Divided Heart

by Sheryl Marcoux

  “Now,” Zachariah pressed.” When will you be finished with your business here in Ramsden?”

  Had it not been for that emblem shining off Zachariah’s vest, Nate wouldn’t have spat out his answer so politely. “You’ll have to ask your banker that, because I’m waiting on the money he agreed to pay my mother.” Her problem served as a good excuse to stick around, and Zachariah knew it, because he didn’t say a word in protest.

  When Hattie finally came out of the eatery, Nate tipped his hat to her. “I see you already have help. Good day, Hattie.” After an eye-to-eye glare with Zachariah, he left.

  ~*~

  Hattie tried not to watch Nate leave, because every time she did, she yearned to go with him.

  “How are you doing?” Unlike the Reverend, Zachariah was insightful enough to know when her heart ached.

  “I’ll be doing better once he’s gone.”

  With an unreadable look on his face, Zachariah watched Nate as if he knew something about him but wasn’t telling her. “The Reverend’s a fine man, Hattie.”

  She appreciated his attempt to get her mind off Nate, but in that respect, Zachariah wasn’t insightful at all. He was wishful. As wishful as she’d been. The Reverend just isn’t right for me, Lord. She wanted to say that to Zachariah as her gaze stayed on the only man who was right for her.

  Nate got onto his horse and rode out of sight, along with her heart.

  After bringing the rest of her pies into Kate’s, Zachariah said, “I reckon there ain’t going to be a right time to tell you this.”

  “Tell me what?” Hattie said.

  “There’s a man looking for you.”

  She snorted. Back when she’d worked in the saloon, many a man just passing through had come through again to ask her to marry him. She waved her hand dismissingly. “I don’t want to know about it.”

  “You might want to know about this man.”

  She crossed her arms. Couldn’t Zachariah see she already had enough on her mind? “And why is that?”

  Zachariah paused. “Because the man claims to be your pa.”

  Her fingers tightened around the pie basket. No man had ever claimed that. But she could solve this predicament easily enough. “Did he give you a name?”

  “Mr. Jonathan Parker. Says he’s from Georgia.”

  Her numbness turned to weakness.

  “Who’s my pa?”

  Hattie rarely saw her mother other than over a bucket and a washboard. She looked tired beyond her years, and she scrubbed just as listlessly as if she were doing it in her sleep.

  “He was my master’s son,” she surrendered. It seemed all the scrubbing had finally taken the fight out of her.

  “I didn’t know you were a slave, Ma.”

  “I was born a slave. Never knew my own pa. Never wanted to have a child who didn’t.” She stopped scrubbing and looked down into the water as if she saw something in there. “I met your pa when I was fourteen years old. Me and my sister, we was up for auction, and two men bid on us. The first one, he had me scared stiff as a broomstick the way he kept looking at me. The second, well, that was your grandpa, and he was as Christian a man as I suppose they come, because he rescued me, Hattie. He rescued me and my sister from a man known for beating his slaves.

  “The master’s son, he took a shining to me, and I took a shining to him, and then it just happened that we done what we shouldn’t ought to have done. I knowed it was wrong. And I knowed it was even more wrong, but when I started to feel a baby growing inside me, I was so scared of getting caught in my sin that I stole money from the master’s house. That’s how I paid my way here.” She hesitated. “This is the first time I ever told anybody that. I never even told my sister.” She looked into the wash bucket, with longing in her eyes.

  “You miss your sister, Ma?” Hattie said softly.

  Her mother yielded a rare smile. “Her name was Hattie. That’s where your name come from.” She wiped some mist from her eyes. “And I’m going to tell you something else I ain’t never told nobody, neither. Jonathan. That was your pa’s name. Jonathan Garrison Parker.”

  “Hattie,” Zachariah said. “Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t. First Nate…and now this? But Zachariah had a family and a whole town to care for. She’d already loaded enough trouble on him with Nate being back because of her. “I’ll be fine,” she said. Maybe not for the moment, but with the Lord’s healing, eventually she’d be.

  “Mr. Parker wants to talk with you. He’s staying at the hotel.”

  She stared at the brick building with the swinging doors. The only hotel in town was the one over the saloon where Boss had kept her prisoner. She wouldn’t set foot near that place, let alone in it. Staring at the saloon changed her weakness into indignation. That place and everyone in it had brought her nothing but grief. Including her pa. “You can tell Mr. Parker not to bother waiting around.” She climbed onto her wagon. “Thank you for your help, Zachariah.”

  ~*~

  Nate hid himself behind a sagging barn as he waited for Hattie to arrive home. Every minute she spent with Cadwell was a minute she was in danger. If Zachariah couldn’t see that, Nate would do his utmost to make sure she did. He’d tell her about Cadwell, but he’d first make her a promise—a promise he’d have to force himself to keep.

  Finally, her slow-as-molasses mare came into sight. As she unhitched her horse and watered it, he wished she’d render him half the affection she gave the old horse. She spotted him and closed the door before he could follow her into the house.

  He knocked. “Hattie, open up.” He knocked again. “There’s something I have to tell you. Hattie, please.”

  “What part of ‘Don’t bother me’ doesn’t sink in, Nate?” She was listening.

  He called through the door, “There’s something important I have to tell you.” He hesitated before adding, “If you’ll just listen to me this one last time, I promise it’s the last thing I’ll ever say to you.”

  “I’ve already listened to you enough. What more can you tell me?”

  “It’s not about us.”

  “Then who’s it about?”

  “It’s about the Reverend. You can’t go near the man, Hattie. He’s dangerous.”

  She threw open the door. “I know. You think he’s a bumbling fool.”

  “It’s worse than that. The man’s lying to you. He’s lying to everyone.”

  “He’s lying?” She put a hand on the cotton fabric that skimmed over her waist, cinching it in and revealing the shapely figure beneath. “So what’s he lying about?”

  “His clumsiness, Hattie. It’s all an act.”

  She paused.

  “Come on, Hattie, you’re no dupe. You’ve got to suspect something’s not right about the man.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Like what…exactly?”

  “He’s the best gunman I’ve ever seen. I caught him practicing out in the wilds.”

  “So—why would he be acting like someone he isn’t?”

  “Because he’s a member of the Krugar Gang.”

  “You mean that band of outlaws on the poster hanging in the sheriff’s office?” Her voice held the same doubt Zachariah had used. “Nobody knows who Joe Kurgar is, but you just happen to come along and figure it out. And the one you happen to figure it out about is the Reverend.”

  “He’s not Joe Krugar, and he’s not on that poster.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “I don’t know, Hattie. I don’t have all the answers. But I saw his face on an old poster. I suspect he’s hiding out.”

  “You suspect?” She snorted. “If I had a mind to, I’d chew both your ears off telling you about all the things that I suspect—and not one of them has to do with the Reverend. Now, you said your piece, Nate. Go back to that fine life of yours back East.”

  She started to close the door, but he held it open. Her gaze hardened into a how-dare-you-out-step-your-bounds glare. “Get your hand off my door.” Burrs rough
ened the satin of her voice.

  The memory of the Krugar Gang almost killing a man in cold blood kept Nate from allowing her to shut him out without her, in turn, making him a promise. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him, Hattie.”

  Her voice became thorny. “You know what I suspect most of all, Nate? I suspect you’re not getting what you want, so you want to make sure I don’t get what I want, either.”

  “What I want is your happiness.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, Hattie.”

  “You wouldn’t, now?”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  Thorns disappeared from her voice. “Then tell me where you’ve been, Nate.”

  Yearning wrapped around his heart like silk ribbons. There was the look he’d once known in her eyes. It was the same tenderness she’d had when she stood in this same doorway on the night he’d arrived. The moon had cast a beam of light on her as though it was the eye of something divine he’d been following through the darkness. And like that night, he had one last step of his journey—and that was the step through her door and into her arms. She couldn’t begin to imagine how far he’d come. But he couldn’t tell her, either. Nor could he lie to her, so he let go of the door.

  Her eyes glistened at his silence. “At least I know where the Reverend’s been these past seven years—and it hasn’t been in the arms of another woman.” She slammed the door. “I’ve listened long enough to you. Now go away, Nate.” Was she weeping? “Go away like you promised.”

  The door went hazy behind the mist gathering in his eyes as he listened to her muffled sobs. Again, the last step of his journey was one he couldn’t take, and by falling short, all he’d done was hurt the person he loved the most. “I’m sorry, Hattie,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I’ve been.”

  Because the fact was, his starting point had been more of an abyss than a place.

  ~*~

  As the fading thuds of horse hooves indicated Nate had fulfilled his promise, Hattie sagged against the door. If only she could lock out the hailstorm of hurt that kept finding its way in and pelting her. I don’t want you to go, Nate. I want to see you every day for the rest of my life. But if she couldn’t trust him to be faithful to her, he’d only hurt her more.

  Would her pa soon find her and come knocking on her door as well?

  Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she closed her eyes. “Why can’t they just go away and leave me alone, Lord?”

  Two old scars, one cut into the heart of the woman; one cut deeper into the heart of the girl. Each of Nate’s good-byes cut his wound deeper. Each day her father stayed in town cut that one deeper. He was so close, she could almost feel him—or more so, the absence of him in her early years.

  ~*~

  “Hattie ain’t got no pa.” A ring of children caged her in on the school grounds. “And she’s always itching ‘cause she’s got fleas.” A rock hit her in the head and struck her down. She landed in the mud.

  Trying not to cry, she clutched a handful of prickly burlap, now soiled. When she got home, her ma would be mad because she’d have to scrub it clean. No one else in school had to wear an itchy burlap dress. Maybe, if she had a pa, she wouldn’t have to wear one either. She wanted a pa real bad. But maybe she didn’t have one because he didn’t want her.

  ~*~

  Hattie sank to the floor. “How does a life get so muddled up, Lord? When a man comes back for a woman after he’s betrayed her trust…? When a father comes looking for a daughter after she’s all grown up...?” Hattie let her sobs go.

  “My ma said that my pa didn’t know she was with child,” she said to God. “But how could he not figure that out? He’d united with a woman, the woman ran away, and he just plain let her go. If that doesn’t add up to ‘the woman’s carrying your baby,’ then the man’s so dimwitted he can’t count to three.” She let out a listless chuckle that didn’t relieve the pain. “So what made him figure it out now all of a sudden?

  “And the way Nate forced the door open.” She dabbed at her eyes. “He’s never done anything like that before. He was trying to make me listen, but listen to what? Everything he’s said about the Reverend, that’s just nonsense—isn’t it, Lord?”

  She’d agreed with Nate that there was something not right about the Reverend, but accusing him of being in an old poster of the Krugar Gang was too far-fetched.

  She sat on the floor, elbows on knees, hands clasped below her chin. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Lord. But come to think of it, I never knew a man who’d left me anything other than alone. Until Zachariah came along. I saw in the brotherly way he cared about me what You were all about, Jesus. So that’s why I want to marry a man who believes in You. And that naturally leads me to the Reverend—doesn’t it?

  “But what will he think about my past, being a preacher and all? I still haven’t told him I’d worked in the saloon. Zachariah said that You’d provide the right time to tell him, but it’s been seven years, Lord, so a person might think You’d have provided the right time by now. So what am I doing wrong, Lord?” Something deep inside her whimpered the truth. “I never told the Reverend because I don’t want to marry him.”

  Nate was the one she’d always wanted to marry, the one she’d always hurt for. He was the salve. But he was also the knife.

  And as for a father, she’d always yearned for a pa to make her ma’s work easier and to chase away the things that frightened her at night—but that was when she was a child. She didn’t need a pa now—and she especially didn’t want one who’d hurt her by not being there when she did need one.

  Happiness. That’s what she’d always wanted. But for some reason, that’s what kept steering clear of her. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Help me Sweet Jesus.

  18

  “There are a lot of memories here.”

  “Yes, Mother, there are.”

  A week passed since Nate had promised to leave Hattie alone forever, and he’d stayed true to his word. Nate’s business in Ramsden was nearly completed, and he was left only with an ache in his chest and a hope his warning about the Reverend would sink into Hattie’s brain. Even ensuring Tilly came through with the money wasn’t necessary, because Nate had wired money from his bank and bought the house Doctor Hinkle had told him about.

  Sympathizing with Nate’s mother’s plight, Nate’s employer assured him his job would be waiting, but warned him to be back soon. Nate told his employer he’d leave within the week, after he moved his mother’s belongings into her new home. Moving wouldn’t be an easy task, not because of the items themselves, but because of who they’d once belonged to.

  “These are the bookends I gave Marcus for Christmas.” His mother picked up a carving of a horse’s head and hugged it to her fragile body. “I had them made especially for him. And this is the pen and inkwell I gave him for our anniversary.” Each item in Marcus’s office stirred a faraway smile from her, but for Nate they were nothing but remnants of a past he’d have to force himself to face, piece by painful piece. And there were so many pieces.

  Each book, each pen, each piece of paper he touched scorched him with a memory of the family business and how poorly he’d fitted into it. He picked up one of the old business records. Humming a jaunty tune, he hid from his mother that his hands trembled on the cool leather binding poisoned by Marcus’s hand.

  ~*~

  “What do you reckon we should do now, son?”

  Nate was fourteen years old and on his first time out driving their cattle. Marcus had appointed him trail boss. Due to his excellent performance in school, Nate thought it only natural he should start at the top. But Marcus had no use for book learning, and a different motive for giving Nate the top position.

  “We need to push them two more miles today to keep on schedule,” Nate said with confidence. He was well prepared, having based his decision on calculations he’d done before they’d left. He’d studied the map. He’
d done the math. This was going to be the most efficient drive Marcus had ever been on.

  “So that’s your answer?” Marcus said. “Push them another two miles?”

  So many miles to go divided by so many days to do it in led to that answer. “Yes, Pa.” Nate slid the notes he kept back into his saddlebag.

  Marcus rode up to him, retrieved the calculations, and tossed the book to the trampled ground. “If you opened your eyes instead of a book, you’d see these longhorns already had a hard day. You can’t push them anymore because they’re dead tired. Not only that, but two more miles in this hard terrain will bring us past nightfall, and we won’t be able to see a thing. We could drive them right off a cliff, for Pete’s sake. Now you go tell Zachariah we’re putting up camp for the night. He’ll know what to do.” And he mumbled, “Glad someone around here has some sense.”

  ~*~

  The ledger fell from Nate’s hand.

  “Is everything all right?” his mother asked.

  No, it wasn’t. Nate wanted to escape from the house and leave this daunting task solely to her. She could heap all the memorabilia into a pile and light a match to it all. Let the memories of Marcus and the business go up in flames.

  The sight of his delicate mother, however, pulled him together. He wrapped his pain into a neat, little package of professional practicality. “Everything in here had to do with the cattle business. The books, the desk, his chair—they’re no longer needed.”

  She glanced around at the room where Marcus had spent most of his time. “I need them.”

  “You’re going from a fourteen-room ranch to a four-room house.” Though small, the house was practical, so long as she could be sensible. “Not everything will fit, Mother. You need to discern what’s important and what—”

  “Everything in this room is important to me. I’ll find room for it.” Innocent of the torment she was putting him through, she began to weep. He pulled her into his arms.

  Stoic, he glanced over her head at the massive desk and tufted chair where Marcus used to sit and blatantly scribble out the numbers Nate had entered into the books. Marcus gave him the figures, but wrote illegibly and would grumble if asked for clarification, so Nate would have to guess at the numbers. One way or another, Marcus would rig things so he’d find fault with Nate. He wanted a cowhand for a son, not an accountant.