NoRegretsColeNC (18 page)

Chapter
Thirteen

Early
the following morning, Willie and his mother set to work turning the tiny rooms
into a comfortable place for them both to live. Actually, Willie did all the
work while his mother sat on the faded settee and issued orders.

Hideous.
That’s how it looked from
Willie’s point of view, but what did he know? If the decor made his mother
happy, fine. He could live with the clutter of vases and gaudy, broken
statuettes, the knick-knacks, the doilies, and the awful watercolors which his
mother had painted and which she considered fine art.

Sweat
poured from his brow, his armpits, and chest.

When
Mrs. Godwin called through the door, Willie breathed a sigh. He needed a break.

“The
door’s open, Mrs. Godwin. You’re welcome to come in.”

“No
need. I’m only here to announce that you have a visitor.” Having met his mother
last night, she probably had as little desire to be around her as Willie
did
.

He climbed
down from the stool he’d been using to hammer another nail in the wall. “Who is
it?” He wasn’t expecting anyone, and so far as he knew, no one in Sunset would
be coming to call on his mother so soon. Of course, word spread quickly.
Probably Mrs. Gilman and the women from the Charitable Society.
He wasn’t sure he was in the mood, but he was grateful for the chance to get
down to the floor again. Of course, it would be good if his mother could get
acquainted with the ladies in town. Maybe she could find a friend or two.

He
opened the door. Tansy Godwin stood staring at him.

“Yes,
you said we had a visitor?”

“I want
you to understand, Mr. Morse, that I don’t think it’s quite proper. You know I
have strict rules against female callers, but as I suspect she’s come to see
your mother and not you, I’ll grant an exception.” She turned, retreated down
the hallway, and then re-appeared a moment later followed by Hattie Mae.

Willie’s
heart turned somersaults, but he kept his composure.
And his
manners.
“Miss Richards. What a pleasant surprise,” he said with a
polite bow.

She
lowered her gaze. “I don’t mean to stay but a minute. I wanted to welcome your
mother to Sunset. I’ve brought something for her.” She held out a small plant.
“
Pothos
,” she said, as though that was supposed to
mean something.

“William?
Who is it?” His mother rose from the settee and approached the door. At the
sight of Hattie standing at the threshold, she stopped. Looking not at her son
but at the caller, she narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Hattie
Mae Richards, ma’am.
I cared for your son when he was in the hospital. We’ve become friends,” she
added, color rising to her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said to Willie as he helped
her with her cloak.

“And
you’ve brought me a gift, have you?”

“Yes,
ma’am.
It’s
a
pothos
plant.”

“I can
see perfectly well what it is.” She stepped back. “Don’t you know it’s
considered quite improper to give houseplants as gifts? I suppose it hardly
matters, though. It’s not like we’ve developed any sort of relationship.”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Plants
are not good gifts, Miss…” She glanced toward Willie. “What was her name?”

“Miss
Richards. Hattie Mae Richards.”

“Yes,
fine. If you give a plant and it dies, then the friendship dies, as well. As I
said, you and I aren’t acquainted so I suppose it hardly matters.” She turned
and walked away.

* * *
*

Hattie
gulped, hating to think of her friendship with Willie coming to a sudden end
because of some silly superstition. Of course, under the circumstances they probably
weren’t really friends any longer. But, if not friends, what were they? How was
the relationship between them to be defined? He’d fathered her child. She would
bear his son or daughter.

Yet
they would not marry, most certainly would not cohabit—as some low-class men
and women did—and any friendship between them would be most awkward now.

“I’m
sorry, Mrs. Morse. I wasn’t aware I was doing anything wrong.” If only she
could say the same about her illicit relationship. She’d known perfectly good
and well how improper
that
behavior
had been. She’d done it anyway.

No regrets
.

“I
suppose you don’t know any better.” Letitia Morse returned to the door. She
reached out, took the offending plant—which seemed to wilt at the woman’s
touch—and then gestured toward a settee. “Since you’re here, you might as well
come in.”

“Thank
you.” She stepped cautiously inside. Although larger than Willie’s single room,
the suite seemed less spacious. All those
vases,
and
figurines. Every surface was covered. She and Mrs. Morse certainly had very
different tastes. “It’s lovely,” she fibbed. She still detested telling lies,
even when the situation demanded one.

“William?”
his mother called as she squeezed the
pothos
onto a
table already filled with knick-knacks.

“Yes,
Mother?”

“When
you were in Denver, you spoke of seeing a young woman.”

“Yes, I
did.”

Hattie
held her breath. Had Willie actually mentioned her to his mother? The thought
thrilled her yet left her anxious at the same time.
Especially
now.

“And is
this girl the one of whom you spoke?” The tall woman with the long face and
pince-nez stared down at her.

Hattie
wished she could shrink away and slip beneath the settee. Or better yet, that
she could simply disappear. She shouldn’t have
come
calling without an invitation, but as so often happened, curiosity got the
better of her. She couldn’t hold her breath much
longer,
and finally let it out when Willie replied.

“Yes,
Mother, she is.”

Now his
mother’s scrutiny became even more intense. She walked around Hattie, looking
her over as if she
were
a piece of merchandise—perhaps
another porcelain statue she contemplated purchasing. Nothing could escape her
careful gaze. Not the scuffs on her boots, the slightly frayed edge of her sleeves,
or the dull sheen of her old bonnet. Hattie sucked in another breath.

“Perhaps
we should talk, Miss Richards.” She gestured toward the settee then turned
toward Willie. “Ask Widow Godwin to fix a pot of tea, William.”

“Mother,
she’s the owner of this house, not your personal servant.”

“All
right, then you fix the tea. Bring it, serve it, and then step outside. Miss
Richards and I have much to discuss.”

Actually,
from Hattie’s perspective, they had
nothing
to discuss.

No regrets
.

She
said the words silently, but they offered no strength. She
did
regret her hasty decision to come calling. She should have
waited until Willie asked her. Of course, she’d been so anxious to see him
again, waiting would have been impossible.

But
now, she had come, she had seen Willie, and she had satisfied any curiosity about
his mother.

“I’m
sorry, but I have to go now.” Hattie quickly gathered her cloak, shrugged it
around her shoulders and hurried toward the door. “I do appreciate the
invitation to tea, Mrs. Morse, but perhaps another time. I must get back to the
hospital. I have rounds to make, patients to tend.”

All
lies, but panic threatened. If she didn’t get away that moment, she’d burst
into uncontrollable tears.

Hattie
opened the door and fled through the house, Willie chasing clumsily at her
heels.

“Wait,
come back. Please.”

“I
can’t do it. I should never have come here today. Just leave me alone.”
Frantic, she raced to the doorway and escaped into the crisp October afternoon.
She knew Willie was standing on the stoop but she refused to look back.

* * *
*

“Surely
you’re not serious about that girl.” His mother’s pained expression made him
wince. “She’s too flighty, too fidgety.” She glanced around. “I asked you to
bring tea.” Her frown deepened.

“I
wanted to talk to Hattie.”

“Yes,
and so did I. You should have told her to stay, fixed the tea like I’d asked,
and we could have had a pleasant little chat.” She closed her eyes, leaned her
head back, and sighed. “It’s time you found a nice girl and settled down. I
just don’t think Miss Richards is the right girl for you.”

“Shouldn’t
that be my choice, Mother?”

Her
eyes flew open. “Don’t be smart with me, William. Of course, it’s your choice,
but I would certainly expect you to consider my wishes as well. You’re young.
You know nothing about marriage, about the qualities a suitable wife should
have.” Before he could say a word, she straightened and shook a finger at him.
“Don’t go talking to me about love and romance either. That’s not what makes a
marriage work. A marriage is a contract, an agreement between two responsible
parties, each pledging to perform certain duties within the institution.”

“You’re
making it sound like a business arrangement, a partnership venture of some
sort.”

“That’s
precisely what it is, and from what I’ve seen today, I doubt that Miss Richards
would be able to fulfill the role of a successful attorney’s wife.”

“I’m
not a successful attorney. I haven’t even finished my studies.”

“Yes,
but you will. You’ll finish soon, you’ll sit for your examination, and it won’t
be long before you’re every bit as successful as your father was.”

Willie
shook his head. “Don’t insult me by comparing me to him. He threw away any
success he earned.”

“I’ve
told you his reasons, William. You’ve chosen not to accept it. The truth
remains the same, however. Your father’s law practice was quite successful. He
was recognized for his good works. He rose quickly in his profession. Those
facts can’t be denied.”

“I
don’t want to argue about it.” Willie got up. “I’ll get tea for you, Mother.”

A short
time later he returned, carrying a tray with teapot and teacups, along with a
small tin of cookies Widow Godwin had made earlier. She’d insisted he take
them. Perhaps his mother would enjoy them, she’d suggested.

Goodness
knows he’d like to find something that pleased his mother.

When he
stepped back into the room, he braced himself for another onslaught. She hadn’t
finished speaking her mind, and until she did, there would be no peace.

“We
might as well get this over with,” he said as he handed her a cup of hot tea.
“You’re bound and determined to tell me all the reasons why I shouldn’t marry
Miss Richards.”

“Is it
that serious, William?” She peered at him over the rim of the teacup. “Has the
subject of marriage come up between the two of you?”

He
hesitated, waiting until his mind had latched onto a convenient half-truth
before he spoke. “Set your mind at ease, Mother. At the moment, we have no
plans to marry.”

She
lifted one of the delicate porcelain teacups to her lips. “I can’t tell you how
relieved I am to hear that. You haven’t known her long. Have you met her
family? Who are her people?”

Willie
couldn’t come up with any answer other than the truth.

“Hattie’s
got no family.”

“Everyone
has family. Are you saying her parents have passed away?”

He
shook his head. “She never knew her parents.”
Might as well
spit it all out.
“She was raised in a children’s home.” He expected a
reaction—a gasp, at least—but his mother sat still as a stone. Had she heard
him?

“Well,
then, the matter is settled.” The woman actually smiled as she carefully set
her teacup on the small table beside her chair. “Of course, you can’t possibly
marry her.”

If only
he
could
marry her. If only Hattie
would consent to be his wife.

Willie’s
lips thinned to a grim line. “What if I did want to marry her? Are you saying
that you wouldn’t accept her?”

“You
couldn’t possibly marry a girl who doesn’t even know where she came from. It’s
preposterous, William. For all you know, her parents could have been servants,
or worse. You’ve got no idea—”

“And
neither do you.” He pulled himself up. “Yes, her parents could have come from
the lesser class. They could have come from the upper class. For all you know,
Mother, her lineage might descend from European royalty, or she might be the
illegitimate child of some governor or even a senator.” Wound up now, he bent
forward. “Could be President Hayes sired her. I’m given to understand that
powerful men always have mistresses.”