Unspoken

by Dee Henderson

  “You at least try.” Charlotte looked back at the painting. “You have a fabulous collection of art.”

  “Paul enjoys collecting. Please, feel free to look around. Some are in here, some are in the office and den.”

  Charlotte accepted the offer and walked around the room. She paused at the painting titled simply Quarter Horse at Work. It was a vivid close-up portrait done in oil of a horse and rider chasing down a straying cow, behind them the vast wide-open land of Wyoming. The power and muscle, the determination and intensity of the task, were all captured in the movement of the scene. “You have one of Marie’s works.”

  “You know the artist?”

  Charlotte glanced back. “Yes.”

  “She’s gifted with a paintbrush, just as you’re gifted with pen and pencil sketches.”

  Charlotte smiled. “We live on different planets for talent, but thanks for the compliment.” She looked back at Ann. “You’re pretty decent with words. How long has the VP’s biography been on the bestseller list now? More than two years?”

  “I wrote a chapter in it.”

  “Rather fascinating chapter. Your O’Malley books were good. I’m partial to Lisa’s story, if I have to choose a favorite.”

  “One of mine too. She’s in town occasionally. We catch a ball game together, have a girls’ day out. Maybe you’d like to join us sometime.”

  “I might take you up on that.” Charlotte stopped in front of another painting, narrowed her eyes, stepped closer, then back, took in the full scope and smiled. “You’ve got a Sunfrey too. It’s spectacular.”

  “It’s not signed,” Ann pointed out.

  “Maybe not in the corner, but this is a Sunfrey. Not one from her published catalog either, or the coffee-table book of later works.”

  “You know her works well.”

  “Artists appreciate other artists’ works with an intensity that borders on envy. I’ve been trying to capture her shift in greens from sunlight to shadows for years and still can’t do it. She’s making the brushstrokes flow in a curve when the light hits the shadow, rippling the effect of the falling light. No one had done it before her, and now everyone tries to employ the technique.” Charlotte glanced over. “I get the feeling you know the artist.”

  “I do. I happen to know she’s got a couple of your sketches above her desk. I’d say the admiration flows both ways.”

  “That I did not expect to hear.” Charlotte chose to continue to wander the room rather than sit, paused to glance briefly at the papers Ann had gathered together on the table but not yet moved back to the office, walked over to the windows to see the limited city view from the fourth floor. “I need a favor.”

  Ann set aside her drink. “Ask.”

  “Whatever the FBI has that they aren’t giving Gage, I’d like you to help arrange for him to see it. If the book is going to be written, I’d like it to be complete.”

  Ann slowly nodded. “I can talk with Paul. Something else back there, Charlotte?”

  Her guest turned, held her gaze, shifted the question. “Whatever the FBI has. And if your friends at Chicago PD are willing, whatever they have in their files as well.”

  “I’ll make some calls.”

  Charlotte nodded her thanks.

  Ann wondered if the case was over or if it had just turned the page to a new chapter. The woman was a survivor. Ann had just glimpsed why. Charlotte was still holding the story, the real one, of what had happened.

  Ann changed the subject rather than press the question. “Come over to the coin room some morning and I’ll give you a tour of what’s being done. You’d enjoy it, Charlotte, now that the coins are someone else’s problem to deal with.”

  Charlotte smiled. “One of the more helpful things to have off my plate. I’m heading back to Graham Enterprises this afternoon. I’ve got a storage vault of old kitchenware to sort out, and we found crates of tools belonging in a blacksmith’s shop, even a broken wagon wheel needing repair.”

  “The estate has been giving you a great deal of variety and history.”

  “It has. It’s helped that I’ve been able to pass on to Bryce some of the major weight of the estate, selling the coins, and to have his help giving away the money.”

  “He’s a man able to carry it.”

  “Is he running out of places to give?”

  Ann smiled. “He’ll find more. He’s a good man, Charlotte. You chose well whom to trust.”

  “More Ellie and John’s doing, I think, than mine.”

  “Maybe in the beginning.” Ann picked up her soda, turned it in her hands. “If you ever want to talk, Charlotte—you’ll find I’m a good listener. Bryce isn’t bad either.”

  “I appreciate that.” She glanced at the time. “I’m afraid I need to go. Thanks for letting me interrupt your day.”

  Ann wasn’t surprised Charlotte didn’t take up the opening to talk the first time it was offered. “Anytime.” She rose to see her guest out.

  “He’s back this way. Let me show you.”

  Bryce heard Sharon speaking to someone out front, looked up at the tap on his office door and saw Charlotte. The relief he felt was intense. “Thanks, Sharon.”

  She disappeared with a smile.

  “Have time for a walk?” Charlotte asked.

  He picked up his keys and phone, reached for his coat. “Let’s go down to the coffee shop.”

  She nodded and followed him out the back door of Bishop Chicago. He took her gloved hand as they joined the flow of traffic on the sidewalk heading north.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  He shook his head. “It was an offer, not a demand. There wouldn’t have been much I could do to help.”

  “Bryce, accept the apology. I should have called. I’m simply not used to having someone beyond Ellie or John when problems have to be sorted out.”

  He glanced at her, then smiled. “Apology accepted.”

  “There’s not much that can be done about the book, but my present name will stay out of it.”

  “That’s a big step.”

  “Gage and I have reached an understanding, I think. He’s asked me to read what he writes, comment if I wish, or not, as I choose.”

  “Not what I was expecting.”

  “Nor I, but probably smart on his part. If he’d asked me for an interview, I would have said no, so he simply avoided the question.” She glanced over. “I haven’t spoken with Tabitha. I’m going to let her decide when and if she wants to discuss this.”

  “That’s generous of you.”

  “She’s got a right to say whatever she would like. She’s the extrovert of the two of us. She processes pain by talking about it. I guess I’m only surprised she didn’t do this years ago. Gage said she’s not talking about the conversations the two of us have had.”

  “You’re still protecting her, Charlotte, even in how you talk about her decisions.”

  “An older sister’s prerogative.” She pushed her hands into her coat pockets. “I came to tell you I’ll be at Graham Enterprises for the foreseeable future. I need to get clear of the estate. I need to be mobile again, in case a problem crops up.”

  “I can accelerate the timetable for buying the rest of the coins and clearing the vaults.”

  “Where you can. I’ve still got storage units to clear.”

  “Are you going to change your name?”

  “If it becomes necessary. I gave John a new one. Not Charlotte this time, so I’m hoping the step isn’t required. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

  “One of your first real decisions for yourself after it was over was your choice of a new name.”

  She glanced over at him, surprised he understood how important it had been, having that choice. “Yes. Helped more than a little by John’s assurance that he liked the name Charlotte.”

  “A good friend to have.” He put his arm around her, gave her a hug. “Are you okay?”

  “No, but I’ll figure out how to be. The publicity around th
e book will be a problem, not to mention its release.”

  “Ellie will come up with a plan.”

  Charlotte laughed. “A good one. I’m counting on her. John and Ellie make it possible to take a punch like this and still survive.”

  “Let me know how I can help.”

  “I will. Thanks for that, Bryce.”

  They reached the coffee shop, and he held the door for her. He’d help her get through this, however she would let him help. It was going to be a difficult book to read when it was finished. How much of it would be information he knew, how much would be new? The book would be facts, speculation, and whatever the reporter could get others to say. Her history, out there for anyone to read for the price of the book. It hurt, knowing that was coming. And he wished it was over rather than looming out there ahead of her.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The early signs of spring began to chase away the snow. Bryce hauled yet another load from the vault back to Chicago. The coins were selling at a price and pace that would make business for the last year the best in his lifetime. He was doing his best to enjoy it. His personal life might be on hold, but his professional one was coming together. The profits were strong, and the document for selling Bishop Chicago to Devon and Sharon was now on his desk.

  The calendar days till the will deadline had fallen to ninety-two. He had resigned himself to the wait. John said Charlotte was still thinking about it. Ellie told him it had always been part of the plan for a contingency in case of a last-minute yes, that at thirty days left she would begin preparing for that possibility.

  It wasn’t Charlotte’s style, though, to run things to a last-minute decision. Bryce had accepted reality. It simply might not be possible for her to get comfortable with saying yes. It seemed likely the time was going to run out with her decision remaining no.

  Ninety-two days. When did the point of diminishing time indicate it was a no that would not change? Should he have a conversation with her again before they reached that point, or let Charlotte decide if and when the topic was brought up? He wanted to handle this with grace, and he wasn’t sure what that might look like. God had taught him a lot about himself these last few months. He did not easily wait. He was learning patience above all else.

  Charlotte was going to need a husband with a lot of patience, for much of what she needed to talk about if she was ever going to heal were events she had yet to say a word about. He wanted to help her heal—her relationship with God, the scars of what had happened. The patience to have the conversations when she was ready for them would matter more than anything else he might be able to give her. It might be five years, ten, before she ever gave him the first opening to talk about it—but he wanted to get them to those conversations. He wanted to help her heal.

  The reasons he hoped she would say yes to his proposal had been shifting over the months. He wanted her to have a choice regarding the money, and at a deeper level he wanted to protect her from getting hurt again, wanted to help her reclaim some of what she’d missed in life. But under those a richer level was forming now. He simply didn’t want her to be alone anymore.

  She had good friends in John and Ellie, but at the heart of it Charlotte was very much alone. Her family situation with her sister was ruptured and difficult to restore. She lived life alone, thinking that protected her best. Maybe it did. Maybe staying single was necessary to cope with what had happened. But Bryce ached at that reality.

  He wanted her to say yes so she wouldn’t be alone any longer. He wanted to help her deal with what had happened if she would let him. He wanted to be part of her life, and close enough to really matter. He hoped she would say yes, and couldn’t help but worry she was going to say no. He had come to the same conclusion as Ellie. Charlotte getting married was in her own best interest.

  Bryce accepted the change and the hot dogs and walked back to rejoin Charlotte at the bench by the fountain. She declined another one, so he ate them both. The park and ball diamonds were busy today. An early break in the weather and the taste of spring had everyone finding reasons to be outside. It was too early in the year for the kids’ league to officially begin, but the boys were playing a practice game, and his nephew was in left field.

  He was fascinated at the speed with which Charlotte formed a sketch. “Do you think about what you’re doing or does your hand just move?”

  “It’s kind of like typing, when your fingers are moving as fast as your thoughts. The sketches are like that, simply motion I’m capturing as figures move around.”

  “But you get the image right the first time, the perspective, the details.”

  “I’m just drawing what I see. When you look across at the ball field, most of that image is a constant. The landscape, the sky, the ball field, the bleachers—all are a constant that don’t move. Even the parents mostly stay in their chosen spots. The boys on the field are stationary until the ball goes into play. Once I see all the things that don’t move, I simply focus on watching the few things that do.”

  “This is what you enjoy doing most in life.”

  She glanced over at him. “It’s simply my day job, Bryce. I sketch. I’m fortunate enough to also make a decent living from it.”

  “That isn’t going to change, whatever your decision. Money or not, married or not, the art will stay part of your days.”

  “I know. It’s been useful to realize that.”

  Bryce watched her finish the sketch and turn the page. “Ellie said something yesterday that bothered me quite a bit. She said you’d see yourself being a failure as a wife.” Her hand holding the pen stilled. “We don’t need to talk about it, Charlotte, other than for you to hear from me that it would not be true. You’ll be my wife. I won’t let anyone, you included, qualify that. My wife. I’m the only one that gets to put an adjective with the title.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  She looked away. “I’ve got an image for ‘be a good wife,’ the same as you have for ‘be a good husband.’ I’m not going to come close to being the person those words describe.”

  “I know who you are, Charlotte. I want the person I see, not the one you think you should be.”

  She didn’t offer a reply. Bryce saw his sister coming around the stands toward them. “Should I cut Josephine off at the pass? Redirect her—?”

  “There’s no need. I like your sister.”

  Bryce rose to give his sister a hug, then let her share the bench with Charlotte. He walked down to the backstop as his nephew came up to hit. Jo had probably saved him from saying the wrong thing. He understood why guys didn’t bring up the subject of marriage until they knew the lady would say yes when asked. This waiting for an answer was extraordinarily difficult. He forced himself to put his attention on the game. It didn’t stay there. He glanced back to where the women were talking.

  Charlotte was going to say no.

  It was time to begin to accept that.

  It was time to start planning the dinner for the day after.

  Maybe it would be better if she did say no to the money so the day after he could ask her again to be his wife. He was content with the woman. The words I love you didn’t seem to fit, but maybe it was for him the slow progress of time. She mattered to him, more than he could figure out how to define. Money or not, he was coming to the conclusion he didn’t want her leaving his life.

  But if a fortune couldn’t convince her to say yes, how would he ever get her to say yes? He pondered that issue while he watched the boys play, and felt a sadness build. If she said no to marrying him, said no to the money, he would need more than a plan. He would need a miracle. The proposal in play was realistically the only chance he was going to get with her.

  She’s so scared of getting married, God, and what am I supposed to do about that?

  He glanced back when he heard her laugh, smiled as he saw his sister lean over to give her a hug. His family adored her. Just say yes, Charlotte, and put me out of my misery. He wanted her t
o take a risk on him. He wouldn’t let her ever regret that decision.

  Boys cheered as a run was scored, and Bryce looked back to the game in play. It was going to be difficult to hear her no. He had to be prepared to handle it. He didn’t want her memory of that moment to be He took the news badly. Bryce closed his eyes and then pushed the doubts away. He’d deal with whatever came, and he’d do it with some class. The deadline was looming. He’d have his answer soon enough.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Bryce pulled into his drive, watched the garage door open for him. He braked short of entering, sending the dry-cleaning bag on the hook behind his seat swaying. Charlotte was sitting on the front steps of his home. She hadn’t said she was coming by. The tension coiled through him like a fist. He left his briefcase on the front seat, paused only to engage the locks, and walked around the sidewalk to meet her. He forced his voice to stay light. “I need to get you a key.” He sat down beside her on the steps.

  “I wouldn’t have stayed inside today anyway—the weather’s too nice. It’s been a good day to draw.”

  She offered the sketchbook. He had caught the fact that when Charlotte offered the sketchbook, it was more than a courtesy. It was an invitation to share her day. Charlotte lived her life capturing the things she enjoyed on paper. If you wanted into her life, you wanted to see the sketches. He slowly turned pages, surprised to see most were flowers, a few were kids playing, the one he’d interrupted was a block scene—his block. He was still floored by the technical skill she had working freehand. “You’ve been sitting here awhile.”

  She inclined her head. “A little while.”

  He returned the sketchbook.

  She slid it in her tote bag, then looked over at him. “I’ll marry you, Bryce. I don’t know if it’s best for you, but I accept the reality that a yes is necessary.”

  He hadn’t expected his relief to be so strong. “Thank you.” She looked so incredibly serious, and he wondered at the weight of nerves she had wrapped in that calm, straightforward statement. He settled an arm around her shoulders and hugged her lightly. He had so braced himself for a no, it took a few moments for the yes to become more than a word. She’s said yes.