Westward the Dream (17 page)

He lowered his lips to hers, and the passion ignited a spark that Victoria had long missed. She had been sick for so long that romance and intimacy had been quietly and most unceremoniously pushed aside. Now, however, she knew the aching, the longing for her husband's touch. She remembered the warmth of his breath against her neck and the shivers it sent down her spine when his fingers would play in her hair.

She heard herself moan softly as Kiernan ended the kiss, and opening her eyes, she met his gaze. His green eyes seemed filled with laughter, and his expression suggested a teasing remark was not far behind. She thought to still such a comment by leaning toward him for another kiss, but he only chuckled.

“Ya said there'd be only one kiss.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Perhaps my senses left me in the wake of my illness.”

He laughed and pulled her down to sit beside him on the sofa. “I have news for ya.”

Victoria smiled and snuggled against him. “I figured as much. So what is it?”

“We're movin'.”

Victoria felt a wave of mixed emotions. Moving? This late in the year? What was he suggesting? Would he tell her how he'd heard about another big gold strike upriver? Or maybe suggest the idea of trekking over to the Colorado territories, where gold was thought to be plentiful?

“And don't ya want to know where we're movin' to?” he asked softly.

“In truth,” she admitted, “I'm afraid to ask.”

He laughed and tilted her face up to meet his. “Mr. Crocker found us an apartment not far from the store. It's only two rooms, but he says it's a decent place to live, and we'd not be fearin' for our lives or worryin' for our souls.”

“An apartment? Here in Sacramento?”

“Aye, and why do ya sound so surprised?” Kiernan questioned. “Did ya think I'd let us go on livin' with the Judahs forever?”

“Why, no, I thought—” She refused to finish. It might make Kiernan feel terrible to know exactly what she had feared he was saying.

But he knew.

“Ya thought I was goin' to move us off to distant parts again, didn't ya, now?”

She drew a deep breath and contemplated whether to be honest with him. He was only now acting like his old self. She didn't want to lose that, yet she didn't want to lie to him either. “I just didn't know what you had planned for us. I was hoping we could stay close to Anna and Ted.”

“Yar a terrible liar,” Kiernan said, his thumb gently rubbing her jaw. “I know what yar afraid of, and I'm makin' ya a promise here and now. They want me for the railroad, and I'm of a mind to help them out. So at least for a good long while, we'll be stayin' right here in Sacramento. That is, if it meets with yar approval.”

She smiled and reached up to take hold of his hand, kissing his fingers lightly. “Thank you, Kiernan. I can't express what it means to me. Anna and Ted have been so good to us, and I've so enjoyed their company.”

“Aye, and for sure I know ya have. Ya deserve to have it better, but 'tis all I can give ya right now.”

Victoria heard the emotion in his voice and turned more fully in his arms. “It's enough, my love. It's enough.”

19

“What a wonderful hotel!” Jordana declared, bouncing in an unladylike fashion upon the end of the double bed. “I can't believe we have found such a fine hotel here in Chicago. The porters were so attentive. Did you see the way they simply whisked our possessions up here and wouldn't let us lift a hand to help? Don't you just love it!”

Brenton shook his head. “I wish I knew what Billy was thinking by sending us to Chicago.”

“The railroad commissioners are meeting here, silly,” Jordana reminded him.

“I know that much,” Brenton admitted. “But Billy doesn't want any of them to know we're at all connected to him. He and his investors want no attention, and I can't help but wonder why.”

“Powerful men are always seekin' their fortunes in secrecy,” Caitlan said, carefully lifting her suitcase from the floor to the broad window ledge.

“I know.” Brenton's voice reflected his worry. What must Caitlan and Jordana think of him? “I'm afraid I won't be of much use to you two. Billy has arranged for me to assume my photography duties. I'm to take pictures of the gatherings, appeal to the commissioners' sense of importance, and listen to whatever talk they offer.”

“And what talk will they offer?” Jordana jumped up and retrieved the case that had been placed by the door.

Brenton shrugged. “As I understand it, they are to settle the issue of the location for starting the Union Pacific Railroad. Billy's instructions were quite clear. I am to learn all I can regarding the actual starting point for the railroad. I suppose he will want to buy more land there than in some of the other places we've considered.”

“Boring places, if you ask me,” Jordana replied. “Such quiet, sleepy little towns. People must perish from boredom out here in the West.”

“They aren't perishing from boredom in Minnesota,” Brenton replied. “I read not long ago that the Sioux Indians have been on some sort of uprising. It's rumored that hundreds of people were killed in September, and more are surely to perish this winter.”

“How awful,” Caitlan murmured.

Jordana stared in surprise. “Truthfully?”

“Would I jest about such a grave issue?” Brenton snapped. “You pride yourself on being an intelligent woman. Why don't you entertain yourself with learning what's going on around you?” He immediately wished he'd said nothing. He hadn't meant to get angry at her. It wasn't Jordana's fault, after all. Here they were hundreds of miles from home, and the only news of the land surrounding them and farther west was bad. The war continued to rage long after many had predicted its end. He carried with him not only worry for his family and friends endangered by the conflict but also the nearer anxiety for the journey on which he had brought Jordana and Caitlan. They had been able to come thus far by train, but from here on out their travel would become far more primitive. He constantly questioned his wisdom.

In addition to this, he had found communication lines with their solicitor nearly shut down due to the war, not to mention other natural factors. And in the midst of this worry, Billy had forwarded word that G.W. was not recovering from his illness.

Brenton had said nothing to Jordana. He knew she had been deeply wounded when, shortly before they departed New York, Billy had told her that in spite of his trying to reason with G.W. concerning her need for freedom, his brother refused to reinstate correspondence with Jordana. He told Jordana that G.W. had ceased to be the man she'd once known. Brenton thought from Billy's point of view this knowledge would somehow make it easier for Jordana, but instead it only pierced her heart more deeply. How could he possibly tell her that G.W. was continuing to fail? Surely in time, he would recover. They had only to find the proper doctor and cure, and perhaps with so much time to think, G.W. might even come to terms with his feelings and send Jordana a letter. There was no sense in worrying her until Brenton knew more about the situation and G.W.'s condition. Still, he hated not telling her. Seeing her there so trusting of him, so confident in their mission, Brenton felt a weight of guilt in keeping this secret.

Brenton decided he had to leave before he revealed more of his own fears than he already had. He had to escape the girls' searching expressions, looking so to him for wisdom and direction. “Look, my room is next door—it adjoins your own,” Brenton finally said. “I'm going to prepare a few things for the meeting. Why don't you girls have a bit of a rest?”

He walked briskly to the adjoining door and slipped the key into the lock. “See here, it's unlocked now and I will leave it thus. Close it for your own privacy, but know that should you need me, you have only to call for me.”

He didn't wait for their response, even though he knew his abruptness might betray his anxiety. He prayed they would believe he was simply wrapped up in issues of railroads and terminus sites. Brenton figured the less they knew about the war and their family and friends, the easier the separation from home would be.

He pulled the door shut behind him and glanced around his room. The porter had stacked all of his photography equipment in a neat pile at the end of the bed. Brenton hoped everything remained in proper working order. If he had learned one thing, it was that life as a photographer had been much easier when the equipment was mostly confined to a photography studio.

Slipping out of his brown frock coat, Brenton loosened his tie and detached his collar. He would have to see about having it washed and starched, along with the cuffs. Vanderbilt would expect him to look his best, but there was no sense in going overboard with too many frivolous expenditures. He could brush the dust from the coat himself and give his own boots a bit of a shine. He knew Caitlan could manage the washing—probably the starching, as well, if given a chance to find the necessary tools for the job—but he didn't like to impose that kind of work upon her. He wanted her to feel equal to him and Jordana. He wanted her to know that he saw her as a woman to be cared for and protected—just as he did his sister. Of course, his thoughts about Caitlan were anything but those of a brother for a sister. She had grown more lovely in his eyes as each day passed, but he said nothing to her. He couldn't even consider speaking to her of his feelings, especially in light of the fact that they'd been upon the road for Billy Vanderbilt for only a month and were scarcely a third of the way through their journey to reunite Caitlan with her brother. It would appear improper, not to mention awkward, to travel as they have been if he made such declarations. But her position regarding God also caused him to hestate, for this was an important issue to him.

When Brenton's last attempt to contact the solicitor via telegraph had proved fruitless, he had apologized to the girls for their predicament. He had no idea where Victoria and Kiernan lived, given that the last letter the solicitor had managed to forward to him had spoken of another move. That letter was nearly six months old, and it seemed foolish to try to locate them based on nothing more certain than this.

Caitlan had actually laughed off the entire affair. She reminded Brenton that she didn't even know Kiernan, and that her escape to America, and secondly, from New York, had been the true driving force behind her travels. Two weeks earlier when they had made a brief stop in Pittsburgh, Brenton had shown Caitlan a telegram from Billy in which he had explained how his father had never intended to have Caitlan arrested. The commodore had found it most amusing that the housekeeper had planned to use the watch incident to rid herself of her main competition for the old commodore's affections, namely Caitlan. Caitlan had been less than amused but was relieved to know there was no wanted poster bearing her likeness in New York City.

The stuffy air in the hotel room seemed to stifle creative thinking, and ridding himself of his waistcoat, Brenton opened a window and stuck his head out into the cold night air. He needed to think—to formulate a plan.

Vanderbilt wanted as much information as Brenton could absorb. Brenton found it fairly obvious that Billy's team of associates could position themselves in the key cities being considered as a starting point for the Union Pacific, and could thus buy up a good deal of the valuable property even before the railroad began laying track. What Brenton didn't fully understand was why Billy wanted it all hush-hush.

Perhaps Billy feared that if the commodore caught wind of his schemes he would do what he could to thwart Billy's efforts. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. Billy had told him of a time when the commodore had purposely advised Billy to take a certain action with his railroad stock—but Billy, knowing his father's competitive and sometimes mean nature, did exactly the opposite of what his father had suggested. The end result was that Billy made thousands of dollars instead of losing his shirt, and the commodore had amusingly told his friends that there might be hope for the old beetlehead, after all.

Brenton couldn't imagine such attitudes and actions between father and son. His own father had always been good to guide Brenton. He could trust his father to have only his best interests at heart when attempting to offer suggestions or direction in affairs related to becoming a man. How Brenton wished he were here now to guide him. Of course, had James Baldwin been in residence when Jordana had talked Brenton into this scheme, they might not be in this Chicago hotel seeking secrets like the good spies they had become.

Spies.

The word reminded Brenton of his run-in with Nathan Cabot back in Virginia. It seemed like a hundred years ago. He wondered how Nathan was faring. Wondered, too, about the rest of the family—family he'd not seen in years—family he might not ever see again.

The Civil War was almost like a distant nightmare now. The paper wrote of it and people fussed about it, but even before their arrival in Chicago, nothing had seemed very real about the conflict. People spoke of battles and of loved ones who'd gone off to join in the affair, but to Brenton they seemed not to fully understand the impact of the situation. Some were almost jubilant to have some link to the ruckus. Didn't they realize how deadly war could be?

“Father, I wish you were here with me,” Brenton said sadly. Below him the streetlights flickered hypnotically and carriages moved, sometimes three abreast, as people hurried from one place to another.

“You would tell me what to do and how to go about making confidants of strangers.” He smiled to himself. “Or you'd berate me for ever allowing Jordana to set us upon this course.”

He shook his head. It wasn't fair to blame this on Jordana. She might have pushed for the adventure, but she wasn't totally selfish in her desires. He knew that if no one else in the world cared about his dreams, Jordana would support them to the death. She loved him and he knew this. They had grown up to appreciate each other, to solicit each other's advice, and to comfort each other in their losses.

No, he wouldn't blame Jordana. Not wholly. She had the adventurous spirit that he lacked. He had the vision and the dream but often found himself void of the nerve. Jordana quickly filled that void with her own enthusiasm and encouragement. She sometimes made him feel as though she looked down on him as a younger brother, instead of an older one, but she never meant it to be cruel. She had merely assumed a role he had allowed her to play. How could he fault her for that?

Yawning, he put down the window and stretched. Tomorrow he would face the challenge of ferreting out information for Billy Vanderbilt, but tonight he longed only for the comforts of home. He pulled off his boots and lay back on the soft bed. He really should check out the equipment and make certain that nothing was broken.

He yawned again. Chicago would no doubt have easy access to anything he needed, should anything be damaged. And since Billy Vanderbilt was picking up the tab . . .

His mind drifted into hazy sleep, while the weight of the world and all his assumed responsibilities pinned him to the bed. Adventure was an exhausting companion.