Separate Roads (23 page)

“This town is changing more rapidly than anything I’ve ever known,” Brenton finally replied. He drew a deep breath and continued their pace. “Change is inevitable.”

“I suppose you mean that for us as well as for Omaha,” Jordana replied, not really hoping to bait him but rather to hear how he might clarify his statement.

He nodded. “I think it’s quite possible. Still, I can’t join the Union army.”

“You’ve mentioned that twice, but as I said, this militia will fight Indians, not the Confederacy.”

Brenton shook his head. “I’ve had it on good authority that many of these so-called Indian attacks are very possibly southern rebels under the guise of natives.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Several citizens claim to have seen Confederate guerrillas on the banks of the Missouri just south of town. They say there are caves down there and plenty of places to hide. Some believe an entire armed force is being put together for a raid against Omaha. Some say that the attacks along the Platte have been aided by southern influence.”

“I suppose anything is possible.” Jordana didn’t want Brenton in the army, for his own safety, but she also had a selfish motive. Should he join, he would most certainly send her back to their parents. He might think of her as a child and hover over her annoyingly, but though she’d never admit it to him, this situation was better than the far greater confinement she’d find in her parents’ home and in the more civilized New York or Baltimore. She needed to remain independent, to prove that she could take care of herself.

That afternoon Jordana sat quietly beside Brenton in the town grange hall. She had changed from her prim-and-proper blue serge suit to a more casual afternoon gown of goldenrod calico. Caitlan had helped her make the gown, and usually Jordana only wore it for special occasions and church. Jordana figured this was as special as any. After all, it wasn’t every day that you sat as audience to the governor of the territory.

“These are troubled times, my fellow citizens,” the governor began. “Troubled times indeed. Bloody battles rage to the east of us, tearing this country in two. The war divides loyalties and assets, families and friends, and threatens to engulf every single person on this great soil before its hatred is spent.” There were several calls of agreement from the audience before the governor could continue.

“We are witnessing the possible demise of our own future. The Civil War continues to the east, while Indian wars intensify to the west and north. We came to this great frontier knowing there would be a risk—praying we might live in peace, but that is not to be had. Not without a price.

“Just last evening a group of settlers, fleeing for their lives, found refuge here in Omaha. They were attacked by a band of Indians not more than fifteen miles to our west. For all we know, Omaha is next.”

The excitement in the crowd intensified. Jordana noted Damon Chittenden several rows ahead of her. She had worked to avoid being alone with him at the bank, but sometimes that had been impossible. He continued to apologize for his behavior during their carriage ride, but there was no longer any appeal for her in his boyish charm and good looks. Instead, a subtle fear had replaced whatever kind thought Jordana might have held for him—fear that he might well impose his will on her, as he had so chillingly declared he’d impose it upon poor Homer Stanley.

Jordana tried to listen to the governor’s ramblings. She wondered how much truth there was in the accounts of the attack. All of the settlers in question had escaped unharmed and were praised as they sat in the front row of the meeting hall as the finest examples of the true pioneer spirit. The First Nebraska Cavalry had ridden out at dawn with instructions to reclaim the settlements on the banks of the Elkhorn, but it would be hours before anyone would have the slightest clue as to what was happening out there.

“Therefore,” the governor continued, “I am calling for all able-bodied men between the ages of eighteen and forty-five to take up arms immediately and form a militia for the protection of our great town and its people. This militia will drill every Saturday to ensure readiness. We hope this, coupled with our cavalry, will cause the heathen marauders to think twice about attacking.

“We will secure our town from outside attack, making certain that our citizens are safe. You can help by staying close to the protection of our soldiers. If we stand together in strength, we will see the defeat of our enemies. Furthermore, we will see our men put into the fields and form a cooperative with our territory’s great forts. We will not be driven from the land as cowards, but rather will fight to the last drop of blood!”

Thunderous applause brought the crowd to its feet. The men of Omaha were ready to meet the demands set upon them. At least, all of them were ready save one. Jordana felt sorry for Brenton. He rose to keep from appearing out of order with the crowd, but he could not bring himself to applaud this announcement.

Nervously, she readjusted the ties on her bonnet and waited for the crowd to disburse. Brenton seemed eager to return home, and Jordana couldn’t blame him. There were decisions to be made, and no doubt her own life would be forever changed because of them.

“Mr. Baldwin, Miss Baldwin,” Damon Chittenden said, coming to them through the crowd. “What say you of this news? Is it not exciting?”

Jordana stiffened against her brother, hoping that Brenton wouldn’t make too much of her reaction. Brenton nodded rather hesitantly.

“I suppose one could say it is that,” he replied.

“We won’t have to worry about the threat of Indians now.” Damon seemed practically lighthearted.

Jordana swallowed a sarcastic retort and instead allowed Brenton to speak. “I suppose we must be ever concerned,” Brenton said thoughtfully, “yet I hardly see the necessity of forced service.”

Damon nodded. “I know exactly what you’re saying, Baldwin. Decent men need not be forced to support their property and loved ones.”

Jordana had no desire to see Brenton drawn into the conversation any deeper. She might hold a grudge for his attitude toward her independence, but she’d not force him to endure the likes of Damon Chittenden.

“Brenton, I have a fearsome headache. Do you suppose we could retire to home?”

Brenton looked at her with grave concern. “Of course.” He turned to Chittenden. “Please excuse us. It seems my sister has taken ill.”

Chittenden eyed her with obvious interest, but Jordana lowered her gaze quickly and clung to Brenton’s arm. She knew she could hold her own with Damon, but her mind was overwhelmed with sudden thoughts of his scheming. She now knew him to be ruthless, not merely driven or motivated by success.

——

As the week drew to an end and the dreaded Saturday militia practice loomed over them, Jordana sought to comfort her brother.

“Simply refuse to show up,” she suggested. “This town has grown enough that it should take a fair piece of time until someone notices that you aren’t there. I mean, there’s absolute madness out there. People are coming into town in record numbers, many from the surrounding areas. No one would even notice that you weren’t there.”

“There will no doubt be some sort of register or count. Besides, what about Matt and Ann, next door? Matt’s going to realize I’m not there.”

“You could always level with them. He seems like a sensible man. Besides,” she shrugged, “we’re only here temporarily. Just don’t go to the practice, and if anyone questions you, tell them you plan to leave with the survey team on the Union Pacific.”

“I can’t just avoid it forever,” Brenton replied. “I think the only solution is to leave town for good and give up on this idea of working with the UP.”

“But I’m not ready to go,” Jordana declared.

“I don’t see any other way.”

“What of Caitlan?” It was a bit heartless of her to pull this trump card, but it was a valid concern.

Brenton frowned and got up from the table. Their early supper had held little interest to either of them. Brenton stewed and fretted over his decision, and Jordana deliberated over hers. Food could hardly compensate for their worries.

“We need to talk to her,” Brenton finally stated. “We need to press this issue home and help her to realize that the situation needs to be resolved.” He turned and looked at her with such longing in his eyes that Jordana could sense his desperation. “It will have to be you. You’ll have to go talk to her. She won’t listen to me.”

“Nonsense. She adores you.”

“No, not anymore. I’m the reason she left,” Brenton said miserably. “I’m sure she would find it unpleasant to speak to me on the matter, but if you were to go . . .” He left the rest unsaid, and Jordana sighed in frustration.

“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

He looked at her surprised. “I did. That’s why she left.”

Jordana shook her head. “She left because you spoke dishonorably about her family. You held yourself up as a better caretaker of your loved ones than Kiernan has been of her.”

“That’s not why she left, Jordana,” Brenton replied stiffly.

“No? Then suppose you explain.”

He shook his head. “It’s over, and that’s enough said. What I need now is for you to go tell her of the situation.”

A knock sounded on the front door, and Jordana waited to comment until Brenton could go see who it was. Damon Chittenden stood on the other side, looking quite pleased with himself, his flat-crowned hat in one hand, a thick envelope in the other. He was dressed smartly, as usual, in a suit of tan broadcloth. The outfit had been tailored exactly to his medium height and weight, and the black satin-striped silk waistcoat gave an expensive finish to the ensemble.

“Good evening,” he said, giving Brenton the slightest bow. “I chanced upon the postman. He had this for you, so I promised to deliver it, since I was coming here anyway.”

Brenton took the envelope and motioned Chittenden inside. “That was good of you. What else brings you here tonight?”

“Ah, right to the point, Brenton? Good, let’s dispense with the niceties and get right down to business. I suppose that’s just as well.” He grinned at Jordana, leaving her feeling slightly ill. Her day at the bank had been acceptable only because Damon had been off on business in Council Bluffs. It was just her luck that he would return and deem it necessary to spoil her evening.

“What business is that?” Brenton asked, with a cursory glance at the envelope.

“I’d like to ask for permission to escort your sister to dinner,” he replied.

“Well, as you can see for yourself, Chittenden, we’ve just eaten.”

Damon’s expression became downcast. He eyed the table as if to confirm Brenton’s words, then nodded. “I see.”

Jordana took that moment to get to her feet. She began clearing the table, ignoring Damon as she went to work. She murmured a silent prayer of thanks that she and Brenton had decided on such an early meal.

“Then perhaps I might make an even bolder request,” Damon continued. “It has long been my intention to speak to you on a much more serious matter.”

Jordana felt the nerves in her neck tingle. She turned very slowly to see Brenton eye Damon silently before speaking.

“What serious matter is there between us?”

Damon cleared his throat nervously and smiled. “I’d like to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”

Jordana heard the dish crash to the floor and shatter before she ever realized she had dropped it. How could he just come into her home and make such a nonsensical statement? Marriage indeed!

“I’m afraid, Mr. Chittenden, I am not the right one to speak to on that matter.”

Jordana felt a bit of renewed admiration for Brenton. Apparently he respected her feelings after all. But with his next statement, he put her back to brooding.

“Our father is the only one who could issue that kind of permission, and he’s in New York City.”

“Our father has little to say on the matter either!” Jordana exclaimed. Grabbing up her skirts, she made a great show of stepping over the broken pieces of the dish. “I have told you before, Mr. Chittenden. I’m not of a mind to marry anyone at this time and place. Now, please be so good as to leave our home.” Because subtlety hadn’t worked, she hoped downright rudeness would finally discourage this man.

Damon’s sorrowful expression didn’t fool Jordana for one minute. She now knew him to be a master of emotional performance. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes with challenge.

“But I was hoping—”

“It might be best if you discussed this another time,” Brenton quickly interjected with a wilting glance at his sister. He stepped forward to open the door. “Thank you for bringing the post.”

Chittenden appeared to consider the situation for a moment before nodding somberly and heading for the door. “Very well. Another time, then.”

Jordana waited until he was gone before bending down to pick up the broken crockery. “The nerve of that man! How dare he come here like that and suggest such a thing. And you, standing there all pretty as you please, telling him he needs to talk to our father.”

“Well, our father isn’t here, now, is he?” Brenton replied, sitting back down at the table to open the envelope.

“What does that have to do with it? You humiliated me.”

“I figured that was the best way to handle the man. He could hardly fault us for suggesting such a thing, and it would clearly bring his plans to a grinding halt. But you had to go and open your mouth in protest.”

Jordana threw the dish into the trash bin and turned to retrieve the rest of the things from the table. She hadn’t considered that it was this and not Brenton’s possessive nature that had caused his response. Reluctantly, she had to admit it was an inspired ploy.

“I suppose that makes sense. I’m sorry,” she stated briskly. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel sorry for having jumped to the wrong conclusion, but it irritated her that Brenton’s defense should have been so readily acceptable. No one questioned that a woman’s father should be the one to oversee her courtship. With a great exhale of breath, Jordana counted herself fortunate that her father was of the mind to have his children marry for love. It also helped to have a progressively minded mother.