The Ballad of Hattie Taylor

by Susan Andersen

  Just wait and see.

  24

  Mattawa

  HOURS LATER

  Her train roared out of a patch of woods and Hattie blinked against blinding sunlight. She recognized Six Tree Bluff. It was a familiar sight not far from town, a rocky bluff topped with trees stunted and molded by the wind. Her heart kicking up its pace, Hattie sat straighter. She smoothed her shirtwaist, shook out her skirt, and rubbed the toes of her new shoes against her stockinged calves to remove the dust of travel. She drew a deep breath as the whistle blew a long, plaintive note.

  Then the train rattled around the corner, and there, suddenly up ahead, was Mattawa. Hattie had to grip the edge of her seat to keep from pressing her nose against the window in order to see everything at once. Oh mercy. All her doubts faded. She was home.

  Remember decorum, she instructed herself as the train chugged into the station. Then she spotted Aunt Augusta and Jake. She saw them before they saw her, both scanning each window as it passed their position on the station-house platform. Jake was searching with single-minded intensity; Aunt Augusta was smiling and clutching a fluttering handkerchief in the delicate fist pressed to her breastbone. And decorum flew out the window.

  The moment the train came to a complete stop, Hattie bolted from her seat. She sped down the narrow aisle to the nearest door, excusing herself breathlessly as her portmanteau bumped off a shoulder or two. The step box was not yet in place to bridge the gap from stairwell to platform, and she nearly tumbled out of the car. Clutching the metal poles framing the opening, she leaned out, a huge, no doubt unseemly smile stretching her lips. “Aunt Augusta! Jake!”

  Augusta and Jake saw her, and for an instant both froze in wonder. She seemed to glow in the shadowed recess of the train doorway, from her shining eyes and jubilant smile to her pale, lightly freckled skin and the glimpses of fiery hair beneath the pale green confection perched atop it. Then, growing impatient waiting for the conductor to bring the step, she picked up her skirts and leaped to the platform, and their paralysis was shattered. Jake whooped and set off at a dead run. Augusta whispered, “Oh, my darling child,” and trotted as quickly as her middle-aged bones would carry her. There were few people at the station, but she wouldn’t have cared if the entire population of Mattawa was lined up to observe Augusta Witherspoon Murdock’s unladylike behavior. She had honored Hattie’s need to put a physical distance between her and anyone reminding her of that horrid time two summers ago. But the years were exceedingly long with only letters to sustain her—and her dear child was home at last.

  Jake reached Hattie first, and he snatched her up and whirled her around. “Welcome home, Big-eyes,” he shouted, then laughed, a Jake Murdock special, his head thrown back, dark eyes narrowed, and the creases bracketing his mouth deep, smooth slashes. “Welcome home.” He held her much too tightly as the mad whirl eased into slow circles.

  Hattie wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose where strong neck curved into shoulder. Her feet dangled above the station platform and her breasts were crushed by his too-tight grip. She didn’t care. She’d feared she would never again be able to look Jake Murdock in the eye. Perhaps, once the first flush of homecoming was over, all her problems reconciling their relationship would return, despite her decision. But now she simply clung to his familiar lanky frame, feeling his warmth and strength as he held her in a grasp threatening her bones. She inhaled his distinctive, never-forgotten scent: part horse, part soap, part sunlight, a hint of bay rum . . . and all Jake. His soft brown hair must have been slicked back in her honor since she’d only ever seen him wear it like that at weddings, funerals, and dances. She smiled widely and sniffed the added aroma of pomade.

  Then Augusta was there and Jake released her and she whirled away to become engulfed in her aunt’s embrace. It, too, was scented with sweet, powdery familiarity, and Hattie knew she was truly home at last.

  “Where’s your friend?” Jake asked when the women finally pulled apart.

  “She’ll be here in two weeks. She’s spending time with her family.” Hattie turned to Augusta. “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m delighted you did. Nell is very dear to me.”

  “Did what, dear?”

  “Talked the school board into hiring both of us. I was so surprised when they offered me the position. But when Nell also received an offer . . .”

  Augusta looked blank.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Hattie had simply assumed—

  “I’m afraid not, dear.”

  “But who . . . ?”

  “Why does it have to be anyone? You and Nell graduated top of your class. Why wouldn’t the school board want the very best?”

  “Because it’s me,” Hattie said quietly. “And this is Mattawa.”

  Augusta searched Hattie’s face. Finally, she inclined her head in agreement. “Very well. If you insist someone put in a good word, my guess is Aurelia Donaldson. She’s been singing your praises ever since you began writing her, and she is on the school board.”

  Hattie smiled. She hadn’t considered Aurelia, but that made sense. The older woman had sent her a nice note and a box of chocolates shortly after Hattie began normal school. Touched by the unexpected gesture, she’d replied. And what started out as a simple thank-you note grew into a letter full of her impressions of Seattle, her classes, her teachers, and her new friend, Nell.

  She had nearly torn it up and penned a bread-and-butter thank-you instead, but with a shrug she’d mailed it to the elderly woman. Aurelia’s gift was likely nothing more than a polite gesture when a young woman left home. Hattie probably wouldn’t hear from her again. It was still awfully nice of Aurelia to go to the effort, and it made Hattie feel a little less lonely in the new town. It turned out from that exchange a budding correspondence had grown.

  When he saw her soft smile, Jake had to bite his tongue to keep from demanding why she’d never written him. Despite her words at this station the day she’d left Mattawa, he had waited to hear from her, certain she was constitutionally incapable of holding a grudge—especially one so ridiculous. Hattie had too much common sense not to comprehend he had only done what was best for her. He had been wrong.

  It took Jake months to comprehend that Hattie really wasn’t forgiving him. To this day, he didn’t understand why. He had been on the verge of storming to Seattle to have a showdown over the matter, but his mother put the kibosh to that plan. She told him in no uncertain terms Hattie needed this time away from Mattawa to make the transition from a schoolgirl to an adult who would teach other schoolgirls. She said it was Hattie’s turn to stretch her wings and come into her own—and Jake would, by God, leave her alone to do so.

  Given that, Jake had no idea why Hattie appeared glad to see him today. But he would simply thank his lucky stars and leave it be.

  He arranged to have Hattie’s trunks sent to Augusta’s. Carrying Hattie’s portmanteau, he ushered the women through the station house to his black Packard.

  “What—?” Hattie smiled hugely. “Oh, Jake, a motorcar! Is it yours?”

  “Yeah.” Jake tried to swallow his pride as he ran his sleeve over the hood, removing a speck of dust. “Whataya think?”

  “It’s awe inspiring. I’ve only ridden in one automobile—and it was a taxi, not nearly as nice as this.” She smiled crookedly. “Very fawn-cy.”

  “Here, put this on and climb in.” He handed her a dustcover and a long piece of netting. Hattie grinned and donned the voluminous duster, then draped the netting over her hat and tied it beneath her chin. “We’ll take her for a spin out in the country,” Jacob said, giving the car’s handle a crank. “Hit the starter button, Mother.”

  “Oh dear,” Augusta said faintly, but she did as requested and smiled when the motorcar rumbled to life.

  Hattie allowed Jake to hand her into the back seat. She laughed aloud at the vibrations against that unmentionabl
e spot she sat on, as well as radiating down her limbs and up her spine. Sitting forward on the edge of her seat, she rested her arms on the front seats’ backrests and poked her head between Jake and Augusta. “This is so exciting.”

  “At my age,” Augusta murmured, “I could do with a little less excitement.” But she smiled at Hattie’s unabashed enthusiasm and Jacob’s possessive pride in his shiny new machine.

  They rattled and shimmied slowly down the main street of town. An occasional horse shied away from the noisy contraption, and people either smiled or scowled at them, depending on their inclination. Hattie saw Moses Marks, wearing a black leather apron, in the courtyard of Armstrong Livery. He glanced up at the sound of the approaching motorcar.

  “Oh, wait!” Hattie called over the engine’s noise. “I want to say hello to Moses.”

  Jake frowned, but dutifully pulled into the courtyard and killed the engine. He drummed his calloused fingers on the steering wheel as Hattie clambered out of the car. “Moses!”

  Moses shaded his eyes with his hand. “Hattie? Is that you, girl?”

  “Yes. Oh, look at you!” She walked right up and slapped him on the biceps straining his thin cotton shirt. Tilted her head back to peer up at him. “Mercy me, I do believe you’ve grown again. Aunt Augusta wrote and told me you’d apprenticed with the blacksmith. I suspect your mama must be worn to a frazzle trying to keep you fed.”

  He reached out to touch a strand of her fiery hair beneath its fashionable covering, but drew his hand back when he noticed the blackness of his fingertips approaching her pristine features. Lord, she looked so cool and ladylike . . . but her actions and her words were the same old Hattie. A lump rose in his throat. “Girl, I started to write a hundred letters to you. But I tore ’em all up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was ashamed. And jealous.”

  She reached out and laced her clean fingers through his forge-blackened ones, squeezing his tough-skinned hand when he instinctively started to pull away. “Tell me.”

  “I let you down. First when Jane-Ellen was sick and you needed my support, and then when she died. I’d like to tell you why.” He glanced over at the motorcar and saw Jake’s expressionless stare. “But not now.”

  Hattie nodded. “All right, yes. I wish I could say your defection didn’t hurt, Moses. But it did, so I really would like to hear why you did it. But what on earth could you be jealous of?”

  “I hear you have a good and great new friend.”

  “Nell?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say her name is. Listen . . .” He pulled his hands away and ran one through his hair. “I’m glad for you, Hat, truly I am. But I can’t help being jealous of your relationship with her. I know it’s not rational and probably petty as hell. But I was always your best friend. And even though I’m the one responsible for messing it up . . . Oh shit, I don’t know.”

  “You will always be my friend, Moses.” Hattie reached out and squeezed his arm. “You and I have a history that goes way back, and nothing and no one can change that. You were my friend when no one else wanted to know my name. But I love Nell, too.” Her face lit up. “Wait until you meet her, Moses! You’ll love her, too, wait and see. And don’t you think it’s possible for all three of us to be friends?” She conveniently forgot Nell’s unreasonable antagonism whenever Moses’ name was mentioned.

  “Sure,” he replied as convincingly as possible. “Sure it is.” But in his heart, he wasn’t sure at all.

  * * *

  —

  “Isn’t that the Taylor girl over there talkin’ to Marks? Heard she was comin’ back.”

  Expression bland, Roger Lord played out his hand. Then he said, “Deal me out,” and pushed back from the table. Casually, he wandered over to stand at the side of the saloon’s swinging doors.

  It was her. Unconsciously, he touched the small scar on his arm, feeling its raised texture through his shirt. Trouble-making, bad-luck bitch. Shit. Her and the whole damn Murdock clan.

  Watching her talking and laughing in Armstrong’s Livery across the street, seeing Jake lounging behind the wheel of his Packard and Augusta patricianly erect beside him, Roger was filled with cold rage. Ever since that night, his life had turned upside down.

  He still didn’t understand how his plan to dominate and use her had gone so wrong. The bitch should have cringed and cried and begged for mercy, and at first, she had. Infused with power, he’d shoved into Hattie Taylor’s tight young body to teach her a female’s place in the natural order of the universe. Then out of nowhere she had stabbed him, the no-account bitch, and he hadn’t been able to complete what he’d begun. Compounding her offense, she had escaped into the dark summer night.

  And he would never know what she’d told her aunt, or why the old biddy believed the ravings of such a suggestive little piece. But whatever was said, Augusta had conspired to ruin his good name. Shortly after the red-haired witch left town, his clients began deserting him. Oh, not all of them, of course, but it might as well have been, for his practice was based on serving the finest families in town. They were the only people who mattered.

  Yet, what was he reduced to now? Handling the affairs of merchants, for Christ’s sake.

  Judging by the way Jake interacted with him the few times their paths converged, no one had informed him of Hattie’s deflowering. Sometimes the temptation to tell Murdock himself, to whisper how Hattie had cried and scratched and fought, was almost overpowering. Roger wanted to see Jake’s expression when he discovered his little princess was soiled goods. But he held his tongue. Savored his delicious little secret.

  Though wealthy and educated, Murdock was as unpredictable as the joker in a deck of cards, so it was impossible to anticipate what he might do. A gentleman by right of birth, he squandered much of his privilege with unfortunate leanings. Roger had witnessed it more than once during the younger man’s apprenticeship with him. Instead of maintaining his position high above the laborers, farmers, and other nonentities, Jake had instead gotten down in the dirt with them and worked to resolve their complaints. Tarnishing his own impeccable standing.

  Roger had abhorred Murdock’s tendency, even then, to idealize women. Females were placed on earth to serve men. But did Murdock subscribe to the inarguable ideology? He did not.

  So, while the blame for Hattie’s object lesson that night should have been placed squarely where it belonged—with the woman who repeatedly advertised her need to be shown her proper place—there was no predicting Jake’s reaction. Not knowing forced Roger to remain silent. And he resented Murdock a little more each day for the need to do so.

  He’d bide his time, he vowed as he watched Hattie rise on her toes to kiss Moses on the cheek. But he didn’t have all the time in the world; he was finding it more difficult to maintain the type of life he deserved. His wife’s money wouldn’t supplement it forever.

  He watched Hattie sashay back to the motorcar. The time rapidly approached when he would make his move. Then they all would pay.

  * * *

  —

  The motorcar broke down miles from town. Hattie restlessly paced the country road, darting frequent glances at Jake, who was hunched over the engine. When he’d first started searching for the problem, she had hung over his shoulder, asking questions and trying to help. But he’d become unbelievably testy and finally she had stalked off. Augusta was serenely patient as she rested on a blanket beneath a shady tree yards off the road. Hattie, however, found it impossible to sit still. She’d removed her duster and hat and unfastened a few buttons on her shirtwaist to allow vagrant breezes to cool her throat. But she simply could not sit and do nothing. So, she paced.

  On one of her circuits, she passed near the automobile and reluctantly halted. If Jacob was just going to snap at her again— She stood for several moments without speaking. Finally, she nudged a tire with her toe. “Not very re
liable, is it?” she asked and was embarrassed by her petulant tone. “Not like a horse.” Well, if she sounded sullen, too bad. His crankiness hadn’t been necessary; she’d only been trying to help.

  To her surprise, Jake turned his head and grinned at her. The sun shining in his eyes turned them a truer green than the muddy hazel they normally appeared, and there was a smear of grease alongside his long, bony nose. “Guess you wouldn’t be interested in learning how to drive one, then, huh?”

  Hattie’s eyes immediately lit with enthusiasm. “You’d let me drive it? Truly? I wouldn’t know what to do. But you could teach me, couldn’t you?”

  Jake studied her face, taking in each feature in turn. His gaze dropped for a moment to the pulse in the exposed hollow of her throat, then returned to her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Provided I ever get ’er running again.”

  Hattie edged up to the bumper. “Let me help. Look at all this stuff—” She indicated the box of tools and motoring paraphernalia. “I can hand it to you as you need it. Surely that would save time.”

  Jake seriously doubted it, but he acquiesced just to have her near. As he suspected, it took longer to describe what he needed—and wait while she searched for the tool—than it would to find what he required himself. But she was so sweet in her earnestness to help that he reined in his impatience.

  In time, he discovered the problem and corrected it. Eyeing Hattie, he decided her wide smile of prideful accomplishment over the once-again-running-smoothly motorcar was almost worth the hindrance of her assistance.

  It was damn good to have her back home where she belonged.

  25

  SUNDAY, JUNE 28, 1908

  Tell me what it’s been like since your return.” Nell tested the mattress in the room Mirabel had prepared for her, then grabbed Hattie’s hand to pull her down beside her. “I want to hear everything.”