Within the Candle's Glow

by Karen Campbell Prough

  Not quite knowing why, she murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

  A minuscule smile changed the corners of Leona’s full lips. “Thank you. Although you do not believe it—so are you.”

  “No.” She turned away and shook her head. “I’m not.” She twisted her hands in her lap. A buried misery ripped through her chest. “I never will be. These—these scars say that.” She stood, and pulled down on her dress collar. “See? See this?” She lost control. Sobs rocked her body. “Mama loved me ‘spite of them.” The aged cotton fabric tore under the sudden jerk of her fingers. A wooden button popped loose, only to roll away under the benches.

  Leona rose and enveloped her with tender arms. “Oh, darling child. That’s only a scar. You’re bello … beautiful inside.”

  “No. No man will ever want me or love me. A mountain cat did this! It clawed me when I was little. It ‘bout killed me, but my pa shot it.” She yelled the words and fought off the woman’s embrace. She pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. Her composure threatened to slip. “Don’t—don’t touch me. You’ve never known scars like mine! Get away.”

  “I have,” the woman whispered, negating Ella’s loud outburst. “Look at me.”

  Unwillingly, she let the woman’s compassionate voice draw her into turning.

  Ella gasped.

  Leona brazenly lifted her full skirt, gathered the ornate, white petticoats in her hands, and revealed the leg of her drawers. In the hallowed shadows of the church, Leona exposed her expensive silk stocking, rolled it downward, and bared her right leg. Revolting, deep scars of mottled red and purple ran the length of her lower leg and disappeared under her plain cotton drawers. The skin around her ankle had the appearance of a melted candle.

  “A fuoco—an awful fire,” she whispered.

  Ella’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. She moaned. “How?”

  Leona’s hands rearranged her clothes and hid the appalling sight. “My father raised horses in Italy, my home country. Lightning struck the barn. I was sixteen. I foolishly ran to help—or thought I could.” Her accent thickened. Her voice quivered and broke. “A burning wall fell.” She wiped at her eyes. “My lower leg—was trapped. A horse trainer pulled me free, but the … the pain sent me into a black world for many weeks. No one thought I’d live, but I did. Dio—our Savior granted me life, peace of mind, and drew me back within the candle’s glow of His love. I lived and learned to walk without a limp. My padre—my father—brought us to America because of a dream he had.”

  The long skirt fell about Leona’s ankles, restoring her elegance.

  The sight of the woman’s disfigurement revolted Ella. It hit a chord so deep within her heart, she bent and sobbed into her hands.

  “Don’t cry for me.” Leona’s voice became warm and feathery in accent. “I’ve never been happier in my life. When Miles took me as his wife he knew what he was getting, because I told him. I bared my soul and shamelessly bared my lower leg—to his intimate inspection—to prepare him for our wedding night.” She lifted Ella’s chin with her cool fingers. “Look at me, child.”

  “No.”

  “Darling, my husband declares I’m the most attractive woman he ever held in his arms.”

  “No.” Her cries deepened, and her heart twisted as if it might rip apart. My mama, Meara Huskey, was pretty. Doesn’t Miles remember that?

  “Yes. These scars mean nothing to him. When memories bury me in dreams and nightmares, his hands caress me. He holds me, until I come to myself and experience his protective arms. Someday,” she whispered, with her forehead now against Ella’s brow. “Someday, a man will lay his lips against your scars and swear he never met a lovelier woman on this earth.”

  Ella felt weak and drained. She leaned away from the woman, willing her own mind to go blank.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I cain’t find words … the words to say.”

  “Dry your face. There’s nothing to be said.”

  “I’m sorry you suffered from a fire.” The sensual fragrance of rose petals reached her senses as the woman pressed a delicate handkerchief into her trembling hands. “I know it hurt,” Ella whispered. She touched the cloth to her cheeks.

  “We’re women of kindred pain. We understand.” Leona’s perfect lips curved into a full smile. “God will give you grace and fortitude to be the woman he wants. His measure of peace to you will be just right, just what you need, not what someone else has to have. Only you.” She extended her arms. “Come, let me hold you.”

  #

  A short time later, the two of them slipped out of the church and walked hand-in-hand to the Chesley homestead. Ella vehemently promised herself she’d never reveal the facts hidden in Mama’s carved box. She also prayed Velma would never remember a name she once saw—years before—written in Meara Huskey’s Bible, along with a baby’s birth date.

  Granny glanced up from spooning a brown liquid into Josh’s mouth. She didn’t comment on their tear-reddened countenances.

  “He might live. An angry person tried to carve out his ribs.” She waved the wooden spoon in her wobbly right hand. Her arthritic fingers struggled to hold it. A cup of steaming broth occupied a spot on a little table near the bed. “I shooed the others away. They’s like vultures hoverin’ over carrion. Child, take this.”

  Reluctantly, Ella accepted the spoon and slipped into another chair near the bed. The scent of venison broth and leeks wafted from the cup. She touched the spoon to Josh’s lips. His parched lips parted, accepting the warm liquid. A moan escaped his throat. His bottomless, dark eyes fluttered open to search her face.

  “You’re here?”

  Granny grunted and leaned back in her chair. “Ahh, he speaks.”

  “Ella Des … sa?”

  She nodded. “Don’t talk. We’ll do that later.”

  He took every bit of the steamy broth she offered. His dark eyes never left her face.

  Leona stepped to the door. “Most of the families went home, but some waited for word on how the young man is doing. I’ll give the report as I search for Miles.”

  “Thank you.” Ella continued to feed Josh until his eyelids closed. “He’s asleep,” she whispered to Granny. “I will slip outside.”

  “Go, child, go.” She yawned. “I’ll doze right here.”

  Careful not to awaken him, she slipped out of her chair and joined those still lingering near the church. “He took liquid,” she told them.

  Jim and Samuel’s mother, Inez McKnapp, gave her a hug. “By running out there to approach that stranger, you were braver than most men. You made my heart turn over. I wanted to scream your name, but I let Samuel do that.” She chuckled. “You gave my son a fright.”

  “His name is Josh. He and another man were the ones who found Velma’s dead husband some years ago.” She tried to smile at the woman. “I wasn’t brave. I was puzzled by his return.”

  “It is mysterious. Here comes Peggy. She was looking for you earlier.”

  Samuel’s redheaded sister grabbed Ella in a bear hug. “I was terrified when you scurried out in that field and went near the man.”

  “I didn’t scurry.”

  “You got there before the men. I thought I’d faint. Katy Stuart cried buckets of tears. She was sure you went to your death. She tried to cling to Samuel for comfort, but he fought her off and bolted after you.”

  “Oh, so Katy used me walkin’ into danger as a way to capture your brother.” She had to laugh at her friend’s breathless exaggeration.

  “That’s what she did.” Peggy giggled and tossed her bright curls over one shoulder. “Samuel’s been dodging her for at least an hour. He’s sweaty from running.”

  Inez patted her daughter’s arm. “Peggy, go find your sister, Anna. Phillip is with your papa. Oh, never mind. Here comes Jim with her in tow. Josie is nearby.”

  Peggy nodded. “Yes, she’s begging for another piece of flat bread with honey butter.”

  “I don’t see how you keep up with al
l the brothers an’ sisters. It’s worse than Velma’s batch of young’uns.” Ella turned to scan those still talking in groups near the church steps.

  “You need to come visit,” Peggy said. “I’m making a new dress.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  Someone touched her shoulder. “Ella?”

  She faced the preacher. “Yes?”

  “That man at our house insists he speak with you. Alone.” Disapproval showed in his tight expression, but curiosity managed to light his eyes.

  “Granny said he’s thrashing about. She was tired, so we sent her home.”

  “Alone?” She hesitated for a couple seconds, wondering what Josh wanted.

  “May I walk you back?”

  “Yes.” She turned to Peggy. “One day I’ll come see your dress.”

  Chapter 5

  “Josh?” Naomi jiggled his thin shoulder. “Ella Dessa’s here.”

  Ella bent close. “Josh?”

  His mahogany eyes fluttered open, searched Ella’s face, and came to rest on her lips. “Ella Des … sa,” he whispered. “Must speak with you … alone.”

  “Ella Dessa, you shouldn’t.” Disquiet showed in Naomi’s eyes.

  “For a moment?”

  “It’s not proper.” The preacher’s wife fiddled with the upsweep coil of her hair and then folded her arms under her generous bosom. “You being unwed and all, it’s not right I leave you with him.”

  “Please?”

  “Then keep the door open. My husband and I’ll be near the fireplace, should you need us.” The woman shuffled through the doorway with an uncertain glance over her shoulder. The lines around her mouth pulled downward, marring her good looks.

  Josh whispered, “I brung somethin’ for your ma.” He made a vague movement with his hand. “My pack—get it.”

  “My ma?” She started to protest, but it dawned on her—Josh thought Velma was her mother. “Josh, she’s not my mama. Years ago, the dead miner you found wasn’t my pa. I only live with Velma.”

  A perplexed look shadowed his thin face. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does in some ways.” She went around the narrow bed, lifted his stained saddlebag from a straight-backed chair, and brought it to him.

  “Open it. Pull out the leather pouch.” He ran his tongue over cracked lips. “Undo it.”

  She tugged at the drawstring and tilted the gathered opening to the light from a single square window. In her palm, the thin leather bag felt lumpy but not heavy. She peered inside, drawing an uneven breath.

  “Josh, what’s this?”

  “What’s it look like?” A gleam of a smile lit his eyes but not his colorless lips.

  “Gold. This is gold.” Confused, she shook her head. “Why? What’s this have to do with Velma Clanders?”

  “It’s hers.” He fingered the bruise and old cut on his cheekbone. “I brung it to her.”

  “Hers?” She choked on the short word.

  “Yeah.” He took an uneven breath and blew it out over his thin lips. “All of it.” He closed his eyes and his face twisted. He gritted his teeth. “Gold ain’t as plen … tiful.”

  “You in pain?”

  “Yes, jest pains in my gut. Guess I’ve been emptied like a hibernatin’ bear. Got the growls.”

  “Why do you say it’s Velma’s?”

  “It jest is.” With eyes closed, he clutched the blanket’s top edge. His nail-bitten fingers were dirty. “When we came by her man’s legs an’ boots danglin’ in the creek, we both dug him out of the collapsed river bank. That’s where he mined for gold traces. There were a knapsack buried with him, under the dirt that smothered him. I saw my partner paw through it—pocket the leather bag. Later, he stashed it in the holler of a lightnin’-struck tree. I seen him. Follered him there.” He swallowed, groaning. “I didn’t dare cross him or tell no one. He’s dead, now.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Lance. The man with me the day we come here—years ago.” Josh opened his pain-narrowed eyes. One of his hands rubbed the heavy blanket covering his stomach. “He got hisself kilt by another miner, one who didn’t take to his bullyin’. He weren’t nothin’ but a stupe. I fetched this bag once I knew no one cared ‘bout followin’ me. I came down sick, hit hard times, an’ then watched sixteen of my Cherokee friends torn from their rightful land. They were hauled away … to the west. I heard parts of their kin struck out for southern territory Spaniards called Florida.” He ran his fingers through his black hair and tugged. Anguish bunched his face and eyes. “They was all I had for friends.”

  Ella drew in a breath. His poignant words touched her. She knew the pain surrounding the roundup of the Cherokees the winter before. Her thoughts often dwelt on Mama’s Indian friends—dear people who gave up their farms and homes and hid in wilder, higher parts of the mountains. She often wondered if they were still up there.

  “I have no one to give gold to.” Josh rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I hate even God.”

  “Don’t speak like that.” She was horrified to hear him voice such blasphemy. “Shh, you mustn’t!”

  “Why not? Not Him—not nobody ever cared ‘bout me. My pa kilt my ma when I was near ‘bout ten. Nobody cared ’cause she were called a half-breed. Trapper’s squaw.” Josh swallowed. “I ran. Ain’t no one followed an’ no one cared.” His eyes cut to the bag. “That there gold is Velma’s. I ain’t spendin’ it. Ella Des … sa, you give it to her. I saw right off—years ago. She cares ‘bout her young’uns.” He paused, closing his eyes. His breath came in gasps.

  Worried, she started to call for the preacher and his wife, but Josh’s eyelids fluttered.

  “I came near to dyin’ while workin’ at the Pigeon Roost mine two summers ago. A cave-in broke my leg.” His right hand patted his blanket-covered thigh. “Couldn’t work—couldn’t hunt—couldn’t eat.”

  “I’m sorry. You should’ve used the gold.”

  “No.” He glared at her, his eyes turning to glittery black ice. “I’m honest. Don’t care ‘bout no God, but I’m honest. With me it’s all or nothin’.”

  She dangled the bag from her fingertips. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t know what this’ll mean to Velma an’ the children.”

  “You’re one of her young’uns.”

  “Guess she thinks so.”

  “Take it to her.”

  “I will.” She stood, studying his pasty-white face. “Josh. I cain’t believe you did this, but thanks.” A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it aside. “Rest and eat all they’ll offer.”

  He caught her tear-dampened hand. “It’s yer face that kept me honest—nothin’ else.”

  “Don’t say that.” Easing her fingers from his persistent grip, she shook her head. “No, in the past you knew God. He nudged you to be honest.”

  His narrowed eyes traveled over her neck. “I don’t know God. Those scars are your only flaw. What happened?”

  With a shocked gasp, she covered the exposed area with her hand. She had forgotten about the lost button in the church. “I—I’d rather not talk ‘bout it. I must go. I’ll give the gold to Velma. Thank you, ag’in.”

  She didn’t stop to tell Naomi goodbye, fearful she might burst into tears. Josh’s words kept ringing in her ears as she fled down the steps.

  Those scars are your only flaw.

  “Just ignore his hurtful words. Find Velma,” she whispered. “Got to tell her the news.” She ran toward the church. Mr. Beckler’s wagon was gone. Silence covered the churchyard and field. Filled with disbelief that they had left her, she started for home.

  A tall figure stood under a tree, holding the reins to a black horse.

  “Jim?” She tried hiding how delighted she was to see him, but at the same time, she slapped her right hand over her scars and stood staring at him. Her left hand clutched the bag of gold at her side. “You haven’t left?”

  “I waited.” He slipped his hat from his head, circling it in his hands. “I promised V
elma I’d see you home. Samuel wanted to stay, but I sent him with my parents. Papa wasn’t doing well. You’ve been crying?” His eyes darkened to the gray shade of a summer thundercloud.

  “No. Just tired.”

  “Your blouse is torn? A button missing.” He whirled toward the preacher’s house. “That man—what happened in there?”

  “I did this earlier. I lost the button.” Miserable, with mixed thoughts swirling through her head, she muttered, “He didn’t cause a problem.”

  “But you’re upset.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  His facial expression indicated he didn’t believe her. “Do you want to ride my horse? I can walk.”

  “I’d rather walk.” With one more tug on her open collar, she angled for the wagon trail, which crossed the clearing.

  “Twenty-one families now live here in the cove. We should have picnics more often.” He fell in step with her, hat in hand. His horse followed without Jim holding the reins.

  “Picnics are fun.” Her fingers squeezed the bag of gold. “Of course, this picnic didn’t go as planned.”

  “Life has a way of tossing us surprises.”

  She gazed up at him and marveled at his thick eyelashes. “Yes. It does.” They enhanced his eyes, making them sensual and captivating. She felt her cheeks warm at her unusual thoughts.

  “Did Mother tell you that my little brother, Phillip, is still not talking as well as he should? It’s worse.”

  “No, she didn’t mention it.”

  “You know he never talked much when he was younger. We thought it’d change.”

  “He’s so sweet. No one notices.”

  Jim slapped the hat against his right thigh. Dust twirled away, joining the gentle breeze blowing through the cove. He sighed, his breath forced between parted lips.

  “He’s not dumb.”

  “We all know that.” She thought how he sometimes reminded her of a red wolf—tense and wired to leap into action. “I wish I had seen him today. I’m sure he’s gettin’ tall.” She breathed in the mingled scent of sweat, sun-warmed skin, and the wood smoke clinging to his clothes.