Читать книгу Follow Your Heart - Rosanne Bittner - Страница 15

Mid-June

Still irritated at the intrusion on his time and work, Jude disembarked his private Pullman after it pulled into the Omaha train yard. He had no trouble spotting his mother’s extravagantly decorated private cars attached to a nearby train. Gold trim accented her “home on wheels,” a sleeper car, dining car and also a lounge car for receiving visitors. Along the edge of the rounded rooftops was the name Union Pacific in small letters. The words, Kingman Enterprises, however, were written in much bigger and fancier gold letters on the sides of the cars.

A young woman whom Jude recognized as one of his mother’s personal servants gingerly made her way across several tracks that lay between the two trains. She spotted Jude and then yelled above the roar of a burst of steam from a nearby engine.

“Mrs. Kingman is in her private car just over there,” she said, pointing. “She’s been waiting for you, sir.”

Yes, let’s not keep Her Highness waiting, Jude thought. He climbed down from his own Pullman, wondering what on earth was so important that his mother had come clear down here from Chicago to talk to him. Far be it from her to conveniently meet him in Plum Creek or at his railroad office here in Omaha. Mrs. Jefferson Kingman wouldn’t be caught dead setting foot in a town she considered inferior to her standards, let alone get dust on the hem of one of her expensive dresses.

Jude dreaded one-on-one visits with Corinne, which was how he thought of her most of the time, a woman named Corinne, not his mother. It irked him that she could still stir emotions in him only a younger child should have—the hurt of feeling unworthy, unloved and unwanted. He steeled himself against her hard, dark eyes before he even climbed up the platform to her car.

The door opened before he could knock, and there stood the woman he seldom saw. They both led such busy lives in different ways, and there was no closeness between them to warrant going out of their way to see each other, which made this visit all the more odd. Even when they were all home at the sprawling Kingman mansion, they seldom ran into each other or dined together.

And, of course, there was that look—not a “glad to see you, son” look, but more like “it’s about time you got here.” Corinne was accustomed to snapping her fingers or ringing a bell and receiving almost instant gratification.

“Come in quickly,” she said curtly. “The train yard here smells of cattle, and I’m trying to keep the odor out of this car.”

Jude walked inside the richly carpeted train car. Heavy velvet curtains at the windows kept it so dark that light had to be provided with small gaslights on the walls. “It’s hot in here,” he complained. “I’d rather smell cattle than sweat to death.”

“I will open the windows when I leave, which will be soon,” his mother answered, turning to walk to a satin-covered chair. “Your father doesn’t even know I am here,” she said, sitting down. “I told him I was going to see my sister in St. Louis.”

Jude folded his arms. “Well, I’m glad to see you, too, Mother. May I sit down?”

“Of course, Jude. Don’t be silly.” She suddenly softened somewhat, but Jude knew the woman well. Her moods could change in an instant, and usually were designed to get whatever she wanted. “I’m sorry to take you from your work,” she added.

He didn’t believe that. He sat down in a chair across from her, removing his hat and taking a handkerchief from a vest pocket to dab at perspiration on his forehead. “You should be sorry. I had to take a train all the way back here from Plum Creek, and on a Sunday, which is the best day to be in town to talk to settlers. A lot of them come into town on Sundays for church and to buy supplies.”

Corinne, too, dabbed at perspiration with a lace handkerchief. “I can’t imagine having to stay in that horrible little town. There isn’t even a decent hotel here in Omaha, let alone a little farm town like Plum Creek.” She sniffed. “What a quaint name.”

Jude noticed that in spite of the heat, her form-fitting dress was tidy and unwrinkled. Every one of her graying hairs was in place, a jeweled comb perfectly positioned in sausage curls on top of her head. His mother was still beautiful and slender—too thin, actually. She was like a piece of china that might break if touched the wrong way.

“Plum Creek isn’t that bad,” he answered. “Besides, I stay in my Pullman, just like you do in such places, although I am establishing an office there.” Jude leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here? You’d never come to Omaha just to visit. And what’s wrong with Dad knowing about this?”

Corinne fussed with the lace trim on her dress. “Because he doesn’t like it when I come between him and his decisions, especially when it involves you and Mark.”

Jude understood immediately. His mother would never come here just to see him, but she’d probably go to Plum Creek herself and dig in the dirt with the farmers if it meant doing something to help Mark. “I should have known this had something to do with my brother, although I can’t imagine what it is.”

Corinne stiffened and raised her chin. “Jude, dear…” She hesitated.

Jude almost laughed. Dear? The woman must be ready to beg!

“I know about the job your father has given you. However…”

Her hesitation made Jude wary. “However what?” He felt his anger building, imagining how nice it would have been if she’d really come here just to see him—as any normal mother would do. He saw her put on her authoritative demeanor then.

“Mark came to me about this—this assignment, or whatever you want to call it. He’s very upset that your father gave you this job. Mark feels it should have gone to him, in spite of how much he’d hate going to a place like Plum Creek. You’ve been here a month already, and hardly anything has been accomplished, according to Mark. He wants the chance to prove to his father that he can do better in a situation like this. I came to ask—well—I just wish you’d go back to Chicago and tell your father you’ve decided you can’t do this and that Mark is the better one for the job.”

For a moment Jude just stared at her, dumbfounded. Then he shook his head. “You know, Mother, I’ve always known you favored Mark and that he could get anything he wanted out of you, but to go crying to you at his age about this—it’s like a little kid begging his mother to let him have a certain toy instead of his brother.”

“Don’t insult him! He doesn’t even know I am here. He simply complained to me about it, that’s all.”

Jude snickered. “Do you know how ridiculous your request is? I’m not going back to Chicago like some whining child and ask Daddy dear to please not make me do this. Besides, Dad knows what Mark can do. Personally I don’t think he is the right one for the job, because he would use tactics that would only enrage the farmers and cause possible riots and damage to the railroad and who knows what else? I have some ideas I am trying to utilize to make this all happen peacefully and without making the Kingman name look bad. That’s why it’s taking some time. So you can go back to Chicago and tell Mark to get to work on the things he’s supposed to be doing!” He rose. “I’ve really enjoyed our visit, Mother. I hate to cut things short, but I have to get back to Plum Creek.”

“Jude, just think about it, will you? Mark is anxious to come down here and take care of this.”

Jude studied her eyes. “You know, Mother, I’d really like to know what I’ve ever done to make you so prejudiced toward Mark. I graduated with top honors from Yale, far better grades, I might add, than Mark ever got. On top of that, I’m your firstborn son.”

There it was, that way she had of looking away slightly when he talked about being her son. Then she stiffened again as she rose. “That’s just it. You outdo poor Mark in everything. You’re bigger and far more handsome and young women beg for your hand, while Mark…” She peered at him intently. “The reason your father doesn’t give you the important jobs is because Mark needs to feel important. He needs the confidence it gives him to know he can handle anything Kingman Enterprises might expect of him, and your father recognizes that Mark has that slight ruthlessness that it takes to run a business as big as your father’s.” She seemed to plead with him again. “Why can’t you just marry into one of the wealthy families of Chicago and settle down and quietly do what’s expected of you and let Mark have more of the limelight?”

Jude walked past her. “I haven’t found one woman among our family’s snobby friends worth marrying. And I am doing what is expected of me. I’m the one Dad sent down here, remember?” He walked toward the door again. “I have to say, Mother, that if I’d known Mark wanted this glorious assignment, I’d have gladly given it to him. But until Dad tells me differently, I’ll do it myself and I’ll do it my way. Now, why don’t you have the engineer find out how soon you can get going on down to St. Louis to see dear Aunt Flo?” He opened the door, studying her pleading eyes for a moment, wondering if she’d ever once in her life been so terribly concerned about him instead of Mark, and then he walked out.

He picked his way over railroad tracks and to the engineer of the train that had brought him here. “Get me back to Plum Creek as soon as possible!” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Jude stormed inside his own Pullman, not even glancing back at his mother’s car. The woman was losing her mind. And her talk of marriage…Did she really think that would solve anything? How could he marry when he might end up with someone like his own mother? What a great life that would be! It would serve her right if he married some farm girl from Plum Creek. That would certainly wilt the feathers in her hat!

He slammed the door and opened every window in the car. Stink or not, he needed air. Fact was, he’d been around the smell of cattle and farming so long now that he was getting used to the pungent odor. The factory smells in Chicago weren’t much better.

He sat down with deliberate force, angry over the entire railroad matter. For some reason Ingrid Svensson came to mind then, probably because he’d intended to go and pay her that second visit today, until he’d got the telegram from his mother yesterday afternoon. He realized that was what he was most upset about. He’d actually been looking forward to going back out to see Miss Svensson. He’d meant it when he’d told her she was beautiful, in spite of all that dirt and that plain dress and her disheveled hair. He’d been so pleased to learn that the beautiful woman he’d first seen at the railroad depot was “Miss” Ingrid Svensson rather than a “Mrs.”

What a stark contrast a woman like Ingrid was to his mother, or any of the young women he knew back in Chicago. She wasn’t just more beautiful in looks. She was more beautiful in spirit and fortitude, stronger, more independent. From that one visit he could tell the woman didn’t have an ounce of vanity, but a lot of courage and pride. He was actually looking forward to seeing her again, in a way he’d never anticipated seeing any young woman he’d dated in Chicago.