwen's eyes widened further. “You've been there before.” She no longer phrased her words as questions.

“This was my third trip. I've been making clothes for Mrs. Kendall and her boarders.”

“Oh, Charlotte, that's wonderful.” Gwen's disapproval evaporated as quickly as snow on a spring morning. “But why didn't you ask me to deliver them during the day? I'm not afraid of that area.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I know you would have helped, but it was something I had to do myself.” There was no reason to tell Gwen how good it made her feel to know that she'd accomplished that on her own, that no one had protected her as she'd walked to the seediest part of the city. Instead, she simply said, “My parents taught us that it was important to see where our gifts were going. It wasn't enough to send money. They wanted us to be involved in the actual giving. Whenever she heard of a family that needed food, Mama would leave a basket on their front porch so it would be waiting when they awoke.”

“And no one knew who left the baskets?” When Charlotte shook her head, Gwen nodded slowly. “That's why you wore the veil.”

“That and the fact that I didn't want anyone to know it was Madame Charlotte who had made those dresses. If my customers learned that I was providing clothes for Mrs. Kendall's boarders, they would be upset. They like to think they're buying exclusive creations and that only the wealthiest of women can afford something I've sewn.” Charlotte took another sip of coffee. “I couldn't simply leave the dresses on the doorstep, because I had to know what other sizes Mrs.
Kendall needed, but I wanted to be as anonymous as I could. And,” Charlotte continued, “it seemed safer to be dressed as a widow. It's not just that the veil covers my face, but I also thought that if there were people out, they'd be unlikely to accost a widow.”

Gwen refilled Charlotte's cup. “When I realized you were gone, all kinds of crazy thoughts went through my mind, but I never imagined something like this. What you're doing is wonderful. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me.”

“I should have.” Just as she should have told Barrett the truth about Jeffrey.