Judith Pella, Tracie Peterson - [Ribbons West 03]

by Ties That Bind

  “Now, with yarself hollerin’ like a fishmonger, I can only be imaginin’ ya’ve got good news.” She hurried from the kitchen, wiping the dishwater from her hands as she went.

  Her husband had inherited money shortly before their marriage, but both he and Caitlan preferred a simple, unspoiled life. Other women of means might hire their dishes washed, and that was fine by Caitlan, but she’d rather be responsible for her own things. They also lived in a modest two-story home not far from her brother and sister-in-law.

  “I do have good news,” Brenton declared. “The very best. Charlie has hired me to photograph a stretch of the Central Pacific. I might even be hired on permanently to document the route as it continues.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Caitlan put her hands to her hips. “Ya’ve been naggin’ the man night and day.” She grinned at her husband and reached up to touch his handsome face. “ ’Tis a good thing yar a persistent man, Mr. Baldwin.”

  “Otherwise I wouldn’t have managed to marry you, Mrs. Baldwin,” he said, covering her hand with his own. “You are a priceless gem, my love. I can’t imagine my successes meaning anything without you.”

  Caitlan felt her cheeks grow hot at the compliment. How this man could stir her blood. When he lowered his lips to kiss her, Caitlan melted against him and sighed.

  “So how shall we celebrate?” Brenton murmured as he ended the kiss.

  “I’m sure ya’ll be thinkin’ up something,” Caitlan replied, not at all in a hurry to pull away from her husband’s embrace.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and put on that lovely green gown you wore to church on Sunday? Do up your hair and I’ll take you to supper. We shall make a night of it, in fact,” Brenton told her. “I shall show you off to everyone. We’ll dine and then go to the presentation being given at the church. I believe there is a new organ master performing Handel.”

  Caitlan sighed and smiled. “I’ll try not to keep ya waitin’.”

  She hurried upstairs, portraying an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. She would do this to please him, but she would have been just as happy to remain at home for the evening. She felt out of place in society circles, and while she tried hard to fit in by watching the other women and mimicking their actions of grace and elegance, Caitlan could not shed the heritage that so thoroughly followed her. Not that she wanted to. She was a poor Irishman’s daughter. There was no sin in that, although some would say otherwise.

  She’d caught the glances of women who obviously held themselves as better than Caitlan. She’d spoken with them at church in the briefest greetings, passing their scrutiny in murmured replies and veiled looks of disapproval. Her husband was a Baldwin. A family of great importance and influence. Her mother-in-law was an Adams. An even greater family of influence. And now she herself bore the title of Mrs. Brenton Baldwin, and with it came a heavy mantle of responsibility. She was expected to be seen and to conduct herself in a proper manner. But not just this, it was a matter of what “they,” the women of proper society, considered acceptable.

  She’d once spoken to Kiernan about it, but he wasn’t much help. He had experienced much the same, but nevertheless had no solutions except for her to always remember that her husband thought her a woman of worth. That did not lessen the sting of rejection from the wives of men with whom Brenton so easily rubbed shoulders. Men seemed to be far more accepting in social matters. Men might traipse about in muddy boots drinking out of tin cups in the finest of homes were it not for women declaring that such things were barbaric and uncivilized. Women were the ones to set the tone of civility. Women put finery on tables, flowers in vases, and exquisite carpets on the floors. Women took houses and made them homes, offering feminine influence over all that they touched. Even their men.

  Women of society knew the proper way to set a table and the appropriate discussions to be allowed in their parlors. These grande dames of etiquette could also sight a fraud a mile away. They knew when a young lady had not been born to such graces. And Caitlan had definitely not been born to anything even remotely related to grace.

  She sighed and untied the strings to her apron. She would be tolerated because of who Brenton was. But she would never be quite good enough to be accepted into any inner circle of society. Should Brenton die tomorrow, God forbid, she would be nothing more than a disgusting Irish widow—albeit a rich one.

  Shedding her clothes, she sat down at her vanity and unwound the braided coil of cinnamon-colored hair. With long, determined strokes of her hairbrush she tried to work out her worries and frustrations. She didn’t want Brenton to be unhappy, and if she showed the slightest bit of displeasure, she knew he would immediately sense it. He was so good about such things, and while it served him proudly to be so sensitive to the needs of others, it also served her poorly. Caitlan never felt she could quite be honest with him about some of her feelings. She loved him so fiercely that it nearly took her breath away. How could she willingly make him unhappy or fretful?

  ——

  Brenton whistled and scanned the newspaper as he waited for Caitlan to return. Life in the West had been grand and glorious for him. Oh, there had been those moments when he had been dealt some rather harsh blows, but overall, he had become a very contented man. He could boast a beautiful wife, money in the bank, and a profession of honor and interest. He felt a strong bond of kinship with his family, and he knew the peace of God in his soul. What more could a man ask?

  Children would be nice, he mused. They would no doubt come in time. Of course, his sister Victoria had not yet managed to bear children. He knew this to be a deeply felt heartache for his sister. She had a great deal of love to give, and he had seen her gentleness while dealing with other women’s children. She would make a good mother, yet she had no sign of that becoming a reality. Adoption had been discussed more than once, and both had agreed that after Kiernan finished his work with the transcontinental railroad and established himself with a job of permanency there in Sacramento, they would adopt several children.

  Brenton knew Victoria wished it might come sooner. The transcontinental railroad wasn’t planned to be finished for several years, maybe even as much as another decade. By then Victoria would be forty years old or older. The prime of her youth would be past, and most of her friends would be looking to their children’s weddings and grandchildren’s births.

  He felt a deep, abiding sorrow for Victoria. Sometimes he wished he could turn off his feelings. Like at times when Caitlan felt unwelcome or incapable of dealing with the refined women of Sacramento’s better homes. He knew she felt awkward. He could see in her eyes whenever they arrived for a dinner or party that Caitlan felt her place was around back with the rest of the servants.

  If only he could keep her from her self-destructive thoughts. If only he could convince her that the time would soon be upon them that such issues were unimportant. But in truth, he knew the status of a person’s birth would probably always matter in one way or another.

  “Yar lookin’ mighty deep in thought, Mr. Baldwin,” Caitlan said as she reached the last step. “Surely the news isn’t all bad.”

  Brenton looked up and felt robbed of breath. How beautiful she was!

  Caitlan smiled in that soft, sweet way he had come to love. “So do I meet with yar approval?”

  “Without a doubt, my sweet wife. You are the loveliest woman in the city, and I shall be proud to show you off.” He moved forward, discarding the newspaper. Reaching out, he grasped hold of her hand. “Not that I wouldn’t be proud of you if you were dressed in nothing but rags.”

  He felt her relax a bit, sensed that she understood his sincerity. Somehow, someway, he hoped to find a place for them where she would understand the role of importance she had in his life.

  Loud banging on the front door startled both Baldwins. Brenton’s brow immediately furrowed and Caitlan’s eyes widened. “Whatever could that be about?” She stared uneasily at her husband.

  “I don’t know.” That banging could hardly
indicate someone upon a social call. He opened the door to find a gangly youth of fifteen or sixteen. “Mr. Baldwin, sir. You’ve got to come quick! Your picture-takin’ shop is on fire!”

  3

  By the time Brenton arrived, there was nothing to be done but to watch his shop burn. A large crowd had gathered, and the spirit of revelry among them was a sickening contrast to the destructive tongues of flame consuming Brenton’s life. Some of those gathered were talking and pointing, appearing to size up the situation in regard to other nearby businesses. But still others stood by chatting with neighbors and trying to keep a sudden abundance of children from getting too close to the blaze.

  The fire brigade had come to try to contain the fire, and in fact seemed to be doing a decent job, but there was no hope for Baldwin Photography. The chemicals necessary for the business of taking and developing pictures had obviously allowed the place to go up rather quickly. Someone in the crowd mentioned it being good that Brenton’s shop and the three in the same building sat apart from an adjacent massive block-long stretch of stores. Otherwise, all of Sacramento might go ablaze. When someone finally recognized him as the owner of one of the burning stores, he was inundated with a mixture of sympathetic comments.

  “Quite a bit of bad luck there, Baldwin.”

  “Saw it burnin’ from clean across the park.”

  “Never saw anything go up so fast in my life.”

  Brenton watched the flames engulf the businesses, scarcely hearing the voices. Stunned by the scene, he thought of all the photographs he’d taken and put on display within the studio. He’d mounted his pictures with a great deal of pride, knowing they were good, feeling confident they would draw new business. There were pictures of vast prairies and the people who struggled to farm them. Pictures of the snow-capped Rockies, majestic and regal in the fading light of sunset. And, of course, a variety of portraits to prove his mettle where photographing people was concerned. And now . . . they were gone. With exception to the photographs he had on the walls of his home, it was all gone. The pictures, the camera, the chemicals, the glass plates. Gone.

  “Caitlan came and told us,” his brother-in-law said softly, coming up next to him. “ ’Tis a sorry day for us all.”

  Brenton looked at Kiernan O’Connor and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I’m watching it happen, but I still can’t believe it.”

  Kiernan laid a hand on Brenton’s shoulder. “Do they know what happened? What caused the fire?”

  “If they do, no one is telling me,” Brenton replied.

  “And for sure, they may not be knowin’,” Kiernan said, his tone sympathetic. “Why don’t ya come on back to the house? Caitlan’s waitin’ there to hear the news, as are yar sisters.”

  Brenton shook his head. “How can I tell them that my entire world has just gone up in flames?”

  “ ’Tis scarcely yar whole world, man. Ya still have yar health and yar wife. This could be yar home yar watchin’ burn, with yar loved ones still inside.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Brenton stared in disbelief at Kiernan. “I realize that, but my pictures are—were an important part of me. They were me.” He lowered his head and stared at the rivulets of water now draining away from the burning building and eddying around his feet. The fire brigade had done their job. They’d saved the rest of Sacramento from destruction. Pity, Brenton thought, that they couldn’t save me from such a fate as well.

  Deep in the grip of his melancholy thoughts, he turned to his brother-in-law. “Go home, Kiernan. I’m going for a walk. Tell Caitlan to stay with you tonight because I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

  “Brenton—”

  “I mean it, Kiernan. I just need to be alone.”

  ——

  Kiernan watched Brenton leave the scene in defeat. His usually ramrod-straight back was now stooped over in grief. He would not suffer this loss easily.

  Deciding to let the younger man go his own way, Kiernan hurried back home to let the women know what had happened. No doubt they would all be beside themselves in wonder and worry. That is, if they were even still remaining at the house as he had instructed them to do. Each of the women alone were quite industrious and opinionated, but when you put all three together—well, it was just best to stand back and clear the road. They had a way about them that would brook no nonsense when their minds were made up.

  And sure enough. He no sooner rounded the corner than he caught sight of the ladies making their way down the cobblestone walkway.

  “Hold up now, ladies,” he called. “Yar not gonna be goin’ down to the fire. ’Tis nearly over anyway. They’re just givin’ it extra water to make sure it’s truly out. There’s nothin’ there but charred wood and ashy water.”

  “Where’s Brenton?” Caitlan asked, hurrying past the others to greet her brother. “Is he all right? Is the shop completely destroyed?”

  “Aye, the shop is gone,” Kiernan admitted, meeting his sister’s mournful expression. “Yar husband took himself off for a few moments alone. In fact, he told me to have ya stay with us tonight. He has business to attend to.”

  Caitlan shook her head. “I want to help him. I want to be there for him.”

  “I know ya do,” he said sympathetically. “But now is not the time. Ya got to let the man have some time to hisself.”

  “What caused the fire?” Jordana asked.

  Kiernan shrugged. “I’m sure I’m not knowin’, but I do know this night air is hardly good for yarselves. Come on with ya, now.”

  “Do you truly think it’s a good idea to let Brenton go out there by himself?” Victoria asked, her concern evident.

  “He’s suffered a great loss. He’ll be needin’ some time alone now.” Kiernan held out his arms as if to usher them all back to the house.

  “I can’t be just stayin’ here, not knowin’ if he’s all right,” Caitlan said, pulling aside from the walkway. “I want to go find him. Did he say where he’d be?”

  Her worried tone touched Kiernan’s heart. Here was the little sister he’d only really come to know in the last three years. She’d been but a wee one when he’d left Ireland for America, and in all his years of absence, she had grown to be nothing more than a memory. The last three years had changed all of that, however, and with each passing day, Kiernan saw more and more of their mother in Caitlan.

  “Ya’ll do him more good if ya leave him be,” he insisted.

  Caitlan said nothing more. Moonlight shone down from overhead and cast her in a milky glow. The sorrow she felt was quite clear to them all.

  “Come along,” Victoria said, taking up her husband’s initiative. “Let’s put on a pot and have tea. We can think better once we’ve settled ourselves.” Victoria reached out to take hold of Caitlan’s arm.

  “I don’t want to feel better until I know Brenton is safe.” Caitlan’s stubborn nature was no more evident than at this moment. She was no baby sister now, but a woman, strong and good. She jerked away from her sister-in-law. “I can’t be stayin’ here. I have to be to home.”

  Kiernan understood his sister’s determination. “Come on with ya, then. Have some tea and then I’ll drive ya home.”

  Caitlan looked at him for a moment as if to verify the truth in his words. “I’ll only be stayin’ for a few minutes,” she replied. “Then whether ya drive me or I walk, I’m going home.”

  Kiernan nodded. “Ya have me word.”

  Half an hour later, Kiernan helped Caitlan down from the carriage in front of her little house. “Yar sure ya want to stay here by yarself? What if Brenton stays out all night? Ya’ll not even have a maid to keep ya company. I could go bring Jordana back here to sit with ya.”

  Caitlan shook her head. “I’ll be fine on me own. Ya know me husband. He is a private man. I know he needs this time to hisself, but when he does come home I want to be here to comfort him.”

  Kiernan nodded. “I understand. Let me see ya inside.”

  Caitlan allowed him to help her to the s
teps of her home. She paused at the door and hesitated a moment before opening it. “Yar sure he’ll be all right?” For a brief instant, she was his little sister again, lost and afraid.

  Kiernan looked into her mournful eyes and hugged her close. “He’s got a level head, yar husband. I’m thinkin’ he’ll find his way home just fine. I’ll be prayin’ and ya’d do well to do the same. This is a terrible burden for him to bear. His picture takin’ was very important to him.”

  “ ’Twas everything to him,” Caitlan emphasized, pulling away. She opened the door, letting a warm glow of light flood through the portal. “Looks like I left the lamp burnin’,” she said.

  “Ya’ll have to be more careful or you’ll be burnin’ down the house,” Kiernan replied. “And comin’ on the heels of the other, I’m not sure any of us would be takin’ the news too well.”

  She gave her brother a quick hug. “Thank ya for carin’ so much for us. Ya do our folks proud.”

  Kiernan felt his face warm at the compliment. “Ya do them proud yarself.” He turned to go, then pausing on the bottom step, called back, “Don’t be gettin’ any fool notions of goin’ out to look for yar husband. He’ll come home in due time.”

  “I’ll wait for him here,” she promised.

  Kiernan smiled to himself. “Ya see that ya do.”

  Back at home, Kiernan found himself having to contend with not only his wife’s worried questions but Jordana’s concerns as well. And of the two, he’d take dealing with his wife any day. Victoria could work up a steam and get herself all worried and tuckered over a matter, but Jordana Baldwin was more of a spitfire than most men would care to take on. Frankly, he was surprised to come home and find Jordana still there. Knowing her persistent and adventurous nature, it would befit her personality to be out combing the streets of Sacramento looking along every pier and alleyway for her brother. Then once found, he could just imagine her bullying or even cajoling her brother until he left off with his sufferings and followed her back home.