The Dawn of a Dream

by Ann Shorey

  Through tears, Luellen studied David’s face. Her plan had seemed easier from a distance. She dug her nails into her palms. “What kind of a person is she?”

  “Well, she’s not someone you’d normally expect to find in Allenwood. I’ll say no more—I want you to make up your own mind.”

  25

  Belle sat beside the kitchen table, watching while Luellen removed a pan of biscuits from the oven. She cuddled David on her lap. “Hurry. I want you to open the present I brought.”

  “I’ll only be another moment. The boarders are waiting for the rest of their breakfast.” Luellen cast a fond glance at her friend as she placed the biscuits in a bowl, setting two aside. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and entered the dining room.

  An older couple and a stubble-faced man sat at the long table, busy helping themselves to browned sausages and fried eggs. She placed the bowl next to a dish of butter. “Anything else you need, just give me a call.”

  The guests nodded acknowledgment and continued with their meal. Luellen blinked. Over the summer, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be invisible when she served diners. At least invisible was better than being singled out for ribald attention.

  She ducked into the kitchen, sitting beside Belle. “We should have a few minutes to ourselves while they finish eating.” She reached for the package, feeling softness under the paper wrapping. “You didn’t have to bring me a gift. Seeing you again is a gift in itself.”

  Belle squeezed her arm. “I’ve waited all summer for this day.” She dropped a kiss on David’s head. “I could hardly wait to see this little fellow. He’s adorable—so chubby and healthy-looking.”

  “He’s a wonder and a blessing.” Luellen dropped her gaze, thinking ahead to the rest of the day.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to bring myself to leave him during classes.”

  “Have you made arrangements already?”

  “Mrs. Hawks did. I’m going to take David to a woman named Leah Holcomb after I clean up here. She lives across the street.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Belle tapped the package. “Now open your present.”

  Luellen untied the red cord holding the paper together and lifted out the contents. “A knitted sacque for David. How perfect.” She stroked the soft blue wool, admiring the yellow embroidery on the ribbon trim, then slipped the garment on her son to measure the size. It fell to his diapered bottom. “Just right. This will keep him warm during the winter.” She leaned over and kissed Belle on the cheek.

  Belle looked pleased. “I made it myself—with Mother’s help. This is the first time I ever knitted anything.” She pointed to the rows of stitches. “They’re a little close together. I had trouble holding the needles—I kept tugging the yarn, like making knots.”

  “Just the fact that you wanted to do this for me means everything. I’ll treasure it.”

  The door between the kitchen and dining room opened. The stubble-faced man stuck his head into the room. “Where’s Mrs. Hawks this morning? We’re waiting for coffee in here.”

  Luellen jumped to her feet, startling David to tears. She plunked him in Belle’s lap. “Mrs. Hawks is busy elsewhere. I’ll be seeing to your breakfast from now on.” She lifted the coffee server from the back of the stove.

  “Well, hope you’re not always this slow—and keep that baby quiet, can’t you?”

  Luellen circled the table pouring coffee, all the while listening to David howl. What would she do when Belle wasn’t here to help?

  Luellen tugged David’s cap over his curls as she and Belle crossed the street in front of Mrs. Hawks’s house. Her landlady had been emphatic when she told Luellen to go to the rear entrance of the elaborate brick home where Leah Holcomb worked as a hired companion, so they walked past the carriage building and climbed narrow steps to the door. She supposed Leah Holcomb to be related to the owner of the house, sent away when her pregnancy became an embarrassment to her family.

  “Makes me feel like a delivery boy,” Belle whispered when Luellen knocked.

  “Me too. Wonder what—”

  The door opened and a tall black woman wearing an immaculate white apron peered out at them. As soon as she noticed David, a smile spread across her face. “You must be Luellen McGarvie. We’re expecting you.”

  “I’m here to see Leah Holcomb. Could you please tell her I’m here?”

  The smile disappeared from the woman’s face. “I’m Leah.” Her voice was cold. She stepped aside. “Come in.”

  Luellen tried to disguise her astonishment. Slavery was outlawed in Illinois. In her limited travels through Allenwood, she’d not seen another black person. “You’re indentured?”

  Leah’s eyes narrowed. “I was born in Middletown, to free parents. That makes me indentured to nobody.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Belle poked her in the side.

  “I mean . . .” She tried to smile. “How did you come to Allenwood?”

  “Does it matter? Do you need a nurse for that baby or not?” Her expression didn’t soften.

  “Yes. I do.” Luellen couldn’t see a way out of the hole she’d dug for herself. “Mrs. Hawks said you have a daughter just a couple of months older than David.”

  “She’s correct. She very kindly provided a home for me until Frannie was born. My skin color didn’t seem to bother her.”

  “It doesn’t bother me, either. I was just surprised, is all.”

  Leah ignored her remark and held out her arms. “May I hold your son? We’ll see if he’s happy with me.” She pointed to chairs grouped around a scrubbed table. “You and your friend can sit if you wish.”

  Luellen handed David to her, watching to see how he’d react. He settled into Leah’s arms and grabbed for one of her green glass earrings.

  The woman chuckled. “That’s the first thing Frannie does too. Loves the sparkle.”

  Luellen glanced around the well-lit kitchen, thankful she didn’t have to clean the embossed designs covering the sides of the shining cookstove. They reminded her of the pressed glass her mother owned. A generous-sized worktable stood under a window and shelves stacked with plates and bowls lined the facing wall.

  “Where is your daughter?”

  “In here. I’ll show you. This is where David will be sleeping while you’re at the Normal School.”

  She and Belle followed Leah into a room off one side of the kitchen. A crib was stationed opposite a single bed, and a bright red and yellow braided rug bloomed in the center of the floor.

  Leah held a finger to her lips. “She just fell asleep,” she whispered.

  Frannie lay on her stomach, her face turned to one side, a fist against her mouth. Her skin was several shades lighter than her mother’s—pecan colored, Luellen thought. “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Leah’s voice softened as she looked at her daughter. Turning businesslike again, she said, “Let’s go back to the kitchen and you can tell me when you’ll bring David each day. Then we’ll set a fee.”

  “I was hoping you could keep him for an hour or so now, while I go register at the school. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Today?” Leah shot a glance toward a doorway that Luellen assumed led to the rest of the house. “Mrs. Garmon—” She cleared her throat. “All right. What time do you think you’ll return?”

  “She doesn’t like me,” Luellen blurted as she and Belle walked toward the school.

  “Well, you treated her like a servant when she opened the door.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I was just taken aback for a moment.”

  “I must confess, I was surprised too. Even if she’s free, she’s not safe in Illinois.”

  Luellen nodded, remembering the slave woman who had been her mother’s friend in Missouri when Luellen was a child. Betsy had escaped to Canada. From the few letters they’d received over the years, she knew Betsy and her husband Reuben had settled on a sma
ll farm in a community called Buxton. Why would Leah remain in an area where slave catchers could claim a black person as a runaway, born free or not?

  Clouds bunched overhead, throwing shadows across maple leaves that littered the walkway. A pulse ticked in Luellen’s throat. So much had changed since she’d registered last year. Where did her earlier plans fit into her altered life? The campus buildings rose ahead of them, gray in the subdued light. Her steps slowed.

  When they approached the intersection between the main building and the Ladies Hall, Belle stopped and squeezed Luellen’s hand. “I pray all goes well when you meet with Dr. Alexander. I don’t think it’s a bit unreasonable for you to ask to take the algebra examination again.”

  Luellen hugged her. “Thank you. I spent all last year asking him to make exceptions. I dread beginning this term the same way.”

  “Come and see me after you’ve talked to him—I want to know what he said. I’ll wait in the parlor.”

  Luellen glanced at the Ladies Hall. “Is Mrs. Bledsoe matron again this year?”

  “Indeed she is. In all her glory, I might add.” Belle giggled. “I know she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  In spite of her worries, Luellen laughed. “No doubt.”

  She waited a moment while Belle walked away, then climbed the steps of Allenwood Hall. The highest object of education must be that of living a life in accordance with God’s will, the bronze plaque set into the entry wall reminded her.

  Luellen took a deep breath. However Dr. Alexander responded, she’d try to remember those words.

  When she reached the registrar’s office, Mr. Price sprang to his feet. “Miss . . . er, Mrs. . . .” He coughed. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think you’d be back.”

  She ignored his stammers. “Is Dr. Alexander in?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Thank you.” She brushed past him and entered the registrar’s office. The clutter looked unchanged since the previous spring. An open ledger rested on a corner of his desk, surrounded by stacks of papers. Beside his chair a tower of books listed toward the floor.

  Dr. Alexander glanced up. His jaw dropped when he recognized her. “Miss McGarvie.”

  “I’m here to register for the second-year term.” She opened her reticule, closing her fingers around a ten-dollar gold piece.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall you failed the final examination in algebra.” He shook his head. “You’re not qualified to begin senior studies.” He rose and stepped toward the door.

  She moved in front of him. “I was extremely ill at the time. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to take the examination again before classes begin.” She clutched the gold coin.

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “Didn’t you have a similar request last September? I’ll say this for you, you’re one persistent young lady.”

  Luellen relaxed. Once he smiled, he was on the way to giving in. “So, I have your permission? You’ll schedule the examination?”

  “Be here at seven on Monday morning. Mrs. Hale will meet you in the testing room.”

  Her hopes deflated. “I can’t. I’m working in a boardinghouse—it’s my job to serve breakfast to the guests. Could I do it later?”

  “If you want to take the examination, you’ll be here at seven. And Miss McGarvie—”

  “Yes?”

  “This is the last time. Don’t ask me to make any more exceptions.”

  An hour later, Luellen knocked on the back door of Mrs. Garmon’s house. Leah answered, holding David with one arm. Tears streaked his face.

  “He just woke up,” Leah said. “He’s frightened. He doesn’t know where he is.” Her tone accused.

  Luellen took David in her arms, guilt racing through her. “Mama’s here.” She kissed his damp cheeks. Her poor baby. He’d gone from the security of her parents’ home to being jostled on a train and carried from one bed to another in the course of a little over twenty-four hours. No wonder he was upset.

  “Thank you for taking him on such short notice.”

  “You’re welcome. After this, I’d appreciate more warning. Mrs. Garmon isn’t the most pleasant person when her schedule is upset.”

  “It won’t happen again.” Luellen turned to leave, then stopped, remembering. “May I bring him over before seven on Monday?”

  Leah frowned. “Seven? That’s smack in the middle of breakfast. Mrs. Hawks said you wouldn’t be ready mornings ’til after eight.”

  Tension crawled across the back of Luellen’s neck. “Yes, after eight. Every weekday.” She injected apology into her voice. “It’s just this Monday that he’ll be here early. Please. I need to take an examination.”

  “All right.” Leah tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “As long as you don’t make a habit of early mornings.”

  How could she? Leah wasn’t the only one who had breakfast to serve. Luellen mumbled thanks and marched across the street. There must be someone else in town who could help with David. She’d ask Mrs. Hawks.

  The landlady rested her hands on her hips and frowned. “Why would you want someone else? You’re blessed to have Leah close by. Allenwood’s not exactly spilling over with women willing to nurse another woman’s child.”

  Luellen paced the kitchen, jiggling David in her arms. She lifted her voice to be heard over his cries. “She doesn’t like me. I’m afraid she’ll take her feelings out on David.”

  “My word. Aren’t you letting your imagination run away with you?” She fitted a silver thimble over her finger and lifted a napkin from her mending basket. With expert precision, her veined hands worked a needle through a rip in one corner of the fabric.

  “It’s not my imagination. You should have heard how she spoke to me.”

  “I’m not talking about whether or not she likes you—although I wonder why she was hostile. She’s a dear girl.” The needle flashed in the light that spilled through the open rear door. “I mean your imagining that Leah would be unkind to David. I know her. I’d trust her with my own flesh and blood if the need arose. As far as whether she likes you or not, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

  Shamed, Luellen sat. David stopped wailing and relaxed against her, one hand clutching her sleeve, his mouth soft on her neck. She hugged him close, loving the sensation of his curls against her cheek. What Mrs. Hawks said made sense. Somehow she’d have to overcome her unfortunate first meeting with Leah. She had no choice at the moment.

  Late that evening, Luellen lay in bed listening to her baby’s steady breathing. Tired as she was, her mind wouldn’t settle down to sleep. David. Monday’s examination. Classes. She swung her feet to the floor and padded over to the bureau where she kept her writing materials.

  Once in the kitchen, she laid several sheets of paper on the table, along with a pen and bottle of ink. The stove ticked as the fire retreated to glowing coals. Luellen lowered the lamp on its chain and touched a lucifer to the wick. Yellow light flared over the work surface. She sank into a chair, her hair falling over her shoulders.

  Dear Ward,

  She paused. Should she burden him with her discouragement, or spin a tale of a successful transition back to Allenwood?

  Luellen dipped the pen and wrote.

  26

  Ward stood at the north border of the post, his mind on the letter he’d received from Luellen. She was having as much trouble as he adjusting to an altered life. How could he encourage her when he found each day a struggle?

  Footsteps crackled in the dry grass. He pivoted, wary.

  “Didn’t expect to find you here.” Sergeant Grover’s face stretched in a thin-lipped grimace. “Thought this was the last place you’d want to visit.”

  “Just out for a walk.”

  “Don’t look like it to me, sir. I been watching you for a spell. You ain’t moved a twitch.”

  Cicadas chirred in the clearing outside the north gate. The sumac wore late-summer burgundy leaves and red fruit clusters. When he squinted, Ward imagined the ragged h
ole his bullet had torn through the dense shrubs. He thrust out his jaw. “If you’ve got nothing better to do than follow me around, I can assign you some duties.”

  “No, sir. I don’t need no more duties.”

  “Then I suggest you get back to work.”

  “Yes, sir. But first I got something to say.”

  Ward folded his arms across his chest. “You have one minute, Sergeant.”

  The gangly soldier stepped closer. He held his hands open at his sides. “I want to thank you for not reporting me to Captain Block. I’d of been discharged too, and I need the Army pay. There’s no work back home.”

  “No need for thanks. The sooner this whole affair is forgotten, the better.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grover saluted. “For an officer, you’re all right. I don’t care what nobody says.” He turned and ambled back toward the post.

  Ward tracked his retreat, asking himself the question he’d asked since he returned to Jefferson Barracks. What drew him out here every day?

  He squared his shoulders, wincing when his left side twinged. Campion’s discharge tormented him. All his what-ifs couldn’t change the outcome of that March morning. He tried to imagine how he’d feel, as a West Point graduate, if he were forced to leave the Army. Wherever he went, the stigma would follow.

  Ward carried his own stigma—not that of being forced to leave the Army, but of being allowed to stay. He lifted his chin. So be it. He strode across the parade ground and entered a closed-off area on the first floor of the officers’ quarters. He’d rather be on a survey assignment, not stuck in an airless classroom.

  Feet shuffled as a dozen noncommissioned officers straightened in their chairs.

  “Gentlemen.” Ward drew a copy of Mahan’s Out-Post from the bookshelf behind his desk. “I trust you’ve familiarized yourselves with today’s passage.”

  “Over and over, sir,” said one of the students. “Do you really think Napoleon has anything to teach us?” His voice was one note below insolent.