Separate Roads (32 page)

“Seems I’ve come with my usual tales of woe,” Crocker said with a wry grin.

“Makes us even, then,” Kiernan said. His own grin was far less sincere.

“So what problems are there now?” asked Victoria.

“Progress continues to be at a standstill.” Crocker sighed. “We are beset by lawsuits, and everyone imaginable is challenging our funding. Kiernan, you chose a good time to be laid up. I wonder if I could have kept you on anyway.”

“I’m glad I could accommodate,” said Kiernan dryly.

“What work I do have, I am hard pressed to find laborers, much less pay them. I fear when the funding is finally established, I won’t have anyone left to do the work. It’s the same old story, I’m afraid.”

“The call of the goldfields,” Victoria put it wistfully.

Kiernan knew how glad she was those fields no longer called her husband.

“I should be able to work soon”—Kiernan stopped when Victoria shot him a surprised glance, then he went on quickly—“if ya can use a one-eyed pirate. Why, I’d even be takin’ a cut in pay just to have somethin’ worthwhile to do.”

“I was merely jesting about what I said about you working, Kiernan,” said Crocker. “There will always be a place for you, no matter how many eyes you have. Half blind and with an arm tied behind your back, you can still do the job better than many men I’ve encountered.”

“Thank ya kindly, Charlie.” Kiernan hated to admit it, but having a male colleague offer such approbation went further to encourage him than any of Victoria’s lectures.

“But you would still need a crew.”

“If you are this concerned,” said Kiernan, “then it must mean ya’ll be moving forward soon.”

“I keep hoping. The war can’t last forever. The South is practically beaten. Sherman has taken Atlanta and demonstrated the Union Army’s determination to bring a decisive conclusion to the war. It is only a matter of time now, and when the war ends, as you well know, it will mean full steam ahead, quite literally, for the transcontinental railroad. It could happen in a matter of months, and I want to be ready.”

“As do I, Charlie,” Kiernan said with as much enthusiasm as he’d felt in weeks.

Victoria cleared her throat daintily, then interjected, “I believe you may be overlooking an important labor pool in the state. Li tells me there are Chinese arriving daily to this country and all in dire need of work.”

“Of course, it is not the first time I’ve been approached with that idea,” Crocker responded. “But I think it would cause as many problems as it would solve.”

“I know for a fact,” added Kiernan, “that the Irish I’ve worked with on the line despise the Chinese and would refuse to work with them.”

“But most of those Irishmen hate any who are different from them,” countered Victoria, “and they hate some of their own people as well. Not all Irish are as tolerant as you, dear Kiernan.”

“’Tis true enough. But one thing the Irish have that many of the Chinese don’t is sheer size and brute strength.”

“Yes,” agreed Crocker. “I simply have my doubts that such small-statured men have the stamina and strength for the job. The rails alone weigh fifty pounds a yard, and then there’s the tons of rock that have to be moved on a daily basis. And I have seen many a brawny Irishman weary at driving spikes.”

“But Kiernan has complained to no end about the laziness of many of the men on his crew. He’s said they have even gone so far as to post guards along the line to warn the others that he is coming to inspect so that they can make a show of working.” She glanced at Kiernan as if for approval, and he had to nod because her words were true enough. “I have gotten to know many Celestials through Li, and I find them to be serious, hardworking people.”

“I won’t argue there,” said Crocker. “Perhaps it would be no worse with the Chinese, perhaps even better. And no doubt they would work for less pay as well. But there is still the question of stamina.”

“And ya are forgetting the cultural differences,” added Kiernan. “I have me doubts about supervisin’ people whose needs I know so little about. And that’s not even to mention the language problem. Even the ones who speak some English are mighty difficult to understand.”

Victoria gave him a wily smile, and Kiernan knew what she was thinking. How many times had he been criticized for his thick accent, especially in those first years after coming to America? And he supposedly already spoke English! But he hadn’t liked the criticism, and often felt it was simply an excuse for employers not to hire him. He didn’t want to be like that. America was quickly becoming a nation of many nationalities, and that should not stand in a man’s way toward success.

He cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “And I’m supposin’ ya have an answer to that?”

“I’m sure there must be some Chinese competent in the English language who could act as interpreters. Li’s husband, for example, learned his English from missionaries in his country and is quite good. He could act as Kiernan’s assistant and liaison to the Chinese crew.”

Crocker rubbed his chin, then grinned at Kiernan. “The little woman here has quite a head on her shoulders, doesn’t she? And she makes a good case.”

“She does that indeed.” Kiernan grinned proudly, then added playfully, “I know it well, since I am hard pressed to ever win an argument wi’ her.”

Laughing, Crocker said, “Well, I shall give this conversation some serious thought. Perhaps we have found a way to solve at least one of our railroad problems.”

After Crocker departed, Kiernan and Victoria continued to visit. Kiernan was pleased at his wife’s buoyant spirits. She chatted about the laundry and about all she was learning from Li. Kiernan refrained from his usual speech about hating her to be working as a common washerwoman. Victoria also went on about little Jia’s antics, and again Kiernan made himself not think about the emptiness he sometimes felt at not having children of his own. He’d felt this more since the accident than ever before, because it had occurred to him that had he died, he would have had no part of him to live on.

Victoria’s laughter broke discordantly into his thoughts. He smiled, though just for form, because he had no idea what she had said that was so amusing. Well, at least she was finally happy, and he must try to put on a show of the same himself. He must not think about all the ways he was letting her down. Or how he was also letting Charlie down. He needed to keep thinking how daily he was getting better.

But for some reason, it was just not enough.

28

Sunday morning brought a warm September day to Sacramento. Humming a little Irish tune that was one of Kiernan’s favorites, Victoria prepared a breakfast of potatoes, side pork, and a half dozen precious eggs someone had given her in payment for their laundry bill.

Kiernan came into the kitchen as Victoria dumped the chopped potatoes into the lard. Grease spattered loudly.

“Music to me hungry ears!” Kiernan remarked as he poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

“It is fortunate I married an Irishman for all the potatoes we eat.” It was a glib comment, but she saw immediately it was ill spoken. Any amusement that might have crept into Kiernan’s usually dour expression faded. “Goodness, Kiernan, you needn’t be so sensitive!” She tried to chuckle lightly. “I feel truly blessed to have what we have and . . . well, you don’t need to feel bad.” She laid her hand on his shoulder, which tensed beneath her touch.

“And from what charitable hand did ya get those eggs?” he asked snidely.

“They are payment . . . for services rendered.”

“Oh, I see, ya worked for them yarself, eh?”

“Sometimes, Kiernan, I don’t even care to talk to you.” She returned to the stove to stir the potatoes. “To be perfectly honest, I think it is time you stop all this confounded self-pity and begin to count your own blessings.”

“And if I had some to be countin’, maybe I would!”

“You are impossible.”

She busied herself once more with meal preparations. She felt as if she had come up against a solid wall in knowing how to deal with her husband. Sometimes he seemed congenial, even cheerful, but mostly he was sullen and temperamental. She had begun to think that even his congenial moments were merely an act for her sake. She didn’t know how to get through to him, how to make him realize she loved him for who he was and thought no less of him now that he had hit a difficult time. She believed firmly in “for better or worse.” But she could not get Kiernan to believe her. She felt as if her words of encouragement—lectures, he sometimes called them—fell on ears as deaf as his eye was blind.

“I’m sorry, Victoria, me love,” he said contritely, turning in his chair to gaze at her. “Yar one blessin’ I must never forget to be countin’.”

But she had heard his contriteness once too often. Perhaps he meant it to some extent when he said it, but it wasn’t good enough.

“Stop it, Kiernan!” she burst out. “You are only saying you are sorry because that’s what you think I want to hear. I guess it’s noble that you want to please me, but I know you are just play-acting.”

“Ya lecture me when I’m glum, ya lecture me when I go tryin’ to make up for it! I’ll not be winnin’ no matter what I do!” he exclaimed with frustration.

“I just want you to—” But sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to dash them away with the back of her hand but to no avail. “I want you to be the way you were . . .” she murmured softly.

“I’m damaged. I’ll never—”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!” She realized suddenly her tears were both from sorrow and anger. “I’m talking about your heart, not your body, you thickheaded Irishman! Do you think I am so shallow, a blind eye bothers me? Then, after all these years, you don’t know me at all.”

“It bothers me . . .” he breathed, as if he were afraid to admit it.

“Oh, my darling!” She went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t believe you are that shallow either. There is so much more to you. Of all the things I love about you, your body is quite low on the list. Please . . . please, Kiernan, can’t you see that?”

He was silent for a long time as she held him, then he nodded his head. “I will try,” he said. But she couldn’t tell if it was sincere or more play-acting. Then he added with a grin that was so much like his old self, she truly did want to believe him, “So I’m thickheaded, am I?”

“I’m sorry. That was a mean thing to say.”

“But true, I’m supposin’.”

They had a fairly pleasant breakfast after that, and when Li and Jia left the table, Victoria attempted to broach another tender subject.

“Kiernan, I was wondering . . . if maybe you were feeling up to coming with me to church today.” She fiddled with her spoon in the silence that followed her question. But she thought it was a fair question. Since his accident Kiernan had stopped attending church, using his health as his excuse. For a time it was quite a valid one indeed. But Victoria had deemed him well enough for the outing a couple of weeks ago. Still he made excuses.

Finally, Kiernan answered, “I’m afraid I’d fall asleep during the sermon.” He made an attempt to lightly wave off the topic.

“What’s new about that?” she said cuttingly. The fact was, Kiernan had always been attentive in church, but she just needed to vent her frustration over yet another of his excuses.

“That’s not fair, Victoria!”

“I’ll tell you what isn’t fair,” she retorted. “It isn’t bad enough you blame yourself for all your woes, but you blame God as well! When you know better. And now you are turning your back on the only thing that might possibly help you.”

“I am not blamin’ God!”

“Well, it certainly looks that way when you refuse to attend church. And I’ve seen you when Reverend Carlton comes to visit, how you drum your fingers on the table while he’s praying and how you nod and smile benignly at his words, refusing to let anything sink in. Well, that does it!” She shoved back her chair and jumped to her feet. “If you want to continue sitting about sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, then be my guest. But I will no longer be drawn down with you. I am going to church today, with or without you!”

She strode from the kitchen and marched to their room, where she finished dressing. Her hands trembled as she combed her hair and pinned it up. And she kept expecting, hoping really, that Kiernan might come into the room, truly contrite and ready to give up his anger and whatever else was so distressing him.