Just Joe by Marley Morgan Page A

it was. His throat tightened painfully as
he watched her head rise slowly, her eyes wide and glittering with tears she
refused to let fall.
    When she spoke, her voice
was soft and rusty with pain. "My parents deserted me when I was three.
They were young.. .they divorced." Her mouth twisted, but it was not a
smile. "They 'loved' me too much to drag me down with them, I was told.
But not enough to give me up for adoption." This was obviously a pain she
had dealt with and accepted long ago. "I grew up in foster homes. No one
kept me for long—just long enough to do their duty by me. Oh yes, they all did
their duty—and collected their money. Until I was
eleven...twelve...thirteen..." Her voice drifted off, her eyes hard and
impenetrable.
    A part of Joe wanted to
scream at her to stop, not to torture herself this way, but the best part of
him knew that they both had to hear the words if they would ever be free of the
past. His hands clenched into fists and a muscle kicked to life in his jaw as
she continued in that quiet, curiously emotionless tone.
    "When I was eleven,
they placed me in anew home. A man and his wife. She was very sick, I think.
She hardly ever spoke. It was like she was.. .waiting to die. I was only
eleven—it took me a while to understand that it was because of him. It
was all because of him. He was very big...
    He used to t-touch
me___" Mattie stuttered badly, her throat tight and aching. "He
h-hurt me___"
    Joe's soft moan was that
of an animal in pain, but Mat-tie was deaf to the sound, blind to him, lost in
the past.
    "I ran away, but they
always took me back.. .to him. And he always punished me." Silence. A
horrible yawning, remembering silence, and something inside of Joe ached
for the child she had been. "She died when I was thirteen. They took me
away then." Her eyes were blank, empty. "But I think they forgot a
part of me. I think there was something he took that they couldn't get back.   I've never been whole since then."
    The tears had slipped from
her smoky eyes now, silent and warm as they drifted down her hollow cheeks. No
sobs shook her, no cries escaped, but the tears spoke of such deep pain that
Joe winced.
    His own eyes were burning
with tears for the child who had been so abused. There was no doubt in his mind
what she was trying to tell him. He understood exactly what it was she had
talked so carefully about. Mattie had been sexually and emotionally molested at
the ages of eleven... twelve... thirteen. His gallant Mattie had suffered more
pain and degradation than any person should ever have to bear. His beautiful,
brave Mattie had been left with nightmares and scars across her soul that might
never heal.
    "He used to call me
Matilda. That's why I hate the name so much." His voice echoed in her head
and she whimpered in pain. "Hold still, Matilda. You'll love this,
Matilda. I love you, Matilda."
    Joe's control broke and
rage overtook him. It burned in him to the same fiery depths his pain had
carved. His body shook with it, his voice trembled with it.
    "Why didn't you tell
anyone?"
    Mattie heard the
despairing question, but it did not seem to touch her. Joe's hands closed
gently over her upper arms, forcing her limp, pliant body to respond to him.
    "Why didn't you tell
anyone?" he demanded again, his face twisted with pain.
    Mattie answered
lifelessly, obscurely. "All those years I spent alone, without a
family...I used to dream that someday, somebody would love me."
    Joe immediately understood
what that bleak little voice was telling him. "No. Oh, no, Mattie. That
wasn't love." He shook her urgently, emphasizing what he said.
"Mat-tie, that wasn't love."
    "He said it
was," Mattie told him stonily, not meeting his eyes. "He said he
loved me."
    "No, Mattie. He was
sick. He hurt you. Love doesn't hurt like that. We talked about it, remember? A
man would never hurt the woman he loves. Remember?"
    "I remember."
    "And he hurt
you," Joe persisted grimly.
    "Y-yes."
    "So he didn't love
you," Joe