Chapter Eighteen
"What's mine is yours."
Charlotte followed Arthur out of the hotel's entrance. The thickness of the fog rolling in stunned her. Earlier in the day she could see clearly across the marsh, but now white mists obstructed her view at the edge of the hotel. They headed for the city, where the haze didn't reach. She walked quietly beside him up the dirt path.
When they reached the cobblestone roads, Arthur spoke. "Hope it weren't too much trouble getting me back to the hotel."
He sounded uncomfortable about it. Two kind passersby had assisted her with Arthur after he'd collapsed. She stated simply, "It wasn't any trouble."
"I don't remember the whole way, but I got a clear memory of that French lady yelling at us. What got her so pissed off?"
Charlotte said carefully, "She was concerned by your countenance."
He eyed her, a thick brow rising. "I reckon 'concern' ain't the right word."
Thinking of the harsh words she'd used to get past the Madame, Charlotte winced. All she'd wanted was to settle Arthur in his room, but the hotel clerk had flown into rapid French, questioning her when Charlotte claimed Arthur only had food poisoning. "I'm afraid I may have been terribly rude in order to stop her chastising."
"Sounds like you did what you had to. Another minute of standing in that lobby and I woulda fell flat on my face."
"But you're truly doing better now?"
"Yeah, you don't got to worry." His shoulder brushed hers. "What about you?"
"I'll admit this has certainly been an emotionally draining day." She sighed. "That isn't to say it's the first time I've had to deal with Father's indelible ideas."
"I didn't have a nice daddy either, but least he was cruel with his fists instead of his words."
She frowned, concerned. "That sounds awful, Arthur."
He shrugged. "Drunken haymakers I could usually avoid. Tongue as vicious as what your father's got, don't seem as easy."
Charlotte lifted her face to the night sky. She'd been so worked up after dinner, her emotions running high, but dealing with Arthur's illness had dropped her back to reality and able to focus on what mattered.
"He thinks if he makes my life seem paltry, I won't want to stay. My mother tried the same thing, but to a lesser degree."
"You being cut off from the family fortune gonna affect you any?"
She shook her head. "It was an empty threat. He knows full well Cal and I had plenty of money set aside."
"And you're sure you don't want to go back with them?"
"To Chicago?" Her brow wrinkled. "No. I have all that I need at home."
He asked her doubtfully, "So, you don't miss nothing about livin' in the big city?"
A smile broke across her face, her first one since dinner. "All right, it's not necessary to call me out like that. Of course there are certain conveniences I miss, but nothing with any terrible desperation."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean it," she insisted. "I like my home. I like that I have full control over what I do every day. You have no idea how suffocating it was." She pulled a face as she heard herself. "It sounds silly to say aloud. As if that were a valid reason to avoid an easy life."
"Don't gotta tell me twice. I ain't gonna argue for city livin'."
She nodded at that, falling silent. They walked together down the sidewalks. Oddly enough, there was still life in the city. A group of men sat captivated in a gazebo over a dominoes game. A pair of friends sang loudly and drunkenly, arms around each other's shoulders as they stumbled down the sidewalk.
Charlotte was accustomed to sleeping safely in bed at this time of night. To her, the act of being out late had a thrilling quality to it, as if she were a delinquent prowling the streets without permission. It wasn't necessarily a safe endeavor for young women, but she had no fear with Arthur beside her. It was certainly better than feeling miserable in her hotel room.
Eventually, they left the main street and entered a walled off private area. In the center of the square stood a statue of a general by the name of Quincy T. Harris, posing on a rearing horse.
Charlotte turned to Arthur, leaning against the short, black fence surrounding the statue. "Can I ask you something personal, Arthur?"
"Sure..."
He didn't sound too certain, but she forged on, "Have you ever been married?"
Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Er, no."
"Really?"
"That surprise you?"
"I suppose it does. You're a good man, smart, caring..."
"I don't know about all that, but I've always been too wild to settle down."
She smiled in his direction. "Mmm, yes. That rambling spirit."
He was quiet a moment, looking out at the city before he said, "I was hung up on one woman for a long while."
She tilted her head with interest. "Was?"
Arthur lifted his shoulders. "I reckon we hurt each other too many times to make anything of it."
She didn't consider herself pushy, but she didn't like staying in the dark on matters she wanted answers to. Quietly, she asked, "Is she...waiting for you out there somewhere?"
"Mary?" He laughed, but it was bitter and without humor. "Oh, no. She gave up on me in the end. Mailed back the ring I gave her years ago with a portrait of us when we still liked each other."
"A ring?" Her brows rose. "So it was serious."
"Long time ago it was, I suppose. Leastwise, for my part."
She frowned as she processed what he said. "But mailing back the ring seems a terrible thing to do after so much time has passed."
He shrugged. "It's to be expected."
Charlotte didn't like that. Not one bit. She tried to put herself in the other woman's shoes. In love with an outlaw, but unwilling to commit. She understood the fear that could arise in getting involved with outlaws and thieves, but if that was a deal breaker, then the relationship should be over. And she knew why the other end of it wouldn't work. Arthur admitted it himself. He liked to roam. But he always came back. At least, in her experience that was the case.
She wondered what kind of woman would have captured Arthur's affection. Someone like him, a free spirit on the go, robbing to survive? Or had it been someone of the genteel like Charlotte, who wanted him to settle into her own way of life?
She tried to picture returning to Chicago with Arthur on her arm. To dress him up to the nines and drag him to parties where nothing of interest was discussed except the latest gossip and politics. On the other hand, she had a feeling Arthur would be the center of attention at every engagement, whether he wanted to be or not.
"What's that smile for?"
She looked up at him and her smile grew. "Just imagining you plopped down in the middle of a dinner party."
He scowled. "You think it'd be amusin' watchin' me flounder?"
"On the contrary, I think you'd end up a big hit."
"Uh-huh. Like a damn traveling Wild West show, you mean."
She teased, "I am an eyewitness to your impressive aim, but I wouldn't recommend trick shots at dinner."
Thinking of Arthur trapped in the company of the genteel reminded her she hadn't asked him a major point of inquiry from tonight. "Arthur," she said slowly because she dreaded to hear his answer. "My father ambushed you, I assume? What did he say to you?"
"Nothing much," he told her musingly, "Gave me six months to live. A year tops."
Gave me six months to live. He said it so nonchalantly, but his words had Charlotte straightening to her full height, her outrage outweighed only by her shock. "He did what!"
She had half a mind to march straight to the Hotel Grand and confront her father over that, even if it was the middle of the night. How could he have been so callous?
"It don't bother me."
"Well, it bothers me," she said, her hands clenching into fists. "It's an absolute monstrous thing to say."
"Ain't he a doctor? Wouldn't he know?"
"No, he would not," she insisted furiously. "He hasn't given you a proper diagnosis. He was only being cruel."
He shrugged, clearly not convinced. He turned to continue their stroll as if it were no matter.
She tugged on his arm, stopping him. "I mean it, Arthur." She studied the near imperceptible pain on his face. "He got to you too, didn't he? What else did he say?"
He lowered his head and his darn hat hid his expression from her. "It don't bear repeatin'."
It was that bad, was it? She felt awful. Maybe he wouldn't admit it, but his encounter with her father had jarred him. She pressed her lips together. Arthur had enough trouble with his own conscience attacking him. He didn't need the added worry of his fate and whatever else her father had burdened him with.
"Trust what I'm about to say." She took both of his hands in hers and tilted her head to try and peek at his expression. "If there's anything I believe in the deepest part of me, it's that your life is far from over."
All she could see of him was his mouth set in a grim line. "Don't rightly know how you can be confident on that front, ma'am."
She brought his hand up to her cheek, mirroring the manner he had held her only days ago, before the rain had fallen. He finally tilted his head up all the way and his eyes were burning with intensity.
She said firmly, "Because I haven't had my fair time with you yet."
Charlotte rose and pressed her mouth against his gently, with deliberate slowness. She leaned against him, her palm resting on his chest. It took a moment for him to respond, as if he were holding on to one last thread of resistance for some reason.
But then the thread broke and he groaned against her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in. Her hands roamed inside his coat. As she passed over his heart, she felt the rhythmic thumping that matched her own.
She lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the whiskers under her fingers. She'd never kissed a man with a beard before Arthur. She found she enjoyed the prickling sensation of his whiskers scraping lightly across her skin.
"Charlotte..."
The gravelly way he said her name had her shuddering. Heat flooded her cheeks, her neck and lower.
"Yes, Arthur?" she asked breathlessly.
He opened his eyes and tipped back. His ardent gaze riveted her in place, but she didn't want to escape from it anyway. Her heart was full and she was brimming with fiery yearning. A sentiment she'd thought she'd never feel again for another man. And now, she felt it for this one. She wanted to tell him, to admit her desires and lay bare her heart for his acceptance.
As it happened, at that moment the church bells rang for two o'clock. The sound pulled her from her hazy mind. How had they spent two hours out already? Charlotte didn't remember the first hour going by.
As the pealing of the bells faded into the night, Arthur's mouth tilted to one side. "Seems like we better head back."
"You're right." She sighed and wrinkled her nose playfully. "How can you be so practical in these conditions?"
He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "I reckon it's because I know where it'll inevitably end up if we don't stop."
A hot blush rose to her face. Inevitably. He was correct, of course. She wasn't ignorant, but maybe it was her prudish upbringing that had her startled to hear Arthur speak of it out loud. There was no question they enjoyed each other's company, but a small part of her wasn't sure if he wanted a committed relationship or merely a physical one. The concept of an increase in physical contact with Arthur had her face searing further. She needed some space between them before he noticed her foolishness.
Reluctantly, she stepped out of his warm embrace. They left the walled off area together and started their return walk to the hotel. Now that she didn't have Arthur's arms around her, Charlotte shivered.
Without saying a word, Arthur shrugged off his coat and dropped it over her shoulders.
"What are you doing?" Charlotte asked. "Won't you get cold?"
He shrugged. "Probably, but I ain't gonna let you freeze."
She thought about protesting, but Arthur had a challenging glint in his eyes. Besides, the hotel wasn't too far. She settled for wrapping it closer. "You're too good to me."
"I could be downright mean if you'd like."
She quirked a smile. "Now you're being ridiculous."
The night had quieted down and most of Saint Denis' residents seemed to have retreated to bed. When they arrived to their hotel, Charlotte feared it might have been locked up since they'd stayed out so late. However, the door was open and a gentleman sat on stool behind the counter reading the paper. He looked up briefly as they entered before waving them on and going back to his paper.
When Charlotte and Arthur reached her door, she returned his coat to him. She couldn't resist one last kiss, but she kept it chaste, lingering on his cheek as she said goodnight.
Charlotte didn't think she'd be able to sleep. Not after the excitement over the night. But thinking of Arthur and remembering their kiss soothed her enough to drift into a slumber. She awoke again with the morning well on its way without her.
She stretched, hopped out of bed and got dressed. She finished lacing her shoes when there was a knock on the door. She opened it up to find Arthur.
"Good morning, Arthur. I was about to pin my hair up and then I'll be ready." She walked to the vanity table and sat. She picked up her brush when she noticed in the mirror he hadn't moved. She glanced back at him and laughed a little. "What are you doing? Come in here."
He grunted, "Don't seem proper to go in your room."
Her brow furrowed. "You're being silly. We spent the last few weeks alone together in a small cabin."
Arthur shifted, not looking at her. "That were different somehow."
"Have a seat," she insisted, gesturing to the bed.
He stepped across the threshold and stopped. "I'll stand."
She returned facing the mirror. "Alright, but please close the door."
He hesitated again and she turned in her chair. He was looking around the room with a frown. He truly was uncomfortable, like he thought she had a trap laid for him.
Charlotte reached out her hand and beckoned softly, "Come here."
Finally, he pushed the door shut and approached her. She thought he might be trying to hide his expression again, but it was not possible with her sitting position. The emotion she read was uncertainty. She couldn't quite understand it. Did he believe her feelings for him had changed since their walk in the early hours of the morning?
When he reached her, she took his hand and turned it palm up to place the hairbrush. She didn't say a word, only looked up at him expectantly. He was surprised, to say the least. Her thinking was that he might not feel so awkward if he kept his hands busy. His fingers closed over the brush and she turned in her chair. He started gliding the bristles down her dark hair with ginger strokes. She watched him in the mirror as he seemed fully concentrated on the task.
"My momma had long hair," he commented after a moment. "I don't remember a lot about her since she died when I was a kid, but I remember her brushing it out at night."
"Oh, Arthur. I'm sorry." And with the way he talked about his own father last night, he likely didn't have many happy childhood memories. It pained her to think of him without a support system at a young age. This man had so much tragedy in his life.
He fell silent, concentrating as he passed the brush through her hair. Maybe Arthur had been wise in his hesitation to being alone in a room with her. She'd never realized how intimate it was having a man handling her hair. She considered it a mundane activity, but now she was all too aware of his touch every time his fingers skimmed her face, neck and shoulders.
"That should be good, Arthur," Charlotte said eventually. She made quick work of winding and tying her hair up to pin in her usual low bun.
"I don't know if you're staying in Saint Denis longer." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But I reckon I should stick with you 'til you get home safe. "
She turned to face him. "Actually, Arthur, I wanted to talk to you about—"
A knock on the door interrupted her and she frowned. "Who could that be?"
Charlotte strode over to the door and opened it up. The same waiter from last night stood there, the one who'd helped her with Arthur. He looked between her and Arthur in the room. "A note for you, Madam."
She ignored his curious stare and accepted the letter. "Merci." She shut the door and opened the note, grimacing as she realized who sent it. "It's from Mama."
"How'd she know to find you here?"
"Knowing her, she likely sent a note to every hotel in the city." Charlotte skimmed the words. "She's summoning me to breakfast."
"We don't got to go if you don't want to."
She smiled briefly at the 'we' he used. It made her feel as if she wasn't alone in this drama between her and her parents. She was tempted to skip out on her mother, but she wasn't a coward. "No. I should speak with them before they leave. I don't want to leave things how they are. Maybe Father will see my side of things this morning."
OOOOOOOOO
"Where's Father?" Charlotte asked immediately after greeting her mother.
Her and Arthur had made their way to the Hotel Grand. Charlotte had felt a similar dread in the pit of her stomach as she had the night before, but now added was a touch of determination. She hadn't forgotten what Arthur had told her, what her father had said to him. Or the possibilities of what Arthur hadn't told her of the conversation. Today, she was ready to confront her father. However, when they walked in the public dining room, only her mother and Benji sat with their breakfast.
Now her mother answered her, "I'm afraid Howard left on the first train this morning."
Charlotte stiffened. Her father hadn't even waited to say goodbye. Was he that offended by her personal choices? For all he knew, that dinner was the last time they'd speak for a very long time.
Her mother rested a hand on her arm and said softly, "It's better like this, dear. Once he comes around to the idea of your new life, I'll get him on a train back."
"And Clark?" Did her brother do the same thing?
Her mother scowled and sat back. "I hadn't realized that boy had been drinking prior to the dinner. He threw a terrible fuss after you left and then passed out on the floor. He's sleeping off a headache." Her mother addressed Arthur. "I heard you spoke with him last night, perhaps saved him from being too reckless in the cups?"
Her mother went on, surprisingly all contrition and apologies for the way she'd spoken to him. Arthur didn't seem to know how to respond to that and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair multiple times.
Finally, Charlotte suggested, "Arthur, would you mind stopping at Dr. Barnes' office for those tonics while my mother and I talk?"
Her mother fluttered a hand. "Please, take Benjamin with you."
Benjamin's bored expression lit up with excitement and Arthur's relief was obvious. Arthur tipped his hat. "Will do, ma'am."
After they left, her mother turned to her. "Charlotte, before we return home, I want to clarify some things your father said. For one, I want you to know your Aunt Rose is doing fine. She did have a few bad days weeks ago, but lately she's been up to her regular rambunctious antics."
Relief and gratitude coursed through her. "Thank you for telling me."
"As far as your inheritance..."
Charlotte shook her head. "Mama, don't worry about that. It's of no concern to me."
"Tell me honestly, dear." Her mother grew earnest. "Will you be alright here?"
"Yes, Mama."
"All I've ever wanted was your happiness."
Charlotte raised a brow. "And a daughter to flaunt?"
"That is one of the perks to having a beautiful daughter." She touched her cheek. "What happened with this bruise, dear?"
Her concern was real so Charlotte answered honestly, "There is risk to living by myself, Mama. I won't lie. But Arthur was telling the truth. He had nothing to do with it."
"I believe you. He doesn't strike me as the sort."
Charlotte eyed her suspiciously. "You've come around to Arthur fairly quickly, Mama."
Her mother chortled. "Yes, he's not my normal cup of tea, is he? But I do admire the way he leaps to your defense. It's had me reconsidering my first impressions."
Charlotte was amazed by that admission. She hadn't expected her mother to ever perceive Arthur as anyone worthy of her regard. "I hope you mean that because I'm going to ask him to live with me."
The thin eyebrows rose high on her mother's forehead. "I can't say I approve, but I suppose his company is better than you being alone." Her mother crinkled her nose. "Besides, I suspect any prohibition on my part would have little effect on your decision-making."
She grinned. "You'd be right about that, Mama."
Charlotte had a nice conversation with her mother from then on, enough that she could laugh when her mother described a fiasco of a party she'd attended. It was noon when Arthur and her brother returned. Charlotte decided it was time for goodbyes then. She embraced her mother and Benji. Her mother didn't hug Arthur, but she patted him on the arm in an awkward manner.
Charlotte was contemplative as they left the Hotel Grand. She was happy with her reconciliation with her mother, pleasantly surprised at her acceptance. She wished more could have been done with her father, but overall she was satisfied. She'd write him and maybe he'd come around by the holidays.
Realizing she'd fallen silent beside Arthur, Charlotte said, "I suppose we should check out of our hotel and figure out a way to Van Horn to pick up Jane."
"Yeah..." he said in his own distracted manner.
They were passing the bank and his eyes were fixed on the road. Before she could ask what was on his mind, Arthur stopped walking abruptly.
"Charlotte..." He looked to her, emotion brimming in his eyes. "I want to visit Hosea."