The Dawn of a Dream (3 page)

“I don’t see how they can help it.” Luellen settled the shawl over Lily’s shoulders, arranging the fringe so it fell smoothly over her hoop-skirted, oyster-gray dress.

Lily turned and clasped Luellen’s hands. “Thank you for all you’ve done to make my wedding special. I know how hard it’s been for you to keep smiling.” She kissed her cheek. “God has something better planned for your life than Brendan.”

Luellen stopped, hand on the knob of the kitchen door. Voices from inside carried through the polished walnut panel.

“Did you see how she’s dressed? No hoops—just those heavy petticoats.”

“And those eyeglasses. She looks like she’s forty years old. No wonder her husband left.”

Luellen self-consciously tucked her glasses in her pocket. Her face burned. If Lily’s friends knew, the news had to be all over town. No wonder few of the guests had mentioned Brendan.

She pushed the door open and strode into the room. Two young women stood at the counter, washing dishes from the wedding breakfast. They sprang apart, their hoopskirts swaying.

“Luellen! We thought you were . . .” Abigail’s fair skin flushed scarlet.

“Mama’s resting. I told her I’d give you girls a hand.” Luellen gave them her sweetest smile. “Why don’t you join the others? My brother’s around someplace with that friend he brought with him. I’m sure they’d enjoy some fashionable company.”

“How kind of you. We’d love to visit with Franklin, wouldn’t we? He’s been away for ever so long.” Abigail preceded her companion through the doorway, tipping her hoops sideways to negotiate the narrow opening.

The other girl swept by with embarrassed words of thanks. They hurried through the dining room, past the table covered with the family’s best linen, and into the parlor where the last guests lingered.

Once they were out of sight, Luellen rested against the edge of the counter and leaned forward, eyes closed. At one time, she’d wanted more from life than a husband. Why did she ever let Brendan change her mind? She knew why. Loneliness. The flattery of his Irish charm worked its way into her heart and she’d dropped her guard.

She pushed up the lace-trimmed undersleeves of her dress and settled a stack of sticky plates into the basin. Cloudy water covered her hands. She couldn’t see her task any more clearly than she could see her future.

When the last plate was washed and replaced on the shelf, Luellen slipped out the back door and headed toward Papa’s office. He wouldn’t be there, but neither would anyone else. She wanted time alone.

Franklin rounded the corner of the house and planted himself in front of her. “Did you loose those simpering girls on me?”

Luellen managed a smile. “Better you than me. I’m tired of being gossiped about behind my back.”

“Don’t let them bother you. Not one of them has half your brains.”

“Brains weren’t enough—” She cleared her throat. As far as she knew, her parents had kept the news about Brendan from him. But who knew if he’d heard the gossip?

She changed subjects. “It’s just not fair. You’re twenty-five, and no one talks about you.” Luellen mimicked a high-pitched voice. “He’s not married. Why do you suppose that is?”

Franklin swept his fingers through his straight hair, pushing it behind his ears. “Who’d marry a person who spends his time scouting for the Army? I’d make a terrible husband.” He turned toward Lieutenant Calder, who stood a few feet away listening to the exchange. “Ask Ward here. Am I husband material?”

Lieutenant Calder shook his head. “Don’t expect me to answer that. Mrs. O’Connell, what would you call husband material?”

“I don’t think about it. I’m through looking for a husband.” She hoped her words were ambiguous enough not to be an outright lie.

“That puts you in the minority, it would seem.” His words carried a touch of sarcasm.

Franklin glanced between them. “My sister has always had her own way of looking at the world.” He took Luellen’s elbow. “Were you going for a walk when we interrupted you?”

“No. I wanted to be alone in Papa’s office.” She disengaged her arm and turned toward the clapboarded cabin. “I need some time to think.”

“We’ll leave you to it.” He strode toward his friend. “I want to show Ward around town. Tell Mother not to wait supper. We’ll get something at the hotel.”

The mingled aromas of camphor and various tinctures greeted her when she opened the office door and slipped inside. In an adjoining room, Papa had established a small three-bed infirmary. Shadows cast by the silver maple behind the building created fluid images of dark and light on the floor beneath the window.

She walked past the unoccupied beds and settled in a chair. Memories surrounded her. Here she’d grown up, studied her lessons, and dreamed of a life beyond Beldon Grove. Now those dreams seemed to rise and mock her.

She started at the sound of the door opening and closing. Franklin hesitated at the entrance to the infirmary, then moved toward her.

Luellen glanced behind him, expecting to see Lieutenant Calder.

“I sent him on ahead. The hotel’s not that hard to find.” Franklin grinned and sat on the edge of a bed facing her.

“I told you I wanted to be alone.”

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “That girl—Abigail—told me about your husband leaving.” Anger darkened his expression. “I asked her if she had proof, and she said she heard the story through some of the railroad workers staying at the hotel. From there . . . well, you know how folks love to talk.”

Luellen cringed. “It’s worse than I feared. I’d hoped they were just guessing. Did she enjoy telling everyone at the wedding?”

“I put a flea in her ear—told her if she said another word to anyone, I had a story or two of my own to tell.” He chuckled. “Not that I have anything, but she doesn’t know that.” Franklin’s eyes searched hers, depth meeting depth. “I teased you when we were growing up, but I’ve always been proud of you and your goals. Don’t give up now, Lulie.”

Sighing, she rested her head against the back of her chair and stared at the ceiling. “I’m still so shocked I hardly know which way to turn. Today Papa said something about me being the only one left at home. He sounded so sad.” She studied her brother’s face, hoping he could understand her dilemma. “You know I wanted to be a teacher. I’ve worked at the hotel for the past four years saving money to attend normal school. Even if they’d admit me now, as a married woman, how can I disappoint Papa?”

A moment of quiet rested between them. Franklin stood, his expression unreadable. “I’m your friend, as well as your brother, but the decision is yours.”

Luellen walked toward the cottage she and Brendan had shared. She knew Mama and Papa wanted her to move back into their home, but she saw that as the first step in a commitment to a life of spinsterhood. Monday she’d call on the hotel’s proprietor and ask to be rehired. If she could resume cooking in the hotel kitchen, and if the rent on the cottage could be reduced, she’d remain where she was. Beyond that, she had no plan.

When she opened the door, her skin prickled. The room felt different. Her eyes darted to the corners. No one there. Turning, she entered the bedroom and stopped short. The low shelf under the window was missing. Her books and papers lay strewn over the floor. The wool blanket that covered the bed had been taken.

Brendan.

Luellen dashed into the kitchen and unlatched the cupboard. The brown crockery she’d borrowed from her mother was shoved to one side. The dishes Brendan bought were gone. Frantic, she ran back into the bedroom and flung open the trunk where she’d stored her Rose of Sharon quilt. The vines and flowers stitched along the border greeted her eyes. She collapsed on the floor, weak with relief. From what she could see, Brendan had returned and taken everything he’d contributed to their brief life together, but he’d left her possessions undisturbed.

Where was he? Didn’t he go to Chicago?

“Miz O’Connell?”

She jumped at the sound of a man’s voice. Their landlord stood in the open doorway, an apologetic expression on his face.

“Mr. Pitt. You startled me.” Luellen stood, trying to smooth her rumpled skirt. “I was just . . .” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the scattered books.

“I’m sorry to scare you. I came by to see when it is you’re leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Yup. Your husband stopped in yesterday and told me you folks was moving out. I refunded him the rest of the rent.” He looked at the disarray surrounding her. “’Course I’ll expect you to leave it good as you found it, or I’ll have to charge you some.”

She threw her shoulders back. “It’ll be perfectly clean before I go tomorrow.”

“Figured it would.” He lingered against the door frame. “You’re headed for Chicago, he said? That’ll be hard on your mama.”

“Mr. O’Connell will be in Chicago.” Luellen bit her lip, deciding he needed no further explanation.

When she didn’t elaborate, Mr. Pitt raised his eyebrows in a question. “And you?”

The sadness she’d seen in Papa’s eyes haunted her. “I haven’t decided.”

Once the landlord departed, Luellen removed her best dress and all but one petticoat, and slipped into a simple cotton gown and apron. With Brendan’s possessions gone, little needed to be done to tidy the cottage. She surveyed the kitchen–sitting area. The cookware borrowed from her mother could be returned tomorrow. Her meager furnishings—table, two chairs, and a bedstead—likewise belonged to her parents and would be replaced in their home. Would she, too, return to her parents’ care?

Kneeling in the bedroom, she gathered her scattered books.
Shakespeare’s Collected Works
, Cooper’s
The Deerslayer
, and her well-worn copy of Longfellow’s
Ballads and Other Poems
were packed in a trunk, along with history and geography texts. After the last book was stored, she felt under the bed to be sure none had been kicked out of reach.

Her fingers grasped a thick envelope. Resting on her heels, Luellen reread the first page.
Miss Luellen McGarvie is accepted for admission to Allenwood Normal School, Allenwood, Illinois. Fall term to begin September 14, 1857.
The next two sheets outlined courses she would need, described the residence hall, and listed names of families in Allenwood who were willing to board students.

The next morning, Luellen sat at the table sipping a mug of tea and nibbling a muffin left from yesterday’s wedding breakfast. Her trunks were packed and ready to be taken to her parents’ house, along with their furnishings. She’d take the key back to Mr. Pitt at his blacksmith shop that afternoon.

The door latch lifted. She dropped the muffin and braced herself, fearing Brendan had returned yet again. Instead, Franklin stepped into the room, followed by Lieutenant Calder.

“Mother sent us to escort you to church,” Franklin said.

“I wasn’t planning to go this morning. I don’t feel like being a cynosure.”

Franklin blinked. “What’s that?”

“Something that strongly attracts attention,” Lieutenant Calder answered for her.

Pleased to hear from someone who shared her love of language, Luellen flashed him a smile. “Thank you. Someone has to help Franklin learn words of more than one syllable.”

Franklin picked up a muffin. “I was just waiting to see if Ward knew what it meant.”

Luellen chuckled, then quieted. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be there with you, won’t we?” Franklin turned to Lieutenant Calder, who nodded.

“But I’ve packed my Sunday dress.”

“What you’re wearing looks fine.” Franklin popped the muffin into his mouth and moved toward the door.

“I know it’s not my affair, Mrs. O’Connell, but my experience has been that the sooner one faces down opposition, the sooner it passes.” Lieutenant Calder bowed in her direction and held out his arm, crooked at the elbow. “Allow me.”

“All right.”

Sighing, she stood and laid her hand on his arm. Franklin stepped to her other side. Once outdoors, he helped her into his rented buggy.

Dogwood trees provided scattered shade along the route to Uncle Matthew’s church. Lieutenant Calder removed his black felt hat and wiped his forehead. “Where I come from out east, we don’t have this unending humidity.”

“And where is that?” Luellen asked, more out of politeness than any real interest.

“Northern Pennsylvania. Athens.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

Franklin laughed. “The Army is Ward’s home. He lives and breathes drills and excursions.”