With This Peace
Page 6
Shaking her head, Ella forced her mind back to the present. Amos chased a slow-winged yellow-and-black butterfly, gleeful in his complete nakedness, and Hannah picked deep-yellow flowers with brown centers, which grew along the edge of the clearing. The little girl hummed under her breath. Content and not worried over the future, she gathered the coneflowers into a fat bunch.
Ella’s burdened heart lifted as she watched her children play in the morning sunlight. Amos, with his white bottom showing in sharp contrast to the tanned skin of his sturdy back, appeared to belong to the untamed Florida setting. Hannah, the portrait of delicateness, her fine honey-shaded hair blowing in the breeze and catching the first rays of sunlight, seemed misplaced and too vulnerable.
Hannah held up limp flowers. “See?”
“They’re pretty,” Ella murmured, but her eyes weren’t looking at the flowers. They skimmed the edge of the woods. “Just heed what I say. Stay clear of the brush, or you’ll be lousy with chiggers and ticks. Then I’ll hav’ta find poke berries for a tincture.”
Satisfied they were safe and occupied, she turned back to straightening the messy, damp wagon. One of Jim’s dirty shirts lay crumpled in a corner. She picked it up with shaking fingers.
Ella’s breath caught in a sob. “Jim,” she whispered. “As the Lord gives me strength an’ protection, I intend to continue this crazy journey you agreed to, but when you give me one good hint you want to go home—we’ll leave your brothers here! Jim, I ain’t against givin’ up and headin’ home! It’s no shame. Just come back to me.”
Jim wasn’t there to hear her new declaration, but she intended to repeat it the minute he showed up.
Wiping tears, she placed his shirt in a wicker basket and wedged her sleeping mattress into a corner of the wagon. “I want to see mountains, not swamps! And where’s Samuel? He said he’d come back to us!”
She rummaged through a pile of disorganized clothes, hunting something clean for Amos to wear. She couldn’t wash clothes.
The barrels, secured to the wagons, weren’t merely for drinking. The water was for drinking, cooking, washing of hands, and the thirsty animals. If they didn’t find a river or lake, the meager amount of water in the barrels wouldn’t sustain them through the day and coming night. The oxen were tossing their heads, making known their discomfort, hunger, and thirst.
She pulled off her nasty-smelling clothes, tugged clean ones on over her unwashed body, and slipped out of the wagon. At the front of the wagon, she laid the clothes aside and opened a wooden cheese box. She removed two dried-out griddle cakes from yesterday’s noon meal.
Both children spotted the food. Hannah clenched the wilted flowers and came running, but Amos beat her. He snatched a handful of Ella’s skirt and pushed to be first.
“Me!”
“Son, don’t push.” She gave them the griddle cakes, reached in the back of the wagon, and got a drinking gourd. “Let’s get a drink. I’ll fix you somethin’ more to eat—later, when Papa and I find a stream or a lake. Somewhere safe,” she muttered.
The children ran to the barrel.
Hannah bit a hole in her griddle cake and crinkled her nose. “Ugh!” And when her mother handed her the gourd to drink from, she dipped the cake in it. “It needs soft’ning.”
“I know. They were intended for thickenin’ in soup. You’ll hav’ta chew at it.”
She gave Amos his pants and Hannah a pair of leather high-tops. “Amos, you must put clothes on. I’ll help you once more. You’re not a savage.” She bent to tug knee pants over his short legs.
“My flowers died. They ain’t standin’ up,” Hannah said.
“Throw ’em away. We’ll find more.” She reached for Amos’s shirt.
“Can I git water for ’em?”
“No. We ain’t wastin’ it on flowers. It’s needed for the animals.” She immediately saw Hannah’s hurt look. “Honey, there’ll be more. We’re goin’ to find a water hole or stream. You can then pick handfuls of flowers.”
“Tummy’s wet.” Amos traced sweaty circles on his brown skin, as Ella tried to put the shirt on him. “No.” He shoved it away. “Leab off!”
She reached to capture his squirming form. “Amos—”
“No.” He chewed the griddle cake, biting off nibbles, while giving her a few pouty glances.
“Don’t cry when skeeters bite or you’re sunburned.”
“He don’t care.” Hannah ate the edges of her cake and spit pieces to the ground. “It’s got hard lumps in it.”
Ella dropped Amos’s shirt into the back of the wagon and watched him hop around without a shirt. “Hmm, must be nice.”
Many times, during the hot summer months, she longed to strip off the cumbersome skirt and blouse and walk in her undergarments—free and unrestrained. But the most she could do was put on her shortest day-skirt and go without a petticoat.
“What’s nice?” Hannah tossed the remnants of the cake into the brush and wiped her fingers on her dress.
“Bein’ alive.” Ella gazed at her forearms. She defied her mother-in-law’s voice in her head and rolled her sleeves well above the elbows. “I’ve got more freckles than a fawn’s got spots. Not fancy-like.”
She already knew the throat of her blouse had too many buttons undone to be proper and showed the awful scars on her neck—damage done by a young mountain cat when she was little. But in the wilderness of Florida, there was no one to see or care. Perhaps, with autumn deepening, the days might cool down.
“You’re pretty. Papa says so,” Hannah said.
Amos used Ella’s skirt to wipe his nose. “Mama’s pretty.”
“Amos! Don’t wipe it on my skirt!” She frowned. “But I do thank both of you for sayin’ I’m pretty.”
Amos patted his own head. “Mama’s hair is honey.”
“Her hair ain’t honey!” Hannah laughed.
“He means honey-blond, like Granma always said. But it’s more like dirty hair, now.”
The heat was stifling. Unladylike stains showed on her clean blouse. Ella raked her fingers through her hair before twisting it into a thick rope and winding it into a bun on top of her head. She couldn’t bear the thought of using any kind of bonnet—poke bonnet or sunbonnet. The wind and sun could do their worst to her hair and skin. She was beyond caring, and she dare not take the chance of having a bonnet block her side view. It was dangerous to do so.
“Mama?” Hannah stared up at her. “Where’s Papa?”
Chapter 7
Ella made a decision. She reached in the wagon for the remaining gun. Grabbing the ammo pouch, she stepped up on the box seat of the wagon and loaded the gun. Amos and Hannah stared up at her, eyes growing large.
Raising the heavy weapon to her shoulder, she aimed it at a distant pine and pulled the hammer back.
The loud boom caused long-legged white birds to fly up from a patch of swampy ground, and the children cried out in fear. The sound seemed to echo forever. She feared attracting unwanted attention, but if Jim was lost, he needed to hear the gun.
Ella fought tears. If there was an answer, she would wait for Jim. If there was no answering shot, she would try to find a lake or river. There was no way to hunt for him, and they desperately needed water.
She hugged the children, calmed their fears, and sat in the shade beside the wagon. No answering gunshot disturbed the sunny day. No shouted greeting said her husband was nearby. The restless animals fought the restraining hobbles and ropes.
“Children, play right here in the shade.”
She cried as she restacked and slid the dry goods closer together.
“Jim, I hav’ta do things on my own. So to speak … I’m takin’ the reins.”
With desperation driving her, she lugged two pails of water to the animals. That dropped their remaining water to a few precious inches in one barrel. She fed each ox a handful of oats and led the gaunt animals to the wagon. The long trip had been harsh on them. Ella didn’t see how they could withstand much more.
What else do I leave behind?
She climbed into the supply wagon and sorted through items small enough to lug to her wagon. With trembling hands she opened the beautiful trunk, which had belonged to her mama. She couldn’t lift it, so she removed keepsakes she didn’t want to leave and carried them to their crowded wagon. One item was her mama’s old Bible, with Ella’s own birth recorded in the front. She also got Jim’s family Bible.
She told herself they could go back for the abandoned wagon after Jim found her and the children—wherever they ended up. But how would she ever remember where it was located? Perhaps using another colored material along the trail would be a good idea. Surely Jim would know to follow her blue material—just as Samuel would do when he returned. That new idea made her feel better.
Within thirty minutes, she removed important tools and dry goods from the supply wagon. She stacked stuff inside the covered wagon, tucking earthly belongings wherever she found a gap. A wagon jack went in, two axes, her extra sheets, and material for making clothing. A wooden box of dried seeds found a place in the cheese box. Three extra quilts went on top of the children’s bed. Her churn found a corner near the front of the wagon.
A huge piece of rawhide, with four corners fastened to the underside of the wagon, formed a huge sling for storing equipment needed for wheel repairs, along with farrier tools. It was a spot where she stuffed extra belongings.
With reluctance, she left behind two chairs and the bulk of their household items stashed inside the supply wagon. Taking a deep breath, Ella walked away from fragments of their mountain life.
She checked the nest box and beckoned the children out of the shade. “See what I found? The chickens laid today. That makes three eggs.”
Hannah clapped her hands and twirled in a circle. “Amos, we got more eggs.”
Amos plopped on the ground and scratched bites on his lower legs. Two bloody streaks showed where he dug through the skin. “No like eggs.”
“You’ll eat them if you’re hungry.” Ella put them in the cloth-lined basket under the wagon seat. She tucked curling gray moss between each egg.
Her son doubled his insistent scratching.
“Amos, stop! Come here.” She lifted the children to the bench seat.
“Mama, he’s still diggin’.”
She ignored her daughter and studied the trail-weary horses standing in the shade. What do I do with the horses?
“I’ll tie them to the back of the wagon.” She grabbed the ropes, which had once kept the cows trailing the wagon.
After searching through a diminutive wooden box, she came up with the two maps. She unfolded Duncan’s sketch. It made no sense in conjunction with their present position. Nothing matched—and hadn’t matched for over two weeks. There appeared to be too many lakes and swamps. And the old settler’s map bore no resemblance to the immediate lay of the land.
“I’ll push ahead an’ pray we find help.” She put away the maps and got two strips of the blue material from her old skirt. More than half of the skirt had been cut into irregular strips, marking their wandering trail, but now they would guide Jim to their next camp.
“I hav’ta use the bushes,” Hannah said from the wagon seat.
“Me, too.” Amos held his arms out. “Want down.”
“Come here.” As she lifted each child out of the wagon, she hugged them, pressed her lips against their messy hair, and whispered a prayer of protection. “Now, hurry. We got to find water.” She took a deep breath and walked to a scrub oak growing beside the dim trail she planned to follow. She had to stay strong.
The children trailed after her, instead of using the bushes. “Where you goin’?” Hannah asked.
“Marking our trail for Papa and Uncle Samuel.” She knotted braided strips of cloth around a limb. The braid twirled and fluttered in the light breeze, indicating the wagon to be left behind. But the trail marker now held a more important symbol for her. Two men in her life had to find them.
“It’s pretty.” Hannah gazed up at the waving signal. “I like—what’s that?”
Twenty feet behind them, rustling branches created a disturbing noise. Amos let out a troubled whimper and lifted his arms to be held. Something big crashed in the undergrowth, coming closer.
Ella clutched her son and remembered the gun left in the wagon.
Hannah violently tugged at Ella’s skirt. She pulled the fabric around her, endeavoring to hide. She wasn’t tall enough to see over the fuzzy tops of the broomsedge and scrub.
“Injuns? Mama, is it?”
“Shh!” With her heart skipping beats, Ella set Amos on the ground. Her fingers tightened on his unclothed shoulder and pushed him behind her. He gripped her legs mutely, concealing his face in the folds of her skirt.
The fanned branches of the palmettos parted.
Chapter 8
“Milly, you sneaky cow!” Ella gasped. Burrs and twigs stuck to the cream-colored cow’s tasseled tail. “Oh, thank you, Lord!”
“It’s her.” Hannah’s eyes grew huge.
The skinny cow swung her head sideways and studied them with fatigued brown eyes. She swished her debris-matted tail. On wobbly legs, a light-brown calf caught up with his mama. He had a white blaze on his nose and forehead.
“Baww, baww!” he bleated, hiding behind the cow’s bony rump.
“A baby!” Hannah shrieked. “Milly found a baby. Amos, look!”
“Hush! Yes, I—reckon she did,” Ella whispered. The docile cow didn’t move away or act nervous when she got hold of the frightened calf and held it for the children to touch.
“Mama, ’oft.” Amos’s hands patted the newborn’s curly-haired back. “Baby’s ’oft.”
“Soft, Amos. Say sss … ‘oft.” Hannah stroked the calf. “We can keep her?”
“Yes.” Ella wiped away tears. Thank you, Lord. I needed this. She laid her fingers on the calf’s trembling head, stroking the velvet white nose. “Hmm, it’s unbelievable we’re touchin’ a live calf. Milly, you were busy yesterday.”
I ought to hate you. Jim’s missing ’cause of you.
“Where’s Maude?” Hannah gazed around them, as if expecting to see their other cow. “Is she findin’ a baby, too?”
“I don’t know. Let’s walk Milly back to the wagon.” Ella wrapped her arm around the cow’s neck and tugged. “Milly, your rope collar’s gone.”
The cow followed but gazed back at the newborn. The calf tottered along, determined to stay close, despite the human children crowding it.
When they arrived at the secluded wagon, Ella released the skinny horses that had pulled the supply wagon. She couldn’t leave them tied up. They would have to fend for themselves, but she tied the cow to the back of the wagon. Her hands shook as she gave the children a drink and two griddle cakes. She pushed Jim’s old slouch hat on her head and climbed into the wagon seat beside the children. One glance told her the gun was within reach.
She took hold of the slender rod, flicked it against the oxen’s rumps. “Giddup!”
Ella leaned to one side so she could see how the cow and calf managed. The cow followed the wagon, and the calf bolted forward on wobbly legs. His little hooves stumbled through the sand.
“We goin’ home?” Hannah asked.
“No.” She flicked the end of the rod and delicately touched the right ear of one ox. “Gee!” I gotta find someone to hunt for Jim.
The team followed a narrow trail, which seemed to be fading into a wall of young pines.
Ella scanned the horizon. She hoped an accessible lake or stream would appear. They desperately needed fresh water. And they needed grass, not sunbaked sand and snake-filled palmettos. The oat barrel couldn�
�t be used as a main source of food for the animals.
Amos left the bench seat and crawled into the bed of the rocking wagon. He sat, bouncing with every jolt of the rickety wheels.
Hannah gripped the edge of the worn bench, and her slight body swayed with the erratic movements of the wagon.
Ella brushed aside the girl’s hair, planted a kiss on Hannah’s forehead, and looked over her shoulder at Amos.
He shielded his chubby face from a shaft of sunlight and scooted backwards on his bottom until he sat in the shade. But his filthy feet remained in the sun. A nasty red scratch ran along his left leg, from knee to ankle, and he scratched at chigger bites in the bend of his right leg.
“Amos, don’t scratch.”
“I not.” He squinted at her with a brow-creasing frown.
Ella settled Jim’s battered hat tighter on her head and stood up. She spread her legs for balance and braced her booted feet in opposition to the rocking of the wagon. With careful calculations, she considered the lay of the land, searching for the faded trail around the wall of piney woods. Branches had grown in on the trail, and she didn’t have Jim walking ahead of the wagon, slashing an opening through hanging limbs.
“Dear Lord, guide this wagon. I got to find the trail marked on the map. It’s got to be west of here.”
Her main goal was to find water before dark. But she wanted to camp near a clear lake or stream, not a bug-and-snake-infested swamp.
Florida, a desolate, snake-covered strip of land—good only for the banishment of thieves and robbers. They had been told fearful stories by settlers—about it being a sweltering land full of axe-wielding Indians and runaway slaves. Ella hated the pockets of hazardous swamp and impregnable palmetto thickets.