What the Heart Wants (11 page)

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.

“Samantha, you can help by putting some water on to boil,” Elizabeth said as she glanced my way. “Come on, Cass,” she said, and the two ran with their arms full to the Powell’s wagon, which was not very far away.

As I went to the water barrel and scooped up ladle after ladle of cool, clear water, I could see the women and the grim-faced preacher gathered at the back of the Powells’ wagon. I watched as the group parted, allowing Elizabeth and Cassie to enter. And, after setting the iron kettle in the hot coals of our campfire, I sidled toward the curious, concerned group. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, but I couldn’t help overhear Mrs. Sims whose high-pitched voice carried like the trumpeting of a ram’s horn.

“Don’t go mournin’ this child. If the baby dies, it will be God’s will. The child will spend eternity in a better place. He has a plan for each and every one of us. Don’t be forgettin’ that,” Prissy Sims stated with authority while her husband was ominously quiet. I promptly wished I hadn’t heard a word Prissy had said. I didn’t need to be reminded that life could be snatched away in the blink of an eye, on what seemed like a whim. My father’s death was still fresh in my mind that day. Though he had lived a full and happy life, I felt he’d been cheated. That I’d been cheated. He would never see me married or see his grandchildren. He wouldn’t even see California. Whether or not God was truly in control of every part of our lives, I was not certain. I just knew that it seemed particularly unfair for a baby not to have a chance at life. I was angry, and Mrs. Sims’ words made me feel even more so.

The reactions to Mrs. Sims’ remarks were mixed. Some of the women nodded in agreement. Mrs. Rutledge raised her voice and said “amen,” and Mrs. Hudson gave Prissy a scornful look but didn’t say anything. Clara grabbed her aunt’s arm, and the older woman patted her hand in a soothing gesture. Angry and frustrated, I went back to check on the water, which was just coming to a boil. When the water had been rolling in the pot for several minutes, I used a piece of folded cloth to grip the handle and carried the pot to Elizabeth, who was kneeling inside the wagon over the moaning young woman.

“Put it over here,” she directed me, moving aside a bit to make room for me.

There wasn’t much space inside the wagon, as the sides were packed high with attractive pieces of furniture. Some of us had lost our belongings along the way. Our wagon and all its contents had been lost in a raging river. Others had had to leave things behind in order to lighten their loads. I was pleased to see that this young couple had managed to hold on to so much. They would be able to give their child a good start in life, a real home. Now I prayed that Elizabeth would be able to save Millie Powell and her baby and that God did not have other plans for either of them…at least not yet. Elizabeth dipped a clean cloth into the hot water and waved it around to cool it a bit. Then she soaped the cloth really good and used it to wipe Millie’s private area. Next she rinsed the area with clean water.

“Cassie, do you have those blankets ready?”

“Yes, they’re right here,” she said, patting the clothing and other items she had stacked to one side.

“Good. You may go now.”

Cassie didn’t argue, and I backed into the corner to allow her to leave the wagon. My heart did a stutter step when I heard Elizabeth’s next words.

“Samantha, move to her head. I want you to sit behind Millie and hold her. Let her lean against you. She can hold your hands. Millie, honey, I want you to squeeze Samantha’s hands when it hurts. But try not to bear down until I tell you to.”

“Bear down? But my baby isn’t due for two months!” the young woman wailed.

“I know that’s what you thought, but I think this baby is ready to be born now, and it’s in a hurry.”

“Oh my,” Millie said, her voice trembling.

I watched as Elizabeth bent her head down and looked between Millie’s spread thighs. Then she put her hands on Millie’s bulging belly and smiled. “All right, Millie, it’s time. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to squeeze like the dickens.”

I helped Elizabeth bring a healthy baby boy into the world on that day, and afterward, I felt much better about things in general. But I still missed John.

* * * *

My chance to see him in private came late the next day after everyone had turned in for the night. Everyone that is except for the two men assigned to act as lookouts. They were also expected to protect the drying meet from crows, owls, coyotes, and the like. I knew where the men were posted, so I avoided them, and as quietly as I could, I made my way out of the wagon I shared with Elizabeth and Cassie, a knitted shawl around my shoulders to shield me from the cool nighttime air. I knew that John would be camped outside the circle of wagons but not too far away that he wouldn’t be able to come to our rescue if need be. Clouds covered the moon, and I walked slowly, hoping to avoid the large rocks and fallen timber that littered the nearby field. First, I saw Thunder standing quietly in a half circle of aspen trees, and then I saw John. He was leaning against one of the tall thin trunks, the end of his cigar glowing red orange in the dark.

He saw me and flicked the cigar to the ground at his feet, grinding his boot heel down upon it. “What are you doin’ out here?” he asked in a gruff voice. It was the first words he’d spoken to me in weeks, and I felt my heart dry up a little more. We hadn’t spent any time alone together since returning from the Indian village. To me it seemed like ages ago, and all I could think about was how much I wanted him to hold me like he had back then. But the first thing he said to me sounded harsh and critical, as though our being apart meant nothing to him. Worse yet, it was as though he didn’t want to be near me at all now.

“I wanted to see you. I’ve missed you,” I said. I realized I was whining, and I didn’t care. I reached out to put my arms around his neck, to pull him closer, but he grabbed hold of my wrists and shoved my hands into my chest. “Don’t do that. Go back to the wagon, Samantha.”

“Why?”

“You know why. You don’t belong out here with me.” He let go of my wrists and stepped sideways out of my reach.

“But you made love to me. I thought you wanted us to be together. I thought you wanted to work things out.”

“I came to my senses. Now go back before someone sees us together.”

“I thought you loved me,” I said, a sob escaping my throat as I hugged my shawl to my chest. I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me, but his next words changed my mind.

He snorted a laugh. “I was just using you, girl. Hell, what man wouldn’t? You threw yourself at me like a two-bit whore. I’ve had all I want from you. Now go on, git!” He flung his hand toward the circle of wagons, and I ran as fast as my trembling legs would carry me, my white nightgown flapping about my body like the wings of some injured bird.

Tears blurring my vision, I ran to the other side of the wagons, seeking a place where I could be alone. I couldn’t go back to Elizabeth’s wagon until I got my crying under control. He’d broken my heart, and I didn’t know how I would go on. It was a long while before I crept back to the wagon, and by then, I was chilled to the bone and my teeth were chattering. For the rest of the night, I lay dry-eyed and still, unable to sleep. I was certain the next two months, or however long it took to reach our destination, would be the longest ordeal of my life. All I could do was pray that when we reached Sacramento, Mr. Parker would want to marry me. Now a life with him was my only hope.

* * * *

As soon as the deer meat was dried, divided up, and packed away in the wagons, we were on our way again. The days went by, one blending into the next. We reached the Truckee River and followed it upstream, making the gradual ascent into the Rockies. John was gone most of the day, and occasionally, I would see him on the edge of camp talking to Captain Baker. I assumed he was hunting and feeding himself because he never joined us at the big campfire to share a meal, but he didn’t join the men when they stood together smoking their cigars or pipes after dinner, and this made me wonder if John was avoiding even the remotest possibility of running into me.

The train moved on beside the rushing waters of the Truckee, over the windswept land, which, at some points, was almost devoid of foliage. We had left the pine forests and the silver-leafed aspens behind. Not many trees grew at this great altitude, and we saw no game other than an occasional white-coated hare. At night we heard wolves howling, and I couldn’t help but think how lonely they sounded…as lonely as I felt. The air seemed thin, and it was hard for us to walk as many hours as we had before. So we rode in the wagons and endured the jostling as the big wheels lumbered over the rocky ground. At times the trail ended abruptly at the edge of a rocky precipice, and the wagons had to be lowered down to the ground below using ropes. Twice this happened, and twice everything had to be removed from the wagons and lowered separately down to the valley below. The animals were lowered the same way, bellowing and neighing as they went, their front and hindquarters encircled by the ropes. Even the people had to sit in swing-like seats while the stronger of the men lowered us down to the bottom.

There had been a light snowfall a couple of days before we arrived at one of these cliffs, but now the sky was clear, and a stiff wind was blowing from the northwest. Mrs. Powell, the oldest person in the group, predicted that there was a big storm coming. We hoped we would make it to the other side of the mountains before the storm arrived, as a big snow could bury the wagons and us. At the very least, it would make moving forward impossible. We would have to dig out, if possible, or wait until the snow melted in the spring, but by then, we would be dead of starvation. The wide river was gone now; only small streams meandered downhill from the highest peaks, which were covered in a year-round frosting of ice and snow. Captain Baker had been right; traveling through the mountain passes was slow-going and tough, and all we could do was pray that we’d make it to the other side before the heavy winter snows came.

Four weeks later Captain Baker halted our progress and told us to step down from the wagons. The wagon train seemed to be perched at the edge of the earth, and we were all eager to see what lay beyond.

“There it is, folks. That’s where we’re headed. That’s California,” he said as he turned and waved his arm at the sweeping panorama. Walking forward we gathered around our leader, gasping with joy as we saw what lay ahead. Below us lay a snowy path, which was the trail we were standing on. It narrowed down and disappeared into a vast green blanket of trees. And beyond the trees, in the far distance, was a wide expanse the color of amber and garnet. We had reached the highest point in the trail and down below us the trees hadn’t yet lost their fall-colored coats.