Separate Roads (13 page)

“We’ll see to it, boss,” the younger man replied.

The two men grabbed up their hats and hurried out of the office, leaving only Reed and Brenton to occupy Peter Dey’s time.

“Reed, you’ll have a bad time of it, as I hear. The stage is at least ten days and nights with nothing but bacon and hard bread for food. There’s a risk of Indian attack, and the driver suggests that no man travel without a weapon. Preferably something that shoots long-range.”

“When does the steamer leave?” Reed stroked his long, thick beard.

“In three hours. Can you be ready?”

“I’ll be there,” Reed announced, getting to his feet. “I’ll arrange for mail pickup and deliveries in Salt Lake. Send everything to me there.”

“God’s speed and care,” Dey replied as Reed took up his hat.

“I’m sure we’ll need it.” Reed turned, leaving Brenton behind as he exited the office.

“Mr. Baldwin, is it not?” Dey then focused on Brenton, now the lone inhabitant of the waiting room.

“Yes, sir.” Brenton quickly rose to his feet. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

“Well, come on inside and tell me what I can do for you,” Dey commanded.

Brenton felt his mouth grow cottony. He had practiced what he would say all morning, but now the words fled from his mind. Why am I here? What was it I came to say?

Feeling somewhat panicked, Brenton went into the inner office and took the offered chair, once again a simple, coarse structure, and cleared his throat nervously.

But Dey spoke first. “You mentioned in your note to me that you’d like to photograph the Union Pacific’s progress. Perhaps even join up with one of our survey teams and photograph the landscape.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Brenton said, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I’m a photographer, and I have my own equipment. I’m set up over on Fourteenth Street.”

“I see. I suppose what I fail to understand is why you would desire to devote your time to the railroad?” Dey took his seat and narrowed his eyes. His expression looked dauntingly harsh.

Brenton licked his dry lips. “Well, I come from a family of railroad men. My father was involved with the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and he shares a great interest in the Union Pacific as well. He has often said that he believes there might be more support for the line if people had a chance to see the course it planned to take and maybe even to see the workers in progress.”

“Interesting concept, Mr. Baldwin. I must say, it’s one that I’d not considered before this moment. What would you require of the Union Pacific?”

Brenton took a deep breath. “It would be my ultimate desire to be brought on as a salaried employee of the railroad. However, I realize that may well not be in the plans or budget of the line.”

“It certainly hasn’t been up to this point,” Dey concurred dryly.

Brenton nodded. “I can understand. The point is, I have my own equipment, as I stated, and if the railroad were willing to furnish the supplies necessary—my chemicals and photography materials, as well as feed for my horses—I would be happy to work on a room-and-board basis while traveling the line with the crews.”

“Room and board generally consists of a tent, if you’re lucky, and a bowl of beans and salt pork.”

“It would be enough, provided I would be allowed some measure of leniency to take my own photographs, as well.”

“Your own photographs? Might I ask to what purpose?”

“I would like to compile photographs of our nation both before and after the effects of the railroad.” Brenton began to relax as he focused on his dream. “I would like to use them for my own purposes as well as enticements to others to support the railroad and settle in the West. The Union Pacific could benefit likewise, as well as have a visual account of their development.”

“The idea sounds challenging, to say the least,” Dey replied thoughtfully. “How about if you put together a list of supplies, their costs, and your fees? I will be happy then to submit the idea to Mr. Durant in New York.”

Brenton tried not to look disappointed. He had been hoping Dey would tell him he could start immediately. Of course, had he given Brenton the word to join the survey teams immediately, Brenton might have had to decline. He first had to see to Jordana and Caitlan. Getting to his feet, Brenton extended his hand.

“I have those figures with me.” Brenton withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and laid it on the desk.

“Good enough.” The rather impressed look on Dey’s sour face lifted his spirits considerably. The engineer shook Brenton’s hand with enthusiasm.

Brenton left the office feeling something between elation and frustration. Dey hadn’t said no to his proposal and, in fact, seemed quite interested. But Brenton found himself once again faced with another obstacle that demanded he wait. Waiting wasn’t his forte, Brenton knew.

I used to be a patient person, he thought. Remembering his days as a boy, he knew many an occasion when his patience to see a project through had left everyone else long exhausted. Maybe it was because he worried over Jordana and Caitlan. He still had no idea what to do with them. His honest desire was to help Caitlan be reunited with her brother, but after listening to Reed, it didn’t seem a likely prospect. At least not at the moment.

“Still,” Brenton muttered, looking at the progressiveness of the city around him, “everyone has their price. Besides, the stage isn’t the only way to move folks west.” He thought of this as his gaze fell to a row of covered wagons lining Douglas Street. Maybe he could get Caitlan passage on a wagon train in trade for helping out one of the families. That way she’d be escorted properly and not have to take charity.

The thought of sending Caitlan away with strangers caused Brenton no small amount of displeasure. He didn’t want to send her away. But what he really wanted was irrational and unsettling all on its own. He wanted to make her his wife.

He shook his head. It was completely out of the question. He had nothing to offer her. Nothing of value, except his name and the promise of an inheritance when he turned twenty-one in November. Twenty-one would signal his passage into the full rites of manhood, but Brenton didn’t feel much like he deserved the honor. He hadn’t learned how to care for those in his charge. He couldn’t support them financially, not without completely giving up his photography. And while he had taken on part-time duties as a desk clerk at one of the new hotels in town, it wasn’t to his liking, and neither did it pay all that well. Jordana was quite right in throwing her success in his face. He was a failure at business, and now he was failing as a brother and brother-in-law as well.

Deciding to head on home, Brenton came to realize that being in charge required more of him than he knew how to give. He’d allowed Jordana to talk him into this great adventure, and while he couldn’t actually say he regretted it, he was quickly coming to see that responsibility required a person to sometimes refuse an opportunity. Especially when it had the potential of bringing harm to others.

Kicking at the dusty road, Brenton chided himself for not taking a firmer stand with Jordana prior to now. How was it that she had so easily talked him into risking their lives to go west? He smiled as he thought of her skillful manipulation of him when they were children. He was always the serious one, the one who had to weigh out each consequence and possible solution. Jordana was the one who bid him to throw caution to the wind and have a go at life.

Well, here he was. Having his go at life. He glanced up the street to where another new building was being constructed. The pounding of hammers against nails and boards competed with the shouts of the workers as they offered directions and instructions. To the north of this, two teamsters worked to unload a wagon of new stoves for the hardware store. Beyond them, three men were standing at the edge of the street, gesturing at an empty lot and glancing down at the paper in one man’s hand. No doubt another building and business was about to be born. The city had nearly changed overnight. So, too, had Brenton.

He felt an ever growing burden where Jordana and Caitlan were concerned, but more so, he felt a considerable responsibility to become the man his father and mother had raised him to be. Seeking out dreams was one thing, but working to make them a reality often took time and effort. And often the price was much too high to pay.

The little white house came into view, and Brenton decided it wasn’t such a bad home. The little yard was sparse, barely capable of growing a few weeds and small patches of grass. The picket fence that surrounded the property needed a coat of whitewash in the worst way. They’d barely been able to afford paint for the outside of the house, and even then, they’d fallen into possession of the paint quite by mistake. Chittenden had received a shipment of paint for his own home and had offered them the excess at half the original cost. Of course, given the fact that the house was technically his bank’s property anyway, Chittenden should have probably just given them the paint at no charge, but Brenton wasn’t arguing. The white coating had done wonders to cheer up the little house, and the ladies had been quite pleased with the effect.

Brenton stood at the gate for a moment and studied the little box house. Only a tiny porch at the front door kept it from being a complete square. There were four rooms inside and an outhouse not far from the back door, along with a small lean-to-style shed that sheltered Brenton’s wagon. If he were here alone, without anyone else to concern himself with, it might be the perfect arrangement. He could turn one of the bedrooms into a darkroom, and then he’d not even need to use the tiny office space on Fourteenth Street.

He saw movement at the window and realized that sooner or later he would have to go inside and face the music. Somehow the only logical conclusion was the one he didn’t want to accept—that of wiring his father for help.

Opening the gate, he decided he would simply explain the situation to Jordana and Caitlan. He would tell them of his chance to go out with the surveyors if, in fact, Mr. Durant liked the idea. But in the meantime, he needed to see to Jordana’s and Caitlan’s welfare. Maybe he should suggest that Jordana and Caitlan both go to California. He smiled. Yes, maybe that would keep Jordana from growing angry with him for threatening to send her home to their parents.

Inside, the aroma of meat cooking on the stove caught his attention first. That meant Caitlan was already busy with supper. He glanced at his pocket watch and saw the hour was still fairly early. Closing the door quietly, he looked up to find Caitlan silently observing him.

“Supper’s not yet ready,” she said, turning back quickly to the stove.

Brenton glanced around the large room. Jordana was not there. He let his gaze linger on Caitlan at the stove. Her long curly hair had been tied back with a piece of black ribbon, the edges of her curls touching just at the point where her apron was tied to her waist. He tried not to imagine what it would be like to run his hands through that mane—to feel her hair wrap gently around his fingers. He tried not to imagine what it would be like to put his hand on her waist—to kiss her lips. He tried, but he wasn’t succeeding.

“Well, you’re back early,” Jordana said, coming from the bedroom. Dressed in her simplest short-sleeve calico gown, her hair hung in wet ringlets around her shoulders. She ignored Brenton after her initial statement and moved toward Caitlan. “I’m finished with the bath. I can tend to supper if you want to go ahead and bathe.”

“I suppose I could be doin’ that,” Caitlan admitted shyly, with a darting side glance at Brenton. “Won’t take me but a moment.”

Brenton shuddered and turned away. Why did they talk about such things in front of him? They treated him as though he weren’t a man. Such matters shouldn’t be shared in mixed company and yet . . . He pushed aside the thought of Caitlan and the bath and turned instead to let his anger still the images in his mind.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he announced. “I’m going to wire Father and ask for the money to send you both to California.”

“What?” Jordana and Caitlan both exclaimed.

“You heard me.”

“I heard you,” Jordana admitted, “but I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing.”

“I’ll do what is necessary to keep you both safe and well cared for.” Brenton drew a deep breath and avoided looking at Caitlan altogether. “I have the chance to travel with the Union Pacific survey team. Nothing definite has been decided as of yet, but I certainly can’t even consider taking the position so long as I have you two to worry about.”

“Nobody’s asking you to worry about either one of us,” Jordana replied hotly. “I’ve just about had enough of you acting like the lord of the manor. I liked you better when you were all soft and sweet.”

“You mean mousy and manageable, don’t you?” Brenton sneered, eyeing Jordana sternly. “You think that just because I have become more attentive to my responsibility of caring for you, that somehow means I no longer love you or respect you? That simply isn’t true. Can’t you see, Jordana, I do these things because of my love for you?”

Jordana shook her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You used to understand me better than anyone. Now you sound just like every other man I’ve ever known, with the exception of Father. Would you put me away in some little cottage with a husband and family of my own, never to live my life in the manner I choose? Do you deny me my dream in order to have your own?”

“That’s not fair,” Brenton replied. “I’ve denied you nothing. I’m simply suggesting that you go home or at least go to Victoria and give yourself a few more years to mature.”

“So now I’m immature. Did you hear that, Caitlan?”

“Ya’d best be leavin’ me out of this,” Caitlan replied, focusing her attention on peeling potatoes.

“Well, he’s certainly not leaving you out of this,” Jordana declared, hands on hips. “He’s making plans for both our lives without once consulting us as to our desires or needs. I would think that would make you very concerned for your future.”

Caitlan put the peeler down and came to where Jordana stood. “I’ll not be a burden to either of ya. I made that clear in the beginnin’. Do what you must, Brenton.”