NoRegretsColeNC Page 8

  Time flies like an arrow, or time flies with the wind. Of course, more recently, she now urged him on with reminders of how quickly time could fly by, chiding him not to waste a single precious moment. The saying he liked best—and the one most apt—was the truth that time always flew when one was having a good time.

  In the last few weeks, he’d been having a very good time in his life. All because of Hattie, of course, because she’d cared enough to give him a kick—literally—in the ribs and set him on the path toward redemption.

  Driving through the town that Saturday morning carried him along on a journey of self-discovery. He grimaced as he passed the mercantile and recalled being struck by Jed’s freight wagon but smiled wistfully as he neared Dr. Kellerman’s hospital and thought of how he’d awakened in the hospital later that day and had first seen the sweet angel at his bedside.

  Now, Willie tipped his hat at Sheriff Bryant as he pulled up in front of the lawman’s office. He’d traveled only a short distance that morning—from the livery to the jail—but in other respects, he’d come a long, long way.

  He hadn’t touched a drop of liquor in weeks. He had a steady job and earned an adequate wage. He was boarding at Tansy Godwin’s place, so he now had clean, comfortable lodgings and decent meals on a regular basis.

  Best of all, he had Hattie Mae in his life.

  “All set for the trip to Denver?” Caleb Bryant approached with an easy smile.

  “Yeah, thanks for giving me a little time off.”

  “Figured you could use it. Besides, you’ve earned it.”

  “You don’t need me back until Monday evening, am I right?”

  “You planning to spend the weekend with your mother?”

  “No, I’ll be coming right back to Sunset. Just had a few other plans in mind.” He chuckled.

  “Plans that might involve a pretty little nurse?”

  “None of your business, Sheriff.” Willie tipped his cap. “Good day to you.”

  “And good luck to you.”

  With a wave, he set off on the road to Denver. Now that he had a place to stay, he wanted to pick up a few belongings—namely a fishing rod and a reel his father had given him. And what of the law books in his father’s study? Nobody was using them now.

  He shook his head. He wasn’t ready.

  Time flies.

  The sweet memory of Hattie’s voice sang inside his heart. She’d tell him not to put off until tomorrow what he could do today, probably remind him that time waited on no man, and maybe throw in a quip about heaven’s help.

  But not yet. His dream of someday reading law remained buried deep inside in a place too painful to go digging around.

  Hours later, he wiped the sweat from his forehead as he drove down Colfax Avenue, enjoying the wide promenades and the lush greenery along the tree-lined street. The summer sun blazed down from on high so that the road before him seemed to almost glitter. The day itself seemed filled with endless possibilities.

  Yet despite his hopeful attitude, Willie couldn’t shake off a restless feeling. He hadn’t been home in months, had never replied to the letter his mother sent when he’d gotten hurt, and he didn’t know how to deal with the guilt eating away inside of him.

  When he reached the red brick house where he’d been born and where he’d grown to manhood, his remorse deepened. He had no cause for regret, he reminded himself. He hadn’t walked out on his mother. Quite the opposite. She’d sent him away. She’d nagged and scolded, she’d chastised and criticized, and finally, like so many others, she’d given up on him.

  He could not come back unless he got sober.

  Letitia Morse had said a few other things, as well, but Willie didn’t want to remember the accusations of how he’d dishonored his father, how he’d sullied the family’s name and reputation. He bore no responsibility for his mother’s downfall. That had been his father’s doing. Deny it though she may, his mother’s love could not erase the hideous truth. Her husband, the esteemed judge, had chosen to put himself above the law. He’d made a mockery of justice and a travesty of honor.

  Good riddance to him.

  Clouds rolled across the sky, momentarily obscuring the sun. Willie shook off the sudden gloom and brought the wagon to a halt. Gulping back nervous energy, he climbed down but quickly turned away from the brick-paved walkway. Weeds were springing up in the cracks, he noticed. His mother no longer had hired help to tend the property. She’d let Bridget, their domestic, go too, even before she’d sent Willie away.

  Guilt ate at him again. A dutiful son would have swallowed his pride, if not for his own sorry sake, certainly for that of his distraught mother. She needed help and he knew it, but he hadn’t bothered to come home sooner.

  Not yet ready to face her or hear her sharp tongue, Willie strolled toward the back of the house. Indeed, as he’d feared, the garden was a sorry sight. Last year’s perennials struggled through a morass of weeds and brambles, and the rose bushes his mother so prized were sadly overgrown. A depressing melancholy clung to everything.

  In the far corner of the garden stood an old sundial. As a boy, Willie had never figured out how to tell time with it—other than a rough estimate—but one could just as easily guess the time by looking at the sun itself. It hardly seemed necessary to have the ornate marble pedestal taking up space in the garden. Smiling as he approached the sundial now, Willie recalled the Latin inscription.

  Tempus fugit.

  Yes, indeed. Time flies.

  He ran a callused finger around the edge, thinking of Hattie as he traced the letters.

  Behind him, a door creaked open.

  “William, is it really you?”

  He bit his lip, then turned to face his mother. He nodded.

  “Thank God you’ve come home.” She climbed down the steps, holding tightly to the railing. “I’m sorry about the awful row we had.” As she came toward him, Willie’s eyes widened. Her usually-perfect coiffure looked disarrayed. Her clothing was wrinkled and stained. She must have caught his gaze, for she glanced downward, then brushed at her skirts. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at taking care of myself. Without Bridget doing the washing—”

  “It’s all right, Mother. Don’t apologize.” He leaned forward and pecked her cheek. “You’re always beautiful.”

  She drew away. “A kind thing to say, but it’s untrue, and you shouldn’t be telling lies, not even to make your mother feel better.” Stepping backward, the woman moved toward a wooden bench. Once so brilliantly white it gleamed in the morning sunlight, it had now faded to an ugly state of dull gray, peeling paint. “It’s all such a mess. I can’t keep up with any of it.” She lifted a languid hand and drew it across the landscape. “The flower garden has more weeds than blooms, my kitchen garden barely produces enough vegetables for a decent meal, and if it weren’t for the jars of food Bridget put up last year, I’d have starved to death by now.” She sank down onto the bench.

  An odd choking sensation swept over Willie. For a moment, he couldn’t find his breath. Finally, he wet his lips, shrugged, and did his best to make light of the situation.

  “Come now, Mother, it can’t really be all that bad.”

  “It’s worse, but never mind. It will be all right now.” She clasped his arm. “I’m so glad you’ve come home. I’ve been so worried about you. When I heard about the accident, I thought I might lose you, too.”

  “You didn’t come to see me.”

  “You didn’t ask me to.”

  He stared at her hand on his arm. It symbolized her forgiveness, didn’t it? It was her way of reaching out to him, offering him a chance to put aside the anger and misunderstandings of the past. His mother was welcoming him into her life once more.

  Surprised by a sudden surge of anger building inside his chest, Willie shook his head. He drew away from his mother’s touch.

  “You wouldn’t have come to see me if I had asked. You don’t care what happens to me.”

  “I do care. Very much. I
want you home again.”

  “The only reason you want me here is because you can’t look after yourself.” He leveled a steady gaze at her. Seeing the hurt and confusion in her weary eyes disturbed him, but he didn’t turn away. “I’ve had struggles, too. I’ve been through hell, and I barely survived.” He gestured toward his leg. “Maybe you haven’t noticed how hard it is for me to walk. You must not have noticed how long it took for me to limp across the yard.”

  She pursed her lips. “Did the driver pay for your injuries? He struck you, he should be required to make a settlement. If your father were here—”

  “It wasn’t the driver’s fault. It was mine. I stepped in front of the wagon. I was hoping to put an end to my misery.” He sank down onto the bench beside his mother. “But never mind that. I’m alive, I’m well enough to make my way in life, and I will do what I can to help you. I won’t come home, though. I have a place in Sunset. I have a job.”

  “What sort of job? Doing what?” Her brows rose.

  Willie turned away. Was he ashamed to admit the sort of menial work he performed? “I’m working at the jail, Mother. I’m helping the sheriff out. I keep an eye on the place at night. Sometimes during the day I do a few chores or run errands.”

  Beside him, his mother’s disdainful sniff was all too clear. “You’re better than that, William. What about your law career? You know how much it meant to your father—”

  “Don’t talk to me about my father.” He cut her words off with a vehement protest. “Thanks to him, I’ve lost everything I ever hoped to have in my life. I can’t pursue a career in law, Mother. No lawyer in this state will give me an apprenticeship. I don’t have sufficient funds to attend one of those new legal colleges, and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. My father, the esteemed Judge William Howard Morse,” he said with a sneer, “committed a crime. He abused the privileges of his office. He conspired to commit fraud.”

  “That shouldn’t matter.”

  “No, it shouldn’t. But it does. His acts will be held against me, and no one will ever give me a chance. It’s unfair. It’s unjust, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? Injustice runs rampant in the land, thanks to crooked politicians and corrupt officials like my own father.”

  His mother, obviously tired of arguing, pulled her arm away. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but your father would be proud of you.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want to hear anything about him.”

  She leaned forward. “William, listen to me, please. I know you’re angry. I know you’re hurt. But there are things you don’t understand.”

  “I doubt that. I think I have a very good understanding of the situation. My father got greedy. That’s what it was all about.”

  His mother shook his head. “No, that’s not what it’s about.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Your father is a sick man. He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want me to know for a long time.”

  “Sick?” Willie’s heart lurched. Despite his father’s faults, a bond still existed between them, one that carried with it too many emotions to name. “What kind of sickness?”

  “The worst kind. He won’t live long. I know what he did was wrong, but he did it for us, don’t you see? He wanted to be sure we would be provided for after…” She broke into sobs, unable to finish the thought.

  But Willie was having none of it.

  “Noble intentions don’t justify wrong-doing, Mother.”

  “No, I don’t suppose they do.” She let out a shaky breath. “But perhaps they lead to forgiveness.”

  “No. I can’t forgive him. I won’t.”

  Her spine stiffened. She clenched her hands in her lap. “We’ll discuss it later.” Slowly, she rose. “For now, let me help you get settled. I can’t do much, but—”

  Willie quickly got to his feet. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I told you, Mother, I’m not staying.”

  The confusion in her eyes grew. “Of course you’re staying. I’ve made my apologies to you, and as you can clearly see, I’m in need of your help. I can’t hire anyone to do the gardening, tend to the domestic chores, or deal with any of the other problems.”

  “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.