by Amanda Cabot
Seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil, Barrett reached for the sack and handed it to Charlotte. “I know David doesn’t understand apologies, but my guess is that gifts are always welcome. This is for him.” Barrett glanced at David before returning his attention to Charlotte. “If he already has one, I can choose something else.”
Charlotte reached into the bag, smiling as she withdrew a medium-sized wooden ball. “It’s perfect, and, no, David does not have one.” She rotated the ball, checking for splinters. Of course there were none. A man with Barrett Landry’s wealth would buy only the best.
His eyes sparkled as he watched her. “I’ll take it as a good sign that you didn’t throw that at me, even if I do deserve it. I warned Harrison that I might come home battered and bruised.”
“Did you really think I’d do that?”
Barrett shook his head. “I didn’t think you were violent, but I’ve learned that mother cows can be unpredictable when their young are threatened.”
Charlotte couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Just a hint, Mr. Landry.” She feigned indignation. “If you want to win a woman’s good graces, it would be prudent not to compare her to a bovine.”
“If I had any doubts that you were once a schoolteacher, your etiquette lesson, not to mention your use of the word bovine, would have squashed them. Your point is well taken.” Barrett’s face sobered as he said, “I probably shouldn’t judge human behavior by what I see on the range, but since I arrived in the territory, I’ve spent more time with cattle than people. I want you to know how sorry I am about how I behaved on Saturday. I was surprised—shocked is probably the better word—but that’s no excuse for treating you and David the way I did.”
Once again, his voice rang with sincerity, and Charlotte felt her last resistance melt. It took a strong man to humble himself with an apology. She nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue.
“The only thing I can say in my defense is that I was worried about what the future would hold for him . . . and for you.”
“I can tell you right now that David’s future will not hold an asylum.”
“That’s your decision. You’re David’s mother, and you know better than anyone what he needs. My only experience with blindness has been with cattle.”
As he recounted the story of the blind calf, Charlotte gripped the chair arms. She’d been mistaken in judging Barrett. He had been worried, not disgusted. He’d spoken from sympathy, not prejudice.
“I’m sorry my thoughtless words hurt you,” he concluded. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“I do. I already told you that I accepted your apology. Now that I know the whole story, I realize that I was wrong.” Charlotte laid her hand on David’s head, tousling the red hair so like his father’s. “I was hurt, probably more than I should have been. Any slight to David hurts me, but it was worse coming from a friend.”
“Are we friends again?” Barrett’s voice held a note Charlotte didn’t recognize.
“I hope so.”
“Then let’s see how your son likes his ball.”
To Barrett’s surprise, Charlotte handed him the ball. “You should give it to him. Tell him what it is and that you’re going to put it in his hand.”
Though he had little experience with children, other than the ones who had come into the family’s store in Northwick, Barrett had never seen parents go to such lengths to give a child a toy. There had to be a reason. He thought for a second before nodding. “That’s so he’s not surprised.”
“Exactly.” The smile Charlotte gave him made Barrett feel as if he’d accomplished something important, not simply understanding how to approach her son.
“I spent days with my eyes closed, trying to imagine David’s world.” What an amazing woman! Perhaps it was the fact that she’d once taught school that helped her think like a child, but Barrett suspected it was more than that. He was seeing a mother’s love at work.
He rose, then squatted next to the boy. “David, it’s Mr. Landry. I’ve brought you a ball. Hold out your hands, and I’ll give it to you.” When the child extended his hands at shoulder width, Barrett laid the ball on the floor and moved David’s hands closer. “Ball,” he said as he placed the child’s hands around his gift. “Can you say that?”
For a second, David did not speak. As he rolled the ball between his hands, Barrett could see that he was teaching himself the shape and texture of his new toy. “Baw,” he said at last.
“That’s close. Ball.”
David hugged the ball to his chest. Had he misunderstood the word close? “Balls are meant to be rolled on the floor,” Barrett explained. “Can you do that?”
David shook his head and clutched the ball closer.
“He’s never had a moving toy,” Charlotte said. “Toys are something he holds or places on the floor. They’re always stationary.”
“I see.” Barrett winced at the phrase. How often did he use it, not realizing that it might be painful to the mother of a child who could not see? “Come, David. Let’s put the ball on the floor.”
As the boy complied, the ball rolled away. Startled by the sound, David reached for his toy, encountering only bare floor. He patted the floor in all directions before beginning to wail.
“It’s all right. You’ll get it back.” Barrett retrieved the ball, then sat on the floor a few feet in front of David. “I’m going to roll the ball to you, David. Put your hands on the floor. You’ll feel it coming. Here it comes.”
As the ball touched David’s hands, he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest. “Baw.”
“That’s right. Now it’s your turn. Roll it to me.” But no matter how often Barrett tried, no matter how he phrased the commands, David would not relinquish his toy.
“He’s the answer to prayer.”
Charlotte reached for the plate Gwen was holding and began to dry it. Both children were in bed, and the women were washing dishes. “Who are you talking about?”
“Barrett.” Gwen swished the cloth around another plate. “While I was walking with Rose, I kept praying that God would send someone who could take my place here. He sent Barrett.”
The thought was ludicrous. “He came to bring David a toy, not to change my life.” Although, to a small degree, he had done that. Barrett’s visit had restored Charlotte’s sense of peace. Her anger had faded along with the sense of being on edge. The past few days had reminded her of a childhood summer when she had tried to walk on the railroad tracks. Though Abigail and Elizabeth had mastered the skill easily, it had been proven to be far more difficult than Charlotte had imagined to keep her balance. She’d tottered from one side to another, coming so close to falling that Abigail had grabbed her arm. Only when she’d been able to place both feet back on the ground had Charlotte felt as if the world had stopped spinning the wrong direction. For the past three days, she’d had that same sense of vertigo, but now, thanks to Barrett’s visit, she had regained her equilibrium.
“He’d be perfect for you.” Gwen was nothing if not tenacious. “Barrett Landry is one of Cheyenne’s most eligible bachelors.”
“I know.” This was an absurd conversation. Just because Gwen fancied herself in love didn’t mean she needed to play matchmaker for Charlotte. “If I were considering marrying again—which I am not,” Charlotte was quick to add, “Barrett would not be the man for me.”
“Why not?”
“Any number of reasons.” Some of which Charlotte would not reveal. “Let’s start with the most important one. He’s going to marry Miriam.”
“But he doesn’t love her.”
Charlotte dried another plate. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he doesn’t look at her the way Warren does when he’s looking at me.”
Though Charlotte had thought Warren’s expression reflected avarice more than love, she had no intention of saying that.
“Be that as it may, they’re practically engaged.”
“But if they weren’t, wouldn’t you want t
o marry Barrett?”
Charlotte sighed as she looked at the stack of pots and pans still to be washed. This ridiculous conversation was going to be a long one.
“No,” she said firmly. “He deserves better.” Though his apology had been sincere and she believed he was beginning to recognize David as the boy he was, Barrett’s future constituents might not be so accepting of a child they considered less than perfect. And then there was the baron. If he was still in Wyoming and if she were being courted by Barrett, he would have a good chance of seeing her and David while Barrett was campaigning. Charlotte couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t risk the baron finding her. She seized on a subject that Gwen ought to understand. “I’m not meant to be a senator’s wife.”
“Nonsense.” Waving her soapy hand in the air, Gwen dismissed Charlotte’s concerns. “You’d be wonderful. I can picture you at Barrett’s side while he’s campaigning.”
Perhaps. The image wasn’t as foreign as Charlotte might have thought. She pictured Mama serving alongside Papa. Theirs had been a partnership as well as a marriage. Perhaps that was what Barrett sought from his marriage. And that brought Charlotte back to her first reason: Miriam, her friend Miriam. She was the future Mrs. Landry.
“He’s going to marry Miriam.”
Gwen waved her hand again, this time sending soap bubbles floating through the air. “Can you honestly say you’re happy about that?”
“Of course I am.” Even to Charlotte’s ears, the words rang false.
Gwen let out a triumphant crow. “You care for him. I thought you did.”
Charlotte shook her head slowly. “He’s a friend. Just a friend.”
“And cows fly.”
9
How do you know if you’re in love?”
As Charlotte’s hand moved involuntarily, she almost stabbed Miriam with a pin. A minute ago, Miriam had been speaking of the fire that had consumed the Depot Hotel and her father’s disapproval of President Cleveland’s newly appointed territorial governor, who was alleged to have engaged in illegal fencing of range lands. Now she wanted to talk about love. That meant Barrett, the man Miriam had described as honorable, contrasting him to Governor Baxter.
Charlotte had agreed. Barrett was honorable. He was also surprisingly humble for a man of his wealth and social standing. Only a humble man would have apologized the way he had, and only a caring man would have taken the time to try to teach David to roll his ball. Charlotte’s heart warmed whenever she remembered the tall, handsome cattle rancher who might become a senator sitting on the floor, playing with her son. He’d been more than considerate. She could almost believe he’d been loving. Of course, there were many kinds of love. The one Miriam wanted to discuss was different.
“I’m hardly an expert.”
Miriam smiled as she admired her reflection. “You are an expert, and not only at making the most beautiful gowns in Cheyenne. Just now, your eyes softened and your cheeks turned pink, so I know you were remembering a special moment you shared with your husband.”
It was cowardly, but Charlotte lowered her head, pretending that Miriam’s train needed adjusting. She couldn’t let her too perceptive friend guess that the man who had brought about that blush was the same man Miriam planned to marry. “You really should discuss this with your mother.”
“There are no discussions with Mama.” Miriam let out a sound that in anyone less well bred would have been called a snort. “She gives lectures. In this case, I have no need to ask her, because I know what she’ll say.” Miriam pursed her lips as she imitated her mother. “Love is for books. What’s important is a man’s social standing.”
Sadly, Charlotte could imagine Mrs. Taggert saying exactly that. “I don’t want to contradict your mother, so I’ll answer your question with one of my own. How do you feel when you’re with him?”
While she waited for Miriam’s response, Charlotte draped a length of lace around the neckline of the gown, then shook her head. As she had thought, the dress was more striking without it.
“Alive.” Miriam’s lips curved into a sweet smile. “That sounds odd, doesn’t it? But when I’m with him, I see things I’ve never seen before. I think I hear birds singing, though I know they’ve all flown south. Even ordinary food tastes better when he’s at the table. If I told Mama that, she’d either laugh or call Dr. Worland, but it’s not just my imagination. That’s how I feel. Alive.”
Charlotte nodded slowly. “You’ve answered your own question. You’re in love.”
Heedless of the pins that held her gown together, Miriam twirled around. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
It was. For Miriam.
“We’ll be back by Thanksgiving Day.” Barrett watched as Harrison shivered. With clouds obscuring the sun, the wind penetrated even the heaviest of woven fabrics, finding its way between the fibers, eventually turning the underlying skin red and then dangerously white. That was, Barrett suspected, the reason the Indians wore leather garments. Certainly, it was the reason he had brought two buffalo robes with him. Animal skins were virtually impervious to the weather, making them an essential part of winter in Wyoming.
If he hadn’t needed to transport another load of hay, Barrett would not have subjected his brother to a ride in the wagon. Even being on horseback was warmer than sitting virtually motionless in a buggy or carriage. An open wagon was worse, but since the hay was the primary reason for this trip, it was necessary.
“I wouldn’t want you to miss Mrs. Melnor’s meal,” Barrett continued. Perhaps thoughts of hot food would trick them into feeling warmer. “She’s planning a feast.” There would be four at the table that day. When he’d remembered that neither Richard nor Warren had family in Cheyenne, Barrett had invited them to join him and Harrison. Perhaps he should have included Miriam and her family, but Harrison had mentioned that he planned to return to Pennsylvania before Christmas. Since this might be his only holiday with his brother for some time, Barrett wanted it to be a quiet, relaxing day. He did not want to discuss politics, nor did he want to hear Mrs. Taggert boast that her gowns came from Paris. It spoke volumes about Miriam’s determination that she had been able to overrule her mother on at least one subject and continued to frequent Charlotte’s shop.
While his thoughts strayed to Cheyenne’s most beautiful dressmaker and the child who bore only a slight resemblance to her, Barrett’s eyes scanned the horizon, looking for signs of lost or dying cattle. Though it was still early in the season, there was always the danger of losing animals to predators or the weather. The spring calves weren’t yet old enough to be left on their own, but sometimes inexperienced cows didn’t know that and wandered away. Barrett’s lips curved in a smile. Thinking of mothers and babies, even of the bovine variety, led his mind back to Charlotte and her son. Admittedly, it didn’t take much to make him think of her. Those thoughts intruded all too often. But, he reflected, intruded was the wrong word. An intrusion was unwelcome. Thoughts of Charlotte were not. Barrett settled back on the wagon seat as he wondered how she planned to celebrate the holiday.
“Too bad you invited Richard and Warren to dinner. I wouldn’t mind spending Thanksgiving on the range.” Harrison stretched his legs in front of him, flexing his feet within his boots. “That dugout you call a ranch house isn’t much, and Dustin could use a lesson or two on cooking, but there’s something intriguing about the idea of my little brother with cows. Sorry,” he said with an unrepentant grin, “cattle.” Harrison rubbed his hands together. “Do you want me to drive the wagon?”
“Sure. You always were good with horses.” And though it didn’t involve much exertion, the effort of driving might help warm his brother. Days like this, with no sun to warm the thin air, were brutal. Barrett handed the reins to Harrison before sliding to the other side of the wagon.
As he threaded the reins through his fingers, Harrison grinned. “When I was a boy, I thought I’d become a horse breeder.”
Barrett stared at the brother he’d thought he’d known.
Not once in his thirty years had he heard Harrison mention anything about raising horses. “Why didn’t you?”
Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Harrison shrugged. “It should be obvious. Pa expected me to take over the store. I couldn’t disappoint him.”
Just as, no matter how restless he’d been, Barrett had not felt free to leave his hometown while his father was alive. All three Landry boys had done their best to meet their parents’ expectations. “That’s why I stayed in Northwick as long as I did,” Barrett admitted. He had remained for the year of mourning, in part because he’d wanted to be certain his brothers didn’t need him, but once he was convinced that he wasn’t essential to the Landry Mercantile, he’d headed West. “The Bible tells us to honor our parents. I tried.”
Unbidden, Barrett found himself thinking about Charlotte, wondering what her parents had been like. They must have been unusually strong people, for they had raised at least two independent women. Most widows would have moved into a sibling’s house, but Charlotte had not. Instead, she’d established a successful business in a new town. He didn’t know too much about her middle sister, but the youngest one was studying to be a doctor, even though she had to know that being a lady doctor would not be easy. They were definitely not an ordinary family.
“You succeeded.” For a second, Barrett wondered what Harrison meant. Then he realized that his brother was responding to Barrett’s statement about honoring their parents. “Ma and Pa were proud of all of us. Even though it’s not what Pa planned for you, I think he’d approve of what you’re doing here.” Harrison grinned as he gestured toward the gently rolling hills. “The snow sure is pretty.”
“The cattle don’t think so. Snow stands between them and food.” Barrett wondered how much his brother wanted to hear. It wasn’t as if he had any aspirations of becoming a stock grower, and yet perhaps he’d be interested in understanding another part of Barrett’s life. “The dry climate is one of the reasons why cattle ranching is so profitable here. The grass may look like it’s dead.” He pointed toward a patch of golden brown turf that the herd had uncovered. “It’s not. It’s cured by the dry air.” When Harrison looked skeptical, Barrett continued. “Like meat in a smokehouse. Cured prairie grass doesn’t lose nutrients the way grass does back East. That’s why it can sustain a herd all winter. The problem is, this past summer was unusually dry, so the grass didn’t grow as much as normal.”
