The Ballad of Hattie Taylor Read online

  Shock tightened all his muscles. He was so staggered learning his mother had knowledge of that other shameful episode following Jane-Ellen’s death he nearly missed her next words. Then he went cold all over with another kind of shock when he tuned back in to hear her say, “—will post the banns at church in the morning. You will marry the girl in three weeks.”

  Jake did not respond well to orders. Before he gave himself an instant to measure the wisdom of replying out of frustration, hurt, and pain, he’d already uttered the unforgivable. “Isn’t that demand usually reserved for the man who takes a girl’s virginity?”

  The force behind Augusta’s openhanded blow turned Jake’s head. “Don’t you dare be flippant,” she said in a low, venomous voice. “Hattie did not offer her virginity—it was forcibly taken from her. If you think I would place her welfare in the hands of a man who delighted in brutalizing her, then I did a pretty poor job of raising you.”

  Jake felt as if he were being torn into a thousand pieces. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said in a raw voice. “I’m a little confused. How long have you known about this, and who the hell else knows? I can’t believe nobody bothered to tell me.” His work-roughened hands clenched helplessly at his sides. “Christ, how could she have been raped? How could she have gone through something so life changing without me knowing? How did I not suspect a thing?” he demanded raggedly. “You’ve known for some time, clearly, but this is all new to me. It kills me to know she has been brutalized this way. And I don’t know who . . . or even when.”

  “What would you have done had you known?”

  Jake’s dark hazel eyes met his mother’s squarely. “I’d have killed him.”

  Augusta looked at her handprint welting red against her son’s bloodless cheek as he thrust his fingers through his hair. “Which is precisely the reason you were never told,” she replied, and responded to the uncomprehending anger in his eyes with rage of her own. “Do you think you’re the only one who would like to see this animal punished—who wants revenge? But at whose expense, Jacob? Win, lose, or draw, Hattie is the one who pays. Not me, not you: Hattie. If it comes out she was raped, she’ll be ostracized. It won’t signify that up until the moment he brutally rent it apart, she possessed a maidenhead. Won’t matter that by the time he was done she was bruised, battered, and terrorized. It won’t even matter that before he could conclude the act, she sank a pair of sewing scissors into his arm. She will be ruined regardless.”

  She looked directly into the eyes of the son she’d always taken such pride in and said, “I could not do anything to correct the wrong done to Hattie before. But I damn well aim to see the right thing is done by her in this instance. You had your pleasure on her this night—”

  “Please, Mom, let me talk to her. Let me make this right. I know her scream is probably what woke you, but I swear I did not force myself on her.” Had he? God, she had been so willing, but then she’d suddenly been so afraid . . .

  “If I thought for one moment you had, Jacob, I would shoot you myself and weep while I reported it as a rifle-cleaning accident. Hattie told me the responsibility was equally hers. I find that difficult to believe—you’re eleven years older and worlds more experienced than she. Would you have me believe she seduced you?”

  “No.” Only by her responsiveness.

  “Then I can only conclude you took your pleasure without giving a moment’s consideration to the repercussions it might have for Hattie. Such being the case, you will damn well accept the consequence of your actions. You will marry her in three weeks’ time.”

  34

  First Presbyterian Church

  SATURDAY, MAY 22, 1909

  There wasn’t a weapon to be found in the church, yet it felt like a shotgun wedding to Hattie. She was petrified she was making the worst mistake of her life. One way or another she’d loved Jake for what felt like forever, so this should be a happy, joyful day. It wasn’t. Maybe if she felt their marriage was what Jake wanted, instead of something he’d been forced into because of that night in the stable— But she was nobody’s fool and she still remembered Jake’s wedding to Jane-Ellen. He had been all smiles that day—so different from the solemn man standing by her side in the crowded church today. Jake possessed a streak of responsibility a mile wide. In the past, it was one more quality she’d admired. Today it made her want to bawl like a baby.

  Quietly repeating her vows, Hattie wondered how they would possibly make a life together. The problems they were starting out with felt insurmountable.

  She had seen very little of Jake in the past three weeks. The day after their encounter, he’d informed her grimly of their upcoming nuptials. He’d also told her in flat, unemotional tones that theirs would be a real marriage in all respects, adding in an angry undertone that he’d be damned if he’d have another wife who shunned his touch. Hattie understood exactly what he was saying about a real marriage, and the rush of emotions rattled her so much she couldn’t define her reaction to save her soul. Was it anticipation or anxiety that had her stomach in this perpetual state of nerves? With everything that happened the end of the summer of aught-six, she’d all but forgotten him telling her about Jane-Ellen being repulsed by his touch. And if the conversation scratched at the back of her mind at all, she’d assumed it was because the other woman had learned of Jake’s trips to Mamie Parker’s place.

  Unfortunately, he brought up Jane-Ellen when Hattie’s own temper was flaring, so she’d informed him she had a condition of her own. She would be a real wife, she agreed with commendable coolness—but in return he had better plan on being a faithful husband. Maybe, she’d added a bit snidely, Jane-Ellen wouldn’t have shunned his touch if he’d stayed away from Mamie Parker’s.

  Jake had gone very still. She could still hear his cool voice saying, “You’ve got that backwards, Big-eyes,” which promptly shut her up.

  For herself, Hattie had mixed emotions about the intimacy Jake was determined they’d share. She was mortified about the way she’d acted that night in the stable. Not only had she encouraged him in what they’d done; she was doubly embarrassed by the way she’d suddenly gone stark raving mad midway through it. In her heart, she knew there was no comparison between her brutal deflowering by Roger and the way Jake took her. At the same time, the thought of what he expected from her tonight caused her heart to beat far too hard and fast in apprehension.

  Another part of her was just the teeniest bit eager to experience Jake’s brand of loving. She would give a bundle to deny it, but an insistent corner of her mind wouldn’t let her forget how he’d made her feel before terror swamped all those luscious sensations. If he took her in anger, however, Hattie didn’t think she would survive. And Jake seemed awfully angry these days.

  Her inability to dissemble sure hadn’t soothed his temper. But upon the announcement of their betrothal at church, Hattie, being inherently honest, found it difficult to act all happy and bridal when she was actually scared to death. In her defense, it had been a traumatic night before. Add to that the way Jake had just told her she’d better be prepared to share his bed, and the thing about Jane-Ellen, which Hattie could have died happy never knowing. Plus, he was so moody and grim, and . . . well.

  The few times they’d seen each other between the two postings of the banns and today, Jake had barely talked to her except to hound her for her rapist’s identity. Her stony refusal heaped more coal upon the flames of his ire.

  Irritation tightened the muscles in Hattie’s neck. Well, too bad. She simply could not talk about it, especially to him. Just knowing he knew shamed her to the bone. Naming names would serve no purpose she could see beyond exacerbating an already volatile situation.

  Was respectability even worth this? Okay, most of her instincts cried, Yes! About all she had in the world was her good name, and in truth that was so newly bestowed on her, the thought of losing it terrified her. But if the price she paid was having Jak
e hate her—

  She should have stuck to her guns when she’d argued heatedly he needn’t marry her until they knew for certain if that night in the stable had borne fruit. But Jake had insisted, Augusta had insisted, and secretly, her own greedy heart had insisted. Given the way she so readily capitulated, then, it was all the more perverse that she nursed a little seed of resentment.

  But, hell’s bells. It wasn’t only Jake’s life being turned upside down; hers, too, was every bit as topsy-turvy. She felt cheated. Her one and only wedding was being ruined by worry, fear, and wildly fluctuating emotions. Why did other people’s lives seem to flow so smoothly, when hers hit every damn snag life had to offer?

  This was her wedding day, which was supposed to be the happiest of her life, right? Instead, it was shaping up to be the most painfully confusing. God, what a mess.

  * * *

  —

  Nell kept an eye on the bride and groom as she mingled with the guests at the reception. Jake had a grip on Hattie’s hand, and everywhere he went, he pulled her along with him. There was no separate mingling, with the bride chatting with one group of guests while the groom chatted with another. His attitude was so proprietary, in fact, the men at the reception shied away from demanding the traditional kiss or dance from the bride. And even though Hattie smiled and chatted with whatever guest was near, she was pale, not flushed with the exuberant triumph or happiness Nell expected.

  It bothered Nell so much, she did something she had never done before. She voluntarily approached Moses.

  He was talking and laughing with one of the few women who still treated Hattie as though she were the social misfit she’d been before her return to Mattawa: Florence-May Somebody. The woman was pretty enough, if you liked the dainty-Dresden-shepherdess look. But in Nell’s opinion, Florence Whosit was a no-class floozy who had a nerve looking down her nose at Hattie. From everything Nell had heard, Florence-May hadn’t done one worthwhile thing in her own life except marry some old man with pots of money who had recently died. If you asked Nell, the way the other woman was hanging on Moses’ brawny arm and gazing up at him with limpid eyes, it looked as though old Flo was looking to change her luck this time around by latching onto a young, virile specimen. Maybe Florence wanted a man who could help her spend her money and still give her what her old fool of a rich husband couldn’t. Not that Nell was entirely certain what that might be or why she should care. “Moses?”

  Moses’ head whipped around, Florence-May immediately forgotten at the soft sound of Nell’s voice. He gave her a quick visual once-over, then recollected himself with a cynical smile and a tug at his white-blond forelock. “Miss Nell.”

  “Could I speak with you a moment?” Nell glanced at Florence-May pointedly. “Alone?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He extricated his arm from Florence-May’s grip. “Excuse us, won’t you?” Ignoring her irritated glare, he grasped Nell’s arm and led her to a semiprivate corner. “What can I do for you?”

  Now that Nell had his attention, she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. She fidgeted with the sash to her dress for a moment. “I need your advice.”

  He smiled at her with skeptical amusement. “What’s the matter, princess, the champagne not chilled to your specification? Want me to beat up the waiter?”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Could we, just once, not snipe at one another?”

  Something in her tone gave Moses a visceral jolt, and he sobered. Involuntarily, his hand reached out to touch her cheek before he caught himself and dropped it to his side. “All right. What do you wanna know?”

  “Does Hattie seem happy to you?”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “Yeah, I heard you. I just couldn’t believe the question. Why wouldn’t she be? It’s her wedding day and she’s always believed Jake Murdock hung the moon.”

  “I know. But . . . does she seem happy? You know her enthusiasm when everything is going right. Wouldn’t you expect her to be racing around, all flushed and excited, talking and touching and laughing with everyone?”

  Moses looked across the room at the bride and groom. “Damn,” he murmured. “She is kinda pale and subdued, isn’t she?” Then he turned his attention back to Nell. “You do know there’s nothing you or I can do about it if she is unhappy, don’t you?”

  “But . . . I thought you loved her.”

  “I do. I love her like a sister, but it doesn’t give me the right to interfere in her marriage unless she asks for my help. And you know Hattie—that’s not likely to happen. Jake and Hattie will be fine. It’s probably just bridal nerves.”

  “Like a sister?” Nell had hardly heard anything after Moses said that. “But you had those dreams about—” She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The words, beyond her ability to recall, hung between them like a black cloud.

  A red flush crept up from beneath Moses’ collar. “I don’t believe this . . . She told you about the dreams? That’s just goddamn grand.” He about-faced and stalked out the nearest door.

  Nell caught up with him on the terrace. She grabbed his arm, but he jerked it away and glared down at her. “Please,” she said, touching his forearm with conciliatory fingertips. “Don’t be angry. She didn’t deliberately disclose your confidence. She was defending you, and . . .”

  Moses grabbed her by the shoulders and backed her up against the hotel wall. Hemming her in with his body, he bent his head until their noses nearly touched. “You want to know who I dream about these days, Miss Nell?” His big, hard hands quite gently encircled her throat, tough-skinned thumbs pressing beneath her chin to angle it up. “You wanna know whose lily-white body rolls naked across my bed when I close my eyes at night? I’ll give you a clue.” He crowded in until his large body brushed down her entire length. “It’s not Hattie.”

  Nell couldn’t control her trembling, and she bet her eyes were the size of saucers as she stared up at him. “Please,” she whispered helplessly. Don’t be angry, she wanted to say again, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she licked her lips.

  Moses whispered a curse. And kissed her.

  It was the first time any man had done so, but Nell knew it wasn’t the sort of kiss a respectable girl ought to be receiving. It was all hard lips, bold tongue, and heated, pressing bodies, and she knew she should put a stop to it. Immediately.

  Instead she tried her best to emulate his actions. She’d dreamed of him, dreamed of this. Standing on her toes, Nell slid her arms around his muscular neck, clinging and attempting to get closer. She offered up her mouth and shy advances of her own tongue.

  Moses groaned and pressed her harder into the hotel wall with his body before he abruptly ripped his mouth away and pushed back, reaching behind his neck to disengage her hands. His wide chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs. “Good . . . God . . . Almighty,” he said hoarsely.

  Nell watched him eye her breasts, which heaved as she, too, tried to catch her breath.

  Then he suddenly raised his pale blue eyes to pin her in place. “You a virgin, Nell?”

  Nell blushed but said truthfully, “Certainly.”

  “You’re not gonna remain one for long, you keep kissing like that.”

  She smiled in delight. “I did all right?” Moses stared at her in incredulous silence, and she rushed on, “I mean, it was my first kiss, and I wasn’t sure I was handling it properly.”

  “Who you trying to kid? That wasn’t your first kiss!”

  “It was so.” She lowered her eyes and admitted with painful honesty, “Men don’t generally find me attractive. I’m too tall.”

  He snorted. “Bull. You’re a dainty little thing.”

  “Compared to you, Goliath would be a dainty little thing.”

  Moses rolled one of his massive shoulders. “You gotta know you’re beautiful.”

  She gazed up at him
uncertainly. “I’m gawky.”

  He swore. Ran his fingertips from her cheekbone down to her waist, not missing a curve or hollow in between. “No, you’re not.” He swallowed, then said sternly, “I’m a blacksmith, girl. Ain’t ever gonna be a fancy banker.”

  “I’m a schoolmarm. Not ever going to be a fancy socialite.” She looked down at her shoes, wondering if she—just plain old Nell Thomesen—would be enough for him.

  Moses hooked his fingers beneath her chin, raising it. “Look at me,” he commanded when Nell’s delicate eyelids remained lowered. When her gaze finally rose to meet his, he leaned over, kissed her chastely, then straightened to his full height. “You wanna be my girl?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Oh please, yes.”

  Moses’ heart beat like a kettledrum. He could not believe his luck. This woman had robbed him of more sleep than he could keep track of, and here she was, letting him kiss her and acting like he was honoring her with an offer of courtship. Amazing. “First thing we gotta do is go in before people start tossing your name around.”

  “All right.” Nell straightened her dress and self-consciously patted her hair.

  “And we gotta stay out of dark corners.” She gazed at him with those big, innocent eyes and he explained, “I want to do more than hold hands and exchange chaste kisses, Nell. I will, too, given half a chance. So, we avoid temptation, y’got me?”

  “Yes, Moses.” She rather liked the idea of courting temptation. But since it was her reputation he was trying to protect, she supposed the least she could do—

  Moses grinned. “You always gonna be this docile?”

  “No, Moses.”

  He laughed. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned down and kissed her once more. Then he grabbed her hand. “C’mon. Let’s get in there before the good people of Mattawa start gossiping.”

  * * *

  —

  Hattie’d had quite enough. She was angry, hurt, and at the end of her patience. “This hasn’t been a wedding,” she suddenly said in a low, vehement voice when she found herself temporarily alone with Jake in a corner of the big ballroom. His head whipped around and she looked him squarely in the eye. “This has been a circus.” Holding up her hand, she stared pointedly at his grip on her wrist—a grip he hadn’t relinquished since they walked out of the church. “Which I guess makes me the trained bear.”