Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The

by Olivia Newport

  Archie listened as Charlotte calmly told her story—why she had come to Chicago with Henry, how Lucy had helped, why she sent the baby away with Emmaline, and the truth about her supposed husband.

  “She’s doing the right thing,” Sarah whispered.

  “Shh.” Archie pushed the door open another fraction of an inch.

  “Penard?” Samuel finally said.

  Penard stepped forward. “Words cannot express my astonishment, and my deep regret. I will of course take the necessary action.”

  “And what would that be?” Leo asked. “Are you talking about Charlotte’s employment, or getting the child back?”

  “Under the circumstances,” Penard said, “I assume her employment should be terminated.”

  Archie pushed the door open wide. Sarah sprang back as heads turned toward the butler’s pantry.

  “Mr. Shepard, you are not to be on the premises,” Penard said. “Mr. Banning, I am sorry for my own failures to manage the household properly.”

  “Let him in,” Leo said. “I have a feeling there is more to this story.”

  “I have asked Charlotte to marry me, and she said yes.” Archie moved into the dining room and extended a hand to Charlotte. She stepped toward him immediately and clasped his hand with both of hers. “No matter what you decide, Charlotte will know that someone cares for her. We are going to get Henry back. Charlotte is going to have a happy life.”

  Penard shuffled his feet slightly. “I am profoundly sorry for this intrusion. Perhaps I should retire to the kitchen with Mr. Shepard and Miss Farrow and attend to the details there.”

  “What details?” Leo asked. “Charlotte has served faithfully in this household for over a year. Let me remind you, when her child turned up in our home, we all agreed to do what Lucy would want. I see no reason why that principle should not apply now.”

  35

  H and in hand, Charlotte and Archie approached the corner of Wells and Harrison, pausing at the base of the clock tower that rose turret-like above the mammoth conglomeration of brick, brownstone, and granite. The arched carriage court facing Harrison Avenue signaled the flow of travelers that came and went all day at Grand Central Station.

  “How do you feel?” Archie asked.

  “I’m not sure what to expect,” Charlotte responded, “so I don’t know what to feel.”

  “You feel what you feel, Charlotte. Whatever it is, that’s all right.”

  She lifted her shoulders and squeezed them against her neck. “Then I feel nervous. Excited. Sad. All rolled together.”

  “Sad?”

  “For Miss Emmaline.”

  Archie nodded and let his breath out slowly. “Let’s go wait inside.”

  They sat together on one of the long wooden benches in the cavernous hall, holding hands. Every few minutes, Archie squeezed his grip and Charlotte smiled in answer. The ceiling spanned twenty-six feet above them, and the marble floor gleamed endlessly in all directions. At the far end of the hall, a rank of stained-glass windows sifted and shimmered the outdoor light. In other circumstances, Charlotte might have gaped at the extravagance of the railroad station. But under these circumstances, all she cared about was the roll of announcements of incoming trains.

  “Did we come too early?” she asked. “Or too late? What if we’re too late?”

  “We’re not too late,” Archie said. “We’re right on time. It’s the train that’s late.”

  “He’ll be so big,” Charlotte said softly. “I know it hasn’t even been six weeks, but children change so fast.”

  “He’ll still be your baby.”

  “He can probably outrun me by now.”

  “Then I’ll catch him for you.”

  “What if he doesn’t remember me?”

  “He will.”

  “He might not. Miss Emmaline already had him calling her ‘mama’ when they left here.”

  Archie shook his head. “Charlotte Mae Freeman—soon to be Shepard—you are determined to find something to fret about.”

  “I guess I’ve had the habit for a long time.”

  “It’s time to break that habit.”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

  “Try. Courage, remember.”

  “Courage,” Charlotte said. “I’ve lived so long with fear.”

  “You are one of the most courageous people I know,” Archie said. “If I have to, I will remind you every day of my life that your grandmother was right.”

  “I am loved. I am not alone. Wherever I go, God goes with me.”

  Archie nodded. “Henry is going to know that too.”

  Charlotte sat up straight at the sound of an announcement. “Did he say New York?”

  “Platform six.” Archie stood and pulled Charlotte to her feet and in the direction of the mammoth train shed. Passengers from the New York train had already begun filtering into the waiting room, laden with luggage. In another moment, the bulk of the passengers were moving en masse away from the train and toward loved ones.

  A plume of green bobbed through the crowd.

  “There she is!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Her note said she would wear that hat.”

  “You always said that hat was the most ostentatious thing you had ever witnessed,” Archie commented.

  “Now I believe it’s the most beautiful hat in the world.” Charlotte moved toward the green feather, confirming that its wearer was Miss Emmaline Brewster of New Hampshire and that she held in her arms a squirming toddler.

  Finally the two women stood face-to-face. By this time, Miss Emmaline had set Henry on his feet and held his hand firmly. At the sight of him, Charlotte’s face filled with her tears. When she squatted in front of him, Henry looked at her, befuddled, and leaned into Emmaline’s dark green traveling skirt.

  Emmaline moved her hand to the back of the boy’s head. “You’re all right,” she murmured. “You’re going home.”

  Charlotte scooped Henry into her arms and pressed his face against her neck. He resisted and pulled his head back far enough to examine her.

  “He was responding very well to the name Teddy,” Emmaline explained as she handed a small valise to Archie, “but I’ve been making a point to call him Henry the last few days. I think he knows that’s who he has always been.”

  “Miss Emmaline,” Charlotte said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have put you through this. When I sent him away with you, I truly did not think this moment could ever happen—when I would ask you to bring him back.”

  Miss Emmaline appeared blanched but composed. “I couldn’t for a moment think of keeping him from you after I knew the truth.”

  “It broke my heart to send him away,” Charlotte said, her tears running freely, “and it must be breaking yours to bring him back.”

  “I shed all my tears in New Hampshire, away from the boy. Perhaps someday you’ll tell him about me. I’ve put his quilt and some of his favorite things in the valise. I hope you don’t mind that I had the quilt cleaned and mended.”

  “Of course not. Thank you.”

  “That was before . . . well, I thought perhaps someday he would want to have it.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I’ll always be grateful that you loved him and wanted to keep him safe.”

  From Charlotte’s arms, Henry reached a hand toward Miss Emmaline. “Mama!”

  Emmaline took his hand, kissed his fingers, then laid them against Charlotte’s chest. “This is your mama.”

  Charlotte smiled and lifted her eyes to Archie standing beside her. “And this is your daddy.”

  “I’m certain the three of you will be happy together.” Emmaline grew more pale by the moment. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go the hotel to freshen up for my return trip.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving right away? The Bannings are expecting you for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. We thought you would stay a few days.”

  Emmaline shook her head. “Of course Flora would be polite and extend an invitation,
but I think it would be unwise on all accounts for me to accept. I’ve reserved a Pullman on the overnight train back to New York.”

  “Perhaps we could escort you to your hotel,” Archie suggested.

  “I have a room at the hotel right here at the station. It’s just for a few hours.”

  “Let me walk you to the desk,” Archie said.

  Miss Emmaline shook her head. “No, thank you. It’s better if I’m on my own.” She reached out and stroked Henry’s head one last time, then turned and clicked her heels quickly across the marble floor.

  Archie gestured to a bench. “Let’s sit down and have a good look at him.”

  Charlotte put the child on the bench between them, taking stock of the expensive clothing, including a tiny tweed jacket. “What’s this?” she asked, tapping a bulge at the bottom of the jacket.

  Archie unbuttoned the jacket and pulled the bulging side open. “There’s something sewn into the lining.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “I see a slit.” Archie tugged gently, and several stitches came loose, freeing an envelope. “It’s from a law firm.”

  Charlotte turned to look for Miss Emmaline, but she had vanished into the pulsing throng of passengers arriving and departing. “Is it a legal suit of some sort?”

  “You’re fretting again,” Archie said. “Shall I open it and put your mind to rest?”

  She nodded.

  Archie broke the seal on the envelope and quickly scanned the letter.

  “What is it?” Charlotte asked. “Surely she can’t . . . not after the way . . .”

  Archie shook his head in disbelief. “She set up a trust for Henry. She’s providing for his education and a small inheritance when he turns twenty-one.”

  “An inheritance?” Charlotte choked on the word.

  Archie nodded. “It won’t be enough to live on Prairie Avenue, but it’s enough for him to go to any school he chooses and have a secure beginning when he’s a man.”

  Charlotte closed the boy’s jacket and buttoned it in place. “I don’t understand. After what I did to her? After what I put her through?”

  “She loves him,” Archie said softly and simply.

  “Yes, she does,” said a woman’s voice behind them.

  Charlotte’s head turned instantly. “Miss Lucy! Mr. Will! What are you doing here?”

  Lucy grinned and put a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret. We came for Thanksgiving.”

  “We were on the train with Emmaline,” Will explained. “After Lucy worked everything out with her, we decided to travel with her.”

  “She refused, of course,” Lucy added. “She was adamant about not wanting even to bring a servant to help with the baby. But it seemed too much to expect her to make this journey alone.”

  “However, we neglected to tell her we were on the train until after it left New York.” Will extended a hand to shake Archie’s. “By then she was stuck with us.”

  “We just wanted to be there if she needed something,” Lucy said. “We’ve had our eye on Henry all this time. She’s very good with him.”

  “She always was,” Charlotte said softly, gazing at her son. She looked up again at Lucy. “Your parents will be thrilled to see you.”

  “What do they think about your engagement?” Lucy asked. “I want all the details.”

  “I’ll hail a cab,” Archie said, “and meet you out front.” He picked up Henry’s valise.

  Archie dashed ahead of the others. Lucy put her arm through Will’s, and Charlotte carried Henry. He gave her a shy smile and tucked his head under her chin. She let out her breath at the familiarity of his movement.

  “Henry,” Charlotte said, “let’s go home.”

  Acknowledgments

  O nce again I must express gratitude to Stephen Reginald as the person who first pointed me to Prairie Avenue and walked the streets of the Prairie Avenue Historical District with me. A docent at the Glessner House Museum, he led me up staircases and through hallways that the average tourist at the museum does not get to traverse. Though we had permission, it felt furtive and sneaky and was terrific fun. He was a constant source of tidbits about life on Prairie Avenue that seasoned this story, and was a bulldog researcher of Chicago history. When you’re in a room by yourself writing, it’s a tremendous boost to have someone who always reads your emails because he celebrates the developing story even more than you do. I love having a partner with regular access to the setting I have gotten so attached to. Thanks, Steve.

  Thank you, agent Rachelle Gardner, editor Vicki Crumpton, and the team at Revell that has embraced the Avenue of Dreams series in just the way authors hope for.

  Thank you to my family, who have gotten used to the people stomping around in my head but who also keep me grounded in what matters.

  Author’s Note

  A lthough the main characters in the Avenue of Dreams series are fictional, the primary historical markers are true. The Ferris wheel on which both Charlotte’s fears and dreams turn almost did not happen. Because what George Ferris proposed to build was unproven, organizers of the world’s fair hesitated to give him a chance. Eventually, they did, and he surprised the world with an engineering feat that people these days take for granted. Charlotte’s ride on the wheel changed her life.

  The 1890s were restless years of urbanization. The forty-hour work week, paid time off, organized labor—these all rose from the era of this series. Questions of justice and distribution of wealth polarized political affiliations of both employers and a workforce swollen by immigration and movement to the cities. Archie Shepard, on the cusp of agitation and navigating carefully through tumultuous times, ran straight into the drama of Chicago’s mayor being shot over labor sentiments taken to an extreme.

  I love writing historical fiction because the stories themselves rise out of well-documented events and personalities. An urban setting like Chicago provides myriad historical trails to explore and opportunities to imagine how events in the newspapers of the time would have impacted the lives of ordinary people. I never get tired of it.

  Olivia Newport’s novels twist through time to discover where faith and passions meet. Her husband and two twentysomething children provide welcome distraction from the people stomping through her head on thevir way into her books. She chases joy in stunning Colorado at the foot of the Rockies, where daylilies grow as tall as she is.

  Books by Olivia Newport

  * * *

  AVENUE OF DREAMS

  The Pursuit of Lucy Banning

  The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow

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