Ella proceeded toward the hushed cabin. Heel, toe, heel … toe, she repeated in her head, remembering what one of their Indian friends had taught her about walking quiet-like. One of the horses tied to the post—a brown and white-spotted mare—raised its head. Its tail swished sideways, and it watched her stealthy approach.
Be quiet—be quiet, she silently begged the wary animal.
Near the door, she paused and rested her forehead on the thick wood. She could hear the murmur of more than one male voice, but they didn’t sound angry. She sent up a quick prayer for protection and drew a ragged breath of courage. With deliberation, she cradled her copybook in her left arm and opened the door with her right.
Heads turned.
She didn’t recognize the two rough-dressed men. They switched their attention from Velma to her. The taller of the two had long dark hair, which shadowed most of his face. She saw his square, smooth jaw line, but not the color of his eyes. Ella blinked in the dim room and assessed the situation. Her senses expanded to high alert. The tang of sweat, unwashed bodies, and dirty clothes permeated the room. She wanted to cover her nose in disgust.
She saw Rosemary sound asleep in the center of the big bed. Velma sat at the table with her arms crossed over her narrow chest, hands clutching the tops of her arms, as if holding her body in a tight embrace.
Mae leaned against her mother’s side with two fingers crammed in her slack mouth. Her four-year-old expression said she didn’t understand the presence of the strangers. Her blue eyes begged Ella to make them leave.
“Come here, Ella.” Velma beckoned with a shaky hand. “Where’s the children?”
“I left them outside.” With quick strides, she rounded the table, dropped her shawl and copybook to its surface, and placed her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “They won’t come ‘til I call.”
“Good.” She gripped Ella’s hands in her own. Her fingers dug in. “This is Lance Jarvish an’ Josh Ragget.”
“What’s wrong?” I don’t care an owl’s hoot about their names. Ella wanted to know what brought them to Velma’s home. She didn’t care what her expression said. For once, she wasn’t worried strangers would be shocked by her awful scars. She held her head high and locked her eyes on the men.
“Oh, the worst,” Velma said.
Adam whimpered from his cradle and kicked his chubby legs. His mother’s clammy hands shook, but continued to cling to Ella’s fingers.
“The worst?” She glared at the men, ready to pounce, much as a mountain lion once jumped her. She wished the beardless one would step near the window so she could see his face and judge his expression.
“Yes.” The oldest man, sporting an unkempt white beard, gave a drawn-out sigh. “We jest tolt bad news to Mrs. Clanders.” The immediate slump of his shoulders said he didn’t feel like repeating the information.
Velma nodded. Her eyes said she wrestled with inner pain. “They tells me Gust’s body were found three weeks ago an’ buried.”
“Three weeks ago?” was all Ella could think of to say. “Three?”
“They fetched home what’s left of his things an’ our wagon out yonder.”
“You waited three weeks to come here?” She hoped they heard the disdain in her voice. The odor of their sweaty bodies caused her to feel nauseous. It brought forth the memory of winter months when her pa didn’t bathe. “Where did you bury him?”
“We didn’t have to, ’cept his legs. He buried hisself in a collapsed ridge he were digging into—on Yahoola Creek.” Lance Jarvish’s unemotional hazel eyes narrowed. “We daren’t leave our claim to come here on the spot. Had to hide it.” His thinning gray hair was combed straight back from his forehead and didn’t do much to cover his liver-spotted head.
Ella knelt beside the bench and enveloped Velma in a tight hug. “I’m sorry. They should’ve come sooner.”
“Now I hav’ta tell the children.” Her voice broke and quivered on the last word. “That’s the worst. We’ll wait ‘til these good gentlemen takes their leave.” She looked intently at the two of them. “I’ve no money. Can we offer you a meal for travelin’ here?”
“No, ma’am.” The one named Josh shook his head. A black shock of hair whipped across his forehead.
With compressed lips, Ella stood.
“We’ve got to ride back to camp—south. Like to make it ‘fore dark.” Josh fiddled with a faded black felt hat and kept his eyes on it. “See, we got to camp near our stake. That’s why—”
“That’s why we ain’t come sooner,” the man named Lance interrupted. “We fight off claim jumpers most every day. Got a trusted friend standin’ guard. We felt it our God-appointed duty to bring news of your husband’s passing.”
“How’d you know he lived here?” Ella almost shocked herself with her boldness, but she continued, “Which one of you killed him?”
Velma caught her breath and tugged at her hand. “No, child, they didn’t kill him. Don’t speak so.”
“They didn’t?” She raised her chin, and her heart hammered in her ears. She didn’t believe their story.
Josh faced her. His black eyes reminded her of a moonless winter sky. Stunned, she realized he was quite young, no more than Jim’s age.
“We ain’t killed anyone.” His words sounded terse, but the disturbing eyes took on a softer appeal. “No man done the deed. Nature did. We jest found the body after the killin’ been done. We gave him a proper burial. There’s even a marker. Gust spoke of this place one time when we checked him into Sprawls’ Hotel.”
“Sprawls?” Velma said in repeat. “Where?”
“A tanyard in Lick Log. Oh, name’s diff’rent … Dahlonega. He drank too much that night. Bein’ tossed in a tanning vat speeds up the soberin’ process one time and ag’in. We also was directed here by a man answerin’ by the handle of Kilbride—who we met headin’ east, away from here.”
Miles Kilbride, again. Ella found her stiff attitude melting in the seemingly direct gaze of the younger man. “Who murdered Velma’s husband?”
“I done tolt you—no one,” Lance said, almost shouting.
Josh nodded. “The section of a hill he hacked into, while lookin’ for a vein or placer ‘longside the creek, gave way. It buried an’ smothered him. Must’va laid there awhile—days. We came across his feet stickin’ out—buried him more proper. Found his wagon an’ starving team tied to a tree, near a crude camp. There weren’t a shanty. We suspicion he dug into a weak section of the riverbank, a ridge, hoping for a gold signs. Buried alive.”
Velma’s grip on Ella’s hands intensified. A low, sad groan came from her ashen lips. “I knew it … I knew it.”
Mae leaned against her mama’s side, and a sob escaped her lips. Horrified, Ella knelt and gathered the child into her arms. “Mae, don’t. Baby girl, come with me.” She lifted Mae, carried her past the two strangers, and slipped outside.
Not fifty feet away, Scott, Carrie, and Remy stood under a chestnut tree, their troubled faces cast into shadows by the budding branches overhead and the dwindling sunlight. A chill filled the air. Ella hurried toward them with Mae in her arms.
“You disobeyed me.”
She felt a flash of anger at the children’s blatant disrespect to her previous order, but recognized the childish disquiet etched in their expressions. They all grew tearful as they heard Mae’s muted sobs. Ella’s initial reaction cooled. Her heart ached for them.
“Your sister’s not harmed. Mae, stand here with Carrie.” She lowered the girl’s bare feet to the pebble-strewn ground. “Dry your tears.”
Scott latched onto Ella’s arm. “Don’t punish us for disobeyin’. We wanted to be near, if’n Mama needed us.”
“She don’t need you.” She muttered the words and placed her hand on Scott’s shoulder to calm him. She studied the elongated shadows inching their way from the woods into the cleared field by the barn. “Let’s put the horses in the barn. Scott, can you handle them and the wagon—enough to take it over by the barn?”
He nodded, but his eyes widened with surprise at her words. “Pappy don’t let me to do that, and there’s the wolf. I’m skeered of it.”
“You said it is dead. Your pappy isn’t here—not in the cabin. Your mama will tell you why. Scott, I’ll help put up your horses. The other horses belong to two men talkin’ to your mama. Remy—girls, wait for us.” She indicated for all of them to stay put. “Carrie, hold Mae’s hand.”
“I want Mama.” Mae’s bottom lip stuck out. Her features and haunted eyes showed she didn’t understand.
“Soon.” With her fingers, Ella wiped Mae’s face free of tears and pushed her unkempt hair out of her eyes. “Stand here. No frettin’.”
In solemn silence, the three children leaned against one another for comfort.
Scott and Ella went to the horses, and he stroked the smooth nose of the one named Bellows. “What do we do with the wolf?”
She peeked inside the old wagon and shuddered at the sight of the powerless wolf—lain out on its side. “We won’t worry about it,” she replied. “It’s that simple.”
The carcass lay stiff and gaunt. Its reddish-brown and blood-flecked coat appeared ragged and dull. Sightless, eyes stared at the side of the wagon. Pointed white fangs gleamed along the open jaws.
Scott made short work of coaxing the horses to pull the wagon close to the log barn. Ella helped him unhitch them and then motioned to Carrie. “Hold the barn door for us. I’ll hang onto this horse.”
“No!” Carrie violently shook her head. The blood drained from her thin face.
She refused to step toward the shadowy barn and its sagging skeletal door. Her widened eyes switched from the barn to the cabin’s door as if she expected someone to walk out the door. With stumbling steps, she backed away.
“No, no.”
Scott slapped at Ella’s arm. “Whoa, remember? She don’t like the barn, even though she tried to jump that time. Let me. Hey, I got an idea.”
He left her holding both horses and ran to open a side gate. He then scurried into the murky barn and back out with an armful of moldy dark fodder. Bellows strained against the leather reins. He perked his ears forward and watched Scott.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Walk ‘em this way. They should remember.” He went through the gate.
Both horses followed him into the side field surrounded by a split rail fence. He threw the dried corn leaves on the ground.
“That’s it. I’ll put them in the barn later, one at a time.” He sounded grownup and more sure of himself. “They can chomp this. We can dig a hole before school an’ plant the wolf.”
Ella had to smile. “Good thinkin’. Thanks, Scott.” She gestured to all of them. “Let’s go—”
The noise of the cabin door shutting drew their attention. The two men strode toward their horses.
“Who’s that?” Scott jumped sideways and bumped into Ella’s hip.
The older man didn’t acknowledge their presence or look in their direction. He crammed a filthy hat on his head and mounted the brown horse, but Josh advanced toward them, with hat in hand. His clothes hung loose on his skinny frame and needed a good scrubbing. His raven-wing black hair curled against his neck and collar and reached past his full eyebrows.
“Miss?” His dark eyes stared at her.
“Yes?”
He flipped hair out of his face and stood with feet planted wide apart. “I jest want to say I’m sorry ‘bout your father.”
My father? Ella’s back stiffened. Her lips parted. He thinks I’m Velma’s daughter.
Scott frowned and tugged at her sleeve. “What’s he mean?”
She shushed Scott with a quick touch. The eyes of all the children focused on her. “Thank you for takin’ care of things. I’m sorry I spoke as I did in there.”
He nodded and lowered his gaze. “I figger I’d react the same—if I had loved my father.” He twisted the hat, played with the squashed shape of it, and flicked dust with one nail-bitten finger. The ragged brim whispered in the cracked palms of his hands, and a festering cut reddened the top of his left hand.
“The news is bad, but now we know.”
Josh’s thin frame indicated missed meals, and his hands appeared to have been in water and exposed to the elements. Panning for gold did that. A twinge of sympathy welled inside her.
“We mine a spot on the west branch of Butler’s Creek, direct south of here, near Lick Log—excuse me, Dahlonega. Got us a bark shanty. If you need—”
“Git on your horse!” Lance turned his mount toward them, whistled, and jerked his right arm through the air. “Time’s wasting, and I’ll leave ya.”
“Got to go. Lance’s worried. We left the claim. Now we won’t make it back tonight. He drove the wagon this mornin’ an’ those horses ain’t much—not trained good. He’s in a bad temper.”
“Where’d the wolf come from?”
“Oh. Last night it made a mistake of raidin’ our vittles. We camped aways from here, south end of this here cove.” He nodded over his shoulder at Lance. “He shot it at first light. An easy mark ’cause it were limping bad. Starvin’. Girl, may I ask your name?” He stepped back to his horse. The twilight creeping between the log barn and the dense woods seemed to darken his eye color. “Please?”
“Ella Dessa.”
An insignificant smile lifted his hallowed cheeks. He nodded and set his hat on his head. “Nice, soft ring to it.” He walked away. A ragged hole showed in the seat of his faded pants.
“He’s creepy, like the woods at night.” Scott glared after him. “He kept eyeing you.”
Ella’s fingers squeezed Scott’s right shoulder. “Hush.”
“What’d he say about your father?”
“Not now.” Seconds later, she watched Josh turn in the saddle and raise his hand but she didn’t wave. Uneasiness rolled over her, mimicking the wary expression on Scott’s face, but the feeling faded—when the forest hid the two men. They had brought their tale of death and were now gone.
Should Velma even believe them?
Her attention switched to the four children clustered close, and she felt sorrow for what they’d soon learn. “Let’s go talk to your mama. Scott, remember I’ll need your help buryin’ that wolf come mornin’. I’ve no desire to try shucking off its useless hide.” She paused and gave an exasperated groan. “No, we best do it tonight—don’t want bears or other varmints sniffing it out. Remind me later. We’ll do it by lantern.”
Velma didn’t pretend great sorrow over the news Gust wasn’t returning. She was straightforward with her children—almost unemotional and blunt. Ella watched her cuddle Remy as he cried. She noticed Velma respected the fact Scott refused her comforting arms. He glowered, eyes red-rimmed, but he didn’t give way to tears like his little brother. Ella couldn’t figure out if he was sad, relieved, or frightened by his own lack of grief.
Maybe, it’s anger he feels.
She watched the boy ignore everyone and sit mesmerized in front of the fire. She instantly knew how Carrie felt, even though the girl didn’t give any indication of her innermost struggle.
She’s creek-jumpin’ happy her pappy’s dead.
Mae and Rosemary were outwardly unaffected their father had died. Mae had gotten over her crying spell and acted content to go play.
With an exasperated sigh, Ella tried to push all the intermingled thoughts out of her mind. She called to Scott. “We need to tend to the wolf. I bet it’s the one my pa saw some time ago.”
They buried the emaciated body of the wolf in a shallow grave near one side of the barn. Its rancid odor caused Ella to gag. Neither one of them spoke. They set the lantern on the ground and worked within its yellow circle of light. Distant lightning lit the sky beyond the mountain. It felt as if they buried Gust Clanders, wiping away the family’s memory of the detestable and no-account man.
Ella shuddered. She didn’t mourn at the knowledge of the man’s untimely death—she hadn’t known him well enough—she quelled
under the realization he had probably never accepted God. He was known as a worthless, fierce-tempered man. Now, most of his own family wouldn’t grieve his passing, and in the future, he’d stand before the Lord without salvation. It was a heart-wrenching and sobering thought.
*******
About bedtime, a much-needed rain battered the sides of the cabin and managed to leak through the chinking and drip along the shake roof. Thunder rolled down one side of the mountain, across the cove’s narrow, curved width, and up the other slope. The floor quivered under their feet. Everything grew damp and chilly, even with a constant fire, which hissed and popped as drops of rain sprinkled down the rock chimney.
It took a while for the children to fall asleep. Ella washed dishes and put things away while Velma nursed the baby. But Ella soon dried her hands on a scrap of muslin, reached inside her skirt’s waistband for the letter, and walked over to Velma.
“Are you goin’ to tell the cove of his death?”
Velma laid Adam on the bed and diapered him. Her eyes lacked emotion as she tied the piece of cloth around the baby’s belly. “Yes, no reasons to hide the facts. They’ll see the wagon. I now have no hopes of him returnin’ with gold so I can’t pay back all I owes.”
She gave Ella a sad but oddly amusing smile and caught one of the baby’s chubby bare feet in her hand. She kissed the pink toes and then put the foot through the leg hole of a knitted wool soaker. Her face carried a permanent weariness. Her eyelids slanted downward on the outer corners—more than they ever did. At only twenty-eight years old, she resembled a middle-aged woman.
“I’ll tell Master Konrad at school.”
“Yes. He needs to know.” Velma raised Adam to her shoulder and patted his back. His dark head bobbed and curious baby eyes blinked in the fire’s light. “He can pass the word.”
Ella nodded. In her hand, she clasped the letter. “See what I got today—when I asked Mr. Beckler about hirin’ me? He had this.”
Velma’s eyes shone with expectancy. “A letter? Fern?”
“I hope so.”
“What about the job?”
She smiled. “I start tomorrow.”
The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars? Page 30
