With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  She fought him, bloody hands flailing.

  “Ella Dessa, answer him!” Jim snatched the first available gun.

  Duncan shook her. “Stop fighting,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Is it Seminoles?”

  “No, no!”

  The gurgling bawl of the missing cow went silent.

  “Duncan, you’re hurting her.” Samuel slipped the whip over his right shoulder and shoved his brother aside. “Ella Dessa, your hands—they’re bleeding?”

  “The cow!” Her bloody hands made vivid prints on Duncan’s shirt. Shock showed on her face. “Alli … gator. Pulled … rope through my hands.”

  “Blasted animal. Put her on our wagon.” Jim shouldered past them.

  Samuel gritted his teeth and followed, his left hand gripping the cow whip. They ran to the cypress-rimmed lake.

  “There he is!” Jim yelled an unusual curse, shouldered his weapon, and pulled the trigger.

  At the horrendous blast, white, long-necked birds lifted off the spreading branches of nearby water oaks and moss-fringed cypress.

  The acrid scent of burnt gunpowder drifted in the air.

  Samuel inched closer, the soles of his boots slipping in the mud. He had no doubt if pure rage hadn’t been pumping through Jim’s veins, his brother wouldn’t have wasted ammunition on a futile shot at the water-distorted target.

  Even after the sound of the gun died away, Jim’s eyes remained riveted on the mutilated carcass of the cow bobbing in the pinkish tea-colored water.

  The twisted rope still encircled its neck.

  Samuel’s jaw tightened. The coiled loops of the whip fell useless at his booted feet. From the gaping, bloody hole in the animal’s side—right above the water level—a miniature hoof protruded and gave one feeble movement. Samuel fought a sick sensation and the wild urge to dive into the lake to destroy the vicious reptile.

  The fingers of his left hand curled into a fist.

  The alligator, in the act of dragging the cow deeper, had loosened its hold, and sunk beneath the sparkling surface of the lake. A scarlet globule dripped off a single blade of grass. Close to the bank, tall grasses swayed with the movement of disturbed water. The distorted reflection of the sunset bobbed within tiny waves.

  Jim whirled, shoved Samuel aside, and jogged up the path.

  When they emerged from the path, Duncan was assisting Ella Dessa to the wagon’s bench. Tears slid down her cheeks.

  Hannah’s blue eyes peered from the wagon’s gathered opening. Amos clung to his sister’s wrinkled shift and sucked on two fingers.

  Then, without asking permission, the children scrambled over the back of the rough bench, and crowded into their mother’s lap. They patted her with tiny hands, causing her tears to stop. Samuel saw Ella Dessa wrap them in her arms.

  Jim kept silent about what happened, but his bearded jaw clenched. His fingers completed the tedious task of reloading the old gun, an automatic movement, which needed no active thought. But Samuel knew Jim controlled his emotions by concentrating on something besides Ella Dessa’s pale countenance.

  “Get him?” Duncan held a wide-bladed machete. “I’ll take the tail off for our evening meal.”

  “No.” Samuel motioned him to silence.

  Jim moved away from Ella and the children before answering Duncan. He propped the long-barreled weapon over his shoulder. “Not sure I got him. He rolled when I fired.”

  “You missed?”

  “The cow’s body shifted—flipped in the way.” Jim raked dirty fingers through his messy curls. “That vile creature snatched my wife’s cow and unborn calf.”

  “You must’ve got him,” Duncan muttered. “He wouldn’t give up so easy.” He shrugged, pulled a stalk of seed head from the tall grass and stuck the stem in his mouth. “Your wife’s still got two cows.” His tone reflected lack of concern. The tapered stem hung from his lips, twisting and bobbing. “With so many gators, it’s bound to happen.” He chopped his machete into the bark of a sweetgum, where it stuck. “I’m surprised we haven’t had more mishaps.”

  “I don’t want it happening again.” Jim stabbed a stiff finger against Duncan’s broad chest.

  Duncan flushed but didn’t move. “Ah, didn’t say I did!”

  “Next time, we’ll bring water from the lakes—or stand guard while the cows drink. That’s my wife, and I don’t intend to lose her in these Florida wilds you dragged us to.”

  “He didn’t drag us here.” Samuel knew an argument would drive a wedge between them. They needed to stick together. “We men came willingly—Ella Dessa didn’t.”

  Jim spat at the dry sand and ignored him. “We’re not stayin’ here tonight.”

  “But there’s water here.” Duncan’s tone was sarcastic.

  “It’s tainted with blood.”

  “So? We chop a new path to the lake further down. It’s near dusk. How do you expect—”

  “No.” Jim turned to Samuel. “You got somethin’ to say?”

  “No.” He rolled his eyes at Duncan and walked toward the supply wagon.

  But within a few steps, he paused under a tree to observe how Ella Dessa fared.

  She had managed to secure strips of white cloth around the palms of her rope-burned hands. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed as she reassured the children and stared at the fading sunset. A single strand of hair lay across her left cheek. Even though she couldn’t have heard Jim’s remarks, her tight-lipped expression said she read her husband’s flushed face.

  The cow died. They couldn’t salvage the meat.

  Her eyes met Samuel’s and skittered away.

  Jim walked to the wagon and gazed up at his wife. “We’re moving on.” His voice softened as he held out a long slender rod for directing the oxen. “Your hands—are they cut?”

  Samuel didn’t catch her reply. Duncan chose that moment to lead the two remaining cows to the back of Ella’s wagon. The cows, as if sensing all was not normal, balked. Samuel helped him tie off one cow and stepped to the side of the wagon.

  “Ella Dessa? The cows are tied on.”

  Unemotional, she whipped the long slender rod in the air. A faint sunburn and a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose added contrast to her pallor.

  “Giddup!” She tapped the oxen on the rump. “Gee!”

  The well-trained team tossed their horned heads and headed for the faint, sandy trail they had followed all day.

  Duncan spat out his stalk of grass. “I’ll walk the front.” He jerked his machete out of the tree and flicked his fingers at dust on his trouser legs. “Ella, hold the team. Let me by.” He walked ahead with a lengthy stride, swinging his wide blade at tree branches and palmetto fronds blocking the narrow wagon-rutted trail.

  Samuel eyed the wagon disappearing from view, placed the coiled whip over his right shoulder, and walked to his horse. Jim’s horse had been stolen from a corral, days before, near a tiny settlement.

  Two lean-hipped workhorses were hitched to the second wagon.

  Their money, along with the excitement of the trip, ran thin. The initial eagerness felt during their journey south had died. The past few months proved grueling at times, burning hot, and rough on the children. Hannah came down with the croup, and her illness caused a couple weeks’ delay in lower Georgia. The girl still lacked enough strength to keep up with her little brother.

  As Samuel stepped into the saddle, he watched his older brother climb to the supply wagon’s seat. An air of glumness showed in the slump of his shoulders. Samuel knew Jim regretted leaving their mountain home to follow Duncan southward, but stubbornness kept him from admitting it.

  “Let’s go.” Samuel clicked his tongue and urged the mare to fall in behind Ella Dessa’s wagon.

  From the rocking wagon came the sound of Hannah’s high-pitched voice singing a silly song about a rabbit and a fox. The child loved making up songs. But her mother shushed the girl, reminding her to sing softly.

  The safety of his brother’s wife and childre
n troubled Samuel. He knew Ella Dessa hated leaving the Georgia Mountains. But her dedication as a godly wife had helped her break ties with the past and agree to the risky journey. Duncan’s rich stories of Florida’s splendor and beauty had tugged at Jim’s hunger for a change.

  Samuel heard his brother urge the supply team to hustle and reined his horse off the trail. Jim pulled his team alongside. The woods opened to a burnt-off patch of forest, and a dim trail wandered snakelike through the middle of it. Dark sentinels of charred pines stood as a testament to a lightning strike’s fury.

  “From now on, I kill every gator I see.”

  Samuel chuckled. “Then you better jump on them with a knife, ’cause you’ll run out of lead. They seem thicker than fleas and tougher to kill.”

  His brother’s eyes darkened to a murky gray. “Hmm. You’re startin’ to sound like Duncan.” Jim jerked on the reins and dropped his wagon further behind.

  “Yep, I am.” Samuel watched the wheels of Ella Dessa’s wagon cut furrows in the sand, causing the cows to stumble. “At least Duncan and I kept our sense of humor.”

  His thoughts switched to Ella Dessa. He wished he dared ride up beside her wagon and talk of the carnage she had witnessed. She’d open up to him and pour out her anguish over the situation, but it’d fuel Jim’s grouchiness.

  It was best to stay out of trouble.

  The wagons only covered a short distance before Jim called a halt near the edge of a seep covered in tall grass and dotted palmetto clumps. Ella set the brake and dropped her rope-burned hands to her lap.

  No doubt a ra’tlesnake haven.

  She stared at the darkening sky, where remnants of the sunset etched the gray clouds in thin veins of deep pink. The tops of distant pines, their dark outline an etching against the fading light, stood like sentinels. A muddy trail wandered off through the flat ground.

  I want my mount’ins and rocky waterfalls. I want to feel at peace.

  “Ella?” Jim helped her down. “Over the fright?”

  “Yes.” Her scraped fingers pressed into his shoulders. She wanted to cling to him, wrap her aching arms around his neck, and beg him to take her home.

  His lips touched her forehead and lingered. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered. “I’ll prepare the cooking fire for you. How’s your hands?”

  “They hurt. I shouldn’t have hung on.”

  “No, you could’ve been pulled into the water.” He gently clasped her blood-dried palms together, turned her hands over, and kissed the top of the left one. “Makes me sick to see your skin torn.”

  “It’ll heal.” Her eyes lingered on the new worry lines etching his handsome face. She leaned close, seeking the familiar pressure of his lips, and needing a kiss of comfort.

  His fingers caressed her back as his lips touched hers. “You’re my love.”

  Over a small fire, she prepared the meal. Darkness crept around the campsite and produced more anxiety. The campfire would be a beacon to eyes searching the flat Florida landscape.

  She winched while lifting the heavy iron pans. Her hands stung. And she tried to forget the sight of the cow’s terror-stricken brown eyes as vicious jaws burst from the sparkling water and clamped sideways on its left front shoulder.

  Her stomach rolled. She recalled the flailing cow disappearing under water. Before she persuaded her wobbly legs to run, the alligator had released the cow and resurfaced to chomp down one more time.

  Her remaining cows seemed to sense something amiss. Although tied to small trees, they pressed closer together and tugged at their ropes.

  With extra care, Jim hobbled the horses and secured the oxen. His tenseness said more than words. She knew he blamed himself for the loss of the cow. He wouldn’t voice his anxious thoughts to her that night. It would be a future conversation—when the weight of the slaughter had lessened.

  Later, Ella cuddled Amos. Her lips brushed his forehead as he fell asleep in her arms. She laid his limp body under a ragged mosquito netting, weighted with pebbles sewn into its hem and draped from a wooden strut holding up the wagon’s oiled canvas covering.

  Hannah rolled over and whimpered in the heat, her hair sticking to her sweaty face.

  Only Ella and the children slept in the stuffy the wagon. She had arranged a cramped bed on top of trunks and wooden boxes stored along the left side. An overstuffed feather mattress completed the padded nest for the little ones. In the crowded wagon, the heat made sleeping a challenge. All the men slept on the ground near the wagons, each taking a turn standing guard and fighting mosquitoes.

  The month of August would soon give way to September, but the nights still reflected hot days. She didn’t believe what she heard of Florida’s winter months.

  Would the heat ever lessen?

  She knelt at the back of the wagon and pushed aside the canvas. Insects filled the night with their sing-song, repetitive trill. The brilliant moon topped the dark outline of trees, and she gazed at millions of stars filling the night. But it didn’t bring peace.

  “Why’d we leave the mount’ins?” Ella whispered. “I’ve forgotten.”

  A shadow moved, and she squelched a scream as Jim lifted a bucket of water over the end of the wagon. Her sore hands guided it to the board floor.

  “You scared me,” she said.

  “Sorry.” The nearby fire reflected on his bearded face. “This water’s for you. It’ll help your poor hands,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll fill the barrels. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I love you.” His work-roughened hands cupped her face.

  Recklessly, she leaned over the end of the wagon and threw her arms around his neck. “Jim?” Her lips sought his there in the dark—passionate and lingering.

  He groaned and pulled away. “Stop. I miss … being with you.”

  With one finger, she traced the outline of his bottom lip. “How much do you miss me?”

  “Stop, or I’ll climb up there with you—my brothers nearby or not.”

  She giggled. “Then you best go away.”

  “Ella, I’m sorry we didn’t stay where we were earlier. My stubborn fault. I was so upset with what happened to you, I ’bout went crazy.”

  “Shh, I’m fine.”

  His right hand cupped the side of her face. “Get some sleep.” The moon’s light infiltrated the shadows. His light-colored shirt stood out against the night. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She lingered on her knees, enjoying the draft of cooler air. But she soon closed the opening against bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

  Thin fingers of moonlight slipped through the gathers and provided a soft illumination. She dropped her filthy skirt to the wagon’s cramped floor and removed her sweat-dampened blouse. Her skinned hands stung, but the rope burns would have to heal on their own.

  The lukewarm water felt comforting as she ran a dampened rag over her skin. Using soap must wait for when she had more light. Fumbling in the dark, she found a clean cotton nightgown.

  She unrolled a feather-stuffed ticking and placed it on the wagon floor. It was a standard ritual each night—creating space to sleep. She crammed the ticking’s width between stored items and the side of wagon. She then laid a doubled muslin sheet over the ticking. It had been a wedding gift, hemmed with delicate hand stitching.

  With her hearing attuned to the night sounds beyond the thin canvas barrier, she lay on her back, trying to remember her mountain home—how the blueberry bushes bore fruit in the sun-dotted openings near rocky mountain slopes. She longed to taste the wild strawberries growing in the narrow meadow near their comfortable log cabin.

  Autumn approached. She’d miss the changing of the seasons and the colored leaves. The recollection of their past life among dear friends and extended family, high in Georgia’s mountains, brought tears.

  A crackling noise announced a log tossed on the tiny campfire. With the Florida heat, there was no need for a large fire, which might attract Indians.

  She stared at the canv
as side of the wagon. The fire’s faint reflection danced over it, much like a giant lightning bug hovering outside.

  Has it been five months?

  The fear of hostile Seminoles made them uneasy, but Duncan’s expanded tales of wild cattle roaming the Florida wilderness kept the men pushing forward. The stories of ample wildlife and huge lakes full of fish drew Jim, much like a moth drawn to a lantern’s enticing glow. But now, Ella was sick of eating fish.

  Samuel had agreed to join his brothers after their mother died from a bout of winter pneumonia. He thought to start a school in Saint Augustine, but Duncan insisted the settlers scattered southwest, near the village of Tampa, could benefit most from his abilities.

  The murmur of male voices meant the moonlight was intense. The men felt too restless to sleep. She could hear the slap of hands. They fought the insects buzzing in the night. But by the time the moon rose above the tree line, the mosquitoes would quell their attacks until dawn.

  “Study the new map I drew for you. It’s a graceful river. Nothing like our tumbling mountain streams, but still pretty. Even the name is relaxing—the Peace River.”

  “Duncan, I thought you told us it was the river of peas—peas as in a field of peas,” Samuel said, irritation in his deep voice.

  “Ah, I think the Seminoles call it the ‘river of long peas.’ There’s a bush with long pods—who cares? The water is slow, meandering, and peaceful, but a small barge can float the length of it. It’s not a sluggish stream and of course, there’s no huge waterfalls. I’ve talked to some of the survey crew who took it to the bay. That’s the village called Tampa. I’ve seen it. Saw ships come in. Now, that’s a sight. Made me want to go to sea.”

  “Duncan, you best keep your flat feet on land,” Samuel muttered. “You can’t swim.”

  Ella heard her husband clear his throat.

  “I’m not in favor of splitting up,” Jim said. “I’ve a family to think of. My daughter’s been sick.”

  Splittin’ up?

  “No!” She sat up and held her breath. A trail of sweat ran between her breasts. Her chemise stuck to her.