Waiting for Spring (39 page)

“Gwen won't marry you, because she's seen the real you,” Charlotte announced as calmly as if she were discussing the weather. “She wouldn't marry a man who killed her friends.”

Warren's face contorted with anger as Charlotte's words hit their mark. “You know nothing! You're nothing but a liar, and you know what liars deserve?” He raised his gun and pointed it at Charlotte. “They deserve to die.” He narrowed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening,
almost obliterating Warren's cry of rage when the gun flew from his hand, propelled by the force of Barrett's arm, and the bullet lodged in the ceiling. “You!” Warren snarled as he tackled Barrett. “You deserve to die too.”

A second later, the two men were on the floor, grunting with pain as their punches landed, rolling across the floor as each tried to gain supremacy. Charlotte winced each time Barrett groaned, but there was nothing she could do except pray that he would not be seriously hurt. Though Barrett had the advantage of age, Warren's fury lent him unexpected strength. Neither man spoke except with fists and the animal-like grunts and groans that those fists provoked.

The fight was more brutal than anything Charlotte had ever witnessed, and yet she knew it could have been worse. If Warren still had his weapon, blood would have been shed. He would have tried to kill Barrett, and Barrett would have had no choice but to retaliate. As it was, both men had a chance of survival.

Charlotte closed her eyes for a second, trying to block out the horrible sights, but that was worse. Deprived of sight, her imagination conjured a scene that was worse than reality. Poor David. He had no way of knowing what was happening. It was no wonder that he'd scrambled to his feet and stood at her side, clinging to her. But, though he was clearly terrified, Charlotte was powerless to do anything but croon to him, trying to reassure him that the strange sounds he heard, sounds which must be even more frightening for him than they were for her, would stop.

And they did. Though it seemed as if hours had passed, Charlotte knew it was only minutes later when Warren began to tire. Barrett flipped him over, using his body to pin Warren
to the floor, then pulled back his arm and punched the older man on the jaw. Even a trained boxer would have been proud of the knockout punch.

Somehow, though his muscles must have protested, Barrett found the energy to get to his feet. Once standing, he sprinted the few yards to Charlotte's side. “Are you all right?” His eyes narrowed as he touched her bruised cheek. “Did he do that?” When Charlotte nodded, Barrett frowned. “I should have hit him harder.”

“I'll live.” Two simple words, and yet they were the answer to prayer. Despite everything Warren had tried to do, all four of them were still alive.

Within seconds, Barrett had untied her. Charlotte rubbed her wrists and flexed her toes, trying to restore the circulation. As soon as she thought her arms were strong enough, she lifted David into her arms. “You're safe, David. Mama's here, and so is Mr. Landry. He kept you safe.”

With the resiliency of the very young, David seemed to have forgotten his ordeal. “Bowl?” he asked, turning toward Barrett.

Charlotte shook her head. “Not now, young man. We're going home, and you're going to bed.” Patting David's back, Charlotte started to rise, then froze. It couldn't be, and yet it was. Warren had regained consciousness and was crawling toward his gun.

“Barrett! Look out!”

It was too late. Warren had the weapon clutched in his hand.

“You can't stop me!” A wild laugh accompanied his words. Though Barrett lunged toward him, there was nothing he could do. In less than a second, Warren had pressed the revolver to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

 28 

I
was such a fool.” Gwen's red-rimmed eyes bore witness to her sleepless night and the tears she had shed. Exhausted by their ordeal, both David and Rose were still in bed, leaving Gwen and Charlotte alone at the breakfast table. Neither woman had much of an appetite, although both had drunk extra cups of coffee. “How could I have even imagined that a man like Warren would love a dumpy woman like me? I should have realized that something was wrong.”

Charlotte's heart ached for her friend, but she gave thanks that Gwen hadn't been in the shed to see Warren's final moments. After last night's horror faded, Gwen might still be left with some happy memories.

“Nothing is wrong with you. Everything was wrong with Warren,” Charlotte said firmly. Instinctively, she touched her bruised cheek, regretting the movement when she saw a flash of pain in Gwen's eyes. It was still difficult to believe that the baron was gone and that Charlotte no longer needed to fear that he would harm David. Though she had prayed
that the baron would be found and put behind bars, she had never sought his death. Warren had been a troubled man, but so long as he lived, there was the possibility that he would change. Now that chance was gone, and Gwen was suffering.

“He didn't hurt me until last night,” Gwen said, “and then it was with words, not his fists.” She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and tasted it before adding another. “What am I going to do now? I can't hold my head up.”

“Oh, Gwen, that's not true. You may feel like that right now, but what Warren did was his fault. It doesn't reflect on you.”

Gwen shook her head. “I know you want to help me, but you don't know how I feel.”

“Yes, I do.” Charlotte took a sip of coffee as she prepared to reveal parts of her past that she had tried desperately to hide. Though she hated dredging up painful memories, she couldn't let her friend blame herself for Warren's sins. “I know how you feel, because my husband did some terrible things.” Slowly she outlined what had happened at Fort Laramie and why she had called herself Charlotte Harding. “At first I was ashamed of what Jeffrey had done. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn't responsible. I tried to change him, but the truth is, none of us can change another person. We can give them advice and we can point them in the right direction, but the decision has to be theirs. Jeffrey wasn't willing to change. Warren was like that too. There was nothing you could do. You're not responsible.”

Gwen sipped her coffee, her expression thoughtful as she settled the cup back on the saucer. “I wish I could believe that.”

Morning sun spilled into the parlor, sending a shaft of
light over the carpet. Though Charlotte felt as if she'd aged years, it had been less than twelve hours since Warren had been here, writing his note and forcing Gwen and the children to go with him. But the night of terror had ended, and so Gwen's anguish would, too, in time.

“Believe it,” Charlotte said. “And believe that God has good things in store for you, perhaps even another husband.”

“I doubt that.” As Gwen spoke, tears welled in her eyes. “No one will want me once they learn about what Warren did and how gullible I was to believe him. They'll say I'm a fool, and I was. I was so anxious for Rose to have a father that I didn't think clearly.” A single tear rolled down Gwen's cheek. “I lost my chance. Now I need to resign myself to the fact that I'll be a widow for the rest of my life.”

“I felt that way too,” Charlotte confided. “I was certain I'd never remarry. At first I worried that people would think I was like Jeffrey and would shun me for that reason. Then when I discovered that David was blind, I believed any man who might have considered marrying me would find David too much of a burden. I was wrong.” Charlotte looked at the ring that adorned her left hand. “God sent me a man who loves my son as much as I do.”

“You were blessed.” Gwen brushed her tears away, giving Charlotte a forced smile. “You don't need to worry about me. I'll be all right. Rose and I have survived on our own before.”

Barely. Charlotte remembered the day she had met Gwen and how desperate the woman had appeared. “Are you worried about where you'll live after Barrett and I marry?” Perhaps that had added to Gwen's distress this morning.

When Gwen nodded, Charlotte reached across the table and laid her hand on her friend's. “Barrett and I've talked
about that. If you like, you can stay right here. With David and me gone, you'll have more space. Rose can even have her own room.” Gwen nodded slowly. Though Charlotte hadn't discussed the next idea with Barrett, she ventured it anyway. “If you want to be part of the school, there's a place for you. I'll need someone to watch over the children when they're not in classes, and I can't think of anyone better suited for that than you. It would mean you'd have to move to Barrett's house, but the quarters on the third floor are as nice as our rooms here.”

Gwen's eyes widened, and she clutched Charlotte's hand. “You'd do that?” she asked, her voice filled with surprise and wonder. “You'd trust me to care for your pupils after what I did?”

So that was what was bothering Gwen. She feared that Charlotte would condemn her for showing Warren the Bible.

“Of course. We all make mistakes.” Charlotte had made more than her share, including not hiding the Bible.

Gwen smiled as she dashed new tears from her cheeks. “Thank you, Charlotte. You're the best friend I've ever had.”

“Are you ready?” Barrett asked as he entered the apartment.

It was early afternoon, and though he'd sent her several messages, this was the first time Charlotte had seen Barrett since he'd brought her and David home last night. The first message had told her that the authorities had been advised of what had happened at the Franklin ranch. The second detailed the simple burial he had arranged for Warren. The third had said there was an urgent matter regarding their wedding and that he would call for her this afternoon. Though
she'd been puzzled, there had been no time to ask for an explanation, and now it no longer mattered, for Barrett was here, looking as handsome as ever, despite the evidence of his fight with Warren.

“The minister apologized,” he told Charlotte, “but he needs to meet with us today.” Barrett chuckled. “Actually, his wife needs to meet with us. She's the organist. It seems she's leaving tomorrow for a trip to Omaha and wants us to choose our hymns before she leaves.”

So that was the reason. “I'm ready.” Tying her bonnet ribbons, Charlotte looked down at her son, who clung to her skirts. “I'll be back soon, David,” she said. “You can play with Rose while I'm gone.”

At the sound of her name, the little girl scampered across the room and took David's hand. “I play with you. I and you have fun.”

“Is David all right?” Barrett asked as he and Charlotte descended the steps.

She nodded. “He will be. He's been more clingy than normal today, but I'm not surprised. Last night must have been frightening for him.” There was nothing she could do other than lavish love on him and hope that the memories would fade quickly.

Charlotte looked up at Barrett when they reached the street. Though he'd smiled when he'd arrived, his eyes were clouded, and she knew his memories would not be so quick to fade. “Are you all right? You look troubled.”

He bent his arm and placed her hand on it. While it was less than a block to the parsonage, a distance she had walked without assistance many times, Barrett was a stickler for courtesy. Charlotte didn't mind. In fact, she welcomed the
opportunity to be close to him, especially this afternoon when she sensed that he needed comfort. Not simply the salves she had applied to his face and hands to soothe his cuts and bruises, but loving touches to heal the wounds that last night had inflicted. Those wounds would linger long after the bruises faded.

“I'm angry with myself for not seeing behind the mask.” Barrett spoke so softly that Charlotte had to strain to hear him. It was, she knew, a measure of his distress and perhaps his shame that he did not want to be overheard. “I thought Warren was my friend. Now I know he was only using me.”

“You shouldn't blame yourself.” Charlotte tightened her grip on Barrett's arm as she found herself using the same words she had with Gwen just a few hours earlier. Unlike Gwen, who had been able to release some of her sorrow through tears, Charlotte was certain that Barrett had not allowed himself to cry.

“Warren did wear a mask,” she said firmly. “He wore a real one when he visited Sylvia's girls, but I think the one he donned when he was with you was even thicker. He didn't plan for anyone to see through it, and we didn't. He fooled us all.” Even she, who should have known better, had dismissed her concerns, telling herself that she was mistaken.

They had reached the front of Mr. Yates's store. When a woman came out of the shop, Barrett raised his hat and greeted her. In another month, she would be one of his customers. In another month, he and Charlotte would be wed. But first he had to heal.

“I should have realized what was happening. I should have stopped it.”

Charlotte heard the anguish in Barrett's voice and knew
he was berating himself for the loss of a man he had once considered a friend. She slowed her steps, then stopped, forcing Barrett to stop too. What she wanted to say was best said when she had his full attention. She looked up at him, hoping he'd understand.

“We can't change the past. It took me a long time to accept that and realize that all I can do is make the present the best it can be.”

Barrett nodded slowly, and the corners of his mouth started to twitch. Though she hadn't thought she had said anything funny, Charlotte would not quibble if her words amused him. Anything she could do to lighten Barrett's mood was good.

“You told me something like that the first time we met.” There was no doubt about it. He was smiling now, the lines of pain receding, his eyes brightening. “At the time, I thought you were an impractical idealist.”

On another day she might have feigned indignation over the description, but not today. “And now? Have you changed your mind?”

“Now I know you're the woman I love, the one who's seen me at my worst moments and who still wants to marry me.” His expression sobered. “I suppose I should ask you the same question you asked me. Have you changed your mind? Now that you've seen what a poor judge of people I am, are you sure you want to marry me?”

Tightening her grip on his arm again, Charlotte smiled at the man she loved. “More than ever.” Barrett's face might be battered; his hands might be bruised; but to Charlotte he had never looked more handsome. The wounds he bore were wounds of honor, sustained defending her and David. They were visible proof of Barrett's love, and though she might
wish he had not had to incur them, she could not help but be moved by them.

The momentary doubt in his eyes vanished, replaced by the sparkle of happiness. “I love you, Charlotte.”