Free Waiting for Spring by Amanda Cabot Page B

“Business is good, and needing socks gives me an excuse to visit you.” Charlotte took her time, choosing two pair each of brown and black stockings, darting occasional glances at the proprietor. It was as she had feared. Though Mr. Yates had appeared chipper when she’d entered the store, his demeanor changed when he didn’t realize she was watching him. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look a bit glum.”
    His eyes clouded as he nodded slowly. “Nothing’s the same without Prudence.” His wife of more than forty years haddied six months before Charlotte arrived in Cheyenne, and Gwen, who had known the elderly man for the half dozen years she had been in Wyoming, claimed that the difference in the man’s attitude had been dramatic. “It’s like he lost his zest for living,” Gwen had said. “Poor man.” That was one of the reasons the two women insisted that Mr. Yates join them for Sunday dinner a couple times each month. Even though David’s and Rose’s antics tired him, Charlotte knew he enjoyed both Gwen’s cooking and their company.
    â€œSome days I don’t even want to get out of bed,” Mr. Yates admitted. “My sister down in Arizona keeps telling me I should move there. She says the weather would be kinder to these old bones.” He frowned as he calculated the cost of Charlotte’s purchase. When she’d handed him the few coins, he said, “The trouble is the store. I don’t want to sell it to just anyone, not when Prudence and I worked so hard to turn it into a success. I want someone who’ll do right by the customers.” Mr. Yates paused for a moment, his expression lightening. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in taking over, would you?”
    â€œI wish I could.” Charlotte’s heart went out to Mr. Yates and his dilemma. He had once told her and Gwen that since he and Prudence had had no children, the store was their only legacy, and they had hoped it would continue, even when they were both gone. “I don’t know anything about running a store like this,” she said, wishing she had another answer for her neighbor. “It’s much different from Élan.” And then there was the money. She had none to spare.
    The gleam in the shopkeeper’s eyes faded. “I figured you’d say that.” As his lips tightened, he nodded slowly. “It’ll be all right. I’ll figure something out.”
    Charlotte wished she were as confident.

 5 
    C harlotte retrieved a hat pin. Though the plain black bonnet with the heavy veil that would hide her face fit well, she would take no chance of the wind dislodging it. Once her arms were filled with packages, she would be unable to clasp the hat if it started to shift. Fortunately, this early in the morning, the wind had diminished. Even more importantly, David and Gwen were still asleep, and there would be few people on the streets. Few if any would see her, and anyone who did would not realize that it was Madame Charlotte who was approaching the boardinghouse. That was why she had chosen 5:30 as the time to make her delivery. Gwen had mentioned that Mrs. Kendall started breakfast preparations at that time but that none of her boarders entered the kitchen until close to an hour later. If Charlotte hurried, she’d be gone less than half an hour, and neither David nor Gwen would know that she’d left. But, just in case David wakened, Charlotte had left a note in her room, telling Gwen she’d be back soon.
    Tiptoeing, she made her way to the door, closing it as quietly as she could. Moments later, she’d descended the stairs and was headed south on Ferguson. Mrs. Kendall’s boardinghouse was less than three blocks away, and yet as Charlotte turned onto 15th Street, she felt as if she’d entered a different city. There were no fancy houses or shops like Élan here.