Waiting for Spring by Amanda Cabot Read Free Book Online

miles away. For the past year, Charlotte had relied on herself, and in doing so, she’d discovered that she was stronger than she’d realized. Equally important, her lungs appeared to be fully healed, perhaps the result of Wyoming’s dry air. The fact that her lungs seemed to be improving was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to move back East after Jeffrey’s death. That and the fact that she had fallen in love with the territory’s rugged beauty.
    She was a healthy, able-bodied woman, capable of doing more than dressing Cheyenne’s most fortunate women. It was time to help others. The question was, what could she do? While it was true that she had once been a teacher and that teachers could indeed make a positive difference in others’ lives, Charlotte knew she was not as gifted as Abigail. There had to be something else she could do.
    She snipped the thread, then inspected the seam she had just sewn. Perfect. All that remained were the hem and the yards of lace that would turn a seemingly ordinary matinée , as the French were calling long fitted bodices this season, into one that would be the envy of Miriam’s friends.
    Miriam would be pleased, and so would Charlotte, for at least two or three of Miriam’s acquaintances would ask Charlotte to sew similar garments for them. Those sales would help pay for groceries and Gwen’s salary.
    The gowns Charlotte made pleased Cheyenne’s wealthy women. They enhanced their beauty and camouflaged lessthan perfect bodies, making each woman feel special. That was what Charlotte had intended when she’d called her shop Élan. She wanted her store to generate enthusiasm, and so she had chosen the French word for high spirits as its name.
    She rose and hung the partially completed garment on a padded hanger. Gathering the remnants, Charlotte smiled when she realized there was enough left to make a dress for Rose. Gwen would be delighted, for she was determined that her daughter would never wear tattered clothing. Even though Gwen herself had been clothed in little more than rags, sporting a shabby, ill-fitting frock with patched elbows and a frayed hem the day Charlotte met her, Rose had worn a relatively new dress. Sensing that Gwen was not one to indulge herself, three days later Charlotte had presented her with a new dress. The change had been little less than a transformation. Clad in a garment that flattered her, Gwen had gained confidence, and her demeanor had altered. She stood a bit taller, and her smile, which had been tentative the day Charlotte had met her, was broader, more assured. She even laughed out loud, causing both Rose and David to chuckle.
    Of course. That was the answer to Mr. Landry’s question. Charlotte didn’t have to confine herself to clothing Cheyenne’s wealthiest women. She could make dresses for the women who still lived in Mrs. Kendall’s boardinghouse. As happiness bubbled up inside her, Charlotte began to sing. Gwen had told her of the poverty that had driven her and a dozen other women to take refuge in the rickety building on 15th Street. “Everyone wants to escape,” Gwen had said, explaining that Mrs. Kendall’s kindness and her excellent cooking were often overshadowed by the fear that the menwho frequented the brothel next door would accost them. “We all wanted to get away, but I’m the only one who has.”
    Charlotte couldn’t hire them all. She couldn’t give them enough money to live in a safer area. But she could—and she would—provide them with respectable clothing. She’d have to order new fabric, for Élan was currently filled with silks, satins, and velvets in anticipation of holiday parties, and those were not suitable for Mrs. Kendall’s boarders—but within a few weeks, Charlotte would be able to begin.
    She was still singing when she heard the front doorbell tinkle.
    â€œCharlotte! Are you