The Dawn of a Dream (15 page)

Anger roared in Ward’s ears. “You
heard
what I’m recommending? No one knows what’s in that report.” He grabbed the front of Campion’s shirt and lifted him from the chair. “Next time I find out you’ve been poking around in my papers, I’ll turn you in.” He released his hold on the shirt and the man stumbled backward, catching himself against the desktop.

“You don’t have to get rough.” His voice shredded into a whine. “I must’ve been mistaken about the railroad plans. You know how rumors fly.” He inched toward the door. “We’re still friends, aren’t we? You gonna loan me that belt?”

Luellen stood at the window of an upstairs bedroom, looking down on the shoveled path between their house and her father’s office. Snow lay drifted against the wall of the building. Half of January had passed and she’d received no responses to her tutoring offer. Winter chill crept around her heart when she considered her meager savings. The money Papa received from Bryant County Bank would barely last through the upcoming term.

She felt as though she were standing on one side of a snowy forest, her goal out of sight through impenetrable brush.
Lord, there must be a way.

Mama joined her at the window. They both watched as Papa opened the door to his office and disappeared inside.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with him? He seemed tired at breakfast,” Luellen said.

“I wish I knew. He says he has a touch of asthma. He won’t go see Dr. Gordon, no matter how much I urge him.”

“You can’t stay awake listening to his breathing every night. You’ll collapse again.” She dropped the curtain and crossed the upstairs hall to Mama’s sewing room, where the pieces of her green worsted dress were laid out for basting.

Mama threaded a needle and settled herself in a low rocker, fabric spread across her lap. “Most nights he’s fine. He seems to have the greatest trouble when something’s upset him during the day.” She sighed. “I have no control over that. In spite of office hours, he still travels all over the community. You know what a doctor’s life is like.”

Luellen nodded. “I’ve always been so proud of him. Everyone loves Dr. Karl.”

“They do, don’t they?” Mama’s face glowed. “He’s been a wonderful father to you children too.”

“The very best.” She jumped at the sound of a knock on the front door. “Drat. Just when I thought we’d get the basting finished. I hope it’s not one of the neighbor ladies come to call—that’ll take hours.” Luellen dropped a half-completed bodice on the table. “I’ll go see who it is.”

She dashed downstairs, her slippers making little sound on the polished wooden steps. Pausing, she settled her shawl around her middle, then opened the door.

“Daniel. What are—” A flush warmed her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. Please come in.”

Why was he here? Luellen remembered him asking her to dance at the Christmas party. She prayed he hadn’t come courting.

Daniel stepped into the entryway, his hat clutched in one hand. His rust-colored hair stuck out around his ears. “Miss Luellen, Ben Wolcott said you’re a reading tutor.”

“Yes. I’m studying to be a teacher. I’ve had practice with youngsters over these past months.”

“Daniel!” Mama called from the top of the stairs. “How good to see you.” She hurried toward him. “I’ve missed you since you moved to the other side of town. Won’t you come into the sitting room? Coffee’s still warm, if you want some.” She patted his arm. “This is like old times, having you at the door. I’ve never forgotten how much you helped me when I was alone with the children.”

He turned scarlet. “Glad to do it, Miz Spengler. Besides, my ma would’ve had my hide if’n I slacked off.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “I thank you for the offer of coffee, but I just stopped by to see if’n Luellen would learn me how to read. I’ll be proud to pay whatever it costs.”

Luellen stared at him. “You already know how to read. I remember when you finished school.”

“I finished by memorizing. Never could get the hang of letters too good.” He dropped his gaze, rolling the brim of his hat between broad fingers. “I reckon you must think I’m stupid.”

Mama’s eyes met Luellen’s.
Be kind.

Tutoring adults wasn’t what she had in mind. Especially someone as old as Daniel. She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the image of six-foot-something Daniel Griffith reading “The Pancake.”

She extended her hand, and he grasped it. “I think it’s a brave thing to ask for help. When do you want to start your lessons?”

Luellen closed the door behind Daniel and looked at her mother. “Saturday morning will be here before I know it.” She blew out a breath. “I haven’t had any practice teaching adults. I’m grateful for the promise of income, but this isn’t what I intended.”

“The Lord sends help in unexpected ways.”

“That he does. I can’t help but wonder, though. Why would Daniel seek me out? I pray he’s not using reading lessons as a means of courtship. Did I tell you he asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

Mama’s face clouded. “If that’s why he’s here, his timing’s inappropriate, to say the least.” She turned toward the stairs. “Let’s get back to our sewing. Maybe we can have that dress finished by next week.”

“You go ahead. I need to look through my books and find the first reader. I’ll start by seeing how much Daniel already knows.”

On Saturday after breakfast, Luellen placed a slate, pencils, and the reader on the dining room table.

Papa watched her, thumbs tucked around his suspenders. “Looks just like a schoolroom.”

“I hope so. I can’t imagine teaching someone older than me how to read. I worried about it all night. What if—”

He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Don’t think about your ages. Focus on your skills as a teacher. You know something you can share with Daniel. That’s what you need to remember.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” She relaxed against his side. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Right now you’d better answer the door. I hear footsteps on the veranda.”

At a loss how to begin, Luellen stared across the table at Daniel. He’d slicked his hair back with oil, and wore a tie under his fold-down collar. “Can you write your name?” She bit her lip. How insulting
.
“I mean, do you know your letters?”

He avoided her eyes. “I know the ABCs. Just can’t do nothing with ’em.”

She printed GRIFFITH on the slate and turned it to face him.

“What’s this say?”

“Griffith, of course.” He sounded defensive.

Luellen turned the paper to face her, and printed GRUFF.

He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t know words. I can do my name because I memorized how.” Daniel loosened his collar.

She studied him with compassion. He really didn’t know how to read. “I’ll be home for four more weeks. By that time, I promise you’ll know words.” She lifted the slate. “Tell me the ABCs, and I’ll write them down.”

With each letter she wrote, she told him the sound and had him repeat it back to her. When they reached
G
, she underlined the letter in the word GRUFF so he’d see the connection to the sound of his name. As the morning went on, she forgot she was teaching an adult, and simply enjoyed watching Daniel as he grasped the concept of sounding out letters to form words. How was it he’d completed school and failed to learn?

Belle’s comment about her brother came to Luellen’s mind. He’d been disciplined in school so severely as a young boy that he refused to try. She suspected that had been the case with Daniel.

Belle. As quickly as the name came to her mind, she turned it away. They’d be back at Allenwood next month. How could she make up to her friend for her unkind behavior? Did she dare trust the depth of their affection? She tucked the questions aside for later consideration.

“I think this is enough for one day,” she said after two hours had passed. “Take this reader home with you and practice on the first story. Don’t worry if you can’t do it all—just read the words you can and copy out the ones you have trouble with. We’ll go over them the next time you come.”

Daniel’s broad hand dwarfed the child-sized volume. He opened the book to “The Pancake.” His eyes widened. “I don’t know, Miss Luellen. There’s a lot here.”

“Take it one word at a time. You’ll surprise yourself.”

He stood and mopped his forehead with a kerchief. “You’re a caution. Little girl like you and here you are a teacher.”

“Not officially. Not yet.” Her future held more questions than answers.

On Monday, Luellen woke at dawn with cramps stabbing at her abdomen. Alarmed, she felt for movement from the baby. Nothing. She rolled onto her side, swinging her legs to the floor.

She grabbed her wrapper from the foot of the bed. Gray light revealed dark stains on the sheet.
Please, no!
She tore down the stairs. “Papa!”

He emerged from the kitchen, holding a mug in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

Mama followed him into the dining room. She took one look at Luellen’s face and ran to her side. “Are you ill?”

“It’s the baby.”

Papa slammed the mug onto the table, splattering coffee. In a flash, he had his arm around Luellen, steering her to a chair. He sat facing her. “Tell me what you’re experiencing.”

She dropped her gaze, embarrassed to be sharing such a personal subject with her father. “I . . . I’m bleeding.”

His hand rested on her forehead. “No fever. Any pains?”

“Some cramping.” She rubbed her abdomen. “Right here.”

“Do you hurt now?”

Luellen took a deep breath. “No.” She swallowed. “They stopped.”

Mama stood behind the chair, hands on Luellen’s shoulders. Luellen felt her trembling.

“Karl, is the baby safe?”

“It’s too soon to know.” He stood. “I’m ordering bed rest for you. Stay down except to use the chamber pot. Your mother will bring your meals.”

He turned to Mama. “We’ll put her on the divan. It’s frigid upstairs.”

Too frightened to argue, Luellen asked, “How long will I have to stay in bed?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what happens.”

Mama took her hand. “Let’s get you into a fresh gown, then you can settle down for the day.”

Reclining against a stack of pillows, her Rose of Sharon quilt tucked around her, Luellen watched snow flurries dance over the street. The tedium of inactivity gnawed at her. A stack of flannel nightdresses she’d embroidered for the baby lay on the quilt, next to a half-finished lesson plan. Mama sat near the fire, stitching trim onto a tiny cambric shirt.

“I’ve been fine for days, Mama. Don’t you think I can get up long enough to help Daniel tomorrow?”

“What’s the urgency? He can come back when Papa says it’s safe for you to be up and around.”

“In three weeks I return to Allenwood. I want to be sure Daniel’s learning on his own before I go—plus I need the money he’s paying me.”

“How can you even consider getting on a train and traveling all that distance after what’s happened?”

Luellen laid a hand on her abdomen. As though responding to her touch, the baby bumped against her palm. “Papa said cramping is normal.”

“Bleeding isn’t,” Mama shot back. “You’re risking my grandchild’s life.”

“I’m not. I’ll lie here as long as necessary to protect my baby, but not one second longer. If there are no more symptoms between now and next month, I’m going.”

Mama pursed her lips. “We’ll see what your father says.” She rose and moved toward the entryway.

Remembering Papa’s asthma attack the last time they’d argued, Luellen held out a hand to stop her. “I’d prefer to talk to him myself. It can wait until suppertime.” Between now and then she’d decide the best way to wheedle him around to her way of thinking.

That evening, she smiled at her father across the table. “Thank you for letting me get up for dinner. Lying down for so long hurts my back.”

“Being on your feet for short times shouldn’t be harmful.” He buttered a wedge of cornbread. “But you need to return to the divan as soon as we’ve finished.”

Mama raised an eyebrow in Luellen’s direction. “I believe Lulie has something to ask you.”

Luellen frowned. She’d rather have waited until after dessert. “I’d like your permission to follow through on my appointment with Daniel tomorrow. He’ll be here at ten.”

“There’s no reason he can’t come back in a few weeks, when you’re better.”

Mama laid her fork on her plate, her gaze switching between Luellen and Papa. She looked ready to spring to her feet if Papa showed any sign of distress.

“We’ll only be a couple of hours.” Luellen prayed for the right words. “I’ve been up nearly that long now, without ill effects. Besides, students learn best when education is continuous. If we miss sessions, I may have to start over. It would be a shame to discourage him—he was so excited last week.” She realized she was rattling and put her fingers over her lips to stop herself.

“I don’t know—I’m not convinced the danger is passed.”

“How about if I promise to stop the lesson if I feel any discomfort?”

“How about if I sit in and keep my eye on you?”

Luellen looked down so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. When she lifted her head, she sent her father a sweet smile. “That would be fine. I do hope Daniel won’t feel self-conscious.”

Mama looked at her with a questioning expression. Luellen shook her head. The rest of their discussion would have to wait. Papa needed to agree that she was perfectly healthy before she brought up the subject of Allenwood.

On Saturday morning, Papa watched from his post near the kitchen door, newspaper in hand, while Luellen gathered her lesson papers and stacked them at one end of the dining table. He folded the
Illinois Monitor
and set it aside. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well.” She’d never admit it, but she did feel a bit weak.

“As soon as Daniel leaves, I want you to lie down.”

“I know. You already said so.” Arms folded, she flounced into a chair to wait for Daniel’s knock.

Papa sent her a sharp look and returned to perusing the
Monitor.

Daniel stopped at the entrance to the dining room. “Doc. What are you doing here?” He looked at Luellen. “Aren’t we having a lesson today?”

“We are. Papa just wanted to keep an eye on me. I . . . haven’t been feeling well.”

The big man’s face reddened. “I’m happy to see you and all, Doc, but these here lessons are between me and Miss Luellen. I can’t stand in front of another man and read baby stories.” He drew the reader from inside his jacket and laid it on the table. “I’m sorry.” He backed away and headed for the front door.

Luellen shot an agonized glance at her father, then dashed after Daniel. “Wait. I’m sure Papa can sit in another room.” She turned. “Can’t you? If I collapse, you’ll hear the crash.”