What the Heart Wants

by Marie Caron

  “You misunderstand me, m’dear. Mr. Phillips is very interested in you. He has told me so. He also told me that he’s seeking a wife.”

  “Oh, really?” I couldn’t imagine that Mr. Phillips had anything as serious as marriage in mind, and I wondered if he had deliberately led the colonel astray. Why would any man want to marry me? I was neither sophisticated nor very pretty, and at almost twenty-four years of age, I was definitely past my prime.

  “Yes, most assuredly. Though you’re of age and free to do as you choose, you live under my roof, and I therefore feel I have the right to advise you. You would be extremely foolish to turn Rodney Phillips down should he ask to marry you.”

  “I doubt very much that is his intention,” I said, still unable to believe that he was entirely honorable. “Why would he want me when he could have any woman?”

  “Who can say what stirs a man’s heart?” he asked. “Now…I hope you will consider yourself lucky to have attracted the attention of such a fine young man,” he said, obviously dismissing me.

  I left the library, still reeling from this unexpected news. If Mr. Phillips’ intentions were as honorable as the colonel believed, he could be the answer to my prayers. I no longer hoped to marry for love. Now I would be satisfied to marry any man who would be good to me and my child. And what about the baby? I wasn’t showing yet. Should I let Mr. Phillips bed me and think the child was his? Could I even hope to fool him into thinking such a thing? On the other hand, if I were honest with him, he would surely reject me. That was not a risk I could afford to take…or was it? I needed to speak to a woman who was older and wiser than me, so I ran to find Mrs. Hudson.

  “You should listen to what your heart tells you, Samantha,” she told me as she sat in the parlor, a basket of mending in her lap. “Now sit down and have a cup of tea,” she said as she waved a hand toward the tea service on the side table next to the settee.

  While I poured the tea, I thought about my two choices, and what I couldn’t ignore was the fact that I didn’t want a marriage based on a lie. Since waiting wouldn’t make my task any easier, I decided to tell Mr. Phillips about the baby as soon as possible. The very next morning, when he stuck his head around the sheet I was hanging on the clothesline, I drew him into the rose garden where I spilled my sad story, about how, on the way to California, I had fallen in love with our guide, how he had saved me from the Indians, and how I had just discovered that I was carrying the man’s child.

  “I see,” was all he said, and then he turned and walked away.

  I didn’t see Mr. Phillips for the rest of the week, and Clara seemed to take pride in the fact that she knew where he was.

  “He’s away on business,” she informed me one morning while we were doing the weekly baking.

  We spent every Saturday baking bread, cakes, and pies for the residents of the boarding house, and I had just taken two pie tins out of the oven. I set the peach pies on the windowsill to cool and turned to look at Clara. We had never become good friends. She was too self-centered and impetuous to suit me, but she was close to my age, and we spent a lot of time together. I knew she was jealous of the attention Rodney had showered on me. And, even though I knew it wasn’t my fault that he had chosen me over her, I still felt guilty.

  “Why are you telling me?” I asked, hoping that I sounded as though I didn’t care. The truth was I did care. He’d been my last chance to find a husband before my baby was born, and I’d ruined things by telling him the truth.

  “Don’t pretend with me. I know you wanted him from the start.”

  “I did not! In fact, I tried to discourage him.”

  “Sure you did. What women in her right mind would discourage a man like him? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then I truly wish you luck where he’s concerned. You needn’t worry; he won’t be asking after me anymore,” I assured her. “I told him about the baby.”

  “You did! What did he say?”

  “Nothing. And I haven’t seen him since.” I walked out of the kitchen, my head down. Even if I hadn’t loved him, I had wished for a man such as him, one who would love and protect me and my child. Now I had to face reality. Would have to be both a mother and a father to my child.

  * * * *

  Two weeks passed before I saw Rodney again. It was dinnertime, and everyone had just gotten seated in the dining room when we heard the front door open and close. I saw him enter the foyer carrying his leather valise, but I remained seated.

  “Mister Phillips, I do hope you had a successful trip,” Mrs. Hudson enthused as she and Clara hurried to greet him. Apparently Clara planned to put herself in his path as often as possible now that he was no longer interested in marrying me, and I didn’t blame her.

  It wasn’t long before Mrs. Hudson returned to the table with Clara in her wake, a pleased smile on her round face. “Mister Phillips has gone to freshen up before joining us,” Esther announced.

  “He said he’s tired, but he’s also quite hungry,” Clara added with a smug smile.

  As we began the first course, the conversation turned to Philadelphia, where Mr. Phillips had been born, and other Eastern Seaboard cities, and I tried to concentrate on what was said. But my mind kept wandering to other things. Soon it would be Christmas, my first without Papa. I wondered where John was and if he would be celebrating with anyone. The thought made my heart ache and tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t cry in front of everyone, so I mumbled an apology and quickly left the dining room. I went into the kitchen, hoping to avoid Rodney, but as I stepped out onto the back porch, I heard footsteps behind me. I saw him through the kitchen window and tried to disappear into the rose garden, but he caught me under the trellis and took my hands in his.

  “Please…I’m already upset enough. Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is,” I said, unable to look him in the eye.

  “I’m not here to make things hard for you. I’m here to ask you to marry me,” he said, and my breath caught in my throat. At first I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. I was pregnant with another man’s child, and he still wanted to marry me? How could that be?

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, a smidgen of a smile on his lips.

  “What?” It didn’t express how shocked and confused I was, but it was all I could manage to say.

  “I’m asking you to marry me, Samantha. Will you?”

  I tugged my hands free and turned to one side. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, and for some reason, I felt like bawling like a baby. “I don’t understand; when I told you about the baby, you didn’t say a word. You simply left. And now you want me to marry you?” I was floored. Surely a marriage proposal had never been more unexpected.

  “I know, and I’m truly sorry about that,” he said as he put his hands around my upper arms and turned me toward him. I looked up into his face, a face that seemed kind and understanding. Maybe I could trust him. Maybe he wasn’t like Captain Vincent after all.

  “Please, listen to me. I was shocked, I admit. But let me tell you what’s happened. I’ve written my parents, and I told them all about you.” When I raised both eyebrows, he continued, “Yes, I told them about the baby. They will assume it’s mine. I told them I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m sure they’ll be very happy for me…for us. Of course they won’t be able to attend the wedding, but I’m sure they will want to come for a visit in the spring. But I’m getting ahead of myself; you haven’t even accepted my proposal yet.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” That was the truth. I was shocked to my toes to know that he’d more or less lied for me. It seemed he truly wanted to marry me. If I agreed, I would get what I’d wished for: a man to take care of me and my baby. But could I do it, even for my child’s sake? The prospect of marrying him certainly didn’t make me feel happy, but maybe my happiness should not be part of my decision. This was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make, and I dearly wished P
apa were here to advise me. He hadn’t approved of my friendship with John, but Papa had always been a fair man, and I knew he’d want me to be happy. Surely he would tell me to follow my heart.

  Even though I hadn’t heard from John for almost two months, and marrying Rodney might solve many of my problems, I realized that I hadn’t given up my dream of a life with my half-breed, wilderness man. The sad truth was I was still in love with my baby’s father, and I still hoped for a miracle.

  “I can tell that you need time,” Rodney said when I didn’t continue. “I won’t try to push you into anything you don’t want, Samantha. Take a few days to make up your mind. I would tell you to take all the time you want, but under the circumstances, I think the sooner we do this, the better,” he said as he glanced down at the small swelling below my waist.

  “I do need to think about it. I’m not sure it would be fair to you, and I must say I’m a bit…no, more than a bit…amazed that someone like you would want to raise another man’s child.”

  “It’s you I want to marry. And we can have other children. In fact, I insist upon it.”

  I laughed nervously. What if I couldn’t have other children, then what? “I’ll give you my answer soon,” I promised.

  * * * *

  The next week went by in a blur, and I got no closer to making my decision. I owed Rodney an answer, and though I was grateful that he wanted to marry me, I still couldn’t make myself accept his proposal. Most nights the guilt and worry caused me to lie awake until the wee hours. Fortunately for me, he was busy at the bank, and I didn’t see him except at dinner when we were surrounded by the other lodgers and were unable to have a private conversation. In the evenings I sat with Clara, who talked incessantly about the new hired hand on whom she had a crush. And, though my ears rang with her constant chatter, it was a relief from having to endure her didactic comments about my plight and what she felt I should do, which was to marry Rodney posthaste and consider myself lucky.

  Since his proposal I learned from Mrs. Hudson that Rodney had bought a house in the nicest part of town and that he was spending his free time furnishing it. The news caused me to feel even more guilty. If I didn’t accept his proposal, he would be left with a house and no wife. I had never intended for something like this to happen. What was I to do!

  The following day was Saturday, the day we went shopping for supplies, and as usual, Mrs. Hudson handed me the list, along with a reminder not to overpay for anything. I waited in the wagon for Clara, who seemed to be taking longer than usual. I was eager to explore the town, which was quickly becoming a real city. While on the trail, where the small settlements and forts were few and far between, I had missed the hustle and bustle of a large, thriving city like St. Louis or Kansas City. Our weekly shopping excursions were the only light in my life at the moment, and I treasured them.

  The new man had hitched up the horses, and now he stood waiting, holding out his hand as Clara approached. With a daintiness I’d never seen in her before, she put her fingers in his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her up onto the seat of the buckboard. He had helped me into the wagon too, but I wouldn’t point that out to her. I figured she had a right to her fantasies. And who was I to say how Silas felt about her? Perhaps he found her as interesting as she found him. Just because I was miserable didn’t mean she should be.

  “Why thank you, Silas,” she purred as sweet as a kitten. Then she batted her eyelashes at him and gave him a smile that would have lit up the darkest night. “See you soon,” she said, and I flicked the reins to get the horses moving.

  Once we reached the embarcadero where many of the shops were located, I stopped the wagon in front of the big mercantile store, and Clara and I split up. I went inside to buy the canned goods and staples we needed while she went down the street to the dry-goods store. Mrs. Hudson wanted to make new curtains for the kitchen, dining room, and two of the guest rooms, and she’d left the fabric choice up to Clara, who I had to admit had good taste when it came to fashion and such. I had just set a half-dozen jars of peaches on the counter when she came running up to me.

  “Samantha! Samantha…you’ve got to…come quick,” she managed to say as she tugged on my arm. Her faced was flushed pink, and she was out of breath from running.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mr. O’Hara! Wait till you hear what happened,” she said as she kept pulling me toward the door. With a quick word to the proprietor to set my purchases aside until I returned, I hurried after Clara, who was already out the door.

  As she hurried down the street, our skirts slapping our legs as we half walked and half ran, she told me what she’d heard.

  “A wagon train was stranded in the mountains. He saved them. He’s a hero, Sam,” she said, calling me by the nickname she’d given me.

  I didn’t know what to say. In my mind he’d always been a hero.

  “They’re saying it was almost like before,” she said, and I knew she was referring to the incident a few years earlier when people had consumed the dead in order to stay alive. I shuddered to think that John might have had to witness something so horrible, but at the same time, my heart sang happily as I realized that he was alive and well.

  “They ran out of food, and a few people died before Mr. O’Hara got to them,” she continued, and I felt a bit faint. Thankfully, as we reached the huge crowd that had gathered in front of the newspaper building, Clara stopped talking. I could tell by the noisy flashes of light and the unpleasant smell that the newspaper photographer was outside and he was doing his job, recording the event for posterity. The size of the crowd didn’t allow me to get close enough to see what was happening, but I could hear the murmuring of the people as they watched the scene unfolding on the porch of the big gray building with the black-and-yellow sign that read The Sacramento Bee. It was a fledgling newspaper, but the talk was that it was growing in popularity over The Placer Times.

  I heard names being whispered by the crowd. The Mayor, C. I. Hutchinson, was there and also the leader of the wagon train, a man named Stillwell. And my hero, John O’Hara, was there too, although people were referring to him as the half-breed scout. I wanted, needed, to see him, and no one was going to keep me from him…not even this throng of people. So I pushed and shoved my way forward until I stood next to the photographer, who had his head under a black cloth. I could see John now and the others. They were posing for the camera, and the other men were smiling while my mountain man looked as though he wanted to hide under the nearest wagon or, better yet, run for the hills. In that moment all of my frustration, disappointment, and anger toward him disappeared, and I felt truly sorry for him. He was like a fish out of water, and I knew then that we were about as opposite as could be. I stood there wishing things could be different, that we could raise our child together. I knew in my heart that I could never marry someone I didn’t love; it would mean a life of wishing for something I could never have, settling for less than my dream. There was a muted whump sound and a flash. The air filled with a nauseating odor that made my stomach roil and my head feel light. I covered my mouth and nose with my handkerchief and tried not to inhale, but the acrid smell penetrated the delicate linen and lace square, and my eyes watered. I coughed, my free hand flattened against my bosom. A man asked if I needed assistance, and a woman gasped, “Oh, my!”

  The next thing I knew I was lying on the cold, hard ground and someone was bending over me. Tiny white lights swam in my eyes as I tried to focus on their face. Then I heard it…the deep voice I never thought I’d hear again.

  “Samantha, honey, you okay?”

  “Yes, I think so,” I answered as John’s face and the faces of several other people, including Clara, settled down around me. With his help, I sat up, and the faces didn’t waver. “I don’t know what happened,” I began, only to be interrupted by my loose-tongued friend.

  “I know what happened. The smell of those chemicals made you ill. It’s not uncommon for a woman in your con
dition to be affected by such strong smells,” she explained, and I felt my heart begin to race.

  My God, she had just told anyone in hearing distance that I was pregnant! Though I had thought many times that I might tell John, if I were to see him before the child was born, I had wanted to do it myself in private, not have some bumbling chatterbox blurt it out for all to hear. I shut my eyes and prayed that I would pass out again.

  “You’re not okay. I’m taking you to a doctor,” John said as he lifted me in his arms.

  “No! That’s not necessary. I’m fine, truly I am. Please put me down,” I begged, my hand over his heart as I stared up at his lined face. The crows’ feet around his eyes seemed more pronounced, and the deep clefts in his cheeks seemed deeper than I recalled. Unless I missed my guess, he had lost weight, and he hadn’t been sleeping much. I was certain this recent ordeal with the wagon train had been hard on him, and now he needed to rest and recuperate here in this hub of society before going back to the only way of life he knew. I feared, however, that he wouldn’t stay in Sacramento for even one night. He was simply too wild to stay in this bustling city. Somehow I had to get him to at least sit down with me so we could talk.

  John set me down on my feet, but he kept one hand around my upper arm. Though he didn’t say anything, he was obviously afraid I’d crumple to the ground again.

  “Thank you. I still feel a little weak. I wonder if you’d mind seeing me to the hotel down the street,” I said, lifting my chin in the direction of the Hampshire House, a small hotel on a quiet street. It had a tastefully decorated dining room where Clara and I had had tea on several occasions. “I think a cup of tea would make me feel better,” I told him as I gazed into his dark eyes. John simply nodded, and after brushing the dust off my hooded felt cloak as best I could and smoothing my plaited hair, which was wound about the top of my head like a crown, I put my hand on his arm and we began walking. Though I hadn’t worn my best dress for our shopping trip, at least the one I was wearing was fairly new and had one of the new fuller skirts and additional crinolines. I thought it looked quite good on me, even if the slightly dipped waist was a bit snug across my belly.