Journey of the Heart

by Mills, DiAnn; Darty, Peggy;

  “I’ll try to.”

  His tone was more reserved now, and she wondered if she had hurt his feelings by not responding. But they had been apart for months, and there was a deep sadness etched into Adam’s face. She knew it was going to take time for him to heal from the war, and she wanted to be fair with him.

  When they reached the doorstep, he lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing her fingers. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, almost as if he couldn’t stay away.

  The look in his eyes pulled at her soul, and she reached out to him, gently touching his cheek. “I hope so,” she said.

  He leaned down and kissed her, more passionately than before, and yet it was a brief kiss. And then he stepped back from her, and she rushed inside before she could have a chance to open her mouth and spill all the things at war in her soul out to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When she arrived at the shop the next day, Seth Wilkerson was standing in front of the Gallery, staring down the street, idly twirling his mustache.

  “Good morning,” she called.

  “You’re here.” He whirled to her. “Good, I can leave.” He grabbed his camera, slapped his round hat on his dark head, and almost ran over her. “I’m making pictures for the newspaper. Kit Carson has brought some Indians to town, and he’s making a speech in a few minutes.”

  “Indians?” she repeated, following him out onto the sidewalk.

  “Just some Utes,” he tossed over his shoulder, hugging his camera under his arm and bounding down the board sidewalk.

  Just some Utes. The words were like salt in an open wound, and she stared after him, startled by his indifference.

  “Just some Utes?” she called after him, feeling an unexpected rush of temper.

  She tilted her bonneted head back and gazed down to the next street corner. At the corner at Larimer, a crowd was gathering around two men dressed in buckskins and leather, with long hair and beads, and dusty felt hats perched low on their heads.

  Elisabeth stretched her neck, trying to see the object of everyone’s interest. What if the Utes were from Black Hawk’s camp? What if this was someone she knew, one of the women who had been kind to her?

  She felt herself being drawn toward the crowd, and she completely forgot her job and the Gallery as she inched toward the corner, peering around the onlookers.

  Two ragged Ute children stood beside the men, one of whom was introducing himself as Kit Carson. He was rather short with bold features and keen eyes.

  “The Utes and Arapahos are at war,” his voice rang out over the crowd.

  Elisabeth searched the crowd for her employer; he was busily at work, focusing his camera. He wouldn’t know she was anywhere in the background. She took a few steps closer.

  “Last year when me and Jim Beckworth tried to persuade the tribes not to fight, we had no luck,” Kit Carson’s voice rang out. “Now, I’m askin’ some of you to help these children. They were left without parents or a home, and the mission school is already crowded.”

  A hush fell over the crowd at first; then silence turned into a flurry of whispers. No one stepped forward, however. Elisabeth bit her lip. Surely someone would help those poor children….

  Elisabeth was frozen with horror at the words Carson had spoken. Her mind raced back to Black Hawk’ camp. Were they being attacked by Arapahos or white settlers? Compassion tugged at her heart, and she found herself wishing she could do something to help the children. Jed Greenwood had instilled a lifetime of prejudice into her thinking, but she could see now that it was wrong, all wrong.

  “God forgive me,” she silently prayed as she stared at the gaunt faces of the Ute boy and girl, the hollow, dark eyes. They looked frightened to death…and hungry.

  Without giving it another thought, she lifted her skirt and ran back to the baker, yanking open the stings of her purse. She hadn’t much money left, but she certainly had enough to buy a loaf of bread. And that was the least she could do.

  By the time she returned with the warm bread wrapped in newspaper, most of the crowd had dispersed. Only a few curious ones still lingered at the edge of the street, staring at the children as though they were from a foreign land.

  Elisabeth pushed past the people, oblivious even to Seth Wilkerson, clicking his camera in the background.

  “Here.” She rushed up to the children, eagerly tearing the bread in half and giving each a generous piece.

  The dark eyes were fearful as the children took the bread, while in the background she could hear someone whisper several words with one word more distinct: savages.

  She whirled on the man who had stumbled out from the saloon peering at the children with bleary eyes. “Savages.” He called out, louder than before.

  “They’re not savages,” Elisabeth yelled back at him. “They’re human beings who deserve some respect.”

  Suddenly she realized how loudly she had spoken, and how quiet everyone had become. Then, in the blur of faces, she saw the red face of her employer and wasn’t sure if the emotion on his face was sympathy or anger.

  Giving the children one last smile, she turned and rushed back to the Gallery and dashed inside, slamming the door behind her. None of the people were more surprised by her reaction than she was. Removing her bonnet, she hung it on the peg by the door, while her thoughts lingered on the poor children. She couldn’t forget their sad, tormented faces. Her stomach was comfortably filled with tea and oatmeal from Mrs. Tillotson’s cozy kitchen. Her skin was covered with nice clothing, and yet those poor children were so in need….

  “Miss Greenwood,”—Seth Wilkerson burst through the door—“did you leave this shop unattended?”

  She turned to him, still dazed by her thoughts. “What did you say?”

  “I said…” He took a step closer to her, and she could see a hard glint in his dark eyes as he glared into her face. “Did you leave this shop unattended while you ran your goodwill mission? Obviously, you did. Do you have any idea how much of my money you risked by so carelessly wandering into the crowd?”

  A frown marred Elisabeth’s smooth brow as she struggled to make sense of his words. As she did, her eyes swept him up and down. He was as arrogant and uncaring as the drunkard she had yelled at.

  “And you made quite a spectacle of yourself out there.” His finger jabbed the air behind him. “It was an embarrassment to me.”

  “An embarrassment to you?” she cried out, horrified by his words. “Don’t you even care that those children are cold and hungry? No, you don’t,” she said slowly, realizing for the first time what a self-centered little man he was.

  “My concern is with my line of work and my business here in town, which you have just put at risk with your carelessness.”

  Elisabeth could feel her spine stiffen. “What do you consider most careless, Mr. Wilkerson?” she asked slowly, furiously. “Leaving your precious equipment unattended, which, by the way, nobody could work but you, and I’m not sure anyone wants to go around snapping that thing in people’s faces.” She pointed at his prize camera. “Or are you referring to my giving food to hungry children? Was that what you call making a spectacle of myself?”

  “Boldly defending them against Tom Searcy, publicly embarrassing him?”

  “The drunkard was doing perfectly well embarrassing himself. And he was drunk, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Tom Searcy spends a lot of money in this town. He’s very successful in the trapping business. People don’t yell at him.”

  Elisabeth took a step back from him, so furious she could hardly control the trembling that ran over her. And then a smooth, deep voice spoke up in the background.

  “And no one is going to yell at Miss Greenwood,” the man said.

  Elisabeth and Seth whirled simultaneously.

  Adam stood in the door, glaring at Seth, his fists balled at his sides.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elisabeth ran to his side, throwing her arms around him.

 
“Oh, Adam, it’s all right.” She turned back to Seth, who was boldly surveying Adam’s fashionable broadcloth suit and round hat. “I’m not interested in working for you any longer.”

  She reached for her bonnet and cloak and linked her arm through Adam’s. As soon as they were out the door, Adam gripped her hand and smiled down at her.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

  “For standing up to a mean little man?”

  “And for defending the Indian children. I had just walked up to the Gallery to see you, when I spotted you on the edge of the crowd with the bread in your hand. I hurried down there and saw what you did. Before I could get to you, you had spoken your mind to the drunk and dashed off.”

  She looked at him sheepishly. “And you were proud of that?”

  “Of course I was.”

  Elisabeth stopped walking and looked at Adam.

  “Could we sit down and talk?”

  “Of course.”

  They had reached a small park, and he led her to a bench where they took a seat. Elisabeth was oblivious to the people milling around as she looked into Adam’s face and shook her head sadly.

  “I’ve been so confused. But not anymore. Since I became a Christian and got my heart right with God, I feel as though the fog has cleared. It’s been like a fog, you know. I was confused…lost. But you were right. My heavenly Father is the One who really matters.”

  “That’s right,” Adam acknowledged, “but still you must be at peace with your life and your past. How do you feel now about the Utes? Different, it seems.”

  “Different, yes. And ashamed for being so intolerant, so prejudiced. If I am half-Ute, these are my people who are being treated like animals, Adam.”

  He nodded and sighed, turning her gloved hand over in his and staring at it. “Many years ago, I felt the way you’re feeling now. I knew I had to stand for something, to help those who were being mistreated. I’ve never regretted my decision.”

  She tilted her head back and looked at him. “Maybe that’s what I’d like to do.”

  “Nothing would make me happier,” he said, pulling her into his arms as they both ignored the stares of people around them. He hugged her against his chest, and neither spoke for several seconds. Then he gently pushed back from her and looked down into her eyes. “I want you to think and pray about that decision. And if you still mean it, when I come back to town, I want to take you home with me.”

  “Home with you?” she gasped.

  “As my wife. It won’t be an easy life, Elisabeth. I travel a lot, and you would be left alone in the cabin. Well, not alone”—he chuckled—“because I’m always taking in strays who need help.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she said softly, gazing up into his eyes.

  For several seconds neither spoke. Then Adam stood and pulled her to her feet. “We mustn’t do anything hasty. You think about this, and I will, too.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” she said softly as they walked back to Mrs. Tillotson’s house.

  “Just be sure. And to be fair about it, you need to come up to the valley and see what my life is like. Maybe we can persuade Mrs. Tillotson to accompany you.”

  She shook her head. “She won’t travel until spring.”

  “Then I’ll think of something,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

  “Maybe you should just take me home with you now. As your bride.”

  He stopped walking and stared down into her eyes, unable to believe his ears. “Are you sure about that?” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life!” she said and began to laugh.

  It was true—all that mattered to her was being with Adam and serving God wherever He sent them.

  Adam began to laugh with her as they quickened their pace back to Mrs. Tillotson’s house.

  “Mrs. Tillotson is going to be surprised,” Elisabeth said as he hugged her tightly.

  “I don’t think so. I told her the day I brought you to her house that I might come back and marry you someday.”

  She whirled to stare at him. “How did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. I just asked God to work things out and He did.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Adam and smiled, “Yes, He worked things out just perfectly.”

  Peggy Darty authored more than 30 novels before she passed away in 2011. She worked in film, researched for CBS, and taught in writing workshops around the country. She was a wife, mother, and grandmother who most recently made her home in Alabama.