Secrets of My Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  It wasn’t that he didn’t provide for Nancy. In fact, he provided in abundance. Nancy knew he prided himself on having a stellar reputation in business and the community. He wanted his neighbors and fellow Portlanders to know that he was able to bestow upon his wife any gift he saw fitting. Nancy, therefore, had a large, impressive home on the edge of the neighborhood that housed the elite and wealthy. The two-story, five-bedroom house was filled with beautiful things, which included an impeccable wardrobe of gowns that came directly from Paris. She and Albert had used fine china, silver, and crystal when dining and relied upon servants to see to their every need.

  This had won the approval of the wealthy and allowed Albert and Nancy a glimpse into their exclusive world from time to time. Nancy had tried to find pleasure in that, but the standoffish attitudes of the elite left her feeling more alone than she already did in her amply furnished but empty house.

  Empty because she had no children—and now no husband.

  Even before his death, Albert was something of a distant and aloof companion. Her days after his death were so similar to the days before them that Nancy didn’t have the heart to tell her friends she was more relieved than grieved. Of course, that only served to add to her guilt.

  She crawled into bed fully dressed and laid the book at her side. Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling, wondering if she was heartless for feeling so indifferent. Eight years married to a man, and she knew so little about him. He seldom spoke of his childhood or past, and when Nancy pried, he was quick to change the subject. Perhaps he was without any kin or pleasant recollections. Maybe, as he so often said, there was nothing to tell. The most she had gotten out of him was that he had been abandoned to the streets after the death of his mother and had raised himself. There were no fond childhood memories or stories to share, and that was that.

  And yet Albert Pritchard had made something out of nothing.

  Nancy shook her head. She wanted to feel sadness at his passing, but there was nothing in her heart that could even contrive it. They had shared very little besides this house.

  On their wedding night eight years ago, Albert had arranged their lives in an orderly fashion. He had consummated the marriage and then announced that they would have separate bedrooms—explaining that he was often restless at night and might disturb her sleep. He visited her room on a fairly regular basis, but not because of any great passion or romance. He wanted a large family, as did Nancy, and knew what was required to get one. Only babies never came. Nancy didn’t conceive even once and couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with them that they didn’t have at least one child in eight years. She’d even gone to her mother for advice, but nothing had worked.

  If Albert blamed her, she couldn’t say. He never said a word on the matter. Nancy hugged her arms to her slim body. She remembered hushed conversations with women at church as to whether she might do something to encourage conception, and of course there were the numerous prayers on her account by those same women. If she hadn’t already dismissed God’s interest in her life, she might have prayed too. But God didn’t care. He hadn’t cared about her in years.

  A loud knock on her front door caused Nancy to get out of bed. She had planned to ignore anyone who came calling, but the insistent manner in which this knock sounded left her convinced that the visitors would remain until she came to greet them.

  When she opened the door and found her mother and father standing on the other side, Nancy knew she’d made the right decision.

  “Oh, Nancy. We’ve been so worried about you.” Her mother embraced her tightly. “You’re skin and bones. Are you even trying to eat?”

  “Mother, I’m quite well.” Nancy pulled back and looked at her father. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you so soon after the funeral.”

  “That was weeks ago,” her mother protested, stepping back. “Your aunt Mercy said she was worried about you, and it just confirmed my own feelings. Your father had to come to Portland on business, and I decided to come with him so that I could see you.”

  “I promise I’m fine.” Nancy glanced past her mother and saw two small traveling bags. At least they weren’t planning a lengthy stay. “Why don’t we get inside out of the dampness?”

  “A good idea,” her mother replied.

  “You two go ahead, and I’ll get the bags,” her father said.

  Nancy nodded and stepped back to allow her mother into the house. She knew they would expect to stay at least one night. Hopefully no more. She really didn’t want to listen to their pleas for her to return to the farm outside of Oregon City.

  Her mother pulled off her heavy wool shawl. “You need a fire. There’s nothing but embers here. Do you mind if I build one?”

  “No, go ahead.” Nancy sighed and plopped onto the sofa.

  “It’s getting late. Do you have plans for supper?” her mother asked as she went to work bringing the fire to life once again.

  “No. I have a few odds and ends folks have brought me, so I wasn’t of a mind to cook.”

  “We’ll arrange for something,” her father declared as he came into the room. “I left the bags by the stairs. I presume you want us to use the same guest room?”

  “Yes.” Nancy tucked her feet up under her.

  “Are the horse and buggy still in the carriage house?”

  “Yes, Father. Albert paid someone to come see to the poor animal. He comes still, but I’ve half a mind to sell the horse. I never use him.”

  “Having the ability to travel other than on foot is a good thing,” her mother murmured.

  “Everyone walks everywhere in the city,” Nancy countered. “Albert was the only one who used the buggy on a regular basis, and usually that was for business or when we were asked to one of his business affairs. Otherwise, we always had things delivered to the house.”

  “Well, it’s not like you don’t know how to hitch a wagon.” Her mother turned from the now-flickering flames. “You used to love to ride. Is the horse saddle broke as well?”

  “Yes, he is, but one needs to have somewhere to go. I’m in mourning, and being out in public is frowned upon.”

  “That’s why I think you should move home. We can easily help you close this house or even rent it out,” Mother said, her expression serious. “As for the store, I’m sure your uncle Lance can look into the situation and arrange all the legal needs.”

  “Thank you, Mother, but I can manage it.” Nancy hoped her tone would settle the matter.

  “Now, let’s not get into harsh words,” her father interrupted. “I’m hungry, and I’d like to have some supper. Why don’t I hitch up the buggy, and your mother and I can find one of those restaurants we passed on the way here. Grace, why don’t you gather some dishes together, and we’ll see about ordering something to bring back to the house.”

  Nancy knew he was trying his best to keep the peace. She nodded. “There are lanterns by the stove. You might need one since the day is rather glum and growing darker by the minute.”

  Her father nodded and gave her mother a smile. “Come on, Grace. We’ll be back before you know it, and you can figure out how to fix the problems of the world then.”

  Her mother hesitated, then gave a nod. “We won’t be long.”

  Chapter 2

  Nancy woke the next morning to the aroma of coffee and bacon. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. As sleep cleared, she remembered the quiet supper she’d shared with her parents the night before. None of them had said anything of much significance. Mother had filled Nancy in on what was happening in Oregon City, while her father had added tidbits of national news, as if she wasn’t able to read for herself had she been interested.

  No doubt her mother was the source of the coffee and bacon. Nancy had retired early the evening before, feigning a headache. Her mother had offered herbal remedies, and because Nancy didn’t want to fight about it, she had taken them. Now, however, she would have to rise and face her parents, and she knew what w
ould follow. They would once again bring up the wisdom of Nancy moving home. Never mind that she had been a married woman living in the city for eight years. They would treat her like a child who had strayed and needed to be brought back into the fold.

  She pushed back the covers and shivered at the morning chill. Prompted by the cold, Nancy grabbed the same black dress she’d worn the day before. She struggled with the back buttons but finally managed to get them secured before going to her dressing table. She sat down and stared into the mirror as she began to brush her light brown hair. The woman who looked back at her seemed tired and older than her years. Her green eyes seemed dull and lifeless. With Albert’s death, she felt she had somehow lost her identity. As Mrs. Mortenson had said, she was no longer a wife but a widow. Nancy knew how to be the first, but not the latter.

  She braided her hair, then pinned it into a knot at the nape of her neck. She thought of what she would say to her parents and how she would once again defend her decision to remain in Portland. She had always been headstrong and capable of standing her ground, but she was so tired. Weariness seemed her constant companion these days. Those who had come to pay their condolences had noted it and said it was part of mourning, but Nancy had so long mourned her marriage and lack of love that she doubted their conclusion. No, this weariness seemed born of despair—hopelessness that she would never fill the hole in her heart. A desperation that things would never change.

  From childhood she and her girlfriends had dreamed of finding their one true love—of falling in love and living happily ever after in a home of their own. Nancy gazed deep into the mirror. Why hadn’t it come true for her?

  She touched the corner of her eye where a hint of lines was starting to form. She was only twenty-six. Was that so very old? Was it possible that while married to the wrong man, she had somehow forfeited her youth? Her dreams?

  A sigh escaped her. Surely it wasn’t too late. Couldn’t true love be found in one’s later years just as it could in one’s youth?

  Nancy put aside her thoughts and slipped into her black walking shoes. If her parents insisted on remaining in Portland for a few days, she might go for a long walk. There were parks and woodlands nearby where she could disappear. It might actually do her good to leave the house. After all, she had been stuck inside since word came of Albert’s death. And prior to that, a lengthy winter had made the outdoors wet and unappealing.

  Taking up her shawl, thoughts of a walk still lingering, Nancy contemplated just remaining in her room. She didn’t have the energy to go for a walk or deal with her parents. She sighed again and pulled the shawl around her.

  “If I don’t go to them, they will come to me,” she muttered.

  She left her room and made her way toward the kitchen, where the sound of laughter could be heard.

  “Alex, you are a troublemaker,” Nancy heard her mother declare. “Stay out of those biscuits until we sit down to breakfast.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m hungry, and your biscuits are the best to be had.” There was a rustling sound and then her mother’s gasp.

  “Unhand me. Nancy might come in.”

  “Let her come. It’s not like she’s never seen her father kiss her mother.”

  There was a muffled reply, but Nancy couldn’t understand the words. She leaned against the wall and pondered the love her father and mother held for each other. It was a love she had hoped to have in her own marriage. Sadly, it had never come.

  Nancy remembered the joy her parents had in each other while she was growing up. Oh, they had their share of fights, but they always made up, and their love seemed only to deepen. Aunt Hope and Uncle Lance appeared to have the same kind of relationship, and although she rarely saw Aunt Mercy and Uncle Adam, she had been told theirs, too, was a love of great depth and happiness.

  So why can’t I find the same?

  “Now that you’ve been thoroughly kissed,” she heard her father say, “I will take my coffee and biscuit and sit at the table. Surely the rumblings we heard earlier indicate our daughter will soon join us.”

  “I hope so. I feel so bad for her, Alex. She’s clearly miserable.”

  “Well, of course she is. She’s lost her husband.”

  “I think it’s more than that,” Mother replied. “I think she’s completely displaced. I don’t think she even knows what’s missing.”

  “And you do?”

  Nancy edged closer, in case her mother had some wisdom to offer.

  “Well, we both know she’s shut God out of her life for a great many years. She needs to right herself with Him, and then the rest will follow suit.”

  “True,” her father replied. “Wiser words were never spoken, wife.”

  Nancy frowned. The last thing she wanted to do was have a discussion about her thoughts on God. It was time to put a stop to that here and now. She straightened and pushed back her shoulders. She would prove to them that she was just fine, and then hopefully they would leave her be.

  She marched into the kitchen with a look of surprise on her face. “Well, I must say I’m not used to having anyone else in my kitchen since I let the cook go.” She forced a smile. “But my, doesn’t it smell delicious.”

  Her mother looked at her doubtfully, but her father was delighted to see her.

  “You certainly seem to be in better spirits this morning,” he declared.

  “My headache is gone. The rest did me well. Mother, thank you for such a thoughtful gift. Shall I take over?”

  “No. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll bring the food to the table.” Her mother’s expression was still wary.

  Nancy smiled at her and nodded. “Very well. I shall let you wait on me.” She went to the table and kissed her father’s cheek before taking her seat. She reached for her napkin and snapped it open. “So, will you two go shopping before you head home?”

  “Probably,” her father replied. “I have to tend to business with the sawmill.”

  “I imagine it was hard getting away from the farm. Isn’t it about time for the ewes to lamb?” Nancy poured herself a cup of coffee and smiled. “This smells so good.” She added a healthy amount of cream to her cup, then picked up her spoon. She stirred while watching her mother bring a plate of biscuits to the table.

  “We’ve plenty of time before the lambing, and besides, Hope oversees all of that. Your little sister has taken an interest in it as well.”

  “Seems like something Meg might enjoy.” Nancy wondered how long she could keep up this farce. Already she was tired of the pretense.

  Her mother set a bowl of sausage gravy on the table. No doubt she had sent Father out to purchase the ingredients, for Nancy knew that her larder was all but empty. The thought of eating her mother’s biscuits and gravy made her stomach rumble. She had learned to cook at her mother’s side and could make the dish for herself any time she chose, but it wasn’t the same as having her mother cook especially for her.

  “Come on, Grace. I think Nancy’s as hungry as I am,” her father said, laughing.

  “Well, it’s no wonder if she is. She hardly ate a bite last night, and her cupboards were so bare that I’m convinced she hasn’t eaten much since Albert . . .” She let the words fade and threw Nancy an apologetic smile. “Let’s pray,” she said, taking her seat.

  Nancy bowed her head as her father offered a blessing. As soon as he finished, she reached for a biscuit. She would prove to her mother that she was eating just fine, even if the looseness of her gown was apparent.

  “Did you sleep well?” Nancy asked as she broke the biscuit into several pieces before covering it in her mother’s thick gravy.

  “Well enough. You know how hard it is for your mother to rest soundly away from home.”

  “I do.” Nancy moved the food around her plate. Looking up, she found her mother watching her intently, so she stuck a big spoonful in her mouth. To her surprise, it tasted better than anything had in weeks. She swallowed and found her stomach happy to accept the offering. She no
dded. “It’s wonderful.”

  This seemed to satisfy her mother momentarily, not that Nancy cared by that point. The fact that her stomach wasn’t aching in rejection of the food was enough to keep her eating.

  “She’s right. This is wonderful. Some of your very best,” Father said between bites.

  “It’s just biscuits and gravy,” her mother countered. “You’ve both had it a million times.”

  Nancy finished hers and reached for another biscuit.

  “See there, Mother,” her father declared. “And you were worried.”

  Nancy met her mother’s gaze. It was clear the concern remained. Her mother had always had the ability to see beyond her children’s façades. Did every mother possess that talent, or was it just Grace Armistead?

  Desperate to move the conversation along, Nancy made the mistake of blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Mrs. Mortenson came to visit yesterday. She thinks I should remarry right away. She said the West doesn’t have enough women to go around, and I shouldn’t wait a full year before seeking another husband.”

  When her mother nearly choked on her coffee, Nancy knew she’d chosen the wrong topic.

  “I don’t think you have to rush into anything,” her father replied as her mother worked to clear her throat.

  “Indeed not. Nancy, you have no reason to hurry into another marriage. That’s why your father and I are here. We want you to come home with us and rest for a while. You needn’t remarry unless you want to.”

  “But I do. Want to, that is.” Nancy shrugged. “I have this wonderful house with all its lovely rooms, and someday I’d like to fill them with children.”

  “But you just lost Albert.” Mother shook her head. “No one expects you to worry about such things just yet.”

  “And it’s precisely because of this big house and the store that we would like you to come home. We can ease your burdens for a time so that you can think through exactly what you want to do,” her father interjected. “We can hire someone to manage the store for you.”