Westward the Dream (33 page)

My dearest Victoria,

I can hardly believe I am writing these words to you. My heart is so heavy with sorrow that words seem impossible.

Victoria frowned and felt the joy leave her. Something was wrong! She continued reading, only now she was more wary of the news.

Our journey by sea from California was uneventful until we reached Panama. Crossing the isthmus through the mosquito-infested swamps has always held risks, even after the railroad was built there. My dear Ted contracted yellow fever in a blinding rainstorm while helping a group of women and children get from the railcars to the steamer. I feared he was doing too much as he shielded them with his umbrella, but he cared nothing for himself. That night he fell ill with a terrible headache and from that point grew steadily worse.

Our arrival in New York should have heralded better care, but of course by then it was too late. My beloved was gone. He passed from this earth in a delirium on November the second.

Victoria felt as though a huge band constricted her chest. She could scarcely draw breath for the shock of it all. Ted Judah was dead. It was impossible to believe. Why, only a few weeks ago she had sat beside him at dinner.

Victoria, I don't know how I can go on without him. He was so young, only thirty-seven. So full of life and so much a part of my heart and soul. I turn even now when I hear someone upon the step, certain that when the door opens it will be him. But of course it isn't him. It will never be him again. What am I to do?

Tears poured from Victoria's eyes as she finished reading the words of her brokenhearted friend.

Word came yesterday that the Central Pacific had laid its first rail only a week before Ted's passing. I think he would have been glad to have known it, even if he doubted the final outcome for the line.

So now I sit here in Greenfield, thinking back over the events of the past week, knowing that life shall never be the same for me. We buried Ted in a quiet little cemetery just outside of town. I shall walk there often and see to his grave. It seems wrong that this should be all that is left to us. Please write to me or I might go mad in this anguish.

Ever your friend,

Anna Judah

Victoria let the letter fall to her lap. She could hardly fathom the truth of this situation. Anna had feared the railroad would one day kill her husband, and in a sense, Victoria supposed that it had. If Ted would not have been so discouraged by the attitudes of Huntington, Hopkins, Stanford, and Crocker, he might have stayed in Sacramento and would never have contracted yellow fever.

Victoria hugged her arms to her body and rocked and cried. She remembered her mother talking of losing younger sisters to yellow fever. What a hideous and awful disease. It seemed wrong that such a thing should be allowed to snuff out life at will. Why did no one find the cause of such an illness and give them a way to defeat it?

She lost track of the time, and when her tears were played out, she simply sat rocking and contemplating the letter in her lap. Kiernan arrived home to a darkened room and no supper on the stove. He called out in greeting, then saw her sitting in the chair.

“Did ya run out of oil for the lamp?” he asked good-naturedly.

“No,” she managed to say. She got to her feet and crossed the room even as her husband was striking a match. “We've had bad news.”

His hand began to shake and he was just barely able to light the wick of the lamp. “Bad news?”

“Yes. Anna wrote me a letter.”

“Anna Judah?” He took the letter she held out to him.

“It's very, very bad, Kiernan.”

He scanned the sheets, then met her sorrowful expression. “Oh no,” he murmured, tears coming to his own eyes. “Ted is gone? It can't be true.”

Victoria took the letter back. “But we both know it is. Oh, Kiernan, how her heart must be breaking. How can she even bear to live without him?” Then she realized her own fears and threw herself into her husband's arms. “How could I ever live without you?”

They clung to each other, as though letting go might well allow the other to slip away from reach. It was impossible to know what to say or do. One friend was dead and another suffered a loss far more painful than they had ever known.

35

Jordana stared over the railing of their steamer and wondered at the muddy, churning water below. The Missouri River seemed to be a focal point for the eastern railroaders, and as with them, it represented an exciting challenge in the life of Jordana. To cross it meant going deeper into the heart of America, to brave unseen forces, to experience what most had never dared to try.

The thought of it thrilled her to the core of her being. After so many delays, waiting for photographic supplies and for the border skirmishes to settle down, they were finally on their way. It didn't matter that the West had already wounded her. She proudly bore the scar of her confrontation on the way to St. Joseph. The fact that the wound had become infected and had taken longer than normal to heal did not daunt her in the least. It only confirmed once again that Jordana's life seemed guarded by more than mere mortals.

Jordana smiled when she thought of how Brenton had fussed over her during her convalescence. His overwhelming fear that she might die had caused him to be a sullen and difficult companion. Even now, with them safely on their way to Omaha via the tiny riverport cities in between, Brenton still eyed her with the look of a worried parent. It was at his insistence for the safety of the girls that they were now aboard a riverboat, having spent a good portion of the money that should have taken them along for several months. Jordana wished she could ease his mind but knew it was impossible.

“Afternoon, miss.”

Jordana turned to find a dashing stranger paying her homage with a deep bow. Hat in hand, he reached up to smooth back the lines of his thin moustache. Jordana contemplated him for a moment, then decided there was no harm in returning his greeting.

“Good afternoon,” she replied.

“I felt some concern at seeing you out here alone. It hardly seemed fitting for a lady of quality to be unaccompanied.”

“Oh?” Jordana gave a quick look past the man for the ever-present figure of her brother. “You must have been listening to my brother, for he feels exactly as you do.”

The man smiled, only to Jordana it came across as something of a leer. “No, I've not yet made the acquaintance of your brother, Miss—”

“Baldwin,” Jordana answered.

“Well, Miss Baldwin, I'm Charles Cunningham. I must say, I've been taking this paddlewheeler from Kansas City to Omaha for many months now, and never before have I seen a more lovely woman grace the decks.”

Jordana would have laughed out loud had the man not appeared so serious. He was such a dandy with his brocaded satin vest and his new black wool suit. The suit barely showed a crease or wrinkle, and Jordana had no doubt that should one appear, the man would simply hire someone to eliminate the problem. Even his outer coat appeared new, as if he had stepped from the clothing emporium with the new goods on his back.

Of course, her own navy wool cloak was new—a purchase insisted upon by Brenton for both her and Caitlan. He had told her he was tired of the way men looked at them both. He believed the cloak would hide most of their more feminine features from view, but rather than causing disinterest among male observers, it seemed the coverings only added to the intrigue.

“I suppose you think me rather ill-mannered to approach you in such a fashion,” Cunningham stated. “Here in the West it's often thought that protocol is unnecessary, but I like to preserve the old customs.”

“If that is true, Mr. Cunningham, then why are you speaking to me now?” Jordana asked unabashedly.

His smiled broadened. “Ah, a lady with a quick wit as well as a beautiful face.” He toyed with his top hat for a moment, then replaced it on his head. “You might say that while I stand on protocol, I would not be so foolish as to allow a beautiful young woman to slip away unnoticed. Nor would I find it appropriate to see her left unattended.”

“Well, she is hardly that, my good sir,” Brenton said, coming up from behind the man.

Jordana lowered her head, a grin on her own face. She'd hardly gone unnoticed; in fact, Mr. Cunningham was probably the fourth or fifth to make certain she was not left unattended. Brenton was no doubt becoming weary of asserting his position.

“I'm Miss Baldwin's brother. I suggest you make your way elsewhere while I escort my sister to her cabin.”

The man touched the brim of his hat. “It isn't wise to leave a young woman alone to fend for herself—especially one so beautiful.”

Brenton stared at the man without blinking. “For your information, she has never been out of my sight. Good day to you, sir.” Brenton encircled Jordana's waist with his arm and nudged her forward, away from the river dandy. “What did I tell you about talking to strange men?”

“He didn't look all that strange,” Jordana replied with a taunting giggle. “Besides, I think you worry too much. You have been positively impossible ever since my mishap.”

“It was hardly a mishap,” Brenton said, leading her to their cabin. “You were shot by border ruffians and nearly died.”

Jordana laughed softly. “I came nowhere near death, so stop being so dramatic. It's over and there's no reason to continue dwelling on it.”

“There's plenty of reason,” Brenton replied. “Now that Omaha has finally been chosen as the eastern terminus for the Union Pacific, I'm of a mind that your part in this little affair is over. I believe it would be wise to send you back east to New York.”

“Unchaperoned? Why, Mr. Baldwin, it simply isn't done,” Jordana drawled.

“Stop mocking me; I'm serious.” Brenton's growing frustration was evident in his tone. “You know that I sent a wire to Mrs. Vanderbilt to tell her that we'd be in Omaha, and by now Mother and Father should have returned to America. I advised her to inform them of our whereabouts, should she have the opportunity.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I've lived with the guilt of dragging you out here for these many months. Mother said they would return by summer, and I can only trust that they have done so. Since communications are so poor with the war wreaking havoc on the telegraph system and the post, they probably couldn't have caught up with us had they wanted to. I had hoped they would send a letter to St. Joseph, but perhaps they never received our address there. Then again, maybe they've not returned from Russia. But either way, I'm responsible for you.”

“I want you to stop worrying about me. I'll be eighteen in another few months,” she declared.

“That makes you even more of a concern.”

“But why? I intend to make my own way in this world and do as I please—to break with tradition and travel at will, living in the wilds if I choose. I intend to do everything Mother always dreamed of doing. Her stories were so vivid—so stimulating—and now I shall be able to make the journey and write and tell her every detail.”

“But in the meanwhile, I am responsible for you. Father gave you over to my care, and I take that very seriously.”

They maneuvered down the stairs to the next level of the steamer, and Brenton quickly brought her to their cabin. Unlocking the door, Brenton half pushed, half pulled Jordana inside.

“Caitlan!” Jordana declared upon seeing her friend sitting in a straight-backed chair, hands folded in her lap. “So you are to be a prisoner as well?”

“Yar brother—”

Jordana held up her hand. “Please, you needn't say more. I know very well how my brother can be.”

Brenton had closed the door by this time, and as Jordana removed her cloak and went to hang it up, he began his speech. “Look here, I'm only thinking of your safety. You neither one realize the way men look at you. As we've moved west, there have been fewer and fewer women. Past the Missouri there are even fewer. You will quickly become a commodity in and of yourselves.”

“Are you suggesting that we will be no better than slaves to be auctioned off to the highest bidder?” Jordana asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“I suppose in a sense that is exactly what I'm fearful of,” Brenton replied. “I only desire your safety. I had no idea that things would be like this. I'm certain now that I've made a poor choice and should take you both back to New York. And were I not so worried about getting there without the interference of war, I might never have left for Omaha.”

“You are being a goose about this,” Jordana replied. “Caitlan and I are quite capable of taking care of ourselves. I know society stands on the formality of having unmarried females escorted at all times, but I certainly do not hold with such nonsense. Perhaps I should don trousers and a frock coat and pass myself off as a man. Would you worry less then?”

“I might,” Brenton answered in a clearly agitated manner. “You could cut your hair even shorter.”

“I like my hair,” Jordana said, reaching up to strip away the netting she wore on the back of her head.

“It's just one more thing to draw attention to yourself.”

“When I wear the net, no one can tell that it isn't as long as Caitlan's,” Jordana countered. “You, Brenton Baldwin, are a worrywart.”

“Jordana, he only cares about yar safety. I tried to warn ya some time back that men were eyein' ya with a different look.”

“Yes, I know, but my brother would have me sit in this cabin and do nothing more.”

“Exactly!” Brenton declared. “That is what I want from both of you. I want you to remain here for the duration of the trip so that no one is ogling you or trying to entice you to join in whatever games they might have in mind.”

“That isn't fair!” Jordana cried. “That's nearly three days! I will die of boredom.” Jordana was thinking of the several stops on the way that might be interesting and all the new sights along the river she would surely miss.

“It may not be fair,” Caitlan interjected, “but it might keep Brenton from harm.”

This sobered Jordana. “What do you mean?”

“I'm meanin', if he has to defend our honor by settin' himself up for the possibility of a fight every time we step out of the room, then what good is that? He could end up hurt or worse.”

Jordana sat down on the edge of the bed. “I hadn't thought of it that way. I suppose sitting here and waiting out the trip is better than having to deal with that. I'll be glad when I'm of age and can make my own way into the world. Then I won't worry about whether or not someone is getting hurt. I'll only have to concern myself with me.”

“Fine, but until then,” Brenton said, his expression softening, “please do as I ask. Just stay here unless I am escorting you. I'll see to it that you have whatever you need, but stay out of the sight of the other male passengers.”

Reluctantly Jordana nodded.

“Good. Now, you wait here and I'll go see about having your meals brought in,” Brenton said, walking to the door. “I'm counting on you, Jordana, to behave yourself.”

“What about Caitlan?” Jordana said with a pout.

Brenton smiled. “Caitlan has never given me half the grief you have. I know she sees the importance of this matter.” With that, he left them.

“Oh, but he can be so irritating,” Jordana said, slapping her hands against the bed.

“He only cares,” Caitlan replied, still staring at the door. “He's a fine man and his heart is in the right place.” Her dreamy-eyed stare made her feelings evident.

Jordana stopped and studied her for a moment. “I wish you two would just be honest with each other.”

Caitlan looked at her in surprise. “And what would ya be talkin' about now?”

Jordana shook her head. “You're in love with him and he's in love with you.”

“What!”

“You know it's true. Don't try to deny it. I haven't seen Brenton this moonfaced since he was in fifth grade and Elsie Smith let him kiss her on the cheek.”

Caitlan's face grew red. “I'm thinkin' yar imagination is carryin' ya away.”

“Oh, Caitlan, really. You needn't try to hide your feelings from me. I love him with all my heart, and if I have to lose him to someone, I'd just as soon it be someone like you.”