Joelle's Secret Read online

  “Leave me alone,” she said coldly. But she saw the gleam in his eyes and knew that he would not.

  Moving across the yard, she entered the house, put the groceries in the kitchen, and went at once to her mother’s bedroom. No matter how many times she saw her mother, it was always a slight shock. Her mother had been an attractive woman, well-shaped with a full face, and now her face was shrunken, which made her eyes look abnormally large. “I got some medicine from Dr. Raeburn. You got to take a teaspoon five times a day.”

  There was little response in Clara’s face. She didn’t protest but swallowed the medicine and said, “Where’s Harper?”

  “He was out at the barn—” She broke off abruptly when she heard a horse crying out and walked over to the window.

  Burl Harper was mounted on the big stallion Napoleon. She watched as he whipped the horse with a quirt, and she saw that he was laughing when the stallion reared up. He lashed the horse and left the yard at a dead run. Burl Harper didn’t know how to treat a horse, and Jo knew that he was the same with every living thing.

  She moved into the kitchen and made some broth. As she waited for it to heat, she looked around the kitchen—the only home she had ever known. Mom is going to die, and I’ll have to leave this place. A bleak future seemed to loom before her, and she steeled herself against it. Forcing herself to concentrate on the care of her mother, she took the bowl in and watched her mother eat a few spoonfuls.

  Clara said weakly, “I can’t eat anymore, honey.”

  “You need to keep your strength up.”

  Clara suddenly reached out and caught Jo’s hand. “Jo,” she said, “I’m going to die. When I’m gone”—she hesitated and her lips forced the words reluctantly—“you’ll have to leave this place.”

  Both of them knew she was talking about Burl Harper. Clara had already seen the attention he was paying to her daughter, and once she had challenged him. When she had warned him, he had laughed and pushed her away. “You’ll have to leave here,” Clara repeated to Joelle.

  “I don’t have anywhere to go, Ma.”

  “You need to go to Fort Smith to my sister Rita. She’s Rita Faye Johnson. They’ll take you in.”

  “All right, Ma.” Joelle didn’t want to talk about it but knew she wouldn’t do it. The thought of asking a stranger to take her in was abhorrent, but she didn’t want to argue.

  She sat beside her mother and read to her from the Bible. She read well enough, but her mind was not on the words. Her mother had always loved the Bible, and this one was worn and marked on every page, it seemed. As she read on, her mother was listening to the words, but Jo herself was thinking of the day that would come soon enough when she would have to leave River Bend.

  * * *

  MID-DECEMBER CAME, AND THE snow had all disappeared. Joelle spent the days taking care of her mother and staying away from Burl. One day, as she bathed her mother’s face, she said, “I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  “Can’t eat.”

  Suddenly Joelle saw something in her mother’s eyes, and she whispered, “What is it, Ma?”

  “I had a dream last night.”

  “What did you dream?”

  “A dream that God would—send somebody to look out for you. I saw somebody. He looked like my brother Caleb—you never saw him. He was tall and lean with hair as black as a crow’s wing. You’ve seen his picture.”

  “Yes, he was a fine-looking man.”

  “He always took care of me when we were kids. In the dream he said, ‘Don’t worry about Jo, Sister. Someone will take care of her like I took care of you.’”

  Joelle felt tears come to her eyes. She didn’t believe in dreams, but now she said, “That’s a good dream, Ma.”

  “I believe—it’s from the Lord.”

  Joelle held her mother’s hand as the woman drifted off to sleep. Ten minutes later her eyes opened, and she said, “Something I want you to do.”

  “What is it, Ma?”

  “Go into the attic. Look in the old chest that was my mama’s. Open the bottom drawer and take it out. Behind it there’s a metal box. Bring it to me.”

  Joelle was surprised, but she was also curious. “I’ll be right back, Ma.” She left the bedroom and went up the stairs—glad that Harper was gone. She found the old walnut chest, pulled the bottom drawer out, and there it was—a flat metal box no more than two inches thick and probably eight inches square. She put the drawer back and then, holding the box, ran down the stairs. “Is this it, Ma?” she said as she pulled her chair close.

  “Open it.”

  Joelle gasped. “Ma, what’s this?” She pulled out a pair of diamond earrings and whispered, “Are these real?”

  “Yes, they’re real.”

  Joelle picked up a large ruby ring, a gold necklace and matching bracelets with diamonds in them, and also considerable cash.

  “What is this, Ma?”

  “My mother gave these to me on my wedding day when I married Charles. Her mother had given them to her.”

  “What do I do with these, Ma?”

  Clara Harper was quiet, and her eyes fluttered as she struggled to stay awake. “Don’t let Harper know you have this. I made a mistake marrying him, but I’ve been saving money. Don’t forget my dreams.” She reached down. Her grip was stronger as she held Jo’s hand. “God will send a man to help you. He’ll be tall and have dark hair and dark eyes.”

  Joelle sat there, holding her mother’s hand and examining the contents of the box. Her mother had fallen into a fitful sleep, and her breathing was shallow. Joelle fastened the box, loosened her mother’s hand, and replaced the box behind the drawer in the chest. As she did, she wondered at her mother’s keeping this a secret all these years. Somehow it seemed to be a purposeful thing, and she was glad to know the box was there.

  She returned to sit with her mother. Two hours later her mother arched her back, uttered a single soft cry, and said, “Charles.” Then life left her.

  Joelle held her mother’s still hand. She was still there when Burl came in. He opened the door and started to speak, but when he saw Joelle’s face, he said, “Is she gone?”

  “Yes, she’s gone.”

  “Well, where do you want the grave?”

  “Under the big hickory tree beside the river.”

  * * *

  CLARA’S FUNERAL WAS WELL attended. She and her first husband had made many friends, and now the neighbors came by. The funeral was held in the church, followed by a brief service by the grave. After the pastor read the Scripture, the neighbors greeted Joelle. Edward Campbell, the pastor, came to her. “We’ll help all we can, Joelle. She was a wonderful woman. A fine Christian.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  Campbell turned away and waited until his wife had spoken to Joelle. The two watched as Burl Harper turned and went to the house. “That’s a sad story building there,” Campbell said.

  “Yes, Harper married Clara for her farm, and he’s got it now.”

  “I’m worried about Joelle. She’s afraid of Harper. Doc Raeburn told me that we’ve got to do something about it.”

  “Can you do anything, Ed?”

  “We’ll try, but she’s not of age. Harper’s her legal guardian.” Campbell brushed his hand across his face as if to push a thought aside, and the two were silent for a long time. When they turned to leave, Campbell glanced back toward the house. He saw Joelle Mitchell standing on the porch in the cold, looking toward her mother’s grave.

  Chapter Two

  FOR THE FIRST WEEK after her mother’s funeral, Joelle spent a great deal of her time outside the house. She went for long rides on Blackie, hunted rabbits, cared for the stock, and found solace in the cold December air. Christmas was only a few days away, but it meant nothing to her now.

  As she came back from the barn, bearing the bucket of milk from Bessie the cow, she remembered the times as a small child when her father had made a great deal out of the Christmas season. She remembered his taking he
r out into the woods, and not just any tree would do. It had to be a very special one. “You can’t just chop a tree down for Christmas,” he had said once, a grin decorating his face. “You’ve got to have one just the right height and just the right shape, and it has to smell like a Christmas tree. Cedar is the only thing for that.”

  The snow had disappeared, but the air was cold, and as these memories flooded through Joelle, she looked up to see a large jackrabbit dart away, leaping from right to left. The antics of the rabbit amused her. “I’m not after you or your lucky foot either.” She remembered her father had been somewhat superstitious and told her once, “The only rabbit’s foot that’s any good for luck is the right rear foot. The rest of them are nothing. But you take a right rear—why, you got something there, Punkin.”

  She passed the corral, and at once Blackie trotted up, hanging his head over the fence. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out an apple. She cut it into quarters with the large pocket knife she always carried and fed him one of them. “Don’t eat so fast you’ll ruin your digestion,” she said. She rubbed the silky nose of the gelding and fed him the other quarters. Blackie had become almost as necessary to her as air or food or water. She had always loved the horse, but now that she was alone, she spent more time than ever grooming him and riding him through the second-growth timber that flanked the farm.

  “That’s all you get. If you’re a good boy, I’ll bring you another one later.”

  She picked up the milk pail and walked to the house. In the kitchen, she transferred the milk to a gallon jar and looked to see how much butter they had. There was very little. “I’ll have to churn, I guess.” She got the crock out, added the thick fresh milk, pulled up a chair, and began churning. The regular motion seemed to calm her nerves, but from time to time her eyes would go to the hall that led to her mother’s room, and the sight always brought a feeling of sadness, grief, and loss.

  Suddenly, a small movement caught her eye, and she swiveled her head quickly and saw a mouse had come from somewhere and was eating on a fragment that had fallen to the floor. “What are you doing here? Mice are supposed to be outside the house,” she said and smiled, for the mouse propped to a sitting position, held the morsel of food in its tiny handlike paws, revolving it rapidly and taking tiny bites. The sight of the tiny creature pleased Joelle, for she loved all living things. Harper had gone on a rampage once trapping mice, and she remembered how grieved she had been at the mangled bodies he made her retrieve from the traps. She leaned forward and studied the underside of the mouse.

  “Why, you’re a nursing mother,” she said and then smiled. “How many little ones have you got? The house will be full of your crew, but I don’t care. I wish your family would all grow up to be nice, fat, plump mice, and I’ll leave some cheese out for you tonight. Nursing mothers have to watch their diet pretty carefully.”

  Finally the churning was done, and she put the butter into a mold, one she had seen her mother fill thousands of times. She turned it over and studied the geometric perfection in the beautifully wrought yellow mound. It gave her satisfaction to make small things like this. She stepped outside to the spring house. The air was cold, and she put the butter inside. When she came back in, she saw that Harper had returned. He was wearing a heavy coat, and his cheeks were flushed from the exercise.

  “I’ve been hunting,” he said. “I didn’t get nothing though.”

  Joelle nodded but didn’t answer. She started toward the bedroom door, but as he passed by, he reached out and caught her arm. “Ain’t you ever going to talk again?”

  “Don’t have anything to say, Harper.”

  “I don’t like it when you call me Harper,” he said. “I never have.” His eyes narrowed, and then he grinned, his thick lips twisting upward at the corners. “One of these days you’ll call me something a lot sweeter than Harper.” She didn’t answer. He was so strong that she knew she could not break away. “People die, Joelle. You just have to get used to it.”

  Suddenly Harper reached out and caught her in a bear hug. His strength was frightening, and all she could do was turn her head to one side so that his lips missed her mouth. “Let me go, Harper!” He was very strong, and she drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin. She was wearing sharp-toed boots, and the pain caused him to turn her loose.

  “Ow!” he cried. “You little vixen!”

  He advanced toward her, and Joelle backed away. Her eyes lit on the kitchen knife that lay on the table. She picked it up and said, “You stay away from me or I’ll cut you!”

  Harper was big, but he was quick. His hand shot out, and he grabbed her wrist. He wrenched the knife away from her and said, “I’m going to have you one way or another, Joelle. I promised your ma I’d marry you. She said that would be good.”

  “That’s a lie! She never said that!”

  “Sure she did. I’m telling you.”

  “I’ll never marry you!”

  He stared at her, and his eyes glowed like miniature furnaces with the lust that was always barely below the surface. “You’re going to be in my bed, Joelle, married or not. Better we marry, and that’s what we’ll do.”

  Joelle saw the determination in his gruff, blunt features. She twirled and ran out of the kitchen. He called out to her. “Make up your mind to it. I’m going to have you, Joelle!”

  * * *

  THE REVEREND EDWARD CAMPBELL sat at his desk, working on a sermon for Sunday. He wrote slowly with the Bible and a concordance on the desk before him. A small kitten on the desk was as white as the snow that had fallen lately, and she kept snatching at the pen as Campbell wrote.

  “You’re a pest, Charlotte. Go away.” He shoved the kitten, but she came back at him and threw herself on his hand. Campbell smiled, leaned back, and watched the kitten as she struggled to hold his fist. He loved animals, and for a time he watched her until a knock came at his door. He crossed the room that served as his study and as a Sunday school room during the Sunday morning church meeting.

  When he opened the door, he saw Joelle Mitchell. “Why, Joelle, come in.” He saw the strain on the young woman’s face and said, “Sit down over here. I made some coffee. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you, Pastor.” Joelle took her seat and clasped her hands together. They were not steady hands, Campbell saw, and as he took his seat, he thought he knew what the young woman was going to say. Her face was pale, and there was a twitch in her lip that revealed her unsteadiness. “I’ve got to talk to you, Pastor.”

  “Of course, Joelle. What’s the trouble?”

  “It’s—it’s my stepfather.” She tried to speak, but she turned her eyes away from his staring as she twisted her fingers. “He—he says he’s going to make me marry him. He can’t do that, can he?”

  “I don’t think so, Joelle. I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “He won’t listen to you.”

  For a moment Campbell sat there and then nodded. “You’re right, but I think he’ll listen to Judge Robertson. I’ll go talk to him about this. Tell me everything now, and then the judge and I will have a talk with Burl.”

  * * *

  “I DON’T THINK THIS is going to do much good, Preacher.”

  Judge Harlan Robertson was in his middle fifties. He was a short man and somewhat overweight. His hair was an iron-gray, and he had a pair of sharp gray eyes. He had been at his home when the minister had come by and explained the situation. Now as the two bumped on the wagon seat along the rough road that led to Joelle’s home, the judge shook his head. “He’s the legal guardian of the girl. No getting around that.”

  “There’s some getting around his forcing her to marry him, I hope.”

  “He can’t force her to do anything. This is a free country.”

  “I wish you’d seen her, Judge. She’s scared to death. She told me that Harper said he would have her in his bed with or without marriage.”

  “That can get a man hanged in this country.”

 
“How are you going to prove it? It’ll be her word against his.”

  “I guess you’re right.” The judge stirred in his seat as they approached the house. “We’ll have to make it pretty strong, Brother Campbell. Burl’s a tough nut.”

  “Make it strong as you can, Judge. I’m worried about that girl.”

  Campbell pulled the buggy in front of the house and tied the horse to the hitching rail. The two men started toward the door. Campbell knocked, and almost at once Burl Harper came out. He stared at the two men silently, but there was a smoldering anger in his eyes. “What do you two want?”

  “We’re going to talk to you, Harper,” Judge Robertson said, his voice soft but with a hint of steel underneath. “We can do it here, or I can have the sheriff bring you in. It’s your choice.”

  “I ain’t done nothing. You can’t arrest me.”

  “I guess it’ll have to be the sheriff then. Come on, Preacher.”

  “Wait a minute,” Harper said. He knew the judge was a hard man, and having stood before him more than once on charges of drunkenness, he said, “Come on in, but I don’t know what you want with me.”

  The men went inside, and Harper turned and stood in the middle of the floor. “What is it?” he grunted in his surly voice.

  “We’re here about Joelle,” Campbell said. “She came to me with some complaints about the way you’ve spoken to her and the way you acted.”

  “I haven’t touched that girl. She never could tell the truth.”

  “That’s not so,” Campbell said. “She’s a good girl.”

  “What’d she say about me?”

  Harlan Robertson said, “You told her she was going to have to marry you.”

  “She needs to get married. A man and a young woman can’t live here alone. You know that.”

  “She’s not going to marry you,” Campbell said firmly. “You can rest on that.”

  “You ain’t her kin, Preacher. None of your business.”