“I’m your aunt Augusta.” When Hattie just stared at her without speaking, Augusta elaborated. “Well, perhaps I’m not an actual aunt; the relationship is a bit convoluted. But I would like it very much if you would honor me with the title.”
Hattie continued to stare at the older lady, hiding her awe. She’d never met anyone so clean. Well, perhaps Mama had been, for Hattie’s memories were of someone sweet-smelling and soft-spoken. But her recollections had grown hazier with each of the four years that had gone by since her mother passed. She hated that she couldn’t always remember Mama’s face.
Augusta turned slightly to indicate the woman behind her. “This is Mirabel.”
Taking one look at the severe features of the woman in the starched white apron, Hattie’s chin, which had relaxed beneath Augusta Murdock’s kind-eyed regard, shot up once again. At the same time, she took a cautionary step backwards. “I know about you!” she said in alarm. “You’re the one who washed Jake’s mouth out with a sonovabitchin’ bar of soap!”
With Jake’s warning still ringing in her ears, her reaction to the stern-faced lady was instinctive and involuntary. But she was thrown into a state of confusion by the three disparate responses it elicited as they aired simultaneously, tumbling and overlapping one another.
“Young lady!” Mirabel snapped repressively. “Oh, my dear child,” Augusta murmured faintly. Jake roared with laughter. Fortunately for Hattie, it was Jake who reached her first, for Mirabel was advancing with a gleam of battle in her eyes, which Jake knew from experience meant being led by the ear to the nearest water closet for the aforementioned mouth washing. He wrapped his arm around Hattie’s shoulders and whisked her out of reach.
“Now, now, Mirabel,” he coaxed, unable to erase the bit of laughter still lurking in his tone. “It’s her first day. Let the kid shake some of the dust from her trip before you start rearranging her manners.”
Hattie craned her head back to peer into his face, her amber eyes filled with genuine bafflement as they met his. “What’d I say, Jake?” she whispered. “How come everyone’s got their tails in a twist?”
It was the utter lack of comprehension over her words’ effect that ultimately lightened the atmosphere in the parlor. Mirabel’s face softened slightly; Augusta suggested temperately that Hattie must be hungry after her long trip and proposed she accompany Mirabel to the kitchen.
When it grew clear that Hattie thought going with Mirabel was a plot to trap her alone with the woman, giving Mirabel a chance to carry out her nefarious deed, Jake gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. “There will be no mouth washing with soap today,” he promised solemnly.
Hattie studied him for a moment, then nodded and left with Mirabel. Jake watched her go, smiling at the way she appeared to be on the alert but apparently cautiously prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt.
The parlor grew quiet as Jake and Augusta were left facing each other. A moment passed before Augusta turned away and resumed her seat on the settee. She watched Jake cross over to the mahogany sideboard and pick up a decanter. “Really, Jacob,” she said faintly. “Must you grin like a ninny? I’m sure I do not comprehend what you find so amusing.”
Jake looked at her over his shoulder. “Yes, you do, Mother.”
Augusta was silent for a moment. She accepted a small goblet of sherry from her son, took a tiny sip, and sighed. “Yes, all right. I am getting precisely what I deserve, I daresay. I don’t know what I expected—”
She correctly interpreted the meaning of Jake’s raised eyebrow and smiled wryly. “Oh, very well. I guess I expected a sweet little girl to dress up in flounces and ribbons. I also suppose it’s fair to say I willfully disregarded the possible complications, even when you persisted in trying to present them to me. Of course Hattie’s a bit uncouth: she’s lived out of touch with the world as we know it since she was seven years old. In the company, moreover, of two men who obviously didn’t see fit to guard their language in her presence. Goodness gracious, Jacob, they dressed her like a boy!”
“The kid has guts, Mother.”
“Honestly, dear, can’t you say ‘intestinal fortitude’? ‘Guts’ is such a repulsive word.” She looked down into her wine and then back up at her son. “Yet, I daresay she does, doesn’t she? Those eyes . . .” Augusta took a sip of her sherry. “Jacob, when she walked into the room her eyes were so scared, and yet she faced everyone so bravely.”
“Yeah. She’s a pistol. I know I argued against her coming here, Mother. But I’ve changed my mind. You’ll both be fine.”
Augusta smiled and finished her sherry. “Yes, I’m sure we shall,” she agreed. “The girl is a firebrand; there’s not much doubt about that. But I believe she is also quite sweet. Mirabel and I will teach her what she needs to know.”
A short while later Mirabel joined them. “I declare,” she said in amazement. “That child doesn’t even realize what she’s saying when she curses. Every other word out of her mouth was . . . well, it was—”
“Sonovabitch,” Jake supplied helpfully, hiding a smile at Mirabel’s repressive glare.
“Precisely,” she agreed crisply. “Praise the Lord it appears to be the only swear word she knows. And her table manners are simply deplorable.” Her expression softened. “She’s a bright one, though. And willing. When I explained the rudiments of proper table behavior, you could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she concentrated on doing it exactly right.”
“Where’s Hattie now, Mirabel?”
“I left her taking a bath. Judging by her griminess, I thought she’d go screaming and kicking into the tub. But she was tickled pink at the prospect, particularly when she discovered the water would be hot. It seems a Saturday night bath was her biggest entertainment up in those hills.” Mirabel smiled softly. “You should have seen her reaction when I threw in a handful of my heliotrope-scented Epsom salts and swished some soap around to make bubbles. You would have thought I was Santy Claus himself. That young’un hasn’t had an overabundance of treats in her life, I’ll be bound.”
Jake glanced at his mother. “How do you plan to dress her once she’s done bathing?”
“Oh my.” Augusta set her wineglass on the nearby table. “I don’t imagine she has anything suitable in that satchel she was carrying.” She gave the matter a moment’s thought, then with brisk decisiveness began issuing orders. “Jacob, ride down to the modiste on Commercial Street. Tell her what needs to be done and do your best to persuade her to accompany you back here. Have her bring anything ready-made in Hattie’s approximate size.” She was already turning to Mirabel with further instructions as Jake left to do her bidding.