Separate Roads (25 page)

Jordana suddenly felt almost sorry for her brother in spite of her ire. His expression was one of complete defeat. There seemed to be no working the matter out for him, and Jordana had no viable solution to offer.

“What if you were to stay with another family?” Brenton proposed. He resecured his glasses and looked at her hopefully. “I could arrange for you to stay under the protection of someone like Mr. Chittenden and his wife, or maybe the Cavendish family, although I do not know them well.”

“Why not just trust me to be able to handle myself here? What is it you’re afraid of—that I’ll show you up? That I’ll do just fine in your absence and not need you anymore?”

Brenton looked away and sighed. “I’m afraid the ruffians who pour into this town will take advantage of you. I’m afraid you’ll find yourself compromised or killed, all because of your foolish pride. Jordana, it’s all well and fine that you’re grown up and that you have a job of some importance. It’s even perfectly acceptable to me that you make more money than I do and have provided us with this house via Mr. Chittenden’s generosity. But what is not acceptable is the possibility that in my absence you would be left at the mercy of every roaming bachelor who would choose you for a wife, or worse.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Jordana replied smugly. “I know very well how to say no.”

“But what about the ones who refuse to take no for an answer?”

He had her there. She thought back unpleasantly to Zed Wilson’s attack and then to Damon’s own lustful advances. Sooner or later it was quite possible she’d find herself in a situation that wasn’t so easy to deal with.

“I can’t just impose myself upon someone,” she finally replied.

“Let me talk to Mr. Chittenden. He might well have a solution. After all, he and his wife live in that big house with no one but Damon to concern themselves with. And half the time, as is true of the present, Damon is gone away on business.”

Jordana bit at her lower bit and thought of telling Brenton of the ruthless behavior she’d witnessed from Damon in the bank. But despite that, it was just as unseemly for her to live in the home of a suitor as it was to live alone.

She looked at her brother’s hopeful face. She did not want to be the one to spoil his dreams. But she could not under any circumstances agree to stay at the Chittendens. Perhaps by confessing about Damon’s ardent and lustful advances, she could avoid that. On the other hand, it might also make Brenton decide that she must quit her job at the bank. But the other alternative seemed worse.

“I can’t stay with the Chittendens,” she finally admitted.

“Jordana, you are being unreasonable.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I had thought to save you from worry, but—”

He eyed her with a hint of panic in his eyes. “But what? Has something happened that I should know about?”

She nodded. “I suppose so, but remember, I took care of the problem, and that is the only reason I’m telling you this now. The situation is resolved and in the past, but I will not set myself up for further advances.”

“By Damon Chittenden?”

“Yes. Do you remember the day of our fight? The day I went out for that walk and didn’t get home until nearly dark?”

“Yes.” His voice was steady and even, almost too controlled.

“Damon saw me walking and picked me up for a carriage ride. We drove out to the river, and . . . well . . . he suggested marriage and other romantic notions, and I refused.”

“Somehow I get the impression you aren’t telling me everything,” Brenton replied.

Jordana could hear the strained patience in his voice. “Damon intends to see me as his wife. If you put me in the Chittenden home, you will leave me at his mercy. Perhaps he’d even consider compromising me to force the issue.”

“He wouldn’t dare!”

“He might,” Jordana replied, pressing the matter home. “He’s already tried to be more intimate than politeness would allow for. That’s why I was so late coming home that night. I jumped out of the carriage and sent him away.”

“You walked back alone? All the way from the river?” Brenton was clearly mortified.

“No, silly,” Jordana laughed, trying to lighten the impact of her confession. “Captain O’Brian happened along about that time. He and his men were on detail in the area, and he walked back with me.”

Brenton’s relief was evident. “All right. Your point is understood. Chittenden’s residence would not be an acceptable solution.”

“And we are not close enough friends with anyone else of influence.”

“What about the neighbors? Matt and Ann would have you stay with them in a minute.”

“Brenton, the place has three rooms in total. They can’t afford to have me there. They simply haven’t room enough. Why not just let me stay here and have them check on me from time to time?”

“I suppose that’s possible.” He appeared to consider this for several minutes, then got up and went for his hat. “I’ll go next door this minute and ask them about it.”

Jordana smiled triumphantly and leaned back to await Brenton’s return. She had won the round, for she was sure that Matt and Ann would have no problem at all accepting responsibility to check in on her.

“As if I needed a keeper,” she muttered under her breath.

After nearly half an hour, Brenton returned. His face clearly warned her that things had not gone as they would have liked.

“Matt is going west with the new army. He’s sending Ann and the kids down to St. Joseph to stay with Ann’s mother. He said someone tried to accost her on the street yesterday. It scared her badly, and she doesn’t want to be left alone in the city.”

“How awful,” Jordana sighed as her own hope plummeted. Before she could speak again, Brenton had made his decision.

“I’m taking you with me. I can’t leave you here to face this town alone. You can come along and help me with the pictures. You know some of the procedures, and you can learn the rest.”

Jordana opened her mouth to protest, but then realized this might well be the adventure of a lifetime.

“The First Cavalry has returned the settlers to the Elkhorn, and everything seems to be secured here in the eastern half of the state. We won’t be going any farther west than Fort Kearney, and therefore we shouldn’t be under any great risk. The Indians have been pushed west and north, and Matt assured me that the militia felt confident of their removal.”

“I see,” Jordana replied, not sure she wanted to show too much enthusiasm. If she appeared too cooperative, Brenton just might change his mind.

“I’ll speak to the survey leaders tomorrow and square it away. Captain O’Brian and his men will accompany us as guards, so it’s not like he isn’t used to bailing you out of trouble.”

“The man saves me from a group of bushwhackers, and now suddenly it’s a full-time job to save me from harm?” she questioned sarcastically. It was a good thing Brenton didn’t know about the incident with Zed Wilson.

“He saved you that day with Damon, as well. You might well have come to harm had you walked back to town alone.”

“Thank you for having such confidence in me,” Jordana replied snidely. Getting to her feet, she added, “Captain O’Brian will probably resign when he hears that I am to accompany this traveling circus.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t resign from the army once he found out you were still on this side of the Missouri,” Brenton deadpanned.

Jordana stuck out her tongue and made a face. “Well, for your information, Captain O’Brian thinks we could be good friends.”

“He and the rest of the single male population of Omaha,” Brenton answered matter-of-factly. “But I give O’Brian credit for having enough brains to pursue you for nothing more than friendship. The poor man would die of exhaustion if he had to keep track of you twenty-four hours a day.”

Jordana shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Yes, you look to be at death’s door yourself.”

“I’m sure I do,” Brenton replied. “You would weary any man before his time.”

——

“This is out of the question!” O’Brian declared.

Governor Saunders, Peter Dey, and Brenton were the only nonuniformed individuals in the room, but they weren’t the only source of O’Brian’s misery.

“Captain, I understand your misgivings, but it’s important that we soothe and calm the nerves of our citizens,” his superior began.

“But there are dangers out there that far exceed—”

“Captain, unless you wish to face court-martial for insubordination, I’d suggest you refrain from commenting and allow me to speak.”

O’Brian grew rigid, knowing he was totally out of line. “Yes, Colonel.”

“Very good. If Miss Baldwin attends this survey team under her brother’s protection, she will send a message of confidence to the people of Omaha.”

“I agree,” Governor Saunders replied. “There has been a general panic in this city since the beginning of August. We would do ourselves a great service to send you off with our utmost confidence. We don’t want to keep folks from coming to our great territory just because of a little Indian misunderstanding.”

O’Brian wanted to scream that this little “misunderstanding” was responsible for many deaths on both sides of the war. But being a soldier, he remained obediently silent. He would do as they ordered, although God alone would keep them from harm. Nevertheless, as bad as it was to have to worry over Indian attacks, now he’d have yet another problem to contend with.

Jordana Baldwin.

He sighed heavily. The woman positively frightened him more than any thought of Indians or the injury they might cause.

“So you do understand, Captain?” Governor Saunders concluded.

Rich hadn’t heard the last few minutes of the governor’s winded soliloquy, but regardless, he understood full well. “Yes, sir.”

The colonel and the governor exchanged smiles. “Wonderful. Then we’re all agreed.”

Not by a long shot, Rich thought silently. Not by a long shot.

21

Friday morning dawned with a taste of rain in the air. Lacy red-violet clouds decorated the western horizon, while in the east the sun began a steady ascent to start the day. Jordana and Brenton arrived at the assigned point of departure, their unusually enclosed wagon seeming a strange oddity for the traveling caravan of horses and pack mules and covered wagons. The Baldwin wagon looked bulky and not at all suited for enduring rocky prairie paths. Rich had questioned Brenton about this at one point, only to be reminded that the same wagon had seen them through the wilds of Missouri. Rich had acknowledged this with little more than a grunt. He didn’t want the Baldwins on this trip. Or perhaps better put, he didn’t want Jordana Baldwin on this trip.

Rich eyed the duo as they sat in their wagon awaiting instructions. Jordana had worn a dark blue skirt and long-sleeved calico blouse. Her hair had either been pinned up or tucked up inside the wide-brimmed sunbonnet, while kid gloves covered her hands. She looked very prim and proper sitting up on the wagon seat with her brother. If Rich had not known what a wildcat she could be, he would have thought her poorly suited for the job they were about to face. But he couldn’t fault her in that area. Rich knew she was made of strong stuff. She had more spunk and enthusiasm for life than most folks, especially women.

Nevertheless, she
was
a woman, and life on the open prairie was hard on women. Too hard. Rich had seen them suffer and die. Some were left alone too long and suffered prairie madness. Long weeks and even months of howling winds, isolation, and fear of nature and the creatures inhabiting the area left many women unable to cope. He put the thought from his mind. Jordana wasn’t the type to go mad from travel or life on the plains. She was strong. Jordana knew her strength, too. She thrived on the adventure and excitement around her, and she had a certain hunger for things that most women would just as soon leave to their men.

“We’re ready if you are, Captain,” an older man said, drawing his horse up alongside O’Brian’s.

Rich looked at his sergeant and nodded. “Very well. Here is the map of locations where the surveyors hope to take measurements.” He handed the man a piece of paper and pointed to a heavy black line. “We’ll head west to the Platte. After that, we’ll move along south of the river. Put a scout out ahead of us. Tell him to keep an eye open for any sign of trouble. I don’t care if it’s just a hunch—if that man so much as feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, I want to know about it.”