Waiting For Spring Part 7

"But if they weren't, wouldn't you want to marry Barrett?"

Charlotte sighed as she looked at the stack of pots and pans still to be washed. This ridiculous conversation was going to be a long one.

"No," she said firmly. "He deserves better." Though his apology had been sincere and she believed he was beginning to recognize David as the boy he was, Barrett's future const.i.tuents might not be so accepting of a child they considered less than perfect. And then there was the baron. If he was still in Wyoming and if she were being courted by Barrett, he would have a good chance of seeing her and David while Barrett was campaigning. Charlotte couldn't let that happen. She couldn't risk the baron finding her. She seized on a subject that Gwen ought to understand. "I'm not meant to be a senator's wife."

"Nonsense." Waving her soapy hand in the air, Gwen dismissed Charlotte's concerns. "You'd be wonderful. I can picture you at Barrett's side while he's campaigning."

Perhaps. The image wasn't as foreign as Charlotte might have thought. She pictured Mama serving alongside Papa. Theirs had been a partnership as well as a marriage. Perhaps that was what Barrett sought from his marriage. And that brought Charlotte back to her first reason: Miriam, her friend Miriam. She was the future Mrs. Landry.

"He's going to marry Miriam."

Gwen waved her hand again, this time sending soap bubbles floating through the air. "Can you honestly say you're happy about that?"

"Of course I am." Even to Charlotte's ears, the words rang false.

Gwen let out a triumphant crow. "You care for him. I thought you did."

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "He's a friend. Just a friend."

"And cows fly."

9.

How do you know if you're in love?"

As Charlotte's hand moved involuntarily, she almost stabbed Miriam with a pin. A minute ago, Miriam had been speaking of the fire that had consumed the Depot Hotel and her father's disapproval of President Cleveland's newly appointed territorial governor, who was alleged to have engaged in illegal fencing of range lands. Now she wanted to talk about love. That meant Barrett, the man Miriam had described as honorable, contrasting him to Governor Baxter.

Charlotte had agreed. Barrett was honorable. He was also surprisingly humble for a man of his wealth and social standing. Only a humble man would have apologized the way he had, and only a caring man would have taken the time to try to teach David to roll his ball. Charlotte's heart warmed whenever she remembered the tall, handsome cattle rancher who might become a senator sitting on the floor, playing with her son. He'd been more than considerate. She could almost believe he'd been loving. Of course, there were many kinds of love. The one Miriam wanted to discuss was different.

"I'm hardly an expert."

Miriam smiled as she admired her reflection. "You are an expert, and not only at making the most beautiful gowns in Cheyenne. Just now, your eyes softened and your cheeks turned pink, so I know you were remembering a special moment you shared with your husband."

It was cowardly, but Charlotte lowered her head, pretending that Miriam's train needed adjusting. She couldn't let her too perceptive friend guess that the man who had brought about that blush was the same man Miriam planned to marry. "You really should discuss this with your mother."

"There are no discussions with Mama." Miriam let out a sound that in anyone less well bred would have been called a snort. "She gives lectures. In this case, I have no need to ask her, because I know what she'll say." Miriam pursed her lips as she imitated her mother. "Love is for books. What's important is a man's social standing."

Sadly, Charlotte could imagine Mrs. Taggert saying exactly that. "I don't want to contradict your mother, so I'll answer your question with one of my own. How do you feel when you're with him?"

While she waited for Miriam's response, Charlotte draped a length of lace around the neckline of the gown, then shook her head. As she had thought, the dress was more striking without it.

"Alive." Miriam's lips curved into a sweet smile. "That sounds odd, doesn't it? But when I'm with him, I see things I've never seen before. I think I hear birds singing, though I know they've all flown south. Even ordinary food tastes better when he's at the table. If I told Mama that, she'd either laugh or call Dr. Worland, but it's not just my imagination. That's how I feel. Alive."

Charlotte nodded slowly. "You've answered your own question. You're in love."

Heedless of the pins that held her gown together, Miriam twirled around. "Isn't it wonderful?"

It was. For Miriam.

"We'll be back by Thanksgiving Day." Barrett watched as Harrison shivered. With clouds obscuring the sun, the wind penetrated even the heaviest of woven fabrics, finding its way between the fibers, eventually turning the underlying skin red and then dangerously white. That was, Barrett suspected, the reason the Indians wore leather garments. Certainly, it was the reason he had brought two buffalo robes with him. Animal skins were virtually impervious to the weather, making them an essential part of winter in Wyoming.

If he hadn't needed to transport another load of hay, Barrett would not have subjected his brother to a ride in the wagon. Even being on horseback was warmer than sitting virtually motionless in a buggy or carriage. An open wagon was worse, but since the hay was the primary reason for this trip, it was necessary.

"I wouldn't want you to miss Mrs. Melnor's meal," Barrett continued. Perhaps thoughts of hot food would trick them into feeling warmer. "She's planning a feast." There would be four at the table that day. When he'd remembered that neither Richard nor Warren had family in Cheyenne, Barrett had invited them to join him and Harrison. Perhaps he should have included Miriam and her family, but Harrison had mentioned that he planned to return to Pennsylvania before Christmas. Since this might be his only holiday with his brother for some time, Barrett wanted it to be a quiet, relaxing day. He did not want to discuss politics, nor did he want to hear Mrs. Taggert boast that her gowns came from Paris. It spoke volumes about Miriam's determination that she had been able to overrule her mother on at least one subject and continued to frequent Charlotte's shop.

While his thoughts strayed to Cheyenne's most beautiful dressmaker and the child who bore only a slight resemblance to her, Barrett's eyes scanned the horizon, looking for signs of lost or dying cattle. Though it was still early in the season, there was always the danger of losing animals to predators or the weather. The spring calves weren't yet old enough to be left on their own, but sometimes inexperienced cows didn't know that and wandered away. Barrett's lips curved in a smile. Thinking of mothers and babies, even of the bovine variety, led his mind back to Charlotte and her son. Admittedly, it didn't take much to make him think of her. Those thoughts intruded all too often. But, he reflected, intruded was the wrong word. An intrusion was unwelcome. Thoughts of Charlotte were not. Barrett settled back on the wagon seat as he wondered how she planned to celebrate the holiday.

"Too bad you invited Richard and Warren to dinner. I wouldn't mind spending Thanksgiving on the range." Harrison stretched his legs in front of him, flexing his feet within his boots. "That dugout you call a ranch house isn't much, and Dustin could use a lesson or two on cooking, but there's something intriguing about the idea of my little brother with cows. Sorry," he said with an unrepentant grin, "cattle." Harrison rubbed his hands together. "Do you want me to drive the wagon?"

"Sure. You always were good with horses." And though it didn't involve much exertion, the effort of driving might help warm his brother. Days like this, with no sun to warm the thin air, were brutal. Barrett handed the reins to Harrison before sliding to the other side of the wagon.

As he threaded the reins through his fingers, Harrison grinned. "When I was a boy, I thought I'd become a horse breeder."

Barrett stared at the brother he'd thought he'd known. Not once in his thirty years had he heard Harrison mention anything about raising horses. "Why didn't you?"

Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Harrison shrugged. "It should be obvious. Pa expected me to take over the store. I couldn't disappoint him."

Just as, no matter how restless he'd been, Barrett had not felt free to leave his hometown while his father was alive. All three Landry boys had done their best to meet their parents' expectations. "That's why I stayed in Northwick as long as I did," Barrett admitted. He had remained for the year of mourning, in part because he'd wanted to be certain his brothers didn't need him, but once he was convinced that he wasn't essential to the Landry Mercantile, he'd headed West. "The Bible tells us to honor our parents. I tried."

Unbidden, Barrett found himself thinking about Charlotte, wondering what her parents had been like. They must have been unusually strong people, for they had raised at least two independent women. Most widows would have moved into a sibling's house, but Charlotte had not. Instead, she'd established a successful business in a new town. He didn't know too much about her middle sister, but the youngest one was studying to be a doctor, even though she had to know that being a lady doctor would not be easy. They were definitely not an ordinary family.

"You succeeded." For a second, Barrett wondered what Harrison meant. Then he realized that his brother was responding to Barrett's statement about honoring their parents. "Ma and Pa were proud of all of us. Even though it's not what Pa planned for you, I think he'd approve of what you're doing here." Harrison grinned as he gestured toward the gently rolling hills. "The snow sure is pretty."

"The cattle don't think so. Snow stands between them and food." Barrett wondered how much his brother wanted to hear. It wasn't as if he had any aspirations of becoming a stock grower, and yet perhaps he'd be interested in understanding another part of Barrett's life. "The dry climate is one of the reasons why cattle ranching is so profitable here. The gra.s.s may look like it's dead." He pointed toward a patch of golden brown turf that the herd had uncovered. "It's not. It's cured by the dry air." When Harrison looked skeptical, Barrett continued. "Like meat in a smokehouse. Cured prairie gra.s.s doesn't lose nutrients the way gra.s.s does back East. That's why it can sustain a herd all winter. The problem is, this past summer was unusually dry, so the gra.s.s didn't grow as much as normal."

"Maybe it won't be as much of a problem as you think."

Barrett smiled at Harrison's optimism, but he was not smiling when they reached the ranch house. He'd known something was wrong when Dustin, his foreman, was mending a wagon wheel when they arrived instead of being out on the range. The broken spoke was only the first piece of bad news. Dustin had run a hand through his curly blond hair, leaving a streak of grease on his forehead as he explained that while he'd been riding the range, he'd found ten head of cattle lying on the ground, either dead or so close to it that there had been nothing to do but put them out of their misery.

"The critters were starving." Dustin shoveled beans and corn bread into his mouth as if he feared he would be the next.

For his part, Barrett had lost his appet.i.te. "It's too early," he said, as much to himself as to Harrison and Dustin. "We always have some losses over the winter, but we don't usually see them until late January or into February. Finding them now when it's not even the end of November . . ." He bit off his words.

"What will you do if the deaths continue?" Harrison asked when they'd finished dinner and were sitting by the stove, their boots off and drying, their sock-clad feet as close to the heat as they could manage without burning them.

"You mean if I lose the whole herd?" The thought had been whirling through Barrett's brain faster than snow in a January blizzard. Though it would be an exaggeration to say that all his plans depended on a successful cattle season, the loss of too many cows would mean a poor calf crop. And a poor calf crop . . . That was another sentence Barrett did not want to complete.

Harrison looked as if the possibility surprised him. "I wasn't thinking that many. Could that happen?"

Barrett turned to Dustin, who simply shrugged. Both men knew it was impossible to predict the weather, particularly here.

"It could happen, I suppose." Though Barrett wouldn't lie, he didn't want to alarm Harrison needlessly. "We haven't had a really bad winter since I've been in Wyoming, but the old-timers talk about some rough ones. That's why we brought the hay. I want my cattle going into this winter as healthy as possible."

His brother's expression sobered. "What if it's not enough?" Harrison always had been a worrier.

"Are you asking if I'd be dest.i.tute and desperate enough to go back to Northwick?" Though Harrison made no response, something in his expression made Barrett realize he'd considered that possibility. "I doubt that. I haven't sunk everything into the herd," he told Harrison. "I took Pa's advice and built an emergency fund. That would tide me over for a while." Barrett did a quick mental calculation. "It would be enough to restock, but it wouldn't leave much for a political campaign."

"Then I guess we'd better pray this isn't a bad winter."

"Amen to that."

The warmth of Mrs. Kendall's kitchen was a welcome respite after Charlotte's walk in the wind. Even the heavy black hooded cape had not kept the cold from penetrating.

"Won't you have a cup of coffee, ma'am?"

Charlotte shook her head. She'd left the house later than normal this morning because it had taken her all night to complete the last dress. A wise woman would have slept, but Charlotte had been determined that Mrs. Kendall and several of her boarders would have at least one reason to give thanks tomorrow.

"I can't stay," she said as she unwrapped the first parcel, holding up the rust-colored calico dress she'd made for the boardinghouse proprietor. Though the other frocks were more of Miriam's hand-me-downs that Charlotte had reworked, this dress was brand-new. She had chosen the calico specifically for Mrs. Kendall, knowing that the color, although practical enough not to show stains, would flatter her.

"It's beautiful." The older woman smiled. "It'll be perfect for Madeline, once the baby's born."

"It's not for Madeline." Charlotte infused her voice with determination. "This one's for you."

A flush of pleasure rose to Mrs. Kendall's cheeks. "Me?" She touched the rows of pintucks that marched up and down the bodice. Though they'd taken hours to complete, even with the sewing machine, Charlotte had not considered eliminating them, for they would add a pleasing fullness to Mrs. Kendall's overly thin body.

"Yes, you. You deserve a new dress too." Sensing that the older woman was on the verge of tears, Charlotte opened the other packages, spreading the dresses on the table as she had the last time. "These are the sizes you asked for."

Her eyes still br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears, Mrs. Kendall nodded. "I don't know how to thank you. The gals who live here ain't never had pretty things like this, and the ones who come for meals . . ." Her voice trailed off, as if in embarra.s.sment. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It ain't proper, talkin' to a lady like you about them."

Charlotte couldn't let the conversation end, not when her curiosity had been aroused. Gwen had said nothing about women who took meals at the boardinghouse but did not live there.

"Where do these other women live?"

Her face now almost as red as the velvet gown Charlotte had made for Miriam, Mrs. Kendall bit her lips. "Next door. At Sylvia's."

The wh.o.r.ehouse. Charlotte flinched, remembering her own disdain for the women who'd sold their bodies to Fort Laramie's soldiers. If it hadn't been for Abigail, she might not have realized how wrong she'd been, condemning women when she had no understanding of what had driven them to such a deplorable profession. She wouldn't repeat that mistake.

"Can they use new dresses?"

Rose was cranky. The normally even-tempered three-year-old had started fussing early in the morning, and by the time Thanksgiving dinner was over, it appeared that a full-fledged tantrum was brewing. Charlotte was certain that was the reason Mr. Yates, who'd been invited to spend the entire day with them, had pleaded fatigue and returned to his apartment once dessert was served. Even David seemed affected by Rose's pouts and wails.

"She needs a nap." Gwen mouthed the words, rather than upset her daughter further. Naps were not Rose's favorite thing. Soon after David's birthday, she had announced that she was a big girl, and big girls did not take naps. Only babies did.

Charlotte nodded. If the child was catching a cold or the grippe, sleeping would help. But that would happen only if the house was silent. "David and I will go for a walk," she offered. "The fresh air will be good for both of us." It might even help clear her mind. Though she had many reasons to be thankful, concerns still weighed heavily on her. Some days, she felt as if she had an entire shipment of woolens strapped to her back, and nothing she did seemed to lighten the load. Even Mrs. Kendall's delight in her new dress and Mr. Yates's obvious enjoyment of dinner had provided only brief respites from her worries. Though she couldn't explain why, it was easier to solve others' problems than her own.

"Come, David. We need to get you dressed to go outside." Despite a mighty protest when she took the wooden ball from him, his spirits seemed to soar when he felt the scratchy plaid wool of his coat, and he grinned at her. If only everything were so simple. But few things were simple where David was concerned, which was why Charlotte's worries persisted. He wasn't making the progress he should be, and nothing she did was changing that.

David had stood by himself two weeks ago, his legs shaky, his expression betraying fear as well as excitement. He had even taken a single step toward Charlotte before falling on his face, banging his nose against the floor. Charlotte didn't know whether it was the pain of the fall or the fact that his nose had bled. All she knew was that, despite all her encouragement, he refused to try to stand again.

Perhaps Barrett and Gwen were right. Perhaps David did need a special teacher. Charlotte let out a bitter laugh. She was like her son, avoiding pain. David wouldn't try to walk, and she refused to think about letting him go.

David looked up, startled by her laugh. "I'm sorry, David. I didn't mean to frighten you. Come on. We're going for a ride." She scooped him into her arms and carried him down the stairs to the backyard. "Into the wagon now." Once he was seated, she placed his arms on the side rails. "Hold tight."

When she reached the front of the building, Charlotte hesitated. Normally she turned right and headed south, but today something drew her in the opposite direction. The streets were almost deserted, perhaps because it was a holiday, perhaps because the afternoon was colder than normal, even for late November. As David exhaled, Charlotte saw puffs of white emerge from his mouth. An ordinary sight, and yet one he would never experience. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her erratic pulse, wondering if it would always be like this, feeling that her heart was being cut into tiny pieces. She couldn't send David away. She couldn't. That couldn't be the right decision for him.

"We're going by the school now," Charlotte told him as they turned left onto 18th Street. Perhaps it was silly. He would never attend cla.s.ses here; she was only torturing herself by imagining him entering the doorway, books clasped under his arm, and yet she could not stop praying for a miracle. That's what it would take for David to join the throng of children who climbed those stairs each day. A miracle. Though Papa had told her that miracles happened every day, there had been none of them so far.

As she pulled him past the school, David smiled, then twisted his head to let the sun warm his face when they reached the corner of Ferguson again.

How foolish she had been! Charlotte swallowed deeply. "You're right, David. The sun is shining." Papa had been right too. There were miracles every day, if you took the time to look for them. They might appear insignificant to others. They might not seem like the answer to prayer. But they were real. It was late November. The sun was weak, and yet Charlotte's miracle was sitting in a small wooden wagon, smiling at the warmth of a celestial body he would never see.

Oh, Papa. I wish you were here to see your grandson. You'd love him as I do. But Papa would never hold David, and when Abigail and Elizabeth learned the truth, they might be so angry at all that Charlotte had hidden from them that they might refuse to see her again. That prospect haunted her almost as much as the thought of taking David to a special school and leaving there without him.

"Charlotte."

She turned, startled by the familiar voice calling her name. If there was anyone who could dispel her somber mood, it was Barrett.

"I thought I was the only person outside this afternoon," he said as he reached her side.

Charlotte almost giggled with happiness. This was what she needed, an ordinary conversation with this man. Her friend. "David and I wanted some fresh air. We walked around the block and were trying to decide where to go next. Weren't we, David?" Her son nodded, as if he understood all that she'd said.

"May I join you?"

Charlotte couldn't think of anything she would enjoy more. "Certainly."

Though she kept a grip on the wagon handle, preparing to cross the street, Barrett shook his head. Crouching next to David, he said, "Remember me? I'm Mr. Landry."

A grin split David's face. "Baw."

Barrett's face sported a matching grin as he stood. "That's right. Ball."

Though the sun snuck behind a cloud, Charlotte didn't mind. The day seemed warmer simply because Barrett was here. "That's become David's favorite toy," she explained. "He insists on taking it everywhere, even to bed." She gave her son a fond smile, recalling his earlier protests. "We had a small disagreement when I wouldn't let him bring it outside." Charlotte nodded toward the wagon, hoping Barrett would understand that David needed to grip the sides while she pulled it. "Gwen tells me that tantrums don't start until children are two, but I thought I was going to experience one today."

"You were a good boy, weren't you, David?" Barrett laid his hand on David's shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. To Charlotte's relief, her son giggled. She hadn't been certain how he would react to being touched by someone who was almost a stranger.

"Do you suppose he'd like some c-o-c-o-a?" Barrett's blue eyes sparkled more than the piles of snow that still lined the street.

She nodded, recalling how David had savored the beverage at Mr. Ellis's shop. "David never turns down chocolate in any form. We both enjoyed the candies you gave me, but c-o-c-o-a is a special treat."

"Then I hope I can persuade you to come home with me."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. As a widow, she had more freedom than many women, but Barrett could not afford to be touched by scandal.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Barrett gave her a quick smile. "We'll be properly chaperoned. All my servants are there, and so is Harrison."

Charlotte nodded. This was Wyoming. Life was less formal here. Still, she'd be causing extra work for Barrett's servants. Surely they deserved a respite, especially on a holiday.

She started to refuse when Barrett said, "You wouldn't want to disappoint my cook, would you? Just the other day she complained that the house needs children to bring it to life. Having David there will make her happy, and her hot chocolate will make him forget all about tantrums."

Barrett's argument quenched her last concern. "Mrs. Melnor is very different from my first cook. She threatened to leave because she didn't like my puppy." The instant the words were spoken, Charlotte realized her mistake. She'd given Barrett another glimpse into the life she had tried to keep a secret.

But Barrett did not appear to be troubled or even curious that Charlotte had once had a cook. "I don't know how she'd react to a dog, but Mrs. Melnor likes children. Please say you'll come."