NoRegretsColeNC

by Christina Cole

  On that bright, sunny morning, Hattie couldn’t afford to stand idly about enjoying the scenic beauty. A new week had come, tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new month, and she had urgent business to attend. As she walked briskly up O’Farrell Street, her boot heels clicked over the pavement. She’d spent days poring over classifieds in the Chronicle searching out rooms for rent at reasonable rates.

  Checking the notes she’d made, Hattie took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and approached the first address on her list.

  Her knock at the door was quickly answered by a young maidservant, a girl very near Hattie’s age.

  “I’m here to see about the room advertised.”

  The pretty young woman with red hair and freckles nodded. Although she offered a pleasant smile, her blue-eyed gaze swept over Hattie’s form. “I’ll get Mrs. Arnold,” she said. After a slight hesitation, she added, “I’m not sure the room is still available.” Directing Hattie toward a small parlor, she instructed her to wait.

  Only too glad to oblige, Hattie took a seat in a high-backed chair near a cozy fireplace. A worn, but respectable Persian carpet covered the dark flooring, and a jug of dried flowers added a friendly touch to the room.

  The warmth and friendliness dissipated like wisps of early morning fog when an imposing older woman stepped into the room. Without offering so much as a greeting, she eyed Hattie from the brim of her hat to the toes of her boots, finally nodding and uttering a terse “Good day.”

  “I’ve come to see about the room. The one you advertised in the Chronicle.” Hattie got to her feet, her pregnant belly making her movements awkward and slow. Still clutching the list of addresses in her hand, she held it up. “Is the room still available?”

  “Yes, but it’s quite small, suitable for only a single individual. I believe that was expressly stated in the advertisement.”

  Hattie nodded. “Yes. That’s precisely what I’m looking for. May I see the room—”

  “Where is your husband?” The woman’s gaze went immediately to Hattie’s swollen belly. “You don’t appear to be in mourning, so I doubt you’ve been widowed.”

  Hattie bit her lip. Already she understood that her chances of getting the room depended entirely upon the answer she gave. That is to say, upon the lie she told. It would be easy enough to spin a little tale, to speak of her husband being called away for a job. Or maybe she could somehow convince the woman that despite her lack of mourning apparel, she was a woman who’d lost her beloved spouse.

  She could do neither. Hattie had never told a serious lie in her life. Except for the fib she’d told the Kellermans the night she went to the boardinghouse—which is what had ultimately gotten her into this fix—the only untruths she’d ever uttered had been simple, helpful little words designed to lift flagging spirits, like assuring Willie Morse he’d pull through even when his life had hung in the balance.

  Thinking of him now and of the circumstances that had brought her to that time and place, she lifted her chin.

  “I have no husband. I’ve never been married, and I have no plans to change that. I am, however, a decent young woman and I have funds—”

  Already Mrs. Arnold’s head was shaking back and forth. “No, I can’t allow you to come into my home. I run a respectable establishment here. I have families living here.” She picked up a small porcelain bell and rang it twice. “I don’t rent to your sort.”

  The young maid responded immediately to the summons. Looking down, she escorted Hattie to the door.

  On to the next possibility. Hattie sighed, noted the next address on her list, and set off to the north, her steps a bit slower now than before.

  One after another, doors closed in her face. Some of the boardinghouse owners were apologetic, others were downright rude. Always there was the silent accusation behind their refusal to rent to her, the judgmental look in their knowing eyes.

  You are not a good woman.

  Hattie had no choice. She would have to lie. She would have to dress herself in a drab black gown, wear a dreadful black-veiled hat, put on thick black stockings and go about pretending to be a grief-stricken widow. Hattie sighed. She had no wedding band on her finger any more than she had mourning clothes to slip into, and even if she possessed them, she couldn’t bear the thought of perpetuating such deception.

  One more attempt, she decided, bolstering her spirits. After all, hadn’t she always heard that honesty was the best policy? How many times had she reminded others of that fact?

  Putting a fresh smile on her face, she hurried down a narrow brick walk and rapped at another entrance.

  Moments later, she found herself staring at yet another closed door. No husband? No room. As simple as that. Truly, she should have been clever enough to realize that no one would let out a room to a single—and very expectant—young woman. Although she still believed herself virtuous in many ways, whatever goodness she possessed had been negated by her foolish actions in giving herself to Willie. She’d placed herself among the ranks of shameful, immoral women, had made herself no better than a common prostitute.

  No, even worse. Hattie blanched at the thought. At least whores got paid for their services.

  Too weary to continue on, Hattie tucked the list of addresses into a pocket and turned back. Since arriving in San Francisco, she’d been lodging at the Occidental Hotel. Her funds were nearly depleted.

  Unfortunately for Hattie, financial management proved far trickier than she’d been led to believe. To hear Miss Helen Brundage speak of it at the Female Academy, any woman with half a brain should be able to keep accounts, maintain accurate records of income and expenditures, and provide for herself quite nicely, so long as she lived in a frugal manner. In their workbook assignments, budgeting had seemed simple enough, but those neat columns of figures that always balanced perfectly in the textbooks had nothing in common with reality, Hattie now realized. Those paper-and-pencil examples didn’t consider that sometimes there just wasn’t enough income to cover all the out-go, and what was she supposed to do now?

  Her only hope was to find a cheap room and pinch her pennies tight enough to make them last until after the baby came. She would require a bit of time to recuperate, but as soon as she was able she would find gainful employment.

  And what will you do with your child, Hattie Mae?

  A nagging voice insider her head scolded her incessantly, reminding her of the many terrible choices she’d made. She was about to bring a child into the world without benefit of a father’s love and guidance. Worse still, she would have to leave her child in someone else’s care while she went off into the world to make a living. Even if she found gainful employment after the baby came, and even if she somehow managed to find a place to live and a good-hearted woman to look after the child, how could Hattie ever earn enough to support herself and pay for child care, too?

  She knew of the Daughters of Charity. The sisters ran a well-organized orphanage a few miles to the south of the city. Although Hattie doubted they would help her—owing to her shameful fall from grace—they would help her child, if it came down to that.

  Too weary to walk any farther, she searched for a place where she might sit for a moment. Most women, of course, would never think of going out while with child, but Hattie now accepted the fact that she wasn’t a typical mother-to-be. She still believed that a moderate amount of walking each day benefited both her and her child—she’d come across that notation in one of Dr. Kellerman’s books one day—but traipsing block after block through the hilly city of San Francisco was over-doing it by a long shot.

  She couldn’t take another step. The muscles in her legs burned from exertion, and she’d noticed her ankles swelling up a bit. Of course, all the discomforts would be forgotten once she held her precious child in her arms.

  Hattie stood near a small park. She spotted a bench and let out a grateful sigh. Walking slowly toward it, she felt the baby moving in her womb. The miracle of life stirred within her, bringi
ng tears of joy to her eyes. But something more stirred within.

  She worried often about her unborn child and prayed that all was as it should be. Sometimes, as she felt odd kicks and pokes, she wondered about her baby. She’d not seen a midwife or a doctor and could only trust that the natural order of life was at work inside her body. She was not the first woman to give birth. All would be well.

  Now, the constant reassurances she offered herself brought little solace, and for the first time, she gave in to the self-pity that had been lurking at the edges of her life since she’d fled Colorado.

  What was she going to do?

  She had no one to help her. Her money would run out within days. She would be at the mercy of anyone—

  Hattie’s ears pricked up as she neared the bench. She’d been so lost in her worries she hadn’t noticed the elderly gray-haired woman already seated there. Though she sat as stiff and straight as a stone statue, little sobbing sounds came out.

  “Excuse me,” Hattie said in a gentle voice, not wanting to frighten the woman. “Are you in need of help, ma’am? Is there something I can do for you?” She came around to the front of the bench, knelt awkwardly down, and placed a comforting touch on the woman’s tightly-clasped hands. “Is there someone I should get for you?” She looked around, not at all sure how she could manage to summon anyone for assistance but knowing she must do whatever she could.

  “No, no, there’s nothing to be done for me.” The woman mustered a slight smile. She unclasped her hands and drew a kerchief from beneath her drab gray shawl. “Pay no mind to me, dear. I’m only a lonely old woman given to bouts of tears now and then.” She dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, and then looked more closely at Hattie. “Heavens, dear! What are you doing on your knees? You’re expecting! Please, get up. Come, sit here beside me.” The woman patted the bench and scooted over a bit to make room.

  “I’m fine. It’s not my time yet.” Hattie rose, stretched, and gratefully settled herself onto the wooden bench. Her sigh showed her relief. “My, but it does feel good to be off my feet.”

  “You should be at home resting. Surely your husband doesn’t approve—”

  Hattie cut her off. “I don’t have a husband, and before you ask, no, I’m not a widow. I’m a woman who made a mistake.” Her eyes widened as her heart protested. “No, I won’t say that. What I did was wrong, but I refuse to count it as a mistake. I don’t regret it.” Shaking, she burst into sobs. “I’m going to have a beautiful child, and somehow, everything is going to work out, and—”

  “Hush, dear. It’s not good to get overwrought.”

  In a turnabout from Hattie’s earlier gesture, this woman now became the comforter. She offered no scorn, no judgment. Neither did she ask for explanations or excuses. She simply reached out, took Hattie’s hand in hers, and held it fast.

  The woman’s tender touch imparted strength. Hattie grew calm. Gradually, her tears subsided.

  “I fell in love,” she whispered. “I let my heart lead me to places where I wasn’t ready to go.”

  “You’re not the first young woman who’s traveled down that path.” She turned to face Hattie. “What of the man? Has he been dealt with accordingly?” Her face paled. “Is the cad married, by chance? That’s how it so often goes.”

  Hattie nearly laughed. “No, he’s not married. He’s a good man, Miss…”

  “Mrs. Quisenberry,” the woman said with a faint smile. “But I’m a widow, dear. I lost my husband many years ago. I do still love him. I do still miss him. It makes me almost sad when someone addresses me by my married name. Please, call me Virginia.”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course. My name is Hattie. Hattie Mae Richards.” She truly liked this woman whose gentle touch and quiet voice had brought a moment of peace. Most likely she would never see the woman again. She could speak her heart and share her deepest feelings without fear of censure or reproach.

  “So, tell me about this young man who stole your heart.”

  Glad to oblige, Hattie nodded. “As I was saying, Willie is a good man. He tried to do right by me. I wouldn’t marry him.”

  “But you love him, you said. Why did you refuse him?”

  “He wasn’t ready for marriage. Besides, I didn’t think it was right that he should pay for my mistake.”

  “But you said it wasn’t a mistake.” Virginia Quisenberry looked and sounded bewildered.

  “What I meant was falling in love wasn’t a mistake, and I refuse to regret how things turned out. But, you see, I did make a mistake. I miscalculated.” Looking back, Hattie realized how different her life would be had she not gone browsing through Dr. Kellerman’s books. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” she commented. “I thought I knew so much. I really knew nothing at all.”

  The woman looked utterly baffled. “I won’t press for more, dear, but if you need someone to listen, I will.”

  “I’ve said enough on the matter, and there are other things to chat about.” Hattie brought a smile to her face. “Have you lived in San Francisco long? I’ve only arrived a few months ago. I’m afraid the big city is somewhat overpowering.”

  “You ran away from…Willie? Was that his name?”

  “Not so much him, but from the others. The women in town looked down at me. Of course, it’s no different here. Except for you,” she added. “You’re the first person I’ve met who seems willing to accept me. Thank you.”

  “I think perhaps we were meant to meet. I do believe in providence, don’t you?”

  “Chance is the nickname of Providence,” Hattie quickly quoted, although she couldn’t remember the source of the adage. “Perhaps it’s true. Maybe there is a divine order in all of life and what we see as chance is really the hand of the Lord leading us in the right direction.”

  But then, was it also the hand of the Lord who had brought Willie Morse into Hattie’s life? Was there a meaning and a purpose behind it all?

  Virginia Quisenberry laughed softly. “Such deep thoughts. Let’s speak of simpler things, shall we?”

  Hattie laughed, too.

  They chatted amiably for a time, and soon found themselves sharing a mutual regard for one another. As she’d said, Mrs. Quisenberry was a very lonely woman, a widow whose nine children were grown and gone. They rarely came to visit, she told Hattie.

  She wanted companionship, had been looking for someone to come into her home to keep her company. Hattie, she announced, fit the bill perfectly. When she learned of Hattie’s dire financial situation, the matter was decided at once.

  Virginia had found a friend and companion. Hattie had found a home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunset, Colorado

  The arrival of spring always brought promise. As buds unfolded on the lindens, elms, and boxelders, and birds hopped from branch to branch building nests, the world became new again each year. Winter snows melted, grass and wildflowers bloomed in profusion, and the glorious scent of flowering crab apple trees made earth seem near to heaven.

  Willie set off on the long ride to Denver with a smile on his face and hope in his heart. At last the day had come. He would meet with a committee of lawyers to be tested on his knowledge. Assuming he did as well as he expected, he would soon be granted the right to open his own practice.

  When he was younger, he’d hated tests and examinations and was always anxious ahead of time. Not so now. He’d slept soundly the night before and he’d had sweet dreams of Hattie Mae. She’d opened her arms to him and welcomed him into her life once more.

  He still missed her—more than words could ever say—yet in so many ways, he felt her presence surrounding him. She was his muse, his inspiration.

  When a man had nothing more than memories, he held fast to them. His thoughts of Hattie Mae were his lifeline. He surrounded himself with mementos of the time they’d spent together. She had cared about him. She had patiently counseled him, had guided him, and she’d refused to give up on him.

  She left you, Willie. She ran aw
ay.

  He wouldn’t believe it. Hattie was gone, but not because of him. She’d left only because of the ill treatment she’d been dealt. He would find her, he would make it all up to her, and he would never allow anything—or anyone—to ever hurt her again.

  So much he owed her. Had she not come into his life, he’d still be a lousy, stinking drunk. Or worse, he’d more likely be dead. Hattie had saved him, had given him a chance to live again. Without her intervention, he would not be riding to the Arapahoe County Courthouse, would not be eagerly anticipating the questions he would be asked, and would not be on the verge of seeing his long-standing dreams becoming reality. He planned to hang out his shingle in Sunset. There he would make a name for himself—a good name—and there he would make a home for himself, for Hattie, and for their child.

  He would find her.

  He would bring her back to Sunset.

  Once the examination ended, he would resume his search, redoubling his efforts to locate her. Surely she hadn’t gone far. Perhaps she was right there in Denver, determined to lose herself.

  Upon reaching his destination, he glanced around, almost as if expecting to see Hattie Mae strolling toward him. Although a goodly number of people passed by on their way to and from their destinations, Hattie Mae was not among them.

  Willie sighed, climbed down from his horse’s back, and then brushed a bit of horsehair and road dust from his trousers. His chest swelling, he threw back his shoulders and marched purposefully toward the entrance.

  When he stepped inside, he tipped his hat toward George Whitmore, who sat at a long table with two other well-dressed gentlemen. Willie’s heartbeat sped up. Nervous energy coursed through him.