Joelle's Secret

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I reckon that’s sufficient. You showed him where the bear sat in the buckwheat.” Chad looked at Sid who was crawling out of the fire, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth a wreck. “He’s had enough. It would have been easier to shoot him, Owen.”

  “I will the next time.”

  Owen turned and said, “I won’t have this man in the train, Riker.”

  Lyman stared at him, speechless. He was accustomed to having his own way, and now the situation was out of his control. “He’s hurt too bad to leave.”

  “He’s your responsibility. If he gives anymore trouble, I’ll shoot him first and then maybe you second.”

  Lyman swallowed hard and said, “Edith, come and help me.”

  “Take care of him. He’s your son. You take one wagon and put him in it. I’ll take care of Artie. You never gave this boy a kind word. Now you’ve got those two you’re so proud of, beat-up. I hope you enjoy them.”

  She turned to Artie and said, “Come on, Son. You need to lie down.”

  Chad watched them leave, then placed his hand on Joelle’s shoulder. “You all right, are you, girl? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No, but he would have if Artie hadn’t come.”

  “He’s a good boy. Not like the others. We’ll take care of him.”

  Joelle looked up at the big man. “Thank you, Chad. I was pretty scared.”

  “Well, don’t be anymore. You won’t hear anymore out of Sid Riker.”

  “Well, you need some cleaning up too,” Logan Temple told Owen.

  “I’m all right,” Owen said. His voice seemed hollow. He was beginning to feel the hurts. He looked at his hand and saw the skin was split on his knuckles. He didn’t know when he had done that. He allowed himself to be led back to his wagon where Jump waited. “You ought to have killed him, Owen.”

  Temple worked on Owen for a while, and finally he said, “Well, you’re going to be pretty sore for a few days. Not as sore as Sid is. The man’s a beast.”

  Owen leaned back against the side of the wagon and tried to smile, but it hurt. “You all right, Joelle? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. Thanks for what you did.”

  “Had to be done.”

  “You don’t believe what he said about me, do you?”

  “No, I know you better than that.” Suddenly he reached out and ran his hand over her hair, the first time he had ever touched her in this way. “My life sure has been complicated since you saved me.”

  Very much aware of the pressure of his hand on her head, she gave an embarrassed laugh. She said, “I’ll fix you some stew.”

  As she turned away, Harry Jump grinned and said, “Well, you done the necessary, Owen. If he had hurt that girl, I would have killed him myself. She’s some punkins, ain’t she?”

  Owen was watching Joelle as she began to fix a simple meal. “Yep, I think she is, Harry.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “MA, CAN I ASK you a question?”

  Edith Riker looked up from the shirt she was patching and studied Artie’s face. His face still showed signs of the beating he had taken from Sid. “I don’t know, Artie.” She smiled at him. “It depends on what you want to know. A woman’s got to have some secrets, you know.”

  Artie blinked with surprise. “I guess she does,” he said. He had taken his hat off, and the midafternoon sun lighted his fair hair and highlighted his lean face. She had always liked his gentleness and sensitivity and often wished she had known his mother. “Go ahead and ask your question.”

  Artie cleared his throat, hesitated, and then blurted out, “Why did you ever marry Pa?”

  The question troubled Edith Riker, for she herself had sought an answer for that ever since her marriage. She was a forthright, honest woman, and now she ran her hand over her light brown hair and said, “I don’t have a good answer for that. Mainly, I guess, I needed a home, and your father needed a wife—er, thought he did. Why are you asking, Artie?”

  “I don’t know, Ma. It just seems like you don’t—” He broke off his words and looked at the ground where he was digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. “Are you ever going to go back to him, do you think?”

  No one else had asked this question, but everyone on the train was aware that Edith Riker and her husband were no longer sharing the wagon with which they’d started the journey. Edith had taken another wagon. She made no attempt to cook or clean for Lyman. She had expected that he would blow up, but he merely glared at her. Now she saw that the situation troubled Artie.

  “Don’t worry about it, Artie. I’ll make out. People make mistakes sometimes, but this is one I can remedy.” She wanted to get his mind off the problem and asked, “What are you going to do in California?”

  The question seemed to enliven his features. He looked up, and his eyes were bright. “I’m going to get some money and buy a farm.”

  “Where do you plan to get all this money?” Edith smiled.

  “Dig for gold, I reckon. What are you going to do, Ma?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I can hire out as a cook maybe.”

  “I’d hate to see you do that,” Artie said. “I’ll tell you what. Maybe you and I can get some money together. We could buy a place.”

  Edith laughed. “You don’t need me, Artie. You need a strong young woman for a wife. Somebody to give you a family.” She knew that Artie longed for a family. He had never been accepted by his father or his brothers, and for this reason he had drawn closer to Edith after she married Lyman. He glanced across the circle of wagons toward the Pickett wagon, and Edith could read his mind. “That Jennie Pickett would

  make a nice wife.”

  Artie’s eyes widened. “I think she likes me.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t she like a fine, good-looking young man like you? She’s got lots of sense, that girl has.”

  Artie started to answer but saw his father approaching. He straightened up and his smile disappeared. He nodded at his father and left hurriedly. Lyman watched him go but paused in front of Edith. She knew him well and was aware that he had made up his mind about something. At first she had admired his determination, for she had a great deal of this characteristic herself, but Lyman’s determination had gone the wrong way. He had become stubborn and impatient with anyone who disagreed with him. Now she said briefly, “Hello, Lyman.”

  “Edith,” Lyman said forcefully, “I want to know when you’re coming back. You’ve got to stop this foolishness.”

  “I’m not ever coming back.”

  Riker’s face flushed as it always did when his will was thwarted. “I’m your husband!” he said loudly.

  “You were. The biggest mistake I ever made,” Edith said quietly. She looked him full in the eyes and said, “Find yourself another woman.”

  “You can’t make it without me.”

  “I don’t need anything, Lyman.”

  “You think you’re fooling me? You’re carrying on with that doctor. That’s what you’re doing.”

  “You’re wrong about that. Logan Temple’s a fine man. He wouldn’t have anything to do with taking another man’s wife.”

  “Everybody knows he’s crazy about you, and I think you’ve fallen for him and his fancy education.”

  Edith said nothing for a moment. “You’re a little man, Lyman Riker. I should have seen it before, but now I do. Leave me alone, and if either one of your boys ever touches Artie again, I’ll shoot him myself.”

  Riker threw his head back, and for one moment Edith thought that he was going to strike her, but with a curse he turned and walked away, his back stiff. “Good riddance,” Edith murmured. “I’ll be glad when this trip is over, and I won’t have to look at him.”

  * * *

  OWEN HAD SEEN THE line of wagons at a distance and had spurred Captain forward. The big horse loved to run, and Owen soon caught up with the end of the train. He passed by, counting them—fourteen wagons. Not a very big train making this journey. As he pulled up toward the first wagon, a tall, lanky
man turned his horse and came to greet him. He had a lined, weather-beaten face and could have been anywhere from forty to seventy years old. His big hands held the reins loosely, and his light blue eyes were fixed steadily on Owen. “Howdy,” he said. “What are you doing way out here?”

  “I’m Owen Majors, leading a train through. We’re about ten miles behind you.”

  “I’m Micah Jukes. You know the trail?”

  “No, I don’t. Never been over it before. Gone on through to other places.”

  “Well, there’s water up ahead. Some good springs and a little creek, but there’s a big dry spell that lasts maybe two or three days.” Jukes hesitated then added, “We’re going to pull up and water the stock good and fill up all the barrels. Might

  be a good idea for you to do the same, Majors.”

  “Wouldn’t put you out?”

  “Not a bit of it. Be glad for the company.” A thought occurred to him, and he said, “Maybe we’ll have a little celebration. You got any music makers in your train?”

  “Some pretty good ones, but I have to warn you, we’ve got gamblers too. If I were you, I’d warn your people to stay clear of that if they want to hang on to what they’ve got.”

  Jukes grinned slyly. “I’ll do that, but I’m pretty handy with cards myself. Maybe I’ll play a few hands.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  “I’ll do that. You go tell your folks to come right on in. We’ll be at those springs in about two hours.”

  Owen turned his horse and rode back toward the train. He found Ralph Ogden in front, as usual, and told Ralph about the train ahead of them. “Seemed like a nice fellow, that wagon master. He says we need to water our stock good and fill up all the barrels.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Be good to have somebody along who knows the way.”

  “He wants to have some kind of a celebration tonight.”

  Ogden took off his hat and scratched his head. “I reckon it’d be all right since we are going in the same direction. I’ll tell our folks.”

  * * *

  HARRY HAD SHAVED CAREFULLY and was now combing his hair. He was looking in the small mirror, and Joelle said, “You sure admire yourself, don’t you, Harry?” She was still wearing her oversized men’s clothing.

  Jump stared at his reflection and said, “I am a good-looking fellow. No question about it.”

  Joelle laughed. “And humble too.”

  “Well, humble is when you got to be, but when you’re a good man like me you don’t have to fool around with that. Come on. Let’s go to this party. I hear them starting the music up.”

  “No, I don’t want to go.”

  “You come on with me. You need to join up.”

  “I’ll just wait here, Harry. I don’t have anything to wear at a frolic.”

  Harry stared at her and then shook his head. “You shut yourself off too much, Joelle. People would be friendly, but you’ve got to reach out to them.”

  Joelle knew that Harry was right, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Finally she said, “I’ll come over a little bit later.”

  She watched as Harry left, and for a time she watched the fires from the neighboring wagon train, which was in a circle five hundred yards from the Ogden train. She could hear the music on the night air. The stars glittered overhead, and the breeze was warm. She felt lonely, and for a time she thought about home, or what had been home. It seemed a hundred years since she had left, and her good memories were of her mother, but she also knew how close to danger she had been. Finally she looked up and saw Harry approaching. He had something in his hands, and he smiled.

  “I got something for you, Joelle.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a go-to-a-party dress.” He held it up. “You put this on and come on over to the party.”

  Joelle wanted to refuse, but her loneliness had become oppressive. She smiled. “All right, Harry, I’ll come.”

  “You hurry now. They got some mighty good pickers and singers over there.”

  He left, and Joelle moved away from the fire. She stepped out of her clothes and put on the dress—an emerald green. She looked down and gasped for it was much lower cut than any dress she had ever worn. “I’ll bet he got this dress from one of those dance hall girls—probably Cherry Valance!”

  It was a rather daring dress, and she had reservations. But finally loneliness got the best of her. She walked slowly toward the music, and as soon as she stepped into the circle, she saw Owen straighten up. At once he left where he was standing alone and approached her.

  “Hello, Owen,” she said.

  “Where’d you get that dress?” he asked abruptly.

  “I think it was one of Cherry’s. Harry brought it to me. I didn’t have anything to wear.”

  Owen shook his head. “You can’t come here wearing a dress like that.”

  “Why not?”

  Owen searched for a reply and couldn’t seem to find one. “I guess because I say so.”

  “You’re not my father, Owen.”

  “I know I’m not, but I’m well—I’m like a brother. I’m responsible for you, and that dress could give men the wrong kind of ideas.” Joelle knew exactly what he was talking about; she had felt the same fears while deciding whether or not to wear the dress.

  “Like what?” she said.

  “You know what.”

  “No, I don’t. Explain it to me, big brother.”

  “I’m not going to argue about it. You’re not wearing that dress.”

  If Owen had spoken more gently and had shown a different spirit, Joelle knew she would have surrendered at once, but his presumptuous words and his attitude that he had charge of everything to do with her grated on her.

  “I’m wearing the dress, and I’m dancing, and I’m going to have a good time!”

  Owen didn’t move for a moment. His eyes took her in, and he realized she was a girl with a great degree of vitality and imagination. He saw the hint of her will, or her pride, in the corners of her eyes and lips. For the first time, he saw her really as a young woman. The dress, at least, had accomplished that! Her fieriness made her lovely and brought out a rich, headlong quality of her spirit, usually hidden by a cool reserve. On the trail he had learned to know her pride and honesty, but now he also saw her physical beauty. And suddenly it woke in him the flames of hungers he didn’t want to acknowledge. She was a strong presence standing before him—like fragrance riding the night air or like a melody coming over a great distance. He was struck by the hint of her womanliness, so fresh, turbulent, and strong.

  “I don’t want you to wear it,” he said lamely, not forcefully as he had intended.

  “I’m wearing the dress, Owen, and that ought to be good enough for you.”

  Chad, across the way, was dancing with Cherry. “Hey, look at Joelle!” he exclaimed. “My land! Look at that dress!”

  “That’s my dress,” Cherry said at once.

  Chad grinned. “I bet it is. It looks as good on her as it did on you.” The dance ended, and he said, “I’m going to get me a dance with that young woman.”

  Joelle smiled when she saw him. She had always liked Chad Hardin. He had the rough good looks of a man of the outdoors. “My land, Joelle, if you ain’t the belle of the ball. You look splendiferous. Come on. Let’s dance!”

  “I don’t feel like dancing.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I just had an argument with Owen.”

  “What about?”

  “He said I couldn’t wear this dress. He said it’s not fitting. He really meant it made me look like a dance hall woman.”

  “Oh, he’s just an old grump. Now, you take me, Joelle. I’m known all over the West for being good medicine for young women. Why, one dance with me, and you’ll be cut loose from all of old Owen’s sayings. Come on.”

  Joelle laughed and let him lead her to the dance. She was a good dancer, and he was equally good. She enjoyed the music and his bantering as the lights o
f flames lighted the rough contours of his face.

  * * *

  HARRY JUMP PULLED AT Rachel. “Come on, honey. It’s time for me and you to dance.”

  “I don’t remember how to dance, Mr. Jump.”

  “You can call me Uncle Harry if you want to. A young lady like you has got to learn how to dance, and I’m the best teacher in the world.”

  Rachel looked up and smiled. She liked Harry Jump immensely, for he spent a great deal of time with her, telling her tales of sidewinders and adventures she knew weren’t true. He guided her around, and when the dance was over, he stepped back and said, “You look plum pretty. Come on now. I’m going to dance with your mama.”

  “She won’t dance, Uncle Harry.”

  “She will tonight.” Facing Lily, Jump said, “That daughter of yours is a real dancer. I’ll bet her mama wants to dance too. Come on. Let’s try it out.”

  Lily had watched with pleasure as Jump danced with Rachel, and when he asked her dance, she remembered how she’d danced with him once before. “I’d like that, Harry.”

  As they danced, she could almost feel the music though she couldn’t hear it. Finally the dance ended, and she would have rejoined the spectators, but Harry said, “Now they’re playing some of that slow dancing music.” He moved closer and put his arm behind her and held her left hand. He swayed with the music.

  “What are they playing?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s a sad song called ‘Lorena.’ About a sad woman. I don’t like them sad songs. They always make me cry. This one does.”

  “What are the words, Harry?”

  Harry had a poetic streak that he kept carefully concealed. He quoted some of the words to her, and when she listened to the sad tale, he saw, with shock and amazement, tears in her eyes. “Why, it’s just a song, Lily.”

  “I know, but it’s sad.”

  Harry didn’t speak for a time, but the two moved together. He was aware of her in a way that was strange for him. The fragrance of her clothes came powerfully to him, and he felt the swing of her body, and the soft fragrance slid through the armor of his self-sufficiency. He admired her as a full woman and felt the sensations a man feels when he looks upon beauty and desires it. Jump had known women before, but Lily was different. She seemed to color the air when he was around her. She put something into it, something like a charge of electricity. She had, he knew, strength and dignity, and her femininity touched his senses. It seemed to turn his past barren and made him a hungry man now. He suddenly expressed what he had meant to say for some time.