“Now let’s see what you got,” he said, and without waiting for her reaction, he tugged at the snap on her overalls and, like his, the straps gave way. He then bobbed his chin at her once-white underpants, now more of a gray color from frequent laundering. “Pull those down.” She did as instructed and when she straightened back to standing, he frowned at the unremarkable cleft between her legs. Without any warning, he stepped toward her, pushed her into the rough-hewn wall, and thrust himself into her. The back of her skull banged into the wooden board behind her with such force that stars danced across her vision. She gasped.
Her chin was held in place by pressure from his shoulder, and the earthy combination of his sweat, grass cuttings, and wood shavings pressed upon her with sickening intensity. Rendered silent with shock, she hung limp as he pumped himself against her and a white flash of pain shot through her. Good God, how could that measly pecker create such a godawful feeling? It felt like time had stopped, but then, he grunted and stepped away, reaching down to pull his overalls up over his narrow hips. The skin along her spine burned from being pressed against the splintery surface behind her. Dazed, she shifted her hips from side to side in search of some way to ease the raw ache pulsing deep inside her. He reached forward and brushed some dust off her temple in a way that struck her as both awkward and tender at the same time.
“Let’s do that again tomorrow,” he said, looking pleased.
She stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
He took her silence as agreement. “Go on, better get dressed ’fore you leave.”
She looked down at her clothes on the floor and pulled them up slowly, wincing against the pain between her legs. He slapped the hay off her overalls and pointed at the door for her to leave ahead of him. She turned to him, searching for something to say, but he was whistling a tune, a piece of hay stuck between his lips like a cigarette, and he gave her a wink. She hurried out, eager to push what had just happened from her mind.
OVER THE NEXT few days, a dull headache plagued Helen. She struggled to focus on her lessons. When classes ended each day, she considered leaving the schoolhouse in a knot of students. Nothing would happen with Jimmy if her classmates surrounded her, but then she pictured the condescension of the other girls. The way they would eye her overalls, uncombed hair, and dirty fingernails and then whisper about her, cruelty glimmering in their viper eyes. No, thank you. But she didn’t dare risk falling in with the boys and riling Miss Thurston again either.
So she was stuck. She continued to meet Jimmy in the barn after school and knew these meetings were wrong, but the other options felt bad too. At least Jimmy seemed pleased with her.
Each time she saw him standing in the doorway, she looked backward, hoping a classmate would be near enough so that she couldn’t go to the outbuilding unnoticed. But each time there was no one. It always felt like she was being pulled on a rope, a fishing line of sorts, as she moved over the clumps of grass to enter the outbuilding. At the door, he always patted her shoulder and she wanted to pull away, but for reasons she couldn’t explain, she followed him.
One afternoon, with her back up against the wall of the barn, Helen watched with a strange detachment over Jimmy’s shoulder as Miss Thurston appeared, marching up behind Jimmy and yanking him off her by his ear. For some inexplicable reason, she could hear nothing, but watched Miss Thurston’s red-lipsticked mouth contort into a slash while Jimmy’s turned into a large O, and then her ears worked again, although everything sounded far away, as if she were underwater.
“Jimmy, I never want to catch you around this school again,” her teacher was saying, giving him the stink eye. He slunk away. With a frustrated-sounding sigh, Miss Thurston turned to Helen. “Well? Pull up your clothes. I’m walking you home.”
Helen knew she should have felt embarrassment standing there practically naked, but all she felt was like the wind had been knocked out of her. She dressed and then trailed her teacher out of the barn in silence. What should she say? Was she supposed to apologize? It had been Jimmy’s idea. But was it her fault somehow? How had she let this happen? And why on earth had she let it happen several times? She wanted to ask Miss Thurston these questions, but didn’t know where to begin.
And also, silence felt easier. If they didn’t speak, maybe all the bad feelings would go away. But they didn’t. Those bad feelings wormed their way deep inside her gut and stayed there, hurting.
By the time they reached the gate to the Stephenses’ yard, Helen felt awful. Miss Thurston paused and took Helen’s chin in her hand, turning it this way and that as she studied the girl. “Why couldn’t you’ve done what I said and stayed away from the boys?” she murmured, her hand lingering on Helen’s face for an extra beat before she turned and sighed, unlatching the gate. Helen remained frozen outside the yard. So, it had all been her fault. She wished she could turn and flee from what she knew was coming, but she followed reluctantly, drooping as her teacher rapped at the Stephenses’ front door. When it opened, Helen kept her gaze to the
