The Ballad of Hattie Taylor

by Susan Andersen

  He brushed the hair off her temples with the backs of his fingers as he straightened up. “You going to stay in bed all day?”

  “No. I’m getting up. Today’s the day you put Opal on the stand, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but probably not until after the lunch recess. If you want to sleep in a little . . .”

  “No, she needs me there.” She eased cautiously up onto one elbow. “You go ahead, though. I’ll be along as soon as I get ready.”

  “All right.” He kissed her again. “Love you, baby.”

  “Love you too, Jacob.”

  When he left, she rose from the bed. She’d discovered the nausea could be controlled some if she made no sudden moves. She got ready and went down to the kitchen. The smell of coffee assaulted her the moment she opened the door and she sat down abruptly at the kitchen table, breathing shallowly through her mouth.

  “Good morning, Hattie,” Mirabel said, turning from the stove. “What can I fix you, dear? A stack of pancakes? Or how about some fried eggs with the yolks all nice and runny, just the way you like them?”

  Hattie bolted from her seat and tore the back door open. She barely made it to the porch railing in time. Hanging over it, she retched violently, spasm after spasm that left her sweaty and weak. Finally, folding at the waist, she rested her damp forehead on the cool railing.

  She felt a cold cloth against the nape of her neck, a bony hand stroking her hair. “Thanks, Mirabel,” she whispered.

  The cloth moved around to her face, and Hattie turned her cheek to feel its refreshing chill more fully. She opened her eyes when Mirabel demanded in her stern voice, “Are you pregnant, Hattie Murdock?”

  “Yeah.” Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Mirabel, I wanted to wait until this trial was over to tell Jake. I’d hoped to tell him in our own home over a nice dinner with candles and maybe a fire in the hearth. It would have been such a wonderful surprise. But there is no earthly way I can keep it to myself if this nausea continues. I’m so afraid the news will interfere with his concentration on the case.” She felt like a fool, but she couldn’t stop crying.

  “Come inside, young lady.” Mirabel helped her back to her seat at the kitchen table. She moved away and Hattie closed her eyes and breathed carefully. She didn’t move until Mirabel set something on the table next to her. “Here. Try this.”

  Hattie opened her eyes to see a steaming cup and a plate of dry crackers. Her stomach lurched uneasily. “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Try it; it’ll help settle your stomach. The tea is herbal; it’s good for morning sickness. The salt on the crackers also helps. The trick is to consume them nice and slow.”

  To Hattie’s delight, Mirabel was right. She felt much stronger when she pushed away her empty plate and returned her cup to its saucer.

  “Your color is much better,” Mirabel said with satisfaction. She handed Hattie a tin. “More crackers,” she informed her dryly. “Keep them in your nightstand and eat a few before you try to get up in the morning. With luck, you’ll be able to keep the secret a few days longer.”

  “I love you, Mirabel,” Hattie said fervently and rose to kiss the older woman’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”

  Mirabel pinkened with pleasure right up to her iron-gray curls. “Go on with you, now,” she said gruffly. “And save me a seat, hear? I’ll be there soon as I finish the dishes.”

  “Would you like some help?”

  “No, dear, you go. I’ll be along presently.”

  The defense attorney was still cross-examining Jake’s witness when Hattie arrived at the courthouse. She knew the man in the witness-box was the last before Opal was called to testify. Edging past knees with murmured apologies, she reached her saved seat. Moving the wrap Nell had draped over the two vacant spots, Hattie arrayed it on the back of the seat for Mirabel. Then she leaned over the railing to squeeze Opal’s shoulder in encouragement before sitting.

  Mirabel seated herself next to Hattie before Jake called Opal to the stand. The older woman neatly folded Nell’s wrap and passed it to Hattie. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Good.” Mirabel chuckled softly and patted Hattie’s hand. “That’s an excellent sign.”

  * * *

  —

  Opal exceeded Jake’s expectations as a witness. She was articulate and poised, met the jurors’ eyes, and answered questions in a clear voice. She trembled visibly and cried when she described what Roger did to her, which worked in their favor. Being emotional was normal; the jury would have thought the young woman unnatural had she remained composed.

  Opal clung to her composure during cross-examination and didn’t allow Lord’s attorney to fluster her into anything that would appear to contradict her story. She was altogether credible and by the time Jake said, “The prosecution rests,” he felt they had built a good, solid case.

  * * *

  —

  Arthur Cleveland had two stiff drinks with his lunch. He’d started presenting the case for the defense yesterday afternoon, but it was weak as a newborn kitten and he knew it. His client was guilty as hell.

  Arthur had no particular problem with that—he’d defended guilty men before and truly believed everyone was entitled to the best defense possible. Roger Lord, however, was not only guilty but an egomaniac who kept insisting he be allowed to testify. No two ways about it: that would be the death of what little Arthur had managed to salvage thus far. He’d done his best to talk Lord out of it, but the man was adamant. It was enough to drive an attorney to drink.

  But against every instinct Arthur had learned during three decades as an attorney, he had no choice but to cede to his client’s wishes. He put Lord on the stand.

  It started out well enough while he established Lord’s long residence in the community and presented his distinguished work record. Following that, however, matters began to deteriorate. Lord’s manner was arrogant, and it clearly rubbed the jury the wrong way.

  Arthur managed to nip his client’s misogynistic views in the bud, but for the first time in his career he was actually thankful to hand a defendant over for cross-examination. The man practically begged for a guilty verdict. Arthur was grateful that when he’d asked Lord point-blank if he raped Opal Jeffries, Lord looked him in the eye and said, “Certainly not.”

  Jake approached the box. Having carefully studied Roger during his defense lawyer’s questioning, Jake concluded Roger’s ego was the key. “Mr. Lord,” he said in a polite tone, “you have stated you did not rape Opal Jeffries. Could you tell me, sir, what it was you were doing when the sheriff and I interrupted you on the evening of your arrest?”

  Roger looked down his nose at Jake. “Teaching Jeffries her proper place.”

  “Her proper place,” Jake repeated softly. “Wouldn’t that be serving your dinner and assorted maid duties?”

  “It would be whatever I say it is,” Roger stated coldly. “She is merely a woman, sir. It is her duty to comply with my wishes.”

  The women in the gallery rustled indignantly.

  “And your former cook, Mrs. Crockett, who testified you threatened to not only put her on the street without references, but make it impossible as well to get another job in Mattawa should she interfere with your abuse—”

  “What abuse?” Roger interrupted. “Did you not hear me, man? We’re discussing women—servant women. They need constant instruction and discipline to perform the simplest of tasks. Never mind understanding their place.”

  The women more than rustled this time; an outpouring of irate protests exploded, causing the judge to employ his gavel and call for order.

  “See what I mean?” Roger demanded. “Why do you think only men are allowed to sit on a jury?” He cast a smirk at the jurors. “They know what I’m talking about.”

  Jake wondered if Lord even registered the jury’s
suddenly expressionless faces.

  Perhaps he did, for Roger suddenly demanded, “What are all these women even doing here? If more men stepped up to keep them in line—”

  Jake, not wanting a riot and feeling they had all they needed to put Lord away for a good long time, interrupted. “Let’s get back to your case. Tell me—”

  “I know why you’re persecuting me, sir,” Roger interrupted.

  “I am not persecuting you, Mr. Lord. I am the prosecuting attorney. It’s my job.”

  “Right,” Roger sneered. “And you’re loving every moment of it, aren’t you?” He turned to the judge. “This is a plot, Your Honor, and I protest,” he said. “Jake Murdock trumped up these charges expressly to get back at me—”

  “Your Honor—”

  “To get back at me,” Roger said implacably, “for taking his wife’s virginity.”

  Jake’s furious “What?! You son of a bitch!” was buried in the pandemonium of the courtroom erupting. Voices yammered and heads craned to assess Jake’s and Hattie’s reactions.

  Many eyes were on her as she surged to her feet, but Hattie saw none of them. She stared at Roger Lord in horror, one hand gripping her throat, where a wave of sickness rose. “No!” she whispered, as her vision was encompassed by a wall of white. It wasn’t a denial so much as a protest that he’d dare. Then, for the first time since arriving in Mattawa at the age of eleven, Hattie reacted in a way that gained her the wholehearted approval of every woman in the courthouse.

  She fainted dead away.

  47

  Hattie scared Jake to death. Nell and Mirabel managed to catch her between them as she crumpled, and they eased her into her seat. She lolled limply, head back, and Jake vaulted over the railing, roaring at the spectators straining for a better look to get out of the way and give her room to breathe. One man drew too near and Jake roughly shoved him back, his face tense with worry as he turned back to his unconscious wife.

  He squatted in front of her, patting her hands and cheeks, saying, “Wake up, baby. C’mon, baby, wake up.” He glared up at Augusta. “Dammit, Mom, why won’t she wake up? Oh God, I wish Doc were here. Why the hell isn’t he here when we need him?”

  Amid the babble of excited voices, the judge declared a recess and the prisoner was led away sporting a satisfied smile. The bailiff opened an antechamber and Jake swept Hattie up and carried her into the room, tenderly depositing her on the couch inside. Except for his mother, he ordered everyone else who entered the chamber to give them some privacy. The instant the last person departed, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

  He was aware that the gallery was in a paroxysm of delight. The crowd had just been given enough grist for the gossip mills to last until Christmas, but he didn’t give a tinker’s damn at the moment.

  He just wanted Hattie to wake the hell up.

  Hattie grew aware of several things as she regained consciousness. She was stretched out on a cool leather couch and she felt very, very ill. There was a persistent rapping, a distant voice saying, “Mr. Murdock, there’s a young lady here who says it’s urgent she talk to you,” and Jake’s voice, much louder and closer, snarling impatiently, “Not now!”

  She opened her eyes slowly.

  Jake’s face swam into focus and she blinked up at him, raising her fingers to his lean cheek. He was squatting next to the couch, his expression strained as he grasped her fingers and pressed them to his face.

  Jake turned his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Christ, Big-eyes, you scared me to death,” he said in a voice rougher than his normal tones. “Don’t do that again.”

  One corner of her mouth tilted up slightly. “We’re gonna have a baby, Jake.” She attempted to sit up, but her head swam and she feared vomiting on the carpet. Subsiding, she admitted with a wry smile, “This isn’t the way I planned to tell you.”

  Then she began to remember and her smile faded. Freeing her fingers, she clasped her hands at her waist. “He really told everyone, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” Jake’s eyes were fierce. “I should have killed him when I had the opportunity.”

  She touched his face again. “He isn’t worth it, Jacob.”

  “No,” he agreed, “he’s not.” He spread his fingers on her flat stomach. “You’re really pregnant?” He studied her face intently. “Is that what caused you to faint?”

  “Yeah, I jumped up, everything went white, then . . . nothing. But,” she said with grim insistence, “it wasn’t due to anything that pig said. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.” She couldn’t deny, though, that she could have lived without the public humiliation.

  “Actually,” Jake informed her dryly, “I think your swoon won the approval of everyone present. For once you reacted in the expected way.”

  His mother, who had taken a seat in the judge’s chair, laughed softly.

  “How reassuring,” Hattie murmured. “They’ll all say I’m quite refined—for a harlot.”

  “Don’t worry about it, baby. You and I are going to be living in this town for a good long time to come. We’ve got each other, our family, and a few excellent friends. If anyone wants to turn their backs on us over this, they don’t know what they’re giving up.”

  Another rap on the door made Jake turn impatiently. “What?!”

  Hattie cautiously eased herself upright, relieved to note the nausea had disappeared.

  “Mr. Murdock? There’s a young woman here—”

  Hattie could see Jake was preparing to snap the inquirer’s head off and laid a hand on his forearm. “Go find out what she wants.”

  “You’re sure you’re feeling better?”

  “Yes. Let her in.”

  He brushed back a hank of hair that had escaped during her fall, kissed her gently, and whispered, “I’m happy about the baby, darlin’. You’re gonna make a helluva mama.” Then he rose to stride across the room to yank the door open. The young girl on the other side jumped nervously.

  “Don’t frighten her, Jacob,” Hattie said in gentle reprimand. She straightened her jacket and refastened the buttons at her throat. “Let the poor girl in.”

  Jake waved away the young woman’s escort and did as his wife bade. He looked at his mother. “Would you mind giving us the room, Mom?”

  “Of course not.” Augusta rose from the chair behind the desk, brushed a kiss across Hattie’s forehead with a whispered encouragement, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Jake turned to the young woman. “What’s so important?”

  “My name is Maria Montgomery, sir,” she said in a soft, hesitant voice. Then, blushing profusely, she haltingly told them why she had insisted on seeing him.

  “You’re willing to testify to that?” Jake asked when she had finished.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Miss Montgomery. This means a lot,” he said. He gave her a few instructions and ushered her out the door. Then turned to look at his wife.

  “There is justice in the world,” she exclaimed softly. “Who would have thought? Oh, Jacob, Roger is going to have a cow!” She laughed. “How absolutely, incredibly fitting.”

  They grinned at each other with a perfectly attuned sense of irony. If it was diluted by a measure of maliciousness, well, it wasn’t particularly Christian of them. But they figured God might forgive them, just this once, if they couldn’t quite bring themselves to care.

  * * *

  —

  Court reconvened forty-five minutes later. Jake and Hattie girded themselves as Roger Lord was recalled to the witness stand. His face carefully expressionless, Jake approached the stand.

  “Now, sir,” he said in a neutral voice. “You have testified that you took my wife’s virginity, is that correct?”

  A ripple of surprise went through the gallery. Everyone expected Jake Murdock to bury Lord’s shocking dec
laration beneath a mountain of legalese. On either side of Hattie, Nell and Augusta, who had changed places with Mirabel, reached to hold Hattie’s hands.

  “That’s right,” Roger said triumphantly.

  “And was it given to you willingly?”

  Roger hesitated, knowing, for his freedom, he had to say yes and be done with it. Hell, either way, the little slut would be publicly ruined. But he had dreamed of this moment for too long now, and knowing he could safely rub Murdock’s nose in the fact of his wife’s helplessness that night was simply too good to pass up. Still . . . He was Roger Lord. Why not have it both ways?

  “She begged me,” he replied with satisfaction. It was the truth after all. She’d screamed. Cried. He’d liked that best. Roger slid Murdock a sly smile.

  “Begged you to stop?”

  “No, you stupid cuckold. She said she’d never had it so good.”

  Jake forcefully swallowed the hot rage urging him to climb over the barrier separating them. He’d give a bundle to wrap his hands around Lord’s throat. God forgive him, but Jake longed to tear the son of a bitch apart limb by limb.

  He had an ace up his sleeve, however, and needed to keep a cool head to make the most of it. So, he stood with his hands loose by his sides even as he itched to drive the man’s nose through the back of his head. After a rapid mental check of the last few exchanges, he said coolly, “According to your earlier testimony, you took her virginity. That means she had no comparison. You might want to keep your lies straight, Lord. You used to be a more competent lawyer than this—although word has it you’re having trouble getting new clients.”

  He fully expected an objection from Lord’s attorney, but Cleveland remained quiet. A fast glance over Jake’s shoulder revealed the lawyer with his elbow on the table and his forehead cradled in his palm. Roger Lord, on the other hand, surged to his feet—only to be admonished to take his seat by the judge.

  He did so, and even managed to say fairly calmly, if through gritted teeth, “I’m ten times the lawyer you are, Murdock. Who taught you everything you know?”