Westward the Dream (5 page)

“Jordana, I consider you a fine figure of a woman,” G.W. began. “You make me laugh. You are intelligent and help me to think matters through, yet you have a gentleness to your nature that few women could claim.”

“I think you're nice, too, G.W.,” she countered, hoping to keep things light.

“You know full well there's more to this than that.”

Jordana looked up at him and shook her head. “No, I don't. And, furthermore, I don't want there to be more to it.”

G.W. looked puzzled for a moment. “Jordana, I'm twenty-three years old, and once I regain my health, I'll be leaving again to join the war. Being so ill has caused me to rethink my plans. I would like to know that I have someone waiting for my return. Someone who will miss me. Desire my return,” he whispered, taking her hands in his.

Jordana felt the warmth of his touch even through her kid gloves. “Of course we'll desire your return, and Meg and I will continue to write to you.”

G.W. shook his head. “I want you to marry me, Jordana. Marry me before I leave again for the battlefield.”

“What!” she exclaimed louder than she'd intended. “G.W., I'm sixteen years old.”

“That doesn't matter. A lot of women marry at your age. Some even younger.”

“Yes, and a lot more marry when they are older,” Jordana said, trying to pull away. “Let us use them as our example.”

“No,” G.W. replied, tightening his grip. “Hear me out, please.”

Jordana stilled. “All right, but I won't like it and neither will you.”

“But why?” He sounded very much like a little child being refused dessert.

“Because I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else for a good long time,” Jordana answered. “I like my freedom. I cherish the idea of traveling west on my own. Of attending college and learning new things. I watched my mother with the same desires, and she gave them up to marry and have a family. I've listened to her regrets of never being allowed to attend college. I don't want that to happen to me.”

“But you'll be my wife. We'll have more than enough money. We can travel to our hearts' delight. And you can pick up books and experiences wherever you go. I'm not suggesting we end your life, merely that we join both our lives together.”

“It wouldn't work, G.W.,” Jordana replied, trying to find a way to make light of the situation. “I'm not the kind of woman for you. You have too many responsibilities as the son of the commodore. Do you really think anyone would think as much of you if you marry the woman who scaled the walls of Deighton School?”

“Stop it!” G.W. replied. “I'm not making sport here, and I won't brook it from you.”

“But don't you see?” Jordana replied, her hood falling back as G.W. reached out to touch her cheek. “I'm looking for adventure and sport. I do not desire to be your wife. We have something wonderful together. A friendship of grand proportion. Would you put an end to that?”

“Certainly not. I do not propose that we end our friendship, rather that we magnify it with an even deeper intimacy.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and Jordana knew that while she cared deeply for him, could probably allow herself to love him, she wasn't ready to give up her freedom.

“I love you, Jordana. I have loved you almost from the first moment we met. You are so unlike other young women. You have a zest for living and an adventurous heart. You do nothing by halves, but surround and engulf everything you touch. You have touched me that way, and I want to go on knowing that touch . . . and more—” His arms closed around her and he kissed her long and passionately on the mouth.

Jordana tried to give herself over to the kiss. Perhaps there was something in what G.W. said. Perhaps she was fooling herself, and it was only her fear of love that caused her to pull away. But while his kiss was pleasant enough, she found no real enthusiasm for it or his touch. When he pulled back, she looked away, and this time he dropped his hold.

Without waiting for him to say something, Jordana began walking down the path. She knew he would follow—knew, too, that the issue was anything but resolved. For several moments neither one said anything, and then Jordana knew she would have to be firm in her resolve.

“I cannot marry you, G.W. I care greatly for you, but I'm not in love with you or anyone. I cherish our friendship, and I do not relish its loss.”

“There's no need for you to lose it,” he said firmly.

Jordana turned to him. Hopeful, she asked, “Then you understand?”

“I understand that you are afraid of marriage. Perhaps you feel I would be some monster like my father, but I'm not that way. I will give you anything you ask for. If you want a palatial home, I'll have it built. If you want your own island, I'll find it and buy it. Don't you see?” he asked, his voice filled with desperation. “I love you. I want to give you the world.”

“But I don't want the world,” Jordana replied, “not at that price.”

G.W.'s jaw tightened, and Jordana could see the slightest ticking play on his right cheek. Now he was angry.

“I didn't want to hurt your feelings, and I certainly don't desire that you be mad at me,” Jordana began.

“Don't!” G.W. interjected. “Don't even say these things. Either you accept my proposal of marriage and agree to be my wife before I return to the war, or you want nothing of me.”

“What?” Jordana was stunned. Here she had feared the loss of his friendship through marriage, and now he was making it clear that she would lose it without agreeing to marry him.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice firmly resigned. “You either stop this nonsense and agree to marry me, or I'll have nothing further to do with you.”

Never one to be backed against a wall, Jordana balled her hands into fists. “Agh! I can't talk to you like this. You make no sense.” She turned to go, but he grabbed her and turned her back around.

“You can't dismiss me. I may be sick, but I'm not that milksop brother of yours.”

“How dare you insult my brother!”

“He gives you too much freedom and allows you to run him like a horse at the track. I'm a man of considerably more strength.”

“Yes, we all know. You can lift nine hundred pounds. It's in the record book,” Jordana replied sarcastically. “So hold me here forcibly. Pick me up and carry me away, sick though you may be. But you won't get me to agree to marriage just because you're running off to play toy soldiers with your friends.” She knew that was the wrong thing to say, but her own anger was getting the best of her. Mother had once said that anger in and of itself isn't a sin; it's what you do with that anger that causes the iniquity. Now she knew she'd crossed the line. She had only intended to speak harshly in order to hurt G.W. as he had hurt her. Calming, she forced herself to back away from that ugly place. “Forgive me, G.W.,” she whispered, “but I cannot marry you.”

She hurried up the path, but not fast enough.

“If you leave me like this, don't ever expect to hear from me again. I'll go to my grave hating you for what you've done this day.”

Jordana bit her lip to keep from answering. She couldn't reply. Not in the heat of her anger. Not in the rush of emotions that threatened to engulf her.

5

“I don't know what we're supposed to do about the matter of Kiernan's sister,” Brenton said once Jordana had read the letter telling of Caitlan's arrival. They were seated on a bench in the Deighton garden on a fine spring day.

“We must find her a place to stay, at least until the semester is over and we return to Baltimore.”

“That's another thing,” Brenton replied. “We aren't returning to Baltimore. Our solicitor has increased our stipend, and we are to remain in New York.”

“Truly?” Jordana replied, her enthusiasm obvious. “What fun. But why?”

“There is still much civil unrest in Baltimore. Most of the town itself sympathizes with the South, despite the fact that Maryland is devoted to the North—at least on paper.”

“So we are to stay here in order to avoid finding ourselves in the middle of a war? Is that it?”

Brenton nodded. “Apparently so. Uncle York has sent me a second missive, and his feelings are the same as the solicitor's.”

“Well, since Caitlan is arriving within a few days, I suggest we secure a place for her to stay. Maybe you could find something that would either be appropriate for all three of us, or close enough to you that she and I could live alone.”

“Indeed!” Brenton declared and got up to pace along the garden path. “As if I would allow you to live in a city such as this by yourselves.”

“Don't be such a goose about things,” Jordana declared. “I'm sixteen years old and hardly a child anymore.”

“My point exactly. And Caitlan, as far as I can remember from Kiernan's discussions about his brothers and sisters, is very nearly my own age. Two young women living unprotected in New York is completely unacceptable. Mr. Marcum even suggested a governess could be hired—”

“A governess! What does our solicitor know of the matter? Has he forgotten we've managed quite successfully up here on our own?”

“I'm certain he hasn't,” Brenton replied, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I'm sure he has also reasoned that during our time here in New York, you have been under the care of Headmistress Deighton, and I have been under the direction of my employer. The spring session at Deighton will soon come to an end, and Mother and Father will expect that we would return to Baltimore and then on to Oakbridge to stay with Uncle York.” He began pacing again. “No one figured for us to have to stay here in New York.”

“Well, no one figured on the war to get worse either. But don't you see?” Jordana said, getting to her feet. “This will work rather nicely. Caitlan will arrive and need a place to live until we can figure a way to get her to California to be reunited with her brother. We are to remain up here instead of returning home, and with the money allotted us we can easily find a place. Why don't you talk to your landlady and see if she might not have additional rooms for us?”

Brenton paused again and nodded. “That's a capital idea! I think there is an empty room.”

“That way we will have a matronly figure looking over us, and Caitlan will have a place to stay when she first arrives. We will all be together, and there won't be any need to upset your routine. Perhaps your employer will even allow you to stay on and work through the summer.”

Brenton frowned. “He's considering going south to photograph battlefields and warfare. Apparently he has a friend who intends to lecture on the vile repercussions of war and wants as many graphic pictures as he can get his hands on. Even now he's trying to deduce where the next battles might take place.”

“How gruesome,” Jordana said, coming to where Brenton stood. She looped her arm through his and pulled him along with her down the path. “You mustn't allow him to take you along. I won't have you killed on some battlefield.”

“Jordana, there's so much here that confuses me. I have an allegiance to this country and an obligation to support the president.”

“You are barely eighteen. And you have a responsibility to your family. I heard that men who are the sole support of their families don't have to go to war.”

“I'm hardly the sole support. And I can no longer hide behind my age. Did you know many younger than I are joining? They are lying about their ages,” Brenton replied. “In fact, I heard only yesterday that the more enthusiastic are putting the number eighteen in their shoe so that when asked if they are ‘over' eighteen, they don't have to lie.”

Jordana laughed. “It's ingenious, I'll give you that. But I won't allow you to go.”

Brenton shook his head, and Jordana thought he suddenly looked far older than his years. “What is it?” she asked softly.

Brenton pulled away from her and looked around to make certain they were alone. Seeing no one near enough to overhear him, he replied, “I don't want to go. I want to continue my photography and go west. You know, I have always dreamed of this. I want to share the nation with the world through pictures, but I cannot ignore the feelings inside me. Feelings that suggest I am a coward to think the way I do.”

“So you will enlist to prove to yourself that you aren't a coward? What sense is there in that? Either you know yourself to be a coward or not. This action won't change matters either way.”

Brenton looked down at the ground. “I knew you wouldn't understand. You aren't a man.”

“What has that to do with it?”

“Plenty,” Brenton replied, then added sulkily, “I'm sorry I brought it up. It's just that if I should have to follow my conscience and return to Maryland to sign up with the militia, I'll need to arrange for your safety. And now I'll have Caitlan to worry about as well.”

“You aren't going and that's final,” Jordana countered angrily. “I won't have you run off and desert me.”

“It wouldn't be desertion. I'd see you safely to—”

“To where? Oakbridge, in the heart of southern support? Baltimore—which by your own admission is a city in conflict? Perhaps you would see me living with Aunt Virginia in Greigsville. Be reasonable, Brenton. All of our family is either in the thick of it or out of the country. There is no place to send me away to. You must stay and take care of me.”

He looked at her sympathetically. “It is possible to keep you at Deighton. I've already checked into the matter.”

“Brenton Baldwin, how could you even think such a thing!”

“If it meant your well-being, I would bear your wrath and do it.”

“I would run away,” Jordana declared, hands on hips.

Brenton offered her a weak smile. “Well, it isn't something that has to be decided this day. I still have time before my apprenticeship is over. Perhaps you could stay at the boardinghouse, and Mrs. Clairmont would look after both you and Caitlan.”

Jordana instantly forgave his indiscretion. “That would be more reasonable, but I still won't allow you to go.” She took hold of him again. “It's always possible that because of the war we could take advantage of the situation and deal with Caitlan's problem ourselves.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“Well, we could take her west to Kiernan. She wouldn't have to travel alone, and we wouldn't be anywhere near the fighting. It would fulfill our family's suggestion that we stay out of harm's way, and it would solve Caitlan's problem as well.”

“You and me?” Brenton questioned. “You're suggesting that we arrange to take Caitlan from New York to California? It costs money, you know.”

“Yes, but you've already said we would have a healthy stipend. And I know you've saved money from both of our accounts. Surely we would have enough to purchase tickets for as far west as the train goes, and then we could travel with one of those bands of settlers who are moving west. Or we could go by ship.”

Brenton shook his head. “I hardly think it would work. We would be completely out of our element.”

“Don't be so negative. You consider throwing yourself into a war where people are bound to be killed, but you hesitate to participate in the trip of your dreams? Think of what you could accomplish on the way.”

“I can't run away from my obligations,” Brenton replied softly. “I can't just sweep this issue aside because it makes you uncomfortable. I haven't decided what I will do, but it isn't a decision that I will allow my sixteen-year-old sister to make for me.” Jordana pouted and he added, “No matter how intelligent she is.” He smiled at her and continued. “Come now, let us have a good evening together.”

Jordana realized there was little more she could say to convince him. “Would you at least think about the idea?”

Brenton sighed. “All right. I'll at least consider it.”

She gave him a generous smile. “Wonderful. Let's go to supper. I'm positively famished.” Brenton nodded, but Jordana could see the heaviness in his expression. This struggle of conscience would not be easily resolved.