Separate Roads (18 page)

Kiernan heard the final explosion fire off, then picked up his shovel and moved into the deep trough of Bloomer Cut. His mind traveled back to his time with Victoria and the sweet reunion they had shared. The time had passed much too quickly, and Kiernan had given strong consideration to petitioning Charlie Crocker to allow him to go back to Sacramento—permanently. There was always work to be done on the established line. He could work in the rail shop there, if nothing else. It wasn’t as much money, but they would manage somehow.

He heard someone call out from behind him, but he was too lost in thought to hear the words. The men were probably complaining again. They’d set ten charges with fifteen minutes to spare before the lunch break. No doubt someone figured Kiernan should let them start lunch early.

He glanced at the mess of rock, seeing where the blasts had eaten away at the horseshoe-shaped cut. Slowly but surely they were staking their claim to the land—but just as surely, the land was not giving in without a fight.

“Kiernan!” a man called from the opening of the cut. “I only counted nine explosions.”

For the first time, Kiernan realized he’d failed to count off the blasts. He tried to remember how many he’d heard, but of course, it was impossible. He looked down the cut to where the man stood.

“Are ya sure it was just nine?” he questioned, then turned back to eye the mess of rock and debris at his feet. His gaze quickly traveled the areas where they had set the charges, and he had just turned to his right preparing to make a hasty retreat when the final charge, somehow delayed from the others, blasted out the rock wall in front of him. The noise was deafening—the impact debilitating.

——

Victoria was enjoying the warmth of the spring days as much as anything else in her life. She loved being able to open the windows of her apartment and usher in the scented breezes. Life in Sacramento wasn’t the best she had known, but in many ways she had come to love California more than either Virginia or Maryland. With two weeks behind her since she’d returned from seeing Kiernan in Roseville, Victoria was already fighting her loneliness. She had worked with Li on several occasions, helping her with her English, even teaching her to recognize written letters and to read. Victoria seemed to have a flair for such things, remembering how easy it had been to teach Kiernan to read.

Li had returned to Sacramento with her husband and son. Apparently, because of a general slowing of construction, the laundry business on the line was not enough to support the family. Victoria felt bad for their disappointment but for herself was thrilled to have this friend return. Hoping to find other work, perhaps as a maid, Li had asked Victoria for more English lessons. Before long Li, who had been so excited with her own progress, invited a couple of her neighbors to join in on the lessons. Victoria had known a great sense of pride and accomplishment when each woman could write her name by the end of the day. They thought it very strange that Americans should have only twenty-six letters in their alphabet, when Chinese had some three thousand characters in theirs. Victoria had teased the shy women, telling them that learning English should be a cinch, given the difference.

But now, back at her apartment with the evening light fading, Victoria could only think of Kiernan. How happy they had been for their two days in Roseville. They’d acted like young lovers again. Holding hands and taking walks. Whispering secret thoughts and dreams. Kiernan was so hopeful for their future. He saw good things coming and had even suggested the possibility of bringing Victoria to Dutch Flat to live. She didn’t mind that idea at all. She loved Sacramento with its civilized stores and entertainments, but she knew Dutch Flat from their time spent there before coming to the city. She could manage well enough in that tiny town. Especially if it meant being with Kiernan.

Going to light a fire in the stove, Victoria was startled when she heard knocking on her front door. It was nearly dark outside. Thoughts of Christopher Thorndike entered her mind. He had taken advantage of her loneliness once before. Perhaps this Sacramento entrepreneur had learned of Kiernan’s absence and had once again come to press his luck with her. She bit her lower lip and waited. Maybe the person would just go away.

The knock came louder this time, and with it came a voice as well. “Mrs. O’Connor, are you in?”

“Who is it?” she asked, knowing now that it wasn’t Thorndike.

“Mr. Hopkins.”

She opened the door to find one of Sacramento’s most prestigious citizens. Mark Hopkins and his wife had become acquaintances through the Central Pacific, where Hopkins was lauded as one of the original “Big Four.” But she’d also shared his company through social gatherings with Ted and Anna Judah.

“Mr. Hopkins, this is a surprise.”

“Not a pleasant one, I’m afraid,” the bearded man replied.

Victoria stiffened. “What’s happened? Is it Kiernan?”

“I’m afraid so. He was caught up in an explosion.”

All Victoria could think about was how Kiernan’s brother Red had died in a tunneling explosion. Stumbling back against the door, panic rose up in her. She gasped for breath. “Is he . . . is he . . .” The room began to swim before her eyes.

“He’s not dead,” Hopkins assured her quickly, “but he’s been severely injured. It doesn’t look good at this point.”

“No!” She twisted her hands together. “I don’t believe you.” Her knees weakened and she suddenly felt as if she’d doubled in weight. A tight band spread across her chest, making it impossible to breathe. “This can’t be true.”

He nodded sympathetically, his usual sad-faced expression made even more evident by the news he had been given to bear. “I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Connor. Mr. Crocker sent the message straightway to me. I tried to contact you this morning, but you were already out for the day.”

Victoria wanted to scream. Kiernan had been lying near death all day, probably longer, and she had been off teaching English to Li and her friends! She could scarcely bear the thought.

“I want to go to him,” she declared, reaching for the table in order to steady herself. “Can you make this happen?”

Hopkins nodded quickly. “But of course. It seems to be the very least the CP could do to ease your mind. Come morning, I’ll have you on the first train out.”

“Morning? Isn’t there anything leaving yet tonight?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. The train left nearly half an hour ago.”

“If I’d only stayed home,” she murmured. Moving to the rocker Kiernan had made for her, she slumped into the seat and stared forlornly across the room. “He might already be dead.” She instantly envisioned Kiernan laid out for a funeral. She could see his pale skin, closed eyes, and expressionless face. No! She screamed in her mind and pushed the images away. I can’t think this way!

Hopkins came to stand uncomfortably beside her. “You mustn’t fret so, Mrs. O’Connor. You must have faith to believe he’s still with us.”

Faith, she thought. Faith was the only thing she had. Faith that God would be merciful and sustain her husband’s life. Faith that He would somehow give her the strength to endure yet another problem in their marriage of nine years. Oh, God, where are you now? Why has this happened? What am I to do? The thought of facing the night alone terrified her.

“Why don’t you prepare your things and come stay with us for the night? I couldn’t rest knowing you were here alone with no one to offer you comfort,” the man told her softly.

Victoria shook her head. She barely knew the Hopkinses, and she certainly couldn’t go taking advantage of them. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be alone. Her imagination could well drive her mad before dawn ever managed to grace the skies of Sacramento. “Thank you, Mr. Hopkins. You are most kind, but I couldn’t intrude. If you’ll come for me in the morning, it will be enough.”

For once she was quite glad she and Kiernan were without children. Children would have caused yet another problem for her in getting to Kiernan, for surely it would have been impossible to take a baby along with her to the railroad campsite. She put her face in her hands and began to weep softly. Oh, Mama, I need you so. How I wish you were here to stand beside me. But there was no one. No one who cared about her the way her family had. No close friend, with exception to Li, who was busy with Jia, and her only other close friend, Anna, who now lived on the East Coast.

Mark Hopkins put his hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. O’Connor, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for all of this. Your husband is a great asset to the line, and I will not even consider the thought of losing him.”

Victoria looked up and caught his sober expression. There was something so genuine and gentle in his face. She couldn’t help but nod. “You were very kind to come to me.” She sniffed back tears and forced her mind to focus. “Your strength inspires me.” In fact, his encouragement was all she had. God had evidently known exactly the right person to send to her to inform her of this tragedy. She would simply have to trust that God had also told the man how best to help her. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on your offer for the night,” she decided suddenly.

——

They arrived in Newcastle the following morning. Charlie was there to meet her in Roseville, then accompanied her to where Kiernan was still very much alive, but not doing as well as the doctor would like.

“He’s taken most of the damage to his face and head,” Charlie told her softly as they made their way to the house of Newcastle’s only doctor. “You mustn’t get too alarmed when you see him.”

“Is he completely disfigured?” she asked, trying to imagine the extent of his injuries.

“He took a great deal of rock full in the face,” Charlie told her. “The worst of it blasted the left side. He must have turned to the right to shield himself, but it was too late. He has a great many cuts, and the entire face is swollen and discolored. I’m telling you this,” Charlie said, pausing outside the doctor’s simple one-story house, “because I don’t want you fainting dead away from the sight. It won’t be easy.”

“He’s my husband and I love him, Mr. Crocker. It might not be easy, but I’ll endure it.” She remembered the exchange she and Kiernan had shared not so long ago in Roseville. Love endures all things, she reminded herself. It would endure even this.

Charlie led her inside, and the doctor, a tall, willowy man with huge sad eyes and a neatly trimmed beard, greeted her. His large hands covered her smaller ones. “You must be Mrs. O’Connor.”

“Yes,” she managed to say. “How is my husband?”

“I’m afraid he’s quite damaged. He’s not regained consciousness, and that gives me great cause for worry.”

“I understand,” she said, swallowing hard. “May I see him?”

“Are you certain that you’re up to it?”

“I must be,” she replied with simple determination.

He nodded understandingly. “Then come with me.”

He took her down a short, narrow hall and opened the door to Kiernan’s room. “Has Mr. Crocker told you of his condition?”

“Yes. He said that Kiernan’s face is cut and swollen and discolored.”

“That’s the worst of it. The left side of his body and leg were embedded with much debris, and his left arm is broken in two places. He was trying to protect his face, but it did no good. He may lose his left eye—”

“What!” Victoria exclaimed, shaking her head. “Charlie said nothing about that.”

“Mr. Crocker most likely didn’t know. I’ve cleaned out the eye, but I have no way of knowing the extent of the damage until the swelling goes down. Right now, his face is bandaged, but if you are to care for him, you will have to see the full extent of his injuries.”

Victoria nodded.
Dear God,
she prayed silently,
give me the strength to do what I must. Kiernan needs me now. Please don’t let me fail him.

“Lead me on, Doctor,” she said. “I need to be with my husband.”

Kiernan lay in a small wood-frame bed. The white sheet was drawn up to just under his chin, leaving Victoria unable to see his wounded arm. His face was swathed in bandages, just as the doctor had told her, and his right eye, the only one visible to her, was closed in sleep.

She went to the bed and reached out to touch Kiernan’s right cheek. It was mottled with bruising and cuts, but it wasn’t so bad as to require bandaging. “Oh, my sweet Kiernan,” she whispered, “what have you done to yourself?”

Two days later, Kiernan regained consciousness. The doctor declared this the best possible sign but still refused to assure Victoria of a full recovery. Kiernan thrashed and moaned. The pain he felt was so severe that the doctor prescribed heavy doses of laudanum. After that, Kiernan drifted in and out of unnatural sleep—sometimes calling out for help—sometimes whispering Victoria’s name.

A full two weeks after his accident, the doctor agreed to let Charlie move Kiernan to Sacramento. Victoria felt this would be the best they could do for her husband, knowing that the medical facilities there would surely be better than what Newcastle could offer. Of course, the doctor didn’t believe there was much else to be done. Nothing but wait.

Victoria didn’t like waiting. Especially when it meant watching her husband waste away. He could barely take anything but soup as nourishment, and the laudanum left him so lost in his own world that Victoria couldn’t tell if he was getting any better or not.

Charlie sat beside her on the train. Without a private car for their trip, Charlie quartered off the back portion of the passenger car and arranged a makeshift bed for Kiernan. From time to time Charlie tried to say something reassuring, but Victoria found herself overwhelmed with the sudden worry that now they would have no money coming in. They had very little in savings, for what they could afford to give to his family in Ireland, Kiernan had faithfully instructed her to send.

She couldn’t very well share her worries with Charlie. She didn’t want him to think she was begging for charity or help that went above and beyond the call of duty. She would simply have to find a way to support them while Kiernan recovered.

Ignoring the passing scenery, Victoria bit at her lower lip as a new thought came to mind. I could write to Mother. I could just explain the situation and beg them to send me the funds. But even this thought came with its own problems. They had lied to her parents long ago when the financial crisis of 1857 had stripped her of her fortune. Just prior to that Kiernan had convinced her father to let him control Victoria’s money as they moved west to seek additional fortune in California. Her father had agreed, but Kiernan didn’t have James Baldwin’s knack for investments. And he couldn’t have seen the crisis coming that would rob them of most everything they had in the bank.