“Not here?” The words didn’t register. “What do you mean? Where else would she be?”
“She left Sunset. About a week ago, in fact.”
“And? Where did she go?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You must. I have to know. I have to find her and bring her back.”
“I don’t know where she is, and that’s the honest truth.” Charlotte’s clear blue eyes held a touch of sadness, enough to convince Willie that she was being straight with him. “We made arrangements for her at a home. Dr. Kellerman gave her quite a bit of money, as well, money he intended for her to have…later, when everything was resolved.”
“After she gave up the baby? Is that what you mean?”
Charlotte nodded. “Hattie did sign the papers, Willie. She took them, took the money, and she left on her own. But she didn’t go to the home. We contacted them. Of course, no names are allowed, and she could have registered using any initials she chose.”
“No, she wouldn’t do it. Hattie would never give the child up.”
“It would be best for everyone if she did, Willie.”
The thought of Hattie surrendering her child—their child—sickened him. Suddenly he doubted Charlotte’s veracity. She knew where Hattie was. These reformed do-gooders had packed her up and carted her away.
“I’ll find her.” Willie turned, snatched up the cane he’d left resting against the chair, and shook it in the air. “I don’t care how long it takes, how far I have to go, or what I have to do. I will find her.”
Mrs. Kellerman shook her head. “No, you won’t, and I’ll tell you why. She doesn’t want to be found.”
Fighting to keep his temper in check, Willie stomped out of the hospital. Cane in hand, he hobbled his way down from the porch. His anger grew.
Damn it, why was he the last to know? Why hadn’t the Kellermans told him straight away that Hattie was gone? For that matter, why didn’t Hattie come to him and let him know she was leaving?
She doesn’t want to be found.
In no mood to return home and listen to his mother’s usual litany of complaints, Willie headed instead for the Red Mule. He hadn’t had a shot of whiskey in months, and damn, but his throat was parched.
In his head, he could hear Hattie’s voice. She’d sure enough give him a stern lecture…if she were there.
“You’re not here. That’s the damned problem.” He muttered the words aloud, ignored the odd looks of passersby as he turned up the collar of his jacket, and marched down the street.
Not that he meant to get drunk. No point in that. A man could pay a visit to a saloon, jaw with his friends a bit, have a sociable drink—or two—and then head home, sober. A shot of whiskey would calm his nerves, help him figure out what to do next. Maybe a second shot might even dull the pain a bit.
Who was he kidding? The aching in his chest grew worse moment by moment. His heart pounded. He sagged against an icy storefront, almost doubled over from the agony.
“You all right, mister?”
A young boy—probably no more than eleven or twelve—tapped him on the shoulder. “Want me to go get Doc Kellerman?”
“No, just get the hell away from me.” He shoved himself up. “I’ll be all right.”
“You don’t look all right.” The boy squinted at him. “Hey, you’re that old drunk, aren’t you?”
“What? No. I’m not old. And I’m not a drunkard.”
“Yeah, you are. The one what nearly got yourself killed last spring. I was there. I saw it happen.”
“So, you want a reward or something?” Willie straightened his shoulders and lifted the cane. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”
The boy shook his head and trudged away through drifts of snow lining the streets.
Willie lumbered on, and moments later, he pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Red Mule saloon, his throat dry, his nerves taut, and his heart still aching.
“Jake Walker,” he called, nodding toward the saloon’s owner. “I need a word with you.” The man had connections. Walker knew somebody who knew somebody in every town in the state. More than once, folks had called upon the man to help track down an old friend, a family member who’d gone off and not returned, or a loved one. “I need your help.”
* * * *
Despite his best efforts, Willie’s hopes of finding Hattie grew dimmer with each passing day. He contacted homes for unwed mothers. Records were private. No names were used.
No word came in response to Jake Walker’s efforts, either. Willie had given him all the information he could, but it wasn’t enough. It was a wide, wide world. Hattie could be anywhere.
He went to the post every day, hoping there might be a letter waiting from her.
She doesn’t want to be found.
Charlotte’s words rang over and over in his head.
He couldn’t work, couldn’t keep up with his studies, couldn’t do much of anything other than inquire about Hattie.
Before the month was out, he’d quit his job—Whitmore was about to dismiss him anyway—and his afternoons and evenings were spent at the saloon. He didn’t have much money, but there were always prospectors from the nearby mines or rowdy cowboys who liked to throw a few coins around and buy drinks for the house.
Little by little, he was slipping back into his old ways. He saw it happening, but he didn’t know how to stop it.
Without Hattie, what difference did it make how he lived his life?
At least he had a place to sleep. The house in Denver had sold, and his mother had paid Tansy Godwin weeks in advance from the settlement she’d received. He’d finally figured out that his mother and father had ways to keep in touch. Even though she had no idea where he was, she knew he was dying. Consequently, she ignored Willie and his problems. Her concern was only for her husband. She had nothing left over to give to her son, and that suited Willie just fine.
Chapter Fifteen
Another two weeks passed, and, his own funds all but depleted, Willie headed back to the gaming tables, whiskey in hand. He frowned as he sat down. Hattie wouldn’t approve of him drinking, and she wouldn’t approve of him playing poker. But she wasn’t there to stop him.
He studied the men already seated at the green felt-covered table, watching closely as cards were dealt. He didn’t like the looks. Dan Southwick had a reputation for mucking, cleverly concealing an ace or two in his big hand, then switching his own cards for them when he thought nobody was looking. Willie resolved to keep a close eye on Southwick.
“You gettin’ in, Willie?”
“You going to play honest?”
“Yeah, right.” Southwick laughed. “Heard you got yourself into another bad situation.” He grinned and dealt out a few cards. “Heard you took advantage of that pretty little gal what went to work for the doctor.”
“Her name is Hattie, and I didn’t take advantage of her.”
“Knocked her up, didn’t you? I don’t think she got that way by herself.” He shrugged. “But then again, she probably asked for it. Gals like that need to learn—”
Willie sprang to his feet, nearly overturning the card table. Drawing his arm back, he clenched his fist then threw it forward, clipping Dan on the chin. The gambler reeled backward, cursing with what little breath he had left.
“Son of a bitch.”
Willie wasn’t finished yet. He swung another punch at Dan’s head. This time, the man was ready. He blocked the swing, and counter-punched with a sharp uppercut. Barely able to stay balanced, Willie staggered backward, coughing and spitting blood.
He caught himself, lunged forward, and his hands went around Dan’s scrawny neck.
“Don’t ever…” Winded, he couldn’t get the words out.
Another punch glanced Willie’s chin. A second, rapid-fire blow to his abdomen doubled him over and expelled the last bit of choked air from his lungs.
Damn, but Southwick packed a hell of a punch. Willie couldn’t get his breath, and the pain
in his gut was nearly more than he could take. But he wasn’t finished yet. He’d always been a fighter and had been in plenty of scrapes over the years. He almost always came out the winner.
But that was before his accident. Now, he couldn’t keep himself steady, couldn’t put enough power behind his fists. That didn’t mean he was giving up, though. Nobody spoke bad about Hattie in his presence and got away with it.
Pulling himself upright, he stared straight into Southwick’s eyes. Rage pounded through his head.
“You…bastard…” Willie took a lurching step forward with each word. He swung his fist, but the spry, smirking gambler ducked under it. Willie took another shot to his ribs, one that sent fresh waves of pain rippling through his body. Somehow he kept from falling. If he went down, it would all be over.
Southwick moved in for another shot. Willie shoved him off, getting his second wind. He covered the distance between them, threw a volley of punches that found their target, and laughed as Dan stumbled and fell to his knees.
But the damned man got back up again.
It was surreal. Between the pain in his guts and ribs and the general confusion as drunken cowboys, miners, gamblers, and scantily-clad dancing girls rushed to shout and jeer, the sight of Southwick springing to his feet again made Willie blink. Both men were throwing wild punches now. Southwick’s cronies joined in, jumping Willie from behind. They grabbed his arms and pinned him down as Dan moved in.
Damn it to hell. Willie should have known a man who would cheat in cards wouldn’t give him a fair fight.
Outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and sorely outwitted, Willie gave up. He crumpled to the ground as a deafening roar surrounded him. Blackness followed.
* * * *
Willie woke up behind bars with a pounding headache. “Let me out of here,” he called out, his throat raw.
“I’m awful tired of doing this, Willie.” Sheriff Bryant stood outside the cell. “I’ve locked you up, and damn it, you’re going to stay there.”
“What about Southwick? What about his poker-playing buddies? They jumped me.”
“Yeah, I know. They spent the night in that cell over there.” He gestured toward his left.
“It’s empty. You let them go?”
“They paid their fine. I sent them on their way.”
“What about me? What’s my fine?”
Bryant shook his head. “No fine, Willie. You’re staying right where you are until I say you can go. And that might be a hell of a long time if you don’t straighten up.”
“Fine. I’ll sit on my ass and enjoy a few free meals.”
He did precisely that. Well, how much he actually enjoyed the food was questionable, but he did a damned fine job of sitting on his ass as first one day and then another passed. Willie refused to say a word to Sheriff Bryant or Deputy Goddard. His mother didn’t bother to visit him in jail—he hardly expected her to—and even if she had, he wouldn’t have spoken to her either.
As much as possible, he slept. A difficult thing to do in an unheated cell with only a thin blanket for warmth, a rickety old cot that was nothing more than a plywood board with a ratty feather mattress thrown on top of it, and a pillow that stunk so bad he’d tossed it into the corner the first time he’d gotten a whiff of the malodorous head rest.
On the third morning, he opened one eye when he heard the keys clanging against the lock. Meal time again. The food would definitely never win any culinary awards, but it was edible.
With his stomach growling, he swung his legs over the side of his cot and turned his attention to Hank Goddard, the sheriff’s chief deputy—and chief rival.
But Goddard wasn’t bringing a breakfast tray. Instead, in his arms he carried a load of books. Willie recognized them—his father’s law books. Months before, he’d brought them to the sheriff’s office so he could study while he worked each night.
“Damned tired of these cluttering up the place.” Goddard let go, and the heavy books crashed to the floor. “If you’re not going to use them, maybe you ought to get rid of them. I hear old Asa buys used books. He might give you a dollar or two for them.”
“Those books are worth a hell of a lot more than that.” Hearing his own voice gave Willie a jolt. He immediately lapsed again into his usual stoic silence.
“Don’t look to me like they’re doing anybody a bit of good.” Hank kicked at a thick volume, then shrugged. “I don’t care what you do with them. I just don’t want to look at them anymore.” The deputy pulled the cell door open, slipped through, and then slammed the heavy metal gate shut. “Breakfast is late this morning. I’ll bring it soon as it gets here.”
Willie nodded. Alone again, he stretched out on the hard cot and stared up at the ceiling. Too hungry to go back to sleep, he tossed about, his leg aching and his whole body stiff from the wretched plywood.
Might as well read a bit to pass the time.
Or not.
He started for the books, then stopped himself. For sure Goddard had dumped them on him for good reason. Maybe Sheriff Bryant put him up to it. Likely they meant to coerce him into picking them up, resuming his studies, trying again to make something of himself.
As though they actually cared what happened to him.
Nobody cared.
Not even Hattie Mae.
Damn it, nobody believed in him. He shook his head, shaking away, too, any thought that Goddard had brought the books for reasons other than what he claimed. He was sick of looking at them, and sure enough, he really didn’t give a rat’s ass what Willie did with them so long as they stayed out of his sight.
To hell with Goddard. To hell with Caleb Bryant, too, for keeping him behind bars. To hell with the whole god-forsaken town of Sunset, Colorado, with its small-minded people and hateful attitudes.
He cursed the world and everyone in it with only one exception.
Hattie might have stopped caring about him, but he’d never stop loving her.
Now, with nowhere to go and nothing better to do, Willie Morse was going to prove folks wrong. Like he’d told the sheriff once before, when a man got himself so far down he hit rock bottom, there was, after all, only one way to go.
* * * *
For the next few weeks, he worked, he studied, he prayed. Willie had never been much on religion. His mother and father had been church-goers, but for all the wrong reasons. They went to be seen. His mother had always loved showing off her new hats and dresses, and then, as now, church for Letitia Morse meant opportunities to gab with other women, to exchange gossip during the fellowship hour following the service. For his father, Sunday meetings were a way of showing himself as a virtuous man, a true believer.
Willie scoffed at the thought. His father had believed in nothing but himself. The man thought he was invincible and above the law. In the end, he’d cheated justice but hadn’t managed to escape punishment from the Lord.
Caleb finally saw fit to release Willie on the condition he resume work at the jail. That way it was easier to keep an eye on him. On his days off, he spent afternoons at George Whitmore’s law office, volunteering his time in return for the man’s expertise. At last, his life was coming together. All that was missing, the one thing that would make him complete, was Hattie.
Willie vowed he would find her.
But day after day passed by with no word on her whereabouts. Jake Walker’s efforts had yielded no results. Neither had the attempts Willie had made to track her down. Like his father, Hattie Mae had simply disappeared without a trace.
His only recourse now was faith. He loved Hattie. He loved their child. They belonged with one another. They were meant to be a family, and someday they would be. It wouldn’t happen until he was ready. First, he must prove his worth.
He clung tenaciously to that belief.
Once he’d completed his studies, had taken his exams, and been admitted to practice law, God would show mercy upon him and bring him and Hattie together once more.
* * * *
February, 1
881
San Francisco, California
Hattie had never seen anything like San Francisco. The city sat at the uppermost tip of a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by glittering ocean. Even in the middle of winter, golden sunlight streamed from the clear blue skies above, making the day reasonably warm and comfortable. Little wonder so many people had come west to California. San Francisco alone boasted a population of nearly a quarter of a million, a number that staggered her imagination. She’d always thought of Denver and its forty thousand residents as huge.
Of course, she missed the mountains, but she certainly didn’t miss the freezing cold, the ice, the snow, and all the inconveniences of winter in Colorado. No, indeed, once she got accustomed to this strange new city with its odd little cable cars running up and down the hillsides, the fast-talking Chinamen in the various shops, and the peculiar smell of salt and fish that permeated the air near the wharf, she would enjoy living in San Francisco.
Or so she hoped. In truth, she missed Colorado, especially the little town of Sunset. Most of all, she missed Willie.
San Francisco held so much promise for her, yet at the moment, the city’s crowded neighborhoods, traffic-choked streets, and tall buildings overwhelmed her. As she strolled along on her morning walk each day, men and women swept past her dressed in expensive finery the likes of which Hattie had never seen. A lot of men had made their fortunes in California during the Gold Rush, not only the prospectors who’d struck it rich, but merchants selling supplies to those who sought the precious metal, and bankers who provided security for those who’d found it.
But the city had its share of poor people, too. Families crowded together into tiny rooms of filthy, vermin-infested tenements. Sewage and debris littered alleyways. Crime ran rampant, and the human suffering made Hattie’s heart ache. Sometimes walking alone frightened her.
What she loved most, of course, was the vast Pacific Ocean. She liked to visit the wharf on the northern-most edge of the city, listening to the Italian fisherman as they worked on their heavy nets or unloaded the day’s catch of fish and crab. It thrilled her to stand on the pier and gaze out over the waters that seemed to stretch out forever. The sound of gulls and the sharp tang of the sea air always refreshed her, made her feel glad to be alive.
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