Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The

by Olivia Newport

  Charlotte examined every discolored scrape. Henry’s face was still set in a scowl from his injuries, but his eyes were open and focused.

  “I can’t let you go,” she whispered. “I am going to find the right moment—soon—and tell Mrs. Banning the truth. Whatever happens, we’ll be together.”

  A rap on the nursery door startled her.

  “Yes?” She expected one of the other maids.

  The door opened, and Emmaline Brewster entered, her full burgundy silk skirts rustling with every step.

  “Miss Brewster!” Charlotte exclaimed. Emmaline had never been to the nursery before.

  “I’ve just overheard a distressing conversation between the other maids,” Miss Brewster said. “It would appear that the information was accurate. The child is injured!”

  She crossed the room quickly as Charlotte struggled to stand without jostling the baby.

  “Archie has gone for the doctor,” Charlotte explained, “but I think he’s all right.”

  “It’s clear Sarah is not to be trusted with the child’s welfare,” Miss Brewster said firmly. “I will care for him myself.”

  “I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Charlotte said quickly. “He’s quite calm now. I can manage.”

  Miss Emmaline stroked one of his legs. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him.”

  Charlotte believed her. Henry turned his head to the familiar form—new to the nursery—and managed a wan smile.

  Miss Emmaline sat in the rocker Charlotte had just vacated and put her hands out. “Let me hold him and wait for the doctor.”

  Charlotte swallowed hard and laid her son in the eager arms of Emmaline Brewster.

  16

  H enry was fine. It took both Charlotte and Emmaline to hold him still while the doctor put two stitches in the back of his head, but as soon as the fuss was over and he had something to eat, he perked up.

  Fortunately—in Charlotte’s mind—Mr. Penard banned Sarah from the nursery, at least for the time being. The girl was sternly admonished to move her personal belongings back to the third floor female servants’ rooms. Emmaline Brewster prevailed on Flora Banning to designate Charlotte for the baby’s care, under Emmaline’s personal supervision. Mrs. Fletcher, of course, made it clear to Mr. Penard that she expected Charlotte’s continued help in the kitchen. Someone would have to train Sarah, after all, and Mrs. Fletcher was persuasive that dealing with an impudent scullery maid was the last thing she had time for.

  Charlotte moved the high chair down to the kitchen so she could corral Henry safely within her sight at least some of the time. Emmaline insisted she did not require assistance for the afternoon airings. Charlotte did not feel one bit sorry for Sarah when Emmaline took the baby out and the girl was left to scrub pots. While Henry slept in the daytime, Charlotte ran up to check on him frequently, never lagging in her efficiency at her other tasks. At night, she slept in the room next to his, and hers was the first face he saw in the mornings.

  She counted the coins in her dresser drawer again. Soon she would have her September wages to add.

  A week passed, and Charlotte had not spoken to Mrs. Banning yet. It was Emmaline Brewster who worried her. The lady of the house was blissfully unaware of what her houseguest was planning, and Charlotte frankly wondered how anyone could miss the signs. But Emmaline was still weeks away from leaving Chicago and trying to take the child with her. Flora was still hopeful to hear from Louisa, and that process would take weeks as well. Charlotte believed she had time.

  Henry was down for his morning nap. With the baby sleeping, Charlotte scurried back to the kitchen to make sure Sarah was cleaning the potatoes Mrs. Fletcher intended to bake for luncheon, then she would lay the table.

  She did not speak to Sarah as she went through the kitchen. The two of them had exchanged the fewest possible words in the last week. Satisfied that the potatoes were under control, Charlotte moved through to the dining room, where the table linens needed to be changed. She gathered the tablecloth in her arms and carried it back through the kitchen to the workroom. The laundress would deal with it on Monday morning. In the servants’ hall, she met Lina, the parlor maid, coming in the female servants’ entrance.

  “I have a letter for you.” Lina handed Charlotte a crumpled envelope.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. Who would be sending her a letter? She inspected the envelope, which bore only her first name in carefully printed letters.

  “It didn’t come with the regular mail,” Lina said. “I left that on the tray in the kitchen the same as I always do. A man asked me if I worked on this street and if I knew Charlotte Landers. I said I knew Charlotte Farrow. He laughed and handed me the envelope.”

  “He laughed?” Charlotte echoed.

  “He asked if you had a baby, and of course I said that was ridiculous. I said he must be looking for another Charlotte, but he insisted I bring the letter.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte managed to say. “Yes, I’m sure it’s a muddle that has nothing to do with me.”

  “I have to polish the upstairs hall today.” Lina’s mind was already on her own tasks as she turned away.

  Charlotte expelled a breath, and the next one seemed reluctant to come. Only a handful of men in the world would know to ask for Charlotte Landers. And to suspect a baby. The envelope quivered in a grip grown numb with fear. Frantically, Charlotte glanced around, then ducked outside to the courtyard.

  She didn’t see me, Archie thought as he watched her shoulders heaving. She stumbled away from the house, fumbling with something in her hands, tearing an envelope, unfolding a page, reading the words written on it. He saw the breath go out of her. She did not refill her lungs.

  “Charlotte!” He stepped into view.

  She sucked air at last as she stuffed the papers into her apron pocket.

  “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” Archie cradled her elbows and searched her pallid face.

  She stared at him blankly, shaking her head.

  “Charlotte, talk to me.” He laid one hand against an ashen cheek and felt the warmth rising there.

  She shuddered under his touch and shook her head.

  “I saw you reading something,” Archie said. “A letter. It upset you. That much is plain. Whatever it is, you don’t have to bear it alone.”

  Her hand moved to her pocket.

  “Charlotte, I can’t stand to see you this way. Talk to me. Let me share your load.”

  Her face stilled and her eyes, spilling tears, locked into his. Archie took her face between his hands and bent to put his forehead against hers.

  “You have to know I care for you,” he said, “so whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  He heard the sound her throat made as she swallowed, and he put his lips on hers ever so gently and held them there. Finally she responded. He felt the return pressure he had waited so long for.

  Sarah was blessedly alone in the kitchen. Having everyone watching her every move was becoming annoying. Did they seriously think she could not peel a stupid potato without supervision? The whole matter was unfair. She had done a good job with the brat, and one fleeting moment of distraction had undone everything. Nobody gave her a moment’s peace now, and she detested the kitchen work. She threw her knife down on the butcher block and slouched into a chair at the table.

  A small silver tray sat in the middle of the table with the day’s mail. Sarah had seen Lina leave it there earlier, and now she idly flipped through the envelopes. She had watched Mr. Penard examine the mail on countless mornings, sorting out what related to household accounts and passing on to the Bannings the more personal envelopes. Sarah moved a pink envelope to the bottom of the pile, revealing a cream colored envelope with elaborate writing.

  It was addressed to Miss Charlotte Farrow.

  Sarah looked at the return address—Mrs. Will Edwards, care of a hotel in Paris, France. She fingered the envelope, curiosity welling.

  Charlotte broke away abruptly, putting two fingers t
o her lips. “What have I done?”

  Archie smiled at her. “You let me love you for just a moment. Perhaps you even loved me back.”

  “I’m sorry, Archie. I made a mistake. I should never have done that.” Absently, she wiped her hands on her apron. She turned her back and walked toward the house, hardly letting herself breathe until she was safely within the walls of the day nursery.

  Opening Henry’s door, she watched her son sleeping. He was the only thing that mattered. For a moment she had let herself forget that. For a moment, she had let herself be a woman responding to the touch of a good man. For a moment, she had let herself forget about the truth of her life and hope for happiness.

  But it was a mistake. What Archie wanted was not possible, and it was unfair to let him think it might be.

  Especially now.

  He knew where she was. He had been on Prairie Avenue, in the right block. He was resourceful enough to determine the right house if he wanted to.

  She had been so careful for a year.

  Charlotte closed Henry’s door and stumbled to the rocking chair. Miss Brewster had sat in this chair several times in the last week during her regular visits to the nursery.

  Miss Brewster.

  Suddenly what Charlotte suspected made perfect sense. Especially for Henry.

  Mrs. Fletcher entered the kitchen with a sigh.

  Sarah jumped back to her post at the chopping block and pushed a pile of potato peels into the slop bucket on the floor. The letter slid out of her hand and into the bucket. Sarah grimaced.

  “That bucket looks almost full,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “You may as well dump it in the bin outside right now.”

  “I don’t think it’s quite full.” Sarah eyed the letter now coated in glop.

  Mrs. Fletcher picked up a wooden spoon and pointed it at Sarah. “I don’t think you want to argue with me, Sarah. Dump the bucket.”

  17

  F lora Banning’s face was as red as Charlotte had ever seen it.

  Charlotte was pouring coffee in the parlor after dinner two days later. The meal had been uneventful as far as Banning dinners went. They hosted no guests, and in fact young Richard was not there, having accepted an invitation to dine with a friend’s family. Miss Emmaline had been out all afternoon—leaving Charlotte to walk the baby herself—and remarked more than once how tired she was and that she had a mind to cancel her engagements for the next several days. After dinner, Samuel, Flora, and Emmaline moved to the parlor. Leo and Oliver went about their own business, as they usually did in the evenings. But a routine evening erupted into a spectacle as Flora Banning read the handwritten note on pale pink paper that had come in that day’s mail.

  Flora waved the paper in the air. “I demand an explanation!”

  Samuel raised an eyebrow at his wife’s outburst. “What on earth are you going on about?”

  “This note! It came in today’s mail, and I’ve only just now had a chance to read it.”

  “Who is it from?” Samuel accepted the cup and saucer Charlotte offered, the coffee sweetened heavily the way he liked it.

  “Louisa. It’s brief, but clearly something has gone amiss, and I want to know what it was.”

  “My dear, I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Samuel set his coffee down, reached across the end table that separated him from his wife, took the note from her hand, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and read aloud. “Dear Flora, You can imagine my disappointment to learn that someone with an attachment to the child has come forward. Of course this may be the best thing for the boy if it is a blood relation. Under the circumstances, though, I believe we will delay our visit to Chicago and the fair until the wound of disappointment is not so fresh as it is just now. Yours truly, Louisa.”

  “What is she talking about?” Flora demanded. “I know nothing of anyone with a claim on the child. He’s been here five weeks in the care of the staff.”

  Charlotte poured another cup of coffee and handed it to Emmaline Brewster, keeping her eyes from staring at the face of the woman in a copper-colored satin gown with pearl buttons Charlotte herself had buttoned up the back three hours ago.

  When Emmaline took the saucer, the cup rattled uncharacteristically.

  Emmaline immediately set the coffee down on the table on front of the settee. This situation required all her concentration. She had known this moment would come, but she reasoned that time was on her side. The longer she was in the Banning house spending time with the child, the more sensible her plan would seem when it was discovered.

  “Flora,” Emmaline said at last, “I am the one with an attachment to the baby.”

  “You? What attachment? What are you talking about?”

  Emmaline folded her hands together and laid them calmly in her lap. “He’s an attractive, agreeable child, and he has stolen my heart,” she said simply. “As you know, I often take him out in the afternoons, and we are very comfortable together.”

  Flora’s face was no less red. “But what possible claim could you have on an abandoned child? He can’t be yours!”

  “No, he is not mine—yet. I would like him to be. My claim is simply that I find him enchanting and have formed an attachment. He knows me now and responds well. You know I can give him a good home with many advantages.”

  “But it was all arranged with Louisa, and you knew that!” Flora was on her feet now. “Why would you interfere without the courtesy of speaking to me?”

  Emmaline had been calculating for weeks how she would comport herself in this inevitable moment. “I regret I was silent so long and let Louisa’s hopes be raised, but she is young and married and will have many opportunities for family happiness ahead of her.”

  “How could you take matters into your own hands when you knew I had written to Louisa?” Flora slapped the arm of her chair with the letter.

  “I believe I have been brought to Chicago at this time to meet this child,” Emmaline said, “and our futures are bound together.”

  Flora and Samuel stared at her, speechless, so Emmaline continued.

  “I will need to have some renovation done on my house, of course, and I’m prepared to begin the arrangements immediately to make ready a proper nursery. My butler can engage a nursemaid. I am unsure of the legalities of adopting an abandoned child, but it can’t be difficult. After all, thousands of children every year are put on trains and sent west to find new homes.”

  “I have already looked into the process,” Samuel admitted. “I anticipated that need on Louisa’s behalf. The laws are fairly loose.”

  “Then we’re halfway there,” Emmaline said. “Of course I would want a legal adoption. He would be my son in every sense.”

  “It’s a matter of due diligence to be sure we cannot locate his mother.” Samuel stroked his chin. “It does not seem as if that should be troublesome.”

  “Samuel!” Flora put one hand on a hip. “You cannot seriously entertain this notion.”

  Emmaline was prepared for this objection. “I did not expect Samuel to represent my interests in making Teddy mine permanently.”

  “Teddy?” Flora asked.

  “Short for Theodore,” Emmaline explained. “The name means ‘gift of God,’ and I believe this child is a gift from God to me at this point in my life.”

  “Emmaline, your behavior shocks me.” Flora sank back in her chair. “Clearly you have given this a great deal of thought without so much as a word to me.”

  “I understand you are shocked.” Emmaline buried her hands in the folds of her skirt. “I don’t mean to hurt anyone. This must seem rash to you, but I promise you it is not. I believe things happen for a reason. I believe God has brought me to this house at the same time as he brought this child to your home because he wants the two of us to be together. My claim to this child is divine providence.”

  “How do you know divine providence does not intend this child for Louisa?” Flora’s pitch rose.

  “Because I am here, and she is not.
God is answering my prayers in his own way.”

  “We need not decide anything tonight,” Samuel intoned. “Perhaps we should reserve further discussion for a more suitable time.”

  “Yes, of course.” Emmaline gathered her skirts and stood up. “I should retire for the evening and give you some time to think about this.” She turned to Charlotte. “Would you please come upstairs as soon as you’re finished clearing up in here?”

  “Yes, miss,” Charlotte said softly.

  Was Miss Emmaline right? Did things happen for a reason? Did God orchestrate meetings between lonely women and motherless little boys?

  Except he wasn’t motherless.

  Charlotte fingered the crumpled envelope she always kept in her apron pocket—she could not risk anyone finding it unattended. Lina seemed to have forgotten all about it, and Charlotte had avoided Archie for the last two days. She evaded his glance at the table where the staff shared their meals. If he came into the kitchen for any purpose during the day, she found a reason to step out without speaking to him or even looking in his direction.

  Two days after the kiss, she still felt the sensation of his hand against her face, of his lips on hers, of his arms around her, and the warmth of her own response.

  It had been a mistake, and she could not afford to make another one.

  She had stayed in the parlor long enough to clear away the coffee service. Both the Bannings lost interest in coffee and dessert after Emmaline’s revelation. Charlotte returned the service cart to the kitchen and left the washing up for Sarah, turning her focus to what awaited her in Miss Lucy’s old suite.

  On the second floor, she knocked on the door and entered when Emmaline responded. Emmaline was seated at the vanity, removing pins from her hair. Charlotte moved across the room and took over the task, laying the hairpins in a neat row.