Journey of the Heart

by Mills, DiAnn; Darty, Peggy;

  “My father will repay you for the nugget.” She pushed her chin forward stubbornly, still embarrassed by the incident.

  His dark eyes returned to her, and she could see that he was puzzled by what she said.

  “What really happened?” he asked, turning back to straighten the reins in his hands as their horses walked at a leisurely pace through the deep snow.

  “You mean why was I kidnapped by the Indians?” She sighed. “I was hoping you had been sent by my father.”

  She glanced at him and saw that his head was tilted; the dark eyes were sweeping over her curiously once again. She felt her skin flushing beneath his gaze, and she looked away.

  Her mother’s stern protectiveness had discouraged most of the single males who came to the post. Mary didn’t consider any of them good enough for her daughter. There had been only two who may have proved acceptable suitors, but the trains had moved on, and there had been no time for a friendship to develop.

  Now she felt painfully vulnerable and inexperienced.

  “I wasn’t sent,” he answered her. “Sorry to disappoint you. I stop in on Black Hawk’s camp when I am in the territory. Part of my mission is to help the Indians.”

  She bit her lip, considering his words. What would he think if he knew they considered her to be Ute? As though reading her thoughts, he spoke again, shocking her with his words.

  “My mother was a Cherokee in North Carolina; my father was a pioneer. They married and I was their only child. We lived in the wilderness until my mother died. Then he moved into town so I could attend school,” he spoke matter-of-factly, as if this bit of information was old news. “My father’s brother was a missionary to Colorado. I was fascinated by his stories when he came back to visit. I began to do some missionary work among the Cherokees. Then later I came here.”

  She turned to stare at him, amazed by what he had told her. Then, before thinking, she spoke her observation.

  “You seem proud to be—” She bit her lip, hating herself for so blatantly revealing her emotions.

  “To be part Cherokee? Yes, I’m proud of my heritage,” he said, looking across at her. Then slowly a dark shadow seemed to pass over his face. “One of the most tragic things I can think of is being ashamed of the life God has given you.”

  “My life hasn’t been that good,” she said, fighting back the sudden rush of tears. The dense woods bordering the road blurred before her as she fought to control her emotions. “I never knew who my real parents were. I was left at a wagon train, wrapped in an Indian blanket….”

  “How did your parents explain that?” he asked.

  Her stomach fluttered. It felt as though every nerve in her body were in a war in her stomach. She swallowed and tried to keep her voice calm as she spoke. “My mother said I was kidnapped from one wagon train and delivered to another by the Indians.”

  He was thoughtful for a moment, staring at the snow-packed trail as they rode along. “I’ve never heard of that happening,” he said quietly. “Usually if the Indians take a baby, they keep it. Many of the women lose their babies to sickness and are lonely for children.”

  “Well, that isn’t what happened to me,” she answered quickly. “Listen, I’m worried about the man who was taking me to Denver. Everyone called him Trapper John. Do you know him?”

  “No, I don’t believe I do.”

  “I wonder what happened to him. Either he died there in the snow or he lit out to Denver, afraid to tell Ma what really happened.”

  “And what did?”

  Slowly, she began the story, telling him everything. As she did, she recalled how the people at the post had reacted when Black Hawk announced she was the daughter of Morning Dove. Despite her mother’s stern rebuttal, she had felt a change in the attitude of those around her. She sensed their doubt and suspicion, even among those she considered her friends. For as long as she could remember, people at the post scorned half-breeds. But this man didn’t seem at all worried about that. He said he was proud of his heritage. She finished her story, leading up to this morning when he arrived. “So you see why I was desperate.”

  He looked at her. “Did they treat you well at the camp?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t complain.” She was ashamed to admit to him how well she had been treated. Everyone had been kind to her, bringing her food and fresh clothing if she had wanted a change, but she didn’t. She had even started refusing food.

  “They were only kind to me because they thought I was her daughter,” she said.

  “They’ve always treated me very well.” He said nothing more, but it was apparent to Elisabeth that he had great respect for Black Hawk and his people. Possibly more respect than for Jed, whom he had caught trying to cheat a man.

  “How far is it to the post?” she asked, shading her eyes against the white glare of sun on snow.

  “We’re half a day. If you want to, we can move at a faster pace.”

  “I want to,” she said, kneeing her mare. “I’m eager to get home,” she said, adding new emphasis to the word.

  Elisabeth’s heart was lodged in her throat when finally her eyes scanned the valley and came to rest on the trading post. Her hand automatically gripped the reins tighter, slowing her mare.

  “What’s wrong?” Adam asked. Elisabeth swallowed. “I don’t know. I’m just nervous, I guess.”

  As they neared the post, she began to smooth her wrinkled dress. Then she removed a comb from her saddlebags and whisked her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. Although Elisabeth would not admit it, she was trying not to look like the Utes.

  “I feel anxious about returning,” she confessed. “I don’t understand why Ma didn’t send someone to Black Hawk’s camp. I didn’t expect Jed to do anything, but Ma…” Her voice trailed away as her eyes focused on the approaching pine buildings. Smoke curled high in the sky on this sunny morning. Perhaps the sunshine is a good omen, she thought.

  As their horses trotted through the gate, Elisabeth’s face fell at the meager greeting offered by a small group of stunned faces.

  Adam’s eyes drifted over the men, reading something more than shock in their expressions. Pity? Embarrassment?

  Elisabeth drew rein at the post kitchen and dropped down.

  “Ma!” she called, throwing open the kitchen door. She stopped in her tracks as a Mexican woman, years younger than her mother, looked up from the stove.

  “Where’s Ma?” Elisabeth asked, glancing around.

  The kitchen was different in a way she couldn’t immediately define. The smells were spicier; pots and pans cluttered the countertops. This was a stark contrast to Mary’s neat kitchen.

  She turned questioning eyes to the woman, who stood twisting her plump hands in her apron.

  “You are…Elisabeth?”

  She nodded, puzzled.

  The woman dropped her head. “Your mother…is not here.”

  Elisabeth whirled from the kitchen and hurried across the courtyard to the cabin, her eyes flicking from right to left. Where were the children? Where was Tommy? Where was her mother?

  “Ma?” she called, bursting into the cabin, ready to hurl herself against the bosom of the woman who had given her so much love. After what she’d been through, she felt that she needed Mary more than ever in her life.

  Clothing was scattered carelessly about the cabin. On the wooden floor, snow clumps had melted to puddles of water. Lifting her skirts to sidestep the water, Elisabeth peered into the bedroom. She found only an empty, unmade bed. Frustration mounted as she flung open the door to her room. Her mother was not there. A strange comb and brush and a black-lacquered hand mirror cluttered the tiny dresser.

  Shocked, Elisabeth walked over to peer into the closet. The heavy perfume of the Mexican woman clung to the unfamiliar dresses hanging here.

  A gentle rap sounded at the front door, and she found Adam standing on the slab step, his eyes filled with concern.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  She nodded b
lankly, glancing back at the disheveled room. “I don’t know what’s going on. Ma’s not here….”

  The sound of quick steps crunched over the snow beyond the open door, echoing in the tense silence that hung between Elisabeth and Adam. Then Jed Greenwood poked his head in the door.

  “Thought you were in Denver.”

  “No. Didn’t Trapper John come back and tell you? We never made it. Black Hawk’s braves were waiting for us. They took me back to his camp. I don’t know what happened to Trapper John. Either he died, or he rode on to avoid trouble with you.”

  Jed looked shocked at her words; he obviously knew nothing of what had happened.

  “Where’s Ma?” Elisabeth asked, as her eyes traveled nervously over the cluttered cabin. Behind the forced smile, her words held the echo of fear, a fear too horrible to identify.

  Jed rubbed his hands down the front of his faded flannel shirt, casting a curious glance at Adam.

  “Gone to Denver?” she asked. “Did she go to the Tillotsons looking for me? She said she would.”

  Jed coughed uncomfortably and loosened the collar of his shirt. “Girl, I don’t know how to say it, other than straight out.” The silence in the room lengthened; only the steady drip of snow melting from the eaves outside could be heard for several seconds. Elisabeth’s eyes darted to Adam as Jed took a step toward her.

  “Your ma’s heart gave out the night you left,” he finally blurted. “We buried her the next day.”

  “Buried her?” Elisabeth gasped, horrified. Buried her…?

  Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the sobs. Through a blur of tears, she saw Adam reach for her hand while Jed backed out the door.

  “We never heard nothin’,” Jed argued. “Figured you were safe in Denver. Thought it was best not to send for you, all things considered.”

  “What things?” Elisabeth gasped. “You should have known I’d want to be at Ma’s funeral.” She couldn’t believe that the one person who had loved her was gone. She felt an arm slip around her shoulders, and she leaned against it, fearing her legs would buckle. Her ma…Gone. Buried.

  Wiping the streaming tears, Elisabeth struggled for words. “Did she…suffer?”

  Jed shook his head. “She just come in here”—his eyes slid to the door of the room that had belonged to Mary—“laid down on the bed…and died.”

  Fresh tears stung Elisabeth’s eyes, and then as her gaze dropped to the floor, she saw a tattered black lace petticoat. Her grief burst into rage. She snatched the petticoat from the floor and hurled it against the wall. Then she spun on Jed. “And you moved that Mexican woman into Ma’s house?”

  “Elisabeth,” Adam warned gently.

  “Watch your mouth, girl,” Jed snarled. “I had to have a cook.”

  “I can cook,” she cried. “If only you’d sent for me—”

  “I ain’t gonna stir up war with them savages! Can’t you get that through your head?” His eyes raked her in a slow, contemptuous manner. “Besides, from what that Indian chief said, you may be the daughter of that squaw.”

  The room was spinning around her. She felt as though the earth had given way and she was being sucked down into the recesses of it. She would not let Jed Greenwood destroy her—she would not!

  She forced herself to meet Jed’s hard eyes. This was no longer her home. She knew that now, but she had to make an effort to stand her ground.

  “I have spent the past week at Black Hawk’s camp,” she answered, her voice taking on a calmer tone. “That squaw could not possibly be my mother.” She waited for Jed’s reaction, but his expression remained unchanged. “Anyway, she died yesterday.”

  Jed said nothing; he merely glared at her.

  Elisabeth studied his face with the wisdom of eighteen years spent cringing under his scowls. She stumbled across the living room and sank into a chair.

  “I’d like to have something to remember Ma by,” she said dully, staring at the dirty floorboards. “Then I’ll be leaving.”

  If she had looked at Jed, she would have caught the faint sigh of relief, followed by the twitch of satisfaction on his mouth. Adam, however, missed nothing.

  “Her things are in a trunk in the other closet,” Jed answered slowly. “Reckon you can have whatever you want.” He paused to clear his throat. “Where are you going?”

  Elisabeth lifted her tearstained face to him. Where indeed? She tried to think, but her mind was locked in disbelief.

  “I could take you to Denver to the home of those folks you mentioned,” Adam offered.

  Jed’s eyes flew back to Adam. He was obviously curious about this man who had brought her back, who dared to speak up to him that day. But he certainly wasn’t going to make a fuss; if the man was willing to get her off his hands, then so be it.

  Elisabeth took a deep breath and looked at Adam. “Do you know the Tillotsons? They’re missionaries and—”

  Adam began to nod. “I know them well. I’ll take you up to the Tillotsons’ home.”

  “You’ll be better off there,” Jed said, not meeting her eyes. “With all this business about Indians, some folks feel kinda uncomfortable about you bein’ here.”

  Elisabeth ignored the inference as her eyes moved toward the open door.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Jed kicked at a loose board. “Half the post left after your ma died, and Carlotta—”

  “We’ll be leaving as soon as Elisabeth gets whatever she needs,” Adam interrupted.

  Jed merely grunted and stalked out.

  Elisabeth stared after him. “How can anyone be so cruel?” she said dully, still unable to believe all that had happened.

  “Elisabeth, he is an evil man. Sorry, but that’s obvious to me. The sooner you’re away from here, the better. Now let’s pack your things.”

  She turned pain-filled eyes to him. “You’re not evil. You’re very good,” she said, bewildered. “A stranger whom I’ve just met is kinder to me than a man I’ve called Father for all these years.”

  “There is a big difference, Elisabeth,” he answered slowly. “I am a man of God.”

  Chapter Seven

  In a daze, Elisabeth opened her mother’s trunk. More tears filled her eyes at the sight of the rumpled dresses, the sturdy work shoes, the heavy wool cloak.

  Her hands scooped up the dresses, and she buried her face in the soft cloth, trying to find the lingering scent of her mother to forever etch in her memory. And it was there—the faint yeast-and-onion scent of Mary Greenwood.

  Thank you, Ma, she thought. Thanks for loving and caring for me. It couldn’t have been easy…with him. She quickly replaced the dresses, poking further into the trunk. Her fingers closed over a small object, loose among the dresses. She stared down at the cameo pin, lifting it gently to her lips. This was the treasure she sought, the one she would keep with pride.

  She closed the lid and bundled up the last of her possessions in a clean flour sack from her mother’s cupboard.

  “I’m ready,” she announced to Adam. Her face was pale, haunted, but her chin was set determinedly.

  Elisabeth’s eyes roamed over the cabin, silently bidding it good-bye. She hesitated in the door, remembering all the sessions with her tutor and the hopes and dreams of a bright future that she and her mother had shared. But the hand of fate had smashed those dreams, washed away everything that had been comfortable and secure. She was alone now, with only her own ingenuity to shape her future, and already she could sense how difficult that future was going to be.

  Adam had brought the horses to the door. It would save her the embarrassment of having to walk across the courtyard beneath the rude, appraising stares of those who had once been her friends but now stood in judgment of her. She tied her knapsack on the saddle then climbed on her mare.

  The afternoon stretched on as they rode in silence. Adam glanced worriedly at Elisabeth, who hadn’t spoken a word since they left the post. Her eyes were distant and haunted, and yet her mouth was set in a determined l
ine. He knew she was hurting, but he chose to remain silent. She would have to come to terms with her pain, and that was going to take time.

  He turned the leather reins over in his gloved hands, absently studying them. He was beginning to feel responsible for her, but he was certain she would manage all right once they arrived in Denver. The Tillotsons were good people. They had retired from the mission field and seemed to be content living in town.

  “Where do you live?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  “I have a cabin in a mountain valley above Denver,” he said, looking across at her. “I have a large circuit to cover, and my cabin is situated about halfway between the areas I travel.”

  She frowned. “You said you were fascinated by your uncle’s stories. When did you know you wanted to do this kind of work?”

  Adam considered her question. “Funny, it was always something I knew I wanted to do. As soon as I got saved—”

  “Saved? Saved from what?”

  He smiled gently and began to tell her the story of the day his uncle had come to visit and taken him to church.

  “Between listening to my uncle, then the pastor, my heart was touched. I knew I wanted to belong to this Jesus I heard about, and I wanted to do something worthwhile with my life. My uncle was the best role model I had ever met.” He grinned. “I even live in his cabin.” A sad expression touched his dark eyes. “He died soon after I came out here. It seemed natural that I would try to take his place in the world.”

  “I’m sure you must do a very good job,” she said, looking deep into his eyes. “I can see you are a man of God; you’ve proven that to me. And I’d like to hear more about your faith. I had a tutor once who read to me from the Bible. I liked the sound of the words, but—”

  “But what, Elisabeth?”

  She sighed, turning her eyes toward the mountain peaks, jagged against the afternoon sky. “I’m going to have to settle some things in my mind before I can take on this God of yours.”

  “You’ve got that backwards,” Adam said. “First you accept God; then you’ll find that things get settled in your conscience.”