Waiting For Spring Part 8

She couldn't refuse. Visiting Barrett would mean that she and David would be away from their house longer, giving Gwen a chance to get Rose to sleep. They would be out of the cold, and David would have a treat. And yet . . .

"Will Mrs. Melnor . . . ?" Charlotte broke off, unwilling to put her thoughts into words. She knew she ought to be used to it by now. She ought to have perfectly phrased questions, but she did not.

Furrows appeared between Barrett's eyes. "If you're asking how my cook will handle David's blindness, I don't know. There's only one way to find out."

"I suppose you're right. I can't hide him forever." Furthermore, she had resolved that she was going to begin to unravel the lies and deception. "I never thought I was a coward, but this last year has proven me wrong."

"You a coward?" Barrett's eyes widened. "Nonsense." He reached for the wagon handle and began to pull it, walking slowly so that David did not bounce on the uneven roadway.

"You wouldn't think it was nonsense if you knew that I haven't told my sisters about David."

Barrett's head swiveled, his expression leaving no doubt that he was surprised. Perhaps shocked. "They don't know you have a son?"

Inside her gloves, Charlotte felt her hands grow moist. Gwen had been adamant in her belief that Charlotte should have told Abigail and Elizabeth the whole story. Barrett, with his belief in total honesty, might condemn her for not having done so.

"They know that much," she said slowly. "What they don't know is that he's blind. I didn't want my sisters rearranging their lives for me, so I didn't tell them." Charlotte sighed. "That decision has come to haunt me, because they're thinking about moving to Cheyenne." Her worries had grown taller than the Rockies when she'd received letters from both sisters two days ago. Abigail had announced that her husband was considering resigning his commission and possibly taking up sheep ranching just outside Cheyenne, while Elizabeth had told Charlotte that she wanted to establish her medical practice in Wyoming and was planning to come to Cheyenne as soon as she finished her studies.

"What are you going to do?"

That question had plagued her ever since she'd opened the envelopes. "I'm not sure. Do you have any advice?"

They had reached the front of Barrett's house. He stopped and fixed his gaze on Charlotte, nodding as he said, "Honesty. You can't hide David's condition forever. I think you ought to tell your sisters now. That'll give them a chance to get used to the idea before they see him."

"What if they hate me for not telling them earlier?"

Barrett looked down at David, his expression solemn, making Charlotte wonder if he was trying to picture Abigail and Elizabeth's reaction. When he spoke, his voice was firm. "They're your sisters. They won't hate you."

"I wish I were that sure."

10.

Mama would be most displeased if she knew where Miriam was headed. That was the reason she had neglected to mention that she was making two stops this morning. As far as her mother knew, Miriam was going to elan. She was. She planned to select a new dress for Christmas morning as well as give Charlotte half a dozen dresses Mama had declared deplorably out of fashion, but first Miriam intended to visit the library.

Mama would not approve. It was true that Papa's study had one wall lined with books carefully chosen because their bindings matched the room's decor, but to Miriam's knowledge, neither of her parents had ever read for pure pleasure. She, on the other hand, could not imagine a world without books.

Miriam smiled as she climbed the two flights of stairs to the new Laramie County Library. The location was unpretentious, the third floor of an ordinary building on Ferguson, but the contents were magnificent-all those wonderful books just waiting to be read.

Her smile broadened as she pushed the door open. With a full half hour before Charlotte expected her, she would have plenty of time to choose this week's reading.

"Miriam! I didn't know you came here."

Her heart began to pound. Surely it was only because she was startled by the sight of Richard in the library. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that those brown eyes seemed to penetrate the sh.e.l.l she'd built and saw inside her to the real Miriam, the one who loved books and music and who had no political aspirations. Surely it was not because she'd started to dream impossible dreams, dreams of a life as Richard's wife.

Miriam placed her index finger over her lips. "You mustn't tell anyone," she said with feigned melodrama. "It's a deep, dark secret." That was only a slight exaggeration.

"What will you give me to keep your secret?" Richard accompanied his question with an exaggerated leer, causing Miriam to giggle. His playful side was one of the things she admired about him. While it was true that he worked as hard as Barrett, he seemed to have more fun, and he certainly wasn't afraid to laugh. Miriam wasn't convinced Barrett knew how.

When the librarian frowned, Richard gestured toward the door. Seconds later, they stood on the landing, trying to control their mirth.

"I love the library," Miriam confessed, "but everyone's so solemn here."

"And reading is fun, or it ought to be."

Miriam nodded. "I didn't realize you were a reader."

Though she expected a joking response, Richard's eyes grew serious, and his voice was intense as he said, "There are many things you don't know about me."

"Tell me one. Then we'll be partners in crime, knowing each other's secrets. And," she added in a conspiratorial tone, "I won't have to pay you to keep mine." Somehow she had to lighten Richard's mood. Perhaps this was the way to do it.

The ploy must have worked, for he waggled an eyebrow at her. "You won't get away that easily. I still demand a reward." His eyes moved slowly from the top of her hat to the tips of her boots, as if he were searching for an appropriate forfeit. When his gaze returned to her lips, lingering there, Miriam felt herself flush. Surely he wouldn't demand a kiss. No gentleman would, and yet her heart beat faster at the very idea. A second later, Richard grinned. "A hat pin. Is your secret worth a hat pin?"

Relieved and yet oddly disappointed, Miriam nodded. Plucking one from the back of her hat, she handed it to him. "Paid in full."

"Indeed." Richard tucked it inside his waistcoat.

Miriam felt her cheeks redden again. She had been reading too many romance novels. That was the only reason to think he had chosen that spot because it was close to his heart. To cover her confusion, she asked, "Who's your favorite author?"

"This week?"

Surely he was joking. No one was that fickle. Though the seasons changed, her fondness for Mr. d.i.c.kens's works did not.

Richard nodded. "For me, it varies each week. Last week was d.i.c.kens. This week Sh.e.l.ley."

"Sh.e.l.ley? Percy Bysshe Sh.e.l.ley?"

Richard nodded again. "You're surprised, aren't you? I told you there were many things you didn't know about me, including the fact that I admire the Romantic poets."

Miriam searched her memory, trying to recall a line from one of Sh.e.l.ley's poems. "Ozymandias" was too obvious a choice. Almost everyone knew that one. "*Power, like a desolating pestilence,/Pollutes whate'er it touches,'" she recited.

Without missing a beat, Richard grinned. "*And obedience,/Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,/Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame,/A mechanized automaton.'"

Laughing, Miriam shook her head. "I can't trip you up, can I? I didn't realize anyone memorized *Queen Mab.'"

"It appears there are at least two people in Cheyenne who have. So tell me, Miss Miriam Who Quotes Sh.e.l.ley, what other poets do you admire?"

And before she knew it, Miriam was late for her appointment.

Barrett was whistling as he flicked the reins. He had another fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be at Miriam's house, and so he was driving slowly, grinning as he thought about Thanksgiving afternoon. Charlotte's worries had been for naught. Mrs. Melnor hadn't batted an eyelash when she saw David but had insisted on serving sugar cookies along with a pot of her famous hot chocolate. "Children like my cookies," she had announced. Though it was always difficult to know what the man who had perfected the art of the expressionless face was thinking, Mr. Bradley had solemnly placed a sheet under David's chair. "Just in case something should spill," he had explained. Drawn from the library by the sound of unfamiliar footsteps, Harrison had joined them in the dining room, claiming that the table was unbalanced with only three people seated at it. And, though he declined the plate of cookies, his brother spent half an hour alternating his attentions between Charlotte and David, demanding to know how a brunette without a spot on her face had produced a redheaded child who would probably wind up with more freckles than Barrett had cows. "Cattle," Harrison corrected himself.

When it became clear that no one would say a word about David's blindness, Charlotte began to glow. It was the only word possible, for her smile and the way it changed her face reminded Barrett of the fires he and his brothers had made before the family replaced their fireplaces with stoves. At first a few flames would flicker around the edges; then as the wood caught, the flames became a blaze. So, too, had Charlotte's happiness grown, suffusing her face with color. When she'd entered the house, her cheeks and the tip of her nose had borne the telltale redness of too much time in a biting wind, but as the chill faded and her worries disappeared, her smile had blossomed, leaving her face with a radiance that owed nothing to the weather.

Barrett smiled as he crossed Central Avenue. It had been a good afternoon for everyone, including David. He had thought it might have been difficult for the child, being a.s.saulted by a barrage of new sounds and smells, but David had adjusted quickly. Apparently the aroma of chocolate convinced him that he'd entered a good place, and he'd crowed "co-co" when Charlotte had directed his hand to the pewter mug. After that, his only sounds had been loud slurps.

"Whoa." Barrett slowed the horses as he approached the Taggert mansion. Thanksgiving afternoon had been one of the most pleasant he could recall. He could only hope that today would be equally enjoyable.

"Miss Taggert awaits you in the drawing room," the formally clad butler announced when he took Barrett's hat and coat. Though the man said nothing more, Barrett was certain that Mrs. Taggert was also waiting for him. It would be unseemly for him and Miriam to be unchaperoned.

He tried not to frown, thinking of Charlotte's concerns. Though he'd dismissed them at the time, afterward he worried that he'd been wrong, that someone had seen her and David entering his home and that there had been unpleasant speculation. Fortunately, when he'd spoken with Richard this morning, his friend had said nothing. That must mean there had been no repercussions. Barrett hoped that was true, for the last thing he wanted was to cause Charlotte any distress. Her life was difficult enough without him complicating it.

"Good afternoon, Miriam." Knowing that she liked formality, Barrett gave her a small bow, keeping his left hand behind him. "You're looking particularly beautiful today." The pale blue dress highlighted her golden hair, giving her the appearance of the ice princess in the book of fairy tales that had been one of Landry Mercantile's bestselling items each Christmas. Miriam would probably be flattered if he told her that. She would not, however, be pleased to know that her cool smile made him think of Charlotte, and that in contrast to the warmth of Charlotte's smile, Miriam's appeared stingy. This was absurd. Barrett was visiting the woman he planned to marry. He should not be entertaining thoughts of Charlotte.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Taggert." Hoping his smile appeared genuine, Barrett took a step forward into the room crowded with furniture that Miriam's mother had imported from France.

His expression must have seemed sincere, for she tapped her cheek and gave him a playful smile in return. "You're a flatterer, Barrett, but I like that. A golden tongue will serve you well in politics." She gathered her embroidery and rose from the settee. "I know you and Miriam have matters to discuss. You needn't worry. I won't eavesdrop." Settling herself in a chair in the far corner, Mrs. Taggert bent her head over her sewing. She would be the perfect chaperone, present but not intruding.

When Miriam motioned to the chair directly opposite hers, Barrett brought his left hand forward and handed her the box of candy that he'd kept concealed behind his back. "It's only a trifle, but I thought you might enjoy it."

Surely that was not disappointment he saw in her eyes. A man who was courting had few choices in gifts. Flowers, books, and candy were acceptable, with other items being much riskier. It wasn't the season for flowers in Cheyenne, and to the best of his knowledge, Miriam did not enjoy reading. That left candy.

He must have been mistaken, for Miriam smiled as she untied the box and removed the cover. "Thank you, Barrett." She waited until he was seated, then leaned forward slightly. "You needn't bring gifts, though. I know you're courting me."

Barrett blinked, unsure how to respond. While it was true that he was courting her, it seemed awkward for her to announce it like that. He decided to skirt the issue. "I hope you enjoy Mr. Ellis's confections," Barrett said, pleased when Miriam popped one into her mouth and appeared to be savoring it. "He's making some new flavors for Christmas. He won't tell me what they are, but he promised to save me an a.s.sortment." Barrett had actually reserved two boxes, but there was no reason to tell Miriam that he planned to give one to Charlotte and David.

"That's nice." Miriam eyed the chocolates as if considering eating a second piece, then resolutely put the lid back on the box. "The invitations are going out tomorrow, but my parents and I hope you're already planning to attend our Christmas Eve party."

Invitations to the Taggerts' Christmas Eve gathering were as prized as membership in the Cheyenne Club. Held from eight until eleven, the party was designed to fill the hours before guests left for church. Barrett had known he'd be invited. He also knew that Miriam's parents expected them to announce their engagement no later than Christmas Day. The party would be the perfect time.

"Yes, of course, I'm planning to be there."

From the corner of his eye, Barrett saw Mrs. Taggert nod. She'd been listening more closely than he'd realized. Perhaps that was the reason Miriam lowered her voice as she asked, "Have you read any of Sh.e.l.ley's works?"

What an odd question. They'd been speaking of Christmas. Surely Miriam wasn't hinting that she wanted a book instead of a betrothal ring.

"I can't say as I have," he admitted. "One of our customers ordered a copy of Frankenstein but said she didn't care for it. We never got another one."

This time there was no doubt about it. Miriam's eyes reflected disappointment. "Not that Sh.e.l.ley. The other one. Percy. The poet."

Barrett shook his head. "I never had time for reading." Miriam didn't seem to understand how different his life had been from hers. While she had been the pampered daughter of a prosperous newspaperman, he'd been working in a store that barely managed to support his family. And when the mercantile closed for the day, there'd always been ch.o.r.es-chopping wood, pumping water, milking the cow-not to mention repairing the house and outbuildings. Barrett's life had been far from leisurely.

"It's all right. I understand." Miriam darted a glance at her mother. "Mama hopes you'll go to church with us as well."

"It would be my pleasure." If the evening went the way Barrett planned, that would be only the first of many times he attended services with Miriam and her parents, for although it was Miriam he was marrying, there was no doubt that he was allying himself with the entire Taggert family.

Miriam glanced at her mother again. "Mama says we're the perfect couple."

Barrett refused to cringe at the realization that, at least in Miriam's mind, if Mrs. Taggert declared something, it had to be true.

"The red velvet is perfect on you." It wasn't flattery. The sumptuous fabric highlighted Miriam's willowy figure, and the ruby hue brought color to her face.

"I love the style." Miriam stroked the soft fabric. "Once again, you were right." Unlike most evening gowns Charlotte designed, this one had long sleeves and a modest neckline, because Miriam had announced that she intended to wear it to church as well as her parents' annual Christmas Eve party. "I feel like a queen in this dress."

"And you should." Though Miriam had said nothing, several other customers had repeated the speculation that Miriam and Barrett's betrothal would be announced at the Taggerts' party. There was no reason-absolutely no reason-why the thought should cause a lump to settle in the pit of Charlotte's stomach. Miriam deserved a wonderful husband, and Charlotte had no doubt that Barrett would be that kind of husband. When they stood together, they appeared to be the perfect couple. If Charlotte couldn't picture them as man and wife, well . . . that was her problem.

She managed a small smile. "He won't be able to keep his eyes off you when you're wearing this gown."

Miriam's smile broadened. "I hope so. Sometimes I don't think he notices what I'm wearing, but I don't mind-not really. It's so exhilarating being with him and talking about all the things we have in common. He's the only man I know who's comfortable talking about poetry."

That didn't sound like Barrett. Charlotte would have thought he'd be more likely to discuss current events or next spring's calf crop. Those and his hopes for Wyoming's future had been the subjects he'd mentioned while they'd sipped cocoa on Thanksgiving afternoon. It appeared that Barrett was a different man when he was with Miriam. Charlotte's smile faded as she reminded herself that that was natural. A man treated his future wife differently from a mere friend.

"He can even quote Sh.e.l.ley's *Queen Mab,'" Miriam continued. "Are you familiar with it?"

Charlotte nodded. "It's not my favorite, but I had to memorize it at school."

Her green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, Miriam asked, "Do you agree with Sh.e.l.ley that obedience makes slaves of men?"

As the lines from the poem reverberated through her brain, Charlotte arranged the small train that fell from Miriam's bustle. "I guess it would depend on the context."

"The Bible tells us to honor our parents, so I try to obey mine. And I know I'm supposed to obey my husband, but . . ." Miriam turned slowly in front of the twin mirrors that Charlotte had placed outside the dressing room, studying her gown from all directions. "I'm confused. I don't want to think that marriage will be like slavery."

"It isn't." Though life with Jeffrey had been far from perfect, Charlotte had never felt enslaved or even trapped. She simply hadn't felt as if Jeffrey loved her the way her father loved her mother. "When you love each other, it's not a matter of obedience or slavery. You respect each other, and so neither of you would do anything to hurt the other."

Mama and Papa had listened to each other; they'd made decisions together. Not once had Charlotte heard Papa claim that Mama should do something simply because it was his wish.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say. Thank you, Charlotte." Miriam's smile was once more radiant. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Are you certain you won't stay?" Barrett stamped his feet, trying to warm them while he and Harrison stood at the depot, waiting for the train to arrive. "I had hoped you'd be here for Christmas."

Harrison shook his head. "My feet are starting to itch."

"Funny, mine are turning to ice."

"That's another reason for me to leave. It's too cold here." When Barrett feigned umbrage, Harrison grinned. "I don't want Camden to get too used to running the store by himself. He and Susan might decide they don't need me."

"If that happens, you can always come back. Maybe raise those horses you were talking about. You wouldn't have to worry about a place to live. You know I've got plenty of room for you."

The distant whistle heralded the approach of the eastbound train. "Maybe now," Harrison said with a rueful expression, "but once you're married, things will change. Your wife may not want a houseguest."

Barrett couldn't believe Harrison was spouting such nonsense. "That's absurd. You'll always be welcome in my house."

"Ah, little brother, you don't understand." Harrison reached for the small suitcase he planned to carry onto the train. "Once you're married, it's her house."

Warren grinned as he slid his arms into his shirtsleeves. Two months ago he would not have thought it possible, but his dreams were coming true. For the first time he had a reason to celebrate. This Thanksgiving had been the first one that he was truly thankful. That was unexpected. But so was Gwen. She would be the perfect wife. She wasn't beautiful, but he was old enough to know that beauty was overrated. What Gwen possessed was far more valuable than physical beauty. She had what his mother would have called cla.s.s. She was well-mannered, soft-spoken, and never felt the need to draw attention to herself.

Warren fastened the last b.u.t.ton before reaching for his collar. When they were married, he hoped Gwen would want to tie his cravat and nudge his collar points until they were perfectly aligned. He'd seen his mother perform those tasks for his father until the day Pa died. Warren didn't know whether that was part of every marriage. All he knew was that the thought of Gwen standing so close to him, her fingers perhaps grazing his cheeks as she arranged the cravat, was surprisingly appealing.

She wasn't like Sylvia's girls. Gwen was an extraordinary woman. More than that, she was a lady. The men who made the decisions about membership in the club would see that. They'd be impressed, just as Gwen was obviously impressed with him. Love-if that was what he felt-was meant to be reciprocated. She did. Equally important, Gwen didn't feel the need to ask too many questions. She seemed content with the information he gave her and didn't probe too deeply. Unlike his former partner, Gwen was not nosy. The other woman . . .

Warren scowled as he remembered the last time he'd seen the woman who'd been his partner for half a dozen years. Though he had told her very little, somehow she had learned-or deduced-too much about him, leaving him no choice but to kill her. He'd seen her shock during her last moment, when she'd realized what was about to happen, and he knew she was remembering his vow never to kill a woman. He hadn't. Until that night. But there had been no alternative. He couldn't risk anyone connecting Warren Duncan with the man who'd masterminded a string of successful stagecoach robberies. That was why the woman who had been the sole occupant of Fort Laramie's guardhouse that night had had to die.

Gwen wouldn't ask questions. She wouldn't poke and pry. She'd believe him if he told her he had to meet with a client one or two evenings a month. She'd never realize that there was no client and that he was going to Sylvia's.

Gwen would be perfect. All he needed was Big Nose's money so that he could build a house. A big house. One to rival Joseph Carey's. Once construction was started, the Cheyenne Club would realize that Warren Duncan was a man they wanted as a member. But that took more money than he had. The question was, where was it? Only one person knew, and she had disappeared.