“So good of you,” he murmured. “You are good to care for me, in spite of what has happened.”
Carolina heard the sincerity in his voice and was deeply convicted. Why did he have to be like this—so grateful and needy? His face contorted and a deep, chesty cough followed. Carolina waited for the spell to abate before lamely asking, “Are you in pain?”
“No, not much,” he replied weakly.
His breathing was shallow and strained, and Carolina found herself breathing along with him as though to help ease the burden. “I’m sure the medicine helps with that,” Carolina said quickly to keep from focusing on the rampaging thoughts in her head. The room smelled of death. She easily recognized the scent from the time she spent with her dying sisters. This man was dying. Right before her very eyes. And to make matters worse, she held him a grudge.
She poured the laudanum into a spoon and helped him take the medicine. Then ever so gently she offered him the water and eased the cup to his lips. With this action, Carolina’s thoughts immediately turned to the Scripture in Mark. “And whoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name . . .” But she wasn’t giving Leland a cup of water in Christ’s name. She was giving out of duty and begrudged responsibility. Her hand began to tremble so that she nearly dropped the glass.
Seeing that she had allowed the water to dribble down Leland’s chin, she quickly placed the glass on the stand and took up a towel. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. Gently she dried his face, then met his gaze.
“You are so good to do this,” he said, and his voice sounded both grateful and sad.
Carolina felt branded by the flames of his ingenuousness. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, barely controlling the nervousness in her voice.
“No, just leave me.”
He closed his eyes as though dismissing her, and Carolina did not hesitate to take the opportunity to leave the room. She might have run had propriety allowed it. She couldn’t fight the feeling within her. The feeling that she had come face-to-face with the opportunity to bear the love of Christ, and had failed.
Finding solace in the small library that had once doubled as Blake’s office, Carolina sat down and fought the urge to cry. Convinced that it wouldn’t help matters to give herself over to tears, Carolina tried to steer her thoughts toward a more positive outlook.
“Mama?” Victoria spoke from the doorway. “Are you all right?”
Carolina smiled and held open her arms for Victoria. Brown-black ringlets danced across her shoulders as Victoria skipped through the room and buried her face against her mother’s neck. How very much Carolina loved this child. She could not love her more had she given birth to her. That she was Blake’s daughter from his first marriage mattered little. That she was Carolina’s daughter by choice and by heart made all the difference in the world. She held her tightly and found the calming effect most soothing.
“I’m just worried about things,” admitted Carolina.
“Are you still mad at Grandfather Baldwin?” Victoria asked innocently.
Carolina tried to think of an answer to give her daughter. What could she say? To speak the truth of the matter was more than a six-year-old should be asked to bear. But to make light of the situation was also uncalled for.
“I’m not so very mad anymore,” she admitted. “I’m mostly disappointed and hurt. Can you understand?”
Victoria pulled away and nodded most somberly. “He was naughty and did bad things.”
“Yes,” Carolina replied. “He did some things that hurt my feelings and made me sad.”
“Like when I’m naughty?” Victoria asked.
Carolina didn’t want to answer that. To compare her beloved child’s mistakes to the willful actions of a full-grown adult was impossibly convoluted. “In some ways,” Carolina finally answered. “But Grandfather knew that what he was doing was wrong and people would get hurt. When you do naughty things you often do not realize how the thing you are doing will affect people.”
“But sometimes I know I’m being naughty,” Victoria admitted. “And you still love me. You still forgive me.”
Carolina nodded. “Yes, I do. I always will.”
“Will you forgive Grandfather, too?”
The child’s words shattered the icy wall Carolina held around her heart. To be confronted by one so young was possibly the most humbling experience Carolina had ever known. “I want to, Victoria. I know it is what Jesus wants me to do.”
Victoria smiled. “Then just do it.”
Carolina reached out to straighten the ribbon in her daughter’s hair. “I wish it were that simple.” The sound of the front door slamming shut brought Carolina up out of her chair. “Who could that be?” she questioned, moving toward the hallway door.
James stood in the foyer, eagerly shedding his top hat and outer coat. For days he’d barely spoken to her, in spite of her attempt to apologize. He was clearly preoccupied with many things, and while Carolina feared it was tearing apart their happy home, she knew she’d done nothing but add to his worries.
“James, you’re home early. Is something wrong?”
He threw her an almost apologetic smile. “I am sorry for the noise. It’s not your fault that the B&O would rather argue routes than actually move the railroad west.”
Carolina leaned down to Victoria. “Go ask Mrs. Graves to have Cook bring us some refreshments.”
“Cake too?” Victoria asked hopefully.
“Let Cook be the judge of what is best to serve,” Carolina replied. Victoria nodded and scampered off in search of Mrs. Graves. “Why don’t we go into the drawing room and you can tell me all about it? Have they given up on the idea of ending the line in Pittsburgh?”
“No, and that’s a big part of the problem. They have three different routes, and all three are arguably the best in the eyes of those proposing the line,” James replied and took a seat opposite his wife. “They are worse than Mother’s social groups used to be in deciding where to hold the next charity event.”
Carolina smiled in spite of the growl in her husband’s voice. “Do you still favor the Wheeling route?”
Just then Victoria bounded into the room. James seemed to calm a bit at the appearance of the child. “Mrs. Graves said she would come right away,” Victoria stated, then took herself to a favorite corner of the room where she liked to play with her doll Polly.
“Wheeling seems to be favored by a great many gentlemen. But the irritating fact is that the charters are in question, and permission has not yet been confirmed by the states.”
“But I thought that was all taken care of,” Carolina replied.
“So did we. Actually, the fault is just as often the B&O’s as it is the states of Virginia, Maryland, or Pennsylvania. They offer us deals, and we refuse, based on one conflict or another. Or we simply allow time to run out, as was the case with the original charters.”
“I am sorry, darling.” Her voice was purposefully soft and soothing. She much preferred focusing on the railroad complications than on the problems that housed themselves under their roof.
“How is my father?” James asked, as if reading her mind and deliberately seeking to frustrate the fragile peace between them.
“About the same. He took a bit of broth for lunch but otherwise has preferred to sleep most of the time.”
“Have you seen him?” questioned James.
Carolina’s defenses were immediately put into place. “Of course I’ve seen him. I spent the entire morning checking in on him every few minutes. I gave him medicine not half an hour ago, and we spoke about his condition. He said the pain was not too bad.”
“Oh.”
James’ voice left little doubt in Carolina’s mind that he had presumed she’d spent her day avoiding Leland. Of course, the worst part was that she had. She had used one excuse after another to keep from having to sit for long at Leland’s side. There was Victoria to concern herself with and, of course, the household, but all of that could have been managed in her absence had she but given the word.
Victoria’s play became ever more animated, and as she began to sing loudly, James scowled. “Victoria, quiet down this minute.”
Carolina frowned and tried to think of a way to move the focus away from the child. “The Reverend Wilcox came by earlier today and sat with your father for a time. I think Leland enjoyed his visit,” she finally offered.
“I’m glad. I don’t believe Father has ever truly understood salvation.”
“No doubt that is true.”
James looked at her sharply. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Carolina realized her mistake. “I simply meant that . . . well, it just seems that given all that has come to pass . . .” She fell silent.
“I’m sure I know exactly what you are implying,” James remarked harshly. “Look, I’m in no mood to argue with you about my father.”
Carolina opened her mouth to offer a quick retort, then closed it again. Thinking better of stirring up the same old conflict, she realized this was the first step to forgiving Leland and forgetting the past. “I’m sorry, James. I was wrong to speak out.”
Before James could answer, however, a loud crash resounded in the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.
“What in the world?” James questioned angrily.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria called out. “I broke Mama’s vase.”
“Victoria, I told you to settle down,” James scolded. “If you had obeyed me in the first place this would never have happened.”
Carolina started to speak, but James threw her a look that caused her to remain silent. Victoria’s face held a stunned expression, mirroring Carolina’s surprise. James had never so much as raised his voice to the girl in the past, and now it was clear he was taking the day’s frustration out on her.
“I want this mess cleaned up, and furthermore, as punishment, you shall have no dessert with your dinner. Do you understand?”
Victoria began to cry and ran across the room to throw her arms around Carolina. “You’re mean,” she declared.
Carolina wrapped her arms around Victoria’s quivering shoulders. “James, it was only a vase.”
“It was broken because she didn’t obey orders. I told her to quiet down. She knows the rules.”
“I just think you’re being too harsh on her. I don’t think you’re half as angry about the vase as you are that the B&O can’t make up their mind which line to choose. You needn’t take your frustration with the railroad out on this child.”
“And you needn’t intercede to take her side every time I try to discipline her,” James said, clearly irritated at this latest example of betrayal. “I’m going to see my father. When I return, I expect to find this mess cleared away.”
Carolina stared after him in shock. This was not the gentle man she’d married. But then neither was she the gentle wife he’d sought. What had happened to create in them such overwhelming discord? As she cradled the sobbing child against her, Carolina was torn between the need to vindicate Victoria and somehow to calm her husband. Both had erred in their actions, but she could neither change what had just happened nor truly smooth the rough waters that lay between her child and her husband.
“I hate him,” Victoria declared. “He’s mean, and he hates me.”
Carolina shook her head and pulled the child with her to the chair. Sitting down, she drew Victoria into her arms and shook her head again. “He doesn’t hate you, and I don’t believe you truly hate him. He’s hurting, Victoria. We all are. There is a great deal of pain in this house just now.”
“Like when my other father lived here?” Victoria asked, hiccuping a sob.
“Yes,” admitted Carolina. “Much the same. Your father is troubled by many things. He has been hurt and is trying to find his way through the pain.”
“Like you, Mama?”
Carolina felt as though Victoria had exposed yet another chink in her armor. “Yes,” she whispered almost too softly to be heard. “Like me.”
It was late when James came to their bedroom. Carolina had busied herself with mending James’ shirts and socks, while hoping, even praying, that he would come upstairs and resolve the conflict that had kept them divided since his return home in the afternoon. When James finally did open the door to the room, his face looked haggard and his eyes lacked their usual luster.
“You needn’t have waited up,” he said, his voice almost apologetic.
“I thought perhaps I should,” Carolina replied. She kept her own voice cool and objective. “I think we need to talk.”
“Talk seems only to lead to arguments,” James said, pulling loose the tie at his neck. “I have to leave early in the morning for Harper’s Ferry, so I’d rather not fight with you at this hour.”
“I have no intention of fighting,” Carolina said, hurt that he perceived her to have a contrary nature.
James unbuttoned his striped navy-and-yellow waistcoat and casually tossed it aside. Carolina heard him heave a heavy sigh before speaking again. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I know it was uncalled for, but it seems that there is nothing but heartache and tension in this house—in our lives. I’m not sure I ever expected things to be quite like this.”
“Nor I,” Carolina admitted. She smiled, thinking of her own youthful naivete. “I’m afraid growing up and getting married were games I presumed I’d be rather good at. Especially if I married a man who understood my passion for learning—” she paused, then added softly—“as you always have.”
James didn’t comment. Instead, he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out from the waistband of his pants. Then, as if having second thoughts, he plopped down dejectedly on the boot chest at the end of the bed. “Our marriage has been hard right from the start. Not because of you or me, but rather because of the complications that surround our union. My father . . . Victoria . . . this house . . . my job.”
Carolina came around from the side of the bed to meet his gaze. “It seems most of those things are tied to me, so why not admit that I’m a major part of the problem? After all, I brought both Victoria and this house into the marriage with me. As for your father, there, too, the problem is mostly placed at my feet. Had I not exposed him for what he was doing, you would probably be content to overlook his affairs.”