Separate Roads (36 page)

Victoria just couldn’t understand how Caitlan was desperate for something to do. But after three excruciating days of being waited on and served, Caitlan was nearly beside herself with frustration. Perhaps it just spoke more than anything of her
commonness,
but Caitlan couldn’t help it. She needed to work. And she could not bear for others to wait on her. Kiernan had mentioned how that very attitude had nearly driven him crazy during his recovery from his accident, but that he had finally gotten over it. He said God had to make him practically dependent to finally shake his pride from him.

Well, Caitlan wasn’t there yet and didn’t know if she ever could be. Thus, she had nagged Victoria constantly about working in the laundry until Victoria finally broke down and put her to work.

“You are my guest, and it simply mortifies me to make you work, but . . .” Victoria had tried to protest.

“But if I don’t do something,” Caitlan said only half jokingly, “ya’ll have a crazy guest on yar hands, and ya don’t want that, now do ya?”

And there was plenty of work to be done. With the departure of Victoria’s assistant, Li, the piles of laundry were . . . well, piling up. There would have been no way Victoria could have filled her orders without help. Even Jordana had begun pitching in. However, on this particular day, Brenton and Jordana had gone with Charlie Crocker to tour a gold mine and take photographs. Caitlan hadn’t been interested—that is, in seeing a mine. She would have loved nothing more than to take up her old job of assisting Brenton in his work, as she had done in their travels before reaching Omaha. But things had become so awkward between them that it seemed they had even lost the friendship they had once shared. She was miserable about this, and it made another reason why she was more than happy to throw herself into the work in the laundry.

Kiernan wandered into the laundry shed late that morning as Caitlan was taking a bushel of clean things out to hang on the clothesline.

“Can we talk a bit as ya work?” he asked casually.

“Sure’n.”

He reached for the basket. “Let me carry that for ya.”

“And with ya just gettin’ your strength back?” She held tight to the basket. “I don’t think so.”

“And do ya think I’ll get me strength back by just sittin’ around?” He gave a firmer tug to the basket until she released it. “Yar a stubborn lass, to be sure.”

“It comes through the blood, I’m thinkin’.” She grinned good-naturedly.

“Ah, it does me good to see ya smile. I don’t remember ya bein’ as serious as ya are now.”

“I was a carefree three-year-old when ya left Ireland.” Reaching the clothesline, she plucked a shirt from the basket. “A lot has happened since then.”

“And sorry I am about all that, Caitlan.” He offered her such an earnest look, it made her heart nearly break.

“’Tis not your fault.”

“And ’tis not God’s fault either.”

She bristled slightly at this remark. She had almost forgotten that Kiernan had become quite a man of faith since coming to America. She had often wondered about this, coming as he had from the same background as she. She had told herself that she would ask him about it, but now that she was face-to-face with him, and now that the opportunity had presented itself, she found herself reluctant. It had been easy to brush off Jordana’s and Brenton’s comments about God because they had come from an entirely different life. But how could she argue with her brother? He had known the same poverty and hardships as she. He had witnessed the same violence and injustice, all in the name of religion, as she. He had watched their parents die because of these things . . . just the same as she.

“Why don’t ya put down that basket?” she said a bit too sharply.

“So now ’tis the basket yar mad at?”

“I’m not mad at anyone or anything.” She jammed a clothespin into the shirt as if she were thrusting a knife.

“Ouch! And now the shirt must suffer, too!”

“Stop making fun of me!” she retorted and turned eyes filled with flaming anger at him.

He blinked contritely. “Forgive me, sis. ’Twas wrong o’ me. It’s just that . . . I don’t know how else to reach ya.”

“Why do ya feel as if ya have to reach me a’tall?” she asked, but there was more challenge than questioning in her tone.

“Because yar sad, and yar hurting . . . and I love ya, and it pains me to see you in such a place.”

Shrugging, she grabbed another shirt from the basket. “I’m happy enough. These last two years with Jordana and Brenton have been the best of me life.”

“But ya still carry the past with ya.”

“And don’t ya, Kiernan?” She could not help the accusatory tone of the question. “Sometimes I think ya’ve forgotten yar past completely. But it still goes on in Ireland. Our people still suffer.”

“Yar wrong there,” said Kiernan with gentle firmness. “I’ll never forget. If I let it, it could crush me with bitterness, even hatred. But the weight of all that could kill me for certain. As it will you, Caitlan. If ya don’t find a way to unload that burden, it will smother you. ’Tis already robbed the joy from ya.”

“And I’m supposin’ ya’ll now say God is the way . . . ?” She wanted to inject mockery into her tone but couldn’t, not after knowing of the good and pure relationship Jordana and Brenton had with God. It both drew and frightened her.

“I think ya see it for yarself.”

“It scares me, Kiernan,” she said with a sigh, the admission almost as freeing as everyone said submission to God would be.

“Why, sis?”

“What if . . . ?” She licked her lips nervously and nearly dropped the shirt in her hand. “What if I go reachin’ out to God and find Him to be just as . . . well, as elusive as everythin’ else? Why would God have anythin’ to do with a poor Irish girl?”

“I can’t believe ya’d be sayin’ such a thing after spending two years with Brenton and Jordana.” He set down the basket, took her hand, led her to a little grassy place in the yard, and bid her to sit.

It was a warm October day, and their spot was under a sprawling apple tree, which lent a nice bit of shade. Caitlan sat reluctantly, not wanting to give up the protection and distraction her work offered. She realized now that work was more than a means to salve her pride. It was a way to avoid things, too. The truth, for instance.

“Haven’t ya learned anything from them?” Kiernan persisted. “Or is yar Irish head too thick to see God for who He really is? True, the Catholics and Protestants in our country are always fightin’, but if ya take the time to study God’s Word, ya’d see quick enough none of that has anything to do with God, not really. God is much bigger than Catholics and Protestants—bigger even than rich Americans or poor Irish. I’m rememberin’ a verse in the Bible that says something to that effect. That there’s not Jew or Greek, slave or free, even male or female in Christ. He sees past all that, right to
individuals.
And even then, He sees only into a person’s
heart.
It does not matter to God that yar a poor Irish washerwoman. He sees
yarself,
Caitlan, and that is all.”

“And what if He’s not likin’ what He sees?”

Kiernan chuckled, not in a demeaning way but with just enough irony for her to see how ridiculous her question was. Yet for some reason she could not fathom, resistance was strong in her. As was fear.

Kiernan responded tenderly. “I can’t imagine that, sis. But if on the off chance that He was less than pleased with ya, there’s a simple enough way to fix that. Ya see, God isn’t looking for ways to keep people away from hisself. Just the opposite is true. And He’s made it easy—easy enough even for me addlepated sister!” He grinned and winked at her. “If He’s had room for the likes of me, sis, He’ll have room for ya.”

“It’s easy enough to say such things, but acceptin’ them is much harder.” She plucked a blade of grass and gazed at the bright green surface. There were no answers there, and even in her brother’s eyes she could not find the one elusive thing that would take her beyond her inner sense that no matter what she did, she would not be good enough, for God or for . . . anything. “I just couldn’t be standin’ it if I reached out to God, and He . . . well, I learned there just wasn’t room for me.”

“And ’tis the same way yar feeling about Brenton, isn’t it?”

She winced. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. And she wanted to fight it. “I’m not thinkin’ that to be any of yar business!” she lashed out, knowing even as the words were spoken how wrong they were.

“Well, I have to disagree wi’ ya there,” Kiernan countered calmly. “With both Da and Red gone, I’m thinkin’ I’m now the head of the family, which means it is very much me business.” He scratched his chin, a slightly malicious gleam touching his eyes. “In fact, if Da were alive, I’m certain he’d be arranging a match for ya—seems yar well past marrying age. Perhaps I should follow tradition in this matter—”

“Ya wouldn’t dare!”

“And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?” he taunted.

“Well . . . because . . . y-ya just couldn’t . . . I’d die. . . . Oh, Kiernan, ya wouldn’t . . . ?” she sputtered. She simply did not know her brother well enough to judge how serious he was.

Only the easy smile that now slipped across his lips made her realize he had been teasing her. “Yar safe for now, sis, but I think ya better be honest with Brenton about how ya feel . . . or I may just have to interfere meself.”

“Even if I was honest . . .” she hedged, “there is still our differing ideas about faith.”

“Then ya better straighten that out first.”

“I’m not going to take on faith just to snag a man, nor would Brenton want me if I did.”

Kiernan rolled his eyes. “Of course not! But ya know well enough yar gonna end up puttin’ yar faith in God, so ya may as well do it now before ya lose the man ya love.”

“Oh, dear me . . .” She brought a trembling hand to her throat. “I can only say, I will think about what ya’ve said.”

“’Tis all I ask, sis.”

After Kiernan left, that was
all
she could think of.

32

Jordana was enjoying herself immensely in Sacramento, seeing the sights, helping Brenton with his photography. Even working in the laundry was a nice diversion. But thinking of both Brenton and the laundry made her immediately think of Caitlan. She was truly beginning to think that the only people on earth who didn’t know her brother and Caitlan were destined to be together were the would-be lovers themselves.

It was most frustrating.

As a diversion, Jordana suggested an afternoon of shopping to the other females in the house. Perhaps in this setting, with both Victoria and Jordana working on her, Caitlan would come around in her stubbornness. But Victoria begged off that morning, saying she felt ill. Just an upset stomach, nothing to worry about, but enough to keep her inside that day. So it was just Caitlan and Jordana.

They had a nice time exploring the shops in downtown Sacramento, but only if it was kept to window-shopping. The moment Jordana suggested Caitlan actually purchase a ready-made gown of an emerald green that was particularly stunning with Caitlan’s eyes, the girl balked.

“And would ya be lookin’ at the price of it?” Caitlan flipped up the tag, which read an astonishing $9.98. “That’s more’n what Mrs. Cavendish paid me for a week’s work. I couldn’t justify such an extravagance knowin’ me own people could well be starvin’ back home.”

“I feel as bad as you about poverty, Caitlan,” Jordana replied evenly, “but you being miserable isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I’m not miserable, but I would be if I spent $9.98 on a dress!”

“I think you are just afraid of being more than a lowly, poor Irish girl. I think you just hide behind that, but for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”

“Well, ’tis none of yar business,” Caitlan replied hotly. “Even if it were true, but it isn’t.”

“The world isn’t going to collapse if Caitlan O’Connor buys a new dress!”

“All right then, what about this one—?” Caitlan plucked a dress from the rack. It was a dowdy gray, with a horrid pink ribbon at the collar. “’Tis two dollars!”

“Arggg!” groaned Jordana. “Is it
that
much? I could get you one for free from my granny.” She sighed as another wave of frustration assailed her. “Is that really how you see yourself, Caitlan? Dowdy, dull, washed out, faded, lackluster—”