Divided Heart

by Sheryl Marcoux

  “I know he was hard on you,” his mother said. “After you’d left to go back to college, he was sorry for the way he treated you. It broke his heart. He loved you, and had only the best in mind for you.”

  So, that’s what Marcus had told her—that he’d sent Nate off to college. “The best in mind” was an interesting twist in phrase. No, Nate wouldn’t tell her where Marcus had really sent him, because it would break her heart.

  Instead, staring at the empty chair, he bit back his bitterness. She had always been caught between a man consumed with goals and comforting a son who couldn’t meet them. She loved them both, and because Nate loved her, he couldn’t deny the gentle woman in his arms her sentiments. “Why don’t you go through the rest of the house and take inventory of what you want to keep and what you could sell?”

  After she left, Nate forced himself to move the memories into crates and stack the crates against the wall. All the while he hummed to himself to keep remembrances from toppling over on him.

  “Nate,” his mother called from another room. “Will you help me with this?”

  He walked into the dining room, but the sight of what his mother needed help with held him fast. He couldn’t move.

  “I can’t leave this behind,” she said. “Not this.”

  He couldn’t even speak, until...I can’t let it fall. Not this most sacred item.

  He rushed over and carefully took from her hands a painting she was trying to take down from over the mantel. “I’ve got it, Mother.” He forced out, “Why don’t you go to the bedroom and start packing your own things?”

  After she left, he looked into the face of a pretty girl with tumbling golden hair and a mischievous smile. Holding the portrait, he stumbled to a chair. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, and he got lost in her smiling blue eyes.

  Sally.

  ~*~

  Steam rose from the bucket and the water scorched her hands as Hattie dipped her rag. The unforgiving wood bruised her knees as she scoured away the flour that had settled into the knots and cracks of her kitchen floorboards.

  It had been a week since Nate had visited her. In town, her ears would perk every time she heard Nate’s name, and so she’d learned he was helping his mother move into a new home and would leave soon after, just as he’d promised. She’d never again gaze into his serious eyes; she’d never again touch the softness of his yellow curls between her fingers. Never again would her heart leap at the sound of “Hattie” in his voice. Never again. The words made her wither inside.

  Though she’d prayed often, and though she knew the Lord was listening, He offered no solution to the ache in her heart. All she could do was continue to pray. And scrub. That’s what her mother had always done, wasn’t it? Scrubbed away the dirt—and the hurt. She rubbed the floor with the same fury she felt in her heart. Just as she dipped her rag again, there was a rap at the door.

  She straightened. No, it can’t be him, because this time he’d promised to stay away. Nate had never broken a promise. And he’d never promised to be true to her.

  She walked toward the window to check before answering. Was it her pa? She had a mind to throw the bucketful of water at him. The Reverend? She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. But the visitor was Zachariah.

  Which was odd, because he usually came by with Clayton or Lillian so people wouldn’t talk, even though there was nothing between them to talk about. She opened the door. “Is everything all right?”

  He took off his hat and held it in front of him. He was always courteous, but she’d never met anyone as refined as Nate. “Just checking to see how you’re doing, Hattie. I know there’s a lot on your mind.” By the way he frowned, he had a lot on his mind, too. “Any thoughts about meeting your pa?”

  She walked back into the kitchen, squeezed out the rag, and started scrubbing the floor again. “Not a one.”

  “He asked about you again today.”

  She scrubbed at the flour as though it were pitch. “He should have asked about me twenty-five years ago.”

  “Maybe he didn’t suspect…”

  “So what made him suspect he’s got a daughter now? What put the hornet in his hat to come looking for me now that I’m…?” The soreness of bone on wood wasn’t enough to keep the crack out of her voice. “Now that I don’t need him anymore?”

  “I lost my pa when I was a boy, too. But I can’t imagine how hard it was for you going through what you went through. You got a right to be sore at him, and I can’t tell you what to do, but if you need an ear to listen, I’ve got two I can lend you.” He hesitated, which meant he was getting ready to say what he’d really come for. “Has Nate been around?”

  Hattie dipped the rag, wrung it out, and slopped it back on the floor. Her hands burned. The water hadn’t gotten any cooler, and this conversation wasn’t getting any better. “I haven’t seen him since last week.”

  “Last week?” His voice rose with an edge of irritation. “You should have told me about that visit, Hattie. I’ll put him in jail so he won’t bother you no more.”

  “No. He needs to help his mother move. Besides,” she said with effort, “he promised he won’t be back.”

  Zachariah’s worry furrowed deep wrinkles into his brow. “Did he say anything about the Reverend?”

  “Just something silly.”

  “Silly like what?”

  She looked up at him. “Why are you making such a fuss over such a small thing?”

  “Because I need to know. What exactly did Nate say about the Reverend?” He had a something-else-going-on look about him.

  “Nate just has some strange notion that the Reverend’s a crack-shot outlaw.” She snorted a listless laugh. “I had all I could do to keep from laughing.” And all she could do now not to cry.

  Zachariah set determined hands on his hips. “I don’t want Nate around you.”

  “You’re more worried about all this nonsense than I am. I’ll be fine.” As much as she liked Zachariah, she wished he’d go away. She scrubbed the floor with exaggerated vigor, trying to get across the point she was too busy for his visit, but he still wasn’t budging. This conversation was over—wasn’t it?

  “There’s something I need to tell you about Nate,” he said at last.

  “Every time I listen to something someone wants to tell me, I find myself not wanting to hear what they’re saying.”

  “You need to hear this.” Zachariah fell quiet for a few seconds. “I know where Nate’s been these past years.”

  ~*~

  Nate sat in a winged chair by an unlit fireplace, unable to look away from the portrait of his beautiful little sister. He’d buried her over a decade ago, but her loss was still a fresh gash in his heart as though she’d died yesterday. Would his wounds ever heal even a little, as his mother’s had?

  Sally’s eyes lured him into the portrait, pulled him deeper into the past to a brisk winter morning that had happened over a decade ago. It was the last day he’d seen her alive.

  ~*~

  “I’m going to marry that boy.” Sally’s pigtails bounced and her coat swirled around her as she danced around Nate. She was sixteen and silly over Zachariah.

  Nate loathed the sight of him. Nate limped as he walked. The day before, he’d tried once again to earn his father’s respect, and after several kicks and falls he’d finally succeeded at roping a cow. But when he looked over to see if Marcus was watching, Marcus was too busy praising Zachariah for breaking in a horse.

  “Hurry up, you slow poke.” Sally tugged at Nate’s hand. “If you don’t get there in time, you’ll get the switch.”

  It was Nate’s turn that day to fire up the stove before school started. But every bone in his body felt broken, and he was in no mood for rushing. He yanked his hand away from hers. “Go on without me.”

  “But Nate—”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  She hesitated and then ran on ahead, until she was out of sight. Eventually, Nate met up with Zachariah and Ha
ttie.

  “Where’s Sally?” Hattie asked, and then smoke in the distance caught her eye.

  “You didn’t let her go and start the fire, did you?” Zachariah asked Nate.

  The next instant, Nate and Zachariah were running to the schoolhouse. Sure enough, they found fire flashing in the windows—and heard Sally screaming from within.

  The rest was a blur of pain and panic as he tried to fight his way to her. It was Zachariah who’d finally carried her out. But by then, it was too late.

  Zachariah laid her in Nate’s arms, and he looked down into a hideously charred and blistered face.

  ~*~

  The portrait trembled in his hands as Nate began to sob. “I’m sorry, Sally. I’m sorry.”

  ~*~

  Hattie sat back on her heels, her limbs frozen as she stared at Zachariah. “You know where Nate’s been? And you haven’t told me?”

  “Marcus told me in confidence before he died,” Zachariah said. “He didn’t want word getting around.”

  “What word?” Did Nate have a child somewhere? That thawed her limbs and heated her face. She rubbed the same spot she’d been cleaning over and over again. Her mother had been right. Scrubbing took away some of the sting. But nothing could prepare her for the shock of what Zachariah said next.

  “Nate’s been in an asylum.”

  19

  An asylum? The news hit Hattie like a lightning bolt behind her eyes, blinding, deafening, and numbing her. She could no longer feel the soaked rag scalding her hands, the pang of her father wanting to make amends too late, and worst of all, the ever-reopening stab of Nate’s—unfaithfulness? The flash flared from her head to her feet and illuminated her whole being about Nate’s unexplained absence. She could see, hear, smell, taste, and feel only two words. An asylum?

  “Hattie, are you all right?”

  She must have looked pale.

  “Let me fetch you a glass of water.”

  “No, I’m fine.” The news of Nate’s whereabouts began to shed light on the shadowed corners of common sense. She wanted to be left alone to understand it all. “You need to get back to the office in case someone needs you.”

  “‘Someone’ includes you too, Hattie.”

  “I’ll be fine.” To prove it to him, she willed her hand to move in circular motions upon the floor to emulate scrubbing. “You should go now.”

  He hesitated. “You know where I’ll be if you need me.” The sound of the latch followed his footsteps.

  She dropped the rag into the bucket and stared past the watery swirls of flour on the floor.

  Remembrances of when she’d worked in the saloon reawakened, memories of the many times she’d spent sitting by Nate’s bedside trying to comfort him. Nights when sobs would splinter his voice as he stared with moist eyes past the ceiling and said over and over, “I’m sorry, Sally. I’m sorry.” Tears would roll down his face, droplets she’d dab at, but his soul would only reabsorb—because he couldn’t face the truth.

  As a young man, he’d continued to revisit that day and to weep as inconsolably as the seventeen-year-old boy who’d held the body of his younger sister. Even now, Hattie turned her head away from the memory of Sally’s burnt body. But Nate rocked her lovingly as he sank to the snowy ground, hugging her and weeping. He’d always said it was his job to protect her, and he’d been so tender toward her, guarding her from so much as the prick of a thorn.

  Nate loved so deeply.

  His love for his sister was the reason he couldn’t accept the truth. From the day of her death forward, his mind had twisted things around so that he’d believed her death was Zachariah’s fault. It wasn’t right, but Nate couldn’t help it, and he claimed it was Zachariah’s turn to start the fire and blamed him for lollygagging and letting Sally start the fire for him. Because dear Nate couldn’t face the fact that she’d died protecting him from being punished.

  To relive that terrible day over and over again because he couldn’t face what had really happened…

  Had Nate learned the truth?

  He must have. Hattie put her hand to her heart. “Poor Nate. All that time he’s been in an asylum healing his mind, and all along I’ve been accusing him of being with another woman. How could I be so mean to him, Lord?” Nate would be too ashamed to admit to something like that. “But in spite of my accusations, he didn’t say a word because—” Her heart leaped. “—because he wouldn’t lie to me.”

  The shock of learning where he’d been receded from Hattie’s mind and blazed in her heart.

  “Go to him.”

  She tore off her apron and put on her best dress. She brushed her hair down and along her shoulder, just the way Nate once liked it. Then she headed toward the Powell ranch to close the aching gap between her and him.

  ~*~

  Nate sat in the dining room, weeping, oblivious to his mother working upstairs, unable to put down the portrait.

  Sally. Candid, fearless Sally. One moment she was a carefree girl expressing her joy by skipping, the next moment a headstrong woman expressing her opinions by debating, but always Sally. She’d poured piano music and singing from the music room. With her insistence that girls should be allowed to go on cattle drives, she’d stirred debate at a dinner table occupied by a father otherwise absorbed with his business, a brother engaged in books, and a mother concerned with proper etiquette. Sally was the passion that had once filled a home. Without her the house was too big, too quiet, and too empty.

  The portrait portrayed a hint of the saucy smile that had brightened her face and everyone’s heart. Though Aunt Sarah had commissioned the painting to be a “serious and sensible likeness of a proper young lady,” apparently the artist knew he couldn’t capture who Sally really was without her up-to-something smile. In the end, Sally had defied even prudish Aunt Sarah, and Nate smiled at her through his tears for doing that.

  Sally couldn’t be harnessed. She was a parents’ challenge to raise and an older brother’s charge to protect. He stared into her blue eyes. Not only had he failed in his task to protect her, but he’d been the very catalyst that drove her to her death.

  He leaned his forehead against the image, wishing to hold her. So many times, he’d pleaded with God to send him back in time and to take his life instead of hers. The never-ending grief of losing Sally had been worse than death. Time never dulled the pain but only created paths upon paths of an ever-enlarging labyrinth of wishing and regretting, which all originated at one unforgiving moment. A moment that had once held him prisoner. A moment in which its walls grew tall as time and its corridors endless as eternity.

  For years, he’d try to escape only to find that once again he’d made one big circle that brought him back to the beginning. There he’d find Sally’s body limp in his arms once again, with her skin black and blistered, the stench of her charred hair sickening. There were also the sobs of a young man begging her for forgiveness because he couldn’t forgive himself, and that was the darkness, the never-ending night. He hated himself. Loathed himself. Wished time and time again that the charred body he couldn’t get away from was his own.

  In the past, it was Hattie who’d always brought him out. Her whispers would lead him back to the light. And the light was the way she’d smiled at him, stroked his hair, and the moist touch of her soft lips upon his forehead. He’d always taken for granted she’d be there to lead him out of his melancholy, until one day, she wasn’t.

  He vaguely remembered sitting in tubs of extreme water temperatures, drinking a horrible-tasting solution and vomiting, and being dragged into an enclosure someone had called “The Cottage for the Hopeless.”

  During the years he’d spent in the cottage, he imagined he’d gone from sitting in a corner of his room rocking and apologizing to the ghost of his sister to lying in bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling, and drooling the same words. “I’m sorry, Sally. I’m sorry.”

  Hattie’s voice and the touch of her hand had always guided him back from his melancholy. But n
ow there was no voice to follow, and without Hattie, Nate was left a babbling lunatic. Where are you, Hattie? I need you.

  He knew the answer then, and he knew the answer now. Hattie was gone and rightfully so. He’d shunned her love by getting engaged to Lillian, a woman he had no feelings for. He’d traded love for hate. Forfeited Hattie’s loyalty for a chance to lash out at Zachariah, Marcus’s pride and joy. But now Nate knew what was important, because without Hattie, there was no longer a light to come back to.

  Or a reason to come back at all.

  ~*~

  No one answered Hattie’s knock at the Powell ranch, so she let herself in. Never being in this house before, she hesitated in the foyer. Never had she seen a room so big and so empty but for an ornamental vase on a pedestal.

  Where was he? Should she go up the stairs or down the hallway? A familiar sob directed her down the hall and to a room where she found Nate lost in a picture of his sister, and weeping.

  Hattie leaned her head against the doorframe, unable to fathom his torment. She ached at the sight of his blond hair disheveled, his fine posture slumped, and his blue eyes shining with tears.

  “Hattie,” he sobbed, “where are you?”

  She cocked her head. This was the same state of melancholy she’d seen him in many times before. But never had he spoken her name. Her footsteps whispered as she walked into the room, but he seemed far away and didn’t look up. She lifted the portrait out of his hands and, setting it aside, knelt in front of him. She touched his chin and then tilted his eyes to meet hers.

  At first, his gaze fastened upon her with uncertainty, then with wonder. His blue eyes filled with tenderness. “Hattie?”

  “Yes, Nate.”

  “I let her die. I let my beautiful little sister die.”