Waiting For Spring Part 6

Charlotte would not agree, and Barrett couldn't blame her. When he'd seen David, he hadn't chosen his words carefully enough. Foolishly, Barrett had spoken from his heart, and he'd hurt Charlotte. He would not let that happen to Miriam. There would be no impulsive speech where this woman was concerned, for there was too much at risk.

The waiter appeared at the table, his hands folded behind his back, his manner more formal than Mr. Bradley's. "Have you decided what you'd like for dinner?"

"My mother suggested I try the roast grouse." And Miriam was nothing if not an obedient daughter. Though Barrett suspected she had opinions of her own, she appeared to defer to others. Warren would say that was good; Harrison would disagree. And Richard? Barrett wasn't certain.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Miriam leaned forward ever so slightly. "Where did you and Richard first meet?"

Two hours later, as he escorted Miriam to her front door, Barrett realized that their dinner conversation had centered on Richard. How odd.

8.

Thou shalt not hate. Warren held the cigar in front of his nose and sniffed. He'd never seen much point in smelling a cigar, but he'd heard that was what gentlemen did, and so he made it into a ritual, even when he was alone. That way he wouldn't forget in public and give the club's members.h.i.+p committee another excuse to deny his admission. He would play by their rules so that they'd agree that Warren Duncan was a man of sterling character, eminently suited to join the Cheyenne Club. He wasn't going to give them any reason to be like that doc back home who claimed Ma had delusions. She'd been perfectly fine. Warren knew that, but she hadn't played by the rules those silly townspeople set, and she'd wound up in a room with a locked door and bars on the windows. That would never happen to him. He'd learned from Ma's mistakes.

Thou shalt not hate. The words reverberated through Warren's brain. As far as he knew, it wasn't one of the commandments. That must mean it wasn't as serious as killing or coveting. Not that it mattered. He'd broken enough commandments to ensure that the pearly gates were not part of his future. But maybe he would not be consigned to fire and brimstone for hatred. After all, he wasn't certain he hated the man. All Warren knew was that it had taken more restraint than he'd known he possessed to keep from smas.h.i.+ng his fist into Barrett's face. How dare the man look so surprised-so shocked-that Warren was planning to marry? Did he think he was the only one who deserved a wife and child? He'd learn. Oh yes, he would.

Warren lit his cigar, taking a puff before he strode to the window. No doubt about it. A good cigar could soothe a man's mood. That and the prospect of the night ahead. He grinned. Soon. Soon he'd have a far more pleasurable way to release his anger than smas.h.i.+ng Barrett Landry's nose.

Though darkness came early at this time of the year, there were still too many people on the street. He'd wait another hour or two before he visited Sylvia, and even when he did, he'd take his normal precautions. No one must ever be able to connect Warren Duncan, successful attorney and prospective member of the Cheyenne Club, with the masked man who frequented the crudest of Cheyenne's brothels.

"Oh, Charlotte, it's been three days, and it's still all I can think about." Gwen looked up from the gown she was hemming. Though normally Charlotte did not ask Gwen to help with sewing, the upcoming Christmas season had brought in more business than ever, and Gwen had volunteered her services. The help was a G.o.dsend, for it gave Charlotte a few extra hours to work on clothing for Mrs. Kendall and her boarders. Three of the four dresses she planned to take there were finished. Unless David had another restless night, she should have the final gown completed within a week.

Gwen was a great help, but tonight, while they sat with yards of fabric draped over their laps, she appeared to have trouble concentrating on her sewing.

"I loved Mike," Gwen said, furrows forming between her eyes, "but it wasn't like this. Sat.u.r.day was the best afternoon I can imagine. We rode in the park and everyone waved at us and it was wonderful and afterwards he took me to Rue de Rivoli for tea and that was even better." She paused for a quick breath. "Oh, Charlotte, Warren's amazing. He knows everyone and everything. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have known that Rue de Rivoli isn't really French. He said it was built by a Scottish businessman from Colorado who put his offices on the second floor and wanted good food, so he opened the restaurant downstairs. I didn't care about any of that. I only cared that everyone treated me like a real lady because I was with Warren. He's the most wonderful man I've ever met."

"I'm happy for you." It wasn't Gwen's fault that Charlotte's Sat.u.r.day had been so different from her friend's. While Gwen had spent the past three days mooning over Warren Duncan, Charlotte had pa.s.sed the time trying desperately to forget what had happened at Mr. Ellis's shop. Her efforts had failed. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Barrett's expression when he realized that David was blind floated before her. When she smelled fresh bread, she was transported back to the bakery, and though she tried to block the memories, she was forced to relive the sight of Barrett's pity while David searched for another macaroon. Even the simple sound of cups rattling on saucers reminded Charlotte of the afternoon that had turned out so differently from her plan.

She could tell herself that Barrett had spoiled the day, but that wasn't true. She should have antic.i.p.ated his reaction. It wasn't as if this was the first time someone had pitied David, and it wouldn't be the last. She needed to develop what Mama called a thick hide. Mama had claimed that that and the knowledge that G.o.d would never abandon her were what had sustained her through the times they'd been asked to leave a church when Papa's outspoken beliefs had angered the congregation. Those moves with three small children must have been far more difficult than dealing with one man's pity. Mama had survived, and so would Charlotte. She slid a length of thread into the needle, preparing to gather lace for the sleeve flounces.

"Warren said he likes children." Gwen continued the litany of praises. "He even said he wants to take Rose with us the next time we go riding." She held up the gown she'd been hemming for Charlotte's inspection. "I think he may love me. Oh, Charlotte, wouldn't that be wonderful? Warren would be the perfect father for Rose."

And Barrett would be the worst possible father for David. Not that Charlotte was searching for a father for David. She wasn't. Not that Barrett would consider her a potential wife. He wouldn't, for he was planning to marry Miriam . . . but having him as a friend would have been nice.

"Just be certain he's the right man for you," Charlotte cautioned. "It's dangerous to marry a stranger." Her marriage was proof of that. Perhaps if she and Jeffrey had known each other better before they married, they might have recognized their differences, but they'd been too caught up in the magic of what felt like first love to realize that marriage needed to be based on more than infatuation.

Gwen nodded. "I know that. We're not rus.h.i.+ng into anything." She gave Charlotte a self-deprecating smile. "Warren hasn't mentioned marriage. Perhaps I'm being foolish and imagining something that isn't there, but it seems that he cares."

"He would be a fool if he didn't. You're a wonderful woman and a great mother, Gwen. Any man who doesn't see that doesn't deserve you." Gwen's flush made Charlotte realize the woman was unaccustomed to receiving praise. She would have to change that. Gwen deserved to be recognized for her gifts.

"I hope he does love me. I've been praying so hard for a father for Rose, and I'd like to think that Warren is the answer to those prayers." Gwen's smile faded. "The only thing that worries me is leaving you and David. What would you do if I married?"

Charlotte pinned the lace to the sleeve, then held it up to admire the effect. "I couldn't ever replace you," she admitted. "I doubt there's anyone in Wyoming Territory who could do all that you do as well as you do it, but I'd need to find someone to care for David during the day. Molly would rather work in the shop, but there must be someone else."

Charlotte was thinking out loud. Though she had known from the beginning that Gwen wanted to remarry and that she might have to find another person to help with David's care, until Warren Duncan had entered their lives, Charlotte hadn't given it serious consideration. As her needle darted in and out, attaching the lace to the velvet, Charlotte's thoughts whirled, recalling her initial mistrust of Warren. It had seemed irrational at the time, but now she wondered if there hadn't been a good reason for her reaction. Perhaps the fact that Warren might disrupt her life was the reason Charlotte felt so uncomfortable around him.

"Now that David's older, the woman wouldn't have to live here," Charlotte continued. "She could come during the day, or I could take him to her house."

"Or you could send David to a school for children like him."

Charlotte jabbed the needle into the velvet, trying to vent her anger on the fabric rather than her friend. "An asylum?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

Gwen shook her head, for she knew how much Charlotte hated the very word. "A school. A boarding school."

The words might be different, but the effect was the same. "Not you too."

Gwen seemed startled by Charlotte's reaction. "What do you mean?"

"Someone else suggested that." She wouldn't admit that it was Barrett, for that would mean telling Gwen about their painful encounter at the confectionary. "I thought you'd understand because you're a mother. Surely you can see that the best thing for David is to be with me."

For a long moment, Gwen said nothing. Then she raised one brow. "Is it?"

He couldn't stop thinking of her. Barrett took another spoonful of the pea soup Mrs. Melnor had made for lunch, knowing that it would seem as tasteless as everything had since he'd left Mr. Ellis's store. This was ridiculous. Three days had pa.s.sed, and the memory hadn't faded. If anything, it had intensified. Meals were the worst. Though he managed to keep himself busy the rest of the day, whenever he sat down at a table, his memory was drawn back to the small round table at the confectionary. He'd been an idiot, a stupid, insensitive idiot. Charlotte didn't deserve the treatment he'd given her, nor did David.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Harrison laid his soup spoon on the liner plate and leaned forward. "Don't bother claiming it's nothing. I've known you too long to believe that."

Harrison was right. There was no point in pretending. "I've been a fool."

"And that's news?" Though Harrison's question was light, Barrett did not smile. "What did you do this time?" his brother continued. "Forget to tell the lovely Miriam just how lovely she is?" The sarcasm that laced his words left no doubt that Harrison expected Barrett to laugh. He did not.

"It's worse than that. I hurt Charlotte."

Harrison's grin faded. "That is serious. You'd better fix it."

Though he'd eaten only half his meal, Barrett rose. "I'm not sure I can fix it," he admitted as he tossed his napkin onto the table, "but I'm going to try. Don't be surprised if I come back battered and b.l.o.o.d.y."

Harrison reached for a piece of corn bread, his lips curving into a smile. "She wouldn't do that."

"You don't know Charlotte." Barrett hoped he did.

"What's wrong, David?" Charlotte watched as her son c.o.c.ked his head before starting to crawl toward the door. Gwen and Rose were out taking a walk, leaving Charlotte and David in the kitchen with Charlotte rolling out dough for gingerbread cookies while David played on the floor. Judging from his reaction, her son had heard something she hadn't. It wouldn't be the first time. Although he could not see, his other senses-particularly his hearing-were more acute than Charlotte's.

A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Charlotte brushed the flour from her hands before scooping David into her arms. Though he still wasn't comfortable standing, he had learned to crawl at a speed that continued to amaze her. She wouldn't take the chance that he'd scoot outside.

Holding her now squirming son, Charlotte opened the door. At the sight of her visitor, she started to slam it. He had no right to be here. It didn't matter that he was breathtakingly handsome and that his eyes were as brilliant as the Wyoming sky. Those were superficial trappings. What mattered was what was inside a man, and what was inside Barrett Landry was ugly.

He wedged his foot inside the door. "I know I don't deserve it, but I hope you'll give me another chance."

An apology. She hadn't expected that. That and his smile, which seemed to include David, were difficult to resist. The least she could do was listen. The common courtesy Mama had instilled in her daughters demanded that. "All right. Come in."

As she led the way toward the sitting area, Charlotte spoke to her son. "Mr. Landry has come to visit." Though she doubted he would recall the name, David probably recognized the voice and scent, a combination of bay rum, cold air, and something unique to Barrett. When she'd placed David on the floor and handed him the stuffed sock that was this week's favorite toy, Charlotte settled herself in one of the chairs and nodded toward the other. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you." Barrett removed his coat, folding it over the chair back, and laid a small sack at his feet. She hadn't noticed that he'd been carrying anything, but she'd been so surprised by his arrival that she might not have noticed if he'd had a bolt of fabric tucked under his arm.

Placing his hands on his knees, Barrett leaned forward, as if he sought to close the distance between the two chairs. "I want to apologize for my behavior on Sat.u.r.day."

There was no stammering, none of the hesitation Jeffrey had shown the few times he'd apologized. Barrett's eyes radiated sincerity, and the look he gave David was that of any man looking at any child. The revulsion and pity Charlotte had seen on his face three days ago were gone, replaced by what appeared to be genuine remorse. "My mother taught me that when a man does something truly stupid, his apology should be accompanied by a gift. What I did was stupid, and so I hope you'll accept this." He reached into the sack and pulled out an easily recognizable box. When Barrett made amends, he did it with style.

Charlotte smiled. "Your apology is accepted. And so is your gift." She looked at the pale blue box that signified a special treat. "Thank you, Barrett. I've heard that Mr. Ellis's chocolates are delicious." Henry Ellis wasn't simply an excellent baker. He was also an accomplished chocolatier. As Charlotte opened the lid, David sat up, his nose quivering. "Yes, David, it's chocolate. We'll have some later."

Barrett's eyes widened slightly. "Your words sounded as if you've never eaten Ellis chocolates."

"I haven't." There was no need to state the obvious, that indulgences like expensive chocolates were rare in this household. The mismatched chairs and the slightly frayed rug told their tale. A s.h.i.+ver made its way down Charlotte's back as she thought of the luxuries she had had at Fort Laramie. Those days were over. She had left the Steinway piano, the Wedgwood china, and the fancy furniture, bringing only what she could carry in a single trunk. The rest would have been reminders of a life that had brought more heartbreak than happiness. Charlotte s.h.i.+vered again. If the baron could see the way she lived, he'd realize that she did not have the fortune Jeffrey was supposed to have found.

Seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil, Barrett reached for the sack and handed it to Charlotte. "I know David doesn't understand apologies, but my guess is that gifts are always welcome. This is for him." Barrett glanced at David before returning his attention to Charlotte. "If he already has one, I can choose something else."

Charlotte reached into the bag, smiling as she withdrew a medium-sized wooden ball. "It's perfect, and, no, David does not have one." She rotated the ball, checking for splinters. Of course there were none. A man with Barrett Landry's wealth would buy only the best.

His eyes sparkled as he watched her. "I'll take it as a good sign that you didn't throw that at me, even if I do deserve it. I warned Harrison that I might come home battered and bruised."

"Did you really think I'd do that?"

Barrett shook his head. "I didn't think you were violent, but I've learned that mother cows can be unpredictable when their young are threatened."

Charlotte couldn't help it. She laughed. "Just a hint, Mr. Landry." She feigned indignation. "If you want to win a woman's good graces, it would be prudent not to compare her to a bovine."

"If I had any doubts that you were once a schoolteacher, your etiquette lesson, not to mention your use of the word bovine, would have squashed them. Your point is well taken." Barrett's face sobered as he said, "I probably shouldn't judge human behavior by what I see on the range, but since I arrived in the territory, I've spent more time with cattle than people. I want you to know how sorry I am about how I behaved on Sat.u.r.day. I was surprised-shocked is probably the better word-but that's no excuse for treating you and David the way I did."

Once again, his voice rang with sincerity, and Charlotte felt her last resistance melt. It took a strong man to humble himself with an apology. She nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue.

"The only thing I can say in my defense is that I was worried about what the future would hold for him . . . and for you."

"I can tell you right now that David's future will not hold an asylum."

"That's your decision. You're David's mother, and you know better than anyone what he needs. My only experience with blindness has been with cattle."

As he recounted the story of the blind calf, Charlotte gripped the chair arms. She'd been mistaken in judging Barrett. He had been worried, not disgusted. He'd spoken from sympathy, not prejudice.

"I'm sorry my thoughtless words hurt you," he concluded. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"I do. I already told you that I accepted your apology. Now that I know the whole story, I realize that I was wrong." Charlotte laid her hand on David's head, tousling the red hair so like his father's. "I was hurt, probably more than I should have been. Any slight to David hurts me, but it was worse coming from a friend."

"Are we friends again?" Barrett's voice held a note Charlotte didn't recognize.

"I hope so."

"Then let's see how your son likes his ball."

To Barrett's surprise, Charlotte handed him the ball. "You should give it to him. Tell him what it is and that you're going to put it in his hand."

Though he had little experience with children, other than the ones who had come into the family's store in Northwick, Barrett had never seen parents go to such lengths to give a child a toy. There had to be a reason. He thought for a second before nodding. "That's so he's not surprised."

"Exactly." The smile Charlotte gave him made Barrett feel as if he'd accomplished something important, not simply understanding how to approach her son.

"I spent days with my eyes closed, trying to imagine David's world." What an amazing woman! Perhaps it was the fact that she'd once taught school that helped her think like a child, but Barrett suspected it was more than that. He was seeing a mother's love at work.

He rose, then squatted next to the boy. "David, it's Mr. Landry. I've brought you a ball. Hold out your hands, and I'll give it to you." When the child extended his hands at shoulder width, Barrett laid the ball on the floor and moved David's hands closer. "Ball," he said as he placed the child's hands around his gift. "Can you say that?"

For a second, David did not speak. As he rolled the ball between his hands, Barrett could see that he was teaching himself the shape and texture of his new toy. "Baw," he said at last.

"That's close. Ball."

David hugged the ball to his chest. Had he misunderstood the word close? "b.a.l.l.s are meant to be rolled on the floor," Barrett explained. "Can you do that?"

David shook his head and clutched the ball closer.

"He's never had a moving toy," Charlotte said. "Toys are something he holds or places on the floor. They're always stationary."

"I see." Barrett winced at the phrase. How often did he use it, not realizing that it might be painful to the mother of a child who could not see? "Come, David. Let's put the ball on the floor."

As the boy complied, the ball rolled away. Startled by the sound, David reached for his toy, encountering only bare floor. He patted the floor in all directions before beginning to wail.

"It's all right. You'll get it back." Barrett retrieved the ball, then sat on the floor a few feet in front of David. "I'm going to roll the ball to you, David. Put your hands on the floor. You'll feel it coming. Here it comes."

As the ball touched David's hands, he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest. "Baw."

"That's right. Now it's your turn. Roll it to me." But no matter how often Barrett tried, no matter how he phrased the commands, David would not relinquish his toy.

"He's the answer to prayer."

Charlotte reached for the plate Gwen was holding and began to dry it. Both children were in bed, and the women were was.h.i.+ng dishes. "Who are you talking about?"

"Barrett." Gwen swished the cloth around another plate. "While I was walking with Rose, I kept praying that G.o.d would send someone who could take my place here. He sent Barrett."

The thought was ludicrous. "He came to bring David a toy, not to change my life." Although, to a small degree, he had done that. Barrett's visit had restored Charlotte's sense of peace. Her anger had faded along with the sense of being on edge. The past few days had reminded her of a childhood summer when she had tried to walk on the railroad tracks. Though Abigail and Elizabeth had mastered the skill easily, it had been proven to be far more difficult than Charlotte had imagined to keep her balance. She'd tottered from one side to another, coming so close to falling that Abigail had grabbed her arm. Only when she'd been able to place both feet back on the ground had Charlotte felt as if the world had stopped spinning the wrong direction. For the past three days, she'd had that same sense of vertigo, but now, thanks to Barrett's visit, she had regained her equilibrium.

"He'd be perfect for you." Gwen was nothing if not tenacious. "Barrett Landry is one of Cheyenne's most eligible bachelors."

"I know." This was an absurd conversation. Just because Gwen fancied herself in love didn't mean she needed to play matchmaker for Charlotte. "If I were considering marrying again-which I am not," Charlotte was quick to add, "Barrett would not be the man for me."

"Why not?"

"Any number of reasons." Some of which Charlotte would not reveal. "Let's start with the most important one. He's going to marry Miriam."

"But he doesn't love her."

Charlotte dried another plate. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he doesn't look at her the way Warren does when he's looking at me."

Though Charlotte had thought Warren's expression reflected avarice more than love, she had no intention of saying that.

"Be that as it may, they're practically engaged."