Laura Abbot (15 page)

* * *

Lily had only thought she knew discomfort before. Miserable August heat, clouds of dust, mingled odors of unwashed bodies and the nausea-producing motion of the lurching coach caused her to pray constantly for deliverance even as she knew she faced more days on the trail. Alighting at night, she hoped for relief, but the inns along the way were primitive and the food so unappealing she could scarcely eat, even though she knew she must. It was only at meals that she saw Caleb, who hovered close by to spare her the conversation of trail-hardened men. Her fellow passengers were an odd lot—the old woman said nothing, one of the men hummed under his breath in a sleep-inducing monotone, two engaged in hotly contested card games and the fourth made her miserably uncomfortable by staring at her over the edge of the newspaper he pretended to read.

Arriving finally at an inn offering a bath, Lily could not wait to divest herself of her soiled clothing and cleanse away the grime of the trip. Afterward, she felt minimally refreshed and was pleased to find in her reticule a small vial of eau de cologne
.
Dabbing a drop behind each ear, she felt feminine for the first time since leaving home. She combed her newly washed hair into a chignon and went downstairs for a supper no better than the others along the route. For once, she beat Caleb to the table, but she was not without company. The unpleasant newspaper reader sidled up next to her and sat down. “How you doin’, purty lady?”

She inched away from him, not daring to look into his lascivious face. “Middling.”

“A lady such as yourself shouldn’t be on the trail all by her lonesome.” He bit into a hard biscuit and continued talking, spewing crumbs across the table. “Might need a man to escort you. I’d be just the fella. Wouldn’t let nobody hurt ya.”

Lily froze, her spoonful of beans halfway to her mouth. She’d heard another man talk like this once before. Ingratiating. Sly. Contemptible.

“Cat got yer tongue?” The man leaned forward and circled her neck with his rough hand, his foul breath hot on her face. “Yer not only sweet-smellin’, yer purty, too.”

Adams!
Without even thinking, she sprang to her feet, spilling her meal across the table and onto the floor. “Stay away from me!” She ran for the door, only to be swooped into Caleb’s arms as he entered the tavern.

“Go to your room, Lily. Lock the door.” Caleb set her down and strode toward the offensive passenger. As she darted up the stairs, she heard scuffling and then Caleb’s commanding voice. “If you ever touch that woman again, even look at her, I will do to you what I have not hesitated to do to my enemies in battle. Are we clear?”

Lily could not make out the man’s answer, but she sank, trembling, onto the cornhusk mattress, grateful beyond words for Caleb’s intervention. Again. Whatever their current relationship, he was still her knight in shining armor.

A light rap sounded on the closed door. She moved cautiously and put her ear against the wood. “Lily? Are you all right?”

Relieved, she opened the door a crack. “I am fine, thanks to you. You seem to make a habit of saving me.”

Caleb stood with his hands behind his back, worry etched on his face. “I’m glad I was here. I have put that man on notice. Furthermore, he and I will be trading places. Tomorrow he will ride topside, and I will join you in the coach.”

Her heart gave a lilt before catapulting back down. She would be grateful for his protection, but having him by her side for the upcoming miles would pose challenges. She could not permit herself to get too comfortable with him or put too much reliance on his good will. “I shall welcome that change. He was a most disagreeable companion.”

“That’s putting it charitably,” Caleb muttered. Then he seemed to draw himself up. “I bid you a good night.”

“It is already good. You have been a source of great help. Thank you.” She gazed up at him, at once wanting to prolong their conversation, but knowing she must end it. “Good night, Captain.”

He nodded, then turned to walk away, but not before she heard him correct her under his breath.
“Caleb.”

* * *

The paddleboat
Mary McDonald
was a pleasant surprise to Lily, outfitted with the latest furnishings and amenities and carrying genteel passengers in the cabins near hers. The dining room sported crystal chandeliers, and the tables were covered with sparkling white linen and silver place settings. A string trio played in the background while the diners feasted on delicately prepared dishes, a far cry from the tasteless fare of her thirteen days on the trail. Still, the slow-moving boat, maneuvering the snags and shoals of the river with care, offered little relief from the heat. During the day she often sat on deck. She and Caleb had been seated at the same dinner table, so perforce, they were speaking often.

Three days before their docking in St. Louis, he sought her out on the deck. “May I sit?”

She waved vaguely at the vacant chair next to her. “Of course.”

He settled beside her and pulled a book from his pocket. “I found this volume in Independence and thought you might like it.”

He handed it to her.
“Little Women?”
She couldn’t hold back her smile. “I’ve read about Miss Alcott’s work.”

“It gives a different view of the War between the States. It is a touching story about a mother and her four daughters and the challenges that faced the families of soldiers.”

She cradled the novel to her chest. “I will begin posthaste in order to finish it before we dock.”

“No need. It is yours.” He studied the passing shoreline as if to avoid looking at her. “An appreciation for literature is one thing we have in common.”

She remembered fondly their discussions of poetry. “Thank you. I shall look forward to the story.”

He stretched out his legs and folded his hands across his middle, seemingly engaged by the passing scenery. A puff of black smoke snorted from the stack and the boat shuddered as the paddle wheel began turning faster. Lily opened the book and tried to read, but lack of concentration caused her to go over one sentence four times. What was the matter with her?

Then Caleb put it into words for her. “We have only three more days together.” Lily waited for him to go on. “I long ago decided that there is no purpose to be served by taking one last opportunity to press my case, nor to upset you by an emotional plea.” After a slight pause, he turned to her. “But, Lily, you are my friend. I hope I am that to you, as well. I confess to having avoided you for much of the trip. Frankly, being near you is, in some ways, painful. However, I would like to propose that we spend this remaining time enjoying each other’s company so that we may part from one another with mutual affection.”

It was as if Caleb had read her mind. Even though her life was soon to take off in a dizzying direction, she craved the reassurance of his company and his steadying influence. Truth to tell, the nearer the boat approached its destination, the more edgy and insecure she felt. She had not seen Aunt Lavinia since childhood, nor, despite letters from her through the intervening years, could Lily picture with accuracy the grand life she was about to enter. “I should like that very much.”

“Perhaps we could revisit our unfinished yet lively debate about Milton’s poetic vision of the Garden of Eden.”

“Let’s do. Pray tell, of what value was poor Adam to the curious Eve?”

Their animated conversation began, continued during a promenade around the deck and concluded only when the dinner table conversation involving other passengers shifted to the latest news about railroad expansion across the West and the very recent introduction of reliable passenger service to those parts.

Rocked in the easy motion of her berth later that night, Lily smiled with the recollection of their stimulating conversation and in anticipation of future such dialogues with learned St. Louisians. Caleb’s dedication to educating himself made him a stimulating and humorous partner in discourse. She would concentrate on those qualities and not on his mischievous eyes or his hearty laugh. And certainly not on the quivery feeling she had in the pit of her stomach every time he looked at her.

* * *

The closer they churned toward the wharf, the more boats of all sizes crowded the two rivers joining forces in St. Louis. Smoke belched from stacks, bells sounded warnings and rivermen’s raucous cries filled the air. Caleb stood at Lily’s side on the rail, watching the beehive of human activity around them. Or in Caleb’s case, pretending to watch. All of his senses were centered on the beautiful young woman beside him who so filled his every waking thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried mentally to capture the exact hue of her honey-spun hair, the apricot glow of her cheeks, the insouciant turn of her mouth, the expressiveness of her long fingers, knowing even as he did so, that the image would fade like an old tintype.

Beside him, he could sense her breath coming in short gasps as tension stiffened her body. Before them spread an incredible sight—wagons, carriages, omnibuses weaving through a crowd of pedestrians of every race and nation; men of color, their bodies gleaming with sweat, hauling thick hawsers or hoisting bales of goods on their shoulders; huge warehouses lining the docks alongside taverns spilling noisy men onto the streets. “This isn’t Fort Larned,” he said in wry understatement.

Lily clutched his arm, her eyes widened in surprise. “Caleb, what have I done?”

He wondered that himself, but his role was to smooth her transition. “This is no place for a lady. Your aunt will soon whisk you off to their lovely, quiet residence.”

She continued to hang on to his arm while the paddleboat nudged the dock, the porters began offloading baggage and the first passengers disembarked. She spoke, but in the whistle from the stack, he hadn’t understood her. He leaned forward to hear her repeat herself. “I don’t want to go.”

“Faint heart, my lady? That will never do. You are experiencing a momentary loss of courage. I know you better than that. You are setting forth on a mission, the culmination of your dreams. Now then, take my arm and we’ll find your aunt.” Never had such cheering words been spoken with less sincerity. All he wanted to do was pick her up and carry her off, to save her from... What? He sighed. He couldn’t save her. He was setting her free.

They made their way through the crowds to a place where a stack of baggage from the
Mary McDonald
awaited claiming. He had just located her trunk, when he heard a shrill voice. “Lily? Lily Kellogg?”

Lily stood on tiptoe and waved her hand. “Here I am, Aunt Lavinia.”

With the dignity and command of a general, a woman dressed in a full-skirted emerald gown of flounces and appliqués and crowned by a large feather-covered hat parted the proverbial seas to reach Lily. “Niece, at last.” She enveloped Lily in an embrace, and then stood back to study her. “You are lovely, my dear. I shall enjoy choosing a wardrobe to put you à la mode. You will be the talk of St. Louis.”

Caleb hung back. He could hardly imagine Lily would want such recognition, but perhaps he was mistaken.

“Aunt Lavinia, I would like to present my friend and escort Captain Caleb Montgomery.”

The woman’s eyes swept over him in both inspection and dismissal. “Your service to my niece is appreciated, sir.” Then she turned to Lily and pointed at the ground. “Are these your things?”

“Yes.”

“My driver will gather them.” She looked around, turning up her nose in distaste. “Let us remove ourselves from this disgusting place and wait in the carriage.” She encircled Lily’s waist. “Come along, now, dear. You’re almost home.”

Before Caleb could gather his wits to tell Lily goodbye or once more let her know that he would always love her, the formidable aunt had ushered her through the crowd toward a handsome carriage. Caleb stood motionless as if the ground had collapsed beneath him, unaware of anything but Lily’s fleeing back and the glint of her golden hair. Then, slowly, he made his way to a vantage point where he could watch her approach the vehicle that would carry her away from him forever. Lavinia Dupree had a death grip on her niece’s arm, but he noticed Lily dragging her feet. Then just before she entered the carriage, she turned her head, somehow finding him in the crowd. Her eyes met his, and then she smiled—so wistfully that even from that awful moment, he mined a nugget of hope.

Chapter Fifteen

L
ily dipped her pen in the inkwell and then set it down. The blank sheet of stationery on the desk stymied her. How would she ever be able to describe for Rose and her father the grandeur in which she found herself? Her fantasies had been one thing; the reality was quite another. From the moment she sank into the lush carriage cushions at the wharf until she cast eyes on the Italianate facade of her new home, she had entered a world beyond her imagining. Stately elm trees shaded the avenue, lined with other equally imposing residences set back from manicured lawns. A housemaid, dressed in a black uniform and starched white apron, had greeted them at the door to relieve Lily of her hat and reticule. In that first moment, she could hardly take in the furnishings—marble floors, Chinese vases, silk tapestries, gilded mirrors—and everywhere elegant tables and chairs, artfully arranged on thick Persian carpets. The air itself, fragrant with floral potpourri, seemed rarefied.

Glancing around her ornate bedroom, hung with velvet drapes, she marveled at the poster bed, chiffonier and dressing table, all delicately painted in gilt and ivory. What would Rose make of this room? Even after two weeks, Lily was having difficulty falling asleep in the commodious bed. Fort Larned seemed very far away, indeed. Despite her sumptuous environment, the city was noisy and confusing, and she struggled to keep homesickness at bay.

Procrastination would get her nowhere. With a sigh, she adjusted the blotter under the stationery, picked up the pen again and began writing.

Dearest Rose and Papa,

By now you will have received my first, abbreviated message announcing my safe arrival in St. Louis and thanking you for taking the precaution of engaging Captain Montgomery to accompany me.

It is time for a more leisurely epistle in which I recount “Lily’s Grand Adventure,” not unlike that of Gulliver, who also entered strange, new lands. Aunt Lavinia has been most generous, transforming me from a rather drab personage into a belle (those are her words).

Once more Lily set aside the pen. Her family would be distressed to know the means of that transformation, beginning with consignment of most of her clothes to the rag bin. Since her arrival she had been prodded by corsetieres, measured by shoemakers, draped by dressmakers, coiffed by hairdressers, topped off by milliners and subjected to milk baths, hand creams and cucumber facials—all in the name of fashion. Her reading of
Godey’s Lady’s Book
had ill-prepared her for how exhausting the pursuit of style and beauty could be.

You would not recognize your prairie flower, decked out in crinolines, satins, laces and dancing slippers. At last, Aunt Lavinia has pronounced me fit for polite company. Yet there is much I still must learn to prevent embarrassing myself in society. I hasten to assure you that every minute here has exceeded my expectations. Despite that, I miss you both more than I even imagined and pray nightly for your health and well-being.

She concluded with a cursory description of the house and a mention of the garden party which would serve as her introduction to the Duprees’ coterie. Blowing on the page to dry the ink, she slipped it into the envelope she had already addressed and rose to deliver it to the mail stand in the front hall.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs and depositing the letter, she decided to go to the library in hopes of finding something to read. The room was dark, and high shelves laden with books dwarfed her. Crossing to the window, she pulled back the drapes to let in the sunshine. Studying the spines of the volumes nearest the light, she didn’t hear Lavinia enter.

“Child, whatever are you doing in here?” Her aunt stood in the doorway, her brows elevated in surprise.

“I am hunting for a book to amuse or educate me.”

“Amuse? Educate?” Lavinia made the words sound like blasphemy. “Libraries are for men. No point to fill your pretty head with tedious ideas, especially not on a lovely autumn day like this. Repair with me to the morning room, and I shall fill you with all the latest gossip, a better education for society than any treatise in that library. Then this afternoon, you may accompany me on my weekly social calls.”

Wisely, Lily did not argue even though she longed to point out that many modern women were becoming more broadly educated. Caught up in Lavinia’s wake from that moment on, it was only that night in the solitude of her bedroom that Lily had time to reflect on the strange episode in the library. Never in her life had she been discouraged from reading. Quite the contrary. Apparently, though, it was not an activity smiled upon for women in this milieu. Lily was dumbfounded. Were females supposed to park their brains at the door? Rely upon men for news and intellectual stimulation? For the first time she began to wonder what she had bartered away for her St. Louis adventure.

* * *

His business in St. Louis concluded after a couple of weeks, Caleb was set to embark upriver late in the afternoon for Independence and then on to the ranch by horseback. He had been able to negotiate some favorable terms and delivery dates and felt satisfied with the contacts he had made. After the relative quiet of Fort Larned, the hubbub of the city was a constant assault on the senses. Outside his hotel window, heavy conveyances rattled past at all hours, hawkers selling wares shouted their spiels and from the riverfront came the never-ending noise of gears grinding and whistles screaming. The heavy smoke settling over the town made him long for prairie breezes.

Yet desirable as leaving this place might be, the idea set him on edge. Once he departed St. Louis, whatever chance he had to see Lily again departed with him. All morning as he set about packing his belongings, he fought with himself. He had seen Lily’s aunt and her carriage.
Opulent
was the only word for the life Lily had entered two weeks ago, the life, he reminded himself, that was the fulfillment of her dream. Why couldn’t he leave it at that? Walk away into his own new life?

Against all reason, he couldn’t forget her farewell smile, rather like that of a home-loving waif being packed off to boarding school.

Finally, with no chores left to accomplish and several hours yet to kill before boarding the boat, he acted on an impulse that even he knew was the height of folly. He hired a horse-drawn cab and gave the driver the address Ezra had provided him.

“That’s a posh part of town, sir. Old families with piles and piles of money. Some made honest, some on the sly.”

“Drive on.” Caleb didn’t relish the man’s opinions, which only confirmed his own.

Once they arrived in the “posh part of town,” Caleb wondered what he’d been thinking. That he’d somehow spot Lily strolling down the street? That he would pound on the Duprees’ door and demand an audience? Or did he simply need to torture himself with a glimpse of her fashionable world?

“We’re here, sir.” The driver slowed the horse to a walk, then gestured at a huge stone residence. “This be old man Dupree’s. He’s got more money than he can count.”

“Stop.” Caleb studied the place, the likes of which he had seen only in travel books. The heart seemed to drain out of him. Lily had most definitely arrived. Just as he leaned forward to ask the driver to move on, the front door of the mansion opened. At that same moment, the Dupree carriage rounded the drive. Lavinia sailed forth and stood waiting imperiously. But following her...it couldn’t be. A fashion plate in an elaborate full skirt topped by a crimson pleated jacket with wide sleeves stepped out, pulling on lacy gloves. Yet the tilt of her head and the spun gold of her hair left no doubt. His Lily.
No, no,
he corrected himself grimly. Just Lily, his lost love.

* * *

The ballroom glittered in the reflected light of crystal prisms dangling from massive chandeliers. In keeping with the season, the refreshments were displayed on sideboards decorated with cornucopias overflowing with fruits and vegetables. Behind a screen of potted plants, a small orchestra played, and whirling about the parquet floor were men in evening dress coupled with women in a kaleidoscope of colorful ball gowns. Uncle Henry and Aunt Lavinia had spared no expense in making this event memorable. Lily’s head swam with the many people to whom she’d been introduced, including an outrageous number of unattached gentlemen. She danced now with Lionel Atwood, whose father was an important St. Louis financier. Thanks to the dance master Aunt Lavinia had engaged for her, Lily could make conversation without undue worry about the placement of her feet.

“Miss Kellogg, what are your impressions of our fair city?” Atwood had an athletic, rapierlike body, a chiseled face, dark hair and a waxed mustache in which he took obvious pride. Lily found him quite handsome, more than some of the other men clamoring for her attention.

“It is a wonder, sir. I am enjoying discovering more about it.”

“Splendid.” He led her on a dizzying series of steps, ending with a flourish near a secluded alcove just as the music stopped. “St. Louis must provide a welcome contrast to the frontier.”

“Certainly there are many more amusements here.” He would not make her disparage her upbringing.

He smiled down at her. “Of which I hope to be one. I am most eager to hear about the red savages and why our army has not yet succeeded in subduing them.” He sniffed. “It’s a national disgrace.”

She thought of the times she had watched the troops ride out and of Caleb lying wounded in the hospital. “It is not as easy as it might appear from a distance.”

“With your permission, I should like to call one afternoon this week. Perhaps then you can tell me more.”

Lily had no sense that she would be able to bring truth into play, given the man’s preconceived notions. She was grasping for a delaying tactic, when Aunt Lavinia swept up to them. “Lionel, Lily. How lovely your names sound together.”

Lionel smiled smugly. “I was just asking Miss Kellogg if I might call on her this week.”

There was no mistaking the gleam in Aunt Lavinia’s eyes—this was good news to her. “But, of course, my dear boy. Just send your man around with a note so that we may properly receive you.”

Lionel picked up Lily’s hand and bent over as if to kiss it. Yet his lips hovered above it. “I shall eagerly await our conversation.” He straightened to his full height and then excused himself, leaving the two women alone.

Lily felt Aunt Lavinia’s fingers digging into her arm. “Well done, Lily. I do believe you have enchanted the most eligible bachelor of the season.” She gazed out over the crowd, crooning softly, “What a match that would be!”

The rest of the evening passed in a daze. Never had Lily imagined so elegantly dressed a crowd or been the object of such attention. It was both heady and daunting. By evening’s end, more than one of the young men had mentioned calling on her. Yet it was difficult to assess the difference between their genuine interest and social duty. Courtship here apparently involved both a language and an etiquette, the permutations of which seemed beyond her grasp.

In the wee hours of the morning when the last guests had finally departed, Lily escaped to her bedroom where the maid assisted her out of her gown and took down her hair. When the young woman picked up the silver brush, Lily reached for it. “It’s late. Go on to bed. I’ll do it.” The maid’s surprised look let Lily know she had made yet another gaffe, but she craved solitude in which to reflect on the evening. That was not to be. With the merest rap on the door, Aunt Lavinia, clad in her dressing gown, breezed into the room and took the chair nearest Lily.

“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.