Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  Rose had pouted when her mother left with Mr. Duncan—Warren, Charlotte corrected herself. He had insisted both Gwen and Charlotte call him Warren, although he continued to address her as Madame Charlotte. The little girl was decidedly miffed that Gwen had gone for a drive in the park without her, and rather than let Molly deal with the inevitable tantrum, Charlotte had offered to care for the children. It wouldn’t hurt to close Élan early, especially since no one was scheduled for a fitting today.

  “You’ve been very good,” Charlotte told Rose and David, “so we’re going for a treat. We’ll see what Mr. Ellis has in store for good children today.” They probably would not recognize the shopkeeper’s name, but that didn’t matter. Charlotte had learned that the word treat was enough to ensure good behavior.

  Today’s excursion was an experiment, the first time Charlotte had taken David for a long ride. In the past, she had told herself that he didn’t need the exposure to possible scorn, that he could learn about the outside world in their backyard, where no one would stare at him. She had even convinced herself that if by some chance the baron were passing through Cheyenne, she was keeping David safe from his prying eyes by not taking him with her when she explored the city. But the minister’s words about the dangers of lies had echoed through Charlotte’s brain long after the sermon had ended. The truth was, she had been lying to herself. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know about David’s blindness because she feared the scorn—not for David, but for herself. That was why she kept him sequestered. She had seen Molly’s reaction when she realized David was blind, and although the girl had grown to accept him, the initial shock had wounded Charlotte. Her son deserved better. He deserved to be treated like any other child. David couldn’t see the pity on others’ faces, but Charlotte could. That pity hurt, and so she had protected herself.

  No longer. She couldn’t unravel all the lies until she was certain that the baron had given up his search for her and the money he believed she had, but she could stop acting as if she were ashamed of her son. She wasn’t.

  “We’ve just turned south, David,” she said as they left the store. “Can you feel the sun on your face?” David nodded and giggled, his giggling intensifying when she told him they were crossing the street and he had to hold on tighter. A pang of regret stabbed Charlotte as she realized that her fears had resulted in her cheating her son out of such simple pleasures.

  Determined that today would be different, she put a smile into her voice. “The post office is right here on the corner,” Charlotte said, giving both children a verbal tour of the city.

  David sniffed and wrinkled his nose as a horse made a deposit in the street. He tipped his head to one side, listening intently as a buggy with a squeaky wheel approached. And all the while, he grinned. There was no doubt that David was having fun.

  So was Rose. She clapped her hands when they passed the hardware store. “Hammer,” she said, pointing to the display in the plate-glass window.

  “That’s right. It is a hammer. And that’s a shovel.” Charlotte stopped to let the little girl enjoy the sight of tools. Though shoppers filled the street, no one seemed to mind that Charlotte and her wagon were blocking the view of Arp and Hammond’s main window. The women smiled, and the men tipped their hats in greeting. No one paid them any undue attention. No one stared at David’s sightless eyes. No one appeared to notice his resemblance to Jeffrey. Charlotte’s fears had been unfounded.

  “We’re here.” She lifted David out of the wagon when they reached their destination. Opening the door, she admonished Rose to stay by her side, then carried her son into Mr. Ellis’s bakery and confectionary.

  “Foo.” David grinned as he turned his head in both directions, trying to absorb all the aromas. The smells of freshly baked rye and pumpernickel mingled with the aromas of chocolate and citrus, and it was clear that David was enjoying all of them.

  “Yes, David, it’s food.” Though Rose had started to scamper toward the glass-fronted cabinets filled with pastries, Charlotte snagged her arm and placed her firmly on a chair. In the past, when Charlotte had shopped here, she had carried the baked goods home, but today she and the children would enjoy their treats seated at one of the small round tables that lined the left side of the store.

  When she had ordered macaroons and hot cocoa, Charlotte seated David on a chair. “You need to be careful,” she admonished him. “There are no arms on this chair, but you’re a big boy. You can sit here.”

  His expression once more solemn, he felt the chair back, then as he let his hands grip the edge of the table, he smiled again. A round table was a novelty for David, and he appeared to be enjoying the sensation of curved wood under his palms. Charlotte was enjoying watching him. The store, with its pressed tin ceiling and elaborate chandeliers, had helped inspire the interior of Élan, and the pastries never failed to satisfy her craving for sweets, but nothing compared to the sheer pleasure of seeing her son’s delight in the new surroundings.

  “They’re called macaroons,” she told both David and Rose as the cookies were delivered to their table. “Here you go, David.” Charlotte guided his hand to one of the coconut confections that she’d chosen because they would be simple for him to eat. Rose slurped her cocoa, giving herself a chocolate mustache, while David stuffed the macaroon into his mouth.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Charlotte looked up, startled. Though she had glanced around when they’d entered the store to see if she recognized anyone, once the food arrived, she had been so engrossed in watching her son that she hadn’t noticed Barrett’s approach. Surely it was her imagination that he appeared more handsome than ever today, his blue eyes sparkling, his lips curved in a smile. He was the same Barrett Landry. It was only she who, like a schoolgirl, found something new to admire each time she saw him.

  “Harrison’s a bit under the weather.” Barrett frowned as he added, “I don’t think he’s adjusted to the altitude yet, so I thought I’d risk Mrs. Melnor’s wrath by buying him some of Mr. Ellis’s pastries.” Barrett glanced at the empty chair. “May I join you?”

  When Charlotte nodded, he settled himself across from her, then gave her an expectant look. It was time for introductions. “I’d like you to meet my son David and Gwen’s daughter Rose. Children, please say hello to Mr. Landry.”

  Predictably, David mangled the name, but he grinned in Barrett’s direction before reaching for another macaroon, his hands moving slowly across the table until he encountered the plate.

  “Yes, David, you may have another.” Though she addressed her words to her son, Charlotte kept her eyes focused on Barrett, and as she did, the pleasure she had taken in the day evaporated. There was no disguising the pity and revulsion that flitted across his face. He did his best to hide it, trying to force his lips into a smile, but Charlotte knew she had not mistaken his initial reaction. This was worse—far worse—than Molly’s response had been, because the pity came from Barrett.

  “Your son is blind,” he said slowly. There was something faintly accusatory in his voice, almost as if he were angry that she hadn’t told him about David’s blindness. Charlotte dismissed the notion, for anger or even disappointment would not explain the expression she had seen.

  She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she tried to control her pain. “Whether or not he can see, David is my son, and I love him deeply.”

  Barrett waited until he’d given the waitress his order before replying. “As you should.” His expression changed subtly, making Charlotte believe he pitied her as well as David. “I’m simply surprised you haven’t placed him in a school or asylum where he can be cared for.”

  Charlotte took another deep breath. No good would be accomplished by responding in anger, although that was what she longed to do. Instead, she spoke softly, her voice little more than a whisper. “My son is not a package to be boxed up and sent away.” The words were firm, but though she tried to remain calm, Charlotte knew that her flushed cheeks betrayed he
r distress. Rather than respond, Barrett rubbed the bump on his nose in what Charlotte had come to realize was an involuntary gesture when he was troubled.

  It was what she had thought. He didn’t understand. She had been foolish to believe that he could, when he had no children of his own. He didn’t know what it was like to love and want to protect an innocent, helpless being. “David is my son, and his place is with me,” Charlotte said firmly.

  Unaware of the currents that swirled around them, David and Rose were chattering happily about the macaroons and cocoa, David making cooing noises while Rose expressed her approval with frequent repetitions of the word dee-lish. Though Gwen had reminded her that the word had three syllables, Rose preferred to abbreviate it. On another day, Charlotte would have been amused. Today she barely noticed, for her attention was focused on Barrett.

  He kept his eyes firmly fixed on her as he sipped his coffee. Surely he must realize how hurt and angry she was. When he spoke, Barrett’s voice was as low as Charlotte’s. “Have you considered that you might be being selfish? Those places you don’t want to talk about have teachers who are trained to deal with—”

  She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “That’s a word I hate: deal. You deal a deck of cards, not a person. You love a person. You care for them. You keep them safe. That’s what David needs, and no one can give him that better than me. As for teaching, I’m not as unskilled as you might think. I taught school when I lived in Vermont.” Charlotte rose and reached for her son. “And now, if you will please excuse us, it’s time to take David home. At least there he will not be subjected to scorn.”

  She bundled both Rose and David into their coats, refusing Barrett’s offer of a ride in his carriage. The sooner she was away from him, the better. She wouldn’t listen to Barrett. She wouldn’t send David to an asylum, not so long as she drew breath, and she was not—she absolutely was not—being selfish to want to keep him near her.

  “Him not nice,” Rose said as they left the store.

  Charlotte sighed. It appeared that Rose had not been as oblivious to the conversation as she had hoped. Still, she could not prejudice the child. “Normally Mr. Landry is a very nice man.”

  Rose wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Him not talk to me. Mr. Warren tol’ me I’m pretty.”

  “You are pretty.” Charlotte bent down and hugged David. “And you’re the finest boy ever born.” She turned back to Rose. “I’m sure Mr. Landry thought you were pretty. It’s just that he was worried about grown-up things.”

  Nodding sagely, Rose said, “Grown-ups don’t have fun.”

  That had been the case today, at least for Charlotte, and she had no one to blame but herself. She should not have let her anger rule her. She knew better, for whenever she failed to control her anger, she blurted out things that should not have been said. Like today. No one, not even Gwen, knew that she used to be a teacher and that she had once lived in Vermont. She had guarded that information, afraid that it might somehow lead the baron to her. No one was supposed to know anything of her past except that she was a widow. Now Barrett was privy to important details of her life.

  Charlotte sighed. She had thought she was ready to unravel the cloak of deception she had woven with her lies, but it appeared she was not. She might tell Gwen—she probably should—but she would not reveal the truth to a man who regarded David as if he were an object.

  Just a few hours ago, Charlotte had believed that Barrett was her friend. She had thought she could trust him, but as it had with Jeffrey, her judgment had proven faulty.

  Barrett leaned back in the chair, trying to escape the smoke. “You may be one of the best attorneys in Wyoming Territory,” he told Warren, “but those cigars are foul. Why on earth do you smoke them?”

  Barrett’s friend and lawyer shrugged. “They’re an acquired taste. I started with cheroots, but these taste better.”

  “And cost more too.”

  Warren exhaled carefully, creating a series of smoke rings. “That’s true, but thanks to clients like you, I can afford them.” He looked around as if checking for other clients. At this time of the morning, the smoking room of the Cheyenne Club was almost empty. Once the noontime meal had been served, it would fill with men who wanted to discuss the day’s happenings or simply pass time until the evening meal was ready. The relative emptiness was one of the reasons Barrett had suggested they meet this morning.

  Warren blew another smoke ring. “Is Richard coming?”

  “Not today. Harrison’ll join us for dinner, though.” Whatever had ailed his brother on Saturday had passed quickly, and Harrison had declared himself well enough to attend church yesterday. Fortunately, he’d been ready for the early service, which meant they had not seen Charlotte. Barrett had no regrets about that, for he was still stinging from the rebuke she’d dealt him.

  He glanced at his watch. An hour before Harrison would arrive. Thrusting thoughts of Charlotte aside, Barrett focused his attention on Warren. “I thought you and I could review the plans first.” Richard had helped draft them, but Barrett wanted Warren’s opinion before he put them into action. That was the reason he’d invited his adviser to join him at the club that Warren aspired to join.

  “Doesn’t your brother want to weigh in on them?”

  “He already has.”

  Though Barrett believed he had hidden his reaction to Harrison’s comments, he must not have succeeded, for Warren raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t like what he said.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Not all of it.” Harrison’s assertion that Barrett should marry Charlotte was absurd. Positively absurd, but he hadn’t relented. Harrison had mentioned the ridiculous idea at least daily. His brother’s persistence as they’d traveled to the ranch had almost made Barrett forget how bad the grasslands looked and what their condition might mean for the coming winter. He would be thankful when spring arrived for more than one reason. Not only would the winter have ended, but Harrison’s harangues would have too.

  “Let me see what you have.” When Barrett handed Warren the two sheets of paper he and Richard had created, he watched while the attorney reviewed them. A few minutes later, Warren laid them on the table and took another puff of his cigar. “Not bad. Not bad at all. You might want to start earlier, though. I don’t like waiting until the new year before you host a rally. You need to keep your name before the public, and if you wait that long, they might have forgotten you.” Warren tipped his head back and blew another series of smoke rings. “A Christmas betrothal to Miriam would help.”

  Barrett was of the same opinion. “That’s possible.”

  A cynical expression crossed Warren’s face. “You ought to turn that into probable. Even a man with only one eye can see that she’s bonnet over boots for you.”

  Barrett shuddered at the image Warren’s words had evoked. Memories of a young boy with carrot-colored hair taunted Barrett. Charlotte’s son had both eyes, but he could not see. Perhaps he would be like the blind calf that had been part of Barrett’s herd. The poor critter didn’t survive long enough for the spring roundup. The mother had tried to keep it by her side—Barrett had seen her nudge it back into the herd when it tried to stray—but somehow it must have wandered off. He had found it in a ravine with a broken leg, leaving him no choice but to put it out of its misery. Barrett didn’t know if the cow grieved the loss of her calf, but he knew that Charlotte would be devastated if anything happened to her son. She was like the bear sows he’d been warned to avoid, protective of their cubs, ready to do anything—even kill—to keep them safe.

  “Why are you frowning?” Warren leaned forward, shaking his finger at Barrett the way Mrs. Cranston, the schoolmarm the children in Northwick had feared, had done.

  Schoolmarm. That was another surprise. He hadn’t realized Charlotte had been a teacher. He’d known she was intelligent, but it appeared that she had more education than he’d realized. Had she . . . ? Barrett dismissed his thoughts of Charlotte, fo
rcing himself to concentrate on what Warren was saying.

  “Most every man in Cheyenne would like to be in your place. Miriam Taggert is a good catch.”

  “That she is.” Even though Harrison disagreed. Of course, Harrison didn’t know about David. He’d change his tune if he did. Even Harrison wouldn’t argue that a woman as encumbered as Charlotte would be a good senator’s wife.

  Seemingly mollified by Barrett’s acquiescence, Warren settled back in his chair. “I know I can trust you not to say anything, but you’re not the only one contemplating matrimony.”

  His words took Barrett by surprise. “Who?” When there was no answer other than a smirk, Barrett raised his eyebrows. “You?”

  “What’s the matter? Do you think I’m too old?” Without waiting for a reply, Warren said, “A man’s never too old if he finds the right woman.”

  “And you have?”

  A satisfied grin crossed Warren’s face. “I believe I have.” He started to hum Mendelssohn’s Wedding March.

  Warren was right. He shouldn’t waste any more time. If Barrett was going to marry Miriam—and he was—he needed to court her. That’s why she was seated next to him in his carriage, headed for the InterOcean Hotel. That hadn’t been his plan. When he’d invited her to join him for dinner, Barrett had planned to take her to the Cheyenne Club. To his way of thinking, the club offered the best food in the city, and it had the added advantage that the other diners would be people he knew, members of the club and their guests. But Miriam had other ideas. When he’d mentioned dinner, she had commented that her parents had enjoyed the roast grouse at the InterOcean. Barrett knew a hint when he heard it, and so he had made the reservation.