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

by Karen Campbell Prough

  Jim put a hand over his mouth to hide a bemused grin.

  Velma waved. “Yes’um.”

  “I ain’t stayin’ the night ‘cause I think you’ll do just as well with me gone. Ole Abe needs me, an’ I’ve been his wife far too long to forsake ‘im now—ornery as he appears to others.” She turned toward Jim. “Young man, could ye check on this household tomorrow? Or ask another to do it? Git word to me if needed?”

  “Yes’um.”

  “Good.” The midwife hobbled to the door, favoring her right hip. “Now take me home before the snow flies. I’m too old to be out in it.” Without looking back, she spoke to Ella. “Young lady, prayer is the most help right now—so pray.” She tightened her dove-gray shawl under her chin.

  “I will.” She nodded at Granny’s bent back.

  Jim winked at her over his shoulder and opened the door. “See you in the morning. Or Mother will. I’m sure she’ll insist on coming and leave the little ones with Sam.” He waved one hand and disappeared, taking Granny by the elbow.

  Ella tried to shake off her immediate feeling of apprehension and bounced Rosemary on her hip for good measure. She gave her a drink of water and a cold biscuit to chew on. With a sigh of relief, she removed her boots and walked across the room in her stocking feet.

  “Carrie, it’s just us, now.” She knelt in front of the girl. “You can come out of the corner.” She touched the girl’s clenched hand and saw her flinch. “I’m startin’ supper. I could use your help. You’re hungry, right?”

  Carrie lifted her pointed chin and seemed to consider the question. She nodded, and her sad eyes flitted over the room. “I ate bread an’ cheese out of the basket. How’s—how’s Mama?” She acted afraid to look toward the shadowed bed.

  “Your mama’ll be fine, you wait and see.”

  “He’s not comin’ home. Is he?”

  “Who? Oh, you heard Granny. No one knows when your pappy will come home. I’m sorry, it might not be for a long time.”

  After inching forward out of the corner, Carrie stood. “Can I … can I help you?” she stammered.

  “Yes, let’s go see what we’ve got.”

  She opened the basket and removed bountiful leftovers from the wedding, which now seemed hours in the past. She boiled down a piece of roasted turkey to make a thin broth for Velma while the rest ate at the table. The bed-bound woman thanked her.

  “No thanks needed. It’s what I’m here for.”

  “But you’ve been a blessin’ to me, even though you’re a child.”

  “I’m growin’ up.” She didn’t feel young and couldn’t remember if she ever did.

  The basket held more than they could eat. Rosemary fell asleep, and the other children were soon content, full-tummied, and sleepy-eyed. It had been an exhausting day for all of them. A quick look at the darkened window reminded Ella she still had to feed Velma’s old bull and two cows.

  She lit a second lantern, bundled the older children into warm clothes, and urged them outside. As soon as the light bounced across the path to the outhouse, Mae squealed in delight.

  “Snow!” She tried to capture the white flakes. Her smile flashed in the old lantern’s light. “Ella Dessa, it’s snow.”

  “Yes, it is, but we ain’t playin’ tonight.”

  She led the children to the nearby outhouse. The light rebounded off the dark tree trunks and showed the delicate flakes drifting past them.

  Mae giggled, did a tiny dance, and clapped her bare hands at the moist flakes. Scott and Remy tipped their heads back and stuck out their tongues. Carrie burrowed her chin further into the collar of her ragged cloak, and her hands disappeared deep within it.

  Ella swung open the narrow door to the outhouse. Its leather hinges were stiff with the cold. “Scott, you and Remy go first, then run back with your mama. I’ll help the girls.”

  Scott took very little time to do his business. His running feet, clad in broken-down boots, carried him out of sight toward the cabin’s lit window. Remy also wasted no time. Then Carrie started to refuse to go in the cramped outbuilding, even with the lantern’s light, but Ella insisted.

  “I don’t want to empty that pot no more than I have to. I’ll be havin’ to help your mama tonight. Go now. Hurry. It’s cold, and the snow’s wet. I’ll hold the door open so the light will shine in. Then you girls go back in while I go to the barn.”

  “I like snow.” Mae stuck out her tongue, happy with her immediate spot in the world. In spite of the circumstances, Ella couldn’t help but giggle at the delight shining from the girl’s oval face.

  *******

  Later, with nighttime prayers said, the older children scrambled to the loft. Ella checked on Rosemary in her low bed near Velma’s larger one. She smoothed the toddler’s messy hair and stood watching her sleep. She couldn’t help but think of the baby buried in her mama’s arms.

  What fun it would’ve been to have a little brother to love and cuddle.

  Quietly, she collected her thin pallet and covers from the loft. She made a bed on the floor, where she’d be close if Velma needed her. She lit a candle and extinguished the lantern before checking on her.

  She found her awake.

  “Flakes of snow comin’ down,” she whispered. “The lantern reflected on ‘em.”

  “I’d love to see it.” The woman’s face grimaced in the flicker of the single candle.

  “Are you better?”

  “I guess. Pains seem less. No pressure likes before. Not like when standin’ at Naomi’s house.”

  “Maybe it were the long walk.”

  “Could be. Stayin’ in this bed will be hard.” She squirmed and sighed. “My hip bones hurt, already. But I feel tired. I thinks I can sleep.”

  “Good.”

  “You need to go to bed.”

  “I’m sleepin’ down here.”

  “Bless you.” Velma reached for her hand. “I heard Granny tell you to pray.”

  “Yes.”

  “I know you will. I’ll say a prayer for you.” She kissed the back of Ella’s hand.

  “Thanks.” She touched her lips to the woman’s cool brow. “You’re the one who must rest.”

  Ella changed to her nightgown and said prayers for the family and the unborn baby. She added extra pieces of wood to keep away the persistent cold. Sparks floated sideways, drawn by the excellent draft in the rock-encased chimney. Unable to sleep, even though bundled in her quilt, her thoughts drifted over the day. It had passed by so swiftly.

  Grace had gotten married. She was now Mrs. Konrad Strom. She lived in her own house with a husband.

  “Someday, I want to marry.” She whispered the words. In her mind’s eye, she saw Jim waiting for her at the front of the little church. But the face of another dark-haired man blotted out the pleasant image and flooded her thoughts with turmoil.

  She crawled out of her temporary bed, got Mama’s Bible, and the carved box. Then she slipped back under the covers and flipped onto her stomach. She braced on her elbows and placed the Bible in front of her. Quickly, she thumbed through the first pages until she came to the list of Mama’s babies.

  Ella Dessa… Kilbride. Was it possible? No, it ain’t likely.

  Even as Velma had explained to her, as a slim chance, with what sometimes happens between an unmarried man and woman, it didn’t seem likely the man would show up in the cove.

  “People sometimes have the exact name,” she muttered, trying to convince herself there wasn’t a connection to her strangely written name in the Bible, the love letter to her mama, and a stranger in the cove.

  She lifted the wooden box, opened the beautiful carved lid, and removed the folded sheet of yellowed paper. She hadn’t dared mention it to Velma. It seemed too personal to share—with it being her mama’s treasured love letter. It rustled and crackled as she unfolded it. With unease, she reread the neat handwriting and stared at the looping signature.

  Miles Kilbride. Can it be the same man? Is he my real pa?

 
; With firm resolve, she shook her head. She could never approach the man about the questions in her head and heart. To do so would place a question mark on her mama’s character. The secret had to be kept within the Bible and the rose-carved box. She didn’t want anything to mar the memory of the woman, whose grave was placed under the swaying pines above Beckler’s Cove.

  Chapter 20

  Before daylight crept through cracks in the haphazard chinking, Ella Dessa forced herself to crawl from the warm cocoon of blankets. She shivered while arranging split logs and kindling over the dimly glowing coals. It would take a hot fire to warm the entire cabin. The night had seemed interminable, but one good thing had occurred. Velma’s pains had lessened and faded away.

  Ella lingered in front of the fireplace and permitted the generated heat to envelope her body. Her head ached, and she struggled to remember whether she had slept at all. Rosemary had awakened off and on all night, whimpering and demanding attention. At one point, she discovered the child’s bedding and nightgown completely soaked. By the time she put a dry quilt over the wet ticking and got Rosemary back to sleep, she felt dizzy.

  A quick look in the loft told her everyone still slept. The flames in the fireplace had calmed to a steady crackling burn. She lifted a full kettle of water, hung it on the iron hook, and swung it over the fire. She knew she’d better take advantage of the temporary span of silence to go outside. She pulled on her boots, grabbed her pa’s old coat, slipped her arms into the frayed sleeves, and pushed open the cabin door.

  She caught her breath in a gasp of pleasure. Accompanying the breaking light of the Sabbath was a pure white layer of new snow. It blanketed the ground and tree branches. The silent world varied in shades ranging from black and gray to solid white. Not an abundance of snow had fallen, but enough to transform the narrow, secluded cove.

  Ella thought of her mama’s tree-sheltered grave. A sprinkling of pure snow would hide it and soften the heaped rocks and dull brown stones. The innate urge to strike out and hike home caused her to contemplate the snow-blanketed craggy ridges and dark pines directly above Velma’s log home and Pelter’s Creek. Hidden from view, a trail meandered to the only home she had ever known.

  The silence of the colorless world wrapped its lonesome cloak around her—without even a bird breaking the stillness. She knew a visit to her mother’s grave wasn’t possible. She couldn’t walk home.

  She overlapped the front of her coat, but didn’t button it. It created a protective, double layer across her chest. She battled tears and headed to the rugged outhouse. Her soundless footsteps cut the first yawning tracks in the unmarked snow and left charcoal-colored scars in the white perfection.

  She intentionally walked in her own tracks on her return trip from the outhouse, to keep from marring more of the soft blanket of snow. The beauty of the morning caused her to pause once more. The temperature crackled with crispness. Her throat and lungs burned. She pulled the wide collar higher on her neck and face, watched, and waited for an indication life continued beyond the cabin walls.

  How could the world appear so untainted and cleansed when life was so tough?

  Light eased over the mountaintops, and the new day’s illumination fought its way into the deep-hewn crevices and hollows of the cove—like a slow snake numbed by the cold. The growing daylight managed to bring fresh color and chase away the shades of gray, but it lacked the proper intensity. Tentative fingers of the sun struggled to reach across the white expanse. It was as if a cloaked battle had commenced between the sun and the new season—and winter declared an insignificant victory.

  Ella sighed, for she knew the day’s pitiful sunshine wouldn’t be able to heat the coming hours.

  She breathed into the folds of the stiff collar and followed her escaping breath with her eyes. It curled in hazy plumes above her head. With another loud sigh, she gave up her tranquil minute of unusual peace and trudged to the barnyard. She had to pour grain into a wooden tray for the skinny bull and cows.

  Later, she’d fork fodder from the dissipating pile in the barn to the animals. There were no chickens to feed, and Velma planned to sell the bull or trade him for flour and staples.

  Back at the cabin, Ella opened the door to the sound of Mae giggling and pestering Scott.

  “You snored last night.”

  “Can’t help it.”

  “It sounded like this. Snuff, snuff, snuff!”

  “Shh, Mae, quiet. Scott, come on down.” Ella shrugged off her coat and lit a lantern for the table.

  Scott’s uncombed head of brown hair appeared at the top of the ladder. Chicory-brown eyes met hers. “Remy an’ Mae, too?”

  “Yes, all of ya.”

  Scott turned and descended the shaky ladder. “I’m tired of yellin’ at Mae to shut up ‘cause she might wake Mama.”

  Velma rolled over. “Scottie, she didn’t wake me.”

  “Scott, go stay near the fire ‘til I fix breakfast.” Ella smiled and knew what the woman left unsaid. Scott’s own hollering had awakened her. “Mae, come on down. Is Carrie awake?”

  “She’s sleepin’. Remy’s comin’.” Mae, with the energy of a summer chipmunk, scurried down the ladder in her nightshift. Her bare feet carried her to the hearth, where she plopped on her bottom, and stuck her feet out to the radiating heat. “My toes hurt.”

  “They’re cold. Mae, you need your knitted socks and a shawl.” Ella waited for Remy to join the others before she climbed the ladder to the loft.

  Carrie wasn’t asleep. She lay in the semi-darkness, staring at the roof just two feet above Ella’s head.

  “What’s wrong?” She knelt and touched the girl’s cool cheek. “You sick?”

  “No.” Her eyes blinked. “Did Pappy come home? Did I hear him or were it a dream?” Her voice sounded dull and hushed.

  “No, he didn’t come home. Why?”

  “I heard noises durin’ the night.” The girl’s hands appeared from under the frayed quilt. One finger twisted and twirled a tress of her long honey-brown hair. “I heard things.”

  “Carrie, I had to tend to Rose and your mama.” She stopped Carrie’s finger by wrapping her own around it. “He ain’t here.”

  The girl rolled sideways and gripped Ella’s hands with cold fingers. Her troubled gaze narrowed. “Is he comin’ back?”

  “Some think he won’t. Is it what you want to hear—that he might not?”

  The answer showed in the girl’s expression. Fear shadowed her eyes.

  “You don’t want anyone to know you’re skeered of him?”

  She nodded, as if frightened to admit her true feelings.

  “Then it’s our secret.”

  An insignificant smile quivered on Carrie’s pale lips, and her eyes swam with shiny tears of relief. “That’s good,” she whispered.

  Impulsively, Ella bent and enveloped the trembling girl in a tight hug. “Don’t you worry. I do understand.” She ran her fingers through Carrie’s tangled hair. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s go below. You can help me fix potato cakes. I hear Rosemary fussin’ and your mama can’t tend to her.”

  Carrie followed her down the ladder. Ella lifted Rosemary from the bed and realized the little girl’s skin felt hot to the touch. She chewed at her bottom lip and felt the other’s foreheads. They were all cool.

  The two-year-old had a fever.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered, as the lethargic child lay against her shoulder.

  “What is it?” Velma moved in the saggy bed.

  “Rosemary’s sick.”

  “Bring her to me.” She laid her fingers against her daughter’s forehead. Rosemary shook her head no and clung to Ella. “It feels like it,” she agreed. “That’s why she fussed all night. Do you think it was the cold walk?”

  “I don’t know. What do we do?”

  “There’s nothin’ to do but wait. Bundle her against chills?”

  “I need to fix breakfast.”

  “You�
��re a sweet girl.” The woman’s dark hazel eyes mirrored her compassion. “You’re just so young—to have to manage this. Now, Rosemary’s sick.”

  “Remember, I’m thirteen.”

  “Still a child.” She said it with motherly tone. “I know you’re strong. It’s just you can’t keep goin’ day and night.”

  “I’m fine.” She kissed Rosemary’s pink cheek and tried to smile. “I’ll fix potato cakes and the little bit of bacon hanging from the loft. I’ll bring you a plate.”

  Someone knocked at the door and Velma jumped. “Oh, who can it be this early?”

  Ella pushed the door open. Jim stood there, bundled in an over-sized coat. He held another woven basket in his right hand.

  “Jim—come in. I didn’t expect you.” Pleasure at seeing him caused her to stumble over her words. “Oh, but I guess Granny did ask you to come check on us.”

  “I will always obey Granny Hanks.” He gave her a lopsided smile and removed his hat. “It was a pleasant ride down. The mountain is beautiful covered with the light snow.” He looked at her face. “You look tired. How’s Velma?”

  “She’s much better, but stayin’ in bed like Granny said. Rosemary took sick this morning.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” His eyes traveled over the child clinging to Ella’s neck. “She looks heavy.”

  Mae ran across the room to face Jim. Her shift billowed about her skinny form. “Ella ain’t lettin’ us play in the snow.” She did a tiny hop and skip, trying to see what Jim held. “Whatcha got?” A piece of unbleached muslin covered the rectangular basket.

  “I can guess what’s in there.” Ella smiled at him. The faint scent of pumpkin bread surrounded them.

  “You think so?” Jim winked and then waved at all the children. “Good morning.”

  Remy and Scott waved back. Carrie dropped her head and stared at her folded hands.

  “I want to see what’s in it,” Mae said. She lifted the cloth with two fingers, peeked inside, and made a sniffing noise.