Westward the Dream

by Judith Pella; Tracie Peterson

  “You don’t want a husband and children?” Meggie asked in disbelief. For all her spirited nature, Meg wasn’t quite as given over to unconventional thought as her dear friend appeared to be.

  “I want them both—someday,” Jordana replied, waving to G.W. as the ferry approached the dock. “I just don’t want them now. This war has people acting positively daffy, if you ask me. Three of our young ladies have returned to their homes in the South, two have left to marry while their beaus are on furlough, and the rest seem anxious to do likewise.”

  “Don’t you worry that another major conflict will take the lives of our young men?”

  “Of course I do. My own brother is now old enough to fight,” Jordana said, frowning at the idea of Brenton going to war. She would have to do whatever was in her power to convince him that their mother and father would never approve of him joining up. President Lincoln had already called for seventy-five thousand state militia troops, and the last thing she wanted to see was Brenton obeying some patriotic conscience and following them into war.

  The ferry docked and Meggie was the first to greet G.W. “I see Papa sent you to bring us home. How are you?” She reached out to embrace him and kiss his cheek.

  Jordana watched their reunion, shocked at the amount of weight G.W. had lost. He was dreadfully pale and appeared as though he might even collapse. He released Meg, then opened his arms to Jordana. But her mind was on Meg’s words of G.W.’s love, and she quickly waved him off. “Be gone with you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You aren’t my uncle.”

  “Indeed I am not,” he said, grinning mischievously. “And glad I am of that fact.”

  G.W. stood at least six feet tall and had once maintained the physique of an athlete. Of all the sons of Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt, G.W. alone was the one considered the hope for the family line. The commodore found Margaret’s father, Billy, to be a blatherskite and a sucker, two of the older man’s favorite terms. But in spite of the commodore’s having exiled Billy to remain on Staten Island while he himself lived in luxury on Washington Place in the heart of New York City, Billy had made a good showing on the farm. He had turned the ground into productive land and had, in fact, increased his holdings many times over. For all his father’s lack of interest and confidence in his son, Billy seemed to do quite well at moving his family forward. Billy’s younger brother, and the commodore’s namesake, Cornelius, or Corneel as he was more often called, had been the commodore’s second hope, but this had been quickly dashed when it was learned that the boy had epilepsy—something the commodore blamed himself for in light of having married his cousin. Not only had this been a conflict, but as Corneel grew older, he also spent more and more of his father’s money and had no interest whatsoever in making more of his own.

  Therefore, G.W. was the hope of the Vanderbilt patriarch. He was dashing and spirited, bold and brazen, and above all else, healthy, at least until the war had rendered him otherwise. But most important, he was willing to do his father’s bidding. None of these things mattered to Jordana, however. She simply thought G.W. a wonderful conversationalist and loyal friend.

  “You look more beautiful than ever,” G.W. told her, then turned to cough fiercely into a handkerchief.

  “Are you all right?” Jordana and Meg questioned in unison.

  He tried to hide his weakness. “I’m fit as a fiddle, and don’t ever think otherwise.” Then before either girl could reply, he swept Jordana into his arms and deposited her in the open carriage. The action so took Jordana by surprise that she could only stare openmouthed at the man while he reached back to do the same with Meg.

  “Don’t you dare hoist me up there like a sack of grain,” Meg told him. “There is no reason for you to be handling either one of us. You’re sick and need to regain your health. Father would never hear the end of it from Grandfather if you somehow set your recovery back while on a visit to us.”

  “I can hardly injure myself by assisting a lady into a carriage.” Then, helping Meg into the carriage in a more genteel fashion, he added, “I’ll have you know, I’m well remembered for my strength. I made a name for myself at the Point last year when I lifted nine hundred pounds.”

  “Surely you jest! No one could lift that much weight,” Jordana said before Meg could answer.

  G.W. smiled. “Well, I certainly did. It’s all a part of the record books now. Aren’t you proud of me?”

  “I scaled a four-story brick building,” Jordana countered. “Are you proud of me?”

  G.W. laughed and turned to Meg. “Did she indeed?”

  “Upon my honor,” Meg replied. “She nearly caused me to faint dead away.”

  G.W. looked back at Jordana and studied her for a moment. Self-conscious of his scrutiny, Jordana said nothing. She didn’t want to encourage him to think anymore along the lines of what Meg had suggested he already felt.

  “I am impressed,” G.W. replied, reaching into his uniform to pull out a piece of newspaper. “But I already had it on the best authority.”

  Jordana took the paper and gasped. No one had told her that the newspaper had written a story on her escapades. “Look here, Meg. It doesn’t list me by name, but it says I showed uncharacteristic bravery for a woman.”

  “Yes, and read on,” G.W. said as he climbed up to take the reins to the carriage. “It also says you showed less than proper judgment. I suppose it was necessary to point that out in case you were given over to having swelled pride on the matter. Probably a good thing everyone refused to release your name to the reporter. If your folks caught wind of this, you would probably be on your way to Europe even as we speak.”

  Jordana ignored his teasing and refused to say another thing until they arrived at the Vanderbilt farm. She liked the coolness of the tree-lined drive and the scent of flowers on the air. The island was like another world compared to the busyness of the city. She smiled to think of G.W.’s assumption that it had been her antics that the newspaperman had written about. Having known each other only a couple of years, and even at that, years when G.W. had been mostly confined to the West Point grounds or Civil War battlefields, Jordana thought they were rather well-acquainted.

  But this illusion met with an unceremonious ending when G.W. pulled up in front of the Vanderbilt house and spoke to his niece.

  “Meg, you run along. I desire to speak to our guest for a few moments,” G.W. said as a liveryman stepped forward to help them from the carriage. He turned over the reins to yet another stablehand before directing his attention to Jordana. “You will take a short walk with me, won’t you?”

  Jordana handed him back his newsprint. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be yet another example of me exercising less than proper judgment?”

  G.W. laughed. “Well, what if it is? At least a city full of people won’t observe you doing the deed.” He quickly took hold of her arm. “Please, walk with me.”

  “Are you quite sure you are up to it? You do look to have been quite ill.”

  “I suffered a bout of pneumonia and other complications, but I’ll regain my strength. Your company will cheer me on to do so even more quickly.”

  His eyes implored her and Jordana nodded. “Very well.” For all her fears of what he now might say, Jordana cherished their friendship.

  “I’ll tell Mother you had no choice,” Meg called after them. “She understands G.W.’s rudeness and therefore will excuse your tardiness in bidding her good afternoon.”

  “Yes, tell her that G.W. was a complete ill-mannered oaf about the entire matter,” Jordana replied. “She’ll no doubt believe every word.”

  “You are ever the tease, Jordana,” G.W. said, pulling her closer.

  Jordana maneuvered her arm from his grasp and stepped away from him. “What is it you needed to say to me that couldn’t be said in front of the family?”

  G.W. grew serious. “I have a great deal to say. We’ve been friends for just about two years; is that not true?”

  “Yes,” admitted Jordana. “Good
friends.”

  “Exactly. And because of this, I feel certain you will want to hear what I have to say.”

  “Very well.”

  Jordana tried not to show her apprehension. She concentrated on the newly greened landscape. So much of it still bore winter’s mark, but here and there daffodils and crocuses were raising their colorful heads to the sun.

  Please God, she prayed, don’t let G.W. make a scene with me about the war and his ardent love for me. I just want to go on being his friend.

  “ . . . so it isn’t easy for me to say this.”

  “What?” Jordana replied quickly. She hadn’t been listening, and now she was caught red-handed.

  “I thought you were going to hear me out,” G.W. said, sounding hurt.

  He began coughing again, and Jordana instantly felt guilty. “The landscape captured my attention for a moment. I promise it won’t happen again,” she replied, silently wishing she’d gone with Meg into the house. She worried fervently that she was somehow causing G.W. more harm than good.

  “Jordana, I consider you a fine figure of a woman,” G.W. began. “You make me laugh. You are intelligent and help me to think matters through, yet you have a gentleness to your nature that few women could claim.”

  “I think you’re nice, too, G.W.,” she countered, hoping to keep things light.

  “You know full well there’s more to this than that.”

  Jordana looked up at him and shook her head. “No, I don’t. And, furthermore, I don’t want there to be more to it.”

  G.W. looked puzzled for a moment. “Jordana, I’m twenty-three years old, and once I regain my health, I’ll be leaving again to join the war. Being so ill has caused me to rethink my plans. I would like to know that I have someone waiting for my return. Someone who will miss me. Desire my return,” he whispered, taking her hands in his.

  Jordana felt the warmth of his touch even through her kid gloves. “Of course we’ll desire your return, and Meg and I will continue to write to you.”

  G.W. shook his head. “I want you to marry me, Jordana. Marry me before I leave again for the battlefield.”

  “What!” she exclaimed louder than she’d intended. “G.W., I’m sixteen years old.”

  “That doesn’t matter. A lot of women marry at your age. Some even younger.”

  “Yes, and a lot more marry when they are older,” Jordana said, trying to pull away. “Let us use them as our example.”

  “No,” G.W. replied, tightening his grip. “Hear me out, please.”

  Jordana stilled. “All right, but I won’t like it and neither will you.”

  “But why?” He sounded very much like a little child being refused dessert.

  “Because I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else for a good long time,” Jordana answered. “I like my freedom. I cherish the idea of traveling west on my own. Of attending college and learning new things. I watched my mother with the same desires, and she gave them up to marry and have a family. I’ve listened to her regrets of never being allowed to attend college. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

  “But you’ll be my wife. We’ll have more than enough money. We can travel to our hearts’ delight. And you can pick up books and experiences wherever you go. I’m not suggesting we end your life, merely that we join both our lives together.”

  “It wouldn’t work, G.W.,” Jordana replied, trying to find a way to make light of the situation. “I’m not the kind of woman for you. You have too many responsibilities as the son of the commodore. Do you really think anyone would think as much of you if you marry the woman who scaled the walls of Deighton School?”

  “Stop it!” G.W. replied. “I’m not making sport here, and I won’t brook it from you.”

  “But don’t you see?” Jordana replied, her hood falling back as G.W. reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m looking for adventure and sport. I do not desire to be your wife. We have something wonderful together. A friendship of grand proportion. Would you put an end to that?”

  “Certainly not. I do not propose that we end our friendship, rather that we magnify it with an even deeper intimacy.”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and Jordana knew that while she cared deeply for him, could probably allow herself to love him, she wasn’t ready to give up her freedom.

  “I love you, Jordana. I have loved you almost from the first moment we met. You are so unlike other young women. You have a zest for living and an adventurous heart. You do nothing by halves, but surround and engulf everything you touch. You have touched me that way, and I want to go on knowing that touch . . . and more—” His arms closed around her and he kissed her long and passionately on the mouth.

  Jordana tried to give herself over to the kiss. Perhaps there was something in what G.W. said. Perhaps she was fooling herself, and it was only her fear of love that caused her to pull away. But while his kiss was pleasant enough, she found no real enthusiasm for it or his touch. When he pulled back, she looked away, and this time he dropped his hold.

  Without waiting for him to say something, Jordana began walking down the path. She knew he would follow—knew, too, that the issue was anything but resolved. For several moments neither one said anything, and then Jordana knew she would have to be firm in her resolve.

  “I cannot marry you, G.W. I care greatly for you, but I’m not in love with you or anyone. I cherish our friendship, and I do not relish its loss.”

  “There’s no need for you to lose it,” he said firmly.

  Jordana turned to him. Hopeful, she asked, “Then you understand?”

  “I understand that you are afraid of marriage. Perhaps you feel I would be some monster like my father, but I’m not that way. I will give you anything you ask for. If you want a palatial home, I’ll have it built. If you want your own island, I’ll find it and buy it. Don’t you see?” he asked, his voice filled with desperation. “I love you. I want to give you the world.”

  “But I don’t want the world,” Jordana replied, “not at that price.”

  G.W.’s jaw tightened, and Jordana could see the slightest ticking play on his right cheek. Now he was angry.

  “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and I certainly don’t desire that you be mad at me,” Jordana began.

  “Don’t!” G.W. interjected. “Don’t even say these things. Either you accept my proposal of marriage and agree to be my wife before I return to the war, or you want nothing of me.”

  “What?” Jordana was stunned. Here she had feared the loss of his friendship through marriage, and now he was making it clear that she would lose it without agreeing to marry him.

  “I mean it,” he said, his voice firmly resigned. “You either stop this nonsense and agree to marry me, or I’ll have nothing further to do with you.”

  Never one to be backed against a wall, Jordana balled her hands into fists. “Agh! I can’t talk to you like this. You make no sense.” She turned to go, but he grabbed her and turned her back around.

  “You can’t dismiss me. I may be sick, but I’m not that milksop brother of yours.”

  “How dare you insult my brother!”

  “He gives you too much freedom and allows you to run him like a horse at the track. I’m a man of considerably more strength.”

  “Yes, we all know. You can lift nine hundred pounds. It’s in the record book,” Jordana replied sarcastically. “So hold me here forcibly. Pick me up and carry me away, sick though you may be. But you won’t get me to agree to marriage just because you’re running off to play toy soldiers with your friends.” She knew that was the wrong thing to say, but her own anger was getting the best of her. Mother had once said that anger in and of itself isn’t a sin; it’s what you do with that anger that causes the iniquity. Now she knew she’d crossed the line. She had only intended to speak harshly in order to hurt G.W. as he had hurt her. Calming, she forced herself to back away from that ugly place. “Forgive me, G.W.,” she whispered, “but I cannot marry you.”


  She hurried up the path, but not fast enough.

  “If you leave me like this, don’t ever expect to hear from me again. I’ll go to my grave hating you for what you’ve done this day.”

  Jordana bit her lip to keep from answering. She couldn’t reply. Not in the heat of her anger. Not in the rush of emotions that threatened to engulf her.

  5

  “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about the matter of Kiernan’s sister,” Brenton said once Jordana had read the letter telling of Caitlan’s arrival. They were seated on a bench in the Deighton garden on a fine spring day.

  “We must find her a place to stay, at least until the semester is over and we return to Baltimore.”

  “That’s another thing,” Brenton replied. “We aren’t returning to Baltimore. Our solicitor has increased our stipend, and we are to remain in New York.”

  “Truly?” Jordana replied, her enthusiasm obvious. “What fun. But why?”

  “There is still much civil unrest in Baltimore. Most of the town itself sympathizes with the South, despite the fact that Maryland is devoted to the North—at least on paper.”

  “So we are to stay here in order to avoid finding ourselves in the middle of a war? Is that it?”

  Brenton nodded. “Apparently so. Uncle York has sent me a second missive, and his feelings are the same as the solicitor’s.”

  “Well, since Caitlan is arriving within a few days, I suggest we secure a place for her to stay. Maybe you could find something that would either be appropriate for all three of us, or close enough to you that she and I could live alone.”

  “Indeed!” Brenton declared and got up to pace along the garden path. “As if I would allow you to live in a city such as this by yourselves.”

  “Don’t be such a goose about things,” Jordana declared. “I’m sixteen years old and hardly a child anymore.”