had dropped by his room and had helped him
hobble about packing up his few possessions. During his stay, Charlotte had
visited the mercantile and picked up a suit of clothes for him along with a few
sundry items.
All the
while he’d been flat on his back, staring at the damned ceiling, he’d looked forward to the time when he’d be on his feet again. Now, standing
beside the bed with a crutch tucked under one arm and a small sack in his hand,
he eyed the door with a mixture of dread and uncertainty.
And
maybe a bit of curiosity.
Where
was Hattie Mae?
Willie
thought back to his conversation with Charlotte Kellerman. Since their talk,
he’d hardly seen Hattie, and even on the few occasions when she had tended to him,
he’d said little to her. Shrugs, grunts, and an occasional nod of his head were
the means by which he’d communicated over the last two weeks. Although Hattie
had seemed a bit puzzled by his behavior she hadn’t questioned him or tried to
drag him out from behind the wall he built between them.
All the
same, he’d expected her to bid him farewell.
“If
you’re looking for Miss Richards, she’s taking care of a few errands this
morning.” Dr. Kellerman approached, holding out an arm. “I can help you to the
door.”
“No, I
don’t want any help.” He glanced across the room. The distance between himself and the open door couldn’t have been more than a few
feet. It might as well have been a mile. His courage faltered as he took his
first, tentative step.
He
couldn’t do it alone. He needed Hattie’s encouragement, the quiet strength that
lay beneath her softness. He wanted to see her one last time, and most of all,
he wanted to give her any apologies he might owe her for anything he’d said or
done. She was nowhere to be seen. Probably for the best.
He let
out a sigh. Yes, better that he walk away, leave Hattie Mae to her innocent
faith in humanity, and allow her to go right on seeing the good in everybody.
With
one last glance around the white-washed room with its stark, bare walls and
tiny windows, Willie squared his shoulders, put his weight on the crutch, and
slowly made his way to the door.
“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.
hobble about packing up his few possessions. During his stay, Charlotte had
visited the mercantile and picked up a suit of clothes for him along with a few
sundry items.
All the
while he’d been flat on his back, staring at the damned ceiling, he’d looked forward to the time when he’d be on his feet again. Now, standing
beside the bed with a crutch tucked under one arm and a small sack in his hand,
he eyed the door with a mixture of dread and uncertainty.
And
maybe a bit of curiosity.
Where
was Hattie Mae?
Willie
thought back to his conversation with Charlotte Kellerman. Since their talk,
he’d hardly seen Hattie, and even on the few occasions when she had tended to him,
he’d said little to her. Shrugs, grunts, and an occasional nod of his head were
the means by which he’d communicated over the last two weeks. Although Hattie
had seemed a bit puzzled by his behavior she hadn’t questioned him or tried to
drag him out from behind the wall he built between them.
All the
same, he’d expected her to bid him farewell.
“If
you’re looking for Miss Richards, she’s taking care of a few errands this
morning.” Dr. Kellerman approached, holding out an arm. “I can help you to the
door.”
“No, I
don’t want any help.” He glanced across the room. The distance between himself and the open door couldn’t have been more than a few
feet. It might as well have been a mile. His courage faltered as he took his
first, tentative step.
He
couldn’t do it alone. He needed Hattie’s encouragement, the quiet strength that
lay beneath her softness. He wanted to see her one last time, and most of all,
he wanted to give her any apologies he might owe her for anything he’d said or
done. She was nowhere to be seen. Probably for the best.
He let
out a sigh. Yes, better that he walk away, leave Hattie Mae to her innocent
faith in humanity, and allow her to go right on seeing the good in everybody.
With
one last glance around the white-washed room with its stark, bare walls and
tiny windows, Willie squared his shoulders, put his weight on the crutch, and
slowly made his way to the door.
“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.
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