Westward the Dream (25 page)

He was out the door and halfway down the steps when he heard her call after him to come back. This infuriated him even more. To imagine that she would be in defense of Thorndike's unforgivable actions was more than he wanted to contend with.

Slamming the front door and making his way down the street, it suddenly dawned on him that he had no idea where Thorndike lived. This sobered him in a way that nothing else could have. How ridiculous it seemed to be traipsing about the city, looking to pick a fight with a man, and having no idea where the man could even be found. He would have laughed at himself had the situation not been so serious.

This isn't about Thorndike, he finally allowed himself to realize. Thorndike should never have been an issue, but then perhaps if Kiernan would have been a better husband and listened to the needs of his wife, she wouldn't have been enticed by the dashing man's attention.

Turning, Kiernan forced his hands into his trouser pockets and made his way slowly back to the apartment. What was he to do?

He climbed the steps very reluctantly and, with each movement of his foot, wondered how he could possibly explain his heart to Victoria. It seemed logical to just spill out his thoughts, but women were queer creatures. Sometimes they reacted to the silliest things, while other issues of graver importance were cast aside in indifference. If he explained to her the fears and inadequacies he faced every day, would she understand? Or would she shrug them off and call him foolish for his thinking? He didn't think he could stand it if she found his thoughts to be senseless and foolish.

He came into the apartment and immediately spied her sitting on the sofa, tears streaming down her face. He drew a deep breath and tried to force his own emotions into order.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I know yar thinkin' me a big fool.”

“No, not really,” Victoria replied in a barely audible voice.

“I saw the flowers and it reminded me all over of how I'd failed ya at the dance. I should've been with ya and I'm sorry.”

She looked up and nodded. “I'm sorry too.”

But Kiernan noted something in her demeanor. A stiffness, an unyielding spirit that seemed to mask her pain. This wasn't over. He knew it without her having to say a word. The issue wasn't Thorndike, but for the present, Thorndike seemed to be all that either one was willing to deal with.

27

Victoria couldn't shake the depression that engulfed her in the week following her argument with Kiernan. She longed to put the matter behind her, but her heart kept reminding her that their fight had had very little to do with her indiscretions at the party. In fact, Kiernan had made it clear that she had done nothing wrong. This made her feel only marginally better, but still the guilt worked at her. She alone knew the thoughts that had been on her heart as Thorndike had shown her attention.

Determined to focus on something other than her misery, she set about to clean her house. She swept the floors and dusted their few pieces of furniture, but the fact that the apartment needed so little cleaning only magnified the emptiness of her life. She went into the bedroom and began rearranging dresser drawers. That done, she turned her attention to the trunk. Perhaps some of the summer clothing she had stored there needed mending. The hot season would be upon them in no time.

But rummaging through the trunk, Victoria found an item she had forgotten all about. It was a small quilt top she had started years ago on her journey from Baltimore to California. Her heart clenched as she remembered with what wonderful hopes she had begun the project. In honor of the home she was leaving, she had chosen to do a Baltimore Album quilt. Each appliqué block was to represent something special to her and Kiernan. A wreath of four-leaf clovers for Ireland, a basket of daisies—Victoria's favorite flowers—a circle of railroad track with little cars. That's as far as she had gotten. Actually, the train was not even half finished. Victoria had lost interest after that, or rather, she had lost heart for it. It was supposed to be for her baby. A baby that had never come. As they'd moved from one mining settlement to another, Victoria had packed and repacked the unfinished quilt to take it along with them.

It seemed silly to keep it, in light of the fact that Victoria now felt confident there would never be a baby to wrap it around. But it seemed even more foolish to keep the thing put away and idle in a trunk at the foot of her bed.

Smoothing the pieces out, Victoria smiled at her own perfect stitches. Her mother had marveled at the way she had taken to sewing, something Carolina had never really mastered. It had been their housekeeper Miriam who had taught Victoria. She had loved quilting from the start—the creativity, the skill, and the immense satisfaction with the finished results. It wasn't until that moment that Victoria began to realize just how long it had been since she'd done any real sewing. She'd mended Kiernan's shirts and pants, taken in or let out her own dresses and skirts, but mostly it was the kind of work that required no real skill. She had chided Anna for paying Li extra money to make over the hand-me-down gowns, when she herself could have performed the task for free. But Anna had reminded Victoria that the young girl needed all the money she could get. Li was yet another immigrant who hoped to bring her family to America, and money was as good as a ticket.

Victoria focused once more on the quilt top. Perhaps she should finish it off for Li. But even as the thought came to mind, Victoria knew she could never do that. This quilt was for
her
baby—not someone else's. Lovingly, she studied the pieces. The fabric had come from many of her own girlhood dresses. Most of the colors were pastel and dainty, most befitting of a young girl. Victoria had worried that perhaps it would be too feminine in the event a son was born to them instead of a daughter. That's when Kiernan had suggested the “train” block. After all, they both hoped to have a son as their firstborn. But now she'd gladly take a boy or a girl, and it seemed unimportant that the quilt might not be exactly perfect.

Tears came to her eyes. She drew the pieces to her heart as though drawing her infant there. Oh, God, she prayed, please send me a child. A baby of my own. That's all I ask.

A knock at the front door drew her attention away from her pleadings. She put the pieces aside and, sniffing back tears, tried her best to dry her eyes.

Opening the door, Victoria was surprised to find her landlord on the other side. “I have a couple of letters for you,” the man announced, shoving the envelopes forward.

Victoria took the much-welcomed mail and smiled. “Thank you so much.”

The man muttered something incoherent and shuffled down the hall to continue his deliveries. Victoria didn't mind that he wasn't the type to make small talk. She was too excited about the letters in her hands. Mail rarely came to them with all their moving around, and glancing down to read the script, she felt her heart skip a beat at the unmistakable handwriting of her mother.

Hurrying to the table, Victoria put the other letter down and opened her mother's missive with great delight. It had been over a year since she'd had any word from anyone back east.

Dearest Victoria,

Lest we seem remiss in our communications, I must apologize and tell you of our circumstances. We returned to America in February, only to find that Baltimore had become a city of great unrest. The war has escalated to a point that gave your father great fear for the safety of his children and thus has hastened our return home.

Our solicitor, Mr. Marcum, passed away some weeks ago, and in his passing, a great deal was left undone. I suppose this war is to blame for much of it, but in spite of this, there have come several issues to my attention that I felt should be shared with you.

The most important is that Brenton and Jordana have taken it upon their shoulders to leave New York and journey west with Kiernan's sister Caitlan.

Victoria gasped. Kiernan's sister was in America! But when had this happened and why hadn't anyone notified them? Victoria thought of the letters she'd sent to the solicitor and realized quickly that the man had probably been too ill to forward word of their ever-changing location to Kiernan's family in Ireland. She quickly read on.

We haven't a fixed location on where Brenton and Jordana are at the present. Apparently they are working on some photography project of Brenton's, or so the correspondence he's forwarded would imply. Your father is even now trying to get information regarding their precise whereabouts. We've had no word of York or Virginia and feel rather hard-pressed as we pray for our scattered family.

The rest of the letter was mostly news about their time abroad and how much Carolina missed Victoria. She also expressed her worries about the war and concluded the letter by giving Victoria a new address for them in New York City. It seemed that her mother and father both felt New York would be safer than remaining in Baltimore or Washington.

Victoria reread the letter twice before settling back to consider the contents. Caitlan was somewhere in America, making her way to California. In fact, her own brother and sister were accompanying her. How wonderful it would be to see Brenton and Jordana again! They had both been children when Victoria had headed west, and now they would be grown.

Then a worrisome thought came to mind. How long had they been making the journey? When had they started, and by what means were they making their way west? The letter said nothing of this.

Her first reaction had been to give Kiernan the news of his sister's arrival in America, but with these thoughts spinning through her head, Victoria began to wonder if that would be foolish. He already had so much to worry about, and if she told him that Caitlan and Brenton and Jordana were somewhere en route to California—well, he might insist on going out to meet them. And even if he didn't, Victoria knew there would be no living with him until he knew they were safely in his care.

She folded the letter and put it in her pocket. Perhaps it would be better to say nothing. She picked up the other envelope and began to open it. The only writing on the outside was a feminine penning of her own name.

Victoria,

Please meet me for lunch at the Tea Room on J street. Eleven-thirty.

Anna

What fun! Victoria thought. It was so like Anna to do something like this to boost her spirits. She glanced at the clock and was startled to see that it was already eleven o'clock. She would have to hurry to get ready in order to meet Anna on time.

She took Anna's invitation and the letter from her mother and tucked both inside the quilt pieces and put them back into the trunk. Kiernan would never think to go snooping there, so the news about Caitlan would be safe for a time. She wondered how she could possibly keep the issue from her husband until Caitlan's arrival, but then she thought of the fact that he would no doubt be joining Charlie Crocker up at Donner Pass for most of the spring and summer. That should give the trio more than enough time to make their way to California, she surmised.

Dressing in her favorite lavender afternoon dress, Victoria struggled to get the last few buttons done up. It was always nice to dress when Kiernan was present in order to have him help her, but she knew he wasn't due home until later that day and would have to make do herself. Finally accomplishing the task, Victoria carefully styled her hair and pinned a net around the bulk of it. Feeling quite smart, she pulled on white gloves, again a discard of Anna Judah, and took up her small purse. She hadn't been treated to luncheon out since the last time Anna had gotten the idea for them to share the afternoon in fashionable splendor. No doubt they would walk to one of the parks and enjoy the fine spring day after dining on delicacies from the Tea Room.

Victoria hurried down the stairs, then forced herself to calm. There was no sense in making a spectacle of herself. She felt a surge of excitement, however. A day out, a wonderful letter from home—it was all enough to help spring her from her depressed state. She would simply forget about the concerns of the day and enjoy herself. There would be plenty of time to take up her miseries when the evening came.

The Tea Room had been designed as a fashionable gathering place for ladies of society. Victoria felt quite honored when the maitre d' appeared and led her to a small, secluded table. A fine Irish linen cloth graced the top, and at the center of this was a small bouquet of carnations and lilies of the valley. Victoria allowed the man to seat her and waited in awe for Anna to appear.

The establishment had several rooms, most with only a few tables per area in order to give the diners a feeling of privacy and leisure. Victoria immediately relaxed and remembered with fondness a place she and her mother had loved to frequent in Baltimore. They had gone shopping for her bridal trousseau and paused in the midst of their mounting purchases to enjoy lunch together. These were the memories Victoria faced with bittersweetness, for they both bolstered her soul and discouraged her heart all at the same time.

“I wasn't sure you would come.”

The masculine voice caused Victoria to start. She looked up to find Christopher Thorndike standing over her table.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing herself to sound unconcerned by his presence.

Thorndike grinned conspiratorially and took the seat opposite her at the small table. “I suppose some explanation is in order,” he said, his dark eyes piercing her facade of control.

“I'm afraid you can't stay here,” Victoria began. “I'm meeting a friend.”

“Yes, I know. Anna Judah.”

He said the words so matter-of-factly that Victoria instantly knew she was in trouble. “You sent the invitation.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, leaning forward. “I inquired around and learned you and Mrs. Judah were friends. I knew you would not have come to meet me under any other circumstance.”

“And Anna is not coming?” Victoria already knew the answer.

“No.”

He seemed to challenge her with his expression. Victoria knew in that moment she should get up and leave. She realized, too, that Thorndike expected her to make one move or another—to either accept his scandalous behavior or snub him and leave, as was her right.

His expression softened. “Please don't be angry with me. I couldn't help myself.”