NoRegretsColeNC

by Christina Cole

  “Mother, she’s the owner of this house, not your personal servant.”

  “All right, then you fix the tea. Bring it, serve it, and then step outside. Miss Richards and I have much to discuss.”

  Actually, from Hattie’s perspective, they had nothing to discuss.

  No regrets.

  She said the words silently, but they offered no strength. She did regret her hasty decision to come calling. She should have waited until Willie asked her. Of course, she’d been so anxious to see him again, waiting would have been impossible.

  But now, she had come, she had seen Willie, and she had satisfied any curiosity about his mother.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” Hattie quickly gathered her cloak, shrugged it around her shoulders and hurried toward the door. “I do appreciate the invitation to tea, Mrs. Morse, but perhaps another time. I must get back to the hospital. I have rounds to make, patients to tend.”

  All lies, but panic threatened. If she didn’t get away that moment, she’d burst into uncontrollable tears.

  Hattie opened the door and fled through the house, Willie chasing clumsily at her heels.

  “Wait, come back. Please.”

  “I can’t do it. I should never have come here today. Just leave me alone.” Frantic, she raced to the doorway and escaped into the crisp October afternoon. She knew Willie was standing on the stoop but she refused to look back.

  * * * *

  “Surely you’re not serious about that girl.” His mother’s pained expression made him wince. “She’s too flighty, too fidgety.” She glanced around. “I asked you to bring tea.” Her frown deepened.

  “I wanted to talk to Hattie.”

  “Yes, and so did I. You should have told her to stay, fixed the tea like I’d asked, and we could have had a pleasant little chat.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and sighed. “It’s time you found a nice girl and settled down. I just don’t think Miss Richards is the right girl for you.”

  “Shouldn’t that be my choice, Mother?”

  Her eyes flew open. “Don’t be smart with me, William. Of course, it’s your choice, but I would certainly expect you to consider my wishes as well. You’re young. You know nothing about marriage, about the qualities a suitable wife should have.” Before he could say a word, she straightened and shook a finger at him. “Don’t go talking to me about love and romance either. That’s not what makes a marriage work. A marriage is a contract, an agreement between two responsible parties, each pledging to perform certain duties within the institution.”

  “You’re making it sound like a business arrangement, a partnership venture of some sort.”

  “That’s precisely what it is, and from what I’ve seen today, I doubt that Miss Richards would be able to fulfill the role of a successful attorney’s wife.”

  “I’m not a successful attorney. I haven’t even finished my studies.”

  “Yes, but you will. You’ll finish soon, you’ll sit for your examination, and it won’t be long before you’re every bit as successful as your father was.”

  Willie shook his head. “Don’t insult me by comparing me to him. He threw away any success he earned.”

  “I’ve told you his reasons, William. You’ve chosen not to accept it. The truth remains the same, however. Your father’s law practice was quite successful. He was recognized for his good works. He rose quickly in his profession. Those facts can’t be denied.”

  “I don’t want to argue about it.” Willie got up. “I’ll get tea for you, Mother.”

  A short time later he returned, carrying a tray with teapot and teacups, along with a small tin of cookies Widow Godwin had made earlier. She’d insisted he take them. Perhaps his mother would enjoy them, she’d suggested.

  Goodness knows he’d like to find something that pleased his mother.

  When he stepped back into the room, he braced himself for another onslaught. She hadn’t finished speaking her mind, and until she did, there would be no peace.

  “We might as well get this over with,” he said as he handed her a cup of hot tea. “You’re bound and determined to tell me all the reasons why I shouldn’t marry Miss Richards.”

  “Is it that serious, William?” She peered at him over the rim of the teacup. “Has the subject of marriage come up between the two of you?”

  He hesitated, waiting until his mind had latched onto a convenient half-truth before he spoke. “Set your mind at ease, Mother. At the moment, we have no plans to marry.”

  She lifted one of the delicate porcelain teacups to her lips. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. You haven’t known her long. Have you met her family? Who are her people?”

  Willie couldn’t come up with any answer other than the truth.

  “Hattie’s got no family.”

  “Everyone has family. Are you saying her parents have passed away?”

  He shook his head. “She never knew her parents.” Might as well spit it all out. “She was raised in a children’s home.” He expected a reaction—a gasp, at least—but his mother sat still as a stone. Had she heard him?

  “Well, then, the matter is settled.” The woman actually smiled as she carefully set her teacup on the small table beside her chair. “Of course, you can’t possibly marry her.”

  If only he could marry her. If only Hattie would consent to be his wife.

  Willie’s lips thinned to a grim line. “What if I did want to marry her? Are you saying that you wouldn’t accept her?”

  “You couldn’t possibly marry a girl who doesn’t even know where she came from. It’s preposterous, William. For all you know, her parents could have been servants, or worse. You’ve got no idea—”

  “And neither do you.” He pulled himself up. “Yes, her parents could have come from the lesser class. They could have come from the upper class. For all you know, Mother, her lineage might descend from European royalty, or she might be the illegitimate child of some governor or even a senator.” Wound up now, he bent forward. “Could be President Hayes sired her. I’m given to understand that powerful men always have mistresses.”

  “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.”