The Dawn of a Dream (29 page)

Luellen took a deep breath when she entered the ballroom. The air was heavy with the mixed aromas of cedar boughs, mulled cider, and wood smoke from the box stove in one corner. She tightened her hold on Ward’s arm.

Several people stood at the refreshment table, chatting and nibbling on sweets. One young woman noticed them and leaned over to whisper to the girl next to her. If the music hadn’t been so loud, Luellen knew she’d have heard them buzzing their condemnation.

Ward guided her toward the platform where the musicians labored at producing a Viennese waltz. Taking her right hand in his, he placed his left against her back. She remembered their dance last winter and how comforting his presence had been. Luellen felt that comfort even more now. “I’m glad you convinced me to join you tonight,” she said, settling her left hand above his silver-barred epaulette.

They swirled into the midst of the dancers. “It’s my pleasure.” Ward’s breath was warm on her face. “After all these months, I feel I know you from your letters. I’m going to miss—” He cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Later. Let’s enjoy the music.”

The musicians segued into the closing notes of the waltz. After waiting for polite applause, they burst into a polka.

Ward grinned at her. “Are you feeling energetic?”

She tapped her right foot in time to the music. “I am if you are.” They swung into the promenade of dancers whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor. She laughed with delight as Ward twirled her out and back to him as they circled the room. “I’d forgotten how much fun this is.” Luellen had to raise her voice to be heard over the thumping beat.

He squeezed her hand. “So had I.”

When the last notes died away, Ward led her toward a pair of vacant seats along one wall. Perspiration dotted his forehead. “May I bring you a glass of cider?”

“That would be lovely.” Luellen fanned herself. “I need to catch my breath.”

Heads turned as he approached the refreshment table. The girl serving the punch took her time filling two glass cups. Another young woman sidled next to him, tossing her curls and smiling coquettishly.

Luellen couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crossed her lips when he settled into the chair at her side. No matter what others thought of her, she was the one the handsome officer had escorted to the party.

When the band played the opening notes of another polka, Ward said in an undertone, “Shall we sit this one out? I’d like to talk to you.”

Her heartbeat, which had slowed after the dance, increased. “Of course. What is it?”

He took her empty cup and placed it with his on the table behind them. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

Mystified, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her from the ballroom. The rhythmic thud of the music followed them downstairs to a guest parlor where several ruby-colored plush armchairs were arranged in front of a fireplace. An upright piano stood against one wall. Except for the hotel clerk in the reception area, they were alone.

Ward waited while she seated herself, then took a chair facing her. “I told you about my promotion, but there’s more.”

She clasped her hands together. “I pray it’s nothing serious. Has something adverse happened because of that duel?”

“No. Far from it.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m being given command of a post.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Luellen surveyed Ward’s worried features. “Isn’t it?”

“The post is in Kansas Territory—Fort Hook.”

She nodded, uncomprehending. “And?”

“There are no railroad lines west of St. Louis. I doubt I’ll be able to visit with any frequency. I’ll write, but several weeks may pass before my letters reach you—or yours reach me.”

Luellen leaned back in the chair, stunned. Her connection to Ward shivered on a fraying thread. “You’re going?” She didn’t stop to analyze the depths of her disappointment.

“Of course I’m going. This is the opportunity I’ve waited for.” He placed a hand over hers. “The Army is my profession. I go where they send me.” He swallowed. “I’ll still write, and hope you’ll answer.” His grip on her hand tightened.

A log in the fire broke in two, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

Luellen met his gaze, blinking hard to keep tears at bay. “Certainly I’ll answer your letters, but this is good-bye, isn’t it? After Fort Hook, where might the Army send you?”

Ward stood and bent over her chair, tucking his thumb under her chin. “Luellen, I—”

Her breath caught in her throat at the pleading in his eyes. It would be so easy to raise her lips to his. But she knew a kiss would only make it harder to say good-bye.

Instead, she turned her head away. “We’d better return to the party. People will be wondering where we are.”

Ward’s horse’s hooves struck sparks on ribs of exposed rock as he rode onto the parade ground at Fort Hook. Stone buildings surrounded him, some squat, hugging the bare earth, others two stories high. The largest of these stood alone at the left rear of the compound. Ward assumed the limestone edifice to be headquarters, and rode in that direction.

After exhausting days on the trail from St. Louis, he longed for nothing more than a bed and a hot meal. But first he needed to assess his command. Except for a trunk, which traveled on the supply wagon following him, all his possessions should have been delivered to his house on Officers’ Row.

Ward saw few soldiers on the grounds. Given the below-freezing temperature and bitter wind, he couldn’t blame them. He tied his mount to a hitching rail and climbed the stairs to the principal floor of the building. Right now the fort displayed no accumulated snow, but he knew that a second-floor entrance would be a necessity during blizzards, which he’d been told often swept the hilly area surrounding the outpost.

The heavy plank door screeched when he shoved it open. Warmth blasted his face from an iron stove in the center of the room.

“Sir!” A fresh-faced soldier hastened out from behind a desk. He saluted. “Welcome, Captain. I’m your aide, Corporal Robbins. We’ve been expecting you for several days.”

“My trip was delayed by storms.” Ward nodded toward the desk. “Looks like you’ve been running things in my absence.”

Blushing, the young man moved toward a table stacked with papers. “No, sir. No one’s been in charge since Captain Seevers left last month—officially, that is. Lieutenant Green has seen to discipline when necessary.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, we’re muddling along.”

He seized a handful of documents. “These are awaiting your signature. Captain Seevers felt his replacement should make the decisions.”

“Thank you, Corporal. I’ll look at them in the morning.” Ward glanced at the deepening twilight through the window behind his desk. “If you’ll show me to my quarters, I’m in need of rest and a meal.”

“Yes, sir.” He scrambled to open the door. “Right this way.”

Corporal Robbins chattered over his shoulder while he led Ward toward a two-story frame house fronted by a covered porch. “I’m afraid I didn’t know when to expect you, so no one’s built a fire. Sorry. My wife will bring you a meal from the mess hall soon as the food’s ready.” Robbins paused at the bottom step of Ward’s house. “She’s a laundress here. She’ll cook for you, too, until your wife arrives.”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Too bad.” Robbins winked. “It gets mighty cold at night.”

Ward raised an eyebrow and stared at him until the grin faded from Robbins’s face. “I’d appreciate it if Mrs. Robbins would cook my meals. She can get my rations from the quartermaster.”

“Yes, sir.” The corporal turned on his heel and strode back to the headquarters building.

Ward’s footsteps echoed when he entered his new home. Frost swirls covered the windows. He noticed that the wing-back chair he’d shipped from his father’s house had been placed near the box stove in the sitting room. Before starting a fire, he opened a door to his left and found his father’s mahogany bed and bureau waiting in the bedroom. He retraced his steps through the sitting room into the kitchen where a square table and two caned chairs sat across from the cookstove. Wooden crates were stacked near the back door. Inventory complete, Ward gathered a handful of shavings and poked them into the firebox. His breath fogged in the freezing air.

He struck a lucifer against the side of the stove and held it to the shavings until they blazed, then crossed kindling over the flames. While he waited for the wood to ignite, he returned to the sitting room and repeated the process in the box stove. The fragrance of burning cedar filled the air.

His few pieces of furniture did little to make the place feel like home. Ward shook his head, recalling Corporal Robbins’s assumption that he’d be married. Right now his prospects looked dim. Luellen had treated him with cool politeness once he told her of his reassignment, as though his leaving was deliberately intended to put distance between them. How could she blame him for accepting a promotion? Considering how single-mindedly she pursued a teaching certificate, she should understand the importance of reaching one’s goals.

Ward tossed chunks of wood into each firebox and settled into his father’s armchair to wait for the cold to retreat. The horsehair stuffing crackled under him. He tipped his head back. Here he sat in the captain’s quarters—his quarters. Why did this moment feel so hollow?

“Yes, Doctor?” Ward pushed a stack of supply orders to one side, frustrated. Every time he tried to make headway on the accumulated business of the fort, someone interrupted him.

“Two wagons came off the trail this morning seeking medical assistance. Several of the travelers are seriously ill.” Dr. Oliver Marshall threw his coat over a peg and sprawled in a chair opposite Ward’s desk.

“Immigrants? In the middle of winter? Where are they going?”

“To Denver City. Chasing after a gold discovery up there.”

“The snow won’t be off the mountains for months.” Ward shook his head in disbelief. “Why are they traveling now?”

“Gold makes fools of men.” Dr. Marshall tugged at his goatee. “One of the fellows said they wanted to be ready to file claims by first runoff in the spring. In the meantime, I’ve got a hospital full of what looks like typhus.”

Ward scrambled to his feet. “Typhus! Are you sure?”

“I saw cases in tenements in New York before I came west.”

“How many men are there? Any women or children?”

“Nine men. No women. No children.” The doctor took his time standing. “Haste won’t change anything, Captain. They’ll recover or they won’t. I’ve already dosed them with calomel and rhubarb extract.”

“I’m concerned about keeping the contagion from spreading through the post. We need to put the hospital under quarantine.” Ward shoved his arms into his overcoat. “We have nearly two hundred men here. Were any soldiers in the ward when these immigrants arrived?”

“Just one. I think he was malingering. I sent him back to the barracks.”

“Quarantine him too.” Ward strode across the parade ground toward the two-story hospital building.

When he opened the door, the doctor put out a hand to stop him. “Will you put yourself under quarantine?”

Ward shrugged him off. “Not unless I feel it’s necessary.” The stench of vomit assaulted him as soon as he stepped inside. Beyond the doctor’s office, the door to the infirmary stood ajar. Ward pushed it open and stepped into a stomach-turning scene.

The patients lay on cots lined up on both sides of the narrow room. Sheets draped their bodies from the waist down. Most appeared half-conscious, their exposed skin covered with a blotchy rash. At the foot of each cot lay a pile of clothing.

Ward stepped to the nearest pile and lifted a pair of trousers with the toe of his boot. The filthy garment drooped toward the floor. He turned toward Dr. Marshall. “Burn their clothing. I want it out of here.”

From the cot nearest him, a wheezy voice said, “You cain’t do that. I ain’t got no other clothes.” Sweat plastered the man’s hair to his scalp.

“We’ll outfit you from the storehouse when you’re ready to travel.” He bent over the bed, refraining from touching the patient. “What’s your name?”

“Earl Cribbins.”

“When did you get sick, Earl?”

“We was a ways out of St. Louis when Pinky over there took a bad turn.” He pointed at a man with white-blond hair at the end of the row. The man’s breath rattled through slack jaws.

Earl’s voice grew thready as he continued. “Seemed like we was dominoes. One after t’other, we went down. This here fort looked like a vision of heaven, let me tell you.”

Ward smiled. “Pretty far from heaven, but the doctor here will pull you through if anyone can.”

“Sure hope so. We gotta get to that gold.” Earl’s eyes fluttered shut.

Motioning for Dr. Marshall to follow him, Ward left the infirmary. As soon as they were out of earshot of the patients, he stopped. “We’ll set up a tent next to the hospital for any soldiers who come to you with ailments. Your assistant can deal with them. It would be best if you slept upstairs instead of going home.”

The doctor nodded. “I wouldn’t want Millie and the boys sick.”

“How long do you think before this passes?”

“Maybe a week—couple of them are pretty far gone. I’m not so sure they’ll make it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on your family.” Ward put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “The mess sergeant will bring meals. Tell him what you’ll need for these men.”

Once outside, Ward lifted his face to the sky, welcoming the bite of freezing air on his skin. He prayed he’d made the right decisions. Now he had to put them into effect.

Her steps light with anticipation, Luellen hurried toward Allenwood Hall to pay the tuition for her final term. Four more months, and she’d have her certificate in hand. She breezed through the double doors and into Dr. Alexander’s reception area.

Mr. Price’s face tightened when he saw her. Behind him, the registrar’s door stood ajar.

“Dr. Alexander is busy with another student now. You’ll have to wait.”

“I don’t hear any voices in there.”

“Nevertheless, he’s busy.”

“I just need to pay my tuition and get the schedule for the term.”

“In that case, you don’t need to see Dr. Alexander at all. I’m authorized to accept tuitions.” His posture radiated condescension. “I’ve been given increased responsibility this year.”

“How nice for you.” Luellen ran her eyes over him. Some people wore authority well—Mr. Price wasn’t one of them. She opened her reticule and extracted two gold half eagles. “Ten dollars, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.” He opened a ledger. “What name are you using this term? Are you still Miss McGarvie, in spite of . . . ?”

She dropped the coins on the desk next to his left hand. He scrambled to catch one that teetered at the edge. “My name hasn’t changed,” she said through clenched teeth. “If you’ll give me the schedule, I’ll be on my way.”

His cheeks reddened under his skimpy beard. He dug through a stack of papers, eyes not meeting hers. “Here’s your chart. You’ll be in the senior session.” He ran his finger down a column. “For you, Model School every morning at eight—that includes today.”

“What time is it now?”

Mr. Price glanced at the clock behind her. “Ten minutes past. You should have stopped in earlier.”

“I just returned last night. This was my first opportunity.” She turned toward the door.

His voice stopped her. “Are you living on College Avenue again this term?” His casual tone rang false. When she looked at him, he dropped his gaze and fiddled with the papers on his desk.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your concern. Now please excuse me, I’m late for my first session.” She strode down the hall, the sound of her boot heels hollow against the plaster walls. Four more months. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have any future dealings with the registrar’s office before May.

Her mood lifted when she crossed the campus toward the Model School. She’d only received one letter from Belle during their vacation, and that before Christmas. Once they finished practice teaching for the day, they’d have time to visit and catch up on each other’s news.

Alma Guthrie sent her a welcoming smile when she entered the classroom. A young woman Luellen didn’t know stood at the blackboard, apparently in the midst of a spelling lesson. The children scratched each word on their slates as she read from Webster’s blue back speller.

Luellen slipped next to Alma and whispered an apology for being late.

“I’m thankful to see you,” Alma whispered back. “I wasn’t sure you were returning. I assigned Miss Clark the spelling, since it requires no advance preparation. This is her first time at practice teaching.” She smiled. “I hoped you’d be here. Arithmetic is next. That’s where you shine with the students.”

The two women walked toward the cloakroom. Behind them, slate pencils squeaked. February’s gray light filtered through the narrow windows. Luellen inhaled the atmosphere of the classroom—burning coal, children’s bodies, beeswax polish. “It’s good to be back.” She took another look around. “But where is Belle Brownlee? I’d hoped we’d be scheduled together again this term.”