“Who?”
“I don’t know. One of those anarchists, I suppose.”
Penard slammed a hand down on the table. “If he has any thought of his position, he will not talk to those people. The audacity of doing it right on Prairie Avenue!”
Mrs. Fletcher turned and stared at Sarah. “Perhaps it is just somebody he knows.”
“He’d better not know any of those anarchists. I will not have my staff’s heads filled with their labor nonsense.”
“Sarah, go to the cellar and bring me some turnips,” Mrs. Fletcher snapped.
Sarah huffed, but she went.
23
A s Monday morning dawned, Charlotte swung her feet over the side of the bed and pushed herself upright. Her parched throat ached. For the last two days, she had been out of bed for only moments at a time and had not been dressed and downstairs at all. The cook sent Sarah up with trays periodically, but Charlotte left them untouched. Mrs. Fletcher’s tone the night before had been clear. Either Charlotte was ill enough to require a doctor to get better, or she must get out of bed.
A doctor could not cure what ailed Charlotte any more than food would. She had to get up. The day awaited.
Charlotte sponged off with the tepid water in her washbowl and pulled on a black dress. Taking her white apron with her, she descended the stairs to see what the breakfast menu was. Mrs. Fletcher was already at the griddle frying French toast while Sarah chopped fruit.
“You’re up,” Mrs. Fletcher said flatly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Put your apron on and lay the table in the dining room.”
Charlotte was relieved to have a few minutes of solitude in the dining room, even though she knew it would be short-lived. She was upright but far from steady on her feet as she set the table with glazed ceramic plates and folded starched napkins. Logically, she knew nourishment would be a wise choice, but the thought of food repulsed her.
It was not long before she heard the muffled sounds of increased activity in the kitchen. The staff was gathering for their breakfast. Charlotte’s stomach burned with nerves. Archie would be at breakfast, and she was not sure she could look him in the eye.
Archie’s spot at the kitchen table remained vacant. Charlotte hardly heard any of the breakfast conversation over the din his absence created in her head. Was he staying away because of her? Why was no one commenting on where he was? She ate next to nothing but forced down a cup of tea.
As the clatter of utensils slowed and the staff pushed back from the table, satisfied, Mr. Penard stood and pressed his hands together. “It’s time. Mr. Banning will be down any moment now.”
Charlotte nodded and stood, then moved into the dining room to await the family. To her surprise, Flora Banning, in a sky-blue silk robe, trailed immediately behind her husband. Most mornings, she called for a tray in her bedroom long after her husband left the house.
“Where’s Richard?” Samuel Banning asked. “I told him to be ready to leave early today.”
“Samuel, you’re not listening to me,” Flora lamented. “Louisa was due to arrive tomorrow. I had to telephone her and tell her Emmaline has kidnapped the child. Do you have any idea how difficult that was for me to do?”
“I’m sure it was a thorny conversation, Flora dear, but it does not change the fact that I have an early morning meeting with an important client. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a depression. If I’m to keep you in circumstances you consider comfortable, I must cater to this client.” Samuel pulled the chair out for his wife and she flounced into it.
“I haven’t slept since we discovered the child was gone. Charlotte, coffee please.”
Charlotte stepped forward with the sterling silver pot and poured coffee into the ceramic cup. “Would madam like something to eat?”
Flora sighed dramatically and gazed at the choices on the sideboard. “I suppose I must keep up my strength. Just once piece, though.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will never forgive Emmaline for what she did. Never!”
Leo and Richard entered together.
“Are you still talking about that baby?” Richard slumped into his chair.
“Sit up straight, Richard,” Flora said. “Samuel, you are an attorney. Surely you can propose some legal action.”
“I’m not sure what grounds there would be,” Samuel said as Charlotte set a plate in front of him. “The child was abandoned. We had no particular claim on him.”
“He was left on our property. We took him into our home for several weeks. We provided his food and care. That must give us some claim,” Flora insisted.
Leo spoke up. “Mother, are you sure Louisa would want to pursue adopting the child under these circumstances?”
“If we could get the boy back with a clear legal claim, I don’t see why we should not give him to Louisa.”
“Perhaps the child is happy with Emmaline. They seemed to get on well.”
“He’s a baby,” Flora retorted. “He would get on well with anyone who paid him attention, and Louisa would give him a great deal of attention.”
Charlotte dropped a serving spoon, and it thumped softly on the rug beneath the sideboard.
Charlotte caught Leo’s glance as she stooped and snatched up the spoon, setting it aside and taking another from the drawer. The pieces clinked against each other in her quivering clasp.
“Charlotte, we were given to understand you’ve been ill,” Leo said.
“Yes, sir, but I’m better now.” Charlotte turned to the platter of French toast. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Do we have sausage to go with that French toast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know how you can be so interested in food when we have been betrayed,” Flora said. “Samuel, you must do something.”
“I’m not sure there’s much that can be done.”
“You must promise me to try.”
Samuel sighed. “Very well. I will consult with the partners at my firm. Charlotte, let Archie know to have the carriage ready in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Charlotte pushed through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen. The sight of Archie sitting at the table startled her.
“There’s my cue,” he said simply. “I’ll get the coach.”
And he was gone, without turning his brown eyes toward her. Charlotte had steeled herself twice already this morning to face him, and twice he had evaded her. He left behind a plate he had barely touched, clearly anxious to avoid an encounter.
“He’s missing a lot of meals these days,” Mrs. Fletcher observed. “He just doesn’t show up, and sometimes no one knows where he is. Mr. Penard is losing patience.”
He’s leaving. The thought stabbed Charlotte, and she wondered if he would even say good-bye to her before he left the Bannings’ domestic staff.
Archie dispatched with the morning drive uneventfully, dropping Richard at school and Mr. Banning at his office downtown. On the way back to Prairie Avenue, he let the horses set their own unhurried rhythm. Mr. Banning was having luncheon at the Palmer House, which would ease Archie’s day, and he was already planning to send Karl to fetch Richard from school.
He had to admit he was hungry, having eaten little since discovering Friday evening what Charlotte had done and plunging into a dark mood of deliberating what he might have done differently. At noon, Archie sat at the servants’ lunch table, eating the beef stew and biscuits placed in front of him but saying nothing and dodging Charlotte’s glance—as he was sure she was avoiding his. His plan took form.
Mrs. Banning ate her luncheon alone that day, and the meal was not drawn out. Charlotte cleaned up as usual. Then the maids would have their customary afternoon lull—not time off, but a few hours when they might put their feet up on a footstool and mend linens or write shopping lists. Archie made sure Karl would be ready to bring Richard home and then proceed to the University of Chicago to carry
Leo home for dinner. Archie would have to go downtown for Samuel himself, but if he hurried, his scheme would work.
This business of avoiding each other was getting them nowhere. Someone had to take the first step so they could look into each other’s eyes again. He was not going to give up on Charlotte.
Archie bided his time, monitoring the movements of the female staff carefully and expecting that, if they followed their routines, Charlotte would be alone in the kitchen for a brief interval.
Finally, it happened. Charlotte was sitting in the chair under the kitchen window. She did not pick up any stitching but simply let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.
“Charlotte,” Archie said softly.
Her eyes startled open and stared at him.
“Come with me,” he said.
She looked around the room. “Where?”
“Trust me. I want to show you something. We’ll come back in plenty of time for dinner preparation.”
“But Mrs. Fletcher—”
He reached for her hand. “Charlotte, please, just come with me. Trust me.” He fastened on her eyes, pleading.
“I’m already in hot water for being . . . ill.”
“Take a risk.”
She was silent, her face twitching in consideration. At last she spoke. “All right.”
They walked briskly up to Eighteenth and Prairie, then turned west.
“Where are we going, Archie?” Charlotte asked.
“Michigan Avenue, to catch a streetcar.”
“And then?”
“You’ll see.”
He could not predict how she would respond. He only knew he had to show her.
Archie helped her onto the streetcar and paid their fares, then led her to a seat. They rode silently north to Jackson, then changed streetcars to ride west. At Jefferson, they got off and walked north two blocks. Archie took Charlotte’s elbow and steered her toward a rising block of red brick and glass windows. They stood across the street from the structure.
“There,” he said, “is my future, and I hope our future.”
Charlotte raised her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m looking at—or why.”
“This building belongs to Warder, Bushnell & Glessner,” Archie explained. “Look at it. The factory where they make the farm equipment is in Ohio, but this is the reason Mr. Glessner came to Chicago. This is the headquarters, the heart of the company. I want to work here.”
“I don’t understand, Archie.”
“I told you that if I ever left service I would want to take you with me.”
“I remember,” she murmured.
“I want to work for Mr. Glessner, and I don’t mean as his butler.”
Charlotte laughed nervously. “It is a position that seems to open up frequently.”
Archie shook his head emphatically. “That’s not enough for me. I know you came to Chicago with Henry and went into service. But I don’t know what happened that made you so afraid. I brought you here to see this”—he gestured toward the long, multi-storied building—“and to show you that it’s possible to dream of a better life. It’s out there. We just have to grab hold.”
Archie gripped both of Charlotte’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.
Her lip trembled. “But . . . you were so disappointed at what I did . . . for Henry.”
He nodded. “I admit I wish you had made another decision. But I’m not going to give up even on that.”
“I still have a husband, Archie,” she whispered. “What future can we have?”
“If you truly believe you are in danger because of your husband, then I want to help you find a way to break the legal bond. And once you’re safe, I want to get your baby back.”
“It’s too late!”
“I refuse to believe that.”
“Archie, I have a husband. I gave away my child. Even if it were possible for him to be safe with me, how could I break Miss Brewster’s heart?”
“I don’t know how it will work out. I just know it’s not over.”
“But things happen for a reason,” Charlotte said. “Miss Brewster did not think it was coincidence that she came to Chicago when she did. She thought it was God’s plan for her to meet the baby.”
“She came with certain wishes for a husband and family,” Archie said, “just as you came with certain fears. That’s not the same as trusting God.”
“I’m a little disappointed with God,” Charlotte admitted softly.
“I know,” Archie said, “but that can change too.”
Sarah put aside the linen napkins Mrs. Fletcher had given her to hem. She had only finished three, and the set was eighteen, but it was time to start on the soup for dinner. Charlotte did not seem to be anywhere in sight. In fact, Sarah had not seen her for nearly two hours.
Mrs. Fletcher came down the back stairs as Sarah tucked the sewing basket in the bottom shelf of a cupboard. At the same moment, Mr. Penard entered the kitchen through the butler’s pantry. He went directly to the annunciator board and pushed the button for the coach house. Karl answered.
“Send Archie in, please.”
“He’s gone out,” Karl responded.
“Out? Where? Did Mr. Banning call for a coach?”
“No, sir. The carriages are all here.”
“But Archie is not?”
“No, sir.”
“When he comes in, send him to me immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sarah crossed to the sink to fill a pot with water. “I’ll wager he’s out talking to those anarchists again.”
“He’d better not be.” Mr. Penard looked around the kitchen. “Where is Charlotte? The child is gone. Shouldn’t she be back in the kitchen?”
Sarah chuckled. “Maybe if you find Archie, you’ll find Charlotte too. They seem overly friendly, if you ask me.”
Mrs. Fletcher raised a meat cleaver higher than necessary and whacked it through a pork roast. Sarah jumped when the blade struck wood.
“Mind your own business, Sarah,” the cook said.
“Archie is testing my patience,” Mr. Penard said. “If I discover there is truth to either of Sarah’s suggestions, he will find himself seeking another position, and it will not be on Prairie Avenue.”
24
I want everything cleared out before lunch.” Flora Banning stood in the middle of her daughter’s suite. “Everything must look exactly as it did when Lucy left. Every book, every picture frame, every pillow. Charlotte, I’m sure you know the details of how Lucy arranged the room.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The three maids lined up against one wall of the anteroom to the suite. Flora’s hostility had seemed to fester throughout Monday so that on Tuesday morning, she was on a rampage to rid the mansion of any hint that Emmaline Brewster had ever walked its halls.
“Lina and Sarah, you do exactly as Charlotte says.” Flora crossed the suite to the closet and opened the door. A long line of hooks held gowns in a spectrum of colors and fabrics. She reached in and took a green silk off a hook. “Sarah, why don’t you take this one and see if you can make it over to suit you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah answered. Charlotte could see the light go on in the girl’s eyes.
“In fact,” Flora said, still rummaging among the gowns, “take the brown day dress and the ivory suit as well.” She threw all three garments on the bed. “Mrs. Fletcher tells me you have a talent with the needle. You might as well get some experience. Perhaps someday I’ll ask you to alter one of my gowns. You can practice on these.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Charlotte followed Sarah’s salivating gaze to the haphazard mound of expensive fabric on the bed.
Flora swept back toward the door, her lavender satin skirts with navy blue braid rustling furiously. “When you’re finished in here, you can close up the nursery again. Just pack everything back the way it was in the attic. Archie or Karl can help you with the heavy things. And if yo
u find that Miss Brewster took anything that does not belong to her, let me know immediately.”
Charlotte had been careful not to pack anything for the baby that belonged to the Bannings. Henry had left only with his beloved quilt and the few items of clothing Emmaline had indulged in during a visit to Marshall Field’s store downtown.
Flora stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and surveyed the room one last time. “Perhaps it’s time to redecorate in here. Some new William Morris carpets and some fresh swags for the windows. I don’t care what Samuel says about the economic depression.”
She pivoted and marched down the hall. The maids listened to her footsteps and looked at one another with eyes wide.
“She truly wants to wipe out Miss Brewster,” Lina said. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
“She doesn’t like to be crossed,” Charlotte said. At that moment, she was grateful she had not disclosed her own secrets to Flora Banning, no matter what Archie said. The severity in Flora’s voice confirmed she would not have tolerated a maid with a child even long enough to consider the question.
Sarah scurried across the suite to the bed and lifted the ivory suit to her face. “These are beautiful! And she gave them to me!”
Charlotte winced. “She’s just angry with Miss Brewster. I don’t think you should keep the dresses.”
“Of course I’ll keep them!”
“But they belong to Miss Brewster.”
“Mrs. Banning said I was to have them. You heard her yourself.”
Charlotte shrugged, refusing to expend further energy on a pointless conversation. Sarah would not change her mind and do the right thing.
“Where shall we begin?” Lina asked.
Charlotte moved to a corner where two steamer trunks sat side by side. “I suppose we will fill the trunks as neatly as we can with the gowns.”
“What about the jewelry?” Lina picked up a pair of earrings and held them to her own ears in front of the mirror.
“I’ll wrap everything in velvet, and we’ll tuck it in among the gowns.”
Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The Page 17