Dorothy Garlock Read Free Page B

mother had been very fond of the little man and he of her.
    It wasn’t until after her mother died six years ago that thelarge lumps began to appear on Papa Igor’s face. Willa had insisted he see a doctor. He had seen several, and they all had told him that there was no reasonable explanation and there was nothing they could do. Afterward they had moved frequently, coming to this town only four months ago.
    “Are ya goin’ to lay there all day?”
    Willa felt something nudge her arm and opened her eyes. A girl sat on the flat top of a trunk, her bare feet inches from Willa’s pallet.
    “Well, are, ya?” The pouting mouth was drawn down at the corners. An unbrushed tangle of thick dark curls hung about her face. The girl kicked the trunk with her heels to emphasize her words.
    “Who are you? Where are we?” Willa whispered hoarsely.
    “Jo Bell Frank. And I don’t know where the hell we are.”
    If the girl thought to shock Willa with her swearing, she was disappointed. Willa merely gazed out the back of the wagon at the sky, brassy with sunlight. Had the mob killed Buddy too? she wondered. They must have or the dog would have warned her. Damn, damn! Oh, damn them!
    “Papa said to give ya some clothes when ya woke up. Yore buck naked—almost.”
    The word naked caught Willa’s attention and she realized that beneath the quilt covering her she wore only the torn nightdress. She sat up, holding the quilt up over her breast, and flexed her shoulders. Every bone in her body ached and her back felt as if it were on fire.
    “They whipped ya good with that switch,” Jo Bell commented, as though she were talking about the weather. “I put some salve on yore back—cause Pa told me to.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Ya ain’t pretty, but ya ain’t ugly either. Was that mud-ugly man really yore pa? You don’t have no hump and no lumps. I didn’t feel one when I was puttin’ on the salve.”
    Willa was speechless; she sat staring at the young girl, her eyes dry and hot, her throat screaming for a drink of water. At first, observing Jo Bell’s dress that came to mid-calf and her bare feet and legs, Willa had thought the girl to be ten or eleven years old. On closer examination Willa realized the girl was older, possibly fifteen or sixteen. The dress was loose, but not loose enough to hide her rounded breasts. The shapely calves were not the limbs of a child. She would be pretty, even beautiful, if not for the surly look on her face.
    “Ya ain’t as pretty as Starr was,” Jo Bell was saying. “Yore eyes are a funny color. They’re blue like the bluin’ we used to put in the wash back home. Starr’s hair was red ’n’ her titties stuck out to here.” Jo Bell held her fingers curled six inches from her own rounded breasts.
    “Who is Starr?”
    “A whore, I reckon. Papa picked her up in Aberdeen. She come with us almost all the way to Prairie City. Papa purely hates to sleep all by his ownself.”
    The girl’s words sent a chill over Willa. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Concern for her safety leaped into her mind.
    “What happened to . . . Starr?”
    “She took off with a mule-skinner. Papa was so mad he wouldn’t let her take her trunk.” Jo Bell lifted the trunk lid and carelessly threw out clothing. “She didn’t care. She just climbed the wheel of that freight wagon and thumbed her nose at him.” She giggled and slapped her hands against her thighs. “It was a sight. Papa shook his fist at her ’n’ yelled she’d miss ah . . . you know what. Then he sulked all the way to Hublett.”
    Willa listened to Jo Bell’s frank talk in stunned silence. The dresses the girl took from the trunk were large and gawdy. The undergarments, however, were of good quality and had drawstrings at the waist and neck. Holding the quilt aroundher, Willa searched the trunk for bloomers, but there was nothing but a teddy with a split crotch. She chose a black and white checked gingham dress and slipped it on