Westward the Dream by Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella

way,” Brenton replied, “but there are right and wrong issues in this matter. There are things that must be dealt with and issues that can’t be ignored. I have a duty to those needs.”
    Caitlan nodded. “Aye, duty is a strict mistress.”
    Jordana watched the exchange between the two, wondering if there wasn’t something she was missing. Brenton’s prideful nature seemed to be determining his future, while Caitlan’s past seemed to be determining hers. That only left one question. What would determine the future for Jordana?
    â€œSo tell me of G.W. Has he regained his strength?” Jordana finally asked.
    â€œNo, and in some ways the family says he seems worse. The doctors aren’t at all sure what’s wrong.”
    â€œI suppose I’m to blame,” Jordana replied weakly.
    â€œHow can you say that?” Brenton questioned.
    â€œYa can hardly be to blame for the young master’s illness.”
    â€œHe’s probably dying of a broken heart,” Jordana said with a sigh. “I refused his offer of marriage, and now you tell me he’s sicker than he was. What am I supposed to think?”
    â€œYa’ve no business to be thinkin’ that way,” Caitlan said, patting Jordana’s hand. “Men are a tough lot. He’ll soon be right as rain. Ya can’t be grieving yarself for havin’ answered him honestly.”
    â€œMaybe you’re right,” Jordana said softly, but inside she wasn’t at all convinced.

9
    It had been agreed upon that Jordana wouldn’t come to the Vanderbilt house to socialize with Caitlan. And with G.W. refusing her notes and cards, Jordana was hard-pressed to find an acceptable reason to go calling.
    She thought the issue of denying knowledge of Caitlan was poppycock. They all worried that the crossing of such an obvious line of division between the upper crust of New York’s most influential people and the lowliest of Irish housemaids might cause more conflict than anyone was willing to allow. Everyone but Jordana thought it far better to pretend the distance existed than to toy with the rules of society.
    But Jordana worried when Caitlan failed to show up one Friday in late June. By Saturday morning Jordana decided that whether Brenton agreed to the matter or not, she would take a carriage to the Vanderbilts and check up on Caitlan. She was relieved when she came to Brenton’s room only to find him hopelessly overwhelmed with his work.
    Struggling to adjust the legs of a tripod that seemed to have lost all hope of control, Jordana stared at her brother silently for several moments before speaking.
    â€œWhat will you do with your things while you’re off playing soldier?” she asked petulantly.
    Brenton looked up and frowned. “I don’t believe you’ve ever been quite this angry at me.” He put the tripod aside and straightened. “But if you must know, I’ve already arranged it with Mrs. Clairmont. She’s going to keep all of my things here, safe and sound.”
    â€œI see.” Sighing, Jordana leaned against the door. “I’m not really angry. I’m more hurt. You have always discussed things with me first. Now you saddle me with more months at Deighton, and because you are my guardian under Uncle York’s guidance, I have no say.”
    Brenton came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I did what I thought was right. For both of us.” He gave her the barest hint of a smile. “Won’t you at least try to understand that?”
    â€œI do understand. I’m just afraid of what might happen.”
    He nodded. “I am too. But I’m also afraid of what might happen if I don’t go.”
    Jordana said nothing. She didn’t want to spend the day arguing over what he’d decided. She’d hoped to make him see reason, but time was quickly slipping away from her because Brenton only had a short time