The Lily of the West Read online

  Our final evening in Mexico City had been one of fire and bullets disrupting the emperor’s ball and dinner party, and that night was the last my father was willing to subject his family’s wellbeing to, royalty or no. I’d said good-bye to the unbetrothed Marquis and his roving hands with little regret. The next morning had seen us on the road to Texas, a place I’d mostly slept through after a quick perusal of its paltry charms, while we’d journeyed north to more civilized climes. Civilization had so far eluded us, but north we’d gone, towards my father’s promised land. From the villages and plains we’d seen so far, I had little hope we would find it here.

  “Pass the biscuits, please, miss.”

  I placed the platter into the waiting hands of my table companion and watched it make its passage to the end of the table. Mrs. Hudginson’s boardinghouse, the very best in Davenport, provided a hearty breakfast before sending its inhabitants out into the wintry dawn, and it was a meal I never missed. Not only was the food good, as Mrs. Hudginson was a wonderful cook, but I also got firsthand news of all that was going on in Davenport as well as the wider world, and plenty of gossip as well. This morning, in fact, I learned the Union army was reputed to be winning the war between the American states, and the South was headed for defeat. I knew little about their conflict, although I admired the Southern states for their sense of tradition and gentility against the businesslike cold competence of the Northerners and their Union. Although slavery was a filthy institution, Europe had plenty of people whose status was not far above it, and except for France, no one had ever seemed to care enough to go to war over it.

  Iowa was a Union state, and while no battles had taken place this far west, they had supplied their share of troops and equipment to the cause. Davenport, a bustling town of some ten thousand souls on the Mississippi River, was still doing so, and its mud-churned streets were busy with commerce from the riverboats and railroads. A week after we’d arrived in Davenport, my father had found adequate if somewhat Spartan lodgings at Mrs. Hudginson’s and gainful employment with the Union army as a physician who ministered to their Confederate prisoners in the prison camp at Rock Island. The stories he’d told me of the gentle nature of the patients he treated had touched my heart, and I’d spent many snowy afternoons assisting him and helping some of the young men write letters to their loved ones as they lay wounded and in some cases dying, in the cold winter of Iowa.

  “Grant’s going to kick their asses out of Vicksburg,” crowed the black-bearded man across the table from me. “Them Southern boys will be going home in pieces just like they deserve.”

  I winced and put my fork down. Many of the gentlemen here had either avoided military service altogether, in search of profits, or were soldiers recuperating from dire wounds. After witnessing the carnage in the hospital wards my father attended, I couldn’t delight in this misguided opinion.

  “What company were you with, Mr. Nesbit?” I asked. I’d watched him for weeks and knew him for a blowhard ass.

  Discomfited, he briefly cast his eyes towards his plate but recovered quickly. “I have great value to the war office, as you all know,” he said. “I volunteered for the First Iowa regiment, missy, but I was more valuable as their first cavalry wrangler right here in Davenport, and I’ve fulfilled my duties. No man is more dedicated to the Union. Coming from some sauerkraut country, you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  Another opportunist. Polite coughs were heard around the table. In the short time I’d been here, even I knew there hadn’t been decent horses available for anything at all, let alone military use, in Davenport for three years. Nesbit glared at me, and I knew I’d made an enemy, but I didn’t care. Everybody knew Nesbit spent most of his time hanging around saloons these days, gambling and enjoying the charms of whores and dancing girls.

  I shrugged and excused myself but felt Nesbit’s eyes following me as I left the dining room. I had other concerns. My mother hadn’t been able to get out of bed this morning, and I wasn’t sure what to do. My father had been out at Rock Island for days but should be home tonight. I was hoping he’d be able to get her up and about again.

  Wilhelmina opened the door to our rooms, her face pale. I strode quickly to my mother’s bedside and was frightened to see the sweat beading on her forehead and hear her labored breathing. She’d ever been a fragile soul, but this was more than just female humors. In just the last day, she’d become deathly ill.

  I turned to Wilhelmina and grasped her hand. “Listen to me, Mina. I’m going to get Papa. He’ll know what to do. Stay with her.” I looked into my sister’s eyes. “Make sure she has whatever she asks for. Fetch Mrs. Hudginson if she gets any worse. I’ll be back soon.”

  She nodded, frightened. I kissed my mother’s damp forehead, but she never stirred. I threw on my heavy cloak and boots and made my way to the livery stables down the street. I’d befriended the hostelry boy some weeks ago, and he was happy to give me the gentle mare I’d ridden before. I headed towards Rock Island, blinking the snowflakes out of my eyes as I rode east into the storm and across the railroad bridge.

  The sentry stopped me at the gates, even though he’d seen me many times before.

  “Password, miss.”

  “I don’t know the password today, sergeant. My father’s been here all night and has had no chance to tell me. You know me; I’m here to see my father, Dr. Haroney.”

  He looked at me blankly. “Password.”

  The snow continued to fall between us, and my temper was rising as quickly as the snowflakes were falling.

  “I have to see my father. Now.”

  He held his bayoneted rifle towards me. “Sorry, I have to hear the password.”

  I dug my heels into the horse’s side and galloped towards the compound beyond, ignoring his shouts. Patience against stupidity has never been my forte. I jumped off the horse, pushed open the door of the hospital, and ran towards my father’s office, only to find it empty. When I turned back to the hallway, I was met by the strong arms of Major McPherson, my father’s adjutant.

  “Whoa, Miss Haroney. Whatever has you in such a fluster?” He was, as usual, correct but concerned, his brown eyes kind.

  “Fluster, Major?” I disengaged myself, brushing off snowflakes and military intention. “Hardly. I am, however, in need of my father’s counsel immediately. Where is he?”

  “I regret to say he’s indisposed at the moment, Miss Haroney,” he said and his eyes slid away from mine. He stood stolid and erect in his blue uniform, gold braid gleaming in the gaslight.

  My heart sank. Was this an epidemic then? Some sort of disease my father had caught from his prisoners and brought to my mother and who knows else? I had feared thus, and perhaps it had come to pass.

  “Take me to him immediately,” I said, not expecting to be obeyed, but the major, his eyes troubled, led me down the hall to a room. Obviously, he hadn’t been alerted by the guards.

  My father lay on a narrow bed, covered with clean white linen, his eyes closed. I approached cautiously and touched his cheek.

  “Papa,” I said and his eyes flew open, fixing me with his gaze.

  “Kate.”

  I could tell it took enormous effort for him to even utter my name. His hand grasped mine. Major McPherson stood nearby.

  “What is it, Major? Tell me the truth,” I said.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “You have to leave; you shouldn’t have come. I can’t say anymore.”

  “You don’t have to. Is it typhus or diphtheria? I’d say typhus.”

  He stared at me in astonishment. “How would you know that?”

  “I’m a doctor’s daughter, Major, and I’m not stupid. You don’t have to worry; I’ll not say anything to them back in Davenport.” I turned away from him in disgust, and my father squeezed my hand, an effort that took all his strength.

  “Go home, my darling. Take care of your mother, sister, and brother. You’ve always been the strongest of us. I will be with you soon.”


  What could I do but smooth his brow and nod as though I believed him, and with an escort, a young sergeant and two enlisted men, return plodding through the snow to Davenport.

  I arrived late, missing Mrs. Hodginson’s ample dinner but in time to watch my mother die of typhus, my siblings sobbing at her bedside. She would wear peacock feathers no more. We may have been better off in Mexico. At least she would have died in an elegant bed with the satin curtains and perfumed pillows she so loved. America was not serving us well.

  Daffodils were emerging in front of Mrs. Hodginson’s porch that early spring, the patches of snow melting around their eager trumpets. My father didn’t give them a glance as he waved good-bye to us and mounted his horse for the journey to Rock Island. I took Alexander’s hand and mounted the stairs to our rooms for the morning lessons. I missed my mother and regretted my childish attitudes toward her. Foolish as she had been, she gave loving support to all of us, and no one more so than my father. He had recovered somewhat physically, but his face was grim these days, and no hopeful optimism shone in his eyes. Blaming himself for Mother’s death, he was despondent and sorry he had brought us to this place where so far only death had thrived, both at Rock Island and for his beloved wife. His dreams had tarnished here. When this war in the States was over, he told me, we would return to Hungary and our estates there, and I longed for the manners and gentility of our homeland. Daffodils did little to civilize Davenport, Iowa.

  “Morning, Miss Haroney.” Ned Hudginson left off sweeping the porch as we passed him, smiling at me. He was a sweet lad, a gangly and awkward seventeen year old, a shock of brown hair spilling across his forehead, always ready to help with anything his mother needed, and she kept him busy indeed. I knew he fancied me. He was always popping up when I least expected it, but I rather liked it. I smiled back.

  “Good morning, Ned. It promises to be a lovely day, I think.”

  He nodded eagerly. “Maybe we could walk down to the river later?”

  “Perhaps we could,” I said. Ned blushed and returned to his sweeping.

  Wilhelmina, Alexander, and I spent the morning working on English for the most part, with a smattering of mathematics and whatever piqued my interest. I felt my life was in a holding pattern. I knew not what would happen next, but, at least, I could help my sister and brother better equip themselves for whatever might come, either a return to Europe or a life forged in this new country. To my surprise, I discovered that I learned by teaching them, and knowledge was something I’d always found to be a solace.

  Wilhelmina was woefully slow, and she’d really never been one for academics, preferring needlework and music. Alexander, however, surprised me. Since our mother’s death, he’d become quite serious and kept close, making every effort to please me. Not only was his English improving rapidly, he showed an aptitude for learning and had an avid curiosity about our new surroundings, of which I knew very little myself. It reminded me of all the happy hours I had spent with the tutors of the princes and with my father, soaking up every scrap of knowledge like a thirsty sponge. The hours flew by each day, and before I knew it, it was time for the noon meal. I stretched, eager to be out of the cramped bedroom I’d turned into our erstwhile school, and we set off downstairs.

  As we entered the dining room with its long table, already mostly occupied, I felt a gentle hand on my arm. I turned as Wilhelmina and Alexander went forward and took their places at the table, and I met Ned’s Hudginson’s bashful blue eyes.

  “Miss Haroney, I have here a picnic, if you’re so inclined,” he whispered, lifting a small wicker basket for emphasis. He looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, and I couldn’t resist. He was a pretty boy, no question about that.

  “What a grand idea, Ned,” I whispered back, smiling. “Just let me tell Wilhelmina.”

  It was a lovely day and a welcome one after the long winter. Ned and I sat on the new grass that covered the riverbank, watching the boats on the Mississippi—from small fishing dinghys to large steamboats that they said went all the way to New Orleans, their great paddle wheels churning the sparkling water while strains of banjo music drifted across the waves. For the first time since we’d arrived in Davenport, I found it bearable.

  We’d polished off the fried chicken, biscuits, and apple pandowdy Ned’s mother was famous for, accompanied by a fresh breeze off the river and the song of the robins that had arrived back from their southern sojourns. It was warm, and I had unbuttoned a few of the tiny top buttons of my shirtwaist. Ned had taken off his vest and done the same, and somehow the casualness of the afternoon had unloosed our tongues as well. He had dreams, did Ned, and they didn’t include staying in Davenport.

  “I’m heading West—that’s where the future of this country lies,” he confided, brushing his hair from his forehead. “There’s land to be had, and I mean to have some. My mother wants me to apprentice to the blacksmith, but I plan to leave Davenport before the summer’s out.”

  I nodded, and he expanded on his plans as I listened and watched the riverboats passing by. I leaned back, nearly drowsing in the sun until he clutched my hand.

  “What about you, Miss . . . Kate?” His face was close, and the earnestness of his question caught me off guard. I sat up abruptly and tightened my grip on his hand. I stared into his eyes and thought about just what I wanted for myself. I’d never done so before, not really. It had always been about my father and mother, and aside from vacuous flirting with members of the court, I had never thought about my future, and surely not about one that was independent of my family.

  “I don’t know, Ned. I really don’t,” I said truthfully. This was a new time in a new land, and there were possibilities that had never occurred to me before. Perhaps being an educated female might be worth something to me after all. I felt a fluttering in my stomach, and it wasn’t just the closeness of Ned’s face, although that was part of the whole feeling, that maybe I could do whatever I wanted to.

  Ned leaned closer. “Would you ever . . . I mean, could you possibly think . . . that we might . . .”

  He kissed me then, the sweetest kiss, so unlike the rapacious Marquis or the soft pecks of the schoolroom boys, that I was astounded and didn’t draw away as I should have. He took that for acceptance and pressed me down on the soft grass and took another. It was nice, and I returned it, my lips on his, my arms curling around his neck. His breath was sweet, and his mouth soft, with the promise of something more.

  “I think Mrs. Hudginson would be interested to hear what her lazy son’s got up to with some uppity foreign baggage,” drawled a voice, accompanied by a spit of tobacco that landed close by our heads. “Although it’s no surprise to me.”

  We jerked apart as though scalded and leapt to our feet. Darren Nesbit stood nearby, a smirk on his bearded face that I longed to smack off.

  “This is no concern of yours,” Ned managed, his fists clenching. “Leave us alone, Nesbit.”

  Nesbit shrugged and strolled away, but as he reached the top of the bank he turned back and looked at me. I shivered, as I hastened to button up my dress. I’d done nothing wrong, but his gaze made me feel dirty. For the first time in my life, I felt shame, and I didn’t like it. He vanished from view, and Ned grabbed my hand.

  “He’s nothing, Kate; don’t let him ruin this. My mother knows him for a wastrel, and it doesn’t matter what he says.”

  “I know, Ned. It’s all right.” I smiled and kissed his cheek. He put his arm around my waist with one hand and picked up the basket with the other. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

  We walked slowly back to the boardinghouse, my hand clasped in his, but some of the magic had gone, and no more words passed between us that day.

  The Americans ended their war on April ninth, word reaching Davenport swiftly via telegraph. Celebrations erupted in the streets, with people cheering, shooting off guns, riding horses crazily around the town, and celebrating with parties for many nights thereafter. Meals at the boardinghouse were sparsely att
ended, no matter what Mrs. Hudginson was serving. My father was especially busy, tending to his patients and readying them as best he could for the journey home to their families, those who were able to make the trip. Many of them were determined to go no matter what, and while some were too weak, he knew from the desperation in their eyes, as I did, that nothing would stop them from leaving this hateful place where they’d been imprisoned. When Father had the time to come back to Davenport, he was exhausted, and he went to his room silently after a quick pat on our heads. When I would check on him later, he was usually in a sleep so deep he never heard me enter the room. One evening in late May, when spring was settling into Iowa and the trees had burst into full leaf, he didn’t come home at all.

  Major McPherson tied up his horse on the railing of the boardinghouse and stepped onto the front porch, where I had been waiting for my father. His bearing was stiffly erect as always, but his eyes gave him away.

  “Good evening, Miss Haroney.” He came closer and took my hand. I tried to pull away, knowing what he was going to say and not wanting to hear, but the words poured out quickly, a small torrent unleashed by his own uneasiness. “Miss Haroney, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your father’s passed.”

  My breath stopped somewhere between my throat and my stomach. I squeezed his hand in mine, and all I could manage was a whisper. “Don’t say this to me, Major.”