Dream Seekers Dolls
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The doll was a gift to me from my sister. She gave it to me the day before I left home for good, and I’ve treasured it ever since. My father said he’d never seen such an ugly thing in his life. But it’s mine! He can’t have it back!”
The girl looked down at the doll in her arms with pride and then placed it on the bed beside her. “It’s just as well that you don’t know what your mother looks like,” she continued, glancing toward the closed door of the room where her mother lay dying. “I’m not sure how much longer she’ll be able to hold out.” Her voice cracked.
“You’re a brave one,” Lillian said quietly. “A lot braver than most people would be if they were forced into this situation. Your mother is very proud of you.”
The young woman looked up with a start. “Don’t tell her I told you about this or anything else,” she begged. “Please, I beg of you.”
Lillian nodded. “As you wish.” Then she stood and reached across the table to take her hand. “May God watch over both of you. It will get easier once you’ve adjusted to the idea of being a widow.”
She squeezed the woman’s fingers briefly before leaving the house and going downstairs to join the others who waited for her outside. She had promised to stay away from the house until after dark so that no one could see them talking together.
She did not want any trouble caused by their conversation. No one seemed surprised when she arrived; everyone knew Lillian had come to visit Mrs. Emerson.
Outside, Lillian sat on a bench near the front porch while the others walked around the yard to stretch their legs and talk. A few minutes later, one of the men brought Lillian some lemonade and asked if there was something wrong with Mrs. Emerson.
When she shook her head, the man went inside the house. He returned carrying Mrs. Emerson’s hat and gloves and handed them to her. Then he helped her sit down on the steps of the porch. Afterward, he took the hat and gloves off the bench and set them aside.
Mrs. Emerson stared blankly ahead. “What happened?” she whispered hoarsely. “Why isn’t she coming back? Where did she go?”
Everyone watched intently. One of the men turned to the other and muttered, “This has been too easy. Maybe we should leave now before things go awry.”
“No, wait,” another replied quickly. “Let us give the old lady time to recover. We can always slip away afterward. If nothing happens tonight, maybe tomorrow.”
Lillian glanced at each of the men, hoping against hope that they might change their minds. They didn’t seem to notice her watching them, but she felt certain that all eyes rested upon her.
When the sun finally sank below the horizon, the sky lit up with fire-red streaks of light. Everyone gathered on the lawn to admire the beautiful sunset. As the last rays disappeared, the darkness deepened. The wind picked up, making small clouds scurry across the moonlit night sky.
The temperature dropped dramatically, and a chill breeze swept through the neighborhood. Some of those waiting for Lillian moved closer to the porch, trying unsuccessfully to warm themselves with their hands. Others huddled beneath the porch eaves and shivered.
“I hate nights like these,” Lillian remarked to the group. “If only we had more blankets to share.”
“We do,” someone said. “That’s why we’re here. And you can make yourself useful by handing them out.”
“Thank you,” she answered gratefully. “But you don’t need to bother. I can handle this myself.”
One of the men chuckled. “Your courage impresses me,” he said. “Now hurry up and gather the blankets so we can get started. There are enough of us that even Mrs. Emerson won’t feel alone.”
Lillian hurried toward the shed, which was located next to the kitchen garden, and found the large canvas bags of straw and hay stacked neatly on top of each other. Each bag held four quilts or three dozen woolen blankets. She grabbed two of each and ran back to the porch where the others awaited her.
By the time she joined the men again, several blankets were already wrapped tightly around the old woman. “Here you go,” Lillian said, handing her a blanket.
Her mother clutched the bundle in her arms as though she feared losing it. “How did you learn how to wrap these blankets properly?” she asked. “And where did you find all of this extra material? These quilts are much nicer than what we usually use. Thank you.”
Lillian smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
Then she went around to the other side of the porch and began distributing blankets. Soon everyone was warm and comfortable. In addition, she distributed enough blankets to cover every member of the household except Mr. Emerson and himself.
Once she was satisfied that everyone was warm, she rejoined the rest of the group and continued talking with them. But soon she became uncomfortable and restless because she couldn’t hear any of their voices clearly. So she slipped away to stand in the shadows beside the front door.
The men talked about everything under the sun: politics, religion, weather, the railroad, ranching, cattle rustling, horse thieves, the Civil War, the stock market, and the drought. All of these subjects were discussed repeatedly during the evening, just as the weather would be mentioned many times over the course of the day.
People had little else to say; it was difficult to think of anything else to discuss since the topic was so depressing. It wasn’t long after dusk when most people retired to bed, leaving only a few members of the crew standing outside the house.
Lillian waited until they left and then went upstairs to her room. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes. What was going to happen to her tonight? Was anyone listening to her? Would anyone come for her if she needed help? Did they know she was there? Could anyone see her?
She tried to ignore the questions racing through her mind and drifted off to sleep.
***
“What’s wrong?” Lillian asked. “Where is everybody?”
There was no answer. No one responded to her question. She heard muffled sounds from the direction of the living room. After a moment, footsteps approached and stopped near the foot of her bed.
“Who is it?” she called softly. “Come to talk to me?”
A man stepped forward and lifted his hand to knock on the wall. When his knuckles hit the wood, it sounded hollow. A second later, a voice whispered, “You’re awake. That’s good. Come downstairs and join us.”
“Is it morning yet?” she asked, rising to her feet and shaking herself free of the sheets. “Or did I oversleep?”
“Morning hasn’t arrived,” someone answered. “It’s still dark. We’ll let you decide when it’s time to get up.”
As soon as she reached the bottom stair, a light shone through the open door leading down to the parlor. The smell of coffee filled the air. The men had returned. They sat at the dining table drinking steaming cups of coffee. Two empty plates stood next to the coffee pot, and the remains of an omelet lay scattered across the table. Someone must have prepared breakfast while she slept.
When she entered the parlor, Lillian felt relieved to see that her mother was seated on the sofa and appeared to be asleep. One of the men handed her a cup of coffee and took another seat. “Good morning, Miss Emerson,” he said. “Did you enjoy your nap?”
“Yes, thank you very much. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but it happened anyway.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he apologized. “We weren’t trying to keep you hidden away. Quite the contrary, we wanted you to spend some time with us so you could become accustomed to our company.”
“Why?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you want me to marry one of you.”
He shook his head. “No, not exactly. Not today, anyway.” He paused for a moment and looked around the room as though searching for something. Then he turned to face her. “Have you ever heard of a place called Chicago?”
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “Chicago! It’s the largest city west of the Mississippi River. Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s been designated as the site of the first national convention of the Republican Party.”
“Really?” Lillian replied. “That’s wonderful news. Congratulations.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Do you really care?”
“Not particularly. But why don’t you tell me more about it?”
“The party will meet in August, just before the end of the Civil War. Most Republicans hope Lincoln will lose the election. If he does, the war might be over sooner rather than later. And the convention should give them the opportunity to nominate a candidate who can defeat Lincoln.”
Lillian sipped her coffee and nodded. “Sounds like a lot of fun. Is that what everyone wants out of the convention? To elect a new president?”
“Exactly. Of course, the candidates won’t agree to this without having a chance to debate with each other. There are several prominent statesmen in favor of nominating a man named Abraham Lincoln. Other politicians feel the same way about the war and their desire to see the conflict end.
Many believe Lincoln is too young or inexperienced to lead the nation during such turbulent times. They also worry that Lincoln will continue to push for abolitionist policies once he takes office. Others say that his political career is nothing more than a fluke.
His victory in the Illinois legislature is proof positive that he’s a lucky politician whose popularity has little substance behind it. So far, they’ve decided to hold off on naming any presidential candidates. Instead, they intend to select delegates who will represent each state in the union.”
“And the convention will take place in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Does it sound exciting?”
“Very exciting,” he admitted. “But there’s much work ahead. First, the delegates need to choose a location where they can gather to discuss politics. Next, they need to determine how many delegates each state needs to send to the meeting.
Then there are rules to be written and debated, and laws to be passed by the legislature and ratified by the people. The entire process may take years. Or maybe months if Lincoln wins the election and begins pushing for immediate peace talks.”
“If Lincoln loses the election, then the war will drag on indefinitely,” Lillian guessed.
“Quite possibly. That’s the main reason why we plan to host a convention here.”
She thought back to last night’s dinner conversation. She hadn’t imagined that the men planned to attend the event themselves. “Are you all going to Chicago?” she asked.
“Most certainly.”
“Will I be allowed to go along?”
One of the men laughed. “Oh no, you’ll stay right here. You’re not old enough to travel alone.”
“Then how am I supposed to help? Don’t you need someone to assist with the planning? Who knows more about politics than a woman living in a frontier town?”
“You’d only distract us,” he said. “So forget about traveling to Chicago. We’ll send someone to fetch you when the convention convenes.”
A sudden wave of panic swept over Lillian. “What happens if Lincoln wins the election?”
“Well, then you would have plenty of opportunities to visit him in Washington. Just imagine how excited your father would be to know you were spending time with the future leader of the free world.”
***
It was late afternoon when the two horsemen left the ranch house for good. Their departure surprised Lillian since she had assumed they intended to leave earlier in the day. She watched from inside the house until the horses disappeared into the distance.
Then she went outside to walk across the street to the post office. She wasn’t sure how long she stood watching the riders disappear into the distance, but it seemed an eternity.
“Who are those men?” she finally asked. “Didn’t you introduce yourself?”
Bessie glanced up from her desk and smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just looking at the latest letter from my mother.”
“Your mother lives in San Francisco now, doesn’t she?” Lillian said. “Or did I misunderstand something?”
“My parents divorced after I graduated high school.” Bessie picked up another envelope. “This one came from my father.” She opened the flap and read aloud, “‘Dear daughter.'” Her voice trailed away as she finished reading.
“Is that bad news?” Lillian asked. “He sounds upset.”
“No, actually.” Bessie shook her head. “He writes very well. He tells me that he’s been offered a job in Texas. It seems some wealthy Texan businessman wishes to form a partnership between our families. My father will oversee the operation and handle most of the business side of things.
Meanwhile, my brother-in-law will focus on cattle production. The deal is expected to bring both men considerable wealth.”
“That’s wonderful!” Lillian exclaimed. “Congratulations.”
Bessie held up the second letter. “Here’s another.”
“Another one?”
“Apparently, my brother-in-law is quite popular among ranchers in the area. This man wanted to meet with my family to discuss forming a partnership before deciding whether or not to accept my father’s offer. Apparently, they hit it off.”
Lillian wondered what sort of men these men were and why they chose to visit the ranch. If they knew so little about the region, perhaps they weren’t exactly who they claimed to be. But then again, they could easily have learned their facts from books. Maybe this was just a coincidence. They might even be friends of her uncle.
Still, she found herself wondering if the strangers had overheard her discussion with Uncle Will. What if they reported back to him? Would he believe them? After all, she couldn’t tell anyone about the threats made against her. Not even Uncle Will.
The idea bothered her. Even though she loved her uncle, she wouldn’t want to see his reputation damaged because of her. So she decided to keep quiet unless it became absolutely necessary. For the moment, she needed to concentrate on the upcoming presidential election. She still hoped that the men had nothing to do with her personal situation.
Back in the house, she walked through the kitchen to find her aunt cooking. Aunt Eunice sat beside her sister, cutting out cookies. As soon as Lillian stepped into the room, her aunt looked up. “How was the ride today?”
“Fine. There was some rain during lunchtime, but otherwise, the weather has been beautiful.”
“We can’t complain.”
They talked briefly about the trip, then Lillian took a seat at the table. Aunt Eunice handed her a plate full of cookies. “There you go. Enjoy.”
She nibbled on one and thought about the letter from her father. Now that she knew that he lived far from San Francisco, she pictured him driving a wagon down dusty roads. He sounded like a simple man whose main concern was making money and providing for his children.
And yet, she couldn’t imagine him being involved in any sort of political scheme. That must be my uncle’s doing. Or maybe my father is simply trying to make ends meet by using his connections. Perhaps he sent my letter to the wrong address…
“Why don’t we put some music on?” Bessie suggested. She reached for the radio and turned it on.
When the piano began playing, Lillian recognized it as one of the old classics her mother used to play. The melody brought tears to her eyes, which surprised her. How could she feel sad over a song she hadn’t heard in years?
As the music played on, Lillian closed her eyes and imagined her mother sitting at the piano. When the tune ended, Lillian opened her eyes to look around the room. “What happened to your piano?”
“Oh, I sold it,” Bessie replied. “It was too much trouble to move here from New York City.”
“You should have kept it. Your mother would’ve liked that. You know how proud she was when she won the competition in Chicago.”
Her aunt nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
A lump formed in her throat. “If only she could hear you play now…”
“Don’t say such things.” Bessie squeezed Lillian’s shoulder. “Let’s get ready for dinner.”
The End