Changes of the Heart

by Judith Mccoy Miller

  “Why are all those ships in the harbor in such dreadful condition?” Maura asked one of the crew members who passed behind them.

  “Them? Oh, once they dock, the sailors get gold fever and never return. The ships remain in the harbor until the captain can hire another crew. But that doesn’t happen very often, so the ships sit here and rot,” he explained. “You’ll find some of them have been towed and placed between other buildings. They’re used as hotels and general stores or saloons—looks strange at first, but you get used to it. I better get back to work.”

  “So you think your Luther Buchanan will be waiting on the dock?” Georgette asked.

  “I really don’t know. He said if he wasn’t at the dock, I should stay at the Ashton Hotel,” she replied while attempting to calm what felt like a million butterflies encamped in her stomach.

  “Are you frightened?” Georgette asked. “I know I would be. Marrying some complete stranger, not knowing if he’d like the way I look or act,” she rambled on. “Does he know about that?” she asked, nodding her heard toward Maura’s left side.

  “No. I didn’t think it was important,” she responded defensively.

  Georgette looked at her friend in astonishment. “Do you really believe that?” she asked, staring deeply into Maura’s blue eyes.

  “Why is it that everyone thinks the most important thing about me is the fact that I was born with a withered arm and leg, that I walk with a limp and have difficulty using my left hand? Is that any more important than the color of my hair or how much I weigh—or perhaps how tall I am?” Maura countered angrily.

  “Did you tell him the color of your hair and how tall you are?” Georgette quietly inquired.

  “Yes, but only because he asked,” came Maura’s abrupt retort.

  “I don’t suppose it entered his mind to explore the possibility of some infirmity. He probably assumed you would have been candid about anything like that.”

  “Well, it makes no difference to me if he has an ailment of some type, so I didn’t think there was any need to address the matter,” Maura stated, squaring her shoulders as if ready to do battle. “There’s nothing I can do to change my appearance. I was born this way and have had to deal with it all my life.”

  “Please don’t misunderstand. I know that once Mr. Buch-anan gets to know you, he won’t even notice that you’re. . .”

  “Different?” Maura asked.

  “Yes, different. You know you’re different, and so do I. But once people get to know you, they no longer notice. I just thought you would tell Mr. Buchanan so that he would be prepared to accept you as you are. Oh, no matter what I say, it comes out wrong,” Georgette declared, her exasperation evident as she watched the ominous look crossing Maura’s face.

  “The fact is, he doesn’t know that I’m crippled and it’s too late to tell him now. But you’re right—I was afraid he’d reject me if he knew,” Maura admitted. “Guess I’ll find out just what’s important to him in the next hour or so.”

  The passengers were beginning to disembark when the captain rushed over to where Maura and Georgette were standing in line.

  “I had my men place the other trunks with yours. They’ll be together on the dock,” he said. “Hope the trip wasn’t totally unbearable, ladies. We strive to provide the finest service and consider ourselves a luxury ship, unlike most of those,” he said, indicating toward the other ships in the harbor. “Unfortunately, we have no control over the weather, although it wasn’t too bad this voyage,” he finished.

  Maura extended her thanks and kept her thoughts about the storm to herself, hoping she’d never again have to endure such horrid weather. Meanwhile, Georgette rattled on about how exciting the trip had been, apparently forgetting that her unborn child had threatened to make an early delivery. Maura had been surprised and extremely thankful that the girl had suffered no further difficulty with the pregnancy. By now there was no hiding her impending condition, and by Georgette’s calculations, the baby had been due the previous week.

  The two women walked arm-in-arm down the unsteady gangplank, Maura keeping her eyes on Georgette, not wanting a last-minute disaster. When they finally reached the firmness of the dock, Maura spied a man holding a picture and peering among the passengers who had disembarked. Leading Georgette in his direction, she took a closer look. The man resembled the picture of Luther Buchanan, but she couldn’t be sure.

  She watched as he caught sight of them. His eyes darted back and forth between the two women and then slowly moved up and down the length of her. He was holding her picture in his hand, looking at the picture and then at her. For several minutes he didn’t say anything; he just stared.

  “Who’s she?” were his first words.

  “Georgette Blackburn. Georgette, I believe this is Luther Buchanan,” Maura stated.

  “Pleased to meet you. Maura and I met on the ship. She’s such a wonderful lady that I don’t know what I would have done without her. You’re very fortunate she’s agreed to be your wife, but I suppose you already know—”

  “Georgette, you need not extol my virtues to Mr. Buchanan. You are Luther Buchanan, aren’t you?” Maura interrupted.

  “Of course, I’m Luther,” he replied, his eyes resting on her left arm. “I’ve been here two days waiting on the ship and already made arrangements with the preacher and rented a room at the hotel. We’ll leave in a couple days after I’ve gotten all my supplies loaded,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Where’s your belongings?”

  Maura pointed out her trunks as well as those that had belonged to Rachel. Without any further comment, he nodded and hoisted them one by one onto a wagon.

  “He doesn’t seem to talk much, does he?” Georgette whispered just as Luther returned.

  “Someone coming for you?” he asked Georgette.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Georgette answered.

  “What’s that mean—you don’t think so? Either you got someone coming or you don’t,” he bluntly retorted.

  Maura saw tears begin to form in Georgette’s eyes and answered for the girl. “There is no one meeting her. She’s come to California to begin a new life.”

  “Looks to me like she’s running away from her old life,” Luther replied, obviously referring to Georgette’s condition. “If you want a ride to the hotel, you can come with us,” he offered in a voice devoid of any warmth.

  “That would be very nice of you. Those are my trunks,” Georgette meekly replied.

  Maura thought she heard him make a comment under his breath, but she chose to ignore it. Although the hotel wasn’t far, the escalating tenseness among the three passengers made the short trip seem like hours. Luther helped Georgette down and then reached up to assist Maura.

  “We need to talk about that,” he whispered, indicating toward the left side of her body.

  Maura felt herself stiffen and quickly moved away from him. The two women walked into the hotel, followed by Luther.

  “I’m already registered. I’ll need a room for Miss Thor-enson. Are you renting a room, Miss Blackburn?” he asked pointedly.

  “I suppose,” she replied, looking toward Maura.

  “That’s not necessary,” Maura interjected. “She can stay in my room tonight.”

  “Why don’t you freshen up and then we’ll go to dinner—alone,” he said.

  “I’ll need a little time,” she replied, although not sure she would ever be ready to spend any time alone with such a dour man.

  “I’ll make arrangements for the trunks to be delivered to your room. Meet me here at five o’clock—without her,” he responded.

  “I understood she wasn’t invited the first time you told me to come alone,” she replied and walked away, feeling his eyes following her.

  ❧

  “You look lovely. That dress was a wonderful choice,” Georgette offered as Maura prepared to leave. The deep green bodice was embellished with gold trim, and the three deep pink flounces of the skirt were bordered with forest gree
n edging. Her auburn hair fell in soft waves around her face, reaching below the neckline of her dress, while the remainder was pulled into a large bun surrounded by a matching green ribbon.

  “Thank you, Georgette, but I don’t think Mr. Buchanan will be overly impressed,” she answered, picking up her long wool cape and placing it over her shrunken arm.

  At exactly five o’clock she walked into the hotel foyer, where Luther was impatiently pacing back and forth. She was pleased to see that he wasn’t wearing the same attire in which he’d met the ship. He wore gray wool trousers, a white shirt with gray cravat topped by a double-breasted waistcoat, and a black alpaca frock coat. He carried a black beaver felt top hat and his chestnut hair was cut short and parted on the side. A dark brown mustache showed a hint of gray, making him look older than his avowed age of thirty years. Although his face appeared permanently etched in a frown, he wasn’t altogether unpleasant in his appearance.

  “Have I kept you waiting long?” she asked as she ap-proached him.

  He pulled his watch from his waistcoat. “It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been waiting. You are exactly on time. It’s five o’clock,” he replied.

  Once again she felt as though his eyes were boring through her. The silence was deafening. “Are we dining here?” she inquired when he neither said anything further nor moved toward the door.

  “No,” he replied and extended his arm. “There’s a restaurant a short distance away. I thought we could walk. That is, if you’re able to walk that far?”

  “You’d be surprised just how far I can walk, Mr. Buchanan,” she said, wanting to add that if she weren’t so far from home, she’d walk right out of his life. Instead, she held her tongue and took his arm.

  Not another word passed between them until they were seated in the restaurant and Luther had ordered dinner for both of them.

  “Now, then,” he began, “how is it you failed to mention in your letters that you’re a cripple—or didn’t you think I’d notice?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I was sure you would notice, Mr. Buchanan, unless you had a problem with your vision,” Maura shot back, unable to hold her temper in check.

  “Well, I don’t have a problem seeing, and if I did, I would have told you. In fact, I would have told you if I suffered from any infirmity,” he retaliated, his voice flooded with anger.

  “Mr. Buchanan, I do not suffer from anything. I happen to have an arm and leg that are somewhat shriveled. My left leg causes me to limp, and I am somewhat limited in the use of my left hand and arm, but I do not consider myself a cripple—wasn’t that the word you used—cripple?”

  “It seems to me if you weren’t afraid I’d have rejected you, you would have told me. You were careful to send a picture that hid your imperfection and just as careful not to write me about it. Is that why you’ve never married? No one would have you?”

  Maura stared back at him for just a moment and then very quietly replied, “It’s very likely that the reason I remain unmarried is because I have visible physical differences. You’re right. I was afraid you would find me unacceptable because of that divergence from what the world considers normal. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, because it’s obvious you find me outwardly displeasing. Unfortunately, I must tell you that I find you even more unsuitable. You don’t realize it, Luther, but you are much more crippled than I—inwardly crippled by a cruel spirit and vicious tongue. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite,” she concluded, rising from the table.

  “No, I won’t excuse you. This matter needs to be settled, and walking out of here isn’t going to resolve anything. Please, sit down,” he appealed.

  Realizing he was right and that they had to make some decisions, Maura sat down just as their dinner arrived. She watched as Luther began to eat, though she was unable to regain any desire for food.

  “You need help cutting your meat?” he asked when he noticed she hadn’t begun her dinner.

  “No, I don’t need help cutting my meat, combing my hair, or washing dishes, Luther. I lead a perfectly normal life, although I’m sure you find that hard to believe,” she replied.

  “I was just offering to help,” he answered defensively.

  “I think it would be best if I returned to Boston,” Maura told him in an emotionless voice.

  “Now hold up just a minute,” Luther responded in between bites of mashed potatoes and gravy. “I think you’re forgetting how much money I’ve already spent getting you here. Not to mention the fact that I’ve lost a whole year what with waiting the six months you requested and then almost six months for your voyage.”

  “As far as your capital outlay is concerned, I could send you monthly payments until you’re reimbursed. There’s nothing I can do to replace your time.”

  “You have money for your return voyage?” he inquired.

  She met his eyes. “No, I don’t. You’ll have to advance it, and I’ll repay that also,” she said.

  “Sorry, but I don’t have that kind of money right now. I’m in San Francisco not only to meet your ship but also to purchase the supplies I ordered to restock my store. I don’t have an extra thousand dollars to send you home. In fact, I don’t think there are too many choices available to us. The preacher’s already been paid and agreed to conduct the wedding tomorrow morning. I’ll honor my word that we’ll be married—in name only,” he hastened to add, when she tried to interrupt him.

  “Do I have any say in this?” she asked, unable to remain calm any longer.

  “Not really. You don’t have the money to return home; you don’t have any family here; you can’t support yourself; and even if you could, no self-respecting single woman would want to live alone and unprotected in San Francisco. The town is swarming with men—most of them with very little regard for a lady,” he replied.

  “In other words, I should be thankful that you’re willing to sacrifice yourself and marry me?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it in those words, but—”

  “I’ll say one thing for you, Mr. Buchanan. What you lack in character you certainly make up for in arrogance,” she retorted.

  “If you can think of another way to solve this, I’m all ears,” he countered.

  “If and when I do, you’ll be the first to know. I’d like to return to the hotel now if you’ve finished your dinner.”

  They walked back to the hotel in a deafening silence. “I’ll meet you here at ten o’clock in the morning. The preacher’s expecting us at ten-thirty,” Luther instructed as he pulled his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat.

  “Counting up your hours of freedom?” Maura baited him, unable to restrain herself.

  He didn’t give a rejoinder but merely started down the hallway with Maura staring after him. She was startled when he abruptly turned and came back.

  “Did you bring a wedding gown?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she responded, surprised by the question.

  “Wear it,” he commanded and once again walked away from her. “And you can bring that Blackburn woman along if you want,” he called back over his shoulder, surprising her even further.

  When he finally disappeared from sight and Maura was sure he wasn’t returning, she left the foyer and returned to her room. Georgette was sitting in a large overstuffed chair that appeared to have her submerged in its depths.

  “Wouldn’t that other chair be more comfortable?” Maura inquired as she removed her cape.

  “I think so and I would certainly like to try it, but I can’t seem to get out of this one,” Georgette replied. “Every time I attempt to stand up I’m thrown off balance and land right back where I started from. It seems my legs are too short and my belly is too large,” she explained with a giggle. “I was beginning to fear I would have to spend the night in this chair. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t returned,” she added.

  “Here, let me help you,” Maura said, extending her good arm to the girl and watching as Georgette ungrace
fully made her way across the room and lowered herself into the smaller chair.

  “Oh, this is much better. Now, tell me what happened at dinner,” she encouraged.

  Maura related only a portion of the events, not wanting to relive all of the painful exchanges that had transpired earlier in the evening.

  “This is so exciting! Obviously, I’m not a good judge of people. When we met Mr. Buchanan on the dock he seemed so sullen that I was fearful he would be mean-spirited about— well, you know. . .” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “You mean about my being a cripple?” Maura said for her.

  “I never called you any such thing,” Georgette flared in return.

  “No, you didn’t—that’s what Luther Buchanan calls me,” she said, unable to hold back the pain any longer. Until that moment she hadn’t realized the wounds he had reopened. All the old sorrow from years gone by came rushing back to haunt her, and she was unable to hold back the racking sobs that spilled forth from deep within.

  Georgette moved as quickly as her body would allow and embraced her friend, smoothing her hair and attempting somehow to relieve a small portion of Maura’s agony.

  “I am so very sorry, Maura. He can’t even begin to imagine what a wonderful person you are. It will all work out. You’ll see,” she crooned.

  As soon as the words were spoken, Georgette burst out with a cry of agony. “Oh, Maura, I think I’ve begun my labor,” she sobbed, doubling over in her attempt to reach the bed.

  FOUR

  The next morning Luther doggedly paced back and forth in the lobby, pulling out his pocket watch every thirty seconds. It was almost eleven o’clock, but Maura hadn’t appeared. He knew that he had told her they were to meet the preacher at eleven, and they were obviously going to be late. Fear slowly crept into his mind that perhaps she had fled during the night, deciding marriage to him was a worse fate than fending for herself in unknown territory. His thoughts raced back to the small church in Virginia where he had stood waiting for Elizabeth five years earlier.