The Fiery Ring (4 page)

“Of course, that’s right.” Albert nodded. He chewed his lip as he always did when he was disturbed and said, “I’m right sorry that it didn’t turn out better, but you kids will always have a roof over your head. You’ll have to work, of course, and as soon as you get to be of age, I’ll try to help you get started.”

Joy stared at her uncle. She sensed that something was wrong with all of this. Naturally she had known little of her parents’ financial situation, but she knew they had been confident of getting enough money out of the farm to get them all back to Virginia. Now she could not help saying, “I
don’t understand. There was money enough to get us back home. Daddy said so.”

“That was before we found out how many debts were owed.”

“I’d like to see those records,” Travis said quickly. His face was flushed with anger.

“Are you saying you don’t trust me, your own family?”

“You’re not my family,” Travis said hotly. “We’re not blood kin.”

“But we are, you and me,” Opal said. “Your uncle wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

At that moment both Joy and Travis knew the hopelessness of it all. The look in their uncle’s eyes revealed his character, and both of them were certain he had robbed them of their inheritance—as certain as they were of life itself.

But there was nothing they could do. They listened while Albert outlined his plans for them, and then when he nodded, they turned and left. As soon as they were outside the house, Travis said bitterly, “He’s lying.”

“I think he is too, but we’ll never prove it.”

“You won’t have to stay here long, Joy. I’m old enough to go out on my own. I’ll find a job, and then I’ll come and get you.”

“Will you, Travis?”

“Sure, sis, you can bank on it!”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’ll Come Back for You!”

The gray dawn had barely broken over the land when Joy awoke in her narrow bed. She lay there feeling the hopelessness of her existence. For six months, ever since the deaths of her parents and her sister, she had spent her days working hard for the Tatums. She welcomed her time alone at night in her tiny attic room, even though there was no heat in the winter and no way of cooling the room in the summer. After winter had passed and she no longer had to pile her blankets on so high she could barely breathe, the heat of summer had been even more oppressive. The tiny window did not allow in enough air to cool the room, and oftentimes the stuffy heat became suffocating. On many a summer night she had sneaked downstairs and slept outside on the porch. She rarely got a full night’s sleep, and that made the days of cheerless labor even harder to bear.

This September morning was pleasant enough, with a touch of fall in the air, and she lay on her bed for a few extra minutes, listening to the muted song of a bird outside. She kept her eyes shut, dreading to open them. She did not know what sort of bird it was, but it made a cheerful sound, and for one moment she wished she could change places with the feathered songster. The song rose, then faded away as the bird flew off. Knowing she could no longer postpone the inevitable, she crawled out of bed and dressed in the faint light that filtered through the small window of her cell-like room. She thought about Travis out in the bunkhouse, where
she knew he too was rising, along with the hired hands. There had been no room for him in the house, and he had been glad to make a spot for himself in the bunkhouse.

Travis had not yet been able to leave the farm to find a job, for Uncle Albert had gone back on his word and decided he would not give Travis permission to leave until his sister reached the age of eighteen. For that Joy was secretly glad. She feared being left alone with the Tatums, but at the same time, she hoped Travis could devise a plan for them to sneak away—far, far away from this hated place. Both of them lived for the day when they could shake the dust of North Dakota off their feet and find their way back to Virginia.

When she was dressed Joy went downstairs, pausing to look at the furniture in the living room. Her throat tightened each morning at the sight of her family’s antiques sitting in the Tatum home. It not only brought back memories of her parents and of Dawn, but it also reminded her painfully of her uncle’s betrayal. Albert Tatum had appropriated all of the Winslow furnishings and moved them into his own house without apology. “This stuff might as well be used, and you two don’t have any place to put it,” he had told Travis and Joy. Both of them had resented it but could do nothing to stop him. Fortunately, they had managed to rescue many personal items, such as pictures and treasured keepsakes, packing them up and storing them in the Tatums’ attic without Uncle Albert’s knowledge. “One day, Travis,” Joy had said fiercely, “we’ll have our own place—then we can come and get all of the furniture and our other things!”

Joy pushed the memories aside, as she had learned to do, and started the fire in the wood stove in the kitchen. Wood was scarce and Albert Tatum was stingy with it, so they used it sparingly. Albert didn’t complain much about the wood they used for cooking, but they could only use it for heat when he was there to enjoy it. That had been the one advantage of working in the kitchen last winter—it had always been warm, even during the coldest days.

Joy had always been a strong girl, but as she gathered the ingredients for breakfast, she felt a weariness that was more than physical. True enough she worked long hours, but that did not fully explain the fatigue that seemed to soak down to her very bones. It felt almost like a sickness, for she was without the vigor she had been so accustomed to all of her life. The deaths of her parents and Dawn—so sudden, so unexpected, so dreadful—had drained her vitality. It was a matter of heart and spirit rather than of flesh and blood. She moved about the kitchen mechanically, as she did every morning, forcing herself to go through the familiar motions.

From outside she could hear the farmhands rising, getting ready for another day in the fields. She knew that Travis hated this place too. He had never been afraid of work, but to work all day for nothing—not even a kind word—had worn down his resistance as well. It simply never occurred to Albert Tatum to pay Travis a wage, or even to commend him for work well done. The past few months had drawn all the smiles out of Travis Winslow, and he now went through his days as mechanically as Joy endured hers.

She heard the family gathering around the table in the dining room, and then Albert stuck his head through the door. “Hurry up, Joy, we’re ready for breakfast!”

“I’m coming as quick as I can.”

Picking up a platter of eggs and fried ham, Joy moved out of the kitchen. The family was seated, and as soon as she put down the plate, Olean took her fork and picked at a piece of meat. “These are too done! Can’t you ever do anything right?”

Anger flared through Joy and she snapped, “If you don’t like the way I cook, why don’t you cook breakfast yourself!”

“That’ll be enough out of you!” Albert said sternly.

“It wouldn’t hurt her to come help me in the kitchen once in a while,” Joy protested.

“Pa, tell her to shut her mouth!” Olean cried.

Opal tried to bring a little peace into the room by saying, “I’m sure she’s doing the best she can, Albert.”

Joy glared at her uncle, then turned and walked stiffly out of the dining room with her head high. She brought the rest of the food and filled the coffee cups. When everyone had been served, she sat down and said, “Please pass the eggs.”

Witt picked up the plate and handed it to her but wouldn’t let go of it. “Say please.” He smirked.

Joy did not say a word, and with an annoying grin he put the plate back where she could not reach it.

Furiously, Joy got up from the table and stormed out.

“You come back to this table, Joy,” Albert shouted at her.

Joy did not even pause. She went out the back door and ran to the bunkhouse. There were four hands there for the harvest besides Travis, and they would all have to have breakfast too, which they always ate out in the bunkhouse. They all looked up surprised when Joy walked in without so much as knocking. She was so angry her face was pale. Travis came toward her and said, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing. I’ll be a little bit late with breakfast for all of you.”

Slim Whittaker grinned at her. “That’s all right, Joy. We don’t mind waiting for your fine cooking.”

Joy studied the tall, slender young man, thinking,
These hired hands are so nice to me. Why can’t the Tatums be like that?
“Thank you, Slim,” she said. She turned back to Travis and said, “I’d better get back inside. I just got upset is all.”

“I’ll go back with you. Maybe I can help carry some of the food out.”

Slim yelled, “Give me a call when you’re ready. I’ll help too.”

Travis walked back inside with her, and as soon as they stepped in the door, he saw Albert standing there, his face florid with anger. “Don’t you walk out on me, Joy, when I’m talking to you!” He grabbed her arm, and instantly Travis reached out and struck his arm away. “You keep your hands off of her, Uncle Albert!”

“Boy, don’t you ever lay hands on me again!”

“Don’t you lay hands on my sister again.”

Albert shouted, “Get out of here!”

“I’ll be glad to. Call me when you’re ready, Joy. I’ll help you take the food out.” He gave Albert a defiant look, then turned and walked out the door, slamming it shut.

“You listen to me, Joy, you’re gettin’ too uppity. You’re not an honored guest around here. You’ve got to work for your living.”

“I work every day, and you know it.”

Olean came into the drawing room to add her own comments. “Don’t let her talk to you like that, Daddy,” she said. “She needs a whipping.”

Opal had followed her in. “Please, Albert, let’s not have an argument. You go on. I’ll help Joy cook breakfast for the hands.”

Albert stood there for a moment undecided, then scowled and, turning on his heel, walked away. Olean glared at Joy and spat, “You two are lucky to have a roof over your head. You’re nothing but paupers.” Then she turned and followed her father.

Opal sighed and wrung her hands helplessly. “Don’t pay any attention to Olean. She doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes she does, Aunt Opal,” Joy said quietly. She was really fond of her aunt, for Opal tried her best to make life as pleasant as possible. Several times she had given both Travis and Joy money that she had managed to conceal from Albert.

Joy said wearily, “I’d better get breakfast for the hands.”

“You haven’t eaten anything yourself. Here, you sit down, and I’ll fry you a fresh egg.”

At her aunt’s kindness, tears came into Joy’s eyes. She ate breakfast but had little appetite for it. Then she called to Travis, and the two of them carried the food out on covered trays. She moved around the bunkhouse mess room, serving the coffee and being teased by the hands. She never minded their good-natured teasing, and she smiled back at them, thinking how much more pleasant it was in the bunkhouse than in the farmhouse.

Finally the hands were finished and went outside, all of them saying a word about how good the breakfast was. Travis stood up but stopped long enough to say, “Try not to let it get to you, Joy.”

“I do try, Travis, but I just can’t help it sometimes. The Tatums are so mean.”

“Aunt Opal’s nice enough.”

“Yes, she is, but she can’t stop the others. Olean is downright hateful.”

“And Witt’s no good either, but we’ll have to tough it out for a little while longer. Say, I forgot to tell you, I got a letter from Uncle John last time I went to town.”

Instantly Joy looked up. “Daddy’s brother?”

“Yes. I wrote him and asked him if he could find a place for us, and he says he thinks he can.”

“But Uncle Albert will never let us leave here, not until I’m eighteen. If you could get away, though, you’re old enough to make your own way.”

“I’d rather we sneak away together and get to Virginia. He’d have a hard time getting us back from there.” He put his arm around her and hugged her. “We’ll do it, sis. See if we don’t.”

Joy reached up and put her hand on his cheek, and he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He was a handsome young man, clean-cut and lean. Whenever Joy looked at him it made her sad, for she saw some of her father and her mother in his features. “We’ll do it, won’t we?”

“Yes, we will, Joy. One day soon we’ll do it.”

****

It was exactly one week after the flare-up with Albert Tatum that Joy was out with her chickens. One of her chores was to take care of the chickens from their old home. Travis had made a fence for them to keep out the hawks and foxes, and he had also helped her build a chicken house, which now housed over twenty laying hens. There were plenty of eggs
left over to sell to the neighbors, and without letting Albert know about it, Opal allowed Joy to keep that money. Opal hated going behind her husband’s back, but she also knew the youngsters would need some cash to start out with when it came time for them to leave, and it grieved her that her husband was so stingy with them. Joy had accumulated a small sum, no more than thirty dollars, but it represented a start on an escape from the Tatum household.

“Chick-chick-chick-chick!” she called. As the hens came running out, she threw the feed to them and took pleasure in watching their heads bob up and down. They were beautiful to her, and she loved each one of them. She had named many of them and had tried to convince Travis that they knew their names.

“No, they don’t know their names, silly,” he always said with a smile. “They just come to you because they know you’ve got lunch.”

Now as she watched the chickens, she was thinking of how her uncle was mean enough to make her butcher some of her hens for the table. It infuriated her, and she knew she could never have any smidgen of affection for the man.

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.”