This was far from the life she had dreamed for herself when she had married her dear Irishman. Kiernan! Even thinking of him caused her heart to beat faster. She loved him more than she loved anything else in life. The evidence of that was in the fact that she’d left a life of luxury in Baltimore to come with him halfway across the world to California.
She’d met Kiernan when her family had lived in Greigsville, Virginia. Her father was overseeing the building of a tunnel for the railroad, and Kiernan had been one of the Irish laborers working on the line. He had seemed different from other men. He was serious and responsible and totally committed to his family. He had told her on more than one occasion that family loyalty was everything to him. Blood stood by blood and to deny that was to deny yourself.
Unfortunately, problems with his older brother had caused a deep, unhealed rift between them. His brother had died in an explosion at the tunnel, and Kiernan had never quite recovered from his grief. In spite of his brother’s shunning him, Kiernan had loved Red O’Connor with all his heart. He’d looked up to the man as a father image when his own da had died. But now Red was gone and Kiernan was the man of the family. An extensive Irish family of siblings and their children—all of whom lived in Ireland.
But more than this, Kiernan was her husband of nearly seven years. Though the years had been filled with peril and struggle, she had never once lost her deep, abiding love for him. Even now. Even in the midst of this mudhole of a mining district, Victoria felt confident their love could survive any tribulation the world could deliver.
Hot grease popped up to hit her in the face. She quickly wiped it away and chased back the same loose strand of hair. How hard it was not to remember the privileged life she’d led in Greigsville and then Baltimore. She had been born in Baltimore, and when her parents saw it necessary to return to that city, she had grieved only for fear of losing Kiernan. But Kiernan had followed them, and soon after, they had married in a quiet ceremony in 1855. Before coming west, they had even lived at her parents’ new house. There they had enjoyed all the luxury life could afford them. Both had stylish new clothes, and they went out nearly every night to one event or another.
Victoria quickly saw how that life wearied Kiernan because he felt unsuited for it, and thus she had suggested they spend more quiet evenings at home planning their trip to California. They both longed for the adventure of going west and making their own fortune—together.
Shaking her head, Victoria forced her thoughts back to the present as she went to the overturned packing crate that doubled as a table and sat down to slice up some potatoes. Her love for Kiernan might never change, but her love for this place certainly had. When they’d first arrived by boat in San Francisco, Victoria had thought it a wondrous place. And even after Kiernan had packed them upriver to Sacramento, then Placerville, then north to half a dozen other settlements whose names she could no longer remember, Victoria had continued to love the country. She marveled at the beauty of the mountains and the crystal clear waters of the lakes and streams. She had told Kiernan then, and had honestly felt it to be the truth, that she was completely happy to spend her life in this place.
But the newness of the beauty wore off. Kiernan’s desire to pan and mine for gold had sent them to one mining town after another, and Victoria’s heart had begun to change on the matter. Suddenly, the beauty was scarred by ugly mining equipment and filthy, vulgar men. There were few women in the camps, except those who could not be considered respectable by a genteel, well-brought-up female such as herself.
Wives were rare, as well, and if they existed they were usually overworked and haggard in appearance and certainly never had time for socializing. They died young from bearing too many children or from sheer exhaustion, and they left men behind whose gold fever would soon either take their own lives or render them completely mad.
Victoria feared the lifestyle they’d chosen, but she knew Kiernan’s commitment to earning back the fortune he’d lost her. A fortune her birth father had left her upon his death. Her adoptive parents, James and Carolina, had carefully watched over the fortune in order to see to it that Victoria need never live a life such as she was enduring now. But a financial crisis in 1857 had nearly wiped out her entire fortune. Kiernan blamed himself, as he had taken her money away from the investments back east and had brought it west with them to California. Unfortunately, no one had told him that gold was the standard used in California and that paper money and coins were considered suspect at all times. He was lucky to invest it at sixty cents on the dollar, and when banks started failing in the East, the results spread west in an alarming manner. The entire country’s economy came to a halt nearly overnight, and the newly formed stock exchanges of New York suffered greatly.
Some blamed it on the end of the Crimean War. It was said that while the war was going on, the United States was making a strong profit via sales of wheat and other food goods to Russia. Cotton had made the southern states rich, and the invention of the sewing machine saw to it that cloth made from this lucrative plant could be fashioned into usable goods nearly as quickly as raw materials could be processed. But the unrest in the South, because of threats of secession, caused the market to slacken as the northern states became suspicious of their southern brothers. And when the European market pulled away in a similar manner, southern sales dropped drastically.
But whatever the reason for the economic disruption, Kiernan blamed himself for removing Victoria from the safety of her family and from the knowledgeable and sound investments her father and mother had procured for her over the years. Victoria could still remember when her parents had written to ask of their financial welfare. Had they survived the crash? Had they suffered much loss? Victoria had lied to them. Lied as boldly as any lie she had ever told.
It shamed her greatly to remember, but she justified it in that she had saved her husband from disgrace. After all, she was a world apart from the social life of Baltimore. No one here in the mining camps would remember that she once belonged to the powerful, wealthy Baldwin family. No one here would question her husband’s lack of genius when it came to money.
She sighed again. It hurt to think of how badly Kiernan had wanted to impress her and her parents. He wanted to prove that he could take Victoria to another part of the country and still succeed without the aid of the wealth left to her by her father. Victoria knew it was a sore subject with the man. She had tried more than once to reason that he had no way of knowing anything about the Russians and the Crimean War and whether it would go on forever or end to wreck the economy of the United States.
Kiernan had been inconsolable. He’d gone to the panned-out riverbeds and searched for a way to make it up to his wife. He didn’t return until nearly a week later. And he didn’t return with much gold.
Victoria tried not to remember the defeat in his eyes, but it was impossible to forget. Impossible, mostly, because he still wore that haunted look. Everything had changed after that. Well, most everything. Her love for him hadn’t changed, but Kiernan’s open manner of speaking with her—of sharing his thoughts and dreams—had definitely taken a different turn.
She cut up the boiled potatoes and stirred them into the pork fat. They popped and hissed and turned a golden brown as the grease greedily accepted her offering. Pork and potatoes—at least it was something hot and filling.
The worst part of her life, Victoria thought, was her homesickness. She had never thought herself all that devoted to a place or style of life. Nor had she worried overly much about being parted from her brothers and sisters—Brenton, Jordana, Nicholas, and Amelia. Little Amelia, some sixteen years Victoria’s junior, had been a cute and affectionate baby, but she only made Victoria long for a child of her own. When she’d married Kiernan, Amelia was not quite two years old. Victoria had cried to leave them and make a new life west with her husband, but it wasn’t a sorrow that had stayed with her for long. The adventure of being married and considered a grown-up woman in her own right had
quickly captured Victoria’s attention. The adventure of taking a journey by ship to California had left her with little time to think of anything but her seasick stomach and her longing to be on dry land once again.
But now, after a four-year absence and no hope of returning home for a visit, Victoria felt the longing build up inside until it threatened to choke out her happiness with Kiernan. Perhaps if she had children of her own . . .
This, too, was a subject she’d just as soon not dwell on. Because in seven years of marriage, she had been unable to conceive a child. Kiernan’s child. At first they had both been relieved to know that she would not produce a child immediately upon their arrival to California. They had seen the blessing in her barrenness as they traipsed around that first year, trying desperately to find some place that hadn’t been played out. A place where gold could still be had if a man was willing to work hard enough. But then the second and third year had come upon them and now the seventh, and still no child had been given to them. Victoria hadn’t so much as even miscarried, and this caused her more fear than if she’d lost a dozen children.
Her womb was barren, or so it appeared. Barren wombs did not miscarry. Barren wombs carried no life at all.
She felt a tear streak down her face and quickly glanced around to make certain Kiernan had not crept into the tent unannounced. She could scarcely speak of the matter with him, for she knew he longed for children just as she did. To speak the words out loud might give them more validity and finality than they already appeared to have. And being barren was something Victoria was desperate not to accept.
“ ‘Oh, the sun shines bright on an Irishman’s land’ ” came the distant sound of Kiernan’s voice raised in a melancholy song. “ ‘And beats down such heat that he can hardly stand.’ ”
“ ‘And burns his back and blinds his eyes,’ ” Victoria whispered, straightening her apron. “ ‘And cares not for his mournful cries.’ ”
It was one of the many verses to the ballad he sang when life had dealt with him harshly. He probably never realized it, but it always let Victoria know what kind of mood he was in. She could take a moment to prepare her heart and mind for the man of the house—or in this case, the tent. And she could pray that God would somehow give them a restful night of peace and healing before Kiernan had to go back out and face the world once again.
“And where might be the wife of the house?” he called in his lilting brogue.
Victoria smiled. He tried so hard to be cheerful for her sake.
“I’m fixing the husband his food,” she called back.
Kiernan pulled back on the opening of the tent and doffed his cap. “Ah, a veritable feast. I smell lamb chops and sweet potatoes like your good mother used to make.”
“I see the sun has rendered you senseless,” Victoria teased.
“What sun?” Kiernan countered. “Ya know, this place either freezes a body or burns him out. A wee bit o’ sun wouldn’t hurt my feelings. Instead, the good Lord sends me a late spring snow, and it’s left me chilled to the bone.”
Victoria nodded. “Well, draw the flap tight so we can warm you up. I’ve not felt the chill since I started your supper, but once I join you at the table, I’m sure to know it at my back.”
Kiernan nodded and tied down the flaps. Then, without warning, he turned and pulled Victoria into his arms and swung her around in a circle. “You’re a sight, Victoria O’Connor.”
She grinned. “Oh, go on with ya, now,” she said, mocking his Irish brogue.
“Hmmm.” He let her feet touch the ground again and held her tight. “You smell like lilacs.”
“You have been in the sun too long,” she laughed. “I smell like lye soap and pork fat.”
“No, I smell springtime in your hair,” he replied.
Victoria loved him for his teasing. Though clearly defeated and discouraged, he proved himself a grand actor, and the fact that he longed for her to be happy was enough reason to give him his desire. Sometimes he tried so hard.
“I love you, Mr. O’Connor,” she said, reaching up to take hold of his face. She pulled him down to meet her lips. “I’ve missed you today. Almost considered taking up mining myself just to be near you.”
Kiernan kissed her long and hard before pulling away to eye her seriously. “If I thought you’d be a help, I’d drag you along. Truth is, the mine’s played out, and we’re gonna have to consider goin’ elsewhere.”
“Move? Again?” Victoria tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“Not far and not for minin’. I’ve been told about a job in Dutch Flat. A man there needs help with some surveyin’, and he’s lookin’ for someone with experience. I figured what with the trainin’ I’ve had with your father, I could be his man.”
“And if you’re not?”
“Sure, and why would I not be the right man for the job?” he replied lightly, though his green eyes watched her closely.
Victoria shrugged and walked back to their makeshift stove. “I didn’t say you weren’t, but moving on the hope that some man will hire you seems a bit risky.”
“No more so than diggin’ in the dirt for your dreams—only to find it’s your grave you’ve been diggin’. I’m weary to the bone, Victoria. We’ve scarcely enough to put food on the table, and what little I’ve been able to send to me family in Ireland can’t begin to bring ’em all here.” He sighed and sat down on a rough split-log bench. “We live like animals. I could make us beautiful furniture, maybe even build us a house, if I had me a job I could count on for pay.”
Victoria nodded. “I’ve never faulted the idea of working for regular pay.” She brought the pan of pork and potatoes and sat it atop the crate. “But this job seems awfully risky. You heard from a man, who heard from someone else, no doubt, that a man somewhere wants help. It isn’t like you to go on rumor and speculation.”
Kiernan laughed. “I came to California on little more.”
Victoria had to laugh at this. “I suppose you’re right.” She retrieved their two tin plates and a pot of weak coffee. “But why not make a real move? Why don’t we go back to Sacramento? You yourself heard talk of the railroad they want to build. You know the railroad, Kiernan. You could easily secure a job. A good job—one that wouldn’t be nearly as backbreaking and hopeless as mining.”
Kiernan laughed. “Now, are ya tellin’ me that railroadin’ isn’t backbreakin’ work?”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way, but the checks were regular,” she countered. She brought cups and forks and joined him on the crude bench.
“The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad issued regular checks—at least, they did in the end. But I’m not seein’ the B&O mark on anything out this way.”
Victoria chuckled and poured the coffee. “Give Mother and Father a chance when they get back from Russia. They’ll see to it that their beloved B&O Railroad makes it west. After all, I’m here. What better reason will they need?”
Kiernan frowned at this. “Aye, what better reason?”
4
Jordana pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders. She hated the ferry ride from school to Staten Island, where Margaret Vanderbilt lived. Meggie had invited her home for the weekend, and because G.W. Vanderbilt, Meggie’s young uncle, would also be there, Jordana couldn’t resist the invitation. George Washington Vanderbilt, now in his twenties and commissioned as a lieutenant in the Union army, was a handsome, broad-shouldered man who treated Jordana as a woman of intelligence, even if she was only sixteen. He had been gone to war nearly since its inception, leaving them at the mercy of the army and postal services for communications. Now he was home on furlough, having succumbed to some illness during the Battle of Shiloh. It would be wonderful to see him again. He never failed to discuss issues of the day with her, accepting that she had the ability to reason and consider matters just as well as any of his male counterparts.
Still, enduring the chilly harbor ride for the sake of being accepted as an adult left Jordana questioning he
r own sanity. Turning to Meg, she forced her teeth not to chatter and smiled. “I’ll be glad when the weather decides to stay warm.”
“Oh, it’s just a little storm,” Meg replied, looking heavenward. “Mother calls it winter’s last hurrah. It’ll pass before you know it, and then we’ll be longing for some shady place to cool our brows.”
“You’re certainly waxing poetic today,” Jordana teased.
“I’m glad to be going home,” Meg replied. “I hate Deighton and long only to return home for good.”
“What about me?” Jordana questioned. “Who would keep me entertained at school if you were gone?”
Meg tossed back her hood and laughed, her brown ringlets dancing about her shoulders. “You are the entertainment at Deighton School. No one could come close to equaling your antics. When you were scaling the building, I thought old Pruney would faint.”
“She did appear a bit pale,” Jordana agreed. “I can only thank the southern states’ rebellion for saving me from expulsion. Poor Brenton made me promise to be good until the end of this session. I don’t think he’s cut out for my kind of adventure.”
“Few people are.” Meg strained to see the shore. “Oh look, G.W.’s come to pick us up.”
Jordana grinned and suddenly she didn’t feel quite so cold. “I feared he’d be too sick. I hope he has plenty of new stories for us about West Point and his travels. I simply love hearing his tales.”
“I think he simply loves you.”
Jordana frowned. “I certainly hope you are wrong, Margaret Vanderbilt.”
Meg looked at her in surprise. “You don’t want him to love you?”
“I do not want him to love me. We’re good friends, and that is how I want it to remain. I have too much to do with my life to consider settling down to be any man’s wife. I want to learn what I can and travel. If I married G.W. he might treat me respectfully, but it wouldn’t be long until he expected me to resign myself to keeping his house and bearing his children.”
Westward the Dream Page 3