Waiting for Spring (13 page)

“It's worse than that. I hurt Charlotte.”

Harrison's grin faded. “That is serious. You'd better fix it.”

Though he'd eaten only half his meal, Barrett rose. “I'm not sure I can fix it,” he admitted as he tossed his napkin onto the table, “but I'm going to try. Don't be surprised if I come back battered and bloody.”

Harrison reached for a piece of corn bread, his lips curving into a smile. “She wouldn't do that.”

“You don't know Charlotte.” Barrett hoped he did.

“What's wrong, David?” Charlotte watched as her son cocked his head before starting to crawl toward the door.
Gwen and Rose were out taking a walk, leaving Charlotte and David in the kitchen with Charlotte rolling out dough for gingerbread cookies while David played on the floor. Judging from his reaction, her son had heard something she hadn't. It wouldn't be the first time. Although he could not see, his other senses—particularly his hearing—were more acute than Charlotte's.

A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Charlotte brushed the flour from her hands before scooping David into her arms. Though he still wasn't comfortable standing, he had learned to crawl at a speed that continued to amaze her. She wouldn't take the chance that he'd scoot outside.

Holding her now squirming son, Charlotte opened the door. At the sight of her visitor, she started to slam it. He had no right to be here. It didn't matter that he was breathtakingly handsome and that his eyes were as brilliant as the Wyoming sky. Those were superficial trappings. What mattered was what was inside a man, and what was inside Barrett Landry was ugly.

He wedged his foot inside the door. “I know I don't deserve it, but I hope you'll give me another chance.”

An apology. She hadn't expected that. That and his smile, which seemed to include David, were difficult to resist. The least she could do was listen. The common courtesy Mama had instilled in her daughters demanded that. “All right. Come in.”

As she led the way toward the sitting area, Charlotte spoke to her son. “Mr. Landry has come to visit.” Though she doubted he would recall the name, David probably recognized the voice and scent, a combination of bay rum, cold air, and something unique to Barrett. When she'd placed David on the
floor and handed him the stuffed sock that was this week's favorite toy, Charlotte settled herself in one of the chairs and nodded toward the other. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Barrett removed his coat, folding it over the chair back, and laid a small sack at his feet. She hadn't noticed that he'd been carrying anything, but she'd been so surprised by his arrival that she might not have noticed if he'd had a bolt of fabric tucked under his arm.

Placing his hands on his knees, Barrett leaned forward, as if he sought to close the distance between the two chairs. “I want to apologize for my behavior on Saturday.”

There was no stammering, none of the hesitation Jeffrey had shown the few times he'd apologized. Barrett's eyes radiated sincerity, and the look he gave David was that of any man looking at any child. The revulsion and pity Charlotte had seen on his face three days ago were gone, replaced by what appeared to be genuine remorse. “My mother taught me that when a man does something truly stupid, his apology should be accompanied by a gift. What I did was stupid, and so I hope you'll accept this.” He reached into the sack and pulled out an easily recognizable box. When Barrett made amends, he did it with style.

Charlotte smiled. “Your apology is accepted. And so is your gift.” She looked at the pale blue box that signified a special treat. “Thank you, Barrett. I've heard that Mr. Ellis's chocolates are delicious.” Henry Ellis wasn't simply an excellent baker. He was also an accomplished chocolatier. As Charlotte opened the lid, David sat up, his nose quivering. “Yes, David, it's chocolate. We'll have some later.”

Barrett's eyes widened slightly. “Your words sounded as if you've never eaten Ellis chocolates.”

“I haven't.” There was no need to state the obvious, that indulgences like expensive chocolates were rare in this household. The mismatched chairs and the slightly frayed rug told their tale. A shiver made its way down Charlotte's back as she thought of the luxuries she had had at Fort Laramie. Those days were over. She had left the Steinway piano, the Wedgwood china, and the fancy furniture, bringing only what she could carry in a single trunk. The rest would have been reminders of a life that had brought more heartbreak than happiness. Charlotte shivered again. If the baron could see the way she lived, he'd realize that she did not have the fortune Jeffrey was supposed to have found.

Seemingly oblivious to her inner turmoil, Barrett reached for the sack and handed it to Charlotte. “I know David doesn't understand apologies, but my guess is that gifts are always welcome. This is for him.” Barrett glanced at David before returning his attention to Charlotte. “If he already has one, I can choose something else.”

Charlotte reached into the bag, smiling as she withdrew a medium-sized wooden ball. “It's perfect, and, no, David does not have one.” She rotated the ball, checking for splinters. Of course there were none. A man with Barrett Landry's wealth would buy only the best.

His eyes sparkled as he watched her. “I'll take it as a good sign that you didn't throw that at me, even if I do deserve it. I warned Harrison that I might come home battered and bruised.”

“Did you really think I'd do that?”

Barrett shook his head. “I didn't think you were violent, but I've learned that mother cows can be unpredictable when their young are threatened.”

Charlotte couldn't help it. She laughed. “Just a hint, Mr. Landry.” She feigned indignation. “If you want to win a woman's good graces, it would be prudent not to compare her to a bovine.”

“If I had any doubts that you were once a schoolteacher, your etiquette lesson, not to mention your use of the word
bovine
, would have squashed them. Your point is well taken.” Barrett's face sobered as he said, “I probably shouldn't judge human behavior by what I see on the range, but since I arrived in the territory, I've spent more time with cattle than people. I want you to know how sorry I am about how I behaved on Saturday. I was surprised—shocked is probably the better word—but that's no excuse for treating you and David the way I did.”

Once again, his voice rang with sincerity, and Charlotte felt her last resistance melt. It took a strong man to humble himself with an apology. She nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue.

“The only thing I can say in my defense is that I was worried about what the future would hold for him . . . and for you.”

“I can tell you right now that David's future will not hold an asylum.”

“That's your decision. You're David's mother, and you know better than anyone what he needs. My only experience with blindness has been with cattle.”

As he recounted the story of the blind calf, Charlotte gripped the chair arms. She'd been mistaken in judging Barrett. He had been worried, not disgusted. He'd spoken from sympathy, not prejudice.

“I'm sorry my thoughtless words hurt you,” he concluded. “I hope you'll forgive me.”

“I do. I already told you that I accepted your apology. Now that I know the whole story, I realize that I was wrong.” Charlotte laid her hand on David's head, tousling the red hair so like his father's. “I was hurt, probably more than I should have been. Any slight to David hurts me, but it was worse coming from a friend.”

“Are we friends again?” Barrett's voice held a note Charlotte didn't recognize.

“I hope so.”

“Then let's see how your son likes his ball.”

To Barrett's surprise, Charlotte handed him the ball. “You should give it to him. Tell him what it is and that you're going to put it in his hand.”

Though he had little experience with children, other than the ones who had come into the family's store in Northwick, Barrett had never seen parents go to such lengths to give a child a toy. There had to be a reason. He thought for a second before nodding. “That's so he's not surprised.”

“Exactly.” The smile Charlotte gave him made Barrett feel as if he'd accomplished something important, not simply understanding how to approach her son.

“I spent days with my eyes closed, trying to imagine David's world.” What an amazing woman! Perhaps it was the fact that she'd once taught school that helped her think like a child, but Barrett suspected it was more than that. He was seeing a mother's love at work.

He rose, then squatted next to the boy. “David, it's Mr. Landry. I've brought you a ball. Hold out your hands, and I'll give it to you.” When the child extended his hands at
shoulder width, Barrett laid the ball on the floor and moved David's hands closer. “Ball,” he said as he placed the child's hands around his gift. “Can you say that?”

For a second, David did not speak. As he rolled the ball between his hands, Barrett could see that he was teaching himself the shape and texture of his new toy. “Baw,” he said at last.

“That's close. Ball.”

David hugged the ball to his chest. Had he misunderstood the word
close
? “Balls are meant to be rolled on the floor,” Barrett explained. “Can you do that?”

David shook his head and clutched the ball closer.

“He's never had a moving toy,” Charlotte said. “Toys are something he holds or places on the floor. They're always stationary.”

“I see.” Barrett winced at the phrase. How often did he use it, not realizing that it might be painful to the mother of a child who could not see? “Come, David. Let's put the ball on the floor.”

As the boy complied, the ball rolled away. Startled by the sound, David reached for his toy, encountering only bare floor. He patted the floor in all directions before beginning to wail.

“It's all right. You'll get it back.” Barrett retrieved the ball, then sat on the floor a few feet in front of David. “I'm going to roll the ball to you, David. Put your hands on the floor. You'll feel it coming. Here it comes.”

As the ball touched David's hands, he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest. “Baw.”

“That's right. Now it's your turn. Roll it to me.” But no matter how often Barrett tried, no matter how he phrased the commands, David would not relinquish his toy.

“He's the answer to prayer.”

Charlotte reached for the plate Gwen was holding and began to dry it. Both children were in bed, and the women were washing dishes. “Who are you talking about?”

“Barrett.” Gwen swished the cloth around another plate. “While I was walking with Rose, I kept praying that God would send someone who could take my place here. He sent Barrett.”

The thought was ludicrous. “He came to bring David a toy, not to change my life.” Although, to a small degree, he had done that. Barrett's visit had restored Charlotte's sense of peace. Her anger had faded along with the sense of being on edge. The past few days had reminded her of a childhood summer when she had tried to walk on the railroad tracks. Though Abigail and Elizabeth had mastered the skill easily, it had been proven to be far more difficult than Charlotte had imagined to keep her balance. She'd tottered from one side to another, coming so close to falling that Abigail had grabbed her arm. Only when she'd been able to place both feet back on the ground had Charlotte felt as if the world had stopped spinning the wrong direction. For the past three days, she'd had that same sense of vertigo, but now, thanks to Barrett's visit, she had regained her equilibrium.