What the Heart Wants

by Marie Caron

  “I think Mr. Drummond has a crush on Mama,” Cassie said, leaning toward me in a conspiratorial manner. I nodded.

  “I think you may be right,” I agreed, smiling as I clutched my shawl about my shoulders. Even though the nuns had helped Elizabeth for a time after her husband’s death, I was certain that life had not been easy for her. I figured she could use a good man in her life, and Mr. Drummond seemed like the right sort of man for her; he was dependable, well educated, and likeable. He might not be the right man for me—for I felt nothing but friendship for him—but I thought he would make Elizabeth a fine husband and Cassie a good father.

  I wondered if, in my future, there was a man who was the right one for me. Had I already found him? I sought out the canoe and the man who sat tall in it as he paddled the women and children to safety. I felt a stab of guilt as I contemplated what Papa would think, how disappointed he would be if he knew I had feelings for a man who was nothing like the man he had chosen for me. The man I wanted was not a successful businessman or a pillar of the community. I never wanted to hurt Papa, but I had come to a conclusion. I didn’t need a fancy house or fashionable dresses and bonnets. All I needed was a man who loved me, and I had a feeling I had found him.

  Before noon more than half the wagons were across the deep, fast-moving river. All was going as planned when suddenly I heard shouting and saw people pointing. I looked to see a wagon being swept downstream into the churning water. Frantically I searched the remaining wagons crossing the wide expanse of water. Where was Papa?

  “Samantha, it’s your wagon!” Cassie cried as she grabbed my arm.

  “Oh, no, Papa!” I gasped, shading my eyes from the sunlight glinting off the water with one hand as I stared in horror. Just then the wagon seemed to stop in midstream. Suddenly the back end swung around, and the oxen were able to get it moving in the right direction again. But their success did not last long. The poor animals seemed to know they were in a life-and-death struggle, one the river was winning. The frightened look in their eyes and their loud bellows as the heavy wagon dragged them backward into the center of the raging current was almost more than I could bear. To keep from screaming, I shoved my fist in my mouth.

  “We’re going to lose him!” Captain Baker shouted as he urged his mount back into the swollen river. “Get out there and cut those animals free before they drown!” he yelled. He and two other men jumped from their horses and started swimming toward the floundering wagon.

  Tears streaming down my face, I watched helplessly from the bank of the river as Papa struggled to control our frightened team. Elizabeth, who had just climbed down from her wagon, came over and silently put her arm around my waist. Mr. Drummond put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders, and I squeezed Cassie’s hand as the four of us stood there together watching the terrifying scene unfold.

  The captain and another man had almost reached our wagon when the unthinkable happened; one minute Papa was seated in the wagon, urging the oxen to pull harder. The next minute, the wagon turned on its side and Papa disappeared into the brown, swirling water. As I watched, John dived from his canoe to search for my father under the rolling water. He found him at last and managed to bring him to dry land. But Papa was barely alive, and later that night, his heart gave out, and he died in my arms.

  I was devastated. Except for two of our oxen that had managed to swim to safety, I had lost everything…all our belongings and our money. But most of all I had lost the one person who meant the most to me. That afternoon Papa was buried on the windswept prairie beside the river that had taken his life, a simple wooden cross marking his grave. I have no doubt that every person in the wagon train lined up that day to offer me their condolences, but my mind was in such a dark place that I couldn’t even voice my gratitude. I felt angry, and my anger dried my tears. On the outside I was composed, but on the inside, I was screaming at how terribly wrong this was. It wasn’t fair that Papa should be taken now before he’d had a chance to enjoy his retirement or see me happily wed or see his grandchildren. Our fellow travelers had known Jacob Collins as an honest and dependable man, a useful part of the group, but no one knew what a wonderful, caring father he had been…no one but me. The women tried to get me to eat something, but I had no appetite. My chest hurt from crying, and my stomach seemed to be tied in knots.

  “Come on, honey, you’re riding with us,” Elizabeth told me, but only a small part of me heard her, and she had to take my arm to get me moving toward her wagon. My heart hurt with the pain of my loss. No one had meant more to me than Papa.

  With nothing left to me but the friendships I had developed along the way, I was determined to carry on. Even though she had offered to let me ride in her wagon, I couldn’t expect Elizabeth to take me in indefinitely. After all, she had a daughter to raise. As a single woman, I would have to make my way alone in a man’s world, and there were only a few options open to me. I could, of course, marry Thomas Parker regardless of whether or not I loved him, but that option left me feeling even more depressed. The possibility that I might feel a romantic love for the man was something I simply could not imagine; he was so much older than me. So what else was open to me? I couldn’t find employment as a schoolteacher or a nanny, as I lacked training for either. I could most certainly become what Reverend Sims called a soiled dove, since the only training I needed was what I could get on the job. I’d seen a few of those poor women selling themselves on the streets of the fly-by-night towns that had sprung up along the trail. I’d also seen them in towns near the forts where I’d grown up, plying their trade in front of the saloons where the soldiers gathered on their liberty days. And, although I was innocent when it came to what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors, I understood enough to know I wanted nothing to do with that sort of life.

  I vowed that first night after Papa’s death as I lay on my pallet under Elizabeth’s wagon that I would never go with any man who didn’t pledge his undying love to me. I didn’t even care whether or not he made his pledge in front of a preacher, as long as he made it to me. As long as he loved me, that would be enough. But where in this great wilderness was I to find the man meant for me? I was almost asleep when I saw a pair of simply made boots standing just beyond the wheel of the wagon under which I lay. I knew immediately whose boots they were, so I scooted over to the edge of the wagon and looked up. John’s dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he squatted down next to me, the look in his eyes so tender that I totally forgot to keep the blanket from falling down around my waist.

  “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man,” he said quietly. These were the first words he’d said to me since the tragedy, and hearing the heartfelt words, especially from this man, made me cry as I hadn’t cried before. In fact, I had been trying to put on a brave face in front of everyone, but now, suddenly, all my fences were down, and I sobbed until I thought my heart would break. To my surprise, John sat down next to me and pulled me into his arms, where I stayed for many minutes.

  As he held me, I felt his strong body through the thin fabric of my nightgown, and I reveled in the feeling. His chest was covered by an old cotton shirt so worn it was as soft as a baby chick, and I snuggled my face into it, inhaling his unique outdoorsy scent. His long legs were encased in snug-fitting leather britches that delineated their perfect form, and his thighs, when my hand accidentally brushed one, felt like steel. And yet nothing about him seemed hard or unyielding as he held me close. Indeed, I could have stayed in the shelter of his arms forever.

  “Thank you for your kind words,” I finally said, and he backed away, taking his manly smell and his strength along with him. Somehow the loss of them made me feel even sadder, and I bowed my head so he would not see how affected I was.

  His hand under my chin lifted my face, forcing me to look into those dark brown eyes. “What will you do? I mean when we reach California?” he asked me softly.

  “I don’t know. Everything we owned was in
that wagon, including our savings,” I replied, sniffling. He seemed to think on my answer for a moment before speaking again.

  “You’re smart and pretty. I’m sure some man will offer for your hand,” he assured me, but he looked glum.

  His voice didn’t sound all that happy about the idea. I wasn’t any too happy about my prospects either, and I felt compelled to tell him so. “Marrying for any reason other than love doesn’t appeal to me. But working in a saloon doesn’t appeal to me either,” I said with a half laugh as I tried to lighten the mood, swiping at my tear-stained face with both hands.

  “Then you should marry for love,” he stated as though it was an edict, his black eyes drilling into mine. Then, as I gaped at him, my heart racing as I wished he’d say what I wanted to hear, he stood and turned to leave. “I’ll be going hunting tomorrow. Our supply of dried meat is getting low. I’ll see you when I get back. Maybe we can talk more about your future when I return,” he said, throwing his parting words over his shoulder. And then he was gone.

  For many minutes I just sat there, staring off into the darkness, wishing that tomorrow had already come and gone. I couldn’t wait to see John again and have that talk about my future. And, before I fell asleep, I decided I would make him a buckskin shirt to replace the one Elizabeth had cut off him. It was the least I could do for him for all the things he’d done for me, even if he didn’t care for me the way I cared for him.

  The following morning the wagon train, now one member short, continued on its way while a part of me remained there on that desolate riverbank with my father.

  Chapter 7

  Due to the rough river crossing, several of the wagons were in need of repair, and a few of the cattle had wandered off. The men were able to round up the missing livestock in no time, as they had wandered no farther than the nearest lush meadow, but the wagon repairs would take longer, so the following day we set up camp much earlier than usual.

  While the men unloaded the damaged wagons and set to repairing them, the women cooked, sewed, and minded the rambunctious children, who were happy to have the day off from their lessons with Mr. Drummond, who had declared a school holiday. Meanwhile, as a single lady without any responsibilities, I was free to do whatever I chose. Suppertime found me gnawing on an apple while seated on a fallen log by a sparkling creek. As I stared into the flickering water, I contemplated my future, which at this point did not look very rosy.

  It was getting late, and I knew I should get back to camp, but sharing a meal with the others would mean me getting another sermon from the Sims and a pat on the back or sorrowful looks from everyone else. I just couldn’t take any more of their well-meant platitudes and advice or their pitying looks. All the words in the world would not bring my father back to me. Miserable, I bowed my head and let my tears fall.

  I don’t know how many minutes had passed when I sensed that I was not alone. I looked up and saw four Indian men standing just a few feet from me, and though I tried to keep my wits about me, I was terrified. I stood, intending to put on a brave face and walk slowly back to camp, but an Indian man I hadn’t seen grabbed me from behind, clamping his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t call out. His free arm encircled my waist, and at the same time, one of the other four men grabbed me around the legs. Together the two brown-skinned men carried me across the shallow creek and over the hill on the other side while their cohorts followed along behind us, presumably to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  At first I struggled with the men holding me, twisting and turning my body in an effort to get free, but the man’s arm around my middle was like a steel band, squeezing all the air out of my lungs until I thought I’d pass out. No matter what I did, it was no use; they were much stronger than me. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a quarter of that, I let my body go limp, and one of the men picked me up in his arms.

  After a while they stopped, and my abductor set me on my feet. The one who had grabbed me from behind tied my hands in front of me while the man who had carried me turned to the others, gesturing at me while speaking in a language I did not understand. Realizing that I would probably never hear the English language spoken again, my pulse raced. My friendship with John had taught me that a different skin color, a different language, and a different manner of dress were not what mattered when it came to judging a person, but I had been taken against my will, and I was terrified of these strange men. What did they want with me? Even though I suspected they wouldn’t understand me, I felt I had to try to communicate with them.

  “Why have you taken me from my people? Where are we going?” I asked, directing my questions to the man in front of me, but he continued walking, pulling me along by the rope. I was being led on a tether like an animal being taken to market. I felt humiliated, and my wrists were beginning to chafe. Since they remained silent, I had little else to do but study my six abductors as we walked along. They were much taller than me. One even rivaled John in height, and our scout was one of the tallest men I had ever met. And, like John, they were dressed all in leather, although their trousers, for want of a better word, barely covered them below the waist. I frequently found myself staring at the brown, muscular buttocks of the man directly in front of me, and I had to force myself to look elsewhere. The gleam of his hair caught my eye, and I gladly turned my attention to it instead. His hair was long and straight, and it rippled down his back in undulating blue-black waves as he moved.

  Each man was armed with a rifle or a knife, and I had no doubt they were adept in their use. I assumed these were some of the renegade Indians we’d heard about at the fort, the ones who refused to live on the reservations. So far they hadn’t intentionally hurt me, and for that, I was thankful. In fact, they had given me water to drink, and their general behavior toward me was not overly cruel or hostile. I hated to think what would happen to them if they were caught. I had a feeling my people would show them no mercy for what they had done to me since, to most white people, the only good Indian was a dead one anyway.

  By now it was almost totally dark, and I was tired and hungry. Just as I was about to ask how much farther they intended to take me—not that asking would have done any good—I saw the flickering light of a campfire through the trees. We had finally arrived at the Indian camp. I was immediately led into one of their dwellings, which the people at the fort had called teepees. The teepee was made of animal skins, snugly lashed to long wooden poles arranged in a large circle. The poles met at upper end, creating a conical shape like an upside-down funnel. The point where the poles met was open to the sky, thereby creating a sort of chimney through which the smoke, from the fire burning in the center of the dwelling, could escape. The enclosure was simply made but seemed relatively substantial. I was amazed by its size, which was about twelve feet across. The dirt floor was covered with soft, furry pelts of various animals. I recognized wolf, fox, buffalo, and deer hides among others, and I marveled at the amount of work that must have gone into making just this one teepee. But I had very little time to consider my surroundings, as several native women entered and gathered around me. My hands were untied by one woman while another woman began unfastening my dress and a third began removing my shoes.

  “No! Stop it!” I cried in vain as my clothing was removed. I tried to stop them, but they swooped over me like a swarm of locusts. Outnumbered three to one, I soon found myself completely naked. To my relief I was quickly bathed in cool, clear water before being clothed in a soft deerskin dress similar to the ones they wore. The supple leather covered me from collarbone to midcalf. The sleeves were fringed and ended at my elbows, and the bodice of the dress was decorated with colorful beadwork. Matching boots were laced up my ankles. Other than the lack of any sort of undergarment, I felt quite comfortable in my new clothing. Next, one of the women braided my hair into two long plaits, fastening the ends with leather thongs. While they worked, the women chatted amongst themselves. I wished I could understand them, but all I could do was smile
and nod and wonder. Were they discussing the color of my hair or my eyes? My fair skin was sunburned, especially across my nose. Did they talk about how different I looked? They were brown-skinned and had glossy, black hair. Or did they perhaps discuss what was happening to me, why I had been taken? I suspected all these things were likely.

  My heart began to beat wildly as I contemplated why I had been brought here and why I was being treated more like a guest than a prisoner. Surely I hadn’t been groomed with such care simply to serve as a slave. Perhaps I was to be traded to another tribe, used as collateral to obtain food or something else of value. Or, and this idea alarmed me quite a bit, perhaps I was to be the bride of one of the men. I had heard stories about white women who had been taken and forced to marry Indian men. Occasionally they were able to get free, and they told horrible tales of the ways in which they had been mistreated by their captors. It was rumored that Indian men often had more than one wife, and usually the white wives were treated like slaves, abused by the native wives. What an irony it would be for me to finally gain a husband and have to share him with another woman. Finally, the women seemed satisfied with the way I looked, and they left me alone.

  * * * *

  I had been tired from walking for most of the day, and after eating the venison and fried bread the women had brought me, I had curled up on a soft pelt and fallen asleep. At first I had dreamed I was floating on a clear blue lake, all my cares dissolving in the cool, clear water. But then suddenly things changed, as is the way with dreams. Suddenly I was fighting for my life as the still water turned into a churning vortex!