What the Heart Wants (7 page)

“They’re camped over that hill yonder, Mister O’Hara. What should we do?” one of the men who had been standing guard duty asked anxiously.

“Most likely it’s just a hunting party. They probably won’t bother us. And, even if they do try to get a closer look at us, they won’t come around now that it’s dark. Just keep watch as usual. If they don’t move off in the morning, let me know, and I’ll go have a talk with them,” John told them. It was the most any of us had heard him say at one time, and everyone listened with great interest.

“You heard what the man said. Now go on to bed and try not to worry,” Captain Baker announced, and the group slowly dispersed, but not before several of the women gave me and John dirty looks.

Mary Cranmer stepped over and whispered in my ear, “Can’t you get him to put on a shirt? It’s indecent him walking around like that.” And then she hurried to her husband’s side, and they went to their wagon on the other side of the big communal campfire.

While I walked John back to our wagon, I tried not to look at his chest, a task I had managed rather well, at least up until the time Mary had reminded me of it. Now I had to force myself to concentrate on his face. He didn’t seem worried about the Indians being camped so close by, but then he never seemed worried about much. “You don’t think they mean us any harm?” I asked quietly, staring at his profile.

“Naw. They’re probably just curious,” he replied, and I had a feeling he’d already said as much on the subject as he intended to say, so I let it drop.

* * * *

As John predicted, the Indians didn’t bother us, and the next morning they were gone. And so was he. Our scout had great recuperative powers, and it wasn’t long before he was staying out all day long on horseback, just as he had before the bear attack, checking the way ahead for rockslides, swollen rivers, and other obstacles. I missed seeing him during the day, but at least the setting sun usually brought him riding into camp each night, and I was able to catch glimpses of him standing tall in the company of the men as they enjoyed an after-dinner smoke. Since he’d risked his life to save the children from the bear, John’s value had risen among the people of the wagon train. Although there were still those who distrusted him simply because he was part Indian, I was happy to note there were many more now that saw him as an equal.

John had been gone for two days when Captain Baker called us all together one evening in mid-August. I was worried as to what news he might have. Had John met with some sort of accident? My heart was in my throat.

“Listen up, people! Tomorrow before high noon we will reach the Raft River, and right now, she’s swollen from the summer rains. Last spring several people drowned trying to cross her, so I won’t lie to you; this isn’t going to be a picnic.”

“Do we have to go thata way? You know some of us have small children who can’t swim,” Mr. Rutledge pointed out.

“I can’t swim,” Mrs. Able admitted just loud enough for some of us to hear her. “I never learnt,” she added apologetically.

“The women and children won’t cross in the wagons. Those who are able will swim across, following a rope we’ll set across the river. The rest will go by horse or oxen,” Jed Baker explained.

Everyone knew the animals were better swimmers than most humans, so no one disagreed. It was Captain Baker’s next suggestion that riled a few.

“Or they can go by canoe,” he said.

“Canoe! Where we gonna get one of them?” the fair-skinned Rutledge asked irritably. His color had risen till he was the shade of a ripe tomato.

“I’ve spent the last two days carving one out of a tree. I’ll ferry ’em across in it,” O’Hara announced as he strolled into camp. Everyone turned to look at him. Apparently he’d been standing back in the shadows, waiting for just this moment, which I thought was so like him; he never spoke unless it was necessary. As always I was relieved to see he’d returned from his scouting venture unharmed. And now I knew what he’d been doing for the past two days, making a canoe. My heart swelled with pride to know he’d been thinking about how to help the others, even if they didn’t much approve of him.

“I don’t rightly know if I want my young’uns ridin’ in one of
them
things,” Mr. Rutledge responded, his face flushing even more as he gave John a distrustful look.

“It’s better than them drowning, Mister Rutledge,” Mrs. Rutledge chastised her prejudiced spouse. His wife’s critical remark quieted the man, and the meeting continued more peaceably.

A discussion ensued as to just how the river crossing would go. It was decided that only the men driving the teams would stay with the wagons. Everyone else would cross first. “Now get some sleep,” Captain Baker instructed, and the meeting broke up.

* * * *

Though I was concerned and let him know it, Papa refused to shirk his duties. As I watched with a trembling heart, he took his place on the wagon seat that morning. I rode John’s horse across with Cassie perched behind me, and now we stood high on the opposite bank of the river watching the progress of the others. Her mother had insisted on driving her own team across the rolling waters, but Mr. Drummond had insisted she not try to make it alone. He had driven his own wagon across before swimming back to join her, reinforcing my notion that he had taken a strong liking to Elizabeth. And I wasn’t the only person who thought so.

“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.