Laura Abbot

by Into the Wilderness

  “You were a sensation, my dear.” Aunt Lavinia’s eyes glittered with approval.

  “If in any way that is so, the credit goes to you. I can’t thank you enough for all you have done for me.”

  “It’s as Mathilda would’ve wished.”

  At her mother’s name, Lily stopped pulling the brush through her curls. “I do not want to disappoint her—or you.”

  “With no daughter of my own, having you here and being able to introduce you to the best people is quite special. And what Mathilda wanted for you.” Then her aunt stood, came close and picked up the brush. “Let me,” she said, smoothing the hair off Lily’s forehead. “As you can see, I am surrounded by every object money can buy. Henry has been quite indulgent with me and I am grateful to him.”

  Lily waited, sensing that words were being left unsaid. Though polite and deferential to one another, Lily had seen little affection pass between her aunt and uncle.

  “He knows how dear your mother was to me and will spare nothing for you to have a lavish and successful season.”

  “Successful?”

  Aunt Lavinia maintained even brushstrokes. “Of course. Finding you the most advantageous match.”

  Lily had a sudden impression of herself as chattel.

  “You have made a marvelous first step. Lionel Atwood would be a most suitable husband. His prospects are boundless.”

  What about the museums she had yet to see? The lectures she was to attend? The public library she might now be forbidden to visit? “Husband? It’s too soon. I had thought to do and see so much and—”

  “Nonsense. There will be time for other pursuits after you are comfortably settled. If a wife is discreet, a man generally will overlook her intellectual pretensions.” She set down the brush and patted Lily’s head. “For now, you just concentrate on your young men. Particularly Lionel. Henry would be so pleased with that alliance.”

  Once her aunt had left the room, words, none of which made any sense to Lily, whirled about her—successful season, advantageous match, prospects and, worst of all, alliance. Is that how the Duprees saw her? As their representative in an alliance?

  One word, she noted, had never been uttered. Love. It seemed to Lily a rather important oversight.

  * * *

  Throughout the month of November and into early December, hardly a day had passed without a social engagement of some kind—teas, concerts and balls. At first each new event had delighted Lily whether it was sitting, breathless, in a theater box, thrilling to an opera singer or dining on a sumptuous seven-course dinner served by footmen. No matter what surprises her social schedule presented, she would never become accustomed to the elaborate ritual of her toilette. Aunt Lavinia had made it clear that a lady never received company nor left the house until dressed in the appropriate gown and with every hair in place. Some mornings Lily longed to throw on an old gingham dress and tuck her hair into a bun as she had done every day of her adult life up until now.

  Among her suitors were several socially charming yet intellectually dull fellows, but, gradually, Lionel Atwood had outpaced them until it was obvious he regarded himself as the front-runner for her affections. She had no trouble understanding why her aunt and uncle favored him. He was polished and urbane—a Harvard graduate and heir to his father’s banking and financial empire. The mystery was why he preferred her. Following their several conversations about the settling of the West, Lily suspected she presented a novelty—an unpolished gem. Just last night in his carriage returning from a play, he had said, “Surely those barbarians have no understanding of civilization.”

  “It depends upon what you mean by civilization,” she had countered. “While we might regard their living conditions as primitive, Indians have every bit as much sense of family as we do, as well as strong tribal loyalty.”

  “But aren’t they filthy?”

  “No more so than anyone who lives close to nature. The buffalo hunters, for instance.”

  “That’s different.”

  Lily failed to see how, but kept that opinion to herself. “Some are talented craftsmen. Their beadwork and pottery are exceptional.”

  “Perhaps they should pick up their tepees and go someplace where they can indulge those pastimes and quit harassing our supply routes. The government is supposedly in the process of relocating these people. Not quickly enough, apparently.”

  Helpless to overcome his disdain, Lily could at least attempt to ameliorate it. “Had you been at Fort Larned these past few months, you would have witnessed the noble efforts the military is making to control the situation.”

  “Too bad they didn’t employ the same strategy as at the Battle of the Washita River.”

  Lily’s mouth went dry. From Caleb, she knew what a ghastly chapter that had been in military history—and how scarred he was by the event. “Sir, in the interests of friendship, I believe we should find another subject to discuss. That battle was a massacre, and those who fought it must live forever with their shame.”

  Lionel turned to look at her in the faint light of the passing streetlamps. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I don’t see why I must pick sides. There is good and evil in all of us.”

  He had patted her hand. “My dear, you are such an idealist.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

  Recalling the conversation the next morning, Lily tried to rationalize Lionel’s remarks. He shared the prejudice of so many of his class, especially those geographically removed from the problems of the West. He had no experience with the complexities of subduing a people spread over thousands of miles who were doing nothing more than protecting and defending lands they regarded as their own. More almost than his ignorance of the realities, she was bothered by his condescending attitude, as if she could have nothing of value to contribute to the topic.

  Yet the man had his redeeming qualities. He was unfailingly solicitous of her and seemed to take pride in entering a room with her on his arm. He was generous with gifts of flowers and jewelry and had helped to ease her into several challenging social situations. There was much to like about him, and she promised herself to focus on those qualities.

  He was picking her up this morning for church. Lily enjoyed this element of St. Louis life. Sunday services at the fort had been hit-and-miss, dependent upon the presence of a chaplain or the availability of the commanding officer. The Duprees and Atwoods attended a large Episcopal church with beautiful stained-glass windows and a massive pipe organ. If grandeur had anything to do with God’s favor, and she doubted it did, this congregation was blessed.

  Standing at Lionel’s side as they sang the opening hymn, she could almost picture herself as his wife. He tucked an arm around her waist and his pure tenor soared with the words, “Faith of our fathers, living still...” The sermon was uplifting, and the formality of the service impressive.

  Outside the church afterward, she asked Lionel how long he had been a member.

  “Since childhood.”

  “Religion must be an important part of your life.”

  “In what way?”

  She opened, then closed her mouth. Had he not understood the simple question? To cover the awkward silence, she stammered, “Well, in all ways. Providing support in challenging circumstances and comfort in times of distress or grief.”

  “I’m sure it offers those amenities for many.”

  Amenities? Blessings, rather. “But for you?”

  “I enjoy the aesthetics and the associations I make with the people.”

  “Membership is beneficial for your business, then?” Only with great restraint did she withhold her sarcasm.

  “That’s a bit crass, Lily, even if there is an element of truth in it. Let me reassure you that the Lord is still knocking at my door. I just haven’t quite let Him in, yet.”

  Lily sighed with relief. She couldn’t fault him for resisting God’s call so long as he was receptive to it. Admittedly, she herself was not without an occasional question.


  During the drive home, he took the liberty of holding her hand. “I presume you know how very fond of you I am.”

  Lily lowered her head to avoid his direct gaze. “You have been most courteous in escorting me about the town.”

  “It’s more than courtesy, my dear. I enjoy showing you off.” He tilted her chin so she could not avoid his chocolate-brown eyes. “You are quite beautiful, my dear. Any man would be proud to have you on his arm.”

  Here it was. All the sophisticated flattery and flirtation she had so long imagined, falling from the tongue of a handsome man practiced in the art. “Lionel, you make me blush.”

  “That is one reason I am so fond of you. You have none of the pretense or coyness of other women, whom, to be frank, I find boring.”

  “I often feel like a sparrow among the peacocks.”

  “Nonsense.” He raised her gloved hands to his lips. “You are a rare, exotic bird, whom I treasure.”

  Oddly, her heart continued to beat at its normal rate. Her breath came easily. Why wasn’t she ecstatic with joy to have such a sought-after bachelor singing her praises?

  “May I?” And before she could stop him, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, his mustache tickling her skin. He leaned back, then, smiling at her. “As delicious as I imagined.”

  She couldn’t have written the dialogue any more effectively had she been Miss Austen or Miss Brontë, yet strangely, it had none of the power to move her as the novels had. The question boiled down to this: Could she will herself to love Lionel Atwood?

  * * *

  Astride the bay gelding he had bought in Independence, Caleb stared across the snow-covered Flint Hills, marveling at the sheer expanse of land. Three nights before, a powerful north wind had swirled down upon the ranch, bringing with it the first blizzard of the season. Only today was he able to make his way into the Cottonwood Falls post office where a week’s worth of newspapers and mail had accumulated, including a letter from Will Creekmore.

  Caleb had hoped Will’s message would include word of Lily, but, instead, it was primarily an account of the diminishing number of military engagements at Fort Larned and one sentence extolling Fannie’s virtues as a wife. He hadn’t really expected Will to comment about Lily, nor, did he suppose, would it have made any difference. He guided his mount around a drift even as he reproached himself for letting Lily creep into his thoughts, as she did so maddeningly often. Foolishly, he had expected the change of scenery to help. He knew he needed to give her up, but knowing that didn’t make it easier.

  After stabling his horse, he walked toward the ranch house, a two-story frame-and-stone dwelling Seth and his father had built. The front porch had a sweeping view to the southwest. The rear was sheltered by a low hill and several cottonwoods and elms. Caleb stepped into the warm kitchen, eased out of his boots and laid the mail on the rough wooden table.

  Sophie, her freckled face flushed, stood at the stove, stirring a delicious-smelling batch of beef stew. “Anything for me?”

  “What were you expecting?”

  She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “Oh, maybe a billet-doux from the marquis or a proposal from the duke.”

  “Will you settle for the Kansas City Times?”

  She faked a pout. “You’re no fun.”

  “No, I guess I’m not.” He’d intended the words jokingly, but they came out flat.

  She set the spoon on a rest and turned to face him. “We need to talk. Sit down there—” she gestured at the table “—and have a cup of coffee with me.”

  He wanted to slither away, but he knew his sister. She was a woman on a mission. She served him, then sat down across from him. “You know I love you.”

  “I do. However, I sense a but coming.”

  “But—” she grinned by way of emphasis “—you’ve got something on your mind and whatever it is has stolen away my brother. You remember him? The kind, funny, lovable fellow I adore?”

  He made a play of looking around the room. “Hmm. He doesn’t seem to be here.”

  “Well, I want him back.” She reached across the table and captured both his hands in hers. “You may not want to talk about this with Pa or Seth, but I can be relentless. I’ve waited long enough for you to broach the subject. Your time’s up. Tell me about her.”

  He was trapped, not only by Sophie’s hands, but by her penetrating look. His sister had always known him better than anyone else. “It’s that obvious?”

  She looked at him as if he’d just asked the world’s dumbest question. “Spit it out, brother.”

  He disengaged from her grasp and, with a sigh, leaned back in his chair. “Her name is Lily Kellogg.”

  “Seth told me about her. Said you’d asked her to marry you. That’s serious business. Where is this Miss Kellogg who has stolen your heart?”

  Slowly, reluctantly, he told her about Lily’s dream of visiting St. Louis and his final, heart-wrenching view of her outside the Dupree mansion.

  Sophie’s eyes never left his face. When he finished, she nodded several times. “You love her still.”

  It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. Sophie listened with her heart. “Yes.”

  “Did you have reason to believe she could return your affection?”

  “Once I did.”

  Sophie picked up her coffee cup and stared into it, as if it were a divining pool. “You were right to let her go.”

  His head snapped up. “How can you say that?”

  “She had to try it.”

  “It?”

  “The fancy life in the big city. She would never have been happy wondering if she had missed out on that adventure.”

  “Small comfort,” he muttered.

  She eyed him over the top of her cup. “I believe it is. Now listen to me, Captain Caleb Montgomery, stormer of fortresses and leader of men, are you surrendering or is she worth fighting for?”

  His sister had always had a strong will, and he felt himself being propelled along by it. “I will never love another woman the way I love her.”

  Sophie whooped, set down her cup and gave the table a tattoo with the flat of her hands. “Aha! I thought so. Your Lily must be quite a gal. So count me in!”

  “For what?”

  “Our strategy. I’m tired of you moping around here. You are going to win her back, and I am going to help with the battle plan. ‘Faint heart ne’er won fair lady.’”

  Caleb felt his face relax into a smile. Sophie was a force of nature and he trusted her mightily. He couldn’t explain it, but once again a ray of hope lightened his gloom. He corrected himself. More than hope. Determination.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dressed in a plum-colored afternoon dress, Lily sat by the cozy fire in the parlor awaiting Lionel’s visit. Ever since the New Year’s ball held in his parents’ home, he had grown increasingly attentive, squiring her to a concert by a noted tenor and treating her to several drama productions. She exulted in each exposure to such cultural events. Yet the highlight had come not with Lionel, but rather with Uncle Henry when he escorted her to a scientific lecture concerning Charles Darwin’s controversial On the Origin of Species. There was no particular in which her fancies had gone unmet. She should be basking in contentment, but despite all she had been given and had experienced, she was aware of a void that went beyond missing her family.

  In such moments she often thought of Caleb. Wondered what he was doing. If he was happy. At the same time, though, she recalled the brutal conditions on the frontier, especially in this season of icy blizzards and bone-chilling temperatures. Surrounded by creature comforts, her every need anticipated and met, she dismissed such idle speculation. She had made her choice.

  In the distance she heard the butler greet Lionel and stood to welcome him. He entered the room, cheeks pink from the cold, and went to the fire to warm his hands before turning to clasp hers. “Let us find hope in the words of John Keats. ‘If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?’”

 
“Shelley,” Lily found herself saying before she could stop herself.

  “Shelley? My dear, you are mistaken.”

  Lily knew she was not and dared to correct him again. “Percy Bysshe Shelley. ‘Ode to the West Wind.’”

  Cocking one eyebrow, Lionel released her hands and laughed. “Silly goose. Who went to Harvard, you or me? I remember well. John Keats penned those immortal words.” He ushered her to a love seat. “Never mind—” he sat beside her “—spring will bring not only temperate climes but beauty.”

  Lily did not appreciate being patronized, but decided pressing her point would gain nothing. She couldn’t help thinking that Caleb would have known the difference. “Do you think it will snow soon?”

  “I pray not. The town comes to a standstill, especially if there is ice.” He leaned forward ingratiatingly. “Before that happens, I want to take you to an exhibition of paintings opening at my club Saturday.”

  “I should like that very much.”

  “I will call for you at two and perhaps we can stop afterward for an early supper at a highly recommended new café.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I so enjoy showing you off.”

  She stifled the feeling of being objectified. After all, she had always dreamed of a man who would appreciate her and court her with devotion. She smiled coquettishly. “I shall do my best to live up to your expectations.”

  He beamed at her. “You always do. Few men can boast of having such a beauty on their arms.”

  “And what of brains?” she urged.

  Again, he laughed. “Brains? What need have you of those pesky things? Leave that to me. Men are trained for the intellectual side of life. Women have their place in the home and as complements to their husbands.”

  Lily winced. She knew that such role expectations existed in society and had even seen them acted out by her aunt and uncle, but she had never before heard them so baldly expressed. Could she be the mere ornament of a man? But what was the use of confronting Lionel now? She usually enjoyed his company and thrived on the fascinating places he took her. Theirs was a relationship of mutual benefit. It wasn’t as if they were engaged, she reminded herself.