The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (15 page)

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H
enry was fine. It took both Charlotte and Emmaline to hold him still while the doctor put two stitches in the back of his head, but as soon as the fuss was over and he had something to eat, he perked up.

Fortunately—in Charlotte's mind—Mr. Penard banned Sarah from the nursery, at least for the time being. The girl was sternly admonished to move her personal belongings back to the third floor female servants' rooms. Emmaline Brewster prevailed on Flora Banning to designate Charlotte for the baby's care, under Emmaline's personal supervision. Mrs. Fletcher, of course, made it clear to Mr. Penard that she expected Charlotte's continued help in the kitchen. Someone would have to train Sarah, after all, and Mrs. Fletcher was persuasive that dealing with an impudent scullery maid was the last thing she had time for.

Charlotte moved the high chair down to the kitchen so she could corral Henry safely within her sight at least some of the time. Emmaline insisted she did not require assistance for the afternoon airings. Charlotte did not feel one bit sorry for Sarah when Emmaline took the baby out and the girl was left to scrub pots. While Henry slept in the daytime, Charlotte ran
up to check on him frequently, never lagging in her efficiency at her other tasks. At night, she slept in the room next to his, and hers was the first face he saw in the mornings.

She counted the coins in her dresser drawer again. Soon she would have her September wages to add.

A week passed, and Charlotte had not spoken to Mrs. Banning yet. It was Emmaline Brewster who worried her. The lady of the house was blissfully unaware of what her houseguest was planning, and Charlotte frankly wondered how anyone could miss the signs. But Emmaline was still weeks away from leaving Chicago and trying to take the child with her. Flora was still hopeful to hear from Louisa, and that process would take weeks as well. Charlotte believed she had time.

Henry was down for his morning nap. With the baby sleeping, Charlotte scurried back to the kitchen to make sure Sarah was cleaning the potatoes Mrs. Fletcher intended to bake for luncheon, then she would lay the table.

She did not speak to Sarah as she went through the kitchen. The two of them had exchanged the fewest possible words in the last week. Satisfied that the potatoes were under control, Charlotte moved through to the dining room, where the table linens needed to be changed. She gathered the tablecloth in her arms and carried it back through the kitchen to the workroom. The laundress would deal with it on Monday morning. In the servants' hall, she met Lina, the parlor maid, coming in the female servants' entrance.

“I have a letter for you.” Lina handed Charlotte a crumpled envelope.

Charlotte's eyes widened. Who would be sending her a letter? She inspected the envelope, which bore only her first name in carefully printed letters.

“It didn't come with the regular mail,” Lina said. “I left that on the tray in the kitchen the same as I always do. A man asked me if I worked on this street and if I knew Charlotte Landers. I said I knew Charlotte Farrow. He laughed and handed me the envelope.”

“He laughed?” Charlotte echoed.

“He asked if you had a baby, and of course I said that was ridiculous. I said he must be looking for another Charlotte, but he insisted I bring the letter.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte managed to say. “Yes, I'm sure it's a muddle that has nothing to do with me.”

“I have to polish the upstairs hall today.” Lina's mind was already on her own tasks as she turned away.

Charlotte expelled a breath, and the next one seemed reluctant to come. Only a handful of men in the world would know to ask for Charlotte Landers. And to suspect a baby. The envelope quivered in a grip grown numb with fear. Frantically, Charlotte glanced around, then ducked outside to the courtyard.

She didn't see me
, Archie thought as he watched her shoulders heaving. She stumbled away from the house, fumbling with something in her hands, tearing an envelope, unfolding a page, reading the words written on it. He saw the breath go out of her. She did not refill her lungs.

“Charlotte!” He stepped into view.

She sucked air at last as she stuffed the papers into her apron pocket.

“Charlotte, what's wrong?” Archie cradled her elbows and searched her pallid face.

She stared at him blankly, shaking her head.

“Charlotte, talk to me.” He laid one hand against an ashen cheek and felt the warmth rising there.

She shuddered under his touch and shook her head.

“I saw you reading something,” Archie said. “A letter. It upset you. That much is plain. Whatever it is, you don't have to bear it alone.”

Her hand moved to her pocket.

“Charlotte, I can't stand to see you this way. Talk to me. Let me share your load.”

Her face stilled and her eyes, spilling tears, locked into his. Archie took her face between his hands and bent to put his forehead against hers.

“You have to know I care for you,” he said, “so whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He heard the sound her throat made as she swallowed, and he put his lips on hers ever so gently and held them there. Finally she responded. He felt the return pressure he had waited so long for.

Sarah was blessedly alone in the kitchen. Having everyone watching her every move was becoming annoying. Did they seriously think she could not peel a stupid potato without supervision? The whole matter was unfair. She had done a good job with the brat, and one fleeting moment of distraction had undone everything. Nobody gave her a moment's peace now, and she detested the kitchen work. She threw her knife down on the butcher block and slouched into a chair at the table.

A small silver tray sat in the middle of the table with the
day's mail. Sarah had seen Lina leave it there earlier, and now she idly flipped through the envelopes. She had watched Mr. Penard examine the mail on countless mornings, sorting out what related to household accounts and passing on to the Bannings the more personal envelopes. Sarah moved a pink envelope to the bottom of the pile, revealing a cream colored envelope with elaborate writing.

It was addressed to Miss Charlotte Farrow.

Sarah looked at the return address—Mrs. Will Edwards, care of a hotel in Paris, France. She fingered the envelope, curiosity welling.

Charlotte broke away abruptly, putting two fingers to her lips. “What have I done?”

Archie smiled at her. “You let me love you for just a moment. Perhaps you even loved me back.”

“I'm sorry, Archie. I made a mistake. I should never have done that.” Absently, she wiped her hands on her apron. She turned her back and walked toward the house, hardly letting herself breathe until she was safely within the walls of the day nursery.

Opening Henry's door, she watched her son sleeping. He was the only thing that mattered. For a moment she had let herself forget that. For a moment, she had let herself be a woman responding to the touch of a good man. For a moment, she had let herself forget about the truth of her life and hope for happiness.

But it was a mistake. What Archie wanted was not possible, and it was unfair to let him think it might be.

Especially now.

He
knew where she was. He had been on Prairie Avenue, in the right block. He was resourceful enough to determine the right house if he wanted to.

She had been so careful for a year.

Charlotte closed Henry's door and stumbled to the rocking chair. Miss Brewster had sat in this chair several times in the last week during her regular visits to the nursery.

Miss Brewster.

Suddenly what Charlotte suspected made perfect sense. Especially for Henry.

Mrs. Fletcher entered the kitchen with a sigh.

Sarah jumped back to her post at the chopping block and pushed a pile of potato peels into the slop bucket on the floor. The letter slid out of her hand and into the bucket. Sarah grimaced.

“That bucket looks almost full,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “You may as well dump it in the bin outside right now.”

“I don't think it's quite full.” Sarah eyed the letter now coated in glop.

Mrs. Fletcher picked up a wooden spoon and pointed it at Sarah. “I don't think you want to argue with me, Sarah. Dump the bucket.”