Laura Abbot (16 page)

Among her suitors were several socially charming yet intellectually dull fellows, but, gradually, Lionel Atwood had outpaced them until it was obvious he regarded himself as the front-runner for her affections. She had no trouble understanding why her aunt and uncle favored him. He was polished and urbane—a Harvard graduate and heir to his father’s banking and financial empire. The mystery was why he preferred her. Following their several conversations about the settling of the West, Lily suspected she presented a novelty—an unpolished gem. Just last night in his carriage returning from a play, he had said, “Surely those barbarians have no understanding of civilization.”

“It depends upon what you mean by
civilization,
” she had countered. “While we might regard their living conditions as primitive, Indians have every bit as much sense of family as we do, as well as strong tribal loyalty.”

“But aren’t they filthy?”

“No more so than anyone who lives close to nature. The buffalo hunters, for instance.”

“That’s different.”

Lily failed to see how, but kept that opinion to herself. “Some are talented craftsmen. Their beadwork and pottery are exceptional.”

“Perhaps they should pick up their tepees and go someplace where they can indulge those pastimes and quit harassing our supply routes. The government is supposedly in the process of relocating these people. Not quickly enough, apparently.”

Helpless to overcome his disdain, Lily could at least attempt to ameliorate it. “Had you been at Fort Larned these past few months, you would have witnessed the noble efforts the military is making to control the situation.”

“Too bad they didn’t employ the same strategy as at the Battle of the Washita River.”

Lily’s mouth went dry. From Caleb, she knew what a ghastly chapter that had been in military history—and how scarred he was by the event. “Sir, in the interests of friendship, I believe we should find another subject to discuss. That battle was a massacre, and those who fought it must live forever with their shame.”

Lionel turned to look at her in the faint light of the passing streetlamps. “Whose side are you on?”

“I don’t see why I must pick sides. There is good and evil in all of us.”

He had patted her hand. “My dear, you are such an idealist.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.

Recalling the conversation the next morning, Lily tried to rationalize Lionel’s remarks. He shared the prejudice of so many of his class, especially those geographically removed from the problems of the West. He had no experience with the complexities of subduing a people spread over thousands of miles who were doing nothing more than protecting and defending lands they regarded as their own. More almost than his ignorance of the realities, she was bothered by his condescending attitude, as if she could have nothing of value to contribute to the topic.

Yet the man had his redeeming qualities. He was unfailingly solicitous of her and seemed to take pride in entering a room with her on his arm. He was generous with gifts of flowers and jewelry and had helped to ease her into several challenging social situations. There was much to like about him, and she promised herself to focus on those qualities.

He was picking her up this morning for church. Lily enjoyed this element of St. Louis life. Sunday services at the fort had been hit-and-miss, dependent upon the presence of a chaplain or the availability of the commanding officer. The Duprees and Atwoods attended a large Episcopal church with beautiful stained-glass windows and a massive pipe organ. If grandeur had anything to do with God’s favor, and she doubted it did, this congregation was blessed.

Standing at Lionel’s side as they sang the opening hymn, she could almost picture herself as his wife. He tucked an arm around her waist and his pure tenor soared with the words, “Faith of our fathers, living still...” The sermon was uplifting, and the formality of the service impressive.

Outside the church afterward, she asked Lionel how long he had been a member.

“Since childhood.”

“Religion must be an important part of your life.”

“In what way?”

She opened, then closed her mouth. Had he not understood the simple question? To cover the awkward silence, she stammered, “Well, in all ways. Providing support in challenging circumstances and comfort in times of distress or grief.”

“I’m sure it offers those amenities for many.”

Amenities? Blessings, rather.
“But for you?”

“I enjoy the aesthetics and the associations I make with the people.”

“Membership is beneficial for your business, then?” Only with great restraint did she withhold her sarcasm.

“That’s a bit crass, Lily, even if there is an element of truth in it. Let me reassure you that the Lord is still knocking at my door. I just haven’t quite let Him in, yet.”

Lily sighed with relief. She couldn’t fault him for resisting God’s call so long as he was receptive to it. Admittedly, she herself was not without an occasional question.

During the drive home, he took the liberty of holding her hand. “I presume you know how very fond of you I am.”

Lily lowered her head to avoid his direct gaze. “You have been most courteous in escorting me about the town.”

“It’s more than courtesy, my dear. I enjoy showing you off.” He tilted her chin so she could not avoid his chocolate-brown eyes. “You are quite beautiful, my dear. Any man would be proud to have you on his arm.”

Here it was. All the sophisticated flattery and flirtation she had so long imagined, falling from the tongue of a handsome man practiced in the art. “Lionel, you make me blush.”

“That is one reason I am so fond of you. You have none of the pretense or coyness of other women, whom, to be frank, I find boring.”

“I often feel like a sparrow among the peacocks.”

“Nonsense.” He raised her gloved hands to his lips. “You are a rare, exotic bird, whom I treasure.”

Oddly, her heart continued to beat at its normal rate. Her breath came easily. Why wasn’t she ecstatic with joy to have such a sought-after bachelor singing her praises?

“May I?” And before she could stop him, he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, his mustache tickling her skin. He leaned back, then, smiling at her. “As delicious as I imagined.”

She couldn’t have written the dialogue any more effectively had she been Miss Austen or Miss Brontë, yet strangely, it had none of the power to move her as the novels had. The question boiled down to this: Could she will herself to love Lionel Atwood?

* * *

Astride the bay gelding he had bought in Independence, Caleb stared across the snow-covered Flint Hills, marveling at the sheer expanse of land. Three nights before, a powerful north wind had swirled down upon the ranch, bringing with it the first blizzard of the season. Only today was he able to make his way into the Cottonwood Falls post office where a week’s worth of newspapers and mail had accumulated, including a letter from Will Creekmore.

Caleb had hoped Will’s message would include word of Lily, but, instead, it was primarily an account of the diminishing number of military engagements at Fort Larned and one sentence extolling Fannie’s virtues as a wife. He hadn’t really expected Will to comment about Lily, nor, did he suppose, would it have made any difference. He guided his mount around a drift even as he reproached himself for letting Lily creep into his thoughts, as she did so maddeningly often. Foolishly, he had expected the change of scenery to help. He knew he needed to give her up, but knowing that didn’t make it easier.

After stabling his horse, he walked toward the ranch house, a two-story frame-and-stone dwelling Seth and his father had built. The front porch had a sweeping view to the southwest. The rear was sheltered by a low hill and several cottonwoods and elms. Caleb stepped into the warm kitchen, eased out of his boots and laid the mail on the rough wooden table.

Sophie, her freckled face flushed, stood at the stove, stirring a delicious-smelling batch of beef stew. “Anything for me?”

“What were you expecting?”

She pursed her lips as if deep in thought. “Oh, maybe a billet-doux from the marquis or a proposal from the duke.”

“Will you settle for the
Kansas City Times?
”

She faked a pout. “You’re no fun.”

“No, I guess I’m not.” He’d intended the words jokingly, but they came out flat.

She set the spoon on a rest and turned to face him. “We need to talk. Sit down there—” she gestured at the table “—and have a cup of coffee with me.”

He wanted to slither away, but he knew his sister. She was a woman on a mission. She served him, then sat down across from him. “You know I love you.”

“I do. However, I sense a
but
coming.”

“But—” she grinned by way of emphasis “—you’ve got something on your mind and whatever it is has stolen away my brother. You remember him? The kind, funny, lovable fellow I adore?”

He made a play of looking around the room. “Hmm. He doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Well, I want him back.” She reached across the table and captured both his hands in hers. “You may not want to talk about this with Pa or Seth, but I can be relentless. I’ve waited long enough for you to broach the subject. Your time’s up. Tell me about her.”

He was trapped, not only by Sophie’s hands, but by her penetrating look. His sister had always known him better than anyone else. “It’s that obvious?”

She looked at him as if he’d just asked the world’s dumbest question. “Spit it out, brother.”

He disengaged from her grasp and, with a sigh, leaned back in his chair. “Her name is Lily Kellogg.”

“Seth told me about her. Said you’d asked her to marry you. That’s serious business. Where is this Miss Kellogg who has stolen your heart?”

Slowly, reluctantly, he told her about Lily’s dream of visiting St. Louis and his final, heart-wrenching view of her outside the Dupree mansion.

Sophie’s eyes never left his face. When he finished, she nodded several times. “You love her still.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. Sophie listened with her heart. “Yes.”

“Did you have reason to believe she could return your affection?”

“Once I did.”

Sophie picked up her coffee cup and stared into it, as if it were a divining pool. “You were right to let her go.”

His head snapped up. “How can you say that?”

“She had to try it.”

“It?”

“The fancy life in the big city. She would never have been happy wondering if she had missed out on that adventure.”

“Small comfort,” he muttered.

She eyed him over the top of her cup. “I believe it is. Now listen to me, Captain Caleb Montgomery, stormer of fortresses and leader of men, are you surrendering or is she worth fighting for?”

His sister had always had a strong will, and he felt himself being propelled along by it. “I will never love another woman the way I love her.”

Sophie whooped, set down her cup and gave the table a tattoo with the flat of her hands. “Aha! I thought so. Your Lily must be quite a gal. So count me in!”

“For what?”

“Our strategy. I’m tired of you moping around here. You are going to win her back, and I am going to help with the battle plan. ‘Faint heart ne’er won fair lady.’”

Caleb felt his face relax into a smile. Sophie was a force of nature and he trusted her mightily. He couldn’t explain it, but once again a ray of hope lightened his gloom. He corrected himself. More than hope. Determination.

Chapter Sixteen

D
ressed in a plum-colored afternoon dress, Lily sat by the cozy fire in the parlor awaiting Lionel’s visit. Ever since the New Year’s ball held in his parents’ home, he had grown increasingly attentive, squiring her to a concert by a noted tenor and treating her to several drama productions. She exulted in each exposure to such cultural events. Yet the highlight had come not with Lionel, but rather with Uncle Henry when he escorted her to a scientific lecture concerning Charles Darwin’s controversial
On the Origin of Species.
There was no particular in which her fancies had gone unmet. She should be basking in contentment, but despite all she had been given and had experienced, she was aware of a void that went beyond missing her family.

In such moments she often thought of Caleb. Wondered what he was doing. If he was happy. At the same time, though, she recalled the brutal conditions on the frontier, especially in this season of icy blizzards and bone-chilling temperatures. Surrounded by creature comforts, her every need anticipated and met, she dismissed such idle speculation. She had made her choice.

In the distance she heard the butler greet Lionel and stood to welcome him. He entered the room, cheeks pink from the cold, and went to the fire to warm his hands before turning to clasp hers. “Let us find hope in the words of John Keats. ‘If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?’”

“Shelley,” Lily found herself saying before she could stop herself.

“Shelley? My dear, you are mistaken.”

Lily knew she was not and dared to correct him again. “Percy Bysshe Shelley. ‘Ode to the West Wind.’”

Cocking one eyebrow, Lionel released her hands and laughed. “Silly goose. Who went to Harvard, you or me? I remember well. John Keats penned those immortal words.” He ushered her to a love seat. “Never mind—” he sat beside her “—spring will bring not only temperate climes but beauty.”

Lily did not appreciate being patronized, but decided pressing her point would gain nothing. She couldn’t help thinking that Caleb would have known the difference. “Do you think it will snow soon?”

“I pray not. The town comes to a standstill, especially if there is ice.” He leaned forward ingratiatingly. “Before that happens, I want to take you to an exhibition of paintings opening at my club Saturday.”

“I should like that very much.”

“I will call for you at two and perhaps we can stop afterward for an early supper at a highly recommended new café.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I so enjoy showing you off.”

She stifled the feeling of being objectified. After all, she had always dreamed of a man who would appreciate her and court her with devotion. She smiled coquettishly. “I shall do my best to live up to your expectations.”

He beamed at her. “You always do. Few men can boast of having such a beauty on their arms.”

“And what of brains?” she urged.

Again, he laughed. “Brains? What need have you of those pesky things? Leave that to me. Men are trained for the intellectual side of life. Women have their place in the home and as complements to their husbands.”

Lily winced. She knew that such role expectations existed in society and had even seen them acted out by her aunt and uncle, but she had never before heard them so baldly expressed. Could she be the mere ornament of a man? But what was the use of confronting Lionel now? She usually enjoyed his company and thrived on the fascinating places he took her. Theirs was a relationship of mutual benefit. It wasn’t as if they were engaged, she reminded herself.

“Lionel, you are somewhat old-fashioned, I suppose.”

“Spoken like a freethinker, which I devoutly hope you are not.”

“No, not a freethinker, but I do enjoy a spirited discussion of contemporary issues.”

“At the appropriate time, my dear. In private.”

It wasn’t exactly like being muffled. Perhaps he would be open to serious conversations so long as others were not involved. She mentally shook her head. She was a long way from home.

After Lionel departed, Lily retreated to her room and picked up the most recent letter from Fannie. As she read, a wave of homesickness caught her by surprise.

Dear Lily,

I have much to tell you, but first, I hope you know how much all of us miss you. Yet we revel in your accounts of the places you are going and the sights you are seeing. It is a joy to picture you in your fine gowns living in the comfortable home you describe. How generous of your aunt and uncle to treat you with such affection!

Your father and Rose are in good health and spirits. Will and I continue to thank God for our blessings. Indian activity has subsided during the winter, so we are able to spend more time with one another. Yet the weather has taken its toll on the men, and I am very busy at the hospital. But, oh, Lily, how I love learning about medicine and being of help to your father, so devoted to his patients.

Lily laid the letter aside and gazed out the window at the bare branches scraping against the mansion’s exterior. An ache of longing filled the pit of her stomach. The hospital. Once, she had felt useful, valuable. Her next thought struck her with the force of a blow—when had she experienced that kind of fulfillment here in St. Louis? She had been so caught up in the whirlwind of Aunt Lavinia’s social agenda that she had not taken time to reflect on what she might be missing. In memory came the sights and smells of the hospital, the gratitude of her patients, her sense of satisfaction in her duties.

How could any number of exhibitions of paintings with Lionel compare?

* * *

Saturday morning as Lily was getting dressed for her outing with Lionel, Aunt Lavinia entered the room, shooed the maid away and perched on the crewel-covered bench at the foot of Lily’s bed. “Tell me, dear, how are you enjoying our winter pastimes?”

“From
The Taming of the Shrew
to yesterday’s band concert, I count myself among the most fortunate of young ladies, thanks to you.”

“It is you who have given us the pleasure. I know Mathilda would be enormously pleased with how you are blooming in this setting.” With her bejeweled fingers, she adjusted the large cameo hanging from her neck. “She would be pleased, as well, with the attentions of Lionel Atwood.”

Intent on inserting her earrings, Lily waited, sensing her aunt had more to say.

“He seems very fond of you.”

“He has been most kind.”

Lavinia cleared her throat. “Perhaps he is more than fond.”

Lily wheeled around. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you, but perhaps it will be helpful for you to know. He has spoken with Henry.”

Lily drew a quick breath. “‘Spoken?’ Surely you can’t be serious...”

“Yes, I believe he intends to ask you to marry him.”

Lily gasped. “No. I mean, we hardly know each other that well.”

Lavinia waved her hand in dismissal. “You know him as well as any bride can know her intended before the wedding. My dear, any true marital relationship develops after courtship. Most brides take their husbands on faith.”

Lily was appalled.
Take a husband on faith? It sounded no better than an arranged marriage.
“Aunt Lavinia, I am at a loss for words...”

“How many young women of your set will envy you your good fortune in bewitching Lionel. Why, I can see it now. A late-May wedding. The peonies will be in bloom and roses, too. A reception in our garden, and—”

“It’s too soon.” Lily could scarcely breathe. “I need more time with Lionel. I must sort out my feelings.”

Lavinia rose to her feet. “Nerves, dear. We all have them, but, rest assured, you could not make a more promising match. What a delight it will be to host your wedding, and, of course, we must invite your father and sister.”

“Stop!” Lily tried to soften the panic in her voice. “Lionel hasn’t even proposed yet.”

Lavinia smiled confidently. “He will.” Her aunt stood, kissed her on the top of the head and repeated the ominous words. “He will.”

After she left the room, Lily sat, hands folded in her lap, studying her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She hardly recognized the woman staring back—hair curled atop her head in the latest Parisian fashion, diamond earrings twinkling in the morning light, the rich peacock-blue fabric of her dress showing off her tiny waist. She glanced at her hands, pale and smooth, her nails buffed just so. Nothing about her reflection recalled the dedicated nurse enduring the hardships of life on a military outpost. She turned away from the mirror and stared into space. Did she even know who she was anymore?

* * *

The day was bitterly cold, but clear, and the bare mounds of the Flint Hills stretched to the horizon. Caleb and his father worked side by side digging stones for a pathway between the house and barn. The team of horses hitched to the wagon waited patiently as the men slowly hefted flat rocks onto the bed. Near noon, Caleb watched his father remove his hat and wipe away the sweat on his brow. The man was no longer young, but still worked like a strapping lad. “Let’s stop for lunch, son,” he said.

From the wagon seat, Caleb retrieved the packet containing slices of fresh baked bread slathered with apple butter, beef jerky and a chunk of cheese and settled on a nearby boulder next to his father. They ate in silence until his father spoke matter-of-factly. “You’re having the nightmares again.”

Caleb lost his appetite. When he had first returned home, the dreams came intermittently, but had ceased in recent weeks until the night before when they had returned with a vengeance. “I had hoped no one noticed.”

His father chewed on his jerky. “I reckon you came by them honestly. A man can’t witness what you undoubtedly have and remain untouched.”

Fleeting images of bloodshed passed through Caleb’s mind. “I can’t forget.”

“Nor should you. I had hoped, though, that you would find peace with regular physical exercise here in God’s country.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you so sure? Sophie tells me you might have something else on your mind.
Someone.
”

Caleb grimaced. Count on Sophie to spill the beans, although he suspected Seth also might have blabbed. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Heartbreak is a difficult thing.” His father gazed beyond the wagon, seemingly in another world.

Minutes passed while Caleb worked up the nerve to ask the difficult question. “Why didn’t we ever talk about Ma?”

His father’s jaw clenched. “I couldn’t, son. Maybe it would’ve helped us all if I’d been able to.” His gnarled hands restlessly folded the oilcloth that had held their food. “But, you see, a part of me died with her. I loved that woman beyond reason. Nothing in my lifetime will be worse than losing her, except now if I lost one of my children. I have tried to be the best father I can be to Sophie. She is precious to me, but everytime,
everytime
I look at her, I see your mother and remember that awful night when she breathed her last.”

Caleb studied his father’s face, set like the very rock upon which they sat, and he understood that the man’s tears had been there all along, dammed up by his need for control. “She was a wonderful mother.”

“And a blessing as a wife.” Then his father wrapped an arm around Caleb’s shoulders and uttered words Caleb knew he would never forget. “Son, if you have found that kind of love, go after it. Your agitated spirit will never find peace until you become one with the woman God has sent you to love. Never mind where she is or what has come between you.” Then his father abruptly stood and finished in a husky voice. “If you love her, fight for her, son. Whatever it takes.”

Caleb got to his feet and breathed in the pure fresh air of the prairie.
Whatever it takes.
He knew now, more powerfully than ever before, that Lily was his other half, and fight for her he would, no matter what the challenges. Come spring and better weather, his and Sophie’s plan had to work.

* * *

The art exhibition was breathtaking. So engrossed was Lily in examining each painting in detail and then standing back to admire the totality of the artist’s concept, that Lionel grew impatient, often withdrawing his watch from his vest pocket to study the time, as if by that act he could hasten their departure. They had arrived at his club at the height of the showing, but now the crowds had dwindled and winter dusk was settling in.

“Could we go now, Lily?” He stood with his back to the wall, ignoring the art on display. “We will be late for our supper at Café Maurice.”

Lily took one last glance at the remarkable painting before her, then faced him. “I’m sorry, Lionel, but this afternoon has been a sheer delight. Such talent beggars the mind.”

Lionel concealed a yawn. “So glad you enjoyed it, my dear. Now let’s be off.”

In the carriage Lily shook off the sense that Lionel had been bored. Perhaps she had lingered a trifle beyond the hour he had expected to leave, but it had been difficult to tear herself away. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon and for being patient with me.”

“The art I studied today wasn’t a framed piece on the wall. I had the leisure to study you.”

She blushed with the thought that she had been the object of such scrutiny. “Sir, you are quite a flatterer.”

“Flatterer? I think not.” He gathered her gloved hand in his. “Would that I might always have the pleasure of your beauty.” He sank back on the cushion, a satisfied smile on his lips. “One day soon, perhaps.”

Lily froze. Was he referring to an imminent proposal?
Not today, oh, not today.
“I hope you do not regard me merely as a possession to be acquired.”

He laughed then, a sound that relieved her tension. “Hardly. There is your lively spirit to be taken into account, as well. In short, Lily, you intrigue me.”

She had never thought of herself in that light. For an uncomfortable moment, she recalled this morning’s reflection in the mirror—a young lady of fashion, bedecked in the best money could buy, prepared to set forth on a romantic conquest. What did that woman have to do with Lily Kellogg? In a flash of insight, she realized that the Lily in the carriage was an actress playing a part on the stage of St. Louis.