She kept an eye out for Stanton, hoping for a few moments alone with him, but he was continually surrounded by waggon train members eager to hear about the road ahead of them or about Sutter’s Fort—at this point, a destination as enigmatic and chimerical as heaven. She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely busy or if he was attempting to avoid her.
She, on the other hand, was not about to give up. It was simply not in her nature. Her father had called her stubborn more times than she could remember, and he was probably correct.
As a result, she waited on the outskirts, among the well-wishers and the curious. She’d wait patiently. Finally, he noticed her loitering just beyond his hearing range.
Before going out to greet her, he ducked to say something to the two Miwoks.
Mr. Stanton, will you speak with me?” she inquired. To her ears, her speech sounded high and anxious.
He did nothing except nod.
They walked side by side, and Mary worried that she would be consumed by the heat. She felt both relieved and terrified at the same time. She had hoped for him to come back, for a chance to make things right between them, and now that he was here, she didn’t know what to say to him.
“I was afraid—” She came to a halt, overcome with emotion. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
He continued, his voice low and harsh, “Perhaps that would have been for the best.” She jerked back as if she’d been struck across the face. “Do you truly despise me that much?”
“Mary.” His tone changed.
“I’m not sure how you’re going to do it.” She continued to defend herself. “You haven’t given me much of an opportunity to prove myself to you.” Since then, we haven’t even spoken—”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone else.” Mary, I don’t despise you. “Not in the least.” Though he tried to hide it, a big smile spread across his face at this.
She assumed she was dreaming now, that hunger and weariness had gotten the better of her and she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“Then why have you been avoiding me if you don’t dislike me?” she questioned. “How come you said it would be best if I never saw you again?” Mr. Stanton, I’m afraid either I don’t understand you or you don’t understand yourself.”
He remarked, his smile fading into a rueful half-grin, “More likely the latter.” “You see, it’s not that I despise you; it’s just that I’m afraid I like you.” If you must know, that is what keeps me away. But I can’t let you have a negative impression of me.”
“Do I have a negative impression of you?” It was now her turn to grin. “I’ve had few thoughts other than you, albeit none of them have been bad.” She was taken aback by her own audacity, and she considered covering her lips to conceal an astonished chuckle from breaking forth.
His laugh, on the other hand, was like water running over stones in a creek—fast, free, and clear. She desired to immerse herself in that laugh, to swim, bathe, and splash in it, to drink it down and be cleansed by it.
“Well, that’s a relief,” he murmured, even though she was the one who was relieved—to the point of dizziness.
This sensation astounded her. How neatly the answer came to her, that this man, Charles Stanton, who had consumed so many of her thoughts even before she realised it, was the one for her. She’s found the right person. Mary Graves—the serious, ever-practical, always patient Mary Graves—was giddily, stupidly, happily in love with Charles Stanton. She knew it in this moment, suddenly and definitively, as if it had been preordained, as if her life had been building up to it from the beginning: she, Mary Graves—was giddily, stupidly, happily in love with Charles Stanton.
And because she was so certain of it, she felt it was necessary to reveal the truth. She has to inform him. Soon. Quite soon. But not right now. No, not yet.
After all, they’d spent nearly as much time apart as together since they’d met. She’d wait till the latter outweighed the former, at the very least, before expressing her true feelings. It was only right, and she was more determined than ever to get things right.