Where the Heart Is Romance Collection

by Andrea Boeshaar

  The scent of wood smoke filled her nostrils as she pushed back the flap. The two women from the day before were sitting outside the entrance sewing rawhide together into what looked like shoes. They smiled at her and indicated she pick up a bowl and scoop out whatever was in the pot over the fire. Polly’s stomach growled. She looked in the pot and saw that it held some type of mush mixed with berries.

  After scooping out the mush, Polly sat down beside one of the women. The sun was almost in the center of the sky. Her gaze scanned the camp in search of Gordon as she ate. When she didn’t see him, she turned her attention to the women.

  They smiled and chatted with each other. After she finished her breakfast, Polly stood to check on the new mother and her baby. When the women didn’t try to stop her, she walked across to the birthing tepee. The flap had been tied back, and Polly realized that the woman inside could see her approaching. Still, out of politeness, Polly knocked on the hide wall as she’d seen the others do, and at the woman’s answer, she entered the room.

  The young woman sat at the back of the tepee. Like the other women, she seemed to be sewing something. Her son lay on a pile of furs beside her. His small chest rose and fell gently as he breathed. His big brown eyes watched as Polly approached. Polly smiled and motioned toward the child.

  The woman picked up her son and held him out to Polly. Polly took the babe and cuddled him close. Black hair topped his little head and his eyes were alert and dark. She touched his toes and fingers. Would she ever have a child of her own? The question had floated to her every time she held another woman’s baby. God willing, she told herself.

  She handed the babe back to his mother, who laid him down on the furs and smiled. She indicated that Polly sit across from her. She picked up her sewing and continued working. Polly watched but wished she had something to do with her hands as well.

  As if the woman could read her mind, she stopped sewing and picked up two pieces of hide and handed them to Polly. Then she threaded a needle of bone with what Polly assumed was thin muscle from an animal. The other woman showed her how the two pieces fit together and then motioned for Polly to begin.

  As her hands worked, questions ran through her mind. Where was Gordon this morning? When would they leave? Were they prisoners? It didn’t feel like they were. They seemed to be able to move around at will. But then again, where would they go if they were free? They didn’t know where they were—at least she didn’t.

  Her gaze met the woman’s, who smiled and nodded, then went back to her sewing. The questions continued to circle in Polly’s mind. Had they just been brought here to help with the birthing of the baby? Would she ever see the Bentzes again? Or the green hills of Oregon?

  Gordon followed the brave to the corral to where the horses mingled. A black stallion reared back and neighed his greeting. The white strip down its forehead flashed in the morning sun. “Beautiful.”

  The brave nodded and said something in his language. For the hundredth time, Gordon wished he could understand him.

  A teenage boy hurried toward them and said something to the Indian. Gordon listened to the low speech as they conversed for several minutes. The odor of horse dung and churned-up dirt filled the air. A flock of geese flew overhead, their honks filling the skies.

  Soon the wagon train wouldn’t be able to get over the mountains. The chill in the air felt good now, but within a few weeks, it would turn cold.

  The boy ran toward the corral. Dread filled Gordon. What if he and Polly weren’t able to catch up with the wagons? Then what would they do? He felt a surge of hope when the boy returned with three horses and handed the lead ropes to the brave.

  In turn, the Indian man passed two of the ropes off to Gordon. He admired the sleek coats of the animals. Both were mares—one with a brown coat and the other black. A quick look at their teeth and legs confirmed they were both young—not yearlings, but not much older than five.

  Gordon looked back to the man. He’d swung up on the black stallion’s back. His dark eyes indicated that Gordon choose one of the mares and do the same.

  Sitting bareback astride a mare felt much different than riding on a saddle. Gordon clutched his knees tightly around the brown horse’s middle as they rode back to camp. The black mare followed easily behind him.

  Once in camp, the women pointed to the birthing tent. They rode up to its entrance, and the brave called out words that Gordon didn’t understand. His heart pounded as he waited to see what would happen next.

  Polly stepped through the flap, a confused look on her face. She looked from him to the brave. He admired the way she held her voice steady as she said, “Good morning, Reverend.”

  The brave indicated she should mount the black mare.

  Gordon offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Good morning, Miss Polly. It seems we are about to take a trip.” He slid off his horse and offered her his hands as a stirrup to help her onto the mare.

  Polly nodded and slipped her small foot into his hands. He steadied her as soon as she was astride. A light pink filled her cheeks as she tried to pull her skirt over her exposed legs.

  Gordon quickly looked away. Both of the Indian women were hurrying to Polly’s side. He stepped back as they held up a large hide tied to look like a large sack. Polly took the bundle and smiled. They nodded and patted her leg.

  The Indian man indicated it was time to go by leading the way. Gordon quickly swung onto his own horse. He turned to Polly. “You follow him, and I’ll follow you.”

  “All right.” She waved to the two women and gently touched her heels to the mare’s sides. The bag sat in front of her, and she balanced it between her arms while holding on to the reins.

  Two other braves joined the leader, spoke for a few moments as they walked their horses, and then veered off to the right and the left of them. Gordon stayed alert as they traveled.

  “Where do you think he is guiding us?” Polly called back to him.

  Gordon eased his horse up to ride along beside her. “I’m not sure, but I’m praying we’re headed back to the wagon train.”

  “As am I.” She shifted on the mare’s back and the bag slid. She attempted to catch it and barely succeeded.

  “Here, let me take that.” Gordon reached across and took the sack.

  Polly smiled. “Thank you. My arms were getting tired.”

  He placed the bag between his arms like he’d seen her do and wondered what could be in it. “You’re welcome.” It wasn’t very heavy—perhaps it was simply several furs tied together. But why had they given them to Polly?

  They continued to ride in silence most of the day, and Gordon spent much of it praying they were headed toward the wagon train. A breeze rustled through the drying grasses. When they were traveling with the wagon train, the constant wind blew sand into their eyes. This was much more pleasant. Gordon raised his head and inhaled the fresh air. They topped a rise, and the brave stopped.

  Gordon motioned for Polly to wait as he moved his mount up beside the Indian’s. Below them he could see the thin line of the wagon train. He breathed a prayer of thanks. The Indian motioned that they should ride side by side the rest of the way. Gordon nodded.

  “The train is below, Miss Polly,” Gordon called over his shoulder. “We are going to ride down together. Would you be so kind as to ride behind us and in the middle?”

  “All right.” Polly nudged her horse forward until her mount’s head was between the two men.

  They proceeded down the hill. The wagon master and scout broke ranks from the train and headed in their direction. When they came within calling distance, the wagon master asked, “Reverend, is all well?”

  “Yes sir. It is.”

  The wagon master motioned to one of the men, and the wagons began circling up for the evening. Then he and the scout continued toward them. “What happened?”

  Gordon looked back at Polly. Her head was down, and she did not raise it to answer the wagon master’s question. So he did. “We w
ent to the river for water, and this gentleman and a few of his friends met us there.”

  “Did they harm you?” The Indian brave’s and the wagon master’s gazes were locked.

  Gordon thought of the cut on his head and the headache he’d sustained from it. “Not enough to mention.”

  The scout moved forward and spoke to the Indian man in his native tongue. After several long moments, he then turned to the others: “He says his wife was having trouble bringing forth new life, and this woman helped her.” He directed his question to Polly. “Is this true?”

  She raised her head. “Yes, it’s true.”

  The Indian began speaking again. The scout nodded.

  “He is bringing in a couple of his men,” he told them.

  At the men’s nods, the Indian motioned with his arm, and the two men who had left them earlier returned. A deer draped each of their horses’ hindquarters. One of them dismounted and pulled the deer from his horse and shoved it onto the back of Gordon’s.

  The Indian spoke again, and the scout said, “He says thank you for bringing his son into the world. In payment you can keep the horses and the deer.”

  “Thank you,” Gordon replied.

  He looked to Polly, who nodded and said, “Yes, thank you.”

  The Indian men turned their horses and rode away. Gordon sighed. The adventure was over. Polly watched them leave. Under the bill of her bonnet, her brown bangs and the hint of auburn in them shone under the fading sun. Was that the only adventure Polly and he would experience together? Or did God plan more in his future with the beautiful young woman?

  Gordon silently lifted a prayer for the latter. He was in love with Polly Schultz and prayed she felt the same.

  Chapter 10

  Polly felt as if the air were being squeezed out of her every few minutes. The women of the wagon trail hugged her tight and long. She missed not being around Gordon but knew the men had whisked him away to hear the details of their capture.

  “Polly, I don’t know what I would have done had you not returned,” Idella proclaimed again. “I told Gustaf that we had to bring your things with us, just in case you found your way back. Praise be to God that you did.”

  “Was it horrible, Polly?” Mrs. Edwards asked as she cradled Laura Joy close.

  Mrs. Bentz indicated that Polly should sit down on one of the wooden crates that surrounded the campfire. She did as asked and then answered, “At first I was very afraid. I didn’t know what they wanted, and then when we got to their camp, I could hear a woman screaming in one of the tepees. Honestly, I didn’t know if she was being tortured or what.”

  “What happened next?” eight-year-old Christina York asked. She leaned against her mother’s leg.

  Polly offered her a smile. “Well, the reverend had to stay with the men, and I went into the tepee. There was a woman in there, and she was having a baby. So I helped her.”

  Christina smiled back. “You are so nice. When I have a baby, will you help me, too?” The last few days had been hard on Polly, but she knew to help the Indian woman have her baby, she’d do it all again. “If we are together, then I will be honored to help you, Miss Christina.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled her rag doll to her chest and looked up at her mother. “Did you hear that, Ma? Miss Polly is going to help me have a baby when I get bigger.”

  The women laughed and smiled at one another.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Chris. Now it’s time for sweet little girls to be off to bed. Night everyone.” Mrs. York took Christina’s hand and led her back to their wagon.

  The other ladies proceeded to leave as well. “Good night, all,” Idella called after them.

  Once they were alone, she turned to Polly. “You are all right, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am fine. But I am tired, and tomorrow we will be starting out bright and early.” She stood, yawned, and stretched.

  Idella cleared her throat to get her attention again. “Polly, please sit down. There is one other thing I wish to discuss with you.”

  Polly did as she was asked. She searched Idella’s face. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I should have asked about your well-being sooner.” She reached out and took Idella’s hands in hers.

  Idella smiled. “The baby and I both are fine. My question is about you.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “When you were out there, alone with the reverend and those men, were you compromised in any way?” A deep red filled Idella’s cheeks.

  Polly jerked her hands back. “Of course not! He was a perfect gentleman.” How could Idella ask such a thing of her?

  Idella’s voice hardened. “Please lower your voice,” she hissed at Polly. “We are all thinking the same thing, and unless you hadn’t noticed, young lady, you arrived not with just one man, but four.” Idella softened her voice. “I’m not trying to be mean, but if I am to help you, you must tell me if your reputation was tarnished.”

  Polly’s blood boiled. Her ears roared with anger. “I have nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs. Bentz.” She stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to pitch my tent and go to bed.” Tears burned the back of her eyes.

  The other woman sighed heavily. “Polly, we’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

  “No, ma’am, we won’t.” Polly pulled her tent and bag from the wagon and moved as far away as she dared from the Bentzes’ wagon to pitch her tent.

  I have lost track of the days so for now will leave the date off and fill it in at a later time: I’m not even sure if Mamadele would want this entry in here, but I must share with whoever comes behind me and reads this. Two days ago, I was taken, along with the good Reverend Gordon Baker, by Indians in need of a midwife. I’m not sure they knew they were getting a midwife, but they did. The baby was turned the wrong way. I’m so thankful I’d read Mamadele’s tips on how to turn babies around that are coming into the world feet first. Thank You, Lord, for giving her the wisdom to put such things in this journal. So the second baby I’ve delivered was that of an Indian couple. I learned something from these people. We’ve been told to watch out for the Indians, that they are dangerous, and they probably are in the wrong situation, but I found them to be like everyone else. Kind, loving people, who are only different in the way they speak and dress. Yes, their skin is tanner, but their hearts beat the same as mine.

  This is the part that Mamadele might not have wanted in this journal. Idella seems to think that I was compromised by either the good reverend or one of the Indian men I spent the last two days with. I’m not sure Idella or the other women believe me, but I am still pure in both body and spirit. Why do people feel the need to judge others? I’m praying no harm will come of this sort of talk, especially for the reverend. My heart softens more for him each day, and I don’t think I could stand to be a part of his ruin, should it come to that.

  Gordon looked at the men as if they’d grown two heads. “Are you mad? No! I’m not going to marry her.” He crossed his arms. Yes, he cared for Polly—but marry her? Not like this he wouldn’t.

  “Our wives are very insistent, Reverend.” John York took the same stance. “I for one do not want to hear mine grumble all the way to Oregon.”

  John York, Omar Masters, and Lawrence Edwards stood around him. “Look, I know it doesn’t look good for either of us, but marriage? No, that’s out of the question. Besides, who would carry out the ceremony? I’m the only preacher on this train. I’m not going to perform my own wedding and that’s final.” He appreciated the men taking care of Daniel and his wagon, but he couldn’t tolerate them putting their noses in his business. Especially where Polly was concerned. Gordon prayed they’d return to their own wagons and forget the whole subject.

  “My wife’s not going to like this.”

  The other men grumbled similarly as they stomped off. Gordon sighed. “Thank You, Lord.”

  “Why don’t you want to marry Miss Polly?” Daniel asked.

  He’d thought the boy was asleep in the wagon. He w
as thankful the men hadn’t heard Daniel’s question. If they had, he felt sure they would have stuck around to hear the answer.

  Daniel jumped out of the wagon. Gordon felt he had no choice but to answer. He turned to face the young boy and placed his hand on his thin shoulder. “Daniel, when two people get married, it should be for love. Both parties have to love each other—at least, for me that’s the way it has to be, and that’s not the way it is.”

  “Why don’t you love her? She’s pretty.” He tilted his head to the side and searched Gordon’s eyes.

  Gordon didn’t answer. He did love Polly. But she’d never indicated she had feelings for him, and if Gordon Baker was going to get married, his wife would have to love him with all her heart. He grinned. “She is very pretty, but pretty isn’t love. Now, don’t you have a couple of last-minute chores to do before we line up this morning?” He ruffled Daniel’s hair.

  “Yes sir.” Daniel started to run around to the other side of the wagon.

  Gordon called after him. “Hold up, son. I just thought of something.” He moved to the wagon seat and pulled out the skin bag he’d been holding for Polly. She’d been enveloped by Mrs. Bentz and led away so fast the night before that he’d forgotten to return it to her. Under their present situation, Gordon decided maybe Daniel should be the one to give it to her. “I’ll finish breaking camp if you will run this over to Miss Polly.”

  Daniel took the bundle with a smile on his lips. What boy didn’t want to get out of his chores by going to see a pretty lady?

  Chapter 11

  Everything was back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be, Polly supposed. She packed up her tent and supplies and placed them in the corner of the Bentzes’ wagon. Her feet stung, reminding her that another day of walking was ahead of her.

  Idella had seemed a little cold in her attitude this morning, but Polly dismissed the behavior, praying it was due to her being tired from her pregnancy and the long trip. Little Luke had been fussier than normal, and Idella had cuddled him close while doing her normal chores.