Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  Striding past the existing depot, Barrett inspected the one that was taking shape. Workers scurried around the site of the new train station, but progress seemed slow compared to the speed with which his house had been built. Still, when the new depot was complete, it would be a much-needed improvement over the simple frame structure that served the city now. Barrett had seen the design, and he liked it. No doubt about it, the large red sandstone edifice with the arched windows and the tall clock tower would be impressive.

  Warren had speculated that one reason the legislature was in such a hurry to construct a capitol building was that they didn’t want to be outdone by the Union Pacific. Whatever the motive, ground had been broken on the territory’s new capitol only last month.

  The two buildings that were being constructed at the opposite ends of Hill Street had few things in common. The capitol was square and symmetrical and would boast a gilded dome, whereas the depot was Romanesque in design. And though both were being built of sandstone, the capitol’s was gray, not red. Different styles, different purposes, and yet both would enhance Cheyenne’s position as an important stop on the Union Pacific Railroad and the capital of Wyoming Territory.

  The city’s future was bright, and if Richard and Warren were correct, so was his own. What concerned Barrett today was his immediate future. His oldest brother, the one whose shoes Barrett had been told he would never be able to fill, was about to arrive. He pulled out his watch again and grinned. One minute left. If the UP’s reputation for punctuality held, his brother would be here within sixty seconds.

  Precisely on schedule, the train pulled into the station, and passengers began to disembark. Three women, their shoulders slumped with fatigue, were the first to step onto the platform. Then came a burly man whom Barrett would have recognized anywhere. He was heavier than the last time Barrett had seen him, his jowls more prominent, and yet the face still bore a distinct resemblance to the one Barrett saw in the mirror each morning. Folks had always said you could recognize a Landry at fifty paces. He wondered if that was true of Charlotte’s family. Surely her sisters could not be as lovely as she.

  Barrett shook himself mentally. This was not the time to be thinking about Charlotte, no matter how beautiful she was, no matter how often he replayed their conversations. His brother was descending the iron steps.

  “I never thought I’d see this,” Barrett said as he clapped Harrison’s shoulder, “but it’s true. You’re here. You’ve come all the way to the wild Wyoming Territory.”

  Only an inch shorter than Barrett, Harrison had the same dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. Right now those eyes were sparkling, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “You didn’t leave me much choice, little brother. Camden and I figured you’d be back within a year, once you realized you weren’t cut out for this life. Looks like we were wrong. It’s been five years, and you haven’t shown any signs of coming to your senses. I reckoned that if I wanted to see you, I’d have to come here. So, here I am.” This was vintage Harrison. Whereas other men spoke in terse sentences, Harrison rambled on for paragraphs.

  Harrison looked around, his expression giving no clue to his reaction to Barrett’s new hometown. If he judged Cheyenne by the seedy hotels and saloons west of the depot on 15th, he would be making a mistake. Every city had its less than desirable section, and this was Cheyenne’s. Rather than say anything, Barrett decided to let Harrison form his opinions once he’d seen the whole town. Instead, he addressed his brother’s last comment.

  “I meant to go back. For a visit,” Barrett clarified. “The time never seemed right.” It was an excuse. He could have found time for a trip to Northwick, if he’d wanted to. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to return until he had everything: wealth, a wife, a glittering future. He doubted his brothers would understand. They’d seemed puzzled when he’d tried to explain his need to leave home, and though their letters had said little, he had sensed their bewilderment over his decision to raise cattle and remain in the West. Barrett had wanted everything to be settled before he faced Harrison and Camden again. Especially Harrison. The man had always been outspoken, believing that, as the oldest son, he knew what was best for everyone. Barrett doubted that had changed in the past five years. Fortunately, his plans were in place, even if he hadn’t executed them all. No matter what Harrison said, Barrett would not change his mind.

  “Speaking of the right time,” Barrett said as the porter wheeled Harrison’s trunk toward the wagon, “it’s good that you arrived today. The old-timers are claiming we’re in for some snow tomorrow.” If it did snow, Harrison would have a surprise. He’d soon learn that winters in Wyoming were unlike those back East.

  When the trunk was loaded into the back of the wagon, Barrett headed west one block to Ferguson. Though his brother spoke of inconsequential things, by the time they’d reached 19th Street, his tone had changed.

  “Cheyenne’s not what I expected,” Harrison said as they passed the ornate home that many called Castle Dare. With its towers and crenellated roof, it was reported to be a replica of a European castle.

  Barrett tried not to smile. “Were you envisioning tumbledown wooden shanties?”

  “Maybe.” A shrug accompanied Harrison’s response. “I know you told us it was a wealthy city, but I thought you were exaggerating. These are mansions.” He gestured toward the houses on both sides of the street. “Who lives here?”

  Keeping his expression impassive, Barrett slowed the wagon. “Merchants, newspaper owners, bankers, your brother.” He stopped in front of his home and nodded at it.

  “This is yours?” Astonishment colored Harrison’s voice, and for the first time Barrett could recall, he seemed at a loss for words.

  Barrett climbed out of the wagon. Mr. Bradley would have seen him arrive and would send one of the boys to put the horse and wagon in the stable and bring Harrison’s trunk inside. “I told you I built a house.”

  “You said a house, not a mansion.” Harrison stared at the red brick building. Though less elaborate than some of its neighbors, the three-story house was far larger and more elaborate than any in Northwick. Harrison shook his head as if trying to clear his brain, then shrugged. “All I can say, little brother, is that you’ve done well for yourself.” There was both approval and amazement in Harrison’s voice, and it filled an empty space inside Barrett. This was what he’d wanted, his brother’s approval, and at last he had it.

  When they entered the front door and Mr. Bradley appeared to take their coats, Harrison pursed his lips. It was only when they were alone again, inside Barrett’s office, that he spoke. “Camden won’t believe this. When you said you owned cattle and were building a house, we figured it would be a farmhouse. Instead, you’ve got a mansion with a butler and who knows how many other servants.”

  “Six.”

  Harrison’s eyes widened. “You have six servants?”

  “Seven, counting Mr. Bradley.”

  Harrison shook his head. “I still can’t believe it. And that’s another thing. Why do you call him Mr. Bradley? I thought servants were addressed by only one name.”

  “That’s what he told me, but I thought it made me seem too highfalutin, so I made it what my attorney calls a condition of employment. If the staff insist on calling me Mr. Landry—and they do—I’ll address them similarly.”

  Harrison shook his head again. “My brother, the cattle baron. I still can’t believe it.”

  “There are times when I can’t either.” It had taken a lot of work, a lot of hard work, but the profits from his first year of raising cattle had exceeded his dreams. Barrett had had more money than he’d imagined possible, and—even better—he’d gained respect. No longer the runt of the litter, he’d been invited to join the Cheyenne Club. Soon after, he’d started building this house.

  “This sure isn’t a farmhouse.” Harrison gestured toward the velvet draperies, the flocked wallpaper, and the Persian carpet. “Even the mayor of Northwick doesn’t have anything like this.”<
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  Harrison would probably feel more comfortable when he saw the ranch house where Barrett stayed while checking on the cattle. It had begun as a dugout and had few amenities other than the one window in the room Barrett had grafted onto the front when he’d realized he could not live without sunshine.

  “I have a ranch house,” he admitted, “but I don’t spend much time there.”

  Harrison crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t suppose I would, either, if I had a house like this. The truth is, from the beginning, I couldn’t picture you being happy raising cows. I thought you liked people too much.” He slid his hands over the leather chair arms. “Of the three of us, you were the best with the customers. You could sell them anything.”

  “If they’d listen to me.” That had been part of the problem. If Harrison or Camden was in the store, customers would ignore Barrett.

  “Why do you think I left you alone so often?” The skin crinkled around Harrison’s eyes as he grinned. “I’m not as dumb as you think. I may not have realized it while we were growing up, but once we all started working in the store, I saw what was going on. I also saw that customers bought more from you than they ever did from Camden or me.”

  Barrett stared at his brother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And let you get a swelled head? Besides, you needed to figure out what you wanted to do.”

  He had. “I knew there was no future for me in Northwick. Even if I enjoyed working in the store—and I’m not sure I did, the mercantile didn’t need three people.’

  Furrows reappeared between Harrison’s brows, and he stared at the floor as if fascinated by the carpet pattern. “Right now it doesn’t need two. Business hasn’t been good recently.” The furrows deepened. “Camden claims it’s because I won’t try new ideas. He calls me hidebound. Don’t laugh, Barrett. You’ve probably said the same thing yourself.”

  “I prefer stick-in-the-mud.”

  As his lips twisted in a smile, Harrison nodded. “Sounds like you. But back to Camden. I got tired of arguing with him, so I decided I’d give him some time to run things the way he wants. Besides, with him being newly wed, I figured he and Susan deserved some time without an interfering older brother around.”

  “Mighty considerate of you. I probably shouldn’t say this, lest you get a swelled head.” Barrett tossed Harrison’s words back at him. “But I’ll take my chances and admit that I’m glad you’re here, even though I imagine it’s my life you’re going to try to interfere in now. It’s clear you disapprove of it.”

  “Aw, Barrett, you always were too sensitive. I don’t disapprove. I’m just surprised.” Harrison leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Tell me about those cows.”

  “Cattle,” Barrett corrected, although he suspected his brother knew the correct term and was calling the animals cows simply to annoy him. “I’d rather tell you about something else.” He might as well get everything out in the open right away. Besides, Harrison might have some good advice. “I have to warn you, though, old stick-in-the-mud, that it’s a new idea.”

  “Not you too.”

  “Afraid so. It must be contagious.” He took a deep breath, wondering how Harrison would react. “I’m considering marriage.”

  “It’s about time.” A grin split Harrison’s face, setting his jowls to quivering. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.” As Barrett opened his mouth to retort, Harrison’s grin widened. “No need to point out that I’m even older and still haven’t married. Some men are meant to be bachelors, but you’re not one of them.”

  “So, you approve?” Harrison’s letters hadn’t sounded as if he was happy about Camden’s marriage.

  “Sure do. I hope you’re planning to introduce me to your bride-to-be.” Harrison’s smile faded. “Or is this just theoretical?”

  “Nope.” Barrett shook his head. “I have a lady in mind, and if you promise to be on your best behavior, I just might let you meet her.”

  “Afraid I might steal her away?”

  “Hardly.” Harrison was too honorable to court Miriam when he knew that Barrett was considering marrying her. “There’s more, though.”

  “Another new idea?” Harrison feigned shock. “I’m not sure I can handle two in one day.”

  “Brace yourself.” As his brother gripped the chair arms, Barrett chuckled. This was the Harrison he remembered, always ready to play. “I may run for political office.”

  There was a second of silence as Harrison digested the words, then he leaned forward and pounded his fists on Barrett’s desk. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in months. You’ll charm the voters the way you did customers.” He rose and clapped Barrett on the shoulder. “Good move, little brother. Good move.”

  “The snow is getting heavier,” Gwen said as she shook her cloak and hung it on one of the pegs near the door. “You might want to skip services today.” She knelt on the floor and held out her arms, grinning when Rose raced into them. “Did you miss your mama?”

  Rose nodded. “I play with David, but he cry.”

  Gwen looked up in alarm. “Did Rose hurt him?”

  “It was a game.” Gwen’s daughter had been trying to teach David to stand, and when she’d let go of his hands, the inevitable had occurred: David had fallen and hit his head. A few minutes later, his tears gone, he’d attempted to rise without assistance and had fallen again, but this time Charlotte had seen a new determination on her son’s face. Though he’d resisted her efforts to help him stand, somehow, Rose’s encouragement had given him the impetus he needed to try. “Don’t be surprised if he falls again,” she told Gwen. “You know it’s part of the process. I moved everything I could out of the way.”

  She reached for her cape. Cut with what the fashion books called dolman sleeves, it was far more practical for Cheyenne’s wind than an ordinary cape, because she could draw it close to her body.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to miss church today,” Gwen repeated. “Look at the snow.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “It’s less than a block away.” That was an advantage of living where she did, close to what residents called Church Corner. Charlotte’s church was located on one corner, Gwen’s on another, a third across the street. It was a short walk, and, fortunately for the two women, each church’s services were held at different times, allowing them both to worship without worrying about their children.

  “I want to go,” Charlotte said as she picked up the Bible that had been one of her first purchases when she’d reached Cheyenne. “I need to go.” Until she had married and moved to Fort Laramie, the only times she had missed Sunday worship were when she had been ill. Services at the fort had been irregular, and as often as not, Charlotte had worshiped at home, but since she had become part of a community with established churches, she hadn’t missed a Sunday. A snowfall, even if it was unusually heavy for October, was no reason to break her pattern.

  “You’re stubborn.” Gwen’s smile took the sting from her accusation.

  “Guilty as charged.” Charlotte gave David one last hug, then slid the Bible into the pocket she had sewn into the cape. The leather binding was still stiff, and the book did not fit into her hand as comfortably as the Bible she had had since childhood, but Charlotte could not risk using that one in public. With its record of not only her birth but also her marriage to Jeffrey, it contained too much information that she was trying to keep secret, and so she hid it beneath a spare petticoat in one of her bureau drawers.

  Charlotte bent her head as she crossed the street, trying to keep the snow from pelting her face. Unlike the snow of her childhood, where fat, lazy flakes drifted to the ground, snow rarely fell in Cheyenne. Instead, the wind blew it with such force that it seemed as if shards of glass were being catapulted through the sky. The tiny flakes that were more like pellets could hurt delicate skin, especially when they were driven sideways by a fierce wind.

  As she entered the church and brushed away the snow that had coated her eyel
ashes, Charlotte heard a familiar voice. She looked up. It hadn’t been her imagination. Though she had never before seen him in the church, Barrett Landry was indeed here. Even more surprisingly, he was accompanied by a man whose resemblance said he was a relative.

  “Good morning, Charlotte.” Barrett smiled as he covered the distance between them in two long steps. “I’d like to introduce you to my brother Harrison. He came to Wyoming to see how cow farmers live.” The mischievous tone to his voice told Charlotte that Harrison must have referred to cattle ranchers as cow farmers, a term no one in the territory would use.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Landry.” Though normally the narthex was crowded, it appeared that the snow had discouraged many parishioners, for today there was no one other than Charlotte and the Landry brothers.

  “Harrison, please.” The man was an older, less refined version of Barrett. Though his suit was well-cut, as befitted someone who ran a store that sold men’s clothing, his shoulders were not as broad, his muscles less defined, his face softer around the edges.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Harrison. Are you enjoying our snow?”

  It was Barrett who answered, his lips twisting with irony. “Does anyone enjoy snow? I don’t, especially when I consider what it means to the cattle. They’re not used to having so much of the frozen white stuff so early in the season.”

  Charlotte looked at the sanctuary with its sparsely filled pews. “Judging from the few people here, I’d say many of the parishioners aren’t happy about it, either.”

  Barrett nodded. “I usually attend an earlier service, but Harrison slept too late.”