Secrets of My Heart Read online

  “Or get an agent to sell both the store and the house.”

  “No!” Nancy knew her reply was more forceful than she’d intended, but she wasn’t going to let her parents make her decisions. Calming her tone, she continued. “I don’t wish to sell them. Perhaps in time I’ll sell the store, but not the house. I love this house, and I intend to live out my days here. For now, I believe I’ll open it as a boardinghouse . . . for women. Even you can find no argument against that, Mother.”

  Grace Armistead dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Nancy, I’m not trying to argue with you. I simply care about your well-being.”

  “And I appreciate that.” Nancy picked up her coffee. “But I don’t need you dictating to me how I should live my life. I’ve been on my own for years, and I am capable of continuing in that state.”

  “You haven’t been on your own. You’ve had Albert.” Her mother looked at her as if daring her to dispute the comment.

  Nancy nodded. “Yes, I had Albert, and he encouraged me to think for myself and to be a strong, capable woman.” She gave a brief smile, then sipped her coffee.

  “I think all your mother is saying is that the city is full of corruption, and some people will try to get the best of you since there is no one here to watch out for your best interests.”

  “Perhaps Gabe could come and stay awhile with you,” her mother suggested.

  Nancy frowned. “I thought he was running the family’s sawmill in Oregon City.”

  “Yes, but I know he could manage some time away. If he was here to show others that you aren’t alone, then perhaps no one would try to take unfair advantage of you.”

  “No one is trying to take advantage of me, Mother, unless it’s you.” Nancy immediately regretted her words but didn’t apologize. “Now, please stop worrying.” She set the cup down rather hard on the saucer. She knew her outburst would only cause more concern. “See there,” she quickly added, “I’m stronger than either of you think.”

  “We know you’re strong, Nancy.” Her father reached over and patted her hand. “Maybe the real reason we’re here is that we need to know that you’re all right. We love you.”

  “I know, Papa.” Nancy hadn’t used that tender name since she married Albert. Perhaps it would calm his worries. “I don’t wish for either of you to worry, but my life is here now.”

  A silence fell over the table for several long moments. Nancy collected her irritation and stuffed it deep inside. She didn’t want to argue with her parents, and at least they weren’t throwing God in her face.

  But then, as if her thoughts could summon their comments and judgment, Nancy’s mother spoke.

  “You do know that you can never outrun God, don’t you?”

  Nancy raised her gaze to her mother’s green eyes. “I have no desire to run a footrace with the Almighty.” She barely held her annoyance in check.

  “You know what I mean, Nancy. What you need—what I know you long for—is that union with God, but for whatever reason, you have turned away from Him.”

  It was impossible to keep up the pretense with such topics on the table. Nancy pushed back her plate. “I believe it was God who deserted me, Mother. Now, I would rather we ended this conversation. You and Father should get back to your business. I’m sure you’re needed at the farm. Take your time finishing breakfast, and I will happily clean up later.” She got to her feet.

  “Nancy.” Her father barely whispered her name, but he knew the effect it would have. In all her years of growing up, he’d had but to lower his voice to a hush to elicit her full attention.

  She turned and looked at him. His black hair showed signs of gray, but his dark eyes were full of life—and love. She knew they both loved her, but her anger wouldn’t allow her to admit her need for that love.

  “Child, you must let go of your bitterness. I don’t know why you feel as you do, but I know your heavenly Father loves you with a love that runs even deeper than my own. And”—he gave her a hint of a smile—“even though it’s hard for me to fathom that, I must concede it’s true. Your mother and I just want you to know that love is there for you . . . to offer protection, consolation, and hope.”

  “It offers everything but acceptance,” Nancy murmured. She hated upsetting them and hated herself for causing them pain, but she couldn’t hold back her words.

  “But that isn’t true, Nancy. We are willing to accept that you want a life different from what we might have chosen for you,” her mother said. “We only wish to give you time to think through what you truly want.”

  “I suppose I want what everyone else wants,” Nancy said, feeling the fight go out of her. “I want love and a family of my own. And I want the right to choose the man I marry and figure it all out for myself. I want you both to understand and trust me to do this. I will find the life I want to live and the man I will love—or at least endure—without anyone else interfering. That way there is no one to blame but myself if it doesn’t work out.”

  “But love is about so much more than endurance, Nancy.” Her mother’s words were soft but pricked like needles.

  “And you can hardly expect anything good to happen when you go into a situation expecting it not to work out,” her father added.

  Nancy heaved a sigh. “I didn’t expect either of you to understand, which is why I didn’t come back to the farm or invite you here. Maybe it would be for the best if you both returned home and left me to figure this out for myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She left them sitting at the table, looking wounded by the words she’d hurled at them. Why was she so mean-spirited? So disrespectful? She loved them dearly, but for the life of her she couldn’t bring herself to let them comfort her.

  No wonder God had ceased to love her. She was a terrible person.

  Chapter 3

  Days later, Nancy still regretted her unkind words. Her parents were good people. All of her family were good people. There wasn’t one of them who wouldn’t come to her rescue if she so much as wiggled her finger. So why was she so determined to push them out of her life?

  She worked on cleaning the upstairs bedrooms and contemplated her misery. Her mother and aunts had come west on a wagon train back in 1847. Nancy often imagined what a grand adventure it must have been. Her mother had married a man she didn’t love, purely for convenience’s sake. He had died on the trail, freeing her to choose another husband. Nancy and her mother had that in common, but Nancy still couldn’t bring herself to seek her mother’s counsel.

  At the end of their wagon train journey, the Flanagan sisters—Grace, Hope, and Mercy—had found themselves wintering at the mission set up by Marcus Whitman near what was now an incorporated town called Walla Walla in Washington Territory. That November a Cayuse attack on the mission left most of the men dead, and the women and children were taken hostage for a month.

  Nancy had heard the stories from her mother of how her aunts, Mercy and Hope, were among those hostages. Her mother had been away from the mission, helping a sick friend, and Nancy’s father, who had worked as a trapper and occasional guide in the area, had to all but tie Grace up to keep her from storming the mission to reclaim her sisters.

  While that had been more than thirty years ago, the massacre at Little Bighorn had occurred just three years earlier, which kept negativity and fear toward the native peoples at a record high.

  Nancy supposed that was partly the reason her mother wanted her to come home. She was worried about her daughter being hurt, and Nancy understood that. There were so many unspoken secrets about what had happened at the mission, but Nancy knew it wasn’t good. Enough people had talked about the ordeal down through the years. She could remember one of her girlfriends explaining in detail how the Indians had killed the men at the mission, along with Mrs. Whitman, then forced the women to become wives to the warriors. It was hard to imagine such torture and lack of humanity.

  “But it’s not like we’re going to have an Indian raid on Portland,” she said, pulling t
he sheet off a bed.

  The four upstairs bedrooms had been closed up since Albert’s death. One of Nancy’s relatives had thoughtfully covered all of the furniture after the funeral. Now it was just a simple matter of removing the sheets and taking inventory. She wanted to put an advertisement in the paper as soon as possible and take in as many boarders as she could. She planned to offer rooms to rent for single occupancy or double. Perhaps she would even consider three to a room if a trio showed up wishing to live together. The room rental would be one price, and other amenities would be added from there. That way if there was more than one person to a room, they would have the discount of sharing the rent, but each person would still have to pay individually for meals and anything else they requested.

  Nancy found it pleasant to consider a future with boarders. She enjoyed cleaning and cooking. There was a great satisfaction for her in keeping house, and boarders would make her feel useful.

  She went to the window and gazed outside. It wasn’t raining, so she opened the window to air out the room. There was a damp chill to the air, but it invigorated rather than discouraged her. Moving to the next bedroom, she again pulled off the dust sheets and opened the window. This time the figure of a man coming up the walkway caught her attention. It was Gerome Berkshire.

  “Oh bother.” She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way downstairs, knowing he wouldn’t just go away.

  Gerome Berkshire was a dashingly handsome man in his thirties. He had been a good friend to Nancy’s husband, but he was also clearly interested in Nancy. He hadn’t even had the decency to hide that fact when Albert was alive, and now that he was gone, Gerome was on her doorstep almost constantly.

  Nancy opened the door before he could even knock, which left him standing awkwardly with his hand raised. “Good morning, Mr. Berkshire.”

  “Mrs. Pritchard.” He gave a bow, tipping his hat at the same time, and then faced her with a grin. “Nancy, you look amazingly well. You must be doing as I suggested and getting more rest.”

  “Yes, I’m doing quite well despite my loss.” She glanced past him. “It’s good to see such a bright and clear morning.”

  “I thought so too.” He ran the back of his thumb along his dark mustache. “I thought perhaps you would take a walk with me. Just a short one in a private corner of the park. I doubt there would be very many people there at this hour of the day.”

  “You forget, Mr. Berkshire, that my husband hasn’t even been gone a full month. I am in mourning and, as such, would not want to disgrace Albert’s good name.”

  “Of course. It was thoughtless of me to suggest it. Might I come in instead and have a cup of coffee with you?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so, although I’m sure there are those who would advise me against it, since I am alone.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “But I’ve never been one to overly support social boundaries and rules.”

  Gerome entered the house, taking off his hat. “This is such a lovely place.”

  “Yes, I think so.” Nancy took his hat and placed it on an oak receiving table before heading for the kitchen. She knew he would follow. “I hope you don’t mind if we just sit in the kitchen.”

  “Of course not, my dear.”

  She grimaced at his term of affection. Making her way to the stove, she tapped the coffeepot with her hand and felt that it was still warm. Nevertheless, she stoked the fire in the stove and let the pot sit on the burner for a few minutes while she retrieved cups and saucers, sugar and cream.

  “You’re lucky,” she said. “My parents were just here a few days ago, and they saw me amply stocked with supplies.”

  “You have only to say the word to me should you need anything at all,” he replied.

  Nancy motioned him to the table. “Have a seat, and I’ll bring the coffee. Would you care for some cake? Mrs. Taylor brought me some yesterday.”

  “I believe the coffee will suffice. Frankly, I’ve come more on business than pleasure.”

  “I see.” Nancy retrieved the coffee and a couple of spoons before coming to the table. She placed the spoons beside each cup. “I hope the coffee is hot enough for you.”

  “I’m sure it will be just fine.”

  She poured them each a cup, then returned the pot to the stove.

  Gerome waited to sit until he had assisted Nancy into her chair. “I am glad to see you faring so well. It makes what I’ve come to say a little easier.”

  She looked at him, her wariness returning. “Please speak your mind.”

  “I’m concerned as to your plans for the future.”

  Nancy frowned. “Why is everyone so worried about my future?”

  He gave her a tolerant smile. “Well, isn’t that apparent? We care about you. When situations like this arise, it is the place of your friends and family to lend aid where they can and to ease your burden.”

  “But I don’t feel burdened.” If her reply surprised him, Gerome said nothing, and his expression didn’t change. “I’m fully capable of dealing with the responsibilities left to me.”

  “Please forgive me for daring to differ with you, but I don’t think that’s exactly true. Have you hired a lawyer to go over your husband’s will?”

  Nancy hadn’t even considered whether or not Albert had a will. Had her friends and family left her alone for even a few hours, she might have had time to think about it. Now she had to admit she didn’t know if Albert had a will, much less a lawyer.

  “No. I haven’t. I’ve been mourning my husband’s demise. I didn’t figure it was something I had to settle right away.”

  “Oh, but you must be on top of the matter, lest unscrupulous sorts take advantage of you.” He cleared his throat. “As you know, I am qualified to practice law in Oregon. I would be happy to handle the matter for you. Albert often sought me for legal advice.”

  “I’m sure he did, but I can manage this myself and in my own time.” She sipped her coffee. “I have an uncle and cousin who are lawyers.”

  Gerome wasn’t to be silenced. “The management of the store alone needs your immediate attention. It’s been closed since your husband’s death. You’re losing revenue every day, and you cannot get that back. Not only that, but there are bound to be shipments due for delivery. How about I hire someone to manage the store for you?”

  Nancy’s husband had managed the hardware store on his own for nearly nine years. She had suggested on more than one occasion that he hire a boy to help out. Someone who could manage things when Albert was ill or out of town. But he hadn’t wanted anyone else knowing his business. He was private like that. It was one of the reasons he was a stickler for paying cash for everything. He didn’t want to owe any man, and he wanted what he owned to be free and clear of any obligations.

  “I know you think otherwise, Gerome, but I am fully capable of managing things for myself. I have an education that allows me to manage mathematical transactions and understand business correspondence. However, if I need help, I promise I will seek it out. For now, I simply see no need.”

  He gave her a look of grave concern, then seemed to forget all about it and smiled. “Have you been keeping up with the local news?”

  “Not exactly. Is there something of interest I should know about?” she asked, grateful for the change of topic.

  “There was an article in the newspaper about the school for the black children. I’m not the only one who thinks such things are uncalled for. This state has laws on the books that forbid black people to live in Oregon, yet those laws go mostly unenforced. But with those laws in place, how can we allow schools that accommodate children of color? Worse still is the idea of integrating them into schools with white children. It’s complete hypocrisy. I know Albert felt as I do.”

  “Yes, Albert was strongly opposed to any person of color being allowed to become a citizen of Oregon.” She had never felt the same way herself, but she’d spent many evenings listening to Albert air his feelings on the subject.

  “
Thankfully sound minds have prevailed, and we’ve never ratified the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments.”

  “I was under the impression we had. I recall that the Fourteenth was ratified.”

  “Yes, but it was also rescinded by our state. Those of us who knew the trouble it would cause thankfully spoke up. The Fifteenth might well have been passed in this country as a whole, but Oregon has not ratified it, nor will we. The people in our nation’s capital who believe they can impose their will on Oregon will have a rude awakening. Oregon will never yield. There is a reason we made it illegal for blacks to live in this state. You have to look no further than the shantytowns and criminal activity where there are high concentrations of blacks and other ethnic groups. We will not give them the vote or consider them citizens.”

  “Perhaps if those people received proper help, things would be different.”

  “They cannot change, my dear. They were like children when they were slaves and children out of control now that they are free. The freedom has ruined them, and they’ve quickly become criminal in their intent.”

  “Surely at one time, in their own countries, they were more than capable of managing their lives.”

  “If that were the truth, they never would have been captured and sold into slavery.”

  “But they were taken hostage, some by their own people. I learned that just after the war when Mother and I were in California.” She looked at him with a raised brow. She had often argued with Albert on this topic and wasn’t about to be bested by the likes of Gerome Berkshire. “It was by no fault of their own that they ended up here in America as property. One man had even been the chief of his tribe.”

  “Did you not consider that he might be lying? How easy it would be to say you were a chief, a man of importance, yet how was he allowed to be taken? Where were his people? His guards?”