Waiting for Spring (25 page)

Barrett stared at the sheet of paper, reading the words that had taken him hours to compose. The whole speech would last no more than ten minutes. Others might speak far longer, trying to impress the legislature with their oratorical skills. Barrett knew only too well how boring those long lectures could be. He didn't want to bore the legislators. To the contrary, he wanted to excite them, to make them understand how critical water rights were, how vital it was that Wyoming had a policy that would protect its most important resource.

He had agonized over each word, wanting the cadence to be perfect. Knowing he had only a short time to convince the lawmakers, he was determined that each word would be so powerful that by the time he finished, no one would doubt the importance of his beliefs.

He rose and, holding the paper in front of him, recited his speech. It was good. It was more than good. It was excellent. It would accomplish what he sought.

Slowly, deliberately, he tore it into tiny pieces.

Her neighbor was ill. Charlotte blanched as she entered the store and heard Mr. Yates coughing. This was no ordinary cough but a prolonged racking that made Charlotte fear he would injure himself. Elizabeth had once told her that people, particularly elderly people, could crack a rib
simply by coughing. Concerned, Charlotte rushed toward the counter. “Are you all right?”

The shopkeeper thumped his chest with his fist, then took a sip of water as the cough subsided. “I've been better.” He took another sip, his color starting to return to normal. “This winter has been worse than any I can remember, or maybe it's just that these old bones don't tolerate cold anymore.” A rueful expression crossed his face. “I can't wait until spring arrives.”

Charlotte nodded, thinking of the small garden in Mr. Yates's backyard. “Your lilacs are always beautiful.”

“I won't see them where I'm gonna be.”

Though she didn't want to believe the situation was so dire, there was only one way to know. “What do you mean?” she asked.

He looked at her for a second, seemingly startled by the intensity in her voice. “I'm not gonna die, if that's what you thought. I've made up my mind, though. I'm gonna go to Arizona. I'm tired of working, and my cough will be better there.” He took another sip of water, frowning as he said, “First I need to find a buyer for the store. I can't move into my sister's house empty-handed.”

Charlotte let out a sigh of relief. Though she would miss her neighbor when he moved, she was thankful that he was not seriously ill.

He looked at her, his expression hopeful. “I don't suppose you've changed your mind about buying it, have you?”

There was no reason to dissemble. “I'm afraid not.”

Charlotte was humming as she frosted the cake. Though she wasn't as good a cook as Gwen, she didn't want the
other woman to do all the work, especially when the cake was designed for Charlotte's visitor. Barrett was coming to spend the afternoon with her and David, and she wanted to be able to offer him refreshments.

“David, Mr. Landry is here,” she called half an hour later as she opened the door to admit Barrett. Gwen had taken Rose into their room so that the little girl would not interfere with David's playtime, but she had agreed that they would come out for cake.

“Bowl!” David, who'd been sitting in the doorway to the room he shared with Charlotte, leaned forward, his arms reaching out to the sides as he searched for his ball.

While Barrett hung his coat on the hook near the door, Charlotte spoke softly. “I'm afraid he expects you to play with him. Ever since I told him you were coming, bowling is all he can talk about.”

“I don't mind. As I recall, when I invited myself, bowling was part of the plan.”

The ball firmly in his grip, David struggled to his feet, then toppled over, losing the ball in the process. “Ow!” It was a scene that was repeated a dozen times each day. Each time David would yowl, more from the loss of his precious toy than any injury.

“Let me help.” Barrett crossed the room and knelt next to David. “You need to stand up first,” he explained. “Then I'll give you the ball.”

Though David appeared dubious, he nodded. “Bowl.”

“Yes, David, we'll do that. But not here. We need to go into the other room.”

Charlotte watched as David gripped the door frame for balance, then rose to his feet. A grin on his face, he
extended his arms, chortling when Barrett placed the ball in his hands.

“Now, follow me,” Barrett said as he began to walk slowly toward the part of the room that served as a parlor. “You're a good walker, David.”

Charlotte smiled and pointed toward the book that she consulted each evening. “Thanks to that, he does better every day.” She was still uncertain of her ability to teach David all he needed to know, but at least they had made progress with walking.

“Bowl.” Her son was nothing if not persistent.

Nodding, Charlotte gathered a handful of blocks and set up the row. “All right, David, bowl.”

He shook his head. “No.”

Barrett, who was standing next to him, put his hand on David's shoulder. “Bowl.” To Charlotte's surprise, her son looked up at Barrett, his confusion apparent.

David wasn't the only one to be confused. “I don't understand. He did it the last time you were here.” She looked at Barrett, then focused her attention on her son. “Bowl, David.” Again, he refused.

Wrinkling his nose, as if he were pondering a serious topic, Barrett said, “The only difference is, I was by the blocks last time.” With a shrug, he walked the five feet to stand at Charlotte's side. “Bowl, David,” he said.

And this time David did. “Bowl!” he cried triumphantly when several of the blocks toppled. “Bowl!” David scampered back to his starting position, clearly ready for another chance to play.

Charlotte shrugged as she looked at Barrett. “That's strange. It seems that he listens to your voice and rolls the ball toward it. I don't understand why he won't do that for me.”

Barrett's eyes twinkled as he set up the blocks and cued David. “You never know how children's minds work, do you? I don't suppose it matters. I'm just glad he's happy.”

“He's an amazingly happy child,” Charlotte said as she moved to the settee and waited for David to tire of the game. When he did and seemed content to play by himself in the corner, she gestured toward the chair opposite her.

“You like making people happy, don't you?” Barrett asked as he settled into the chair.

It was an unexpected question. “Doesn't everyone?”

Barrett shook his head. “Not to the same extent.” When he frowned, she wondered if he was thinking of a specific person. “Some people are more concerned with themselves. They seek power or wealth or influence—things that benefit them, not others.”

“Power has never held much appeal to me, but wealth . . .” Charlotte chuckled as she said, “I could certainly use some of that.”

“And what would you do with it?”

“Build a school and . . .”

His eyes twinkling with amusement, Barrett nodded. “If I were Warren, I'd say something like ‘I rest my case.' Listen to yourself, Charlotte. You weren't planning to use the money for yourself.”

He made her sound as if she were some kind of saint. She wasn't. Far from it. “It was for myself, in a way. My sisters used to laugh at me, but I always wanted everyone to be happy. I think it might have been because I was sick so much of the time when I was a child. I could see how worried everyone was, and I knew it was my fault, so I made it my mission to make the others happy.”

“Who are you trying to help today?”

Charlotte blinked. “I didn't know it was that obvious.”

“Only to someone who knows you well. So, who is it?”

“Mr. Yates. I don't like the idea of losing him as a neighbor, but he wants to move to Arizona.”

Barrett let out a soft tsking sound. “He didn't tell me that.”

“I don't think he wants his customers to know until it's all settled. He still hasn't found a buyer for the store.”

“Unless it's someone new to Cheyenne, I imagine that will be difficult.”

“Cake!” Suddenly tired of playing with his wooden animals, David shouted the word.

“Yes, David,” Charlotte agreed, “we'll have cake. But you need to wait a few minutes.” She wanted to understand why Barrett believed Mr. Yates would have trouble selling his shop. “The store seems to be doing well. I don't see why it would be hard to find a buyer.”

His expression solemn, Barrett shook his head. “People come out of loyalty to Mr. Yates. That's why I buy my shirts there. It wouldn't be the same with a new owner. I'd probably go to Myers Dry Goods. He has a better selection.”

And selection was critical for readymade items. Charlotte's customers knew they would have to wait when they ordered a dress from her, but people who went into a dry goods store or a mercantile hoped to walk out with their purchases. “I knew Mr. Myers's store was bigger, but I haven't spent enough time there to compare the selection.”

“Size is part of the reason why selection is a problem. Mr. Yates's shop is too small for the city we've become. If the new owner wanted to be successful, he'd have to expand it to have room to stock everything his customers expected.” When
David started to fuss, Barrett bent down and ruffled his hair. “Just a little longer. I know it's boring for you, David, but the grown-ups need to talk a bit more. You can wait, can't you?”

David nodded.

“There are only two ways to expand the store,” Barrett continued. “The first is to turn the second floor into a shop. The problem is, there's no interior staircase, and adding one would be costly. Plus, the new owner would need to hire someone to work up there, and he'd have to find another place to live.”

As she listened, Charlotte's frown matched Barrett's. “That doesn't sound very feasible. You said there were two ways. What's the second?”

“Take over Élan. That would double the space. A dry goods store could definitely be profitable that way.”

“But I don't want to sell my store.” Charlotte's gesture encompassed the large room that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor. “Even if I could still live here, that would leave me without a source of income.” And that was unthinkable. “Mr. Yates keeps hoping I'll buy his store, but I can't. I don't need more space for Élan, and I don't want to run a dry goods store.”

Barrett nodded. “I agree with you on the last part. When I left Pennsylvania, I swore I'd never work in another mercantile. It's not an easy life, catering to customers. I hate to say this, Charlotte, but you can't make everyone happy.”

“I don't want to believe that.” There had to be a way to help Mr. Yates.

 16 

B
arrett took a deep breath as he looked at the men who'd nodded politely when he'd been introduced. He knew most of them by sight but only a quarter or so well enough to call them acquaintances. According to Richard, that was a problem. A successful politician, Richard had declared, forged strong ties to other lawmakers. It wasn't enough to be elected; a man had to accomplish great things during his term, and the only way that happened was by enlisting others' support. That was why Barrett was here today, to convince these men, the duly elected representatives of the citizens of Wyoming, that his proposal was vital to their interests.

“Gentlemen, I thank you for allowing me to be here this morning. I know many of you expected me to speak of water rights. The truth is, that had been my plan. I even wrote the speech.”

As he looked around, Barrett saw a flicker of interest light several faces. Perhaps those men would at least listen to him. He'd noticed that a number of the others appeared to be close
to sleep, possibly because they'd enjoyed the capital city's nocturnal pleasures. He had heard that the saloons' business increased dramatically when the legislature was in session.

Barrett took another breath, keeping his expression neutral as he said, “Water rights are important to every one of us in Wyoming, but there is another subject that I believe is more urgent.”

Being in the middle of a cattle stampede would have been more pleasant than what he had endured this morning. Barrett frowned as he climbed into the carriage. It had been awful, worse than anything he'd imagined, and the worst was yet to come. He flicked the reins and headed south on Ferguson. He had to tell Charlotte. As painful as it would be, he couldn't risk letting her hear rumors of what had happened. Reality was bad enough; he could only imagine how the rumor mill would exaggerate and distort it, turning a bad situation into a disaster.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Barrett hitched the horse and opened Élan's front door. “Can you close shop early?” he asked when Charlotte approached him, a genuine smile on her face. “I thought we might go to Rue de Rivoli for tea.”

Her smile faded faster than the snow had melted under the force of the Chinook. “What's wrong?”

“That's the first time anyone's responded to an invitation to tea that way.” Barrett forced a light tone to his voice. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

She nodded slowly. “I would if I weren't worried about you. Your expression tells me something's very wrong.”

There was no reason to deny the truth. He'd only be
postponing the inevitable. “You'd better sit down,” he cautioned. When she was seated and he'd taken the chair next to her, he blurted out, “I addressed the legislature this morning.”

Tipping her head to one side, as if she were trying to determine why that had caused him distress, Charlotte said, “I wish I'd known. I would have tried to be there. I never tire of hearing you speak about water rights.”

“I didn't talk about water rights. I kept thinking about what you said, about being true to myself, and I knew that I had to address the issue of cattle grazing. You were right, though. No one supported me. Support?” Barrett let out a brittle laugh. “They told me I was a traitor to the cause and that any hopes I had of being the party's candidate for senator were gone.”

“Oh, Barrett, I'm so sorry. But maybe it's not as bad as you think. People do forget.”

He shook his head. “They won't. My political aspirations are ended.” He swallowed deeply, not wanting to admit the rest but knowing that he had to. “I scuttled both my career and your dream of a school.”

For a second, her eyes registered confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I tried talking to a few of the men afterwards. You know what they did?”

Though he didn't want to tell her all that had transpired, he knew she would hear some version of this morning's events. It was best that she heard the story from him, undistorted by scandalmongers. “They laughed, Charlotte.” And that had hurt. Not himself. He could withstand ridicule. What had hurt was the casual disregard for Charlotte's dream. “They said it was a frivolous idea and that anyone with a grain of
common sense would realize that the territory has far more important problems.” The knives the party's influential men had thrown at him had lodged deeper at the realization that they believed giving a child like David an education was a frivolous idea. “It isn't frivolous,” Barrett said firmly, “but that's what they thought.”

He extended his hand and covered hers, trying to give her some measure of comfort. “I'm sorry, Charlotte. I thought I could help, but all I did was destroy your chances of getting support.”

As tears filled her eyes, she brushed them away, then straightened her shoulders.

“Don't blame yourself, Barrett. I know you did everything you could, and that's the best gift you could have given me. It's not over, though. I won't give up hope. There has to be a way to get the school established. I just have to look harder.”

His heart lighter than it had been all day, Barrett returned her smile.

He was angry. She could see it in his gait, the way he swung his arms, the rigid line of his neck. Perhaps she should ignore it. Mama claimed that the best thing a woman could do with an angry man was to ignore him until the mood had passed, but Miriam could not.

“Richard!” She reined in the horse and halted the carriage next to him. “Come for a ride with me.”

He shook his head. “I'm not fit company.”

“All the more reason why you need a ride. It will take your mind off whatever is bothering you.”

“Nothing can stop me from thinking about the idiocy,” Richard said as he climbed into the carriage.

For the first time in her memory, he looked haggard, and that worried Miriam. Normally Richard was even-tempered, able to slough off disappointment. Something was obviously different today. “What happened?” she asked. Though she had been on her way to Élan, she did not turn on Ferguson, sensing that whatever had bothered Richard would be more easily revealed if there were fewer people around.

Richard waited until they'd headed north on Eddy before he spoke. “It's Barrett. He's committed suicide.” When Miriam gasped, Richard laid his hand on her arm and gave it a small squeeze. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you. That was a poor choice of words. Barrett didn't kill himself, but he did kill his best chance at being elected.”

Miriam slowed the horse so that she could focus her attention on Richard. “How did he do that?”

“He addressed the legislature.”

“About water rights.” Though she would not have admitted it to him, Miriam had found Barrett's almost incessant discussion of water boring. Perhaps the lawmakers did too.

“No.” Richard's lips curled in disgust. “He talked about limiting the stock growers, about putting quotas on how many cattle they could have.”

“What's so wrong about that?”

“Besides the fact that no one wants to have government tell them how to run their business?” Richard's voice dripped with scorn. “He made it sound as if anyone who disagreed was selfish, that they were putting their own interests over the well-being of the land. I can tell you, that didn't go over well. I've never seen the legislators so angry.
If they'd had tar and feathers, Barrett would be wearing a new coat.”

“How awful for Barrett! He must have been mortified.” Miriam knew he'd been anxious about his speech at the same time that he was eager to become better known. What she didn't know was why he'd decided not to talk about water rights.

Richard tightened his grip on her arm. “I don't care about Barrett. I care about the fact that in being so stupid, he jeopardized your future. Unless rivers start flowing upstream, your chances of being a senator's wife are gone.”

“I don't care about that.”

It seemed as if Richard did not hear her, for he continued. “I would not have done that to the woman I love. I love you too deeply to do anything that would hurt you.”

Miriam stared at Richard, wondering if she'd heard correctly. It sounded as if he'd said he loved her, but never—not even in her most far-fetched fantasies—had she imagined a declaration of love like this. As the blood drained from his face, then rushed back, turning his cheeks cherry red, Miriam knew she was not mistaken.

“Do you love me, Richard?”

He clenched his jaw, and for a moment Miriam feared he would deny it. “Yes, but . . .”

She loved him. There was no denying it. She loved everything about him, from the bump on his nose that kept his face from being perfectly handsome to the way his fingers wrapped around David's ball, almost caressing the smooth wood before he rolled it across the floor. She loved his honesty,
his sense of humor, his integrity. She loved the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy and how he tried to mask his disappointment. She loved his kindness and his generosity. The simple fact was, Charlotte loved Barrett. She would never so much as hint that she cared so deeply for him, but she could not help wishing for one day—one perfect day—of loving and being loved by him.