The Dawn of a Dream

by Ann Shorey

  Following prayer, he opened his Bible. “Our scripture for today is found in Jeremiah, chapter 29.” While he read the text, Luellen visualized the words stitched on the back of her Rose of Sharon quilt. “. . . thoughts of peace, and not of evil.” Would her decision bring peace—or more evil?

  Late Sunday afternoon, Luellen and her parents accompanied Franklin and Lieutenant Calder to the railroad depot where they’d board the train for the first leg of their journey to St. Louis. The sun’s red-gold light reflected against the windows of the passenger carriage as they approached, which added to the fearsome dragonlike effect of smoke and sparks billowing from the locomotive’s stack.

  Luellen clung to Franklin’s arm. “I’ll miss you more than ever.”

  “Wish we could stay longer, but Ward had to talk hard to get this much furlough. I’ll haunt the post waiting for your letters.” He bent close to her ear. “Still undecided?”

  She nodded, turning to say good-bye to Lieutenant Calder, who stood with her parents.

  “I’m grateful for your hospitality,” he said, shaking Papa’s hand. “It’s a treat for me to spend time with a family.” He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his russet-brown hair. “My mother and father have been gone for some years.”

  Mama’s face showed sympathy. “You have no brothers or sisters?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, you’re welcome in our home anytime.”

  He dipped his head, acknowledging her words. “Thank you.”

  “Bo-oard!” the conductor called from the steps of the carriage. Steam from the locomotive poured over the platform.

  Franklin and Lieutenant Calder climbed aboard and after a moment leaned out one of the open windows, waving good-bye.

  Luellen and her parents waved back, watching until the train resembled a centipede in the distance. “That poor boy,” Mama said. “No family.”

  Papa slipped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s unfortunate, but he’s not a boy. He’s thirty, according to Franklin.”

  “Nevertheless, I meant it when I said he was welcome in our home. Everyone needs to belong somewhere.”

  He gave her a one-armed hug, then turned to Luellen. “I have something serious to discuss with you when we get home.”

  4

  Luellen took her father’s arm when they left the train platform. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “I’d rather wait until we get home.”

  Did he know of her letter from Allenwood Normal School? She didn’t recall mentioning it.

  Was he sick? Her stomach clenched at the idea. He looked tired and drawn, but she attributed that to the fatigue of wedding preparations. Papa had been her rock since she was four, when he married Mama. He couldn’t be sick. She shoved the thought away.

  More than likely, he assumed that by bringing her possessions back home she meant to stay. She swallowed hard. Why did they need to have this discussion today?

  They entered the front door and turned into the sitting area. Mama and Papa took seats side by side on the divan. He removed his cravat and unfastened the top button of his high-necked shirt, resting his feet on a cushioned stool.

  Mama lifted a fan from a side table and waved it in front of her perspiring face. “I’m glad to be out of that sun. Today’s the hottest it’s been all week.”

  Papa pointed to an armchair near the hearth. “Sit down and rest, Lulie. You worked for days on your sister’s wedding. It’s been hard on you, I know. You’re tired—we’re all tired.”

  Luellen sank into the chair. Bending over, she worked the buttons on her boots open and slid them off, wiggling her toes against the polished oak floor. “We’re home now. What did you want to discuss?” Her nerves trilled while she waited his answer.

  “I spoke to Elihu Stebbins about your situation after church this morning.”

  “The lawyer? Why?”

  He took Mama’s hand. Clearly, she already knew what he planned to say. Her eyes glittered with tears.

  “You have to undo your marriage,” he said. “File for divorce.”

  Stunned, Luellen stared at him. “Divorce? But I’m not really married. Brendan already had a wife.”

  Mama rose and crossed the room, laying a hand on Luellen’s shoulder. “Your marriage in front of the judge was legal according to Illinois law.” She brushed stray curls off Luellen’s cheek. “To be able to remarry you need to dissolve the bonds once and for all.”

  “Remarry? Nothing could be farther from my mind.”

  “Maybe not now . . .”

  Luellen sought Papa’s face. “Can’t we just let things go on this way? He won’t dare—” Then she thought of him coming back to get his possessions while she was away from the cottage. No telling what Brendan would dare. She slumped against the back of the chair. “This is a nightmare. Even if I leave Beldon Grove, I’ll be branded as a divorced woman wherever I go.” Luellen covered her face with her hands, feeling tears against her fingers.

  “People forget, quicker than you think.” Papa’s deep voice rumbled comfort.

  Mama kissed the top of her head. “Hold your chin up and look them in the eye.”

  Luellen sniffled, remembering. Lieutenant Calder had said the same thing when they entered the church that morning.

  Smoke and cinders billowed through the open windows of the passenger carriage. Ward Calder shifted on the iron-bordered wooden seat. “Why can’t they build these cars for comfort?”

  Franklin chuckled. “Beats riding a horse for days out in the sun. We should be back at the barracks by tomorrow morning, if nothing happens to the train along the way.” He picked a cinder from the leg of his trousers and dropped it out the window. “A weekend furlough wouldn’t have been enough to get us to Beldon Grove without this smoking beast.”

  Ward nodded. “I like your family. Thanks for asking me.”

  “Sorry you had to walk into my sister’s domestic troubles.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it when Mother wrote she’d run off and got married. Luellen of all people.”

  “Everybody needs someone to love.” Ward clenched his jaw. Why’d he say that? He sounded like a woman.

  Franklin gave him a surprised look. “Thought you loved the Army.”

  “I was referring to your sister. Women have those instincts.” Discomfited, he stood, wishing he’d never opened his mouth. He brought his bag down from the overhead rack and rummaged through it until he found his canteen. At that moment, a water boy walked through the car carrying a bucket with a dipper hooked to the side. Franklin motioned him over.

  “You thirsty?” he asked Ward.

  He held up his canteen. “Brought my own.”

  After taking a long drink, Franklin gave the boy a coin and resumed his seat. To Ward’s dismay, he jumped back into their previous conversation.

  “I could never understand how a man could spend his life in the Army, being ordered around every day.” He leaned back and locked his fingers behind his head, stretching his long legs in the aisle. “The commander at Jefferson Barracks pays me to scout the trail to Santa Fe, but he doesn’t own me. Merchants in St. Louis want to get their goods to New Mexico Territory. If something happens, they blame the Army, not me.”

  Ward studied his friend. What a difference between Franklin’s beliefs and his own. If he’d grown up with a family like Franklin’s, maybe he’d feel the same way. But he didn’t. He turned and stared out at the prairie sliding past the window like a bronze river. “I like the assurance the Army offers,” he said, half to himself. “The rules and order. The predictability. When things go well, it’s like the poet said, ‘God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.’ ”

  Franklin snorted. “You get all that from some fat captain hollering at you when you’re five minutes late? If you really want to see God in his heaven, come with me the next time I go out on the trail. The sky pulses with stars. I think of them as sparks burned through a canvas, letting heaven’s light p
our down.”

  Ward felt exposed to be talking so freely about feelings. He looked out the window again, noticing purple dusk shading the scenery. “Let’s get some sleep. The commander may not own you, but I have to be ready to go first thing tomorrow.” He rolled his coat into a pillow and tried to get comfortable on the wooden bench.

  In Alton, Ward and Franklin hurried from the depot to the ferry landing. Once across the Mississippi, they retrieved their mounts from a livery stable and rode toward Jefferson Barracks.

  As the men approached the post, Ward saw new recruits on the parade ground going through drills. Morning sun illuminated limestone buildings arranged in a semicircle on a bluff overlooking the river.

  Franklin looked at him. “How late are you?”

  “Maybe an hour.”

  “Will it do any good to tell the captain we missed the ferry and had to wait?”

  “What do you think?”

  Franklin reined in his horse. “Wish I could help.” He raised an eyebrow. “Good luck.” He rode toward the enlisted men’s quarters, his home when he wasn’t on the trail.

  Ward took a deep breath, girding himself for the encounter with the post commander. Captain Block’s temper was one of the predictable features of Army life that he could do without.

  After stabling his horse, he entered the headquarters building. A musty, mildewed smell wrinkled his nose. The older buildings on the post were poorly built, with damp masonry floors and roofs that leaked. He was tempted to leave the front door ajar to gain air circulation, but the captain had forbidden the action. Jefferson Barracks was headquarters for the Department of the West, and as such needed to display formality.

  In line with formal requirements, Ward straightened his coat and shined the toe of each boot on the back of his trouser legs. Shoulders squared, he strode down a hall and entered Captain Block’s domain.

  His superior officer raised his head when Ward entered. Gray hair parted on one side framed his craggy face. The buttons on his single-breasted coat shone in the lance of sunlight penetrating the room.

  Captain Block stood, leaning forward. “Lieutenant Calder. How good of you to drop by.” His voice sounded gentle.

  Ward braced himself.

  “Do you think you’re living on some soft Southern plantation?” the captain roared. “You were to report in hours ago. Are you, or are you not, planning on a career as an Army engineer?”

  “I am, sir.”

  “Does the Corps allow its men to live by their own rules?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then what are you playing at, Lieutenant?”

  “Nothing, sir. It was an unavoidable circumstance.”

  Captain Block drew a deep breath and blew it out with an exasperated snort. “Circumstances, by their very nature, are unavoidable. Don’t engineers know that?”

  “Yes, sir, they do.”

  The captain resumed his seat, leaning one elbow on the arm of his chair. “So, have you completed mapping your last survey?” His voice took on normal tones.

  From experience, Ward knew the storm had passed. He fought an impulse to whip out his handkerchief and mop his sweating forehead. “Yes, sir.”

  Pretending to search his desktop, Captain Block said, “I don’t see it.”

  “The maps are in my quarters, sir. I’ll have them here in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Ward strode across the grounds toward the officers’ quarters. He banged in the front door and took the stairs two at a time. Once in his room, he threw off his hat and coat and dropped them on the bed. The portfolio that held his maps lay on the desk. He grabbed it, unfastening the loop holding the flap closed. A stack of maps slid onto the desktop. He glanced at the top page, then took a second look. Where was the overview? The sheet that held the name and location of the area surveyed, along with the outside boundaries, was missing.

  He fanned the right-hand corners, thinking he’d accidentally shoved the first page behind the other sheets. Nothing out of order. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He knew he’d completed the task—he remembered initialing each page as he placed his work in the portfolio.

  “Looking for something?” Lieutenant Mark Campion leaned against the doorframe, his round face mocking.

  Ward surveyed Lieutenant Campion through narrowed eyes. They’d both graduated from the Academy in the same class, Ward near the top, Campion next to the bottom. They hadn’t been friends during their years of study, and proximity at the Army post hadn’t brought them any closer. “The first page of my survey seems to have disappeared. Know anything about it?”

  “I might.” He slid his hand into his pants pocket and pulled the lining out. “Empty. I could use a little help until we get paid.”

  Ward shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “You can afford it. Everyone knows your old man left you a pile of money.”

  “Is that what everyone knows? Well, now they’ll know I don’t respond to extortion.” He grasped the edge of the door and pushed it in Campion’s face.

  “You’ll be sorry, Calder.”

  “I doubt it.” The latch clicked and he heard Campion stalk away.

  At Captain Block’s request, he’d spent hours combining the results of several separate surveys to produce the front matter. Gritting his teeth, he tucked the portfolio under his arm and headed for the captain’s office. Ward could only guess at how he’d react to the news that the survey was another day or two away from completion.

  5

  On Monday, Luellen walked the five blocks to Bryant House. Early morning air carried the fragrance of wood smoke from neighbors’ cookstoves. As she passed the town square, she heard blue jays squabbling over breakfast among the branches of elm trees.

  Luellen loved walking early in the morning. In her imagination, she pretended she was alone on the prairie, back in the days when there were no houses. A locomotive approaching the station jolted her back to present-day Beldon Grove and the reason she was hurrying toward the hotel.

  How would Mr. Bryant react when she asked to be rehired? More than that, how would she handle the regular customers’ reactions when they saw her there?

  She cut around behind the building and entered through the kitchen door. A woman she didn’t know stood in front of the range, cracking eggs into a skillet. For a moment, Luellen pictured herself standing there, and Brendan sitting at the worktable chatting with her while she cooked.

  He’d stopped into the kitchen shortly after he arrived in Beldon Grove to tell her he’d enjoyed her lovely supper. Blue eyes twinkling, he offered to be her official food taster. As days went by, she heard his woebegone tale of loneliness for his family back in Ireland. She couldn’t resist offering words of comfort—he was so grateful—and soon found herself spending all her free time with him. She blinked, and the vision disappeared.

  The woman at the range dropped the last eggshell into a pail. “Morning. You looking for work?”

  “I’m Luellen Mc—O’Connell. I used to be the cook here.”

  “Martha Dolan. Mr. Bryant hired me last month. You must be the gal who up and got married.” She wiped her hands on her apron and pointed at the coffee boiler. “Help yourself. Reckon you know where everything is.” Martha picked up a spatula. “I’ve got to tend to these eggs.”

  Martha looked to be around thirty or so, broad-shouldered, wearing a harassed expression. Luellen filled a mug and sat at one of the chairs around the long worktable. “Where’s your helper? When I worked here Mr. Bryant had a girl come in mornings to get breakfast out quickly for the workers.”

  “Haven’t seen her for a week. Heard he’s looking for someone else.” Martha used the back of her arm to brush trailing brown hair from her forehead. Her freckled cheeks were red from the range’s heat. Using both hands, she lifted the skillet by its long handle and expertly slid a dozen eggs onto a waiting platter. A nearby bowl of biscuits sent a tantalizing fragrance through the room.

  “How
’d you like to carry these eggs into the dining room? I’ll be right behind you with the biscuits.” She clanged the empty skillet onto the stovetop. “I need this job, but if you want to take over helping, we’ll talk to Mr. Bryant when the rush is over.”

  Luellen grasped the crockery platter with both hands and pushed through the door that led to the dining room. Several men dressed in work clothes looked up eagerly when she appeared.

  “’Bout time,” one of them grumbled.

  Martha slapped the pan of biscuits on the long table. “Takes longer to cook this than it does for you to eat it.” She jammed her hands on her hips and surveyed the complainer. “But you’d best keep a civil tongue in your head. I can’t work faster, but I sure can move slower.” With a grin, she returned to the kitchen.

  Luellen turned to follow her when one of the men put out a hand and grabbed her wrist. “Say, aren’t you the gal that Brendan O’Connell married? Heard he went back to Chicago.” He looked her up and down. “How come you’re still here?”

  She jerked her hand away, her mind searching for a response.

  Another customer poked the man on the shoulder. “Tell you later.” He arched an eyebrow at Luellen. “You looking for someone to take O’Connell’s place?”

  Luellen stared at him until he lowered his eyes. Now all of the men were watching her, silent, waiting. “In case any of you have the same question, the answer is no. Not now, not ever.” She took a deep breath and cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Anyone want more coffee?”

  Mr. Bryant came in while Martha and Luellen were washing breakfast dishes. “One of the boarders told me you was here,” he said to Luellen. “I heard about O’Connell—your uncle Arthur stopped by yesterday.”

  Uncle Arthur’s habits were as predictable as the sunrise. Sunday dinner at the hotel, Monday at her parents’ home, Tuesday at Uncle Matthew’s, and so on through his list of friends and family. In a way she was relieved not to have to make an announcement to Mr. Bryant. He’d voiced his disapproval of Brendan almost as soon as the two of them met. A warning she shouldn’t have ignored.