by Amanda Cabot
It had been a challenge, building a new life in Wyoming, but he’d succeeded. He now had wealth and a social position far beyond his brothers’. Running for office would be the final proof that he was no longer the runt of the litter.
The urge to prove that was powerful, but the more Barrett learned about his adopted home, the more he realized that he could make a difference in Wyoming—a positive difference. And so he’d told Madame Charlotte that, not his earlier selfish motive.
She had appeared to believe him. It was only when they’d discussed his slogan that she had seemed to retreat into herself. Her demeanor had changed, reminding Barrett of the porcupine he and Camden and Harrison had found when they’d been wandering through the woods back in Pennsylvania. The instant the animal had spotted them, it had curled into a ball, its fiercely sharp quills protecting its soft underbelly, and though they’d stood there for what felt like hours, waiting for the porcupine to straighten out, it had not.
Madame Charlotte was protecting something, perhaps a daughter. Though Miriam had said nothing more than that Madame Charlotte was a widow who lived above the shop, he had heard a young girl’s voice coming from upstairs. A child lived there, in all likelihood Madame Charlotte’s child. Barrett could understand that she might want to shelter her daughter, but that didn’t explain why she’d seemed so disturbed by his slogan.
“Turn here.” Miriam tapped Barrett’s arm.
He blinked, surprised when he realized they’d reached the corner of 22nd Street. The park was only one block east. Somehow, he’d traveled four blocks without being aware of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “My mind wandered.”
“You should be sorry.” Miriam’s normally sweet voice was laced with asperity. “You’ve practically ignored me since we left Madame Charlotte’s.”
Madame Charlotte. Did the woman have a surname? Of course she did, even if Barrett had never heard Miriam refer to her any other way. Though the question of the lovely dressmaker’s name teased him almost as much as her protective air had, Barrett knew better than to ask his companion. Speaking of another woman, even if it was only the one who created her dresses, was no way to treat a lady, especially one he was considering courting.
“I’m sorry, Miriam. You didn’t deserve that. I assure you that you have my full attention now.”
The look she gave him told Barrett she was still skeptical. “What were you thinking about?”
It would be sheer folly to tell her the truth. Instead, Barrett changed the subject as they approached the four-block expanse of City Park. “Has your father said anything about beef prices dropping again? I’ve heard stories that some of the other cattlemen are selling more head than normal because they’re fearful of a harsh winter.”
Miriam shot him another look, as if to say she recognized his deliberate evasion. She wasn’t simply an attractive woman, Barrett reminded himself. She was also intelligent. That was one of the reasons why she would be an ideal wife. Even if he never learned to love her, he could at least respect her.
Twirling her parasol in what might have been a flirtatious manner, Miriam nodded. “Papa mentioned something, but you know Mama doesn’t like him to talk about business at dinner. She says it’s not good for the digestion.” Miriam waved at a friend on the other side of the street before she added, “He did say someone reported that beavers were making bigger dens than normal. It’s a silly story, if you ask me. What do beavers know about weather?”
Her expression intent, Miriam laid her hand on Barrett’s arm and waited until she was certain she had his full attention. “Tell me the truth, Barrett. Are you certain green is the right color for my gown?”
“It’s beautiful.” Tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes as she looked at the two-layer cake with its carefully swirled icing. Though the frosting was chocolate, Gwen had piped a white border around the top and at the base. She had even placed multicolored candies on the sides and had used them to outline a D on the top. It was a work of art, a great deal of effort to expend for a boy who could not see it. “This must have taken you hours.”
Charlotte gave her son another hug, then placed him back on the floor, handing him the gourd rattle that had been his favorite toy for the past week. He’d been waiting for her as he did each day, sitting on the floor of the room that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor, his head turning in her direction when she opened the door, his face lighting with a smile that made the day’s minor annoyances fade. This was her son, and today was his birthday. Though she doubted he would remember it when he was older, Charlotte had been determined that it would be a special one. Tonight she wouldn’t worry about the baron. She wouldn’t let her mind wander toward Barrett Landry. She wouldn’t even wonder what the future held. Tonight was for David.
Charlotte smiled at the woman who shared the small apartment. “Thank you, Gwen. For the cake and everything.”
The other woman shrugged, as if the effort of preparing a fancy cake while she cared for two rambunctious children had been insignificant. That was Gwen. Ever since she and her daughter had come to live with Charlotte, Gwen Amos had done more than expected, brushing off Charlotte’s thanks as unnecessary. “I’m glad to help” was the normal refrain from the heavyset woman who watched over David while Charlotte was in the shop. Shorter than average, Gwen would never be considered beautiful, even though her light brown hair was smooth and glossy, the envy of many, and her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. She was a jolly woman who appeared to enjoy life, and for that alone, Charlotte felt blessed. It had been Gwen’s optimism that had helped Charlotte through the dark days when she’d learned that her son was blind.
“Rose and I told David what we were doing, didn’t we?” Gwen smiled at her daughter.
The three-year-old nodded vigorously. “I and David taste the candies.” She smacked her lips. “I and David like them.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Charlotte smiled at Rose, then hugged Gwen. “Every day I thank God for bringing you into my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
When Jeffrey had been killed, Charlotte had been forced to make an honest assessment of her talents. There were only two—a clear soprano voice and the ability to design and sew fashionable clothing. Since opportunities to earn money by singing were limited, her best chance of making a living for herself and David was to open a dress shop. Though there was no question of remaining at Fort Laramie, once she’d arrived in Cheyenne, Charlotte had realized that the growing capital city could support another dressmaker.
Finding and stocking the store had been relatively simple. Juggling work with caring for David and their apartment was a far greater challenge. Fortunately for Charlotte, Gwen had been shopping at Yates’s Dry Goods the day Charlotte had introduced herself to the man whose building adjoined hers, and she had heard Charlotte tell Mr. Yates that she needed a housekeeper who could also care for her son. Half an hour later, Charlotte had the best housekeeper she could imagine.
“You were the one who helped us,” Gwen countered, “but let’s not be maudlin. Especially not tonight. Supper’s ready.”
Charlotte moved to the dry sink. “Did you hear that, David? It’s time to wash our hands. Come to Mama.” She watched, a proud smile on her face as he crawled toward her. Other children his age were starting to walk, but for David, crawling had been a major accomplishment.
“You know what comes next.” David giggled before raising his arms so she could lift him onto the counter. “Now, give me your hands.” When she positioned them over the pail, he giggled again. Getting wet was one of David’s favorite parts of the day. “Okay, rub,” Charlotte said when she’d poured water over her son’s hands. “Now we’ll dry them.” She gave him a towel. Though he hadn’t quite mastered the art of drying his hands, he seemed to enjoy the texture of the cloth. “Off to your chair now.”
It had seemed strange at first, narrating every step she was planning to take, but when Charlotte had blindfolded herself
and tried to imagine what David’s world was like, she had realized how important it was to compensate for his lack of sight by stimulating his other senses. David’s hearing appeared to be acute, and he would often sniff, wordlessly telling Charlotte he had detected an odor she had not.
The meal went well. David enjoyed eating, once he knew where the foods were placed, and though he made a mess of the cake, smearing it all over his face, his grin left no doubt that he’d savored it.
When she had washed her son’s face and hands and tossed his bib into the laundry basket, Charlotte settled him on her lap and reached for the first of the packages Gwen had laid on the now clean table. “David, your aunts sent presents for you.” She handed him a box wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied with a coarse string. “This is from Aunt Abigail. Feel the tie.” She moved his fingers over the twine, showing him how it circled the box. “We need to pull it loose.” Handing him one end, Charlotte encouraged her son to tug on it. When it came undone, he crowed with delight. “Feel the box now. The string is gone.” She guided David’s fingers over the package. “Let’s open the box.” When she’d slid the paper off it, Charlotte removed the top. “Oh, it’s a book.” A book her son would never read. Elizabeth’s gift was another book with beautiful pictures, the perfect gift for most one-year-old boys but not for David. Though he’d enjoy hearing her read the stories to him, only the richly textured blanket Gwen had made was something Charlotte’s son would fully appreciate.
“You need to tell them,” Gwen said when the children were in bed and she and Charlotte had returned to the sitting area of their main room. Furnished with a horsehair settee and two tapestry-covered chairs, it was large enough for the four of them and accommodated the few visitors the women had. Charlotte lit an oil lamp. Although the apartment had electricity, there were times when she preferred the softer light of the lamps.
Gwen’s expression was solemn as she set her empty teacup on the small table positioned between the two chairs. “Your sisters deserve to know that David is . . .” She hesitated for a second before saying, “Special. You should have told them at the beginning.”
It was a familiar argument. “I didn’t realize he was blind when I left Fort Laramie.” Though Gwen was reluctant to voice the word blind, Charlotte was not. “Even if I’d known, I’m not certain I’d have told Abigail.” It was only after she’d moved to Cheyenne that Charlotte had noticed that David’s eyes never followed her. “Probably not. I couldn’t disrupt my sisters’ lives. Elizabeth would have postponed her medical studies, and Abigail and Ethan would have interrupted their honeymoon to be with me. I couldn’t let that happen.”
At the time that Charlotte had learned about David’s blindness, Abigail and Ethan had been back East, paying a brief visit to Elizabeth while Ethan made the final decisions about his inheritance. Though both he and Abigail were confident that he’d been right in renouncing all claims to the fortune his grandfather had amassed, leaving it instead to a distant cousin who shared the grandfather’s passion for railroads, if Ethan had known that David was handicapped, he might have made a different decision. Charlotte could picture Ethan sacrificing his own happiness in order to provide for her and David, and she could not allow that to happen. David was her son. She alone was responsible for him.
And now? It was difficult to explain when she didn’t fully understand it herself. Charlotte had always been reluctant to let her sisters see her life as less than perfect. That was why she hadn’t told either Abigail or Elizabeth the truth about her marriage. She hadn’t even mentioned she was expecting a child, for fear they’d visit her and discover that the man she’d believed to be her knight in shining armor was troubled.
Gwen poured herself another cup of tea, shaking her head when Charlotte refused a second piece of cake. “You think because you’re the oldest you should be the strong one. Abigail and Elizabeth are grown women now. They could have helped you. You don’t always have to be strong.”
“I wasn’t.” Charlotte closed her eyes, remembering.
Her legs quivered as she tied her bonnet under her chin and smoothed on her gloves. Though she could blame her weakness on recent childbirth, it was fear that made her tremble like a sapling in the wind, fear that she would be unable to do what she must.
“I’ll go with you, if you like.” Abigail, who had spent the summer with her, put her arms around Charlotte’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “You don’t need to go alone.”
But she did. “Only I can forgive her.” And that was best done alone.
If the soldiers who’d drawn guard duty were surprised when Lieutenant Crowley’s widow asked to visit the prisoner, they were too well trained to show it. They offered to accompany her to the cell but seemed unfazed when Charlotte refused. “If you need us, ma’am, we’ll be right outside,” they said as they resumed their pacing in front of the guardhouse. It was a routine day for them, but an anything but normal one for Charlotte.
She could hear the hesitation in her footsteps and forced herself to walk briskly.
The woman who’d been captured two nights before glared as Charlotte approached her cell. “Who are you?” she demanded in a drawl that suggested she had been raised in the South. Before Charlotte could answer, the prisoner narrowed her eyes. “You must be the wife, the nosy one’s sister.”
Ignoring the slur to Abigail, Charlotte said simply, “I’m Charlotte Crowley. I came to tell you that I forgive you for your part in Jeffrey’s death.”
For a second, the woman stared at Charlotte, as if in disbelief. “I didn’t kill him.”
“I know that, but if it hadn’t been for you . . .”
The woman with the graying brown hair interrupted. “I don’t need your forgiveness. It won’t help me, anyhow. I know where I’m going when I leave this world, and there ain’t nothing anybody can do to change that.”
When Charlotte started to speak, to tell the prisoner that there was hope, the woman held up her hand. “Save your breath and listen to me. Listen good, because I’m only going to say it once. The baron knows that Jeffrey found Big Nose’s stash.”
Charlotte gasped. Even though he had met his fate at the end of a hangman’s noose several years before she had come to Wyoming Territory, Charlotte had heard of George Parrott, better known as Big Nose. The notorious outlaw had been famous for his robberies, and with his death, speculation about the large shipment of gold that had never been recovered had only increased. Now it appeared that someone named “the baron” thought her husband had it.
“The baron is a mighty determined man,” the woman continued. “He won’t rest until he finds the gold, and you’re the only link. Watch your back, missy. You don’t wanna cross the baron. He kills folks the way you’d swat a fly.”
The next morning, the fort was buzzing with the news that the prisoner was dead. Somehow, someone had snuck into the guardhouse and slit her throat. Though there were no clues, Charlotte was certain the baron was responsible . . .
“I know it’s David’s birthday.” Gwen’s voice brought Charlotte back to the present. “But I have a gift for you. For both of us, really.” She handed Charlotte an envelope. “I know how much you love Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and I thought maybe you and I could go together.” Gwen’s habitual smile faded slightly, as if she feared Charlotte’s reaction. “Molly will watch the children. I already asked her.”
Charlotte turned the envelope over in her hand, gazing at her name, inscribed by Gwen’s untutored hand. “I don’t know what to say. This is so generous of you.” Though she paid Gwen a salary in addition to providing food and lodging, theater tickets were a luxury Gwen could barely afford.
The heavyset woman shook her head. “This is a thank-you for giving Rose and me a home. I didn’t want to tell you at the time, but I was desperate. I had only enough money for another week. Once it was gone, I didn’t know what I’d do. I’d looked everywhere for work, but no one wanted a widow with a small child. I was afraid I’d wind up at Sylvia
’s,” she said, referring to the brothel next door to the boardinghouse where Gwen and Rose had taken refuge after her husband’s death. “It was a miracle that you and I were in Mr. Yates’s store at the same time.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not a miracle, but the hand of God. He put us together for a reason.”
“Then you’ll accept the ticket?”
Perhaps it was the fact that the memory of the woman’s warning was so fresh. Perhaps it was only because this would be the first time she’d appeared at a large public gathering. Charlotte didn’t know the reason. All she knew was that fear assailed her. The baron could be anywhere, even at the Cheyenne Opera House. If he recognized her . . . Charlotte swallowed deeply, reminding herself of what had become her favorite Bible verse. She didn’t have to live in fear. Joshua 1:9 promised that the Lord would be with her wherever she went, even to the opera house.
