Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The

by Olivia Newport

  “But if he’s gone when Louisa comes,” Charlotte said, “perhaps they would not follow.”

  “They’ll be angry.”

  “Yes, miss. The Bannings do not like to be contradicted.”

  “They certainly do not. But that does not make them right.”

  “No, miss.” Charlotte’s knees wavered, but her resolve did not.

  “Teddy knows me now. He’s comfortable with me. I’m quite persuaded he’s genuinely fond of me.”

  “It’s clear he is.” Charlotte’s voice caught despite her best effort to remain calm. “Perhaps it’s best if you go.”

  “You’re quite serious, aren’t you?” Emmaline’s face paled as she considered the proposition.

  Charlotte nodded, her throat thick to the point of stifling her breath.

  “I’m not sure I can manage it on my own,” Emmaline said. “I can take care of him, I know that. But getting everything ready, making the arrangements to steal away—I’ll need some help.”

  Charlotte’s heart thrust against the walls of her chest. She would shrivel up and die inside, but Henry would be happy and safe. Her heart would never mend, but Henry would never want for anything.

  “So you’ll help me?” Emmaline asked, her eyes pleading.

  Charlotte nodded one last time.

  Archie prodded the horses into the coach house, where he unhitched the carriage. He handed the reins to Karl to stable the horses.

  “How was the lunch at the Hendersons?” Karl asked. “The usual hoity-toity stuff, I imagine.”

  Archie snorted softly. “Mrs. Banning has a month’s supply of stories about Mr. Henderson, and she complained about the skimpy portions all the way home. Miss Emmaline seemed particularly antsy. The whole affair took too long. I don’t think she liked missing her walk with the baby.”

  “That drama is over—at least until the next time!” Karl laughed and ran his hand through the mane of a gelding before leading him to a stall.

  Archie left the coach house and walked along the side of the mansion to the servants’ entrance. He had not snatched a moment alone with Charlotte since the previous morning in the courtyard. At least now he understood why she was driving herself to exhaustion every moment of the day. Frenetic activity left her no spare moment to indulge her feelings about the crushing loss she was contemplating.

  In the kitchen a few minutes later, Archie found Charlotte alone—at least for the moment—and washing the greens for the dinner’s salad.

  “They just got home from a lunch party,” Archie commented. “Yet here you are, getting ready to feed them again.”

  Charlotte shrugged but did not speak.

  Archie moved across the room to be close to her. “I’m glad to find you alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” she said, gesturing to where the high chair was set up next to the table. Henry slapped the tray in greeting, and Archie smiled at the boy.

  Charlotte began tearing the greens into bite-size pieces. “Actually, I’ve been hoping to talk to you.” She did not lift her eyes.

  Archie put a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “You can always talk to me—especially now . . . after what you told me yesterday.”

  “That’s what I want to talk about,” Charlotte said. “I want your help.”

  “You know I want to help you.”

  “I hope you mean that.” She paused her work to look him in the eye. “I’m going to help Miss Emmaline take him. She’s going to need a ride to the train station with her trunks. I’m hoping you will take her when the time comes.”

  Archie froze, his hand sliding off her shoulder. “Charlotte, no. You can’t do that.”

  “I’ve thought about it constantly for almost two days.” Charlotte resumed tearing salad greens. “Letting Miss Emmaline take him is the best thing. He’ll be safe and in a good home far away from here. From . . . that man.”

  Archie moved swiftly across the room and stood beside the high chair. “But Charlotte, he’s your baby. You can’t give him away.”

  “If it’s the best thing for him, I have to.”

  He could see her mind was made up. She picked up a carrot and began to peel furiously, as if she could give away her child and continue with the next thing that had to be done.

  Archie lifted the boy from the chair and carried him toward his mother.

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, I can’t do what you ask.”

  She looked at him sharply. “But you said you wanted to help.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He stroked the boy’s feathery head. Archie spoke again, hardly more than breath. “Look at your son, Charlotte.”

  “I don’t have any option, Archie.” She attacked another carrot. “I have nowhere to go, I can’t take care of him here, and I can’t possibly let the Bannings give him away to someone who lives in Greenville of all places. He’s fond of Miss Brewster, and she’s devoted to him. She can give him so many things that I can’t.”

  “You’re his mother.”

  She spun and glared. “Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I have to do this. I have to give him the best I can, and this is it.”

  He saw a hardness in her face he had never witnessed before. But if she were going to do this, she would have to do it without him.

  “I want to help, Charlotte, but not this way. Let’s talk more. Tell me more details, and we’ll figure something out. Maybe I can find a place for you to stay with Irish friends, at least until Miss Lucy gets back. I might at least find a place for Henry. Give me some time to help.”

  “Archie, please. I’ve waffled for weeks. Now I’ve made up my mind. Help me.”

  He shook his head. “Even if I thought this were wise, I can’t involve a Banning carriage or horse in what they are sure to perceive as an outright kidnapping.”

  Charlotte whacked a carrot in half, then set the knife down. “I understand. I shouldn’t have thought to put you at risk. Never mind, then.” She took Henry from Archie’s arms.

  “Miss Lucy would never want this,” Archie said.

  Sarah tromped in from the servants’ hall with a bushel basket of potatoes, and let its weight thud to the floor. “I don’t know why we have to do so many potatoes. They’re not going to eat them all. They never do.”

  Archie stepped away from Charlotte, who simultaneously moved in the other direction and put Henry back in the chair.

  “Mrs. Fletcher works out the menu with Mrs. Banning,” Charlotte said. “It’s not our place to question it.”

  “It’s never our place to have an independent thought,” Sarah muttered.

  Charlotte thwacked a yellow sweet onion.

  Archie moved toward the hall. “I’d better see that the carriage gets wiped down properly.” In the doorway, he turned to look back at Charlotte one more time and did not like the hunch that had invaded her posture.

  Sarah considered Archie’s reluctant steps out of the kitchen. I may be the scullery maid, but I’m not blind.

  Sarah picked up the basket of potatoes once again and lugged it closer to the working area of the kitchen. “Shouldn’t the baby be upstairs? It’s nap time.”

  “He’s getting too old for so many naps,” Charlotte said. “He didn’t want to sleep.” She wiped her hands on her apron, then picked up a slice of bread on the counter, carried it to the high chair, and broke off bits for the baby to pick up from the tray.

  “Why did Archie say that?” Sarah asked.

  “Say what?”

  “He said, ‘Miss Lucy would never want this.’”

  Charlotte shrugged.

  “Am I supposed to peel all of these?” Sarah picked out a potato. “I am acquainted with Miss Lucy, you know. All the children at the orphanage know who she is.”

  “Yes, I suppose they do.”

  “She took a special interest in me.” Sarah pressed on. “That’s why I’ve come to the Banning house in the first place. Although I don’t know why she could not have found me
a proper job in Mr. Field’s store.”

  “I’m sure she would want you to make the most advantage of the opportunity you have.”

  “So why did Archie say, ‘Miss Lucy would never want this’? Is it about Teddy?”

  “Yes, you are supposed to peel all those potatoes,” Charlotte said.

  Sarah persisted. “Does Archie think Miss Lucy wouldn’t want Teddy to go to Greenville? Is that it? Or is it all the attention Miss Emmaline gives him?”

  Charlotte returned to her vegetables. “It was a private conversation that does not concern you.”

  Sarah thumped the potato down on the cutting block and wheeled out of the room.

  Upstairs, in her own narrow room, Sarah removed a small bamboo box from the wobbly shelf in her closet and extracted the envelope she had saved from its demise in the slop bucket, the one addressed to Charlotte Farrow from Mrs. Will Edwards. Obviously she could not give it to Charlotte now, covered in grime no one could blame on the postal system and delayed for so long.

  There was something in that letter, and Sarah was going to make it her business. She began to pick at the sealed flap.

  Charlotte sat with Henry in the nursery a few minutes later. Mrs. Fletcher had returned to take over the meal preparation, and Henry had begun to protest his confinement to the high chair in the kitchen when he would rather have room to walk about in the nursery. As Charlotte sat in the rocking chair watching him, he toddled around the room, banging his hands on various surfaces as if to see whether one of them might behave differently than the others.

  She had to make up her mind about the quilt—whether to send it with him or to keep it because it had been hers and then his.

  Charlotte did not even know how much more time they would have together. Was it days? Hours?

  Henry bumped against her knee. When she smiled at him, he grinned back.

  “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma,” he said.

  Her heart leaped and her eyes widened. “Yes! Mama,” she whispered back.

  “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma,” he repeated.

  “Did Teddy just say ‘mama’?”

  Charlotte looked up to see Miss Emmaline standing in the doorway to the nursery. Fumbling for her voice, she answered, “It sounded like it.”

  “I’ve been trying to teach him to say that.” Emmaline was clearly pleased at his accomplishment. She squatted, her wide skirt melting into a broad circle around her, and opened her arms. “Teddy, come to Mama.”

  Henry walked into Emmaline’s arms.

  21

  A re you sure?” Anxiety flushed Emmaline Brewster’s face.

  “The family is out of the house,” Charlotte said, “but they’ll be back for dinner.” She handed Emmaline the hat that would complete her traveling ensemble.

  “I never thought it would happen in just two days.” Emmaline glanced around Lucy’s suite. “It feels odd to just walk out and leave my things behind.”

  “I’ve packed a small bag with the things you’ll need for Teddy,” Charlotte said. With enough practice in the last few days, she could now call her son by his new name without choking over the word. “I’m sure Mrs. Banning will instruct me to pack up your belongings once . . .”

  “Once they discover the ghastly thing I’ve done,” Emmaline supplied. “I don’t care about any of it. Gowns and jewelry are easy enough to come by, but a child!”

  Charlotte’s pulse pounded in her head. “The baby should be waking up soon, so you might want to go to the nursery, miss, to get him. I’ll run over to Michigan Avenue and hail a cab.”

  Without waiting for a response, Charlotte scurried from the room, down the back stairs, and out the back door off the kitchen. She cut through the courtyard and under the narrow covered passageway to the street, emerging on Prairie Avenue beyond the sight of the front door. A quick glance around confirmed she had found the afternoon lull when there was little activity on the street. Charlotte hastened her steps north along Prairie Avenue to Eighteenth Street, where she turned west and darted toward Michigan Avenue. She hardly felt the tears when they first began. As they streamed more freely, she surrendered to hot grief. By the time she reached Indiana Avenue, she tasted salt dribbling down both cheeks, and when she halted at the corner of Eighteenth and Michigan, she could barely see clearly enough to determine whether the hansom cab she saw there was empty.

  She paused to gasp for breath and wipe her eyes with the heels of her hands. Four days had passed since the unsettling sights of the fair. Three days since she had made up her mind. Two days since she had first spoken to Miss Emmaline of the plan.

  Four days. The start of eternity.

  Eternity without Henry.

  “Miss, are you looking for a cab?”

  The voice startled Charlotte and reinvigorated her resolve. “Yes.”

  The cabbie held open the door for her, and Charlotte entered the cab. Softly she gave instructions. Park on Eighteenth Street east of Prairie Avenue, behind the Kimball mansion. Wait for a woman with a baby buggy. Take her to the train station. It would have been so much easier if Archie had simply agreed to help. They could have packed Emmaline’s things in her trunks and had them waiting for the right moment. Perhaps Emmaline could even have left directly from the house under the guise of an outing. But Archie had refused, and this plan was the best Charlotte could manage.

  When she got out of the cab behind the Kimball mansion, Charlotte gave the driver one of her precious coins to assure him he would be compensated for following these peculiar instructions and not left waiting for a mysterious fare.

  “Wait right here,” she said firmly. “It will be only a few minutes.” She turned and walked toward the house, her heels clicking rapidly against the sidewalk.

  The scene was just as she had hoped. The timing was perfect. Karl had brought the baby buggy around to the front of the house, where he was waiting for Miss Emmaline. Charlotte retraced her steps through the courtyard, into the house, and up the back stairs. In the nursery, she found Emmaline holding the boy in her lap and coaxing him to put his arms into the sleeves of a tiny blue jacket. She wore a light woolen cape over her own traveling clothes.

  “Ready, miss?” Charlotte asked.

  “Ready.”

  Emmaline stood up, Henry in her arms. He reached for Charlotte, and she stroked a couple of his fingers.

  “He’ll miss you, Charlotte. You’re so gentle and understanding with him.”

  “Yes, miss,” Charlotte said. “Karl has the buggy waiting, and the cab is around the corner.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Charlotte picked up the small bag she had packed for her son.

  “What about his quilt?” Emmaline asked. “I know it’s old and threadbare, but he’s attached to it.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Charlotte’s throat knotted as she stepped into the little room with the crib and lifted the quilt. She had wrestled for two nights about whether to send it with him and come to no conclusion. Her grandmother had made that quilt. If she sent it with Henry, the only thing she would have left of her grandmother was the old Bible. And Emmaline would no doubt intend to replace the quilt in the baby’s affections with something finer. But Emmaline was right. Henry was attached to the quilt, and the train journey would be smoother for them both if he had it. Perhaps Emmaline would even save the quilt for him and someday tell him he had been found with it.

  In front of the house, they settled the baby into the spacious buggy. The bag was tucked away under the quilt. As soon as they appeared on the front steps, Karl left them to their routine. Any onlooker would see an ordinary scene, one that anyone in the neighborhood expected to see at this time every afternoon.

  Emmaline pushed the buggy herself. “I don’t know how I can repay you, Charlotte,” she said. “I don’t even know why you would help me do this, but I am deeply grateful that you have.”

  Charlotte groped for words. “It’s the right thing for Teddy, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Still,
I fear the repercussions for you if your part in this is discovered.”

  “Pay it no mind, miss. I’ll wait for a while, then take the buggy back like we always do.” Surely Archie would not say anything. Charlotte had not spoken a word to Archie since his refusal to help. He knew nothing of the particular plan being executed that day.

  The cab was there right where it was supposed to be. When the driver saw the buggy, he jumped down from his seat and held open the door. Charlotte leaned over the buggy and picked up her son.

  My son.

  He gave her a face-splitting grin, oblivious to the gravity of the moment. She forced herself to smile back as Emmaline settled in the cab. Charlotte stroked her son’s cheek and ran a hand down his small back.

  “I’m ready for him now.” Emmaline held her arms open.

  “Yes, miss.” Charlotte leaned into the cab and handed the boy to his new life. “Good-bye, Miss Emmaline. Good-bye, Teddy.”

  “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma,” the little boy said.

  Emmaline glowed with pleasure. “Mama’s right here. We’re going to have such a happy life together.”

  The driver secured the door and took his seat. A moment later, the slow clip-clop began, leaving Charlotte alone on the street with an empty baby buggy.

  Sarah pushed the broom around the kitchen briskly. It seemed to her that Mrs. Fletcher was far too fastidious about the cleanliness of a kitchen that was never empty enough to stay clean. The cook was at the stove, tending to the dishes that would feed the servants in a few minutes before making final preparations to serve the family dinner.

  Mr. Penard came through from his pantry. “Where is Archie?”

  Mrs. Fletcher shrugged without bothering to turn around. “I thought you sent him out on an errand.”

  “I did. He should have been back long ago.”

  Sarah thwacked at the crumbs under the high chair. “He always does that, you know.”

  “You hush and get that mess picked up,” Mrs. Fletcher said.