Westward the Dream (14 page)

15

“I think it's terribly rude to make Caitlan pose as my maid,” Jordana protested to Brenton as she clung to the rail of the Staten Island ferry.

“I don't like it any better than you, but to do otherwise would arouse suspicion,” Brenton replied.

“He's right,” Meg affirmed. “My father will love hiding Caitlan out from my grandfather, but he will never accept her as an equal. No insult intended, Caitlan,” she added with an apologetic glance at the extra traveling companion.

“None taken,” Caitlan said, then turned to Jordana. “Don't be frettin' about this, Jordana. Ya'll see. 'Tis the best way we can be dealin' with the matter.”

Jordana frowned and Brenton watched her walk away from the group as if needing time to think it all through.

“Meg, would you be so kind as to keep Caitlan company while I talk to my sister?”

“Of course,” Meg said, smiling sweetly.

Brenton nodded, gave a curt bow, and hurried off to join Jordana.

“I hate the ferry ride,” Jordana said without turning around to acknowledge Brenton's presence.

“I know you do.”

“It's just so frustrating to have to stand about waiting.”

“It's better than swimming,” Brenton offered.

“Marginally.”

“Please don't fret over Caitlan. We aren't trying to demean her. It's just that some folks refuse to see things as we do. Mamma taught us to be kind to all people—to not judge them by the way they talked or the color of their skin. But you have to know that our family was the exception. Remember how the different factions of Irish even fought amongst themselves?”

Jordana nodded. “I remember. Kiernan said it was because they held different beliefs and interests, and some just fought for the sake of fighting.”

“Right. Folks here in America are no different.”

“It doesn't mean we play along with it,” Jordana protested.

“No, I suppose it doesn't. However, this is a bad situation. We need to get Caitlan away from the false accusations. That's what matters now.”

The ferry docked and Brenton took hold of Jordana's arm. “Come on. It'll just be us playing parts. Caitlan understands.”

Jordana turned and gazed toward the shore. “It's not only that.”

“What, then?”

“I guess coming back here also forces me to think about G.W. Nothing seems fair or right, and G.W. figures into that as much as Caitlan. He hates me, Brenton. I asked Caitlan about him, but she couldn't tell me anything. Apparently the commodore has whisked him away to some sanatorium to recover. They believe he has tuberculosis. He refused all my letters,” she said in a rather distant voice.

“Your rejection wounded him deeply, but he'll get over it.”

Jordana gazed up to meet Brenton's eyes. “But I didn't reject him. Why must a man think that a rejection of marriage is always a rejection of the man himself?”

“Because generally it is,” Brenton replied softly.

“The loss of his friendship has left a hole in my heart. First he went away and then you . . .” Her words trailed off as she reached her gloved hand over to hold tightly to Brenton. “Please don't leave me again. I couldn't bear it.”

Brenton smiled. “We'll both go our way one day, and it will be good and right. But until then, I'll take good care of you.”

“I shall never go away from you,” Jordana protested.

Brenton touched her nose with the tip of his finger. “You are such a goose. One day you will find the perfect man, and you will marry and settle down to a happy life.”

“Not for a good long time,” Jordana replied. “I have no desire to marry anyone.”

“What if I find a wonderful woman to marry—?”

“And then you won't need me anymore. We won't have our wonderful talks, and you'll move far away with her and raise a family and take your pictures.” She looked as though she might go into a full pout. “And I shall pretend to be ever so happy for you both, but inside I shall know that I've lost my best friend.”

“Let us not put the cart before the horse,” Brenton teased. “I haven't taken a wife yet.”

They rejoined Meg and Caitlan and said very little until they arrived at the Vanderbilt farm. Billy Vanderbilt, Meg's father, greeted them and, after hearing the entire story of Caitlan's plight, laughed heartily, though sympathetically, and declared he might well have a solution.

“But I don't understand,” Billy Vanderbilt interjected. “Why are you so devoted to a servant girl? I mean, I thoroughly enjoy thwarting Father's efforts to force the poor child into reprehensible behavior, but I hardly understand your part. Why should you be responsible for getting her to her brother in the West, and why should you have to go along with her?”

His question was directed to Brenton, but before Brenton could answer, Jordana jumped up from her seat, nearly spilling a freshly served cup of tea.

“Because her brother is married to our sister!” Everyone gasped in surprise at this declaration, but Jordana appeared unconcerned. “No one wants to be truthful about the matter for fear it might leave a bad taste in your mouth, but frankly, Mr. Vanderbilt, lying leaves a bad taste in mine. Caitlan is very nearly family, and I won't have her relegated to the scullery so that upper society might refrain from discomfort.” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest and stood her ground.

Brenton and Meg stared dumfounded for several seconds before Billy began to roar with laughter. “Well said! This makes much more sense now. Why didn't you tell me the truth in the first place?”

Jordana took her seat and stared smugly at Brenton, who immediately felt he should be the spokesman for the matter. “We simply weren't thinking clearly, Mr. Vanderbilt. Our concerns have overwhelmed us, and all I can do is beg your pardon.”

“I pardon your lies, for although uncalled for, they were given for the best of intentions. However, I do not pardon my father's snobbery, nor his lascivious behavior. My father would do well to remember his own humble roots.”

“Beggin' yar pardon, sir, but I found yar father's servants to be far more difficult than hisself. So ya see, there are levels to be maintained no matter yar station,” Caitlan said shyly.

Billy nodded. “Well, I think you are all admirable for your pursuits. I'm also quite eager to discuss a little business idea with you, Mr. Baldwin. You say you intend to take photographs of the American wilderness. Is this something you believe yourself to be talented at?”

Brenton felt his cheeks grow hot. “My former employer said I am. All I truly know is that I love doing it.”

Billy considered this for a moment. “Ladies, if you'll excuse us, I believe I might be able to provide young Mr. Baldwin with a solution.”

The girls looked at each other, then at Billy. They were obviously curious about what the men would discuss, and they were hesitant to be shooed away. They were three headstrong young women, yet they also knew when they had reached their limit, so in unison they rose and exited the room with the briefest of glances over their shoulders. Had the moment not been so intriguing to Brenton, he might have laughed out loud at the little train of maidens as they seemed to puff from the room.

“You want to go west and photograph the countryside,” Billy said when he and Brenton were alone. He went to a secretary and opened a drawer, and pulling out a thick stack of bound papers, he held them aloft. “I have here the beginnings of a major investment scheme. My father believes me to be a simpleton and a dimwit, but in truth, he is the one whose vision is shortsighted. He feels comfortable with his New York empire. He has his railroad and his millions, and he believes the world trembles at his every word.

“But I, on the other hand, see the potential of expanding this country. Sad though it may seem, this war might well be the best thing in the world for the growth of this nation.”

“How can you say that?” Brenton could not hide his distaste at such a statement, especially after what he had experienced in the last month.

“It's a simple matter of economics. No,” Billy said, pausing to reconsider, “it is more than that. The war, however long it lasts, will end, and then people will seek to heal their wounds. This country will not be divided for long. It's no different than an argumentative man and his wife. They are bound to each other, and a separation is more costly than staying together. When the war ends, people will desire to get on with their lives. Moving west will appeal to their sense of adventure and their need to focus on something less destructive.”

“But without sounding callous, because I am hardly without feeling when it comes to this war,” Brenton began, “where do I fit into your scheme?”

Billy chuckled and brought the papers with him. “Mr. Baldwin, the potential is there to set the investment in place prior to the war's ending. If you were to go west, under my financing, and take photographs on my behalf, even act as my land agent, I would have these to offer my potential investors. They would have a chance to survey the West and see the possibilities for themselves.”

“To what end?”

Billy pushed aside delicate china cups and saucers and plopped the papers down on the artfully carved table. “To the end that I could convince them that their world is much larger than they think, and in doing so, allow them to participate in the westward dream.”

“So I would photograph the country, and you would convince men to invest their money and futures in the great American wilderness.”

“If your pictures speak half the volume I see in your eyes, they should do just that. You would also become my eyes and ears west of the Mississippi. By relaying information to me from the West, and by my own ingenuity and supply of information in the East, I can assign you monies to purchase land for me with the hopes that such purchases will prove advantageous.”

Brenton smiled. “And you would be willing to back my trip—to help me get Caitlan to California in the process?”

Billy nodded. He smiled and leaned forward. “In fact, she may stay here until the arrangements are made for your journey. My wife can always use another hand with the household. Mr. Baldwin, I believe we can work together on this and benefit both dreams. What say you?”

“I say this may well be the answer to prayer I've been seeking,” Brenton said with a smile. “And I know it will meet with Jordana's approval.”

“Then I propose a toast,” Billy said, raising his glass. “To dreams.”

Brenton lifted his own iced lemonade and touched it to Mr. Vanderbilt's. “To dreams.”

16

“Surprise!” the colorfully dressed partygoers shouted.

Brenton, rather flustered, looked first at his sister and then at Billy Vanderbilt. Both grinned and seemed to thoroughly enjoy his embarrassment.

“Happy birthday, Brenton,” Meg Vanderbilt said as she moved closer and offered him a small package. “We've been waiting for you.”

Brenton had noticed of late that the girl was growing sweet on him, but he had never seen her as anything but his sister's little friend. Nevertheless, he took the gift and gave her a most chivalrous bow. “Thank you, Miss Vanderbilt.”

“Oh, don't go being so stuffy,” Jordana said, grabbing hold of his arm to propel him across the room. “We've created an entire birthday supper for you, Brenton. Caitlan even made the cake.”

“Where is Caitlan?” Brenton asked, looking around the room. The twenty-five or so people gathered there in Billy Vanderbilt's parlor were fashionable and elegant in their afternoon clothes, and all seemed to be having a wonderful time. Caitlan, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm not sure,” Jordana replied with a frown. “Meg lent her a gown, and I was certain she would be here. I don't know what's become of her. I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention.”

At that moment a huge cake was carried into the room, and the revelers began to applaud. Brenton felt his cheeks grow hot. He hated anyone making such a fuss over him. But despite his embarrassment, he was touched that the Vanderbilts would rally their friends to act in the absence of Brenton's own loved ones.

Nineteen years had passed since Brenton's arrival in the world, but such affairs and celebrations had never come easy to him. He hated fanfare when he was the focus of it. He would have much preferred being the photographer at someone else's party. It wasn't that he minded being made to feel special, but to become the center of a event was more than he had ever desired. He was glad that only girls had large coming-out parties. Men—at least the men in his family—simply drifted into adulthood rather unannounced.

“Come now and cut the cake for us,” Billy said in his fatherly way. It was clear to Brenton that in many ways Billy had simply adopted both him and Jordana into the family. Billy leaned forward and added, “You're about to rob me of the best maid this house ever had. The least you can do is enjoy my party for you.”

Forcing a smile, Brenton nodded. “Very well,” he said, taking up the knife Jordana held out to him. “But I warn you. I do this very poorly.”

“Perhaps you should have trained to become a surgeon instead of a photographer,” Jordana teased.

“No,” Meg replied, shaking her head. “They would have forced him to join in the war.”

Jordana gave her brother a quick look. Though Brenton's avoidance of the army was completely honorable, he still occasionally found himself in situations where others refused to understand, and it caused him distress, as Jordana well knew. She gave a light laugh. “That's true, Meg. We must be grateful for small favors.”

Brenton knew she was trying to protect him and was grateful for it. He kept up the light banter as he put the knife to the cake. “So my photography work is a small favor in your eyes, is that it?” He smiled at Jordana, knowing she would realize his teasing was a way to move the subject past the morbid dwellings of the war. It might have worked, too, except that Billy was completely unaware of the exchange between brother and sister.

“As I was telling my colleagues,” Billy said, “this war has done a great deal to boost the economy here in the North. After that ridiculous bank scandal a few years ago, this was just the kick in the pants we needed to get things up and running again.”

Brenton saw Jordana pale slightly at the comment, but before she could open her mouth to speak, Meg reached out to her father.

“Please, Papa, let's not talk of war today. It's all so sad, especially with G.W. having suffered so miserably from it.” She obviously regretted having mentioned the subject in the first place.

But, unfortunately, the poor girl had unwittingly opened another tender subject. The comment about G.W. caused Jordana to wince, and though she tried to turn away from him, Brenton reached out to pat her arm reassuringly.

“G.W. will no doubt recover from his ailments to go forth again into adventure,” Billy assured them. “I have a recent letter if anyone would like to read it. He sounds in good spirits, although he grows quite bored with doctors and their treatments. He does try to keep up with the war. He's lost a great many friends already, and it worries him greatly knowing there is no real end in sight. He says the men try to stay positive, but they're discouraged by the entire matter. With the exception of Antietam, the last four major battles have been Confederate victories.”

“No doubt it is hard on the Union men to see victories like the Second Battle of Bull Run go to the Confederates,” one of Billy's investors said rather stoically. “The Union felt certain they would have victory there and make up for the first battle.”

“We've made up for it in other ways,” someone else added.

Billy laughed. “If only President Lincoln can settle on a commander. I heard tell that Lincoln once sent a post to McClellan asking that if he wasn't going to use his army, could Lincoln maybe borrow them for a spell?” This brought uproarious laughter from the men in the room, encouraging Vanderbilt. “Then the president got Pope but wasn't happy with him and begged McClellan to come back. Now I hear tell he's gone and fired McClellan again.”

As talk of the war droned on, Brenton noted the tension building in Jordana. She was no doubt thinking about G.W. She felt totally responsible for his lack of recovery. He'd questioned Meg, and even Billy, about finding a way to get G.W. to at least take Jordana's letters, but it was all to no avail. It seemed G.W. was nursing his wounded pride. Having been a handsome, well-muscled man, G.W.'s ego had been completely deflated by Jordana's rejection and his own sickness.

“I've heard there is much concern over whether Britain will join in the ruckus,” someone said, bringing Brenton's attention back to the conversation at hand.

“That's all we need. The British have been nothing but a thorn in our sides,” one of Billy's cronies contended.

“I heard tell they might send troops into Canada,” another man added.

“I heard the same,” Billy replied. “I say let them. Perhaps it will refocus our own people, and then we can leave off with this war against ourselves.”

“I suggest we leave off with this conversation, Mr. Vanderbilt,” Billy's wife said, coming gracefully to her husband's side. “You men would talk of nothing but war and profit if we women allowed it. I suggest we eat cake and allow Brenton to open his gifts; then you may all retire to the drawing room and discuss war until your hair turns gray.”

“That won't be hard for me,” Billy said, laughing. “I've already a sprinkling of the matter.”

“Better than our friend Witherspoon here,” one of the men laughed. “He suffers from more than a sprinkling.” Again laughter filled the air, and Brenton felt a deep gratitude for Mrs. Vanderbilt's intercession.

A half hour later, Brenton found himself the center of conversation in the smoke-filled Vanderbilt study. Billy puffed on a fat cigar, as did many of his associates, but Brenton remained absorbed by a map of the United States and her territories.

“I believe the interest in a transcontinental railroad will drive men west,” a thick-chested man said after blowing a long puff of smoke into the already saturated air. “I believe this scheme of yours holds great merit, Billy.”

“I wouldn't risk the capital if it didn't,” Vanderbilt replied. “Young Baldwin here has impressed me as an honorable and capable young man. He has shown me proof of his work as a photographer, and I must say I'm notably impressed. He has assured me he will not only act as our eyes by photographing our interests, but he will be our voice as well. He will make purchases of prime real estate on our behalf. In return, we will bankroll this expedition and see to it that he is able to fulfill his own dream of putting together a book of western regional photography. Not to mention getting his brother-in-law's sister to California.”

Brenton listened to their discussion of his future, all the while forcing himself to appear completely engaged in the map before him. Things were finally coming together. It had taken Billy much longer than anticipated to raise interest in his plan. Throughout the summer and early fall, Brenton had despaired that their plans might be for naught, but now as the month of November opened, he knew an overwhelming apprehension as things were finally taking form. Perhaps because he realized that once they left New York, he alone would be responsible for Jordana and Caitlan. Perhaps because he felt inadequate to do the job.

He looked up to see that the men had completely forgotten him in their enthusiasm for the conversation. He watched them for a moment. They had no concerns except for how to expand their purses to accommodate the new influx of wealth to come. He admired Billy Vanderbilt and thus tried to ignore the rumors that Vanderbilt was often like his father, the commodore, in business dealings. Usually he was completely above board on all matters, yet at other times there were issues that remained questionable. Brenton could only pray this wasn't one of those times.

But given the war and Caitlan and his own parents' absence from the country, Brenton felt he needed Vanderbilt in order to accomplish what was to be done. He would simply distance himself from the details. That way he wouldn't be responsible for any underhanded dealings. At least, this was how he comforted himself.

Brenton wandered over to a window in the study and noticed a familiar figure strolling in the now-dormant garden below. Caitlan O'Connor seemed as forlorn as the dried and withered plants. Yet to Brenton she was also as radiant as the oaks and maples with their brilliant amber and orange and red leaves. The wind blew her gray woolen cloak open, revealing the green satin gown Meg had loaned her. She looked as refined as any of the ladies in the house with her copper curls artfully amassed atop her head. The green fabric must make her eyes seem like perfect emeralds. His thoughts had often strayed to her that day, worried about her absence from the party. He wondered what she might be thinking out there all alone on that chilly autumn day. Then he decided he didn't have to wonder at all. Perhaps she would welcome company.

Vanderbilt's cronies hardly noticed when Brenton made his exit from the study. On his way outside, he noted the ladies were still in the drawing room involved in their own conversations. The party would manage quite well without its guest of honor.

A gust of wind caught him as he stepped outside, and he regretted not stopping for his overcoat, but he had feared being seen by the ladies and pulled into their company. He forgot all about the chill air when he reached the garden and Caitlan glanced up at him, an immediate smile on her lovely face. Her countenance seemed to reflect the golden hue of the trees above.