The woman’s smile widened. “Ella Dessa. Such a sweet name. I’ve never heard it before, but it’s perfect for you. My husband remarked earlier how striking your blue eyes were. He spotted you sitting against the wall with Grace’s younger brother.”
Struck by a foreign accent in her speech and the unexpected compliment, Ella could only stammer, “Thank you. I must go.” She whirled to face Grace and Konrad. “I’ve got to find Mae. Velma’s weak. I’m sorry. I hav’ta go.” She ducked past them and fought to catch her breath.
Questions, like gold sparks in a fire, exploded in her mind. Could there be two men with the same name?
“Mae, come with me.” She found the girl on the lap of an old woman, happily munching from an overflowing plate. “Mama’s sick. We must leave.”
She helped the child slide off the woman’s lap.
“Why you breathin’ funny?” Mae hung back.
“I’m in a hurry.” She clasped the child’s hand and dragged her through the room.
Inez met her. “Honey, Jim brought our wagon to the porch. He’s walking Velma to it. She’ll have to sit on the box seat.”
Jim’s gray eyes searched her face when she stepped from the house. “It’s bitter cold out here. Cover yourself and the children with the horse blankets in the bed of the wagon.”
“Thank you.”
Carrie struggled to lift Rosemary to the wagon.
“I’ll need one of the blankets for Velma.” Jim supported the pregnant woman and helped her up on the wagon’s box seat.
“Ella Dessa, do you want me to come?” Inez stepped out on the porch and shooed Remy and Scott toward the wagon. “When Jim gets back with the wagon, I can send the others home with their father. They can drop me at Velma’s.”
“No—no, I’ll manage. Go visit with Grace. Carrie, get in the wagon.” After lifting Mae over the end of the short-sided open wagon, Ella got in by herself and helped Remy. “Scott, spread two blankets atop us. Give one to Jim. Carrie, get away from the edge and scoot over here.”
Inez ran back to pick up a covered basket from the porch. “Jim, take this with you.” She handed it to him.
Ella lifted Rosemary to her lap and urged the children to cuddle close. When the team of horses jerked the wagon forward, she grabbed the top edge of the sideboard and hung on. The bitter wind felt like it sliced through her lungs.
“I’m cold—wanna go home.” Mae’s teeth chattered.
“We are.” She tugged the rough blanket over the girl, covering her head and Rosemary’s. “Snuggle tight. Keep each other warm.”
She scrunched her eyes shut and tried to clear her mind. She felt as if a stupor had settled over her. Dazed, she kept hearing the tall stranger’s name—Miles Kilbride, Miles Kilbride.
Chapter 19
With her right hand braced against the mantel, Ella Dessa stood by the fireplace. Under her icy fingertips, she felt the splinters and cracks of the dry hand-hewn wood. She fought a sense of panic, because Velma had discovered splotches of blood on her undergarments.
The pitchy scent of the lighter knot she had tucked under the logs filled her senses. The pine pitch snapped and popped. Her skirt moved at her ankles, waving with the pulse of the fire’s flames, and the cold draft blowing under the door.
The door opened. Jim stepped in with a pile of split wood balanced on one arm and his mother’s basket hanging from his left hand.
“Here.” He extended the covered basket by its high arched handle. “Mother insisted it come with us. Just keep the basket until we see each other again.”
She accepted the basket and held it close, wishing she had the courage to talk to him about Miles. Perhaps, he knew something about the stranger.
“I need to leave. The family’s waiting for me.” He stacked the wood and straightened to catch her watching him. His gray eyes matched the wool scarf he had around his neck. Their stirring depths held sympathy and kindness.
“Thank you, for what you’ve done.” A stab of yearning for his undivided attention filled her heart. She wished he’d stay a bit longer.
“I didn’t mind.”
She wondered if he was anxious to get back to the pretty girl at Leigh’s house.
“This wood should hold you through the night.” He tapped the pile with the toe of his boot.
“Yes, it should.” She stared at the floor.
“You feeling sickly?” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair.
“No, worried.” Ella blinked away the silly desire to touch the loose waves his fingers created as they combed through his hair. “Velma’s settled in bed, but she thinks—” She bit her lip and let her words trail off without finishing the sentence.
I can’t talk to him about her losin’ a baby.
“Thinks what?” he impatiently asked. “You stopped mid-sentence.”
“Nothin’.”
She switched her jumbled thoughts to the four older children sitting at the table. She hefted the basket and set it in front of them. Their attention had been on wooden blocks scattered along the rough knotty-pine tabletop, but their inquisitive eyes fed on the basket—as if speculating what it held for them.
Jim leaned in close to her ear. “Scared she’ll lose the baby?”
His direct question shocked her. It wasn’t commonplace for a man to speak about a woman’s private situation.
“Yes.”
She saw Carrie’s head turn toward them, an uneasy frown forming on the girl’s heart-shaped face, but Scott and Mae’s eager fingers had unlatched the lid to the basket. Their noses sniffed the contents.
“Ella Dessa, no one expects you to handle this by yourself.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
She lifted her chin. Tiny prickles of fear ran up her spine. The memory of her mama’s labor and delivery threatened to overwhelm her.
“Well, I do. I’m going back to Leigh’s for Granny Hanks. She can tell you how bad things are or will be.” He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fret.”
“You’d fetch her?” She wanted to hide her face against his coat. “Your family’s waiting. What if Granny’s gone home?”
“We’ll work it out. I heard Rebecca offer to take Granny home. I hope they didn’t leave. If I have to, I’ll ride up the mountain.”
“She lives way back in a holler.” She twisted her hands together. “Granny could sleep here. Velma’s beside herself with fear.”
“I know.” His eyes were kind. “I’ll get the midwife here. Papa traded our extra mules and one cow for that new team of horses. Sada’s retired to the barnyard for the cold season and not liking it much.” He gave Ella a little grin, as if wishing to lighten her mood. “You ought to hear her bray and protest, especially when we hitch the horses. So, anyways, I can get Granny.”
“But your papa might—”
“He’ll understand.” He tightened the scarf around his neck. “I’ll take my family home and go fetch her. Old Abe can’t bring her. He wasn’t feeling frisky enough to attend the wedding.”
Ella nodded and turned away from him. “I’ll go tell Velma.”
“Wait one moment.”
“Yes?” She felt Jim’s fingers on her arm and wondered why he detained her. His light touch made her heart change beats. She wished she wasn’t so young compared to him.
“I found out you had a birthday last month. Velma told me.”
“Yes, I’m thirteen.” Ella lifted her chin and stood taller, hoping she appeared more mature. “Velma baked a cake. The little ones drew pictures on smooth boards.” She pointed at the mantel. “See?”
A row of odd-shaped pieces of pine board—bark still intact— bedecked the mantel. Simple childish drawings of birds, deer, flowers, and unidentifiable objects—done with chunks of coal—filled every bare spot on the boards.
He chuckled. “Well, they did good. Happy birthday–late.”
“Thank you.” Her heart felt as if it had wings. No gift could mean as much
as his spoken words.
“I’ll remember next year.” He brushed past her and headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”
After latching the heavy door, she hurried to check on Velma.
“Any better?” She bent close.
“No.”
The woman lay on her left side. She had removed her hairpins. Her dark hair fell about her head and shoulders. Streaks of premature silver strands showed in its rippled length. Her resultant silence revealed her unvoiced dread of losing the infant.
“Jim left.” She stroked Velma’s hair. “Can I get you some water?”
“No. I’m crampin’. It’s too soon,” she whispered. “It won’t live.”
Ella held her breath and felt dizzy. She wanted to hide in the most remote corner of the woods—hide from a repeated nightmare. She fought to conceal her fright.
“Jim’s fetchin’ Granny. She’ll know what to do.” Her hands fumbled as she tucked the ragged cover next to the woman’s shoulders and neck. “You need to rest.”
“I needs you to tear a sheet into rags for me. Even with this slight bleedin’, I hate to move. I wants to be still … in hopes it stops. I’m nigh on six months along.”
“Shh. Don’t talk of it. I’ll make extra rags for you.”
Velma’s hands inched out of the covers and wiped at her cheeks and nose. “I’ve known things ain’t been right with this one. It’s been too hard to keep my strength up. Too difficult. God knows best.” Her blue-veined eyelids closed. “I’ll keep prayin’.”
Ella straightened with unspoken resolve. She had to be brave—she had responsibilities. Rosemary sat on the floor near her feet, quietly playing with a ball of unraveling dark-gray yarn. The other children focused their attention on the rough blocks scattered on the table. The crumbs from bread and cheese showed what they had appropriated from the basket.
Scott and Mae fought over who could build the highest stack. She shushed them as she used her hand to scoop away the crumbs. Scott unexpectedly looked daggers at Carrie and reached for a block in front of her. He shoved it under her nose.
“If you ain’t usin’ it—I’m takin’ it. Mae took mine, and Remy won’t share.”
Carrie banged her hand flat on the table and shook her head. “I want to build a cave.”
“You ain’t buildin’ a cave with our blocks.”
“I can. I’m older than you! I want a dark cave to hide in.”
“Scott, let Carrie do as she wants. Don’t fight.” She leaned over the table and helped Remy balance a block on his stack. “That’s good, Remy. Now, the rest of you play nice.”
*******
Thirty minutes later, a quick knock sounded at the door. Granny and Jim slipped in out of the wintry cold.
“It’s just us.” Jim snatched his hat off his head and stomped his boots against the floorboards, making the closest bench bounce.
Ella grabbed the old woman’s gnarled hands. “Thank you for comin’. That wind is filled with ice.”
“No need to waste time yakkin’ to me. Let me see to Velma.”
“She’s in her bed.”
The elderly midwife’s manner was practical. She pushed the shawl off her gray head and rubbed at her face. Her sunken cheeks and nose had flushed purplish-red from the cold.
Ella sensed Jim stood close behind her and turned. Her eyes scanned his calm face for reassurance.
“You can relax, now.” He smiled. “Granny knows what to do in cases like these.”
The midwife pointed at the floor where Rosemary still played with the ball of yarn. “What’s she doin’?”
“Playing?” Ella said.
Rosemary had tangled long strands of yarn into a heap on the floor. Her chattered nonsense accompanied the unrolling of the woolen skein.
“Take her over by the others an’ then come back.”
Ella removed the loops of yarn from the child’s little hands and lifted Rosemary to her hip. She carried her to the table. “Carrie, keep your baby sister busy.”
“It’s getting colder.” Jim unbuttoned his heavy coat. “I think I saw tiny flakes coming down. It’ll be dark early.”
“I’m sorry you had to come here.” She clutched the wad of yarn to her chest and watched his long, cold-reddened fingers work each wooden button.
A wide smile appeared on his face. “Don’t look so serious.” He winked at her as he shrugged off his coat and hung it on a peg near the door. “I got back in time to see Grace and Konrad leave for their new house. My big sister seems very happy.”
“She is.”
Granny stuck her head around the curtain. “Come here.”
“Yes’um.” She tossed the yarn to the rocker.
Jim pointed at the door. “I’ll be outside.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ella caught a movement.
Carrie headed for a secluded and gloomy corner of the room. Placing her back to the log wall, she slid downward, until she was in a tight balled-up position—her shift covering her knees. She tucked her arms about her bent legs and silently rocked back and forth.
Granny had pulled away the bedcovers. “Velma, I need ya on yer back an’ lift yer gown.” She caught Ella’s eye and muttered, “Just wait nearby.”
With a groan, Velma rolled over. Granny gently ran her aged hands over the distressed woman’s rounded belly.
Ella stood at the head of the bed, her face averted. Her heart pounded a wild rhythm, and she felt breathless. She tried to ignore her knowledge of what could happen.
“Bring a basin of water.” Granny rested a hand on one of Velma’s bent knees and bluntly said, “I got to feel inside. It’s tetchy to do so, but it’ll tell us the worst.”
“Yes’m.” She scurried to obey, relieved to be doing something physical. There was a pot of water suspended over the fire. In no time at all, she took a bucket of lukewarm water to Granny.
The midwife grunted and motioned her to step to the other side of the curtain. It seemed like an eternity before Granny indicated she had finished the exam.
“Ella Dessa, come here.” The elderly woman thoughtfully worked her thin lips back and forth over her almost toothless gums. She washed her blood-tinged hands in the water.
Ella’s eyes welled with tears. She took Velma’s hands in hers and waited for Granny’s diagnosis.
“Well, ye ain’t losing it—yet. With bed rest, ye jest might carry it. Bleedin’ is slight, not gushin’.”
“Oh, praise the Lord.” Velma laid a shaking hand over her eyes.
“You must’ve overworked. A sixth child is a perilous one to carry.” Granny shook water droplets off her age-spotted hands and turned her brown eyes to Ella’s face. “Can ye handle the lot?” Her bushy eyebrows drew together, and her wide mouth pressed into a severe straight line.
“Yes. I can do it.”
“Won’t be easy. She’s got to stay in bed.” She poked a wet finger at Velma. “Flat down or feet raised, ‘til I say there’s no danger. No liftin’.”
“She’s reliable.” Velma gazed sideways at Ella.
Nodding, Ella assured the midwife she understood. “I’ll make Scott and Carrie help with chores.”
The old woman used the privacy curtain to dry her hands and pulled the fabric sideways so Velma could view the whole room. “I need ta git home. My old man needs me. Abe ain’t so good.”
Velma’s not losing the baby. Ella bounced on her toes. She wanted to rejoice by jumping up and down. Instead, she gave the frail midwife a grateful smile.
“Watch her,” Granny said. “Get Jim.”
Ella ran to the cabin door and hollered for him, without realizing he leaned against the cabin’s chimney just to the right. “Oh, I didn’t mean to yell in your ear. Come in. Granny’s ready to leave.”
He shivered. “That’s good. Daylight’s fading. It’s cold, and I left my coat in here.” He lifted it from the peg and tugged it on.
The midwife surveyed the crowded cabin and adjusted the shawl about her head and sho
ulders. Ella saw the woman squint at Carrie crouched in the corner.
“I think ye can do it, Ella Dessa. You’ve got backbone.”
She felt thrilled with Granny’s unusual praise, especially with Jim hearing it.
He chuckled. “She’s strong-hearted. Ella Dessa’s been known to spend the night in a coop, just to protect her chickens.”
“It had to be done.” Ella kicked the toe of her boot against the floor and avoided Jim’s teasing grin.
“We still have her chickens mingled with ours.”
“Chickens ain’t younguns.” Granny signaled to Scott and the others. “Leave yer ma alone. Hear me?” With questioning eyes, Mae and Remy edged near the old woman and nodded.
Scott was brave enough to speak up. “I won’t bother her.”
Carrie continued to rock, not acknowledging the old woman’s presence. Once again, the girl seemed wrapped in her own little world— not seeing what went on.
Ella saw Granny’s eyes go back to the girl and hastened to say, “She gets like that. It’s nothing. It’s her way of worryin’.”
Granny grunted and tapped one finger to her head.
The movement was so brief Ella wasn’t sure she actually saw it, but it made her feel a touch of irritation—like she must defend Carrie’s peculiar actions.
“She ain’t fey,” she whispered. “She has fears about things.”
“Hmmph.” Granny then pointed directly at Rosemary. “Keep that one from botherin’ her ma. She shouldn’t be underfoot. It’s time she grow up.”
“Rosemary? She’s no problem. Honest, she plays good.”
The little girl apparently understood Granny was displeased with her. She ran across the floor to Ella and raised her arms. Lifting the two-year-old to her hip, she brushed the toddler’s downy hair out of her eyes. “Granny, we’re glad you come to reassure us.”
She fought the temptation to argue with the old woman about the children.
The midwife shook an arthritic finger at Velma’s bed. “I ain’t foolin’ one mite. No gettin’ up, ‘cept for the necessary. Avoid straining. Ye need to eat in bed, stay in bed. Eat light this night an’ then take food regular like. If that no good husband of yers slinks home—he sleeps on the floor. Tell him I said so.”
The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars? Page 22
