Free Big City Girl by Charles Williams

door and watching her with anxiety.
    “Joy, what is it?” Jessie asked. “Are you all right?”
    Joy choked down the sobs and drew a hand across her eyes. She nodded dumbly. Jessie went over to the suitcase and found a handkerchief and took it to her, feeling shy and self-conscious because of her nakedness and looking only at her face. Joy reached for it and dabbed forlornly at her eyes.
    “What is it, Joy?” Jessie asked again. “Can I help?” She stood very straight beside the bed, like a grave-eyed and worried child being introduced for the first time to the sickbed and the ills of adults.
    “I—I got to thinking about Sewell,” Joy said. Well, in a way I was , she thought defensively. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess, honey.”
    “Poor Joy,” Jessie said, her own eyes beginning to grow misty. “I’m sorry, Joy.”
    Joy began to cry again and Jessie sat down on the side of the bed with her back toward the foot because she was still embarrassed about the other’s almost nude body. She shyly placed a hand on her head and Joy moved convulsively toward her and threw an arm across her lap while she shook with sobs and pressed her face into the bed.
    “Oh, Jessie, I’m so alone,” she wailed. “I haven’t got anybody and I’m not pretty any more and I’m such a mess.”

Nine
    Jessie stroked her head soothingly. “Joy! That’s no way to talk. You know it’s not so. You’ve got us. And I don’t know anybody as pretty as you are.”
    “You don’t have to say that, honey,” Joy said miserably. “It’s sweet of you to try to cheer me up, but you don’t have to say things like that.”
    “But I mean it, Joy.”
    Maybe she does, at that, Joy thought. She’s a funny kid. She wouldn’t lie to a bear that was going to eat her.
    “You’ve got to quit worrying so much about Sewell,” Jessie went on. “I know how it tears you up, but it can’t help things to worry about it. Now, you just wait here a minute.”
    Maybe fixing herself up would take her mind off things, she thought. She went out in the kitchen and returned in a moment with a basin of water and a washcloth. “Now, Joy, you sponge your face off and I’ll get your purse for you. And while you’re fixing up I’m going to iron a dress for you. Not pretty! The idea!”
    Joy sat up and began washing away the tear streaks. Jessie set the basin down carefully beside her on the bed and went over to the suitcase again for her purse.
    “Which dress would you like pressed?” she asked.
    “They’re all a mess,” Joy said dully. “They’re terrible.”
    “They’re not, either. You have the prettiest things. How about this print one you haven’t worn?”
    Joy nodded listlessly. “All right.”
    She went on sponging her face. The water was cool and it made her face feel better, and without too much interest at first she bathed her eyes to take away the redness and puffiness of crying. Jessie came back in a minute with a towel and she rubbed her face dry and began combing her hair. This improved her spirits, as it always did, for she loved the feel of running the comb through it and shaking it back until the ends just touched her shoulders. But it was the honest admiration in Jessie’s eyes that did the most for her.
    Jessie came in carrying the dress she had ironed. She smiled and held it out at arm’s length, admiring it. “Are you ready for it, Joy? Can I get you a slip?”
    ”It’s too hot to wear a slip, honey,” Joy said. She wiggled up through the dress, mussing her hair a little. It was a short-sleeved dress with big bows on the shoulders. “Do you want to tie the bows?”
    “Do you think I could do it right?” Jessie asked eagerly.
    “Of course you can, baby. It’s just a bowknot.” She sat still on the bed while Jessie tied them, making the bows large and fluffy. Then she started combing her hair again.
    “Would you be an angel, honey, and bring me the mirror? The one on the back porch.”
    Jessie brought the mirror