NoRegretsColeNC (19 page)

“Don’t
speak of such vulgar matters.”

“Fine.
In return, I don’t want to hear
another unkind word from you about Hattie. She’s a decent girl, and she’s had a
good education. No matter who or what her people were, you can’t hold it
against her.”

Once
again, his own words drew him up short. In the same way, no one could hold
Judge Morse’s actions against his son. But while his words gave him hope for
the future, they did nothing to placate his mother. Neither did they silence
her. In fact, the words he spoke only provoked her all the more.

 
“William,” she said in
that
voice—the one that always warned
him she was on to his tricks. “Is there something you’re not telling me?
Something I should know?”

Damn,
but the woman was perceptive. She knew him too well.

He
gulped. “No, Mother, of course not.”

* * *
*

Hattie saw little of Willie over the
next few weeks. From time to time, he called at the hospital, asking to speak
with her, but she thought it prudent not to encourage him. Although she would
have enjoyed his company, she refused to see him,
then
stood at the window watching as he slowly walked away with his awkward,
uncertain gait.

Thankfully, she saw nothing of Letitia
Morse. If she never saw the woman again, she wouldn’t care.

On the advice of the doctor and his
wife, Hattie stayed close to the hospital, usually spending her days in her
room studying. When patients came, she did what was necessary to attend to
their comfort but remained out of sight as much as possible.

Her body had begun to change. Even
though the signs of her pregnancy were probably still too slight for a casual
observer to notice, Hattie could see that her breasts were fuller, her waist
was thicker, and the baby inside of her was making a round little bump in her
belly.

Before long, her condition would be
apparent to anyone who looked her way. When that time came, she would have to
remain out of sight until the birth. She would have Dr. Kellerman perform the
delivery, although she had not yet discussed the matter with him.

Hattie dreaded the thought of her
coming confinement—both the painful birth process and the long months she must
spend shut away from the rest of the world while she impatiently awaited the
arrival of her child.

Standing at the window, Hattie stared
out at the gray November morning.
Thanksgiving.
A time for gratitude, a time for counting blessings.
She
smiled. Despite the dreary weather and the problems she faced, Hattie
nevertheless felt blessed indeed. Motherhood was a special gift bestowed upon a
woman by the hand of the Lord.

To celebrate the day, the Kellermans
had gone off to visit with Charlotte’s son Tom and his family—which now
included not three, but four darling little girls—Faith, Hope, Charity, and
Grace, the newest arrival. Hattie had been invited, but she didn’t want to
intrude.

Now, she wished she’d gone along. The
day seemed to stretch out before her. Tired of studying—lately it seemed she
hardly remembered anything she read—she put down the dull medical text and
gazed out the window.

Just once more, she wanted to go out.
She wanted to walk along the streets, feeling the fresh air, and taking in the
now-familiar sights and sounds of the little town. Soon, she would have nothing
but memories to see her through the long, lonely winter and the early spring.

Grabbing a heavy wrap, a scarf, and a
thick fur hat, Hattie eagerly prepared for her last little outing. She knew
exactly where she would go and what she would do.

It took only a few minutes to reach her
destination.

Before Hattie stepped inside the social
hall, she stopped, glanced down at her belly, and then quickly gathered her
cloak around herself. Her condition should not be obvious to anyone who looked
her way, but it might be enough to raise a few eyebrows among the suspicious.
Precisely the sort of ladies who came to these functions,
happily
volunteering
their time and trouble in exchange for the opportunity to
wag their tongues and keep the rumor-mill grinding.

The aromas of roasting fowl, root
vegetables, and freshly-baked fruit pies filled the air. Grateful that her
bouts with
morning sickness
as
Charlotte Kellerman called it were now a thing of the past, Hattie inhaled
deeply, loving the fragrant potpourri of sage, cinnamon, rosemary, and thyme
mingling together.

“Good morning, Mrs.
Bittiker
,”
she called as she glided through the room. “Tell me how I can help, and I’ll
get started straight-away.”

Nina
Bittiker
,
current head of the Ladies Charitable Society, exchanged a quick glance with
the woman to her left. Betty Gilman, wife of the friendly, good-natured pastor,
turned, gave Hattie
a
once-over, and shook her head.

“We’ve got all the assistance we need,
Miss
Richards.” She placed an unusual
emphasis on the title. As she spoke, her gaze lingered on Hattie’s mid-section.

She
knows
.

Hattie chewed at her bottom lip,
wondering when—and how—her situation had become public knowledge. Had Charlotte
broken her word? Or had the astute, sharp-eyed Mrs. Gilman merely made a very
accurate guess?

Most likely, the latter.

Determined not to make a mountain out
of what was surely only a molehill, Hattie put a bright smile on her face. “I
want very much to help. I can cook, or serve food, or whatever else you’d
like.”

Mrs. Gilman came toward her. “We do
appreciate the offer, but truly, the best thing would be for you to leave now
and not make a scene.”

“But, why?
Why are you turning me away?” Even if the truth had come out, it was no cause
to spurn her. She was still quite capable of helping with the dinner
preparations.

“Must I say it, Miss Richards?” The
woman appeared uncharacteristically flustered. She blinked rapidly. “There will
be children here. Little girls are very impressionable, and I hardly think
you’re a sterling example of young womanhood. Everyone in this town knows
what’s been going on between you and that brute.”

Hattie
squared her shoulders. “Willie Morse is no brute, Mrs. Gilman. He’s a
respectable man trying to earn an honest living.”

“Of
course you’ll defend him. It’s common knowledge that you’ve become his
paramour.”

“And
what business is it of yours, Mrs. Gilman? How I choose to spend my time and
with whom I choose to spend it is none of your concern.” She knew her voice was
growing louder, but with her emotions suddenly out of control, she couldn’t
stop it from happening. Nor would she back down. “I don’t know who appointed
you as the guardian of this town’s morals, and frankly, I don’t care what you
think about me…or what you say about me. But I won’t stand here and listen to
you disparage Willie’s good name.”

Women
were gathering around, and as Hattie shouted out the last remarks, a gasp
rippled through the crowd. Like the Red Sea parting, the ladies suddenly moved
apart. Hattie looked up, mortified to see Letitia Morse heading straight for
her.

“Excuse
me.” The words barely came out. Hattie couldn’t muster enough breath to do more
than whisper. She spun about and headed for the door.

Hattie
heard the hateful woman calling after her. In no mood for any more
unpleasantness, she kept going.

“Don’t
you dare walk away from me, Miss
Richards.
You know
good and well I’m behind you.”

“Yes,
but I don’t wish to talk to you.” Hattie threw the words over her shoulder and
hurried on.

How
Willie’s mother managed to catch up, she didn’t know, but a moment later, the
tall, thickset woman stood in front of her, peering over the steel rims of her
pince-nez. Her harsh brown eyes bore down upon her.

“Really,
Miss Richards, there’s no need to make a fuss. We need to speak privately.” She
took hold of Hattie’s elbow and steered her toward a corner of the social hall.
“It’s come to my attention that you’re carrying my son’s child, and whether you
wish it or not, there are things we need to discuss.”

Hattie
put up no further fight. She lowered her gaze, and resolved to keep her wayward
emotions in check. “I’m not asking anything of your son, Mrs. Morse.”

“Obviously
I’m not pleased that he would choose to procreate with someone so far beneath
his position, but—”

“Beneath
his position?”
Hattie’s head jerked up, putting a stop to the woman’s words. “Willie’s got no
social position now,” she pointed out, “thanks to his father. For that matter,
neither do you. Please, don’t go putting on airs, acting as though you’re so
much better than me. You’re not.” She raked the woman with a judgmental gaze.

“How
dare you speak to me this
way.
”

Hattie
could not be stopped. “Maybe you were better than everybody once, but not now.
You don’t have that fancy home in Denver any longer. You don’t have servants to
wait on you. You don’t have your society groups. All you’ve got is this
ridiculous pretense at charitable deeds,” she said, making an expansive gesture
with her hands. As she did, her cloak opened, and sure enough, Letitia Morse
got all the confirmation she needed.

But
Hattie’s reminders somehow stripped her of any last remaining pretense of
power. The woman crumpled. She sighed. Her shoulders sagged.

“You’re
right, Miss Richards. I’ve got nothing left at all.
Nothing
but my son.”

Certainly
Letitia Morse had lost a great deal. Hattie’s thoughts softened. “We’re all
doing our best, just trying to get by. As I’ve already said, I don’t expect
anything from Willie. I’m not going to take him away from you, if that’s what
has you concerned.” Thinking their conversation at an end and matters between
them resolved, Hattie turned toward the door.

“You
must marry him, Miss Richards.
For the sake of your child.”

Hattie
hesitated,
then
shook her head. “No. I won’t do it. I
refuse to marry him. I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own.”

“No,
you’re not. There’s no way you can
provide a secure
future to your child.” Her gaze strayed to Hattie’s burgeoning form. “You can’t
give the child a decent education. You can’t buy clothes, or shoes, or provide
a home for a child. What about warmth in the winter?
Shelter
from the storms?
Miss Richards, surely you understand. You’ve got no
means—”

“And neither does Willie. He’s barely
scraping by, and he’s already got you dependent upon him. I won’t burden him
further.”

“He’s going to make something of
himself, you’ll see. He’s studying the law again. He’ll pass his exams, be
admitted to practice.”

“I’m sure he will, but that doesn’t
change my decision, Mrs. Morse. I still won’t marry him.” Unwilling to listen
to any more protests, Hattie hurried away. In her haste, she collided with
Molly Munro who was heading for the entrance.

“I’m terribly sorry. I wasn’t watching
where I was going.” Hattie hoped the apology would be enough. Molly had a
reputation as a trouble-maker. Still the Ladies Charitable Society welcomed her
as a member in good standing, largely because of the gossip she provided. Molly
worked at the saloon serving drinks and flirting with cowboys, but nobody held
it against her. Nobody dared. Molly was the sheriff’s best girl, at least when
she wasn’t spurning him and chasing after his deputy instead.

Yet the good women of Sunset tolerated
Molly and her peccadilloes without
so
much as a blink
of the eye. The injustice
rankled
Hattie.

The buxom Irish lass with the fiery
hair and emerald eyes took hold of Hattie’s arm. “So, is it true? You ought to
be ashamed of yourself, Miss Richards.”

Hattie jerked her arm away. “I have to
go.”

Molly trotted along behind her,
obviously wanting as much information as she could get. “You’re making Willie
look bad, you know. He’s trying his best to get his life together, and now
you’re parading about this way. You’ve got the whole town coming down on him,
and—”

“I
never said it was his child.”

“Of
course it’s Willie’s child. Everybody knows that.”

“It’s
nobody’s business but mine.”

“You
ought to at least have the decency to stay shut up inside. It’s shameful that
you’re out walking about, almost as if you’re proud of what you’ve done and
want to show yourself off.” She wagged a finger in Hattie’s face. “You’ve
branded yourself, you know. Just like those ranchers put brands on their
cattle. You’ve marked yourself as a sinful woman.”

“And
you’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been gadding about between Deputy Goddard and
Sheriff Bryant for years now, from what I’ve heard. I’ve heard, too, that
you’ve been very free with your affections, Miss Munro. You just haven’t yet
had to pay the price for your
pleasures which is
probably a good thing. At least I know who the father of my child is. If you
were in my condition, I doubt you could say as much.”