The Ballad of Hattie Taylor

by Susan Andersen

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1906

  Hattie arrived in Seattle physically mended but emotionally battered, her innate confidence nowhere in sight. Instead, she was angry, lonely, and subdued.

  It was a measure of how stubborn her depressed mental state was that, during her check-in interview, when the school matron glared over the top of her steel-bowed spectacles at Hattie’s figure and peremptorily ordered her to purchase a corset, she meekly agreed. The matron, who appeared braced for an argument and seemed pleasantly surprised not to get one, unbent so much as to reluctantly mutter she supposed there was nothing that could be done about the color of Hattie’s hair. Issuing a room assignment, she dismissed her.

  Hattie’s shared room on the top floor of the teachers college was half the size of her bedroom back home. It was furnished with two narrow beds, two plain dressers, two chairs, and a wardrobe. There was barely room to move. As soon as her trunks were delivered, Hattie began to unpack.

  She had the room to herself the first night—an unforeseen bonus she appreciated. Returning from the washroom down the hall, she retired early, clutching Lillian for comfort as she attempted to fall asleep.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. She tried thoughts of learning to teach. It didn’t help. She had been so desperate to leave Mattawa that this current wrenching homesickness caught her by surprise. She was in a strange city where she didn’t know a soul. She missed her room at home. She missed the freedom of the ranch. She missed Augusta, Doc, and Moses.

  She didn’t miss Jake, she assured herself.

  There was nothing in the unfamiliar room to take her mind off the debilitating assault that was her constant companion. Scalding tears streamed silently down her face, and she began to shake so hard her narrow bed rattled. Wrapping her arms around herself, she held on tightly, grinding Lillian into her chest. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from sobbing aloud. Then, realizing this was likely her last night alone, she allowed herself the luxury of doing just that.

  She wanted to go home. She wanted to regain control of her life. She wanted her virginity and her old inviolate self-confidence back. OhGodohGod. She wanted to turn back the clock and do a hundred things differently. Yet, in truth? She had no idea what would make this awful pain go away.

  Her normal optimism surfaced when she awoke the following morning. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here; she’d get used to it. Hadn’t she hankered to be independent since she was sixteen years old? She thought of her mama, who had given up an opulent life in a prestigious family because she loved Hattie’s father. If her mother could do that and remain true to herself, then Hattie could darn well learn to succeed in her new situation.

  Breakfast was served at long tables in a large, drafty hall on the first floor. The food was filling, if not particularly flavorful. As Hattie ate, she surreptitiously inspected her fellow students and was amazed at how young they were. An eighth-grade education was the single admittance requirement for normal school, and it appeared very few of the girls here had advanced beyond that.

  She didn’t know why this surprised her. Even in Mattawa, only about twenty percent of the students she’d begun with went on to graduate. Children from the outlying farms and ranches in particular were hard-pressed to finish their education when there was so much work demanding attention at home.

  Yet, she was flabbergasted. Most of these girls looked no older than thirteen. How well could they teach the older students, if they didn’t understand the material themselves?

  An unexpected smile curled her lips. Because that’s why they were here, wasn’t it—to learn how to teach.

  Classes didn’t begin for another two days, and Hattie requested and received permission to go to town for her corset. She had naively thought Mattawa was cosmopolitan. Compared to the city she saw today, it was a one-horse town. Seattle was enormous and bustling—she’d seen a bit of that on her hansom cab ride from the King Street train station. Her innate sense of adventure was piqued as she boarded a trolley for town. Head constantly turning, she attempted to absorb all the sights along the way. Upon disembarking the novel mode of transportation, she wandered through Seattle’s shopping district with wide-eyed amazement.

  There were several department stores, and she finally settled on MacDougall and Southwick on Second and Pike. Smiling as she wandered its massive first floor, she thought the mercantile and dressmaker’s shop at home would both fit quite handily into one small corner.

  The clerk was helpful when Hattie expressed her aversion to being strapped into corsets. The woman chose a lighter-weight corselette for her to try and laced it just tightly enough to lend support without restricting Hattie’s breathing. It was certainly handier—and prettier—than the gauze Aunt Augusta had her bind herself with to keep from—Augusta’s words—“jiggling in everyone’s face.”

  Hattie was highly conscious of the undergarment she’d elected to keep on. But during the ride back, she decided perhaps growing accustomed to it wouldn’t be too horribly hard. As long as she relinquished all thoughts of ever bending over again.

  The dormitory lobby was surprisingly deserted when she arrived, and Hattie wondered where everyone was. Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, she discovered the answer. A gaggle of speechless girls crowded around her open doorway, those in the back standing on tiptoe to peer over the shoulders of those in front. Hattie worked her way through the crowd until she stood just inside the room. And stared in dismay at the chaos.

  Open trunks occupied every inch of floor space between the furniture. Clothing draped over the backs and seats of the two uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs and lay strewn across both beds. A young woman mumbled to herself as she leaned into the open wardrobe.

  Conditioned by years of receiving nothing but disdain and ridicule from her female social peers back home, Hattie took a deep breath. She might as well fire the first volley in what would likely be a two-year war. Standing in the doorway, she said clearly, “Pardon me, miss. Are you sure you have enough clothing?”

  It was rather feeble, but half of that wardrobe space was hers. And, honestly, where did this woman plan to wear the four exquisite evening gowns draped across Hattie’s bed?

  Emerging from the wardrobe, the new roommate turned around. Hattie and the other girls were rendered speechless.

  The girl sharing Hattie’s space for the next two years was probably the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, dark eyes velvety as pansies, and skin like cream, this stranger was also the tallest female Hattie had ever seen.

  “Isn’t it awful?” The exquisite apparition agreed with a cheeky grin. “But it was either bring it all with me, or have my sister, Lizzy, wear everything I left behind. And when Lizzy helps herself to your wardrobe, she returns it in rags.” She stepped forward, elegant hand extended. “How do you do? I’m Nell Thomesen.”

  Warily, Hattie shook hands. “Hattie Taylor.”

  “Hattie Tay . . . my roommate? Oh dear, I am sorry! I’ll have this mess cleared out momentarily.” Looking at all the clothing, she added weakly, “I hope.”

  Hattie picked her way across the floor, cleared a small area off her bed, and sat down. She cast surreptitious glances at her roommate, at the girls silently crowding the doorway, and back at her roommate again. What on earth was a woman such as this doing at a teaching institute? She looked as if she should be planning charity balls in one of the mansions on First Hill Hattie had heard about. Hattie momentarily forgot that she, too, could have chosen to live comfortably on the trust fund Aunt Augusta had given her on her eighteenth birthday. She had no financial need to earn a living. It would have driven her slowly insane to sit around, doing nothing, but the option was there.

  “Perhaps,” she finally suggested after watching Nell struggle to find room for everything, “you should pick out what you think you will need most. You could leave the rest in the t
runks and have it taken down to storage. It’s quite safe, you know. They lock it up.”

  Nell smiled brilliantly and Hattie’s wariness tripled. Experience had taught her to look for a trap when girls her own age displayed that kind of friendliness.

  But all Nell said was, “What an excellent idea!” And did what Hattie suggested. In short order, she’d tidied the room and summoned the custodian, who grumbled about taking the trunks back down when he’d just brought them up. Smiling gently, Nell closed the door on a number of awed faces and turned to Hattie. “Thank heavens that’s taken care of! My goodness, you have beautiful hair.”

  “Thank you,” Hattie said charily, bracing herself for the stinger. Compliments on her hair were always followed by Pity about those freckles or Who do you call to put out the fire?

  But no insult was issued.

  And so the day progressed. Nell was friendly, complimentary, and curious, while Hattie held herself guardedly aloof. She politely answered questions, but in the briefest manner possible—and without expressing any reciprocal curiosity of her own. She kept her distance, wary of trusting. She’d been poked by too many verbal barbs from the snide girls of the upper echelon to voluntarily walk into that trap.

  Finally, day faded into evening, evening into night, and they turned out the lights and climbed into bed. But like they had the night before, Hattie’s homesickness and general wretchedness returned. Once again, she hugged her doll and clamped her bottom lip between her teeth while she silently cried herself to sleep. The pattern was to repeat itself for the next two weeks.

  Classes began, and as long as it was daylight, Hattie was reasonably content. But the instant she lay down to sleep, pain and a bone-deep feeling of worthlessness crept up to knock her flat. Night after night, she curled in a rigid fetal position on her narrow bed, shuddering helplessly and soaking her pillow in silent misery.

  Nell pretended to be oblivious. She feigned sleep each night, but, staring into the darkness, she ached for a way to alleviate her roommate’s pain while simultaneously preserving her privacy.

  Curiosity consumed Nell. Hattie was so mysterious and fascinating. Her exotic appearance—all vivid coloring and bold features—suggested ancestors from faraway places. Her striking looks weren’t fashionable, yet were so much more compelling and infinitely more interesting than insipid prettiness. Then there was the contrast between her bold appearance and leery attitude. To look at her, Nell would’ve thought she’d be aggressively confident. Yet whenever Nell spoke to her, Hattie’s shoulders tensed, as though braced for an attack. She was an enigma—chin held high, looking people squarely in the eye during the day, then crying herself to sleep each night. And something both defiant and vulnerable in her eyes made Nell yearn to know what caused such deep heartache.

  She doubted she’d ever find out, for from what she’d seen thus far, Hattie refused to let anyone get close. To be sure, she had beautiful manners and was unfailingly polite. Yet, no matter how hard Nell tried, the wall surrounding the redhead was impenetrable. So, Nell listened to the muffled sobs each night and wished she could help. Yet she honored the other woman’s firmly posted No Trespassing signs. Until, after fifteen straight nights of trying to ignore Hattie’s anguish, Nell could stand it no longer.

  More vibrations felt than actual sounds heard, Hattie’s sobs were still enough to make Nell silently rise from her bed. She knelt in the narrow space between their beds and reached out to stroke Hattie’s hair. Her other hand rubbed at the tense muscles at the base of Hattie’s neck as she bent over her. “Shh,” she murmured softly. “It’ll be all right. Shh, now.”

  Hattie jerked once, then cried harder, harsh, throat-scouring sounds escaping in spite of her best efforts to contain them. Not only for what was, but for all that had never been and never would be.

  Nell bent closer and continued to croon, to touch, to reassure. Finally, Hattie rolled onto her back and peered up at her roommate through swollen eyes. She rubbed the back of her hand inelegantly across her lips and nose.

  “It won’t be all right,” she whispered in a flat, tired voice. “You just don’t understand.”

  Nell’s face held no judgment that Hattie could see. Twisting away for a moment, the other woman extracted a handkerchief from beneath her own pillow. Offering it to Hattie, Nell merely said quietly, “Tell me, then, so I do understand.”

  To Hattie’s horror, she did. She didn’t know what made her do it, but she told this young woman she barely knew everything. Maybe it was the genuine concern she sensed, reminding her of her lost friendship with Moses. Maybe it was the tender care of Nell’s touch. Whatever the reason, Hattie talked for a long time, pouring out her heartbreak and confusion, her sense of betrayal and rage. “I feel so worthless,” she finished dully. “So unclean and worthless.”

  “No!” Nell surged up, pulling Hattie upright as well, until both sat on the edge of their respective beds, their knees touching. She held Hattie’s hand tightly. “No, you mustn’t. Look at me. Look!” Reaching across the small space, she grasped Hattie’s chin and their eyes locked. “Now.” She enunciated each word clearly. “You are not worthless.”

  Miserable, Hattie snorted. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? I have done things no decent woman ever would. With Moses and with Jake. Then Roger Lord ruined me for good. I must give off a scent or something telling men I’m easy.” She laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Ask anyone in Mattawa!” She waved the soaked hanky in a dismissive gesture. “Practically the entire town would rush to tell you there’s something bad in Hattie Taylor.”

  “Your little town sounds perfectly horrid, if you ask me. The world is full of narrow-minded people, Hattie, and Lord help the unfortunate who doesn’t fit in their mold. But maybe not everyone is intended to fit into a tidy little slot. Do you believe in God?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, He created you just as you are for a purpose. Perhaps you’re supposed to view the world differently than most. As for the other, you should place the blame where it belongs.”

  Hattie sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the back of a wrist. “What do you mean?”

  “Just because you experimented with your friend—who incidentally doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me—or lost your head with Jake, it doesn’t necessarily follow that therefore Roger Lord had a perfect right to forcefully relieve you of your virginity. It sounds to me like you did everything in your power to keep from being overcome by the man, and the only reason you weren’t successful was because he had brute force on his side.”

  Dismally, Hattie nodded, but added, “Whether I fought him or not, the end result is the same. He goes free and I’m ruined if it ever becomes public knowledge. Even if it came to a trial and he was put in jail for the rest of his life, I would still be ruined. What does that tell you?”

  To her surprise, Nell answered vehemently, “That women get the short end of the stick. We can’t vote, we lose any right to handle our own money if we marry, and we can be set aside in a marriage if we are unfaithful, yet aren’t offered the same option if our husbands stray. But just because a bunch of oh-so-self-important men say something is so, it doesn’t make it right. And while you may have made a few unwise choices, you haven’t done a thing to justify being made to feel worthless.”

  No one had ever talked to her this way, and Hattie experienced a new lightness as some of her burden lifted. She managed a wobbly smile in the darkness. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that,” Nell commanded and scooted back into her bed. “I hope you can sleep now.”

  For the first time in a long while, Hattie did exactly that.

  22

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 1906

  When Hattie awoke the next morning, she regretted every word she had uttered the night before. What had possessed her? Sure, Nell had been extremely nice to her last night. But was Hattie so starved f
or affection she just offered a weapon with the power to destroy her to the first person with a kind word? What have I done?

  She’d already dressed and was fumbling with her hairbrush when Nell came up behind her. “Your hair is incredibly lovely,” she said. “It looks so alive. May I brush it?”

  Hattie handed over the hairbrush warily. “If you want.”

  Nell placed one palm on the crown of Hattie’s head and stroked the brush firmly through the unruly mass. It crackled as tight curls, pulled through the bristles, leaped into full, deep waves. “It even feels alive,” Nell said in amazement. Noticing how stiffly Hattie sat beneath her ministrations, Nell paused in the middle of a stroke, the bristles buried in the abundant curls. “You’re sorry you talked to me last night, aren’t you?”

  Hattie shot her a wary glance over her shoulder and Nell swallowed a sigh as she completed the brushstroke. “You needn’t be, you know. I’d like to be your friend and I shan’t ever repeat anything you tell me. I know what it’s like to be different, Hattie. I’ve been five foot ten since I was twelve years old, and my family is what is known as the genteel poor.”

  “But you’re beautiful!” Hattie twisted around to stare up at her roommate in amazement. It had never occurred to her that Nell, too, might suffer from self-doubt.

  Nell smiled with delight. “Do you think so? I’ve been as tall as or taller than practically every man I have ever met for as long as I can remember. Do you honestly think I’m pretty?”

  “Not pretty, Nell, beautiful. I think your height is elegant. It’s better than being a dumpling like me with too much bosom and hip. And my face is all eyes and mouth.” She grimaced.

  “You underestimate yourself considerably,” Nell disagreed. “If we stood side by side at a cotillion, you would be the one with the full dance card. I’d be the beanpole wallflower in the corner.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Hattie said and laughed. It was the first time she’d done so in a very long time and it felt marvelous.