The Dawn of a Dream (5 page)

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.

Martha set a cup of coffee and two buttered biscuits in front of him. He nodded his thanks and continued talking to Luellen. “So you’re back. Martha here’s doing fine—we don’t need two cooks. Are you willing to serve meals and do washing up?”

Luellen thought about facing the railroad workers every day. As cook, she’d had limited contact with the men. If she were to hire on as kitchen maid, she’d have to cope with customers like this morning’s questioner at each meal. The letter from Allenwood Normal School flashed into her mind. If not now, when?

“Cat got your tongue?” Mr. Bryant took a bite of biscuit.

Luellen perched on the edge of a chair facing him. “I’ll work for two weeks, if that’s suitable. Then I’m leaving Beldon Grove.”

As Luellen walked home late that afternoon, gusty wind blew grit from the road onto her perspiring face. Several buggies rolled by on the stage road and she heard a locomotive clang its way into the station. Excitement rose in her throat. Before long, she’d be going somewhere too.

Her steps slowed. First, she needed to tell Mama and Papa about Allenwood.
Lord, please help them understand.

Her parents smiled at her from their seats on the veranda when she came up the front steps. “Looks like Jack Bryant gave you your job back,” Papa said.

“Not quite.” She sat in a rocking chair facing them. “He has a new cook. I’m hired as kitchen maid for the next two weeks.”

“What happens then?”

She leaned forward. “I’m leaving for Allenwood. Upstairs, I have a letter from the Normal School. In June, I was accepted into their teaching program, but by then I’d met Brendan. I thought I had to choose.” She made a harsh sound in her throat. “He chose for me.”

Papa’s face sagged. Luellen noticed how gray had overtaken the blond in his thinning hair. Pouches of fatigue rested under his eyes.

She surveyed her mother. Silver wings fanned through her gleaming black hair. Her once-trim figure had turned matronly. How long had it been since she really looked at them?

“Your impulsiveness is going to be the ruin of you.” Mama shook her head. “First you run off and get married. Now you want to travel almost two hundred miles north and have a career.” She twisted a lace-trimmed handkerchief between her fingers. “Once James graduates, I doubt he’ll come back. Franklin’s in Missouri. Now Lily’s gone. Please, let some time pass before you decide.”

“I want to be a teacher. I’ve told you that before and you didn’t take me seriously.”

“That’s the trouble,” Papa said. “You’ve talked about going away to school for years, but you’re still here. We stopped paying attention.”

Excuses trembled behind Luellen’s lips. She’d needed to save money. She had to find a school that accepted women. She had to stay and help them with the move into the new house. Swallowing, she stared at her hands. In truth, she hadn’t left because of her fear of the unknown. It was easier to remain at home and talk about leaving than it was to pack her bags and set off.

Something clicked into place today at Bryant House. If she remained in Beldon Grove, she’d be gossiped about by everyone in town. At the hotel it would be no time at all before every man who came through thought she was an easy target.

She met Papa’s eyes. “I don’t blame you for not paying attention. As time went by, I stopped listening to myself. But now I have a second chance and I’m going to take it.”

For a moment, no one said anything. The mantel clock inside chimed a quarter past six. When Mama looked up, tears glistened in her eyes. “If you leave, all my children will be gone.”

“James said he’d be back when he finished medical school.”

Papa folded his arms over his chest. “Maybe. His letters sound like he’s pretty well settled there in Philadelphia.”

“Lily and Edmund will visit.”

“It’s not the same thing.” Mama wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “Edmund’s business is in Springfield.”

Luellen longed to capitulate, to promise to stay, anything to wipe the sorrow from her parents’ faces. But she couldn’t. Postponing her decision had brought her to this point—now she had to act.

Papa used the arm of his chair to boost himself to his feet. “No school would waste a teaching certificate on a married woman.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take you to Elihu Stebbins’s office tomorrow whenever you’re able to leave the hotel. He can draw up a divorce petition for us.”

Hands on the clock in the hotel kitchen pointed at thirty minutes past ten when Papa appeared at the door. As soon as Luellen saw him, she hung her apron on a peg and waved at Martha. “I’ll be back before noon.”

Martha looked up from rolling a pie crust. “Good luck to you. Tell me what it’s like, in case I take a notion.” She grinned.

Luellen smiled back, appreciating the other woman’s attempt to make light of a serious matter. “I’ll write everything down.” Her smile faded. She checked to be sure her gored brown skirt wasn’t stained from breakfast and joined Papa at the door.

They crossed the road and walked three blocks up Jefferson Street to the Bryant County Bank, where Elihu Stebbins occupied an office at the east end of the modest brick building. Luellen followed Papa inside, her heart thudding in her chest. A lamp burning on a desk tried valiantly to push gloom out of the dark recesses of the rectangular space. Mr. Stebbins rose and extended his hand. His thin hair had been raked in neat furrows across his pink scalp. “Dr. Spengler. I appreciate you coming to me with this delicate matter.” His voice was as papery as the books that lined the walls.

He nodded at Luellen. “Mrs. O’Connell. Your father has told me of your unfortunate . . . experience. I will do all I can to bring this matter to a speedy conclusion.” He gestured toward two straight-backed chairs on her side of the desk. “Please sit.”

Luellen chose the seat nearest the lamp and waited. Mr. Stebbins drew an open volume toward himself and ran his finger down the page. Without looking up, he said, “I understand this is a case of bigamy. The defendant’s name is Brendan O’Connell, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Luellen felt naked before the blunt legal terms. The excitement of meeting and marrying Brendan had become something shameful. It took strength of will to continue to hold her head erect and listen to the lawyer as though she were unaffected by his words. Papa reached over and grasped her hand.

Mr. Stebbins dipped a pen in an inkpot and held it poised over a sheet of paper. “Where is Mr. O’Connell now?”

“Chicago, I believe.”

“Do you have an address?”

She almost laughed. Why would she have his address? “No.”

“You understand that once the bill of divorce is filed, a subpoena will be issued in chancery ordering Brendan O’Connell to appear in court to answer the charge of bigamy.” He laid the pen down. “Your father tells me Mr. O’Connell works for a freighting company?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll make inquiries to find him.”

A flush traveled up her body. “You mean he has to come back here? I have to see him?”

Papa squeezed her hand as Mr. Stebbins answered. “He is required to appear if he contests the charge.” His voice softened. “In my experience, if the defendant is clearly in the wrong, he most often will ignore the summons. Please don’t distress yourself.”

“What happens next?”

He leaned back in his chair. “If he doesn’t appear, the charges will be taken as confessed. The Circuit Court will hear the case and grant your petition. There should be time within this term of court to complete the matter. You will be free of the man.”

His words hung in the musty air. She’d be freed from Brendan, but she’d carry the stigma of divorce forever.