Westward the Dream (3 page)

Too tired to deal with the remaining letters, Brenton saved the rest for the morning and quickly disrobed. He blew out the lamp flame and crawled into the cool, crisp sheets of his narrow bed. It was only after settling here that Brenton realized how angry he felt.

“It isn't fair,” he whispered in the stillness of the night.

His entire world had centered around his love of photography, and now a nation at war would no doubt make the pursuit of his own dreams an impossibility. Now that he was eighteen his family might well expect him to take up arms. It was something he had put off considering since his birthday in November because he'd still had his apprenticeship to fulfill, a commitment he had felt honor bound to complete. He would finish that in a matter of two months. He had to face the war squarely now. The dilemma would be in deciding to which side he should state his allegiance. He had family in the Confederate state of Virginia. Most of his relatives hailed from just outside of Falls Church and Washington City. No doubt some of them would take up arms against the Federal troops.

Of course, he had no love of slavery. In fact, he despised it. No man should own another. But the whole issue seemed a world away, a matter that never really required his attention. He had often listened to his parents talk of national politics and the many issues threatening the sovereignty of the country, but until now none of it had touched him personally. Now he wondered how he could avoid it and how he could protect those entrusted to his care.

His thoughts returned to the letter from Ireland. Kiernan O'Connor had married Brenton's older sister, Victoria, some seven years back. Deciding to seek their fortunes in the rich goldfields of California, the two had taken off for the West a year later without giving much consideration to the effect it would have on the family. Of course, Kiernan's plan had been noble. He had hoped to gather enough money on his own to bring his extensive Irish family to America.

Brenton thought highly of his brother-in-law and the sacrifice he was making for his loved ones. The man had no formal education and was only able to read because Victoria had taught him. That his wealthy sister had married a poor Irishman had never caused Brenton reason for grief. However, the attitude of his uncle and aunts toward their union was another matter entirely. And now Kiernan's youngest sister would be arriving, and he had no idea to whom he could turn for help. Even if a war was not a factor in their lives, Brenton knew his very prejudiced family would think twice about offering shelter to Caitlan O'Connor. If his mother and father were here it would be simple enough, but there was likely no chance of their early return.

With a sigh, Brenton tried to pray. “Lord,” he whispered, an undeniable restlessness in his soul, “I don't know what to do. I am torn by my loyalties and obligations. I am overwhelmed by my uncertainties and disgusted at my own selfishness. That I should worry about my desires and dreams of photography while a nation stands torn apart is unthinkable. Forgive me for such a sinful nature and show me what I am to do about this matter and also about the issue of Caitlan O'Connor.”

3

Victoria O'Connor pushed back an errant strand of dark chestnut hair and sighed. Mindful of her surroundings, she refused to focus on the side pork sizzling in the pan, refused also to remember they had eaten little but this and potatoes for over a year. She desired nothing more than a change of diet, a hot bath, and an honest-to-goodness bed to sleep in. Instead, she had a grubby, smelly tent in a California mining camp with no bath but that which could be had from a dishpan, and for sleeping, a pallet on the hard dirt floor.

This was far from the life she had dreamed for herself when she had married her dear Irishman. Kiernan! Even thinking of him caused her heart to beat faster. She loved him more than she loved anything else in life. The evidence of that was in the fact that she'd left a life of luxury in Baltimore to come with him halfway across the world to California.

She'd met Kiernan when her family had lived in Greigsville, Virginia. Her father was overseeing the building of a tunnel for the railroad, and Kiernan had been one of the Irish laborers working on the line. He had seemed different from other men. He was serious and responsible and totally committed to his family. He had told her on more than one occasion that family loyalty was everything to him. Blood stood by blood and to deny that was to deny yourself.

Unfortunately, problems with his older brother had caused a deep, unhealed rift between them. His brother had died in an explosion at the tunnel, and Kiernan had never quite recovered from his grief. In spite of his brother's shunning him, Kiernan had loved Red O'Connor with all his heart. He'd looked up to the man as a father image when his own da had died. But now Red was gone and Kiernan was the man of the family. An extensive Irish family of siblings and their children—all of whom lived in Ireland.

But more than this, Kiernan was her husband of nearly seven years. Though the years had been filled with peril and struggle, she had never once lost her deep, abiding love for him. Even now. Even in the midst of this mudhole of a mining district, Victoria felt confident their love could survive any tribulation the world could deliver.

Hot grease popped up to hit her in the face. She quickly wiped it away and chased back the same loose strand of hair. How hard it was not to remember the privileged life she'd led in Greigsville and then Baltimore. She had been born in Baltimore, and when her parents saw it necessary to return to that city, she had grieved only for fear of losing Kiernan. But Kiernan had followed them, and soon after, they had married in a quiet ceremony in 1855. Before coming west, they had even lived at her parents' new house. There they had enjoyed all the luxury life could afford them. Both had stylish new clothes, and they went out nearly every night to one event or another.

Victoria quickly saw how that life wearied Kiernan because he felt unsuited for it, and thus she had suggested they spend more quiet evenings at home planning their trip to California. They both longed for the adventure of going west and making their own fortune—together.

Shaking her head, Victoria forced her thoughts back to the present as she went to the overturned packing crate that doubled as a table and sat down to slice up some potatoes. Her love for Kiernan might never change, but her love for this place certainly had. When they'd first arrived by boat in San Francisco, Victoria had thought it a wondrous place. And even after Kiernan had packed them upriver to Sacramento, then Placerville, then north to half a dozen other settlements whose names she could no longer remember, Victoria had continued to love the country. She marveled at the beauty of the mountains and the crystal clear waters of the lakes and streams. She had told Kiernan then, and had honestly felt it to be the truth, that she was completely happy to spend her life in this place.

But the newness of the beauty wore off. Kiernan's desire to pan and mine for gold had sent them to one mining town after another, and Victoria's heart had begun to change on the matter. Suddenly, the beauty was scarred by ugly mining equipment and filthy, vulgar men. There were few women in the camps, except those who could not be considered respectable by a genteel, well-brought-up female such as herself.

Wives were rare, as well, and if they existed they were usually overworked and haggard in appearance and certainly never had time for socializing. They died young from bearing too many children or from sheer exhaustion, and they left men behind whose gold fever would soon either take their own lives or render them completely mad.

Victoria feared the lifestyle they'd chosen, but she knew Kiernan's commitment to earning back the fortune he'd lost her. A fortune her birth father had left her upon his death. Her adoptive parents, James and Carolina, had carefully watched over the fortune in order to see to it that Victoria need never live a life such as she was enduring now. But a financial crisis in 1857 had nearly wiped out her entire fortune. Kiernan blamed himself, as he had taken her money away from the investments back east and had brought it west with them to California. Unfortunately, no one had told him that gold was the standard used in California and that paper money and coins were considered suspect at all times. He was lucky to invest it at sixty cents on the dollar, and when banks started failing in the East, the results spread west in an alarming manner. The entire country's economy came to a halt nearly overnight, and the newly formed stock exchanges of New York suffered greatly.

Some blamed it on the end of the Crimean War. It was said that while the war was going on, the United States was making a strong profit via sales of wheat and other food goods to Russia. Cotton had made the southern states rich, and the invention of the sewing machine saw to it that cloth made from this lucrative plant could be fashioned into usable goods nearly as quickly as raw materials could be processed. But the unrest in the South, because of threats of secession, caused the market to slacken as the northern states became suspicious of their southern brothers. And when the European market pulled away in a similar manner, southern sales dropped drastically.

But whatever the reason for the economic disruption, Kiernan blamed himself for removing Victoria from the safety of her family and from the knowledgeable and sound investments her father and mother had procured for her over the years. Victoria could still remember when her parents had written to ask of their financial welfare. Had they survived the crash? Had they suffered much loss? Victoria had lied to them. Lied as boldly as any lie she had ever told.

It shamed her greatly to remember, but she justified it in that she had saved her husband from disgrace. After all, she was a world apart from the social life of Baltimore. No one here in the mining camps would remember that she once belonged to the powerful, wealthy Baldwin family. No one here would question her husband's lack of genius when it came to money.

She sighed again. It hurt to think of how badly Kiernan had wanted to impress her and her parents. He wanted to prove that he could take Victoria to another part of the country and still succeed without the aid of the wealth left to her by her father. Victoria knew it was a sore subject with the man. She had tried more than once to reason that he had no way of knowing anything about the Russians and the Crimean War and whether it would go on forever or end to wreck the economy of the United States.

Kiernan had been inconsolable. He'd gone to the panned-out riverbeds and searched for a way to make it up to his wife. He didn't return until nearly a week later. And he didn't return with much gold.

Victoria tried not to remember the defeat in his eyes, but it was impossible to forget. Impossible, mostly, because he still wore that haunted look. Everything had changed after that. Well, most everything. Her love for him hadn't changed, but Kiernan's open manner of speaking with her—of sharing his thoughts and dreams—had definitely taken a different turn.

She cut up the boiled potatoes and stirred them into the pork fat. They popped and hissed and turned a golden brown as the grease greedily accepted her offering. Pork and potatoes—at least it was something hot and filling.

The worst part of her life, Victoria thought, was her homesickness. She had never thought herself all that devoted to a place or style of life. Nor had she worried overly much about being parted from her brothers and sisters—Brenton, Jordana, Nicholas, and Amelia. Little Amelia, some sixteen years Victoria's junior, had been a cute and affectionate baby, but she only made Victoria long for a child of her own. When she'd married Kiernan, Amelia was not quite two years old. Victoria had cried to leave them and make a new life west with her husband, but it wasn't a sorrow that had stayed with her for long. The adventure of being married and considered a grown-up woman in her own right had quickly captured Victoria's attention. The adventure of taking a journey by ship to California had left her with little time to think of anything but her seasick stomach and her longing to be on dry land once again.

But now, after a four-year absence and no hope of returning home for a visit, Victoria felt the longing build up inside until it threatened to choke out her happiness with Kiernan. Perhaps if she had children of her own . . .

This, too, was a subject she'd just as soon not dwell on. Because in seven years of marriage, she had been unable to conceive a child. Kiernan's child. At first they had both been relieved to know that she would not produce a child immediately upon their arrival to California. They had seen the blessing in her barrenness as they traipsed around that first year, trying desperately to find some place that hadn't been played out. A place where gold could still be had if a man was willing to work hard enough. But then the second and third year had come upon them and now the seventh, and still no child had been given to them. Victoria hadn't so much as even miscarried, and this caused her more fear than if she'd lost a dozen children.

Her womb was barren, or so it appeared. Barren wombs did not miscarry. Barren wombs carried no life at all.

She felt a tear streak down her face and quickly glanced around to make certain Kiernan had not crept into the tent unannounced. She could scarcely speak of the matter with him, for she knew he longed for children just as she did. To speak the words out loud might give them more validity and finality than they already appeared to have. And being barren was something Victoria was desperate not to accept.

“ ‘Oh, the sun shines bright on an Irishman's land' ” came the distant sound of Kiernan's voice raised in a melancholy song. “ ‘And beats down such heat that he can hardly stand.' ”

“ ‘And burns his back and blinds his eyes,' ” Victoria whispered, straightening her apron. “ ‘And cares not for his mournful cries.' ”

It was one of the many verses to the ballad he sang when life had dealt with him harshly. He probably never realized it, but it always let Victoria know what kind of mood he was in. She could take a moment to prepare her heart and mind for the man of the house—or in this case, the tent. And she could pray that God would somehow give them a restful night of peace and healing before Kiernan had to go back out and face the world once again.

“And where might be the wife of the house?” he called in his lilting brogue.

Victoria smiled. He tried so hard to be cheerful for her sake.

“I'm fixing the husband his food,” she called back.

Kiernan pulled back on the opening of the tent and doffed his cap. “Ah, a veritable feast. I smell lamb chops and sweet potatoes like your good mother used to make.”

“I see the sun has rendered you senseless,” Victoria teased.

“What sun?” Kiernan countered. “Ya know, this place either freezes a body or burns him out. A wee bit o' sun wouldn't hurt my feelings. Instead, the good Lord sends me a late spring snow, and it's left me chilled to the bone.”

Victoria nodded. “Well, draw the flap tight so we can warm you up. I've not felt the chill since I started your supper, but once I join you at the table, I'm sure to know it at my back.”