The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (22 page)

“I just saw Archie talking in the street,” Sarah said casually.

Mr. Penard lifted an eyebrow. “He should be in the coach house.”

Sarah shrugged. “He's not. He's up at the corner talking to someone.”

“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.”