Mr. Heath smiled. “We’ll do our best to make sure the schoolhouse and teacherage are properly supplied. But anything you choose to bring can be reimbursed.”
Another thrill traipsed through her. Her friend Bonnie Blythe had to supply all her students with pencils and writing books at her own expense! And that was at a school right here in Boston!
Rose entered the room with a tea tray, and there was a lull as each of the three accepted a cup of tea.
Rose served Charlotte first and subtly pointed to a specific cup. Regular tea gave Charlotte raging headaches, but Mother stocked a special blend she could drink without problems. Charlotte was grateful the maid had been delicate about pointing it out. It wouldn’t do for Mr. Heath to start off thinking her sickly.
As soon as Rose departed, Mr. Heath was right back to business. “Do you have any other questions, Miss Brindle?”
Charlotte’s mouth was dry at the thought of her next question. But it was a valid one, and not something she should be embarrassed about asking, so she forced the words past her tight throat. “What is the salary being offered?”
“We are prepared to offer fifty dollars a month in addition to room and board.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted at the very generous sum. Most of her friends who taught in Boston were receiving thirty dollars a month and had to provide their own living and eating arrangements.
Father cleared his throat. “While that salary is very satisfactory, Charlotte’s mother is concerned for her safety. What can you tell us about your town… What is the name of it again? Wild Haven, did you say? That doesn’t sound very civilized, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
“Wyldhaven, yes. All one word and with a ‘y’ instead of an ‘i.’ And I can assure you”—Mr. Heath raised a hand like a witness in a courtroom—“that Wyldhaven is the most civilized of places, Mr. Brindle. I like to describe it as ‘a little piece of New England blooming on the wild frontier.’ We already have a post office, a very dedicated sheriff, a seamstress, a boardinghouse, a mercantile, and several other buildings about town. If you’ll permit me…” The man cleared his throat, reached into the inner pocket of his black coat, and pulled out a pamphlet, which he held out to Charlotte triumphantly. “This will tell you a little about the Wyldhaven I have dreamed of building for quite a goodly sum of years.”
Charlotte studied the drawings on the little brochure, and her excitement grew. The streets of the little town were cobbled, and there was even an arched cobblestone bridge over a pretty little creek. Streetlights graced pavered walkways that lay before several stone cottages. And the schoolhouse sat in a field right next to the creek.
She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined listening to the burble of water over stones, the twittering of birds, and the droning of pollen-laden bees as she taught with the windows open on a spring day. A happy sigh slipped from her lips. Best of all, Mr. Kent Covington wasn’t in that picture at all.
She smoothed one hand over the brochure and turned her focus to Mr. Heath once more. “When would I need to start?”
Mr. Heath rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’m in Boston on business for a few weeks longer, but if you wouldn’t be averse to it, I’d like to see you return ahead of me so the school year can start on time. The students are very eager to begin learning.” He smiled at her.
Charlotte wanted to blurt out that she would take the job right then and there, but instead managed a restrained, “Do you have any questions for me about my experience, Mr. Heath?”
The man smiled at her. “I hope it won’t offend you to learn that I’ve been looking into you all week, Miss Brindle. I’ve spoken to several of your previous teachers, and a—Miss Gidden, was it?—at the finishing school. And I’m quite satisfied that you are just the candidate we’ve been looking for in a teacher. The job is yours if you want it.”
Charlotte tried not to let the flattery go to her head, but failed miserably. “That means a lot to me, Mr. Heath. Thank you.”
Father fidgeted nervously. “When do you need a decision, Mr. Heath?”
“Well, if we can make this work, I would like to procure tickets for next Saturday’s train.”
Father’s face turned a little paler. “That’s very soon.”
“I understand,” returned Mr. Heath. “But it is nearing the end of summer, and leaving on Saturday would give Miss Brindle a couple weeks to settle in before the school year started.”
“Thank you, Mr. Heath.” Charlotte wanted to be candid with the man. “I have another offer from a local school I’m considering.” She didn’t add that the salary was considerably less by the month or mention the drawback of one Kent Covington also residing in Boston. “But I will let you know my answer within the next two days. Will that suffice?”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Heath stood and stretched out his hand. “Miss Brindle, I believe that if you compare Wyldhaven, the little piece of New England blooming on the wild frontier, to any other town, you’ll find it will be the far superior place to settle one day. And we hope you’ll grace us with your excellent teaching skills.”
Mr. Heath gathered up his cane, hat, and gloves, and James saw him to the door.
By the level of exhilaration coursing through her, Charlotte knew that she’d already made up her mind. Now all that remained was to convince Mother and Father. Well, Mother really, for Father would roll right around to seeing things her way with little need for theatrics. At least he would if one Mr. Covington wasn’t involved.
She looked at him, pouring all the sincerity she was feeling into her next words. “I don’t want to marry Mr. Covington, Father.”
Father swallowed and fiddled with his cup on its saucer. “Yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear this past week.”
She pressed her luck. “And how would you have felt if you hadn’t wanted to marry Mother?”
He spun the cup again. “Truth is, I didn’t want to marry her.”
Charlotte gasped softly. She’d never heard that before!
Father clasped his hands between his knees and stared across the room at nothing in particular. “And truth is, I can’t say we’ve been happier for our decision to follow our parents’ wishes.” He blinked and returned his focus to her. “So for my part, I’ll not stop you.”
Charlotte’s heart lurched. Was he saying he hadn’t been happy with Mother for all these years?
Father must have seen her questions in her expression, because he rushed on. “Don’t get me wrong. Your mother and I have come to love one another. But that didn’t make our early years any easier.”
She couldn’t deny her relief at that confession.
Perhaps one of the reasons Mother was lobbying so vehemently for Charlotte to accept Kent was due to the fact that he could provide for Charlotte in a way Father hadn’t been able to in the early years of their marriage? Maybe Mother thought that would make Charlotte happier than she herself had been. But Charlotte was, as of last Tuesday morning, utterly certain she would never be happy were she to marry Kent.
So Father’s consent gave her a thrill of joy. For his consent was certain guarantee that Mother’s would follow. Charlotte almost squealed with excitement. She had set out to move, and the Lord had steered. She was going on an adventure!
But no more had she turned to look at Father, with the intent of thanking him for seeing things her way, than Mother stepped into the parlor followed by none other than Kent Covington himself.
Charlotte’s elation gave way to sudden anger, with dread fast on its heels. The evening ahead was not going to be pleasant. But she must stick to her guns. Just the sight of Kent brought to mind the scene that had set her on this path in the first place and made a cold sweat break out on her palms.
Mother’s face was still a little pale, but she forced a smile, and Charlotte could tell she was trying to act like her world had not just been turned upside down by her only daughter.
“Look who just stopped by, darling.”
Charlotte sto
od and offered the expected curtsy. “Mr. Covington.”
Kent strode to her side and took her hand, then raised it to his lips. “Kent, please. How many times do I have to tell you, hmmm?”
Charlotte extracted her fingers from his, willing her stomach not to pitch like a wind-tossed sea. It was the intimate look in Kent’s eyes that firmed her decision in mortar. Of all the deceitful… She resumed her seat and indicated that he should do the same. “Actually, I’m glad you are here. I’ve something to tell you.”
Across the room, Mother gasped and then whimpered a little, but busied herself taking up her crocheting.
Kent bounced a frown between Mother and her but then returned his gaze to Mother. “Are you well, Mrs. Brindle?”
Mother pegged her with a dark look. “I have been better. However, I thank you for asking.”
Charlotte sighed and looked to her father for help, but he was standing with one elbow resting on the mantel, staring across the room while he absently stroked one finger across his mustache.
Naught for it but to press on then. Charlotte took a breath and willed Kent to hear the truth in her next words. “Kent—Mr. Covington—I’ve decided to take a teaching position…out west.”
He lurched to his feet. “You’ve what?!”
“Bertrand, you really have to do something!” Mother reached for the green bottle of smelling salts she kept on the table next to her chair.
Kent set to pacing before the settee, but Father was still in his own world somewhere.
Charlotte pressed on. “Yes. I was just speaking to the town’s founder. I leave on Saturday’s train.”
Kent tapped one finger to his lips as he paced. “Mr. and Mrs. Brindle? I wonder if I might have a word alone with Charlotte?”
Charlotte clenched her hands in trepidation, but she would get no rescue from her distraught parents, so she resigned herself to the coming confrontation. Perhaps it was best this way. She would tell him what she knew, and then he’d be forced to acknowledge the inevitability of her choice.
Mother thrust her crocheting back into her basket and stood. “Yes. Please do!” She swept to Father’s side and took his arm. “Come, dear.”
Mother and Father had no sooner closed the door to the parlor than Kent was down before her on one knee. “Charlie, I’m begging you…don’t do this. Marry me?”
Charlotte eased a breath between her lips, working up her nerve. “I saw you.”
Kent blinked. “Saw me? Whatever are you speaking of?”
“A week ago this morning.”
“A week ago…” His face paled, and he lurched to his feet.
Charlotte nodded. “Yes. You had asked me to meet you for lunch, you’ll remember. And I had turned you down. But then I decided, why not? Mother and Father have been set on our union, and I had prayed and prayed. They kept urging me to accept you, and I was tired of fighting that battle, I suppose. So I came to meet you.” She relished the way he swiped one hand down his face in distress. “And I was going to tell you yes, that I would marry you.” She swallowed and made a concerted effort to slow her breathing as her emotions ramped up. “However, I arrived a little late because on my way into town, we found Mrs. Douglas tottering along the middle of the street. Benedict stopped, and we gave her a lift to her daughter’s brownstone over on Dearborn.” Charlotte looked down, plucking at a small thread on one sleeve. Her mouth was so dry she could barely force the next words past her lips. “When I arrived you were just getting into your carriage, so I had Benedict follow you.”
“Charlotte please.” Kent’s face was almost a perfect match for Mother’s lace curtains now.
But she couldn’t stop. She pressed ahead, needing to hear herself say the words. Needing Kent to hear her say the words. She gave a dry laugh. “Do you know…when you went down that alley, I was actually naïve enough to think there must be a little diner tucked back in there that you hadn’t taken me to before. Despite the fact that he’s not supposed to speak to me, Benedict tried to warn me. But not even he could find the words to tell me the only thing at the end of that alley was a whorehouse.” Her voice rose as her anger increased.
“Charlie, please keep your voice down.” Kent cast a furtive glance toward the parlor door as he breathed the request.
But Charlotte’s fury was in full roil now, and she wasn’t going to let him off so easily. “‘Madame Dubois’ was all the sign said, so I followed you inside.”
“You what?” Kent took a stumbling little step to one side.
“And I’m astonished to confess that before I walked in the door, despite the lowly surroundings, I was still sure it must be an eating establishment I’d simply not heard of. I trusted you that much.” Her whole body trembled.
Kent sank into one of the wingback chairs and cradled his face in his palms.
Charlotte nodded. Good, let him feel the horror of being caught. “I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me considering you were already trailing that girl in the red—well, I suppose I could be generous and call it a dress. Anyhow, you were already following her up the stairs when I stepped inside. Considering where your eyes…were focused. Where your hands…” Her voice warbled to near uselessness, and she found she could no longer remain seated. She lurched to her feet and set to pacing. “Do you want to know the image that won’t leave me?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “I keep remembering that woman’s eyes. She looked back as you were nearing the top of the stairs, and the only emotion I saw on her face was dread.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “And you would prefer a woman who dreads your touch to a woman who would have willingly given you all?”
“Charlie, I wouldn’t—” He reached toward her, but she took a step back, shaking her head.
“Don’t! I count it a mercy that I decided to follow you that day.” She thrust her chin into the air. “I’ll not marry you. I’m going out west. Honestly”—she threw up her hands—“I don’t know what God wants of me anymore. But this will give me an opportunity to help some children who might otherwise not have a teacher this year.”
Kent staggered to his feet and took her by the shoulders. His mustache twitched, a sure sign of his irritation, as he clasped her hand to his chest. She could feel his heart beating a tympani beneath her fingers. “Charlie, there’s not a man alive who doesn’t have his needs met by such a woman once in a while.”
Charlotte’s irritation flared. She yanked her hand from his grasp and slapped him. Hard. “Then there’s not a man alive who I will ever consider marrying!” She stomped away, then spun to face him from across the room. Her palm had left a red mark across his cheek.
That felt good. Oh that she’d had the opportunity to do the same to Senator Sherman.
Shoulders slumped, Kent put his hands on his hips. “Setting that aside, you know what I’m offering you here. Just because you saw…what you saw doesn’t mean it’s not God’s will. And I hope you know that money is not an obstacle to anything you might want to accomplish? Marry me, and then you can help all the poor western waifs that you want to! Just…please…don’t throw away all that we’ve worked to build because you think you are going to find a man who will never stray a bit. Because it’s simply not going to happen!”
Charlotte pivoted on one heel and thrust a finger toward the door. “Get out!” She willed him to just accept the situation and excuse himself. She was done with this conversation!
He started toward her, but she lifted one hand, and he stopped.
“Don’t make this more difficult. I may not know exactly where God is taking me from here. But one thing I do know. God would not have me marry a man who does not have a relationship with Him.”
“Charlie…you would accuse me of being a heathen?”
She lifted her chin. She would. But she was too emotionally charged at the moment to converse logically about it. So all she said was, “I’ve made up my mind, and it won’t be changed.”
“Charlie…” Kent raised his hands, palms out. “I’ll be fait
hful once we’ve spoken our vows—I swear it. I’ll even go to church with you every Sunday, if that’s what you want. Just don’t run off like this!”
She pinned him with a look that she hoped conveyed her disbelief in his promise. How gullible did the man think her to be? “Please leave.”
His posture sagged. “Charlie…” But apparently he’d run out of arguments, because he offered nothing more. He paced to the fireplace and took up a position much like Father had just abandoned a few moments ago, elbow on the mantel and fingers absently twirling his mustache as he stared into vacancy.
After a long stretch of silence, he focused on her. “All right. I’ll let you go. But as fervently as you vow that you don’t love me, I vow that I do love you.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. Just not enough to be faithful, apparently.
“I won’t give up on us, Charlie. I won’t.” He fumbled in his coat pocket for the pencil and notebook he always carried there in case he should come across a news story for the paper. “I’m going to write to you every week, so give me your forwarding address.”
“I’ve decided not to let you write to me.”
He winced.
Charlotte folded her hands together, unable to feel bad about her decision. She didn’t care that it must feel like cruelty to him.
“Charlotte, don’t do this. Please, I’m begging you.” The sheen of moisture in his eyes brought the first prick of regret, but she stamped it out before it could bloom. He’d brought this on himself.
She lifted her chin and smoothed her hands over her skirt’s front. “I’m sorry, but I really feel a clean break will be the best.”
She hadn’t thought he could appear any more dejected than he already did, but she’d been wrong. As he stuffed the notebook and pencil back into his pocket and dragged his feet from the room without saying another word, she felt a little pity for him. But the pity was far outweighed by the relief coursing through her.
Not a Sparrow Falls (Wyldhaven Book 1) Page 3