The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (13 page)

He nudged the footrest. “I don't need propaganda to know what makes sense.”

“This is the only job I have, Archie,” Charlotte said. “It's not a bad place to live, and I eat well.”

“Yet you're more thin and pale by the day.”

“Miss Brewster will be home soon. As soon as I help her out of her gown, I can go to bed myself. You can make sure the carriage gets put away properly and get some rest too.”

“I'm going to make sure you sit here with your feet up until you absolutely have to get up.” Sitting beside her, Archie weighted one shoulder toward Charlotte.

In the silence, Charlotte thought about closing her eyes. The conversation over dinner reprised relentlessly in her head.

“What are you thinking about?” Archie asked.

Charlotte shrugged and leaned away from him. “Mrs. Banning seemed quite upset at dinner.”

Archie nodded.

Charlotte debated. If she told him what was on her mind, it would be harder than ever to resist those brown eyes. Archie cared for her. She knew that.

“Are you concerned about Mrs. Banning?” Archie asked.

She decided to plunge in but looked away. “If someone on the household staff knows a piece of information that someone in the family might want, does that member of the staff have an obligation to disclose it?”

“What are you talking about, Charlotte?” He leaned closer still. “Do you know something?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know. I guess not.”

“That clearly resolves the dilemma.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Never mind. It's nothing, really. Mr. Banning would call it hearsay and inadmissible in a court of law.”

They both lurched off their chairs when the front door thudded closed, the sound echoing through unoccupied rooms.

“There she is,” Charlotte said. “I'll meet her in the suite to get her settled, then my day will be over.”

Archie reached for her hand, and to her own surprise she let him take it. Hold it. Warm it.

“Charlotte, I'm worried about you.”

“Don't be. Miss Brewster won't be here much longer, and things will ease up.”

“And the baby?”

What did he mean?

“The baby, Charlotte,” he said softly. “I know you found him in the laundry basket, but something about his being here has changed you.”

She broke the gaze and his grip. “I have to go.”

 14 

C
risp white linens generously graced the dining room table under delicate blue lace. Charlotte carried the first of the hand-painted blue china from the cabinetry in the butler's pantry, preparing to lay the table for the family's dinner. Completing the daily midafternoon chore meant that she would be free to help in the kitchen as the evening mealtime approached. After nearly a year in the Banning household, Charlotte could set a table with china and crystal in her sleep. Sighing, she stepped to the window and looked out at what was really on her mind.

Emmaline Brewster was settling Henry in the buggy in front of the house, and the little boy grinned with pleasure and reached for her cheery face. Behind Miss Brewster, Sarah stood idle and made no effort to conceal her displeasure at the way the Bannings' houseguest had taken over with the child. Anyone could see that Sarah's presence on these afternoon outings was perfunctory. Miss Brewster was competent and comfortable in handling the baby without assistance. The entire staff had endured repeated grievances from the girl about what she perceived to be unreasonable intrusion. More than once, Charlotte had bitten her tongue and stifled the
urge to voice the observation that Miss Brewster seemed to genuinely
like
the baby, which was more than could be said about Sarah.

But he was her baby.

Charlotte's throat thickened at the thought of the choices that lay ahead. Her stomach responded by surging upward, a sensation that had become all too familiar in the last month. More than once in the middle of the night she resolved to claim her son first thing in the morning. She could not bear another day of overhearing plans for him to be adopted or suspecting what Emmaline Brewster planned to do. Then dawn would break, and with it the fear that overwhelmed resolve and produced visions of Henry in a workhouse. No matter how many times she told herself Lucy Banning Edwards would never stand for that, Charlotte could not be sure. By breakfast, she was not willing to take the chance.

And for another day she would endure the tension between two women over the care of her child while she could not even call him by his name.

Forcing breath from her pent-up lungs, Charlotte turned back to the table and began arranging plates. This was not much of a birthday, but it was better than last year.

Archie stuck his head around the corner from the pantry. “Are you ready to do the marketing?”

“I thought Karl was going to take me.” Charlotte swiftly laid three crisp linen napkins at three place settings.

Archie grinned. “I have some say with the coachmen now, and I find myself at your disposal for the rest of the afternoon.”

Charlotte smiled against her will. “I still have to finish the table first.”

Archie cajoled Charlotte into sharing the driver's seat with him. “It will be easier to talk,” he reasoned.

“Who said I want to talk to you?”

“I'm an irresistible conversationalist.” He leaned toward her and nudged her shoulder slightly with his, a gesture that had become familiar whenever he was beside her. He was determined to make her smile as much as possible this afternoon. Dissolving the gray dusk that seemed to envelop her was no easy feat, but Archie Shepard was no quitter.

He let the horse carry them north along Prairie Avenue, intending to cut over to State Street in a few blocks.

“There they are with the baby.” Charlotte sat alert.

Rather than follow her line of sight, Archie chose to watch her face. Her chin twitched to one side and her lips pressed closed, as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. The expression in her eyes was not that of a detached maid.

“Sarah is more unhappy by the day,” Charlotte said.

“She didn't exactly start out happy.” Archie finally took his eyes off Charlotte to look at the baby's entourage. Miss Brewster pushed the pram with besotted pride. Sarah trailed a step or two behind and made little effort to disguise her scowl.

The horse trotted past the baby buggy, and Charlotte rotated in the seat to look over her shoulder at Miss Brewster, Sarah, and the child.

He would never know what she was looking for if he did not ask. “Charlotte—”

“Let's go to the post office first.” Charlotte cut him off and faced forward once again. She inched away from him.
“We have to get rid of the packages so we have room for the staples and produce.”

“Yes, ma'am!” Archie clicked his tongue, and the mare picked up her pace. Whatever had come over Charlotte as they passed the baby was behind them. She was all business now. Perhaps he could still extract a smile. “Would madam prefer to wait in the carriage while I go in the post office?”

Charlotte sat up primly. “Madam is nowhere near that helpless.”

“But madam must be exhausted from the effort of digesting her luncheon.”

“One might think so, but madam has become quite accomplished at digesting luncheon.”

Archie laughed. “See? Even you can see how ridiculous they seem sometimes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “It's all they know. They've always lived that way.”

“Because of people like us! Have you ever stopped to calculate how many servants it takes to keep them comfortable? The live-in staff is only the beginning. Day workers come in and out of the house all day. I doubt the Bannings can even tell you the name of the woman who scrubs their clothes or the man who trims the hedges along the side of the house.”

“Archie, do we have to talk about this now? I thought we were just having a bit of fun, but you sound ready to stand on a corner soapbox and give a speech.”

Though he had made her smile, his own mood had shifted. “I want better. For myself. For you. For us.”

Charlotte fell silent again as Archie guided the horse to the curb in front of the post office. No matter how many times he hinted at his hope for the future, she never responded in
kind. Her silent discouragement was not enough, but she dreaded hurting him with the truth that there could be nothing between them.

A streetcar rattled by.

“Miss Lucy likes to ride the streetcars,” Archie said. “I used to pretend I didn't know she was doing that when she was not using a carriage.”

“I know.” A half smile crossed Charlotte's face. “She's the one who taught me how easy it is to get around that way.”

“But now you never go anywhere.”

“I don't have anywhere to go.” Her smile faded.

“I'm going to fix that,” Archie said, “starting today.”

In front of the post office, Archie jumped down and reached for the packages tied together on the floor of the cart. He dispensed with the packages, and they proceeded to the dressmaker's shop to pick up fabric samples from New York City. When Charlotte returned to the cart with the swatches, Archie grinned at her and nudged the horse into motion.

“Where are we going?” Charlotte asked. “The grocer is in the other direction.”

“I know where the grocer is,” Archie assured her. “But I have you to myself, and I'm going to make the most of it.”

“Archie, what are you talking about? The vegetables—”

“The vegetables will still be there in an hour. And the rice and the flour and the sugar.”

“An hour! Archie, you're making me nervous.”

“No need. My intentions are entirely honorable.”

“But Archie—”

“You deserve a special day,” Archie said, “and I intend to give it to you.”

Charlotte gasped. “How did you find out it's my birthday?”

Archie's jaw dropped. “It's your birthday? Today?”

“You mean you didn't know?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “No, I did not know. I just thought you deserved to relax for a while. Your birthday is all the more reason to take a slight detour.”

“You could have turned around there.” Charlotte swiveled toward the disappearing row of familiar shops.

“One hour, Charlotte. With everything on our list, even Penard is not expecting we'll make it back in time for tea. We have time.”

He slowed the carriage at an intersection, and they waited for a train to rumble past.

“I think carriages are becoming old-fashioned.” Archie shouted over the roar of the train. “Streetcars and trains are so much faster.”

“But it's hard to carry three bushels of vegetables on a streetcar.”

“I haven't forgotten about the vegetables.” The train passed, and Archie moved the horse through the intersection, then to the curb outside a tea and sandwich shop. He jumped down. “Let's go in.”

Charlotte's eyes grew wide. “To a tea shop? In the middle of the afternoon?”

Archie laughed and tied the reins to a post. “Surely you've been to a tea shop before.”

She fumbled with her skirts. “A time or two when Miss Lucy insisted. But in general, no, I don't go into tea shops.”

“Then today is your lucky day, birthday girl.” He offered her a hand. She hesitated but then laid her hand in his. He held it tight.

She used to leave the house regularly on Thursdays and be
gone for hours, and every other Sunday afternoon. Where did she go, he wondered, if she did not even go to tea shops?

Charlotte had to admit that sitting in a shop with Archie Shepard was a pleasurable experience. The shop was not fancy—nothing like the Palmer House Hotel or the restaurants in Marshall Field's department store. It was a world away from the exquisite shops along the lakeshore with their stone fireplaces and crystal chandeliers. This shop had only a half dozen small tables with green and white striped tablecloths hanging down a scant six inches. Archie seemed on friendly terms with the shop's owner, which made Charlotte wonder just how often he managed to stretch an errand with a brief side trip.

“Mickey, your best pot of tea.” Archie signaled the man behind the counter. “And a couple of your famous corned beef sandwiches. We have a birthday girl here!”

Mickey came out from behind the counter to serve the tea and sandwiches himself, taking the opportunity to clap Archie on the back and wish Charlotte a hearty happy birthday.