by Craig, Emma
Uncle Elijah. Joy smiled. Uncle Elijah, indeed! She read on.
It was very kind of you to do so. I pray nightly that my dear uncle is recovering from his accident. I have often wished to thank him for his great kindness to me over the years, but he has never given me an address so that I might do so. If he is well enough, please give him my deepest love, and tell him that I wish he would visit Baltimore. We would all be so thrilled to see him again! Thank you again, very much. Yours sincerely, Virginia Gladstone.
“How nice of her.” It was a short letter, and it said no more than Joy herself might have written under similar circumstances. She couldn’t understand why it should make her want to cry.
When she glanced over at Elijah again, he was still holding forth with the freight driver. They were discussing something called a foul ball—Joy presumed they hadn’t yet exhausted the subject of baseball—so she tucked Virginia Gladstone’s letter into her pocket. She really ought to tell Elijah she’s written Virginia.
It occurred to her that Virginia might well have written her “Uncle Elijah”—she grinned again at the appellation—a letter, so she resumed sorting through the pile of mail.
Some of the envelopes were very battered. It looked to Joy as though mail sent to the western territories had to be nearly as tough as the people who resided in them to survive the ordeal. She held up a parcel and had to squint to read the address. It looked as though it had weathered a war on its way west from New York City. It was addressed to Mac, so she set it aside.
The next envelope she picked up had her name written on it. She started violently, not having expected to find even one piece of correspondence addressed to her, much less two of them. She gasped when she realized this particular missive had been posted from south of the border, in Mexico.
“What’s the matter, Joy?”
Elijah’s voice nearly startled her off of her stool. When she glanced at him, she saw that both he and the freight-wagon driver had stopped speaking and were staring at her. She licked her lips.
Elijah rose from his chair. She saw from his expression that he was concerned about her, and thought it was sweet of him to care. She couldn’t recall anyone ever having been concerned about her before she came to the territory. She waved at him to sit down again.
“It’s nothing. It’s just that I received a letter, and I hadn’t anticipated one.” She smiled to let him know she was all right, even though she wasn’t sure she was. A cold feeling, for which she couldn’t account, had begun creeping up her spine and coiling around her heart.
“You sure?” Elijah cocked his head and studied her face. “You look scared. Did you get some bad news?”
“Of course not. That is, I don’t know yet. I haven’t even opened it.” Drat him, why was he turning so perceptive all at once? He was supposed to be a black-hearted, heedless, devil-may-care gambling man. He wasn’t supposed to be able to read her mind so easily—and then worry about her. “I’m fine,” she said, summoning up a smile. “Go on back to your conversation.”
After eyeing her for another moment or two, he did as she’d bidden him. Joy stared at the envelope in her hand. She didn’t know if it contained bad news, good news, or no news. Whatever it contained, she assumed it was correspondence from Mr. Hezekiah P. Thrash or one of the missionaries who’d gone to South America with him. Joy hadn’t become very well acquainted with any of them. She hadn’t dared.
As she’d traveled across the country in their company, she’d been reluctant to reveal too much of herself for fear they’d discover she was a fraud and send her packing. Although, as she mulled over the matter now, she knew of no reason to have feared being thought a fraud. After all, she was a fully trained, able-bodied nurse and a God-fearing Christian. She frowned at the letter and realized her pervasive feeling of incompetence was yet one more legacy from her dear, departed mother. “The mean old cow.”
She shot a quick peek at the ceiling, sure she’d witness some sign of disapproval—a lightning bolt, perhaps—directed at her from the late Mrs. Hardesty. All she saw was ceiling. And it looked as if she ought to take the broom to it, too, because there was a cobweb dangling from a rafter right above her head. She frowned at the web, wondering how a spider could work so fast. She’d swept all the cobwebs down no more than a week ago.
Well, that was nothing to the purpose. She had a letter to open. Her fingers trembled when she broke the wafer, spread the single sheet open on the counter, and read the few words written thereon.
Mr. Thrash wanted her to join his company. Joy stared at the paper before her, hardly comprehending the message it contained. Mr. Thrash not only wanted her, he was sending an emissary to escort her into the jungle where the missionaries had set up their medical station and church.
We have but a tent for holy services, the letter informed her, yet our mission prospers.
“Good,” she whispered, wondering why her heart felt like a lump of coal. She was supposed to be thrilled that Mr. Thrash had remembered her and had cared so much that he was now sending someone to fetch her. She should be elated. She should be jumping for joy. This is what she’d wanted all along.
Wasn’t it?
“Of course, it is.” She spoke the words aloud, trying to convince herself. She realized her mistake when Elijah spoke to her again.
“Of course what is?”
She glanced at him quickly. “Er, nothing. I was just . . . talking to myself.”
He gave her a strange look, but Joy was befuddled and couldn’t think of anything else to say. Besides, her mail was none of his business. Her mail was no one’s business. There wasn’t a soul in the entire world to whom she meant a hill of beans; why should anyone care about her mail?
On that depressing note, she put Mr. Thrash’s letter aside and determined to think about it as she sorted through the rest of the mail. There were several letters for the O’Fannins and the Partridges and Susan Blackworth, the neighbors Mac spoke about most frequently. Joy hadn’t seen any of them except from afar, although cowboys from their various ranches had been in and out of the wagon yard in the weeks since her arrival.
Life out here was so strange. Until she came to Rio Hondo, Joy would have been unable to imagine not visiting a store or a neighbor for months on end. She shook her head, and decided the notion didn’t appeal to her now, either.
As little as she’d had to do with her fellow creatures on this earth until now, still less did she want to live apart from them. In fact, she realized as she culled through all shapes and sizes of correspondence, what she really wanted was to feel as though she belonged. She wanted to be accepted by her fellow men and women naturally, as if she were inherently no different from anyone else. She was sick to death of feeling like an interloper into human society.
Her mother had taught her she wasn’t worth the space she took up on earth. How kind of her. Joy slammed a letter down onto the pile she’d designated for Mac, and decided that if she was ever blessed with children—and she couldn’t imagine any man wanting her to bear his children—she’d rear them to accept themselves as worthwhile people. No child asked to be born. It was the parents’ responsibility to teach their children self-worth. Joy would never deliberately set out to destroy her child’s self-respect.
“That’s exactly what she did to me, the miserable old sourpuss.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Joy jumped on her stool and again glanced at the men who’d been chatting by the pot-bellied stove. Elijah was looking even more concerned than he had before. Joy smiled at him, gratified that he seemed to care for her, at least a little bit—and she’d been meaner to him than to anyone else in her recent memory. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
“I beg your pardon. I was just thinking.”
“Don’t look like they was happy thoughts, ma’am,” the freight driver said. “Anything I can do?”
How sweet. Joy gave him an especially friendly smile. Elijah, she noticed, had begun frowning at him, and she w
ondered why. “Thank you very much, sir, but no. I fear I was merely talking to myself. It was a silly thing to do.”
“If she needs anything, I’ll help her.” Elijah’s words came out as hard and cold as ice chunks. Both Joy and the freight driver were taken aback.
Joy saw the freight driver blink at Elijah several times and then nod slowly. “That’s how it is, eh? Well, I reckon I should have guessed.”
The man smiled at Elijah, who held onto his pose of anger for another moment and then relaxed. He nodded. Joy had no idea what they were agreeing on. Baseball, perhaps. She went back to her sorting.
One thing was good about this latest development: If she joined Mr. Thrash and his missionaries, at least she wouldn’t have to go back to Auburn a failure. She expected her mood to lighten on that note and was disappointed when it didn’t. Jerusalem, what was wrong with her?
Don’t be an idiot, Joy Hardesty. You know very well what’s wrong with you.
She did know what was wrong with her, and it annoyed her. She had allowed herself to become infatuated with Elijah Perry, was what was wrong, thus proving herself to be foolish beyond redemption. Even if she stayed in Rio Hondo for the rest of her life, what good would remaining do her? As soon as he was fit, Elijah Perry would move on. He wasn’t a settling-down sort of man.
Well, now, that may no longer be true, Joy. Recall the hotel, if you will.
Joy dropped the envelope she held and whipped her head back and forth, looking for the source of this latest voice. It wasn’t that of her mother. Actually, it reminded her of Mac’s. She shook her head, wishing she’d stop hearing voices. From all she’d ever read, hearing voices was a sure sign of insanity. Would she begin seeing things next? She remembered the sparkles that occasionally manifested themselves to her, and her insides gave a hard spasm.
Jerusalem, she’d better not go back to Auburn if she’d lost her mind. It would be terrible enough to be a lunatic out here in Rio Hondo, where one could hardly tell the lunatics from the sane people. It would be downright humiliating to be considered a lunatic in front of her mother’s old cronies. Or old crones. Joy grinned, proud of herself for that one.
The hotel. Joy read addresses and thought about a hotel in Rio Hondo. It seemed to her that if one did have to remain in this God-forsaken place, it would be more pleasant to run a business in the town, such as it was, than to live out there on those empty windswept plains, miles and miles removed from one’s neighbors. If one operated a business in town, especially a hotel, one would always have people with whom to converse. Not that Joy was an adept conversationalist—her mother had thrashed the words out of her as well as the spirit—but she might learn one day if she practiced long enough.
The word thrashed struck her as appropriate to her present circumstances, and she considered how her life might go on as a missionary in South America. As little as six months ago, the opportunity had seemed like her salvation. It didn’t any longer. Joy heaved a sigh and wished life could be easy. Just once.
“Thanks again for the food, ma’am.”
Again, Joy jumped on her stool, startled. She looked up from her letters to find the freight-wagon driver holding his empty plate and beer mug. She smiled and took them from him. “I hope you enjoyed it. It wasn’t much.”
“It was kind of you to offer me food, ma’am. No everyone’s so considerate.”
How sweet. Joy liked being thought considerate, even if the behavior was new to her. She climbed down from her stool, took the dishes, and carried them into the back room, thinking all the way.
Being considerate to one’s fellow man was a virtue, wasn’t it? Why had she grown up feeling that it was foolish to be considerate? Her mother used to grumble about having to give alms to the poor, and had cautioned her over and over again against being hoodwinked by unscrupulous folks looking for a handout. That attitude didn’t speak very well of Christian charity to Joy as she looked back on it from her new adult perspective.
She sighed. One more thing to contemplate. There were so many of them, sometimes her head spun with the impossibility of sifting everything out.
“All right, Joy, what’s wrong?”
She whirled around, almost dropping the dishes. Elijah Perry stood at the open doorway, a scowl on his face, his fists on his lean hips. Good heavens, he was a large man. He must have been devastatingly handsome in his earlier days. Not that he was old now, exactly, but he did have a few years on him. And a few pounds. And a few gray hairs. What there were left of them. Joy grinned when she realized that going over Elijah Perry’s more human attributes made him seem less intimidating. She set the plate and beer mug beside the wash basin.
“Nothing is wrong, Elijah. I’m fine.” She added, “Thank you,” because she truly did appreciate his caring if she were perturbed or not.
“Horse patties. Something’s happened to upset you, and I want to know what it is.”
Horse patties? Joy giggled. “I’m not upset.”
“The hell you’re not. Listen to me, Joy. I’ve had to put up with you for weeks and weeks now, and I can tell when you’re worried or upset. For God’s sake, I’ve spent more time with you than with any other human being on the face of the earth since I was sixteen years old. Don’t tell me you’re not upset, because I know better.”
He stomped over to her. She turned around and almost bumped into him. She’d have backed up, but she had no room in which to do so. Tilting her head back, she gazed up into his face. It was, she realized, not nearly so forbidding looking as she’d at first considered it. In truth, Joy now believed it to be a good face; it was certainly one that had become dear to her. Lord, Lord, how had she let that happen? She’d been weakened from illness and abandonment, she supposed, and hadn’t guarded herself well enough. Too late now. She sighed again.
“There,” he said, almost triumphantly. “You see? You just sighed. I know there’s something wrong when you sigh, and I want to know what it is.”
His eyes were so pretty. Especially when he felt intensely about something, they had a certain light to them. They didn’t dance, exactly, like Mr. McMurdo’s did, but they shone with a fire Joy hadn’t encountered before. The people she knew back home in Auburn would have died sooner than be fiery about anything. Tepid. They were all tepid. Except her mother, who was an iceberg.
“It’s really nothing, Elijah. It’s only that I received a letter from Mr. Thrash.”
His frown faded, but his eyebrows didn’t lift. He looked puzzled. “Mr. Thrash. Who the hell’s— Oh, hell. You don’t mean to say Thrash is the preacher man, do you?”
His phrasing tickled her. She giggled again. “Well, actually, yes, I do mean to say that, because it’s the truth.”
Elijah dropped his arms and unclenched his fists. “Oh.”
Deftly Joy stepped around him. She’d begun to feel a terrible urge to fling her arms around him, and knew she’d do it if she stood so close to him for very much longer. What would happen if she were to do so brazen a thing, she didn’t even want to contemplate. She heard him turn behind her.
“What did he have to say?”
She continued on her way to the counter, where stacks of mail still awaited her disposition. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and decided she was interested in his reaction to her news. Ergo, she maintained a noncommittal tone when she told it to him. “He wants me to join his mission work in the jungles of South America. They’ve set up a church and a medical mission there.”
“The hell you say!”
His roar nearly deafened her. She climbed onto her stool and frowned at him. “There’s no need to make such a fuss, Elijah. It was for the purpose of becoming a missionary that I came to Rio Hondo in the first place, you know.” She didn’t admit to him that the idea of being a missionary in the South American jungles no longer held any appeal to her and that, in fact, the thought of rejoining Mr. Thrash made her blood run cold.
Storming up to her, his heavy steps sounded like a series of thunderclaps in
the confined area of Mac’s small store. Joy flinched, wishing he weren’t quite such a noisy man sometimes. Now, for instance.
“You can’t go down there and join up with that gang of meddlers, Joy. You know you can’t!”
Although she’d been telling herself almost exactly the same thing not two minutes earlier, his attitude irked her. “I don’t know why not. He’s sending someone to guide me to the mission.”
“He’s what?”
She clapped her hands over her ears. “Please! There’s no need to shout. I can hear you.”
“Damn it all, Joy, you can’t be a missionary. You’d hate it, and you know it!”
She did know it, actually. Nevertheless, his domineering attitude reminded her of her mother, and she discovered her perverse streak being activated. “I’ve been trained as a nursing missionary, Elijah Perry. What do you mean, I’d hate it? What do you know about what I hate and don’t hate, you wretched man?”
“I know you’d hate it, because I know you!”
“Nonsense!” Something genuinely relevant struck her, and she added, “Besides, I have to earn my living somehow, and I don’t particularly care to remain working in Mr. McMurdo’s store. He doesn’t need me, you know. He was only being charitable when he offered me this job.”
“That’s not the point!”
All right. Enough was enough. Elijah’s show of temper was beginning to seriously annoy her. “The point is, I was trained as a missionary nurse. I have to earn a living, since I don’t have any other source of income. I can’t remain here because Mac doesn’t need me. Ergo, I suppose I shall have to join Mr. Thrash in South America.” So there, she thought peevishly.
“That’s stupid!”
“What’s stupid about it?”
“Everything! You’d be totally out of place amongst a batch of missionaries, and you know it!”
“I do not know it! I was trained for it!”
“That was before you knew better, when you were pretending to be like your miserable mother. You’d hate it now that you’ve changed.”