The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars?

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “You shouldn’t talk of her like that. My mama—” Tears burned her eyes and she choked on her words.

  “Shet up.” He jerked on the reins and turned the horse toward the narrow trail. “I’ll be stayin’ in town.”

  She shivered, wanted to disappear in the forest and die. The urge to run until her lungs burst and life faded away made her groan. Numbness settled in.

  He was gone.

  *******

  Hours later, after she tended to the chickens and two cows, Ella changed back into her mama’s brown dress, even though creases and permanent stains marred the material. The ragged hem dragged the ground. She crouched near the dead fire, uncovered hot coals, and shoved balled deer moss into them. She layered the kindling and wood. Carefully, she put the minced meat pie close to the fire to warm.

  No one would share it with her.

  While her evening meal heated, she lifted the boots and returned them to the table, side-by-side. The sight of them was still incredible. She never owned anything so grand or expensive. She examined the leather ties and ran her hands over the oiled surface of the dark leather. It didn’t matter they looked more like boy’s boots than a girl’s. They were beautiful. She couldn’t bring herself to put them on her unclean feet or wear them outside on the dirt.

  Besides, her bare feet were callused and tough. She could take the cool weather a bit longer.

  “I should’ve thanked him.” Her shoulders sagged. She spoke to the empty room. “Pa’s probably mad ’bout that, but I couldn’t think how to say it.” She heaved a sigh and tried to come up with ways to excuse her pa’s churlish behavior and cruel words. Her mama just always forgave him. Then she remembered the paper on the floor.

  It was still there.

  She snatched it from the dirty clay floor and opened the two folds. Her mama’s precise handwriting greeted her. These nuggets belong to Miles Kilbride. If he don’t return before my death, they’re to be given to Ella Dessa, my daughter.

  “Nuggets?” Ella whispered. She turned to the trunk, started to open it, but spotted a sparkle on the hard-packed floor. A dusting of fine powder held a golden shine. Gold. Her pa had taken a bag of gold nuggets out of the trunk—gold belonging to another man.

  “He had no right.” She clenched her fists and stared at the telltale sparkle. Anger held her. Her mama named the rightful owner, the man named Miles. Having her mama’s written request ignored caused her more grief than the theft of the gold. She folded the paper and slid it into the Bible.

  “Hello, the house. Hey, come back here!” A man’s deep voice bellowed the strange greeting and caused her to jump.

  Chapter 9

  Ella cautiously tiptoed toward the door. Laughter erupted and grew in volume. She inched the door open a crack and placed the side of her face close to the coarse wood.

  She saw a wide-shouldered man, with curly white hair, tugging on taut reins. The reins belonged to a determined pack mule. The roan-colored animal laid her ears back, planted her hooves, and stiffened her legs. She stretched her neck with the effort and pulled in the opposite direction, which could’ve taken her backward down the steep trail.

  “Sada, you blame fool. Stupid mule. Stop pulling. Come here! You’re going to fall off this mountain someday.” The man made the mule advance the last few feet of the steep trail, until the ground leveled off in front of the cabin. It was the area her mama had always called “her yard.”

  Much like the rush of tumbling debris in a wild stream, a cluster of people poured around the stubborn mule. They made their way into the yard. Most of them were children—a passel of healthy kids—numbering eight in all and varying in age and size.

  A thin woman brought up the rear. She shook her head in apparent amusement. “Ephraim, one of these times that mule’s going to take you off the mountain.”

  Her pleasant laugh caused Ella’s heart to ache. It brought remembrances of her mama’s bubbly sense of humor.

  “Do you think she’s here?” the man asked.

  A dark-haired teen turned to stare at the cabin’s chimney. His generous mouth widened in a lopsided grin. “Someone’s here. The scent of food is in the air.”

  “Jim, do you always think of food?” A girl with two auburn braids punched him on the arm and squeezed past him to stare at the cabin.

  “Peggy, do you have to ask that question?”

  Ella heard her giggle.

  “No.”

  He cupped his hands around his mouth and called. “Hello?”

  She wondered why they chose to stop in front of her cabin, but she felt giddy with the joy of seeing another human, let alone such a large passel. Her footsteps faltered as she slipped from the cabin. She pawed at her hair, her fingers catching in knots and tangles. Grimacing, she stared down at the discolored spots on her mama’s dress.

  Two of the younger children pushed each other out of the way, apparently to get a better look at her. The lithe woman stood in their midst. Her dark hair, twisted into a neat bun, showed prominent gray streaks.

  “Good day to you, young lady.” She waved. “We wondered if we could visit with you.”

  Visit with me?

  Her heart hammered against her ribs and caused her legs to go weak, but she lifted her hand in response. “Yes, stop and visit.” As she said the simple words, she burst into tears. Shocked at her own astonishing behavior, she grabbed her skirt and wiped her face. “I’m sorry,” she wailed.

  “Oh, child.” The woman pushed through the cluster of children and smothered her in a hug.

  “I’m sorry.” She melted into the tenderness of the motherly hug.

  “There, there! Cry it out. We don’t mind one bit.”

  The woman’s clothes held the aroma of newly baked bread, and Ella wanted to remain cuddled in the arms forever, but she pulled away. She sniffled and faced the others. She knew they saw her messy hair, freckled face, and bare grubby feet showing under the frayed edge of the adult dress. She pulled upward on the neckline and attempted to cover her scars.

  “Sorry, I didn’t reckon there’d be folks comin’ by.” She swept away her remaining tears and wiped her nose with her fingers.

  “Oh, we came without an invite. I’m Inez McKnapp.” The graceful woman’s hazel eyes overflowed with kindness. “We wanted to offer our love and God’s comfort to you at this extended time of sorrow.” Her careful words spoke of education and a place beyond the wilds of the haze-covered mountains.

  “Thank you.” Ella ducked her head, overcome with the squeezing hurt in her chest. She fought to keep from crying. “My pa left earlier. I don’t know—when he’ll return.” She scuffed her big toe in the dirt at their feet. A puff of reddish dust landed on the woman’s sturdy brogans. She winced. “Sorry.”

  “Shh. They’re old shoes.” Inez’s cool hand pushed strands of hair away from Ella’s face.”

  Ella inhaled and realized the woman’s fingers and roughened palm smelled of raw leeks—exactly as her mama’s used to when she cooked. She wanted to grab the woman’s fingers and hold them against her nose.

  “We don’t need to speak to your father. You can tell him we called on the both of you. Come, my brood wants to meet you.” She nudged her toward the smiling offspring. “What’s your given name, child?”

  “Ella Dessa … Huskey.” Her curious eyes flickered over the distinctly different faces of the children assembled before her—four girls and four boys. She recalled seeing a couple of them during infrequent trips to the cove. “My pa’s name is Jacob.”

  “Yes, we’ve met him. This is my husband, Ephraim.” Inez pointed at the stocky man still clutching the reins of the restless mule.

  Ephraim McKnapp removed his hat and nodded at her. His shocking ice-blue gaze swept from her bare feet to her eyes, but no cruelty lived within their depths. “It’s nice to meet you, miss. We were sorry to hear ‘bout your mother.” He was much older than his wife was and two inches shorter. He had a large nose and a nice smile. “We’ve been praying the
Lord would be with you and your father. We didn’t make it for the wake and burying, ‘cause half of us were down sick.”

  She stole a fleeting look to the left, up the slope to her mama’s rock-mounded grave. The sun’s persistent late rays cut through the foliage and touched the rugged cross where it stood—wedged into the disturbed soil. The cross bore the carved name Meara Huskey and the dates, 1805-1836. No mention of the baby, buried in its mother’s arms, engraved the wood.

  “It ain’t no fun bein’ sick,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

  “Thankfully, we’re all well, now.” Ephraim tightened his grip on the impatient mule.

  The animal twisted its thick neck sideways and seemed to peer at Ella. With long ears pointing forward, it stood still. Wrapped bundles and lumpy saddlebags occupied its sweat-darkened back, signifying they’d just returned from the cove and Beckler’s General Store.

  The girls laughed and someone said, “Sada likes her.”

  Inez nodded. “My husband keeps a grip on Sada or we‘ll lose all our goods over the mountain’s slope. She gets frisky and wants to rid herself of packs. Rubbing against a boulder is her way of doing that.”

  “We can’t let it happen. I’m too tired to climb downhill and collect it all.” The man chuckled and smiled affectionately at his wife.

  “We all decided to take the walk to the cove, instead of Ephraim going with our old wagon.” Inez nodded toward the children. “Our offspring are like stair steps.”

  Ella frowned, not understanding.

  Inez appeared to read her expression. “I mean, there’s lots of them, one after the other in age. The Lord’s given us much to be thankful for, because I lost three babies to begin with. This is Grace, our oldest, being close to twenty.” She linked her arm through the girl’s elbow. “She’s getting married near Christmas, and I’m going to cry at her wedding.”

  “Oh, Mother.” The girl rolled her chestnut brown eyes and smiled. “Hi, Ella Dessa.”

  “Hi.” Ella stared at the girl’s eyes, rimmed with long curved lashes. They were the most gorgeous eyes she had ever seen. They reminded her of a newborn fawn she once discovered hidden in ferns near the springhouse.

  Inez pointed to the right. “The tallest of our family is Jim, our eldest son. He just turned eighteen. Duncan’s two years younger in age. He’s my strong-willed child. You can tell by his red hair.”

  Everyone, except the redheaded teenager, nodded.

  “Our third son, Samuel, is thirteen. Peggy and Josephine are the giggling ones—at ten and six. Anna is eight. She’s holding Phillip’s hand. He’s my baby and will be three in four months.”

  “I thank you for stoppin’ in.” With swift movements, Ella used the heel of her hand to wipe unbidden tears. “I never saw so many younguns, except at Mama’s wake, and they wasn’t all related.” She swallowed the unexpected urge to giggle.

  Ephraim’s deep laugh showed his delight at what she said. “We’re quite a bunch to sort out. We’re like beans mixed with peas. Jim, hang to the mule for a minute.” He handed the reins to the eldest son. “I want to speak with the Lord.”

  They all watched the man limp up the incline. Ella noticed he favored his right leg or knee. He stopped under the pines, faced the grave, and clasped his hands at his chest. He bowed his head.

  Awed, she watched him and said, “I gave my mama’s baby a name, even though he passed on.” When no one said anything and Inez only gave her a sad look, Ella added. “It’s Timothy.”

  Inez nodded. “A very nice name.”

  “My mama read it to me from the Bible.” She studied the man standing by the grave. He wasn’t like her pa. She would almost bet his arm didn’t twitch, and he didn’t strike his woman.

  “I like the name Timothy.” The oldest son pulled on the thin-limbed mule and stepped close. His brown hair parted in the center. Long on the sides, the ragged duck-tailed ends curled behind his ears. The faint line of a darker mustache shadowed his straight upper lip. He resembled his mother, except for the color of his eyes.

  Ella’s attention locked with his unusual slate gray eyes, and for the first time in her life, she felt a blush stain her cheeks. Unexpectedly, she remembered the book in the Bible her pa forbid her mama to read aloud—the writings of King Solomon. Love between a man and woman had been a forbidden subject to mention in Pa’s presence.

  Shocked at her unexpected thoughts, she tore her eyes from Jim’s smiling face and reached to stroke the mule’s white nose. The deeper roan coloring of its coat started far above the soft nose. It had a lighter-colored mane, sticking up between its ears and along its neck.

  Jim chuckled. “Ole Sada likes to be rubbed under her chin. Watch this.” He scratched the mule’s whiskered chin. She extended her neck and closed her large liquid-brown eyes. Her soft pinkish lips vibrated with enjoyment. “See, what’d I tell you?” He winked.

  Her face went warm, and she dropped her head. “She doesn’t seem contrary like a mule we had two years ago.” With him standing in front of her, she knew what he saw—bumpy red lines above her collar. Immediately, she covered the left side of her neck with her right hand.

  The younger children swarmed close to Ella and the mule. They laughed at the reaction Jim got from the pack animal, and Grace spoke to Ella.

  “Sada’s a big baby. We’ve had her ever since Duncan was born. She’s part of the family.” She lifted her brother, Phillip, to her right hip.

  The tow-headed boy shoved his thumb in his mouth and gave Ella an intent look of curiosity. He blinked his eyes, but didn’t say a word.

  Ella smiled. “His eyes are so green.” They reminded her of a summer pond filled with new lily pads.

  “That’s our Papa’s Irish background, I guess.” Grace squeezed the little boy and grinned at the way he patted her cheek with one little hand.

  “Oh?” Ella studied the beautiful older girl and fervently wished she could be as elegant. “You sure got a big family.”

  Grace nodded. “I know. We’ve been blessed in many ways. Papa says God lays more blessings on us than we can receive. I truly believe him.” She touched her lips to Phillip’s head.

  Their mother got close enough to pull the boy’s thumb from his mouth. “Don’t. You’re too big for that. No.”

  “He’s spoilt.” Grace planted another quick kiss on Phillip’s head. “Mother lost a baby boy after Josie—we call her that for short—was born. So, we’ve spoilt this one.”

  “Every single one of you is spoilt.” Ephraim joined the children and took the mule’s reins. Grace’s mock astonishment caused him to laugh and kiss her cheek.

  Ella couldn’t help but grin at the man’s bellowing laugh. She felt breathless, not knowing what to say. Peggy crowded in and shoved a damp peppermint stick into her hand.

  “Can I share this with you?” The girl’s reddish-brown braids had bright curls springing free to frame her narrow face in ringlets.

  “Oh!” Ella fingered the sticky candy and raised it to her nose. The scent brought back memories of the only trip she took with her pa to Lick Log. She had been about seven. “It smells so good.”

  “You can have it.” Peggy wiped her sticky fingers on the front of her loose gray dress and shrugged with indifference. “I get candy all the time.”

  “Peg, don’t give her a half-eaten piece.” The sturdy boy named Samuel pushed forward. “Here, take mine.” Nudging his sister out of the way, he held out a full piece of candy. He matched Ella in height and boldly stared straight into her eyes. His unusual bluish-green eyes twinkled with mischief and fun. “And, you can keep hers, too.”

  “I can’t keep both.” She giggled, accepted his piece, but offered the sticky candy back to the girl. Peggy refused it.

  “Keep them both.” Jim stepped to the mule’s pack, pulled on a leather strap, and whipped open a flap on one side. “I’m giving her mine and Duncan’s. Got them right here.”

  Within minutes, she held seven pieces of candy. Phillip want
ed the eighth. He substituted it for his thumb and drool soon dripped from his chin. Ella fought tears. The family’s generosity overwhelmed her.

  “I never had so much.” She wiped her eyes and resisted the urge to stuff the candy in her mouth.

  Inez pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, before facing the children. “You make me proud. Ella Dessa, it’s their gift to you out of their own hearts. It’s all yours. Just don’t make yourself sick. Now, we must make our way down to Palmer’s Ridge. Herding this crowd along that old Indian path will make it close to dark before we get home. Honey, will you be all right until your father gets home?”

  Honey?

  Confused, she studied the woman’s face. Why’d the woman call her that? She was also astounded a stranger would be concerned for her welfare.

  “Pa’s gone for the night. But I know how to care for things.” She proudly lifted her chin.

  Inez and Ephraim exchanged inexplicable, fleeting glances, and Jim busied himself with the mule’s pack. The redheaded son, Duncan, stood close by with the sleeves of his muslin shirt rolled to the elbow. Ella heard him muttering under his breath. The look on his face wasn’t pleasant. He abruptly folded his arms.

  Ephraim cleared his throat and hitched up his beltless trousers. “Inez, we need to get across the ridge. Pullin’ this mule along the trail in the dark won’t be safe. We didn’t bring a pitch torch. Let’s head out.”

  “At the livery stable today, I heard men say her father’s got a new woman. He stayed at her cabin last night—near the west end of the cove. We saw him with her.” Duncan hissed the statement through clenched teeth, and his green-eyed stare locked on Ella’s face.

  Everyone froze. Audible gasps came from Samuel and Grace.

  Stunned, Ella stepped backward.

  “Duncan!” his mother cried out.

  Jim’s face flushed. He pushed past the others to face his brother. “Duncan, you had no earthly right to tell her.” His fists rose in front of his chest.