The Ballad of Hattie Taylor Page 17

  He hadn’t wanted to tell Augusta that part, but the first question she’d asked when the initial shock wore off was why Hattie hadn’t been at the ranch.

  “I’m terrified of Jacob’s reaction if he discovers the truth,” Augusta admitted. “Not just his guilt over knowing he was responsible for sending her there; maybe he deserves that. But if he finds out Roger raped her, he will kill him.”

  “The man deserves to be killed,” Doc replied flatly.

  “You think I don’t know that?” Augusta sat stiffly erect on the edge of her seat. “But his richly deserved death will be a cold comfort, indeed, if my son expends his youth in jail.”

  “Augusta, there is not a jury in the land would convict him.”

  “Which brings us right back to a trial.”

  Doc rubbed his temples harder. “Yeah. Which brings us back to a trial. Son of a bitch.” He didn’t tack on his usual apology for his language.

  Although it was Hattie’s future they were deciding, neither thought to ask her opinion on the matter. Doc had left her resting in an uncharacteristic state of inertia in Jane-Ellen’s old room while he’d met Augusta’s train. He’d kept Hattie fairly sedated all day, but even without the opium he doubted she’d be fully functional. Her emotions had sustained too many shocks in too short a period of time and were temporarily deadened.

  Not that she would have been consulted had she been her normal, feisty self. Their generation didn’t consider it necessary to ask a female’s wishes before rendering a verdict affecting her future. A young woman’s parents or guardian made all the decisions in her life until she married. Then her husband took control.

  “We cannot let her life be ruined,” Augusta finally said. “But how can we live with ourselves if we let that monster go free? God forgive me, I want to destroy him.”

  “Maybe we can . . . without involving Hattie,” Doc said slowly.

  Augusta snapped ramrod straight. “How?”

  “First, I want your permission to talk to the sheriff.” Augusta shifted involuntarily and he hurried to say, “Jacobson’s a fair man. He’s also closemouthed and he’s nobody’s fool. He’ll understand the need to keep this private. At the very least, he’ll keep an eye on Lord.”

  “Very well. But that will hardly ruin Roger.”

  “No. It won’t. But rumors might.”

  “Rumors? I fear I don’t understand.”

  Quietly, Doc outlined his plan, and as she listened, a small, tight smile of pure vengeance curved Augusta’s lips.

  19

  My darling girl,” Augusta said as Doc ushered Hattie through her front door. She looked at Hattie’s split lip and held her arms out, wishing the lip was the worst of it. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  For the first time in Augusta’s memory, Hattie walked into her arms, clung to her, and wept. It was rare to see her cry at all, and the deep, wrenching sobs shaking her frame broke Augusta’s heart into a million pieces and nearly brought her to her knees. She smoothed her hands down the luxuriant wealth of Hattie’s hair and held her tightly.

  Doc set Hattie’s dress box on the foyer floor and gestured that he was leaving. Augusta mouthed her thanks. The door closed behind him and they were left alone at the foot of the stairs.

  “I am so sorry I disgraced you, Aunt Augusta,” Hattie sobbed into the powdered contour of her guardian’s neck.

  Augusta stiffened and, clamping Hattie’s shoulders in her hands, stepped back to hold her niece at arm’s length. “I don’t ever want to hear such talk from you again, Hattie Witherspoon Taylor,” she commanded, staring into her ward’s red-rimmed eyes. “What happened to you should never happen to any woman—and you certainly could not control it. I absolutely refuse to let you be shamed by it. What that man did was criminal, and if it wouldn’t ruin you in the process, I would see to it he was punished to the full extent of the law.”

  She put an arm around Hattie’s shoulders and ushered her up the stairs, continuing fiercely. “Do not think Roger Lord will be allowed to get off scot-free, though, my dear. I have already placed a call to him.”

  Hattie’s amber eyes flared with sudden panic and she stopped in the middle of the hall. “Oh, Aunt Augusta, I wish you hadn’t done that.” She was ashamed of her craven desire to keep her attack private, but she simply didn’t think she could bear it if it became public knowledge. “Central always listens in.”

  “I know they do, dear.” Gently, she urged Hattie down the hall. “I counted on it. Don’t worry, darling, your name was never mentioned. I simply informed Roger he was most unwelcome at Jane-Ellen’s funeral tomorrow and that his services were no longer required as my lawyer.” Her heart still accelerated with fury at the remembrance of Roger Lord’s surprise. Had he thought he could just abuse her ward in the vilest manner possible and have it overlooked? “That will start the grapevine humming.”

  “Good.” For the first time since her attack, Hattie felt a faint semblance of her old fire. “I hope they conclude you’ve discovered something truly awful about him. I hope he is shunned in the streets.” As she would be if the truth came out.

  “Oh, I intend to make sure of it,” Augusta said resolutely as she turned down the spread and helped Hattie into a clean night rail and into bed. “Doc gave me the idea. We’re going to bury him in rumors. It’s only fair that for once they be directed at someone who truly deserves it. The only thing that worries me is Jacob will hear of it and want to know what is going on. Well!” She waved that away. “We will worry about that when and if we come to it.”

  Hattie’s reborn fire cooled considerably at the mention of Jake. It was largely thanks to him she was no longer pure. Now the very thing the gossips had speculated about this past year was true. Not that she was a girl of easy virtue. But she’d always had the knowledge of her own virginity to bolster her when the rumors flew. Now, however, thanks to Jake’s refusal to listen to her, her claim to purity had been ripped from her. “I don’t care whether he hears or not,” she said flatly. But even as she said it she knew she cared terribly. “Yes, I do,” she admitted with her usual honesty. “I think I would die if he knew.”

  Augusta, tenderly sweeping a tendril of hair from Hattie’s forehead, thought this was the first time she’d ever heard Hattie utter words that sounded like something her peers would say.

  “Aunt Augusta?” Hattie shifted uncomfortably. “What if I quicken?” The violent act Roger Lord had forced on her had not been anything like what she’d imagined when Jake explained procreation to her. But the mechanics were the same. She was very much afraid she might bring shame to the Murdock name after all.

  “That won’t happen, dear.” Augusta stilled the perturbed movements of Hattie’s fingers as they plucked the embroidered doves on the pillowcase. “Do you remember when you were twelve and Jacob explained about the seed and the egg?” At Hattie’s nod, Augusta forced herself to continue levelly even as her face grew hot. “Well, Doc said he found no evidence of Roger Lord’s seed, so you clearly used those scissors in a timely manner. There will be no child.”

  Hattie sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God. I was worried.”

  Augusta sat with Hattie until her ward’s eyelids began to droop. Not until the young woman fell into a deep sleep did she go downstairs. Mirabel came into the parlor wiping her hands on a tea towel seconds later, and Augusta filled her in on the details. Not sharing this latest tragedy never occurred to her—Mirabel had been her confidante for more than forty years, and she’d suffer untold torture rather than divulge a Murdock secret. Also, Augusta knew good and well Mirabel loved Hattie every bit as much as she did.

  They had only begun to sip their cooling tea when the front door banged open, then was slammed shut. Augusta met Mirabel’s eyes and her friend made a discreet exit. Augusta set the other woman’s cup and saucer on the service tray as Jake stormed into the room.

 
“Where’s Hattie?”

  “Keep your voice down, Jacob,” Augusta remonstrated. “She’s asleep.”

  “Doc said she was ill when I called to ask him to meet your train.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “I was delivering a foal or I would have been here sooner. Is it serious?” He’d been a wreck all afternoon, worrying.

  “It’s a female problem, Jacob,” Augusta said repressively.

  He sagged with relief as he sank into a chair. “Yeah. That’s what Doc said.” But his father-in-law’s voice had been uncharacteristically cool, and Jake had wondered if he was trying to shield him from the knowledge of a more serious ailment. “Do you have another cup? I could use some of that.” He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the night in the hall.

  “Certainly.” Augusta poured. She watched while he devoured several of the dainty sandwiches she couldn’t swallow. When he lounged back in the corner of the davenport with his second cup of tea, she said, “While I was gone, Jacob, I did some thinking. I would very much like it if you would take control of the family affairs.”

  Jake slowly eased upright and set his cup on a nearby table. Praying the timing wasn’t too obvious, Augusta rushed to say, “I always intended to turn everything over to you, but when you dropped most of your practice—”

  His clear, dark eyes studied her face intently. “You’re not ill, are you, Mother?”

  “Oh, darling, no!” She hated that he worried but was relieved he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Better than asking why she was suddenly intent on dropping Roger Lord. She patted his hand. “I suppose seeing so many Witherspoons in San Francisco made me think of family.”

  “What about Roger?”

  Augusta poured every ounce of iron discipline into maintaining her facial expression. “I’m sure he will understand, dear. I did warn him, years ago, you would one day handle all my affairs. But if it’s too much?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll see to it next week.”

  “Good, because I already called to tell him as much.”

  They talked for a short while longer before Jake got up to leave. He asked to look in on Hattie before he went, but Augusta vetoed the idea. It was probably the first time in her life she was relieved to see her son leave her home. Blowing out a sigh, she turned away from the door. Rubbing the ache in her temples, she echoed Doc’s sentiments.

  Dear Lord. What a god-awful mess.

  20

  First Presbyterian Cemetery

  MONDAY, AUGUST 13, 1906

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .”

  Hattie stood on patchy parched grass next to the newly dug plot. It looked raw as a fresh wound against the late summer landscape, and during the service she’d deliberately stared at the hazy hills on the horizon to avoid seeing the gleaming coffin sitting before it. Occasionally, a whiff of the fresh-cut flowers blanketing Jane-Ellen’s coffin spiraled on the wind.

  Hattie tried to marshal her thoughts into some sort of order, but it was hard. All she could seem to do was feel. A hard, tight knot of misery lodged behind her breastbone as she gazed through the shield of her veil at the large crowd gathered in the cemetery to pay their last respects to Jane-Ellen Murdock. Hattie wondered with some bitterness how many of them would have attended had it been her funeral.

  Her need to get out of this town began to border on desperation. It was hard enough before, knowing herself to be despised. Then, at least, she’d had Moses and Jake and Jane-Ellen. And she hadn’t had this grinding sense of betrayal and violation. Standing very still, she tried by sheer force of will to subdue the fine tremors rippling along her nerve endings.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hattie started as Jake took her arm and she realized the service was over. Growing cold all over, she tugged in panic against the hand under her elbow. “Don’t touch me.”

  Jake stiffened and dropped her arm. He wished he could see her face, but it was a pale, insubstantial shadow behind her veil. He’d felt the tremors vibrating through her and there was an air about her warning of nerves stretched to the breaking point. He wanted to hold her until she calmed, then take her somewhere where they could talk. The way she kept her face slightly but perpetually averted from him, however, discouraged any attempt on his part to get close to her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  Hattie thought she would come unhinged during the impromptu reception line staged near the line of black-draped carriages. Everyone wished to pay their respects, and naturally she was expected to stand next to Augusta, Doc, and Jake as part of the family. It was difficult to find the correct responses to murmur back to people who under ordinary circumstances would be dissecting her reputation behind politely raised hands. Regardless, she did her best. The wind whipped up and she concentrated on the shadows racing across the cemetery as clouds sped across the blue sky.

  Someone tapped her arm. “Doc tells me you worked your fingers to the bone while Jane-Ellen was sick.”

  Hattie turned her attention to Aurelia Donaldson, who stood in front of her. “I only did what anyone would have done, ma’am,” she murmured. “Jane-Ellen was always very good to me and I wanted to help in any way I could.”

  Aurelia peered intently through her lorgnette for an endless moment. Finally, she harrumphed and reached her gnarled hand out to pat Hattie’s. “You are a good girl,” she said decisively and moved on.

  The unexpected praise did what nothing else had been able to do that horrid day. Scalding tears rose in her eyes and her mouth began to quiver. She didn’t even see Moses until he stepped close, blocking the sun.

  Her heart lightened to see him after such a long absence. But when he reached out to hug her, she forgot for an instant this was her friend, who, despite his great size, would never hurt a fly. She felt only his massive strength, absorbed his masculine scent, and she flinched away.

  Her reaction infuriated her. She was not going to let Roger Lord’s violence and bitterness poison her—she wasn’t! This was Moses. Not all males were intent on violence the way That Man had been. She reached out to grasp her friend’s hand, but it was too late.

  Ever since learning the reason behind Hattie’s reaching out the night he declined to see her, Moses had been eaten alive by guilt. She’d needed his support and he’d let her down for his own selfish reasons. So, assuming she wanted nothing further to do with him, exactly as he’d feared, he quickly turned to Jake with a few muttered condolences. Then he turned away, feeling cold and lonely.

  It was a relief when the line finally broke up and they could go home. Hattie’s split lip was still noticeable, so she went upstairs and stayed in her room to avoid questions. Augusta let it be known to the gathered mourners that Hattie had only climbed out of her sickbed long enough to attend the funeral.

  Hattie lay in misery all afternoon, listening to the soft murmur of voices drifting up the stairs and through her open window. It seemed forever before people began to leave. Jake was the last to go, and by then it had grown quite late.

  * * *

  —

  She spent the next weeks trying to piece her life back together while she prepared for her move to the teaching college up in Seattle, Washington. Her lip mended and her bruises faded, but her confidence and sense of self-worth sustained wounds she despaired of ever healing. Mattawa was her home and she dreaded leaving it. Conversely, she could hardly wait to go.

  Finally, on Monday, September 10, Hattie stood on the platform with Augusta and Doc, awaiting the train to Seattle. Doc talked with the stationmaster while Augusta drilled Hattie with last-minute reminders for checking in to the hotel where she would stay this evening, as well as additional warnings and advice.

  Hattie only half listened. Her eyes roved over her stacked luggage and past it to the countryside beyond the depot. She’d tried committing every familiar detail to memory as they had driven from home to the station.

/>   Just as the train came roaring around the bend, Jake raced down the platform. He rocked to a halt in front of Hattie. “You were going to just leave?” he demanded breathlessly. “Just like that, without saying goodbye?”

  “Goodbye, Jake.”

  “Dammit, Hattie! You’ve refused to see me for four damn weeks. Haven’t I been punished enough?” He reached for her arm, but she hastily drew away. “When are you going to forgive me?”

  The roar and rattle of the train as it pulled into the station drowned out her reply. Jake watched Hattie observe her luggage being loaded into the luggage compartment. Then she turned to kiss Doc and Aunt Augusta goodbye. She clung to Augusta, as if loath to let her go.

  Jake stepped closer. “What did you say?” He’d watched her lips move, but he hadn’t heard her answer—and it sure as hell couldn’t be what he thought he saw. Jesus, he could not believe she’d carry a grudge this far. He had sent her to Lord’s for her own protection, dammit. She had to know that.

  Hattie stepped up onto the train without replying.

  “Dammit,” Jake roared at her back. He shook off Doc’s hand when the older man attempted to pull him away. “Answer me! When are you going to forgive me?”

  Hattie turned back and looked him in the eye, making Jake jerk his head back. What the—? Her eyes were empty of life when she finally acknowledged his question. In her vast array of expressions, Jake had never seen that one. Not once.

  Yet, it was like a blow to his heart when she said with flat finality, “When hell freezes over.”

  21

  Seattle, Washington