Separate Roads by Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella Page B

keep him occupied and certainly not enough business to merit paying rent on the place. He only had the place because Hezekiah Chittenden saw a potential in his work with the Union Pacific, and because the place was really too small for much of anything else. The elder Chittenden had taken pity on Brenton, willingly loaning him the use of the building until a paying businessman showed up. So far there had been no takers. Not for the small two-room shop, nor for the photographer’s talents.
    Feeling very sorry for himself, Brenton gave serious thought to giving up on everything. Maybe he should just wire his father and request money enough to bring them all back to New York. He grimaced and muttered an apology as he nearly collided with several uniformed soldiers.
    “Is that you, Baldwin?”
    Brenton looked up to find Rich O’Brian trailing behind the soldiers. “Hello, Captain. I guess I wasn’t being very observant.”
    “You had me wondering what was so fascinating about the ground.” He grinned at Brenton, causing his thick mustache to twitch a bit.
    “I just had something on my mind.”
    “Let me guess. Is that something about five foot two, one hundred pounds, and packs a fine wallop?”
    Brenton couldn’t help but smile. “If you mean my sister Jordana, then yes. It has a great deal to do with her.”
    O’Brian sobered instantly. “Is she well?”
    “Oh yes, she is well, but she can be a handful. I pity the man whom she finally lets marry her.”
    With a look that wavered between sympathy and pity, O’Brian said, “I’ll be praying for you.”
    Brenton shook his head and glanced heavenward. “I need all the help I can get.” Then curiosity got the better of him. “What do you mean ‘packs a wallop’?”
    O’Brian laughed. “Don’t fret about it. I’ll tell you another time. Right now I need to catch up to my men. We’ve been summoned to a meeting.”
    “Have a good evening, Captain, and if time permits, you must stop by and see us again soon.”
    Although he had already turned to leave, O’Brian stopped and turned to offer Brenton a grin. “Maybe after you get your female problems under control.”
    Brenton nearly moaned out loud. “I could die an old man before then.”
    He heard O’Brian laughing all the way down the street. For not knowing his sister that well, O’Brian certainly seemed to have a fixed opinion of her.
    Passing by the telegraph office, Brenton paused and looked at the sign for several moments. He could go inside and put an end to their misery right now. His father would no doubt have the money wired to the bank in record time, and they could easily purchase tickets on a steamer or cross the river by ferry and take the stage or train. They could be home in New York in ten days, maybe even a week, if the war didn’t cause them any interference.
    Of course, Jordana would hate him forever, and Caitlan . . . Oh, Caitlan, what have I done to you? He wanted to crawl under a rock when he remembered the way he’d acted and the things he’d said. He’d hurt her, and there was no way he could take back his harsh, unfeeling words.
    Again Brenton looked to the skies, but this time there was a prayer on his heart. “Help me to make things right again. I never meant to hurt either one of them. Not by my words or actions. Or for that matter, my lack of action.”

11
    When Brenton received a summons the following morning to meet with Peter Dey, chief engineer for the Union Pacific, he felt a tremendous exuberance. He’d been trying for days, even weeks, to get an appointment with this man, and finally his moment had come.
    Striding into the Union Pacific’s plain office, Brenton found himself one of several men on hand to meet with Dey. So much for his thought of a quick meeting.
    The men nodded in greeting, and Brenton did likewise as he slowly scanned the room. The furnishings were nothing to brag about. Wooden floors and simple, unadorned furniture made up the lobby. A