The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (2 page)

“But what about Henry? I can't keep him here. You know that.”

Mrs. Given covered her eyes with one hand as her shoulders heaved once. “I have a family emergency. I truly have no choice. I can't take him, and I have to go. You'll have to work something out. I'm sorry I couldn't bring more of his things, but it was too much to manage on the streetcar.”

Charlotte held the child tightly, wrapping him in the quilt he loved—her grandmother's quilt. He snuggled happily against her chest, tucking his head under her chin in his favorite way.

“You know I can't have him here!” Charlotte's eyes moved from left to right, scanning the courtyard. “Mr. Penard will dismiss me if he discovers I have a child.” Without Lucy, Charlotte had no advocate. “What about your neighbor? Doesn't she sometimes help you watch him?”

“For an hour or two,” Mrs. Given answered, “but I can't ask her to take on the care of a child when I don't know when I'll be back—or even if I'll be able to return.”

“Please, Mrs. Given—”

The woman was resolute. “I've had two telegrams saying that I must come now. My sister wired the fare this morning. I'm sure St. Andrew's will take the boy, but I don't have time to see to that for you.”

“You know I don't want him at St. Andrew's. That's why he's with you.”

“I'm sorry. I have to be on the next train to Omaha.” Brushing a strand of gray hair out of her face, Mary Given softened. “He's a lovely child, Charlotte, and you're a devoted mother. You'll always do what's best for him.”

Within a few seconds, Charlotte was left standing in the courtyard with a laundry basket at her feet and an eleven-month-old boy squirming in her arms. Suddenly feeling weak, she set her son in the basket and watched absently as he pulled a corner of the sheet over his head and giggled. Her knees trembled. Uncertain they would support her slight weight, Charlotte crouched next to the basket and laid her hand on the child's feathery brown hair.

A shadow crossed her vision. Sarah.

“Where did that baby come from?” the girl demanded to know.

 2 

C
harlotte sprang to her feet, startling the baby, who wailed in reflex.

“Charlotte, where did that baby come from?” Sarah paced swiftly around the yard in several directions, peering into every angle of the courtyard. “Did someone leave him in the laundry basket?”

“I came out to see what was taking you so long with the sheets,” Charlotte mumbled.

“I took a little break.” Sarah's hands went to her hips, her elbows jutting out. “I'm entitled. I was just coming back to get them. Why would someone leave a brat here? What are we supposed to do with it?”

The little boy took a deep breath and wailed again.

“He's not an ‘it.' He's a little boy.” Charlotte picked him up. “I suppose the first thing is to make him feel safe.” She patted her son's back, right between the shoulders the way he liked it. The baby settled.

“Does Mr. Penard know he's here?” Sarah asked.

“How could he? We only just discovered him.” So far she was speaking truth.

Sarah glanced toward the back door. “Is Mr. Penard in the kitchen?”

“He went up to his rooms. You still need to get the sheets off the line. Start at the far end.”

Sarah shook her head. “I may be new to being in service, but I know we can't have a baby in the house without the butler knowing about it.”

“Of course not. I do not propose we deceive Mr. Penard about the baby's presence.” Charlotte's knees did not match her firmness of voice. “He'll have to decide what to do. I'll take the baby inside, and you get the sheets.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but grabbed at a sheet.

Inside the kitchen, Charlotte inspected the space. This was no room for a crawling baby. Instinctively she kissed the top of her son's head. She turned three wooden chairs on their sides and arranged them against one wall, then put a folded tablecloth on the floor in the midst of the makeshift pen. Charlotte saw her son every Thursday and every other Sunday afternoon. She knew he was resourceful enough to climb his way out of this cage, but it had to suffice for at least a few minutes. She settled him among the chairs and handed him a wooden spoon to play with. He examined it happily with fingers and tongue.

The door slammed behind Sarah as she appeared with the laundry basket wedged against one hip. The girl strode across the room and dropped the basket overflowing with thick white sheets on one end of the table. “You haven't told him yet, have you?”

“I've only just got the baby settled.” Charlotte moved toward the dish shelves. “I've got to get Mr. Penard's supper ready. He'll be down soon enough to see for himself.”

“I'm going to tell him now.” Sarah demanded Charlotte's gaze.

Charlotte's eyes did not flicker. “If you want to climb all the way up there to tell, go ahead.”

As Sarah flounced up the narrow back stairs to the butler's apartment, Charlotte picked up the knife again and sliced more beef, working her lips in and out with the motion of the knife.

Soon enough she heard the urgent rhythm of double footsteps descending the stairs, Mr. Penard's larger feet pounding each step, followed by Sarah's smaller, lighter step. Charlotte glanced at the baby, who dropped the spoon and turned his head toward the sound on the stairs.

Mr. Penard appeared, his sleeves rolled up and his vest open. “I understand we have an unexpected situation.”

“Yes, sir.” Regardless of her lungs' protest, Charlotte held her breath and shoulders steady.

Mr. Penard's eyes moved to the child playing among the chairs. “Mrs. Edwards is well known for her tireless efforts on behalf of the children at St. Andrew's. It would seem someone in need has learned of her work and decided to trust a child to her care.”

Sarah scoffed. “Why didn't they just take it to the orphanage?”

Penard and the baby inspected each other. The child grinned and banged his spoon against the side of a chair, his blue eyes wide and welcoming. Eventually Penard squatted for a closer look. “He seems to be well cared for. His circumstances cannot have been overly desperate.”

“Perhaps there was an emergency.” Charlotte picked up a fresh knife to slice bread. She weighed her words carefully.
She did not want to tell an outright lie, but she could not possibly tell the truth.

“He's here now and we have to deal with him,” Mr. Penard said.

“He's probably getting hungry at this time of day. The food is ready.”

“Doesn't a child of this age require a special diet?” Mr. Penard asked. “Sarah, what did the babies in the orphanage eat?”

The girl shrugged. “Soft foods.”

“I noticed he has quite a few teeth.” Charlotte spoke calmly, quelling the tremble in her hand. “I'm sure he can handle bread and some bits of apple and cheese.”

“Why don't we just take it to St. Andrew's?” Sarah crossed her arms and with a foot nudged the edge of one of the chairs penning the child. “They have people there who know what to do with a baby, no matter what time of day. You just have to knock on the front door. They don't ask a lot of questions.”

“No.” Mr. Penard stood to his full height again. “We'll keep him here for the time being.”

Turning to keep her face out of view, Charlotte breathed relief.

“If someone left him here for the attentions of Mrs. Edwards,” Mr. Penard continued emphatically, “we must respect that it should be the family's decision to respond to this situation.”

“Do you seriously expect they are going to want a baby?” Sarah eyed the child.

Penard scowled. “Miss Cummings, I suggest you learn your place before the family returns. It is your role to do what you're asked and to anticipate the family's needs and desires within reason. It is expressly
not
your role to make decisions
on their behalf. We will keep the child until Thursday at least, and give Mr. and Mrs. Banning time to consider the situation and advise their wishes under these unusual circumstances.”

“I'm going to feed him.” Charlotte snuck in a smile at her son. “There's no telling when he ate last. Babies can get cranky rapidly when they get hungry.”

“You seem well versed in the needs of children,” Mr. Penard observed.

“I have three younger brothers.” Charlotte laid a plate of bread on the table alongside the beef.

“I believe that's the first glimpse I've ever had into your personal history. Your experience certainly proves relevant.”

Charlotte quickly transferred the remaining elements of the meal to the table, then leaned over the chairs and extracted the baby. Moving to the table, she settled him in her lap and broke some bread into small bites on a plate. He reached for a piece, put it in his mouth, and began working his jaw. Charlotte crumbled up some cheese as well.

Mr. Penard sat in his usual place at the head of the servants' table. Sarah sat across from Charlotte and began to fill her plate.

Mr. Penard cleared his throat. Sarah looked up, then put her hands in her lap.

“You are aware that it is our custom to give thanks before each meal,” Mr. Penard chastised. “Certainly you learned to pray at the orphanage.”

Sarah sighed yet again. Charlotte ignored her, stilled Henry's hands, and bowed her head for the prayer she knew Penard would offer. Every meal around the servants' table began with an expression of thanksgiving and penitence, whether or not individual members of the staff felt such sentiments.
Today, if she were to pray at all, Charlotte would have been inclined to request divine assistance in quelling her panic.

“This certainly disturbs our plan.” Mr. Penard served himself a generous stack of sliced beef. “It is now Tuesday evening, and we have a great deal to accomplish by noon on Thursday, when the family is due to arrive. Obviously the child will require considerable attention.”

“I don't mind taking care of him.” Charlotte restrained herself from putting a protective arm around the baby, instead letting him wiggle in her lap.

Mr. Penard shook his head. “You're more familiar with the household. It will be far more efficient to have you concentrate on getting the house ready and leave it to Sarah to look after the child and help you as she is able.”

Charlotte blanched.

Sarah protested. “Nobody at St. Andrew's said I would be taking care of a brat.”

“Miss Cummings!” Penard's rebuke was sharp. “I remind you once again to learn your place. You will not speak to me that way. When you are part of a staff such as the one that serves the Bannings, you will do as you are asked for the good of the family. That is your priority.”

“Mr. Penard, I really don't mind looking after the baby.” Charlotte put a hand on Henry's head. “He seems to like me.” The baby gave a drooling smile and reached for Charlotte's face.

“That much is true,” Mr. Penard agreed. “Nevertheless, I feel it is a wise use of your experience in the household for you to focus on preparations for the family. Surely Sarah has sufficient experience with younger children at St. Andrew's to keep track of one child for a few days. Is that clear to both of you?”

Charlotte swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

Sarah sighed petulantly. “Yes, sir.”

Sarah held the baby a foot away from her body as she stomped upstairs two hours later. If Penard was so concerned about this brat, why didn't he take it to his room? After living in a dormitory for the last six years, Sarah finally had her own room, and now, after just two short nights, she had to share it with a baby. What if it didn't even sleep through the night?

She clutched the creature in one arm and with the other hand turned the glass knob to open her bedroom door.

“What are you doing in here?” Sarah stared at Charlotte, who was kneeling on the floor.

“I thought I could make a pallet for the baby.” Charlotte spread a blanket over two thick quilts.

“But it's
my
room!”

“And you're lucky you don't have to share it with one of the other maids.” Charlotte smoothed the blanket and tucked under a corner. “I'm just trying to be helpful. I can see you're not eager to look after him.”

“Just because I don't want to doesn't mean I'm incompetent. I can make the best of the situation as well as you can.”

“He might try to crawl.”

“I know that.” In truth, the idea had not crossed Sarah's mind.

“You'll have to watch him, but this way you won't have to worry about rolling over on him in bed.”

“I was never going to let it sleep in my bed.” When Charlotte reached for the baby, Sarah gladly released her hold.

“I brought the blankets down from the attic,” Charlotte explained. “The Bannings haven't used them in years and won't miss them. It's enough layers to make him comfortable. I found some old diapers in the nursery boxes too.”

“Growing up in an orphanage doesn't mean I like changing diapers.”

“Don't be so dramatic. I'll do it this time. I helped with my brothers all the time.” Laying the baby down on the makeshift pallet, Charlotte changed its diaper. Behind her, Sarah silently watched the steps. She was not going to repeat them any more often than absolutely required, and she certainly was not going to admit she was unsure of the procedure.