Within the Candle's Glow

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “Why, you ought to be bullwhipped.” Jim raised his fist, advanced a step, and fought the anger shaking him.

  “If you’re big enough—get one of Duncan’s whips. Our wayward brother left plenty in the barn.” Samuel sneered at him and continued, “Go on. It’ll do you good. Take a whip to me. You hate me, much like you hate Duncan.”

  “How can you say that?” He started to say more, but a movement near the steps of the dogtrot caught his attention. Walter’s horse? The big bay’s tail swished sideways. “I thought you said Ella left. Why’s the horse still here?”

  “I thought—”

  “What was that?” Somewhere behind them, back in the woods near the stream, a dog’s plaintive, drawn-out howl made Jim turn on his heels. “Sam, is that her dog?”

  Samuel’s face lost all color. “That’s Deer.”

  Both of them stood riveted in silence. The pitiful noise came again.

  “Get my gun,” Jim barked. “Bring it!” He jogged back the way they had come.

  The whine of pain got louder. He entered the woods and strained to see in the gloomy light. Samuel came running up behind him, gun cradled in his bent elbow. “Find him?”

  “No.”

  The sound emanated from a shadow not ten feet in front of them. Jim knelt beside Deer. The dog was on his stomach, exhausted, but still determined to creep forward on three good legs. His right hind leg was crushed. It hung useless and bloody.

  “Ahh, my Lord,” Jim breathed in petition. “How’d this happen?” He tore off his shirt and tucked it under the whimpering dog. “Ella wouldn’t leave her dog! Samuel, you said she left!”

  “Jim, she ran into the woods earlier. I thought—I just thought she had come back out and rode home.” He stared at the darkening trail, his face pinched and white.

  “Why wouldn’t you check?” Jim’s mind reeled in instant rage. “You should’ve gone after her.” He pointed at the limp dog. “Help me. Slide your left hand under his body while I lift.” He gave his brother a look of contempt as he grabbed the material at the dog’s head and tail. He formed a swinging cradle and stood.

  They transported the injured animal to their bedroom.

  “Place him on the floor.” Samuel’s face was the color of chalk as he spoke.

  Jim lowered the silent dog to the floor and stood. “He’s in bad shape.”

  “Go.” Samuel pressed the gun into Jim’s hands. An unspoken look of trepidation passed between them. “I’ll take Walter’s horse and ride to the cove to see if she walked home. I’ll take Papa’s old gun and fire three shots if I find her.”

  “How?” Jim wiped the dog’s blood off his chest. His hands shook. “Tell me how you can ride with one hand and hold a gun.” He snatched a clean shirt off a peg, laid the gun on the bed, and shrugged his head and arms into the shirt.

  “I can hold the reins with the bend of my elbow. A gun with the left.”

  Jim nodded and admitted a tiny surge of pride at his brother’s answer. “That’s the way to think.”

  “Jim, you’re her only hope. It’s all my fault.”

  “Stop it,” he warned. “I’ll find her for you—if she’s not at home. You can then ask her forgiveness, tell her you love her, and end this craziness. You’ve got to marry her.”

  Jim knew they were both afraid some calamity had overtaken Ella. She’d never leave an injured dog, and the dog hadn’t willingly left her side. Jim clasped his younger brother’s shoulders in a brief hug. The desperate look in Samuel’s eyes told him where his brother’s heart lay … totally at Ella’s feet.

  Their mother came out of the kitchen side of the dogtrot as they shut the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sam will tell you.” Jim ignored the steps, jumped off the porch, and shouldered the gun. He waved and saw his mother grab Samuel’s arm.

  Chapter 20

  Something touched the curve of Ella’s shoulder. Josh!

  She jerked awake and realized dawn fed fingers of light through all the unchinked cracks along the wall. She pushed herself upright, clutched the rumpled blanket, and shrugged away Josh’s groping hand. The nightmare of yesterday’s events returned with him towering over her.

  “Git up. We’re leavin’.”

  “I froze all night.” She scooted away from his unwelcome touch.

  Her bonnet, still tied around her neck, had slipped over one shoulder. With quivering fingers, she untied it. When Josh turned away, she rumpled it in with the dirty blanket—hiding it. With a bitter smile, she stood to her feet and shook her wrinkled skirt into place.

  During the cold night, wood rats had crept in through holes, scratching and running across the floor. She had lain awake for what seemed like hours, staring into the darkness, and listening to Josh’s steady breathing. Prayers had whispered past her dry lips—that he wouldn’t touch her or force himself upon her.

  He had lain near the door, rolled in a blanket, with the musket within reach.

  Once, during the night, her hand encountered the packed clay of the cabin’s floor. It reminded her of the time she and Jim had taken shelter during the rainstorm. Her fingernails scratched at the hard surface—leaving a hopeful message. She now stood with her stocking feet and dress hem hiding the marks.

  “We leave.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “No sounds.” His hands adjusted the leather strap holding the powder horn across his chest. “Move.”

  “Wait. I need my boots.” She had a headache from lack of sleep. “I don’t feel good.” The morning light barely allowed her to see where she had placed the boots.

  “Get ‘em.”

  As she tugged at the leather boots, her thoughts dwelt on Deer. She hated how awful the dog’s suffering and death must’ve been. Wild animals would’ve heard his struggles and smelled the blood from his wounds.

  She brushed away tears and told herself not to show any emotions. She followed the man’s gangly figure outside, while her stomach repeated its growls. She hadn’t eaten the night before. Now, the crisp, cold morning dawned, and there’d be no food, again.

  Before leaving the area, Josh lingered nearby and allowed her to use the sagging outhouse, which was less than appealing.

  When she stepped out of it, he pointed. “This way. Git movin’.” His cold hand gripped her wrist and pulled her to the southbound trail. “We gotta walk. My horse died a while back, so I left her to the vultures an’ bears near the corncrib.”

  Ella glanced over her shoulder. Eighty-five feet away, the corncrib was a pile of split wood and rubble, but near the back left corner she spied a white rib cage protruding from a dark form on the ground. She shuddered, thankful the light wind had been in their favor.

  “Josh—”

  “Shh.” His hand in the middle of her back shoved her ahead on the trail. “We’re in a hurry. No more talkin’.”

  “Why? There’s no one to hear.” She hiked with her eyes on the uneven trail, the stained hem of her skirt swishing about her ankles. “So, where we goin’?”

  “Told you. South—the Florida Territory.”

  Ella wanted to pull information from him. “How do you find the gold you bring to the cove?”

  “Stop talkin’.”

  “I must know the facts, if’n I’m to marry you.” The evening before, she noticed he tended to walk slower when talking. She planned to persist with her questions—if only to aggravate him and keep him distracted. “The gold you used buyin’ my basket … was it yours?”

  “Yes, after I took it off a stiff.”

  “A stiff?”

  “Dead man. These mountains are sacred an’ holy to Indians. What’s in the ground is theirs. Me, I’m of The People. So, it’s mine.”

  “The people?” She ambled along, placing one foot in front of the other. He didn’t prod her to quicken her pace.

  “Hush.”

  “Tell me ‘bout them.”

  Does anyone search for me? Oh, Dear Lord, bring help.

  “Who are the people?”
She asked.

  “The Cherokees.”

  “Yes, your mother was part Indian?” She glanced back at him.

  He hiked slower. His narrowed eyes scanned the woods, and he spoke as if his mind dwelt on something else. “No. Even her heart an’ soul was pure Indian. A white man kilt her.”

  “Oh, I thought you once said—never mind. But, I’m not Indian. So, I think you should marry someone from your mother’s tribe. Wouldn’t it be best? I don’t even look like an Indian. My hair is—”

  Josh’s big hand landed on her right shoulder and jerked her around. His fear-inducing eyes looking down on her became mere slits. Oily locks of black hair hung over his forehead.

  “Shut up! You’re meant fer me.” Spittle formed at the corner of his mouth. “I’m takin’ you to my people down South!” He motioned with his musket. “Miners are thieves. I’ve taken my gold from their cold fingers an’ laid it at yer feet. You never acted like it meant nothin’.”

  Ella moaned as his fingers tightened. “You’re hurtin’ me!”

  “I’ll hurt you more,” he said, with a growl. He shoved her. “I kilt men for you.”

  She hit her knees and fell forward on her hands, scraping her right palm on a sharp rock. His words horrified her, but she lifted her head and stared through the curtain of hair hiding her face. The trail was rugged ahead of them. If she could escape into the rocks covering the slope, she might have a chance to hide.

  “Git up.”

  She lifted her skirt out of the way and stood. Blood dripped from her hand and splattered her skirt. Her heart hammered in her ears, and she mumbled, “I’m needed at home.”

  He shook his head, causing his long hair to swing against his narrow cheeks, much like a raven’s black wings. “Cain’t let ya go back.”

  She stood rubbing her bruised shoulder. Her life was now in Josh’s hands.

  No, I mustn’t think that way! My life’s in God’s hands.

  “Move. You’re bein’ quarrelsome.”

  She stubbornly kept her head bowed and prayed for God’s protection. Tears blinded her. Josh could only do to her what God allowed.

  “Why do you cry?” He spotted her bloody palm. “You’re hurt?”

  “Yes.” His bad breath and body odor made her turn away. “I need it wrapped.”

  With a disgusted grunt, he motioned to a large rock. “Sit there.” He leaned his musket against a tree trunk and placed his body between it and her.

  She sank to the rough surface and laid her bloody hand against the cool rock.

  He slipped a bone-handled knife from a sheath at his waist. Before she could react, he snatched up the hem of her skirt and sliced a strip off. He wrapped the green material around her hand and knotted it against the cut on her palm. She eyed the old musket, but realized she couldn’t grab and raise it fast enough.

  “Git up.”

  She pressed the material to her cut and stood, but the damp dirt at her feet drew her attention. His boot print stood out in relief, along with her own smaller print. Scuffed loam surrounded the telltale sign, where he had been marking the forest floor with his impatient movements. She faced forward. A pleased smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  Hope grew.

  A boot print and a bloody rock served as evidence she’d passed that way.

  With determination in each step, she drove the heel of her boot deep into the thick layer of soil. She didn’t bother to lift her long skirt when they pushed through narrow, bushy areas. The skirt hid what she did with her boots and briars tore at the lightweight skirt material. Josh didn’t take notice of his surroundings or her telltale tracks. He drove her forward—away from her loved ones.

  Carefully, she dug her right thumb under the knotted material secured around her hand. While she walked, she loosened the bloody wrap.

  #

  Jim failed to pick up Ella’s trail in the dark. He had spent the night sleeping against a tree, where he shivered with the low temperature and fumed at his own stupidity. He hadn’t thought to carry a lantern or a heavier coat. At the first hint of daylight, he stood and backtracked to find evidence he might have missed.

  The hard packed ground didn’t lend clues.

  He squinted at the side trail leading to her old homestead. Not ten feet along it, he saw a few random prints. Two sets showed, one smaller than the other. Someone had tracked Ella or forced her in that direction.

  Jim crept up the last rise before the flat ridge. The desolate cabin came into view. His cautious actions brought to mind a time, years ago, when Samuel had accompanied him to the Huskey cabin to check on Ella. They had known her stepfather abandoned her. They eventually found her hiding in the chicken house, where a lone red wolf had tried to pilfer a quick chicken supper.

  When she exited the tiny building, the poor girl had tripped and fallen square on top of Samuel—knocking him to the ground. Jim couldn’t help but let a tight smile twist his lips as he, once again, dropped to his knees and peered through tree limbs.

  Silence surrounded the area, much like years before.

  He raised the gun, ran the last eighty feet to the cabin, and nudged the dilapidated door open with the gun barrel. He tiptoed into the shadowed interior. The single room was dirty, void of human life, but not bare of evidence. Traces of daylight jumped across the clay floor and illuminated narrow furloughs in the packed surface. Beside a rumpled blanket, the sight of four letters scratched into the clay made Jim want to shout.

  “Josh,” he read, experiencing a surge of pride at what he knew was Ella’s ingenuity.

  He stepped outside and inspected the wooded expanse around the cabin. The drifting scent of something dead drew him to a pile of lumber and logs.

  “Ugh.”

  Horse remains had been ravaged. A leather bridle still encased the head. The scavengers would soon return to continue the duty God had given them.

  He skirted the cabin and angled south, where he found a narrow trail. He uttered a delighted chuckle. Near a pile of rocks, a large boot had broken the damp surface of layered compost near a maple. It left a nice print. Right beside it was a less significant print. What he saw next made him draw in a ragged breath.

  Dark red splotches marred a rock in the path. He had no doubt what it was.

  Dried blood.

  His steps quickened.

  He saw where a small boot heel had hollowed out dirt between two large pines. Ten feet later, the imprints became very visible. And on down, at the bottom of the trace, he found a strip of green fabric stuck on a thorny vine. He plucked it loose and tried to ignore the hammering of his heart. Damp patches of blood stained the cloth. Jim felt he wasn’t far behind Ella and Josh.

  The trail headed down, rugged, and steep. Large boulders littered the mountain slope to the right, piled together amongst the trees, balanced on the edge of a drop off. And it wasn’t long before he heard an angry female voice.

  He slipped closer—gun ready.

  Through the branches of a small pine, he saw her facing Josh, hands planted on her hips. Josh towered over her slight figure.

  Jim’s pulse quickened.

  “I ain’t had food in hours. I’m starvin’.” She stomped her foot. Her blond hair flowed in tangled waves around her shoulders—clear to her slim waist. “I cain’t hike without food.”

  “I ain’t got none.” Josh sounded ashamed of the obvious fact.

  “Then leave me. Go huntin’.”

  “You’d run away.”

  “No!” She waved her hands in the air. “I’m too tired to run. Tie me to a tree in the sun, so I can feel warm.”

  The skinny man laughed. “You think I’m dumb? You’re stallin’. Git goin’.”

  “Where’s the trail?”

  “To the right, between those big rocks, an’ then left through the trees.” He pointed with the musket.

  She passed through the gap in the colossal gray boulders. Her ragged skirt dragged the ground and underbrush. With one hand, she reached back and
jerked it free from a blackberry briar. Jim could hear the material rip, and he wanted to chuckle at her spunk.

  The couple faded from view, swallowed by a dip in the forest floor and a stand of hardwoods. Jim paused in thought while contemplating the upward push of the ground to his left. Perhaps, he could hike above Ella and Josh and circle down. The mountainside sheared off into a ravine on the right side. He didn’t dare venture that way.

  Taking the high route, he struggled between boulders and dense understory. He prayed he wouldn’t tread on a napping rattlesnake. Please, God, clear my path and help me push ahead of them.

  A flash of movement sent him hunkering alongside a weathered rock. He spotted them far below, still on the trail. Cautiously, he faded into the swath of forest and quickened his steps.

  He had to stop Josh.

  He made his descent on the next slope, heels digging in, slipping and sliding between sparse bushes and trees. He didn’t worry Josh might hear him. Jim figured he was a ways ahead of them. Near the left side of the trail, he flattened himself to a tall boulder, caught his breath, and waited. He clutched the gun against his heaving chest and breathed through his mouth.

  He heard them sooner than he expected.

  Ella’s voice made his heart race. “You’re wrong.”

  “I seen both of you. He made you cry.”

  “Yes, he upset me. Samuel’s my friend. He’s sick ‘bout his hand bein’ gone.” Her voice came closer.

  “I follered him that night. I seen those slaves pull ‘im to safety.”

  “You saw them?” There was instant anger, mixed with unease, in her voice. “You knew he was in trouble an’ didn’t help?” Her long hair hung to her waist.

  They walked behind a huge rock—out of view. “Look at me,” Josh demanded.

  “Keep your hands off me.”

  “I said, look at me.”

  There was a whimper from the girl. It chilled Jim’s blood, but he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. Not yet. Get a good shot at him.

  “If you stop one more time to yap your jaw at me, I’ll tie you to a tree, go back, an’ finish off your one-handed lover. I wanted Samuel dead, but I couldn’t figger how to kill ‘im. That old mule ‘bout did it for me. Those slaves crept out of the forest. I didn’t know how many more might be slinkin’ in the snowy shadows, so I had to turn an’ leave. Start movin’!”