Separate Roads (45 page)

Jordana bid her brother and new sister farewell, crying only a little. She hadn’t yet spoken to them about future plans—there would be time enough for that later—but she felt far more positive since speaking to her mother.

The house seemed especially quiet that evening after the departure of the newlyweds and all the guests. Yet, with just the family seated in the parlor, there was a wonderful sense of warmth and companionship. Everyone was relaxed and comfortable. Amelia had fallen asleep against her father’s shoulder, and Nicholas was quietly snuggled up next to Jordana on the sofa. The last three days had been a whirlwind with the arrival of James and Carolina, followed so quickly by the wedding festivities.

Jordana sighed contentedly, wondering what she had been fretting about before. She might actually enjoy a few adventureless months.

After a while, the menfolk decided to go out for some fresh air, leaving mother and daughters alone in the parlor. Within moments the conversation began, as they seemingly all at once realized it was just the females now and they could open up and share with one another on an entirely different level. And, though they had not been together for years, it was as if all that time and distance had not separated them. They were as they once had been, chatting easily about the day’s events, and just as easily about feelings and futures and problems.

“I thought I’d die when the minister showed up late,” said Victoria. “I’m certain I told him the wedding was to be at eleven, but . . .” She shrugged to complete her thought.

“It wouldn’t be a proper wedding if there weren’t some mishap,” said Carolina.

“It is hard to believe, after all those two ninnies went through, that they are finally married.” Jordana smiled. “Brenton . . . married! Never thought he’d rise above his shyness to even meet a girl, much less marry one.”

“It took a special girl,” said Carolina.

“Yes, and Caitlan is that. They are perfect for each other.”

“Shall I fix us some tea?” asked Victoria.

“You have been working so hard all day,” said Carolina. “Just sit and relax now. And, if you feel up to it, I’d love to hear about what your life is like here in California.”

“There’s really not much of any import to tell.” Victoria sighed. “I have to confess it has been better lately since Kiernan has been forced to stay home for a while. I feel so bad it took a terrible accident to bring that about, but . . . it was hard to have him gone so much. I was pleased that he finally had a good job—he is indispensable to Mr. Crocker. And I know he will be going back soon, and I will have to get along without him again. I do dread that time, though.”

“It is not an easy adjustment,” said Carolina. And all knew Carolina did not speak emptily, because she had experienced that same loneliness in the early part of her marriage when she had been often separated from her husband due to his work.

“At least you had children, Mama, to keep you busy, so that you didn’t have to feel the loneliness so very intensely.” Victoria’s eyes were so sad, Jordana could feel her sister’s emptiness. “I keep telling myself that with the way our life has been, so unsettled and all, it would have been hard on children. So I can see how our childlessness was God’s providence. Yet . . .” Victoria paused as her voice caught on her emotion. “Never mind. I don’t want to spoil a lovely day.”

Carolina rose and went to her daughter and put an arm around her. “Speak your heart, Victoria. Maybe it will help.”

“Oh, Mama! I ache so to have a baby of my own. Sometimes my arms just ache with their emptiness. I try to be content with what God has wrought, but it isn’t always easy.”

“No, it’s not.” Carolina paused, then added, “Have you thought about adopting? It worked out wonderfully for me.” She smiled, giving her adopted daughter a gentle squeeze. “There are so many lost and abandoned children out there whose little bodies, I am sure, are also aching to be held by loving arms such as yours, Victoria.”

“Yes, I have thought about adopting, Mama,” Victoria replied. “But I think it would be important to Kiernan to have a child of his own blood.”

“You think?” Carolina asked. “Haven’t you talked to him about this?”

“I supposed I haven’t.” Victoria rubbed her chin. “Maybe I should. . . .”

As Jordana listened to her mother and sister, her previous melancholy began to slip over her again. This time, though, it was more because she felt for the first time that she had so little in common with these women she loved. She did not long for home and family. Her arms did not ache to hold a child. What she really ached for was to return to the wilds of the prairie. How she had loved those times when she and Brenton and Caitlan had traveled in his wagon, and even when she had traveled with the survey party . . . never knowing what the next day would bring, a new adventure around each turn of the road, or simply one’s eyes beholding a strange wonder, something that perhaps no human had yet to see.

Once on the trail she and her companions had met a grizzled old mountainman. He had been wearing stained and worn buckskin, with a pack and a musket strapped to his back. He’d told them how, after fighting in the Mexican war, he’d traveled west to the goldfields, then, heading back to the prairie, he’d ended up living with the Sioux Indians for a few years. Then he’d tried his hand at trapping, and when Jordana met him, he was off to explore the Wyoming Territory.

She knew it was foolish to think of herself in buckskin and such, especially when she did like to wear the latest styles and have a new hat occasionally and stay in fancy hotels. But she envied that mountainman, too. Was it terrible to want it all?

“Jordana, you do have a faraway look in your eyes,” Carolina broke into her thoughts.

Jordana flashed a smile, tinged with the slightest bit of guilt. “I guess my mind wandered.”

“Yes, I forgot how domestic talk bores you,” quipped Carolina. Then she added more earnestly, “Do you care to share what you were thinking?”

“Oh, the usual . . . wondering where my future will take me.”

“Jordana, I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” said Victoria. “I want you to know you are welcome to remain here with me for as long as you like.”

“That’s kind of you, Victoria, but I don’t want to become an imposition—”

“Don’t even think that!” came Victoria’s emphatic, almost desperate, reply. “How I would love your company, especially after Kiernan returns to work.”

“Well . . .”

“Now, don’t you worry,” Victoria assured with a smile. “I will not stand in your way of adventure—within reason, of course! I think you will find California a place that could hold even your interest for some time.”

“In that case, I will give it serious thought.”

Jordana reminded herself that again God was providing for her, and the beauty of it was that He was doing it in a way He knew would be palatable to her. God, she was certain, did not wish to stifle that sense of adventure that very likely had come from Him in the first place.

Just then, she heard a knock on the front door. Victoria rose to answer it, returning in a few moments with a perplexed look on her face.

“Jordana, there is a man to see you,” she said. “He says he is a friend of yours from Omaha.”

Jordana’s heart gave a surprising leap as she immediately thought of Captain O’Brian. But what would he be doing all the way out here? And why on earth was her heart suddenly pounding so?

“He is waiting in the entryway,” Victoria was saying. “Feel free to receive him in here.”

Jordana rose on ridiculously unsteady legs and went to the entryway. But it was not the tall, broad-shouldered man in the dark blue uniform who greeted her. Rather, her visitor was short, stocky, and a bit rotund. It was Hezekiah Chittenden.

“Mr. Chittenden!” She almost wanted to embrace the kindly man, but since she had never taken such liberties in the past, she restrained herself now.

“Jordana, I do hope you don’t mind my seeking you out like this.”

“Of course not. Would you care to join my mother and sisters in the parlor?”

“Well . . . uh . . .”

At his hesitancy, she decided this was not a social call. He most likely had grim matters to discuss.

“If you would like to visit alone, I have only the kitchen to offer,” she said. “Would that be suitable?”

“Yes, thank you so much.”

They went into the kitchen and took seats at the table. Jordana thought about offering tea but knew instinctively that would not be appropriate. She prepared herself for an unpleasant encounter. After all, he might well see her as responsible for his son’s difficulties.

He allayed her fears immediately. “Jordana, I must tell you how sorry I am for all the distress my son’s actions surely have caused you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“But you did nothing, Mr. Chittenden.”

“He is my son.” The man sighed. “And perhaps my doing nothing contributed as much to his problems as anything. There were signs of his unstable mind before all this transpired with you, but I chose to ignore them. I could not accept that he was not completely normal.”

“Well, sir, I hold nothing against you.”

The poor man nearly sagged with relief. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Tell me, Mr. Chittenden, do you know yet what will become of Damon?”

“I have come to escort him back to Omaha. Of course an officer of the law will be along as well, but I thought perhaps my presence might make the journey easier for him. A preliminary investigation was made in Omaha, and there were sufficient findings to make a formal arrest. There will be a trial, of course, for the Stanley . . . ah . . . death. Perhaps for the other one as well.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You were kind not to press charges, my dear. However, my son will answer for his deeds. I have also discovered some irregularities with his accounts at the bank.”

“Yes, I know.” Jordana wondered what he would think of her now. “I tried to tell you, but I had no real proof and feared no one would believe me anyway.”

“I have to agree with you about that. At one time I would have easily discounted a woman’s opinions.” He smiled apologetically. “Until I met you. You have taught me to judge people on their merits, not their gender. I hold you in great esteem, Jordana, and if you ever return to Omaha and wish to work, your job at the bank will always be there for you.”

Jordana grinned. “I take that as high praise!”

Chittenden rose. “I don’t want to keep you from your family. I appreciate seeing you.” He held out his hand.

Jordana took the hand, then, on impulse, did what was on her heart to do. She put her arms around the round little man and kissed his cheek. He beamed at the gesture, and when she let go, he bowed respectfully, kissing her hand.

As she walked him to the door, he stopped with a small gasp. “Dear me! I nearly forgot. I have something for you.” He reached inside his coat and withdrew an envelope. Handing it to her she saw it was addressed to “Miss Jordana Baldwin.” “A friend of yours asked me to deliver this to you, a nice young man, a soldier.”

After Chittenden departed, Jordana took the letter and returned to the kitchen. Gazing at the envelope, she wondered why Captain O’Brian would be writing her. She ignored the little flutter in her stomach as she opened the envelope and removed the missive.

Dear Miss Baldwin,

I heard about young Chittenden. I am relieved to know you are all right, but didn’t that foolish man realize what a dangerous risk he was taking tangling with you? Had he asked me, I could have warned him. Nevertheless, I find I rather miss the bit of excitement you brought to my staid life as a dull soldier. Perhaps you would consider taking me on as a pen pal. That way you could at least keep me posted on all the victims you are abusing in my absence.

Jordana tittered softly. Yes, he was insufferable, but dearly so, she realized. And oddly, holding his letter in her hand, she didn’t feel as lonely or frustrated. In a strange way, he was a connection to the life she desired, the dreams she hoped for.

Rising, she went to a drawer in the sideboard where she knew Victoria kept writing things. She took out paper, pen, and ink, sat at the table and, with growing anticipation and an inexplicable happiness, set the pen to the paper.

Dear Captain O’Brian . . .

JUDITH PELLA has been writing for the inspirational market for more than twenty years and is the author of more than thirty novels, most in the historical fiction genre. Her recent novel
Mark of the Cross
and her extraordinary four-book D
AUGHTERS OF
F
ORTUNE
series showcase her skills as a historian as well as a storyteller. Her degrees in teaching and nursing lend depth to her tales, which span a variety or settings. Pella and her husband make their home in Oregon.

Visit Judith’s Web site:

www.judithpella.com

TRACIE PETERSON is the bestselling, award-winning author of more than 80 novels. Tracie also teaches writing workshops at a variety of conferences on subjects such as inspirational romance and historical research. She and her family live in Belgrade, Montana.

Visit Tracie’s Web site:

www.traciepeterson.com