Westward the Dream (8 page)

“I suppose housekeepin',” Caitlan replied. “That's really all I'm good for. I can sew and wash clothes, as well, but 'tis not me favorite job.”

“You needn't work as a housemaid,” Jordana replied. “Why don't you just allow us—”

“I won't be takin' charity,” Caitlan said in a serious tone, as firmly as she could without being rude. “I already owe me passage here to Kiernan. I can't be owin' you as well.”

Jordana appeared almost offended. “No one said you would be owing us anything.”

“And that's just how I'd like to be keepin' it,” Caitlan replied. She realized she had pushed a bit hard and smiled. “I do want us to be good friends,” she added, “but if I'm to be on me own, I must earn me keep.”

“We know several families who might be interested in hiring you on,” Brenton said, seeming to understand better than his sister. “There are many fine families in New York, and if you are capable of doing a good job, you shouldn't have any trouble earning your way. However, what shall we do about getting you to California?”

“ 'Tis a worry, to be sure,” Caitlan said, relaxing against the plush cushioning of the carriage. “I can't be goin' to me brother like this. I'll have to earn enough money to pay him back and then some. Is it a far piece to go?”

“Jordana has an idea, but we've not given it much consideration,” Brenton admitted. “She thinks we should escort you to California. Her thought is in keeping with a dream I have to photograph the countryside between here and there.”

Caitlan smiled, trying to imagine the dreams of this handsome young man. He smiled in return and her heart beat faster. What a gentle spirit he seemed to have. Even in the short time she'd shared his company, he'd worked to put her at ease and to keep her pride from becoming an issue between them.

“And how would this work?” Caitlan finally questioned.

Brenton shrugged and laughed. “We've never taken it any further than the initial idea. If you think it might work for you, although it wouldn't get you there in any record time, we could probably find a way to work our way west.”

“A possibility, to be sure,” Caitlan said, nodding thoughtfully. “I would be happy to consider it. I'm supposin' I'm in no great hurry.”

“I'll speak to my friend Margaret Vanderbilt,” Jordana suddenly interjected. “It seems her grandfather Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest men in New York, is always hiring someone. They have a huge house on Washington Place, and they are forever needing new help. I'll put in a good word for you with Meg and see what is to be done. She doesn't think very highly of her grandfather, as he treats her father poorly, but she knows much about the family dealings.”

Caitlan felt hopeful that everything would work out. “I'm beholden to ya both. The fates were good to send me here.”

“The fates?” Brenton questioned. “You mean God, don't you?”

Caitlan's sharp intake of breath couldn't be disguised. “I don't suppose I do,” she replied softly. “I'm more familiar with fate and luck and ill omens than I am of religious nonsense. Forgive me if that offends.”

Brenton stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes never looking away, even though his discomfort was obvious. “Perhaps, in time, you will come to feel differently.”

Caitlan gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps,” she said aloud, then sighed and thought . . . but it isn't likely.

Later that night Caitlan and Jordana lay awake in the double bed at Mrs. Clairmont's boardinghouse. A single candle burned on the nightstand beside Caitlan, throwing muted golden light across the room.

They should have gone right to sleep. Jordana knew Caitlan was exhausted. But instead, they found themselves having a great deal to discuss. They had hit it off instantly, finding their lack of concern with social etiquette and cultural divisions to be a marvelous cause for joining together. Caitlan was fascinated with the stories Jordana told of her privileged childhood, but to Jordana it was just everyday life. It didn't seem that special.

“I've always had plenty,” Jordana admitted, “but it never seemed important.”

“It would have been important if it weren't there,” Caitlan countered.

Jordana leaned up on her elbow and said thoughtfully, “I suppose you're right. I never gave it much consideration. Victoria has talked of when we first moved with Mother and Father to Greigsville. It was a tiny mining town, and there wasn't much in the way of housing or supplies. She said it was horrible, but by the time I had memory of the place, we had fixed up our house and it was quite comfortable. Then we moved to Baltimore to a very lovely house.”

“Ours was a tiny place,” Caitlan said softly. “I lived with me sister and her husband. She didn't need the extra mouth to feed, but our mum had died and I was still quite small.”

“Did you go hungry often?”

“Aye, more often than I'd like to remember.”

Jordana frowned. “I'm sorry about that. I can't imagine having to worry about such things. You won't have to worry about that here. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Caitlan laughed softly. “Ya can't be going around savin' the world, Jordana. I'm a grown woman, and takin' care of meself is what I've always had to do.”

“Yes, but we're friends now,” Jordana said emphatically. “Promise me—you won't let your pride keep you from coming to me if there's something I can help with. I know you're proud; I am too. But I don't want to see you suffer because of it. If I can help you, I will. Not because of obligation, and not because you're kin, but because we're friends.”

Caitlan wiped a tear from her cheek. “I don't believe I've ever heard anything so lovely. Ya hardly know me. How can ya just be givin' of yarself like that?”

Jordana shrugged and eased back against the pillow. “With you, it just seems right.”

“Aye,” Caitlan admitted. “That it does.” She fell silent for several minutes before adding, “I promise to come to you as a friend—should the need arise.”

Jordana knew it had cost her much to say the words. “And in turn,” she told Caitlan, “I will also come to you as a friend—should the need arise.”

It seemed a strange moment and place for such a commitment. Two strangers from vastly different worlds had somehow found each other in a most unusual manner. In her heart of hearts, Jordana knew she'd just made a dear friend. She felt certain that Caitlan would continue to be an important person in her life, and with that thought warming her heart, Jordana drifted into an easy sleep.

8

Jordana didn't know whether to be happy or sad that the Vanderbilts had so easily taken Caitlan on as their newest upstairs maid. Caitlan was ecstatic, and because of that, Jordana tried to be happy for her new friend, although it meant she might not see her for a while. Perhaps when G.W. stopped being so angry, he would allow Jordana to come visit at his father's house. His physical recovery also seemed to be slow in coming, and Meg had mentioned that he'd even grown weaker since their last visit. Jordana felt extremely guilty over her reaction to G.W's marriage proposal, but she knew that once he had given it some careful thought, he'd understand her reasoning and they'd be the best of friends again.

While Jordana was wishing for more time with Caitlan, the Irish lass had been excited at the prospect of getting right to work. Her code of ethics only seemed to endear her more to Jordana. She liked Caitlan O'Connor. Liked her a great deal. There wasn't a pretentious bone in her body, and her open honesty was refreshing.

“We can be visitin' on Fridays,” Caitlan had told her before departing for the Vanderbilt house four days earlier. “ 'Tis me day off and I can be comin' here to the boardin' house to talk to ya.”

Jordana knew it would have to be enough. And since today was Friday, the idea seemed at least bearable. The spring term was completed, and since she wouldn't be staying on for the summer, Jordana felt the pressures of her life lifting from her shoulders. Deighton was a good school and she had learned a great deal, but she resented the regimentation and rules that haunted every hallowed hall of the establishment.

There were rules for how to wear your uniform and for how to wear your hair. The standard navy ribbon was acceptable as ornamentation for one's hair, but nothing else was allowed—unless, of course, you were going outdoors, in which case the standard navy bonnet was allowed. No variance on the uniform was ever acceptable. Jordana remembered the time when Meg had returned from a weekend stay at home and had brought with her a lovely broach. The pin had been a birthday gift, but when she wore it on the Deighton uniform, the headmistress quickly saw to its removal.

“Contrast in uniformity diminishes the effects of discipline,” Mistress Deighton had said.

It was sheer boredom to Jordana's way of thinking.

But it was behind her now. She would think about the university in the near future, but for now she could look forward to a wonderful few months living close to Brenton at the boardinghouse. She cherished her time with Brenton. He was an adorable and considerate older brother, and she had never known a time when they hadn't been close. Now the added treat of having Caitlan around on Fridays made the entire matter even more delightful. What fun they would have together!

Slipping a last item into her valise, Jordana hurried downstairs to Deighton's formal parlor and awaited Brenton's arrival. He would come for her as he had on several other occasions when his landlady had been willing to have Jordana as a weekend guest and the headmistress could be charmed into consenting. Lately, Mistress Deighton had been of a particularly good nature, given that her brother's wounds at the Battle of Shiloh had not been serious.

How excited Jordana was to have the weekend amusements extend for the entire summer. They would take in parks and museums, art galleries and concerts. The pleasure that she most anticipated, however, was the conversations she would have with her brother. Brenton treated her as an equal, and he very seldom laughed at her ideas. In fact, quite often Brenton sought her out for advice, declaring that even at sixteen Jordana was more capable of sound reasoning than many folks their senior.

“I see you're ready and waiting,” Brenton announced as he strode determinedly into the room.

“I didn't see you arrive,” Jordana said, surprised to find him here already. She was perched in the window seat overlooking the street, certain she would have seen him come up the lane.

“I know. I came early so that I might talk to Mistress Deighton,” Brenton replied, looking away as he spoke.

Jordana found his attitude a puzzle. She handed him her valise and asked, “Why would you want to talk to her?”

Brenton pressed the small of her back with his hand. “I'll tell you on the way to the boardinghouse.”

“I have more luggage in my room.”

“I'll send someone for it later,” he answered vaguely.

Jordana saw the tightening of his jaw and knew instantly that something was afoot. Brenton never acted this secretive unless the news was unpleasant. He led them to an awaiting carriage. He helped her up onto the seat, then joined her and waved to the driver.

“Brenton, I want to know this instant what this is about,” Jordana said seriously. She knew her brother well enough to know that these actions did not bode well. “Is something wrong with Mother or Father? G.W.?”

“No,” Brenton replied, looking beyond her at the passing street scene.

Flowering gardens were in full bloom, while dogwood and redbud trees along the lane snowed down petals to carpet their way. It all seemed so peaceful, so serene, but Jordana wasn't fooled. She refused to be lured into the beauty of it all.

“Brenton!”

He looked back at her and nodded ever so slightly. “I know you aren't going to like what I have to say.”

“That much is evident,” she replied sarcastically. “Suppose you just have your say, and then I can tell you what I think on the matter.”

“Look,” he said, leaning forward as if to ease her mind, “you know I only have your best interests in mind.”

“Stop bandying words and tell me what this is about,” Jordana demanded.

“I've arranged for you to stay on at Deighton for the summer.”

“What!” If the carriage had not been moving, Jordana would have jumped to her feet. “What in the world is this all about? You know how I feel about that place.”

“I'm leaving New York, and I can't have you staying alone at the boardinghouse.”

“What do you mean you're leaving? Where do you plan to go?”

Brenton looked away, then reached up and took off his glasses. Rubbing them gently with a handkerchief, he spoke. “You know about President Lincoln calling for seventy-five thousand state volunteers.”

She nodded.

“And I believe you know, too, about the attack on the Sixth Massachusetts Militia upon their arrival in Baltimore.”

“Yes, we discussed it in school. It caused President Lincoln to declare martial law and suspend the writ of habeas corpus between Philadelphia and Washington, allowing arrests and imprisonments to be made without having to file charges. So what? How does that have anything to do with me?” She watched him replace his handkerchief in his pocket and put his glasses back on. He was playing this too calmly. Something of major import was about to happen, and instinctively, Jordana knew it would change their lives. Maybe forever.

“It has a great deal to do with us. That area includes our home in Baltimore and our family property. It includes the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which you know is vitally important to our family's financial affairs. Not to mention how important that line is to Mother and Father for sentimental reasons. Suspending the writ has meant that men are arrested for little more than being in the right place at the wrong time. The world, as we know it, has gone haywire and innocent people are suffering—a state of affairs that has not improved in the last year. Perhaps it has even worsened.”

“I know all of this. What I don't understand is why that means I have to stay in school for the summer. I've finished my requirements here, and we were going to make plans for my fall attendance to the univeristy.”

“I'm going to enlist,” Brenton suddenly declared.

Jordana hardly heard him. The words were there—floating around inside her head—but they made no sense. She glanced past him to see unfamiliar buildings and parkways. He had obviously arranged for the driver to take a longer way back to the boardinghouse while he explained his decision. She looked over at him and found him biting his lip. He so wanted to be strong and reliable, yet Jordana so often bullied him into letting her have her own way that she could tell even now this was a concern of his.

“Please explain,” she said simply, fearful that if she said anything more she'd be guilty of hurting his feelings.

“I believe it's my duty to enlist. It's only for ninety days.”

“But you aren't yet finished with your apprenticeship,” Jordana replied flatly.

“I will be soon enough,” Brenton replied.

Jordana nodded but said nothing. Already she was feeling sickened by the thought of Brenton risking his life in this war over states' rights. As much as she might try to make their collective decisions, he was her pillar of strength and reliability.

“Jordana, listen to me. I have to do this. I have to at least try. I'll return to Baltimore and see to the affairs of our property and the welfare of our friends. If it makes you feel better, I'll even go to Oakbridge and have a talk with Uncle York.”

“He won't support your signing up for a northern militia,” Jordana replied. “He's clearly in favor of defending the institution of slavery and the fight for southern independence.”

“I know that, but I still value his wisdom,” Brenton insisted.

Despite her brother's obvious effort to be firm with her, Jordana could hear the uncertainty in his voice and knew he was conflicted over this.

“And even if he doesn't support me,” Brenton continued, “I can still let him know my worries and concerns on the matter.”

“I'd like to know them myself.” Her voice was soft, almost childlike. She prayed her fears weren't evident.

Brenton leaned back in the seat. “I feel it's the right thing to do. I'm not sure if this is what God is calling me to do, but it seems so.” He paused for a moment, then shook his head slowly from side to side. “Jordana, you know I don't want anything to interfere with my plans for going west, but I don't feel I have a choice in this. To run away would make me a coward.”

“You aren't a coward,” she replied, trying hard to understand his masculine pride. “No one should desire this war, and no one should want to go and fight in it.”

“But duty is something I can't ignore. I think Father would understand, even if Mother protested.”

They had arrived at the boardinghouse, and as the driver slowed, Jordana fought to keep her emotions under control. “Why can't I come with you? I mean, I could stay in Baltimore as easily as in New York. We'd have the household staff to look after me and—”

“No,” Brenton stated emphatically. “Baltimore's a volatile city. I don't want you in harm's way.”

“Neither do I want you there,” she replied, reaching for the carriage door as soon as the driver brought the team to a halt. “But that doesn't seem to matter.”

“Jordana!” Brenton called after her, but Jordana jumped from the carriage and hurried toward the boardinghouse, afraid that if she didn't focus on something other than Brenton for even a moment or two, she would break into tears.

“Ah, Miss Baldwin, your friend is waiting for you in the front sitting room,” Mrs. Clairmont announced as Jordana practically flew through the front doors.

“Caitlan?” Jordana replied. “She's here already?”

Mrs. Clairmont nodded as Jordana hurried from the foyer. Jordana heard Brenton thank her for seeing to Caitlan's comfort, and knew she had been unforgivably rude to the woman.

“Caitlan!” Jordana declared, spying the girl standing beside the heavily draped window.

“What do ya think?” Caitlan gave a twirl of her black maid's uniform. Her copper curls had been arranged in a neat bun, accenting her concise appearance.

“Are you in mourning?” Jordana teased, letting herself momentarily forget Brenton's announcement.

“Aye. I'm mournin' my freedom,” Caitlan replied with a grin. “This is me uniform. Sad as it may seem, I've never before had such fine clothes.”