The Ballad of Hattie Taylor

by Susan Andersen

  But then the last time she’d seen him, it had been as if nothing had ever come between them. And she’d thought things might be all right after all. But it had been several days now since she’d seen him. Twice she had called him on the telephone to ask if he wanted to come out to the ranch, or if she could come into town to see him. He’d had an excuse both times for putting her off. His rejection, on the heels of believing their relationship had finally regained its normal steady footing, hurt something fierce—even worse than before.

  She felt so darn alone. For seven years, she’d pretended she didn’t care what the inhabitants of Mattawa thought of her, a self-deception difficult enough when Aunt Augusta, Jake, Mirabel, and Moses were her only champions. They were the solid core of people who hadn’t disapproved of her at one time or another. Four people who knew all her faults intimately, and loved her anyway. Out of all the individuals in the world, four wasn’t an overabundance of friends. Yet it had been enough. Until now.

  Because now she feared she might only have two. And they were out of town.

  13

  Murdock Ranch

  SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1906

  Come on, Jane-Ellen—be adventuresome. It’ll do you good to breathe some fresh air.”

  “Hattie, it poured yesterday. The ground between the rosebushes will be solid mud.”

  Hattie handed Jane-Ellen her gardening hat. “I’ve already dragged a chair out there for you,” she cajoled. “You needn’t get even a speck of dirt on you.” She aimed her best grin at the petite blond woman, tilting her head toward the open window. “Listen to those birds! C’mon. Please. All that’s required of you is sitting in a comfortable chair and holding the basket. Pretend you’re a queen holding court. I’ll pick the flowers, and you know I don’t mind a bit of dirt.”

  Jane-Ellen smiled. “No, I daresay you don’t.” She plopped the straw hat on her head. “Cut flowers would be charming in the parlor.”

  “Exactly. And the weather is splendid. I believe you’ll love it.”

  Jane-Ellen rather felt like the queen Hattie mentioned by the time the younger woman had her settled in the shade of the large old lilac tree. Its flowers long since had given way to the summer heat, but leafy greenery still lent welcome dappled shadows. Not only had Hattie brought out the most comfortable porch chair for Jane-Ellen to rest in; she’d provided a cushion atop an upside-down bucket on which to prop her feet. A tall glass of lemonade from the icebox sweated frostily on a small wicker table. “You’re spoiling me shamelessly.”

  Hattie laughed. “You’re a mama-to-be. You deserve a little spoiling!”

  Jane-Ellen rested a hand on the huge swell of her stomach and sipped her cold drink as she watched Hattie putter among the rosebushes. She truly was a sweet girl. It was a pity the women of Mattawa couldn’t see this side of her. Maybe then they wouldn’t judge her so harshly.

  Jane-Ellen was perfectly aware of the scandalous regard in which the town held Hattie. She, too, was often appalled by Hattie’s outspokenness and disregard for convention. Yet Jane-Ellen harbored a sneaking admiration for the girl’s daring and refused to let her friends speculate about the Murdock ward in her presence. In all the time she had known Hattie, Jane-Ellen had never once heard her utter an unkind word behind anyone’s back. Hattie at times lacked tact to a regrettable degree. But she didn’t simper sweetly to a person’s face, only to turn around and verbally stab them in the back, like some in their social circle Jane-Ellen could name.

  “Can I get you more lemonade?” Hattie dumped several cut roses into the flower basket at Jane-Ellen’s side.

  “No, thank you. I still have a bit left.” She smiled up at Hattie. “This is lovely.”

  “Told ya.” Grinning, Hattie turned back to the garden, humming a lively tune beneath her breath. Jane-Ellen laughed as she watched the younger woman roll back her sleeves and sit in the damp dirt at the base of a rosebush. Hattie weeded vigorously, as if routing personal enemies.

  What must it be like to eschew an entire town’s opinion of oneself? Jane-Ellen cared far too dearly what others thought of her. There must be a wealth of freedom in not caring one whit.

  Watching Hattie as she paused to brush a forearm across her forehead, leaving a smear of dirt in its wake, Jane-Ellen also wondered what it must be like to not always feel a burning need to make sure the façade one displayed to the world was impeccable at all times. She truly did envy Hattie’s disdain for convention sometimes. Observing the full curves shifting freely beneath the faded cotton of Hattie’s oldest dress with the girl’s every movement, Jane-Ellen reflected wryly that it had taken a pregnancy for her to discard her corsets.

  Hattie’s adamant refusal to wear one most of the time was a great affront to the women in their strata of Mattawa society. In truth, Jane-Ellen knew that Hattie, in deference to Augusta’s feelings, did bind her breasts with winding gauze when going to town or an event. And Jane-Ellen had learned these past few months how marvelous it felt not to have her own breasts and torso cinched tightly by whalebone. So, who was to say Hattie didn’t have the right idea? Jane-Ellen rather thought a good deal of the vitriol aimed at the young woman was nothing more than envy over Hattie’s daring to do what they all secretly wished they had the nerve to do.

  Of course, much as she envied Hattie’s freedom, Jane-Ellen knew perfectly well she would go back to wearing her own corset, and all its attendant discomforts, as soon as the baby was born. Coward that she was.

  She was so tired of being afraid of everything. She avoided the workings of the ranch because she abhorred the dirt, the noise, the smells. And the horses frightened her. The most adventurous she ever got was picking flowers from the garden in the summertime. She was afraid to speak her mind when she heard an unjust piece of gossip, for fear it might result in not being liked, or—shameful, petty thought—being left off an important guest list. The only time she stood her ground was when someone censured her family to her face.

  She was afraid of the marriage bed, and consequently, her husband quite despised her. Oh, Jacob was unfailingly polite. She wasn’t a fool, however: she knew he no longer loved her. She regretted that. She remembered the flushed, wonderful feeling when Jake looked at her with those marvelous, hazel-green eyes of his, back when they were full of adoration. And in truth, some of her female acquaintances simply glowed when their husbands were around. Jane-Ellen wished she knew their secret.

  She was also terrified of her approaching birthing. Her friends who were mothers related such horrendous stories. Still, she clung tenaciously to Augusta’s tranquil reassurances. Having babies, the older woman promised serenely, was normal, natural, and happened every day. She assured Jane-Ellen that even the women who complained of utter misery during the delivery of their children were proud mamas once the birthing was behind them.

  Observing Hattie wave a droning bee away from her face, then scratch the tip of her nose, Jane-Ellen marveled at how instinctually tactile the young woman was. Jake, too, was like that. They touched people in the course of conversations, as though underscoring the point they were making. Or perhaps it was simply to include the other person in the process. It was an automatic gesture, not a matter either gave a second’s consideration. Both also possessed the ability to hug and be hugged without feeling the least bit graceless. Jane-Ellen stifled a sigh. She always felt stiff and awkward when she was embraced by others. In that respect, however, she did look forward to the birth of her baby. She was convinced she’d finally lose her awkwardness, would freely give and receive affection from her child.

  She studied Hattie again. “Are you nervous about going to school in Seattle?”

  Hattie pushed back to sit on her heels. “A bit. My acceptance letter said I might have a roommate.” She gave the clipped rose in her hand a wistful smile. “It would be lovely if she liked me.” Then, clearly realizing she’d bared a vulnerability Jane-Ellen hadn’t even realize
d the girl harbored, Hattie straightened her shoulders. “Well, she either will or she won’t, I suppose. And mostly, I’m looking forward to learning how to teach.”

  “Well, I think you’re very brave. Much braver than I.” And if my baby is a girl, Jane-Ellen thought with sudden fierceness, I want to raise her to be a happy mixture of myself, Jake, and Hattie. Not that she wanted her daughter to be a hellion. But Jane-Ellen couldn’t bear it if her daughter turned out afraid of her own shadow like her mother. And if her little girl should sometimes be tactless in her public behavior? Jane-Ellen was going to bury her own embarrassment and be just like Augusta. She planned to look the recipient of her daughter’s transgression squarely in the eye and silently dare that person to mention her child’s misstep.

  And if her baby was a boy . . . Jane-Ellen smiled and closed her eyes, resting her head against the high back of the wicker chair. She absorbed the birdsong overhead, the lazy drone of bees, Hattie’s tuneless humming, and felt content. For once she was able to look beyond the fast-approaching certainty of giving birth in favor of daydreaming about the end result: her and Jake’s baby. It left her feeling amazingly content.

  She must’ve dozed, for the next thing she knew she started at the sound of hoofbeats pounding up the drive. She opened her eyes, slightly disoriented. Muzzily blinking and yawning behind a politely raised hand, she looked over at Hattie to ask what all the commotion was about.

  Hattie was resting back on her heels in the middle of the rose garden, a hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun as she squinted down the lane connecting the ranch to the county road. She was uncharacteristically still, and, curious as to what could provoke such a reaction, Jane-Ellen followed her gaze. Well, heavens, it was only Jake. He was galloping up the drive at his usual breakneck speed, and Jane-Ellen experienced the confusing mixture of pleasure and disapproval she felt whenever she saw him.

  Spotting her and Hattie in the yard, he veered away from the stables—his obvious destination—and slowed his horse to a canter, then to a walk. He covered the remaining yards with a sedateness even Jane-Ellen could approve of. Saddle leather creaked as he dismounted in front of the house and threw the reins to the stable boy who had come out to attend to the horse.

  “Rub ’im down good, Davey,” he instructed. “He’s had a long, hard ride.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Patting the horse’s sweaty neck, Davey led the animal to the barn.

  Entering the garden, Jake tipped his hat to the women, then removed the dust of his travels from it by slapping it against his thigh. “Afternoon, ladies.” He grinned. “Miss me?”

  He crossed to Jane-Ellen, leaning over to kiss the cheek she presented. She gave him a welcoming smile. Then he looked over his shoulder at Hattie and raised one eyebrow.

  Hattie snorted, hoping her furious heartbeat wasn’t obvious. Turning back to the few remaining weeds, she listened as Jane-Ellen inquired about Jake’s trip and filled him in on the day-to-day events he’d missed. She praised Hattie unstintingly for this afternoon’s arrangements, regaling Jake—in long, boring detail, to Hattie’s way of thinking—with everything she had done to ensure Jane-Ellen’s comfort.

  Jake made himself comfortable on the ground next to Jane-Ellen’s chair. Ankles crossed and forearms draped over his pulled-up knees, he listened to Jane-Ellen’s chatter and watched Hattie from beneath the brim of the hat he’d put on again and pulled low over his eyes. How typical, he thought, to come home and find her mucking about in the mud.

  Jake had given his and Hattie’s relationship a great deal of thought while he was away. He missed having her unquestioning approval; he freely admitted it. But he’d finally concluded he couldn’t spend the rest of the summer hiding out in the stables just to avoid facing her new, gut-registering disapproval. He understood her reasons for being disgusted with him, and God knew Hattie was passionate in the execution of her emotions. He could never justify his lack of faithfulness in her eyes. Hell, he couldn’t justify it in his own.

  But he refused to let her sit in judgment of him for the rest of her stay here. His private life was none of her damn business. So he intended to act like nothing had changed between them. He would treat her exactly as he always had.

  Except for the part where he was very, very careful never to touch her.

  He watched as Hattie vigorously pulled weeds from the rose bed and tossed them aside. Her hat hung by its ribbon down her back, and her hair, untidily escaping the fat braid draped over her right shoulder, formed a nimbus around her head, glowing in the sunlight like a glimpse of hellfire. Curly tendrils clung to her flushed cheeks and forehead. Her arms and face were streaked with dirt, and perspiration spread under her arms and down the spine of her shirtwaist. She shouldn’t have been the least bit appealing. Yet, he couldn’t look away.

  Until this summer, Jake had never been faced with a need to restrain his physicality around her. He’d handled her in any number of ways in the past without a thought. But he knew touching her now was nothing short of perilous. For simply gazing at her, merely thinking of laying hands on her, sent jolts of lightning through him.

  It was against all reason, and while away he had almost convinced himself he’d inflated her impact. Deep down, however, he knew he hadn’t—and the idea of not being able to control this unwanted attraction disturbed him. He could, however, avoid it. And his best bet was going back to treating her like a little sister.

  By the sudden quizzical silence, he realized Jane-Ellen had asked him a question. He thumbed his hat to the back of his head, leaned back on an elbow, and looked up at her. “Sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you say?”

  “I only wondered if you’d like a glass of lemonade. It’s quite refreshing, and you must be parched after your trip.”

  Jake felt a flare of his old affection for her and, sitting up, reached for her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he bestowed a gallant kiss upon her fingertips. She was a sweet lady and the fault wasn’t solely hers they’d turned out to be less compatible than either expected when they’d wed. “That sounds great, but I’m too lazy to move at the moment. I’ll be going in soon to clean up. I’ll cadge a glass from Cook then.”

  “Very well.” She smiled down at him. Then in a rare moment of physical contact, she reached out to brush a hank of his hair off his forehead. She studied his face, feature by feature, then spent a moment staring into his eyes. “I am glad you’re home, Jake.”

  “I’m much obliged to hear it, ma’am. I’m happy to be here.”

  Hattie suddenly stood, twisting to brush patches of clinging dirt from the seat of her dress. She crossed over to the pair. “Do you mind if I steal your bucket, Jane-Ellen?” she inquired. “I need something to carry the weeds to the compost.”

  Jane-Ellen slid her feet off the overturned bucket. “Of course not, dear. I should take these roses in and arrange them before they wilt.”

  Hattie accepted the bucket Jake handed her, giving him a belated word of thanks. She didn’t half comprehend the snake’s nest of emotions roiling inside her. Her first reaction when she saw Jake thundering up the lane was joy at knowing he was home. She’d been happy to see him. Now she felt a compulsion to hug her anger to her breast, to nurture it against once again succumbing to hero worship. She wished she could either hate him or love him. This seesaw of emotions was exhausting.

  Jane-Ellen’s small cry of distress interrupted Hattie’s bleak ruminations. The other woman had pricked her finger on one of the muddy thorns adorning the rose stems.

  Removing the basket of flowers from Jane-Ellen’s hands, Hattie leaned over to inspect the wound. There wasn’t much to see, only a welling drop of blood. “You best wash that immediately,” she advised. “The stems are filthy.”

  “It’s nothing,” Jane-Ellen demurred. “It actually startled me more than anything.”

  “Nevertheless,” Jake instructed firmly, helping her to her fee
t, “you will do as Hattie said. Go on in and wash it thoroughly. I’ll find a strip of gauze to wrap it.”

  “For pity’s sake, you two,” Jane-Ellen protested. “It’s only a prick.”

  “Humor us.” Jake flashed his old devil-may-care grin at her, his cheeks creasing attractively. “Expectant mothers deserve special pampering.”

  “Very well,” Jane-Ellen agreed and laughed self-consciously. “But I must tell you I feel a bit foolish about all the fuss.” She nevertheless set off for the house.

  Jake and Hattie, following behind her, kept a carefully wide space between them.

  14

  Murdock Ranch

  THURSDAY, JULY 26, 1906

  Jake had started cutting back on his horse-breeding operation this summer to expand his cattle stock, but it was his carriage horses Roger Lord had arrived to inspect today. The two men were in the stable yard discussing the finer points of a pair of dapple grays when several ranch hands drove a herd of cattle past. For a few moments the noise and dust were overwhelming.

  Jake watched Roger observing the cattle’s progress and had to swallow a smile. He didn’t know how Roger managed it, but he appeared to be looking down his nose even as his chin remained perfectly level and his eyes focused straight ahead. Maybe it was the slight purse of his lips or the supercilious flare to his nostrils as he listened to the lowing cows and swearing cowhands. It didn’t matter. Roger was his guest. Yet Jake couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. Because the man was so full of his own consequence.

  Roger noticed Jake’s smile. He considered it quite common but ignored it the same way he’d ignored the other man’s quick once-over of Roger’s clothing.