Authors: Christina Cole
“Thanks,
Doc.”
“You
take care of yourself, Willie. You have any trouble with that leg, you come to
see me.”
“I
will.” His spirits brightened. He could come back, could ask Dr. Kellerman to
check him over, and most likely he’d be able to see Hattie Mae. “Yes, sir, if I
have any problem, I’ll be back.”
The
doctor walked alongside him—close
enough to assist if
needed, but distant enough to give Willie the chance to make it on his own.
Although slow, his progress was steady.
Out
the door, down the narrow corridor, to the front.
Sweat
broke out on Willie’s forehead. His knuckles hurt as he gripped the crutch. At
every step, he wished again it were Hattie at his side, not Abner Kellerman. He
suspected the Kellermans had sent Hattie out that morning, deliberately keeping
her away from the hospital until he was gone.
He
didn’t like the idea but figured walking out of her life—even if that meant
hobbling away with one good leg and a crutch—would be the noblest act he’d ever
performed.
Finally
they stood outside. The morning sunlight nearly blinded him. Gradually, his
eyes adjusted. He looked about, turning toward the mountain peaks in the distance.
He breathed in the fresh, clean air.
Thoughts
of new beginnings filled his head. He pushed them aside. As much as he might
want to start over and make a new life for himself, it would never happen. He
was still Willie Morse, and he could never be more than he was—only the
obnoxious son of a corrupt
f
ederal judge.
“Are
you taking the stage to Denver?” Dr. Kellerman asked after a quick glance
toward the deserted street.
Willie
shook his head. “No, I’m not going to Denver.”
“Why
not?
Aren’t
you going to stay with your mother?”
He
didn’t want to deal with questions—or answers—about his plans. What could he
say? “I’ve decided to stay in Sunset. I’ll get a room.” The doctor probably
knew he was lying.
A
boarding house would be good—if he had any money. He didn’t. And he’d have a
hard time finding work with a bad leg.
“I
think you’d be better off to stay with your mother, Willie.”
“No, I
don’t want to be a burden to her.”
“That’s
considerate of you, I suppose, but don’t you think she’s concerned?” He
scratched at his jaw. “I’m surprised she wasn’t on the first stage to Sunset
when she learned about the accident.”
“She
doesn’t care what happens to me.” Willie leaned his weight on the crutch and
sucked in his breath, not liking the direction the conversation was headed.
“I’ll get on fine, Doc. Don’t worry about me.”
Without
another word, he tottered away, his steps awkward and uncertain. Where was he
headed? Willie didn’t have a clue, but he kept on going anyway.
* * *
*
The
heels of Hattie’s boots click-clacked over the wooden floor as she swooped up
one aisle of the mercantile and down the other, hurriedly gathering up the
items on the lengthy shopping list in her hand.
Sometimes she felt more like
hired help than a nurse in training. Lately, both the doctor and his wife had
been assigning her more trivial tasks, sending her out on errands, and keeping
her busy with a multitude of household chores. Mrs. Kellerman had effectively
taken over as Willie’s nurse, only allowing Hattie to help with small tasks
from time to time.
She
swallowed back the doubts rising. Obviously, the Kellermans questioned her
abilities. Hadn’t she questioned herself as well? Despite her overpowering
desire to be of service in some way, she’d not yet found her true calling. The
sight of blood made her faint, the tar-like smell of carbolic left her gagging,
and as had been pointed out to her in no uncertain terms, she was too sensitive
to the needs of others. She felt too much. She cared too much.
Weren’t
those the qualities a good nurse should have? Hattie still puzzled over it,
even as she knew that her heart had strayed dangerously close to some invisible
line. She did have feelings for Willie, not only as a patient in her care, but
as a human being, as a man who was hurting.
Or was
it more? Had she somehow come to care about him in ways she shouldn’t?
She
chided herself for her foolishness, instructed Martha Taylor to put everything
on the Kellermans’ business account, and picked up the two boxes containing the
supplies and merchandise she’d purchased. Carrying them proved a challenge.
Stepping out from the store, Hattie jostled the boxes in her arms and tried to
see around them as she set off for the hospital.
When
she drew near, she caught sight of a hunched-over figure limping off in the
opposite direction. From a distance, the poor fellow might well have been an
aged, decrepit old man, barely able to ambulate. Hattie knew better.
Clutching
tight to the boxes, she dashed ahead, stopping only long enough to set her
burdens down on the porch before resuming her chase.
“Willie,”
she called out as soon as she was within shouting distance.
He
stopped and turned. “Hattie.” His voice rang out like a bell pealing on a
joyous occasion.
She
raced forward, breaking into a huge smile. “So, you’ve been dismissed?” she
asked.
A ridiculous question, of course.
“I’m sorry I
wasn’t there.”
“Don’t
be. No regrets, you know,” he chided. “Besides, you’re here now.” He leaned on
his crutch and smiled, but then his face turned serious. “It’s good to see you,
but you’d better get back. I wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble.”
“Right.”
Hattie thought of the two boxes
she’d abandoned on the hospital’s porch. She’d hear about her carelessness. “I
do need to get back,” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder. “But not
without first wishing you well.”
“That’s
kind of you. Thank you.”
“Are
you going to be all right?”
“Dr.
Kellerman says the leg is almost as good as new. I’ll be using this crutch for
a
time,
maybe I’ll need a cane for a while.” He shrugged.
“Maybe for the rest of my life.
Hard
to say.
But I’ll do all right.”
Hattie
wanted to know more, but how could she ask all the questions on her mind
without seeming to pry? Such a thing was impossible. She gritted her teeth and
hoped Willie wouldn’t be offended by her queries.
“Have
you arranged a place to stay? Are you going to be working? How will you get on,
Willie?”
He
moved his shoulders slightly. Hattie guessed it was a shrug of sorts. With him
leaning heavily on the crutch, it was difficult to tell.
“I’ll
manage. I’ll get a room. Of course, I’ll have to find work. I plan to start
looking tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll find something suitable.”
His
words set her mind at ease. “It’s good that you’ve got a plan.”
And a positive attitude.
She smiled, relieved to see that
Willie appeared to be on the right track at last.
“And no
more liquor? No whiskey? No drinking?”
He held
up a hand. “I swear.”
Hattie
gave silent thanks. She suddenly felt awkward, unsure what to do with her hands
and arms. Although she had an urge to reach out and hug Willie, she pushed the
impulse aside. If she acted on it, she’d probably end up knocking the man off
his feet, and what would she do then?
She
shoved a hand forward, clasped his, and shook it heartily.
“Take
good care of yourself, Mr. Morse.”
Hattie
reverted to formality, knowing that the casual relationship they’d shared
during his hospital stay had now come to an end. She should be happy for him,
glad to celebrate his recuperation from his injuries. She
was
happy for him. So why did her heart feel so heavy?
* * *
*
“Dr.
Kellerman says she’s going to be just fine.” Hattie patted Lucille Henderson’s
hand. The very expectant mother, who also happened to be the doctor’s
daughter-in-law, had rushed to the hospital that morning. Faith, the oldest of
the Henderson girls, had been playing in one of the horse barns and had taken a
tumble from the hay loft. “No broken bones,” Hattie assured the anxious woman,
grateful to give good news.
Emily
Sue Brooks sat beside Lucille, holding Faith on her lap. She worked for the
Henderson family, tending the rambunctious little ones and helping Lucille with
household chores. Hattie enjoyed seeing her friend and former roommate from
Miss
Brundage’s
Female Academy.
“I
doubt she’ll be climbing up into the loft again any time soon,” Emily remarked
with a laugh. Already little Faith was squirming about.
“I want
to see Grandpa again. Where’s Grandma?” She wriggled herself free of Emily’s
hold and tapped at her mother’s protruding belly. “Take me to see Grandma.
Please?”
Lucille
rose slowly. “Yes, let’s do that.” Due to her pregnancy, this was the first
time she’d been to town for many months. “Emily, do you mind if we stay and
visit for a while?”
“I
don’t mind at all. That will give me a chance to chat with Hattie, too.”
With
smiles all around, Lucille led Faith from the room. As soon as they were out
the door, Hattie rushed to her friend’s side.
“Emily,
has Willie been around to see you and Ben lately?”
“Since
his accident, you mean?”
Hattie
nodded. She knew Willie and Ben, Emily’s husband, had become friends, for a
time, at least. Apparently, like so many other things in his life, Willie had
let the friendship go.
“I
haven’t seen him since he left the hospital. It’s been two weeks.” Hattie
suspected her voice might well give her away, but she couldn’t disguise her
feelings. She truly missed Willie. Even more, she wanted to know how he was
faring. “He was supposed to come back to have the doctor look at his leg. He
hasn’t.”
Emily
studied Hattie with a concerned look. “Hattie Mae! I hope that gleam I see in
your eyes isn’t a sign you’re smitten with Willie Morse. He’s not worth it, you
know. You deserve better.
Much better.”
She folded her
arms across her chest and let out an awful
harrumph.
At once she grimaced. “Heaven help me, I sound just like my father. I hate
it when he makes that noise.”
Wishing
she were more adept at holding her emotions in, Hattie let out a sigh. “Willie’s
not as awful as you’ve made him out to be.
At least, not now.”
She knew Emily had never liked Willie Morse or his pompous father. “I think
maybe the accident changed him.”
“There
you go again.” Emily rolled her pretty blue eyes. “You’re always seeing the
world through rose-colored glasses, and now, gracious sakes, you’ve got me
talking in adages, too, the way you do
..”
“What’s
wrong with seeing the best in people?”
“Not
everyone deserves respect, that’s what.
Especially Willie
Morse.”
Emily shuddered.
“That’s
an awful thing to say. He deserves respect, and even more, he deserves a chance
to put his life together again. He’s trying. He’s really trying.” She said it
again, her fervor obvious.
Emily
remained silent for a moment and then gave her head a shake. “No, he’s not.
That accident didn’t change him, Hattie, and you’re a fool if you think
otherwise. He’s gone right back to his old ways. Ben said he’s hanging out at
the saloon, getting drunk—”
Hattie
gasped. “He’s not!”
“—then
sleeping it off at the livery.”
Already
Hattie had grabbed her shawl and thrown it on. She huffed out a breath. “I’m
going over there right now. I’ll have a talk with him.” She plopped a straw
bonnet on her head.
“You’ll
do no such thing.” Emily caught her by the shoulder. “Willie’s a grown man.
He’s got to figure things out for himself. You don’t need to get involved with
him.”
Hattie
tightened her shawl around her shoulders. “Everybody else in this town has
given up on Willie. I won’t.” She gathered her skirts and whirled around. She
knew Emily stood staring at her, mouth agape, but no matter. She’d heard
enough.
Chapter Five
Hattie’s
feet fairly flew over the boardwalk. The thought of Willie falling back into
his old habits, of him throwing his life away without a care made her mad
enough to spit nails. As she sped toward the livery, people stepped out of her
way. Good thing. As angry as she was, she couldn’t see straight and wouldn’t have
had time for apologies if she’d run somebody down.
One
hand holding her hat to her head, she raced onward. By the time she’d reached
Josiah Beardsley’s establishment, Hattie Mae was plumb out of breath. She
leaned against the open doorway, watching as the owner—a middle-aged man
dressed in dingy bib overalls—shuffled through the musty straw.
“Can I
help you, miss?”
“Yes,
you certainly can.” She pressed a hand to her heart, getting the words out
between gasps for air.
He
studied her with obvious concern. “Are you all right? Are you going to faint,
miss? Should I call someone—
”
“I’m
fine.” She waved the words away and drew herself up. “Is it true, Mr.
Beardsley? Are you letting Willie Morse stay in the back of your barn?”
“Am I
doing what?” He cupped a hand to his ear and bent forward.
“Are
you allowing Willie Morse to live here?”
Josiah
shook his head. “This is a livery, miss, not a boarding house.” His dark eyes
examined her once more. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.
I’m perfectly fine.” She wished the man would stop worrying so much about
her
and listen to what she was saying.
“I’m concerned about Mr. Morse, however, and I was told he’s been sleeping
here. Do you mind if I see for myself?”
Josiah’s
hair—a curious mix of gray and gold—hung down nearly to his thin shoulders. He
ran a bony hand through it and frowned.
“I’m
not sure what it is you’re all heated up about.”
“Oh,
never mind. Just step aside, Mr. Beardsley. I’ll handle this myself.” She
shoved him out of her way as she marched forward. “Obviously,” she threw back
over her shoulder, “you don’t care what becomes of him.”
But she
did.
The
realization shook her. Charlotte Kellerman was right. She did care about
Willie.
Too much.
He was no longer a patient at the
hospital, and what he chose to do—or not do—should be none of Hattie’s concern.
She
stepped inside the musty structure. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust
from the bright sunlight to the dimness of the stable. She sniffed. The pungent
smells of horses and hay assaulted her nostrils.
“Willie
Morse, are you in here? I know you are.”
Only a
soft nickering answered.
She
inched her way forward, glancing about at each step. When she finally saw him,
stretched out sound asleep on a tattered blanket spread across the dirt-packed
floor, her heart lurched. Her hands balled into tight fists.
Cautiously,
Hattie nudged his ribcage with the toe of her boot. His only reaction was to
grab the blanket, draw it up around him, and turn over.
“Get
up, Willie,” she said, nudging a little harder.
This time,
he rolled over and opened one eye. He stared up at her but seemed to be having
trouble bringing her—or anything else, for that matter—into focus.
Josiah
came trotting up behind her. He pushed the cap back on his head. “Well, I’ll be,
but you’re right, Miss Richards
..”
Now, he gave Willie
a kick. “Get up. You can’t sleep here. Leastways, not unless you want to be
saddled up and ridden
tomorrow,
or maybe hitched up to
some dray. Come to think of it, maybe…”
“What
are you muttering about?” Willie propped himself up on one elbow and opened
both eyes. His attention turned to Hattie. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve
come to check up on you. I thought we had an understanding. You were going to
look for work, stay away from the saloon, and get your life together. Was
everything you said a lie?”
“Look,
I tried, all right? Nobody had any work. I’ve got
no money,
no place to go
. What am I supposed to do?”
Hattie
put her hands on her hips and turned to Josiah Beardsley. “Didn’t I see a sign
on your door?
One advertising a position?”
“Yes, I
reckon you did.” He glared down at Willie. “You seem to like sleeping in my
stables.
You willing
to work in return for a place to
lay your head?”
“Hell,
no, I’m not shoveling shit.” He brushed the straw from his clothing. “Sorry for
the language, Hattie.” Her face reddened.
Josiah
folded his long arms over his lanky form. “Suit yourself.” He spat a wad of
tobacco toward the corner. “Either get to work or get off my hay.”
“Fine.
Lousy
accommodations here anyway.”
“Never
claimed to be a first-class establishment, did I?” Josiah grabbed a shovel and
thrust it out. Willie ignored it.
“So, I
see exactly how it is now.” Hattie made a snorting sound, most unladylike. “I
should have guessed this would happen. You’ve got no respect for anybody, least
of all for yourself.” She lifted her chin slightly, gave Willie a cool look,
and then walked away without another word.
“Hattie,
wait!” Dragging his stiff, sore leg over the hard dirt floor, he lumbered after
her. “Give me a chance to explain.”
“What
is there to explain? You
lied
, Willie.
Plain and simple.”
“That’s
not true.” He plucked more bits of straw from his hair. “I did look for work.”
“Really?
Where?”
“A
couple of places.”
“A
couple of places,” she repeated. “Two? That’s all?”
“Three,
actually.”
He lowered his shaggy head. “That’s all it took, Hattie, for me to see the
truth. Nobody in this town is going to hire me.” He exhaled loudly,
then
raised his gaze to meet hers. “Except Josiah, I
suppose. He’s not too particular about who shovels the shit around here.”
Hattie
blushed again. His foul language should offend her. It didn’t. Somehow it
seemed natural, and for some reason hearing it come out of Willie’s mouth
didn’t bother her in the least.
Maybe
it was the sincerity she heard behind the words. She understood exactly what
Willie meant. People could be quick to judge, quick to assume the worst about
somebody.
“That’s
not fair. You’ve done nothing wrong, Willie.” A bit of encouragement might spur
him on. “Don’t let others bring your down. Hold your head high. In time, people
will come around. I’m sure of it. People will realize how unkind they’ve been
toward you.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe in time…” He
shrugged. “But what am I supposed to do meanwhile?” He ran his hands through
his mussed hair.
An
unruly lock fell forward. Hattie checked herself, wanting to reach out and
smooth it back from his broad forehead. She wasn’t a nurse-in-training now. She
wasn’t at the hospital caring for a patient.
Only a young
woman hoping to reassure a friend.
Putting her hands behind her back,
she clasped them tightly.
“I
suppose a good man would simply do whatever he must, don’t you think?”
“A
good man?”
Willie squinted at her. “Are you saying you think I’m a good man?
Or that I could be a good man?”
“I’m
not sure why my opinion should matter. What’s important is what you think.”
Secretly,
she hoped that her opinion might matter somewhat, but she wouldn’t dare admit
that aloud.
“That’s
probably the sort of man you’d respect, I suppose.”
“Yes, I
suppose I would.”
Willie
seemed to chew on that thought for a moment. Hattie remained silent. The only
sounds were the soft neighs of horses, the mewling of a kitten, and the
rhythmic sounds of steel tines scraping over the ground as Josiah pitched fresh
hay into the stalls.
A new
light had come into his eyes, Hattie noticed, when Willie took a step toward
her.
Warmth
shimmied down her spine.
“Could
you truly respect me, Miss Richards, knowing what an obnoxious fellow I’ve been
all these years? Knowing, too,” he added, “how far I’ve fallen?”
“Everybody
falls down from time to time. Are you willing to pick yourself up?
If so, of course, I’ll respect you.”
Willie
squared his shoulders. He glanced toward the long-limbed man in the dirty
overalls.
“Hey, Josiah?
Where’s that shovel?”
Hattie
smiled. Although she kept quiet, her heart swelled inside her chest.
* * *
*
Working
for Josiah wasn’t nearly as bad as Willie expected. Several times during the
first week, Hattie came strolling by—checking up on him, of course—and once she
even stopped to chat on the pretext that Dr. Kellerman wanted to know how
Willie’s leg was holding up.
“Coming
along fine,” he reported, then immediately wished he could take back the words.
If his leg pained him, he could use that as a convenient excuse for visiting
the hospital. Maybe a sweet nurse with wistful gray eyes would give him a bit
of care.
A man
could dream, right?
Now, as
the second week drew to a close, Willie had grown accustomed to the routine.
As he
scraped the shovel over the floor, scooping up excrement, his nose wrinkled.
Not that the smell of manure was altogether unpleasant. Actually, it had a rich
earthiness about it that made him think of fields of beans, potatoes, and
grains—staple crops in the fertile soil around Sunset. It made him think, too,
of the virtue of hard work, the benefits gained by exerting a bit of effort in
return for a steady wage.
All the
same, he hated shoveling horseshit. He’d been born for greater things.
“Morning,
Willie.”
He
glanced up and grunted.
Caleb
Bryant tipped his hat and offered a wry smile. “Working hard?”
Detecting
a slight note of sarcasm in the sheriff’s voice, Willie tightened his grip on
the shovel. “Yeah, I am. Might look like a dirty job to most folks, but at
least it’s an honest living. I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing, if that’s what
you’re thinking.” The words coming out of his mouth surprised him.
Funny how a man could hate what he did yet still take a bit of
pride in doing it.
“Wasn’t
thinking that at all.
Actually, I’m damned glad to see you getting your life back together. For a
while, I wasn’t sure it would ever happen.” His expression turned serious, and
he studied Willie with a somber gaze. “Sometimes a fellow gets himself so
low,
it’s hard to pick himself back up again.”
“Maybe
so.”
He
stopped shoveling, leaned against the handle, and gave that remark a bit of
thought. “Then again,” he remarked, “when a man’s too far down, the only
direction he can go is up.”
The
sheriff scratched at his chin.
“Wise words.
I’ll have
to remember those.”
“If
you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do.” Willie picked up the shovel and
gestured toward a pile of manure. “You know Josiah actually sells this shit?”
Bryant
nodded.
“Sort of inspiring, when you think about it.”
He must have caught the skeptical look Willie gave him. “What I mean,” he went
on, “is if you step back and look at the world around us, you can’t help but
feel
there’s a plan to it all, like there’s some sort of
natural order to things.”
Willie
chuckled. Sheriff Bryant was a good man and a damned fine officer of the law,
but he had a philosophical streak that left people shaking their heads as often
as not.
“I’m
sure you’ve got a point in there somewhere. I can’t see it myself,” he
admitted.
“Here’s
how it works. Grass grows. Horses eat the grass. They digest it, crap it out,
you scoop it up, and Josiah sells it for fertilizer. Farmers buy it, spread it
around, and it makes the grass grow again.” Bryant let out a deep exhalation.
“See how it all fits together, Willie?”
“Yeah,
I guess I do.” It did make a little sense—in a crazy sort of way—but as far as
Willie could tell, it didn’t mean anything, really. All the same, he had this
instinctive sense that the sheriff’s words were
supposed
to mean something. Maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to
figure it out. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work.” Glancing around, he caught
sight of Beardsley on the other side of the barn. “Hey, Josiah, once I finish
up here, what do you want me to do next?”