Within the Candle's Glow

by Karen Campbell Prough

  People hesitated and then started clapping.

  Walter’s face paled to match the white of his beard. He handed over the basket and accepted the pouch and tiny ball of polished gold. “Miles? Will you come take this?” He acted like he wanted rid of it.

  Jim clenched his fists and came close to swearing, but he understood he couldn’t match Josh’s astonishing bid. He scowled at Samuel and hissed through clenched teeth, “Where’d he come from?”

  Samuel shook his head—a woebegone look on his face.

  Walter lifted the next basket and called for a bid.

  Jim turned to search for Ella. Her white face told him what he already surmised. The basket was hers, and she saw it placed in Josh’s eager hands.

  Josh clutched the basket in front of him and circled around the assembly of men. The piece of rust-colored ribbon fluttered in the chilly breeze drifting in through the open barn doors. A slanted grin stretched the width of his narrow face, and his coal-colored eyes locked themselves on the girl’s figure.

  “We got to do somethin’.” Samuel pivoted on boot heels. “Jim, look at her face. She’s sick to her stomach.”

  “I know.” He headed for Josh, and Samuel stuck close to his side. Then he stopped and shook his head.

  Behind them, the bidding went on. Walter’s voice rang with the escalating bids for a larger basket.

  “What?” Samuel said.

  “We can’t. I’ll kill him with my bare hands. Just stand by and watch him like an eagle. One wrong move and together, we’ll take him down. I won’t have him even touching her.”

  “I’m with you, brother. I say let’s go visit with Konrad.” Side by side, they walked to where Grace stood next to Konrad.

  Josh had handed the basket to Ella. White-faced, she nodded. She held it away from her body as if the homemade basket had transformed into something loathsome.

  Miles and Leona moved to stand near her. Jim saw his mother leave a gathering of women and pull Velma with her. Carrie forgot about her own basket and joined them. He grinned at the determined, stern masks on the female faces. Josh wouldn’t be near Ella without a crowd around him.

  Peggy grabbed two more friends and joined the mix. Laura Stuart’s irritating voice clamored about how they all wanted to see what delicious things Ella had baked. Laura’s daughter, Katy, gave Samuel a sad and questioning look but joined her mother.

  With a trembling smile of thanks, Ella gazed at the female support group. She indicated an empty bench alongside the barn wall. “Josh, we could sit over there. It’s much too cold outside, even by the fire. I might take a chill.”

  Samuel shook Konrad’s hand but raised his voice and blurted out, “Looks like Josh wanted good fried chicken. Too bad he overbid for it.”

  Josh’s jaw muscles tightened. His thick eyebrows drew together, but he meekly followed Ella to the indicated bench.

  Jim snickered at his brother’s sarcastic remark but worried Josh might get even. Elbowing Samuel, he said, “Little brother, why don’t you go find me a cup of cider?”

  “Cross my palm with gold, and I might.” Samuel winked at Grace. “Hey, don’t you think big brother’s becoming too bossy?”

  Grace lifted a finger to her lips and shushed him. “It’s better to serve.”

  “Oh, right.” Samuel rolled his green eyes.

  Jim watched him walk away and took notice of his glances at Josh and Ella. Even Miles’s vexed frown wasn’t lost on him. The man spoke loud enough for those close by to hear.

  “Leona and I have asked Ella Dessa to spend the night with us at Konrad’s—as a family. Velma, I hope it’s all right with you.”

  “Oh, fine with me.” The thin woman had a huge smile plastered on her face, which showed the gap between her front teeth. “She’ll love that.”

  Jim saw Ella’s eyes blink faster, but she didn’t look at Miles. He grinned at how she managed to keep the decorated basket between her and Josh.

  She lifted the lid and shook out a folded cloth. With hunched shoulders, Josh accepted the cloth napkin she handed him, along with a chicken leg. He appeared uncomfortable sitting on the low narrow bench with his lengthy legs bent to balance a tin plate. He placed the chicken on the plate. The compressed line of his jaw said more than the annoyed glare he gave the group of friends.

  If Josh thought buying Ella’s basket meant a quiet meal with her, it had been spoiled.

  Chapter 14

  Thursday November 5, 1840

  Ella giggled at the flush of color accenting Velma’s high cheekbones. “You’re surprised?”

  Velma plopped herself in the rocker and placed her hands over her flat belly. “Oh, Ella, I jest didn’t suppose! I figgerd it weren’t likely. Walter’s—older.”

  “You’re still young. I cain’t see how you surmised it weren’t likely.” She hung a full kettle of water over the low fire and stirred the coals underneath it. “You, of all women, ought to know it might happen.”

  “It’s too soon to count such a thing.” Velma tapped the ends of her fingers on her knee. “June?” She shook her head. “Naw, mights not be true, or I could lose it. I’ve only missed one monthly.”

  “You’ve been married two months.”

  “Ahh, not possible.”

  “Tsk, tsk, you know it’s true. I see it in your face. You’re glowin’.” She bent and planted a big kiss on her friend’s forehead. “I’m happy for you and Walter. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “At his age?”

  “Why not? He loves the children.”

  “But he’s never had any of his own!”

  “So? You have.” She smirked and added sticks to the fire. “Quit bein’ silly. Take him for a walk up to your bench. At least warn him of the probable addition. Bundle up. Go tell him ‘bout the bundle of joy arrivin’ in June or shortly after.”

  “It’s your day off from school an’ work. You’ve gots plans to walk with Jim ‘fore he carries his mother’s order home. It’s your birthday.”

  “I’m still goin’ with Jim. I wouldn’t miss a walk with him for the world. He’s showin’ me my birthday surprise.” She kissed Velma’s brow and took her by the elbows. “Stand. Do as I say. Agatha’s here for Adam and the others. Drag Walter out the door.”

  “I never thoughts I’d be happy to be with child.”

  “Diff’rent man. True love makes it a joyful thing.” She reached for her heavy cloak and lifted it to her shoulders. “Tell Agatha you’ll be gone.”

  “You have fun with Jim. Sounds mysterious. It’s unusual for him to comes callin’ for you, but I hear him an’ Sophie are at odds since the barn dance.”

  Ella’s face grew warm. “That’s too bad.”

  “Where’s Samuel?”

  “Samuel’s helpin’ Konrad chart the studies for spring classes. He said Miles promises to make a trip to Asheville for more books.”

  “You still call him Miles?”

  “I don’t know what to call him.”

  “How ‘bout—‘Father?’” Velma chuckled. “I still get goose bumps when I thinks of his words ‘bout you that night. It was amazin’.”

  “Yes, it was.” She hugged the warm cloak about her body.

  “There’s one more big step waitin’ for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  Velma donned her own cloak.

  “What?” Ella said. “Ain’t you tellin’ me?”

  “My girl, there’s goin’ to comes a time when one of two brothers will ask for your hand in marriage. One heart’ll break.”

  “What two?”

  “Don’t play dumb.” She shook her finger. “You knows what I mean. The silent battle won’t go on much longer. I’ve known ‘bout your love for Jim. Samuel will be the one hurt in all this. I cain’t help but feel sad for ’im.”

  Ella dropped her head. “It ain’t a battle—least not for me. Jim don’t love me. He wants to protect me, watch out for me, an’ help me. He said that to me. There’s nothin’ more to it.” Tears blurred
her vision. “I’ve accepted it.”

  Velma patted her arm. “Don’t cry. It’s your birthday, an’ Jim has such few minutes to spare. I’m sure he’s loaded his purchases in record time. Go meet him.” She pushed open the door. “Oh my, look at the clouds. With the warmer air this mornin’, it’s bound to rain. We’ll talk of this in the evenin’. Go, child.”

  Ella buttoned the cloak at her neck and hurried to the store where Jim had finished loading his wagon. He jumped down and faced her, hat in hand. The wind kicked up, and it ruffled his dark hair.

  “You ready? I see you’re dressed warm. I left my heavier coat at home, but it don’t matter.” His gray eyes had a silver glint to them.

  “Where we goin’?”

  “My surprise. Come.” He motioned to the wagon.

  “I’m goin’ home with you?”

  “Nope, we’ll end up there, but only to drop the wagon and ride back down.”

  “Let me tell Carrie that Walter will also be gone for a short while.”

  Carrie had a customer, so Ella waited and smiled as the elderly woman patted the teen’s hand and thanked her for being a big help.

  “Ella, did you need somethin’?” Carrie pushed her shiny, brown hair away from her serious face. Straight, with no hint of curl, the girl’s hair didn’t want to stay put with combs or ribbons.

  “No. I wanted to tell you I’m takin’ a ride with Jim. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but your mama will also be away from the house. I told her to take a walk with Walter.”

  “A walk?” The girl stepped to the back door and looked out. “It’ll be a wet day.”

  “Hope it turns to snow.”

  Carrie shook her head, no. “Not likely—too warm.”

  Ella shivered. “It doesn’t feel warm.”

  “Go have fun. It’s your birthday.”

  “Thank you.” She shut the rear door and stepped from the platform into the bed of Jim’s wagon.

  He glanced up at the rolling clouds. “Those clouds are coming over the mountain tops and racing this way. I threw a tarpaulin over my goods.”

  “Tell your horses to trot fast.” She smiled and sat beside him.

  “I’m taking you to visit your mother’s grave.”

  “You are?” She was surprised but pleased.

  “Yes, are you warm enough?” With one hand, he turned up the collar of his lightweight coat. “If you aren’t, you can snuggle closer to me. Then the air can’t drift between us.”

  She hesitated and then said, “Thank you. I’m warm.”

  With quick, furtive glances, she searched his strong profile and etched it into her memory. A loose curl of chestnut brown hair hung down his forehead. Dark lashes lined his gray eyes, accenting their color. For the winter months, a new beard and mustache now hid his lower face and top lip. But she remembered the shape of them.

  She tucked her chin into the collar of her woolen cloak and closed her eyes against the breeze hitting them face-on. “Brrr!” she muttered. “Our nice fall weather is gone.”

  Jim leaned against her shoulder and bent his head. “What? You’re muffled.”

  She wiggled closer, until her left arm pressed against his coated side. She raised her head and repeated her statement. This time her lips were near his ear.

  “I said the weather’s changin’.”

  “Indeed, you’re right. It’s November—winter’s here to stay.”

  He flicked the reins over the backs of the horses and urged them to pull faster. The ridge situated below her old homestead came into view. Within seconds, they topped it. She leaned forward to get a better view of the ramshackle place.

  “It’s in poor shape.” A twinge of sorrow flowed over her.

  “Can’t be helped. It’s empty, void of human life, much like a corpse.”

  “How awful.” The thought made her shiver.

  “Gee!” He tugged on the reins, and the wagon swung to the right. “Whoa!”

  She gripped the seat and rocked with the wagon’s abrupt movement.

  “I didn’t mean to be so crude.” Jim dropped the reins over the front board of the wagon. “I just meant a cabin left alone in the woods starts decaying, and the forest reclaims it as one of its own.”

  “I understand.” She stood and stepped to the wagon’s side. Willingly, she let him lower her to the ground. She pulled the cloak tighter around her chest and crossed the two edges.

  “Come.” He offered his hand.

  With her heart rate escalating, she placed her cold hand within his and allowed him to lead her up the slope. Her mama’s hidden grave came into view. The horizon had darkened with menacing bunched clouds pouring over the mountains. The wind swirled up the ravine and whipped at their backs as they hiked to the tall clump of pines. The dull swooshing of air through the swaying limbs of the trees filled her ears.

  “Quick, I think there’s rain coming.” Jim led her to the burying spot.

  “Like when Mama was buried.”

  She squeezed his warm hand, stared at her mama’s grave, and uttered a cry of astonishment. An upright slab of stone marked the head of the rocky mound. A sob caught in her throat.

  In memory of

  Meara Finley Huskey

  she died Septr 15th 1836

  in the 31st year

  of her age

  _________

  Timothy Huskey

  he died

  Septr 15th 1836

  on the first day of his life.

  Sleep on, dear ones

  God holds you now

  The chiseled words, worked into the large rock’s surface, told the world Meara Huskey had lived and died on the level ridge of rocky soil. The infant in her arms was not to be forgotten.

  She knelt and ran her cold fingertips over the slab, exploring grooves the weather could not easily erase. Hot tears stung her cheeks, and gratitude lightened her heart.

  She turned. “Jim? You did this?”

  A grin showed below his mustache. “Yes. Miles told me how and lent me some tools.”

  “It’s—it’s wonderful. Mama would be so happy to know she’s remembered.” She pointed to a nearby, dead-looking bush. “Come spring, the roses Miles transplanted will bloom. My mama will feel loved.”

  Jim reached for her hand and helped her stand. His fingers wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

  “They’re happy tears.” She smiled up at him, just as a sweeping patter of rain hit them, and the wind whipped her skirt about her legs. “Oh, that’s cold.” The fitful wind tugged her cloak open.

  “It’s coming across the ridge.” He turned to study the angry clouds crowding out the sky above them. More freezing rain splattered their faces and clothes. “We’ll be soaked.” In the distance, a gray wall of rain and clouds blotted out the landscape.

  “Run!” He snatched her hand and pulled. “This way.”

  She ran at his side, but her mind went back to the time of her mama’s burying. A freak thunderstorm had chased the gathering of friends down the slope right after the last stone dropped to the pile stacked over Mama’s grave.

  The wind lashed and pulled her hair loose from the ribbon she wore and drove the fullness of her skirt between her legs. She stumbled. Jim’s left arm went around her waist. His right arm caught her under the legs, lifting her against his chest and shoulder. Limbs and debris struck them as the wind howled down through the trees. His hat took flight and blew away.

  Jim’s shoulder nudged aside the cabin’s partially opened door, and he deposited her inside. She lost her balance and collapsed on the hard-packed floor of clay. As she gained her feet, Jim fought to shut the sagging door.

  “There!” he yelled and threw the bolt.

  The one window had no oiled covering or glass. The interior of the cabin was dim. Jim’s hair stuck to his forehead and his beard dripped.

  “You look like a drowned rat.” She laughed and brushed raindrops from her cloak.

  “So? You ought to see your
hair. You look kin to a witch.”

  “A witch!” Horrified at his remark, she raised her hands and tried to untangle the hair falling about her shoulders and back.

  Jim chuckled. “I’m teasing. I like your hair down.” He turned in the gloomy interior. “No lantern or oil. And one window with no shutter.”

  She made her way to the old stone fireplace. “How ‘bout a fire?” She bent and felt around the hearth. “Ugh! What was that?” She wiped her hands on her skirt and shrank away. “Somethin’ moved.”

  “A rat?” he muttered. “I don’t know how we’d start a fire. Unless you know where there’s some flint or a tinder box.”

  There was a cracking noise, and a portion of the rotting roof crumbled. Warped shakes fell in. Rain poured into the corner where the remnants of the bed sagged sideways. The loud roar of the wind and rain made talking impossible. She crept to Jim’s side and huddled under his arm.

  Her toes felt damp. “Water’s flowin’ under our boots.”

  “I know. Let me lift you to this bench.” Jim grasped her waist. “It’ll hold you.” He steadied her with one arm snug around her waist. “Better?”

  “Yes, but your feet—”

  “I’m fine. We’ll just wait this out.” He spoke with his lips and warm breath close to her ear.

  Shivers from the cold joined Ella’s quivers of elation. With each deep breath she drew in, she could smell the dampness of his skin and hair. She closed her eyes to blot out the dismal surroundings.

  “It won’t last long.” His beard tickled the side of her face.

  Ella feared she’d start crying. She knew the moment was fleeting—a mere golden touch in time, like standing within a candle’s glow. The storm would soon be over. Jim’s arm would no longer hold her.

  The log walls had lost chinking. The blowing rain dripped and splashed down the inside of the logs. Her eyes soon adjusted to the imperfect light. Shadows acquired the forms of familiar things—Mama’s broken spinning wheel and a butter churn.

  The yawning, pitch-black opening of the fireplace made her shudder. There should’ve been a hot fire snapping and dancing within the stone firebox.

  In her mind, she could still see her mama sweeping glowing embers off the hearthstone and back into the fireplace. The scent of flat bread, baked to a golden brown, would’ve wafted through the single room. And Mama always propped the door open to welcome the mixed perfume of wildflowers and sun-heated pine tags. The chuckle of a talkative porcupine would sometimes issue from a low-limbed tree and send warnings to any bobcats crouched in the undergrowth.