NoRegretsColeNC (8 page)

“What other problems?”

“The roof,” she said with a sigh. “It’s
leaking. The runners are coming loose on the stairs. I nearly fell yesterday
when I snagged my heel in a rough spot.” She collapsed against him. “The floors
are a filthy mess, and my hands are raw from trying to cook and clean and
scrub. I’m not suited for this work, William.” She grasped at his arms. “I need
you to take care of me.”

“Mother, I’m sure it’s not quite
so
bad as you’re making it sound.” He glanced toward the
house. Yes, a few shingles had blown away, but the house stood as sturdy as
ever. “Listen, I don’t make much from my job, but I’ll do what I can to help
out financially.”

He did a few quick mental calculations.
It wouldn’t hurt him to miss an occasional meal, and perhaps he’d ask Mrs.
Godwin to let him move to a smaller room with a lower weekly rate. “I can’t
promise anything, but maybe we could find a cleaning woman to come in once a
week. That would help, wouldn’t it?”

His mother dabbed at her eyes. “But I’m
so lonely, William.” She clutched at his hands. “Won’t you please come home?
Won’t you please stay with me?”

He rose,
then
helped his mother to her feet. Ignoring her question, he ushered her toward the
house.

Once inside, he surveyed the parlor,
located just off the foyer. This room belonged solely to his mother and served
as her showcase to the world. Its cluttered furnishings testified of the
family’s social status—and Letitia’s good taste.

Exotic odds and ends filled every nook.
Vases reposed on shelves, her porcelain tea service sat atop a polished wooden
tray, and an assortment of cupids, hearts, and valentines—all done in shades of
gaudy pink—decorated the walls and mantel. Even the fireplace screen was hand
painted in rosy hues which Willie had never quite seen in nature. Dried roses,
all gifts from his father, sat in glass jars. His mother had added liberal
sprinklings of cinnamon and other spices to scent the potpourri. It always made
him sneeze.

He grabbed for his handkerchief and
pressed it to his nose just in time.

For so many years, her mother had
entertained in this cozy parlor while her husband busied himself in his study
or while he was making the circuit—always taking Willie with him.

Oh, the hours she’d spent in games of
whist with her society friends, the polite afternoon teas and conversations,
the piano and vocal recitals she hosted. One of the leading lights of Denver’s
elite, she had graciously opened her home to her social retinue, friends, club
members, her minions, all of whom had quietly slunk way since the family’s
disgrace.

Now the parlor exuded—along with the
spicy potpourri—dust and loneliness. Cobwebs actually hung from the ceiling,
and several statuettes had somehow become chipped or cracked as if they, too,
felt the strain.

Letitia turned to her son. “Why did
everyone desert us, Willie?”

“That’s how people are. We still have
each other, Mother. Those others don’t matter.”

“But they do matter to me. I gave so
much of myself to my ladies’ clubs, my meetings, my lectures and recitals.
Shouldn’t someone care what happens to me?”

“I care, Mother. I’ll come to call as
often as I can.” He headed for the stairway. “Excuse
me,
I want to pick up a few things to take back with me.”

His mother’s head bobbed in a curt nod.
He hated himself for hurting her feelings, but coming home to Denver, coming
back to the place of his shame and disgrace would only drag him down again.
He’d found a new freedom—and a future—in the little town of Sunset. He’d found
hope. He’d found courage.

All of it came from Hattie Mae
Richards.

Thoughts of his sweet angel bolstered
his spirits. Ignoring the stiffness and pain in his leg, Willie climbed the
narrow staircase, first to the second floor of the house, and then the next
flight leading up to the attic with its stuffy air and low ceilings. A small
pane of glass let in only enough daylight for him to make his way past the
stacks of boxes and paraphernalia, assorted remnants of the affluent lifestyle the
Morse family had once lived, and which his father had now effectively destroyed
for all of them.

Tightening his hands into fists, Willie
fought back another round of unhappy thoughts. But like a persistent sparring
partner, those thoughts kept jabbing at him, pushing him, and prodding him.

Shaken by anger and other furious
emotions, Willie closed his eyes, momentarily leaned against the rough-hewn
walls of the upstairs storeroom, and sucked in a deep breath. No need to get
himself
riled up. Thoughts of Hattie soothed him at once.

Willie had climbed the stairs with a
specific intent. Now, he set about his mission with renewed interest. He knew
what he was looking for, and he knew exactly where to find it. With careful,
halting steps, he made his way toward the back wall.

Yes. It was still there, just as he’d
known it would be.

He reached out, unfastened the fancy
fishing rod from the peg where it hung on the wall, and took it down. Memories
flooded his mind. He remembered the morning when his father had brought it home
and handed it to him. The judge had given his son the gift along with his
promise that they would “go out and reel in a few big ones…”
As
soon as the judge could find a little time.

Willie carried that damned fishing rod
with him wherever he and his father went, but the judge never found time.
Whenever Willie went fishing, he went alone. But now, Hattie would go with him.

He kept his mind firmly fixed upon that
thought and upon the dreams he hoped to someday share with her.

He might not have a lot to offer, but
Willie did possess a keen imagination. He smiled now, thinking of a quiet,
sun-dappled spot along a crystal clear stream. If he closed his eyes, he could
see the scene clearly, could make it so real he could actually inhale the crisp
coolness of the mountain air, could feel the refreshing spray of water, and
could even hear the brook trout jumping and splashing in the blue water.

Clutching the rod, he lumbered down the
stairs again. His mother stood waiting, a cup of tea and a plate of cookies in
hand.

“Stay with me, William, please?”

He nodded and knew what he must do He’d
make it up to Hattie. For all he knew, she might even have forgotten about
their plans to go fishing at the creek.
 
“I’ll stay tonight, Mother.” He set the rod aside, enfolded the woman in
his big arms, and let her weep upon his shoulder. “Give me a little time. I’m
getting my life together, and I’ll find a way to take care of us both.”

And Hattie, too.
Willie choked on a rush of emotion surging through him, reluctant to make
promises he wasn’t certain he could keep, and afraid to dream of a future that
might never come.

* * *
*

Hattie
came to the dinner table late that evening hoping her red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t
give her away. Both the doctor and his wife were already seated, enjoying the
cool summer soup the cook had prepared. The aroma of fresh tomatoes and sweet
corn tickled Hattie’s nose, but she didn’t have much appetite.

“Glad
you’ve decided to join us.” Charlotte’s razor-like voice cut straight through
the sultry evening air. “You do know, of course, that your presence at meals is
expected. One might think you ungrateful if you choose not to break bread with
us.”

“I fell
asleep earlier. I meant to take only a short nap. I must have been more tired
than I thought.”

“Are we
working you too hard, Hattie Mae?” Abner looked up from his soup. “Nursing is a
demanding profession. If you’re finding it physically exhausting during your
training, you might wish to rethink the future. The workload is only going to
increase as you learn more and as more folks come to the hospital for care.”

Hattie
knew a lot of the townsfolk still weren’t comfortable with the idea of going to
see a physician in a clinical setting. Doctors were supposed to call on the
sick and frail, not expect them to be transported to some strange office with
foul medicinal smells.

His
wife picked up her napkin and dabbed it to her chin, wiping away traces of
broth and a few crumbs of bread. “I’m not so sure it is a physical problem,
Abner. From what I’m seeing, I suspect it’s more likely a case of emotional
distress. Unless she learns to keep her feelings on a tighter leash, she’ll
buckle under the pressure, and sooner rather than later,” she said, turning to
Hattie as she spoke the last few words. “Or maybe it’s got nothing to do with
nursing at all.” She carefully set her napkin to the side of her bowl. “Could
it be, perhaps, that Miss Hattie is falling in love?”

“Where
would you get an idea like that?” The notion was so preposterous she couldn’t
help but laugh. As she began to relax, her appetite returned. “Would you pass
the soup, please, Mrs. Kellerman? It looks delicious.”

Charlotte
picked up the tureen. “I got the idea from seeing you mope around all day, and
don’t say you haven’t been. It’s a sure sign of love-sickness, and most likely
I can guess who’s caused it.”

“Thank
you.” Grasping the soup ladle tightly, Hattie filled a small serving bowl. She
chose to ignore the remarks. True, she had been moping about a good portion of
the day, but
falling
love? Heaven forbid! Love was not
in her plans, now or for the future. That didn’t mean, however, that she
couldn’t enjoy a man’s company or appreciate a friendship with a member of the
opposite sex.

“It’s
Willie Morse who’s got you in a tither, and don’t deny it.” Charlotte returned
the tureen to its place and sighed. “What’s he done to upset you so?”

“Nothing,
really.”

“He’s
obviously done something.”

Across
the table, Dr. Kellerman cleared his throat,
then
got
to his feet. “I think I’ll leave the two of you to your women-talk. I’ll be on
the porch enjoying a cigar if you need to find me.”

He
walked away with brisk steps, obviously wanting to put a safe distance between
himself and any emotional scenes.

Alone
now, his wife turned her full attention to Hattie. “As I was saying, Willie’s
obviously done something to put you in this wretched state. You’ve been crying,
and that’s a worrisome sign.”

Hattie
put down her soup spoon, placing it carefully to the side of the bowl. She
folded her hands in her lap. “It’s really nothing. A misunderstanding, I
suppose. He talked about coming to call later today. Maybe I got my hopes up a
bit.” She managed a smile. “I do enjoy his company, and I don’t see anything
wrong with that. He’s been a perfect gentleman.”

“Willie
Morse?” Charlotte laughed and shook her head. “He’s anything but perfect, and
he’s definitely no gentleman. He’s a brute, Hattie.”

“He’s
been through some difficult times, I’ve heard.” She still wished she knew more
about the last few months of Willie’s life. “Whatever it is that happened—”

Charlotte
put up a hand. “He’s using it all as an excuse, Hattie. Aren’t you clever
enough to see that?”

“I
don’t even know what it is he’s been through. But I want to know, Mrs.
Kellerman. If I knew, I could be a better friend to him. I’d know how to help
him. That’s all I want to do.” Her passionate speech must have convinced the
woman. “Won’t you please tell me?”

“All
right, but I don’t see that it really makes much difference. Sure, he’s been
through some rough times, but even before it all happened, he was a brute, and
a bully, every bit as arrogant and pompous as his father.”

“His
father is a judge, isn’t he?”

“He
was,” Charlotte replied. “Not any longer. His corruption was exposed a few
months back. He’d gotten involved in a scheme to steal a fortune in gold. It
all went sour, and in the end, Willie shot a man, and—”

“Willie?”
Hattie frowned. “I thought you were talking about his father.” Her mind raced.
Had parent and son both been involved in some illegal activities?

“Willie
found out about his father’s involvement. He thought he could save his father’s
reputation if he got rid of his cohort.” The woman leaned back. “It’s a long
story, Hattie.”

“Tell
me everything, please.”

Hattie
listened at rapt attention as Mrs. Kellerman spun an incredible tale of greed,
corruption, a search for buried gold, a killer set free, and a young man’s
desperate attempt to salvage something from the mess. Willie had shot a
man—John Brooks—in an attempt to protect his father and keep his secrets.

Instead,
the awful truth of the matter had come out. Evil always came to light,
Charlotte pointed out, and lies could not remain hidden for long.

“That’s
why his father disappeared.” Hattie was beginning to sense the reasons behind
Willie’s despair.

“He would
have ended up in prison had he been caught, and believe me, that’s not a place
anyone wants to be.” Charlotte lowered her gaze. “I suppose you’ve heard about
my own incarceration?”