Free On Her Way Home by Sara Petersen

the dark, surrounded by thick woods, frightened her. All right, think! she ordered herself. Scanning the tree line, her eyes concentrating, she thought she saw the silhouette of a man. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was just the blurry black outline of a small ponderosa pine.
    Summoning all her courage, Jo swiftly swam to the shore, gathered her clothing up in her arms, and ran to a dense stand of trees for cover. Not bothering to dry off, she frantically pulled the dress over her wet chemise and buttoned it, all the while raking her eyes through the woods in every direction. Leaning against a tree, Jo tugged a shoe onto one wet foot and then the other. Then she took a deep breath and bolted up the trail, planning to run the entire way home. Up ahead she could see the trail break into the field. She sped up anxious to be out of the darkening woods.
    Barreling out of the trees and into the field, she glanced behind her. Seeing no one, she slowed her pace and staggered to a halt, bending over at the waist and sucking in deep breaths of air. When Jo’s breathing finally slowed, she stood up, sweeping her wild hair back from her face. As she did so, her eyes crashed into the man from the beach. He was perched collectedly atop his horse with his arms crossed over the saddle horn, watching her through icy eyes.
    Completely embarrassed, Jo was at a loss for what to say. Her dress was sucked tight to her body displaying her dips and curves, her hair was a dripping wet mass, and she was completely unnerved by this hard-looking man. She kept silent waiting for him to speak first.
    After long seconds ticked by with nothing from the man but a cold stare, Jo spoke up shakily, “I wasn’t trespassing. I work on this ranch. I was just hired this week as one of the new ranch hands.”
    He said nothing, just continued to stare Jo down. His hat was pulled down low on his forehead, shading his eyes; all Jo could see was the hard flat line of his mouth. He reached up with his large hand and tipped the hat back just enough to allow him to slowly scrutinize her. He started at the top of her tangled hair, his eyes gradually lowering, pausing indolently at certain stretches of her figure until they stopped at her untied shoes. Jo squirmed under his rude inspection.
    Tipping his hat forward again, he drawled with disdain, “The boss would never hire a woman.”
    Hot anger swelled in Jo, motivating her to act. Straightening her spine and tilting her chin, she shot daggers into his eyes and then decisively swept past him on her way to the house. The way he had coolly scanned and then denounced her as a “woman,” somehow less capable than a man, burned Jo. Even as a child, she had spurned the typecast applied to her gender, always begging Pa to let her ride with the boys and work in the fields rather than helping in the house. When she entered her adolescent years and began enjoying more womanly pursuits, as well as ball, chase, and dirt, she felt torn, like she had to split herself down the middle and be half of who she really was. Boys in her high school divided girls into two groups: womanly, refined, and desirable, or if they enjoyed more active pursuits, girls were considered odd, unnatural, and unsuitable as wives and mothers. At her core, she knew she was just as valuable as a man. She more than knew it; she sensed it from her Almighty Creator. That’s not to say Jo didn’t reverence roles of wife and mother. Her own tender mother had demonstrated that gentleness, kindness, and femininity were gifts of great value, irreplaceable in the family and in society. Mother was a testament to Jo that all women have the capacity to be all things and do all things through the grace of God. She disagreed with the National Woman’s Party protests’ outside of The White House, but she couldn’t deny that without them, women would probably still be disenfranchised.
    The man so callously dismissing Jo as a “woman” maddened her. Before she