Separate Roads (39 page)

At that moment the front door opened, then closed. Relieved looks invaded each of their expressions. But it was Kiernan who made an appearance.

“Oh, it’s only you,” said Brenton.

“Now, how’s a man supposed to take such a greetin’?” Kiernan said, feigning affront.

“He didn’t mean anything, Kiernan,” said Victoria. “We hoped you might be Jordana. She hasn’t come home yet from shopping, and Caitlan has been home herself for over an hour.”

“Were ya together then, sis?”

“Aye . . . but . . .” Caitlan’s lip began to tremble. Her concern over Jordana’s absence had been mounting in the last hour. At first she had tried to shrug it off as just Jordana being . . . well, Jordana. Then she began to worry in earnest and knew she should say something but had been reluctant to admit they had had a fight. She kept hoping Jordana would come in. She had been about to say something when Brenton had come. Now she could not contain her growing fear and sense of guilt. Maybe Jordana had done something foolish because of their argument.

“What’s wrong, Caitlan?” Brenton asked in that gentle way of his.

And that was enough to bring to a head all of Caitlan’s fears and worries. “We had a fight and I walked out on her. If anything’s happened to her . . . oh, I shall never forgive meself!”

“You had a fight?” said several voices, all incredulous.

“’Tis me own fault. I was impatient and mean tempered.” Caitlan put down her paring knife and the potato she was holding. “I’ve got to find her.” She spun around to leave, but Kiernan caught her arm.

“Hold on there! I’ll not be losin’ another sister.”

“But—”

“Now, let’s not go off half-cocked,” said Brenton evenly. “No doubt she came home and just slipped past us. Caitlan, you go upstairs and look. Perhaps she went to her room and, being tired from shopping, lay down and fell asleep. Kiernan, you look around out front, and I will look out back.”

“And I will finish dinner,” said Victoria, “because when Jordana does come home, it’s a sure bet she’ll be hungry.”

But the search around the house proved unsuccessful.

Caitlan now was crying in earnest. “’Tis me fault.”

“It’s not true, Caitlan,” said Brenton.

“She wouldn’t have been left alone if I hadn’t up and walked out on her.” Sniffing, she began to wipe her hand across her eyes.

“Here.” Brenton handed her his handkerchief.

She hesitated a moment. How could he still be so kind to her after what she had done—not only leaving Jordana but treating him so coolly after that sweet kiss in Omaha?

“Go on . . .” he said tenderly, “take it.”

“H-how can you, B-Brenton, when I-I’m so terrible—” But her words caught as sobs clogged her throat. She didn’t know if she fell into Brenton’s arms or if he had reached out for her, but all at once, that’s exactly where she found herself. It was nothing romantic, of course. She was blubbering like a ninny, and he was only comforting her as if she were a child. He even lifted his handkerchief up to her nose.

“Blow,” he said like a father instructing a child. “And no more of this talk about you being terrible and at fault. I won’t hear of it.”

“B-but—”

“Hush, Caitlan,” he admonished softly. “We have to concern ourselves with Jordana and nothing else.”

She nodded, realizing how self-centered she was being. She took the handkerchief, blew her nose, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You’ll be all right, then?” he asked.

She nodded, much calmer now, and moved from Brenton’s comforting embrace. How she hated to do it, but he had only intended to support her while she was upset. Nothing more. “What shall we do?” she asked. “Go back into town and look for her?”

Brenton glanced at Kiernan. “It’s a big town for two of us to cover.”

“We’ll enlist the help of Charlie Crocker,” said Kiernan. “He’ll have horses we can use. And we can send word to others of our friends.”

Caitlan marveled at how easily her brother suggested seeking help from someone outside the family. But then this was an emergency, and so it would have been selfish to think of pride now.

Within another hour, several search parties were combing the city. Caitlan was nearly undone when she realized there was no way she could convince either her brother or Brenton to let her join them. But it would have only heaped more worry upon them. Besides, someone needed to stay home in case Jordana did show up. However, that possibility was looking more and more remote. She should have been home by now if something hadn’t happened.

Victoria and Caitlan tried to busy themselves with preparing a meal. They were far from hungry, but as Victoria had already suggested, Jordana would be when she was found. Also, there would be the men to feed. When the meal was prepared as far as it could go, and there was no further distraction to be had here, the two women began pacing, practically bumping into each other. Finally, Victoria sat at the table. Caitlan then thought of another distraction. She fixed a pot of tea. The two were silent as Caitlan worked because they were too worried for casual chatting, and anything more serious only would have made them worry more.

When Caitlan finished the tea and turned to carry it to the table, she paused. Victoria’s head was bowed, her eyes closed, her lips moving silently. She was praying.

Stricken with a new sense of aloneness, Caitlan set down the pot and quietly left the kitchen, going to the one place she believed she belonged—the laundry room. She glanced around the rough shed with its several washtubs and scrub boards and stacks of dirty clothes. Was this really her destiny? And worse, was it really where she belonged? A voice inside cried out, “No!”

It was only in her own mind that she was fit for nothing more than dirty laundry and servants’ work. Those who knew her best kept telling her differently. They loved her; they cared about her. They would not lie to her.

That could only mean she was lying to herself, then. Her fears alone kept her, or at least her spirit, locked in a rough shed. They kept her from reaching out to those who cared, and especially kept her from seeking God.

And now she needed God desperately. How she envied Victoria’s ability to sit and quietly talk to her God, receiving comfort and, Caitlan knew, hope. She wanted those things, and she knew she could have them. She had but to take the risk. What was the worst that could happen if she did just that? Could she be any more alone, or hopeless? By not doing so, she was very close to losing what good there was left in her life—her friends and family.

“Ya have nothing to lose, Caitlan, girl,” she told herself out loud. “Just like when ya came to America. ’Twas a risk, but look what happened. Ya found wonderful friends. True, ya also found confusion and all, but ya have to admit that only came from yar own stupidity.”

She thought of her failed attempt to talk to God just a few hours ago in the church. In a way it was more fitting that it should be here where she felt comfortable. She thought of the idea of meeting someone “on their own ground.” She thought that’s just what God would do, at least the God Brenton and Jordana followed.

She took a deep breath. This time she was going to do it.

“God . . .” She glanced around, then remembered Victoria with her head bowed and her eyes closed. Assuming this stance, she went on. “Ya know I’ve never been one for prayin’ and churchin’. I hope ya don’t hold that against me—no, I’m not supposin’ ya would. I hope ya also don’t mind me finally coming to ya when I’ve got such a terrible need. I promise I won’t be the kind that comes only when things are bad. If I take this step, I’ll do it through thick and thin. Leastways, I’ll try me best.” She paused almost as if waiting for that resounding rejection she had feared for so long. Only silence met her ears. “Well, then, Jordana does say I won’t be hearin’ any real voice. That’s all right. If it is good enough for me friends, it will be good enough for me.

“Anyway, God, I have a need so great—” A sob escaped her lips. She hadn’t expected to cry, but the thought of her need, of her friend being in danger, suddenly overwhelmed her again. “Please, God, keep Jordana safe. She is one of the best people I know, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Take care of her, as I know she believes ya will.

“I guess I can’t be blamin’ ya for bad things if I don’t credit ya with good, too. I don’t understand it, but I do know ya have brought so much good my way—and Jordana is one of the best things.”

Before Caitlan realized it, she had crumbled to her knees, her head resting in her hands, and uncontrollable sobs shook her body. And it all began to tumble from her heart—her fears, her hopes, her feelings of inadequacy, her need . . . her great need.

That’s how Victoria found her. She knelt down beside her, wrapped an arm around her, and held her tight.

“It’s all right, Caitlan,” she cooed.

Caitlan nodded through her tears. “I know that now. I . . . I think I have made me peace with God. I know He will watch out for Jordana.”

“Yes . . . He will!” Victoria’s voice shook with her own tears.

And Caitlan held tightly to that hope.

35

It was dark, so very dark. Jordana at first wondered if she was blind. She wanted to rub her eyes, but that’s when she realized her hands were bound. She writhed around on the cold, hard floor, finding that at least the rest of her body was functioning, and as her eyes adjusted she realized they also were working. But what had happened? Why did she have this horrible headache? Why was she—?

Panic seized her as she remembered what had happened. Someone had accosted her on the street, and then, after breathing some terrible substance, she had fallen unconscious.

Someone . . . ?

Suddenly a door opened and a beam of dull light sliced momentarily through the room before the newcomer closed the door, shutting out the light as well. But another light remained, from a lantern. It swung back and forth, dimly illuminating the floor and the feet of the visitor. It glared painfully, however, right in Jordana’s eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, the light was sitting on a rough table, and the beams it cast were a bit more normal. She could now see the visitor, though his face was still in shadows.

Damon Chittenden.

Before she could speak, he turned back to the door and locked it. It was such an ominous, final act, it made her stomach clench. She quickly took in her surroundings. It was a storage room, probably for a maid. Brooms, dustpans, buckets, cleansers, and similar items filled shelves and were leaning against the walls. There was also an acrid odor stinging her nose—lye, furniture polish, and such.

Then he turned around. His eyes, caught in the flickering flame of the lamp, had a gleam in them that did not match the apologetic smile twisting his lips.

“I hope you have not been too uncomfortable, Jordana,” he said in a tone that sounded so polite, so normal. But Jordana knew now that Damon Chittenden was not a normal man. “I’ve brought some food for you.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, then added, “What do you want, Damon?” She wanted to be strong and calm, but her voice quavered. She was afraid she had finally gotten into a fix from which there might be no escape.

“I’ve told you many times what I want.” He sat in a chair by the table. The light now cast eerie shadows about his face, and he looked ethereal, almost demonic.

She made herself shake such images from her mind. She could get out of this. She
would
get out of this. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“Understanding . . . ? No one understands.”

“P-please, Damon, what are you going to do?”

Ignoring her question, he went on, “Marrying you would have pleased my father. It would have been the only thing I have ever done to achieve that. Do you know what it is like having a dead hero for a brother, or even a living brother whose success your father is always holding up before you? I could never come close to them, no matter how I tried.”

“I’m sorry about that.” In a way, Jordana truly was, but she had to remind herself that this man might very well have been involved in murder, and now he certainly was guilty of kidnapping. He was probably quite insane.