by Judith Pella
A small, sheepish smile bent Caitlan’s lips. “I know God was with ya, Jordana. Ya see, when ya were missing I was terribly afraid, and . . . well, I prayed for ya.” Her smile broadened. “Then that wee prayer turned into so much more, and before I knew it I was makin’ me peace with God.”
“Oh, Caitlan!” Jordana flung her arms around her friend. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“Seems everyone did but meself.”
“It was almost worth getting kidnapped, then,” Jordana beamed. “But then, God does have a way of turning bad things to good.” As she spoke, the joy of her friend’s newfound faith helped Jordana let go of some of the horrors of her ordeal that day.
Jordana returned to the dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. “You know, Caitlan . . .” she said casually, “with all that has happened to you, there is very little now standing in the way of you and Brenton getting together.”
Caitlan’s cheeks immediately reddened. “I’d truly like to believe such a thing were possible.”
“All things are possible with God,” Jordana replied. “And don’t forget, He has brought us this far, hasn’t He?”
37
Brenton wandered out to the laundry shed, though he realized his action wasn’t as aimless as he hoped it appeared. He knew Caitlan would be there.
He paused at the open door before making his presence known. Caitlan was working at the washbasin, her back to him. She was humming a jaunty tune and scrubbing a shirt against a board. She had tried to put her hair up in a chignon on top of her head, but wayward curls had slipped from their bonds and were falling like licks of flame against her face. She raised her wet, sudsy hand to shove one from her eyes. The small, insignificant gesture made Brenton’s heart clench. How he enjoyed watching her every movement!
Could it be possible that there might finally be a chance for them to be together? He had spoken to Jordana after breakfast, and she had revealed to him that last night, after her rescue, Caitlan had shared that she had given her heart to God. Brenton had thrilled at the news, but he still feared that might not be the only barrier between them, despite Jordana’s assurances that Caitlan was not about to reject him.
Finally, feeling a bit guilty for observing her unannounced, Brenton, making a fair amount of noise, stepped into the shed.
She turned sharply, obviously startled. The shirt was still in her hand, and a stream of water flew across the small room, splashing his coat.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Brenton!”
“It’s nothing.” He smiled reassuringly. “I hope you don’t mind my bothering you out here.”
“And why should I? I’m only working.” She dropped the shirt back into the tub, then dried her hands on her apron. “Did ya want something?”
“Do you like doing this kind of work, Caitlan?” he asked, ignoring her question because he wasn’t quite ready to forge ahead with what was truly on his mind.
“I like to work. Well, I like to keep me hands busy.” She glanced at her hands. They were mottled and a bit shriveled from the water. “I’m supposin’ there’s some things I enjoy doing more than others. Why did ya ask that, Brenton?”
“I don’t know. You were humming and seemed content. Are you, Caitlan?”
She shrugged. “I’m here with me brother at last. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Yes, of course . . .” Shuffling from foot to foot, Brenton tried not to look directly into her eyes, though he wanted to. He wanted to know if she truly was content or if she was just saying it to brush him off. He knew he was being ridiculous. It was time he was direct with her. “Did you like working with me, Caitlan? At my photography?”
“Oh yes!” she said without hesitation. “Unlike this”—she nodded toward the washtub—“yar work was the kind that both kept me hands and me mind busy. It made me feel useful in a way I had never felt before. If I wash a shirt or clean a house, it just gets dirty again, but what ya were doing, Brenton, was somethin’ that is going to last forever. I know cleanin’ is necessary, but having a part in preserving a way of life, and in passing it on to the future . . . it made me feel important. Not in a vain way, I don’t think, but more like I could touch others, even people I did not know. It makes me tremble just to think of it!”
“You are important, Caitlan.” He now ventured to lift his eyes and found hers, wide and green, staring at him in wonder.
“Yar kind to say so,” she replied with a self-deprecating shrug.
“I’m not being kind. I’m being truthful. With or without the photography, you are important. And you have touched my life, Caitlan. I know it isn’t much—”
“I have?” she broke in, her tone soft and unbelieving.
“Of course you have.” His tone was edged with the tiniest bit of impatience. “Do you think I could have fallen in love with you otherwise?” He gasped when he realized the words were out.
“What?” she said incredulously.
“Why else do you think I kissed you that day in Omaha?”
“That kiss . . .” she murmured.
He could not read her tone. Dreamy? Regretful? “Yes, that confounded kiss! I don’t blame you for despising me afterward.”
“I could never despise you, Brenton.”
“But—”
“I was afraid afterward, yes,” she said hurriedly. “But mostly I let meself think ya were just caught up in the moment, tryin’ to comfort me and all. I could not see how one such as yarself could mean the kiss in any other way.”
“What does that mean?” He was suddenly defensive. “Do you think I am not a man that could feel love and passion for a woman?”
“No, ’tis not that at all!” She was truly distressed. “I only meant that I thought it impossible for a man such as yarself to feel love for a girl of my station.”
“Confound your station!” he burst out harshly. “I am sick to death of hearing that. You are in America now, and such ideas are ridiculous. Look at your brother! That alone should show you that Baldwins, at least, don’t give a fig for such things. Not that Jordana and I haven’t preached to you about this over and over.”
“I’m supposin’ I’m a mite thick.”
“A mite?”
“Quite a lot, then.”
“You have the thickest, hardest head I have ever seen—you make Jordana seem like a lump of clay! Let me see if I can get this through that thick, beautiful skull of yours. To me, Caitlan, you are a noble woman of highest quality. I see you as a princess, and you make me feel like a prince, a man of value and worth. If I could but worship at your feet I’d be content.”
She merely stared at him.
After a long, silent minute, he spoke up again. “Say something, Caitlan.” Even rejection would be better at this point than simply not knowing what she was thinking.
Her lips moved and her mouth opened, but still no words came out. He wanted to shake her. Or embrace her. But he just stood, staring, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides.
She lifted her hand to brush an errant curl from her eyes. She licked her lips and opened her mouth again. “I . . . I don’t know w-what to say.”
“You don’t?” All his world suddenly seemed to crash in.
“’Tis true, as yarself and Jordana have always said. God does give good and wonderful gifts. And I have not even asked Him yet. I don’t know if I would have had the nerve to ask Him for you.”
“Would you have? I mean, if you had the nerve?”
“Do ya know that I made me heart right with God yesterday?” When he nodded, she went on. “He is helping me to see that I am good enough.”
“And?”
“You truly see me as a princess?”
“I do.”
She smiled. “And I have always seen you as a king, the finest, noblest man I know. I feared loving ya, Brenton. Not only yar rejection, but worse, that you might return me love and I’d drag ya down to my level.”
“That would be impossible, since we are on the same level . . .
well, you are a little higher than me, but I won’t quibble—” He stopped suddenly and blinked. “Did you say you loved me?”
“And now who has the thick head?” Her lips curved in the prettiest grin he had ever seen. “I love you, Brenton! I truly do.”
“Oh, my . . . !”
Now, instead of crumbling, his world turned bright and clear and crisp. And he looked with wonder at the woman who had made it so and who was so much a part of that world. And in two quick strides he shortened what was left of the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her with the tenderness a princess deserved, though fired by the deep passion in his heart. And she responded as he never thought possible. Their worlds became one, and Brenton knew, in the core of their beings, they would never be separated again, not by ill-perceived stations nor by differing faith. In that single embrace they each gave to the other what they both so needed, what they could only give to one another—a deep sense of their self-worth, their value to each other and to God.
“Ah-hem!” intruded a deep voice.
Brenton and Caitlan broke apart. Brenton found himself staring at Kiernan, who was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, an inscrutable look on his face.
“Hmm, what is this, then?” said Kiernan.
“I . . . I . . .” Brenton momentarily forgot he was a king. He stared at his brother-in-law’s brawny figure, feeling small and weak. This was not helped by the trembling in his knees.
“Brenton Baldwin,” Kiernan said, “if yar of a mind to take such liberties with me sister, I’ll have to be insistin’ that ya marry her.”
Brenton gaped, not knowing what to think or say. Then Kiernan’s lips parted, and a huge grin appeared.
“Well, if you insist,” Brenton replied lightly, suddenly relaxing. “I’ll take my punishment like a man, then.”
“Hold on a minute!” Caitlan gave Brenton a gentle shove. “I’ll not be any man’s punishment.” Her green eyes were dancing with amusement. “And I don’t think I’d be wantin’ a marriage proposal with me brother’s invisible shotgun pointed at me either. A princess, ya know, is deservin’ of a proper proposal.”
Brenton dropped quickly to his knees before her. “Indeed you are!”
“But wait—” she smiled sheepishly. “I’m not meanin’ to be choosy—I really won’t let all this princess business go to me head. But don’t ya think there is someone else who should witness this, that is, if we are going to have an audience anyway?”
Brenton grinned. “Yes, you are right. Jordana would never let us hear the end of it if Kiernan had witnessed this and not her.” He grabbed Caitlan’s hand. “Come along, then.”
They raced into the house. Victoria, making bread in the kitchen, looked up, perplexed.
“Where’s Jordana?” Brenton asked.
“In the parlor, I believe. Dusting.”
“You best come, too.”
Victoria was still looking bemused but followed the little party into the parlor where Jordana was indeed, with rag in hand, dusting. She looked up, and her brow immediately arched in question.
“Stay right there, Jordana,” Brenton ordered. “Don’t talk, just listen.”
She opened her mouth, but when he shook his head she clamped it shut and obeyed.
Brenton took Caitlan’s hand, then dropped to one knee before her.
“Caitlan O’Connor,” he breathed aloud, now all amusement had dimmed, replaced by sheer awe and sincerity, “you have won my heart, and in doing so, I find that with you I am a complete person. You bring light and life to me, and for that and for many other reasons, which I hope to have the rest of our lives together to tell you, I love you! And I ask—no, I beg, for your hand in marriage!”
Tears brimmed Caitlan’s eyes, making them sparkle like green pools. “I would be most honored to accept your wonderful proposal!”
Behind him, Brenton heard a small “Whoop!” and a giggle from Jordana. “Now, you must kiss her,” she said.
“He’s kissed her already,” Kiernan offered.
But Brenton needed no further encouragement in this matter. He was on his feet in an instant with his arms around the woman he loved. Kissing her, he lifted her off her feet and whirled her around.
Then the room burst into joyous laughter and congratulations. Still holding Caitlan close, Brenton knew he had just been given the finest gift in the world. He had found a prize worth more than diamonds or gold. He had found love.
38
A wonderful gift came in time for Brenton’s twenty-first birthday in November. A telegram arrived from his parents. They were departing for California posthaste and, traveling by ship, planned to arrive in San Francisco the seventh of January.
“Well, then,” Jordana said as she and the family enjoyed a small birthday party for Brenton, “we need to start making plans. To begin with, we can now set a date for the wedding.”
Brenton and Caitlan exchanged looks. Jordana thought it too sweet—as if they had been thinking of anything else! But it had presented a difficult conundrum. Brenton wanted his parents present at his wedding, but when he sent them a telegram telling them of his happy news, he hadn’t expected them to make the arduous journey, thousands of miles, to be present. He had suggested that he and Caitlan travel east, though not very enthusiastically. That very likely would leave out Kiernan and Victoria. It also would mean another long and awkward period of time in close quarters with Caitlan, a strain he was not willing to endure.
Thus, they had put off setting a date.
Jordana thought they should just get married. Their parents would not blame him for doing so in their absence. But Brenton had dragged his feet over the matter.
Caitlan smiled after the telegram from New York was read. “I was praying about this very thing! I did not want to be marryin’ without yar parents being here. It didn’t seem right.”
“And it seems God answered your prayer,” said Brenton.
“Aye, it does at that! Can ya imagine that? He heard me for certain, and He answered.” She chuckled. “I hope it never stops feeling this grand!”
“He will be there even if it does,” assured Brenton.
“I know. . . .” And her smile grew. “I truly know!”
Now the wedding plans could begin in earnest. January tenth, the first Saturday after the arrival of their parents, was set as the date. Money was tight for the group. Brenton had his inheritance to look forward to, but nothing could be counted on from that until he spoke to his parents. They had said nothing of it in the telegram. However, his skills as a photographer were quite novel this far west, and he was keeping quite busy taking portraits and doing other assignments. He was making enough to cover living expenses and a few extras.
Kiernan, of course, was still unemployed, though his doctor said that he could resume light duties. He still had to wear his eye patch, but all his other injuries had healed well. Unfortunately, the railroad was having its own financial crisis at the moment, and work had slowed to a standstill.
The only one in the household with any money to spare and with a steady income was Victoria. The laundry business was booming, and because there was no rent to pay, she was building a nice little nest egg. For the time being, Brenton allowed her to pay for wedding expenses, promising to repay her as soon as he received his money. Victoria declared she hardly cared if he ever repaid her, because she was having too much fun to worry over it.
Caitlan had begun to voice her old concerns about taking charity, until Kiernan took her aside and had a very long talk with her. Jordana would never find out just what he had said, but whatever it was, it had worked wonders because Caitlan did not make another protest about money.
Like everyone else, Jordana was caught up in the plans for the upcoming nuptials. Only a couple of shadows seemed to interfere with the happy time. One was Damon Chittenden. Jordana, much to Brenton’s chagrin, had refused to press charges against him. She said he needed help more than imprisonment. The po
lice officer in charge of the case kept trying to convince her otherwise. He warned that because Chittenden seemed normal on the exterior, he was very likely going to be released rather than even committed to an asylum. As Damon appeared unrepentant for what he had done, Jordana rightly feared that if he were released, she would continue to be in danger from him.
She struggled over this dilemma for several days until she came to a solution. She went to Damon and proposed that she would not press charges for the kidnapping if he would have himself committed to an asylum. There was very little difference between prisons and asylums, but at least in the latter he could get help and hope for a shorter confinement. Damon, with not many options open to him, agreed to the proposal.
Brenton and Kiernan were distressed about this, but Jordana reminded them that soon enough his crimes in Omaha would catch up to him—and in fact a wire had already been sent to the sheriff in Omaha to look more closely into the Stanley death and also into the death of a Tom Ludlow, the man Damon had bragged about killing to Jordana. It did not appear as if Damon Chittenden would be bothering anyone again for a good long time.
One other thing troubled Jordana during this time, but she could not quite identify if. Every now and then she would find herself filled with melancholy. She put on an excellent front, and no one noticed, but she knew all was not quite right inside herself. She wished she knew what it was. Or did she? Perhaps it was best ignored because she feared it might have to do with her selfishness, seeing everyone’s lives work out in wonderful ways while her own remained uncertain, unsettled.
One day just before Christmas Brenton came home with a gift for Caitlan, who was learning to accept gifts graciously. She opened this package and found the most beautiful ivory silk fabric and a matching length of incredible Irish lace.
“’Tis what I was admiring at the store the other day,” she exclaimed.
“I thought it might do for a wedding dress,” said Brenton.
She flung her arms around Brenton joyfully. Caitlan had been dragging her feet about a choice for her dress, and with only three weeks until the big day, time was running short. Not wanting to complain about the expense, she had simply avoided the issue.