Waiting For Spring Part 15

"You told me to be more visible, to let people know my views," Barrett said as he poured Warren a cup of coffee. "That's what I did."

"Regulating your peers?" Warren's voice was harsh with sarcasm. "I thought we agreed that water policy would be the problem you'd tackle."

"This was more urgent."

"What it was was foolish. And why on earth did you have to compound your foolishness by talking about a school for the blind? Why would you care about that?" Warren stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "There are schools in other places. The parents can send them there."

Barrett tried not to wince at the memory that he'd once advocated exactly that. But that was before he understood the price both Charlotte and David would have paid.

"What if the parents don't want to send their children away?"

Warren shrugged. "That's their problem, not yours."

And that was where he was wrong. "It is my problem. Charlotte's son is blind."

His eyes narrowing, Warren stared at Barrett for a long moment before he spoke. "You're considering marrying her, aren't you?"

"What if I were?" Barrett wouldn't answer directly, not when Warren was in this mood.

"Then I'd say you were as blind as her boy. The voters want to see a perfect family, not one with a damaged child."

When Barrett started to protest the term, Warren held up a hand, silencing him. "I don't care how pretty she is; don't throw away your chance at power for a pretty face."

Charlotte was more than a pretty face. She was a warm, caring woman, a woman of deep loyalty and unshakable integrity. The fact that she was also beautiful was only a small part of her appeal. But Barrett would not tell Warren that, for he doubted the older man would understand. When he'd first entertained the thought of running for office, it had been for selfish reasons. Though he had not admitted it to either Warren or Richard, Barrett had been more concerned about impressing his brothers than serving the citizens of Wyoming. That had changed. As the months had pa.s.sed, he'd realized how wrong he'd been, and it was all because of Charlotte.

"It isn't power I want," he said firmly. "It's to be in a position where I can make a difference." That was the challenge Charlotte had given him, and now more than ever before, Barrett was determined to answer that challenge.

Warren snorted. "You're only fooling yourself if you believe that. Every man wants power."

"Then why don't you run for office?" Though it was a question Barrett had asked himself a dozen times, this was the first time he'd voiced it.

"I would if I were twenty years younger."

17.

She refused-she absolutely refused-to dwell on the fact that Barrett had finally declared his love to Miriam and that their engagement would likely be announced any day now. When memories of Miriam's radiant smile resurfaced, Charlotte forced herself to smile and then to remind herself that she had more important things to worry about, starting with the school.

Though Barrett had done his best, it appeared that the decision makers of Wyoming Territory did not share Charlotte's belief that a school for the blind and deaf was essential. She couldn't let them stop her. There had to be something she could do to help David and Nancy. In the meantime, she would do what she could for the unfortunate women who took their meals at Mrs. Kendall's boardinghouse.

Charlotte s.h.i.+vered as she hurried toward 15th Street. January was supposed to be the coldest month, but this year February seemed to be trying for that dubious honor. With the mercury dipping below zero and a stiff wind turning snowflakes into icy pellets, it was not a night for a stroll. Perhaps she should have waited another day, but when she'd finished the brown calico dress, she had been filled with a sense of urgency, and so she'd donned her heaviest coat, thankful that the veil she always wore to Mrs. Kendall's provided at least a measure of protection for her face.

"C'mon in, honey." As she had expected, even though it wasn't quite five o'clock, Mrs. Kendall was bustling around the kitchen. "I got some coffee ready, and if you can wait a few minutes, there'll be cinnamon buns fresh outta the oven."

Though the aroma was enticing, Charlotte shook her head. "I can't stay that long."

"Nonsense." Mrs. Kendall pulled out a chair and glared at it, as if willing Charlotte to remove her coat and sit there. "You need to warm up. I cain't have you turnin' into an icicle."

Flexing her fingers, Charlotte realized that the tips were tingling from the cold. It would be foolish to return home until they'd warmed a bit. She unb.u.t.toned her coat and hung it on the hook near the door, smiling when Mrs. Kendall grabbed the coat and draped it over the chair nearest the stove so that it would warm more quickly.

"You need some coffee too," she announced. "I reckon you could drink it without takin' off your veil if you was careful."

Charlotte heard the slightly miffed tone in the older woman's voice and realized that she had insulted her by not revealing her ident.i.ty. Though initially she had been worried about her customers, that concern had paled when Charlotte had learned that the baron was a frequent patron of Sylvia's. She could not take the risk of lifting her veil, for the baron must never discover that she and David lived in Cheyenne. "Thank you," Charlotte said. "Your coffee smells delicious. But first I want to show you what I brought. There are two more dresses," she explained as she opened the package she'd wrapped in an old sheet. "The brown is my favorite."

Mrs. Kendall fingered the calico. "It's perfect. They're both perfect." She poured coffee into a tin mug and pushed it across the table toward Charlotte. "I wish you could see the difference havin' proper clothes makes. The gals don't just look different, they act different too. More modest-like." She sipped her coffee. "Now, drink yours."

Charlotte complied, though it was difficult to maneuver the cup to her mouth without removing her veil. At last, frustrated by the layers of tulle, she raised it enough to clear her mouth, holding it back with her left hand while she lifted the cup with her right.

"I heerd from Sally and Laura," Mrs. Kendall continued. "They're the two of Sylvia's gals what went to Laramie last month. Sally done got herself a job as a washerwoman, and Laura's working as a cook. It wouldn't a' happened without your dresses."

It was a nice thought, but Charlotte couldn't accept the credit for the young women's transformation. "It takes more than a new dress to change a person's life. You have to want to change."

"Mebbe so, but decent clothing helps." Mrs. Kendall rose, opening the oven door and withdrawing a pan of fragrant rolls. "I sh.o.r.e wish I could sew like you."

"It's not difficult," Charlotte said when she'd tasted the delicious pastry. "Anyone can learn if they have the right teacher."

The right teacher. Charlotte started to laugh when she heard her own words. That could be the answer.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, really. I've been trying to solve a problem, and I realized that the answer's been here all along. Thank you, Mrs. Kendall. You unlocked the door."

Though the other woman looked dubious, Charlotte was not, and her words echoed through her mind as she walked home. If the legislators wouldn't approve a school, someone else had to do something. Who better than Charlotte? It was true that she had been frustrated by the book Barrett had given her. Although it was a beginning, it wasn't enough. She now knew that what she needed was the right teacher. It wasn't as if Charlotte was inexperienced. She had taught children long enough to know that she would be able to teach blind children, if she had the right schooling. What she needed was to be trained by someone who had actually taught blind children.

Charlotte grimaced as she crossed 16th Street and the wind buffeted her. It wouldn't be easy. She knew that. She would have to find someone who had been trained at the Perkins School. Barrett's book had been written by a woman who had studied there, and she had indicated that it was one of the finest schools devoted to the education of blind children. That was what Charlotte wanted and what David and Nancy deserved: the best.

Perhaps someone who had trained there could spend a few months in Cheyenne with Charlotte. If not, she would go to Watertown, Ma.s.sachusetts, and study at the school. It would be expensive, for she would have to close the store while she and David traveled east. With no money coming in and substantial expenses, her savings would be depleted in a few months. Unless . . . Charlotte smiled as she thought of Mrs. c.o.x. The woman had said she would do anything to give Nancy the life she deserved, and she had made it clear that she was far from dest.i.tute. She would probably help defray the costs while Charlotte studied, since the training would benefit Nancy.

Her heart suddenly lighter, Charlotte climbed the steps to her apartment. There were many things to consider, but she believed she was headed in the right direction, and that felt good. Very good.

Miriam glanced around the room. If anyone had forgotten that they were celebrating Valentine's Day, one look at the parlor and the dining room would have reminded them. Her friend Betty's mother had outdone herself tonight, decorating the entire first floor of their home in shades of red and pink in honor of the occasion. Swags of red crepe were draped on the curving staircase, while a pink tablecloth and red linen napkins transformed the dining room into a Valentine. Even the candles in the parlor chandelier had been replaced with pink ones.

As Miriam flexed her fingers inside the satin gloves Charlotte had made for her, the string quartet rose and bowed, signaling the beginning of a brief intermission.

"Would you like a cup of punch?"

Miriam fanned her face. It was silly to be so fl.u.s.tered. After all, she had known that Richard would be one of the guests. But now that he was at her side, speaking to her for the first time this evening, she could not stop the blood from rus.h.i.+ng to her face.

"No, thank you," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "but I would like to find a quiet corner."

Richard gave her a crooked smile. "That may be an impossible quest," he said as he glanced around the room. He took a step toward the archway that separated the parlor from the entry hall. After peering around the corner, he grinned. "Success. Not only is there no one in the hallway right now, but there's a place to sit."

When they reached the padded oak bench and Miriam had arranged her skirts, Richard's smile faded. "I'm surprised you're not with Barrett. I saw you dancing together." Though his voice remained even, Richard clenched his fists. "Everyone says you're the perfect couple."

Surely he didn't believe that. Surely he realized that she loved him as much as he did her. But perhaps he did not. Perhaps he believed that she viewed him as nothing more than a friend. After all, she hadn't told him that she loved him. The day he'd admitted his love, Richard had refused to discuss it further, his face turning so stony that Miriam had known the time was not right for her own declaration. Tonight might not be the right time, either, but she could not let Richard continue to believe she cared for Barrett, and so, though her mother would be appalled by her forwardness, she spoke.

"Barrett and I could only be the perfect couple if we loved each other. We don't. I don't love Barrett, and I doubt that he's ever loved me. You know the truth, Richard. It was a business arrangement. Barrett wanted my father's endors.e.m.e.nt, and my parents thought he'd be a good husband for me. Now that the party seems to have disowned Barrett, my mother's having doubts about him. She wants me to marry a man with prospects."

Miriam kept her eyes fixed on Richard. Though she had thought he might respond, he remained silent, his hands so tightly fisted that his knuckles whitened.

"I love my parents," she continued. "I'd do almost anything to make them happy, but I won't marry a man I don't love." This was his chance to tell her that he loved her, to ask if she returned his love, but Richard said nothing. Miriam was ready to scream in frustration. When they discussed books or music, Richard was eloquent, never at a loss for words. Tonight, when the subject was far more important, he was silent.

She took a deep breath. It went against all the rules, but she couldn't continue in this state of limbo, believing Richard loved her but not knowing whether they had a future together. "I love you, Richard," she said, slowly and distinctly. "You said you loved me. If that's true, won't you marry me?" There. She'd done it. She had actually proposed to a man. Now it was up to Richard to agree.

But he did not. Though his eyes had brightened when she'd declared her love, they were once again somber. "You know your parents would never approve. I'm too old, and I'll never be a senator."

Miriam shook her head. "I don't care that you're older." She would not say "too old," for he was not. "I don't care about anything but being your wife."

"It's not that simple." There was a note of resignation in his voice. Miriam hated it and the fact that his eyes no longer sparkled.

"It is simple. We don't need my parents' permission. I'm old enough to make my own decisions. We can elope."

It wasn't only that the sparkle had disappeared from Richard's eyes. Now they were filled with sadness. "You'd regret it."

"I would not. Besides, before you know it, Mama and Papa will relent."

"What if they didn't? Could you go through the rest of your life being estranged from them?"

Though it was a prospect she had not considered, Miriam nodded. "You're more important to me than they are." She tried to infuse enthusiasm into her voice, but she knew that Richard heard her hesitation.

"I'm sorry, my love, but I can't take that risk."

"I'm glad we're finally getting our chance to have tea at Rue de Rivoli," Barrett said as he opened the front door to the impressive sandstone edifice. Though Charlotte had tried to refuse Barrett's invitation, believing it unwise to be seen in public with him when he was close to announcing his engagement to Miriam, he had insisted that this would be a business meeting. She might still have refused, but the disappointment on Barrett's face had convinced her to accept. And so here they were.

Unlike the entrances to many buildings situated on a street corner, Rue de Rivoli's door was angled so that it faced the corner rather than favor either street. Apparently the architect who'd designed the ma.s.sive building hadn't been able to decide whether Ferguson or 16th Street would be the more prominent and had hedged his bets. In Charlotte's opinion, the angled entry gave the building a special appeal. Barrett smiled as if he shared her opinion and escorted her inside.

"I hope you enjoy the afternoon," he said as the waiter showed them to a table near the front window.

"When I heard that Cheyenne's most prominent women come here for tea, I thought you might get some new customers if people saw you here."

Charlotte waited to respond until Barrett had ordered tea and afternoon sandwiches. "I may not want any more customers," she told him. "If everything goes the way I hope, I won't have time to sew many gowns."

She had spent hours scribbling on a slate, erasing one set of numbers after another, making notes about everything that could go wrong. Now that she was comfortable with her plans, Charlotte was eager to discuss them with Barrett. This would be a business meeting, simply not the one he had envisioned. Although she thought her plans were complete, she knew that Barrett would tell her if she'd missed something important or if her a.s.sumptions were too optimistic.

When he raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue, she said, "I realized there's a way to turn my dream of a school into reality."

"And that is . . ."

Before she could answer, Mr. and Mrs. Slater entered the dining room. The flash of recognition followed by surprise that crossed Mr. Slater's face told Charlotte he knew Barrett but had not expected to see him here. Or perhaps he had not expected Charlotte to be with Barrett.

"Madame Charlotte. It's so good to see you." Mrs. Slater's greeting was genuine. She turned to her husband, loudly declaring that Charlotte was the woman who'd made her new gowns. If Barrett had wanted advertising for Charlotte, he'd gotten it.

When the older couple left for their table at the opposite side of the rapidly filling room, Barrett reminded Charlotte that they'd been discussing the school. "What did you discover?"

"I realized that I could be the teacher." Barrett said nothing, merely nodding as Charlotte explained her plan to gain the specialized training she needed. "The school won't have everything I once envisioned. I won't be able to hire other teachers, at least not initially, so I thought I'd start with only blind children."

"That seems to make sense." Barrett leaned forward, his expression intent. "Have you picked a location?"

Charlotte nodded. "If I could afford it, I'd buy Mr. Yates's store and use it, but since I can't do that, I thought I could divide my store in half, putting the school on one side and the shop on the other."

For the first time, Barrett seemed surprised. "You're going to keep elan open?"

"I don't have any choice. I'll need more money than I can charge for tuition, so I thought I'd have the store open on Sat.u.r.days when there's no school. My customers can come for fittings then, but I'll do the actual sewing at night."

"It'll be a lot of work."

When the waiter had set a pot of tea in front of them, Charlotte poured herself and Barrett a cup. "You're right," she said as she stirred sugar into her tea. "At first, it felt daunting, but I think I can do it. I've never been afraid of hard work. I don't know about your family, but my parents raised the three of us to believe that working was a way of wors.h.i.+ping the Lord. They told us that's why he gave us talents."

As Barrett smiled, his eyes deepened to the color of an August sky. "My parents would have liked yours. They felt the same way." He took a sip of tea. "It sounds as if you're not planning for the school to be a boarding school."

"Not at first," she agreed. "I don't have enough room. Even if I closed the shop and used the whole ground floor, I don't think it would be large enough. I suspect I'll have only two pupils at the beginning: David and Nancy c.o.x." Charlotte would post notices of the school in the newspaper, just in case there were other blind children in Cheyenne, but she couldn't advertise outside the city when there was no place to house students.

"Will they learn as quickly as they would at a boarding school?"

Trust Barrett to go to the heart of the matter. That question had bothered Charlotte too. "I don't know. I thought I'd ask the Perkins School when I inquire about becoming trained. I picked them because I've heard they're the best."

Barrett nodded. "Then you ought to start there. That's a lesson I learned from my parents. They told me to never settle for second best."

His demeanor had changed, the faint furrows between his eyes disappearing, replaced by a calm acceptance. Charlotte sensed that he had no further questions, and so she asked one of her own. "Do you think the school is a good idea?"

Instead of responding with a nod or a shake of the head, Barrett leaned forward slightly. "That depends," he said softly.

"On what?"

"Are you certain this is what you want to do with your life? Once you begin, it wouldn't be fair to your pupils or their parents to stop."

"I agree." Charlotte waited until the waiter had placed a platter on the table before she spoke again. "It's hard to explain," she said as she selected an egg salad sandwich. "The more I think about it, the more excited I become. I can't ever remember feeling this way, but I feel as if this is what I'm meant to do."

When Barrett said nothing, she took a bite of the sandwich, chewing carefully as she phrased her next sentence. After she washed the sandwich down with a swallow of tea, she said, "At first, I didn't understand. I asked G.o.d why my baby wasn't perfect and why he'd given me this cross to bear. Then my prayers changed, and I asked him what David had done to deserve being blind. There were no answers, but today I feel as if the school is the reason. There's a need for a school for the blind here. If David hadn't been born blind, I would never have realized that, and I certainly would not have considered starting one, but if it works out the way I hope it will, I'll be able to help other children, not just mine."

"And make the world a better place." Though there was no special inflection to his voice, the corners of Barrett's lips curved.

"You remember that?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I remember most things you've told me. I don't know what it is about you, Charlotte, but you're a hard woman to forget."

Feeling a blush steal its way to her cheeks, Charlotte lowered her head and stirred another lump of sugar into her tea. She didn't need the additional sweetness, but stirring gave her a chance to settle her thoughts.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

When she looked up, Barrett was grinning. "It was meant as one. As for the school, if that's the way you feel, you definitely should open it."

Charlotte felt the warmth of his gaze as she offered to refill his teacup. She doubted he had any idea how his smile made her heart leap and the blood rush through her veins, and yet there was something special in his eyes, a tenderness that she hadn't seen before. It made no sense, for he had told Miriam he loved her, and yet Charlotte could not deny that Barrett's expression was almost lover-like.