Joelle's Secret

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I’m looking for a place to stay the night. I can pay.”

  “You can stay the night. Put your horse in the barn.”

  “Thank you.” Joelle led Blackie into the barn, fed him, and went into the house.

  “You et yet?” the woman asked. She was a tall, raw-boned woman with worn features and weary eyes.

  “Not yet.”

  “I just made some venison stew. It ain’t bad. I got some fresh bread.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “I’m Elmus Jeeter.”

  “I’m Jo Ann Jones.” Joelle made up a name quickly and then at Mrs. Jeeter’s bidding sat down at the table. “This is good stew,” she said as she ate hungrily and accepted another bowl.

  “Where you bound for, missy?”

  “Oh, I’m going to Little Rock.”

  “You got family there?”

  “No, not there. I’ll be going farther on. What are the roads like?”

  “Well, they been snowed-under, but that’s mostly melted. Bad time to be on the roads.”

  Joelle ate the stew and then a big wedge of apple pie and washed it down with coffee. She made her excuses and went to the bedroom that Mrs. Jeeter showed her. She had not brought a nightgown so she took off her outer clothes and shivered under the blanket but went to sleep almost at once.

  * * *

  JOELLE WOKE UP THE next day feeling rested but still nervous. When she went downstairs, Mrs. Jeeter said, “I got ham and some eggs. Day before Christmas. Not much of a Christmas meal.”

  “It smells so good.” Joelle ate the breakfast, paid the woman, and asked, “What’s the next town?”

  “Forrest City. Ain’t much of a town though.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jeeter.”

  Joelle saddled Blackie, mounted, and left. She rode all that day, passing through Forrest City, and late that night she found a vacant barn. She wanted to see as few people as possible so if Harper put out word on her, nobody would remember her. She made a fire inside the old barn. The house itself had burned down, leaving only a chimney standing, pointing like a skinny finger at the sky. She was getting low on supplies, but she ate what she had and wrapped herself in her blanket. She lay awake for a long time and thought, Tomorrow’s Christmas.

  As usual, when she thought of Christmas, she thought of her father who took such a delight in the holiday when she was growing up. She remembered stringing red berries with a needle and thread for decoration. The thought of her father made her sad, and then the loss of her mother came home to her, and she resolutely turned over and forced herself to sleep.

  She rose at dawn and passed through several very small towns consisting mostly of a few stores and scattered houses. The road was firm, and she rode all day. She slept in another abandoned barn. Blackie’s food was gone, and Joelle knew she would have to stop and buy supplies.

  The next day she passed through a few more small towns but got into Little Rock late at night. She didn’t know what to do, but finally she found a livery stable and had a young boy take Blackie, saying, “Grain him and rub him down, will you?”

  “Sure will, ma’am. You staying long?”

  “No, I’ll be pulling out in the morning. Do you know if there’s a train that leaves here for Fort Smith?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Leaves every morning at 8:33.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Need a place to stay? There’s a boardinghouse right across the street.”

  “Guess I’ll look into that.” She moved across the wide street and soon rented a room for the night from a very fat woman who said, “We got grub if you got a dollar.”

  “That would be nice.”

  She ate greasy pork chops and boiled potatoes for supper and went to bed. She dreamed that night of her mother and then of her father, so her night was restless.

  The next morning she got up and didn’t want anymore cooking at the boardinghouse. It was only six o’clock, and the train would not leave until 8:33 so she found a café and had breakfast there. Afterward she walked down the street and passed by an office where two men were talking. One of them said, “Boy, that’d be easy money, wouldn’t it?”

  The other man, a tall, thin individual wearing a plaid mackinaw, said, “Yeah, five hundred dollars. Think what we’d do with that, George!”

  “Read that to me again.”

  Evidently the smaller man could not read, for the other said, “Joelle Lynn Mitchell, age sixteen. Auburn hair, blue eyes. Probably riding a black gelding. Wanted for grand larceny. Reward five hundred dollars. Contact Burl Harper, in care of sheriff’s office River Bend, Tennessee.”

  Joelle froze, then hurried away. The two men were still talking about the reward. “We better keep our eyes peeled for her. I’d purely love to have that money!”

  Joelle returned at once to the stable, and the boy was gone. She sat down on a box, and her mind whirled. I’ll get caught, she thought. Sure as the world, somebody will see me. I’ll have to do something. He’ll have a poster at every town along the way.

  She sat there for a long time, confused and frightened. Then she began to pack and took out her mother’s Bible. As she did, the copy of Shakespeare’s play As You Like It was there. She held the book tightly and tried to think, but her mind was nearly paralyzed. She looked down at the book, and suddenly the story leaped into her mind. Rosalind disguised herself as a man! I could do that. If I were a man, nobody would notice me!

  Joelle had a quick mind and a fertile imagination. She began to think at once how it could be done, and her idea fell into place. She went to the general store. The clerk, a fat man with several cuts on his face, where he had recently shaved rather unskillfully, was grumpy. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to get some clothes for a young fellow. Just working clothes.”

  “There they are, right over there.”

  Quickly she found a pair of overalls too large for her, a pair of wool pants, also too big, and two shirts. Everything she picked was oversized. She also bought a fingertip-length mackinaw that looked warm. She found a wide-brimmed rather shapeless hat. She tried it on and cast a glance at the clerk who was reading a newspaper and paying no attention to her. The hat was for a small man evidently, but its broad, floppy brim would come down over her face. She bought two pairs of underwear, making sure that the tops were too small. Gathering the things together, she went back to the counter, and the man added up the cost. “That’ll be twelve dollars and sixteen cents.”

  She paid the man and asked, “Do you have a sack I could put all this in?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Oh, do you have a pair of scissors?”

  “Right over there in the hardware section.”

  Joelle picked out a pair of inexpensive scissors. He added, “That’ll be another fifteen cents.”

  Joelle paid the man, took the sack, and left. She went at once back to pick up Blackie. The young boy was there, and he said, “You want me to saddle your horse?”

  “Oh, I can do that. Here, how much do I owe you?”

  He named a price, and she gave him a coin, then she said, “I’ve got to wait for a little while.”

  “Well, I got to leave. I’ll be gone for about two hours. Make yourself at home.”

  Joelle watched the boy go and went into the back section. The stable was deserted, and she laid out the clothes and then took the scissors. She sheared her hair, cutting it roughly. Her heart was grieved, for her hair, she had always thought, was her best feature. Then she stepped out of her dress and riding skirt and put on the trousers she had bought. She put on the tight knit underwear, which flattened her upper body somewhat, one of the shirts, and finally the coat. She pulled the hat down over her eyes. She felt suddenly like a fool. “This will never work,” she muttered, “but I’ve got to try it.” She packed her things quickly, including the dress and the riding skirt, saddled Blackie, and moved out.

  She rode directly down the middle of the street until she found the railroad t
racks, and there to her left was the station. She approached and noticed a man standing at the corral, looking at a group of horses inside. She had been worried about how to get Blackie to Fort Smith. She pulled over and said, “Howdy.”

  “Hello, bub.” The man, tall, lean, and tan, was probably in his late fifties. “That’s a nice-looking horse you got there.”

  “Thanks, he’s a good one.”

  “I’m taking this bunch to Fort Smith.”

  “That’s where I want to go. I didn’t know how to take my horse though.”

  The man suddenly laughed. “They’ll skin you alive. It’s scandalous the prices they charge for me to move these horses to Fort Smith.”

  “Well, I don’t have a lot of money.”

  “Tell you what, bub. What’s your name by the way?”

  Joelle had a sudden thought. If I call myself “Jo,” people will think it’s “Joe,” and I’ll be hearing a name some have always called me.

  “Joe Jones,” she said.

  “I’m Al Tompkins. Tell you what, Joe, why don’t you put him in with my horses there? I’ve got to load ’em myself. They’ll never count ’em. That way you won’t have to pay.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t be honest.”

  “It’s my business how many horses go in there. I paid for the car. I’ll put in as many as I want.”

  “Well, that’d be nice, Mr. Tompkins.”

  “They’ll be moving the stock car back in a minute. What you going up to Fort Smith for?”

  “I got some relatives there, Mr. Tompkins.”

  “A funny time to be traveling. A man ought to be home with his family at Christmas.”

  “I think that’s right too.”

  The two talked, and Joelle was thankful she had a deeper voice than most women and felt relief that she had passed herself off as a young man so easily. In her baggy clothes and the floppy hat, he couldn’t see much of her to be sure.

  Thirty minutes later a train shuttled the car in, and Tompkins said, “Come on. Get that gelding in there. You can unsaddle him when he’s loaded.”

  Joelle slipped off and put Blackie with the rest of the horses. He was nervous, but there was no time to worry about that. The two loaded the small herd into the car, and Tompkins slammed the door shut. “There’s the feed section down there. It’s walled off. If you want to, you can just stay there instead of paying their outrageous prices to ride this no-account railroad.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  “Not me. I’m going to ride in the passenger section, but a young fellow like you can rough it. Sleep on some of them feed sacks.”

  “I believe I’ll do that.”

  And that’s what Joelle did. As soon as Tompkins left, she unsaddled Blackie and put all the gear and her belongings into the feed room. Then she waited, anxious to get away from Little Rock. The whistle blew, and the train started with a jerk. The horses moved nervously. She went to Blackie. He put his head down, and she stroked his jaw.

  “It’s OK, boy,” she whispered. “We’re going to Fort Smith free of charge.”

  The train began to move and picked up speed slowly. Soon it was rolling over the rails with a clickety-clack sound. Joelle, who had never ridden on a train in her life, stared out at the landscape as it flowed by.

  Suddenly she was afraid. She realized she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was going to do. Her plan was to find her mother’s sister, Rita, but she didn’t know the woman. The future looked bleak indeed at the moment. She sat on some of the sacks of feed, and finally she grew sleepy. She made a bed, of sorts, on top of the sacks and curled up on top of them. The rhythm of the train wheels going over the rails with the regular clickety-clack lulled her to sleep, and her last thought was of the dream her mother had told her about. She had a moment to reflect as she went to sleep. She prayed, Lord, I wish You’d send that man Ma saw in her dream. Then she dropped off.

  Chapter Five

  “HEY! GET UP THERE, boy!”

  Joelle came awake instantly and swung out at the hand that held her by the shoulder. “What!” She found herself looking up into the face of Mr. Tompkins.

  “Well, you sure wake up mad, Joe.” Tompkins peered down at her with a crooked grin. “You must have been having a bad dream.”

  “Sorry,” Joelle said. “It scared me a little bit.”

  “Well, it would scare me, too, to get woke up out of a sound sleep, but we’re almost to Fort Smith. Thought you’d want to wake up. You can go in the passenger car and wash up if you want.”

  “No, I’ll just wait.”

  “You sleep pretty hard, don’t you?”

  “Not usually, but I was pretty tired.”

  Joelle dusted the straw from her clothing. She was still wearing the heavy, bulky mackinaw and the pants. She reached down for her hat, and Tompkins stared at her. “You need to find a new barber. That’s as sorry a haircut as I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, it was free.” She shrugged and gave him a smile. “I want to thank you for your help. I am a little short on money.”

  “I don’t mind gouging this railroad. They got plenty of my money. Say, you got folks here?”

  “An aunt.”

  “Well, you take care of yourself. That’s a mighty fine hoss you got there. Don’t guess you’d want to sell him.”

  “No, I guess I’ll hang on to him.”

  “Well, a good hoss is hard to find.”

  The train slowed, and as soon as it came to a screeching halt, Tompkins jerked open the doors. While he unloaded the other horses, Joelle saddled Blackie and led him outside. “Thanks a lot,” she said again.

  “Good luck to you, boy.”

  “And to you too.”

  Joelle led Blackie down the ramp, and he tossed his head up. “I bet you’re thirsty, boy.” She led him to a watering trough and let him drink noisily. “Guess we have to see if we can find out where my aunt is.”

  She moved down the street, taking in the sights. It was a rough town, rougher than River Bend. Every man, it seemed, wore at least one gun. Some carried rifles and a few carried shotguns. Indians were everywhere. She knew that west of Fort Smith was Indian Territory where the government penned up all the Indians. She stared at the Indians curiously for she had never seen one before. They look like a pretty sorry bunch, she thought. Maybe they look better when you get to their land.

  She walked down the main street, which was busy indeed. The air was cold, but the sun shone brightly, bringing warmth to the cold earth. She stopped and stared at a man who sat in front of a general store in a cane-bottomed chair. It was tilted back, and he was concentrating on peeling the finest shavings he could from a piece of cedar with a razor-keen knife.

  “Excuse me. Can you tell me where the post office is?”

  The man looked up and shrugged, staring at her. “Right down that street over on the other side.” He looked down the street and added, “Look at that. Got a wood boardwalk. Didn’t have none of that ten years ago. What we did have was thirty saloons. Was about the wildest place you’d be wantin’ to see.”

  Joelle stared at the rough-looking people. “Still looks pretty wild to me. Look how many men are carrying guns.”

  “They use ’em too. You watch yourself, young feller.”

  Joelle felt rested after sleeping most of the way from Little Rock, but she was anxious to find her aunt. Going into the post office, she waited until a couple mailed a package, paid, and then stepped aside.

  “Yes sir. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for a woman named Rita Johnson.”

  The mail clerk scratched his jaw. “Well, there was a Miz Johnson around here, but her husband died. She don’t live here no more.”

  “Do you have an address for her?”

  “Not that I know of. Of course, things are in a mess around here. I’ll look and see, not now though. Come back after while.”

  “Thank you.”

  She had little to do so she walked do
wn the street until she found a livery stable. “Got to find a place for both of us, Blackie,” she whispered slapping him on the neck. He made a blubbering sound with his lips, and she said, “I’ll bring you some apples. You be a good boy now.”

  She walked into the stable and found a middle-aged man arguing with a customer. The customer didn’t like the price, and the owner, a tall, bulky man with sharp eyes and a cavalry-type mustache, said, “If you don’t like it, get out of here and don’t bring your horse back anymore.”

  “Fine with me. It ain’t much of a stable anyhow.”

  The man left, leading his horse, and the owner turned. “You want to stable that horse?”

  “Yes, I do. He needs to be grained.”

  “A fine-looking animal. I’m Ben Phillips.”

  “I’m Joe Jones.”

  “Well, a good-looking animal. I’ll have to take care of him myself. I lost my stable hand here. How long you aiming to stay?”

  “Not sure, but I’ll pay whatever you charge.”

  “Well, that’s good news. People think I’m running a charitable institution here.”

  “I came looking for my aunt, Mrs. Rita Johnson.”

  “Oh yeah, I knew the Johnsons. The husband was a shoemaker. Died a couple of years ago. She married another fella. I’ve forgotten his name. Got a farm up in Canada. Don’t know exactly where.”

  The news was discouraging. Joelle left the stable and walked for an hour. She stopped beside a gallows where a couple of young boys were staring up.

  “You see that gallows?” one told the other. “I seen five men hanged at one time on that gallows right there.”

  “Aw, you didn’t neither.”

  “Yeah, I did. They was Mexican, so it didn’t matter much.”

  “Judge Parker, he’s a hard case, ain’t he?”

  “They call him the hanging judge. I’d hate for him to get his hands on me.”

  Joelle stared at the gallows and shook her head. She had heard stories about Fort Smith. Judge Isaac Parker was in charge of the Indian nations. He had a group of marshals who patrolled the Indian country. It was a dangerous and lonely job, she had heard.