The Hope of Hattie Phelan: Volume I

4

Reunion with the Redhead

I sat at the table, staring at the dish of food before me. Was this the midday meal? There was a whole ham sandwich, popcorn, and Aunt Margarette had poured us a cup of tea. Uncle Gillan had to leave pretty quickly after he scarfed down his food—talking about how Wally would be here any moment. Constance and I could barely finish our food since the portions were big, though I persevered because it was so good, and I was dreadfully hungry.

Aunt Margarette excused herself to take her plates to the kitchen, and Constance and I jumped up to help, though I felt my insides would burst. I hadn't eaten that much since before Ma died, so I'd forgotten the feeling of my stomach being full. I set my dishes in the sink, scrubbing away as Constance took it upon herself to dry.

"I wish Nancy would be as eager to help as you two." Aunt Margarette laughed, walking over to place another dish on the counter. "Thank you both."

"When will she be back?" I asked, adding the dish to the sink. "Nancy, I mean."

"She should be back tomorrow afternoon," my aunt replied. My heart skipped at the thought.

"So, Mrs. Gillan," Constance started, her voice quiet. "I just really wanted to thank ye for taking us in and all. Ye will never know how much it means to me. I don't think I've been treated by a better hostess—and yer place is so homey and grand."

"I don't know about grand." Aunt Margarette chuckled. "This house is generations old, from Bernie's father's family. It took me years to get it to the state it's in now—Gill being a big help, for he knew how to fix it up real good."

"Is Bernie my cousin?" I asked.

"He is my son with my first husband," Aunt Margarette said, before adding, "His father passed away in the Civil War."

"I'm sorry," I murmured. Da had been in the Civil War, and he had mentioned friends of his never making it out the other side of the fighting.

"It's alright, Harriet," Aunt Margarette said before pausing. "Do you go by Harriet?"

"You can call me 'Hattie' if you'd like," I said, glancing over at Constance with the hopes that she would understand the request. "Ma always called me that."

"Hattie." Aunt Margarette smiled nostalgically. "Of course your mother would call you that. A dear friend of ours was called Hattie."

"I thought I was named after my grandmother, Harriet Auckland."

"Mother would rather die than be called Hattie," Aunt Margarette said with a dry laugh. "Our Hattie was Henrietta Crawford, someone Christine and I were close with."

It was strange hearing newfound knowledge of my mother's past from my aunt. Of course she would know so much about Ma, but it made me feel so ignorant of my own mother's life. I would love to hear more about Ma, but I feared the more I learned of her, the more of a stranger she would become.

-=+=-

Constance had asked Aunt Margarette to show her the field of flowers, but I decided to start unpacking because I needed some alone time. I sat on the bed by the window and carefully dumped the contents of my bag in front of me. A Bible fell out first, and I grimaced. Of course Da packed that for me, along with my journal. There also was a stuffed dog, which I had sewed with Ma for my baby brother before he was born. I held the stuffed dog up as I wistfully remembered the baby boy in his crib, the dog laying in his arms as he slept soundly, holding onto my pinkie. Tears came to my eyes as flashes of the tiny coffin entered my mind. He had died before Ma did, but the doctor said that it was he who had caused Ma to succumb to the fever that was circulating town. With a shaky breath, I laid the dog down on the pillow at the head of the bed.