20
First Presbyterian Cemetery
MONDAY, AUGUST 13, 1906
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .”
Hattie stood on patchy parched grass next to the newly dug plot. It looked raw as a fresh wound against the late summer landscape, and during the service she’d deliberately stared at the hazy hills on the horizon to avoid seeing the gleaming coffin sitting before it. Occasionally, a whiff of the fresh-cut flowers blanketing Jane-Ellen’s coffin spiraled on the wind.
Hattie tried to marshal her thoughts into some sort of order, but it was hard. All she could seem to do was feel. A hard, tight knot of misery lodged behind her breastbone as she gazed through the shield of her veil at the large crowd gathered in the cemetery to pay their last respects to Jane-Ellen Murdock. Hattie wondered with some bitterness how many of them would have attended had it been her funeral.
Her need to get out of this town began to border on desperation. It was hard enough before, knowing herself to be despised. Then, at least, she’d had Moses and Jake and Jane-Ellen. And she hadn’t had this grinding sense of betrayal and violation. Standing very still, she tried by sheer force of will to subdue the fine tremors rippling along her nerve endings.
“Are you all right?”
Hattie started as Jake took her arm and she realized the service was over. Growing cold all over, she tugged in panic against the hand under her elbow. “Don’t touch me.”
Jake stiffened and dropped her arm. He wished he could see her face, but it was a pale, insubstantial shadow behind her veil. He’d felt the tremors vibrating through her and there was an air about her warning of nerves stretched to the breaking point. He wanted to hold her until she calmed, then take her somewhere where they could talk. The way she kept her face slightly but perpetually averted from him, however, discouraged any attempt on his part to get close to her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Hattie thought she would come unhinged during the impromptu reception line staged near the line of black-draped carriages. Everyone wished to pay their respects, and naturally she was expected to stand next to Augusta, Doc, and Jake as part of the family. It was difficult to find the correct responses to murmur back to people who under ordinary circumstances would be dissecting her reputation behind politely raised hands. Regardless, she did her best. The wind whipped up and she concentrated on the shadows racing across the cemetery as clouds sped across the blue sky.
Someone tapped her arm. “Doc tells me you worked your fingers to the bone while Jane-Ellen was sick.”
Hattie turned her attention to Aurelia Donaldson, who stood in front of her. “I only did what anyone would have done, ma’am,” she murmured. “Jane-Ellen was always very good to me and I wanted to help in any way I could.”
Aurelia peered intently through her lorgnette for an endless moment. Finally, she harrumphed and reached her gnarled hand out to pat Hattie’s. “You are a good girl,” she said decisively and moved on.
The unexpected praise did what nothing else had been able to do that horrid day. Scalding tears rose in her eyes and her mouth began to quiver. She didn’t even see Moses until he stepped close, blocking the sun.
Her heart lightened to see him after such a long absence. But when he reached out to hug her, she forgot for an instant this was her friend, who, despite his great size, would never hurt a fly. She felt only his massive strength, absorbed his masculine scent, and she flinched away.
Her reaction infuriated her. She was not going to let Roger Lord’s violence and bitterness poison her—she wasn’t! This was Moses. Not all males were intent on violence the way That Man had been. She reached out to grasp her friend’s hand, but it was too late.
Ever since learning the reason behind Hattie’s reaching out the night he declined to see her, Moses had been eaten alive by guilt. She’d needed his support and he’d let her down for his own selfish reasons. So, assuming she wanted nothing further to do with him, exactly as he’d feared, he quickly turned to Jake with a few muttered condolences. Then he turned away, feeling cold and lonely.
It was a relief when the line finally broke up and they could go home. Hattie’s split lip was still noticeable, so she went upstairs and stayed in her room to avoid questions. Augusta let it be known to the gathered mourners that Hattie had only climbed out of her sickbed long enough to attend the funeral.
Hattie lay in misery all afternoon, listening to the soft murmur of voices drifting up the stairs and through her open window. It seemed forever before people began to leave. Jake was the last to go, and by then it had grown quite late.
She spent the next weeks trying to piece her life back together while she prepared for her move to the teaching college up in Seattle, Washington. Her lip mended and her bruises faded, but her confidence and sense of self-worth sustained wounds she despaired of ever healing. Mattawa was her home and she dreaded leaving it. Conversely, she could hardly wait to go.
Finally, on Monday, September 10, Hattie stood on the platform with Augusta and Doc, awaiting the train to Seattle. Doc talked with the stationmaster while Augusta drilled Hattie with last-minute reminders for checking in to the hotel where she would stay this evening, as well as additional warnings and advice.
Hattie only half listened. Her eyes roved over her stacked luggage and past it to the countryside beyond the depot. She’d tried committing every familiar detail to memory as they had driven from home to the station.
Just as the train came roaring around the bend, Jake raced down the platform. He rocked to a halt in front of Hattie. “You were going to just leave?” he demanded breathlessly. “Just like that, without saying goodbye?”
“Goodbye, Jake.”
“Dammit, Hattie! You’ve refused to see me for four damn weeks. Haven’t I been punished enough?” He reached for her arm, but she hastily drew away. “When are you going to forgive me?”
The roar and rattle of the train as it pulled into the station drowned out her reply. Jake watched Hattie observe her luggage being loaded into the luggage compartment. Then she turned to kiss Doc and Aunt Augusta goodbye. She clung to Augusta, as if loath to let her go.
Jake stepped closer. “What did you say?” He’d watched her lips move, but he hadn’t heard her answer—and it sure as hell couldn’t be what he thought he saw. Jesus, he could not believe she’d carry a grudge this far. He had sent her to Lord’s for her own protection, dammit. She had to know that.
Hattie stepped up onto the train without replying.
“Dammit,” Jake roared at her back. He shook off Doc’s hand when the older man attempted to pull him away. “Answer me! When are you going to forgive me?”
Hattie turned back and looked him in the eye, making Jake jerk his head back. What the—? Her eyes were empty of life when she finally acknowledged his question. In her vast array of expressions, Jake had never seen that one. Not once.
Yet, it was like a blow to his heart when she said with flat finality, “When hell freezes over.”