Joelle's Secret

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Some of my business though. If you force that girl, I’ll see you hanged for it.” Robertson’s voice was almost pleasant, but there was a steely glint in his eyes. “I’ve hanged men for rape before.”

  “I ain’t touched that girl.”

  “But you’ve threatened to. She told us that much.”

  The judge did most of the talking. He never took his eyes off Burl Harper’s face, and finally he said, “I’ve told you what’s going to happen. If you want to dangle on the end of a rope, you just try me on this. You touch that girl, I’ll see you hanged, Harper.”

  The two men left, and Burl watched them with a baleful light in his eyes. He left the house and went to the stable where Joelle was grooming Blackie. “So you had to go spill everything to that preacher.”

  Joelle turned to face him at once. “Yes, I did, and he said he was going to bring the judge and tell what they’d do to you if you don’t leave me alone.”

  Suddenly he laughed. “There’d have to be a witness to that. You and I are here all alone. You thought you’d outsmart me, didn’t you?” Anger flared in his eyes. “Well, you didn’t. You make up your mind at this, girl. I’m going to have you. If you don’t marry me, I’ll have you anyway.” She turned her back on him and stiffened, for she would not put it past him if he attacked her right then. He didn’t speak again, however, and she leaned over and put her head against Blackie’s glossy hide. Her legs felt weak.

  “What am I going to do, Blackie? What am I going to do?”

  * * *

  HARPER HAD GONE TO town, and Joelle could not get away from his words and knew that he had enough evil in him to do exactly what he said. She paced the house, tried to pray, and finally went into the main room. Over the front door was a shotgun she had often used for hunting rabbits. She pulled it down and took two shells from the drawer of the table beside the wall. She placed the shells inside and clicked the barrel into place. Then she went into her room and placed the shotgun beside the door. She studied the door for a time. I’ve got to lock that door, she thought.

  She went to the barn and soon found a hasp but no lock. Going back into the house, she fastened the hasp on the inside of her door, then she took a railroad spike that had been a souvenir of her father’s and tried it. It made a snug fit. She removed it and felt somewhat better. He can’t get at me through that door, and if he does, I’ll shoot him. She didn’t know whether she could shoot a man or not, but she knew she would have to do something.

  She spent most of what was left of the day outside and took a short ride on Blackie. Afterward she went into the house and fixed a supper of eggs, fried ham, and biscuits left over from breakfast. She went to her room. It was not late, but she felt safer after she had fastened the hasp. She took her mother’s Bible and began to read. A frightening thought came to her: I feel like I’m on a desert island with nothing here to help me or to love me—and a savage is out there waiting to get at me.

  She picked up the book Miss Harrelson, her teacher at the school, had given her and began to read. It was Shakespeare’s play As You Like It, and she had liked it so much she’d read it repeatedly. The plot amused her, a story of Rosalind, a young woman who had to flee her wicked uncle. She had dressed herself as a young man, and in this disguise, had met a young man, who thought she was a boy. Then Rosalind offered to help the young man learn how to win a woman’s love—so she (a girl pretending to be a boy) became a girl pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl! It was foolish and utterly unreasonable, but as Joelle read, for a time she was able to get her mind off her problems.

  Finally she put the book aside and began to get ready for bed. She put on her warm flannel nightgown and got into bed. She tried to turn her mind from what might happen and thought of her mother’s dream, but Joelle couldn’t believe that anyone would come to help her. Her mother had been an imaginative woman, as she was herself, but she had never heard of dreams having much meaning. Hers never seemed to. She left the lamp burning for a time and read a chapter of the Bible, but she didn’t grow sleepy.

  Finally she heard a horse approach, and she stiffened. She lay there frightened and heard the front door close. She waited and heard the heavy tread of Burl Harper coming down the hall. “Let him go by this room,” she prayed in a thin whisper.

  But that didn’t happen. She heard the steps pause outside her door, and then she heard Burl Harper say, “You awake in there?”

  Joelle threw the cover back. She got the shotgun and backed away from the door. “Go away, Harper. Leave me alone.”

  She heard him try the door, and he cursed. “You think you’ll lock me out? You think a door will stop me?” She heard a crash, and the door sprang back, the hasp ripped out. Burl stepped inside. His face was flushed with drink, and his speech was slurred. “You can’t lock me out. Ain’t no door will stop me.” He took one step toward her and then stopped. “Put that gun down, girl.”

  “Get out of here, Harper. I’ll shoot you. I swear I will.”

  Harper wanted to advance, but the shotgun was steady and pointed right at his chest. He knew the damage a 12-gauge shotgun could do. He had seen it.

  “Get out of here!”

  Harper laughed harshly. “You can’t have that shotgun all the time. That’s OK though. I like spirit in a woman. Be like breaking a horse.” He laughed crudely and said something profane, then turned and moved unsteadily out the door. Joelle shut the door at once. The hasp was broken, and she knew she would stay up all night, or at least until he went to sleep. She sat down in a chair and saw that her hands were shaking.

  “You can’t let him do this to you, Joelle Mitchell,” she whispered. “You know you’ve got to be strong, so stop whimpering and stop shaking.” She watched the door and was listening as she heard Harper thumping around in his room. Something tipped over and made a crash, and she heard him curse. Finally all grew quiet, and Joelle Mitchell sat alone in a house that she had learned to fear and dread.

  Chapter Three

  THE OIL LAMP CAST an amber corona of light over the bedroom, and silence possessed the house, which was ominous and frightening. Joelle was standing at the window, looking out into the darkness while still holding the shotgun, which was still loaded. A sudden shadow outside caused her to react, and straining her eyes she saw a large owl float by noiselessly. It disappeared, and Joelle turned away from the window and looked at the door. With the hasp broken there was nothing to keep Harper from coming in.

  I can’t stay awake forever. The thought came to Joelle quickly, and she gripped the barrel of the shotgun tighter. Finally she walked over to the door, lifted the shotgun, holding it in the crook of her arm, and put her finger on the trigger. Opening the door slowly so that it didn’t creak, she stepped out into the hall. She wore heavy woolen socks and moved like a wraith down the hall until she stood before the bedroom where Harper slept. She put her ear close to the door and heard heavy snoring.

  Relief rushed through her. He always passed out after drinking, and turning quickly, she moved back down the hall.

  As soon as she entered her bedroom and shut the door, she moved to the table and leaned the shotgun against it.

  Sitting down in the rocker, she picked up the Bible. It fell open almost by itself, and she saw that her mother had put a marker and drawn a line beside the third psalm, or part of it. Something was written faintly in the margin, and she leaned forward and held the Bible up to the light. It was dated two days before her mother had died, and beneath the date was written in a spidery handwriting, “For Joelle.”

  Tears rose to Joelle’s eyes, and she allowed them to run down her cheeks. Life had not been pleasant for her since her father had died, but her mother had always been there. Now she was gone, and the sense of isolation and loneliness seemed to envelop her like a sable cloak of sinister darkness.

  She whispered as she read out loud, “Psalm 3. A Psalm of David when he fled from Absalom his son.” Joelle knew that story well, and the pastor had preached on i
t only a few weeks ago. She remembered his stressing how David had loved everything he had, including his son who had turned on him and was trying to kill him. She began to read, whispering the words in a faint voice: “Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! Many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, there is no help for him in God.”

  The next verses, 3 and 4, were underlined, and she read them slowly: “But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill.”

  For a moment she sat there, and then she remembered that Brother Campbell had read verse 5 and said, “Here is a man who had lost everything. He was running in fear for his life from his beloved son Absalom. His whole life had collapsed about his head, and now he who had been king of Israel and had it all had nothing. And what did he do? As we just read, he cried unto the Lord. And then what? You read verses 5 and 6, ‘I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid.”

  Suddenly, from a source that had to be God, Joelle Mitchell felt a sense of peace and security. “I will not be afraid,” she read again, and as she read it, she suddenly knew that God was in the room. She read through that verse again and again, and as she read it, something began to form in her mind: David had fled, but the Lord sustained him. I have to leave here—and I have to believe that God will take care of me.

  The thought came almost as clearly as if it were printed in heavy black type against a luminescent white background.

  “I have to leave here!”

  She spoke the words aloud, and for the first time since her mother’s death a sense of rightness of direction and of decision came to her. She read the entire psalm again, then closed the Bible and put it down. “Ma, you told me to go stay with Aunt Rita in Fort Smith,” she whispered, “and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  With the decision formed in her mind, Joelle rose and for a moment was thankful that Harper was in a drunken state. She dressed quickly in a divided riding skirt she had made for herself and her high-heeled boots. She put on a woolen shirt and then a fingertip-length coat that she had bought earlier in the winter.

  She knew she was going to take Blackie, so she moved into the living room. She lit the lamp on the table, and going to the desk that contained all the papers, she searched through them until she found the bill of sale. When her father had bought Blackie as a foal, he had named her as the owner, and she had been so proud!

  There was a great deal of money in the box with the papers, and she stared at it for a moment. Then without hesitation she closed the box and put it back in the desk. Picking up the lamp, she went down the hall to the stairs. She knew that the fourth step that led to the attic always squeaked so she skipped it. Going into the attic, she retrieved the hidden box, put the bottom drawer back, and went downstairs. She knew she could not take a suitcase so she retrieved a canvas bag she used from time to time to carry supplies on long hunting trips. It had a drawstring, and she packed one dress, underclothes, and a few other things.

  A thought came to her. She returned to the living room, opened the desk again, and stared at the chrome-plated .38 with a beautifully designed ivory handle that had been her father’s. She picked it up along with a box of cartridges. Going back to her room, she put the gun in the sack, then her mother’s Bible.

  She carried the lamp into the kitchen and set it on the table. She selected what food she could carry, mostly canned goods, but also a large portion of smoked bacon. She added a frying pan, saucepan, tin plate, sharp knife, fork, and spoon. She put in the coffee she had bought that day and closed the sack. She gave one quick look around the room, then without hesitation doused the light and moved toward the door.

  As she stepped outside, the cold bit at her face. At the corral she called softly, “Blackie.” Instantly the horse came to her. She opened the gate, and he followed her into the barn. She lit the lantern, saddled Blackie, packed what she could in the saddlebag, and hesitated for a moment. She filled a feed sack halfway with the grain Blackie would need. Balancing it over his back, she tied it down with the thongs attached to the saddle, doused the light, and then stepped into the saddle.

  “Come on, Blackie, we’re going.” The gelding immediately obeyed. Joelle Mitchell didn’t look back as she left the yard, though she knew full well she was saying good-bye to many things she had treasured.

  She guided the horse by the faint light of the crescent moon overhead. Looking up, she could see that the stars were cold and brittle like frozen diamonds in the sky, but she paid no heed. She spoke to Blackie and touched him with her heels, and the big black horse broke into a fast walk. She touched him again, and Blackie broke into a gallop.

  Chapter Four

  OVERHEAD, BRILLIANT STARS WERE beginning to fade, and as Joelle looked over her shoulder, she saw a faint line of light on the eastern horizon. She had ridden at a fast pace since leaving the farm, and now she was beginning to feel the tension that had built up since making her decision. Five minutes later she ran across a small creek that had thin ice across the top. She moved off the road for thirty yards, stepped down, and then took out Blackie’s nose bag and fed him from the grain. She tied him on a long line and began to gather sticks. She made a small pyramid, and striking a match, she waited until a small flame was blazing, added more fuel, and took out her cooking utensils. She filled the coffeepot with water from the creek, added coffee, and put it on to boil.

  The air was cold, and she shivered from time to time, drawing her coat closer and pulling her hat down over her head. She didn’t want to think about the future, nor was the past something to dwell on, so she concentrated on frying bacon, and when it was crisp, she let it cool on the tin plate. The coffee was boiling so she poured herself a cupful, then sat down to eat.

  She chewed slowly, and the coffee seemed to warm her all the way to her bones. When she finished, she quickly cleaned her utensils and pulled the map out of the saddlebag. The light was stronger now, but she had to wait until the sun came through the trees and fell on the map.

  Blackie nudged her, and she removed the feed bag and smiled. “I hope you enjoyed your breakfast.” He whickered and nodded his head as if he understood. She went back to studying the map.

  “We’ve got to cross the Mississippi up in Memphis, Blackie, but I don’t know how to get to Fort Smith.” She searched on the map, but it wasn’t marked. She stared at the map, nodded, and spoke again to the gelding. “There’s got to be a railroad that goes from Little Rock to Fort Smith. I’ve always heard they were the biggest towns in Arkansas. I wonder if they take horses?”

  She pulled out her mother’s Bible. She read the Twenty-third Psalm aloud and nodded. “Blackie, that’s a good psalm.” She got to her feet, packed her gear, and then mounted. “We’ve got to cross the Mississippi River on a ferry at Memphis, and then we’ve got to get to Little Rock. I hope we can catch a train from there, boy.” She touched him with her heels, and he moved quickly back toward the road and broke into a gallop.

  * * *

  MEMPHIS WAS A HUGE place to Joelle. She had been there once before, but that had been years ago, and she had been only nine. Her father and mother had brought her, and she remembered they had gone to a circus. She remembered every detail—the clowns, the acrobats, and the elephants. Those memories had lived all of these years.

  But now the city seemed to have grown. She moved into town cautiously, half-afraid someone would call out to her, for she knew that Harper would not give up. He would find a way to try to get her back.

  Finally she asked an old man hobbling on crutches where the ferry was. He had looked at her with sharp black eyes. “Right down there, girlie. You gonna cross the river?”

  “I guess so.” She hurried away quickly, not wanting to get into a conversation. The old man’s vague direction proved to be accurate. She came upon the Mississippi River and was awed at the width of it. It nearly took her breath
away. Steamboats were coming and going, the smoke from their stacks rising in tall columns into the sky. As she approached, she heard the cries of men. To her left was a vessel with Lady Belle painted on the side. It was an ornate steamboat that carried passengers. She ignored that and moved down the line until finally she found a man wearing what looked like a captain’s hat.

  “Excuse me, sir. How can I get across the river?”

  “If you got fifty cents, you get on that boat right there. Give it to that fellow wearing the tall hat.”

  Following his instructions, Joelle paid her fifty cents and led Blackie onto the deck. It was a side-wheeler, and they had to wait for two hours, but finally the engines began to roar, and the wheel began to turn. She stood beside Blackie, holding him. His eyes were wide as the boat trembled beneath his hooves. Finally the ferry landed, and she got off. The man who opened the gate looked at her, and she asked, “Do you know how far it is to Fort Smith?”

  “Fort Smith? Why, that’s a long way. You’re in the eastern part of Arkansas. Fort Smith is way out there to the west. Roads are pretty bad. Besides, a woman don’t need to be traveling through there. Some folks can be dangerous.”

  “Well, how would you get there?”

  “Was I you, I’d go to Little Rock. It’s near about a hundred miles or so. The road ain’t too bad, and there’s a railroad that goes from Little Rock right into Fort Smith.” He cocked his head to one side and said, “Ain’t you got a pa or a husband maybe?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then you be careful, missy. Lots of bad folks around, especially around Fort Smith.”

  “Thank you.” Joelle swung into the saddle and rode Blackie off the ramp, and soon found the road that led to Little Rock. She rode until dark, stopping at noon to rest and to eat from her sparse supplies—more bacon, biscuits, and peaches from a can. As it grew dark, she pulled up beside a house that was off the road about a hundred yards. It looked run-down, but when she called out, a woman came out on the porch.