Westward the Dream (26 page)

Victoria felt her armor slip away. “No?” she said, her voice almost a squeak.

He reached across and caught hold of her gloved hand. “I so thoroughly enjoyed your company on the night of the party. You are so different from other women, and I knew I had to see you again. And here you are, more lovely than ever.”

Victoria warmed under his scrutiny. There was something almost mesmerizing about the man, and Victoria found rational thought leave her. “I'm . . . I'm . . . not sure—”

“Not sure of what?” Thorndike interjected the question as though this were nothing more than a passing hello.

“I'm married,” she finally managed to say.

He chuckled softly, causing the hair on the back of her neck to prickle. “Yes, I'm well aware of your Irish-tempered husband. Quite the bully, eh?”

Victoria shook her head, trying to force herself to look away. “He's not.”

“He didn't seem to care at all what you wanted the night of the dance. Why, people at the party were appalled that he should so callously drag you from the room.”

Victoria felt her face grow hot. Her breathing quickened, and for a moment she actually thought she might be sick. “I should go,” she murmured.

“Nonsense. We are in a public establishment, and no one can fault you for having tea with a friend.”

“But you are hardly a friend, Mr. Thorndike.”

He frowned and looked almost hurt by this statement. “I thought us to be at least that.”

Victoria fought against her emotions. She reminded herself of Kiernan's anger over the flowers, but as soon as this thought came to mind, she also remembered that he had apologized. He had told her there was nothing wrong in her behavior. It wasn't the same as saying that it had been acceptable for Thorndike to send the flowers, but it assuaged her guilt for the words she uttered next.

“I suppose we can be friendly acquaintances.”

He tightened his hold, and only then did Victoria realize that he still held her hand. “Perhaps we can be infinitely more.”

“No, that wouldn't be proper,” Victoria replied, pulling her hand away from his. “Mr. Thorndike, my husband does not approve of your attention toward me.”

“No doubt,” the man replied and leaned back in his chair. “I show him up.”

“What?”

“I make him see where he fails to meet your need.”

Victoria knew Kiernan already felt inadequate. Perhaps that was the reason for his anger at Thorndike's actions. It wasn't that she had done anything improper—at least, not by western society. But Thorndike made Kiernan feel remiss in having spent the evening sequestered away with his railroad cronies. Victoria suddenly felt a weight of guilt removed from her shoulders. If Kiernan felt guilty for having left her to her own devices, then why should that be her problem?

“Victoria,” Thorndike said her name softly—seductively—foregoing any pretense at formality. “I didn't come here to discuss your husband. I merely wanted to see you again. I enjoy talking with a woman of intelligence, and I find your interest in the railroad to be fascinating. Please agree to stay to lunch with me. I promise nothing improper will happen.”

Victoria realized she was being foolish. They were in a public place, albeit a rather secluded one. But it wouldn't be long before other diners gathered in their little alcove.

“All right,” she found herself replying. “Just this once.”

He smiled, his dark eyes gleaming. “Just this once.”

Nearly two hours later, Victoria was amazed to find that the time had slipped away so quickly. She was also surprised by the fact that no one else had come to join them in their room. The two other tables had remained conspicuously empty.

Thorndike had asked her a million questions. Furthermore, he'd openly and honestly listened to her answers. Victoria found herself confiding things in him that she would never have thought to share with another man. She told him of her homesickness, of longing to see Washington and Baltimore and her family. She shared her worries about the Civil War and how dreadful it was to think that she had family on both sides of the issue. Thorndike had been sympathetic and reassuring, explaining to her the details of several battles and how unlikely it would be that any of these would cause harm to her beloved cities or loved ones. She thought perhaps he had simplified things a bit too much, treating her as though she were too precious to be burdened with the truth. But she almost preferred that to knowing the details that frightened her so much. Kiernan, who rarely shared any conversation with her these days unless it pertained to the railroad, was always quite forthright with his opinions. He never seemed overly worried that his comments might cause her grief, whereas Thorndike seemed to care greatly.

She refrained from allowing him to escort her home, reminding him that to be seen together would imply something other than the truth. She left him standing by the table, a warm, deliciously pleasant smile upon his face and an intriguing gleam in his eye.

“Until we meet again,” he whispered and kissed her hand.

Victoria shook her head. “That mustn't happen, Mr. Thorndike. For reasons of which we are both very much aware.”

She exited the Tea Room and breathed deeply of the afternoon air. What had she done? She felt her breath come in quick gasps as she considered how her actions would be perceived by anyone who had witnessed her that day in the restaurant. Why did she have to feel so confused? How was it that this man could disarm all of her convictions with a single glance?

She picked up her pace and was determined to go see Anna. She had to have someone else's perspective on this, and Anna would be the only one to understand. But upon arriving at the Judah home, Victoria was met at the door by an obviously pregnant Li.

“Mistress gone. She be back plenty soon,” the tiny almond-eyed girl told her.

“Please tell her I called,” Victoria instructed, then turned quickly for home.

I don't understand my feelings, Victoria told herself. I don't know what to do. I love my husband, but everything seems so wrong. Christopher makes me feel cared about. He listens to me. He opens his heart and soul to me.

She pressed her hands to her forehead and tried to force out the disturbing thoughts.

“I love
you
, Kiernan,” she whispered, grateful no one was nearby to hear her talking to herself. For some reason it did nothing to ease her sense of panic. Something was happening to her—something out of her control.

28

Brenton struggled to harness the two draft horses to the wagon. He had no one to blame but himself for the fact that his life had so completely turned upside down. It had started with the collodion photograph he'd sent to Vanderbilt. Billy had been so impressed by the quality of the picture that he insisted Brenton make all the photographs from this process. Brenton had tried to explain that in order to travel and maintain a supply of collodion processing equipment and chemicals, he would have to purchase a wagon and additional supplies, but Billy didn't care. He simply ordered Brenton to buy whatever he needed and to draw on the draft of funds he would wire to one of the Kansas City banks.

Brenton knew he should be glad for the opportunity, but instead he worried about what all it involved. He now would have to care for horses and a wagon, not to mention keeping the proper supplies on hand. It also changed their lifestyle. Before, Billy had very graciously moved them from place to place aboard steam packers or trains, and always they had stayed in comfortable hotels or, at the least, proper boardinghouses. But now they would travel much slower, and Billy wanted detailed photographs of all the Missouri River towns.

In a discussion between Jordana and Caitlan, the decision had been made to purchase equipment that would allow the trio to remain on the road. The girls would help drive the wagon, but an additional horse would be purchased, and they would each alternate riding ahead of the slower team in order to check out the lay of the land and ensure that the path was clearly accessible to the wagon. Jordana thought it great fun to learn how to handle the larger geldings. The horses were thicker and more sturdy than the riding horses she had enjoyed as a girl. They were bigger, too, than the carriage horses she was used to seeing in and around the towns they visited. Caitlan, who'd had more experience than either Jordana or Brenton, easily showed them how to go about harnessing the team and hitching them to the wagon. She was undaunted by the size of the horses—undaunted, too, by the change in their travel plans.

Brenton admired her for her abilities. She never seemed to mind when he needed her help on one matter or another. In fact, she had taken quite an interest in his photography and was rapidly becoming an asset to him in that area as well.

The horse shifted, momentarily setting Brenton off balance as he tried to secure the lines. Putting his shoulder against the chestnut gelding, Brenton pushed with all his might until the animal was inclined to shift back in line with his partner.

Jordana laughed. “Sometimes it's hard to tell who's harnessing whom.”

Brenton completed the task and pushed up his glasses with a grin. “Next time you can do the job.”

“I'm getting pretty good at it,” Jordana countered. “It might take me a while, but I'd get the job down.”

“Yes, but by then the war would be over and the railroad built and Billy would have no need of us to be out here in the American wilderness.”

“I'd hardly be callin' Kansas City a wilderness,” Caitlan said, coming from behind the wagon. “Look, I've loaded the rest of those supplies. Will ya be needin' anything else stored back there?”

Brenton shook his head. “No, I think that's the last of it. Did you ladies get everything you need for the trip? Warm clothing? Blankets?”

“I have everything,” Jordana replied.

“Aye, I'm thinkin' we're as ready to head out as we could possibly be,” Caitlan answered.

“Well, then, I need to make my way to the bank,” Brenton said, dusting off his pants and donning his jacket. “I need to get our traveling funds and see if Billy has left any additional instructions. I'll leave you ladies to stay with the wagon. I shouldn't be long.” He mounted the saddle horse, then looked down at the two women who were his dearest friends in the world. “Now, you're absolutely sure I can't get you anything while I'm away?”

“No, we're fine. Just hurry back,” Jordana replied for them both.

Brenton found his banking business to be without complications. There was, however, a letter from Billy Vanderbilt. Opening the missive while still inside the bank's lobby, Brenton was taken aback at the news.

G.W.'s health continues to fail. The commodore has asked me to join G.W. in Europe, as it is hoped that the curative powers of the French Riviera will soon see him right again. I suppose it couldn't have come at a worse time, given our project, but there should be enough money here to see you through for a time. Go ahead with our plans for photographing the area towns, and I will instruct Daniel Davidson to act in my stead. He will advise you on what property to purchase and will wire you funding if that becomes necessary. Continue sending the photographs in care of my home, and Davidson will make arrangements here to pick them up for the investors' consideration.

There were other details, comments on the war and the dangers that would no doubt complicate Brenton's life should they go farther south than Kansas City. Billy advised them to continue working north, taking care to avoid any conflict with border ruffians. Brenton knew this would be the real challenge of the trip. Border ruffians, bushwhackers, and jayhawkers from Missouri and Kansas were in a constant state of war with one another. It came as a kind of unofficial extension of the Civil War, with younger, meaner, less organized warriors who marauded the Kansas-Missouri border looking for trouble and profit.

Billy had concluded the letter by stating that it was uncertain if G.W. would recover, but it was his intention to see him through to the end. Brenton felt a burden of guilt for not having told Jordana of the situation. She would no doubt have wished to have tried one last time to send G.W. a letter, and now it might be too late. Brenton noted that Billy wouldn't be sailing from New York for three days. Perhaps Brenton could telegraph Billy a message from Jordana to G.W.

Hurrying back to the wagon, Brenton found Jordana and Caitlan laughing gaily over some matter. He hated to break into their happy moment but could think of no other way to allow Jordana to get word to G.W. except to do it immediately. Summoning up his courage, Brenton dismounted and tied the horse to the back of the wagon.

“Jordana,” he began hesitantly. “We need to talk.”

Caitlan seemed to sense his gravity first. “I'll go recheck the equipment,” she offered, then slipped into the back of the wagon before anyone could protest.

Brenton studied his sister for a moment and wondered how best to break the news. She was nearly full grown, and as he studied her more closely than usual, the fact shocked his senses. She looked a great deal like their mother. Dark hair and brown eyes. She was spirited like their mother as well.

“So what has you looking so serious this time?” Jordana questioned with a smile.

“Come walk with me a ways.” Brenton reached out to help her down from the wagon seat.

Jordana nodded, hiked up her serviceable wool skirt, and stepped down onto the wheel. From here, Brenton easily lifted her to the ground and slipped his arm around her shoulder.

“Something happened a while back, and I didn't tell you about it right away because I thought I would wait and see what came of it before worrying you.”

Jordana stopped and looked up at him. “Is it Mother and Father?”

“No,” Brenton replied softly. “G.W.”

“G.W.? Is he . . . ?”

“Dead?” Brenton shook his head. “But he doesn't show signs of getting any better. Billy is off to tend to G.W. in Europe, and frankly . . . well . . . it doesn't look good.”

“What?” Jordana said, shaking her head. “Are you saying that he
will
die?”

Brenton shrugged his shoulders and tried to think of some way to affirm her worry without just coming right out and saying it. “Billy says he hasn't responded to the doctor's treatments. They've spared no expense; obviously money wasn't a worry.”

“He's dying. That's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it?” Jordana questioned, her voice rising slightly.

Brenton nodded. “I suppose it is.”

Her face contorted as her brows knit together in worry. “Why didn't you tell me immediately?”

“I had hoped his sickness would be short-lived, and then I could just mention it in passing with the assurance that he was well and fine. But apparently that isn't going to happen.”

Jordana looked down at the ground. “I can't believe this. You should have told me sooner.”

“I'm sorry, Jordana. I was only trying to save you grief. I knew you'd feel bad, especially in light of his refusal to correspond with you. I just didn't want you worrying about something you couldn't do anything about.”

Her head snapped up at this. “You should have told me!” she declared more angrily. “I deserved to know. He was more my friend than yours. You were wrong to keep it from me, Brenton.”

Brenton swallowed hard, realizing that he'd hurt her more deeply than he'd ever intended. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I,” Jordana replied curtly. “Sorry you didn't trust me to be strong enough to handle the truth. G.W. said he'd go to his grave hating me. I guess you've played right into his plan.”

She stormed off down the street, arms crossed to her breast as if trying to force her emotions to remain inside. Brenton thought to go after her, then decided it would be better to give her a few minutes to gather her composure. When she came back on her own accord, he would suggest sending Billy the telegram. He didn't care if it cost a fortune. He would encourage her to say whatever she wanted, no matter the length.

He came back to the wagon and sat down on the back gate. Jordana was just a girl in many ways, he reminded himself. She had just turned seventeen. How could he expect her to deal with any of this? He began to feel guilty all over again. Guilty for having allowed her to talk him into going west. Guilty for having put her life in danger. Guilty for having kept the news of G.W.'s increased sickness from her for so long.

“Are ya goin' to be tellin' me what this is all about?” Caitlan asked from behind him.

Brenton looked upward over his shoulder. “G.W. Vanderbilt is dying. I just had a letter from Mr. Vanderbilt, and it would seem that recovery will now take a miracle. Billy is even going to Europe to be with G.W. through to the end. The thing is, I've known for some time that he was slipping away and I chose not to tell Jordana. I kept hoping that G.W. would get well.”

“I'm sorry, Brenton,” Caitlan replied, kneeling down beside where he sat. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Ya only did what ya thought was best.”

He reached up and touched her hand with his own. “Thank you for saying so. That was the plan, but now I fear I've hurt her more by keeping it from her.”

A nagging headache seemed to spread out from somewhere behind his eyes, and Brenton let go of Caitlan's hand and pulled off his glasses. “I should have told her everything. The moment I knew about G.W., I should have told her.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to isolate the pain and work away the tension. It refused to go.

“Brenton, ya know I don't share yar beliefs in God.” Caitlan surprised him with this bold declaration since she usually avoided the subject. He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked over at her. “But maybe this is one of those times of trial ya always seem to be talkin' about. Maybe God is usin' this for yar good.” She smiled. “I feel silly for even sayin' such a thing.”

“Don't,” Brenton replied. “I think you care more about those things than you let on. I think you're hurt from what you've seen and heard in your country, but I think you still have hope that God is really a God who cares and loves us.”

“It's a lovely thought, Brenton,” she replied, getting back to her feet. “But so, too, is the thought of pots of gold and fairies grantin' wishes. Ya can't convince me that one is more real than the other.”

Brenton wanted to say something more, but Caitlan spied Jordana. “Ya should go to her,” she gently urged.