Waiting for Spring (37 page)

His impatience was endearing, warming Charlotte as much as his kisses had. “Tomorrow sounds wonderful, but it wouldn't be right.” She hoped Barrett would understand her reasons. “We need to wait until after Easter. I know not everyone adheres to convention, but my father felt strongly that Lent was a time for solemn reflection. That's why he would not marry a couple during Lent. Even though he's no longer here, I want to abide by his wishes.”

“Certainly.” Barrett tightened the grip on her hand. Though his words were matter-of-fact, his expression was anything but. His eyes sparkled, and his lips curved into the sweetest of smiles, leaving her no doubt that this man who'd haunted so many of her dreams and even more of her waking moments loved her. “Will that give your sisters enough time to come here? I imagine you want them with you.”

“I do,” she admitted, “but not if it means delaying our wedding.” As dearly as she loved her sisters, she loved Barrett more. Perhaps she was being greedy, but she wanted their life together to begin as soon as possible. Charlotte raised
her left hand, smiling at the ring that changed colors as she moved it, revealing new depths and beauty. Still smiling, she met Barrett's gaze. “Let's not wait for my sisters. Elizabeth couldn't come until school ends, and that's months from now. I don't know whether Abigail is able to travel at all. She might be in a delicate condition.” Barrett's nod told Charlotte he understood her reference. “What about your brothers?” she asked, mindful that her family was not the only one to consider. “Will they come?”

“Not both of them. They can't leave the store for that long, and by now Camden's bride may also be in a delicate condition. Let's pick a date and see how many of our family can make it. If none of them can, we'll visit them on our wedding trip.” Barrett uncrossed his ankles and leaned forward. “Easter's April 10. Would April 11 be too soon?”

Charlotte chuckled, amused and yet pleased that he was as eager for their marriage as she. “It's less than four weeks, but I can be ready. If Abigail can't come, I'll ask Gwen to be my attendant.” A thought assailed her. It wasn't only her life that was about to change. “I've been selfish. I haven't considered how this will affect her and Rose.” While it was possible that Warren would marry her, Charlotte could not assume that.

“I'd hardly call you selfish.” Waiting until the clock finished chiming the hour, Barrett added, “Gwen can stay in the apartment, if that's what's bothering you. I won't need the space for the store, and I assume you and I will live here.” His eyes brightened. “Would you like to see the upstairs? I'm not sure what you'll want to change for the school.”

How could she have forgotten the school? The prospect of becoming Barrett's wife must have turned her brain to cornmeal mush.

“What about the baron?”

Barrett had a ready answer. “I'm going to hire a Pinkerton to look for him. The baron may be clever, but he's no match for a Pinkerton. So, Charlotte Harding Crowley soon to become Charlotte Landry, let's talk about your school.”

“Are you certain you don't mind the idea of having a school here? You've seen how noisy David can be. It'll be much worse if we have a dozen or so pupils.” When Barrett didn't respond immediately, Charlotte added, “Perhaps I should reconsider. It might be better if it wasn't a boarding school.”

“Better for whom?” Barrett rose and settled her hand on his arm. “If you're worried about me, don't be. This house has been quiet for too long.” He opened the door and escorted her toward the lovely carved staircase.

“It won't be quiet if we have children living with us.”

“And that's good. It'll be alive.” Barrett waited until they reached the second floor before he spoke again. “So, we're agreed. We'll be married on April 11, and then we'll begin planning for your school and my new store.”

He led her along the hallway, opening the doors to each of the six bedrooms. Though less ornately furnished than the first floor rooms, it was obvious to Charlotte that a great deal of planning had been involved in decorating chambers that would rarely have been used. The first two rooms on each side had connecting doors, and though the wallpaper in each was a different color, the patterns were similar enough to be pleasing. One side, which Charlotte immediately appropriated for the girls, was predominantly pink and lavender, while the other was decorated in shades of blue and green. The two rooms that formed a suite at the back of the house were clearly Barrett's personal domain, and Charlotte felt a
twinge of uneasiness entering them. Boasting maroon drapes with gold tassels and a matching bedspread, the main room was masculine, and yet not overly so. Charlotte could imagine living here. And the smaller room, which reversed the color scheme, appeared almost feminine.

“What do you think?” Barrett asked when they returned to the hallway. “There are another ten rooms on the third floor. They're smaller, of course, because they're intended for servants.”

“Or teachers.” Charlotte looked around the second floor. “This is perfect.” It could easily accommodate the dozen pupils she thought she might have eventually, and if the need arose, she could expand the school to twenty. “We'll have the girls here,” she said, gesturing toward the pink and lavender rooms. “The older girls in the front room, the younger ones next to them. And the boys will be in the blue and green rooms.”

Barrett's lips twisted as if he were trying to squelch a smile. “And the last two rooms?”

Charlotte felt herself blushing. How silly. She had been married before, and yet she was acting like a schoolgirl. “They're for us,” she said as calmly as she could. “We can turn the gold room into a sitting area. It'll give us a quiet place to escape.”

“A sanctuary.” Barrett's lips twisted into one of the crooked grins she loved as he added, “Or a nursery.”

“How can you even suggest that?” As Warren watched, the blood drained from Gwen's face. “Charlotte wouldn't lie to me.”

Though he wished there were a way to spare her, there wasn't. Eventually Gwen would know the truth about her so-called friend. “She did. I'm certain of it. The woman you know as Charlotte Harding is really Charlotte Crowley, Lieutenant Jeffrey Crowley's widow. He was stationed at Fort Laramie until his death.” Gwen needed to know that, but she most definitely did not need to know that it was Warren who had killed the hapless lieutenant.

Gwen's light blue eyes flashed with anger. She didn't like the truth, learning that dear, sweet Charlotte, her best friend, was a liar. “I won't believe it. I . . .” Before she could complete her sentence, a child started to scream. Gwen jumped to her feet. “It's David. He probably realizes that Charlotte isn't here.” She gave Warren a stern look. “Good-bye, Warren. I need to comfort David, and you need to go. I don't want to hear any more of your lies about Charlotte.”

Though she gestured toward the back door, Warren did not move. He wouldn't leave. Not like this, with anger between them. With a small harrumph, Gwen entered the room off the kitchen, switching on the light. “It's all right, David,” he heard her say, her voice gentle now that she wasn't speaking to him. “Everything will be all right.”

Just as everything would be all right between him and Gwen. He would wait until the child was asleep, and then he'd make her understand.

Settling back in the chair, Warren listened as Gwen crooned to Charlotte's son. “There, there. Mama will be home soon. It's time to sleep.” Her voice rose and fell as if she were singing. It was a soothing sound, and yet the child continued to wail. “All right,” she said when it appeared that David was not responding to her comforting words. “I'll read you a story.
Mama always has a book on her nightstand. We'll find a good story.” The word
story
seemed to have penetrated the boy's brain, for his wails subsided into little whimpers.

Warren heard Gwen's firm footsteps and suspected she was picking out a book. He closed his eyes, wondering how long she would have to read before Charlotte's brat fell asleep. But there were no sounds other than a brief gasp. Warren opened his eyes, curious about whatever had surprised Gwen.

Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, her expression distraught. “You were right, Warren,” she said, holding out a Bible. “Charlotte lied. The proof is here.”

 26 

S
omething's wrong.” Charlotte felt her heart begin to race as they approached the house, and she turned toward Barrett, placing her hand on his arm. She wanted—no, she needed—the reassurance that he was next to her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but ever since they'd left his house, her nerves had been on edge. There was no logical reason. The night was cold and clear, and for once the wind was not howling. Ferguson Street looked as peaceful as ever; no masked strangers lurked in the shadows. And yet Charlotte could not dismiss her feeling that something was terribly wrong. The closer they came to her home, the stronger the fear had grown. Now as Barrett halted the carriage, Charlotte knew she had not been mistaken.

“What do you mean? What's wrong?”

Trying to keep her hand from trembling, Charlotte pointed toward the stairway, which was now shrouded in darkness. “There's no light on the steps. Gwen always turns it on when one of us is out after sunset.”

Barrett laid his hand over hers, the warmth sending waves of comfort through her veins. “She must have forgotten.”

His voice was as comforting as his touch, but still the fear remained. Something was wrong. Not only was the stairway light extinguished, but there were no lights on in the apartment. Surely Gwen would have wanted to hear about Charlotte's evening with Barrett. She had been so certain that it was going to be a special one. And it had been.

“I might have forgotten the light, but Gwen would not.” Gwen was almost ritualistic in the way she followed a routine. “Something's wrong,” Charlotte repeated when Barrett helped her out of the carriage and they began to climb the darkened steps. When they reached the landing, her fear deepened. “Look, Barrett. The door's ajar. Gwen would never have left it like that.” Even during the summer, when they would have benefited from a cool breeze, Gwen had insisted that critters, as she called them, might enter the apartment unless the door was completely shut. And now when winter still gripped Cheyenne, despite the calendar's claim that spring was only a few days away, she was too frugal to have allowed cold air into the apartment.

Barrett wrapped his arm around Charlotte's shoulders and gave them a quick squeeze. “Let me go first.” He pushed the door open, then fumbled for a light. “Where's the switch?” Seconds later, the room was bright. “Everything looks normal,” he reported.

Charlotte shivered as she entered her house. Barrett was correct. There were no signs of an intruder. That wasn't the problem. “It doesn't feel right,” she said as she looked at the modest room that had been her home for almost a year and a half. “It feels empty. Look, Barrett,” she said, pointing at
the door to the room she and David shared. It was ajar. “We always keep that door closed at night,” she told Barrett as she raced across the kitchen. “David's so sensitive to sounds that even footsteps can waken him.”

Though they were both whispering, the fear that had lodged in her stomach shrieked that there was no need for whispers.
Please, Lord
, she prayed as she flicked on the light in her bedroom.
Let David be safe.
But he was not. The crib was empty, the blankets tossed aside, the pillow discarded on the floor. Even the wooden ball that David insisted on having by his side each night was missing.

As darkness threatened to engulf her and her legs turned to rubber, Charlotte gripped the crib rail. “Barrett!” she cried. “David's gone!”

He was there in a second, drawing her close to him. “Maybe he's in Gwen's room.”

If only that were true. But Charlotte knew it was not. Gwen wasn't here. Opening the door to her friend's bedchamber merely confirmed Charlotte's premonition that something was terribly wrong. The apartment was empty. David was gone, and so were Gwen and Rose.

“Perhaps there's an innocent explanation.” Barrett's embrace was comforting, but it wasn't enough. There would be no comfort until Charlotte had David back in her arms.

“There's nothing innocent about this. Gwen would never take the children out this late.” Switching off the light in the front bedroom, Charlotte returned to the center of the apartment. Barrett stayed close to her, but he had let his arms drop, as if he knew that she needed to move without impediment. Where had Gwen gone, and why? The questions reverberated through Charlotte's brain, and with each iteration, her
dread increased. The only answer made no sense. The baron. But if he had discovered her identity, there was no reason to have involved Gwen.

Charlotte looked around the apartment, her eyes searching for a clue. Nothing appeared out of place. And yet . . . She took another step into the parlor area, drawn by the sight of a folded sheet of paper on the table next to the settee. It wasn't normal to have paper there, but somehow she had missed it when she'd rushed into Gwen's room.

“What is it?” Barrett's voice was rough with emotion. Though David was her son, Charlotte knew he loved the boy almost as dearly as she did.

Her hands trembling, she opened the paper, shuddering as she read the scribbled words. “He's found me. The baron has found me.” Though there was no signature, only one person on Earth could have written the note.

Gently, Barrett touched Charlotte's shoulders and led her toward the settee. “You'd better sit down. I don't want you to collapse.” When they were both seated, he drew her close to him. “What did he say?”

Charlotte began to read. “‘Mrs. Crowley.' It has to be the baron, and now he knows my real name. ‘If you want to see your son again, bring me the money your husband stole.' He still thinks Jeffrey took Big Nose's stash, but he didn't.”

Barrett stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. It was the same gesture Charlotte had used countless times to soothe David, particularly when he'd had a nightmare. Only this was no nightmare. It was real.

“What else did he say?”

“He told me what he wants. ‘If I don't have
 
. . .'” Charlotte
sobbed as she read the amount. “‘One hundred thousand dollars by noon tomorrow, your son will die.'”

“Anything else?”

Charlotte handed the page to Barrett. “There are directions to the place where he's taken David.” Gripping Barrett's arm, Charlotte whispered the final words. “He says if I bring anyone with me, he'll kill David.” Her sweet, innocent little boy was in the grip of a madman. “I can't lose David. I can't.”

Barrett shook his head, and Charlotte knew he was trying to encourage her. “The baron won't kill David. He has no reason to. You'll give him the money, and he'll release your son.”

“I don't have the money. You know that, Barrett. Even with the gambling and the thefts, Jeffrey never had that much money.” Charlotte bit her lip, trying to keep from crying. “I feel so powerless, trying to imagine what it must be like for David, being in a strange place with a strange man.”

Barrett continued the rhythmic stroking of Charlotte's hair. “David's not alone. Gwen and Rose are with him. It's the only thing that makes any sense. Gwen will keep David safe until you deliver the money.”

“What money? I don't have a hundred thousand dollars, and the banks aren't likely to lend me that much.”

“Don't worry about the money. We don't even have to wait for the banks to open. That's why we're going to my house.” Barrett rose and drew Charlotte to her feet. “I can ransom David.”

He had told her that he had money saved, but Charlotte had not considered that it might be a fortune.

“Your savings? Your emergency money?”

“Exactly.” Barrett headed for the door. “My parents didn't
trust banks after the panic of '57, so I have a safe at home. I have a little more than a hundred thousand dollars in it. Come on, Charlotte,” he said, tugging at her hand. “David is waiting.”

Charlotte's legs refused to cooperate. She doubted they would support her, for they felt weaker than they had the summer she was expecting David, when she'd been so ill for so long.

“You'd give me all your money?” she asked, still not believing what she'd heard. Perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised, for Barrett had offered her his house, which was worth many times the ransom. Still, this was an incredibly generous offer, since the money represented his last measure of security.

As her legs buckled at the evidence of Barrett's love, he put his arm around her waist. “I love you, Charlotte. Both you and David. I'd do anything in my power to keep you safe.”

Charlotte swallowed deeply, trying to corral her emotions. Fears for David mingled with relief that one hurdle had been surmounted. Thanks to this wonderful, wonderful man, she would soon be able to ransom her son.

“I don't know what to say, Barrett. ‘Thank you' seems inadequate.”

The tension on his face subsided, and he smiled. “I'll collect payment when David is safe.”

“Payment? How will I . . . ?”

His smile turned into a grin. “Trust me. You can afford what I have in mind. But first things first. There's no time to waste. Your son is waiting.”

When they reached Barrett's house, if Mr. Bradley was surprised to see Charlotte again, he was too well trained to
give any indication. He merely nodded when Barrett asked him to have two horses saddled. “I'm afraid we have no side saddles,” Barrett said when Mr. Bradley marched toward the back door, his spine as stiff as if there were nothing out of the ordinary.

“I can ride astride.” It wouldn't be comfortable, particularly in a silk gown, but that was unimportant. What was important was reaching David. Charlotte shivered inside her warm cloak. “Why did you ask for two horses?”

Barrett raised an eyebrow. “You don't think I'd let you go alone, do you? It's nighttime. You don't know the way, and I don't know who else is out there.”

“But the baron said . . .”

“I know what he said, but he won't see me. I promise you that. Now, let me get the money.”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Barrett raced to the second floor. When he returned, he was carrying a leather satchel. As he waited for Mr. Bradley to bring the horses out of the stable, Barrett unfolded the paper and stared at the baron's written demands, his expression pensive. “The handwriting looks familiar,” he told Charlotte, “but it's so scribbled that I can't identify it. I know the place, though. It's the Franklin ranch. I heard the family gave up ranching last summer and moved back East. Richard mentioned that someone bought it, but he didn't know who. My guess is that the new owners haven't moved in, and somehow the baron learned that the place was deserted.”

When the horses were ready, Barrett helped Charlotte mount hers, then sprang onto his. Turning to Mr. Bradley, he said, “If we're not back in three hours, tell the sheriff we went to the Franklin ranch.”

Charlotte shuddered. “We can't tell anyone. The baron said . . .”

“I know what he said. That's why Mr. Bradley will wait before he calls the sheriff, but I want to be sure that we have backup. Just in case.”

Riding was more difficult than Charlotte had anticipated. It was true that she had ridden astride, but that had been as a child, one day when the boys next door had challenged her and Abigail to ride like them. Tonight was far different. Unlike the sturdy wool riding habit she'd had at Fort Laramie, her silk gown with its waterfall skirt and short train was not designed for the constant abrasion of a saddle. Unfortunately, not even the habit would have made riding astride easy. Her skirts hiked to a scandalous height, Charlotte clung to the reins, hoping she would manage to remain seated. What had seemed like an adventure when she was a child was now an ordeal, and yet Charlotte would not complain, for she knew that whatever David was enduring was worse. Much worse.

They were headed directly west of the city, Barrett told her as they rode toward the Franklin ranch. Though the sky was spangled with stars, the moon was almost new, the tiny sliver casting little light. The conditions were far from ideal for traveling, but the darkness would help conceal Barrett once they arrived. Though he'd promised he'd remain hidden, Charlotte suspected he had something in mind. What it was, she did not know. She had no plans beyond rescuing David. Getting her son out of the baron's clutches and into her arms was all she cared about.