Charlotte awoke that morning to unaccustomed silence, after so many nights of rain on the roof. It disconcerted her momentarily, a sensation that redoubled when she heard another odd sound, the squeaking of the rocking chair on her front porch. She put on a robe and walked outside into the chilly dawn.
Ambrose Gardner sat in the rocking chair she had bought for him, wrapped in one of his buffalo robes, a distracted expression on his face. “When did you get here?” Charlotte said.
“Not long,” said Gardner. “I woke up restless and the stars were shining, so I started out. Came around the long way so I wouldn’t have to cross any creeks in the dark.”
“Come on in, I’ll start coffee.”
Charlotte shook down the damper in her stove and tossed in some small pieces of kindling, and soon had a blaze going. As the house warmed up, she placed a pot on the stove and stepped inside her bedroom to dress properly. When she returned, Gardner was warming himself by the stove. She poured out the coffee and handed him a cup.
“So you’re a night wanderer now,” she said. “Better watch out, mamas will be making a boogeyman out of you to get their children to mind.”
Gardner laughed ruefully. “I reckon so. Perhaps my eccentricities are getting the best of me.”
His face looked worn. Charlotte took stock of the man—his muddy shoes, his sleepless eyes—and felt a rush of affection. “And you came all this way to see me.”
“That’s a fact.”
She kissed him. “Sit down, then. You must be tired.”
“Not so. When the mind is active, the body follows.”
“If you say so. My body isn’t as obedient as yours.” She held her coffee cup close and inhaled the aroma. The small rituals of life, a morning coffee, a few quiet words. It was remarkable how much these little things meant. “You have an active mind. No one will dispute that.”
“Want to hear what I’ve been thinking? A long walk conduces reflection.”
“Always. If it weren’t so chilly out, we could sit on the porch and watch the sun rise.”
Charlotte sat at her table and waited, knowing that Gardner liked to take his time working toward a thought. He seated himself across from her, and for once the sly humor was gone from his face.
“What are you planning to do with yourself for the next few years?” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Charlotte, taken aback. “I’ll have my first grandchild soon. Adam and Penelope will need help.”
“And?”
“Well, I’m a private landowner now, just like you. So I suppose I’ll have to tend my estate.” They laughed.
An expectant look remained on Gardner’s face, and in that expectancy an idea occurred to Charlotte.
“And the suffrage movement has gone West these days—Kansas, Utah, Washington Territory. I wonder if I might be of use out there.”
“That’s what I like to hear! Thinking forward for yourself, not just for others.”
“And you, Ambrose? Gaze into your crystal.”
He stood up and walked to the back door, looked out the window a while, then returned to the stove, brought the coffee pot and refilled their cups before sitting down again. “Two men have died because of me. The first I don’t regret and needn’t speak of. But the second . . . “
He took a sip of coffee.
“We all may say that I didn’t directly kill him, or even intend to. I never even knew the man. But his life weighs on me just the same as if I did.”
Charlotte nodded. “True.”
“I have nothing of value to myself but a few books and mementos. The land that was once my treasured refuge is now spoiled to me, nothing more than a reminder of the folly of placing value on physical things. You’d think all my philosophy would have taught me that by now.” He took a sip.
“The trees will grow back.”
“Not in my lifetime. And besides, the trees were never the point. The sense of harmony was the point, and that will never return once lost. So I will deed over the land to Mr. Corum’s widow. It has a spring, and perhaps some tillable soil in the bottom, and if nothing else they can run hogs.”
“And you? What will become of you?”
“Here’s where the crystal clouds. I have my veteran’s mite. I can return East to my brother’s town, find some rooms or a little piece of ground, make my way along. I’d be content at that.”
He reached across the table and took her hand.
“Or I could come to you as a man with nothing to offer, no home, no prospects, no wealth to speak of, nothing but a true and honest heart and the greatest admiration and love for you, who will help you farm your ground and cheer you when you go on your suffrage travels. I have nothing to offer you but myself. But I love you. Will you marry me, Charlotte Turner?”
Now it was Charlotte’s turn to stand up and walk about the room. Her heart was beating fast, and she felt a flush of heat on her face as if she had walked into an unexpected beam of sunlight.
She had thought to be done with all the folderol of romance. Earnest declarations and tender feelings were for the young. She walked into the front room and out onto the porch, not minding the cold damp air with its promise of more rain by noontime. Gardner followed her out.
“You practiced that, didn’t you?” she said with a smile.
He cleared his throat. “Parts.” She took his hand.
Charley Pettibone and Newton came into view, grim-faced, leading the little orphan girl from Barton Braswell’s family by the hand. They stopped in front of Charlotte’s house, where Charley tipped his hat to her and nodded to Gardner, politely avoiding any inquiry as to what Gardner was doing there at this hour of the morning. “Ma’am, we need your advice,” he said.
“Well, come in, then,” said Charlotte. “Child, you must be cold in that thin shift.”
“No ma’am,” said the girl, but inside she darted for the stove and hovered near it.
“Have you eaten?” Charlotte said.
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Charley said. “You know Jenny wouldn’t let a body out of the house without filling it first.”
Charlotte smiled and waited.
“Mr. Braswell and company have decamped,” Charley said. “But Wilhelmina here has come into my custody. Newton and I fetched her yesterday afternoon, and now the question is what to do with her. My house is full, and it don’t seem proper to lodge her with Newton, him being a single man, and I don’t see my way clear to putting her on the train back north.”
Wilhelmina. That was the name. She should have remembered. Charlotte could see where this was heading. “I’ll not take her in,” she said. “I don’t need a house girl. I can tend for myself quite well, thank you.”
Charley’s face dropped, and although Wilhelmina’s expression was a mask, Charlotte could see the slightest of downturns at the corners of the mouth, hints of what in a softer child would have been tears or wails.
“But I know someone who does, and I’m surprised you didn’t think of it yourself,” she went on. “Not five houses up the road is Sarah Wickman, caring for her dad, and as you well know the task is getting harder every day. The poor girl hasn’t the time to darn a sock, she’s so caught up in minding her father.” Charlotte turned to Wilhelmina. “She needs the help, and I’m guessing a sharp girl like you could keep a watchful eye and meet both their needs. Do you think so, Wilhelmina?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Charley, what do you think?”
Charley wiped his face with the broad palm of his hand. “Wouldn’t be any plainer if it’d pinched my nose.”
“Go on up, then, and if Sarah worries about the expense of another mouth to feed, tell her I’ll contribute. But I bet an able young miss such as you will soon be an addition rather than a subtraction to the family larder.”
“Oh yes, ma’am, there’s never been another worker like me,” Wilhelmina announced.
Charlotte knelt in front of her. “More important. Sarah is kind, and she’s smart. You will learn a lot from her.”
Wilhelmina curtsied and followed after Charley. They walked into the muddy street, and Charley cocked an eye to the clouds. ““Looks like more to come. Will it ever stop raining?”
“Oh, yes,” said Charlotte.
“When the sun comes out.”
She watched them for a moment then turned inside. “They may have eaten, but we haven’t,” she said. “Wash up and I’ll fry some bacon.” Gardner took the washpan from the counter and started toward the back door to the well. He didn’t speak or try to catch her eye, although they both knew that his question hung between them. But he was giving her room, and Charlotte appreciated that unspoken gesture of consideration. It occurred to her that she felt quite happy.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you. Now rest a while, and then go home and get your dog.”