Good Lord, what now?
* * * *
Hattie slowly turned the pages of the calendar, embarrassed now by all the markings she’d made. Oh, how clever she once believed herself to be, thinking that she could outwit nature. She and Willie had certainly danced a merry tune, and now, of course, the piper must be paid.
Frowning, she wondered what use any of her platitudes had been. So much good advice, yet none of it had saved her from the making so many huge mistakes. She frowned, too, as she skipped over the pages. August. September. October.
She’d not seen Willie since that fateful summer’s day when he’d learned she was carrying his child. Autumn had come, summer was gone, and so was he.
Gone to Denver, according to George Whitmore. She’d gone to his office one morning. Yes, she’d been bold enough to march right in and inquire as to Willie’s whereabouts. Whether he meant to return or not, his mentor couldn’t say. Personal reasons, he remarked. That was all Willie had told him.
Hattie did no more than nod, thank the man for what little information he’d provided, and walk out with her head held high. At least she still had her dignity.
Now, alone in her upstairs room, even dignity deserted her. She put her head down on the desk and sobbed. How was she supposed to cope with all the changes taking place? Changes around her, changes within her own body, changes within her heart, as well.
She truly cared about Willie. She missed him more each day and yearned to be with him. Incredibly, even now, her unrepentant soul craved his touch, longed for the warmth of his kisses and caresses. Would she ever see him again? Would he ever again hold her in his arms?
He’d sent messages, of course. Hattie had not replied. No reason to lead him on.
One thing had not changed. Even had Willie been there at that very moment, going down on bended knee, Hattie would not agree to marriage. He might ask a thousand times, and always her answer would be the same.
He wasn’t ready for marriage.
If they were to wed now, he would come to regret it later.
Sniffling back tears, Hattie lifted her head and listened. Yes, someone—Charlotte, of course—stood in the hall, tapping at her door. The woman had appointed herself as a guardian of sorts, always coming around in the evening to check on Hattie, always questioning her about how she was feeling, asking if she’d eaten enough, rested enough, and offering more unsolicited advice than any young woman should have to hear.
Somehow, she found Charlotte’s kindness profoundly disturbing.
Wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, she called out for the woman to enter.
“I’m doing fine. I’ll be going to sleep in a few minutes, and honestly, I don’t feel much like talking,” she said as soon as Charlotte stepped into the room. “I suppose that sounds rather rude, but it’s the truth, and I don’t see any point in pretending otherwise.”
“I’ll speak the truth as well. You look like hell, Hattie.”
“I don’t care how I look.”
“You’ve been crying again. It’s high time you learn that those tears won’t solve your problems.”
“I never thought they would. That’s not why I’m crying.”
“You’re crying over Willie.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What else would you have to cry about?”
Hattie stared up at the woman, determined not to shed another tear. “My entire life is in turmoil, Mrs. Kellerman. I’m sick every morning, I can’t concentrate on my studies, and I’m so tired all the time I can barely make my rounds when we have patients to tend.” Thank goodness that wasn’t too often. “The last thing I’m going to worry about—or cry about—is Willie. He’s gone to Denver, and I don’t care if he never comes back.” She lifted her chin another notch, proud of herself for standing up to the woman. Proud, too, that she could take such a self-righteous stance toward the man who’d put her in such a predicament. Or at least, that she could so convincingly pretend not to care.
Charlotte’s laugh had a softness about it that touched Hattie’s heart. But it was the words she spoke that made it beat faster.
“He’ll be back next week. He’d like to see you.”
Hattie jumped from the chair, nearly overturning it. “How do you know?”
“He sent word earlier. He’s been staying in Denver with his mother, helping her settle her affairs there. Willie is bringing her back to Sunset with him.”
“I’m glad. It’s good of him to help his mother.”
“Yes, he seems to have done a bit of growing-up.”
“Is there any word about Judge Morse?” Hattie chewed at her lower lip. She would never push Willie to make amends with the man, yet she suspected much of his anger and bitterness would dissolve if he somehow came to terms with the past and found a way to forgive his father. Until then, she feared, even his best efforts at rebuilding his life would fall short of the mark.
“Not so far as I know. I suspect he’s left the country, probably taken on a new identity, and he’s most likely living a good life. It’s wrong, but like I’ve said so many times, life is never fair.” She turned toward the door. “Now, stop fretting and get some rest.” Placing a hand on the knob, she looked at Hattie. “Will you see him when he comes back?”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Do the right thing, Hattie. Marry him.”
* * * *
Before he turned the key, Willie sucked in a slow, deep breath. He hated occasions like this, times when one simple act brought irrevocable changes. Folks often lamented uncertainty, but to his mind, anything was preferable to that dreadful sense of finality that accompanied these awful moments when some part of life came to an end.
Every ending is a new beginning.
Willie chuckled, imagining Hattie’s sweet voice. Not only did she always have a platitude to pull out of her head when needed, she truly believed them all.
And maybe she was right.
Exhaling again, he locked the door to the house, then turned toward the street. His mother sat perched atop the bench in the rented wagon, staring straight ahead, her shoulders rigid, her bearing stoical. Leaving her home had to be painful, but Letitia Morse was far too proper to show such tawdry emotions.
The bed of the wagon held a dozen wooden crates, some packed with clothing, others containing the hearts and flowers and carefully-wrapped vases that, for years, had graced the parlor. The larger furnishings would remain and would be sold at auction with the house.
“I think that’s everything.” It required a bit of effort, but he managed to put a cheerful note in his voice. He suspected it was more for his own benefit than for his mother’s sake. She, at least, seemed to have accepted her fate. He couldn’t yet grasp the fact that this red brick residence with its stone lions, wide windows and fashionable address would never again be his home.
Even with what little they’d taken with them, packing had required far more time than he’d anticipated. Already the rosy glow of sunset blazed across the western skies. Night would fall long before they reached Sunset.
The long day would end…
Willie blinked as the thought crossed his mind. As sure as the sun went down in the evening and rose again on the morrow, a new day would begin.
Endings. Beginnings.
Maybe Hattie was right to believe in all those old adages, and maybe this terrible day of locking away the past would lead to a bright new future.
He reached the wagon and climbed aboard.
“Anything more to do before we leave?” He wondered if his mother might yet break down. He glanced toward the house, now locked, shuttered and dark. They would not step inside again, but perhaps she’d want to walk one last time through the sorrowful garden with its dead and dying remnants of the season past.
“No, nothing.” Sadness shone in her eyes, but she squared her shoulders, shook her head, and gave her son a reassuring smile. “It’s time to go, William. It’s time to go.”
They s
et off at a slow and steady pace.
By the time they reached Sunset, Willie’s patience had been worn thin. His mother had done nothing but complain as their overloaded wagon jostled over the rutted, dusty roads. Now, with the day nearly done, he hoped her whining would be over, as well.
“I hate this horrid little town,” she said, casting a gaze over the quiet streets. “I don’t know why you came here, William. You should have stayed in Denver. We could have found a decent place to live, and I wouldn’t have to leave all my friends behind.”
“Mother, you no longer have any friends,” he reminded her. His hopes of a pleasant evening dashed, Willie sagged against the wooden bench. His arms ached from the long drive home. So did his legs.
His heart ached, too.
“Come on, let’s get inside and get you settled. Things will look brighter tomorrow.” Or so he hoped. As Willie assisted his mother down from the wagon and helped her inside, a sense of loss overwhelmed him. For God’s sake, how was he going to help her when he could barely take care of himself? At least, he was still young. He still had a future worth fighting for. His mother had nothing.
* * * *
The morning brought only more misery.
His mother hated Sunset, thought Tansy Godwin’s boarding house very tired-looking, and for that matter, she didn’t have anything good to say about the widow woman herself. Willie had arranged to take a larger suite of rooms in the house, but, of course, his mother found them altogether unsatisfactory. Too small, too dingy, too cramped and crowded with mismatched furnishings.
“Where am I supposed to put my belongings?” she asked, her arms lifted in a gesture of entreaty.
The boxes and crates were still loaded onto the wagon. Willie had no idea where, precisely, all those china vases, knick-knacks, and figurines would go. Probably best to throw them all in the rubbish bin. He dared not make the suggestion.
“We’ll figure it all out, Mother.” He doubted she heard him. She wasn’t listening.
“I don’t see how you can expect me to live in a wretched place like this.” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. “You’ll have to find better accommodations for me.”
“This is the best I can do.” The words shot out like an artillery assault and served much the same purpose. Defense. Protection. “I’m damned tired of apologizing for everything I do. If you don’t like it here, then find your own place, Mother. Make your own way.”
No man should speak to his mother like that. He knew it, but hadn’t she once thrown him out with a spate of hateful words? Willie fought for composure. He was about to crack.
Other than her pitiful crying, his mother remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice, going to her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But you have to understand that life isn’t going to be the same as before. Things have changed. We have to put it behind us, and we have to adapt.”
“Yes, you’re right.” She lifted her tear-streaked face to him. “But it’s so hard, William.”
“We’ll make it. I promise.”
She made an effort to smile, but it proved too difficult. The corners of her mouth turned down again. “Why did everyone desert us? I know what your father did was wrong, but why do we have to suffer for it? Why do people look at me as though I’ve committed some awful crime?”
“I wish I knew how to answer that.” He settled onto the sofa next to his mother and took her into his arms. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he assured her.
Neither had he.
The realization came like the fresh autumn wind blowing through the opened windows. It stirred within him, lifting his spirits, and offering yet one more breath of hope. He sucked at it, held it, and for the first time, he believed it.
He had done nothing wrong. He still deserved a chance at happiness. He could yet have his dreams.
Chapter Thirteen
Early the following morning, Willie and his mother set to work turning the tiny rooms into a comfortable place for them both to live. Actually, Willie did all the work while his mother sat on the faded settee and issued orders.
Hideous. That’s how it looked from Willie’s point of view, but what did he know? If the decor made his mother happy, fine. He could live with the clutter of vases and gaudy, broken statuettes, the knick-knacks, the doilies, and the awful watercolors which his mother had painted and which she considered fine art.
Sweat poured from his brow, his armpits, and chest.
When Mrs. Godwin called through the door, Willie breathed a sigh. He needed a break.
“The door’s open, Mrs. Godwin. You’re welcome to come in.”
“No need. I’m only here to announce that you have a visitor.” Having met his mother last night, she probably had as little desire to be around her as Willie did.
He climbed down from the stool he’d been using to hammer another nail in the wall. “Who is it?” He wasn’t expecting anyone, and so far as he knew, no one in Sunset would be coming to call on his mother so soon. Of course, word spread quickly. Probably Mrs. Gilman and the women from the Charitable Society. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood, but he was grateful for the chance to get down to the floor again. Of course, it would be good if his mother could get acquainted with the ladies in town. Maybe she could find a friend or two.
He opened the door. Tansy Godwin stood staring at him.
“Yes, you said we had a visitor?”
“I want you to understand, Mr. Morse, that I don’t think it’s quite proper. You know I have strict rules against female callers, but as I suspect she’s come to see your mother and not you, I’ll grant an exception.” She turned, retreated down the hallway, and then re-appeared a moment later followed by Hattie Mae.
Willie’s heart turned somersaults, but he kept his composure. And his manners. “Miss Richards. What a pleasant surprise,” he said with a polite bow.
She lowered her gaze. “I don’t mean to stay but a minute. I wanted to welcome your mother to Sunset. I’ve brought something for her.” She held out a small plant. “Pothos,” she said, as though that was supposed to mean something.
“William? Who is it?” His mother rose from the settee and approached the door. At the sight of Hattie standing at the threshold, she stopped. Looking not at her son but at the caller, she narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Hattie Mae Richards, ma’am. I cared for your son when he was in the hospital. We’ve become friends,” she added, color rising to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said to Willie as he helped her with her cloak.
“And you’ve brought me a gift, have you?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pothos plant.”
“I can see perfectly well what it is.” She stepped back. “Don’t you know it’s considered quite improper to give houseplants as gifts? I suppose it hardly matters, though. It’s not like we’ve developed any sort of relationship.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Plants are not good gifts, Miss…” She glanced toward Willie. “What was her name?”
“Miss Richards. Hattie Mae Richards.”
“Yes, fine. If you give a plant and it dies, then the friendship dies, as well. As I said, you and I aren’t acquainted so I suppose it hardly matters.” She turned and walked away.
* * * *
Hattie gulped, hating to think of her friendship with Willie coming to a sudden end because of some silly superstition. Of course, under the circumstances they probably weren’t really friends any longer. But, if not friends, what were they? How was the relationship between them to be defined? He’d fathered her child. She would bear his son or daughter.
Yet they would not marry, most certainly would not cohabit—as some low-class men and women did—and any friendship between them would be most awkward now.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Morse. I wasn’t aware I was doing anything wrong.” If only she could say the same about her illicit relationship. She’d known perfectly good and well how imp
roper that behavior had been. She’d done it anyway.
No regrets.
“I suppose you don’t know any better.” Letitia Morse returned to the door. She reached out, took the offending plant—which seemed to wilt at the woman’s touch—and then gestured toward a settee. “Since you’re here, you might as well come in.”
“Thank you.” She stepped cautiously inside. Although larger than Willie’s single room, the suite seemed less spacious. All those vases, and figurines. Every surface was covered. She and Mrs. Morse certainly had very different tastes. “It’s lovely,” she fibbed. She still detested telling lies, even when the situation demanded one.
“William?” his mother called as she squeezed the pothos onto a table already filled with knick-knacks.
“Yes, Mother?”
“When you were in Denver, you spoke of seeing a young woman.”
“Yes, I did.”
Hattie held her breath. Had Willie actually mentioned her to his mother? The thought thrilled her yet left her anxious at the same time. Especially now.
“And is this girl the one of whom you spoke?” The tall woman with the long face and pince-nez stared down at her.
Hattie wished she could shrink away and slip beneath the settee. Or better yet, that she could simply disappear. She shouldn’t have come calling without an invitation, but as so often happened, curiosity got the better of her. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer, and finally let it out when Willie replied.
“Yes, Mother, she is.”
Now his mother’s scrutiny became even more intense. She walked around Hattie, looking her over as if she were a piece of merchandise—perhaps another porcelain statue she contemplated purchasing. Nothing could escape her careful gaze. Not the scuffs on her boots, the slightly frayed edge of her sleeves, or the dull sheen of her old bonnet. Hattie sucked in another breath.
“Perhaps we should talk, Miss Richards.” She gestured toward the settee then turned toward Willie. “Ask Widow Godwin to fix a pot of tea, William.”
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