Chapter 22
“Remember,” Oscar said when they turned onto the Monroes’ lane, “let me go in and speak to your father first. You can keep your mother and sister occupied, and I’ll let you know if I need you. Do you understand?”
She smiled at him as he helped her down from her horse. Hattie was more than capable of hopping to the ground on her own, and if anyone else had tried such a gentlemanly gesture, she’d have scowled at them, but everything was different when Oscar did it.
“Of course, I do. It’s not as though it’s very difficult.” She caught his arm as he turned toward the house. “Are you nervous?”
Two lines of concern appeared briefly above his brows. “I’m just not sure how this is going to go, Hattie.”
He’d been so confident about it while they were still at his house. On her own land, Hattie was the one who felt sure of what they were doing. “It’ll be fine. You’ll talk him into signing it over, and then we can start our wedding plans.”
And what if he didn’t make a bargain for the land? The question hung in the back of her mind and was surely on his. Somehow, the short ride home at Oscar’s side had given her a devil-may-care attitude. She and Oscar would be together, no matter what happened.
“Go on in. We’ll give you a minute.” Oscar put his hand on her lower back and gently pushed her toward the kitchen door.
Hattie strolled in as though she hadn’t had a horrible fight with her father less than an hour ago. “Hello! I’m back!”
“Hattie!” Mama whirled from the stove. Her wooden spoon tipped from the pot and splattered gravy on the floor. She left it there and came to her daughter. “Honey, what is all of this? I heard you arguing with your father, and then you left.”
“I think everyone in the county heard them arguing,” mumbled Ingrid. She was Hattie’s junior by a couple of years, but the fine dresses she favored made her look like the older sibling. She eyed her sister contemptuously as she expertly embroidered a handkerchief.
Mama didn’t acknowledge the snide remark and kept her eyes on Hattie. “Look, I know you and your father have had your differences. We all have, but I think we should sit down and talk them out.”
“Yes, I was thinking of something very similar,” Hattie said breezily. Her mouth watered as she inhaled the rich scent of stew and the buttery smell of biscuits.
The Monroes could afford to have help, but Mama always insisted on doing the household chores herself and teaching her daughters along the way. She said it kept them humble. Considering Papa’s stubbornness, Hattie wasn’t sure the lack of a maid mattered that much.
“Oh.” Mama’s shoulders relaxed a little under the brown cotton of her dress. “That’s good to hear.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“Well…” Mama hesitated. “He’s been in his study ever since you left, but he hasn’t been interested in speaking with anyone. I think we might need to give him a little more time.”
The kitchen door banged open. It slammed against the wall so hard it was a wonder the glass didn’t break. Ingrid and Mama jumped. Hattie, who’d still been standing near the door, jumped out of the way just in time.
“What on Earth is this?” Mama asked, her fingers splayed across her chest. “What makes you think you can just barge in here?”
Cutter marched through the door. He took a quick glance around the kitchen, his crooked lip twisting. His gun was drawn, and it was aimed right at Mama’s chest. “I’m pretty sure I can go anywhere I want. What do you think?”
“I…what…” Mama sputtered.
Horror wrapped around Hattie’s heart like ivy.
Ingrid screamed, cowering in her chair.
“Keep quiet,” Cutter commanded, gesturing with his pistol as he stepped further into the room.
“This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” Hattie told him.
Cutter turned his wild eyes on her. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut, too. We’ve got business to conduct, and you don’t want to get in the way.”
Hattie glanced at the door as Oscar came in. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. This was how things were supposed to be, then. Hattie had promised she’d do what he asked, but she hadn’t realized it’d be like this.
“The study is that way,” Hattie said shakily, pointing through the door.
Oscar nodded and went that direction with Cutter and Bo on his heels.
As soon as the kitchen door swung shut, Mama rounded on Hattie. “What have you done?”
It wasn’t anger that made Mama’s eyes shine and her cheeks pucker. It was heartbreak. It was worry. Anger would’ve been much easier.
“He’s just here to talk to Papa. It’s all very simple. Oscar and I are getting married.”
“Oh, heavens,” Mama whispered. She sank slowly into a kitchen chair. “That’s what this is about? You told your father you were betrothed?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Some of the injustice Hattie had felt at her earlier conversation with Papa came rushing back. She’d brought him the news, but he’d been so convinced he’d get his way that he hadn’t even told Mama!
Little lines radiated from the outer edges of Mama’s lips. “Whatever you’ve gotten us into, Hattie, I’m sure we can find a way out of it.”
“You don’t understand.” Would they ever? Why couldn’t they see? Someday, they would. Once this was all sorted out and her family was thriving again, they’d forgive her. They might even thank her.
“I do,” Mama insisted. “I believe you’re the one who doesn’t understand, child. I love you, and I want the best for you. That’s why we’re going to figure out a way out of this.”
Hattie realized she was biting her nails. It was a habit she’d never entirely gotten away from, no matter how much scolding she’d received. “There’s nothing to get out of, Mama. Oscar is just going to make Papa see reason, and then Oscar and I can get married. Why won’t any of you listen?”
“Keep your voice down,” Mama hissed.
But it was too late. Bo returned to the kitchen. He marched straight over to Mama and slammed her in the mouth with the butt of his gun.
“Hey!” Hattie raced around the table, too angry to be scared for a brief moment. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Bo shoved her backwards. She tripped over a kitchen chair and tumbled to the floor.
A gunshot echoed through the house. Terror dripped down over Hattie’s skull like blood. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were just going to talk. It was going to be easy, and it would fix everything.
Mama and Ingrid screamed again. Bo slammed his gun into Mama’s face a second time. Blood gushed from her nose and flooded the kitchen table.
Hattie wanted to wake up from the nightmare that was unfolding in front of her. When the kitchen door opened and Oscar came through, she thought it might be her chance to do just that.
But there was blood on his clothes, and his face was grim. He wordlessly reached out a hand to help her off the floor.
“Oscar, what’s going on?” she asked. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer, and her terror grew. Somehow, everything had gotten out of hand.
Cutter was whistling when he came down the stairs and into the kitchen. He elbowed Oscar and laughed. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about getting Old Man Monroe to sign over the land now, do we?”
“You mean sell,” Hattie corrected. “You wanted him to sell it to you. You were going to make a deal.”
“Oh, we made a deal, honey.” Cutter flicked the cylinder out of his revolver, popped a bullet from his pocket into the empty space, and then swung it shut with a click. “He either gave us a signature or we gave him a new hole in his head.”
“No!” Mama cried. She was bleeding heavily, but she got up and went for the door.
Bo stepped in her way, put his big hands on her arms, and shoved her back into her chair easily.
“I’m going to see my husband!” Mama screamed. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were swimming.
“Oscar, what’s going on? I thought you were just going to talk to him!” Hattie clung to her fiancé’s arm. How had it all gone so wrong?
“The only thing you’re going to do,” Cutter said to Mama, “is sign all that land over to Mr. Davies. You own it now that he’s dead, so you can just put your signature right there.”
He reached into his coat pocket and put a packet of papers in front of her on the table. It was already speckled with blood.
The papers shook as Mama picked them up. She flung them at Cutter. “My husband only wanted a fair deal with your boss, and now you’ve killed him over it! You can take that contract to hell with you on your way there, because I’ll never sign it.”
With a quick flick of his wrist, Cutter aimed his revolver at Mama and pulled the trigger.
An explosion of blood hit the china cabinet behind her.
“No!” Ingrid screamed. She climbed over the table and dove at Cutter, trying to wrestle the revolver from his hand.
But she was just a girl, and she wasn’t the kind of girl who was used to anything more physical than a morning walk around the garden. Cutter flung her off his arm like a nuisance fly and pulled the trigger again.
It was impossible. Her whole family had died within a matter of minutes. Hattie had to be next. Papa was right, and they’d only been using her. She yanked Oscar’s gun out of his holster and backed herself into the corner of the kitchen near the back door.
“I didn’t want any of this!” Hattie screamed. “You were supposed to help me! We were going to be happy! We were going to be so happy!”
Cutter swung his revolver around to aim at her, but Oscar laid his hand on Cutter’s arm. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Have it your way,” Cutter said with a sigh. “Best make it quick, though. She needs to sign these papers so we can get on with the rest of our day.”
He spoke of her family’s murder as though it was nothing more important than a trip to the general store! Tears streamed down Hattie’s face. Her bones shook with rage and fear as she tried to comprehend it all.
“Hattie.” Oscar’s voice was low and gentle. He approached her slowly. “Hattie, dear, put the gun down.”
“I will not!” She stamped her foot. “Is this what you had planned all along, Oscar? What’s next? You have me sign the land over and then you kill me, too? Then you run off into the sunset with some other woman?”
“Well, I can think of a few women who are much better behaved,” Bo commented.
“Shut up!” Hattie cried, aiming the gun at him for a moment. She’d gone shooting plenty of times with Papa. She knew how to load and reload. She knew how to squeeze the trigger just right, but she’d never aimed a gun at an actual person before.
“Look at me, Hattie, and listen.” Oscar’s tone was a little more urgent now. “Your father didn’t cooperate. He didn’t want to listen. He wouldn’t even look at the papers. He was never going to do this the easy way.”
“So you killed him?” she howled.
“He was the one who pulled his gun first,” Oscar informed her. “Right out of the top drawer.”
But he’d never have used it. Hattie knew in her heart that it was true.
Oscar took another step. “It’s going to be all right. You just need to calm down, and then we can get this mess cleaned up, okay?” He closed his hand around hers.
He was trying to take the gun. Hattie gripped it hard. The weapon was the only thing she had to defend herself with. It was cold and hard, and it felt like the only real thing in a world that was nothing more than nightmares. She wouldn’t give it up.
“Hattie, don’t embarrass me like this,” Oscar warned. “I’m sorry about your father, but he was just holding you back. Now that they’re gone, you own all of his land. You and I can live nicely together. Just like you wanted.”
Every inch of that land was covered in blood, at least in Hattie’s mind. Things could never go back to the way they were, and the bullet that had killed her father had also killed all of her dreams for the future. “No.”
Oscar had both hands on the gun now, and he tried to yank it from her grip. “Be sensible, Hattie.” His eyes were soft as he looked into hers. Concern and even a little fear was written over his face.
He loved her. He really did love her, but all the love in the world wouldn’t bring her family back. “I can’t let you have it, Oscar.”
“Please.” He tried to pull it away again, harder this time.
Hattie felt the gun slipping from her hand. She wrapped her fingers desperately around it, and around the trigger. The gunshot was so, so very loud. It hollowed out her heart and drained it of anything good she’d ever known.
Oscar’s hands fell away from the gun, but they were covered in blood. A crimson river rushed hot over Hattie’s hand and to the floor. Deep red bloomed across Oscar’s shirt as he pulled back and tried to understand what had happened.
“Oscar,” Hattie whimpered. Her family was gone, and so was her fiancé. She dropped the bloody revolver, and it clattered to the floor.
He fell into Cutter, who tried to catch him.
It was the most horrific thing Hattie ever could’ve imagined: her beautiful, sweet fiancé bleeding in Cutter’s arms, his eyes rolling, foamy pink blood gurgling up and out of his mouth.
She reached for the door handle behind her. Her hands were slick with Oscar’s blood, and she had to try a second time before she got it open. Hattie bolted onto the porch. She flew down the stairs, but her feet didn’t touch a single tread. Away. She had to get away.
“Come back here!” Bo’s heavy footsteps pounded on the porch.
But Hattie knew the estate better than anyone. She’d spent her childhood ducking and dodging around the various bushes and pathways. The fear and heartache that flooded her veins propelled her faster than she’d ever gone before.
Away. Away, away, away.
She ducked through a narrow gap in the hedge, one that couldn’t be seen unless a person stood at just the right angle. The woods were on the other side, and she tunneled toward the heart of them.
Her heeled boots caught on the uneven ground and the tree roots. Hattie could hear commotion behind her somewhere, back toward the house. They were coming. They hadn’t given up, even after Oscar had been shot.
Hattie paused and leaned against a tree just long enough to yank off her boots. She tossed them back the way she’d come, hoping they’d lead the men in the wrong direction, and then she ran again.
She had no idea where she would go. Hattie was responsible for her family’s death. She’d killed her father, her mother, and her sister. Not with her hands, but with her stupid, stubborn actions.
Hattie wept as she ran. She’d wanted a beautiful life with the man she loved, but all she had was murder, hatred, and fear. She had nothing, and she could only run.
Away, away, away.