“Where did he go?” Archie had been stretching his errands, she knew. But for him to disappear for so many hours—and miss his duties—was unusual.
“Sarah says he went looking for you,” Karl said.
Charlotte’s eyes widened as the breath went out of her. “He put his position at risk because of me?”
“He never actually said where he went. You know Sarah. She jumps to conclusions.”
Charlotte groped for words. “Did Archie say where he would go when he left here?”
Karl shrugged. “No. As a matter of fact, he said he had no place to go. But he knows a few of the Irish crowd. My guess is he’ll end up with one of them.”
Charlotte lifted her eyes to the loft where Archie had slept for three years, unable to imagine him gone. She had rebuffed his advances over the last year. Now she needed him—wanted him—and he was gone.
“I have to find him,” Charlotte said. “Will you help me? We can take the marketing carriage out. He can’t have gone far yet.”
Karl shook his head emphatically. “I may only be an under-coachman, but I need this position. Mr. Penard could find a dozen men who would rather work for the Bannings than the other families on Prairie Avenue. I can’t put my position at risk to chase after Archie and have Mr. Penard discover I’m gone.”
“No one is going to call for a carriage at this hour,” Charlotte argued.
“Mr. Leo isn’t home yet,” Karl said. “He went to dinner on Calumet Avenue. He may telephone.”
Charlotte sighed heavily. “Then I’ll go myself.”
“You know you’re supposed to be in by eleven even on your day off.”
“Maybe I will be and maybe I won’t.” Charlotte lifted the latch and let herself out of the coach house. Henry was gone. Archie was gone. What did she have to lose if she missed a curfew?
Streetcars were still running, though less frequently than during the peak hours when the city bustled relentlessly. Charlotte scurried to Michigan Avenue and climbed aboard a car going north. The first place that came to mind to look for Archie was the tea and sandwich shop he had taken her to last month without realizing it was her birthday.
She got off the car and hustled toward the shop, whispering, “Be open, be open, be open.”
The door was locked.
A light beamed from the back of the shop, and Charlotte was sure she detected movement. With the palm of one hand she banged on the door while jiggling the handle with the other hand. Finally Mickey appeared in the shadows and moved toward the door. He peered out the window at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’m closed,” Mickey said.
“I’m Archie Shepard’s friend,” Charlotte said loudly. “He brought me here a few weeks ago.”
Mickey examined her face. “You’re the one who left without drinking your tea.”
“Yes!” Charlotte exclaimed with relief. “You remember me!”
Mickey fumbled with a key and opened the door. “Archie was none too happy with you,” he said.
Charlotte nodded. “I know. But now he understands my reasons.”
“You’d better come inside.” Mickey glanced around the street.
Charlotte stepped inside gratefully. “I’m looking for Archie. Have you seen him?”
Mickey shook his head. “Not in days. Those Bannings must be keeping him busy.”
Charlotte could barely hold back the sob that had been welling for hours now. “Archie’s in trouble,” she managed to say. “He was dismissed this evening. I thought perhaps he had come here.”
Mickey shook his head again. “I haven’t heard from him. If he comes in, I’ll tell him you were looking for him.”
“I have to find him tonight!”
Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know where he is. Archie comes in here a lot—though he never brought a young lady before you—but I don’t know what else he does with his time. He’s a dreamer, that one.”
Charlotte inhaled sharply. Archie was a dreamer. “I think I know,” she said. “Thank you for talking to me.” She spun around and was out the door, ignoring the trailing voice of the Irish shop owner.
From across the street, where he leaned against a smaller structure, Archie studied the red brick building. Even in darkness it was imposing, as if making a pronouncement of fortitude. Archie imagined it would easily stand for a hundred years or more. The edifice would be there when Archie’s own future had long become history. He had no doubt that the business John Glessner had helped to forge would be just as enduring.
Maybe it was just as well Penard had sacked him.
Archie had actually been inside the building of Warder, Bushnell & Glessner. One time. On an afternoon off, he had brushed his tired-looking brown jacket and made sure his shirt was clean and starched before entering the doors of the company and inquiring about an application for employment. Carefully, he had filled it out in Mickey’s shop—with no tea on the table lest it spill on the form—and returned it later the same day.
Archie was fairly certain John Glessner would recognize him by sight if not by name. The Bannings had loaned him to the Glessners on several occasions to drive an extra coach for a family affair. If his application ever appeared on the desk of John Glessner, the record of his service on Prairie Avenue was clear to see, and Archie could only hope the Prairie Avenue connection would be helpful despite his having been in service. Now he was grateful he had returned the application while still employed on Prairie Avenue and did not have to explain on the form the circumstances of his departure.
First thing in the morning, he resolved, he would march into Warder, Bushnell & Glessner and inquire about the status of his application and any change in current openings. He was not hoping to run the company. A simple clerk’s position would be a triumph. His mother had insisted he learn to read and do figures, and Archie had never been more thankful. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with both hands. He still had the night to get through, and if he loitered on this corner much longer, a local police officer was likely to urge him on his way.
On his way to where? That was the question.
“Archie!” a voice whispered behind him. He pivoted to see Charlotte, still in her gray suit, melting into shades of charcoal around her.
Immediately, he lurched toward her and wrapped her in his arms. “I was so worried for you,” he whispered. “I spent hours looking for you on the Midway before I had to admit you might not even be there.”
“But I was,” Charlotte answered. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “It made sense at the time I left the house.”
“I’m sorry about your position. I feel terrible that you’ve lost it because you were worried for me.”
Archie shook his head and kissed her forehead. “Don’t be.” With an arm around her shoulders he turned back to gaze at the building across the street. “How did you know I would be here?”
She smiled. “It made sense at the time.”
He felt her shoulders trembling under his hand. “Charlotte, what happened on the Midway?”
Her tears came freely now as she recounted in detail her encounter with Lathan Landers. Archie held both her hands. At the end of her story, she tightened her own grip on his fingers.
“What did he mean, Archie? Why did he say he never had a wife? How can he think he’s free to marry that woman?”
Archie let his breath out slowly. “Because perhaps he really is. You said once you were legally bound to him, but against your will. What if you were not legally bound to him after all?”
“We had a wedding,” Charlotte protested. “My parents were there, the minister was there. We signed papers.”
Archie cocked his head. “But you didn’t want to marry him?”
She shook her head. “My parents arranged it with Lathan without ever saying anything to me. I thought we were going into Greenville to talk to the banker about the grain loan. My mother said we could go into the mercantile and look at new calicos. For some strange rea
son, though, she insisted I had to wear my best dress. Then instead of going to the bank, we went to the church, and Lathan was there in his black suit. It was all arranged.” She sucked in a sob.
What had those monsters done to her? Fury surged through Archie’s chest.
Charlotte forced air out and continued. “Apparently my father had interfered with Lathan’s stills, tapping them and selling the bootleg behind Lathan’s back for quite some time.”
“And his daughter was the price of saving his own skin,” Archie said.
Charlotte nodded. “Everyone knew Lathan Landers. He had flirted with me in town, but I was never comfortable around him. He was too . . . slick. When he asked if he could take me for a carriage ride, I gave him a polite no thank you. The next thing I knew, I was married to a man I barely knew.”
“And you had no choice at all?”
“My mother stood right there with her elbow in my rib, and my father looked so terrified. I didn’t know what would happen to him if I refused.”
“And the minister?”
Charlotte shrugged. “He was new. I didn’t know him well.”
Archie exhaled. “My guess is Lathan got his hands on the paperwork. If he’s denying your marriage, perhaps he made sure it was never filed.”
Charlotte sucked in a gasp.
“The state keeps records of valid marriages,” Archie said. “We’ll be able to find out the truth.”
“But . . . we were . . . together. I had his baby. If we weren’t married—”
Archie pulled her to him. “Shhh. Don’t.”
“Even if the State of Illinois does not recognize our marriage, in the eyes of God—”
Archie shook his head. “That was no true marriage. What that man did to you does not make a marriage. God is not fooled.”
Charlotte shuddered in his embrace. Archie tightened his hold on her.
“What have I done, Archie?” she asked hoarsely. “I gave away my son.”
“You were frightened.” He stroked her back. “You were protecting him from a monster.”
“A monster who has no interest in him, a monster who cared more about a lost jar of money than his own child.”
“We’ll get Henry back,” Archie said.
“It’s too late.” Charlotte’s lips barely moved. “It’s too late.”
Archie released her, then took her hand and began walking. “The only thing that’s too late is the hour. I won’t be responsible for Mr. Penard unleashing his wrath on you. I’m taking you home. We’ll figure out what to do about Henry in the daylight.”
Charlotte wiped her face with the back of her free hand. “I’ll take the streetcar.”
“It’s too late for you to be out alone. I’ll ride with you to Prairie Avenue.”
“And then? Where will you go, Archie?”
He tilted his head and scratched it. He had been thinking about that question for hours without an answer. “I’ll find somewhere.”
“When will I see you again?”
“As soon as possible.”
“But you can’t be seen on Prairie Avenue. How will we communicate?”
“I’ll figure out something,” he said. “Just be watching.”
They walked along Eighteenth Street from the streetcar stop on Michigan Avenue to Prairie Avenue. At the corner, standing in front of the Glessner house and across the street from the Kimball mansion, Charlotte stopped, turning toward Archie with a hand on his arm.
“You shouldn’t go any farther,” she cautioned. “I’ll be all right from here.”
“I’ll watch until you’re safely in the house.”
She stood close enough to feel his breath and the warmth of his presence, with her face upturned, wishing he could kiss her.
Archie kissed only her forehead, then said, “Good night, Charlotte.” He nudged her elbow in the direction of the Banning house.
30
C harlotte minded her own business on Monday afternoon when Mr. Penard interviewed a new coachman at the kitchen table. She had already laid the ornate dining room table for the Bannings’ dinner, with three extra places for Pamela Troutman and her parents. Miss Troutman and Oliver Banning had announced their engagement over the weekend, so the evening’s meal was even more elaborate than usual. Mrs. Fletcher had been harshly specific in her instructions about the width and angle of the carrot slices for the salad. Charlotte tried three different knives before she found one sharp enough to slice with sufficient precision.
This potential coachman might be a perfectly nice person, she realized, but he was not Archie.
The coachman Mr. Penard was interrogating was older than Archie and came with an impressive list of references. The butler seemed intent on securing a coachman who understood his role in the household and would restore dignity to the position. The man sat painfully erect with the glummest expression Charlotte had ever seen, but he seemed to please Mr. Penard with his answers. By the time Charlotte moved on to producing paper-thin celery slices, Mr. Penard was shaking the man’s hand and promising to recommend him to the Bannings.
Charlotte had heard nothing from Archie since Thursday night. She was grateful to be madly busy so she could not entertain thoughts of him wandering the streets. She preferred to think instead that by now he had turned up at Mickey’s shop or in the Irish neighborhood where he had grown up and found both a bed and encouragement. Charlotte availed herself of every opportunity to step outside to shake a rug or put the milk bottles out, or even to stand in darkness and look at the stars, hoping Archie might slip into the courtyard—even though she knew he should not take such a risk.
When she thought of Henry, Charlotte could only envision him in Emmaline’s arms on the day she had put them both in the cab to the train station. She had no mental image of her son’s new surroundings except those she imagined—a bright, airy nursery with a painted red and yellow rocking horse, a sloping yard where he would tumble in winter snow and spring grass, a library full of books he would someday read voraciously under the guidance of a private tutor. Emmaline had no doubt filled his closet with crisp new clothes that made him look less like a baby and more like a little boy.
And what about my quilt? Charlotte wondered as she stopped the knife mid-slice. Had Emmaline already replaced that? Would she even keep it? What would she tell Henry about how he came to be her son?
She roused and resumed slicing. Allowing herself to drift into speculation about Henry’s new life accomplished nothing. He was gone. She had done what she believed best at the time. And despite Archie’s promises of help, the fact remained that if she had not sent Henry away, if she had claimed him, she would be wandering the streets right alongside Archie, and what good would that do? Certainly it would not have helped Henry.
Archie wished the moon was not nearly full. The last thing he needed was a bath of light poured over his movements while he slowly turned the corner at Twentieth Street and moved north along Prairie Avenue. He paused briefly, shaking his head, in front of the mansion belonging to Marshall Field Jr. and his young bride. The enormous home had been a gift from the senior Marshall Field when the young couple married three years earlier, about the time Archie first came to Prairie Avenue. Indignation gurgled in Archie’s throat at the privilege young men like Marshall Field Jr. took for granted. The entire neighborhood screamed injustice. Archie was not sorry to leave. He only wished to find a way to take Charlotte with him.
And Henry.
No matter what Charlotte said, Archie would not accept that it was too late to reclaim her son. That one injustice he intended to rectify. Somehow.
Archie moved along, pausing again in front of the senior Field home to scan the area around the Banning house. He recognized the Troutmans’ carriage at the curb in front, a groomsman stroking the neck of one of the mares for want of anything better to do while he waited. Knowing well the man could be out there for hours, Archie was inclined to invite the man into the coach house, and he had to remind himself he had no righ
t to do so any longer.
He expelled his breath with aggravation. He had come all this way, much of it on foot, to see Charlotte, but of course he had no way to communicate with her. He had hoped to catch one of the servants outside, even if briefly, just long enough to send Charlotte a message. With female guests, however, Elsie would be busy attending to all the ladies, and Archie knew from experience that Mrs. Troutman could be unusually demanding. If Charlotte was serving, Lina had probably been conscripted to help in the kitchen. Karl would be the best bet, Archie decided. If the Bannings were dining in, he would be in the coach house making sure the horses were cooled and fed and the carriages spit-shined above reproach. Archie did not dare approach the coach house. He would have to wait to see if Karl would wander outside at some point in the evening.
He kept walking, past the Ream house, the Doane house, and finally to Judge Dent’s home next door to the Bannings—though why everyone used the title, Archie did not know. Thomas Dent had never been a judge. Turning his collar up and tipping his hat down, Archie leaned against a light post. He couldn’t stay there long. Without a uniform, clearly he was out of place on Prairie Avenue and would be spotted quickly.
And then he saw her. Sarah.
Why couldn’t it be Charlotte who needed to step outside?
She had spotted him, he was sure, and now turned her steps toward him in determination. Momentarily he would have to decide whether to trust her.
Sarah tucked the silver tray she carried under her arm. The cook at the Keith house had prepared some specialty pastries for Mrs. Fletcher to serve for the engagement dinner. Sarah had not expected to run into the likes of Archie Shepard when she ducked across the street to return the tray.
“Archie Shepard, what are you doing here?” Sarah demanded to know. “If Mr. Penard sees you—”
He put up both hands to stop her barrage. “He already dismissed me. What more can he do?”
Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The Page 21