“I took a little break.” Sarah’s hands went to her hips, her elbows jutting out. “I’m entitled. I was just coming back to get them. Why would someone leave a brat here? What are we supposed to do with it?”
The little boy took a deep breath and wailed again.
“He’s not an ‘it.’ He’s a little boy.” Charlotte picked him up. “I suppose the first thing is to make him feel safe.” She patted her son’s back, right between the shoulders the way he liked it. The baby settled.
“Does Mr. Penard know he’s here?” Sarah asked.
“How could he? We only just discovered him.” So far she was speaking truth.
Sarah glanced toward the back door. “Is Mr. Penard in the kitchen?”
“He went up to his rooms. You still need to get the sheets off the line. Start at the far end.”
Sarah shook her head. “I may be new to being in service, but I know we can’t have a baby in the house without the butler knowing about it.”
“Of course not. I do not propose we deceive Mr. Penard about the baby’s presence.” Charlotte’s knees did not match her firmness of voice. “He’ll have to decide what to do. I’ll take the baby inside, and you get the sheets.”
Sarah rolled her eyes but grabbed at a sheet.
Inside the kitchen, Charlotte inspected the space. This was no room for a crawling baby. Instinctively she kissed the top of her son’s head. She turned three wooden chairs on their sides and arranged them against one wall, then put a folded tablecloth on the floor in the midst of the makeshift pen. Charlotte saw her son every Thursday and every other Sunday afternoon. She knew he was resourceful enough to climb his way out of this cage, but it had to suffice for at least a few minutes. She settled him among the chairs and handed him a wooden spoon to play with. He examined it happily with fingers and tongue.
The door slammed behind Sarah as she appeared with the laundry basket wedged against one hip. The girl strode across the room and dropped the basket overflowing with thick white sheets on one end of the table. “You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
“I’ve only just got the baby settled.” Charlotte moved toward the dish shelves. “I’ve got to get Mr. Penard’s supper ready. He’ll be down soon enough to see for himself.”
“I’m going to tell him now.” Sarah demanded Charlotte’s gaze.
Charlotte’s eyes did not flicker. “If you want to climb all the way up there to tell, go ahead.”
As Sarah flounced up the narrow back stairs to the butler’s apartment, Charlotte picked up the knife again and sliced more beef, working her lips in and out with the motion of the knife.
Soon enough she heard the urgent rhythm of double footsteps descending the stairs, Mr. Penard’s larger feet pounding each step, followed by Sarah’s smaller, lighter step. Charlotte glanced at the baby, who dropped the spoon and turned his head toward the sound on the stairs.
Mr. Penard appeared, his sleeves rolled up and his vest open. “I understand we have an unexpected situation.”
“Yes, sir.” Regardless of her lungs’ protest, Charlotte held her breath and shoulders steady.
Mr. Penard’s eyes moved to the child playing among the chairs. “Mrs. Edwards is well known for her tireless efforts on behalf of the children at St. Andrew’s. It would seem someone in need has learned of her work and decided to trust a child to her care.”
Sarah scoffed. “Why didn’t they just take it to the orphanage?”
Penard and the baby inspected each other. The child grinned and banged his spoon against the side of a chair, his blue eyes wide and welcoming. Eventually Penard squatted for a closer look. “He seems to be well cared for. His circumstances cannot have been overly desperate.”
“Perhaps there was an emergency.” Charlotte picked up a fresh knife to slice bread. She weighed her words carefully. She did not want to tell an outright lie, but she could not possibly tell the truth.
“He’s here now and we have to deal with him,” Mr. Penard said.
“He’s probably getting hungry at this time of day. The food is ready.”
“Doesn’t a child of this age require a special diet?” Mr. Penard asked. “Sarah, what did the babies in the orphanage eat?”
The girl shrugged. “Soft foods.”
“I noticed he has quite a few teeth.” Charlotte spoke calmly, quelling the tremble in her hand. “I’m sure he can handle bread and some bits of apple and cheese.”
“Why don’t we just take it to St. Andrew’s?” Sarah crossed her arms and with a foot nudged the edge of one of the chairs penning the child. “They have people there who know what to do with a baby, no matter what time of day. You just have to knock on the front door. They don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“No.” Mr. Penard stood to his full height again. “We’ll keep him here for the time being.”
Turning to keep her face out of view, Charlotte breathed relief.
“If someone left him here for the attentions of Mrs. Edwards,” Mr. Penard continued emphatically, “we must respect that it should be the family’s decision to respond to this situation.”
“Do you seriously expect they are going to want a baby?” Sarah eyed the child.
Penard scowled. “Miss Cummings, I suggest you learn your place before the family returns. It is your role to do what you’re asked and to anticipate the family’s needs and desires within reason. It is expressly not your role to make decisions on their behalf. We will keep the child until Thursday at least, and give Mr. and Mrs. Banning time to consider the situation and advise their wishes under these unusual circumstances.”
“I’m going to feed him.” Charlotte snuck in a smile at her son. “There’s no telling when he ate last. Babies can get cranky rapidly when they get hungry.”
“You seem well versed in the needs of children,” Mr. Penard observed.
“I have three younger brothers.” Charlotte laid a plate of bread on the table alongside the beef.
“I believe that’s the first glimpse I’ve ever had into your personal history. Your experience certainly proves relevant.”
Charlotte quickly transferred the remaining elements of the meal to the table, then leaned over the chairs and extracted the baby. Moving to the table, she settled him in her lap and broke some bread into small bites on a plate. He reached for a piece, put it in his mouth, and began working his jaw. Charlotte crumbled up some cheese as well.
Mr. Penard sat in his usual place at the head of the servants’ table. Sarah sat across from Charlotte and began to fill her plate.
Mr. Penard cleared his throat. Sarah looked up, then put her hands in her lap.
“You are aware that it is our custom to give thanks before each meal,” Mr. Penard chastised. “Certainly you learned to pray at the orphanage.”
Sarah sighed yet again. Charlotte ignored her, stilled Henry’s hands, and bowed her head for the prayer she knew Penard would offer. Every meal around the servants’ table began with an expression of thanksgiving and penitence, whether or not individual members of the staff felt such sentiments. Today, if she were to pray at all, Charlotte would have been inclined to request divine assistance in quelling her panic.
“This certainly disturbs our plan.” Mr. Penard served himself a generous stack of sliced beef. “It is now Tuesday evening, and we have a great deal to accomplish by noon on Thursday, when the family is due to arrive. Obviously the child will require considerable attention.”
“I don’t mind taking care of him.” Charlotte restrained herself from putting a protective arm around the baby, instead letting him wiggle in her lap.
Mr. Penard shook his head. “You’re more familiar with the household. It will be far more efficient to have you concentrate on getting the house ready and leave it to Sarah to look after the child and help you as she is able.”
Charlotte blanched.
Sarah protested. “Nobody at St. Andrew’s said I would be taking care of a brat.”
“Miss Cummings!” Penard’
s rebuke was sharp. “I remind you once again to learn your place. You will not speak to me that way. When you are part of a staff such as the one that serves the Bannings, you will do as you are asked for the good of the family. That is your priority.”
“Mr. Penard, I really don’t mind looking after the baby.” Charlotte put a hand on Henry’s head. “He seems to like me.” The baby gave a drooling smile and reached for Charlotte’s face.
“That much is true,” Mr. Penard agreed. “Nevertheless, I feel it is a wise use of your experience in the household for you to focus on preparations for the family. Surely Sarah has sufficient experience with younger children at St. Andrew’s to keep track of one child for a few days. Is that clear to both of you?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
Sarah sighed petulantly. “Yes, sir.”
Sarah held the baby a foot away from her body as she stomped upstairs two hours later. If Penard was so concerned about this brat, why didn’t he take it to his room? After living in a dormitory for the last six years, Sarah finally had her own room, and now, after just two short nights, she had to share it with a baby. What if it didn’t even sleep through the night?
She clutched the creature in one arm and with the other hand turned the glass knob to open her bedroom door.
“What are you doing in here?” Sarah stared at Charlotte, who was kneeling on the floor.
“I thought I could make a pallet for the baby.” Charlotte spread a blanket over two thick quilts.
“But it’s my room!”
“And you’re lucky you don’t have to share it with one of the other maids.” Charlotte smoothed the blanket and tucked under a corner. “I’m just trying to be helpful. I can see you’re not eager to look after him.”
“Just because I don’t want to doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. I can make the best of the situation as well as you can.”
“He might try to crawl.”
“I know that.” In truth, the idea had not crossed Sarah’s mind.
“You’ll have to watch him, but this way you won’t have to worry about rolling over on him in bed.”
“I was never going to let it sleep in my bed.” When Charlotte reached for the baby, Sarah gladly released her hold.
“I brought the blankets down from the attic,” Charlotte explained. “The Bannings haven’t used them in years and won’t miss them. It’s enough layers to make him comfortable. I found some old diapers in the nursery boxes too.”
“Growing up in an orphanage doesn’t mean I like changing diapers.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll do it this time. I helped with my brothers all the time.” Laying the baby down on the makeshift pallet, Charlotte changed its diaper. Behind her, Sarah silently watched the steps. She was not going to repeat them any more often than absolutely required, and she certainly was not going to admit she was unsure of the procedure.
“I don’t know why Penard didn’t just let you take it.” Sarah sprawled across her bed. “Maybe you should have it for the night anyway. Penard would never know.”
“I would be happy to.” Charlotte laid the quilt next to the baby on the floor. “But someone has to iron the sheets tonight, and Mr. Penard has assigned the task to me.”
“He doesn’t trust me,” Sarah said.
“You’re new. He has to get to know you and see you at work. He was the same way with me last year.”
Sarah felt Charlotte’s gaze and met it.
“Have you ever ironed a sheet?” Charlotte asked.
“It sounds like a ridiculous notion to me.”
Charlotte nodded. “We didn’t iron them where I came from, either, but Mr. Penard runs a meticulous household.”
Sarah scoffed. “You sound as if you’re afraid to cross him.” So far Sarah Cummings had not detected much about Charlotte Farrow to interest her. The maid seemed to have not an ounce of spunk.
“He’s the butler.” Charlotte stroked the baby’s cheek with a forefinger, moving up and down in steady rhythm. “He has charge of the household. He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“So you think I should ‘learn my place’ too?” Sarah sat up, her eyes wide.
“What I think is that steady jobs are hard to come by,” Charlotte said evenly. “Even many of the finest households have cut back on their staff. The Banning house has been a good place to work, and I intend to hang on to my position.”
“So you’re leaving it with me while you go off to show what a submissive servant you are?” Sarah stood up and peered down at the small intruder.
“Why don’t you try calling him a boy, rather than ‘it’?” Charlotte glanced up at the overhead bulb. “If you turn off the electric light, he’ll go to sleep easily enough.”
“Am I supposed to sit here and watch it sleep?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Try to rest yourself. Tomorrow will be a busy day. We’ll all be up early.”
“What if it wakes up during the night?”
“I don’t think he will,” Charlotte responded. “If you need help, I’ll be just across the hall.”
“After you iron the sheets.”
“After I iron the sheets.”
“So go.”
“Good night. Let me know if you need something.”
Charlotte flipped the light switch, and the room fell dim in the summer evening light sifting through the muslin curtains.
With Charlotte out of the room, Sarah blew out her breath. She never wanted to come to this place. How long were they going to make her stay?
In the hall, Charlotte leaned against a wall and pressed a fist into her mouth. She would be up for hours ironing those sheets. How could Penard think Sarah was prepared to take care of a baby? Charlotte could not imagine Penard would have ever agreed to engage Sarah if Lucy had not urged the arrangement.
By now Lucy would be settled in a Pullman sleeping car on a train crossing northern Ohio on her way to New York. Then she would be on a ship to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Mrs. Given was on a train hurtling west to Omaha.
Everyone Charlotte had dared to trust was gone.
She had been sixteen and petulant once herself. The little baby on that pallet behind the door had changed everything.
3
C harlotte could not resist a moment longer. She threw off the sheet, clammy with humidity, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. Moonlight was sufficient to guide her across the narrow room and into the hall, bringing Sarah’s closed door into view. Charlotte put her hands on either side of the door frame and pressed her ear against Sarah’s door.
She heard nothing. With a sigh, she considered her options. She had not allowed herself to fall asleep for a single moment, lest her baby cry out in the night and be ignored. Not since he was five weeks old had Charlotte been part of her son’s nocturnal habits. She could only comfort herself with Mrs. Given’s repeated reports that he had begun sleeping through the night at five months and now almost never woke before daylight broke. But would that hold true in a strange setting—on a pallet on the floor when he was used to a proper crib?
Charlotte moved one hand to the doorknob and twisted it slowly, knowing the wood swollen with summer heat and dampness would likely stick. A glance confirmed Sarah had not reacted to the slight pop. Charlotte gazed at her son sleeping on his back, sucking his left thumb and clenching the corner of his quilt with his right fist. She knew the corner. Her grandmother had claimed the blue calico of the corner was her favorite in the mosaic of color. Henry liked to grasp the thickness of the seam in that spot.
He was fine. Lest Sarah waken and stir up a ruckus, Charlotte withdrew, closing the door behind her.
In her own room, Charlotte opened the top drawer of her narrow dresser and removed the velvet bag Lucy had given her months ago. When Charlotte acquired the bag, she had a single Christmas coin to put in it. Now it held assorted coins, but not of much value. She dumped them into her hand, knowing as she did so that they were far from sufficient. Time was
of the essence. She needed to collect her August wages before anyone found out the truth about the baby. If she did not have to hold back anything for Mrs. Given, she could add more to the pile than usual.
The entire farmhouse Charlotte had grown up in, cobbled together over several generations, was not much bigger than a few third floor servants’ rooms, and it was a lifetime away from Prairie Avenue.
Henry’s lifetime.
Charlotte’s parents and three younger brothers lived in a farmhouse outside Greenville that had been in the family since before the Civil War. Despite the town’s proximity to St. Louis, Charlotte had never actually visited the city, arriving instead in Chicago, three hundred miles away, with a newborn in her arms.
Her own parents had never seen Henry. His birth had been quick and much easier than she had been given to believe a first birth would be. Born several weeks early, he was on the small side. Mercifully, his father was away from home on a run to check his stills and to deliver bootleg to waiting customers. Feeling magnanimous, he had arranged for a girl even younger than Charlotte’s twenty years to come in for a few hours each day and do the heavy work around the house for the cumbersome weeks of late pregnancy. Charlotte had known from her first look at the girl that she would be useless in a crisis, and the girl had lived up to the assessment. When Charlotte’s water broke and labor began in earnest, she had to explain every little thing to be done.
Henry was suckling at Charlotte’s breast when the girl said good night. Charlotte was not sorry to see her go. She had a limited number of hours before the girl would be back at noon the next day. As soon as she had gone, Charlotte got out of the bed where she had given birth, cleaned up what the girl had been too horrified to deal with, and packed a few tattered personal items, her grandmother’s Bible and some food in one carpetbag and the baby quilt in another. All Charlotte’s preparations had to be moved up a few weeks, but she had managed it. By then, though, the urge to rest overwhelmed her. She only woke again when the baby cried. Feeding him for the first time was a struggle, but she finally got him settled in the second carpetbag.
Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The Page 2
