11 

Summer waned at last. Charlotte propped both elbows behind her on the ledge and leaned back into one of the curved stone walls in the courtyard. Letting her arms dangle, she lifted her face to the afternoon sun. Not nearly as strong as even a week ago, nevertheless the streaming rays soothed her. Behind her closed eyes, she felt the breeze off the creek where she used to take refuge more than a mile from the old farmhouse. As a girl, especially after her grandmother died, she used to scurry across the fields to be out of shouting distance as quickly as possible, then slow her pace to snoop along the gurgling water spilling over the rocks. For a few prized moments, she could be away. Just away.

Rarely could she afford to indulge such a thought now.

A shadow blocked the sun’s warmth, and she allowed her eyes to quiver open. “Hello, Archie.”

He scowled playfully, crossing his arms and leaning one shoulder against the wall, his body angled toward her. “It’s Thursday.”

“I know what day of the week it is.”

“So why are you here? Thursday is your afternoon and evening off, but you don’t seem to be taking it lately.”

Charlotte shrugged. “There’s too much to do.”

“There’s always too much to do, and the more you’re here to do it, the more you’ll be taken advantage of.”

“You sound like one of those people with the leaflets again.”

“I happen to agree with them on that point. You deserve regular time off. We all do, with the impossible hours we keep.”

“I don’t really have any place to go,” Charlotte said. Henry was here now. Why should she go anywhere else?

“Jump on a streetcar and go where it takes you,” Archie suggested.

“And then what?”

“And then . . . whatever appeals, wherever you end up.”

She laughed. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“What if I could finagle the evening off? Would you come out with me?”

She allowed herself a brief look into his brown eyes. It was tempting. But it could not be. “Who would serve the soup?”

“The new footman,” Archie answered. “Remember, I’m coachman now. It’s time I reminded Mr. Penard of the distinction.”

“I doubt you have to remind Mr. Penard of anything,” Charlotte said. “Besides, I already promised Mrs. Fletcher I would be here. She’s acting rather put out these days.”

“She has reason to be. She was counting on a new scullery maid, and she didn’t get her. But it’s not fair that you have to take up the slack. I haven’t noticed Mrs. Fletcher giving up her days off.”

“There you go, sounding like those labor protesters.”

“I’m just looking for what’s fair.” Archie unfolded an arm and teased Charlotte’s fingers as they hung from the ledge. “It’s only two-thirty. What if I promised to have you back by five? Would you come out with me then?”

Charlotte collected both her hands and busied them in her apron. Whether she wanted to go with Archie was irrelevant. She simply couldn’t, so it did no good to look in his eyes. “That doesn’t seem practical. I’m sorry, Archie. I should go back inside.”

Coachman or not, Archie served the soup in the Banning dining room as he had for three years. Charlotte never lifted her eyes to check for his gaze, but if she had, she was sure she would have found his eyes lowered in the demeanor Mr. Penard insisted on and which was required in every house along Prairie Avenue. Nevertheless, he followed her every move, and Charlotte knew it. She suspected that being near her was the only reason he still served at meals. Gripping dishes with more intention than usual, she resisted the sensation his gaze caused in her. After she cleared the meat plates, Charlotte stacked them carefully in the sink in the butler’s pantry. By the time she returned to the dining room, the family’s conversation had drifted away from the weather and the world’s fair and Samuel’s latest legal challenge.

“I thought perhaps Mr. Emmett would have something helpful,” Leo was saying. “I know Lucy has his ear on a number of matters around the orphanage. If this child were somehow connected to St. Andrew’s, he would know.”

Violet toyed with her sweet potatoes à l’allemande. “Was Mr. Emmett helpful?”

Leo shook his head. “Apparently he is on leave, and his assistant did not seem overly familiar with the filing system. Archie and I had a look for ourselves.”

Charlotte’s stomach pinched. She hated to think what they might have found. Immediately she reminded herself that more than a week had passed since the day Leo whisked Archie out on errands. Archie had not said a suspicious word the whole week. Surely they found nothing worth mentioning.

“And what did you discover?” Violet asked.

Leo shrugged. “As it turns out, not much of anything. Obviously if an infant had gone missing from the orphanage, Mr. Tewell would have informed me when he heard the nature of my inquiry. He said nothing, and I found no record of a child matching the description of the one who turned up here. The child doesn’t seem to have any connection with the orphanage at all.”

“Well, of course not,” Flora Banning said. “That’s why he’s here. Honestly, Leo, I’m not sure why you felt it was necessary to trouble yourself. The entire situation is under control. The child is being well cared for.”

“Yes, clearly he is.” Leo spread his hands in front of him. “However, I thought we might find his mother. She may be suffering regrets. I’ve only glimpsed the boy a time or two, but I left the best description I could with Mr. Tewell. If the mother should turn up looking for him, he will contact us.”

“Why have you waited an entire week to say anything?” Flora pressed.

Leo hesitated. “I’ve sent a telegram to Lucy. I thought it might catch up with her in Paris and she could send a reply if she has some insight into the matter. I had hoped to have some word from her before speaking to you on the matter.”

Flora dropped her fork. “But I’ve already written to Cousin Louisa! I’ve told her all about the child’s charms, and she has sent word that she is most eager to meet the boy. I am only awaiting the details of when her husband can manage to be away from his pressing business matters. In any event, they hope to come to Chicago to visit the fair, so it would be simple enough to spend some time with the child as well.”

Charlotte noticed that Emmaline Brewster had stopped eating altogether, having not even touched her sweet potato. She looked pale. Her hands were in her lap, so if Charlotte did not soon step forward and remove Miss Brewster’s plate, Mr. Penard would chastise her with his eyes—and his words later. Charlotte herself was barely breathing and feared her knees would buckle if she had to hear one more word about her son’s future with strangers.

“Journeying from St. Louis will take some time,” Samuel observed.

“The train is efficient,” Leo said.

“I only just learned that they bought a new home in a country setting,” Flora said. “They hope to move in within six weeks. Greenville, I think.”

Greenville!

Charlotte removed Miss Brewster’s plate swiftly and took it immediately to the butler’s pantry.

Archie eyed the table, flashed a glance at Mr. Penard, then somberly and quietly stepped into the butler’s pantry.

“Charlotte, are you unwell?” he whispered. Bent over the sink, she looked as if her own evening meal might find its way up.

She did not speak, but Archie saw the tremor in her hands.

“Charlotte?” Archie said more urgently. He moved toward her, taking her chin in his hand and inspecting her face. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

She would not meet his eyes.

“I’m going to tell Mr. Penard you’ve taken ill.” He turned her around at the shoulders. “I want you to go up to bed immediately.”

“But—”

“Go, Charlotte.”

On Sunday morning after breakfast, Charlotte carried dishes from the dining room. Archie was finishing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

“Shouldn’t you be pulling the carriage around for the family to go to church?” Charlotte asked. He was watching her too closely since finding her ill in the butler’s pantry. She moved briskly as if to prove she was untroubled.

“Come with me.” Archie locked his eyes onto hers.

“Don’t be silly, Archie.” Charlotte tossed a dish towel at him.

“You’ve only been to church one time since you got here,” he said, “and that was Christmas Eve.”

“I have work to do on Sunday mornings.” Charlotte swished a hand in the dishwater, fishing for a rag. “The family will be expecting luncheon when they get home from church.”

“What if I talk to Mrs. Fletcher?” Archie asked. “What if she says you can go?”

“She won’t.”

“What if she does?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Okay. I would go. But she won’t.”

Archie blew out of the room to find Mrs. Fletcher, and a few minutes later triumphantly announced that Charlotte should go upstairs and change her dress. She was going to church. Charlotte could not help wondering what Archie had to promise Mrs. Fletcher to get her consent, but she could not back out of her own agreement.

Now she stood beside Archie in one of the side balconies looking down on the main floor. The Bannings were sitting just where they’d sat on Christmas Eve, toward the front on the right side, in the pew for which Samuel made a generous annual contribution to the expenses of Second Presbyterian Church. Emmaline Brewster sat between Richard and Leo, and Samuel and Flora sat like bookends at opposite ends of their row. Around them were other Prairie Avenue families Charlotte recognized.

As he had on Christmas Eve, in the balcony Archie covered her hand with his and shared his hymnal with her. And now, as then, Charlotte had no voice for the hymns. The tunes might have been familiar from her childhood, but her heart could not sing.

As the speaker began his sermon on the sovereignty and providence of God, Charlotte pulled her hand out of Archie’s. What was she doing letting him touch her? It would come to no good, and she would only hurt him.

The speaker intoned from Matthew’s Gospel: “Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?”

Charlotte had a fleeting speculation that Jesus might have had a different perspective if he’d had a child to take care of. He made it sound so simple.

“God provides,” the speaker said. “Do you trust him?”

Charlotte shook her head almost imperceptibly. Looking over the balcony banister, she noticed Emmaline Brewster leaning forward in the Banning pew, eyes wide open.

On Sunday afternoon, Emmaline entered the parlor, expecting to find Samuel and Flora, and perhaps even Violet, enjoying a leisurely afternoon and awaiting their tea. She had just returned from airing the baby, certain that he recognized her now and that the smiles aimed in her direction were intentional. It was all she could do to merely push his buggy and gaze down at him, when she wanted to scoop him up and carry him in her arms every step of the way. The small park had become a regular excuse to pause, seek respite on a bench, and pluck the child out of the pram. He toddled around, examining the bounty of nature on the ground, and brought her gifts at frequent intervals. Emmaline kept every rock and twig in a box under her bed.

After dispatching Sarah with the child and longingly watching the girl take him through to the kitchen, Emmaline looked around for any sign of the family in the dining room, foyer, and parlor. Silence greeted her. But it was nearly four. Surely they would appear for tea momentarily. Still basking in the pleasure of the outing with the baby, Emmaline seated herself in the parlor and picked up the latest copy of The Ladies’ Home Journal.

When the telephone in the foyer rang, Emmaline merely turned another magazine page. Observation had proven that if Penard were in the house, he would answer the phone himself. Only if he were unavailable would one of the other servants pass through the family’s rooms for the task. Rarely was a family member moved to action by a jangling phone. Even in her own home, Emmaline seldom answered the telephone herself.

The telephone continued to ring. Emmaline flipped another unread page. Involuntarily she glanced through the arched parlor door and across the foyer, expecting to see the form of one of the staff momentarily. No one came, and the phone continued its insistent clatter. Finally, Emmaline tossed the magazine aside and stepped into the foyer. Still she saw no one. Still the phone jangled.

Tentatively, she picked up the pewter base, raised it to her face, and removed the earpiece.

“Banning residence. Miss Emmaline Brewster speaking.”

She listened carefully, her shoulders trembling.

A young female voice asked for Flora.

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Banning is not available to speak on the telephone. I would be happy to give her a message.”

“Yes, if you would be so kind,” the voice said. “This is her Cousin Louisa. I would very much like to speak to her about the baby she’s keeping.”

Emmaline forced even breaths.

“I’m sorry you’ve been troubled unnecessarily,” Emmaline said at last. “I’m afraid it’s all been an unfortunate misunderstanding, and the situation has been resolved.”

“I don’t understand,” Louisa said. “Do you mean the child is not available?”

“I believe that to be the case,” Emmaline said.

“Flora said nothing about this in her note. Are you sure?”

“I’m quite certain. Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward. It was entirely unforeseen, or I’m sure Flora would not have raised your hopes.”

“I see.”

Emmaline heard the catch in Louisa’s voice at the stunning announcement. She was stunned herself at the words she had spoken.

“Good-bye then,” Louisa said quietly.

“Good-bye, Louisa.”

Emmaline nearly dropped the telephone as she aimed the earpiece for its hook and set the apparatus down. She inhaled deeply and let her breath out in a long controlled silent wind.

Charlotte had been up to her elbows, scrubbing pots, when she realized no one was going to answer the telephone. The family had accepted a last-minute invitation to a private recital at the home of Marshall Field and his wife. Mr. Penard had gone out on a rare personal errand while the house was empty, and several of the staff were enjoying a half day off on Sunday afternoon. Charlotte had even managed to shoo off Archie and his persistent brown eyes excavating her soul. By the time Charlotte got her hands dried off and moved through the dining room to cautiously determine that she should in fact respond to the ringing, the jarring noise stopped.

She stood with her hands on the pocket doors between the dining room and the foyer, gazing at the back of Miss Emmaline Brewster.

And she heard what she said. Someone with an attachment to the child has come forward.