The Fiery Ring

by Gilbert, Morris

  Joy was about to turn to go back into the house when suddenly a pair of arms went around her. She had not heard the gate creak, but suddenly she was held tightly, and she immediately knew who it was.

  “Turn me loose, Witt!”

  “Oh, come on, let’s have some fun. You’re gettin’ to be quite a good-lookin’ girl.”

  “Stop touching me!” Joy cried. “You’d better stop or I’ll scream!”

  She was powerless in Witt’s grasp, for he was a big man. He put his heavy hand over her mouth and held her even tighter, laughing in her ear. She struggled and tried to kick him, but he merely laughed louder.

  “You’ve got to learn how to make a man happy, Joy. You’re growing up. You were just a skinny kid the first time I saw you, but now you’ve got a good shape on you.”

  Tears of rage filled Joy’s eyes, and with all of her strength she reached up and broke his grip long enough to grab a handful of his thick hair and yank it with all of her might.

  “Ow, cut that out!”

  Joy squirmed around until she was facing him and struck him in the face. He instantly stopped laughing. “You’re not so nice,” he snarled and advanced toward her. But at that moment he was suddenly whirled around. “What—?”

  Joy saw that Travis had entered the chicken yard, and before she could speak, he had drawn his arm back and struck Witt Tatum directly in the mouth. Witt stumbled backward as he tried to recover. Witt was probably thirty pounds heavier than Travis, but he was overweight and soft. He had done almost no hard work in his life, whereas Travis was nothing but lean muscle and much faster. His fist beat steadily on Witt’s face while the big man swung ponderously. When Witt lifted his arms to protect his face, Travis drove a hard blow right in the stomach, then smashed him again over the eye, drawing blood.

  “That’s enough, Travis,” Joy cried, trying to pull the men apart.

  “Not enough for me,” Travis panted, pushing her away. “I’m going to whip you so you’ll never touch my sister again, Witt.”

  Witt cursed and moved forward, but then ran directly into a blow that smashed his nose flat, sending a spurt of blood over his white shirt.

  Joy kept trying to pull Travis away, and finally several others arrived. She heard her uncle Albert yelling, and then Opal and Olean crying for them to stop.

  Albert grabbed Travis, and the young man did finally stop. His eyes were narrowed, glaring fiercely at Witt as Uncle Albert held him back.

  Witt said, “Pa, he came up and hit me. I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “Yes, he was!” Joy cried. “He was putting his hands all over me like he always does.”

  “Don’t you lie,” Witt yelled. “I’ve never touched you!”

  Albert reacted typically. He did not ask about the circumstances but simply shouted, “That’s enough! You’re nothing but a troublemaker, Winslow! Get your things and get off this place!”

  “I’ll go, but I’m taking Joy with me.”

  “No, you’re not. She’s a minor. She can’t leave this place until she’s eighteen. You try to do it, and I’ll have the law bring her back and have you thrown in jail!”

  “It’s all right, Travis,” Joy said. Her heart was breaking, but she didn’t want to cause Travis any more trouble. “You do as Uncle Albert says.”

  Travis Winslow faced Albert with a look that was frightening. “You’re a no-good, low-down skunk, Albert. If anything happens to my sister while I’m gone, I’ll come back and I’ll kill you.”

  Silence fell on the small group. Opal gasped and reached out to hold Albert’s arm. “Don’t do this, Albert.”

  “Keep quiet, woman! I’m not afraid of you, Travis!”

  “Yes you are,” Travis said quietly with steel in his voice. “You mind what I say, Albert. I’m not going to say it again. You hurt my sister, and one night you’ll wake up, and I’ll be there—and it’ll be too late for you.”

  Turning on his heel, Travis walked out of the chicken yard with Joy hurrying after him. They went to the bunkhouse, where he pulled out his few belongings and started stuffing them into a pillowcase. “I hate to leave you here, Joy.”

  “Wait, don’t leave yet. There’s something I want you to take.”

  She ran from the bunkhouse and up to her room. She removed a floorboard by her bed to reach the hiding place where she kept her journals and the little store of money. She grabbed the money pouch and returned to the bunkhouse. “Here,” she said, “take it. You’ll need it.”

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  “I’ll make more,” she said.

  Travis resisted, but finally he relented. “I’m not taking much. Still got the forty-four that belonged to our grandfather Zack.”

  “Oh, Travis, what’ll I do without you?” Fear overcame Joy, and she held tightly to him. He put his arms around her and held her, and the two clung to each other. “I know it’ll be tough, sis, but I promise I’ll come back for you! As soon as I get a job and can save a little money, I’ll come. I don’t care what that monster says. He can’t keep us apart.”

  “All right, Travis, if you say so.”

  The parting was quick. Travis kissed her on the cheek, then turned and left. The Tatums were all outside on the porch. Joy did not even look at them. She stood watching the figure of her brother as he walked down the road. He grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared around the bend in the road. For Joy, it seemed as if the sun had gone out of the heavens. First her parents and younger sister, and now her brother. Her stomach lurched with the bitterness that welled up inside her, and she fiercely wiped the tears from her eyes. She was not going to let the Tatums see her cry, no matter what.

  She walked back to the house, and the four of them stood watching her. Opal’s eyes held kindness and pity, but the others stared at her with hard eyes. Joy turned to her uncle and said, “Albert,”—for the first time leaving off the word Uncle—“your son put his hands on me, and then he lied. He’s a liar and a sneak.” She turned to Witt and said, “Witt, if you ever touch me again . . .” She did not complete her threat but held Witt’s eyes until he dropped his head. She went into the house and heard Olean screeching. “Why, the very idea! You ought to throw her out with him. Neither one of them is any good.”

  Joy went up to her room, found her journal, and wrote in it:

  September 18, 1926

  Travis left today. One day he’ll come back and get me. Until then I don’t have anyone. No father or mother or sister, and now no brother, and I don’t believe in God. If there were a good God, He wouldn’t have let this happen.

  She suddenly scratched out the words, fearful at what she had written. But she could not scratch out the hardness that had formed in her . . . and the regret over her loss of childhood and the end of gentleness.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Desperate Venture

  Through the cracks in the wall, the bitter cold fingers of winter entered, pulling the temperature of the attic room down steadily. Snow covered the ground in a six-inch-thick carpet, and the tree outside Joy’s window had turned into a beautiful piece of fine glass. The rain the previous night had frozen, and now as the breeze stirred, Joy could hear the branches click as they turned upon themselves. The beauty of the scene outside held no attraction for her. It only meant that she would have to struggle harder to keep warm as she did her outside chores, and later that evening she would once again have to try to find warmth in her small cell of a room.

  No mirror adorned the walls of her room, and the only three dresses she had were hung on a single nail. She shook her head in disgust, chose one of the dresses, and pulled it over her head. Just getting it on was a struggle, for in the months that had passed since her brother left, she had filled out even more. The dress was two years old, so now it was almost impossible to get into it. Her figure had swelled with womanly curves, which would have pleased her if she had been thinking about such things. Now her only thought was how to cover herself, and in despair she shook her head
and picked up the wool coat. It had once belonged to Olean, but Joy had inherited it when she could no longer get into any of her coats. Her shoes were too tight for her, too, and the soles were as thin as paper.

  She turned to leave, but first paused for a moment to look around the room. The lamp shed a meager light, twisting her own shadow into a tortured shape on the peeling wallpaper behind her. Its amber gleam on the walls and floor made the room gloomier instead of more cheerful. Hating the thought of going downstairs, she walked over to stare out of the window. She rubbed off the frost with her coat sleeve.

  Outside, the early March sun bored a white hole in the sky, and the trees shed their shadows on the wintry ground like discarded rags. The barrenness of the scene saddened her beyond endurance. Life was unbearable to Joy. She woke each day as a galley slave must have awakened, with no hope of anything fine or good or wonderful happening—just another day of endless, meaningless labor. The night before, she had been reading a poetry book that had belonged to her mother, and part of a poem had stuck in her mind. She had gone to sleep thinking of it, and now it came floating back:

  . . . and beloved people push off from my life

  like boats from the shore.

  They never come back, they never return,

  And I stand looking out on an empty sea.

  A slight tremor passed through Joy as she stood there thinking of the lines. Then she quickly and firmly pushed them out of her mind and turned to go downstairs.

  During the long winter months, she had only the family to cook for. Now that the hired hands were gone, her aunt never even helped her. Going into the kitchen, she started the fire. She raked the gray ashes away from the hot coals she had banked the night before. From the wood box she got a few scraps of rich pine and noted that she would need to bring more in. It would do little good to ask Witt to help with this, for he would only laugh at her. Besides, she avoided contact with him whenever possible. For a time after Travis had left, he had been decent enough, but it wasn’t long before he was back to his old ways with her. His constant harassment left her exhausted, but if she tried to defend herself, it only caused her more trouble with Albert.

  The rich pine caught, and she added larger pieces of wood until she had a good fire going in the cook stove. She held her hands over it, soaking up the warmth, not thinking of the day ahead, for what was there to think about? Another day of thankless work. The only pleasure she got out of life was caring for her chickens and reading in bed after her long day. She had formed the habit of bundling up, even wearing gloves in the freezing attic, which made it hard to turn the pages. Staying downstairs in the warm kitchen to read was impossible, for Albert always found more work for her to do, and Witt was a continual nuisance. There was nothing for it but to escape to her cold loft, the only place where the Tatum family left her alone.

  She had breakfast ready and on the table when the family came in. As usual Opal spoke to her in a kindly fashion, and the others ignored her. The way Albert and his two children ate disgusted Joy. They were all big and bulky, even Olean, and they ate like hogs, gulping the food down rapidly, as if someone were going to take it away from them.

  Joy had learned to fix her own breakfast either early or late, just so she wouldn’t have to watch them while she ate. Today she was surprised, however, when her aunt Opal said, “We’re going into town today. I’d like you to come with us. You can help me with the shopping.”

  Joy was pleased, for anything to get away from this house was a pleasure. “All right. When are you leaving?”

  Albert said, “We’re going right after dinner, but you can’t go unless you get all your work done.”

  Olean looked sullenly at Joy. “I don’t know why you have to take her. It’ll be too crowded in the car.”

  “That car’s big enough for all of us,” Opal said rather sharply. “And you clean your room up or you’re not going.”

  Olean waited until her mother’s head was turned and then made a face at Joy. Witt saw it and laughed, then winked at Joy. “Maybe I’ll take you to a picture show if you’re good.”

  Joy simply gave him a hard stare, then turned and left the kitchen.

  “That girl’s too stuck up,” Witt said angrily. “She forgets who puts a roof over her head and feeds her.”

  “I think she earns everything she gets,” Opal protested.

  “She is getting stuck up,” Albert grunted. “Can’t get a pleasant word out of her.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee and called out, “Joy, bring some more coffee in here and hurry it up!”

  ****

  Wedged between Olean and Witt in the backseat of the new Packard, Joy tried to ignore Witt. It was a large car with plenty of room, but he pressed his thigh against hers and grinned at her when she gave him an indignant look.

  The expensive car had been purchased only a short time after the death of her parents, and Joy suspected it had been bought with money that came from her own parents. She would go to her grave with the knowledge that Albert Tatum had robbed her and Travis of their inheritance.

  The roads were rutty and tossed the riders around uncomfortably. Wishing she were not next to Witt, Joy turned sideways and stared out the window, ignoring him as well as she could. She watched a flock of red-winged blackbirds divide the air into a kaleidoscopic pattern against the featureless gray sky. From time to time flocks of crows would arise, shaking their heavy wings as they circled the shorn wheat fields. As they grew closer to Bismarck, the trees began to show themselves against the sky. They stood in disorganized ranks, and those nearest the road seemed to shoulder the sun out of the way, but the sun put long fingers of light through the trees, touching the frozen earth with pale white light.

  The car bumped again, and Witt slumped against her, this time allowing his hand to drop onto her thigh. Joy knocked his hand away and said furiously, “You keep your hands off of me, or I’ll scratch your eyes out!”

  “Hey, what’s the matter with you?” Witt said as his mother turned around. Innocence was in his voice, but his eyes were jeering. “You always think somebody’s trying to touch you.”

  “He wasn’t doing a thing, Mother,” Olean said. “She’s always blaming him. I told you we should have left her at home.”

  “Keep quiet back there, Joy,” Albert grumbled. “I’m tired of always hearing your complaints.”

  Joy clamped her teeth together. She had resolved so many times simply to accept whatever happened without complaining, for she had learned the hard lesson that she could not ever win an argument with Albert or his children. Now she wished she had stayed home alone rather than endure the ride into town.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the main street of Bismarck and Albert pulled up in front of the bank. “I’ve got to go in here and do some business. I’ll meet you all at the general store.”

  As they got out Joy took a deep breath. She had planned her speech on the way to town and now said quietly, “Uncle Albert, I can’t get into any of my dresses. Could I please have a new one?”

  “She can have one of my old dresses. I need a new dress, Daddy,” Olean piped up.

  “There you are. Olean, you give Joy a dress and pick yourself out a new one.”

  Joy stared at her uncle. She kept hoping to find some bit of kindness in him, but it never happened. Now she said, “I’m five feet four and weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds. Olean is five feet eight and probably weighs a hundred and eighty pounds. How am I going to make a dress like that fit?”

  Witt grinned at her. “Get your needle and thread out and sew it up. Maybe I’ll help you.”

  Olean’s face flushed, as she was sensitive about her weight. “Come on, Mother, let’s go,” she said.

  Opal turned to whisper to Joy, “I’ll try to do what I can.”

  “Never mind, Aunt Opal. I’m not asking anything of Albert ever again.” She turned and left Opal standing calling after her. Her aunt was totally ineffectual, and the scene left a bitter taste in Jo
y’s mouth. Angry thoughts raced through her mind, and she couldn’t control her trembling as she walked along the frozen streets. I’ll never ask him for anything again. I’ll steal. I’ll do whatever I have to do!

  By the time she reached the post office, Joy had gained control of herself. Entering the small building, she waited in a short line until she came up to Mr. Higgins, the postmaster. “Do you have anything for me?”

  “Not today, Joy.”

  “But my brother was supposed to write me in care of general delivery, and he’s been gone for months.”

  “Well, he did write the one letter.”

  Joy stared at Higgins. He was a small man with delicate features and wore thick-lensed glasses. “What do you mean ‘one letter’? I haven’t gotten any letters.”

  “Why, there was one that came for you about a month ago. It came all the way from Texas, I remember.”

  “I never got it.”

  “Oh, your uncle was in, so I gave it to him and asked him to give it to you.”

  Shock raced along Joy’s nerves. Speechless for a moment, she stared at the small man, then said, “I think it’s illegal for you to give a person’s mail to someone else.”

  “But he’s your uncle.”

  “I’m going to report you,” Joy said in a voice as cold as polar ice. She took some pleasure in seeing fear leap into the eyes of the man but turned and walked away.

  He cried out to her retreating form, “But . . . Miss Joy, he’s your uncle. I just thought it would save you some time.”

  Joy left the post office, blind with rage. All these weeks of waiting, and her uncle had kept Travis’s only letter from her! She was trembling with anger and didn’t even notice the freezing air. She did not remember walking to the general store. When she arrived there and threw the door open, she saw her uncle standing at the counter talking to Orville Wessicks, the owner. She walked straight up to Albert and demanded, “What did you do with my letter?”

  Albert blinked in surprise. “What letter?” he said loudly. “I don’t know anything about any letter.”