Just Pray for Jo

By Terry Luke

To escape an abusive father, Jo Tyson runs away from home. Her unplanned journey takes her across Texas to a small, coastal town where events unfold that she could not foresee. Blindsided by handsome Jay Hughes, she is soon marrieda crucial misstep. Just months into their marriage, Jo discovers that she and Jay have little in common. Her need for independence and her desire for a fulfilling job strains their fragile relationship. At nineteen, she has no idea how to reconcile their differences. She is confident, though, that she can find another job and persuades Parker Harris, the editor and publisher of The Benton Sentinel, to hire her. The job gives new meaning to her life.

Then a fateful eventthe bombing of Pearl Harborturns her world upside down. Along with many young men in town who rush to join the Army, Jay signs up despite Jos protest. And to her dismay, Parker is called up and must close the newspaper, forcing Jo to make a difficult decisionone that will impact her adopted town and her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512714371

Terry Luke

In her debut novel, Just Pray for Jo, Terry Luke draws on stories from her family’s one hundred-year history on the Texas Gulf Coast and her experiences waitressing and working for weekly newspapers. She has published short fiction and poetry in New Texas Fiction, Grasslands Review, and the Concho River Review, among others. A consultant and technical writer, she has a BA in English and an MA in literature. She and her husband, Bill, live in Dallas,Texas, with Layla, an old, black Labrador and Theo, a black kitten.

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JUST PRAY FOR JO

A

novel

Terry Luke

38301.png

Copyright © 2015 Terry Luke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1438-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1439-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1437-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916160

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/18/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Acknowledgements

IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, VIOLET, AND HER MOTHER, RUBY

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face … You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

— ELEANOR ROOSEVELT

CHAPTER ONE

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—

Mama, if you decide you want the truth, I’ll be glad to explain what happened. Oh, and if you see Mrs. Lindsey, I told her I was going to Benton to visit family. She said to tell you hello. Now I gotta go.

I hung up and walked out to track two to find my train. The whistle blew, and steam, mixed with sleet, floated back down the line of cars. I shivered in the cold as the conductor walked up to me.

Good morning, miss. I’m Isaac Baker. Let me have that suitcase, and I need to see your ticket.

Handing them over to Mr. Baker, I followed him to the train. At an open door, he stopped, put down a stool, and turned to me. Okay, miss, step on up.

I did as I was told, stepping up and into the coach. He came behind me, carrying my suitcase, and put it on a shelf. I followed him into the next car, where he showed me my seat. He told me where to find a toilet and the dining car. Then he was gone.

My trip was uneventful until I took the advice of a woman I met on the train after it left San Antonio.

Hon, if I was you, I wouldn’t go all the way to Houston. Just tell the conductor you want off at East Bernard. From there it’s a short bus ride to Benton, maybe thirty, forty miles.

Thinking this would save me time and money, I asked Mr. Baker if I could get off in East Bernard.

Well, miss, we can do that for you. I’ll be back a few minutes before the train stops, and the stationmaster in East Bernard will help you get a bus.

I napped off and on until Mr. Baker came to get me.

Hon, you need to follow me to the next car.

I stood and shook out my skirt. Then I picked up my purse and walked behind him through the swaying connection between the cars. He stopped to get my suitcase, and I followed him to the door.

When the train stopped, Mr. Baker whipped out his step-stool and hopped to the ground. He helped me down, handed me my suitcase, and waved at someone behind me. Before I could say thanks, he had grabbed the stool, pulled himself up, and closed the door. The train, with what sounded like deep breaths, began to move. I watched until the red lights on the caboose winked out against the dark sky.

Someone meeting you here, miss?

Startled by the voice, I turned to see who was behind me.

No, I was hoping to get a bus. The conductor told me to ask the stationmaster.

Well, you’ve got the assistant stationmaster, that’s me. But I don’t have a bus. We don’t have anything through here until about eight tomorrow morning.

But I need to get to Benton. Is there a taxi?

No, miss. We aren’t big enough to have a taxi.

Can you give me directions to a hotel?

I sure wish I could, but we don’t have a hotel either.

Well, I’ll just stay in the station.

Hon, staying in the station without an attendant is against regulations. I have to lock up now. My shift is over. Won’t be anyone here until seven or so in the morning.

Then without looking at me, he locked the door and walked out to his car. I watched as he backed up and drove out onto the highway. And when the sound of his car died away, it was so quiet I could hear insects humming in the grass along the track.

I walked around the building, looked east and west, but could not see another car. Across the highway, I could see a few street lights and some dark buildings. I walked back around to the track side of the building where a bench was pushed up under the overhang. I put my suitcase on the bench and then took off my jacket. A light wind ruffled my hair, but it felt awfully warm and humid for a day in late December, so my jacket went in the suitcase.

Leaving the bench, I stepped out to look at the stars. I searched for and found a constellation in the South shaped like a teapot. I could never remember its name, but I liked how the Milky Way seemed to be steaming out of the spout and across the sky.

Looking at the stars always made me feel very small, but tonight I felt smaller than usual. I tried to think what to do, but I had no idea where I was, and the only person who could have assisted me had just driven away. For the second time that day I prayed for help.

Walking back to the bench, I knew I had no choice but to wait until the station opened in the morning. Sitting down, I pulled my legs up under me. Though it was dark, my eyes were adjusting, but that was actually not as good as I would have thought.

From time to time I just knew I could see someone walking in the field on the other side of the tracks, and then when I looked again, no one was there. Lights out to the north would suddenly appear on the horizon and then mysteriously wink out. In the silence, when the insects quit humming, I heard a snuffle and looked around for a dog. Nothing but dark around me, and then I heard crunches, like someone walking on the gravel in the parking area.

Straining to see in the dark just made me anxious, so I shut my eyes. With my eyes closed, the noises sounded louder and closer. I opened my eyes and looked quickly around. I was alone, but I just knew someone was near. I could hear breathing.

Easing my legs out from under me, I put my feet on the ground and stood. I walked to the end of the building on the east and looked around the corner. No one. Then I walked around the station and back to the bench. The building did not have a tree or shrub near it, so no one could hide, not even me.

Disgusted I sat back down. The story about the little boy who cried wolf came to mind. If I did not calm down I knew I would not be able to help myself in the event a rabid animal or a tramp really did wander up.

Turning my suitcase so I could lean on it, I thought about Mama. I could hear her.

Jo, events in our lives do not matter as much as how we react to them. The only thing we can control is our behavior and attitude. You have choices.

I thought about choices. The only thing I could control at the moment was my fear, and I was not sure I could do that, so to distract myself I began reciting the multiplication tables.

CHAPTER TWO

Hon, wake up, wake up.

Mama, leave me alone. I’m not hungry, just sleepy.

Young lady, you can’t sleep out here. Wake up.

Opening my eyes I saw a face about a foot away from mine. I jerked back, hitting my head against something solid. The face moved away, and I turned to see what was behind me. Then I remembered. I was on a bench, and my head had hit the station wall.

Hon, don’t be afraid. I’m the sheriff of East Bernard, and I can’t let you sleep on this bench. This isn’t a safe place to be.

Rubbing the back of my head, I silently agreed with him.

I didn’t intend to sleep out here, but I had nowhere to go.

Did you walk here?

No, sir. I got off the train around 11:30 p.m., thinking I could get a bus to Benton.

Well, the last bus stops here about six p.m.

Yes, sir. That’s what the stationmaster, or the assistant, told me as he was locking up to leave. When I asked if I could stay inside, he told me it was against regulations, and then he left. I’m not from around here, so I didn’t know where to go or what to do.

Hmmm, and a bench on Highway 90 and the railroad tracks seems a poor choice for a bed. Now, little lady, just come along with me. I have a place where you can sleep, and it is very safe.

I looked at him, a stranger. Could I trust him?

How do I know you’re a sheriff?

Hon, I am wearing a star for one thing, but I guess anyone could do that.

And fishing around in his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and handed it to me.

Now open it up, Hon, and I’ll shine my flashlight on it. See that not very handsome man? That’s me, and the card says I’m sheriff here.

I looked at the photograph on the card, and I looked at the man. They were the same, but just because this man was a sheriff could he be trusted? I could not trust my stepfather, and I knew him.

Young lady, you are in a fix. You don’t know if you can trust me, but you do know that sleeping out here is not safe. We have a freight train due to stop for water soon, and I can’t leave you here at the mercy of some drifter who has hitched a ride in an empty boxcar. You must come with me whether you want to or not.

Not knowing what to do, I stood up.

Hon, my name is Otto Praha, and I’ve lived in East Bernard all my life. My wife is Suzanne, and I’d call her so you could go to the house, but at this time of night I can’t do that.

No. I guess you can’t. Getting a call in the middle of the night would frighten me.

And if you’re the wife of a sheriff that makes it worse. Now Hon, what is your name?

I’m Jo Tyson.

Well, Jo Tyson pleased to meet you. Now let me have that suitcase, and we’ll get you to a safe place.

We walked around the station to Sheriff Praha’s car, but it did not look like a police car. And I hesitated when he opened the door.

Are you really a sheriff? This is just a regular car.

Hon, this is a tiny town. We can’t afford an official vehicle. I just drive my own, and the town pays for gas and maintenance. Now please get in, so we can find you a bed for what remains of the night.

I stepped up on the running board, ducked my head and slid onto the back seat. He handed me my suitcase and shut the door. Once he was in the car and the engine was running, he turned around to look at me.

Now, Jo. I am sorry to put you in the back, but we both have a reputation to maintain. You won’t be there long. We are only about two blocks from our jail.

Jail? You’re taking me to jail, but I haven’t done anything wrong.

That remains to be seen, and as I have no other choice, you must stay in our jail. It is probably the safest place in town. If I left you out by the tracks and someone did hurt you, then we would both be sorry indeed.

As he finished talking he pulled up in front of a small, red brick building. I opened the car door, stepped on the running board, and then down into the street. Reaching back inside, I picked up my suitcase.

Hon, hand me that.

I did, and he shut the door. Then I followed him into the jail.

Now, Jo. We don’t have much crime in this town, and about the only time I have anyone in here is for drunk and disorderly conduct. We only have two cells, so you can choose one. My wife changes the sheets once a week whether anyone has slept on them or not. You’ll find a wool blanket at the end of your cot, but I doubt you’ll need it tonight. We’ve been in the seventies since Christmas.

He asked me to choose a cell, and when I made my choice he handed me two keys. I walked inside, and he closed the door behind me. It clanged shut just as I had heard them do in the movies.

"Jo, you have the only keys to your cell, even I can’t get in. Now that you are safely inside, please fill out this form. He slid a clipboard and a fountain pen between the bars. I took them and sat on the cot, answering questions like where was I born and when. Once I completed the form, I handed it back to him.

Sheriff Praha appeared to be studying it, and from time to time questioned me about my answers.

Were you really been born in 1923? I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you don’t look eighteen. Are you telling the truth about your birthday?

Puzzled, I looked at him.

Why would I lie about my age?

Hon, I have no idea, but people lie about lots of things.

Well, I don’t, and I can’t help it if I don’t look my age. Maybe it’s because I’m short.

Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, enough of county requirements. I’m going to the house. I’ll be back before eight in the morning.

Watching from behind bars, I saw him walk to the door.

Hon, in the morning I’ll take you to the house for breakfast. For now, see if you can get some sleep. I’ll lock the outside door. No wild dogs or drifters can get to you in my jail.

He tipped his Stetson at me and shut the door behind him. I turned and looked at my cell. A toilet behind a screen, a metal cup, a mirror above the sink, and a cot were the only furnishings. Walking over to the sink, I filled the cup with water and went to sit on my bed. As I sipped water, my thoughts went back to my escape from Rankin. Just thinking about it made my heart race. How strange that he was in a hospital bed back home and getting the best of care from the Sisters of Charity while I was in a jail cell.

Putting the cup on the floor, I leaned back on the clean sheets. For the first time in hours, I didn’t have to be alert. With my hands behind my head, I looked around and felt at peace, probably an odd sensation for someone in jail, but as the sheriff reminded me, I was safe from harm.

When I woke up, light was coming in from a small window up near the ceiling. I spent a few minutes looking around the room, trying to decide what I was doing in a jail cell. I could not remember falling asleep nor could I remember any dreams. I pushed up from the cot. Images and emotions followed one another through my mind: the train station, the portly sheriff, the ride to the jail, my shock at being locked inside.

Swinging my legs to the side of the cot, I put my feet on the floor. Standing, I lifted my arms and heels, stretching toward the ceiling as though I could touch it. Coming back to the floor, I rolled up my sleeves, went to the sink and washed my face. I took my purse from the suitcase and found my comb. Pulling it through my tangled hair, I looked at myself in the tiny mirror above the sink, decided my hair would do, straightened my skirt, and waited on the cot to be taken to a promised breakfast.

After a bit, I heard noises at the door, and it swung open. Sheriff Praha walked in and tipped his Stetson.

Jo, I thought you’d still be asleep. You certainly deserve to be.

I woke up when light came through the window, but I slept well. You have very comfortable cots in East Bernard.

Well, I am rather proud of them. Do you think you can eat some eggs, bacon and a kolache?

Eggs and bacon sound good, but I don’t know about kolaches. I’ve never had one.

My young lady, you are in for a treat. My wife makes the best in town. Now open up that cell, so we can be on our way.

Sheriff Praha seemed much nicer than he had during the night, and I told him so.

Hon, I was worried about you, and I just didn’t have any other choice but the jail. I wasn’t happy putting a young woman in a cell, but I couldn’t leave you on the side of the road.

He took my suitcase, and we went out to his car. He opened the back door, and I stepped up onto the running board and climbed in.

Hon, you’re in the back again, but it’s a short ride. My home is just around the corner.

He made a right turn at the end of the street, and shortly after, he made another onto a rather bumpy drive. At the end was a garage next to a large white house with green shutters, a deep, wrap-around porch, and huge live oak trees that spread their branches across the house and yard.

The car came to a stop near the garage, and before I could open the door, Sheriff Praha turned around and looked at me.

Don’t be in such a hurry, Missy. If my wife sees you getting out of the car, and I’m not there to help you, she’ll be sure to let me know that I have failed in my duty as a gentleman. And since it’s not Sunday, I’d just as soon not have that sermon today.

He winked at me, and I sat still until he had the door open. He took my right hand, and helped me carefully down to the drive.

As we walked around the car, I asked about the crunchy stuff under our feet.

Oh, those are oyster shells. They come out of the Gulf and last a long time, but you don’t want to walk on them barefoot or you’ll cut your feet up.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen an oyster.

He leaned over and picked up a shell. Gray and white, it looked like a scoop.

Now, that’s just half. Another one fits on top, and inside is a slimy gray mass that tastes good fried or raw, but not everyone likes them.

Hmmm. I don’t think I want any for breakfast.

Now, don’t be hasty. I imagine some people eat them with eggs, but the missus serves a traditional breakfast. You won’t get an oyster this morning.

I was glad to hear I would not be facing any slimy creatures on an empty stomach.

Once we were on the porch, we walked around to the back of the house. He opened the screen and then turned the knob on the kitchen door. As we walked into the room, Mrs. Praha, in a red and white checked apron, came over to greet us.

Hon, this is Jo Tyson. Jo, this is my missus, Suzanne.

Jo, I am sorry you had to sleep at the jail last night. If I’d have known, you could have stayed here.

Actually, it was after midnight, and I was exhausted. Sleeping in the jail was better than the bench outside at the station. At least I could sleep. On the bench I kept imaging all kinds of awful things, and it just wore me out. I am glad Sheriff Praha found me. And your sheets smelled wonderful. I could smell the sun in them. They reminded me of home.

I am glad you enjoyed them. Sheets and towels off the line smell, as you say, of the sun. Now sit down at the table. You have to be hungry. What kind of eggs can I fix for you?

Whatever you like to cook is fine by me. I’m not picky.

Now, Jo. What would your mother do?

We both like sunny side-up eggs.

I do too. Coming right up, and I have some home-made whole-wheat bread that makes great toast for dipping.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, I looked around. The circular table was dressed in a snowy white tablecloth. Small pots of red geraniums bloomed on the window sills while cast iron pots and pans hung from hooks above the kitchen stove. In a bay window two rocking chairs faced the deep back yard.

Now hon, Mrs. Praha will take good care of you. I have work to do.

He went over to the stove and hugged his wife goodbye.