Separate Roads (10 page)

He shook his head. “But how?”

“Charlie,” she whispered, then standing on tiptoe, offered him her lips. “Charlie thought you could use some company.”

Kiernan gave her a lopsided grin. “Oh, he did now, did he? Good ol’ Charlie. Always one for figurin’ out what a man needs.” He wrapped her more tightly in his arms and pressed his lips against hers. He felt her tremble and knew the depth of their love had not changed in his absence. “’Tis good to be seein’ ya again,” he whispered against her ear, then nipped playfully at her earlobe.

“Kiernan O’Connor!” she declared, pushing him away. “There are people just over across the way. Behave yourself.”

He grinned. “I don’t suppose ya’d like to be taking a walk with me?” He reached out to take hold of her arm and added, “Away from the crowd. I wouldn’t want to be damagin’ yar reputation by kissin’ ya soundly a second time.”

Victoria blushed lightly. “I might be persuaded.” She looped her arm with his. “The company seems agreeable, and the day looks promising.”

Kiernan laughed low and husky. “I couldn’t be agreein’ with ya more, dear wife.”

They walked companionably to the edge of the meadow. Victoria clung to his arm in a possessive way but uttered not a single word. They were complete now that they were together. Nothing more needed to be said. Kiernan could smell the lavender soap she’d bathed in. She only used that soap on special occasions, and he always loved the way it smelled on her skin. He vowed if he were ever a rich man she would have lavender soap for every bath. Pulling her close, he heard her sigh.

“I’ve been missin’ ya somethin’ fierce, Mrs. O’Connor.”

“Oh, Kiernan, I thought I’d die of loneliness,” she said, keeping her arms around him. “I love you so much, I just wish we could be together always.”

“I know, darlin’,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve been wishin’ it meself.” He thought of his conversation with Charlie. It was an awfully hard life on the rail line. Too rough for Victoria—especially after having forced her to live in mining camps for the first half dozen years of their marriage. He liked to think that he’d pay most any price to be with her, but he knew it wasn’t true. Some prices were too high, and risking her health and well-being was one of them.

That night Charlie Crocker gave a dinner to honor and congratulate the important men of the Central Pacific. Kiernan and Victoria had been given a special place of honor, not far from Charlie himself. After dinner the newly reunited couple took a walk among the trees outdoors under the moonlight.

“I’m glad for ya comin’ to Roseville,” Kiernan told her as they paused under the canopy of a newly leafed oak.

“Me too,” Victoria sighed. “I only wish I didn’t have to go back to Sacramento. These separations are so hard. I try not to complain, but I have to admit to pleading with God for a solution.”

Kiernan nodded. “Aye. The same goes for me.”

“Li and Xiang are coming up the line to wash clothes for the railroad workers. I thought maybe I could join them—if they were to be near to where you were working.”

Kiernan would have loved nothing more than to encourage her to do this, but instead he shook his head. “’Tis no place for yarself. The men are coarse and ugly. They give little thought to their manners.”

“I’ve lived in such places before,” Victoria said, turning a pleading expression on her husband.

“Aye, and ya never should have had to.”

“But love endureth all things,” she protested softly.

Kiernan felt his resolve giving way, but then he remembered how sickly Victoria had become living in a tent, constantly exposed to the elements of nature. He shook his head. “Ya cannot do it, Victoria. I want ya near to me, but this isn’t the way.”

She bit her lip but nodded. He knew she wouldn’t argue with him over the matter. He felt somewhat certain that she’d already known well in advance what his answer would be. She turned away from him and gazed up through the trees at the full moon.

“We’ll be findin’ a way,” he sighed and pulled her back against him. Wrapping his arms around her and touching his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Yar right in sayin’ love endureth all things. Even this.” She nodded again. It was Kiernan’s turn to look heavenward.
Please find us a way to be together,
he prayed.

9

May had barely been ushered in, and already Jordana was tired of the spring storms that frequented the area. Night after night, thunder and lightning had awakened her, and this, coupled with the pounding of hail and howling of the wind, left no one with much chance of sleep. Thick black storm clouds would rise up in the west like some form of unofficial announcement of the evening’s events. Often the storms blew over by morning, as was the case today, but other times they lingered, dumping rain and discouragement on everyone in the small town.

“Did you hear that wind a-blowin’ last night, Miss Baldwin?” Gus Wilson asked as Jordana oversaw his banking transaction.

“I did indeed.” She tallied his small deposit and wrote it into her ledger. “That brings your total to four dollars and fifty-two cents.”

“Do tell,” the man said, scratching his bearded chin. “Don’t recollect ever havin’ that much money at one time.”

“It pays to save.” Jordana snapped the book closed and looked at the man in anticipation of his departure from the bank. Just having a Wilson in the bank made her nervous after Zed’s little annoyance.

“Well, guess I’ll be moseyin’ on,” Gus said, seeing that Jordana was clearly not interested in small talk.

“Good day, Mr. Wilson,” Jordana replied, quickly turning her back to the man.

She pretended to be busy at some task until she heard the door open behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Gus grab for his hat just before the wind attempted to snatch it from his head. It was remarkable how very much he resembled his younger brother Zed.

The Wilson brothers had taken Zed in hand after his drunken incident with Jordana, but in spite of their apologies and best wishes, they made Jordana nervous. She hated to be judgmental and write the entire lot off as bad just because of Zed’s stupidity. Still, rumor had it that they were notorious outlaws, performing all manner of robbery and misdeed across the Missouri River. Supposedly, they would sneak across the river and ride as far as St. Louis in the hopes of making a big heist that would set them all to living pretty for the rest of their days.

Jordana couldn’t vouch for the truth of the statement, but no one ever really saw the Wilsons doing much of anything around their farm. Yet they still managed to amble into the bank on occasion, make their deposit, visit with Jordana, and then take their leave. It was all quite mysterious, but nothing that really held Jordana’s attention.

What did hold her attention was the strange bookkeeping she’d discovered in the back of one of the special ledgers. Special ledgers were set up for projects or business ventures that involved extensive dealings with one group or another. This particular ledger had to do with the Union Pacific Railroad.

The entries were clearly made by Damon Chittenden, but understanding those marks were an entirely different story. Words like “Pennsylvania Fiscal Agency” and “Credit Mobilier of America” gave Jordana a horrible case of curiosity. Not only that, but the entries were set in the last pages of the ledger rather than up at the front where all the other information was given. She supposed she could just come right out and ask Damon. She’d found the pages totally by accident. Surely he couldn’t fault her for that. If anything, she could defend herself by simply saying it was her job to be thorough.

The sound of Damon whistling in his office down the hall drew her attention. He had been as good as gold on his promise to stop sending her gifts. He’d never so much as uttered another single word of poetry to her, and, quite frankly, since then she’d come to rather enjoy his company. They’d gone to dinner twice, both times with Brenton as their chaperone, and both times he had been downright pleasant. Brenton had even given his permission for Jordana and Damon to attend a local dance, unescorted.

Jordana found Damon to be a pleasant enough companion in a town where there were so few of her own age. She had but to overlook his pushy nature and occasional possessiveness. Nevertheless, she found him to be a tremendous source of information. He was extremely intelligent and quite knowledgeable about many fascinating things. She told herself that it wasn’t really taking advantage of him to endure his companionship for information, especially since he was getting what he wanted in return—time with her.

Returning her attention to the ledger, she noted an entry that definitely required some kind of explanation. The perfect opportunity came as the elder Mr. Chittenden came out of his office in a hurry.

“I’ve promised to help Mrs. Chittenden with an errand. Tell Damon to lock up at exactly four-thirty.”

“Yes, Mr. Chittenden,” Jordana replied, watching the man hurry to the door.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Damon himself came to seek out Jordana with a question on some papers he’d had her copy for him.

“Are you certain that these are the figures?” he asked her without explaining anything further.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The papers on the Morris and Briggs transaction. The ones you copied over from the Chicago report.”

“I double-checked them,” Jordana replied. “And then I checked them again.” She looked at his worried expression and tried to figure out what the problem might be. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not really,” he said, continuing to worry over the figures for a few more minutes. Finally, he shook his head and gave her a big smile. “No, there’s nothing wrong. I simply thought the company assets quoted by Mr. Morris might be higher. That’s all.”

Jordana nodded. “Well, if that’s truly all, then I have a question of my own.”

Damon leaned across the desk. “Does it have to do with dinner tonight?”

Jordana shook her head. “No, silly. It has to do with the entries in the back of this ledger.” She held up the special book and raised a brow. “The ones marked Pennsylvania Fiscal Agency and Credit Mobilier of America.”

Damon cleared his throat. “Those are merely dealings related to the Union Pacific Railroad. They aren’t for public consideration. I’ll have them moved out of there by tomorrow.”

“But if they pertain to the Union Pacific, why would you want to move them out? Shouldn’t they be listed up front with the other items?”

“Always the little worrier, aren’t you?” He cocked an eyebrow with a hint of amusement in his expression. “It’s really nothing you need to bother with, so just stop worrying about it.”

“I wasn’t worried about them,” Jordana countered. “I was simply curious.”

Damon gave her a charming look. “You’re curious about the wrong thing. Why not be more curious about taking an afternoon ride with me? The weather is glorious!”

Jordana, still not satisfied with his answer, replied, “I might consider it, if I better understood what these entries had to do with the bank. After all, I’m the one who will catch it if the books don’t add up.”

“Promise you’ll ride out with me?”

She nodded. “I promise.”

“Very well,” Damon said with a sigh. “You see, there are many projects and dealings that accompany any major undertaking in a city with the growth potential of Omaha. The Union Pacific is simply one of those dealings, and the projects are many and varied in connection with it. There are land issues that have yet to be resolved in total, but among those issues are the sales of property, which will be most beneficial to businesses once the rail line is secured.”

She listened to his explanation, still perplexed. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was making use of what she’d heard called “double talk.” “So these are land sales records?” she asked pointedly. “The Pennsylvania Fiscal Agency and Credit Mobilier of America are buying property in Omaha?”

“You could say that,” Damon replied, seeming to consider his words very carefully. “They don’t want anyone to know of their dealings here, however, and I would hate to lose good business. You do understand that discretion is vital?”