Hattie sat there packed into her corset and new dress like an overstuffed sausage and feeling ridiculous. She always felt ridiculous at these things. Her sisters were up and dancing, their laughter drifting over to her and adding to the sick feeling in her heart.
She shouldn't blame her sisters. They were beautiful. They should have fun at a dance. Dances were meant for girls like them. And they always tried to make her feel pretty too. Just tonight, Edwina had come in while Hattie was getting ready for the dance offering her favorite hair comb.
"Winnie," Hattie had protested. "I can't wear this. It's your favorite."
"It's just for this night, Hattie. And it looks so much prettier with your dress than mine."
Winnie was two years older and dear Nellie was two younger. They were the only children of Waylon Clark and his wife, Beryl. He was the blacksmith for Sweetwater, a big, burly man, and he truly never knew what to make of the dolls, braids and swishing skirts that surrounded him.
It was Nellie who sat Hattie down at the dressing table and set to braiding and winding her thick hair into some intricate style she'd seen in Godey's Lady's Book.
"You're going to be a vision of loveliness, Hattie," Nellie proclaimed. "The young men won't be able to take their eyes off of you."
It was sweet really that Winnie and Nellie tried so hard to turn Hattie into a vision of anything but a plow horse. But that's what she looked like and that's all she would ever look like.
Hattie hated dances. No one ever asked her to dance. She sat in a chair at the edge of the merriment and watched the flashes of colorful calico skirts twirl past her. Every dance. Every time. Every single time. Just a spectator.
And then, when everyone else was done having their fun, she would climb onto the family's buckboard and listen to Winnie and Nellie go on and on about the fun and the boys and the other girls' dresses. The two of them would giggle into the night about which boy was a better dancer and who they wished would gather the courage to ask Pa for permission to court them. While Hattie just sat there.
She no longer felt blame or anger at the boys and young men who walked past her on their way to ask some other young lady to dance. A look in a mirror told her all she needed to know about that. She certainly wouldn't want to ask her to dance. Her hair was hopelessly lost somewhere between red and brown as if it couldn't make up its mind and just went with some muddy, mousy middle ground. She was quite a contrast to her sisters, Winnie with her deep, chocolate colored tresses and Nellie with hers the color of corn silk.
Her eyes were too small and her nose too big and just too wrong. Of course her sisters had the most darling little turned up noses. And her lips...too full until she smiled and then too thin. Certainly not plump and kissable as other girls. Where Winnie had lovely cheekbones and dimples perfectly placed next to her smiling mouth, Hattie looked like someone had sculpted her face from dough and hadn't been careful about it either.
Winnie's eyes were a crystal clear blue while Nellie's were a sparkling deep green. Hattie's eyes were as indecisive as her hair. Sort of a brownish-greenish-goldish something or other and no one knew what exactly to call them. Her mother had finally settled on saying they were hazel and that sounded pretty until Hattie looked in the mirror and was reminded once again what color hazel really was.
When Nellie laughed, the apples of her cheeks tinged pink as they did when she was embarrassed or angry. Hattie's cheeks would splotch with red as if she'd randomly rubbed beet juice on her face in the dark.
And she cringed to even think of her figure. Of course there wasn't really a figure there to even think about. She was thick-waisted and chubby. Not fat really but chubby. An hour of her mother and sisters taking turns with one foot in her back and using their full weight against the laces of her corset resulted in a tiny dent where the other girls in town—her sisters most notable among them—had delicate waists.
There was nothing delicate about Hattie. Not even her name. Harriet. Not even the prettier French spelling of Harriette...just Harriet. She readily admitted that the name Edwina wasn't much better but Winnie sounded like laughter while Hattie…well, it did not.
Hattie sounded like the name one might give to an old and broken down mule. Fitting, she thought.
So there she sat. There was really no one even to talk to unless, of course, she wanted to sit with the old spinster ladies. The time would come for that soon enough. It was her destiny after all. For now it was just too depressing a thought. The girls her age all still had a chance and stayed clear of her lest they become tainted by how undesirable she was.
Hattie daydreamed as she sat there. Dreams were plentiful. They were the only beauty she had in abundance. They were the only beauty she had at all.
In her dreams she would be sitting as she was now and politely smiling as everyone else in the town had their fun. But then the handsomest of the young men would make his way to her. Who this man was varied over the months and years, but right now it was a certain rider for the Pony Express.
He would weave through the dancing bodies to reach her and then shyly ask for a dance. He would look uncertain as if her answer wasn't already a given and she would giggle lightly and place her hand in his.
He would lead her onto the floor to hushed whispers from the rest of the town. Her joy would radiate as a glow from her and suddenly she would be beautiful. Her eyes wouldn't be muddled but mysterious. Her hair would seem rich and bold in color. Her skin radiant. He would keep hold of her hand as he turned to face her and she would place a hand on his strong, broad shoulder as she felt his large and work worn hand rest lightly on her waist. And they would dance. They would dance so beautifully that the others in attendance would step back to watch them and when the song was over, everyone would clap for them and cheer for their expertise. He would bow to her and then whisper how he would wish to walk her home afterward if she thought her parents would be agreeable.
Before they reached her home, he would turn to her and take her hands in his. It would be dark and there would be no one there to see or interrupt. He would tell her how it had taken so long to work up the courage to talk to her. How the dangers of his job were nothing compared to the thought that she might reject him. Then he would lightly trail his fingers over her cheeks as if memorizing her features.
Slowly he would lower his head to hers and kiss her. He would kiss her deeply, his hand holding tight to the back of her head. His body would press tightly to hers and, in spite of the warmth of his body, a shiver would run through her. He would misunderstand the cause and hold her tighter to him.
And then he would clear his throat...
…no…
That wasn't right at all.
Blinking, Hattie looked around to see a body standing in front of her.
"Excuse me," came a low, rumbling voice. "It's Miss Clark, isn't it?"
She raised her eyes and found them staring into…oh, she must still be daydreaming. It was him. The broad shoulders, the golden brown hair, the sun-kissed skin, the eyes like the molten metal her father worked with everyday. Jimmy Hickok. She blinked at him.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he went on. "I, uh, I was wondering if I might fetch you a refreshment of some sort…maybe a glass of punch?"
Her heart leapt at the words and then fell just as quickly. He wasn't here for her. They were never here for her.
"Which one is it?" she asked sadly.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Which sister? Winnie or Nellie? It's not like it matters. They both fancy you at least a little. So, yes, she would dance with you if you asked. You don't have to be nice to me for the information. I'll even ask for you if you're shy."
He looked at her strangely and then shook his head lightly. His long hair caught the flickering lamplight and her rapt attention as he did. A sort of scowl marred his perfect forehead and Hattie could picture herself kissing the wrinkles from his brow. She swallowed hard and checked herself to make sure she was projecting her usual detached disinterest. It didn't pay to ever look emotionally invested. It made one too vulnerable.
"I didn't come over here to ask about your sisters," he said still looking bewildered. "I came to talk to you. Could I get you a glass of punch?"
She nodded dumbly and just sat there like a lump as he walked toward the refreshment table. Once he was gone, she looked over to where his friends stood. They were laughing about something and her suspicions mounted as she then followed their smiling eyes to their friend ladling punch into a glass for her.
This was not good. No. This could not be good. She had to get out. She couldn't breathe. The corset wasn't helping but there were too many people and things were going to get so bad so quickly. With grace and agility that few would think her capable of, she slipped out of the meeting hall and into the crisp dark night.
Hattie stood outside and leaned against the wall for a moment and breathed as deeply as the laces in her corset allowed. Her head was swimming and she cursed herself for forgetting her place, the natural order of things.
A handsome man like Jimmy Hickok does not come and talk to a dumpy, ugly girl like Hattie. Things like that just do not happen. Stupid! It was stupid. She was stupid. She could blame her sisters and the attention they showered on her while she readied but this was all her forgetting herself.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she began walking home. She hoped she didn't cause worry to her parents or sisters when the dance ended and she wasn't sitting in her chair waiting for them. But she just could not go back into that dance. She could not.
Hattie made it as far as the front of Tompkins' store before her vision was too watery from tears to keep walking. She leaned against the front display window and wept. She wept and she felt sorry for herself and angry at the world. Her fingers curled helplessly against the chipped paint on the storefront. As if being alone and lonely wasn't bad enough, people had to be cruel too. It was better when she was just invisible. Being noticed was never good. Not for her, never for her.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching on the boardwalk or the soft clearing of a throat. But she heard when he spoke.
"You sure do make a man work just to talk to you," Jimmy said and his voice was so soft and gentle that she almost threw herself into his arms. But she caught herself in time.
She said nothing. She was never good with a witty retort and if ever there was a time for her to have one, this was it. But she did not so she stayed silent and kept her back to him. Her hands frantically wiped at her eyes. She didn't want him to see her tears.
She felt his fingers tap lightly on her shoulder and then his hand extended to hold a handkerchief in front of her face.
"Thank you," she whispered as she took the offered square of cloth. Of all the humiliation! This would surely make the story even better when he got back to his friends and told them she had been crying like a baby. Like she had feelings to hurt or something.
"I don't know what I said or did to upset you, Miss Clark," he murmured gently. "I'm sorry though. It wasn't what I meant to do."
Still she stayed silent. He was good. Better than most that had tried this. Hattie had been susceptible to the trick when she was younger but no more. Anyone trying to be nice to her was just getting close enough to pull the rug out from under her feet. She'd been the butt of far too many jokes and the laughing stock of the schoolyard too many times to fall for it again. No matter how badly she wanted to fall for it.
"Did I ask wrong?" he wondered. "When I asked to get you some punch…did I ask wrong? I mean, if you just didn't like me, you'd say so, wouldn't you? It wouldn't be nothing to cry over just 'cause some fella that don't got real family or prospects or anything wants to talk to you. You could just say no thank you. I must've done something wrong."
There was no crushing comeback for her to hurl at him and storm off dramatically. There were only tears she fought with all her might to hold back. And the truth. There was the truth. Truth as ugly as she was.
"I may be ugly but I'm not stupid," she whispered. "You're better at this than most but you won't trick me. It won't work. You can just go back and tell your friends that I didn't buy it. I'm going home now."
With that she stiffly held his handkerchief out to him. He took it and she turned and walked toward her home looking determined and proud. She actually felt proud. It hurt that she even had to utter such a speech but it felt good to get ahead of the insult for a change, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing her even more hurt.
"I'll never forget the first time I saw your face, Hattie Clark," he called after her and, in spite of herself, she slowed and then stopped her near stomp away from him.
"I was standing on the gallows with a rope around my neck. You were there along with the whole rest of the town as far as I could tell. About half the town was glaring at me and thinking I was guilty. The other half seemed to be against Sarah and looked to pity me. Handful of faces were sad. Emma and the guys from the station…and you. You looked like your heart was breaking."
She turned to face him with brow furrowed in confusion.
"I was a mess for a while after that," he went on. "I was really in love with her. And I really thought she was in love with me. I was just…I was just a pawn. Hurts something awful to get used like that. Sounds to me like you know something about it too."
Hattie just nodded and cast her eyes to the wooden planks at her feet.
"I'd see you around town sometimes and once I got over my hurt, I realized why you always caught my eye. It wasn't just because you looked sad that I might die. It's 'cause you're pretty. You really are. The way your eyes are always changing and…well, you're real pretty. I didn't know how to approach you before. You always seemed busy…or something. Like you didn't want to be bothered. But tonight, you was just sitting there. I thought maybe I wouldn't be bothering you to get you something to drink. Then I thought maybe we'd talk a bit until they played something I know how to dance to. I'm pretty decent at a waltz as long as it don't go too fast. I wouldn't impress you none if I stomped all over your toes."
She wanted to speak. She wanted to say she was sorry he knew hurt like hers but she couldn't find words. She watched as he cocked his head to one side and smiled.
"A song like this, I can dance to," he said extending his hand to her. "If you would do me the honor."
Tentatively Hattie placed her hand in his and allowed him to step closer to her. His hand fell gently on her waist and she cautiously placed her free hand on his shoulder. He was so strong and solid. Then he moved and she let herself move with him. They twirled over the boardwalk in the darkness of the clear evening to the music wafting to them from the dance.
As they waltzed, his hand moved from her waist and around to the small of her back pulling her closer to him. Her face was pressed against his chest and she turned her head to rest it there. His heart was beating what sounded like a thousand times a minute. That was odd since she was sure hers had stopped.
Inhaling, she filled her nostrils with his clean, rugged scent. Soon the steps of the waltz were forgotten and he just pulled her flush against him, wrapping both of his strong arms around her, and they swayed lightly.
When the song ended, he loosened his grip on her and leaned back.
"You really are pretty, Hattie," he said in wonder.
Then the world stopped as he placed his fingers lightly under her chin and lifted her face toward his. He kissed her. Tenderly pressing his lips to hers at first and then commanding her mouth. His tongue roamed her mouth and desire rolled off of him in waves that nearly knocked her backward.
He pulled away and she gazed into his rich golden eyes. They were endless and warm and welcoming and...
"Hattie?"
That wasn't his voice. His voice was soft and deep like the thunder of a storm still off in the distance. This was a lilting voice like wind chimes moved by a lazy summer's breeze. Hattie shook her head and looked up into Winnie's pale blue eyes.
"Wherever you were must've been nice, Hattie dear, but the dance is over. Daddy is fetching the buckboard now. We have to go."
Hattie stood as if sleepwalking and followed her sister. Winnie was prattling on about the gossip from the night but Hattie wasn't listening. Her mind was still on her daydream about Jimmy Hickok. It had seemed so real. She could feel his warmth against her and she thought maybe there was even a whiff of his rugged and manly scent clinging to her dress. But she was imagining. Just dreaming, like always.
Winnie was still going on and on and Hattie was still only half listening until her attention was grabbed fully by the words 'Jimmy Hickok.'
"What was that?"
"I thought that might get your attention," Winnie said laughing at her younger sister. "I was saying that I danced with that Billy Cody from the Pony Express station. And I said something about how it was just horrible that no one had come over to ask you to dance. And he said that he would but that he couldn't. Apparently one of the other riders likes you. Even though he's too shy to go and ask you, Billy said it would be wrong to ask you to dance."
"Sounds like an excuse," Hattie said with certainty. "Who did he say liked me?"
"Jimmy Hickok," Winnie said with an ecstatic smile and a bit of a squeal in her voice. She always knew which young man in town held her sister's affections at any given time. And since the unfortunate day that Hickok was nearly hanged for what that Downs woman did, Jimmy Hickok was the only man Hattie had eyes for. "According to Billy, Hickok is a little gun-shy about getting involved with a young lady since what happened. But once he works up the nerve, it's you he wants."
Hattie rolled her eyes. She would love nothing more than to believe this tale, of course. Nothing could please her more than the thought that someday Jimmy Hickok would speak to her. That at one of these insufferable events he might ask her to dance. But it was simply what Billy Cody said to placate her sister so he wouldn't have to point out that ugly girls don't get asked to dance. Winnie was a loyal sister and anyone so honest in speaking to her wouldn't get a second dance with her or with Nellie once word spread.
Winnie led the way outside with Hattie dragging along behind. Their father wasn't in front with the buckboard yet and when Hattie looked around, her sister had moved away. Winnie was standing with Nellie and their mother as they all chatted with Mrs. Shannon. Mrs. Shannon was clearly waiting for Mr. Hunter to come around with her buckboard to drive her back as well.
Hattie moved as if to walk over to where they all were but didn't think she could stand anymore gushing about the dance. She stood there a few steps outside the door and breathed in the night air and thought of how nice it would be to get home and get her corset off. It's not that she didn't normally wear one but she rarely cinched it this tightly. For all the good it did her. She looked up at the clear night sky and all the stars twinkling in the heavens. She closed her eyes in appreciation of the breeze that ghosted over her features ruffling the few strands of hair that had escaped Nellie's attempt at the intricate hairstyle and allowed the tension to fall from her face.
"It sure is a nice night, ain't it, Miss Clark?"
The tentative and halting voice brought her from her relaxed thoughts. It couldn't be. She looked toward the voice and found herself staring into those golden eyes that danced through her dreams. She saw him snatch his hat quickly from his head as she looked at him. He held it tensely in front of himself and turned it over in his hands.
"I mean...it's uh, real pretty...with all those stars and all."
"Uh...Yes...Yes it is a very nice night, Mr. Hickok," she answered feeling the flush come over her cheeks. She cursed herself for reacting like this. He was just being polite...or setting up a joke. He certainly wasn't talking to her because he really wanted to. There was no way.
"The...uh...the band was pretty good," he stammered. "People seemed to have a lot of fun dancing."
"I suppose they did," she replied distantly.
"I couldn't help but notice that you sat out every dance, Miss Clark. Don't you like to dance?"
"I like dancing just fine, Mr. Hickok," she answered bitterly.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I said something wrong. I knew I shouldn't try to talk to you. I never know quite what to say. I'm sorry."
The silence between them was awkward and Hattie felt bad about it. She wasn't about to trust this just yet but something told her that maybe she snapped at him without cause.
"Did you have a good time dancing this evening, Mr. Hickok?"
"You can call me Jimmy," he told her softly. "And I didn't do any dancing. I'm afraid I couldn't quite get the nerve to ask the young lady I wanted to dance with."
Her brow knitted together as she looked at him. He seemed about to answer her unasked questions but then nodded behind her.
"Looks like your family's getting loaded up to go home."
She followed his eyes and saw that he was right. Winnie and Nellie were both beaming at her and she smiled back and waved at them, thinking that for once she might have something to gush about on the way home.
"I think you're right, Jimmy."
Hattie suddenly didn't want her family to be ready to go. As much as she had been longing to be home a few moments before, she now wanted to stay right here in this moment forever. She dared to meet his eyes for a moment and then quickly looked away from the intensity she found there. Her heart thundered in her chest. Surely he must be able to hear it too.
"I, uh...it was nice talking to you, Miss Clark."
His eyes lingered on her face for a few moments and then darted quickly away.
"Hattie," she blurted. "Call me Hattie...I liked talking to you too."
"May...maybe sometime I could call on you and we could...talk some more?"
"I'd like that, Jimmy."
"Well...goodnight, Hattie," Jimmy said with a grin gracing his face that made him look so very young. He seemed not to know what to do next and opted to hold out his hand to her.
"Goodnight, Jimmy."
She lifted her own hand and was surprised when instead of shaking her hand he grasped her fingers and brought the back of her hand to his lips. She giggled at the gesture. When she moved to pull her hand from his and head toward her family's buckboard, she was surprise to find her hand not released and Jimmy coming with her.
"Allow me to help you, Hattie," he said softly as he steadied her while she hopped up onto the buckboard next to her sisters.
"Good evening, Mr. Hickok," Winnie said smiling brightly in reaction to her sister's joy.
"Ladies," he replied with a tip of the hat he had replaced on his head. Then he turned to Hattie. "I hope to see you again soon, Hattie."
He then released her hand and walked over to his horse, where he had been when she had left the dance. As her father drove away, she could see Jimmy still standing next to his beautiful Palomino horse watching her. He stayed that way for a while until one of the other riders tapped him on the arm prompting him to vault onto the back of the animal and ride away in the direction of Mrs. Shannon's place.
So...once again...blame the dog and his nightly walkies for a story. As we were walking the other night, my mp3 player happened on this song...and I got a vision. So here it is. I find Hattie very relatable. In truth, I was...and still am...Hattie...
There were three different endings contemplated for this story. This was sort of a middle ground. I think one of them would have been too unrealistically fairy tale and the other rejected one would have probably been the most real but sort of lacked hope. I hope this lived up to my responsibility to you all to keep it real and not get trite or contrived...but still left you feeling like maybe there's hope for the ugly duckling girls.
Also...if you're not familiar with this song, I encourage you to read the lyrics and take a listen. It is lovely and powerful and heartbreaking.
Whether you dwell in the Winnie and Nellie camp or are one of my fellow Hatties, I love you. I hope this story was enjoyable.-J
AT SEVENTEEN - Janis Ian
I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...
And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...
A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...
So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In debentures of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...
To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...
We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...