Waiting For Spring Part 11

"Are you sure you're not a mind reader?" Charlotte didn't try to hide her pleasure. "Just before I saw you, I was thinking about how wonderful it would be if I had a carriage and could take the children to the park."

Doffing his hat, Barrett grinned. "Your wish is my command, fair lady."

"You need hat. It's cold," Rose chided.

"You're right, little one."

"I not little."

As Barrett chuckled, his gaze met Charlotte's, and for a second she could hardly breathe. He looked at her as if she were more than a friend. But she wasn't. She couldn't be, for Barrett was going to marry Miriam and possibly become a senator, while she was going to live a quiet life, trying to teach David everything he needed to learn. Charlotte swallowed deeply. She and Barrett were friends. Just friends. And there was nothing unseemly about friends riding together, especially when accompanied by two children. Wrapping an arm around each child, she settled back on the seat, determined to enjoy the simple pleasure of a drive through the park.

It was even better than Charlotte had imagined. When Rose oohed and aahed over the snow that still blanketed the shrubs, Barrett stopped the carriage. As Rose and Charlotte strolled along one of the paths, he lifted David into his arms and carried him to a bush. "Snow," Barrett said as he removed one of the boy's mittens. "Snow on bushes." Carefully, he guided David's hand to the shrub, letting him feel the texture and size. And then he raised him up so that he could touch the top and experience the softness of the snow. "Snow," Barrett repeated. David said nothing, but the grin on his face as Barrett chafed his hand and replaced the mitten told Charlotte he had enjoyed his time in the park.

When they were back in the carriage, Barrett turned to Charlotte. "Might I suggest another pot of c-o-c-o-a? Mrs. Melnor and Mr. Bradley would be pleased to have guests again."

"After cooking and serving Christmas dinner?"

Barrett nodded. "You've met them. You know they enjoy having children in the house."

"But isn't there somewhere else you need to be?" Something must have taken him to Richard's house, and even if that wasn't pressing, surely he should be spending the day with his new fiancee. When Charlotte had accepted Jeffrey's proposal, he had taken her around West Point, introducing her to everyone he knew. It had been an almost magical day, sharing the news of their love with others. But Barrett had not so much as mentioned Miriam. Why not?

"I have nothing planned this afternoon," he said as he turned the carriage onto Ferguson. "Miriam and her parents left an hour ago, and my meeting with Richard can wait until tomorrow. Besides, if you come to my house, you'll save me a trip."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

When they entered the house, as Barrett had predicted, Mr. Bradley came as close to smiling as Charlotte imagined he ever did, and Mrs. Melnor insisted that Charlotte sample her plum pudding. "The children won't like the pudding," she said, "but I can bake some cookies for them." And though Charlotte protested, Mrs. Melnor would not be dissuaded.

While they waited for the cookies and hot chocolate to be prepared, Barrett led them into the parlor. A small but exquisitely decorated tree stood in one corner, several open boxes and a bag filled with oddly shaped items beneath it. Barrett reached for the bag. "This is the trip you're saving me. I had planned to deliver it later today, but now is better."

The children thought so. Rose was enchanted with her new doll, and David seemed intrigued by the wooden animals Barrett gave him. He sat contentedly on the floor, turning each one over in his hand, as if trying to learn the shapes.

Barrett pulled out a box whose distinctive color left no doubt that it had come from Mr. Ellis's shop. "The candy is for Gwen, although I imagine she'll share it with all of you." Barrett explained that this was Mr. Ellis's special holiday a.s.sortment. "I was going to buy a box for you, but I found something I thought you'd like better." He handed Charlotte a package that could only contain a book.

"Thank you, Barrett, but I'm feeling overwhelmed." She had accepted the first box of candy and David's ball as part of Barrett's apology, but she had not expected anything else, and she most a.s.suredly had not expected him to buy Christmas presents for four people who were neither family nor close friends.

Barrett shrugged as if the gifts were insignificant. "One thing led to another. I'd already ordered the candy and your gift. Then last month I was in the Union Mercantile with Harrison. When I spotted the animals, I thought of David, and once I bought those, I knew I couldn't neglect Rose." He wrinkled his nose. "She was the biggest challenge. You'd think that after working in my family's mercantile, I'd be better at this, but I don't know much about little girls. It was Harrison who suggested the doll."

The happiness that had filled Charlotte's heart when she'd seen David's delight over his toy animals overflowed, suffusing her with its warmth. It might be insignificant to others, but the fact that the presents were not last-minute purchases, that Barrett had thought of her son so much in advance, was an even greater gift than the animals themselves. Barrett's thoughtfulness reminded Charlotte of her childhood. Though money was invariably scarce, the family planned their Christmas celebration months in advance. Gifts were often simple and handmade, but they always reflected both the giver and the recipient, and so they were cherished long after Christmas Day.

Blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, Charlotte smiled at Barrett. "I don't know how to thank you for making this such a special day."

Though a muscle in his cheek twitched, his expression was inscrutable. "You might want to open your gift," he suggested.

"I love books," Charlotte said as she untied the ribbon. "You probably expected that, since you know I was once a teacher, but it started way before then."

"That night at the opera house, you told me books were your best friends as a child."

Charlotte's eyes widened at the realization that Barrett had recalled the details of their conversation. It was true that she remembered almost everything they'd discussed that evening, but she hadn't expected him to.

"You also mentioned being ill," he continued. "That must have been difficult. Children-at least my brothers and I-like to be active." He rubbed the b.u.mp on his nose.

She laid her gift on her lap, more interested in learning about Barrett's childhood than in unwrapping the book. "Is that how you broke your nose?"

Barrett shook his head. "I was small for my age, the perfect target for bullies. A couple of them caught me after school one day and decided to punch my face. The next thing I knew, I had a broken nose. The worst part is that my brothers had to come to my rescue. They never let me forget that I was the little one."

"I was the biggest one, but it wasn't always easy," Charlotte said softly.

"Because you were ill and confined to bed." He made it a statement rather than a question.

She shook her head. "That was hard enough, but what I hated most was the aftermath. I was used to being in charge of my sisters, but after I was ill, everyone thought I needed to be protected, so they coddled me. I wasn't allowed to do a lot of things that normal children did, because the doctor had warned that I'd always be weak."

"You don't appear weak now." Barrett's gaze was approving, and it warmed Charlotte's heart.

"I'm as healthy as can be." She looked down at her son. "Now it's David who needs protecting. I worry about his future."

His smile extending all the way to his eyes, Barrett gestured toward the package in Charlotte's lap. "You might want to open it."

With the paper loosened, Charlotte carefully withdrew the book, gasping as she read the t.i.tle. This was no novel or poetry collection. Instead, it was something of far more value. Barrett had given her a book for teachers of the blind. "I had no idea this existed."

As Charlotte leafed through the book, glancing at the chapter headings, she felt hope welling inside her. Perhaps with the author's advice, she could teach David everything he needed to know. Keeping a firm grip on the book, she looked up at Barrett. "I don't know how to thank you." He'd given her something more precious than diamonds and gold; he'd given her the chance to help her son.

Barrett shook his head. "No thanks are necessary. As you once told me, David is a special boy."

The tears that leaked from Charlotte's eyes were tears of happiness. Barrett's kindness had chased away her doldrums, replacing them with memories that would linger for the rest of her life. It might not have been a perfect day, but it was very, very close.

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 s.p.a.ce 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 pa.s.sed 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.

Your 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 s.h.i.+ver 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 elan, 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 a.s.sured.

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 b.u.t.tered 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 a.s.suring 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-G.o.d 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 establis.h.i.+ng 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. G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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. G.o.d 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.

"Oh, Charlotte, it's lovely." Miriam admired her reflection in the long mirror. "I never thought brown would look good on me."

Charlotte smiled. "It's russet, not brown."

Fingering the lightweight wool, Miriam smiled again. "Only you would know the difference and which one I ought to wear. Mama would have insisted on blue again, but I wanted something less . . ." She hesitated, as if searching for a word. "Flamboyant," she said at last. "I want to look nice when I'm at his side, but I want the attention to be on Barrett."

Nodding, Charlotte handed Miriam the pair of gloves she had made to match the new dress. It appeared that Mrs. Slater and the other women were mistaken, for if there were any estrangement between Miriam and Barrett, Miriam would not be planning to be with him at the polls next week.