“Booard!”
The remaining moments before her departure passed in a blur for Opal. Her suitcases were whisked away into the bowels of the train and everyone started talking at once. She remained in the car’s doorway as long as she could, but the conductor’s impatience grew, and, finally, she turned to follow his demands.
She heard her name called and turned back to see Jake just outside the doorway. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock,” she said quietly. “I will never forget what you did for me.”
“You contact us if you ever need anything,” he commanded with his easygoing smile. “You hear me?”
The train began to roll. “I hear you,” she called as the conductor grasped her arm and pulled her into the car. As though waiting just for that, the train left the station.
* * *
—
A scant hour after seeing Opal off, Jake and Hattie packed up their belongings. With a wave to the family and friends gathered on Augusta’s porch to see them off, they headed for home. When Hattie entered the ranch house a short while later, she felt as if they’d been away for years, rather than the few weeks that had actually passed. She went straight up to their bedroom to change out of her fashionable hobble-skirt dress. With a sigh of relief, she exchanged it for a blouse and split skirt, which allowed far greater freedom of movement. Then she tossed her cursed corselette into the back of the closet.
“Burn it,” advised Jake, entering their room.
Hattie grinned at him and sat on the edge of the bed to don her shoes. “I just might do that.” She stretched lazily. “Isn’t it grand to be home again?”
“Yeah.” Leaving a trail of his own discarded shoes, socks, and shirt scattered across the floor and rug, Jake came to sit next to her, clad only in his undershirt and dress slacks. When Hattie flopped onto her back, Jake immediately loomed over her, leering theatrically. “Alone at last, me pretty.”
“What do you plan to do first?” Hattie raised her hands to stroke his cheek. “I want to see the horses and check my garden.” She smiled in contentment. “I feel so renewed. Released. Free as a bird. I wonder if Blossom’s foaled yet.” After smoothing her palms down Jake’s shoulders and upper arms, she slid them around to his back and continued down until her fingertips slipped under the waistband of his slacks.
His eyebrows met briefly above his nose as if he hadn’t given thought to what he’d do once the trial ended. Which was probably true. Between the trial and fielding questions from the ranch foreman, Jake hadn’t much time for anything else. “I should talk to Herman, I suppose,” he said. “Find out what’s happened around here since he and I last spoke.” Suddenly grabbing her hands, Jake pressed them against the mattress on either side of her head. He nuzzled her neck.
“I thought you wanted to catch up with your foreman,” she whispered, even as she arched her neck, allowing Jake greater freedom.
“Oh, I do.” Jake stretched out on top of her. “But first we need to discuss the honeymoon we never got around to taking.”
Hattie waited for him to continue, but he was engrossed in removing the clothes she’d only just donned—without first removing himself from her body. “Um, I thought you wanted to talk about our delayed honeymoon.”
“Yeah. I do.” Jake slanted her a wicked look. Continued in a voice pitched deeper than usual: “Be sure to remind me in, oh, say, twenty-five minutes or so.”
Sighing with happiness, Hattie scratched her fingernails down his back. “Happy to oblige.”
Epilogue
Murdock Ranch
MONDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1923
Is Papa ever going to get here with Grandma?”
Hattie ignored her daughter for the moment and turned to her almost-fourteen-year-old firstborn. “You may plug in the lights now, Lucas.” They all stared in amazement as the lights on the tree sprang to life. This was their first year with electric lights on their Christmas tree, and the bulb colors were dazzling.
Hattie couldn’t miss the fidgeting going on beside her, however, and turned to her impatient daughter. “Your daddy will be here as soon as he can, Emily. Perhaps Grandma wasn’t quite ready when he arrived.”
“Christmas Eve shall be over by the time they get here,” Emily moaned with her new penchant for melodrama. “We’ll have to bolt our food to make it to church in time for the candlelight service.” The girl darted to the window for the umpteenth time to peer out into the frosty night. Finally, she turned away and flounced over to the settee, where she settled in a billow of velvet skirts. “I was supposed to sit with Evie Marks, but I shall probably end up having to stand.”
“Cripes, Em, is there a soul alive can piss and moan as much as you?” Luke demanded.
“Mama!” the twelve-year-old girl screeched indignantly, and Hattie sighed.
“Piss and moan?” she inquired dryly. “Where do you pick up such charming jargon?”
“Papa mostly,” Luke replied, flashing an unrepentant grin that Hattie returned. Luke might possess her coloring but his smile came straight from Jake. Hattie hated to think how many times she’d succumbed when Luke flashed the Murdock Dazzler to get around her. But she could definitely be a sucker for her son. Oh, who was she kidding? She was a pushover at times for all three of her kids. With distinct personalities, each was so special in his or her own way.
Jake referred to Luke as their joker in the pack, as he was a great one for practical jokes. But Lucas didn’t have a mean bone in his body. And, Lord above, that smile!
Recently, Emily had gotten a bit big for her britches. She’d shed her coltishness and grown into her lanky limbs, long hands and feet. To her father’s dismay, his little girl also began rounding out in places, something Jake hoped wouldn’t happen for, oh, twenty years.
Then this past September, Emily discovered her position in society. And, Lord, did she diligently pursue its rewards. So blessed proper was their child verging on young womanhood these days, Hattie sometimes marveled that she’d sprung from her loins. The budding princess was definitely hers, though. Emily inherited her father’s eyes but had Hattie’s curls, although in a medium brown displaying mere hints of red.
Fortunately, Em wasn’t so entrenched in her newly discovered propriety that she’d meekly agree with the opinion of a crowd to save the position she’d attained in Mattawa society. When it came to speaking her mind, Emily was every bit her mother’s daughter. Hattie freely admitted she didn’t always understand Emily. But she loved her girl to death—and lived for those increasingly rare occasions when she could still cajole Em into forgetting her newfound loftiness long enough to display the silly, devilish side of her personality. It was an Emily trait the family had taken for granted until a few short months ago.
Benjamin was the baby and the one Hattie expected to make her old before her time. He was a firecracker on legs. Of the three Murdock children, he was the one who promised to look the most like Jake when he grew up. And with great relish, Augusta claimed Benjamin was the price Jake and Hattie paid for every wrinkle and gray hair they’d given her. With Benjamin’s penchant for finding trouble, there were days Hattie feared he wouldn’t live to see his seventh birthday.
“Hey, Ma,” he roared now from beneath the tree. “What’s in this box for me, huh?”
Looking over, she saw only his hind end, the rest of him out of sight as he foraged among the packages under the tree. “Wouldn’t you just love to know,” she replied and said to Luke, “Get him out of there before he breaks something, will you, darlin’?”
Luke walked over and grabbed his brother by the waistband of his pants, lifting him away from the tree and swinging him in an arc. Far from being offended, Ben laughed and spread his arms wide. “Lookit me, Ma! I’m a barnstormer!”
Emily, haunting the window again, glanced over at the boys and sighed. “You two are so immature,” she said with a disdainful sniff. “It’s embarrassing to be seen with you in
public.” She returned to her vigil. “Oh . . . oh! Here comes Papa and Grandma now!”
Headlights swept the room and tires crunched to a halt on the frost-hardened drive. By the time Jake and Augusta entered the foyer, the entire family was there to greet them.
“Brrr! It’s freezing outside!” Augusta hugged her fur collar close about her throat for a moment. Then she opened her arms and smiled radiantly at her grandchildren. “Hello, darlings. Come give Grandma a kiss.”
As they surrounded her, Jake crossed to Hattie. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he whispered, “You holding up, baby? How were the kids while I was gone?” The two of them knew by heart the touch of frenzy exacerbating their kids’ individual quirks this time of year.
“Pretty much as usual,” she murmured back. “Luke teased, Em emoted with impressive melodrama, and Ben tried to beat his record for tipping over the tree.” Their eyes met and they exchanged wry smiles.
“Now can Norah serve the chocolate, Mama?”
“Excellent idea, Emily.” Hattie smiled at her daughter’s impatience. “You may tell her it’s time. Aunt Augusta, let me take your wrap.” As Hattie accepted it, along with a kiss to her cheek, she directed her eldest. “Luke, escort your grandmother into the parlor.”
“Me, too, Ma,” Benjamin said. “I can ’scort her, too.”
“Indeed you can, my fine gentleman.” Augusta offered an arm to each grandson. Stroking the coat in her arms, Hattie watched them enter the parlor, her smile lingering even as they turned from view.
She had just hung the coat in the closet beneath the stairs when she was gently nudged inside. The door softly shut, enclosing her in darkness, but she could feel Jake’s warmth in front of her, smell his scent. Feel his fingers slipping her buttons from their buttonholes. “What do you think you’re doing?” It was hard to sound the least bit stern with her lips stretched in a smile.
“Unwrapping my present early.” He bent his head to kiss the side of her neck.
“I give Ben thirty seconds to come looking for us.”
But it was Emily’s voice they heard. “Here’s the chocolate. Don’t the peppermint sticks look grand?” There was an instant’s pause, then, “For heaven’s sake, where did Mama and Papa get off to now? I swear, this family is the worst when one’s trying to stick to a schedule.”
“Shit.” Jake rapidly buttoned Hattie back up again. “At this rate,” he whispered, “I’ll be old and gray before we find a moment for just us. It’s been forever.”
“Or seventeen days,” she whispered back as they opened the door and slipped out. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “But I know what you mean. It does feel like forever.” Her elbows threatened Jake’s chin as she raised her arms to pat her hair back into place.
“Tonight,” he stated peremptorily, watching her with eyes that had never lost their hunger for her somewhat plumper figure.
“Tonight,” she agreed.
“Mama!”
“We’re coming, Emily.” Lowering her voice, Hattie added to Jake, “I could have sworn three hours was plenty of time to eat dinner and drive to town.”
He grinned at her. But when their daughter continued to glare at them from the parlor doorway, she reiterated gently, “We’re coming.”
* * *
—
Basking in the glow of the candles, Hattie sat in church a few hours later, lending half an ear to the service as she contemplated her life these past fourteen years.
She had much to give thanks for. For Jake and their kids. For Augusta, who was still hale and hearty. And for their friends, old and new. There had been so much love in the past fourteen years and such laughter. Hattie had been happy beyond her wildest imaginings.
It hadn’t been perfect, but whose life was? They’d reaped their share of sorrow. They lost Mirabel in the diphtheria epidemic that swept through Mattawa in ’19, the same one that stole their sweet baby Alison—so fat and sassy one day, forever stilled the next. They’d lost Doc to a heart seizure last Valentine’s Day, and Aurelia Donaldson had died peacefully in her sleep just two months later at the venerable age of eighty-three.
But in the wake of each tragedy, the Murdocks healed as a family. It was yet another blessing for which Hattie gave thanks this Christmas Eve. They’d had arms to hold them and someone to share their tears. And in the wake of each loss, laughter—perhaps the most potent medicine of all—had crept back into their lives.
Roger Lord died in prison a couple of years ago. Sheriff Jacobson said the general consensus was he’d acted superior to one inmate too many, and the fellow had taken exception.
With a smuggled-in knife.
Hattie looked around the church at her friends and neighbors. It was a different world than it had been fourteen years ago. There had been amazing changes. There had been a war such as the world had never seen before. Although fought in far-off Europe, it still affected many of them. Moses had gone, and so had many other young men from Mattawa. Jake had tried to enlist, but to his disgust and Hattie’s secret relief, he’d been rejected. Not because of his age or a lack of fitness; rather, the army had been in dire need of both cattle for food and horses for their soldiers. They had taken one look at the fit rancher when he came to enlist and regretfully turned him down, feeling Jacob would ultimately contribute more to the war effort by contracting to provide beef and mounts.
The war had been different from any that came before. For the first time in history, part of their war had been waged in the skies. Only a few short years before, cars had been a novelty—the exception rather than the rule—unlike today, when more than half of the families in Mattawa owned one. So, to hear of dogfights staged in the sky between two or more airplanes—well, it was incredible and terrifying. Then there were the dangerous gases released on soldiers. Moses had been temporarily blinded, and he was one of the lucky ones who regained his sight. Many weren’t as fortunate.
Perhaps only Hattie knew what a wreck Nell had been before Moses healed. On the outside, she had been calmness personified. But when it was just the two of them, Nell loosened her iron control and cried her fears out in Hattie’s arms. In return, Nell and Moses had been there when Hattie and Jake were the ones in need of solace and support. The four of them were still the best of friends.
Other changes landed in the plus column. The women of Oregon gained the right to vote in 1912, eight years ahead of most of the rest of the nation. Nowadays, women were no longer expected to stay safely in their father’s home until a suitable marriage could be arranged. Many worked as clerks, as typists, as telephone operators or secretaries or in oh so many other capacities. During the war, with the shortage of men, they had even worked in jobs traditionally considered exclusively male. And in the midst of those wartime changes, Opal Jeffries had written Hattie to tell her she’d been right. Opal had fallen in love and was getting married.
Today, some women also smoked—and frequented bars before prohibition. Imagine. Right here in Mattawa. Hemlines rose to the calf before dropping again this year, shoes were sleek and simple to put on, and women were bobbing their hair and wearing makeup. Hattie had taken one look at the rakish new hairstyles and set out for Marks’ barbershop. Her mistake had been stopping first to tell Jake where she was going. He’d thrown such a fit at the idea, she had grudgingly agreed to keep her hair the way it was—the same old boring length. But some things just weren’t worth fighting over. He’d also laughed himself silly when she had contemplated binding her breasts to suit the unbroken lines of today’s styles. Then said, “Over my dead body.”
She and Jake were unanimous, however, in their approval of the marvelous freedom of today’s foundation garments. Silk stockings, filmy tap pants, and lightweight brassieres were far superior to yesteryear’s whalebone. It seemed every time Jake had an errand in town, he brought her back a new piece of lingerie.
Hattie stood with th
e congregation to sing. The morals of today had certainly undergone a radical change from the rigidity of her younger years. Eunice Peabody loved to blame it on what she called “that blasphemous, heathen jazz music” or the new movie palace in town with its picture shows of sensuous sheiks.
Personally, Hattie thought it more likely a result of the war. Chaperones were a thing of the past, more and more young men drove cars these days, and rumor had it they took their young women parking after a date. Words like “petting” with new-to-Hattie sexual connotations had crept into their vocabulary. Hiding a smile behind her hymnal, Hattie thought it a shame it hadn’t happened earlier in her own lifetime. Not that she would have availed herself of some young blade’s back seat, necessarily. Well, maybe Jake’s . . . But just the fact that people talked openly about these things was far removed from the era that condemned her as a loose young woman because she wore a corset as infrequently as she could get away with.
Of course, what you gained with one hand you sometimes lost with the other. Today it was unlikely a woman would be ostracized by her neighbors if she brought a case of rape to trial. That was a giant stride forward. Conversely, it was the relaxation of moral restrictions that made it more difficult to gain a guilty verdict. Jake said any attorney worth his salt would simply concentrate on making the victim’s virtue suspect, until it appeared she was asking for it.
The tactic made her rabid, Hattie admitted as the sermon came to a close, but God knew life wasn’t perfect. Still, hers was damn good. And hopefully the future would bring more equality between the sexes.
Jake kept touching her as they stood in the foyer of the church, visiting with their friends. His rough-tipped fingers stroked the nape of her neck beneath the sophisticated coil of her still-bright braided hair, and he fiddled with her earlobe. Then his hand dropped low on her hip to hold her to his side. She could feel his mounting impatience and, as always, his hunger fed hers.
The Ballad of Hattie Taylor Page 39
