Waiting For Spring Part 10

If she expected Barrett to be repentant, she was mistaken. "Look at how much fun he's having."

Her face softened. "I know, and it's wonderful. Thank you, Barrett. You're wonderful."

Barrett felt his heart swell until it threatened to break through his chest. Perhaps this was the way those medieval knights felt when they scaled walls or slayed dragons or whatever it was they were supposed to do. Charlotte was no damsel in distress, waiting for him to rescue her, but her smile made him feel as if he were some kind of hero. That felt good. Very, very good.

"Where were you?"

Charlotte gasped as Gwen's hiss filled the kitchen. Perhaps it had been too much to expect that Gwen would not discover her early morning forays to 15th Street, but Charlotte had clung to the hope that she wouldn't have to explain why she disguised herself in widow's weeds and snuck out of the apartment. With a small smile, she switched on the light and waited for the reaction.

It wasn't long in coming. "You're wearing mourning clothes." Gwen frowned at the heavy black veil that covered Charlotte's face. "Charlotte Harding, what on earth have you been doing?"

"Let me make some coffee, and then I'll explain."

Gwen pushed back her chair. "I'll make the coffee. You'd better change out of those clothes. I know you won't wear them to the shop."

Minutes later, Charlotte returned to the kitchen, clad in a simple navy dress. "Why were you waiting in the dark?" she asked as she wrapped her hands around the cup of coffee, letting the warmth penetrate her still chilled fingers.

Gwen shrugged as if the answer should be evident. "I didn't want Rose to know anyone was awake. She had a nightmare last night, and I'd just gotten her back to sleep when I heard the outside door close. I thought we had an intruder, but it turned out to be you leaving. So, where did you go?"

"Mrs. Kendall's."

Gwen's eyes widened. "You went to 15th Street in the middle of the night?"

Nothing would be gained by pointing out that it was actually early morning. "When you talked about living there, you made it seem that that was the safest time, and it has been. I haven't seen anyone unsavory."

Though Charlotte hadn't thought it possible, Gwen's eyes widened further. "You've been there before." She no longer phrased her words as questions.

"This was my third trip. I've been making clothes for Mrs. Kendall and her boarders."

"Oh, Charlotte, that's wonderful." Gwen's disapproval evaporated as quickly as snow on a spring morning. "But why didn't you ask me to deliver them during the day? I'm not afraid of that area."

Charlotte shook her head. "I know you would have helped, but it was something I had to do myself." There was no reason to tell Gwen how good it made her feel to know that she'd accomplished that on her own, that no one had protected her as she'd walked to the seediest part of the city. Instead, she simply said, "My parents taught us that it was important to see where our gifts were going. It wasn't enough to send money. They wanted us to be involved in the actual giving. Whenever she heard of a family that needed food, Mama would leave a basket on their front porch so it would be waiting when they awoke."

"And no one knew who left the baskets?" When Charlotte shook her head, Gwen nodded slowly. "That's why you wore the veil."

"That and the fact that I didn't want anyone to know it was Madame Charlotte who had made those dresses. If my customers learned that I was providing clothes for Mrs. Kendall's boarders, they would be upset. They like to think they're buying exclusive creations and that only the wealthiest of women can afford something I've sewn." Charlotte took another sip of coffee. "I couldn't simply leave the dresses on the doorstep, because I had to know what other sizes Mrs. Kendall needed, but I wanted to be as anonymous as I could. And," Charlotte continued, "it seemed safer to be dressed as a widow. It's not just that the veil covers my face, but I also thought that if there were people out, they'd be unlikely to accost a widow."

Gwen refilled Charlotte's cup. "When I realized you were gone, all kinds of crazy thoughts went through my mind, but I never imagined something like this. What you're doing is wonderful. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me."

"I should have." Just as she should have told Barrett the truth about Jeffrey.

"*And it came to pa.s.s in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.'"

While the wind howled outside, blowing the light snow that had fallen earlier, Barrett settled back in the pew. Surely he could relax as the minister read the familiar pa.s.sage from St. Luke. Though Barrett had heard the story so often that he had memorized it, it never failed to move him, and yet tonight he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of what would happen when the service ended. Another gift. A diamond ring could in no way compare to the gift of the Son of G.o.d, and yet the moment it was on Miriam's finger, Barrett's life would be changed forever.

The changes had already begun. For the first time, he had come to church with the Taggert family. For the first time, he was seated with them in the second pew. For the first time, he was sharing a hymnal with Miriam. Though their betrothal was not yet official, his presence in this particular pew was tantamount to an announcement. It should have come earlier today. Barrett had seen Mrs. Taggert's disapproval when he'd escorted Miriam to dinner and there had been no ring on her finger. She had obviously hoped that her daughter's engagement would be the highlight of the evening. It should have been. Barrett had the ring. He'd rehea.r.s.ed the words he'd use to ask Miriam to join her life with his. But when the moment he had chosen came, he found he could not p.r.o.nounce the words. Tonight was Christmas Eve. This was a time that should be spent in contemplation of the greatest gift the world had ever received, not in celebration of an earthly event. And so Mr. Mullen's box would remain in Barrett's pocket. When the service was over, he and Miriam would ride back to her parents' home for a midnight supper, and before they reached the Taggert mansion, Barrett would give Miriam her Christmas gift.

"*And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.'" The minister continued reading.

Barrett closed his eyes for a second, trying to imagine the scene in that stable so many years ago. A newborn child, clasped in his mother's arms. Though St. Luke said no more, Barrett imagined Mary had been filled with wonder. Was that how every new mother felt? Was that what Charlotte had felt the first time she cradled David in her arms?

Compelled by an instinct he could not ignore, Barrett opened his eyes and glanced behind him. The church was filled, every seat occupied, and yet he saw her. She sat in the last pew, her son in her arms, an expression of pure joy on her face. And in that instant, Barrett knew what he must do.

12.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Duncan, ma'am. Your table is ready."

Warren looked down at the woman whose grip on his arm tightened as they followed the formally dressed man into the dining room of the InterOcean Hotel. She had done something different to her hair-it seemed fancier than normal-and she was wearing a blue dress that rustled softly as she walked. To the maitre d'hotel, she probably looked like every other woman who dined here, well-groomed and confident, but Gwen wasn't like those other women. She was different. The way she clutched his arm proved that. Though Gwen had no way of knowing it, that involuntary gesture touched a chord deep inside Warren, for it told him that no matter how calm she tried to appear, she was nervous. And that aroused his protective instincts.

He hadn't expected that. Truth be told, he hadn't wanted it. The last woman he'd tried to protect was Ma, but that meddling doc claimed Warren didn't know what she needed, that she'd become dangerous to herself as well as to others. Warren took a deep breath, pushing aside the memories of the last time he'd seen his mother. Ma was gone; Gwen was here. Pretty, nervous Gwen. He'd chosen her because she was perfect for his plans, but she had soon become more than a means to an end. Now she was his Gwen, and he'd do whatever was necessary to make her happy. He hoped that once she overcame her nervousness, being here today would accomplish that.

Seen from Gwen's view, the dining room must appear impressive, with its dark paneling, snowy white tablecloths, and the clink of silver on fine china. Warren had always enjoyed eating here. The food was predictably excellent. Some folks claimed it was the best in Cheyenne, which was the reason he'd brought Gwen here. She deserved the best. The only thing wrong with the InterOcean was that anyone could eat here. Anyone with enough money, that is. As a public hotel, it wasn't exclusive the way the Cheyenne Club was. But if Warren played his cards right, next Christmas he and Gwen would be dining there.

When the maitre d'hotel had seated them and handed them their menus, Warren leaned across the table to place his hand on Gwen's. It might be too familiar a gesture for a public place, but he could see that she was still trembling, and he needed to rea.s.sure her. "Having you with me is making this the best Christmas I can recall."

That sweet smile that tantalized his senses softened her face. "It's very special for me too. I always wondered what this room looked like."

"You've never been here before?" Though he'd suspected that she hadn't eaten here, Warren knew that many people would wander into the hotel, merely to say that they'd been inside.

She shook her head. "My husband was a corporal. Even before Rose arrived, his pay barely covered our food and housing. Afterwards . . ." She let her voice trail off. "There was nothing left for luxuries."

And if anyone deserved luxuries, it was Gwen. As the waiter approached to take their orders, Warren withdrew his hand, clenching it as he laid it in his lap. The money had been important before. Now it was vital. He had to find it, for it was the only way he could shower Gwen with the expensive clothing, furs, and jewels that should have been her birthright.

When they'd placed their orders, he leaned forward, keeping his voice pitched low enough that no one would overhear. "You may not have had a lot of money, but I envy you."

Warren saw the shock in her eyes as his words registered. "Why would a successful man like you envy me? You have everything."

That was what most people thought. Indeed, it was what he wanted them to think. The truth was different.

"You have a family," he said simply. "I'm fifty-one years old, and right now my life feels empty. I want a home that's more than a few rented rooms. I want a wife and at least one child." He paused, smiling as he said, "A daughter would be nice. I want . . ." You. But he couldn't say that. Not yet. It was too early. And so he turned the tables. "What are your dreams, Gwen?"

She was silent for a moment. "Probably simpler than yours. I don't mind rented rooms for myself, but I want more for Rose. I wish I could give her a house outside the city with lots of s.p.a.ce so she could have at least one pony."

Warren tried not to frown. He'd planned to build his mansion on 17th Street, a block or two east of the club. That was the perfect location for him, but it appeared that it would not be perfect for Gwen. He thought quickly, then smiled. There was no reason why he couldn't have two homes. They'd live in the city during the week and spend Sat.u.r.day and Sunday on the ranch.

Warren nodded briskly as he reached for his water goblet. "Rose should have all that." He took a long swallow, keeping his eyes focused on Gwen. Her hands no longer trembled, and she'd lost that scared rabbit look. It appeared that she was finally relaxing.

"Do you have any other dreams?"

For a second, he thought she would shake her head. Instead, she started to nod. "I would like . . ." She hesitated, color staining her cheeks. Warren hadn't known that women her age still blushed, but once again the simple reaction aroused his protective instincts.

"A father for Rose?" he suggested.

She nodded.

"It's a good dream. Rose deserves a father, and you deserve a husband who'll cherish you." As he spoke, Gwen's blush deepened, leaving her face almost cherry red. His own pulse began to race as he considered the reason for her blushes. This woman cared for him.

Warren stretched his hand out, covering hers with his. "In only a week, the new year will begin. I've never put much stock in fortune-tellers, but if I were one, I'd predict that 1887 will be the year our dreams come true."

Gwen smiled and turned her hand over so that he could clasp it. "I hope you're right."

He would be.

Charlotte sipped a cup of tea while she watched David and Rose playing. Though Rose was entranced with the wooden top Mr. Yates had given her for Christmas, David's favorite toy remained his ball. He was rarely more than a few feet from it and continued to insist on carrying it to bed.

"Look, David." Rose put his hand on the top so he could feel it moving. "Spin."

Rose was so excited by their neighbor's gift that she hadn't protested when Gwen left to dine with Warren at the InterOcean, wearing the midnight blue gown that Charlotte had altered by adding a lace fichu to make it more suitable for dinner at the hotel. Gwen's invitation was the reason she and Charlotte had held their Christmas dinner yesterday. Though he'd protested that he didn't mind being alone, Charlotte had been adamant that Mr. Yates join them for both dinner yesterday and breakfast and an exchange of gifts this morning. Now he and Gwen were gone, leaving Charlotte to entertain the children.

She took another sip of tea as Rose spun the top again. Though she'd probably lose interest soon, for the time being, Rose was having fun. Charlotte hoped Gwen was too. She'd been flushed with pleasure this morning as she'd donned the gown and the matching gloves that had been one of Charlotte's Christmas gifts to her and had declared that she would be the best-dressed woman in Cheyenne. Charlotte sighed. It took so little to please Gwen, and yet she couldn't help worrying about her friend, for she feared that in some ways Gwen was still innocent. She saw the best in everyone, whereas Charlotte was more realistic.

"Baw." Apparently tired of playing with Rose's top, David scrambled across the floor, searching for his toy.

"No, David! Play with me!" Rose shrieked her protest.

Five minutes later, after she'd convinced Rose that her doll would like to watch her spin the top, Charlotte drank the last of her now-cold tea.

She hoped-oh, how she hoped-that Warren wasn't trifling with Gwen's affections. There was no doubt that Gwen was infatuated, perhaps even in love, with the older attorney. Gwen believed he was the man she'd been searching for ever since Mike died, the one who would be a good father to Rose. Though Charlotte wished that were true, she couldn't dismiss her concerns. She was unable to pinpoint the reason, but the fear that Warren was more like Jeffrey than Gwen realized niggled at her.

Perhaps that was why, though the sun was shining, making yesterday's snow glisten like diamonds, Charlotte was unable to chase away her doldrums. It was surely that and not the fact that Barrett and Miriam's betrothal was official. Charlotte had seen them sitting together at church last night. That might mean that the announcement had been made at the Taggerts' party beforehand, but even if Miriam hadn't received her ring until Christmas Day, by now her parents would have begun to tell friends, and soon, perhaps even Monday, Miriam would ask Charlotte to design her wedding gown.

She would do it, of course, and not simply because an order for a new, elaborate gown and a full trousseau would be good for her business. She would do it because Miriam was more than a customer; she was a friend. And that friend was in love.

Charlotte knew she ought to be happy about Miriam's engagement, and yet she wasn't. Just as she worried about Gwen, she worried about her other friends, Miriam and Barrett. They were both wonderful people, but try though she might, Charlotte could not picture them together. That was absurd! They were adults. They knew what they wanted, and they wanted each other. It was only Charlotte's imagination that they would be happier with someone else.

She frowned, realizing that she needed a change of pace, a change of scenery, anything to take her mind off Barrett and Miriam.

"I think we should take a walk," Charlotte announced to the children as she rose. "What do you two think?"

"Yes!" Rose, her disposition once again as sunny as her mother's, clapped her hands. "I pull wagon. David ride."

He wrinkled his little nose. "Walk."

If only he could. But he still refused to try. Though he'd shrugged off other minor injuries, David seemed to remember the day he'd bloodied his nose attempting to walk. "We'll take the wagon," Charlotte said firmly. "Now, let's get you dressed."

When they were bundled into their winter clothes and David was seated in the wagon, Charlotte decided to head east on 18th Street. She would not-she absolutely would not-pa.s.s by Barrett's house, for there could be festivities in progress there. Seeing the Taggerts' carriage hitched in front would only cause her to worry about the wisdom of Miriam and Barrett's engagement. Monday would be soon enough for that.

"Cold." Rose jumped up and down as they crossed Ferguson.

Yes, it was, but the day was also beautiful. A few white clouds drifted across a sky that was as deep a blue as Barrett's eyes. Charlotte inhaled deeply as she tried to corral her thoughts. She didn't want to think about Barrett, his beautiful blue eyes, or his upcoming marriage. Nothing was gained by that. Instead, she focused her attention on the children. This was Christmas Day, a day that ought to be special for them. They'd had a fancier than normal breakfast and gifts, and now . . . Charlotte wished she had a horse and carriage. If she did, she could take David and Rose to City Park. The park was lovely at any time, but frosted with snow, it would be spectacular. Unfortunately, it was too far for Rose to walk and farther than Charlotte could pull the wagon with both children in it. They'd have to stay closer to home.

Charlotte smiled as they pa.s.sed her church. Though David would not recall it, last night's service was etched in her memory. The church had been filled with people, but-more than that-it had been filled with the wonder of a love that exceeded human understanding. What a joyous night it had been.

A sudden tug on her skirt brought Charlotte back to the present. "Horse!" Though the street was unusually quiet, Rose jumped up and down as she pointed toward a horse and carriage stopped midblock at the exclusive townhomes called Maple Terrace. "Horse!" Rose had become fascinated with all things equine, and had Charlotte not snagged her coat, she would have run toward it, heedless of the danger of pa.s.sing too close to those huge hoofs.

As the driver dismounted, looping the reins over the hitching post, Charlotte recognized him. Barrett! Blood drained from her face, and her hands grew clammy inside their gloves. She didn't understand why he was here. Surely he and Miriam should be celebrating their betrothal with friends.

"Charlotte." It wasn't her imagination. Barrett was smiling as if he were delighted to see her. Though she found herself unable to move, he lengthened his stride until he reached her. "I didn't expect to see you out today." Still smiling, he greeted Rose and David. "Where's Gwen? I hope she's not ill."

"Not at all. She's at the InterOcean, having dinner with Warren."

Though Barrett nodded, he appeared surprised by the news, and the speculative expression she saw in his eyes made Charlotte wonder whether Barrett had the same reservations about Warren's apparent courtship of Gwen that she did.

"I see." The corners of his lips twisted upward, making Charlotte wonder if he'd somehow read her thoughts. Of course not. "I was on my way to visit Richard. He lives here," Barrett said with a glance at Maple Terrace. "But he can wait. Would you and the children like to take a ride?"

Though he'd spoken softly, Rose's sharp ears heard the critical word. "Ride!" she cried. "I ride horse!" She began to scamper toward the buggy. This time it was Barrett who restrained her. Though the gelding appeared docile, Charlotte was grateful that Barrett was taking no chances.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "My horse, Midnight, has to pull the carriage. He couldn't carry a big girl like you too."

Apparently mollified by being called a big girl, Rose tugged on David's wagon. "You ride," she told him.

Barrett chuckled as David began to clap his hands. "It seems that the children haven't given you much choice. I probably should have spelled the word."

He was standing close enough that Charlotte could smell the scent of bay rum that clung to him. Other men wore bay rum. Even Mr. Yates did. But it never tantalized her senses the way Barrett's did. Charlotte cleared her throat, wishing she could settle her thoughts as easily.

"A ride sounds wonderful, but what will I do with David's wagon?"

"That's no problem. I can fit it in the back. Come on, big boy." Barrett lifted David out of the wagon and placed him in Charlotte's arms.

David squirmed and turned his head toward Barrett. "Bowl," he shouted. "Bowl."

Barrett, who was securing the wagon in the back of the buggy, turned, a smile lighting his face. "Is he still playing that?"

Charlotte shook her head as she tried to restrain her son. "It's the strangest thing. Gwen and I arrange the blocks the way you did. Even Rose helps. But no matter what we do, David won't bowl. I don't understand."

"You're right. That is strange."

David twisted, stretching his arms toward Barrett. "Bowl," he announced. "Bowl."

"It looks as if he's ready now."

Barrett helped Charlotte climb into the carriage. Once there, she settled David on one side of her, Rose on the other while she waited for Barrett. "Perhaps David thinks it's your game. That would explain why he won't play with anyone else."

"Should I be flattered?" Barrett's expression said he thought otherwise.

"I don't understand it. Gwen, Mr. Yates, and I have all given him toys, but he's not attached to them the way he is to your ball." Perhaps that was something her son had inherited from her, a foolish and inexplicable attachment to Barrett Landry.

As if in response to her thoughts, David nestled closer to Barrett. "Bowl," he said, his little hands moving as if to roll a ball across the floor.

"Maybe later." Barrett raised an eyebrow as he looked at Charlotte. "What do you think about a drive in City Park?"

Perhaps she should refuse. The park was such a public place that they were sure to be seen, and if they were, people would wonder why Barrett was with her and not Miriam. She ought to refuse, and yet she did not, for Rose and David would enjoy the ride. And, if she were being totally honest, so would she.