With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  Wolf slipped in and dropped to the floor.

  “Stay in the loft ’til I say diff ’rent.”

  Samuel came through the doorway. “Shot came from the river.”

  “Yes.” Ella hung the rabbits on a peg and seized her gun. She peered into the yard. “Oh, no,” she groaned. The fire smoke wafted over the treetops. “The fire’s smokin’!”

  “I’ll throw dirt on it. Where’s Luke?”

  “He’s ran for the woods—goin’ to see who’s shootin’.” She chewed at her lower lip and studied Samuel’s face. “Perhaps it’s someone huntin’?”

  “Don’t believe that. Let me cover the fire with dirt.”

  “Hannah, Amos? Don’t move—don’t make a sound, an’ don’t come down. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

  In a few moments, Samuel slipped back in and positioned himself close to the door. “I’m not likin’ this.” He gritted his teeth, and his eyes narrowed. “We must come up with a plan. You taking the children into the woods—to a designated spot—might be best.”

  “We cain’t do that now.” She eased to the side window and peered through cracks in the rugged shutter. “I don’t see anythin’ this way.”

  The children were quiet. Amos lay on his stomach, his eyes glued to her face. Hannah sat clutching her favorite ragdoll to her chest. Samuel’s attention stayed focused on the porch, his gun in his left hand.

  Ella heard a dull, thudding noise and recognized the sound for what it was. “Hoofbeats!” She placed her eye to a crack in the shutter. “It’s a lone gray horse—no rider,” she whispered. The animal crossed the cleared field near the barn. Dirt flew from its hooves. “It’s runnin’ this way.”

  “It might be a trick. I can’t see it yet.”

  Ella could see it. The stocky-bodied, deep-gray horse galloped toward the cabin. Its flanks were discolored with sweat, and its rounded sides heaved under an empty leather saddle. It acted as if it might stop. The horse broke stride and trotted, bouncing the empty stirrups against its sides.

  A horse is valuable. I cain’t let it run by!

  “I’ll stop it!” Ella laid aside the gun and slipped past Samuel. Dog followed her out the door.

  “Ella Dessa, stop!”

  The horse shied at the sight of her bursting from the cabin. It threw its head sideways, huge eyes rolling. Wolf took a flying leap off the porch and ran a circle around it, but Ella laid her gun on the porch and jumped to the ground. The dog came in close to the horse’s heels and caused it to turn toward the cabin.

  “Whoa! Whoa,” she murmured. With her right hand, she reached for the flapping, loose reins. “Whoa! Settle, settle …”

  Tossing its head, the horse twisted away. But Ella’s fingers closed on the worn bridle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Samuel on the porch, the whip dangling from his left hand, the pistol tucked in his waistband.

  “Watch it. You’ll get trampled,” he said.

  “Whoa. Come around. Whoa.” She spoke in hushed undertones. By using all the weight her slight build could muster, she held on, avoiding the moving hooves.

  “Ella Dessa, let go before it hurts you.” Samuel started for the steps, and Wolf circled behind the horse.

  The frightened animal pulled Ella’s body along with it, threatening her grip. She fought to keep her feet under her, strained back on the reins, and managed to raise her hand to touch the gray’s neck.

  She patted the large gelding. “Whoa! Easy boy … easy.” The horse slowed. She flashed Samuel a triumphant smile. “Remember the large bay I rode back home?”

  “Yes.” His shoulders relaxed.

  The horse came to a quivering standstill, the whites of its eyes showing. Its barreled sides rose and fell with heavy breaths, and the horse’s nostrils flared—making a swooshing sound. Ella touched the soft upper lip and nose. “Shh—shh. We won’t hurt you. Samuel? He’s the color of Jim’s eyes—mountain-stone gray.”

  “I see that. He had a rider.” Samuel grabbed her gun from the porch and slipped the rope sling over his right shoulder. His uneasy eyes swept the edge of the silent woods. “Get that horse on the other side of the cabin—out of sight,” he muttered, coming down the steps. He touched her shoulder. “I’ll watch the direction he came. Either he threw his rider or his rider got shot.”

  “There’s no blood on him.” She led the horse to the sunnier side of the cabin. Exhausted, the gray dropped its head and stood blowing with each breath. Wolf moved closer, ignoring the chance he’d be kicked.

  Ella tied the reins around a small pine and walked back to the porch. With an involuntary groan, she realized the children hadn’t minded. They both stood on the porch.

  “Get back inside!” She ran for the steps.

  Amos let out a wail. “I wanna see horsey!”

  “Not now. Go to the loft.” She whirled him around and patted his bottom.

  Hannah scampered for the ladder, but sobs broke from her throat.

  “Don’t come down.” Ella stepped back to the porch and took her gun from Samuel.

  “You could’ve been hurt stopping that runaway.” His pale countenance revealed how he felt about her compulsive actions. “And someone is apt to be trailing it. Might better have chased it toward the woods. You’ve a heart for runaways,” he blurted out, an unusual frown darkening his bluish-green eyes.

  She faced him. “You referrin’ to Luke?” She felt irritation mount, but her legs quivered. Her actions had been reckless.

  “Ella Dessa, Luke’s a slave—a runaway, with a price on his head.”

  “He’s all the help I’ve had.”

  “I know, but let me explain. He’s worth something to someone, and if he’s seen by the wrong person, there’ll be trouble. Perleu warned him. The longer we’re all here, the more grave our situation is. We got to move on!”

  “Samuel.” Her voice shook. “Help me, an’ we’ll pack up and leave today!”

  He focused his attention on the clumps of cabbage palms and palmettos. “Look—I’m sorry for speaking so bluntly. I shouldn’t have. Where’d that shot come from?”

  She pointed east. “The river. See the line of bare cypress trees and the tall pine? Near there.”

  Through the log walls, Amos’s muffled sobs and Hannah’s soft reply could be heard.

  Ella peered around the corner. The horse stomped a hind hoof, trying to dislodge a biting insect. A crow landed in the sandy soil and hopped close to pick at some biscuit crumbs the children dropped earlier.

  Moments ticked by. Luke didn’t reappear. She and Samuel waited in the cold shadow of the porch.

  Finally, Samuel murmured, “I’m slipping into the woods behind the cabin. I’ll hike the edge of the clearing. Keep watch. I won’t go far.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” Ella stared up at him.

  “I’ll be careful.” He touched the right side of her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek. “Don’t look so worried. Say a prayer.”

  She took a ragged breath and nodded. With misgivings, she clutched the big gun to her chest and watched him jog for the closest edge of the forest. She felt alone and wondered where the Culloms’ dog had gone.

  But Samuel had barely disappeared from view when she turned and spied two men riding out of the piney woods. They came from the direction of the river and angled toward the cabin.

  Her knees went weak.

  She was alone with the children.

  Chapter 26

  I cain’t yell for Samuel. An’ where’s Luke? Ella tried to control her fear. “Lord, I don’t know who these men are. Please, keep us safe. They’ve seen me standin’ here.”

  The tingling sensation of imminent danger crept up her spine. She realized she must face the riders without any help. An’ I will strengthen them in the Lord. It’s what your word says. Strengthen me!

  She held her head up, squared her shoulders, and tried to stand taller than her five-foot-three stance would permit. Maybe they’re from a fort. They’re goin’ to tell us
to leave.

  The leading rider touched the rim of his black hat. Dirt rose in tiny wisps of dust from the horses’ hooves. Ella lifted the gun and held it in readiness. The barrel didn’t quite point at the men. Dear God, please help me get in one good shot—if I must kill someone.

  “Ma’am,” the first trail-dirty rider said.

  A roll of stomach fat extended over his wide leather belt. He had a drooping, greasy mustache, and his oily, brown hair hung below his beefy shoulders. He used his left thumb to push his slouch hat upward. Nodding, he grinned at her with broken, tobacco-stained teeth.

  “Yes?”

  “I hope ya don’t have no intention of using that gun. We mean no harm. Sorter lookin’ fer a runaway.” His squinty hazel eyes dropped down the length of her body to her worn boots and back up to her scarred neck. “Have you seen a Negro slave come this way?”

  Slave catchers!

  “No.” Her eyes flickered to the second man, who repeatedly tapped his thigh with the horse’s reins.

  The dark-eyed man nodded from under his black felt hat, but he didn’t speak. He was clean-shaven and tanned, although his clothes looked filthy and old. The black vest he wore over a sweat-stained shirt had a damp smear on the right front. When the sunlight hit it, it flashed a deep maroon tint.

  The heavy man pointed at his companion. “This here’s my partner, Jesse Nole. My name’s Wiley—Wiley Anderson. Ahh … as I said, ma’am, we’re lookin’ fer a runaway—a slave.”

  “Haven’t seen any.” Ella’s hands tightened on the gun. She didn’t want to show any fear in their presence, but her legs shook.

  Slave catchers. Perleu warned Luke.

  Just then, the gray horse, tied on the other side of the cabin, whinnied. Both men jerked. Wiley kicked his black horse and reined it sideways, so he could see around the corner. His fat-fingered left hand hovered over the pistol he wore.

  “Yer horse?” His nostrils flared. Above the stubble of dark beard, a purple-red flush dotted his beefy cheeks.

  “No. It came in at a run, moments ago. No rider. I stopped it—tied it up.”

  Wiley shot Jesse an unexplained wink. “We saw one runnin’—wild-like—through the woods back there. Lost sight of it in the pines.”

  “It’s got a saddle. So … someone was ridin’ it.” There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. These men know more ’bout the horse than they’re lettin’ on. It looks like blood on the skinny man’s vest. Oh, make them go away. Dear God, make them ride away!

  “Let me see.” Jesse rode to the side. “My goodness, Wiley. It’s the same horse we spied between the trees.” His smooth voice carried a Northern accent. “Ma’am, since we seen the horse first, we should take it with us … when we go. Never know, we might meet up with the person who lost it. Warsh your hands of it, so to speak.”

  “Take it. Did you hear a gunshot in the woods?”

  “Oh, that.” Wiley laughed, sounding like a clucking groundhog—a plump one. “It were Jesse. He got his chance to shoot at a chatterin’ squirrel. He’s got a short fuse, and they bother him somethin’ awful. He missed.”

  The charged tension grew. She noted the pistol strapped to Jesse’s right side and the butt of a rifle protruding from the scabbard on the saddle. The big gun in her arms grew heavy.

  “Ma’am, I’m puzzled where your man is.” Wiley edged his nervous horse tight to the porch and the open doorway.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and motioned at the woods to her left. “He’s huntin’. Due back soon.” Lord, just make ’em ride away!

  “Wiley, I think we should wait ’til her husband gets home safe.” Jesse swung his leg over the back of his roan and slipped to the ground. He looped the reins around one of the porch supports. “Why don’t we keep her company … like the true gentlemen we are?”

  Before Ella could react, Jesse vaulted to the porch. She swung the gun barrel and pointed it at his chest. “Please, leave.”

  “Whoa! Lady, don’t shoot. How ’bout we just take the horse and leave?”

  “Take it.” With one swift movement, she stepped backwards into the cabin, pulling the heavy door shut. With hands shaking, she drew the latch and moved to bar the window. She pressed her trembling lips together and kept the gun aimed at the door.

  She couldn’t see the children, and they made no noise in the loft. Her ears detected sounds on the side of the cabin, where the horse was tied. She inhaled and held her breath, trying to squelch her temper and fear.

  Ella Dessa, she told herself, let them take the stupid horse an’ be gone.

  But worrisome thoughts of Samuel made her ease the door open enough so she could peer out. Wolf silently padded his way up the steps toward her, his one eye showing uneasiness. She motioned him away with her hand. He went back down the steps and disappeared under the porch.

  What are they doing? She slipped through the doorway and edged along the log wall, toward the left corner. She could see Jesse’s back.

  “You shouldn’t have shot him,” he muttered to Wiley. His hands held the gray’s bridle. He patted its nose.

  Ella froze, flattened her body to the contour of the rounded logs, and clutched the gun to her breast. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  “But I always did like his horse. Guess you could say I coveted it. My dear ole mother used to tell me it was a sin—a sin to covet. Wiley, shooting in cold blood is another sin, a worse one.”

  “Jesse, you know Vassar let our double-sized bounty escape. I couldn’t stand by that. Look at this as an inves’ment—we now split the profit two ways, ’stead of three. Eh?”

  Ella couldn’t see Wiley, but she heard him spit, and saw brown liquid hit the dry sand.

  Jesse grunted in reply, and his slender, womanly hands continued to stroke the horse’s head. “I’d like to have this horse. Vassar always paid for the best. I sure was jealous of him. That’s another sin … isn’t it?”

  “Stop whining about sin! You ain’t taking it. We can’t leave a trail. I ain’t inclined to hang ’round here—liken we’re advertizin’ our presence. There’s Seminoles ’cross the river. Who knows which direction that worthless belly-bloated slave went? Besides, Vassar’s layin’ back there. We either git ourselves back ta bury him, or we hit the trail to St. Augustine. Someone might chance on him, ’specially when the vultures pick up the scent. We got a good haul. We need ta git ’em back and collect our dues. I’m hankerin’ fer some fun up in a civilized town … a touch of socializing … if ya know what I mean.”

  Ella slid sideways and tiptoed toward the open door. They kilt someone! Oh, God, help me think. I hav’ta get rid of ’em.

  “Oh, I know what you mean.” Jesse coughed and cleared his throat. “Wiley, the husband must be off hunting like she said. The girl’s neck is ugly. But I bet her blond hair would fascinate me if it was undone around her body, all loose and flowing. I don’t care for freckles, but those blue eyes sure flash my kind of fire.”

  Ella ducked into the cabin. She didn’t need to hear Wiley’s reply. Her hand reached for the door, quietly closing it, but a whisper distracted her.

  “Mama, who’s those men?” Hannah said. Both children poked their heads out over the edge of the loft.

  “Get back,” she frantically hissed, stepping where the children could see her. “Hide under the quilts!”

  Instant fear registered in Hannah’s oval face. Her little hands pulled Amos backwards, despite his whine of displeasure.

  Trembling, Ella turned to latch the door, but it was violently thrust open.

  “Stop right there,” she yelled, staggering backwards and pointing the barrel of her gun at Wiley’s bulky figure. He ducked his head and paused partway through the short opening. She couldn’t see Jesse.

  “Now … ma’am. I ain’t pointin’ a gun at you!”

  “I’ll put a bullet in you.”

  “Whoa! That ain’t nice. I mean no harm. Jesse an’ I jest wanted to ask fer a drink. Sit a spell. We’ll move
on shortly, but it sure has warmed up.” He took a step forward, pulled a nasty bandana from his pocket, and ran it over his red face and mustache. “When’s your man due home?”

  “I’m right here with a gun pointed at your back.”

  Ella felt a thrill at the sound of Samuel’s deep voice, but she kept her eyes on Wiley. At the same time, she wondered where Jesse was. Her arms ached from holding the gun.

  “Samuel? There’s a man with him called Jesse. Watch out. He’s somewhere close. An’ he ain’t nice.”

  Wiley’s bulk blocked the light coming through the door. He removed his hat and twisted it in his chubby hands. He was bald on top. The long hair only hung from the sides of his head. He spoke over his shoulder. “Sir, we’re just passin’ through. We’re huntin’ a runaway slave—with dark skin—but can’t seem to pick up the trail, so we’ll be goin’ along. I was jest askin’ for a drink from the missus.”

  “The barrel of water is here on the porch,” Samuel replied. “Back out real slow.”

  Ella gritted her teeth.

  Wiley’s fat face looked smug. “Why sure, I’ll do that.” He took one step backwards and stopped.

  A scuffle ensued, and something slammed against the front wall of the cabin.

  “Samuel? Answer me!” Ella pointed her gun at Wiley’s heart.

  “Ouch.” The fat man glanced over his left shoulder and chuckled. “My partner put your man to sleep with a piece of wood. Lower the gun, or Jesse’ll put a bullet in his stupid head. You want that?”

  Ella stood steady.

  “Jesse, go ahead, shoot him.”

  “No!”

  Wiley twisted the gun out of her limp hands and walked to the table, followed by Jesse waving Samuel’s pistol. Their presence in the tiny cabin made her sick.

  “What do you want of us?” She edged sideways. Through the open door, she saw Samuel’s body. He lay face down on the porch. Blood ran from somewhere on the top of his head and across his right cheek. His whip lay looped beside him.

  Wiley took a seat on a bench. The pine legs creaked under his hefty weight. “Not a what. Well—I guess you might put it that way.” He snorted and put his hat back on. He laid his handgun and Ella’s gun on the table in front of him. His chubby fingers patted them.