The Dawn of a Dream (17 page)

“I know, Teacher.” Cassie leaned forward.

Luellen darted a glance at Mrs. Guthrie. She sat near the rear of the classroom, writing in a notebook. She didn’t appear to be paying attention.

“All right, Cassie. Please recite the answer.”

“Three plus four equals seven.”

“Correct.” She wrote the number after the equal sign and moved the pointer to another set. More hands shot in the air, but Joshua’s wasn’t among them. Luellen noticed him counting on his fingers. She frowned. By now, he should have these sums memorized.

She called on another child, received the correct answer, and continued along the row until all the answers were written on the board.

“Take your slates and copy these sums for practice.” She checked the lesson plan. “We’ll have reading next.”

While the children were busy scratching numbers on their slates, Luellen walked back to Mrs. Guthrie. “Should I spend extra time with Joshua?” she whispered. “He’s not keeping up with the others in arithmetic.”

“Let’s wait and see. If he doesn’t improve in a week or so, perhaps you could find room in your schedule to work with him after the other children leave in the afternoon.” Sounds of murmurs and muffled giggles rose from the front row. Mrs. Guthrie nodded toward the mischief makers. “For now you’d best regain control of the class.”

Luellen returned to the front of the room, folded her arms, and waited for quiet. To her dismay, one of the boys paid no attention to her and continued whispering to the child next to him. Luellen looked up and caught Mrs. Guthrie watching.

Taking a deep breath, she strode to the boy and picked up his slate. Instead of numbers, he’d drawn a picture of an animal with what looked like a tree growing out of its head. She cleared her throat. “This doesn’t look like your arithmetic lesson, Jackie.”

“It’s a deer, Teacher,” the boy next to him said. “He’s showing me how to draw.”

Luellen remembered her own school days. The schoolmaster would have pulled Jackie from his seat by his ear and whipped him in front of the class. What discipline did Mrs. Guthrie expect? They hadn’t discussed corporal punishment.

She tucked her hand under Jackie’s arm and lifted him from the seat.

“What’re you going to do?” His voice sounded fearful.

The classroom was quiet, each child watching to see what would happen. Mrs. Guthrie had her head tilted to one side, hands folded in her lap.

“Come with me.” Luellen marched him to a desk with only one child sitting in it—a girl. “You’ll spend the rest of the morning right here.”

Jackie slumped into the seat, looking mortified.

She walked to the board and wiped it clean. “Open your books to page seventy.” Her voice wavered. “Who can read the first sentence for me?”

While she listened to the children take turns reading, part of her mind remained on Jackie. How should she have disciplined him? What would Mrs. Guthrie say?

When the morning’s lessons were finished, Luellen gave the children permission to get out their dinner pails and then hurried to escape, her confidence shaken.

The classroom instructor joined her at the door. “Would it be convenient to meet with me after your classes? Say around five?”

Luellen opened the door of the Model School. Lighted lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating rows of empty desks in the chilly room. Mrs. Guthrie leaned the broom she’d been using against a wall.

“Please come in. We’ll sit over here.” She led the way to two chairs in front of the stove. “I let the fire burn down after the children leave to conserve coal.”

Luellen settled into one of the chairs, loosened her cloak, and laid her portfolio over her knees. “I brought my lesson plan if you want to see it.”

Mrs. Guthrie’s blue eyes twinkled. “No need. You did well following the plan I prepared. That’s a good quality if you’re called to substitute for a teacher who’s ill.”

“Then you asked me here because of Jackie.” She clamped her hands together, nails digging into her palms. Would she be denied a teaching certificate because she refused to whip a child?

“I did.” She rested her hand over Luellen’s. “Corporal punishment is favored in many schools. You’ll hear more discussion on the subject in your classes next year. However, I feel it’s rarely necessary. The way you handled the incident with Jackie this morning is exactly what I’d have done.”

Relief swept over Luellen. “I’m not being written up?”

“Not at all. I want to commend you. Children learn better in an atmosphere of trust rather than fear.”

“I worried all afternoon.”

“I’m sorry. I should have said more before you left.” Mrs. Guthrie leaned forward. “I know how hard you studied to be able to return for this term. Finishing the full two-year course was a struggle for me too.” For the briefest moment, her gaze dropped to Luellen’s middle. “Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you need to talk . . . about anything.”

“Thank you.” She could hardly breathe. Was Mrs. Guthrie being kind, or did she suspect? Luellen stood, wanting nothing more than to be alone in her room to think.

The instructor rose and patted Luellen’s shoulder. Her voice changed from intimate to brisk. “See you Wednesday.”

Once outside, Luellen waited at the curb while a carriage passed by, lanterns glowing beside the driver’s box. She’d need to be careful crossing the street in the dark. On the campus, lamps mounted on poles cast yellow circles over the gravel paths between buildings.

The carriage rattled down Chestnut Street, but Luellen remained at the curb. She fought the impulse to run back into the school building and share her dilemma with Mrs. Guthrie. What a relief it would be to have someone to confide in. She shook her head. Too risky.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped across the street. Once on campus she was startled to see Mr. Price appear out of the gloom. His pale face shone in the lamplight. “Miss McGarvie? It’s rather late for you to be out unescorted. May I see you to your residence?”

Pools of darkness spread between each light. Since the Ladies Hall lay on the far side of campus, she’d be foolish to refuse his offer. “Thank you. It is terribly dark tonight.”

“And icy.” He clasped his gloved hand under her elbow.

She moved to her left, opening a space between them. “Do you always work this late?” she asked as they walked toward her building.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. The students at the Model School were dismissed two hours ago. Is Mrs. Guthrie a harsh taskmaster?”

“No—far from it.”

“I remember when she was a student here. Most unusual. She obtained special permission to attend. As a widow, she could be considered a single woman and still be allowed to teach.”

Luellen disliked his gossipy tone. “She told me.”

“Did she tell you she had a child shortly after she graduated?” His voice squeaked with incredulity. “She certainly wouldn’t have been permitted to attend had anyone known that little tidbit.”

“Aren’t you supposed to keep students’ information confidential?” She stopped under a streetlamp. The Ladies Hall was a few steps away.

He turned to her, an ingratiating smile on his lips. “While they’re students, yes. For instance, I’ve said nothing about your conversation with that big redhead on the steps of my building last fall.”

Fear prickled along her arms. “Oh, that? It was nothing. A misunderstanding.” She kept her voice casual.

“It didn’t sound that way.” He moved closer, his greatcoat billowing in a sudden gust of wind. “If you ever have any problems—and you don’t want to trouble Dr. Alexander—I hope you won’t hesitate to come to me.”

Luellen sat on the edge of her bed, quilt wrapped around her shoulders. How much had Mr. Price heard? What would happen if he spoke to Dr. Alexander?

She paced. On the other hand, maybe he was bluffing just to make himself seem important. Flopping back on the bed, she covered her face with her hands.
Lord, show me what to do.

If only she had someone to talk to. She couldn’t ask her parents, they’d advise her to come home. Best not to worry them.

Ward Calder’s compassionate face came to mind—he’d invited her to write to him. In the weeks it would take to receive a reply, she hoped her problems would resolve themselves. In the meantime, maybe if she put her worries on paper, she would find her answers while she wrote.

She rose and lit the lamp. Uncorking an ink bottle, she took up her pen.

Dear Ward,

I have no one here in whom to confide. Today has been most distressing as regards two matters, and I pray you will indulge my ramblings. I cannot share my concerns with my family. As you are no doubt aware, they are most unhappy with me for choosing to return to school.

To reassure you, I’m quite well physically—but my emotions are in turmoil. To begin with . . .

Her pen scratched over the paper as she poured out her fear that Mrs. Guthrie knew she was expecting a child.

She said I could talk with her about anything, but I’m afraid whatever I say would go on my record.

Then coming back to the campus tonight, I encountered the registrar’s assistant. He offered to escort me to the Ladies Hall, and on the way . . .

Luellen told Ward about Brendan’s visit to the campus in late October, and Mr. Price’s surprise intrusion on their argument. Paper rustled as she set the completed pages to one side. She concluded with Price’s implication that he’d heard her mention the divorce. Could she be dismissed from school for falsely claiming to be a single woman when she registered? How should she respond, if at all?

I know nothing will happen overnight, but the simple act of writing to you has relieved my mind. Thank you for considering my difficulties. Any suggestions you may offer will be gratefully received.

Please convey to Franklin that I am well, and will write soon.

Yours sincerely,

Luellen McGarvie

She blotted the ink on the final sheet and folded the letter into an envelope. If she posted it in the morning, he might receive it within the next week or two. Until he replied, she’d go about her days as though nothing had happened. If Mr. Price spoke to Dr. Alexander—well, she’d cross that bridge when the time came.

Ward’s hand fastened on the letter in his mail slot. He seldom received correspondence, and when he did it usually came from the manager of his father’s estate. This one, however, was addressed in unfamiliar handwriting, with “Allenwood, Illinois” written in the left-hand corner of the envelope. He smiled. True to her promise, Luellen had written him.

Once in his room, he flopped in a chair under the window and ripped open the envelope. Several sheets covered with flowing Spencerian script greeted him. He skimmed through the pages, then went back, reflecting on what she’d said. Pleased as he was that she’d trusted him with her concerns, he also felt the responsibility of being her confidant. Two weeks had passed since she posted her news. By now, anything could have happened.

For the first time, he wished he were out of the Army and able to travel at will. He’d go straight to Allenwood. He dropped the letter in his lap, shocked at the thought. Wish himself out of the Army? He’d invested too much in his career.

“Come on, Calder, you’re forgetting yourself,” he said aloud. “All you can do is write back with encouragement. Get on with it.”

He dragged his chair to the desk and opened a drawer, then stopped in midmotion. Someone had been rummaging through his papers. He remembered leaving his military tactics manual squared on top of the maps he’d drawn of proposed railroad routes. Now the book was shoved to one side. The map on top had smudges around the edges, as though it had been clutched in grimy fingers. Two sheets, showing proposed routes through St. Joseph, were missing. Warning Lieutenant Campion had served no purpose.

Ward stalked down the hall and banged into Campion’s room.

The lieutenant leaped to his feet, face the color of paste, and shoved a cluster of papers into a drawer. His eyes darted between the desktop and Ward. “Thought you were the proper officer—never enter without knocking.”

Ward shouldered past him. “What’ve you got in there?” He jerked the drawer open and flipped the pages. He held up his two missing maps. “This is my work.” He shuffled through the rest of the papers. “You’re writing a report based on stolen information.”

“I can explain.”

“I doubt it.”

Ward stalked out and slammed the door so hard it bounced open. He grabbed the handle and slammed the door again.

His boot heels thudded on the stone floor as he strode to Captain Block’s office. The post commander looked up when he entered. “What is it, Lieutenant?” He shoved a pile of forms to one side, a harassed expression on his face.

Ward stood at attention. “I’ve brought my report regarding a rail line from Independence to St. Joseph, sir.”

“Why are you in such an all-fired hurry?” Captain Block slammed his hand on the desktop. “Biddle and Grisson don’t expect to hear from us until April. In case you missed it, today’s March eighth.” His jaw set in an angry line. “Come back in a few weeks. Right now I’ve got to finish this confounded budget requisition.”

“Sir, I can’t wait. Something has come up with a fellow officer that threatens my work.”

Sighing, the captain ran his fingers through his bristling gray hair. “That’s a serious charge. At ease, Lieutenant. If it were anyone else coming in here with accusations, I’d be inclined to ignore them, but you’ve never given me reason to doubt your word.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ward opened his portfolio and laid the maps in front of the captain. “You can read the full report when you have more time. The gist of my recommendation is that the new rail line be routed through the communities between St. Joseph and Independence, rather than across open prairie.”

The captain blinked. “I don’t see the urgency here.” His gaze strayed to the requisition forms.

Ward’s heart hammered. Once he reported Lieutenant Campion, he couldn’t retract the words. One or the other of them would be disciplined, depending on the outcome. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Lieutenant Mark Campion has been copying my work for his own ends. He threatened me with blackmail last fall.”

“Blackmail! Why didn’t you report him at the time?” Captain Block studied him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not paying, are you?”