Westward the Dream (24 page)

26

Exhaustion wracked every portion of Kiernan's body. Sweat had dried and caked itself with particles of dirt and sand, coating him from head to toe. It wasn't exactly the way he'd hoped to return home to Victoria, but because of the lateness of the hour, Kiernan hated to delay his trip.

“You could at least stop by my pump,” Crocker offered. “Wouldn't take you more than a minute to get the worst of it off of you.”

Kiernan nodded and followed the man to the back side of the house. Crocker even offered to pump the water while Kiernan very nearly immersed himself in the flow. Standing erect, his water-soaked body dripped great puddles around him while Crocker only laughed.

“You look like a drowned rat, but at least the stench is lessened. I'm going to do the same and then go soak in a hot bath. See you tomorrow.”

“Aye, tomorrow,” Kiernan said, his voice betraying his exhaustion. Wrapping himself in a blanket borrowed from Crocker to ward off the chill night, he turned toward home.

He worked his way through the dark streets, very nearly asleep on his feet, yet thoroughly aware that it was necessary to pay attention to his surroundings. Robbers and confidence men loved to haunt the streets at night, all in hopes of rolling a drunk for his last bit of money. Kiernan steadied his step and forced himself to be alert. There was no sense in being mistaken for someone in his cups.

His apartment window, facing the street, was lit with a warm, cheery glow. Kiernan hoped that meant Victoria had waited up for him and that her anger had abated somewhat. He still didn't know exactly what to say to her. He had labored with the thought of her declaration, even during Crocker's arguments about how to best rework the track plans.

He hated to think of himself as a petty man—a man who would hold against his wife her inability to bear a child. That wasn't how he saw himself. He was proud, to be sure. He held a tremendous sense of family. But if he truly loved Victoria any less because of her childlessness, then he must indeed be an ill-mannered, heartless monster.

He entered the apartment building and trudged slowly up the steps to his home. He couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety from his heart. What should he say to her? How could he reassure her, when he couldn't figure it out for himself? Of course, he would never consider divorcing her. He did love her. Loved her as he loved his own life. How could she imagine that he would put her away from him in disgrace?

He opened the door, took a deep breath, and called her name. “Victoria?” He closed the door softly and waited for her to reply.

She came from the bedroom, hair down and tousled as if she'd been asleep. Her face was drawn and pale and her expression one of shy, almost embarrassed contemplation.

“I kept some supper for you. Are you hungry?” she asked without looking directly at him.

“Aye. I'm starvin'.” He suddenly realized his wet clothes were leaving a puddle at the door. “Let me change these clothes first.”

She said nothing but went directly to the tiny stove and began pushing pots around as if with purpose.

Kiernan hurriedly changed and returned to the room just as she was portioning out a thick piece of pork. The plate already contained a generous helping of fried potatoes, and on the table she had placed a loaf of golden crusted bread and a bowl of butter. Kiernan smiled at the sight, and the aroma caused his stomach to growl loudly.

Victoria made no comment, but Kiernan laughed and took his seat at the table. “This will make a fine snack,” he teased as he sometimes did when ravenous.

“I can fix something more if you'd like,” Victoria replied, bringing the coffeepot and Kiernan's mug to the table.

“No, this looks fine,” he said, realizing she wasn't going to go easily into a conversation with him.

He offered a silent prayer over the meal, then asked her, “So what did you do today?”

Victoria shrugged. “I helped at the store and then came back up here.”

He dug into the potatoes and smiled. If there was one thing he could say about his wife, it was that she had a way with cooking. He never had reason to complain about any of her meals. Even when they'd been so very poor and isolated in the mining camps, Victoria had always managed to give him satisfaction when it came to their meals. He felt his heart warm toward her. Perhaps that was the way to put this issue of anger and children behind them. Focus on something pleasant—something good, something as close to perfect about the other person as possible.

“This tastes great,” he told her, then took up the knife and began slicing away at the pork.

Victoria said nothing, but instead seemed to be in a worse state of mind now than when he'd left her the night before. Kiernan decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to avoid talking about their argument. Surely it was better to move ahead than repeat their past mistakes.

“Why don't you come sit with me, and I'll tell you all about the Central Pacific's latest complication.”

Victoria turned and looked at him for a moment. Her gaze never quite met his, but at least she gave the pretense of considering his words. She put down the dish towel she'd been holding and took a seat at the table.

Kiernan waited for her to make some comment or question about what the problem might be, and when she didn't, he forced himself to continue.

“Well, for sure ya know that money has been a problem for this line since the start. The government won't be issuin' the promised loan money until there are at least forty miles of CP track laid and functionin' like a proper railroad.” He explained this in between bites of food, all while Victoria looked on in quiet indifference.

“Then there's the point of how much money the government will give us,” Kiernan continued. “It seems there's to be a $16,000-a-mile subsidy for the flatlands, those lands between here and the Sierras. Then it jumps to $48,000 for actual mountain work in the Sierras or the Rockies. Then the government dropped the amount down to $32,000 a mile for the distance between the Sierras and the Rockies.

“Well, it seems the powers that be have it in their minds now to question where the Sierras actually start. And for sure they won't rest until it means more money for the CP.” Kiernan paused long enough to take a drink of the rich black coffee. Smiling, he put the mug down. “Ah, and that hits the spot in a way a man can appreciate.”

Still Victoria remained silent. At least she actually looked at him now, but the expression on her face was like someone meeting the dead. He'd seen his mother look at his da that way, and he didn't like the feeling he got from the memory.

He ate for a few moments in silence, then wondered about the wisdom of continuing. Perhaps he should say something about their argument. But what could he say? That he'd been smitten with jealousy to see his wife so happily intimate in the arms of another man? That he hated to admit that having a child was important to him, and therefore the lack of one was tearing apart the foundations of their marriage? Was that even true? He sighed and decided to stick with the safer subject of the railroad.

“So anyway, it seems our good governor remembered some such nonsense about the Rocky Mountains beginning at the point of the Mississippi River. Some geologist was thinkin' that because the land made a continual rise to the west from that point, that it only figured to be that the mountains themselves were beginning to take shape. Stanford decided to call in a geologist to help us, and the man is fairly certain that he can cut the distance down and have us set up for bigger money long before we would have had it.”

“And this is a problem?” Victoria finally spoke.

Kiernan looked up to meet her searching eyes. “It is if we want to be honest. Crocker told me they were fixin' to say that no more than seven miles to the east where Arcade Creek crosses our planned track line is where the Sierras begin.”

“But that's all flatland,” Victoria replied.

“Aye, and for sure it's no mountain peak to be earning them $48,000,” Kiernan replied, grateful that she was finally communicating with him. “The geologist said there is a definite change in the soil, which makes it a legitimate decision as far as our big four are concerned.”

“But you said they wouldn't get the money until at least forty miles were in place,” Victoria replied, her voice soft, almost childlike.

“That's true enough,” Kiernan replied, “but Stanford is having better success raising funds from private sources, and those men are apparently more likely to continue giving so long as the government money is in sight.”

“Hmm, I see.” Victoria got up from the table and went to retrieve the cast-iron skillet that sat warming on the stove. “I have more potatoes if you want them.”

Kiernan nodded and she scooped out the remaining contents of the pan before replacing the skillet on the side ledge of the stove.

“Then there's that whole issue of me going with Crocker to the Donner Pass.” He waited, hoping she might at least offer him some real conversation on this issue. But instead, she simply looked at him as though he should already know how she felt on the matter.

“I'm thinkin' ya don't want me to go, but at the same time, I'm thinkin' ya want to be rid of me,” he finally said.

Victoria's face contorted as if the words had caused her great pain. She got to her feet and began clearing the table of empty dishes. “I suppose you'll do whatever you please.”

Kiernan had had enough. He slammed his fist on the table, causing the remaining plate to clatter. “Faith, woman! Ya would try the patience of Job with yar meager words and mournful stare.”

Victoria froze in place, setting the dishes back on the table. “So now I'm the one with meager words? You might remember that you're the one who ran off and left me here to fret and worry.”

“Ya were sleepin' when I came home last night, and it hardly seemed right to be wakin' ya up for an argument.”

“And that's what it would have been? An argument?” Victoria asked tartly.

“Isn't that what we're havin' now?” Kiernan countered.

Victoria shook her head and moved to the sofa. This forced Kiernan to either get up from the table or continue the discussion with his back to her. Not relishing either, he finally got to his feet and followed her. And that was when he saw the bouquet of flowers.

“And where did those come from?” Kiernan demanded.

Victoria looked up as though she hadn't a clue what he was talking about. “What?”

“Those flowers,” he replied, trying to moderate his inner anger and fear. He had a sneaking feeling that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her own lips. After all, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Anna Judah had sent them to cheer her up.

“Oh,” Victoria replied, glancing at the bouquet as though seeing them for the first time. “They were delivered earlier.”

“I can be seein' that for meself. Who are they from?”

“Mr. Thorndike.”

Kiernan felt the intensity of his anger build. “And why would the likes of Mr. Thorndike be sendin' me wife flowers?”

Victoria shrugged. “He didn't say. He simply signed his name to the card. I suppose they were his way of apologizing for whatever misconceived wrongs you believed him capable of.”

“Then he would have been a-sendin' them to me,” Kiernan replied sarcastically.

“Well, then,” Victoria said rather haughtily, “maybe he felt sorry for me.”

“And I'm supposin' ya'd like that just fine, now, wouldn't ya?” Kiernan hated that he'd let his emotions get the best of him, but he'd be hanged first before he'd let another man court his wife right under his nose. “I'm thinkin' Mr. Thorndike and I should have a little discussion.”

“You have no right to go barging in on him,” Victoria protested even as Kiernan went to pull on his boots.

“I have every right, bein's yar still me wife.” He watched her flinch at his statement but refused to calm down and deal with the matter in a more civilized manner.