NoRegretsColeNC (23 page)

“But
you love him, you said. Why did you refuse him?”

“He
wasn’t ready for marriage. Besides, I didn’t think it was right that he should
pay for my mistake.”

“But
you said it wasn’t a mistake.” Virginia
Quisenberry
looked and sounded bewildered.

“What I
meant was falling in love wasn’t a mistake, and I refuse to regret how things
turned out. But, you see, I did make a mistake. I miscalculated.” Looking back,
Hattie realized how different her life would be had she not gone browsing
through Dr. Kellerman’s books. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” she
commented. “I thought I knew so much. I really knew nothing at all.”

The
woman looked utterly baffled. “I won’t press for more, dear, but if you need
someone to listen, I will.”

“I’ve
said enough on the matter, and there are other things to chat about.” Hattie
brought a smile to her face. “Have you lived in San Francisco long? I’ve only
arrived a few months ago. I’m afraid the big city is somewhat overpowering.”

“You
ran away from…Willie? Was that his name?”

“Not
so much him, but from the others.
The women in town looked down at me. Of course, it’s no
different here. Except for you,” she added. “You’re the first person I’ve met
who seems willing to accept me. Thank you.”

“I
think perhaps we were meant to meet. I do believe in providence, don’t you?”

“Chance
is the nickname of Providence,” Hattie quickly quoted, although she couldn’t
remember the source of the adage. “Perhaps it’s true. Maybe there is a divine
order in all of life and what we see as chance is really the hand of the Lord
leading us in the right direction.”

But
then, was it also the hand of the Lord who had brought Willie Morse into
Hattie’s life? Was there a meaning and a purpose behind it all?

Virginia
Quisenberry
laughed softly.
“Such
deep thoughts.
Let’s speak of simpler things, shall we?”

Hattie
laughed, too.

They
chatted amiably for a time, and soon found themselves sharing a mutual regard
for one another. As she’d said, Mrs.
Quisenberry
was
a very lonely woman, a widow whose nine children were grown and gone. They
rarely came to visit, she told Hattie.

She
wanted companionship, had been looking for someone to come into her home to
keep her company. Hattie, she announced, fit the bill perfectly. When she
learned of Hattie’s dire financial situation, the matter was decided at once.

Virginia
had found a friend and companion. Hattie had found a home.

Chapter Sixteen

Sunset, Colorado

The
arrival of spring always brought promise. As buds unfolded on the lindens,
elms, and
boxelders,
and birds hopped from branch to
branch building nests, the world became new again each year. Winter snows
melted, grass and wildflowers bloomed in profusion, and the glorious scent of
flowering crab apple trees made earth seem near to heaven.

Willie
set off on the long ride to Denver with a smile on his face and
hope
in his heart. At last the day had come. He would meet
with a committee of lawyers to be tested on his knowledge. Assuming he did as
well as he expected, he would soon be granted the right to open his own
practice.

When he
was younger, he’d hated tests and examinations and was always anxious ahead of
time. Not so now. He’d slept soundly the night before and he’d had sweet dreams
of Hattie Mae. She’d opened her arms to him and welcomed him into her life once
more.

He
still missed her—more than words could ever say—yet in so many ways, he felt
her presence surrounding him. She was his muse, his inspiration.

When a
man had nothing more than memories, he held fast to them. His thoughts of
Hattie Mae were his lifeline. He surrounded himself with mementos of the time
they’d spent together. She had cared about him. She had patiently counseled
him, had guided him, and she’d refused to give up on him.

She left you, Willie. She ran
away.

He
wouldn’t believe it. Hattie was gone, but not because of him. She’d left only
because of the ill treatment she’d been dealt. He would find her, he would make
it all up to her, and he would never allow anything—or anyone—to ever hurt her
again.

So much
he owed her. Had she not come into his life, he’d still be a lousy, stinking
drunk. Or worse, he’d more likely be dead. Hattie had saved him, had given him
a chance to live again. Without her intervention, he would not be riding to the
Arapahoe County Courthouse, would not be eagerly anticipating the questions he
would be asked, and would not be on the verge of seeing his long-standing dreams
becoming reality. He planned to hang out his shingle in Sunset. There he would
make a name for himself—a
good
name—and there he would make a home for himself, for Hattie, and for their
child.

He
would find her.

He
would bring her back to Sunset.

Once the
examination ended, he would resume his search, redoubling his efforts to locate
her. Surely she hadn’t gone far. Perhaps she was right there in Denver,
determined to lose herself.

Upon
reaching his destination, he glanced around, almost as if expecting to see
Hattie Mae strolling toward him. Although a goodly number of people passed by
on their way to and from their destinations, Hattie Mae was not among them.

Willie
sighed, climbed down from his horse’s back, and then brushed a bit of horsehair
and road dust from his trousers. His chest swelling, he threw back his
shoulders and marched purposefully toward the entrance.

When he
stepped inside, he tipped his hat toward George Whitmore, who sat at a long
table with two other well-dressed gentlemen. Willie’s heartbeat sped up.
Nervous energy coursed through him.

“Good
morning. I’m prepared for my examination. Is there anything I need to do before
we begin?” He reached into the pocket of his suit coat, pulled out the envelope
containing the examination fee, and held it out toward Whitmore. “Here you go.
Thirty-five dollars.
Payment in full.”
It had taken him a long while to save up the fee.

Whitmore
glanced toward the other men, then nodded and accepted the envelope. “Have a
seat, Mr. Morse.” He gestured toward a torturous-looking wooden chair, one
obviously designed for the express purpose of making its occupant feel awkward
and horribly ill at ease.

Willie
nodded, took his seat, and did his best to find a comfortable position.

In the
corners, steam hissed from a radiator. Despite the warmth of the lovely spring
day, a chill emanated from the three men facing him. The examiners turned
toward him with hard-set faces, their posture rigid, their bearing stiff.

“I’m
ready to begin,” Willie announced, annoyed by the delaying tactics the men were
using.
Another form of intimidation.
He would not let
them get the best of him. He’d done his homework, had learned all he needed to
know.

“All
right.
We’ll
proceed.” Whitmore slowly rose. With measured steps, he approached the
examination chair. Glancing down at a sheaf of papers in his hand, he cleared
his throat. “What, Mr. Morse, is the basis for law in the state of Colorado?”

“The
State Constitution,” Willie replied, barely able to restrain a laugh. He’d
expected the examination to be grueling. “Voted and approved,” he added, “on
July 1, 1876. Officially signed and proclaimed by President Grant on August 1.”
From the corner of the room came the tick-tick-tock of a large wood-encased
clock. Its pendulum swung steadily from side to side.

One by
one, each of the examiners fired questions like salvos from heavy artillery.
Willie fired back, each answer swift and certain.

The
pendulum continued its steady rhythm, the sound growing louder in Willie’s
ears.

More
questions.

More answers.

“Discuss
the validity of the claim…”, “Would such ordinance be considered legal…”, “What
possible constitutional challenges might arise…”

Sweat
beaded on Willie’s forehead, at the back of his neck, his underarms. Even as he
responded to each new challenge, he kept memories of Hattie Mae in his head,
imagined her there beside him, encouraging him, spurring him on to give it his
best.

Of
course, she’d have lots of lovely platitudes to offer, as well.

He
finished the last question with a triumphant exhalation and rose to his feet.
He could hardly wait to find Hattie and share his news. Unlike his mother, she
would be truly proud.

“What
happens now?” he asked, reaching for his hat and the suit-jacket he’d removed.
“Are there papers to sign?
Documents to file with the court?”
He should know all the procedures, but his mind had suddenly gone blank. His
head felt a lot like a coal bucket—once filled, now emptied.

Whitmore
coughed.
His mouth quirked into a peculiar shape.
“Let
me have a word or two with my colleagues.
Just sit down, Mr.
Morse.”

He
nodded but chuckled. “You don’t have to be so formal, George.” Willie looked
around. No way would he return to that damned, discomfiting examination chair.
He noticed a more commodious-looking seat and backed himself into it. Letting
out a heavy exhalation, he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. All
the while, he stared at the hard wooden chair, glad to have the ordeal over at
last.

The
three men withdrew to the far corner. From Willie’s vantage point, he could
hear nothing but vague mumbles, could see only their old heads bobbing up and
down. Occasionally one of them—usually George Whitmore—craned his neck around
to give Willie a quick once-over, then like ostriches, their heads went down
again.

Willie
drummed his fingers on a small side-table, impatient to be done and on his way.
Thoughts raced through his mind of all he must do. A plan had taken shape in
his mind. First, while in Denver, he would go straight to the foundling home
where Hattie had been raised. Maybe she’d contacted someone there. He would
inquire, as well, at Miss
Brundage’s
Female Academy,
perhaps locate some of Hattie’s friends or fellow students. As a last resort,
he would inquire about homes in the area, those places where unwed women could
go in their
time of need
. Although
he’d contacted several previously, no one had been willing to divulge any
information. If he paid a call at the homes, maybe he’d stand a better chance
of determining whether or not Hattie Mae was among the residents.

But,
she would not be, of course. Willie knew Hattie would never give up their baby.

Still,
someone, somewhere, would have the answers he needed. Somebody could tell him
where Hattie had gone.

“Mr.
Morse?”

Willie
jumped to his feet when attorney Henry Marshall approached, a sorrowful
expression hanging on his long face, like a sheet thrown out to dry.

“Yes,
sir?”

The
horse-faced man shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morse, but in all good
conscience, this board can’t grant you a license to practice law.”

“What?
Why the hell not?”
The suddenness of the man’s declaration
brought the worst out in Willie’s speech. “I answered all the questions, and by
God, I know my answers were correct. Give me one instance where my response was
wrong,” he demanded, springing from the chair and jabbing a finger toward
Marshall.

“Willie,
get hold of
yourself
.” Whitmore quickly stepped
between the two. He placed strong hands at his shoulders and forced him to look
his way. “I know this is difficult for you. I know how hard you’ve worked, but
argument won’t do you any good right now. It won’t change the decision.”

“But,
why?
You
can’t deny me my rights. I’ve done all that was asked of me.
I
paid you your
frickin
’ fee.”
He leaned around
Whitmore’s bulky frame to peer at the other two men. “You owe me.”

Marshall
shook his head. “There’s more to passing a legal examination, Mr. Morse, than
paying a fee. More to it than coming up with the right answers to all the
questions. For what it’s worth, yes, you scored well. You clearly demonstrated
your knowledge of the law.”

“I
deserve my license. I’ve worked hard for this.”

“Yes,
indeed, you have. Frankly,” Mr. Marshall said, “I never expected you to pass.
Unfortunately, you did, and that’s put me in a very awkward situation.” His
gaze bored into Willie. “As the head of this examination board, I have final
say in who receives a license and who doesn’t. I can’t do it, Mr. Morse. In
light of your father’s criminal actions and his flight from justice—”

“I’m
not my father.”

“No,
but you’re his son, and in all good conscience, I can’t admit you to the
practice of law in the state of Colorado.”

Willie
blinked, dumbfounded, unable to utter another word, unable to even think of
anything to say. Finally, he swallowed, and turned once again toward George
Whitmore. The man would take his side, would speak up for him, and would insist
that the license would be issued.

But
Whitmore shook his head and remained silent.

“Well,
then, I see now how it is.” Willie grabbed his hat. “Thank you, gentlemen, for
your time.”

* * *
*

Staying
sober, Willie discovered over the next few weeks, proved far easier than he’d
expected. He strolled along the streets of Sunset each day, keeping his chin
up, his shoulders back, his head held high. Whatever jobs he could get, he took,
and he thought often of Hattie’s insistence that humility was a virtue and
pride a sin.

He
didn’t quite agree. A man needed both pride and humility, he figured, in
reasonable amounts. If a man did good, worked hard, and gave his best each day,
he had the right to feel a bit of pride in his accomplishments. Holding fast to
that belief gave him the strength to go on, to keep walking even when townsfolk
glanced sidelong at him or put their hands over their mouths and bent their
heads together to whisper as he passed.

Although
the sting of rejection weighed heavily upon him, he got through the long days
and the lonely nights. Now, yet another week had come and gone. Willie still
had no leads on Hattie’s whereabouts, and as he made his way home from a
tiresome afternoon of packing and delivering orders for
Asa
and Martha Taylor, he resolved to take more drastic action. Pinkerton agents
charged dearly for their services, but locating Hattie Mae would be worth any
cost. Each time he got paid for jobs he performed, Willie put back every cent
he could. He had nearly enough, he reckoned, to contact a private investigator.

Buoyed
by thoughts of finding his runaway love, Willie ignored the pain in his leg and
bounded up the stairs at Tansy Godwin’s boarding house. He drew up short as he
stepped into the parlor.

“Mama,
what’s wrong?”

She sat
sobbing, a handkerchief pressed to her cheek, and Mrs. Godwin at her side
murmuring consoling words. Willie’s chest tightened.

Letitia
Morse glanced up but barely seemed to see her son. She buried her face in her
hands and bawled.