Joelle's Secret Read Free Page B

Ed?”
    “We’ll try, but she’s not of age. Harper’s her legal guardian.” Campbell brushed his hand across his face as if to push a thought aside, and the two were silent for a long time. When they turned to leave, Campbell glanced back toward the house. He saw Joelle Mitchell standing on the porch in the cold, looking toward her mother’s grave.

Chapter Two
    FOR THE FIRST WEEK after her mother’s funeral, Joelle spent a great deal of her time outside the house. She went for long rides on Blackie, hunted rabbits, cared for the stock, and found solace in the cold December air. Christmas was only a few days away, but it meant nothing to her now.
    As she came back from the barn, bearing the bucket of milk from Bessie the cow, she remembered the times as a small child when her father had made a great deal out of the Christmas season. She remembered his taking her out into the woods, and not just any tree would do. It had to be a very special one. “You can’t just chop a tree down for Christmas,” he had said once, a grin decorating his face. “You’ve got to have one just the right height and just the right shape, and it has to smell like a Christmas tree. Cedar is the only thing for that.”
    The snow had disappeared, but the air was cold, and as these memories flooded through Joelle, she looked up to see a large jackrabbit dart away, leaping from right to left. The antics of the rabbit amused her. “I’m not after you or your lucky foot either.” She remembered her father had been somewhat superstitious and told her once, “The only rabbit’s footthat’s any good for luck is the right rear foot. The rest of them are nothing. But you take a right rear—why, you got something there, Punkin.”
    She passed the corral, and at once Blackie trotted up, hanging his head over the fence. She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out an apple. She cut it into quarters with the large pocket knife she always carried and fed him one of them. “Don’t eat so fast you’ll ruin your digestion,” she said. She rubbed the silky nose of the gelding and fed him the other quarters. Blackie had become almost as necessary to her as air or food or water. She had always loved the horse, but now that she was alone, she spent more time than ever grooming him and riding him through the second-growth timber that flanked the farm.
    “That’s all you get. If you’re a good boy, I’ll bring you another one later.”
    She picked up the milk pail and walked to the house. In the kitchen, she transferred the milk to a gallon jar and looked to see how much butter they had. There was very little. “I’ll have to churn, I guess.” She got the crock out, added the thick fresh milk, pulled up a chair, and began churning. The regular motion seemed to calm her nerves, but from time to time her eyes would go to the hall that led to her mother’s room, and the sight always brought a feeling of sadness, grief, and loss.
    Suddenly, a small movement caught her eye, and she swiveled her head quickly and saw a mouse had come from somewhere and was eating on a fragment that had fallen to the floor. “What are you doing here? Mice are supposed to be outside the house,” she said and smiled, for the mouse propped to a sitting position, held the morsel of food in its tiny handlikepaws, revolving it rapidly and taking tiny bites. The sight of the tiny creature pleased Joelle, for she loved all living things. Harper had gone on a rampage once trapping mice, and she remembered how grieved she had been at the mangled bodies he made her retrieve from the traps. She leaned forward and studied the underside of the mouse.
    “Why, you’re a nursing mother,” she said and then smiled. “How many little ones have you got? The house will be full of your crew, but I don’t care. I wish your family would all grow up to be nice, fat, plump mice, and I’ll leave some cheese out for you tonight. Nursing mothers have to watch their diet pretty