Waiting for Spring

by Amanda Cabot

  “Which sister?” Charlotte asked as she rose and stretched her back. As much as she enjoyed sewing, there was no doubt that it took its toll on her, cramping the muscles in her back and legs.

  “Abigail.” Gwen held out the envelope. “I can always tell by the penmanship. Hers is perfect and precise. Elizabeth’s is a bit messier.”

  Gwen was right. “I could defend Elizabeth by saying that she’s so busy, but the truth is, my sisters’ handwriting reflects their personalities. Abigail can be impulsive, but normally she thinks things through, while Elizabeth lets her feelings drive her. She’s so tenderhearted that she couldn’t bear to see anyone ill. She always wanted to heal people, and now she’s only a few months from being a doctor.” The thought continued to amaze Charlotte. Little Elizabeth, the baby of the family, would soon be Dr. Harding. “She’ll be a wonderful physician.”

  When Gwen returned to the apartment, Charlotte stared at the envelope, savoring the prospect of reading Abigail’s news, hoping it included good tidings. Perhaps the letter would include the long-awaited announcement that Abigail was expecting a child. She and Ethan had been married for over a year now, but there was no sign of a baby, and Charlotte knew that distressed her sister. Abigail had even mentioned consulting Elizabeth, for their youngest sister had a special interest in women’s health.

  Charlotte slit the envelope carefully. Even if Elizabeth could help Abigail, there was nothing she could do for David. No one could cure his blindness, nor Nancy Cox’s. What they needed was a teacher, not a doctor. Though she knew there had to be a way to give David and Nancy and the other children the schooling that would enable them to live almost normal lives, for a few moments at least, Charlotte would not think about that. She would concentrate on Abigail’s letter.

  She smiled as she read the first page, which described the antics of Abigail’s dog. Puddles, it seemed, had not outgrown his curiosity about unusual smells and had had an encounter with a skunk. Predictably, the skunk had emerged victorious. Puddles was not happy about being banished to the stable until the smell subsided, Abigail wrote. I only hope he learned his lesson.

  Charlotte turned the page, her smile fading as Abigail’s letter took a more serious tone. I know that if I were sitting there with you and asked this question, you’d freeze me with one of your famous cold looks, but I’m taking the chance that, once you reflect on it, you’ll answer my oh so personal question.

  What could Abigail want to know? As children they’d shared everything. It was only after her marriage that Charlotte had not felt comfortable confiding in her sister.

  Do I detect a romance developing between you and Mr. Landry? Charlotte stared at the sheet of ivory paper, wanting to toss it across the room. Before you crumple the paper or deny that there’s any truth to my question, let me tell you that I’ve noticed that his name appears more often in each of your letters. Charlotte hadn’t been aware that she’d written much about Barrett, but most evenings she’d been so tired that she hadn’t reread her epistles before sealing the envelopes. Trust Abigail to notice something she hadn’t.

  The summer I tried to deny my feelings for Ethan, her sister continued, my letters were filled with him. That’s why I burned so many. I couldn’t send them when they revealed so much of my heart.

  Charlotte leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes as she considered Abigail’s words. She hadn’t meant to reveal her heart. She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and returned to the letter.

  It may simply be my imagination, but I hope it’s not. From what you’ve written, Mr. Landry appears to be a kind, honorable man. He was all that and much more. I know you’re reluctant to marry again. I understand your reasons. Charlotte shook her head. Abigail knew only part of the reason she was wary of marriage. You’ll probably want to toss this away, but I’m going to give you some sisterly advice. Man was not meant to live alone, and neither was woman. Put aside your fears, Charlotte, and let yourself live. The right man will bring you and David untold happiness.

  Laying the letter on the sewing table, Charlotte stared at the wall, scarcely noticing the pattern sketches she had tacked in front of her work area. The right man. Abigail’s words reverberated through her mind. Barrett wasn’t the right man for her.

  Charlotte wouldn’t deny that she cared for him. It would be foolish to even try, when she thought of him so often, when the mere prospect of seeing him brightened her day. He wasn’t like Jeffrey. She knew that now. But even if he weren’t on the verge of asking for Miriam’s hand, someone as much in the public eye as Barrett was not the right man for Charlotte, nor was she the right woman for him.

  Each of them had the potential to hurt the other. Voters expecting perfection from their candidates might look askance at David, and that could lessen Barrett’s chance of being elected. Equally concerning was the attention Charlotte would attract if she were at Barrett’s side while he campaigned. Now that she knew the baron was in Cheyenne, she had no choice but to be extra vigilant. Under ordinary circumstances, it was unlikely she would encounter the baron, but she could not afford to take David to any public gatherings. If the baron saw David, he would likely realize he was Jeffrey’s son, for the resemblance grew each day.

  No matter what Abigail thought, Barrett was not the right man for Charlotte.

  Barrett stared at the sheet of paper, reading the words that had taken him hours to compose. The whole speech would last no more than ten minutes. Others might speak far longer, trying to impress the legislature with their oratorical skills. Barrett knew only too well how boring those long lectures could be. He didn’t want to bore the legislators. To the contrary, he wanted to excite them, to make them understand how critical water rights were, how vital it was that Wyoming had a policy that would protect its most important resource.

  He had agonized over each word, wanting the cadence to be perfect. Knowing he had only a short time to convince the lawmakers, he was determined that each word would be so powerful that by the time he finished, no one would doubt the importance of his beliefs.

  He rose and, holding the paper in front of him, recited his speech. It was good. It was more than good. It was excellent. It would accomplish what he sought.

  Slowly, deliberately, he tore it into tiny pieces.

  Her neighbor was ill. Charlotte blanched as she entered the store and heard Mr. Yates coughing. This was no ordinary cough but a prolonged racking that made Charlotte fear he would injure himself. Elizabeth had once told her that people, particularly elderly people, could crack a rib simply by coughing. Concerned, Charlotte rushed toward the counter. “Are you all right?”

  The shopkeeper thumped his chest with his fist, then took a sip of water as the cough subsided. “I’ve been better.” He took another sip, his color starting to return to normal. “This winter has been worse than any I can remember, or maybe it’s just that these old bones don’t tolerate cold anymore.” A rueful expression crossed his face. “I can’t wait until spring arrives.”

  Charlotte nodded, thinking of the small garden in Mr. Yates’s backyard. “Your lilacs are always beautiful.”

  “I won’t see them where I’m gonna be.”

  Though she didn’t want to believe the situation was so dire, there was only one way to know. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He looked at her for a second, seemingly startled by the intensity in her voice. “I’m not gonna die, if that’s what you thought. I’ve made up my mind, though. I’m gonna go to Arizona. I’m tired of working, and my cough will be better there.” He took another sip of water, frowning as he said, “First I need to find a buyer for the store. I can’t move into my sister’s house empty-handed.”

  Charlotte let out a sigh of relief. Though she would miss her neighbor when he moved, she was thankful that he was not seriously ill.

  He looked at her, his expression hopeful. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about buying it, have you?”

  There was no reason to dissemble. “I�
��m afraid not.”

  Charlotte was humming as she frosted the cake. Though she wasn’t as good a cook as Gwen, she didn’t want the other woman to do all the work, especially when the cake was designed for Charlotte’s visitor. Barrett was coming to spend the afternoon with her and David, and she wanted to be able to offer him refreshments.

  “David, Mr. Landry is here,” she called half an hour later as she opened the door to admit Barrett. Gwen had taken Rose into their room so that the little girl would not interfere with David’s playtime, but she had agreed that they would come out for cake.

  “Bowl!” David, who’d been sitting in the doorway to the room he shared with Charlotte, leaned forward, his arms reaching out to the sides as he searched for his ball.

  While Barrett hung his coat on the hook near the door, Charlotte spoke softly. “I’m afraid he expects you to play with him. Ever since I told him you were coming, bowling is all he can talk about.”

  “I don’t mind. As I recall, when I invited myself, bowling was part of the plan.”

  The ball firmly in his grip, David struggled to his feet, then toppled over, losing the ball in the process. “Ow!” It was a scene that was repeated a dozen times each day. Each time David would yowl, more from the loss of his precious toy than any injury.

  “Let me help.” Barrett crossed the room and knelt next to David. “You need to stand up first,” he explained. “Then I’ll give you the ball.”

  Though David appeared dubious, he nodded. “Bowl.”

  “Yes, David, we’ll do that. But not here. We need to go into the other room.”

  Charlotte watched as David gripped the door frame for balance, then rose to his feet. A grin on his face, he extended his arms, chortling when Barrett placed the ball in his hands.

  “Now, follow me,” Barrett said as he began to walk slowly toward the part of the room that served as a parlor. “You’re a good walker, David.”

  Charlotte smiled and pointed toward the book that she consulted each evening. “Thanks to that, he does better every day.” She was still uncertain of her ability to teach David all he needed to know, but at least they had made progress with walking.

  “Bowl.” Her son was nothing if not persistent.

  Nodding, Charlotte gathered a handful of blocks and set up the row. “All right, David, bowl.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Barrett, who was standing next to him, put his hand on David’s shoulder. “Bowl.” To Charlotte’s surprise, her son looked up at Barrett, his confusion apparent.

  David wasn’t the only one to be confused. “I don’t understand. He did it the last time you were here.” She looked at Barrett, then focused her attention on her son. “Bowl, David.” Again, he refused.

  Wrinkling his nose, as if he were pondering a serious topic, Barrett said, “The only difference is, I was by the blocks last time.” With a shrug, he walked the five feet to stand at Charlotte’s side. “Bowl, David,” he said.

  And this time David did. “Bowl!” he cried triumphantly when several of the blocks toppled. “Bowl!” David scampered back to his starting position, clearly ready for another chance to play.

  Charlotte shrugged as she looked at Barrett. “That’s strange. It seems that he listens to your voice and rolls the ball toward it. I don’t understand why he won’t do that for me.”

  Barrett’s eyes twinkled as he set up the blocks and cued David. “You never know how children’s minds work, do you? I don’t suppose it matters. I’m just glad he’s happy.”

  “He’s an amazingly happy child,” Charlotte said as she moved to the settee and waited for David to tire of the game. When he did and seemed content to play by himself in the corner, she gestured toward the chair opposite her.

  “You like making people happy, don’t you?” Barrett asked as he settled into the chair.

  It was an unexpected question. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Barrett shook his head. “Not to the same extent.” When he frowned, she wondered if he was thinking of a specific person. “Some people are more concerned with themselves. They seek power or wealth or influence—things that benefit them, not others.”

  “Power has never held much appeal to me, but wealth . . .” Charlotte chuckled as she said, “I could certainly use some of that.”

  “And what would you do with it?”

  “Build a school and . . .”

  His eyes twinkling with amusement, Barrett nodded. “If I were Warren, I’d say something like ‘I rest my case.’ Listen to yourself, Charlotte. You weren’t planning to use the money for yourself.”

  He made her sound as if she were some kind of saint. She wasn’t. Far from it. “It was for myself, in a way. My sisters used to laugh at me, but I always wanted everyone to be happy. I think it might have been because I was sick so much of the time when I was a child. I could see how worried everyone was, and I knew it was my fault, so I made it my mission to make the others happy.”

  “Who are you trying to help today?”

  Charlotte blinked. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

  “Only to someone who knows you well. So, who is it?”

  “Mr. Yates. I don’t like the idea of losing him as a neighbor, but he wants to move to Arizona.”

  Barrett let out a soft tsking sound. “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “I don’t think he wants his customers to know until it’s all settled. He still hasn’t found a buyer for the store.”

  “Unless it’s someone new to Cheyenne, I imagine that will be difficult.”

  “Cake!” Suddenly tired of playing with his wooden animals, David shouted the word.

  “Yes, David,” Charlotte agreed, “we’ll have cake. But you need to wait a few minutes.” She wanted to understand why Barrett believed Mr. Yates would have trouble selling his shop. “The store seems to be doing well. I don’t see why it would be hard to find a buyer.”

  His expression solemn, Barrett shook his head. “People come out of loyalty to Mr. Yates. That’s why I buy my shirts there. It wouldn’t be the same with a new owner. I’d probably go to Myers Dry Goods. He has a better selection.”

  And selection was critical for readymade items. Charlotte’s customers knew they would have to wait when they ordered a dress from her, but people who went into a dry goods store or a mercantile hoped to walk out with their purchases. “I knew Mr. Myers’s store was bigger, but I haven’t spent enough time there to compare the selection.”

  “Size is part of the reason why selection is a problem. Mr. Yates’s shop is too small for the city we’ve become. If the new owner wanted to be successful, he’d have to expand it to have room to stock everything his customers expected.” When David started to fuss, Barrett bent down and ruffled his hair. “Just a little longer. I know it’s boring for you, David, but the grown-ups need to talk a bit more. You can wait, can’t you?”

  David nodded.

  “There are only two ways to expand the store,” Barrett continued. “The first is to turn the second floor into a shop. The problem is, there’s no interior staircase, and adding one would be costly. Plus, the new owner would need to hire someone to work up there, and he’d have to find another place to live.”

  As she listened, Charlotte’s frown matched Barrett’s. “That doesn’t sound very feasible. You said there were two ways. What’s the second?”

  “Take over Élan. That would double the space. A dry goods store could definitely be profitable that way.”

  “But I don’t want to sell my store.” Charlotte’s gesture encompassed the large room that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor. “Even if I could still live here, that would leave me without a source of income.” And that was unthinkable. “Mr. Yates keeps hoping I’ll buy his store, but I can’t. I don’t need more space for Élan, and I don’t want to run a dry goods store.”

  Barrett nodded. “I agree with you on the last part. When I left Pennsylvania, I swore I’d never work in another mercantile. It’s n
ot an easy life, catering to customers. I hate to say this, Charlotte, but you can’t make everyone happy.”

  “I don’t want to believe that.” There had to be a way to help Mr. Yates.

  16

  Barrett took a deep breath as he looked at the men who’d nodded politely when he’d been introduced. He knew most of them by sight but only a quarter or so well enough to call them acquaintances. According to Richard, that was a problem. A successful politician, Richard had declared, forged strong ties to other lawmakers. It wasn’t enough to be elected; a man had to accomplish great things during his term, and the only way that happened was by enlisting others’ support. That was why Barrett was here today, to convince these men, the duly elected representatives of the citizens of Wyoming, that his proposal was vital to their interests.

  “Gentlemen, I thank you for allowing me to be here this morning. I know many of you expected me to speak of water rights. The truth is, that had been my plan. I even wrote the speech.”

  As he looked around, Barrett saw a flicker of interest light several faces. Perhaps those men would at least listen to him. He’d noticed that a number of the others appeared to be close to sleep, possibly because they’d enjoyed the capital city’s nocturnal pleasures. He had heard that the saloons’ business increased dramatically when the legislature was in session.

  Barrett took another breath, keeping his expression neutral as he said, “Water rights are important to every one of us in Wyoming, but there is another subject that I believe is more urgent.”

  Being in the middle of a cattle stampede would have been more pleasant than what he had endured this morning. Barrett frowned as he climbed into the carriage. It had been awful, worse than anything he’d imagined, and the worst was yet to come. He flicked the reins and headed south on Ferguson. He had to tell Charlotte. As painful as it would be, he couldn’t risk letting her hear rumors of what had happened. Reality was bad enough; he could only imagine how the rumor mill would exaggerate and distort it, turning a bad situation into a disaster.