Just Pray for Jo

“Jo, I know you’re under that bed. Come on out. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Watching through the fringe on the bedspread, I saw Rankin Orr’s black leather shoes as he paced back and forth across my bedroom floor. When the shoes stopped, I heard the springs protest as my stepfather, tall and heavyset, leaned on the mattress for support. A moment later I saw knees as he lowered himself to the floor and then his hands as he crouched on all fours like an animal. I waited. His head came through the fringe, and he smiled.

“Hello, no one in the house but you and me.”

As he reached out to grab me, I slid from under the bed, pushed up, and ran to the stairs. Out in the hall, I did not look back, but threw myself down the staircase. Rankin’s angry voice followed me.

“Jo, you’re in for it now. Forget my belt, I’m gonna use my hands on you.”

He was coming, and his labored breathing filled the stairwell. This was hide and seek for real, but where could I hide? When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I ran to the broom closet on the back porch. Pulling the door open, I stepped inside. The lock was useless. It had not worked in years. With my hands on the door knob, I began to pray,

“Please, Lord, help me.”

Holding my breath, I heard his footsteps as he walked across the porch.

“Jo, for a smart girl who uses lots of fancy words, you sure are dumb.”

As he stood in front of the closet, I tried to think what to do.

“You and I know this door doesn’t have a lock. Miss Uppity, your luck has run out.”

Letting go of the door knob, I put my hands against the door. When I felt it move, I pushed as hard as I could. As the door flew open, Rankin staggered, his bulk pulling him down and backward. I watched as he went through the screen door, his arms flailing, and his hands grasping for something to stop his fall.

When his head hit the porch steps with a crack, I paused to look at him. He was upside down on his back, head at an angle, and arms and legs flung out wide. Sleet had been falling off and for the last hour or so. As I watched Rankin, it was sticking to his eyebrows and hair, melting off his warm face, and leaving damp spots on his starched khaki pants and shirt. Though the sleet was coming down hard, he did not move, not even an eyelid twitched.

“Rankin? Can you hear me? Rankin?”

Was he really out or just playing possum? I didn’t trust him. Not knowing how long he would be like that, I ran upstairs to the closet in my room. Grabbing my suitcase, packed months ago, I pulled my red wool jacket from a hanger and took my purse from the top of the bureau. Then I hurried back downstairs.

I left the house by the front door. Since I had not heard or seen Rankin, I guessed he was still upside down on the porch. I did not care. He was Mama’s problem, unconscious or dead. I hoped I would never see my stepfather again.

Setting my suitcase on the icy porch, I pulled on my jacket. As I went down the steps I held onto the bannister with one hand and my suitcase with the other. Walking carefully to the front gate, I looked back, ready to run if Rankin appeared. No one was out front, not even a dog or cat. Normally I wouldn’t be outside in this weather either, but I needed a bus, and Greyhound stopped at Lindsey’s Drug Store on the square. It wasn’t far, a ten minute walk at most, maybe more on the icy paths. When I arrived I shook the sleet out of my hair and brushed it off my jacket. A bell tinkled above my head as I walked in the door.

“Jo, what on earth are you doing out in this weather?”

Mrs. Lindsey, the pharmacist’s wife, was a sweet lady, and I could not tell her I was running away, so I told half the truth.

“I’m going to visit family down on the Gulf Coast. I need a bus ticket.”

“Hon, I’m sorry. The bus left about ten minutes ago, and there won’t be another for a couple of hours. If this weather keeps up, it might not come at all. Your best bet is the train. I’m pretty sure one is due in soon, but I will check for you.”

I watched her walk to a phone on the wall at the end of the counter. While I had the time I pulled my hat and gloves from my jacket pockets. Then I strolled among the aisles and stopped in front of the candy display. Pulling a round peanut patty from the shelf, I went back to the counter. Mrs. Lindsey met me, and I handed her the candy.

“Jo, that’s a nickel, and the next train arrives in about thirty minutes.”

“Thank you for calling the train station, Mrs. Lindsey. I appreciate your help.”

“I was glad to do it. Maybe it will be warmer down on the coast than it is here. Come by when you get back, and let me hear about your holiday. Now did you tell me the name of the town where your kinfolk live?”

“No, ma’am, but it’s called Benton.”

“Never heard of it, dear, but I hope you have a good time. Now if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your train. Oh, and remember me to your mama.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

Stopping at the door, I put my peanut patty in a pocket and pulled on my hat and gloves. Waving good-bye to Mrs. Lindsey I pushed the door open and went out. The train station was across the square behind the courthouse. To save time I could have walked across the square, but I took the long way around trying to stay under the awnings and avoid the sleet when I could.

At the station door I shook the sleet off and walked in. A handful of people sat on benches in the lobby. No one was at the ticket window, and I was afraid it was closed, but an agent stepped up as soon as he saw me. He smiled, and I asked for a ticket to Houston.

Buying the ticket, I was shocked to hear that the trip took over twelve hours, and that I had to change trains in Fort Worth and San Antonio. I also needed a bus from Houston to Benton. After I had the ticket safely in my purse, I went to find a phone booth and called Mama.

“Jo, I can’t talk. I’m just leaving the office for the hospital. Our neighbor, Mrs. Sweeney, saw Rankin sitting on the steps in the sleet and went over to check on him. When she saw that he was bleeding, and she couldn’t understand a word he was saying, she called an ambulance.”

“She should have called the police, but I didn’t hang around to find out whether he had killed himself when he fell. If he had, though, it would have been what he deserved.”

“Jo, that’s a hateful thing to say.”

“No, Mama, Rankin is hateful, and if he had caught me, he would have hurt me, but I have a train to catch.”

“What do you mean, if he would have caught you?”

“Mama, if you had taken the time to listen in the beginning, you would understand.”

“But, Jo—”