Separate Roads (37 page)

“That’s cruel even for yarself, Jordana!” Caitlan shoved the gray dress back into its place.

“Well, I don’t mean to be cruel, and you know me better than to think it! What I am trying to say is that you are none of those things. You are beautiful, Caitlan—inside and outside. Why else do you think Brenton loves you?”

“Now, don’t ya bring him into this.”

“But he’s a big part of it all, isn’t he?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Caitlan spoke with such uncharacteristic firmness that Jordana dropped the subject.

Instead she suggested that since it was late, why didn’t they stop someplace for a bit of refreshment before heading home. They were near the Tea Room, and Jordana led the way inside.

“Oh, Jordana,” Caitlan said, looking about the lavish place in awe, “can we afford—?”

“Caitlan,” Jordana broke in, “if you say one word about the expense, I’ll scream. Now, sit down and enjoy this.”

They were escorted to a table, and Caitlan obediently sat down but obviously wasn’t enjoying herself. They sipped tea and ate fancy cakes and tried to make casual conversation, but it was all very stilted. Jordana could hardly bear it because it had never been this way with Caitlan before. Her anger and frustration mounted.

“Caitlan,” she finally said in a tight voice, “why can’t you just enjoy yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlan replied snidely, “I wasn’t brought up in the lap of luxury where a dollar for a pot of tea and a few cakes is nothing but spare change.”

“Well, just spare me your tales of woe—I’m sick of them!”

“Are ya now!” Caitlan pushed back her chair. “Then, I’m thinkin’ ya must also be sick of me. I’ll be on me way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Jordana said as Caitlan turned and strode from the Tea Room.

Stubbornly, Jordana stayed where she was, just watching her friend walk out. She was not going to run after her and apologize. It was well past time for someone to let that hardheaded girl know just how silly she was acting. Eventually Caitlan would thank Jordana for her truthfulness.

Jordana deliberately finished her tea, and two more cakes, then paid her bill and exited the Tea Room. She half expected to see her friend standing outside waiting. She imagined they would both apologize and embrace and all would be back to normal. But still, normal was not exactly good for Caitlan. If matters remained as they were, Caitlan would never give herself credit for the wonderful woman she was, and then she and Brenton would never get together.

Yet Jordana realized that she herself had probably not handled the situation in the most tactful manner. She had let her frustration get the better of her good sense and in the process had spoken hurtful, if well-meaning, words. Well, she supposed she would apologize and then find a better way to express herself.

But Caitlan was nowhere to be seen. Jordana glanced in a couple of nearby shops but could not find her. It was only a few blocks to Kiernan and Victoria’s home, and it was likely Caitlan had walked quickly and taken a side street, for her to have disappeared so fast. Perhaps it was for the best, and they both could use a time for cooling off before facing each other again.

Jordana decided to use the time to stretch her legs and do some thinking while seeing more of the town. It would be dark in an hour, but even if she walked a bit she could still be home before sundown. She turned off the main street to a side street where one of the shopkeepers had mentioned a fine milliner was located. She could use a new bonnet—and maybe she would buy one for Caitlan, too.

But she must have heard wrong, because there were no milliners on this street. A store owner suggested another possibility and gave her directions. She followed these until she was hopelessly lost. And the sun was sinking quickly.

The shopkeepers were starting to put Closed signs in their windows and to take in outdoor displays. She knew she could take care of herself and wasn’t worried about the gathering darkness. Only vaguely did she think of Rich O’Brian’s many admonitions to her about using good sense. She laughed them off even now . . . until a small chill prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

She wasn’t afraid but had the strangest sensation that someone was following her. Of all the silly notions!

She kept walking and soon had something real to be nervous about. She had no idea at all about how to get back to her sister’s house. She paused and asked a passerby, but he had never heard of the street and gave her a disapproving look. And before long, it was fully dark, and even people with disapproving looks were growing fewer on the streets.

And that pesky feeling on the nape of her neck returned. She remembered, as if for the first time, that this was a big city, but it was also as rough and uncivilized as any western town. She thought of robbers and vagrants, drunks and gunmen. But she also thought that she was being foolish, letting her imagination get the best of her. If a shop were still open, perhaps she would duck inside, but, alas! The few shops on the street were closed. The remainder of the buildings were dwellings—and she certainly wasn’t going to annoy some strangers in their own home with her questions.

She walked a little farther, and, in the quiet of this back street, she distinctly heard the
clack
of heels that were not her own. And, to her horror, when she stopped, feigning interest in a shop window, the heavy
clack
stopped also.

Dear Lord, have I done it again? Put myself in harm’s way through my carelessness?

She was trembling now and no longer could deny even to herself that she wasn’t afraid. But what could she do? If a criminal was after her, she certainly couldn’t outrun him. Invading a stranger’s home was looking better and better.

Still, it went against Jordana’s plucky nature to simply turn tail and run. First, she should find out if there was really any danger. She must turn and see if anyone was actually following her.

She stopped walking. But turning was never more difficult. Her heart was thudding louder than those clanking footsteps, which, by the way, had ceased again. Then, just as she had mustered the courage to turn, the clanking began again, this time faster. Whoever it was intended on making their move now that it was apparent she had discovered their presence.

She spun around just as a large, hot hand grabbed her shoulder.

“P-please . . . I have a little money. Take it!” she cried.

“You are safe now, Jordana.”

The voice was familiar, but identification evaded her, and in the darkness she could not immediately make out the features of her . . . assailant? Rescuer?

He knew her name. He said she was safe. She blinked her eyes desperately, and finally her vision cleared.

“You!” she said.

“Yes, I’m here for you. . . .”

“But—”

His hand, the one that wasn’t grasping her shoulder, reached around her, hooking her head in an armlock while the hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled but couldn’t get free. When the cloth appeared in her face the next instant, she was confused, wondering what was happening. She did not wonder for long. In fact, she did not do anything for long. Breathing in a sickly sweet odor, Jordana felt her knees go limp. She tried to scream, but nothing came from her lips.

The darkness pressed in upon her, and she felt as if she were slipping into it as one slips into death.

33

Caitlan did not wait outside the Tea Room. Perhaps she should have; perhaps she had been too hasty in her anger. It was just so much easier to vent her confusion and fear upon her friend. Especially when Jordana had said some tactless things.

Instead, she hurried away, all but running down the street. She was barely able to keep her feet from flying. She wanted to run—far away from this place where she so obviously did not fit in. Not only from the fancy tea place, but from Jordana, Brenton, Victoria, and even Kiernan. The Baldwins had tried to be kind to her; Jordana had even professed her friendship. But a person like Caitlan would never fit in with people like them. They were practically nobility—American nobility. And she was the child of a poor crofter. The twain would never meet in Ireland, and she had deceived herself into believing it would be different in America.

The worst of it all was that now that she had finally found her brother, she didn’t even fit in with him. But with Kiernan it wasn’t social station that separated them; it was this confusing matter of faith.

And suddenly Caitlan felt more alone than she ever had in her life.

Pausing at a cross street to wait for passing traffic, Caitlan decided to turn onto this street, so that if Jordana did decide to come after her, she would not find her. Caitlan couldn’t face her friend now. Her friend? Oh, how she wanted to believe it! But how could they be friends when so much divided them? They couldn’t even go shopping without disagreeing. And this certainly wasn’t the first time Caitlan had balked at what she perceived as Jordana’s extravagance—it was just the first time it had escalated so heatedly. Caitlan must blame herself for that. Her growing tension and confusion had made her impatient.

She’d been afraid that the discussion would turn to God as it had with Kiernan. She knew Jordana had been keeping back her Christian sermons for a long time, trying to let Caitlan make up her own mind. But it had been plain to see that words, or sermons, or whatever were rising close to the surface in Jordana, and she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue much longer.

And God, like everything else, was also a barrier between Caitlan and Jordana, as He was with Kiernan and . . . oh, and especially with Brenton.

Caitlan was walking so fast that she was panting and her heart was racing. She made herself slow down. She didn’t want to be taken for a fugitive or some such thing. She’d had a friend in Ireland who had that very thing happen. He had been running down a street in Belfast trying to catch an acquaintance he’d seen ahead of him. The police stopped him and hauled him into the tollbooth. They held him for a week with no charges against him simply because he had
looked
guilty.

These things happened. But Brenton and Jordana would never be able to understand. It wasn’t their fault. They had simply been raised in a different society. Nonetheless, it was still a wedge. Between her and them, and between her and God. Because how could a just and loving God allow such injustice to happen?

Or was such questioning merely an excuse to avoid what was really troubling her, what she had confessed to Kiernan? That maybe she wouldn’t be good enough for God.

Everyone kept telling her differently. If only she could believe it!

Caitlan had been so deep in thought, she had paid little attention to her surroundings. Only when she happened to nearly bump a passing woman and her child did Caitlan give her head a shake and take note of where she was. The cross street she had turned onto had taken her slightly out of the way from Kiernan’s house, but she had realized that when she turned. She had but to go another block to reach the main street again, and from there it was a short distance home.

When she looked up, however, and saw a pretty stone church on the corner, she knew she was going to take yet another detour.

It had been years since she had been in a church, probably since her ma’s funeral. Brenton and Jordana went regularly, but they had not insisted she accompany them, though she knew they had wanted her to and would have welcomed her.

Oh, Caitlan, ya foolish girl! If yar alone now, ’tis only because of yarself.

She turned toward the church and mounted the steps to the large oak double doors, which were closed. It was a silly notion to go to a church now. It would probably be locked anyway, since it wasn’t Sunday. But perhaps it was time. If she didn’t do something, she
would
be alone, for she would lose the only people she cared about and who cared about her. And she would lose the man she loved, not that she had ever had him in the first place.

Yes, she would go into this church. Oh, she didn’t plan to make any commitments, but the least she could do was try to have a bit of a talk with God. Straighten out a few matters. Maybe they would come to an understanding. Maybe they wouldn’t. But at least she would have tried.