Come, Josephine

Chapter 11

1927

Jack gave me a soft smile, as if trying to put me at ease. He seemed aware of the stress the situation had put on me, and squeezed my shoulder with surprising firmness, "Josie, I forgot my sketch book in the mercantile. Could you fetch it for me in town?"
I looked over at mamma, and back at Jack, weary of the trust he placed in me. He noticed my hesitation, "it's a fairly busy road, you'll be fine. Go on, I'll even walk up and meet you in town on the horses, if you want to wait by the square."
I nodded, silently, and cast one last look at my mamma as I left. She had not moved from her spot on the floor, and the chance of some fresh air made me keen to walk in onto town. I smiled at Jack, an honest smile, and went on my way.
I tied on my sun hat and began the long trek into town that I rarely made. It was a straight, unyielding road that severed the prairie in half. The road was nearly level, although simply a dirt track, which made the journey far easier than I had expected.
I made it into town after only walking for quarter of an hour, and made the effort to take in my surroundings for future drawing.
Although my art had taken a lesser role in my life, it was still something I returned to between lessons and chores. It had been the one constant in my turbulent life, and encouraged some form of routine. I had a feeling I would return to it again that night.
The town itself was like any other country town. Small, with only two shops, the mercantile and tailors, and a small church and school. A number of residential buildings littered the single street, the square placed at the centre, by the church.
The quant town saw some traffic, considering it lead up to Chippewa Falls. It was more of a hamlet or village rather than a town, but the status seemed fair considering the large population of farmers and settlers.
   Every building was lacquered with faded white paint, apart from the mercantile, which was a soft green. The structures looked surprisingly well for having faced the unfaltering winds for countless years, and something about the settlement felt wholesome.
   I made my way up the mercantile steps, and didn't pause to admire the fine things they had on offer. While it was all satisfyingly pleasant to see such lovely things, I knew I could never afford them with my own lack of income. I would not want to burden my parents either.
   I tried to ignore the swathes of pretty dresses and bolts of fabric, as much as I avoided the stationary. Instead, I focused on the counter in front.
   "Hello," I greeted the stout lady manning the storefront, "I have come to collect a sketchbook belonging to Jack Dawson?"
   The lady gave a sly smile, "ah, yes, here it is! I must say, it is most improper."
   I grimaced at the way she tossed it on the counter, wiping her hand on her apron. I returned the cruel smile, "well, these were drawn in France."
   She tilted her head, "France? What has that got to do with these unholy doodles? A man shouldn't be conjuring up such images in his mind-"
   "Oh, no, you're mistaken," I shook my head and brightened my expression, "these were drawn from life."
   "What?"
   "Oh, as Jack always says, the best part of Paris was the willingness girls showed to take their clothes off," before she could reply, I raised a hand, "now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home."
   I bolted out of the door before she could object, and tried to suppress the laughter that choked me.
   I turned to leave, and as I was stood on the steps, I saw something startling; a familiar face.
   I ran towards the person, the book tucked into my apron pocket.
   If only I could reach them before they spotted me-
   My bootlace must have come undone, because my heel caught it. My legs twisted and I fell to the floor with a painful bang, scrapping my knees as I collapsed in a heap.
   The person I recognised approached, hand outstretched to help me up. I lifted my head to meet his eyes, and watched as he balked.
   "You-" he stammered, "you-"
   He spun and ran, and I found myself stumbling to my feet after him. Before he could duck out of my range, I had wrapped myself around his legs, tripping him up.
   My tackle worked, and he rolled onto his side with a pained groan, "get off!"
   I tried to resist, but he managed to free my hands from him. He got to his feet again, and continued his escape.
   I too pulled myself to my feet, and pushed myself off the floor with such force that I skinned my hands. I yelped at the pain, and tried not cry at the stinging.
   I noticed he had ducked between two houses, and followed him in a furious chase. I slowed before I reached the gap, treading lightly, and peered around the corner.
   The boy was stationary, as if he believed I had given up the chase. He was coated in the same golden dust I was, and his swarthy complexion shimmered with the glow. He enthralled me with his ordinary handsomeness- as if he wasn't beautiful in appearance, but his expression made him stare in wonder.
   I sprung out, tackling his lanky frame with furious effort. He let out an oomph as he collided with someone's woodpile, and I pinned him down by trapping his shoulders with my hands, and his thighs with my knees. I grinned with malice.
   "Fuck," he met my eyes with rage.
   "Why didn't you get help?" I fought to keep him restrained.
   "I swear, I was going to!" He said, "but I saw you parents coming and fled."
   "Why didn't you help them?"
   He bucked under me, "I thought they might blame me."
   My body ached distractingly so, and I ground out a, "fair enough," before collapsing to the side. I stared up at the azure sky, and took a deep breath.
   To my surprise, the boy remained. He stretched out a hand over himself to shake my hand, "I'm Nick."
   "Josie," I accepted the gesture of friendliness, "sorry about the tackle."
   "Twice."
   "Right," I grimaced, "twice."
   "You're forgiven," he laughed.
   I smiled, "I have to admit, I was worried you'd ended up worse than I had."
   "Never," he had such a friendly laugh, yet it ended abruptly, "your hands!"
   "Oh, yeah," I focused on the clouds above.
   "Come on, get up," he got to his feet and helped me up by the wrist, "sit on my porch and I'll bring out some soap and water."
   He led me around to his porch, and I sat down on the second step. He returned quickly, carrying soap, water, and torn-up fabric.
   He sat beside me, and I tried to avoid his eyes. I focused on the dark, twin stains on his shirt, and wondered if the marks could be lifted.
   He raised the bowl to my hands, now fizzed with soap, and he took each hand and placed it into the bowl separately. I hissed with the sting, and he smiled apologetically.
   He took the time to wrap the torn fabric around my palms, snug enough that I would not hurt, but would stay in place.
   When he was finished, he stood, hands in pockets, "want me to walk you home, Josie? I can explain to your folks what happened."
   "Today, or last time?"
   "Both."
   I shook my head, "it's okay, my dad will ride into town in a moment to get me," I spotted him across the square in that moment, "shoot, there he is, got to go!"
   I ran towards Jack, and climbed onto the unmounted horse before he could greet me, "how's mamma?"
   Something lurked behind his eyes, "she's doing alright," he smiled, "who was that you were talking to?"
   I raised my palms, "I tripped and fell, and he helped me get cleaned up- say, who's the shopkeeper?"
   We set the horses into a jog in the direction of home, "Mrs Holdem, why?"
   I met his quizzical grin with my own, "might want to stay clear of her from now on," I tossed the sketch book at him, "she was not as impressed by french girls as you would hope."
   He blinked, "you showed her?"
   "She looked. But I told her they were drawn from life."
   He tipped his head back and let out a real, hearty laugh, "oh, shit, she never liked me."
   He reached over, and nudged my arm, "thanks, Josie."
   "No problem, dad."