Jo's Triumph by Nikki Tate Page A

days since my twelfth birthday.
    I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the windowpane. What would Pa think of me being here and the boys going on to California? Surely that was not what Pa had in mind when, through his pain and fever, he had said, “Jackson? Will? You take care of little Joselyn, you hear?”
    My throat felt funny when I thought of him lying in the back of the wagon,his face flushed, his skin dry and hot, and his wounded foot oozing and swollen so big I couldn’t even see his toes.
    Joselyn, I scolded myself, that’s no way to remember your beloved Pa, God rest his soul. Don’t dwell on such things.
    Outside, two men rode past, hats pulled low and shoulders hunched against the cold. I rubbed my arms: Miss Critchett didn’t believe in wasting coal while we slept. Creeping back into bed, I tugged the gray blanket up around the back of my neck. Miss Critchett didn’t believe in thick blankets, either.
    The one-hundredth day. Perhaps it would be different from the ninetynine others that had come before. I wrapped the blanket more closely about me, for once eager to hear Miss Critchett’s footsteps in the hall.

Chapter Two

    â€œBut, Ma’am — ”
    â€œMiss Whyte!”
    I sat back down on the bench, too low to see out the window. The door burst open and Miss Critchett entered, her skirts swirling, her hands twisting together. She whispered something to Mrs. Pinweather and our teacher’s hand flew to her mouth. Both women turned to stare toward the window and the other girls shifted uneasily on the benches.
    â€œIn – di – ans.” I mouthed the wordto Mary Brown who sat beside me. She bit down so hard her teeth made two white lines in her bottom lip.
    â€œHere?” she whispered.
    I nodded. Outside, the street was filled with Indian men on ponies.
    The two women spoke in hushed voices. Mary Brown reached for my hand.
    â€œLadies.” Mrs. Pinweather pressed a knot of fingers against her bosom. “I implore you to remain quiet and calm. Miss Critchett and I have no means to protect you should the Indians decide to—” Her voice trailed off and Mary Brown gasped, clenching her hand around mine so tightly I nearly cried out.
    Miss Critchett stepped forward. “We feel that it would not be wise to allow you to remain here at the orphanage if there is going to be trouble.”
    My back stiffened.
    â€œBut where shall we go?” Emily Hampton asked. Two of the younger girls at the front of the room whimpered.
    â€œWe had word Indians were comingthis way. We have found safe homes in town where you will be able to stay until — ”
    Mrs. Pinweather faltered again and Miss Critchett added, “Until the danger of Indian attack has passed.”
    I closed my eyes. Mary Brown’s sweaty hand was still clamped around mine. If the Indians did attack us, we would all be dead no matter where we tried to hide. There were few militia-men in Carson City to protect us. By the time reinforcements arrived … It did not bear thinking about.
    â€œWe shall be all right,” I said to Mary Brown. “Have faith. God will not let us perish.”
    I don’t know whether I believed my own words, but if Mary Brown didn’t release my hand, all my fingers would drop off and roll across the floor like little sausages. This thought was so foolish I nearly laughed aloud, but the terror in Mary’s eyes made me reach over to pat her shoulder and gently ask her to let go of me instead.

    â€œMrs. Ormsby, this is Joselyn Whyte. Bless you for opening your home to her during this difficult time.”
    Mrs. Ormsby sniffed and blinked. “This is a dreadful thing, but my husband knows how to deal with the Indians. I’m certain the guilty men will be found.”
    I looked from Miss Critchett to Mrs. Ormsby, wondering what Mrs. Ormsby meant about guilty men.
    â€œI certainly hope the matter will be settled quickly