What the Heart Wants

by Marie Caron

  “Turn on your side,” he said, indicating that I should turn away from him. I did as he asked and felt him slide over onto the blanket behind me. Then he spread his blanket over the two of us and stretched out his arm so I could put my head on it. He had taken his shirt off, and I loved the feel of his silky skin beneath my cheek. Hugging me to his chest, his arm across my waist, he kissed the top of my head, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was where I wanted to be, but there was still one more point to settle.

  Unable to resist, I turned my face and stared up at him. “Why won’t you make love to me?” I asked meekly.

  He must have heard the heartache in my voice because he groaned.

  “Shit! How can I ignore you when you look at me like that?” he said, and then he covered my lips with his. I immediately let go of any misgivings I had in the face of his earlier rejection. It wasn’t that he didn’t want me; he’d only been trying to protect me. “You’re so small,” he said, sounding worried as he gathered me into his arms. “I know you’re an innocent, and I hate to take advantage of you,” he said hesitantly.

  “I want you to,” I replied, not ashamed to beg. I knew what he was thinking. He thought our relationship couldn’t last, that I’d be giving up my virginity for nothing, but I was sure he was wrong. “Please, make love to me,” I told him as I turned in his arms. I knew what the consequences could be if we did this, but nothing would keep me from satisfying the hungry need I felt inside. I was of an age long past dreaming of the perfect wedding, a house with a white picket fence and happily ever after. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a happy ending; it was that I was willing to take the chance that I might not get one, at least not a typical one. Until I met John, I had all but given up on finding a man I could love and who loved me in return. Now I was willing to take a chance on a relationship that some people would, no doubt, say was doomed from the start. I’d just have to work harder to make sure it survived.

  As I felt his tongue slide across my teeth to tangle with mine, I reacted automatically, sucking it into the depths of my mouth. He groaned again, and his hands began attacking my clothing. In seconds he had unbuttoned my dress and slipped his hand beneath the neckline of my thin chemise. When his fingers closed over my nipple and it swelled and firmed in his hand, a warm, satisfying sensation spread throughout my body. Never in my life had I felt anything to compare, nor had I imagined that being with a man could be so enjoyable. This was nothing like the stories I’d heard, that sex was something a man enjoyed while a woman’s place was to simply endure it. This felt good, and I couldn’t have remained still if my life had depended on it.

  My back arched, and my hips rocked to and fro as though they had minds of their own. In no time at all my body was on fire. John’s hands, which I’d previously thought of as rough and hard, were actually quite gentle and tender. And his mouth! Somehow, without me knowing, he had lowered my dress and chemise to my waist, and now his mouth surrounded my entire left areola. When he puckered his lips and sucked hard, I thought I would explode from the intensely satisfying feeling. I felt my breast swelling inside his warm, wet mouth, while a sort of tingling feeling was moving from there, straight down to my most private area. Before I realized it, an ecstatic moan escaped my lips. My God, I was acting like a wanton! But I couldn’t make myself care. I loved how he was making me feel, and I wanted more. And when I felt his big hand inching up my thigh, taking the skirt of my dress with it, I helped him, quickly pulling my dress and chemise over my head.

  Together, we quickly untied my drawers and pulled them down and off over my feet. I had already removed my shoes and stockings, and since I never wore a corset, I was now as naked as a newborn babe. I’d never been naked in front of a man before, but I didn’t feel embarrassed. I was twenty-three years old, and I was tired of being an old maid. I waited patiently while John unbuttoned his leather pants. Soon they were tossed aside with my clothes, and he was leaning over me. I held my breath. Soon I would be a real woman…John’s woman. Would becoming a woman hurt? I had heard that it would, and so I moved my hands to his chest. I must have pushed harder than I realized because he sort of froze in place.

  “You want me to stop?” he asked. His voice sounded even deeper than usual.

  “Yes. No. I just…Will it hurt?” I asked, thankful for the dark so he couldn’t see how embarrassed I was to talk about this.

  “I won’t lie to you; some of it will hurt a mite. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No. Go ahead,” I told him, and then I tried to relax. But what John did next wasn’t at all what I expected. And it didn’t help me relax in the least.

  After pushing my thighs apart, he fell between them on his belly, with his head poised right above my most private of places. At first I tried to close my legs and push him away. But when he placed open-mouthed kisses along the insides of my thighs from my knees down to my tender center, I placed my feet flat on the ground and opened my knees wider. It tickled a bit, but I liked it, and I was certain now that I had made the right decision. If this was what lovemaking was like, then I didn’t want him to stop…ever!

  My heart pounded in my ears as he slid one hand under my hips, lifting my sensitive flesh closer to his seeking lips. Gently he kissed my tight curls and the mound beneath them. And as he placed more kisses along my soft cleft, my hands came to rest on his head. But I was no longer trying to push him away. I wanted more of this sweet torture. As I curled my toes into the blanket beneath us, he moved up to the juncture of my nether lips, circling the area with his tongue a few times. I felt myself growing more and more sensitive in one particular spot. It was as if my body was changing, reaching out to his. He sucked the tiny point of flesh into his mouth, and I felt it growing erect like a miniature penis. Suddenly my body convulsed, and I heard myself cry out his name. “John!” I held his head in a death grip as stars appeared on the insides of my eyelids. My God, I was going to pass out!

  But I didn’t, and he didn’t stop there. And before I knew it, he had sucked my swollen flesh into his mouth and was working it with his tongue. Meanwhile, my hips began to lift and roll, backward and forward, backward and forward, as I urged him on. I was very wet by now, and my legs were shaking as my excitement grew once again. Using his mouth he brought me to another quick release. But it still wasn’t enough. I knew there was more, but I didn’t know what it was or how to ask for it. I was moaning and pushing down hard on the back of his head now, begging him. Without words, I was pleading with him to make me feel the splendor again. I didn’t even know what to call it. I just knew that he’d made me feel as though I was dying a very wonderful death, a death I wanted to repeat. To my great relief, he wasn’t done yet.

  Sticking his long tongue in between my nether lips, he located my small opening. Wielding that wily appendage, he mimicked the ultimate sex act, swirling and twirling his tongue inside my body while my hips danced in delight. Finally he held my hips steady with both hands as he shoved his tongue inside my tight hole as far as it would go. Then he drew it in and out, repeatedly dragging the tip over my swollen nubbin like a child licking a lollipop. In a few seconds, I fell apart, yelling his name like an oath as my world exploded.

  It was several minutes before my senses returned. All the while he lay with his head on my belly, and when he finally moved, I lifted my head to look at him. My mouth fell open. I had never seen anyone so beautiful. It was as though he was sculpted out of the ruddy clay that lined some of the rivers we’d crossed, his body gleaming like satin as the moonlight bounced off the contours of his damp skin.

  As I gazed at him, he crawled up my body and kissed my cheek as if to thank me for the liberties I had allowed him to take. But I didn’t want his thanks. By now I was eager for him to put his manhood inside me, to finish what he’d started. I knew the basics, and I knew that’s what men did. Animals did it too; I had seen the horses and other animals mating in the pens at the forts where we’d lived. Now I wanted to know how it felt to be taken in that
manner. I didn’t have long to wait.

  He shoved my legs apart with his knee and settled his hips in the cradle of my thighs. I held my breath as I felt his firm flesh nudging my entrance. He pushed forward suddenly, causing me to gasp in shock. I experienced a feeling of fullness and a sharp, stinging sensation as he rammed his swollen staff into my body. I had a sudden vision of being torn apart, but somehow I survived, and the pain began to subside as soon as he began moving in and out. The fullness felt good now, and the friction warmed my blood and heightened my arousal. My whole body began to move, my hips lifting to meet his, and then I saw those stars again as I was overcome by a euphoria beyond my imagination. My inner muscles clamped around his silky staff of their own volition as I fought the feeling that I was losing control. Finally, I gave in and accepted my fate, once again crying out my lover’s name. A few seconds later, John seemed to freeze in midstroke, and I felt his sex pulsing inside me as he sowed his seed.

  Chapter 9

  Two days later, we reached the wagon train, which had been moving along without us. Captain Baker shouted for the wagons to stop. They were beginning the three-week-long trek along the Humboldt River, and from the smile on his face, I could tell that he was happy and relieved to see us. Our fellow travelers did not seem to share his enthusiasm. No one came out to greet either of us, but John didn’t seem to notice, and after speaking briefly with the captain, he rode off. As I walked back along the line of wagons toward the one I shared with Elizabeth and Cassie, I saw Sarah standing next to the Cranmer’s wagon, dipping a ladle into the big water barrel strapped to its side. She didn’t acknowledge me and turned away to drink thirstily as I passed. I received much the same treatment from everyone else, although a few of the men did glance my way. Mr. Drummond even gave the brim of his brown hat a tug, but he didn’t speak to me. No one spoke to me. No one told me how happy they were to see me or that they were glad I was safe. I joined Elizabeth and Cassandra in their wagon, and we rode along in silence for the rest of the day. It was about an hour after supper when I finally got up the courage to ask why I was being shunned. I knew if anyone would be truthful with me it was Elizabeth Young.

  “What’s wrong? Why won’t they speak to me?”

  It wasn’t unusual for the men to be taciturn and uncommunicative, but the women had always been friendly and outgoing. Yet, when I got near them to fetch my meal from the big communal pot, they had ignored me. Several had fled as if being near me terrified them. And after the dishes had been washed and put away, a group of the women had gathered at the Sims’ wagon. I could hear them talking as Elizabeth, Cassie, and I sat at the small campfire Elizabeth always built next to her wagon. It was a sort of signal fire in case anyone needed to locate her, the nearest thing we had to a doctor, during the night.

  “Cassie, go inside the wagon and do your schoolwork,” Elizabeth said, her voice stern. Cassie obeyed, but I could tell she didn’t want to be excluded from our conversation. I sat on the ground and waited while Elizabeth poured us each a cup of coffee. It was another couple of minutes before she spoke. “I know you didn’t plan it, but some of the women have got it in their head that you did,” she told me from her perch on the molasses keg.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You disappeared and came back with Mister O’Hara. Some of the women are saying you two ran off to be together.”

  “What? That’s nonsense! He rescued me from the Indians.”

  “I know that, but Mrs. Sims has got it into her head that you made the whole story up. The first night you were gone, she told the women what Indians do to their captives, how they’re raped and beaten, how the ones who manage to get away are not the same as when they were taken. You came back looking like you’ve just been out for a stroll.”

  “I came back because John…I mean Mister O’Hara…came after me,” I protested.

  “I believe you, but most of the others don’t. Prissy Sims has them believing the worst of you. You know what an old harridan she is, and most of them believe that Indians and half-breeds are not as good as the rest of us anyway.”

  “But what can I say to make them think differently?”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything you can say. Eventually the talk will die down, and Prissy and the rest will find someone else to gossip about. Besides, if they don’t accept you, then it’s their loss,” she said, patting my arm as she smiled at me.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. You are truly my friend,” I told her, and I meant it.

  “There’s just one thing; you can’t spend any time alone with him.”

  “But—”

  “No, Samantha, if you want the friendship of the people on this wagon train, then you can’t give them a reason to doubt you.”

  “I think I could live without Mrs. Sims in my life,” I responded hatefully. I wasn’t normally so judgmental; these people had driven me to it.

  “I know, but the others look up to her,” she pointed out. I knew it was true, but staying away from John, after sleeping next to him for the past two nights, would be pure torture. We had made love several times both nights, and now it seemed as though my soul was connected to his. Though he’d never said he loved me, I was certain that he did. If only we could go somewhere together…somewhere far away from these hateful people.

  “I’ll try to do as you say,” I lied. The truth was I didn’t want to stay away from him. I yearned for him with my body and soul.

  * * * *

  I’d had no idea how easy it would be to follow Elizabeth’s advice. For the next few weeks, we didn’t see John at all, and gradually the women began speaking to me again, and Mr. Drummond stopped by our wagon one day to inquire about my health. Everyone seemed to accept me again, and though I was happier not being ignored, my heart ached for John. One evening at the monthly meeting, Captain Baker explained his absence.

  “I’ve sent Mr. O’Hara and two volunteers out to round up some meat. Hopefully they’ll come back with a buck or two. We don’t wanna be stuck without enough to eat. I won’t lie to you, folks, the next leg of our trip will be tough. It’ll be slow-goin’, and you’ll need all of your strength to make it. Meanwhile we’re gonna keep goin’. In a couple of days, we’ll reach the Truckee River. Once we get there, we’ll be within a hundred miles of the California border.” He went on to say that the river would lead us through the Donner Pass, the highest point on our way to the American River and the new town called Sacramento City. The pass had a bad reputation; nine years earlier, a group of settlers had frozen to death in a freak, late-October blizzard. It was now the middle of September, and though it was normally too early for a bad snow, there was always that possibility.

  The meeting had been the most disturbing one since my father had drowned in the Raft River crossing, and it left us all feeling anxious.

  Cassie, Elizabeth, and I breathed a sigh of relief the following day when the three hunters returned. It was just after sunset, and everyone was preparing for bed. But when they saw the men riding into camp, many of my fellow travelers put down whatever they were doing and ran to greet them. It made my heart swell to see the people gathered around John’s horse, complimenting him on the big, six-point buck hanging across Thunder’s rump. One of the other hunters carried a similar deer on his horse, and the third man had strings of geese and ducks hanging from his saddle horn. For the next few days, we would eat the game birds, the fat helping to insulate us against the cold. The deer meat would last us for weeks after being properly prepared. The hunters had come through for the group.

  It didn’t take long for the hunters, who worked late into the night, to construct a drying rack. Then the men and a few of the women skinned and cleaned the deer and cut it up into smaller pieces. I had witnessed this bloody, messy chore on occasion at the forts where we had lived, and I had no desire to watch it again. I knew that salt would be sprinkled on the meat for flavor and to help keep it from spoiling, and that the larger pieces, like the upper legs, would be
smoked whole over the fire. It would take several days to cure the meat, which meant we wouldn’t be moving on until the job was done. As I went to sleep that night, I hoped the delay would present me with an opportunity to spend some time alone with the man I loved, for I had missed him something fierce.

  The next day something happened that was a blessing in disguise, something that drew my thoughts away from my problems and eventually gave us all a reason to celebrate. Elizabeth, Cassie, and I had just finished eating breakfast when Jake Powell came running up to us, babbling about his wife, Millie, who was expecting their first child. We were startled, but Elizabeth and Cassie quickly recovered, and Elizabeth stood up and took the obviously concerned man by the arm. She had a commanding, confident air about her that I envied.

  “Calm down, Jake. Getting yourself all lathered up will not help Millie one bit. I will take care of her. You go sit with the men over at the colonel’s wagon. It’ll help take your mind off things,” she told him, lifting her chin in the direction of Colonel Hudson’s wagon. Jake thanked her and went to join the men. Several of the men had joined the colonel for a game of cards, as they often did when they weren’t needed elsewhere. This morning there were six men seated around the kitchen table, which was intended for the Hudsons’ boarding house. As usual Reverend Sims was not among them. At first he had spoken out against the card players, saying that such games were “the work of the devil.” He had eventually let the men alone, though he often sat facing the laughing group, reading his Bible. At the moment he was walking with his wife, Prissy, toward the Powell’s wagon, his expression the darkest I had ever seen it. For a moment I wondered if he was going to somehow connect this emergency to the wickedness he perceived was going on where Jake Powell was now seated. As I studied Reverend Sims’ stormy face, my stomach roiled, and I feared I might lose my breakfast. Elizabeth and Cassie began gathering together the things they might need to help Mrs. Powell, as I stood there wringing my hands.