Follow Your Heart. Rosanne Bittner

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.