Waiting For Spring Part 13

Almost twenty-four hours later, Barrett was still considering Warren's advice as he rode north toward the ranch. "You need to be more visible," Warren had announced. "Find excuses to make speeches. Get your views and your face-especially your face-in front of voters. You need to be better known." Though Warren had spoken for the better part of an hour, his advice boiled down to two things: visibility and marriage. They were both essential, at least in Warren's opinion.

But Warren's opinions were relegated to the back of Barrett's mind once he reached the open rangeland. The effects of the Chinook were different here than in Cheyenne. While the city's residents had welcomed the warmth and the partial melting of the huge piles of snow, out here there were no artificially created piles of snow, just rolling gra.s.sland covered with more than a foot of the white stuff. And now, thanks to the rapid melting, the low-lying areas had become ponds because of the several inches of water that had acc.u.mulated on top of the snow.

"I don't know, Boss," Dustin said when Barrett entered the ranch house. "I ain't never seen a winter like this. It's mighty peculiar weather."

It was, indeed, and Barrett feared that the worst might be ahead. "I'm afraid that the snow under all that water is icy. Cattle might slip and break a leg."

Dustin nodded, his lips twisted into a scowl. "I reckon that could happen. We gotta hope it don't turn cold again."

But it did. By the time Barrett returned to Cheyenne on the 24th, another blast of bitter cold had pummeled Wyoming, changing open water to a thick layer of ice. The ponds and streams froze, leaving the cattle with nothing to drink. That would have been dangerous enough, but the cold dealt a double blow, for the ice that now covered the snow was so thick that cattle could not break through it to reach the gra.s.s that was their only source of nourishment. With no food or water, Barrett's cattle and that of all the other stock growers were endangered. They needed an early spring. Desperately.

Barrett was back. Charlotte felt her lips stretch as she smiled. She couldn't help it. Her spirits had lifted when she'd seen him ride past, and now she wanted to dance. It was silly, of course, just as it had been silly to be so disappointed when she hadn't seen him in church on Sunday. She had known there was nothing Barrett could do about the baron, but somehow knowing that he was gone had brought back the trembling that had plagued her at the boardinghouse. Each time her limbs had quaked, she had forced herself to take a deep breath and recite Joshua 1:9, and as she did, she felt the fear subside. G.o.d was with her. He had promised that.

And now Barrett was back. He might not visit the shop this afternoon, but Charlotte was certain he would come within the next few days, for he had made a point of stopping in at least twice a week to ask about David.

She was about to close elan for the day when Barrett opened the door, his cheeks reddened by the wind. Though he'd been on his horse when she'd seen him earlier, he must have walked the few blocks from his home to hers, for there was no sign of a horse outside.

"You look cold," she said as he doffed his hat. "Would you like some coffee? I always have some ready for customers."

His lips curved in a smile that made Charlotte's heart beat a bit faster. It was foolish, acting like a lovesick young girl, and yet Charlotte could not seem to control her emotions. Barrett was a friend, she reminded herself. Only a friend.

"I'm not a customer," he said as he folded his overcoat and laid it on one of the counters.

"True, but you can have coffee anyway." When Barrett nodded, Charlotte brought out a tray with a pot of still fresh coffee and a pair of cups and placed it on a small table. Taking one of the two chairs, she gestured toward the other. "How was your trip?"

If Barrett was surprised that she knew he'd been gone, he gave no sign. Furrows appeared between his eyes as he said, "Worrisome. This weather is not good for cattle. The Chinook was probably the worst thing that could happen, because now we've got ice instead of only deep snow. The cattle can paw their way through snow, but I don't know how they'll fare with ice." He frowned. "Dustin and I tried to break through it, but there's no water underneath. It's all solid ice."

And that could be disastrous. "Is there anything else you can do?"

Barrett shook his head. "They've eaten all the hay I took out last fall, and there's no more to be had. All I can do now is pray that most of them survive."

"I wish I could help you." Barrett had done so many things for her that Charlotte felt almost guilty that she had nothing to offer him.

After he swallowed his coffee, Barrett leaned forward and smiled. "Actually, you can. I'd like your advice about something."

How ironic. She had planned to ask for his counsel. "Certainly. What is it?"

"Richard and Warren tell me it's important that I remain in the public eye. They want me to address the legislature. I had planned to talk about water rights, but after this winter, I wondered if that's our most pressing problem."

"What else would it be?"

"Regulating us cattle ranchers. I doubt anyone will admit it, but even in a good year, the range can't sustain the number of head we've got. The gra.s.s is overgrazed, and that's part of the problem."

"So what's the solution?"

"Limits."

Charlotte took a sip of coffee as she thought. "I see two problems with that. First, I suspect it would be difficult to enforce, and secondly, it would be unpopular with the men whose support you need if you're going to be elected."

Nodding slowly, Barrett settled back in his chair. "Are you recommending I do whatever increases my chances of election?"

Though he said nothing more, Charlotte sensed he was asking about more than a speech, and so she chose her words carefully. "Shakespeare had good advice when he said, *To thine own self be true.' I don't think you should do anything that compromises your principles, but I wonder whether cattle growing is the right issue for you to tackle."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm not sure it's broad enough. Sheep ranchers and farmers and city dwellers won't care about cattle the way you do. Even worse, they might think you were being self-serving." When Barrett nodded, Charlotte continued. "Water rights affect everyone."

Draining his cup, Barrett inclined his head when Charlotte offered to refill it. "You've made good points, Charlotte. I still need to think this through, but I'll probably stay with water. Now, tell me about David."

She paused to take another sip of coffee, enjoying the liquid's warmth as much as its flavor. "I hope you don't mind, but I need some advice too."

"About David?"

"Yes, or more precisely, about his schooling." There was no one whose opinion she valued so highly. Gwen would have been honest, if Charlotte had asked her, but she didn't have the same perspective. As a businessman and an entrepreneur, Barrett would understand the challenges Charlotte would face.

"The book didn't help?" Disappointment flickered across Barrett's face.

"To the contrary, it did. It showed me how to encourage David to walk." Charlotte smiled as she thought of what had happened after breakfast the day before. "He took his first step alone yesterday."

Raising his cup in a celebratory gesture, Barrett said, "We should celebrate. Why don't I take you and David back to Mr. Ellis's for a treat?"

That was Barrett, kind and generous. "It's too close to dinner. Besides, I'm not finished. The book also showed me how little I know. It made me realize that I'm not qualified to teach David everything he needs to learn. I had almost decided that I should move back East where there are special schools, but then I met Nancy c.o.x." Briefly, Charlotte described her meeting with the blind girl and her mother. "That's when I realized there was another answer."

"And that is . . ." Though he let his voice trail off, Barrett's expression was enthusiastic. This was why she had wanted his advice. Even though David's education didn't touch him directly, he was still interested.

"A school right here."

It must have been her imagination that Barrett's enthusiasm seemed to evaporate. "A school for the blind in Cheyenne?"

"Not just for the blind. It would include deaf children too. I believe the two groups could help each other." Charlotte winced as she looked at Barrett. Though he was trying to hide it, she could see his skepticism. "You think it's a foolish idea, don't you?"

"Not foolish. Difficult, perhaps." He turned to gaze out the window, to where the sun was even now beginning to set. "Cheyenne is still such a young city. Twenty years ago, it didn't even exist."

"That's true, but it's also a wealthy city. I've heard that we have more millionaires here than any other city in the country. Our citizens can afford a school."

Barrett nodded slowly. "That's true, but just because they can afford one doesn't mean they would approve. I'm sure many would consider a school for half a dozen pupils to be a luxury, not a necessity. They'd rather spend taxes on trolleys that everyone can use than on another school, especially one that would serve so few."

Charlotte had feared Barrett would react this way. She had told him she wanted his advice, and she did, but she had hoped that he would agree with her. "There are probably other blind and deaf children in the state," she said, trying to influence his opinion. "Their parents could send them here. It would be better than having a child at a school back East. At least they could visit more often."

For a long moment, Barrett said nothing. His expression remained inscrutable, but the flexing and releasing of his fingers told Charlotte he was pondering the concept. "You're right," he said at last. "It's a good idea."

"You really think so?" Charlotte hoped he wasn't simply trying to placate her.

Barrett's lips curved into a smile as he nodded. "Remember, Landry never lies."

"I'm so relieved." Charlotte felt her shoulders slump as the weight of worry was lifted. "Ever since I saw Nancy, I kept thinking about a school. You'll probably think I'm silly, but I even dreamt about it."

He shook his head. "I'd never call you silly. You're honest and courageous, and your idea is a good one."

Honest and courageous. If only he knew how wrong he was. Charlotte still felt like a coward, sneaking away from Fort Laramie, pretending she was returning to Vermont, then using her maiden name rather than admitting she was Jeffrey Crowley's widow. She ought to tell Barrett the whole truth, and she would . . . someday.

"I'm not sure what I can do," he said slowly. "It's not something one man can do alone. I'll need to talk to some people, get their support. I don't know how long that will take or whether they'll even agree, but I can promise you one thing: I'll do what I can to make your dream come true."

The wistful tone of his voice made her ask, "What about your dreams? Are they coming true?"

His eyes darkened, and furrows reappeared between them. "I can't say. The problem is, my dreams are no longer as clear as they used to be. Sometimes I feel as if I'm in the middle of a cattle stampede. I'm being swept along, powerless to change direction, and I don't know how to escape."

Charlotte shuddered at the image his words conjured. "That sounds uncomfortable."

"It is."

15.

I don't know what to do." The way Miriam clasped her hands around the coffee cup rather than sip her favorite beverage communicated her distress as effectively as her words. Though normally calm, this morning she appeared upset.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte hoped she would be able to comfort Miriam, but the truth was, she was feeling inadequate. She didn't know what to do to help Barrett realize his dreams. Gwen was out of sorts because she hadn't seen Warren for a week, and nothing Charlotte said appeared to lessen her concern. And then there was the school. Though she'd thought and prayed about it, Charlotte had no new ideas of how to turn that dream into reality if Barrett's colleagues did not agree that it was important for the city and the territory.

As Miriam's eyes filled with tears, she blinked furiously to keep them from falling. "It's all so complicated. I love him, and I believe he loves me, but he hasn't said anything. Oh, Charlotte, I want nothing more than to be his wife." Miriam sighed. "I know my parents think it would be wonderful if I lived in Washington, but I don't care about that. All I care about is marrying the man I love. He must know that, so why doesn't he propose?"

Raising her cup to her lips to buy herself some time, Charlotte tried to corral her thoughts. She shouldn't have been surprised by Miriam's declaration, for she knew that her friend had deep feelings for Barrett, but she was surprised by his delay in asking for Miriam's hand. Charlotte had heard that some men were reluctant to commit themselves. Though she would not have thought that was true of Barrett, it might explain his statement that his dreams were no longer as clear as they'd once been, and he felt as if he were being carried in an unplanned direction.

"I don't know why some men are slow to declare their intentions." It wasn't what Miriam wanted to hear, but it was the truth. "One of my sisters asked me the same thing when we lived at . . ." Charlotte stopped, horrified that she had almost said Fort Laramie. "Home," she amended. "In her case, the man was worried about a number of things. He needed to resolve them before he could think about marriage." Charlotte laid her hand on Miriam's arm. "If it's any consolation, they're happily married now."

Miriam managed a faint smile. "So you're advising patience?"

Charlotte nodded. That was what she needed too.

It was perfect. Warren laughed out loud as he headed his horse back to Cheyenne. He'd been pleased when Derek Slater had asked him to handle his legal affairs, but this was an unexpected bonus. While he'd been discussing the mundane details of his feed contract, Derek had mentioned that a man he knew, a farmer, had fallen on hard times and wanted to sell his land.

"It's too small to be worth my while," Derek had said. Warren had translated that to mean that Derek had little free cash. All the better for him. When Warren paid a call on Anthony Franklin, he'd been hard-pressed to contain his excitement. What Derek Slater found too small was perfect for Warren. The farmhouse was large enough for him and Gwen and Rose, and there were several outbuildings, including a good-sized barn that could house the pony he planned to give Rose. An hour later, he and Anthony Franklin had shaken hands. All that was left was for Warren to draft a bill of sale and give Franklin the money. Within a week, the home Gwen dreamt of would be his. Yes, indeed, 1887 was the year for dreams to come true.

"You have a letter from your sister."

Charlotte gave the treadle one last pump, then let the sewing machine slow to a stop. Though she was rushing to finish Mrs. Slater's dress, a letter was a treat and a good reason to take a brief break. Gwen knew that, which was why she had interrupted Charlotte's sewing.

"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 c.o.x'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 circ.u.mstances, 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."