“Oh, child.” She used her free arm to hug Ella. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I hate it you’ll haves to work, but it’s a blessin’!”
“Yes, it is—God’s love.”
“Yes, yes! Come, read your missive to me.” She headed for the rocker.
Ella sat on the floor. Carefully, she broke the light wax seal and unfolded the paper. The delicate, elusive hint of lavender scented the folds. She held it toward the fire’s light. Her lips formed into a smile as she recognized Fern’s beautiful signature at the bottom of the single page.
“My Dearest Friend, it says,” she began. “I write this while seated on a bench under an oak tree. It has bright new leaves. I’m so close to the great ocean, I catch a whiff of it in the very air I breathe. I taste salt on my lips. This paper feels sticky under my hand. The hot sun peeks through the branches, and it’s only March. Everyone cautions me to keep a bonnet on, but right now, it hangs on my back. I cannot bear it. As it is, I feel I shall smother in my cotton dress and underskirts. They say the weather gets much hotter. I’ve lost my appetite. My sister insists I’m much too thin for the interest of any gentleman, but I don’t care to attract such attention.
I miss Ma. Please, if you get a chance, send word to her that both Marcy and I are happy. We miss her. I know I dare not write to her. I feel awful going behind my stepfather’s back, but I must let her know how we fare. My address is at the bottom of this page. I could not chance it on the outside. Please, write and tell me how things are with you. Your loving friend, Fern Abernathy.”
Velma sighed. “How lovely. Will you write back?”
“Yes. I want to tell her I now live in Beckler’s Cove with you. I’ll need to post Duncan’s letter with mine.”
“I wonder what kinds of ruckus that’ll cause?”
“Maybe, she won’t ever write to him.”
Velma nodded and lifted Adam to her shoulder. Her hand patted his back, and he burped readily. “Perhaps, she shouldn’t, after what you told me.”
“I don’t think I could … if I were her.” For a moment, silence reigned.
“Guess we’ll hav’ta wait and see.” She gave Adam the other breast and went back to rocking. “How was your first day at school? The little ones tried to tell me, but I told ‘em I wanted to hears it from you.”
“It was fun and skeery. I’ve so much catchin’ up to do.”
“You’ll make us proud.” Velma patted Ella’s cheek. “Thanks for comin’ to live with me.”
*******
An hour later, with the rocker pulled close to the fire, Ella sat and tried to collect her thoughts. Her mind felt dog-tired. The rain had washed away the warm weather, and the temperature in the cabin dropped.
Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Its drawn-out call sounded lonely and questioning. The room remained hushed, except for the snapping fire and the boys’ light snores. A movement at her left side startled her.
“Carrie, you scared me. What you doin’ awake?”
The girl’s bottom lip trembled.
“Come here.” Ella’s breath caught in her throat. She held out her arms. “Room for us both in this rocker.”
The girl slipped into her lap, and they snuggled for a few minutes. There wasn’t any need to talk. She understood the stiff waves of emotion the girl rode.
“I hate him.”
“I know you do.”
Sobs erupted, and the child literally writhed in emotional suffering. Ella held her and offered her presence as a solace.
“Cry, jest cry.”
With her mouth crushed against the curve of Ella’s shoulder, Carrie muffled her words of torment. The flood of tears went on for several minutes.
When the girl’s body relaxed and only random hiccups shook her, Ella started rocking. The unvarying, rhythmic squeak of the wobbly rocker added to the peace sinking into her thoughts. She instinctively knew the same healing flooded Carrie’s troubled mind and wounded body.
“There won’t be no more fearful waitin’.” Her lips touched the girl’s head. “The one who caused your pain won’t return. God’s protection has reached you, and without His touch nothin’ is possible.”
Carrie stirred and snuggled closer. Three and a half years apart in age, but bonded together by secret wounds, the two of them hugged. Ella knew the younger girl had suffered more in a physical way than she had. Abuse takes many forms, and they had lived through the trauma.
With trembling hands, Carrie sat up and dried her own tears. “I got your neck wet.”
A wave of giggles made Ella’s sides hurt. “Yes, you washed my scars real good.”
Carrie placed warm lips against the bumpy skin of Ella’s neck. “There, I kissed ’em, too.” The fire’s light showed her unique crooked smile. “They don’t bother me.” Her fingers lightly stroked the ragged lines.
“Thank you. No one but Mama ever kissed ’em.” She felt tears on her own cheeks.
“I love my mama.”
“I know you do. I loved mine. Still do.”
The younger girl wiggled sideways so the fire’s light shone on Ella’s face. “Never tell her.”
“I won’t.”
“He can’t kill her now.”
“Did he say he’d do that?” A surge of nausea made her realize how similar their stories could have been.
Carrie’s head nodded. “Yes. If I didn’t go to him … in the barn. He’d wait, catch me out by the outhouse, and hurt me. He said I were … were a dirty girl.” Her bottom lip and chin quivered.
“You’re not what he said.”
Her fingers bit into Ella’s arm. “He did things. He told Scott he were whippin’ me. Scott heard me—heard me cry in the barn.” She whimpered. Tears ran down her pale cheeks and glimmered in the fire’s light. “Then he’d go beat on mama and say she ain’t spanking me ‘nough—that I were full of sin.”
“Shh.” She laid her fingers on Carrie’s lips. “Stop. His wicked voice is stilled. Don’t repeat his words.” She dropped her hand and studied the girl’s oval face. “You’re soon to be ten?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’re old enough to understand it ain’t your fault … him doin’ what he did. Right?”
Carrie kept her head bowed. “It isn’t?” She lifted her light hazel eyes to search Ella’s expression. The refection of the fire danced across the girl’s skin and the log wall behind her.
“No.” She tapped the girl’s shoulder. “No! He made you think it was. It was his sin.”
“He lied?” Her bottom lip quivered.
“Yes, he lied, and much worse. Your mama would’ve died to help you. Mine would’ve. She fought Pa. And made him beat her—’stead of me. It was awful to hear. I wanted to beat him like he did Mama.”
“How’d you figger your mama would die for you?”
“She tolt me. I gathered he was hateful. I even saw him steal things.”
Carrie again traced Ella’s scars, inching her finger along the bumpy lines. “A wild cat did this?”
“Yes. I was near ‘bout your age.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not now. It hurt awful at the time. It just makes me want to hide. I feel ugly.”
The girl’s gentle eyes searched her face. “That boy doesn’t care ‘bout your scars.”
“What boy?”
“Samuel. His greenie-blue eyes say so. I think he loves you.”
“Oh, we’re friends.” She also knew their childish companionship had changed.
Carrie chewed at her bottom lip and murmured, “He won’t ever hurt you.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“But you like his brother.”
Startled, she avoided the young girl’s direct stare.
A big smile bunched Carrie’s cheeks, and her eyes lit up. “I won’t tell. I think you’ll someday love Samuel. You should marry him.”
“Carrie!” Astonished, she gave a soft laugh. “You’re silly.”
The girl giggled. “I’m goin’ to watch and see if you
marry him.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Poor Samuel might disagree with you.”
Carrie suddenly yawned. “My eyes are tired.”
“Hmm. We need to go to sleep.”
“I know. Thank you.” The thin girl stood and offered an unusual hug. “I want you to be my sister.”
“We’re sisters,” Ella whispered. “Forever.”
She waited until Carrie disappeared up the loft ladder before slipping Fern’s folded letter into view. She held it tight in her hands. She would write and let her friend know how things were in Beckler’s Cove and in her own life.
Duncan’s letter remained safe in her wooden box. She’d send it with her own and let God work out the details between Fern and Duncan. It wasn’t her concern.
She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of response Duncan expected from the girl he had frightened and degraded. She felt he had ruined his chances of gaining Fern’s respect and love. Only God knew how it might end.
Tired and feeling at peace, she banked the fire. Except for the gentle breathing and murmurs of those already asleep, no other sound disturbed her immediate world. It was strange to feel relief, after the awful news delivered that day. The knowledge of Gust’s death had given all the occupants of the household a sense of harmony.
“That man can’t bring pain and hate back to their lives.” The crackling and popping of the fire muffled her whispered words.
She wasn’t sure how much Velma knew of her daughter’s abuse, but the woman must suspect cruelty had taken place. Perhaps, in the coming months, Velma would face her own child and beg forgiveness. What could she have done to stop it, other than kill Gust with her own hands? Who would’ve dared to stand beside her and face the man with his filthy lusts? Maybe she never knew the terrible truth.
“Carrie’s been released from fear.” Ella knew the child’s life might’ve turned out different. She smiled and recognized the fact. Now the little girl would have a chance to heal under God’s blessings and touch.
My own life is far different than I dreamt it’d be at the time of Mama’s death.
Life, with its many facets, had woven filaments, which connected her to many other people—and as far away as the swampy wilderness called Florida.
“Tomorrow, after school, I start work for Mr. Beckler. God is good.”
Without God’s touch, the course of her life wouldn’t have been altered. She knew the difference in herself and the peace she felt. For the first time in her life, Ella Dessa eagerly awaited the future.
Acknowledgments
I believe God instilled in me the unquenchable desire to write. I know He provided the right people to influence and help me along the journey. Loved ones, encouragers, and fellow writers all have my gratitude. My mother, Leona Campbell, taught me to cherish the old books and storytelling. The many paper dolls she made or bought for me became building blocks, stirring the imagination. My children, Cameron and Stephanie, tolerated a mom who sometimes dressed as an old woman and told crazy stories at church gatherings. My eight-year-old grandson, Connor, refused to help burn old copies of my manuscript in the fireplace, and he curled up in a recliner to read—declaring it too good to burn. My husband, Ed Prough, bestowed unselfish support and true understanding of my need to write. A friend, Marlin Nichols, did the first edits and enthusiastically supported the story’s worth. Another friend, Becky DeGraff, read rough drafts and told me how the characters came alive for her. My local writers’ group and our superb leader, Daphne Tarango, took time to comment on rough copies. My dedicated agent, Linda Glaz, at Hartline Literary Agency, agreed to represent me and never failed to believe in my writing. She gave encouragement when I felt perplexed or discouraged. Carolyn Boyles, my first editor, astonished me by saying my book would touch the reader’s soul. Eva Marie Everson, with Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, continually offered enthusiasm about my storytelling and the characters. From the first time I met her, she gave me gentle reminders that I needed to believe in my writing and hopes for a published book.
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The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars? Page 31
