Separate Roads (5 page)

“And why not? I happen to be quite confident that he shares those same feelings.”

“We’re too different. I don’t feel about God the way he does, and by yar own admission he’d not go takin’ a wife for hisself that didn’t share his faith in the Almighty.”

“But, Caitlan, I know you believe in God. I know you were brought up to have a strong faith. You can’t just throw that away because the Irish have had a hard time of it.”

Caitlan looked at her friend indignantly. “It’d be for more than that. My people have had a bad time of it, ’tis true. But religion has played a big part in that sorry part of the world. The Protestants hate the Catholics, the Catholics hate the Protestants. The landowners hate the workers, and the workers spend so much time drinkin’ that they hate everyone.”

“Not all of Ireland spends its time in hate, does it?” Jordana asked. “You simply found yourself in the midst of more problems than most.”

“And what would yarself be knowin’ about Ireland? Ya never lived there,” Caitlan said in an accusing tone. “Ya’ve only known a good life, Jordana. Yar folks are good, upstandin’ people, and they’ve always had plenty. Ya don’t know what it’s like to do without. Not truly. Oh, we’ve done without some here in Omaha, but even this would be a king’s share compared to what my family has known.”

“And that’s justification for hating God?”

“Now, don’t go puttin’ words in me mouth or feelin’s in me heart. I just know that my thoughts on the matter are far from yar brother’s, and we both know that he’d not want a woman for a wife who refused to go to church.”

Jordana stopped and looked at her sister-in-law. Since Caitlan had first arrived in America, determined to make her way to California where her brother Kiernan had moved with his wife, Victoria, Jordana had felt a special kinship with her. It was more than the fact that Caitlan’s brother was married to Jordana’s oldest sibling; it was a true meeting of hearts.

“One of these days, God will make himself real to you.”

“Oh, He’s real enough now,” Caitlan replied. “He just doesn’t seem to be carin’ about the needs of the folks down here.”

“But of course He cares.”

“If He cares so much,” Caitlan replied, a strand of cinnamon hair catching the breeze, “then why do so many Irish go hungry? Why do they go a-killin’ and hatin’ until no one is left untouched? You tell me why God hisself allows such doin’s.”

Jordana shrugged. She couldn’t very well tell Caitlan what God’s reasonings were for allowing heartache and misunderstanding to abound. “I guess He allows it because we do. I mean, the war back East is pitting brother against brother and tearing a nation apart. I don’t suppose I understand why God allows it either, but then I go to wondering why we have allowed it. I have absolutely no say whatsoever in that outcome, but I won’t go distrusting God just because it happens to be ripping my country in two. We make our own choices. God doesn’t force them upon us.”

Caitlan’s expression softened. She reached out and touched Jordana in an almost motherly fashion. “I admire yar faith. I do. I just don’t happen to have it in me to believe the same. And we both know I can’t very well go acceptin’ it just for the sake of yar brother’s love.”

Jordana knew she spoke the truth, but it bothered her deeply that Caitlan wouldn’t simply listen to reason and invite Jesus into her heart. It seemed so simple. Just a little matter of acceptance. Why should that be so hard? She could simply let go of her anger and let God guide her life. Why was that so difficult to understand?

They moved up the street, and Caitlan waved to a portly, dark-headed woman who was carrying a basket of laundry on her head. “I see Sadie is near done with her deliveries.”

Jordana nodded. “Either she’s early or we’re late. I’m guessing we’re running a bit behind the clock.”

Caitlan agreed. “I’m not supposin’ Mrs. Cavendish will be likin’ it one bit. I’ll be leavin’ ya here and headin’ on up.” She paused at the street corner where they usually parted company. “Don’t take my attitude to heart, Jordana. It has nothin’ to do with yarself.”

Jordana nodded and watched as Caitlan hurried up the street. Her goal was the big brick mansion at the end of the next street. It was here that she’d recently taken the position of housekeeper to the Cavendish family. Mr. Cavendish would drive Caitlan home every day at the conclusion of afternoon tea, unless, of course, they were giving a party or having some other event that required Caitlan to stay on. Mrs. Cavendish had a personal maid who attended to all of her needs and lived on the premises, so Caitlan was free to return home in the evenings and tend to Brenton and Jordana—although Jordana strived to do more of the tending on her own account. She hated that Caitlan always saw herself as a servant to the family. She hated, too, that Caitlan allowed this anger toward God to ruin her life.

Crossing the street, Jordana marched into the Omaha Citizen’s Bank as though she might well find an answer to her dilemma inside. She was determined to find a way to get through to Caitlan. It was just a matter of time.

“Good morning!” Damon said as Jordana swept past him.

“Good morning,” she replied, unfastening the buttons of her coat. The weather was still quite chilly these mornings, and while Jordana had hated the harshness of the Omaha winter, she was told that the spring storms could be even more fierce. She supposed it was all something to be endured and taken in stride. Much like Damon Chittenden.

“You look quite beautiful today,” he said, coming up behind her.

Jordana continued to the broom closet. “Thank you, Mr. Chittenden.”

“I thought you were going to call me Damon.”

“That would hardly be proper,
Mr. Chittenden,
” she said, reemphasizing his name.

“I thought you might like to see some information on the sale of land in the Omaha area. It’s quite fascinating,” Damon said, holding out a sheaf of papers.

Jordana glanced over her shoulder for a moment, then ignored the man. Instead, she put her coat in the broom closet, prayed for patience, and straightened her dark blue serge jacket. She wore the same basic outfit to the bank every day—blue serge jacket and skirt and white blouse with dark blue ribbon at the throat. She thought it allowed her to look businesslike without compromising her femininity. Not that she worried overmuch about such things, but Brenton would be mortified if he thought she’d conducted herself in less than a ladylike manner. It was already scandalous enough that she was holding a man’s job.

Turning, she found that Damon continued to stare at her with a sickening look of devotion, the papers still extended toward her like some sort of peace offering.

Eyeing Damon with a sense of caution, Jordana replied, “Land sales aren’t usually all that interesting.”

“They are when the land is being developed for a university.”

“A university? Here?”

Damon grinned triumphantly at her sudden interest and waved the papers. “It’s all in here.”

She knew he was appealing to her love of intellectual discussions. Frankly, it was the one thing she enjoyed about the younger Chittenden. From time to time, Damon had talked to her about plans he’d been in on for city development or social reform. She had listened to him speak about territorial affairs and the financial benefits of the railroad. And always she learned new tidbits about the city and in turn was able to take them home to Brenton.

“Who’s behind this plan?” She moved to her desk in the teller’s area.

“Oh, several important men are behind it.” Damon followed her. “We could discuss it over dinner tonight.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “Remember? I told you I would ask again. I shall keep on asking, over and over, minute by minute, until you agree.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why would you torment yourself in such a manner?”

“I suppose because I’m used to getting what I want, and you refuse to give in. You have become a challenge to me, Miss Baldwin.”

“A challenge,” she repeated, considering his declaration. She really did want to know more about the university, and maybe it wasn’t so bad to let Damon escort her to dinner. After all, he was highly respected, even at twenty-one. There was nothing wrong with being friends. But would he see her acceptance as a gesture of friendship or a promise of things to come? It was such a dilemma. Why did men have to be so strange?

“If I agree to go with you to dinner,” she began slowly, “would you please promise to stop with the poems and gifts? I simply cannot go on in such a manner. I don’t mind the friendship you’ve extended, but I have no desire to be so lavished upon. The gifts must stop.”

“No gifts?” Damon questioned in disbelief. “But I thought young women loved to be courted with gifts.”

“But we are not courting, Mr. Chittenden, and even if we were, this constant deluge of presents and mementos would hardly be acceptable. My brother would surely have spoken to you by now if I had told him what was happening.”

“But I’m sure he would allow me to court you if I sought him out on the matter.”

“Nevertheless, I do not wish you to court me. I will, however, consider accompanying you to a dinner
between friends.
I do desire to know more about this planned university, but I will not accompany you unless you agree to stop bringing me gifts.”

“Very well,” Damon sighed, nodding somberly. He looked as if he had just been stabbed through the heart. “I shall give you my word on it. I shall cease bringing you gifts.”

Jordana smiled. “Then you may come around to my house this evening, shall we say, seven o’clock?”

Damon grinned. “I shall be there with the biggest bouquet of—”

“Ah, remember your promise?” she interrupted.

His countenance was crestfallen for only a moment. “Very well. No bouquet.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chittenden. Now, might I suggest you allow me to get to work. Your father will be unlocking the doors to business within a matter of moments.”

Damon snapped his heels together and gave her a deep bow. “Until this evening, then.”

Jordana nodded, hoping he would be true to his word. She glanced at her teller’s window, where a dark red rosebud had been left for her. Damon’s gaze seemed to follow hers.

“I left that before our agreement, so it doesn’t count,” he said quickly before she could protest.

With a sigh she nodded. “I suppose not. Thank you.”

He grinned again. “My pleasure.”

5

In spite of a dwindling supply of money and a constant lack of workers, the Central Pacific inched its way out of Sacramento in the early part of 1864. By March the railroad found itself some eighteen miles long, with a rise of only one hundred twenty-nine feet between Sacramento’s riverfront and the newly renamed town of Roseville. Such a slight grade increase made the line relatively easy to build. It boosted the excitement of those living around the project. The general population of the area lauded the line and had high hopes for the future of rail travel. And even though a war still clouded their existence from some several thousand miles away, folks were normally given over to a positive nature about their future.

But while the common man knew only that the railroad was finally taking shape, those in charge of the Central Pacific knew better than to overreact to their meager gaining of ground. The CP had enjoyed its honeymoon period and was soon to battle against the full brute strength of the Sierra Nevada, something no one looked forward to.

Kiernan O’Connor, now thirty years old and happily assigned to assist the Central Pacific’s General Superintendent Charles Crocker, was among those who dreaded the assault that would take place on the mountains. He knew what it was to labor through mountainous terrain to build a railroad. He’d exhausted his youth working to help build the Baltimore and Ohio through the Alleghenies. Still, Charlie Crocker had latched on to him because of this experience, and Kiernan found it important to honor Charlie’s faith by sticking to the job at hand.

Charlie had taken an instant liking to Kiernan, and Kiernan returned the feeling. He liked Crocker’s no-nonsense manner in dealing with the young upstarts who thought to run the line in their own manner, and he appreciated Charlie’s drive and motivation.