A Woman Named Damaris

by Janette Oke

  The kitchen door closed softly behind her. She walked across the porch, watching for the board that always creaked, took the steps in rapid order, and turned toward the woods.

  She was on her way. She had made a choice and taken the first step on her own. She only wished with all of her heart that her mama was going with her.

  Her heart pounded with the enormity of her daring. She had no idea what lay before her, nor how she would ever make her way in the new, strange world she was facing. She braced her shoulders and lifted her chin. At least now she was free to make her own choices.

  Chapter Three

  Travel

  Damaris had only one thought—to put as many miles between herself and her farm home as quickly as she could. For that reason she walked briskly, not even stopping to test the waters of her beloved creek. She crossed on the fallen log thrown across for a walking bridge and hastened off on the other side, following the path that the milk cows had made on their way to the meadow beyond.

  Damaris did not head for the meadow. Instead, she deserted the traveled path and struck a line directly through the trees. She would hit the back road if she calculated right. It was lightly traveled and would lead her directly away from the small town where her pa was headed.

  The trees overhead formed some protection from the hot afternoon sun, and Damaris was thankful for the shade. But the day was stuffy-warm and it made her thirsty. She hated to drink so soon from her little bottle of precious well water. She had many miles to walk and didn’t know when she might be able to replenish her supply.

  In a short time she reached the rickety fence that marked off her pa’s land and climbed through it with no difficulty. She wondered why the cows kept to the confines of the property. They could have made their escape just as easily if they ever had a mind to.

  Damaris cast a cautious glance up and down the road before daring to show herself. Seeing no one, she carefully picked her way through the scrub brush and onto the dusty track.

  For a moment she stood looking up and down the road, making sure that her trip through the trees had not disorientated her. What a calamity it would be if she found herself at Mr. Maynard’s mercantile instead of in a town up the line.

  But Damaris was sure of herself and stepped out confidently in the opposite direction of the town.

  She would eventually need to get onto a more well-traveled road to find any kind of civilization. To find work she would need to be where there were people. But first she must put some distance between herself and the folks who knew her.

  All through the heat of the afternoon she walked as briskly as her tired legs allowed. The holes in her shoes, even though covered with the cardboard, were bothering her feet. Damaris didn’t know how much longer she would be able to carry on. Finally she stopped and slipped off the shoes, tied the laces together, and hung them over her shoulder. She was used to the feel of the hard-packed earth beneath her feet, and she reasoned that it would be more comfortable going barefoot than having the worn shoes slopping on her feet.

  But the broken track was not kind to Damaris’s feet, and it wasn’t long until she was limping.

  Still she must go on. She must. Her pa could easily ride that far and take her off home again. So she pressed forward, allowing herself a small sip now and then from her bottle of water.

  It was getting dark before Damaris realized she had gone about as far as she could for the first day. She was still on the simple track, but she had no idea how far she had traveled. She had seen very few farms, and the road itself seemed to be petering out. She wondered if she would soon come to an impassable swamp or some other obstacle.

  When she could hardly see, Damaris slowed her steps, and made her way toward the side of the road, looking about her to find some kind of shelter. She was thirsty, tired, and her feet felt as if they were on fire.

  She eased herself onto a stump by the roadside and drew out her bottle. Two wee sips were all she allowed her parched throat. Then she unwrapped the little store of bread and lifted out one piece. It wasn’t nearly enough to ease her hunger, but Damaris had left the table unsatisfied on more than one occasion so she was set to suffer a grumbling stomach now.

  Finding a large tree with a canopy of spreading branches, she pushed her way under it until she pressed close to the trunk. Then she put down her shawl-wrapped bundle for a pillow, tucked her worn blanket closely about her, and eased herself to the ground. Damaris kicked her burning feet free of the blanket and extended them into the cool of the evening air.

  She did not waste time lamenting. Did not even allow herself to wonder “What if…?” She would need all her energy for the ordeal ahead. She was weary and it was late and she had to be up in the morning with the rising of the sun. She pulled the blanket more closely about her shoulders and shut her eyes. It would be good to sleep. Perhaps her stomach would even cease its complaining once sleep claimed her.

  ———

  Damaris was up even before the sun made an appearance. She wanted a drink, but she decided to wait until she had traveled a good distance. The morning was cool, and she shivered as she bundled her things together and hoisted them to her shoulders. The warmth of the pack helped to ease the trembling of her body, and she struck off again.

  For the first few miles she wore her shoes. The sun now was up and the day was already growing hot. She sipped from her bottle and allowed herself another half slice of the dried bread. Then the track she had been traveling disappeared into the hardness of the unplowed ground. She crossed several dusty roadways, but Damaris still didn’t feel safe traveling on a proper road, so she angled across them, making her way farther and farther west.

  By noon she was weary, hungry, and thirsty, but the water in her small bottle was gone. Although she could see on the distant hills the smoke from farm chimneys, she had no intention of going near a place where she might be identified.

  Then a wondrous thing happened. Damaris saw a long stretch of raised ground she recognized as a railroad track—and it was heading in a westerly direction.

  Her heart beat faster. The tracks would eventually lead to a town. Damaris mounted the rise and allowed herself a few minutes of rest before heading toward the point where the rails touched the skyline.

  She hadn’t gone far when the tracks crossed a small creek. Damaris ran forward toward the cool water and the chance to quench her thirst. She drank from the stream, refilled her water bottle, and then bathed her burning feet.

  “I wonder if you are the same little crick that flows by our farm,” she spoke to the stream. It was the first time she had used her voice since yesterday and it sounded strange to her in the stillness.

  I s’pose not, she thought, but she did not speak again. She didn’t like the feeling of emptiness around her when she spoke into the shimmering heat of the day.

  As she soaked her feet she withdrew another half of a bread slice and ate it ever so slowly, drinking long and often between each bite. The water helped to ease the pain in her stomach as well as quench her thirst.

  At last she was ready to travel on. Her feet felt somewhat better and she slipped her shoes on once more. She would wear them for as long as she could endure. They offered her feet at least a little protection from the rough stones.

  Night was closing in around her before she stopped again. As darkness fell she could see lights in the distance. There were too many huddled together for it to be a farm, so she knew she was near a town. She wondered about its name and how many miles she had traveled from her home. Surely not enough. She would bypass the town, catch the tracks on the other side, and continue west. Perhaps in a few days she would feel safe enough to stop and look for work so she could eat properly again.

  Damaris pulled the blanket tightly about her shoulders and rested her head on her shawl-pillow. She pulled her bottle of water under the blanket with her, knowing how important it was to her well-being. Then she closed her eyes and let her weary body be overtaken by sleep.

&nbs
p; ———

  Damaris bypassed the town as planned, though it was difficult to keep her resolve. She wanted so much to see people, find a job, and eat a decent meal. Her stomach knotted with hunger, and the little pieces of dried bread did little to ease the pangs.

  But Damaris knew she was not yet safe. She walked around the town, avoiding contact with anyone. Once she saw a boy out gathering the cows for milking. She wanted to ask if she could fill her small bottle with the fresh milk, but she had nothing to offer in return and she couldn’t ask the boy to give up the milk with no payment.

  She trudged on. It was late morning before she circled her way back to the train tracks. With despair she noted that now they were aiming more south than west. She squinted her eyes against the bright sun. In the distance she could see that they turned and headed west again. With thankfulness, she set out once more on her journey.

  In the late afternoon she stopped suddenly, heart thumping, and shaded her eyes with her hand. Down the tracks, moving slowly toward her, was a single walker. Damaris didn’t know whether to dash for the safety of trees or to continue on her way. But only cleared fields lined the railway. The trees were far in the distance. To try to take cover would cost her too much time. Besides, surely the walker had already seen her. If he wanted to rob her he could follow her into the woods. She had often met neighborhood men on her errands to town and none had ever bothered her, but what would keep a stranger from harming her, especially in this desolate place?

  But then another alarming thought occurred to her. What if he wasn’t a stranger? If he recognized her, he would surely tell her father where he had seen her. She frantically hoped this man was a total stranger.

  Unable to come up with a plan other than a direct meeting with the walker, Damaris plodded on.

  She kept her eyes lowered, watching each place that she set her foot. Now and then she stole a brief glance upward. The man was near enough for her to see his features now. He was a stranger.

  Damaris continued. She squared her shoulders and tried to look less tired. She didn’t want the man to guess how far she really had come, how weary she really was. She wanted him to think she could outrun him if she had to. He was heading east. There was a chance—just a chance—that when he passed through the next town he might mention he had met a strange young girl along the railroad tracks. Damaris was thankful that her own small town had no access to train travel. These tracks would not lead him there.

  Strengthening her resolve, Damaris kept walking toward the stranger. As they neared each other their eyes met for a moment. Damaris was surprised to see that the stranger was dressed even more shabbily than she. He looked tired and gaunt. For a moment she considered giving him the few chunks of stale bread still in her possession.

  But he dropped his gaze again and walked by her without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. Damaris felt both relief and disappointment. She trudged on, turning to look back at him only once.

  She did not reach another town that day. At night she bundled up again and slept close to the tracks. There were storm clouds in the distance, and she feared she might be wakened by rain in her face. She decided to get as much sleep as she could before the storm broke upon her.

  Chapter Four

  Town

  The rain didn’t start until the next morning. Damaris was already on her way down the railroad tracks when the first drops fell. She debated whether to keep on walking or take shelter. She had walked in rain before and did not mind it, but she knew the things she carried would be soaked if she did not find some place to tuck them away. When a grove of trees not far to her left came into view, Damaris ran for it. Her eyes looked back to the storm clouds. She hoped there would be no lightning or she wouldn’t be safe under the trees. The storm was not a thunder shower, so Damaris crept as close to the trunk of a big tree as she could. She tucked her belongings beneath her skirts, hoping to keep them dry.

  “I hope it doesn’t last long,” she murmured.

  Then she reached for her supply of bread and water. She might as well refresh herself as she waited. Maybe she would even be able to sleep.

  She allowed herself half a slice of bread and drank sparingly of the water, not knowing when she might be able to fill her water bottle again. She looked with longing at the emptying sky. If only she had some way to fill her bottle from all the water falling around her.

  The air grew cool. Damaris wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and tried to get some rest, but sleep would not come. For the first time since starting her journey, she allowed her thoughts to return to home.

  How was her mama? Had she been surprised when Damaris failed to return from wading in the crick? Had she gone looking for her thinking she might have fallen and drowned or broken a leg or some such thing? Had her pa been terribly angry when she didn’t respond to his call? Damaris hoped with all of her heart that he hadn’t taken it out on her mama.

  In the distance a whistle blew. For a moment Damaris’s thoughts scrambled to identify the sound. At last she recognized it as a train whistle and tipped her head to listen for the sound to be repeated.

  “Here I been followin’ the tracks fer miles,” she chided herself, “an’ I don’t even recognize a train whistle when I hear one.”

  The whistle blew again, closer now, and Damaris could not resist creeping out from the tree to watch the train pass.

  “Sure don’t run very often,” she mused. “I been on thet track fer two days an’ this is the first train I’ve seen.”

  The train was heading west, and how Damaris wished she was on board.

  “If I had the ticket money, I’d be off out of here in a flash,” she reasoned. “No more walking with blistered feet, no more hiding from the rain. Just think, I could be where I want to go in next to no time.”

  But Damaris did not have the money for a ticket, so there was no use wasting time and energy longing for it. She huddled back under her blanket again and willed the rain to stop.

  But it didn’t stop. It continued to pelt straight down from the heavens.

  “At least the wind’s not blowing,” Damaris observed with relief. “Even these trees wouldn’t protect me if it was windy.”

  She was so weary. Surely she could sleep if only her stomach wasn’t tormenting her so. She pulled the blanket closely about her and arranged her little bundle behind her head. At last she managed to drop off to sleep, but not for long. Her stomach wouldn’t let her.

  It was almost dark before she allowed herself to reach for her dwindling store of bread. Even though her supply was getting low, she had to have some nourishment. She finished her water. Surely with all of that rain she could find a stream where she could refill the bottle. She had to have rest, and she couldn’t sleep with her stomach so empty. Damaris knew as she looked out at the dripping world that she wouldn’t be traveling for several hours. She ate all but one small slice of bread.

  ———

  It was late the next afternoon before Damaris reached a small town. I’m gonna have to stop here, she told herself. I need to find some work so I can eat.

  At the first house along the rutted road a woman was in the yard hanging up some washing. Damaris approached slowly, trying not to let her eagerness show.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she began. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. The woman looked up and squinted into the brightness of the sun.

  “Don’t think I know ya,” she responded, but with no threat in her tone.

  “No, ma’am. I’m—I’m just passing through. On my way—my way west.”

  The woman’s frown deepened. Damaris read her suspicion. She’s gonna start asking questions, Damaris thought, and what am I gonna answer?

  Before the woman could open her mouth again, Damaris plunged ahead. “I’d be happy to lend a hand with the washin’.”

  Now the woman’s head came up and she looked hard at Damaris.

  “Don’t know why a young girl like yerself would be wantin’ to dirty he
r hands with my wash,” she answered frankly. “Lest of course she had herself a good reason. You’re not runnin’ away from home, are ya, girl?”

  Damaris was stunned by her astuteness. She hardly knew how to respond. She lifted her head, making her stubborn chin protrude.

  “I’m on my own, ma’am,” she said, knowing that much was true. Then she continued, mixing truth with as little error as possible. “Mama says thet a girl of seventeen should be able to work her way.”

  Her mama had made the remark. If the woman chose to believe Damaris was seventeen, the error would be hers. She hadn’t told an outright lie.

  But the woman still looked doubtful. “Guess I can manage my own wash,” she said simply. “I’m ’most done anyhow.”

  Damaris nodded her head in dejected acknowledgment, bid the woman a good-day, and continued down the road.

  Her next attempt was at a home where a woman worked with a hoe. Beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead and she stopped now and then to place a hand on her back.

  She needs help and that’s for sure, thought Damaris, determined not to lose out again. This time she needed to have some answers ready. But Damaris did not have time to get it all worked out. She had already reached the woman.

  “Afternoon, ma’am.” She tried to keep the fear and uncertainty from her voice.

  The woman looked up, lifted a large hanky from her apron pocket, and mopped her brow.

  “Looks like you got a fair ways to hoe yet,” observed Damaris.

  The woman nodded.

  “I have a bit of time,” continued Damaris, “and I don’t mind hoeing. Mama used to say that I had a good back for it. ’Course that was before I lost my mama.”

  The woman didn’t comment, and Damaris took heart. She had not been dismissed.

  “I’m on my way to an aunt now,” continued Damaris, “now that I—I don’t have a home of my own.” She hesitated to let the words sink in. The woman still did not respond. Is she deaf? Damaris wondered.