She nevertheless visited with Nell and Moses about Moses’ third automobile repair shop for several minutes longer, until Jake began exhibiting signs of doing something rash. They’d managed not to scandalize anyone for more than a decade; it would be a pity to break their record now. And knowing the reason for Jake’s impatience provoked a building anticipation of her own. She rounded up the kids, separating them from their friends much to their vocal protests. Then they collected Augusta and drove home.
“God Almighty,” Jake grumbled later as he watched Hattie brush her hair in front of the dressing table, “I love those kids to pieces, but I was beginning to think they’d never go to bed.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “We still have to fill the stockings and put out Santa’s gifts. What d’you think—should we do that right now?”
“I think you’d better get your butt in bed, Big-eyes, before I resort to violence.”
“Ooh, I’m scared.” She threw her brush on the tabletop, hiked up the slim satin skirt of her nightgown, and bounded across the room as though she were fifteen again. Leaping onto the bed, she straddled Jake’s hard stomach and grabbed his wrists, pressing them to the mattress by his head. “I can take you any day of the week, big guy.”
This was the time of night she loved best. The entire family was safe and sound under their roof, she and Jake had a rare moment of privacy, and as an added bonus she was bubbling inside with the old, familiar heat, which even after all these years hadn’t lost its punch.
Jake flexed his muscles, and she laughed, pressing harder on his wrists. She shifted her weight lower and bounced experimentally. His body responded with gratifying immediacy.
“Gotcha, gotcha,” she singsonged. “You can’t get awaaa . . .”
His arms whipped out, breaking her grip easily, and his hands rose to cup her full breasts through the thin satin of her nightgown. “Gotcha, gotcha,” he mimicked in a low, rough voice. His thumbs raked over her nipples. “Shimmy for me.”
Hattie laughed. Leaning in a bit, she shook her shoulders.
“Oh God, that’s good,” he sighed. “I love you, Hattie-girl.”
Her head dropped back and a ragged sigh rattled up her arched throat. Lord, she loved this man. She’d sat in church tonight and thought life was good.
Well, what a miracle. Because every day, it purely kept getting better.
Author’s Note
(or, A Peek into a Chaotic Mind)
This book mugged me out of the blue, turned my writing on its ear, and left me reeling. But it left me grinning, too. I built my career writing contemporary books. What began itching in the back of my mind for this book was different. I kept getting amorphous glimpses of a part-straight-historical/part-historical-romance story that would unfold primarily in the first decade of the 1900s. I find the early part of the twentieth century fascinating. America was beginning to go through a lot of changes. It was a more innocent time, but also more judgmental and unforgiving of human foible, particularly if you were female. Modern elements were becoming more commonplace, with telephones, utilities, and indoor plumbing spreading beyond cities and towns to reach more rural areas. Old-school ways of thinking were slower to change, and I enjoyed plopping the fictitious town of Mattawa, Oregon, atop that dichotomy.
Most authors are asked, of the books they’ve written, which is their favorite. I never know how to answer. It’s tempting to say the one on which I just wrote “The End.” And since I write largely by correction, it’s true I’m hella thrilled with it after so long spent fearing I would never slap it into shape. But I think my most persistent reaction is feeling like a mother of twenty-six kids being asked to choose her favorite. I confess I only have one son. Still, I can’t imagine ever favoring any spawn of mine over another.
Famous last words, though, you know? Because this book became the passion project of my bibliography. I’d like to say the story came to me full-blown and all plotted out for me to write down flawlessly in a red-hot rush. But, yeaaaah . . . no.
I’m a character-driven writer at heart, and that often means a persistent voice that begins whispering in my ear. It’s the catalyst taking me into a new story, but in the beginning, I frankly don’t know with any precision what that story will be. I do know it will ultimately be born through my characters. For reasons I can’t pinpoint, my catalyst characters have generally been male. And the couple times they were female, they were adults. Yet this orphaned, redheaded eleven-year-old, with a mouth on her that would not quit, began agitating in my head for her story to be told. Hattie Witherspoon Taylor simply would not leave me alone until I helped her come of age and find her happy ending. And in that give-an-inch-and-they’ll-take-a-mile way, she dragged a host of 1900s women’s issues in her wake.
Two of those were rape and a rape trial. Sensationalizing sexual assault was never my aim. But this is an important story to tell today, because while things have changed in some respects, they have made little progress in others. I felt compelled to explore the onion-skin layers of hurt, shame, healing, and sisterhood—as well as the machismo of an earlier age, both toxic and benign. Women were ostracized in those days simply because they weren’t strong enough to fight off their attackers. Men were the only ones allowed to sit on a jury. Attitudes have come a long way from much of the draconian mind-set of Hattie’s time. Yet disgracefully, our society has not evolved nearly enough. Women still have to fight the asking-for-it mentality, simply because they dress in revealing club wear or enjoy a healthy sex life. Still, it was fascinating to research the history.
Research, however, is a two-edged sword for me. I love learning new things about different times, places, and people. Unfortunately, every fascinating fact unearthed constructs a time sink where hours disappear while I’m busy salivating over the things I’ve uncovered. And I know full well, even as I’m allowing those hours to be eaten up, that I will never use half the stuff I spent the afternoon chasing.
So that’s a peek into this writer’s mind. I often feel less like a professional author and more like a circus animal trainer with a whip and a chair. Still, I eventually do wind my way from beginning to end and tame that snarly beast. And I gotta tell you. Best. Feeling. In the world.
Questions for Discussion
1. In Hattie’s youth, most times inadvertently but sometimes intentionally, she broke many of the accepted conventions ruling women’s behavior. Can you think of a few examples? How would you describe the town’s reactions to Hattie? How would her behavior be received today?
2. In the early 1900s, women’s sexuality was rarely discussed with young women, and they were often left unprepared for their first experience with intercourse. Jane-Ellen feared everything about sex and simply could not find enjoyment in the act. Why do you think the author chose to include a character with this perspective?
3. Until Hattie left Mattawa to attend normal school, her only real friend was Moses Marks. Do you think it is possible to have an equally close friendship with the opposite sex as most of us enjoy with our own gender? Why or why not?
4. In that same vein, Hattie was eighteen years old before she made her first female friend. In what ways do her friendships with Nell and Moses differ? In what ways are they similar? Is one friendship stronger or deeper than the other? Be specific.
5. Why do you think Hattie chooses to accept the teaching position, knowing it means she will have to return to Mattawa? Do you see changes in Hattie when she returns home? In what ways does her occupation provide a sense of fulfillment?
6. Why do you think the author chose to include a sexual assault? How do you feel each character handles learning about the assault? What role do you think Hattie’s female friends and relatives play in her healing process?
7. Why do you think Hattie initially refuses to tell Jake about the assault? Do you agree or empathize with her decision? Why or why not?
8. Ho
w does the novel explore the concept of justice? Do you feel satisfied with Roger’s fate? How does this relate to current conversations surrounding the #MeToo movement and gender politics?
9. Which of Hattie’s age-specific characteristics, first as a child, then as a young adult, then as a woman, could you most identify with, and why? Did you experience any of Hattie’s struggle to fit in with a peer group and the wider community of adults? If so, how do you feel that impacted you as an adult, and did it have long-term effects?
10. A little over a hundred years ago, women were not allowed to vote, let alone sit on a jury panel. Women’s right to vote was ratified, nationwide, on August 18, 1920, but even then it excluded nonwhite women. The West Coast ratified women’s right to vote almost a decade earlier. Washington State’s women got the vote in 1910, California’s in 1911, and Oregon’s in 1912. Do you know when your female ancestors first voted, or what your current state allowed in the early 1900s?
Photo by www.StudioBportraits.com
Susan Andersen is a New York Times bestselling author most widely known for her contemporary romantic suspense. The proud mother of a grown son, Susan is a native of the Pacific Northwest, where she lives with her husband and two cats. The Ballad of Hattie Taylor is her first historical novel.
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