Waiting for Spring (27 page)

Though it was a prospect she had not considered, Miriam nodded. “You're more important to me than they are.” She tried to infuse enthusiasm into her voice, but she knew that Richard heard her hesitation.

“I'm sorry, my love, but I can't take that risk.”

“I'm glad we're finally getting our chance to have tea at Rue de Rivoli,” Barrett said as he opened the front door to the impressive sandstone edifice. Though Charlotte had tried to refuse Barrett's invitation, believing it unwise to be seen in public with him when he was close to announcing his engagement to Miriam, he had insisted that this would be a business meeting. She might still have refused, but the disappointment on Barrett's face had convinced her to accept. And so here they were.

Unlike the entrances to many buildings situated on a street corner, Rue de Rivoli's door was angled so that it faced the corner rather than favor either street. Apparently the architect who'd designed the massive building hadn't been able to decide whether Ferguson or 16th Street would be the more prominent and had hedged his bets. In Charlotte's opinion, the angled entry gave the building a special appeal. Barrett smiled as if he shared her opinion and escorted her inside.

“I hope you enjoy the afternoon,” he said as the waiter showed them to a table near the front window.

“When I heard that Cheyenne's most prominent women
come here for tea, I thought you might get some new customers if people saw you here.”

Charlotte waited to respond until Barrett had ordered tea and afternoon sandwiches. “I may not want any more customers,” she told him. “If everything goes the way I hope, I won't have time to sew many gowns.”

She had spent hours scribbling on a slate, erasing one set of numbers after another, making notes about everything that could go wrong. Now that she was comfortable with her plans, Charlotte was eager to discuss them with Barrett. This would be a business meeting, simply not the one he had envisioned. Although she thought her plans were complete, she knew that Barrett would tell her if she'd missed something important or if her assumptions were too optimistic.

When he raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue, she said, “I realized there's a way to turn my dream of a school into reality.”

“And that is . . .”

Before she could answer, Mr. and Mrs. Slater entered the dining room. The flash of recognition followed by surprise that crossed Mr. Slater's face told Charlotte he knew Barrett but had not expected to see him here. Or perhaps he had not expected Charlotte to be with Barrett.

“Madame Charlotte. It's so good to see you.” Mrs. Slater's greeting was genuine. She turned to her husband, loudly declaring that Charlotte was the woman who'd made her new gowns. If Barrett had wanted advertising for Charlotte, he'd gotten it.

When the older couple left for their table at the opposite side of the rapidly filling room, Barrett reminded Charlotte that they'd been discussing the school. “What did you discover?”

“I realized that I could be the teacher.” Barrett said nothing, merely nodding as Charlotte explained her plan to gain the specialized training she needed. “The school won't have everything I once envisioned. I won't be able to hire other teachers, at least not initially, so I thought I'd start with only blind children.”

“That seems to make sense.” Barrett leaned forward, his expression intent. “Have you picked a location?”

Charlotte nodded. “If I could afford it, I'd buy Mr. Yates's store and use it, but since I can't do that, I thought I could divide my store in half, putting the school on one side and the shop on the other.”

For the first time, Barrett seemed surprised. “You're going to keep Élan open?”

“I don't have any choice. I'll need more money than I can charge for tuition, so I thought I'd have the store open on Saturdays when there's no school. My customers can come for fittings then, but I'll do the actual sewing at night.”

“It'll be a lot of work.”

When the waiter had set a pot of tea in front of them, Charlotte poured herself and Barrett a cup. “You're right,” she said as she stirred sugar into her tea. “At first, it felt daunting, but I think I can do it. I've never been afraid of hard work. I don't know about your family, but my parents raised the three of us to believe that working was a way of worshiping the Lord. They told us that's why he gave us talents.”

As Barrett smiled, his eyes deepened to the color of an August sky. “My parents would have liked yours. They felt the same way.” He took a sip of tea. “It sounds as if you're not planning for the school to be a boarding school.”

“Not at first,” she agreed. “I don't have enough room. Even if
I closed the shop and used the whole ground floor, I don't think it would be large enough. I suspect I'll have only two pupils at the beginning: David and Nancy Cox.” Charlotte would post notices of the school in the newspaper, just in case there were other blind children in Cheyenne, but she couldn't advertise outside the city when there was no place to house students.

“Will they learn as quickly as they would at a boarding school?”

Trust Barrett to go to the heart of the matter. That question had bothered Charlotte too. “I don't know. I thought I'd ask the Perkins School when I inquire about becoming trained. I picked them because I've heard they're the best.”

Barrett nodded. “Then you ought to start there. That's a lesson I learned from my parents. They told me to never settle for second best.”

His demeanor had changed, the faint furrows between his eyes disappearing, replaced by a calm acceptance. Charlotte sensed that he had no further questions, and so she asked one of her own. “Do you think the school is a good idea?”

Instead of responding with a nod or a shake of the head, Barrett leaned forward slightly. “That depends,” he said softly.

“On what?”

“Are you certain this is what you want to do with your life? Once you begin, it wouldn't be fair to your pupils or their parents to stop.”

“I agree.” Charlotte waited until the waiter had placed a platter on the table before she spoke again. “It's hard to explain,” she said as she selected an egg salad sandwich. “The more I think about it, the more excited I become. I can't ever remember feeling this way, but I feel as if this is what I'm meant to do.”

When Barrett said nothing, she took a bite of the sandwich, chewing carefully as she phrased her next sentence. After she washed the sandwich down with a swallow of tea, she said, “At first, I didn't understand. I asked God why my baby wasn't perfect and why he'd given me this cross to bear. Then my prayers changed, and I asked him what David had done to deserve being blind. There were no answers, but today I feel as if the school is the reason. There's a need for a school for the blind here. If David hadn't been born blind, I would never have realized that, and I certainly would not have considered starting one, but if it works out the way I hope it will, I'll be able to help other children, not just mine.”

“And make the world a better place.” Though there was no special inflection to his voice, the corners of Barrett's lips curved.

“You remember that?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I remember most things you've told me. I don't know what it is about you, Charlotte, but you're a hard woman to forget.”

Feeling a blush steal its way to her cheeks, Charlotte lowered her head and stirred another lump of sugar into her tea. She didn't need the additional sweetness, but stirring gave her a chance to settle her thoughts.

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

When she looked up, Barrett was grinning. “It was meant as one. As for the school, if that's the way you feel, you definitely should open it.”

Charlotte felt the warmth of his gaze as she offered to refill his teacup. She doubted he had any idea how his smile made her heart leap and the blood rush through her veins, and yet there was something special in his eyes, a tenderness that she
hadn't seen before. It made no sense, for he had told Miriam he loved her, and yet Charlotte could not deny that Barrett's expression was almost lover-like.

“Thank you, Barrett. You're a good friend and a businessman.” She emphasized the word
friend
. “That's why your opinion means so much to me.”

To Charlotte's surprise, faint color stained his cheeks. It was almost as if he were as affected by her nearness as she was by his. Barrett cleared his throat. “I plan to go to the ranch for a few days. We'll talk again when I return. Who knows? I may have some new ideas for you. But never doubt it, Charlotte. The school is a good idea.”

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as relief washed over her. There was only one hurdle left. She needed to tell Abigail and Elizabeth about David and her change of direction. She'd do that tonight, and then while she waited for their response, she would begin planning for her school.

Her fingers, her toes, every inch of her tingling with pleasure, she smiled at Barrett. He approved. He wanted to help her. He found her unforgettable. Somehow, silly as it was, it was the last thought that brought her the greatest happiness.

The buzzards were circling. Barrett tried to tamp down the dread that continued to well up inside him. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Charlotte—she'd been so excited about the prospect of opening a school for the blind—but for days now he'd been unable to dismiss his worries about the livestock. Several of the other cattle barons had scoffed when he'd mentioned his concerns. Cattle were sturdy animals, they'd told him. But Barrett knew that even the sturdiest of
animals had its limits. There was only one way to allay his fears, and that was to see for himself.

So far, February had been a strange month. It hadn't been his imagination, Barrett knew, that prominent members of the party were displeased with him. Though they had offered greetings when they'd seen him at Betty Dawson's Valentine's Day dance, those had been at best perfunctory, at worst cold. And then there was Miriam. She had refused his offer to escort her to the party, saying she had received her own invitation and would go unaccompanied. Once there, she had seemed happy when he'd asked her to dance, although she had disappeared soon after that. That wasn't like Miriam, nor were the tears he'd seen glistening in her eyes when she'd returned to the dance floor. But when he'd expressed his concern, she had denied that anything was wrong.

Women. Barrett doubted he'd ever understand them. Fortunately, he'd had no trouble understanding Charlotte's desire for a school. While other women might have bewailed their fate, cursing God for afflicting them with a blind child, Charlotte had transformed her pain into a plan to help others in the same position. Barrett frowned as he thought of the challenges she faced. There had to be a way he could help her, but first he had to reach the ranch and discover what was happening to his cattle.

The buzzards were not a good sign. Though they'd been common enough in Pennsylvania, this was the first time he'd seen them in Wyoming. And even back East, when he'd seen a buzzard, it had been one or two, not the huge flocks that now circled overhead, marring the cloudless sky with their appearance.

As he rode north, Barrett's spirits continued to plummet.
The reason for the buzzards' arrival wasn't hard to find. Dozens of dead cattle littered the ground. Though the cold had helped preserve their bodies, the inevitable decay had begun, attracting the birds of prey. The cattle had died of starvation. The buzzards would not.

“Is it as bad as I think?” Barrett asked Dustin as he removed his hat and drew closer to the stove. Though he'd thought the foreman might be riding the range, Barrett had found him sitting inside the main house, his slumped shoulders and gloomy expression mute evidence that he was as depressed as Barrett.

Dustin ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, frowning as he stared at the floor. Other than the brief look he'd given Barrett when he'd entered the building, Dustin had kept his eyes glued to the floor. “Probably worse,” he muttered. “'Pears to me we done lost half the herd, and it ain't even March.”