Westward the Dream (9 page)

Jordana nodded. “I've seen them before. I've gone with my friend Meg to visit her grandparents. The commodore does nothing by halves. He expects all of his house staff to look their best.” She pulled off her gloves and reached up to untie her uniform bonnet. “I didn't expect you until this evening.”

“I know. I didn't expect to be let go so early. I'm allowed to leave after my morning chores are done.” She paused and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Baldwin.”

Jordana ignored Brenton's entrance into the room. She was still upset to know that he would make such major decisions about their lives without consulting her first. She wanted him to understand how much he had offended her. To imagine that he would assign her to Deighton while he went off to the battlefield was unacceptable.

“Now, I thought we agreed you'd call me Brenton,” he said softly.

“Aye, we did. I forgot,” Caitlan replied.

They took seats and waited until Mrs. Clairmont had gone about her business before Jordana asked Caitlan how she liked working for the Vanderbilts.

“ 'Tis a grand house, to be sure,” Caitlan said appreciatively, “but I've already made trouble for meself. The housekeeper in charge doesn't much like me. I'm supposin' it's because I have a temper.” She smiled at this and a giggle escaped Jordana's lips.

“Surely not!” Jordana teased, deciding she could deal with Brenton later. She longed for news of G.W. and waited patiently for a chance to interject his name into the conversation.

“Aye, 'tis true enough,” Caitlan continued. “She's jealous of me popularity with the old commodore, but frankly, 'tis not a position I want to be in. The man has no shame.”

At this, Brenton grew concerned. “Has he accosted you?”

Caitlan laughed. “Not outright, mind ya, but I can see mischief in his eyes. Apparently he favors red-headed women.”

“Would you like me to speak to him about this matter?” Brenton questioned. “I mean, it's completely uncalled for, and I wouldn't feel right about letting you go back without some assurance of protection.”

“Oh, I can take care of meself,” Caitlan replied. “He's an old man with fast hands, that's all. At least he's a better sort than me employer in Ireland.”

“What happened there?” Jordana asked, watching as a dark cloud seemed to cast itself over Caitlan's face.

“His son took a fancy to me. Wanted me to be a bit more friendly than I was of a mind to be. He threatened me. Said I was good for nothin' more than warmin' a man's bed and told me he'd see me family ruined if I refused to give meself over to his boy.”

Jordana gasped at this and Brenton grew noticeably uneasy. They were neither one used to such open discussion of intimate matters.

“I'm sorry,” Caitlan said, instantly realizing her mistake. “Me mouth gets me into trouble aplenty. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It isn't that,” Brenton replied before Jordana could speak. “It's just unthinkable that such behavior would go unpunished.”

“I tried to handle it meself,” Caitlan said thoughtfully. “I just didn't expect to be treated so brutally. The old man encouraged his son to have his fun, and it finally got to be too much for me comfort. 'Tis why me family had to get me to America in short order.”

“I had no idea,” Jordana replied. “But now that I do, I can't imagine letting you continue in the same situation with the Vanderbilts. It's no wonder they have to constantly hire new maids.”

“I should go and speak to him,” Brenton interjected.

“Yes, you should let Brenton at least talk to him. After all, my brother won't be around here much longer,” Jordana said, unable to keep the disapproval from her tone.

“Yar leavin'?” Caitlan glanced quickly at Brenton with unmistakable regret in her tone.

Brenton looked first to Jordana and then to Caitlan. His expression was one of pleading, but Jordana refused to allow him any comfort in the matter. She simply crossed her arms and cocked her head slightly to the right.

Finally Brenton spoke. “Yes. I'm returning to our hometown of Baltimore, where I plan to enlist in the militia. Our country is at war, and I feel it is my duty.”

“I don't know much about that kind of duty,” Caitlan replied, “but I've had a gutful of warrin' ways. Me country is always in some state of war. The landlords fight the tenants. The government fights the church, and the church in turn fights with God.” Her voice betrayed the bitterness in her heart. “ 'Tis not a noble thing, these wars. And in a war such as yars, no one can win.”

Jordana could tell that Brenton was moved by Caitlan's words. She wondered if they might make a difference in his plans. She prayed they would. Prayed that somehow God would help her beloved brother see reason before it was too late.

“It may seem that way,” Brenton replied, “but there are right and wrong issues in this matter. There are things that must be dealt with and issues that can't be ignored. I have a duty to those needs.”

Caitlan nodded. “Aye, duty is a strict mistress.”

Jordana watched the exchange between the two, wondering if there wasn't something she was missing. Brenton's prideful nature seemed to be determining his future, while Caitlan's past seemed to be determining hers. That only left one question. What would determine the future for Jordana?

“So tell me of G.W. Has he regained his strength?” Jordana finally asked.

“No, and in some ways the family says he seems worse. The doctors aren't at all sure what's wrong.”

“I suppose I'm to blame,” Jordana replied weakly.

“How can you say that?” Brenton questioned.

“Ya can hardly be to blame for the young master's illness.”

“He's probably dying of a broken heart,” Jordana said with a sigh. “I refused his offer of marriage, and now you tell me he's sicker than he was. What am I supposed to think?”

“Ya've no business to be thinkin' that way,” Caitlan said, patting Jordana's hand. “Men are a tough lot. He'll soon be right as rain. Ya can't be grieving yarself for havin' answered him honestly.”

“Maybe you're right,” Jordana said softly, but inside she wasn't at all convinced.

9

It had been agreed upon that Jordana wouldn't come to the Vanderbilt house to socialize with Caitlan. And with G.W. refusing her notes and cards, Jordana was hard-pressed to find an acceptable reason to go calling.

She thought the issue of denying knowledge of Caitlan was poppycock. They all worried that the crossing of such an obvious line of division between the upper crust of New York's most influential people and the lowliest of Irish housemaids might cause more conflict than anyone was willing to allow. Everyone but Jordana thought it far better to pretend the distance existed than to toy with the rules of society.

But Jordana worried when Caitlan failed to show up one Friday in late June. By Saturday morning Jordana decided that whether Brenton agreed to the matter or not, she would take a carriage to the Vanderbilts and check up on Caitlan. She was relieved when she came to Brenton's room only to find him hopelessly overwhelmed with his work.

Struggling to adjust the legs of a tripod that seemed to have lost all hope of control, Jordana stared at her brother silently for several moments before speaking.

“What will you do with your things while you're off playing soldier?” she asked petulantly.

Brenton looked up and frowned. “I don't believe you've ever been quite this angry at me.” He put the tripod aside and straightened. “But if you must know, I've already arranged it with Mrs. Clairmont. She's going to keep all of my things here, safe and sound.”

“I see.” Sighing, Jordana leaned against the door. “I'm not really angry. I'm more hurt. You have always discussed things with me first. Now you saddle me with more months at Deighton, and because you are my guardian under Uncle York's guidance, I have no say.”

Brenton came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I did what I thought was right. For both of us.” He gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Won't you at least try to understand that?”

“I do understand. I'm just afraid of what might happen.”

He nodded. “I am too. But I'm also afraid of what might happen if I don't go.”

Jordana said nothing. She didn't want to spend the day arguing over what he'd decided. She'd hoped to make him see reason, but time was quickly slipping away from her because Brenton only had a short time left to fulfill his commitment to his present job. With every passing moment, she realized Brenton was determined. There would be no changing his mind this time.

“I'm going shopping,” she suddenly said. “There are a few things I need. Do you want to come along?”

“No, I can't. But don't go out alone. I'll speak to Mrs. Clairmont and see if her gardener, Mr. Revere, can take you in her carriage.”

“Thank you. That would be very nice.”

And so, within a matter of twenty minutes, Jordana was smartly seated in the rather worn Clairmont carriage, heading up Broadway to Washington Place. She'd not bothered to explain to her brother her intentions to see Caitlan. She had simply decided to take matters into her own hands, much as he had done in deciding their future. Perhaps in doing so, she could even resolve her problem with G.W.

“If you'll wait here in the sun-room, Miss Baldwin, I'll send Miss O'Connor to you. I do hope this isn't a matter of concern for our household,” the Vanderbilt housekeeper boldly stated.

“No, I assure you it isn't,” Jordana answered, refusing to tell the woman why it was she had need of visiting with a lowly chambermaid.

Jordana saw the woman's expression and knew she wasn't pleased to have failed at getting the information. The woman reluctantly left Jordana to retrieve Caitlan, but before Jordana could even sit down, a gruff voice called out in greeting.

“Miss Baldwin, I can't rightly account for the last time I saw you in this house.”

Jordana looked up to find the white-haired commodore himself staring at her from across the room. His cheek bulged from an obvious plug of tobacco, and his appearance, as usual, was rather unkempt. “I heard Lizzy say you had come, but I figured her to be wrong.”

“Yes, sir, it has been some time.” Jordana fidgeted with the ends of her purse strings.

“Well, take a seat and tell me why in the—that is, why you refused to marry G.W. Poor boy is wastin' away upstairs and tells me you won't have him for a husband.”

The commodore, well known for his lack of social refinement, not only talked crudely and swore often but also harbored no illusions of propriety. He simply pushed toward the goal he'd set for himself, which in this case was to receive some answers in the matter of his son's love life.

Jordana was unshaken. She knew many a man on Wall Street would rather cut out their tongues than offend this giant of their industry. But Cornelius Vanderbilt hardly seemed a threat to her.

“That, I would have to say, is strictly between G.W. and myself,” she replied. “I would very much like to see him.”

The old man eyed her seriously for a moment. The look would have wilted a less worthy opponent, but Jordana held her own. “My son is a good catch. Are you addlebrained or dim-witted?” he questioned, ignoring her comment.

“Neither, I assure you, sir. I simply do not wish to marry.” She moved closer to where he stood leisurely watching her.

“G.W. always told me you were smart. Refusing to marry into a family with a fortune the size of mine doesn't sound like a smart thing to me.” He glanced around him, then spied the spittoon and unleashed a stream of tobacco juice that narrowly missed Jordana's skirt.

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” began Jordana, “I am fully in control of my faculties, if that is what concerns you. If you must know, I refused your son, first of all, because I do not desire to marry anyone at this time in my life. Secondly, I refused, because while I cherish my friendship with G.W., I do not believe myself to be in love with him.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Does that answer your question?”

“I suppose it does, but it's still addlebrained,” the commodore said, spitting again and this time staining the floor of the solarium. “ 'Course, I saw what they wrote about you in the paper a while back. Wouldn't have known about you climbin' up that buildin' if it weren't for G.W. tellin' me all about it. I figured it to be scandalous behavior, but G.W. seemed actually quite proud. That was before you met him at Billy's farm.”

“Yes, I remember he had the article with him.”

“Seems to me that such spunk and bravery is to be admired. You are obviously unafraid of a challenge. So I have to think you must have somethin' of a brain in that pretty l'le head.”

Jordana felt her ire building. This old man might well own half of New York, but she wasn't about to be pushed around or insulted by him. “Mr. Vanderbilt, I have already told you more than I had intended. I have come here to see Miss O'Connor, not to discuss my shortcomings. I'd also like to see your son.”

The commodore shook his head. “G.W.'s left strict instructions to refuse you. I can't say I understand it, but as sick as the boy is, it hardly seems fitting to go against his wishes.”

Just then Caitlan appeared in the doorway. She seemed confused to find the commodore in his frumpy old-fashioned frock coat confronting Jordana.

“Miss Baldwin,” Caitlan stated as Jordana opened her mouth to speak. “I didn't expect ya today.”

“What is this all about?” the commodore demanded.

“I came to see Caitlan O'Connor,” Jordana replied.

“Aye,” Caitlan interjected quickly. “I'm to be makin' some dresses for her in me spare time.”

Jordana looked at Caitlan and shook her head, but the look on the older girl's face gave evidence to her desire that Jordana say nothing to contradict her statement.

“I expected to meet with you yesterday,” Jordana finally said.

“Aye, and sorry I am for not havin' kept our appointment.” Caitlan then turned to Mr. Vanderbilt. “Friday is me day off, but what with losin' three maids this week, I couldn't be takin' the time away.”

“Yes, well, I can see this ain't no real concern of mine. Miss Baldwin, it was good to see you again. I will tell G.W. that you stopped by,” the commodore said. Then after spitting again, this time hitting his target, he made his way off to another part of the house.

“Come on, I'll walk ya out,” Caitlan said in a whisper, grabbing Jordana's arm.

“What in the world was that all about?” Jordana questioned. “I was worried sick when you didn't show up yesterday. And now you're treating me like a stranger.”

“Ya can't be showin' yourself here as me friend. The likes of the Vanderbilts won't be understandin' such a thing. 'Tis shockin' enough to have ya scalin' buildin's and rejectin' their son's proposal. No sense in further puttin' them off.”

“Oh, I couldn't care less,” Jordana said as Caitlan led her outside to where old Mr. Revere waited in the carriage. “I was worried about you. After all you said about the commodore, I feared something horrible had happened.”

“Oh, to be sure it has,” Caitlan said, trying to keep her distance. “The old man sent three girls a-runnin'. One on Monday, another on Wednesday, and the last one on Thursday. The housekeeper told me I had to stay and make up the work until she could hire some more help. She hates me enough, so I didn't want to cause her any more reason to pick on me.”

“I don't understand why she hates you,” Jordana said, moving toward the carriage, with Caitlan nodding intently, as though receiving instructions.

“I show her up. I work harder than she does, and I know shortcuts to cleanin' things better. Then, too, the old man seemed more favorable toward her until my arrival. It didn't seem to matter that he chased off three maids in one week because of his bloomin' escapades, but when it comes to me, well, that's a different matter.”

“I wish you'd just give this up and let us take care of you,” Jordana replied. “It wouldn't have to be forever. There's no shame in taking honest help when it's required, especially from family.”

“Aye, but it isn't required. I'm quite capable. The housekeeper may hate the Irish, but she doesn't scare me, and neither does the old man.”

Jordana climbed into the carriage and leaned over the edge. “I miss you, don't you know? I hardly see Meg now that it's summer, and I was hoping we would have a nice day together. Besides, I was hoping you could tell me about G.W.”

“I know, but, Jordana, ya can't be comin' here again like this. There be lines between us and our two worlds that can never be seen as acceptable to each other. The Vanderbilts might think less of ya if ya were to say ya were here as me friend. And I might even lose me job.”

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” Jordana said softly. “I know this job is important to you.”

“Aye, it is. Until I can earn enough money to get to me brother—”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Jordana said, reaching into her purse to take out a letter. “I had word from Victoria. It's several weeks old, but look here.” She scanned the letter and pointed a gloved finger at the page. “They were making plans to move. She wasn't sure where they would be in the days to come but said we'd best wait to hear from her again before writing another letter.” Jordana paused long enough to fold the letter up and return it to her purse. “She says they are doing well—that Kiernan is healthy and happy. She promises to write again as soon as they're settled. I thought you might like to know.”