by Rose Jenster
All through the toast and the pleasantries about the weather and Roger’s impending nuptials, Charlotte smiled and nodded politely. Inside she was vibrating with anguish over her mother’s consent to a marriage. She flip-flopped from being desperate for the approval to realizing that from a parent’s viewpoint it wasn’t even a reasonable request. How could she expect her mother to grant a blessing on the union of her only daughter to a stranger based on her daughter's headstrong inclination and the acquaintance of a single letter written to ask permission.
“You’ll pursue it anyhow, one way or another Charlotte. I hardly think a girl who went about in trousers is above sneaking off with a train ticket.”
“I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I haven’t any train ticket,” Charlotte replied.
“Yes you have. He sent it to me. A nice touch, that. I could have cashed it or ripped it up if I felt spiteful.”
“You wouldn’t do such a thing,” Charlotte said with deep conviction.
“Of course not, but not for the reason you think. It isn’t because I’m a romantic or because I’m too liberal-minded to stand in the way of a match. No, it is because my own family threw me away when I accepted your father.”
“What? You never told me this!”
“Yes, I was by no means destitute as a young lady. Yet. when I chose to accept your father’s suit over that of a wealthy man, my parents disowned me. My father, in fact, would be delighted if he had lived to see me so far reduced.”
“Oh, mother, I’m so sorry! I always believed your own parents to have…passed away. I did not ask about my grandparents because I feared giving you pain. I should have asked.”
“Roger just barely remembers your Grandmother Conners, your father’s mother. She was very kind to me after my own parents refused to open my letters or let me in the home where where I once resided. I stood on their doorstep in my mended gloves, Charlotte. The maid told me go on my way. My father said I would never see one cent from him and he made good on his word.”
“What were their names? If I may ask? Though I think very ill of them indeed.. How could they reject their own daughter?”
“Andrew and Charlotte Winters,” Mrs. Conners said softly.
“Charlotte? I always thought you named me after Father, for Charles.”
“No. I named you after my mother. She was a dear woman and would never have given me up for anything, only my father was a tyrant. My mother felt she could not disobey him.”
“How sad for you and for her,” Charlotte said, shaking her head and feeling overwhelmed. “How lonesome you must have been without any contact from your family at all! I’m so sorry.”
“I regret it as well. Had I been less rash in my manner of speaking, had I shown more respect, I might have had a very different life. I might have kept up a relationship with my family and had a refuge when your father passed away, a place to raise my children.”
“Had they already—?”
“My mother had passed away and my father—I did write to him, did plead with him and express my regret for our long estrangement.”
“He denied you! That—that cur! That vengeful old cur!” Charlotte burst out, her fists clenched and cheeks now red. She felt simultaneously a deep pang for the years that her mother lost with her grandmother.
“You and this Barton man will be a nice match. You react as vehemently and as rudely as he does to hear of some relation’s perceived mistreatment.”
Charlotte colored and subsided.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I ought not to have said it.”
“No, you ought not. Father had his solicitor return my letter with instructions that I was not to contact him again and that I had chosen my fate with open eyes. Though not very charitable, that was quite true at least. When I left my father’s house I told him directly that I expected never to lay eyes on him again. I had a bit of a theatrical bent in my youth if you would believe it and I think I envisioned him pleading with me to be part of my life.”
“Only he never did. It’s shocking,” Charlotte said. “What did Father say to all of this?”
“He said that the path of the righteous is never smooth. That we must choose our calling and ignore the noise of the world.”
“That isn’t much comfort,” Charlotte said with a snort.
“You ought not to say that either, child. Your father always kept his mind on holy things and encouraged those of us who were weaker in our faith and more concerned with our worldly troubles.”
“Was it…worth it do you think?”
“Yes. Had I not chosen to marry your father I would never have had my children and I love you both dearly. Too dearly to stand in the way of your happiness. Too dearly to ever turn you away if you should find your lot to be harder going than you had expected.”
“Oh, Mother!” Charlotte sobbed onto her mother’s shoulder. She saw her mother in a new light, as once a young girl herself who was separated from her own mother. “I’m sorry for every mean thing I’ve ever thought of you!”
“I imagine you thought a great many, indeed,” her mother said with a slight chuckle. “Only admit you would never have had your adventures in the newspaper business had I been a more attentive parent.”
“It pains me to know I was so transparent,” Charlotte said. “To think that you knew all along!”
“Surely I did. You thought yourself greatly daring but the assignments you were given, the leads you took were not foolishly dangerous. It was always in broad daylight, always crowds of people.”
“How do you know?”
“I followed you often enough to be assured you weren’t foolhardy.”
“Oh!” Charlotte giggled. “Only think I believed myself such a heroine and there was my mother following after me to keep me safe!”
“The newsboy watched for you as well, and a few others, to make certain you were not cornered.” Mrs. Conners had a twinkle in her eye.
“You had a—a network of spies?”
“Not spies. Young people who like a bit of jam with their toast and a hint of intrigue to add savor to the dullness of the everyday.”
“If I go, what will you do?”
“Stay with Roger and Laetitia for the time being, I suppose.”
“The time being?”
“I’m forty, Charlotte. I’m hardly at my last prayers though you may think it to look at me. I’ve been a widow long enough to do your father honor. No sense spending the rest of my life in mourning.”
“Exactly right,” Charlotte said, wanting to clap and shout “bravo.” It pleased her to think of her mother starting a new life as well.
“Now I’ll leave you with your ticket and your other letter.”
“Other letter?”
“Yes. He sent you a letter enclosed in mine. I have not read yours.”
“Thank you mother. This conversation has helped me see so much about you that I never knew.” She gave her mother a long hug and felt like a child again as her mother patted her head.
Charlotte accepted the ticket and a folded sheet of paper, waited until her mother went into the front room and then unfolded it.
Dear Charlotte,
How can I describe for you the freshness of rain in the foothills, the earthy smell that is somehow both green and ancient rising from the grasses? How can I describe for you the piercing blue of the clear sky above mountains? And how to tell you of what I feel for you as a person whose interests and whose tastes align with my own, differing enough that I anticipate some very rational and verbose disagreements in our future. I believe that our future differences will be on ideas, never on values of course.
If you can accept a life without children of your own. If you can accept a man five years your senior and with a mean opinion of most people. If you can accept being so far from your home and all that is familiar to you. If you will trade city streets and bookshops for mountains and rivers and me, here is a ticket. Please come home to me.
Frank
Charlotte
blinked back tears and pressed the letter between her palms, wishing she were with him that very moment. Now that she had secured her mother’s blessing, she wanted only to hurry to Montana Territory. She ought to remain for Roger’s wedding, she knew, but her heart was already going west.
Hurrying to her mother, she laid a hand on her sleeve, her face full of hope.
“Must I stay? Do I need to attend Roger and Laetitia’s wedding?” she pleaded.
“Yes. Before you argue, only think, if all goes as planned you shall have many years with Frank Barton. A short period of time with your family in Albany for what may well be the last time we ever see you, will do you no harm with the slight delay. Besides, Mr. Barton sent money for your trousseau, which I am to oversee. You shall need dresses and petticoats and he asks specifically that you have a pair of trousers as well should you need them.”
* * *
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest but she thought better of it. If she took a moment to consider it with any practicality, these were the last dresses she would have that she didn’t make herself (or beg Leah to help her assemble) and the last celebration she would likely attend with her family. It moved her to think of her mother having Christmas and Easter with Roger, with Laetitia standing in the daughter’s spot beside her at church instead of herself. She covered her mother’s hand with her own and nodded.
My dear Frank,
I find I can accept all those things that you are and that our life will be. My brother is to marry in a fortnight. I shall leave on the train the following day. That will be the 26th of this month, this very month! Before the moon waxes again, I shall be in the mountains! I wish it were today.
Charlotte Worth Conners
The following days were a blur of selecting fabrics and styles with her mother. There was much help needed with the ribbons and food for the Roger's wedding . It was clear from her mother’s knowledge of how lawn fabric draped instead calico in a certain design as well as how a light cashmere could be warmer than wool, that she had indeed been acquainted with finer things in her early life.
Under her tutelage, Charlotte selected a soft dove gray for her traveling dress with a fitted jacket. For winter she had a deep blue best trimmed up with black braid. And then there was a light green sprigged lawn for her summer best. A hooded cloak which Charlotte would have commissioned in brown or black was instead a rich shade of ruby at her mother’s behest, with a black frogged closure at the throat and deep pockets.
“You shall be a little red riding hood from the story,” her mother teased fondly as Charlotte fingered the fabric with awe. “It suits your coloring and will last for many years, so you may as well have a color you think beautiful instead of something dull.”
“It seems too lovely somehow. Won’t you please let me get you something for yourself? You will be starting a new life too,” Charlotte said feeling a lot of warmth towards her mother.
“Roger is taking care of all that. Your Mr. Barton bade me get what I knew you would need and do as I thought best. This is money he gave to me, not to you. I will spend it as I wish, which is on you, my daughter. Heaven knows I’ve been longing to do so these many years! Only recall that blue dress you had when you turned sixteen.”
“With the pearl buttons all the way to the stand-up collar! Oh it was the prettiest thing. I couldn’t believe Father would choose such a beautiful—Father didn’t, did he?” Charlotte realized.
“Your father gave me money to choose you a present. He would have purchased another Bible, bless his soul. You already had two. So I got the fabric and had it made up so pretty. The expression on your face when you opened the parcel was all the thanks anyone could ask.”
“Thank you. I hate that you never took credit for it. Why did Father always act as though he were the one who chose the presents?” Charlotte felt badly that she had overlooked her mother's kindness in so many instances over the years.
“Because he was the head of the family, dear. It was his curacy that paid the bill. He reckoned the gifts were from himself alone. It is of little matter. I didn’t want thanks. I wanted you to have the dress.”
“I’m sorry I sold the pin.”
“I have it.”
“What?”
“It was mine from when I was a girl, Charlotte. The only jewel I had held on to, since your father had ideas about wealth. He insisted I part with the earbobs and the gold locket that my mother had given me, so we could tithe their worth.”
“Oh, Mother!” Charlotte cried. “How could he?”
“Worldly things, he said. I actually hid the pin and then produced it as a gift for you, passing it down as my mother had given it to me. When I found you’d pawned it to help pay Roger’s school fees, I went to the pawnbroker and explained. He is not a cruel man, despite his job. He agreed to take my wedding ring instead.”
“I’m so sorry. You have sacrificed so much for me and I was oblivious.”
“I would rather have had the pin, to give you for your wedding day. It saddened me that it meant so little to you. But it will mean more when I give it you myself again, I think. I needled you about it, I know. I kept asking after it and hoping you’d confess or apologize. It cut me that you parted with it.”
“Oh, Mother!” Charlotte wept into her mother’s shoulder. There was so much she never realized about her mother's generosity and personal pain. Charlotte felt ashamed of her lack of gratitude over the years.
“It is well, child. The man even gave me a bit more money to put by because the ring was gold. I laid it by and used it when we had to have the apothecary.”
“About my fever. I knew that he hadn’t brought that tonic out of charity because Father had been his minister! I’m so sorry, Mother! Truly!”
Charlotte was flooded with remorse for her history of inconsiderate actions towards her mother and vowed to shower her with constant love.
* * *
Charlotte received letter after letter from Frank, describing the town, the weather and the sort of things he wrote about in the newspaper. He also told her about the two men he employed to contribute writings from time to time. She cherished these messages and read them over at night.
One evening she opened a letter not from Frank but from her cousin Verity Kemp in Rochester, New York. Verity was two years older than Charlotte and had been orphaned by a fever right around the time that Charlotte’s father, her uncle, had passed away. Verity had secured a spot teaching at a girls’ school. She and Charlotte had often shared a lively correspondence. It was only now that Charlotte realized with remorse how she had neglected her cousin of late. She saw that her neglect was not just towards her mother, but her orientation towards others has been too self-centered.
Dear Cousin Charlotte,
With school out for the term except for a few year-round boarders, I have had time to sketch and read the latest of poetry. I taught a few drawing classes for the daughters of local tradesmen to earn myself some pocket money on holiday. I have my eye on a new hat, an impractical thing with feathers. I know you would tell me at once to ignore it and put my money away for a rainy day! How you would scold!
I have missed hearing from you and hope all is well with my Aunt and with cousin Roger and his betrothed. I will be unable to attend the wedding as school term begins the week prior, but my thoughts will be with my everyone on such a happy occasion. Do let me hear from you.
Cousin Verity
Charlotte immediately penned a reply informing her of all the news, how she was herself to marry and go west. She disclosed her mentor Leah’s role in the matchmaking and described herself as the happiest of women. Her mother would be cared for by Roger who had gainful employment and a fine home.. She gave the new way to reach her at her future home so Verity might write to her there. It gave Charlotte a little thrill to think that when next she wrote her cousin it would be from Montana Territory as she prepared to become Mrs. Frank Barton.
* * *
Charlotte spent a lot of time wit
h her mother in the days leading up to the Montana trip. Her mother told her stories about when she was a little girl and how different the times were. Charlotte knew that she couldn't repair all the years of her insensitivity to her mother's sweetness and sympathy, but she did all she could to express her care. In her mind, she knew she would figure out a way to get her mother out to Montana for a very long visit or maybe to even locate there. Still, her tears were out of control on the day she parted.
To break the mood that morning, Mrs. Conners gave her a wrapped package containing a few of the early articles that Charlotte had written under the name Charlie.
“My dear, your days of being Charlie are over! You would never have learned how to do this at the university. Now, your female nature can flourish, but you will always be my little girl.”
They embraced for a long time and each preferred that to seeing the other's tear-stained face.
Chapter 8
Charlotte bore the jostling of the train ride cheerfully, and daydreamed a great deal about her life on the wild frontier. She read a sensational cowboy novel she’d bought for the trip, cutting the pages with her pen knife and reading it all in one sitting, marveling at the luxury of it.
After so much travel when the train stopped at Billings station, she patted her hair and tied her bonnet securely. Charlotte was glad for the trim gray dress and jacket, which she fancied made her appear sensible and neat. Scanning the platform for a bachelor, for a man perhaps scowling as she expected Frank’s resting expression to be, her eyes lighted on Leah Rogers. Leah waved at her, a small child hiding its face in her skirts.
Charlotte clasped hands with her and together they gave the porter the direction of Mrs. Hostelman’s boarding house for her trunks to be delivered.
“I prevailed on Mr. Barton to allow me the privilege of prior acquaintance to meet you at the train. This way you may get settled and primp a bit before you meet him.”
“Thank you. I’m truly grateful for everything,” she said.
The boarding house was neat and clean and the proprietress friendly. Charlotte washed in her room and tidied her hair. She found Leah having tea and a chat with her former landlady while the child, a small girl, stuffed little cakes in her mouth whole. The two women looked on indulgently, while Charlotte privately thought the child might be sick on the rug if she continued to gobble sweets.