The Dawn of a Dream (14 page)

He turned to Luellen. “I don’t see why you’re so set on seeing Jack Bryant this morning. It’s brutally cold. At least let Franklin drive you to the hotel.”

“I walked there winter and summer for the past four years. A cold morning won’t stop me.”

“You might as well let her go, Karl,” Mama said. “You know how she is when her mind’s made up.”

Luellen sent her a grateful smile. “I won’t be gone long. Just have to find out what time he wants me there tomorrow. I’ll come right home.” She studied her mother’s face. Pink colored her cheeks, and the fatigue lines around her eyes had softened. “Maybe we can sit together and sew later?”

“As long as you work downstairs,” Papa said. “When I say your mother’s to stay off her feet, I mean it.”

Wrapped in a cloak and wool mittens, Luellen stepped with care along the board sidewalk. She hoped her hours at the hotel wouldn’t be too long. Papa had ordered total rest for her mother for the next week, so Luellen would need to do the cooking at home before and after work, as well as keeping up the house. Her pace increased as she pondered her schedule.

Trees lining the town square stood black against a gray sky. Snow clouds hovered. She caught sight of the lighted front windows of the hotel across Madison Street and tightened her grip on the front of her cloak. As she moved to the edge of the walk, her foot skidded on a patch of ice. She pitched headlong into the street.

Shaken, Luellen struggled to her knees and glanced around to see if anyone had witnessed her fall. Fortunately, no one approached from either direction. She brought one foot forward, testing, then pushed herself upright. Wet splotches stained the front of her cloak. The palms of her hands smarted from the rocks that had torn through her mittens.

She limped across the road, momentarily dizzy. Did her fall hurt the baby? She closed her eyes and focused inward. No sharp pains or cramps. Grateful, she stripped off her raveled mittens and used them to blot the blood that trickled from scrapes on her palms.

No reason she couldn’t call on Mr. Bryant anyway. He probably wouldn’t notice stains on her dark indigo cloak. If she kept her hands tucked out of sight, she could hide her skinned flesh.

When she entered the lobby, he looked up from the desk in the reception area. Strange, where was the clerk who normally greeted guests?

“Mrs. O’Connell—”

“I’m Miss McGarvie again, thankfully.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Especially on such a miserable day.”

She drew a chair next to his desk and sat, arms folded inside her cloak. Her palms stung. “I stopped by to see what hours you’d like me to work while I’m home on vacation. Allenwood doesn’t resume classes until late February, so I’m available.”

He shook his head. “Business has been slow since the bank failures. Now that winter’s here, railroad work has stopped, so laborers aren’t coming in for meals.” He gestured around the empty lobby. “I had to let my clerk go. When we do have diners, Mrs. Dolan can handle them. I’m sorry, I don’t need extra help.”

Luellen left the hotel lobby, trying not to limp until she was out of Mr. Bryant’s sight. Once on the walkway, she bent over and massaged her aching knees. She’d be wearing bruises by morning.

How could she have been naïve enough to believe her job would be waiting for her whenever she asked? Beldon Grove didn’t exist in isolation from the rest of the country. Hard times in the eastern states now affected rural Illinois as well.

Deep in thought, she crossed the road and picked her way toward home around frozen spots. She passed Wolcott’s Mercantile and paused at the corner. The shuttered schoolhouse faced her across the way. Once the Christmas holiday ended, children would be back at their studies. Would any of them need extra help with their lessons? Maybe she could offer her services as a tutor. The wages wouldn’t be much, but anything would help.

Luellen backtracked to the mercantile and hobbled through the door. Mr. Wolcott sat on a stool behind the counter, making notes in a ledger. He smiled at her when she entered. “This is a surprise. Why aren’t you at home with your family?” He gestured around the deserted store. “Everyone else is.”

“Could you post a notice for me?”

“Certainly. What’re you advertising?” Lamplight reflected off his scalp, shining between sparse strands of hair.

“I want to try tutoring. Do you think I’d have any interested families?”

He cupped a hand around his chin for a moment before answering. “Well, the Carstairs boy seems a little slow. He’s around seven now, and still doesn’t know his letters—or so his father says. ’Course I don’t think Orville can hardly read a lick, either.” He grimaced. “Don’t repeat that.”

Luellen smiled. “I didn’t hear a thing.” She rested an arm on the counter. “If you can spare a bit of paper, I’ll write out the information. School doesn’t resume at Allenwood for almost two months, so that would allow time for lessons.”

Mr. Wolcott watched while she printed her tutoring offer. “What happened to your hands? They look raw.”

“I slipped on an icy spot in front of Bryant House. It’s nothing.”

“You planning to tutor and work at the hotel too?”

“Mr. Bryant doesn’t need extra help.” Her cheeks warmed. Somehow being told she wasn’t needed felt almost as humiliating as being dismissed. She pushed the completed notice toward him.

“I’ll be sure folks see this.”

Luellen noticed sympathy in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Once inside her parents’ house, Luellen shed her damp cloak and placed her mittens on the hall table. She’d unravel them later and save the undamaged wool.

Papa met her at the entrance to the sitting room. “What took you so long? We need to leave for the station soon.”

“I’m sorry. Time got away from me.”

He stepped forward and slid an arm around her waist. “You’re limping. Are you hurt?”

“Mostly my dignity. I slipped on the ice.”

“Let me look.” He eased her onto a chair next to the fire and knelt in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she said, sliding her skirt up enough so he could see for himself. “My knees will be bruised tomorrow. My hands are a bit skinned too.” Luellen turned them over, revealing the scrapes on her palms.

Papa pushed himself to his feet. Worry lines etched his forehead. “You’re fortunate you weren’t more seriously hurt. I wish you’d forget this nonsense about working at the hotel.”

“Mr. Bryant doesn’t need help right now. I’m going to tutor children until time to return to school.”

Irritation sparked in his eyes. “You’ve enough savings left to see you through—” Papa gasped and fumbled with the buttons on his collar.

Luellen jumped to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a little breathless. It’ll pass.”

“I’ll get you some water.” She hurried toward the kitchen.

Mama looked up from her sewing when Luellen dashed through the dining room. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

“Something’s wrong with Papa. I’m getting him a glass of water.”

Her mother stood, dropping the fabric on the floor. “Is he having trouble breathing?”

“Yes.” Luellen cocked her head. “This has happened before?”

“Usually at night. He sleeps propped up, but sometimes he slips off the pillows.” Her eyes glistened. “I lie awake listening.” She took a step toward the doorway.

Luellen watched as Mama hurried away. Why hadn’t she been warned about Papa’s illness?

When she returned to the sitting room, he had buttoned his collar and was breathing normally. Mama hovered beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

“You two are making too much of this.” He stood and accepted the water. “It’s time to head for the station. I’ll go hitch the carriage.”

“Let Franklin do it,” Luellen said. “I’ll call him.”

“No need.” He strode from the room. His determination not to be coddled was apparent in the set of his shoulders.

The train waited, billowing clouds of dense steam over their heads. Light snow melted as soon as it touched the boiler on the locomotive. Ward glanced toward Luellen and her parents. They stood close together, as though bound by a secret. He wondered what had passed between them while he was upstairs. Luellen clung to her father’s arm, casting worried glances at him when he wasn’t looking.

Ward handed his luggage to the baggage master and followed Franklin to the shelter of the station. After hugging his mother, Franklin clasped Luellen’s hands. “Will you write me often? I don’t want any more surprises.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

He grabbed her in a bearlike embrace. “You’re forgiven. Just take care of yourself, please.”

She placed a hand on his cheek. “I will. You too.”

Ward stepped closer to Luellen, missing the family he’d never had. What would it have been like to have sisters or brothers who cared about him? He cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d drop me a letter from time to time, also. Franklin’s not always at the barracks to share your news.” Embarrassed, he gazed into her doe brown eyes, hoping she didn’t think he was a fool for asking.

A smile tipped a corner of her mouth. “I’d be happy to. As long as you promise to answer.”

Once Beldon Grove faded from view, Ward settled in his seat and opened his folding writing box. He lifted the sloping surface and extracted half-finished survey reports. How would he phrase his recommendations to discourage development of western land, yet satisfy investors’ desires to extend the railroad?

He uncorked the inkwell and dipped his pen, but Luellen McGarvie’s courageous face intruded. Whatever possessed him to ask her to write? Ward wiped ink from the nib and laid the pen down. A woman with Luellen’s spirit didn’t come along every day. He couldn’t deny the admiration he felt, but he couldn’t act on it, either. His goal when he was admitted to West Point was to make the Army his career, and there was no room in that ambition for a wife.

Franklin jostled his shoulder. “You’re going to stare a hole in that paper. You still trying to control the future?”

His mind still on Luellen, Ward frowned at him. “What future are you talking about?”

“The railroad. Have you figured out a way to avoid our country’s pursuit of ‘manifest destiny’?” He spun the phrase with sarcasm.

The word settled in Ward’s brain. Which destiny was he avoiding? Railroads? Or Luellen?

He shook his head. “I’m still mulling it over.”

Whiskered with frost, trees lining the parade ground rose like ghosts through the fog. Shivering in spite of his heavy wool overcoat, Ward watched with sympathy as recruits practiced cavalry drills. In a few minutes he’d be inside the officers’ quarters, but the men would be out in the cold for hours. If he were fortunate enough to command a post one day, he’d see to it that enlistees were treated with more respect.

Franklin nodded toward one of the buildings. “Let’s get out of the wind.”

Nudging their horses forward, they rode through the wide doors of the stone stable. Once inside, the musky smell of horseflesh enveloped them. A young private jumped up from a chair near the door and took the reins of Ward’s mount. “I’ll take care of him for you, sir.”

“Thank you.” Ward slung his saddlebags over one shoulder and turned to Franklin. “You’ll be on the post for a few weeks?”

“Far as I know.” He dismounted, grinning in the direction of the retreating soldier. “Looks like I get to put up my own horse.”

“Spend a few years at the Academy and you too can have your horse stabled for you.”

“No thanks. I’d never survive.” He touched his hand to his forehead in a mock salute and followed the private down the center aisle.

Smiling, Ward left the enclosure and walked toward the officers’ quarters. He’d finish his report for the investment company, then organize his thoughts for an upcoming class on military tactics to be taught to the enlisted men.

Luellen’s goal to become a teacher set his mind adrift from his own assignment. Would she succeed? He didn’t see how. No matter what she thought now, caring for a baby would bring her ambitions to a halt. “Too bad,” he murmured, dropping his bags on the bed.

“What’s too bad?” Mark Campion slouched into Ward’s room.

Ward whirled around. “Don’t you knock?”

“Not when the door’s open.” He dropped into a chair. “You going to the New Year’s Ball on Thursday? I heard young ladies from the finishing school in town are invited.” He rubbed his hands together. “Should be a worthwhile event.”

“Maybe for you. I’d rather greet the New Year without a headache.”

He snorted. “You’re living like a monk. Who are you trying to impress with your studies and reports? You’ll likely be stuck on this post for years, just like the rest of us.”

Ward bit back a retort. His plans were none of his fellow officer’s business. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “You didn’t stop by to discuss my career. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t go to the ball—you never do—so how about loaning me your sword belt? Mine’s in sad shape. I want to look good for the ladies.”

“That’s all?” Ward asked, suspicious.

“All for now. Say, how’s that report about the rail line progressing? I heard you’re recommending against the cheaper route over the prairie.” A sly look crept over his pudgy features. “I was born in St. Joseph—I don’t think your suggestion will hold water. I plan to submit my own recommendations.”