Westward the Dream

by Judith Pella; Tracie Peterson

  “I’ll probably head east in another month or so,” Ted was saying as Kiernan refocused on the conversation.

  “East?” Kiernan questioned.

  “Yes,” Ted said, refilling his mug with coffee. “I have to convince the politicians of the eastern states that a transcontinental railroad is imperative to the growth and development of this nation.”

  A thought came to Kiernan’s mind. “And does your wife travel with you?”

  “Most times,” Judah admitted. “I hate to be long parted from her. We only have each other. God never saw fit to bless us with offspring.”

  Kiernan nodded. It was an issue he knew for himself. Often he had hoped to hear Victoria tell him that they were to have a child. But seeing the reality of their life, Kiernan was just as glad that they remained childless.

  “I’ve given some thought to sendin’ me wife home to see her family,” Kiernan said, hoping he didn’t sound too pretentious. He’d just told these men of his poverty, and to mention the expense of a trip seemed ludicrous. But perhaps this was God’s direction.

  “Her family is in and around Washington, is that correct?” Doc asked.

  “Aye. Her folks are abroad, but her uncle is keepin’ the family plantation in Virginia.”

  “With the war on, heaven only knows what the situation would be like there.”

  “Aye, the war,” Kiernan said. “We hear so little about it, especially in the isolated mining camps. To be sure, I thought it might even be over.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Doc answered. “A good friend just joined me from a journey on the Central Overland Stage. He said a major battle was fought in Shiloh in Tennessee, and the Union forces will also soon move against Richmond.”

  “He’s right,” Ted confirmed. “I will most likely leave Anna here if I journey to Washington. We have no way of knowing exactly what’s taking place back east, but I certainly wouldn’t want to expose my dear Anna to the ugliness of warfare.”

  Kiernan shook his head. “For sure I wouldn’t be puttin’ my Victoria in that kind of harm.” He felt both a sense of relief and of frustration. Frustration, because he knew he was failing miserably at being a good husband. Relief, because he didn’t know how in the world he could ever live without Victoria by his side.

  7

  Caitlan O’Connor pulled her ragged bundle of belongings closer to her breast. The crowds on the docks were impossible, and pickpockets and confidence men seemed to abound at every corner. She knew their kind. Knew them well. Many of her best friends in Ireland had resorted to such behavior in order to stay alive. Even the church leaders had taken to turning a blind eye when the thieving and conniving had to do with feeding hungry children and keeping fuel in the homes of the elderly.

  After enduring weeks below deck in steerage and then the frustrating confrontations at Castle Garden, the immigration examination station, Caitlan relished the feel of the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. She hardly minded that she was a stranger amidst a sea of people. No one here knew her, nor did they expect anything of her. She had filled out her paper work as best she could, explaining that she was to become her brother’s financial responsibility. She had allowed them to poke and prod her past what she considered decent and necessary for establishing her medical condition, and she had allowed them to rummage through her meager belongings to verify the contents she’d listed on her immigration papers.

  When the man had marked her papers and passed her through, Caitlan felt like dancing a jig. She was free. Free from the worries that had haunted her in Ireland. Free of the frustration and misery that had been her fate.

  Everyone back home had spoken of America as a magical kingdom of wealth and grandeur. Stories were told of how gold could be had for the taking—how the very streets ran rich with milk and honey. Staring down at the filth and garbage strewn about New York’s docks, Caitlan could only grin at such misguided thinking.

  “And for sure it smells more like spoilt milk and putrid honey,” she murmured aloud.

  “Are ya lookin’ for work, honey?” a heavyset man asked, pressing his body close to hers. He reached out to give her backside a pat, but Caitlan was too quick for him, sidestepping the lewd gesture.

  “I’d not be lookin’ to work with you were me mum laid out and her wee babes starvin’.”

  “Yar an uppity piece, ain’t ya?”

  Caitlan threw him a look that she hoped would appear menacing. “I’m sure yar wife doesn’t like ya to be late to home. I know me kin over there would be particularly offended if he knew what ya were thinkin’ just now.” She nodded toward a burly man who leaned casually against the dock railing. She knew the man to be a fellow traveler and had little doubt that should she ask for his assistance, he would come to her aid.

  Looking back to see what the fat man’s response would be, she found him gone. Smiling to herself, she searched the crowds again for some sign of those who had come to meet her. She actually had no idea whom to expect. No idea whatsoever. Maybe no one would come. Maybe the letter had never arrived to announce her journey to America. And even if it had arrived, maybe no one would care.

  She started to feel a tightening in the pit of her stomach. Even if someone had been sent to retrieve her, how would they ever find her? Kiernan had as much idea of what she looked like as she did him. They were strangers, though brother and sister. If anyone did come, would they know the process of immigration? Did they know about the place called Castle Garden?

  “Caitlan O’Connor!” a voice called loudly.

  She jerked her head toward the sound, then elbowed her way forward through the crowd, struggling to ease by a woman and her five children—four of whom were crying.

  “Caitlan O’Connor!”

  “Here!” she cried out, still unable to find the source. What if she couldn’t be heard above the din?

  “Where?”

  “Over here!” she called back and waved one arm in the air while clutching her things with the other.

  Finally she saw him. He stood precariously balanced atop a roped pyramid of barrels. He took her breath away. He looked so serious—almost worried as he searched the crowd. Who was he?

  His tan suit of cotton broadcloth was obviously tailored to fit his lean, trim frame. Both the cut and style revealed the expense of the piece, reminding Caitlan once again that she had come from one world and was about to be plunged into yet another. She had heard tales of her sister-in-law’s rich family and how her brother had married into money. They used to sit around and imagine what it might be like to have great wealth. Kiernan had written, telling them of a pillared mansion in Baltimore, carriages with fine leather upholstery, and clothes so rich and wondrous that one gown would keep a peasant family in Ireland fed for half a year. They had marveled, dreamed, tried to imagine what it might be like—but always it was an ocean away.

  “Caitlan O’Connor, where are you?” he called, cupping his hand to his mouth.

  And a lovely mouth it was, she decided, still watching him silently. He looked terribly young, though—maybe as young as her own seventeen years. His gold wire-rimmed glasses made him appear studious and intelligent, but the way he swayed and practically danced to keep his balance made it clear that he was out of his element when it came to physical activities. He seemed gangly and awkward, but it somehow endeared him all the more to Caitlan.

  “Caitlan O’Connor!” he called again.

  “Here!” she finally answered, taking pity on him.

  He looked down at her, an expression of surprise on his face. “Truly?”

  Caitlan laughed self-consciously. “Aye, I’m Caitlan.” She was suddenly aware of her shabby, travel-worn appearance. Her curly copper-colored hair was hopelessly tangled, and she was certain her skin must be smudged with the ship’s filth. Her dress was too short, for she’d had a growth spurt before leaving home and could not afford new clothes to fit her healthy and rounded five-foot-six frame. She ran a hand uselessly over the wrinkled garment.
>
  The man jumped down from the barrels, losing his balance and nearly tumbling right into Caitlan’s arms. But he caught a post, and by the time he took hold of her arm, he had, much to Caitlan’s disappointment, steadied himself. “I didn’t think we’d ever find you. It was all I could do to keep Jordana from climbing to the rooftops to catch sight of you.”

  “Who’s Jordana?” she asked rather breathlessly.

  “My sister. I’m Brenton Baldwin,” he replied, easily maneuvering through the remaining people separating them. “We’ve a carriage just over there.”

  “ ’Tis yar sister Victoria who’d be married to me brother?” Caitlan questioned.

  The young man stopped in his tracks and smiled. “That’s right. I should have better introduced myself, but I hated to keep you standing out there on the docks.”

  Caitlan laughed softly. “I’m sure I’d be no worse for it.”

  Brenton smiled and gave her a gentle nudge. “Come on. Jordana is anxious to meet you.”

  “For sure?” Caitlan found it hard to believe that anyone would be anxious to meet her. Much less a family of such quality and refinement.

  He led her to a bright blue open carriage, which had been richly upholstered in black leather. A driver sat waiting, while a young girl dressed in a blue serge afternoon dress waved cheerily from the carriage seat.

  “Caitlan! I’m Jordana!” the enthusiastic girl exclaimed. “Come sit beside me.”

  “I smell of cattle and all manner of foul things,” Caitlan replied. “Best I sit opposite, or at least downwind. Perhaps I should ride with the driver.”

  “Nonsense!” Jordana laughed and shook her head. “I’ve no doubt smelled worse. Now, come sit beside me.”

  Caitlan was taken aback. This delicately refined young woman was actually welcoming her. She was nothing like the uppity women and prosperous landowners’ daughters who sneered down their noses at the workingwomen in their presence. Gathering up her skirt, Caitlan allowed Brenton to help her into the carriage. She hesitated only a moment before joining Jordana. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the seat, she tried to act natural about the entire matter.

  “So what do you think of America?” Jordana asked. “Isn’t it big and loud and wonderful!”

  Caitlan laughed. “Aye, that it is.”

  “Mother and Father took us abroad once when we were younger, and I thought America surely the loudest of all the countries I had visited,” Jordana said, her eyes twinkling as though it were somehow a great joke to be shared.

  Brenton joined them and closed the door to the carriage. “We’ll take you to the boardinghouse and get you settled in. Then, if you like, we can go for a walk and see a bit of the city and perhaps get something to eat.”

  “I’d just as soon have a bath,” Caitlan replied.

  “Of course,” Jordana said, sounding as though Brenton should understand this to be the natural order of things.

  “Where do ya live?” Caitlan looked around with wonder as the carriage moved through the busy docks streets.

  “Well,” Brenton replied hesitantly, “Jordana is currently finishing a semester in a school for young women. I’m staying at a boardinghouse several blocks up Broadway. I’ve managed to secure a room for you there, and when the semester is over, Jordana will join us.”

  “Ya had to purchase a place for me?”

  Brenton smiled. “We needed a place for Jordana to stay when school finishes for the summer. You see, because of the war we are unable to return to our family’s home in Baltimore. Thus, it just seemed natural to go ahead and rent the room early on and put you there as well.”

  “I can’t be havin’ ya spending yar hard-earned money on me,” Caitlan said, tightening her hold on her meager possessions. She frowned. “I don’t suppose any of us thought much past gettin’ me here. I have some money but—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” Brenton replied. “It just so happened my landlady, Mrs. Clairmont, had an open room. You’ll be just two doors down from me and quite safe.”

  “Me safety isn’t a-worryin’ me. I can’t be havin’ ya pay me way.”

  Jordana turned to offer her a smile. “We have a regular stipend from our parents. It’s not a problem. Brenton works with his photography, and I have very few needs after paying tuition and board. Believe me, the money isn’t a problem.”

  Caitlan shook her head. How could she explain to someone who had never had to do without what it was to take charity from strangers? How could she explain the pain it caused her just to know that she’d forced her family to use up the savings Kiernan had sent them in order to buy passage and bribe enough officials to get her out of Ireland in quick order?

  “I don’t take charity,” she replied softly. “I’ll have to work.”

  “Nonsense!” Jordana countered. “I’m looking forward to us being together.” She reached out and touched Caitlan’s hand. “I want us to be great friends.”

  The younger girl’s obvious sincerity instantly disarmed Caitlan.

  “Jordana always gets her own way.” Brenton leaned forward slightly and gave her a coy look. “You might as well give up.”

  “I’ve a bit o’ Irish stubbornness meself,” Caitlan said, grinning. She liked these Baldwins. They were unconcerned with her ragged appearance and filthy condition. They were openly welcoming and kind, and she hated feeling contrary.

  “This isn’t a time to worry about such matters,” Jordana said, squeezing Caitlan’s hand. “We can discuss all of this after you’ve had a chance to bathe and eat and sleep in a real bed. I’m staying the weekend with you at the boardinghouse, so don’t be worried about the cost of the room.”

  “What about your school?” Caitlan asked.

  “I hate it there,” Jordana admitted, scrunching up her face. “It’s so very boring. Anyway, the semester is nearly over, and on weekends I can receive permission to take leave of the school. Brenton obtained that permission, and now I’m to stay with him at Mrs. Clairmont’s boardinghouse. So you see, it isn’t charity at all.”

  Caitlan looked first at Brenton and then back to Jordana. “I suppose there’s little choice. However, I’ll be needin’ a job.”

  “What kind of job?” Jordana asked, as though the idea were some sort of game.

  “I suppose housekeepin’,” Caitlan replied. “That’s really all I’m good for. I can sew and wash clothes, as well, but ’tis not me favorite job.”

  “You needn’t work as a housemaid,” Jordana replied. “Why don’t you just allow us—”

  “I won’t be takin’ charity,” Caitlan said in a serious tone, as firmly as she could without being rude. “I already owe me passage here to Kiernan. I can’t be owin’ you as well.”

  Jordana appeared almost offended. “No one said you would be owing us anything.”

  “And that’s just how I’d like to be keepin’ it,” Caitlan replied. She realized she had pushed a bit hard and smiled. “I do want us to be good friends,” she added, “but if I’m to be on me own, I must earn me keep.”

  “We know several families who might be interested in hiring you on,” Brenton said, seeming to understand better than his sister. “There are many fine families in New York, and if you are capable of doing a good job, you shouldn’t have any trouble earning your way. However, what shall we do about getting you to California?”

  “ ’Tis a worry, to be sure,” Caitlan said, relaxing against the plush cushioning of the carriage. “I can’t be goin’ to me brother like this. I’ll have to earn enough money to pay him back and then some. Is it a far piece to go?”

  “Jordana has an idea, but we’ve not given it much consideration,” Brenton admitted. “She thinks we should escort you to California. Her thought is in keeping with a dream I have to photograph the countryside between here and there.”

  Caitlan smiled, trying to imagine the dreams of this handsome young man. He smiled in return and her heart beat faster. What a gentle spirit he seemed to have. Even in the sh
ort time she’d shared his company, he’d worked to put her at ease and to keep her pride from becoming an issue between them.

  “And how would this work?” Caitlan finally questioned.

  Brenton shrugged and laughed. “We’ve never taken it any further than the initial idea. If you think it might work for you, although it wouldn’t get you there in any record time, we could probably find a way to work our way west.”

  “A possibility, to be sure,” Caitlan said, nodding thoughtfully. “I would be happy to consider it. I’m supposin’ I’m in no great hurry.”

  “I’ll speak to my friend Margaret Vanderbilt,” Jordana suddenly interjected. “It seems her grandfather Cornelius Vanderbilt, one of the richest men in New York, is always hiring someone. They have a huge house on Washington Place, and they are forever needing new help. I’ll put in a good word for you with Meg and see what is to be done. She doesn’t think very highly of her grandfather, as he treats her father poorly, but she knows much about the family dealings.”

  Caitlan felt hopeful that everything would work out. “I’m beholden to ya both. The fates were good to send me here.”

  “The fates?” Brenton questioned. “You mean God, don’t you?”

  Caitlan’s sharp intake of breath couldn’t be disguised. “I don’t suppose I do,” she replied softly. “I’m more familiar with fate and luck and ill omens than I am of religious nonsense. Forgive me if that offends.”

  Brenton stared at her for a moment, his blue eyes never looking away, even though his discomfort was obvious. “Perhaps, in time, you will come to feel differently.”

  Caitlan gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps,” she said aloud, then sighed and thought . . . but it isn’t likely.