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

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “Papa, can I leave my chores and go get her first thing in the morning?”

  “Jim, be patient. I don’t want Jacob fuming mad and coming after us. He’d do that if we go get her without him knowing.”

  “He’ll give you the girl.” Duncan used his fork to shove food sideways on his plate. “He don’t want her. But he might think of it as a deal. That she’s to work for us. He may insist on you sending him money.” He lifted his slanted green eyes and gazed at them over his fork.

  “No, he won’t.” Their mother’s words rang firm. “She’ll be treated the same as any of you. Ella Dessa won’t be a paid servant or even an unpaid one. What little work she’ll do, will support her room and board.”

  Papa pounded the table with his right palm. Plates bounced. “Listen. I’m tired enough to want this chatter stopped. Jim, you hike up the trace tomorrow. Check and see if Jacob came home. Samuel, you want to go with ‘im?”

  “Sure would. I can help carry things when we tell her she’s moving.”

  *******

  Jim elbowed Duncan over on the bed. Samuel slept on a pallet next to the wall. The girls and Phillip slept in a larger room connected to his parents’ bedroom. The large house was a blessing. It had been built to Mother’s specifications and wishes. Grace would soon get married and move out. But now, Ella Dessa might move in. That meant the girls’ room would remain crowded.

  A gust of wind buffeted the sturdy log walls. Duncan’s snores mingled with the sound of Samuel’s quiet breathing. Jim found comfort with his family within the walls of their home. What must it be like for Ella Dessa left alone?

  “Oh, Lord.” He closed his eyes, pushed his personal spiritual doubts away, and whispered a prayer of protection for her.

  He wasn’t one to ask God for things. Prayer couldn’t be listed as one of his strong points. He only prayed at the table when his parents asked him to say the blessing. Never once had he let them know how he resisted their strong fundamental beliefs in God’s will for their lives. He struggled with his parents’ staunch beliefs and battled his temper. But he wanted to please everyone, and that kept him busy playing a game of pretense.

  His irritability was his worst enemy, and only Duncan knew the full brunt of it. Jim rolled over and resisted the temptation to jostle Duncan awake because of the erupting snores.

  *******

  Ella Dessa used a pointed stick and warmed the last bit of smoked ham over the fire. She rummaged through the food Jim had brought and chose two potatoes. Tomorrow, her food supply would be less. She’d have the small amount of pumpkin bread, the squash, an egg, and the old slab of venison hanging from the loft.

  She eyed the moldy venison. It turned her stomach. She figured she’d live on the stored potatoes. The corncrib held no corn within its walls—not even winter fodder for the two cows.

  It was late. She rinsed the potatoes with cold water and turned them in her chapped hands. Why cook ‘em? She liked them raw. The leftover pumpkin bread would be good for morning. Content with her meager fare, she sat near the warmth of the fire and munched on a raw potato and the hunk of ham.

  “Guess this is a lazy girl’s meal. No cookin’.” She spoke to hear her voice over the crackling flames. After swallowing the last piece of the potato, she reached for the second one and bit into it. When it was gone, she remembered the sticks of candy.

  While she enjoyed the sweet candy, she stared at the cold dark loft. “No, I won’t sleep there.”

  Within a short while, she banked the fire, pushed aside the muslin curtain, and crawled into her parents’ bed. It sagged in the middle and molded to her body as she turned to watch the flames toss shadows on the log wall.

  She tried to keep her wild thoughts at bay and fought them the way a bear swats off a pack of dogs. But the more she pushed them away, the more they attacked her.

  The wind grew in force. It found places to whistle through the chinking in the walls, especially in the loft above her head. She burrowed deeper under the layers of ragged quilts. She didn’t want to hear the noise outside. She knew it meant a bitter wind blew over the forlorn grave on the hillside.

  While besieged by an aching heart, she prayed, “Dear God, keep Pa safe wherever he is. I don’t care if he stole the gold, or he thinks I need a new mama. I want him to come home. I can be friends to a new mama. I don’t want to be alone. Please, help her to like me.” Her fingertips inched up to swipe at tears tickling the sides of her face. “Thank you for the fine folks who gave me food and for Jim’s kindness in fetchin’ it. Help me to do good when the new mama gets here.”

  She swallowed sobs and pulled her knees and elbows tight to her body, warding off the loneliness. Her thoughts turned to Fern, and she wondered how the older girl felt when her stepfather sent her away.

  It must’ve hurt real bad. I’d hate to forsake Mama alone on the hill.

  Jim’s face, with the dark traces of a youthful mustache, came to mind. She thought he was handsome, with the older ways of an adult. He had acted concerned about her, and it gave her some comfort.

  She smiled, remembering the partial loaf of pumpkin bread. It lay near the fireplace, wrapped tight to keep it from drying out. The thought of it almost caused her to throw back the quilt and go cut a little piece. It tasted so good. But memories of their cabin flooded with the scent of food, prepared by her mama, kept her where she was—because the past hurt too much.

  “I mustn’t think of myself all the time. I got to think of others.” She scrunched her eyes shut and tried to imagine what the new mama would look like. Would she be old—young? Who was she? There weren’t too many single women in the cove.

  Restless, she flipped to her back and stared into the darkness. What if I walk to the cove? She just had to follow the trail. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get up early and feed the animals. I’ll wear my new boots and go meet the woman who’s going to be my new mama.”

  Chapter 13

  At daybreak, Samuel and Jim headed for the Huskey cabin. No frost sparkled, and the air felt warmer. Both of them carried empty packs over their shoulders. They intended to use them to transport anything the girl might want.

  Jim slung papa’s gun on his back and adjusted the homemade leather sling. He chuckled, as they hiked side by side on a wide section of the trail.

  “What’s so funny?” Samuel asked. The rim of his floppy black hat hid his expressive eyes from view.

  “Ah, just imagining Duncan plugging away at our chores—mine for a second day.

  “He weren’t too happy at breakfast.”

  “Nope, he sure wasn’t smiling.”

  Samuel’s brow furrowed as he leaned into the slope. The trail circled a cluster of piled boulders—pewter gray against the rusty soil.

  “What’s wrong? Need to rest?”

  “No, thinking about Papa. His knee’s worse. I saw red swelling.” Anxiety flooded his adolescent voice.

  “I noticed it.” Jim remembered the disquiet on their mother’s face.

  “I think he hurt it squatting and kneeling in the woods, inspecting spots where he thinks we’ll set traps. He talked like he’s putting Duncan in charge of them for the winter.”

  “Really? He usually wants to do it himself. Duncan hates setting and checking traps. I wonder what Papa’s thinking?” Jim studied the bumpy path under their feet. He didn’t like it when unusual things cropped up. It set him to worrying too much, just like the constant fretting over Ella. Once a thought took over his mind, he had a hard time shaking it.

  Samuel tugged at his coat sleeve. “Do you think Papa isn’t feeling good, besides his knee?”

  “I think he’s weary.” He wanted to eliminate his brother’s qualms.

  “How old is he?”

  “Why?”

  “Duncan called him an old man yesterday. Right to his face.”

  “What? He shouldn’t disrespect the man. He might find out how strong our papa really is.” He shifted the satchel on his back. “Papa’s sixty-o
ne. He ain’t old. He’s just got white hair.”

  Samuel nodded in agreement. “Why’s Duncan so …?”

  “Defiant?”

  “Yeah, that’s the word.”

  Jim stopped in the trail. “Let’s take a breather.” He had set a fast pace over the last low hogback, a slope covered with dark evergreens. Samuel’s shorter legs struggled to keep up.

  “Good. I need a rest.” The younger boy bent over and braced his hands on his knees.

  “Samuel. Our brother wants to leave and explore the world. Papa wouldn’t let him go work in the gold mines this fall, and Duncan doesn’t think he should have to work the farm.” He drew in a deep breath and stretched.

  “How can he think that? He’s part of the family.”

  “He’s itching to wander, explore, hunt for gold, and he’s more moody each passing day. He’ll disappear one day and break Mother’s heart.”

  “I don’t want to ever leave.” Samuel gazed at an ancient rocky knob above them. “Never.” His stance was relaxed and easy, his childish face glowing with health. “Even in the winter, I love the mountains. I’d be content to live here always, but I don’t want to farm. I want to teach.”

  “Teach? Are you that serious-minded?” He smiled at Samuel. “Well, I can see you doing just that. You’re not lacking in verve or math. By the looks of it, with you teaching Phillip, he’ll know how to read before he’s three.” He whipped his hand sideways, knocked his brother’s old hat to the ground, and ruffled Samuel’s hair.

  “Hey, what’d you do that for?”

  “Felt like it.” He dodged his brother’s ineffectual punch. “Let’s go. We’re near the ridge.”

  When they topped the trail and could observe the secluded cabin, a jab of alarm fired through Jim’s veins. He instinctively crouched, jerked Samuel sideways into a clump of trees, and peered through the orange-tinted leaves. No gray column curled from the stone chimney and the door hung wide open. He pulled the gun forward, lifting the sling off his shoulder and chest.

  “What is it?” Samuel squatted on his boot heels, knees bent to his chest.

  “I don’t like what I see. The place seems deserted.” His heart throbbed in his throat, choking him, while he surveyed the hushed, dreary surroundings. As their heavy boots scuffed the thick layer of leaves under the trees, he could smell leaf mold. But the air was absent of smoke. There hadn’t been a recent fire in the cabin.

  “It’s too quiet. Did Jacob come get her?” Samuel said.

  Nothing stirred. The cows weren’t anywhere to be seen.

  Samuel slipped forward into a kneeling position and pulled aside the branches. He removed his hat and peered through a space in the lower bushes. “She might be in the barn. You think?”

  “There’s no smoke, and I split plenty of wood yesterday. She’d have a fire. Tell you what. You stay here. I’m going to the cabin alone. Watch for any movement. Give a low whistle if you see anything. Stay put. But run like an Indian if someone grabs me.”

  Cautiously, he held the gun shoulder high and inched across the open space in front of the low-profile cabin. When he neared the unfastened door, he paused and held his breath.

  Silence permeated the interior. His nose caught the arid scent of old wood ashes.

  “Ella Dessa?” He whispered her name and stepped over the stone threshold, gun ready, finger on the trigger.

  The girl wasn’t behind the curtain or in the loft. The cabin was tomblike and silent. He felt spooked, not expecting her to be gone when they arrived. He motioned to Samuel and waited until his brother—with shoulders hunched and head low—sprinted the distance between them.

  “She’s not in here. Stay behind me. We’ll search the outbuildings.” He tried to act braver than he felt.

  “It’s scary.”

  “Shh, go quiet.” Jim’s fingers cramped as he gripped the gun tighter, knowing he’d have to make one shot count.

  The barn door was barred, but he gritted his teeth and swung it open. The two boney-hipped cows extended their brown necks over the stall’s top board. One gave a low, expectant moo, and Jim’s nerves jangled as the forlorn sound echoed in the dank interior. The odor of urine and piled cow dung, testified to the fact they hadn’t been outside that morning.

  “She’s not in here. Let’s try the chicken house.” He nudged Samuel with his elbow.

  As they warily slipped along the side of the squatty building, Jim noted the door wasn’t bolted on the outside. Had Ella Dessa failed to fasten it? It was made to open inward, to keep chickens from flying out when someone entered. He put his hand on the short door and pushed.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  Scowling, he handed the gun to Samuel and slammed his shoulder against the wood entrance. His shove met resistance.

  A muffled scream killed the silence. Chickens squawked and cackled in panic, and one burst through the partially open door. It flapped into the early morning sunlight to run in a circle—just as something tried to push the door shut.

  “Ella Dessa?” Jim snatched the gun from his brother. “Are you hurt? Let us in.”

  Broken sobs could be heard. Filthy fingernails appeared on the edge of the sagging door. It opened wider. The scent of chicken droppings and damp earth wafted outward.

  She scrambled through the opening and over the raised wooden threshold. Her momentum sent her reeling into Samuel and knocked them both to the stony ground.

  “Ugh!” Samuel’s wide-brimmed hat went flying. His arms caught Ella Dessa about the waist as she sprawled on top of him. While tangled in her long loose shift, they tried to separate and get to their feet.

  Jim sputtered with laughter, laid aside the gun, and grabbed the girl under the arms. He lifted her to a standing position. Samuel rolled sideways and gained his feet, sheepishly brushing at his clothes. The girl covered her red face with her hands.

  “I never had that happen before.” A good-natured grin lit Samuel’s flushed face. “Whew! Thought a giant chicken had attacked me.” A reddish-brown feather hung from his hair.

  Chuckling, Jim plucked the feather from his brother’s head and touched the girl’s shoulder. “What were you doing in there?”

  “There was a wolf.”

  He surveyed the tree line and field. “He’s gone.”

  Ella Dessa rubbed her face with filthy hands. Her fingers left muddy streaks circling her blue eyes and marking her freckled cheeks. “Durin’ the night he was here.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “I saw him in what’s left of the moon, before I got in with the chickens.”

  “What? Last night? You spent the whole night in there?” Jim stared at her.

  “Yes. It was cold.” Her hair hung past her waist, disheveled, and dirty. The scooped neckline of the nightshift exposed purplish-red scars on the left side of her neck. They disappeared downward toward her breastbone. Her fingers clasped the thin material and pulled on it to cover the marks. “I heard sounds when the wind died down. I got the lantern and came to see. He were diggin’ under.”

  “Where?” Jim turned toward the building. “Sure ‘nough.” Claw marks and a pile of soil marked the hole started under the initial log.

  Samuel squatted and bent closer, hands on the dirt. “He didn’t finish.”

  “No, I skeert him. He ran, but circled back at me. I jumped inside, shut the door, and put my back to it. He’d come back to commence diggin’. I screamed and banged on the door. Now, it hurts to talk. Plus I was cold.”

  “You didn’t have a gun?” Jim felt sick to his stomach. She had traipsed out in the dark with only a lantern.

  “Pa took it.”

  “You’re a bit peaked, but braver than most girls.” Samuel grinned and regarded her with apparent admiration. “I know none of our sisters would do that.”

  Ella Dessa hiccupped and forced a slight laugh. “I’m not brave. It were stupid.” She held the shift’s material against her neck and started for the cabin. “I need to go inside.” Her cold-reddened feet and ankles showed as sh
e hurried away.

  Jim and Samuel shooed the chickens out of the coop, retrieved the lantern, and scooped dirt back into the hole. They packed it down.

  “Think he’ll come back?” Samuel dropped a hefty rock on the soft-packed soil.

  “Strange behavior. Yes, more than likely. I bet it’s the lone wolf Papa saw by our place. He’s limping and starving. If he’d show himself right now, I could shoot him.”

  “Kind of sad. Less and less wolves in these mountains.”

  Jim rolled his eyes. “I don’t consider it sad. Look what this one did.”

  “I think he’s unable to hunt.”

  “Well, they kill livestock and even people. It’ll be good when they’re gone. Leigh lost five lambs to wolves this past spring. We lost three to some wild animal.”

  Samuel palmed his hat, brushed at it. His calm, green eyes held something unreadable. “They were in the mountains before man.”

  “So? Does that mean we feed them? Let them kill our stock? No. They’re of no use. So, when they’re gone, we’ll all be safer. There will be more deer. We can feel at ease walking trails or even working in our fields, especially during the winter.”

  “I don’t see it that way.” The younger boy’s chin lifted, ready for a dispute.

  “You wouldn’t, Book Man.” He affectionately patted his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, she flattened you. You should’ve seen your face. You resembled a bullfrog with a boulder landing on him.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “No, you didn’t. You had both arms wrapped about her middle, hanging on for dear life. I had to make you let go of her. What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t hanging onto her.” He swung his fist and pummeled Jim’s left arm. His face went crimson. “She fell into me—knocked me flat.”

  Jim laughed and dodged his brother’s next wild swing. “Missed. Hey, stop. Let’s do what we came for—see if we can talk her into going with us.”

  The girl opened the door to Jim’s knock. Her face and hands glowed pink from a good scrubbing, but a deeper flush covered her cheeks. She had removed the filthy wrinkled shift and put on the smudged dress from the day before. Jim took note that her hair hung down her back, past her waist, brushed and neat.