The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (20 page)

“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.

“It's true.” Sarah persisted in her argument as well as her sweeping. Mr. Penard chastised her for taking liberties with her time. Why should Archie do so without consequence? “Archie has been disappearing a lot. Everything takes him twice as long as it should.”

“He's taking advantage,” Mr. Penard said. “He has too much freedom. Perhaps it was a mistake to make him coachman.”

Mrs. Fletcher dipped a ladle in the mushroom soup and inspected the creamy liquid as it fell back into the pot. “I'm sure he has his reasons.”

“His reasons are irrelevant,” the butler said. “It's time for him to fetch Mrs. Banning.”

“I'm sure he knows that,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “He's probably there now.”

“I shall speak to him sharply as soon as he comes in. The future of his employment is at stake.”

“Have you used up all your mercy on that one?” Mrs. Fletcher waved the ladle in Sarah's direction.

Sarah seethed.

“Mrs. Fletcher,” Mr. Penard said, “perhaps you would like simply to speak your mind.”

She shrugged. “You've had plenty of reason to dismiss the girl, yet she is still here. And now you're talking about dismissing Archie because his work takes longer than you think it should. Have you no mercy for him?”

“Mrs. Fletcher, I'll thank you to hold your tongue after all. I am ready for my supper.”

“Sarah, come get the serving dishes,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Then call the other maids.”

Sarah propped her broom in the corner she had been sweeping and strutted across the kitchen.

“Wash up first,” Mrs. Fletcher said sharply. “You'll not come to my table with dirt smeared on your face.”

It's not your table!
Sarah wanted to scream as she plunged her hands under water and dabbed at her face. Mrs. Fletcher was a servant just as she was. The only difference was that Sarah did not intend to still be sweeping this stupid kitchen floor in fifteen years.

Sarah turned when she heard steps on the back stairs. “Where's the baby?” Sarah picked up a basket of bread and set it on the table. “Are you bringing him down to eat with us?”

“I don't think so,” Charlotte said.

“Why not?”

“He's had enough excitement today.”

“Why? Did you change his routine?”

“Sarah, leave her alone,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “The child is no longer your concern. Fix Charlotte a tray to take upstairs. Later, you can sit with the boy while he sleeps when she comes down to serve.”

Sarah snatched a tray off the counter and loaded it roughly, then shoved it at Charlotte.

Something about this was not right. Sarah intended to find out what.