27
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1908
Hattie sat behind her desk, watching her students as they filed through the doorway. Her nervousness began to melt away as she observed them. Not much had changed, apparently, since she was a student here.
The children from Mattawa’s first families were easily identifiable by their fashionable clothing. The rest of her students could be classified into one of two groups: those from town and those from the outlying ranches and farms. All were scrubbed clean, but the farm kids tended to wear clothing that had seen a little more service than their town-bred counterparts, and their complexions were ruddier from a life spent more outside than in. In the few moments before the bell rang, conversations buzzed, two farm boys horsed around in the back of the room, and several girls sat with their heads together, whispering and occasionally giggling.
Out in the schoolyard the bell rang. Hattie rose from her chair and crossed the room to close the door. Hearing footsteps thundering down the hall, she paused and was nearly bowled over when a large boy threw his shoulder against the closing door and barged into the room.
“Sorry, miss,” he said, his tone both belligerent and contrite.
He appeared older than the rest of her students, so Hattie surmised he’d been assigned to her class to make up missed schooling. She found it difficult to tell if he was town or country. He was large and like the farm kids had weathered skin. But he lacked their well-fed look and scrubbed appearance. He had clearly made an attempt to clean himself up, but there was a line of grimy skin near his collar where the soap had stopped. His clothes were ill fitting: too short in the leg, too loose on his big-boned, gangly, underfed frame. And while passably clean, they were inexpertly pressed, as if he’d laundered them himself. He had the vulnerable, defiant look of a misfit, and Hattie felt an empathetic shift deep in her stomach. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Jonathan Semp, miss.”
“Welcome to class, Jonathan. Please take a seat.” She closed the door and returned to stand behind her desk. “Good morning,” she said. “My name is Miss Taylor. I would like to begin by attaching names to your faces, so I can get them straight in my mind. As I call your name for attendance, please stand, say ‘here,’ and seat yourself.” She leaned down to open the drawer of her desk to retrieve her attendance book.
The drawer had been pushed in unevenly and she had to wriggle it before it slowly slid open. Pulling it open, she glanced down, and her heart kicked hard against her rib cage. Uncoiling from a dark back corner was a good-sized garter snake.
Hattie stifled a smile. Her students didn’t give a darn about who she used to be. They just wanted to see what their new teacher was made of.
A shrill, short scream echoed faintly from Nell’s room next door. In response, a nervous titter erupted from the middle of Hattie’s room, and she held the snake down with two fingers while she slid her attendance book out of the desk and closed the drawer. A small smile curved her lips as she glanced at the class.
All the students sat unnaturally still. Most of their faces contained expressions of bland innocence; a few couldn’t hide their anticipation, and one girl had her head averted, a hand clamped over her mouth. Hattie picked up her attendance book and circled the desk. Leaning against its oak edge, she flipped the pages open and calmly read, “Amundsen, Katherine.”
As one, the students shifted. There was a moment of silence as they exchanged uneasy glances. A girl of about twelve surreptitiously raised her feet off the floor. “Amundsen, Katherine,” Hattie repeated. “Please stand and say ‘here.’”
One of the younger children hesitantly climbed out of her seat. Blushing furiously, she straightened her skirt, cleared her throat, and said, “Here.” The tension began to dissipate as one by one, each student rose in response to the attendance call. Hattie studied them, trying to memorize something about each to help her remember their names. When the last name was called, she circled around her desk once again and took her seat.
“I had planned to begin your studies with a reading assignment,” she said clearly, and the corner of her mouth tilted up in a half smile. “But there’s been a change of agenda. I think we’ll begin with a little science lesson, instead.” She opened the desk drawer, reached in, and removed the snake. Resting her elbows on her desk and holding the reptile stretched out between her hands for all to see, she continued, “Who can tell the class what species of snake this is?”
Jake leaned against the warm boards of Norton’s Mercantile, whistling softly. Glancing often up the block, he rhythmically tossed an apple up in the air and caught it in one hand. Tossed it and caught it. He’d stolen it from Henderson’s orchard outside of town and polished it on his thigh all the way to Mattawa, until it gleamed with deep ruby depths.
Suddenly, he straightened, the foot he’d propped against the store wall dropping to the sidewalk. He tucked the hand holding the apple behind his back. Sashaying up the street, skirts swinging, came Hattie. And hot damn if she wasn’t alone for once. He stepped into the recessed doorway of Norton’s Mercantile and peered around the edge to monitor her progress.
When she was parallel to the doorway, he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her. Tipping his hat, he grinned. “Howdy, Teacher, ma’am. How was your first day of school?”
“Jake!” She tilted her head back to look up at him, her face aglow with delight. “It was so wonderful I can’t describe it! I was kinda scared about how I would do, but it was simply marvelous. I have a great class.”
He wondered if her delight was in the unexpected meeting or in her day’s achievement but decided it didn’t matter. “I bet the boys in your class are all giving thanks tonight for having such a pretty schoolmarm.” He admired the sun shining on her upturned face and how it turned her hair to flame, her freckles to gold, and her eyes to the clear, glowing amber of good whiskey. “I know my teachers never looked nearly as fetching as you.” He brought his hand out from behind his back, offering her the apple. “This is for you. I always wanted to be teacher’s pet, but since I had Miss Wicket for seven years and she was uglier than a pan full of worms, it wasn’t worth the effort. If I’d had someone like you, I would still be attending school today.”
“Oh, Jacob, for me?” Hattie stared at the apple as though he’d given her rubies. Her smile dazzled him right down to the ground as she plucked it off his palm. Pressing it to her breast, she reached up to palm his cheek with her free hand. “Thank you.”
He grinned, curving a calloused hand over her smooth fingers and turning the side of his face more fully into her touch.
When he smiled, Hattie felt the soft skin rising on either side of the crease in Jake’s cheek. It gave her a bolt of unadulterated pleasure. She’d be hard-pressed to say why his gesture meant so much to her. It just did, and she had a sudden desire to rise on her toes to kiss him.
My goodness, what was she thinking? They were downtown, in broad daylight. To distract herself, she said, “Did you steal it?”
He stepped back, all affronted male. “Hattie Taylor! What do you take me for, some Cheap Charlie? Do I look like I can’t afford to buy you a crummy apple?”
Oh, she wanted to hug herself and spin in a circle. Laughter bubbled out of her as she teased him. “You did, didn’t you? You wouldn’t protest so much otherwise. Ooh, I’m gonna tell your mama. I bet I know where you got it, too. Henderson’s orch—”
“Afternoon, Jake. Miss Hattie.”
Hattie froze, the remainder of her words stuck in her throat. She knew that voice—it was the sound of her nightmares. Tension shot up her spine, and for an instant, she was plunged into a blinding-white abyss where nothing existed except burning pain, degradation, and that voice mouthing unspeakably cruel words as he forcefully stole her virginity.
“Afternoon, Roger,” she heard Jake say without enthusiasm, and gave herself a brisk mental shake.
She was prepared for this, dammit. Ever since she’d received the letter offering her a job, she had known she would have to face Roger. But this wasn’t the way she’d planned it . . .
Still, she would not let that bastard reduce her to this: to some craven, cowardly little mouse who retreated to quiver mindlessly in its burrow, waiting for danger to pass. Pride stiffened her spine. “Mr. Lord,” she said coolly, inclining her head in the same regal manner she’d seen Augusta display. Chin tilted up proudly, Hattie turned and let her eyes, carefully clear of expression, meet Lord’s dead on.
She expected to see an animal gratification that he’d bested her, forcing her to admit her helplessness to prevent this public conversation. Instead, she encountered surprise and impotent rage. With a small jolt of satisfaction, she realized Lord hadn’t bargained on her unwillingness to run. This poor excuse for a man clearly counted on her making a fool of herself by scampering away, or at the very least by stammering and looking down. The bastard! He thought he could toy with her like a cat with captured prey, and knowing she’d bested him, she surprised herself by feeling downright confrontational. “How is your law practice, sir?”
“Doing nicely, thank you,” Roger replied with stiff politeness, while inside he burned with rage. Hell-bound daughter of a whoreson! He’d kill her. He would wrap his hands around the ripe little bitch’s throat and squeeeeze until he felt the fragile bones snap beneath his fingers. And while he was doing it, he would tell that smirking jackass Murdock exactly how it had felt to rip into her tightly guarded virginal body. He actually took a step forward before he caught himself. Not here. Not now. He tipped his hat. “Well, I must go. I just wanted to say hello.” He had a new parlormaid at home. A redheaded parlormaid. And tonight, he intended to pay her a visit.
“Afternoon,” Hattie murmured at his retreating back. “Well, that went well,” she whispered.
“What?” Jake demanded, warily watching her watch Lord walk away. “What went well?”
She turned a startled gaze his way. “Oh, nothing important,” she replied, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes shuttered.
Simmering with frustration, Jake could have put his fist through the nearest wall. Here he’d had a nice little conversation going—almost as free and easy as in the old days—and unblemished for once by the myriad black clouds marring the summer his wife died and Hattie left for school. Then Lord had to show up. Son of a bitch, of all the people in this town!
Jake could never fathom why Hattie resented him so much for sending her to Lord that night. She knew he’d done it to protect her from him. He’d lost control when he should have been the adult, but, dammit, he’d caught himself in time not to cause any permanent damage. Hattie told him she’d never forgive him for sending her to Roger, both before and after the fact, and, by God, for two long years she’d stuck to her word. Since her return, her attitude had softened, yet by no means had it regained its old easy give-and-take. The two of them still displayed tendencies to tiptoe around each other.
The conversation between Hattie and Lord began and ended so quickly, Jake wasn’t sure what to make of it. He searched her expression for a sign her fury was returning and supposed he should be grateful she didn’t regard him with those unforgiving eyes she’d turned his way before leaving for school in ’06. That was a soul-chilling expression he would not forget if he lived to be a hundred. But dammit to hell!
In fact, Hattie did experience a flash of resentment toward Jake, but she stomped it dead. She knew she couldn’t continue holding him to blame and not tell him why. And that she would never do. Just the thought of Jake knowing what that son of a bitch had done to her made her break out in a cold sweat. Silence surrounded them.
Jake broke it when he asked, “Where’s your sidekick this afternoon?”
“Nell?” Hattie’s tension slowly ebbed at the change of subject, and she smiled slightly. “She had a few things she needed to do and it was much too nice an afternoon to wait around indoors, so I left ahead of her.”
“In that case, please allow me to escort you to a champagne supper to celebrate your first day of teaching.” Jake offered his arm.
Knowing he was pulling her leg, she regarded him with a lifted eyebrow. “A champagne supper? Ooh, la-di-dah. And how I deserve it.” Taking his arm, she elevated her nose as if she accompanied ruggedly handsome men to champagne dinners all the time. She allowed Jake to usher her down the block to his shiny black Packard parked between a farm wagon and a high-wheeled buggy. Never let it be said that Hattie Taylor couldn’t play along. Even if it was just a silly game of make-believe.
Perhaps especially then.