Waiting for Spring (3 page)

Barrett Landry leaned against the counter, his blue eyes sparkling. “I am. Don't tell me you disapprove. I was counting on your vote.”

His smile was engaging, and Charlotte did not doubt that he was accustomed to charming women with it. She would not succumb to that charm.

“It's too soon for me to know whether I approve or disapprove,” she told him. “I am curious, though, about your reasons for running for office.” In Charlotte's experience, too many men were like Jeffrey, seeking fame or fortune or both. For Miriam's sake, she hoped Barrett Landry was not one of them.

“What would you consider a valid reason?”

Charlotte noticed that he had not answered her question but had instead turned the tables. “I've always believed that each of us was put on Earth to make it a better place. We can't change the past, but if we make the present the best it can be, we can influence the future. Whatever we choose to do with our lives should be done with that in mind.” Now she was sounding like Papa, preaching a sermon. That wasn't what she had intended. She was supposed to be learning more about Barrett Landry, not telling him her deepest beliefs.

He was silent for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the bump on his nose while his eyes remained fixed on her face as if he were assessing her sincerity. “I have no doubt that the
citizens of Wyoming would be better off if we were a state instead of a territory. We could elect our governor, not have some crony the president appointed running Wyoming. We know how to manage our resources, especially water, better than a man who's never set foot in the territory. The politicians back East don't understand how scarce water is or how lives depend on its being managed wisely.”

He was not a dilettante or a man out for only personal gain. The passion in his voice convinced Charlotte of his sincerity about running for public office. “And you believe you're the man to change Washington?”

Barrett Landry shook his head. “Not alone. But with the right advisers, yes, I believe I could make a difference.”

Charlotte heard the sound of muted laughter coming from the dressing room. Whatever Molly and Miriam were discussing, it was lighter than her conversation with Mr. Landry.

“What about you, Madame Charlotte?” he asked, his lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. “Do you believe that sewing fancy gowns for wealthy women is making the world a better place?”

Charlotte blanched as his words registered. She was doing what she could to provide for herself and David, but she wasn't improving the world by dressing women like Miriam. She should never have introduced the subject. “No, I don't,” Charlotte admitted. “I guess that makes me a hypocrite. I apologize, Mr. Landry.” She forced herself to keep her gaze steady, though she longed to duck her head.

To Charlotte's surprise, Barrett Landry shook his head. “I'm the one who should apologize.” The sparkle faded from his eyes. “My mother would have washed my mouth out with soap if she'd heard me. If there was one lesson she drummed
into us boys, it was that a gentleman is never rude to a lady. I was, and I'm sorry.”

“You were only being honest with your question.”

“Honest. Indeed.” Though there was nothing remotely amusing about her words, once again Mr. Landry's eyes betrayed a hint of mirth. “May I ask your opinion about something? Your honest opinion.” He stressed the adjective.

Charlotte nodded, trying not to reflect on the irony that this was the second time in less than half an hour that someone had asked for her honest opinion. What would Miriam and Mr. Landry think if they knew that she had begun the day reflecting on her own deception? She was still undecided what she should tell Miriam about this man, and now he was asking her opinion. She could only hope it did not concern Miriam.

“My advisers tell me I need a campaign slogan.”

Not Miriam. Thank goodness. “They're probably correct.”

“Since we're agreed on that, what do you think of ‘Landry Never Lies'?”

Charlotte swallowed, trying to dissolve the lump that lodged in her throat at the memory of all the lies and half-truths she had uttered.

“It has a nice cadence to it,” she said at last. “You could turn it into a jingle. You know, like ‘Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too.'” Though it had been more than forty-five years since that campaign, Charlotte knew the words to the song that had helped William Henry Harrison and his running mate John Tyler gain the White House. All three Harding sisters had heard the story of their maternal grandparents' one serious disagreement and why their grandmother would croon the song only when Grandpa was not home.

Mr. Landry chuckled. “I'd forgotten about that and
fervently hope that my advisers have too. If I have to sing a song, I'll lose every last voter. Bullfrogs are more melodic than I am.” He wrinkled his nose before turning serious again. “Ignoring the musical possibilities, what do you think about it as a slogan? Do you think voters will like it?”

Not wanting to dwell on the idea of lies, Charlotte forced a smile. “I do, Mr. Landry. Indeed, I do.”

 2 

Y
ou brought the carriage.” Miriam tightened her grip on Barrett's arm as her face lit with pleasure. It seemed he'd done something right today. There were times when Miriam's mood was difficult to read, when he felt as if he were playing a role, trying to coax her into a smile, but the sight of his cabriolet with the top folded down seemed to have chased away her pensive mood. She'd been unusually quiet when she'd emerged from the dressing room, and he'd had the impression that he was intruding, keeping her from a private conversation with Madame Charlotte. That was absurd. Miriam had asked him to meet her at the shop. She wanted him there. He'd done exactly what Miriam had asked, and she'd seemed miffed. But now, fortunately, she was smiling again.

“I thought we might go to the park,” he said when he'd helped her into the carriage. It was a perfect October day, the sky a deep blue that seemed unique to Wyoming, highlighted by a few fluffy cumulus clouds. The sun had warmed the air
enough that strolling through the park would be pleasant, and though the trees the schoolchildren had planted were still saplings, providing little shade, that was not a problem, for Miriam had brought her parasol. “You can show off your new hat,” Barrett told her as he tightened the reins.

Miriam wrinkled her nose, the look she gave him indicating he'd done something wrong. Again. “This is not a new hat. You've seen it before. Everyone has seen it.”

“It still looks very nice. You look very nice.” Barrett could have kicked himself. Compared to women, cattle—even the ornery ones that tried to hide during roundup—were the most agreeable creatures on the face of the earth. It appeared that he shouldn't have said anything about the hat, but Camden had claimed that ladies wanted to be complimented on their appearance. His brother had neglected to mention that a man had to be careful about referring to a specific piece of clothing. As he considered his words and Miriam's reaction, Barrett realized he should have simply said that he wanted the privilege of having her, the loveliest lady in the city, on his arm when he strolled through the park.

Were all women this prickly? Barrett doubted that Madame Charlotte was. She hadn't seemed that way. She wasn't the most beautiful woman Barrett had ever seen. Other women had dark brown hair and eyes the color of Mr. Ellis's best chocolate. Other women wore skirts that whispered when they moved, attracting a man's attention even though the fabric covered practically every inch of skin. Other women wore soft floral perfume that hinted at a summer garden. But no other woman Barrett had met had displayed the same intriguing combination of confidence and vulnerability.

When Madame Charlotte walked around her store and
spoke of the silks, she was the consummate shopkeeper: knowledgeable, helpful, seemingly genuine in her interest in Barrett, even though he was not a customer. She'd even forgiven him for embarrassing her with his question. Question? It had been little more than a taunt. She had challenged him when she'd asked about his motives, and he'd felt the need to retaliate. Barrett wasn't proud of that, any more than he was proud of the fact that his initial motivation for seeking office had not been as pure as he'd claimed. When Richard and Warren had first suggested he run for public office, he'd seen it as a way to prove he could do something his brothers hadn't. It hadn't been easy, growing up in Harrison and Camden's shadow. They'd been big and strong, whereas he'd been small for his age, not reaching his full height until he was almost eighteen. When his brothers had called him the runt of the litter and refused to include him in their games, he'd retaliated by playing pranks and had soon earned a reputation as a mischief maker. Though he'd outgrown that and had mended his relationship with Harrison and Camden, he'd never felt completely at home in Northwick. That was one reason he'd left as soon as he could.

It had been a challenge, building a new life in Wyoming, but he'd succeeded. He now had wealth and a social position far beyond his brothers'. Running for office would be the final proof that he was no longer the runt of the litter.

The urge to prove that was powerful, but the more Barrett learned about his adopted home, the more he realized that he could make a difference in Wyoming—a positive difference. And so he'd told Madame Charlotte that, not his earlier selfish motive.

She had appeared to believe him. It was only when they'd
discussed his slogan that she had seemed to retreat into herself. Her demeanor had changed, reminding Barrett of the porcupine he and Camden and Harrison had found when they'd been wandering through the woods back in Pennsylvania. The instant the animal had spotted them, it had curled into a ball, its fiercely sharp quills protecting its soft underbelly, and though they'd stood there for what felt like hours, waiting for the porcupine to straighten out, it had not.

Madame Charlotte was protecting something, perhaps a daughter. Though Miriam had said nothing more than that Madame Charlotte was a widow who lived above the shop, he had heard a young girl's voice coming from upstairs. A child lived there, in all likelihood Madame Charlotte's child. Barrett could understand that she might want to shelter her daughter, but that didn't explain why she'd seemed so disturbed by his slogan.

“Turn here.” Miriam tapped Barrett's arm.

He blinked, surprised when he realized they'd reached the corner of 22nd Street. The park was only one block east. Somehow, he'd traveled four blocks without being aware of it.

“I'm sorry,” he said honestly. “My mind wandered.”

“You should be sorry.” Miriam's normally sweet voice was laced with asperity. “You've practically ignored me since we left Madame Charlotte's.”

Madame Charlotte. Did the woman have a surname? Of course she did, even if Barrett had never heard Miriam refer to her any other way. Though the question of the lovely dressmaker's name teased him almost as much as her protective air had, Barrett knew better than to ask his companion. Speaking of another woman, even if it was only the one who created
her dresses, was no way to treat a lady, especially one he was considering courting.

“I'm sorry, Miriam. You didn't deserve that. I assure you that you have my full attention now.”

The look she gave him told Barrett she was still skeptical. “What were you thinking about?”

It would be sheer folly to tell her the truth. Instead, Barrett changed the subject as they approached the four-block expanse of City Park. “Has your father said anything about beef prices dropping again? I've heard stories that some of the other cattlemen are selling more head than normal because they're fearful of a harsh winter.”

Miriam shot him another look, as if to say she recognized his deliberate evasion. She wasn't simply an attractive woman, Barrett reminded himself. She was also intelligent. That was one of the reasons why she would be an ideal wife. Even if he never learned to love her, he could at least respect her.

Twirling her parasol in what might have been a flirtatious manner, Miriam nodded. “Papa mentioned something, but you know Mama doesn't like him to talk about business at dinner. She says it's not good for the digestion.” Miriam waved at a friend on the other side of the street before she added, “He did say someone reported that beavers were making bigger dens than normal. It's a silly story, if you ask me. What do beavers know about weather?”

Her expression intent, Miriam laid her hand on Barrett's arm and waited until she was certain she had his full attention. “Tell me the truth, Barrett. Are you certain green is the right color for my gown?”

“It's beautiful.” Tears sprang to Charlotte's eyes as she looked at the two-layer cake with its carefully swirled icing. Though the frosting was chocolate, Gwen had piped a white border around the top and at the base. She had even placed multicolored candies on the sides and had used them to outline a
D
on the top. It was a work of art, a great deal of effort to expend for a boy who could not see it. “This must have taken you hours.”

Charlotte gave her son another hug, then placed him back on the floor, handing him the gourd rattle that had been his favorite toy for the past week. He'd been waiting for her as he did each day, sitting on the floor of the room that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor, his head turning in her direction when she opened the door, his face lighting with a smile that made the day's minor annoyances fade. This was her son, and today was his birthday. Though she doubted he would remember it when he was older, Charlotte had been determined that it would be a special one. Tonight she wouldn't worry about the baron. She wouldn't let her mind wander toward Barrett Landry. She wouldn't even wonder what the future held. Tonight was for David.

Charlotte smiled at the woman who shared the small apartment. “Thank you, Gwen. For the cake and everything.”

The other woman shrugged, as if the effort of preparing a fancy cake while she cared for two rambunctious children had been insignificant. That was Gwen. Ever since she and her daughter had come to live with Charlotte, Gwen Amos had done more than expected, brushing off Charlotte's thanks as unnecessary. “I'm glad to help” was the normal refrain from the heavyset woman who watched over David while Charlotte was in the shop. Shorter than average, Gwen would never be
considered beautiful, even though her light brown hair was smooth and glossy, the envy of many, and her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. She was a jolly woman who appeared to enjoy life, and for that alone, Charlotte felt blessed. It had been Gwen's optimism that had helped Charlotte through the dark days when she'd learned that her son was blind.

“Rose and I told David what we were doing, didn't we?” Gwen smiled at her daughter.

The three-year-old nodded vigorously. “I and David taste the candies.” She smacked her lips. “I and David like them.”

“I'll bet you did.” Charlotte smiled at Rose, then hugged Gwen. “Every day I thank God for bringing you into my life. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

When Jeffrey had been killed, Charlotte had been forced to make an honest assessment of her talents. There were only two—a clear soprano voice and the ability to design and sew fashionable clothing. Since opportunities to earn money by singing were limited, her best chance of making a living for herself and David was to open a dress shop. Though there was no question of remaining at Fort Laramie, once she'd arrived in Cheyenne, Charlotte had realized that the growing capital city could support another dressmaker.

Finding and stocking the store had been relatively simple. Juggling work with caring for David and their apartment was a far greater challenge. Fortunately for Charlotte, Gwen had been shopping at Yates's Dry Goods the day Charlotte had introduced herself to the man whose building adjoined hers, and she had heard Charlotte tell Mr. Yates that she needed a housekeeper who could also care for her son. Half an hour later, Charlotte had the best housekeeper she could imagine.