The Edge of Town (4 page)

“Hello.”

Zelda’s dark hair was bobbed and spit curls clung to her cheeks. She was short, plump and had extremely thick ankles. Her eyebrows had been plucked to a thin line, and her lips were painted in a cupid’s bow. She had been a year ahead of Julie in school and always made sure that everyone knew that her papa owned the bank.

“I’ve not seen you for a while, kiddo.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doin’ what?”

“A little of this and that. What have you been doing?”

“Going to parties, dances. Things like that. They’re having dances three nights a week at Spring Lake. Want to come?” She continued without waiting for Julie to answer: “I might be able to find someone to take you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Zelda ignored or failed to detect the sarcasm in Julie’s voice.

“We’re doing the Charleston, the shimmy, the black-bottom and a whole bunch of other new dances.”

“Have you heard that the Catholic Church has condemned the shimmy?”

“What do they know? Papa says those old Catholics are a bunch of heathens anyway.”

Bet he doesn’t mind those old heathens putting money in his bank
.

“Do you do anything other than square dance? Well, they have sets for the old people,” Zelda went on as if Julie had answered her question. Her eyes traveled down over Julie’s plain skirt to her heavy shoes. “I’ll even help you find something to wear if you want to go.”

“I don’t need you to find me something to wear, Zelda.” Julie wanted to slap the girl, but she held on to her temper. Zelda appeared to be completely unaware that she had offended her.

“Do you see much of Evan Johnson? He’s good-looking, but he thinks he’s the cat’s meow.”

“Why do you say that?” Julie asked.

“He’s … strange. Not very friendly. Papa said he’d been to college and to France.”

“He was over there fighting the war. I doubt he did much sightseeing.”

“I could fall for him. He’s got money in Papa’s bank and drives a real nice car. I wonder why he don’t drive it to town. He was here yesterday on a
horse
!”

“He’s a farmer. Surely you’re not interested in a farmer.”

“Of course not! Papa’d have a duck-fit if I had anything to do with him. I was thinking about you. It would be a chance to get out from under all that work. He’s got money,” she said again. “Papa said he’d be a good catch for me if he wasn’t kin to Walter Johnson.”

“Why did he say that? Evan hasn’t done anything out of the way that I’ve heard about, even if he is Walter Johnson’s son.”

“For heaven’s sake, Julie. Being that man’s son is enough. Everyone knows what
he
is. How can his son
not
be trash?”

“Evan shouldn’t be held accountable for what his father does.” Julie was beginning to let her irritation show, even though she knew that Zelda was shallow and dumb and was only echoing what her father said.

“Mama says, ‘blood will tell’ and ‘water seeks its own level.’ He’s got Walter Johnson’s blood, hasn’t he? Trashy blood, if you ask me.”

“He’s all right for me but not for you. Is that right?”

“Oh, shoot! You always did take everything I say wrong. I didn’t mean it to sound like that, but I do have a position in town. My papa is the banker and—”

“I’m just a girl from the edge of town.” Julie spoke as if speaking to a two-year-old. “Evan’s mother was a dear, sweet woman. The best neighbor we ever had. He’s got her blood, too, so he can’t be all bad.”

“She couldn’t have been very smart, to marry a man like Walter Johnson,” Zelda said with a grimace.

“He may not have been so bad when he was young. People change, you know.”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending him. I think it’s wrong for you to blame the son for the father’s deeds. But no matter. Folks have already made up their minds about him. I’ve got to be going.”

Julie walked on down the street and, much to her chagrin, Zelda fell in step beside her.

“I don’t know how you can stand being out there on that rocky old farm. Papa says it’s dirt-poor land your papa’s farming and he’ll never get ahead. Don’t you ever have any fun?”

“Of course I do, Zelda. I love butchering hogs and cooking the fresh heart and liver. Why don’t you come out and I’ll show you how to pull calves? Sometimes I have to stick my hand inside the cow and pull out the calf. I get awful bloody, but it’s exciting. Then sometimes Joe shoots a mess of squirrels and I get to skin them. I nail their hind legs to a tree and split them down the middle—”

“Ugh! Here’s where I turn off. ’Bye.”

“ ’Bye.” Julie couldn’t keep the grin off her face as she continued on down the street to the library. Zelda wanted more than anything to be a flapper, but she didn’t have the looks or the personality.

* * *

By the time Julie crossed the railroad tracks and headed back up the rocky road toward home, there were rings of perspiration under her arms and her forehead was beaded with sweat. She enjoyed her forays into town but was always glad to get back to the sanctuary of the farm. Every time she came to town she grew more certain that she would never want to live there.

She trudged up the hill, shifting the bag from one arm to the other. The two books she had selected for Jill were heavy. Deep in thought, deciding what she was going to give the family for supper, she was unaware of the wagon coming up behind her until it was just a few feet away. She moved over to the side of the road and glanced back over her shoulder. Panic crept up her spine. She was deathly afraid of the man on the wagon.

Walter Johnson was big, whiskered and wore a straw hat on his head of gray-streaked hair. He spit a yellow stream of chewing tobacco out onto the dirt road. Julie choked down the panic that clogged her throat as he pulled the wagon up alongside her and stopped the team.

“Wal, looky thar!” He laughed as she continued to walk and passed the team. “If’n it ain’t Miss Prissy-tail Jones. I ain’t seen you fer a right long spell.” He walked the horses until he was even with her. “Climb on up here and I’ll give ya a ride home.”

Julie tried to ignore him. There wasn’t a house or a person in sight. Her heart pounded with fear. The man moved the team so that the wagon forced her to walk in the grass that edged the road.

“If’n yo’re right nice, I’ll stop in that grove up ahead and pleasure ya some.”

Fear kept Julie mute. She looked down and away from him while her mind grappled with what to do if he got down off the wagon seat.

“Seen ya in town a-switchin’ that purty little ass around. Ya wearin’ any drawers, gal? Be handier if ya ain’t.” His chuckle came from low in his throat. It was more like an animal growl.

Julie felt her face grow hot with humiliation and anger. Determined to defend herself, she switched the cloth bag to her right hand and prepared to swing it at him if he got down off the wagon.

“Ain’t no need ya bein’ so snooty. It ain’t like ya ain’t never had a man.” He leered at her, lifted his brows and emitted a short guffaw of laughter.

Comprehending the meaning of the man’s hateful words, Julie was terrified that he would force her off the road and into the woods ahead. She glanced behind her to see if anyone was coming. Not a soul was in sight!

Lord, help me
.

Julie stopped. “Get away from me, you filthy scum,” she yelled. “Touch me and I’ll … kill you!”

“Wal, now. Ya finally got yore back up.”

“I’ll tell Papa and the boys—”

“Don’t make no never mind. I’ll have had my fun. Turn into that woods up thar, gal.”

Julie spun around and ran as fast as she could back toward town. She wasn’t going near those woods with Walter Johnson following her.

“It’ll be you, the young gal or that gimpy kid. I ain’t a bit choosy when it comes to gettin’ my rocks off. Come back here, ya split-tailed bitch!” he yelled.

Oh, dear Lord. He’s threatening Jason and Jill
!

She heard a shout and looked back fearfully, thinking he was coming after her. A rider on a buckskin horse had come out of the woods and was racing down the road toward the wagon. He reached it, whirled his horse and lashed the team with the ends of his reins.

“You rotten son-of-a-bitch! Get the hell away from her!”

Evan Johnson lashed the team again, and they shot off up the road. Walter Johnson bounced on the seat, roaring with rage and trying to restrain the frantic mules.

Tears of relief rolled down Julie’s cheeks. She stood in the middle of the dusty road and dug into her bag for a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Evan Johnson rode up beside her.

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Turning her face away to hide her tears, she peered anxiously up the road to be sure her tormentor was gone.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jones. I’m real sorry.”

Julie had to choke back a sob before she could say, “You didn’t do anything.”

“He had booze at home. I didn’t think he’d go buy more.” Evan swung down from the horse. “Let me take your bag. I’ll walk with you to your lane.”

“You don’t need to do that. Just see to it that he doesn’t come back.”

“He won’t come back. He’ll go home and drink himself into a stupor.” He lifted the bag from her hand and hung it over the horn on his saddle.

Julie looked up at him with tear-wet eyes. She had seen Evan only a couple of times since he had come home. She remembered that Mrs. Johnson had visited them often before she died and had talked about her son, whom she had sent to live with his grandparents when he was twelve. Julie’s mother had said the reason the boy had been sent away was because he didn’t get along with his father. Mrs. Johnson had said it was because she wanted Evan to have a better education. When he finished his schooling, he had enlisted in the army.

Mrs. Johnson had died of influenza during the war and Evan had stayed on in France for a while when the war ended. Then a few months ago he had come back to the farm.

Evan was a big man, both tall and broad. Everything about him was big: shoulders, arms, hands. His hair was light, his eyes slate-blue. His face matched the rest of him: big nose, prominent cheekbones and wide, thin mouth bracketed by indentations. His eyebrows and lashes were surprisingly dark for a person with light hair.

His eyes, shadowed with concern, were studying her with intensity. His rugged face was not exactly handsome, but it was … nice.

How could this man possibly be the son of such a despicable character as Walter Johnson
?

From her brother Joe, she had learned that Evan Johnson was a quiet man who offered no apologies to him for his father’s behavior and never talked about himself. He had a car—Joe had seen it in a shed—but he rode his horse wherever he wanted to go.

Walter Johnson didn’t share work with the neighbors, but when Mr. Humphrey’s baling machine broke down, Evan offered the use of his forge to repair the part that was broken, saving Mr. Humphrey the time it would take to go to town to the blacksmith. Jason had said that he had then helped put up the Humphreys’ hay.

Joe liked him. Julie remembered her papa saying that the man was polite when spoken to but never smiled or laughed or joked with the boys. Evan didn’t have a lot to smile about, Jethro had added. Being the son of the most hated man in the county wasn’t easy.

“Thank you,” Julie said, breaking the silence between herself and Evan. Reaction to her confrontation with his father had set in and she had to tense her lips to keep them from trembling.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. He was supposed to be back a couple hours ago with a barrel of kerosene. I’m glad I came looking for him.”

“I … didn’t see him in town or I’d not have started home.”

“Has he bothered you before?”

Julie laughed nervously. “Who hasn’t he bothered?”