The Hope of Hattie Phelan: Volume I

15

The Rickmans

The Rickmans invited us all over for supper. Apparently, before Constance and I came, it was a common occurrence. I was dreading it all day even though Aunt Margarette said that Mrs. Rickman knew my mother. As much as I would have enjoyed learning more about Ma, I did not want to be in his territory. I didn't want to give Wally any satisfaction, so I decided to call him "Walter." Like how Nancy called Richie "Richard."

I knew it was silly, but at least it gave me a bit of satisfaction to call him by his Christian name instead of his nickname. It always irked me when Constance called me Harriet instead of Hattie, so I thought I'd do him the favor and irk him as much as he irked me.

Later in the day, we pulled into their driveway and Kenneth, the Rickman boy getting married, was there to help us put up the horses. Bernie and Uncle Gill helped Kenneth in the stable while Bobby jumped off to run after them. A little boy, younger than my little cousin, was standing on the porch with a woman who resembled Miss Leanne, though taller. Aunt Margarette and Nancy walked over to the porch to greet the hostess, Constance and I following in pursuit.

"Welcome, friends," Mrs. Rickman said, pulling Aunt Margarette into a hug. "I'm so glad you are all here."

"Glad to be here, Rebecka," Aunt Margarette greeted her friend. "Thank you for having us."

"Thank you for coming, Maisie," Miss Rebecka said before turning to Constance. "What's your name, dear?"

"Constance Daugherty, ma'am," she replied, offering up her best smile.

"Nice to meet you!" Miss Rebecka said with a smile before drifting her gaze over to me. She held her hand to her cheek, looking at me with a sad gleam in her eyes. "This must be Chrissy's girl."

"Rebecka, this is Harriet Phelan," Aunt Margarette paused before adding quietly, "She goes by Hattie."

Rebecka turned to Aunt Margarette, her eyes glossy. Her lip trembled a bit before she looked back at me, walking down the steps to meet me, her littlest son following. She pulled me into an embrace before keeping me at arm's length.

"I'm sorry, but you look just like your mother," Miss Rebecka said, pausing as she looked me in the eyes. "You don't have her eyes, though."

"Got Da's eyes and dimples, ma'am," I stated, remembering how Ma would gush about me having some resemblance to Da.

"Dimples," the little boy said out of the blue, looking out from behind his mother before laughing. He cautiously crept from behind Mrs. Rickman's skirts to come near me. He had light strawberry blond hair that curled upon his head. His blue eyes stared at me with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Hello, I'm Hattie," I said, kneeling down to his height before offering my hand to shake. He got shy and hugged his mother's skirts again.

"David, can you say Hattie?" Rebecka asked her son, caressing his head with her hand.

"Hatts," the little David said, causing me to laugh.

"Hattie, David."

"No, it's fine," I said, looking up at her sadly. "Da calls me Hatts."

"Alright," Rebecka said with a smile. "Hatts it is."

"Mama," a voice called from within the house. We looked to the porch where there stood a tall, dark-haired boy. He wasn't completely dark-haired since there were highlights of red only noticeable when the sun touched his head as he rushed down the steps to his mother.

"What is it, Nathan?" Rebecka asked tiredly, turning to her son. The tall, tanned boy clenched his jaw before his previously bright tone dropped to a dull one.