Follow Your Heart. Rosanne Bittner

to take it easy. “I want no trouble,” Ingrid heard him say.

      “Vait up there!” Carl yelled. “You that man from the railroad? Vait there and I vill show you vat ve think of people who cheat others and rob from them!”

      Ingrid turned. “Carl!” She reached out and grabbed his arm just as he got close enough. By then Jude Kingman was in the carriage seat. His bodyguard snapped the reins, urging the beautiful black horse into a modest trot.

      “That vas that fancy railroad man, ya?” Carl demanded of Ingrid.

      Ingrid stared after the carriage as she answered. “Ya.”

      “Did he say vat he vanted?”

      She finally turned and faced Carl, struck by the stark contrast between him and Jude Kingman. “You already know what he wanted. He said he was here to look over farms that are on railroad land and to meet the owners. I told him he’d come at a very poor time and that he should wait a couple of weeks before coming back.”

      “Ya, vell he had better not come back at all! If he shows up at my place, he might not leave standing up!”

      “Carl Unger, you stop that kind of talk! Nothing is worth committing violence against another man!”

      “Nothing? I am not so sure.” Carl turned and walked off to finish his share of the planting. Ingrid turned and watched the buggy disappear over a low rise, heading toward Plum Creek. She put a hand to her heart, feeling guilty that although she was upset over the likely reason for Jude Kingman’s visit, he’d left quite an impression.

      Shame on you, Ingrid Svensson! she told herself. The man is after your farm of all things! She marched into the house to prepare supper, hoping against hope that “that railroad man” would not come back at all.

      Chapter Seven

      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.”