by Judith Pella
“I feel as bad as you about poverty, Caitlan,” Jordana replied evenly, “but you being miserable isn’t going to help anyone.”
“I’m not miserable, but I would be if I spent $9.98 on a dress!”
“I think you are just afraid of being more than a lowly, poor Irish girl. I think you just hide behind that, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”
“Well, ’tis none of yar business,” Caitlan replied hotly. “Even if it were true, but it isn’t.”
“The world isn’t going to collapse if Caitlan O’Connor buys a new dress!”
“All right then, what about this one—?” Caitlan plucked a dress from the rack. It was a dowdy gray, with a horrid pink ribbon at the collar. “’Tis two dollars!”
“Arggg!” groaned Jordana. “Is it that much? I could get you one for free from my granny.” She sighed as another wave of frustration assailed her. “Is that really how you see yourself, Caitlan? Dowdy, dull, washed out, faded, lackluster—”
“That’s cruel even for yarself, Jordana!” Caitlan shoved the gray dress back into its place.
“Well, I don’t mean to be cruel, and you know me better than to think it! What I am trying to say is that you are none of those things. You are beautiful, Caitlan—inside and outside. Why else do you think Brenton loves you?”
“Now, don’t ya bring him into this.”
“But he’s a big part of it all, isn’t he?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Caitlan spoke with such uncharacteristic firmness that Jordana dropped the subject.
Instead she suggested that since it was late, why didn’t they stop someplace for a bit of refreshment before heading home. They were near the Tea Room, and Jordana led the way inside.
“Oh, Jordana,” Caitlan said, looking about the lavish place in awe, “can we afford—?”
“Caitlan,” Jordana broke in, “if you say one word about the expense, I’ll scream. Now, sit down and enjoy this.”
They were escorted to a table, and Caitlan obediently sat down but obviously wasn’t enjoying herself. They sipped tea and ate fancy cakes and tried to make casual conversation, but it was all very stilted. Jordana could hardly bear it because it had never been this way with Caitlan before. Her anger and frustration mounted.
“Caitlan,” she finally said in a tight voice, “why can’t you just enjoy yourself?”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlan replied snidely, “I wasn’t brought up in the lap of luxury where a dollar for a pot of tea and a few cakes is nothing but spare change.”
“Well, just spare me your tales of woe—I’m sick of them!”
“Are ya now!” Caitlan pushed back her chair. “Then, I’m thinkin’ ya must also be sick of me. I’ll be on me way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Jordana said as Caitlan turned and strode from the Tea Room.
Stubbornly, Jordana stayed where she was, just watching her friend walk out. She was not going to run after her and apologize. It was well past time for someone to let that hardheaded girl know just how silly she was acting. Eventually Caitlan would thank Jordana for her truthfulness.
Jordana deliberately finished her tea, and two more cakes, then paid her bill and exited the Tea Room. She half expected to see her friend standing outside waiting. She imagined they would both apologize and embrace and all would be back to normal. But still, normal was not exactly good for Caitlan. If matters remained as they were, Caitlan would never give herself credit for the wonderful woman she was, and then she and Brenton would never get together.
Yet Jordana realized that she herself had probably not handled the situation in the most tactful manner. She had let her frustration get the better of her good sense and in the process had spoken hurtful, if well-meaning, words. Well, she supposed she would apologize and then find a better way to express herself.
But Caitlan was nowhere to be seen. Jordana glanced in a couple of nearby shops but could not find her. It was only a few blocks to Kiernan and Victoria’s home, and it was likely Caitlan had walked quickly and taken a side street, for her to have disappeared so fast. Perhaps it was for the best, and they both could use a time for cooling off before facing each other again.
Jordana decided to use the time to stretch her legs and do some thinking while seeing more of the town. It would be dark in an hour, but even if she walked a bit she could still be home before sundown. She turned off the main street to a side street where one of the shopkeepers had mentioned a fine milliner was located. She could use a new bonnet—and maybe she would buy one for Caitlan, too.
But she must have heard wrong, because there were no milliners on this street. A store owner suggested another possibility and gave her directions. She followed these until she was hopelessly lost. And the sun was sinking quickly.
The shopkeepers were starting to put Closed signs in their windows and to take in outdoor displays. She knew she could take care of herself and wasn’t worried about the gathering darkness. Only vaguely did she think of Rich O’Brian’s many admonitions to her about using good sense. She laughed them off even now . . . until a small chill prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.
She wasn’t afraid but had the strangest sensation that someone was following her. Of all the silly notions!
She kept walking and soon had something real to be nervous about. She had no idea at all about how to get back to her sister’s house. She paused and asked a passerby, but he had never heard of the street and gave her a disapproving look. And before long, it was fully dark, and even people with disapproving looks were growing fewer on the streets.
And that pesky feeling on the nape of her neck returned. She remembered, as if for the first time, that this was a big city, but it was also as rough and uncivilized as any western town. She thought of robbers and vagrants, drunks and gunmen. But she also thought that she was being foolish, letting her imagination get the best of her. If a shop were still open, perhaps she would duck inside, but, alas! The few shops on the street were closed. The remainder of the buildings were dwellings—and she certainly wasn’t going to annoy some strangers in their own home with her questions.
She walked a little farther, and, in the quiet of this back street, she distinctly heard the clack of heels that were not her own. And, to her horror, when she stopped, feigning interest in a shop window, the heavy clack stopped also.
Dear Lord, have I done it again? Put myself in harm’s way through my carelessness?
She was trembling now and no longer could deny even to herself that she wasn’t afraid. But what could she do? If a criminal was after her, she certainly couldn’t outrun him. Invading a stranger’s home was looking better and better.
Still, it went against Jordana’s plucky nature to simply turn tail and run. First, she should find out if there was really any danger. She must turn and see if anyone was actually following her.
She stopped walking. But turning was never more difficult. Her heart was thudding louder than those clanking footsteps, which, by the way, had ceased again. Then, just as she had mustered the courage to turn, the clanking began again, this time faster. Whoever it was intended on making their move now that it was apparent she had discovered their presence.
She spun around just as a large, hot hand grabbed her shoulder.
“P-please . . . I have a little money. Take it!” she cried.
“You are safe now, Jordana.”
The voice was familiar, but identification evaded her, and in the darkness she could not immediately make out the features of her . . . assailant? Rescuer?
He knew her name. He said she was safe. She blinked her eyes desperately, and finally her vision cleared.
“You!” she said.
“Yes, I’m here for you. . . .”
“But—”
His hand, the one that wasn’t grasping her shoulder, reached around her, hooking her head in an armlock while the hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled but couldn’t get free. When the cloth appeared in her face
the next instant, she was confused, wondering what was happening. She did not wonder for long. In fact, she did not do anything for long. Breathing in a sickly sweet odor, Jordana felt her knees go limp. She tried to scream, but nothing came from her lips.
The darkness pressed in upon her, and she felt as if she were slipping into it as one slips into death.
33
Caitlan did not wait outside the Tea Room. Perhaps she should have; perhaps she had been too hasty in her anger. It was just so much easier to vent her confusion and fear upon her friend. Especially when Jordana had said some tactless things.
Instead, she hurried away, all but running down the street. She was barely able to keep her feet from flying. She wanted to run—far away from this place where she so obviously did not fit in. Not only from the fancy tea place, but from Jordana, Brenton, Victoria, and even Kiernan. The Baldwins had tried to be kind to her; Jordana had even professed her friendship. But a person like Caitlan would never fit in with people like them. They were practically nobility—American nobility. And she was the child of a poor crofter. The twain would never meet in Ireland, and she had deceived herself into believing it would be different in America.
The worst of it all was that now that she had finally found her brother, she didn’t even fit in with him. But with Kiernan it wasn’t social station that separated them; it was this confusing matter of faith.
And suddenly Caitlan felt more alone than she ever had in her life.
Pausing at a cross street to wait for passing traffic, Caitlan decided to turn onto this street, so that if Jordana did decide to come after her, she would not find her. Caitlan couldn’t face her friend now. Her friend? Oh, how she wanted to believe it! But how could they be friends when so much divided them? They couldn’t even go shopping without disagreeing. And this certainly wasn’t the first time Caitlan had balked at what she perceived as Jordana’s extravagance—it was just the first time it had escalated so heatedly. Caitlan must blame herself for that. Her growing tension and confusion had made her impatient.
She’d been afraid that the discussion would turn to God as it had with Kiernan. She knew Jordana had been keeping back her Christian sermons for a long time, trying to let Caitlan make up her own mind. But it had been plain to see that words, or sermons, or whatever were rising close to the surface in Jordana, and she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue much longer.
And God, like everything else, was also a barrier between Caitlan and Jordana, as He was with Kiernan and . . . oh, and especially with Brenton.
Caitlan was walking so fast that she was panting and her heart was racing. She made herself slow down. She didn’t want to be taken for a fugitive or some such thing. She’d had a friend in Ireland who had that very thing happen. He had been running down a street in Belfast trying to catch an acquaintance he’d seen ahead of him. The police stopped him and hauled him into the tollbooth. They held him for a week with no charges against him simply because he had looked guilty.
These things happened. But Brenton and Jordana would never be able to understand. It wasn’t their fault. They had simply been raised in a different society. Nonetheless, it was still a wedge. Between her and them, and between her and God. Because how could a just and loving God allow such injustice to happen?
Or was such questioning merely an excuse to avoid what was really troubling her, what she had confessed to Kiernan? That maybe she wouldn’t be good enough for God.
Everyone kept telling her differently. If only she could believe it!
Caitlan had been so deep in thought, she had paid little attention to her surroundings. Only when she happened to nearly bump a passing woman and her child did Caitlan give her head a shake and take note of where she was. The cross street she had turned onto had taken her slightly out of the way from Kiernan’s house, but she had realized that when she turned. She had but to go another block to reach the main street again, and from there it was a short distance home.
When she looked up, however, and saw a pretty stone church on the corner, she knew she was going to take yet another detour.
It had been years since she had been in a church, probably since her ma’s funeral. Brenton and Jordana went regularly, but they had not insisted she accompany them, though she knew they had wanted her to and would have welcomed her.
Oh, Caitlan, ya foolish girl! If yar alone now, ’tis only because of yarself.
She turned toward the church and mounted the steps to the large oak double doors, which were closed. It was a silly notion to go to a church now. It would probably be locked anyway, since it wasn’t Sunday. But perhaps it was time. If she didn’t do something, she would be alone, for she would lose the only people she cared about and who cared about her. And she would lose the man she loved, not that she had ever had him in the first place.
Yes, she would go into this church. Oh, she didn’t plan to make any commitments, but the least she could do was try to have a bit of a talk with God. Straighten out a few matters. Maybe they would come to an understanding. Maybe they wouldn’t. But at least she would have tried.
With a trembling hand she grasped the great brass latch and gave a little yank on the door. It opened. She was both relieved and fearful. Ignoring her fear, she stepped inside, into a small vestibule. It was dark and gave Caitlan a chill. Obviously no one cared to waste lamp oil on an empty church. She felt like an intruder. Perhaps she was committing a crime by going in uninvited. But the doors had been unlocked. This encouraged her, and she walked through the vestibule, through an open arched doorway that led into the sanctuary.
It wasn’t as dark in here because there were several stained-glass windows catching the afternoon light. One wall of windows in particular was lit up to the point of being glaring. This wall faced the west and was absorbing the light of the setting sun. It was really quite beautiful with fragmented and fractured beams of multicolored light dancing over the pews on that side of the sanctuary.
Caitlan took a seat opposite this so she could watch the pretty light display. But after a few minutes she knew she was merely avoiding her real purpose for venturing into this place. She inhaled a deep breath. But even with that to steady her, it wasn’t an easy thing to open a dialog with the Creator of the universe.
“Why is it that I must be left out? All me friends have this special thing, but I cannot seem to grasp it. Is it possible that all of them are wrong and I am right?”
She smiled.
It did not seem possible. Jordana might be mistaken; she was, after all, somewhat given to flights of fancy. Kiernan could be wrong, too. Caitlan really didn’t know him very well.
And Brenton . . .
No, Brenton could not be wrong. And it wasn’t just because she loved him. She had simply never known a person who was steadier, more levelheaded. If Brenton believed something, then there could be little question of its validity. She would stake her life on it.
Yet, if she believed Brenton was right about the existence of God, the love of God and all the rest, then why was she fighting it so?
And it came back to her own sense of inadequacy. If she couldn’t believe Brenton could love her as she loved him, how could she believe it about an invisible God? She thought suddenly of the beautiful green dress Jordana had wanted her to buy. And she realized Jordana had truly believed it suited Caitlan. Imagine that! Jordana saw her as someone who could actually wear a $9.98 dress, of fashionable cut and fine Irish lace.
Was it possible that God could see her in that way also?
But what if she invested in the dress and put it on and realized it was ridiculous on her? After all, you couldn’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.
“I’m so afraid . . .” she murmured.
And suddenly she jumped up and fled that church. And she ran the rest of the way home, not caring if the police arrested her. At the moment, arrest was the least of her problems.
——
Victoria cornered Brenton in the parlor. Not that he had been avoiding
her. But they hadn’t really had a good visit since his arrival. He supposed he had been keeping a bit aloof from everyone. He felt lonely and out of sorts and could hardly figure out his own feelings, much less explain them to others. He hoped to work it out for himself, but it seemed he was just sinking deeper and deeper into a pit of disillusionment.
“Brenton, do you have a moment to talk?”
He was seated on the sofa reading a book he’d found on the small shelf. Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. He’d read it before, so he was merely reading it now for diversion.
“Of course, Victoria.” He closed the covers of the book. “Have a seat.”
She sat in the wing chair facing the sofa. “I should have brought tea. We haven’t really had a chance to visit—just you and me.”
“I’m sorry if I have appeared to ignore you. I didn’t intend to. I suppose I just feel . . .” He paused, then shook his head. He did not want to get into that. “What did you want to talk about, Victoria?”
“Well, some of my lady friends—they’re not close friends really. I know them through church. We meet monthly for a small sewing circle and do some charitable work. Anyway, I happened to mention to them the last time I was at church about your photography, and they were quite interested in seeing your pictures.”
Brenton practically sighed with relief. He’d feared a more personal request. “I’d love to do that.”
“I thought I could have a luncheon here, and you could give a small lecture along with the showing. I know it would be fascinating.”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug, but in reality he did think his work was fascinating, and there was no reason others would not think so, too.
“You just let me know when, and I will prepare something,” he said.
“Wonderful.” She paused, glanced at her hands in her lap, then added, “Tell me a bit about this dream of yours, to photograph the country.”