Waiting for Spring (21 page)

The weak December sun had barely risen when Barrett reached for his coat. As unpleasant as the next hour would be, he knew he should not postpone it any longer. As one of his advisers, Richard needed to know what had happened. Or, more precisely, what had not happened. That was why Barrett had gone to Maple Terrace yesterday, to tell Richard that his engagement was not yet official. His Christmas gift
to Miriam had been a gold filigree bracelet, not a diamond solitaire. When he'd left his house after the sumptuous feast Mrs. Melnor had prepared for him and the three Taggerts, Barrett had planned to visit first Richard, then Warren. Instead, he'd seen Charlotte and the children, and suddenly nothing seemed as important as spending the afternoon with them.

It had been the right decision, for being with them turned it into the happiest Christmas Barrett could recall. The children's pleasure alone would have made it special, but seeing Charlotte's wonder at the book filled an empty space deep inside him. The gifts had been far less costly than the items he'd given Miriam's parents, and yet Charlotte had acted as if Barrett's generosity had known no bounds.

“You're a fool!” The front door banged open, and Richard strode into the foyer. “I thought you had more sense, but obviously I was mistaken.”

Barrett sighed. The news had spread more quickly than he'd expected. “I was on my way to see you,” he said, gesturing toward his coat. “But since you're here, we might as well sit down like civilized men.”

Shrugging off his coat, Richard sneered. “There are many adjectives I'd use to describe you, but this morning,
civilized
is not one of them. I thought you were serious about running for office.”

Barrett led the way into the morning room and gestured toward a chair. “I am serious.”

“Then why did you risk alienating a powerful newspaper publisher?” Richard's normally pale face was suffused with color. “I thought we all agreed that you and Miriam would be engaged by Christmas. I expected it, and I know Cyrus and
Amelia Taggert did.” Richard clenched his fist. “I've never seen Amelia so distressed.”

Richard had seen them. That explained how he'd heard that Miriam's left hand did not yet bear a diamond ring. “When did you see them?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I was outside when their carriage passed Maple Terrace. Though they didn't say, they must have been returning home from here. Miriam asked if I'd like to join them for a ride in the park.”

“City Park?” Thank goodness the Taggerts hadn't been there when he'd taken Charlotte and the children. That could have been awkward.

Richard shook his head. “Minnehaha. It's Miriam's favorite park. She likes the lagoons.”

Odd. Barrett hadn't known that. “Was Miriam distressed?” Though dinner had been a bit strained, in large part because of Mrs. Taggert's uncharacteristic silence, Miriam had done her best to keep the conversation moving, and she'd smiled each time she fingered the bracelet he'd given her. He might have been mistaken, but Barrett did not believe he was. When he'd wished Miriam a merry Christmas and handed her a narrow rectangular box, he'd seen relief in her eyes. Miriam, it seemed, was as unsure of their future as he was. And so long as either one of them had reservations, it would be wrong to become engaged, no matter how much the elder Taggerts favored the match, no matter how the union might help Barrett's career.

“Was Miriam distressed?” Barrett repeated the question.

Richard shook his head. “Not that I could see, but her parents are. Getting them riled was downright stupid of you.”

“Perhaps it was.” But it was his life that was at stake.
Christmas afternoon had been so different from the previous evening at the Taggerts' mansion. A simple drive in the park compared to a party with Cheyenne's most influential citizens. Hot chocolate instead of champagne and oysters. The laughter of children instead of music provided by a string quartet. If only a stupid man would find the time with Charlotte preferable to the Taggerts' glittering party, then Barrett was a stupid man.

Richard's glare intensified. “Without Taggert's support, your chances of getting elected are lower.”

“You're probably right, but he hasn't withdrawn it yet, has he?”

“No, but he will if you don't marry Miriam. Amelia Taggert has her heart set on her daughter becoming the wife of a senator. You cross her at your peril.”

“I know.”

“If I were you, I'd have a heart-to-heart with Mrs. Taggert. Tell her your plans. Let her know when you intend to ask for Miriam's hand.” Richard's eyes clouded with what appeared to be pain. “Tell her you're a romantic, and you want to propose on Valentine's Day. Tell her whatever it takes to convince her you're sincere. You can do that, can't you?”

Barrett looked at the man who'd given him so much good advice. What Richard asked sounded reasonable, and yet . . .
Landry never lies
.

 13 

Y
our work is exquisite, Madame Charlotte.” Mrs. Slater, a tall woman with a waist so slender she hardly needed a corset, smiled as she admired the dark brown poplin dress that Charlotte planned to finish by the end of the week. It was the first Tuesday of the new year, and though Charlotte did not have many customers at this time of the year, Mrs. Slater was one of her best, ordering at least one new dress each month. Like Barrett, Mr. Slater had made his fortune in cattle, and he gave his wife a lavish clothing budget.

“Even Mr. Slater complimented me on my new Christmas gown,” the cattle baroness said, “and he never notices what I wear. Men.” She wrinkled her long nose. “Who can figure out what they're thinking?”

“I'm glad you both liked the gown. Lemon yellow is particularly attractive on you.” Mrs. Slater had been surprised when Charlotte had pulled out the bolt of heavy satin, saying she'd ordered it specifically for her. “I don't know anyone else in Cheyenne who could wear this shade,” she had explained,
holding the fabric in front of the older woman so she could see how the light shade highlighted her dark hair.

“It wasn't just Mr. Slater. I had a dozen women telling me they'd never seen such a pretty gown. You're a genius, Madame Charlotte.”

“Hardly that.” If it was true as Mama had claimed that she had an eye for color, it was a gift.

“You should accept praise, my dear, when it's deserved. And in this case, it is.” Mrs. Slater pursed her lips as she studied her reflection before smiling. “You were right again. The draped panel looks good over the pleated skirt. I'll be the first lady in the city with a dress like this.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Charlotte suspected she was choosing her words carefully. “You're wise, not like some people I could name. You know I don't like to gossip, but . . .”

Charlotte tried not to sigh. If there was anything Mrs. Slater enjoyed more than being a trendsetter, it was gossip. Though Charlotte had tried to dissuade her from relating tales in the past, she had failed, and so today she didn't even try. Instead, she busied herself pinning the hem so that she did not have to see the expression of contentment on her customer's face as she recounted some juicy bit of news.

“I was shocked when I heard it,” Mrs. Slater said, “but it appears to be true. Mr. Landry seems to have lost whatever common sense he possessed.”

A shiver ran down Charlotte's spine as she realized that Barrett might be paying a high price for having befriended her and the children on Christmas afternoon.

“The stories are very confusing.” Mrs. Slater needed no encouragement to continue. “All I know is that no engagement has been announced, and Miriam Taggert and her parents
were seen driving with Mr. Eberhardt on Christmas Day when they should have been with Mr. Landry.”

Charlotte forbore pointing out that the Taggerts had been Barrett's guests for Christmas dinner. If Mrs. Slater didn't know that, Charlotte would not be the one to add that to her gossip bag.

“I tell you, Madame Charlotte, I never thought Mr. Landry was foolish,” Mrs. Slater continued. “I thought he'd be a good senator. Why, he's so handsome, and his voice is so nice that I could listen to him talk for hours. But any man who lets a prize like Miriam slip away is foolish. Mark my words. He'll see his political career slip away too, if he doesn't marry her soon.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so. The man needs a wife, and he won't find a more suitable one than Miriam.”

Charlotte wasn't certain of that. What she was certain of was that Wyoming needed a man like Barrett. She shook her head as she put the final pin in Mrs. Slater's hem. Though others seemed willing to tackle tough issues and to fight for Wyoming's rights, Barrett was the best advocate for sensible water laws Charlotte had seen. His explanations of the problems were easy to understand, even for men who lived in parts of the country that had never suffered from drought and where adequate supplies of water were taken for granted. More important, he did more than explain the problems. He provided concrete suggestions for how to solve them. That combination of oratorical eloquence and practical policy was unique to Barrett. If he withdrew from the race or if he lost, the real losers would be the citizens of Wyoming.

By the time she closed Élan, Charlotte was exhausted.
Mrs. Slater had been followed by four other women. Though each of them had ordered a new dress, they had spent the majority of their time in the shop discussing Barrett and Miriam and the engagement that had not been announced. Charlotte's head ached, her feet ached, even her fingernails ached. The year that she had believed to be so full of promise had not begun well. It was a day when she could hardly wait for spring to arrive. Surely by then Barrett and Miriam would have announced their betrothal and his political future would be assured.

Gwen was not suffering from the doldrums. Her face wreathed with a smile, she dished a fragrant beef stew into four bowls before she settled onto her chair. “It's only January fourth, but I'm convinced this is going to be the best year ever,” she said as she buttered a piece of freshly baked bread. Charlotte had known that Gwen was happy, simply by the aromas that had greeted her when she entered the kitchen. A contented Gwen added more spices than normal to whatever she was cooking, making the whole apartment smell wonderful.

“Warren told me this would be the year my dreams would come true,” she continued, “and I believe him.”

Charlotte managed a smile. “I hope he's right. You deserve everything good.” So did Barrett and Miriam. Most of all, so did David. While some might believe that the problems he faced were not as important as those looming over the territory, to Charlotte there was nothing more critical than assuring that her son had the prospect of a happy, productive future.

Once supper was over, David returned to what had become his favorite pastime, playing with the wooden animals Barrett had given him. Each time he would pick one up, he would run his fingers over the edges, as if learning the shapes, while Rose would recite the names. The pleasure that both children derived from the simple gift told Charlotte that Barrett understood children better than he admitted.

Unbidden, the memory of how he'd shown David the snow on top of the bush brought a genuine smile to Charlotte's face. She was David's mother. She spent her days trying to devise ways to teach him, but though she had introduced him to snow, she had not thought to demonstrate that snow fell on everything, not merely the ground. Barrett, a man with no children, not even any nieces or nephews, had done that. Ever since that day, when they'd gone outside, David had raised his arms and spread his hands as if he were searching for evidence of snow.

Barrett had recognized a need. Perhaps he had also recognized how little Charlotte knew about teaching the blind, and that was why he had given her the book.

“Oh, Gwen, I don't know whether I can do this,” Charlotte said when the children had been put to bed.

“Do what?” Gwen looked up from the table runner she was embroidering while Charlotte studied the book.

“Teach David. There's so much I don't know.” Charlotte hated the whining tone of her voice. If only her head didn't ache so much, the book might not seem so overwhelming. “I want David to be able to read, but if I'm going to teach him, I need to learn Braille.” She lifted her right hand and felt the pads of her fingers. “My fingertips have calluses from sewing. I wonder if I'll be able to distinguish those dots. They're so small.”

Gwen flashed her a smile. “You've got years to learn. I know that David's unusually clever, but even he won't be ready to read for four or five more years. By then you'll be an expert. I know you will.”

Charlotte did not share her confidence. She was still troubled when she went to bed, her mind jumbled with thoughts of Barrett's future and worries about her ability to help David. Somehow she had to find a way to give him everything he needed, and—God willing—that way would not involve sending him away.

Her gaze settled on her son, watching him as he slept, his arms tucked close to his chest, his legs splayed in a wide V. With his lips curving at the corners, David appeared at peace. If only Charlotte could share that tranquility. As she turned away, she recalled her father reciting one of his favorite Bible verses, and the words of Proverbs 16:9 echoed through her mind: “A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.” That was the answer. Papa was right. Charlotte had been so concerned about establishing her independence, about proving that she did not need to be coddled or protected, that she had forgotten the fundamental truth. She could deny it all she wanted, but she did need help. God's help.

Help me, Lord
, she prayed.
I can't do it all alone. I need you to guide my steps.
She reached for the Bible on her nightstand, then shook her head. What she needed was her childhood Bible, the one she'd kept hidden since she'd reached Cheyenne. The words were the same, but the soft, slightly worn leather felt different in her hands, providing a tactile comfort that the newer one did not. The older one had been a gift from her parents on her eighth birthday, and if she opened it, she would see her name and birth date carefully inscribed inside
it, followed by the other milestones of her life: her marriage, Jeffrey's death, David's birth. Perhaps it was because she had been thinking of Papa and remembering his wise counsel that the only book she wanted to hold was the one he and Mama had given her.

Removing it from its hiding place, Charlotte opened it randomly, searching for the Lord's words. Her eyes landed on the forty-first chapter of Isaiah, the thirteenth verse. “For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.”

She smiled as she looked down at her hands, her eyes focusing on the right one. Less than an hour ago, she had worried that that hand would be unable to read Braille. It was no coincidence that this was the first verse she had read. God had heard her worries, and he'd answered them. He would hold her hand. He would help her. That was all Charlotte needed.

Reluctantly, she placed the Bible back in the bottom drawer, covering it with clothing. As much as she wanted to use it daily, she could not risk Rose finding it and showing it to Gwen. She would wait until David's second birthday. Surely by then the baron would have forgotten her. Then she and David would be safe.