The Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow (9 page)

“You let him get too hot and thirsty,” Archie said to Sarah. “Next time, use the buggy hood.”

“I'll thank you not to pretend to know anything about children!” Sarah posed with her arms crossed and her weight on one foot. “Coddling them teaches poor habits.”

“And neglecting them? What does that teach them?”

Charlotte could hardly believe what she was seeing—Archie standing up for her son. Except he did not even know he held her son in his arms. He simply did it because it was the right thing to do. She couldn't imagine Henry's own father ever holding him this way. Charlotte hardly knew how to respond to Archie's gentleness toward a stranger's nameless child.

“Perhaps we should sponge him off,” Archie suggested.

Sarah yanked the child out of Archie's arms. “I'm quite capable of doing that.”

Charlotte barely caught the bottle headed for a collision with the floor. Calmly, she handed it to Sarah. “When I get a chance, I'll bring you some tea and biscuits.”

Sarah spun and left the room.

“Charlotte,” Archie said, “why did you offer to bring her tea? She's—”

Charlotte cut him off. “She's taking care of a baby. I'm concerned for the child.”

Archie put a hand on her shoulder. “I know I suggested a couple of days ago that perhaps you were getting too close to things. But I can see now how hard it is to watch her neglect an innocent child for her own convenience.”

“She can't seem to control her tongue, but she is keeping a strict routine. That's good for the baby.”

“I suppose so.”

“Besides, Mrs. Edwards wants Sarah to stay on until she returns in January.”

“You don't think Mrs. Edwards wants to take Sarah on at her home, do you?”

“She hasn't mentioned it.” The kettle Sarah had put on the stove whistled, and Charlotte moved it off the heat.

“Perhaps it really would be the best thing for him if Mrs. Banning's cousin adopts the baby,” Archie said.

Charlotte drew a jagged breath and turned away abruptly. “I have to finish chopping everything. Mrs. Fletcher will be back any moment.”

The annunciator button rang. Charlotte felt Archie's gaze follow her movements even as he answered it and had a brief conversation.

He replaced the earpiece and said, “Miss Emmaline requires your assistance.”

Charlotte wiped her hands on her work apron. “I'll have to go up to change my apron first.”

“I don't for a minute believe that the men Leo is bringing home for dinner are really his friends.” Emmaline Brewster looked in the mirror at her young ladies' maid as she prepared for bed hours later. “Have you ever seen Mr. Talon here for dinner before?”

“No, miss.” Charlotte pulled the brush through Miss Emmaline's hair, knowing she would run into knots. She always did. The coppery mane was predictably stubborn. Charlotte had learned that she could tug fairly hard before Miss Emmaline would protest.

“He's some associate of Leo's from the university, but if you ask me, they did not seem to know each other very well. And he's so much older than Leo. I wouldn't be surprised to learn he was at least forty.”

Charlotte merely shrugged and smiled briefly into the mirror, not knowing what to say.

“When I was your age,” Emmaline said, “I suppose I didn't
mind so much being paraded around before the eligible bachelors. Everyone expected I would meet someone and marry.” She paused to sigh heavily. “But at my age, it seems a pitiful endeavor. What do I need a husband for, anyway? My father left me a generous trust.”

“I'm sure I couldn't say, miss.”

Emmaline interrupted the brushing to turn around and look Charlotte in the face. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a child?”

“Yes, miss.” Charlotte set the brush down, sensing Miss Emmaline would not sit still much longer. If Miss Emmaline insisted on talking about children, Charlotte would feel like squirming herself.

“I suppose that's something all women wonder about,” Emmaline murmured. “But I'm starting to think it's only a dream. With no husband at my age . . .”

“I thought perhaps the green dress for tomorrow.” Charlotte steered the conversation toward something she could manage without emotion. “If I may say so, miss, it flatters your complexion when you go out calling.”

“Flora makes sure I reciprocate promptly whenever I have a visitor.” Emmaline sighed. “But I'm losing interest. Yes, I suppose the green will do for the morning at least.” Emmaline stood up and moved to the chaise lounge. “You're very pretty, you know. I'm sure you could have a husband if you wanted one, and a baby soon enough.”

Charlotte blanched. “I'm only a maid, miss.”

“A maid is still a woman.”

 10 

T
he parlor was pleasant enough, in Emmaline Brewster's opinion. Charming small art pieces and illustrated books created interest around the room, and a perfectly pitched grand piano beckoned anyone who would like to play. However, Emmaline thought Flora might think about adding more tolerable wing chairs. She was getting a little weary of always sitting on the slightly overstuffed settee because the other chairs looked less appealing.

After more than a week under the Banning roof, Emmaline was settling in well. Lucy's suite had every amenity she could imagine needing for the next few weeks, and the ladies' maid seemed to be competent and efficient with laying out gowns and suggesting accessories. Emmaline had first arrived in Chicago just days before Lucy's wedding in mid-June, and at the time she had stayed with Violet. The Banning house had seemed in uproar with the hastily planned wedding. After a scant two months of engagement, Lucy had married Will Edwards on a Friday morning in the presence of barely fifty witnesses at Second Presbyterian Church. The affair was hardly the society wedding her parents must have envisaged for their only daughter.

Still, Lucy had a wedding and she was only twenty-two. Emmaline was thirty-three years old—actually closer to thirty-four—and well aware that her prospects for marriage had diminished rapidly long ago. The truth was, she hardly thought of a husband anymore, but every glimpse of a friend's child opened up the gaping hole in her own life. She had never expected true love, but she had hoped that a dutiful marriage would lead to motherhood.

Emmaline looked up as Flora Banning glided through the arched doorway of the parlor.

“Emmie, dear, what are you doing in here?” Flora asked. “Hasn't Violet arranged something for you today? Shouldn't you be changing your gown for tea?”

“We've only just finished luncheon,” Emmaline answered. “I can't think about tea.”

Emmaline felt her hostess's stare as Flora lowered herself into a favorite side chair. Flora rummaged through a basket of needlework and selected a pillowcase she was embroidering for Lucy.

“If I didn't know better, I'd think you were reluctant to go out this afternoon,” Flora said.

“Violet has some mesmerizing acquaintances,” Emmaline conceded, “but I am getting a bit weary. Every day is a party, it seems.”

Flora scoffed. “I'm not sure you can call that affair at the Kimballs' a party. Mr. Henderson seemed quite deranged, if you ask me, and Mr. Pullman shook my hand as if it were a dead fish. I don't know when I've been so insulted.”

“At least you were not seated with a man who is vulgar on one side and one who dreams too much on the other.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Flora said. “I never should have
accepted the invitation on your behalf. But your tea this afternoon is with Violet. Surely it will not be so distressing.”

“Perhaps not, but I rather think I will stay home and do something else today.” Emmaline lifted a slender volume of poetry from the end table and ran a finger down its spine.

Flora's eyes flashed with curiosity. “I'm afraid there's not much to interest you around here.”

“I plan to take some air,” Emmaline said. “I thought I would ask for the baby to be brought down and take him for a stroll.”

Flora dropped both pillowcase and needle. “The baby? My goodness, Emmie, what has gotten into you?”

“It's a fine day, and you feed me rather more richly than I am accustomed to on my own. A bit of a constitutional would do me good.”

“Of course, dear, but I don't understand what part the baby has in your plan.”

“Your butler reports that the girl takes him out every afternoon for an airing. I simply thought I would take him today.” Emmaline flipped several pages in the book.

“By yourself?”

“The girl may come, of course, or I'll take Charlotte.”

“I hardly think you need to trouble yourself with the child, Emmie, dear.” Flora's wide eyes clouded with disbelief. “Penard has ably arranged for the child's care while he's here, and I've written to Cousin Louisa to inquire of her interest. I'm sure your time in Chicago could be put to much better use.”

Emmaline sighed. If only Flora had not written to Louisa. If Louisa responded with interest—well, Emmaline was not going to think about that.

“Flora,” Emmaline said, “you and Violet must face facts. If you invited me for an extended visit in hopes of finding me a husband in Chicago because I have exhausted the possibilities of New England, I think perhaps it is your time that could be put to better use.”

Flora pushed aside the entire needlework basket and stood up. “We only want you to enjoy your time here. You haven't been to Chicago in over ten years. The city has so much more to offer now.”

“Yes, such as a population of over one million people. Only a small percentage are eligible bachelors who might be suitable matches, but somehow Violet seems to march more than her share of them into my view.”

“Emmaline, you speak harshly of our intent.”

“I'm sorry, Flora. I realize you mean well.” Emmaline returned the poetry book to the table. “Violet never married, and she seems quite happy with her life. Why should I not have the same hope? The two of you have conspired to have me socially engaged every night for a week. Perhaps I'd simply like a quiet afternoon.”

“Of course, dear, but the child!”

“Humor me, Flora.” Emmaline met Flora's green eyes and held them. “Call for the child and let me take him for a stroll. Then we'll see about tea at Violet's.”

Flora sighed, but she reached for the annuciator button.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” Archie sank into a kitchen chair when the flurry of getting the baby ready for his daily airing had cleared. Archie had pushed the buggy around to the front of the house, while Penard
sternly admonished Sarah about her comportment while accompanying Miss Brewster for the outing.

“I don't know what to make of it,” Charlotte answered. “Miss Brewster seems pleasant enough, and she could be far more demanding than she has been. But why is she interested in the baby?”

Archie watched the wave of anxiety splash across Charlotte's face even as she tried to turn from his view. Neither did the catch in her voice escape him.

Mr. Penard pushed open the door from the butler's pantry and strode across the black and white tiles of the kitchen. “They're off. That girl had better behave herself.”

Archie said nothing. Sarah Cummings had not mastered her tongue around the kitchen in her few weeks in the Banning house. It might be only a matter of time before she stepped out of place in front of a family member—or visiting relative.

“Archie, Mr. Leo has asked for you,” Penard said. “Bring the open wicker carriage around immediately. He has decided not to return to his office this afternoon but to look after some personal business. You are to be at his disposal until dinner if necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” Archie stood up, straightened his jacket, and paced across the kitchen to the servants' hall.

A few minutes later, Archie stood beside the wicker carriage in front of the Banning house, watching Leo Banning step up and settle on the seat.

“St. Andrew's, please,” Leo said. “I have some questions for Mr. Emmett.”

“Yes, sir.”

Archie knew the route well. Leo's sister, now honeymooning, had used it often. Deftly he swung himself up onto his
seat, picked up the reins, and clicked his tongue. At the corner of Eighteenth Street, Archie steered the horse to the west, allowing it to trot to Michigan Avenue before turning south. Archie had a rough idea of how Lucy Banning Edwards spent her time at the orphanage, but he was uncertain what Leo's business was there.

Outside the orphanage a few minutes later, Archie once again stood at attention beside the carriage.

“Find a place to tie up the horse,” Leo instructed as he exited the wicker transport. “No sense leaving you standing here in the sun. You might be of some assistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though he could not imagine what good he would be inside the orphanage office, Archie led the horse to a post. He knotted the reins around it, then hurried his steps to reach St. Andrew's red front door a short distance behind Leo.

Inside the hall, Leo explained his request to a young girl, who struck Archie as being only a year or two younger than Sarah. Most likely the girls would know each other, he speculated. Perhaps it was just a matter of time before this girl went into service. He scanned the wide hallway and the doors that opened off of it, imagining Sarah moving among them and wondering if she'd always had the cocky attitude she paraded around the Bannings.

“Please wait here, sir,” the girl said meekly, and left them.

Quite quickly a youngish man stepped out of the offices at the back of the building and advanced toward them, straightening his jacket as he moved.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Banning,” he said. “I am Simon Tewell, the assistant director of St. Andrew's. It's a privilege to have you here.”

“I had hoped I might speak with Mr. Emmett,” Leo said. “Perhaps the girl misunderstood.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Simon said. “Our director is away on leave. I will do my best to be of assistance to you in any way possible. Perhaps you would like to come to my office to help me understand what brings you here today.”

“Of course.” Leo nodded. “It's good of you to see me.”

“I understand Miss Sarah Cummings is in the service of your family. I hope she is proving satisfactory.”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Archie looked away. Leo did not see Sarah Cummings often enough to know whether she was satisfactory or not, but Archie could not hold that against him.

Leo followed Simon Tewell, and at Leo's gesture, Archie followed Leo. In the simple office, Leo sat across the pine desk from the young assistant director, and Archie stood rigidly against the wall.

“My question is theoretical at this point.” Leo put his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “If a small child were to be abandoned or surrendered, what kind of placement options might you arrange?”

“We would offer immediate shelter, of course.” Simon Tewell's chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “Depending on the age of the child, he might be placed in the nursery or perhaps one of the dormitories. Most children seem to adjust quickly to the daily structure we provide, and we operate a first-rate school.”

“I'm sure you do,” Leo said. “What about a very young child, less than two years of age?”

“Occasionally Mr. Emmett has placed very young children in private settings.” Simon pressed the pads of his fingers
together. “But those opportunities are limited. As you can imagine, private care is more costly than caring for a group of children together.”

Archie saw Leo's posture straighten. “Do you keep records of such children, Mr. Tewell?”

Tewell smiled absently and gestured. “We have a room full of records. No doubt you are aware that your sister oversees them. It's perhaps the most valuable work she does for us—other than the fact that the children adore both her and Mr. Edwards.”