With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  Out of habit, she scanned the terrain for unexplained things heralding the presence of danger. And then her thoughts switched to Duncan.

  A block of resentment rose in her throat. I’m not su’posed to feel this way ’bout another human bein’. I know it, Lord, but it’s ’cause of Duncan we’re in trouble. He’s got storytelling in his bones. Pure lies, I might call it.

  Back home, she had listened to Jim, after he listened to Duncan.

  “Ella, the mountains fill with people. Look what they’ve done to our Cherokee friends. The hollows are turning into small towns, now the Indians no longer walk here. People still think there’s gold in every mountain stream. It won’t be long before our way of life’ll change. I heard there’s a wealthy family with two Negroes living in a wood-plank house at Peter’s Landing. I won’t tolerate it. They took over the ferry. They’re charging folks, but making the slaves do all the work. I don’t believe in that. I’m not for slavery.”

  With an angry jerk on the reins, Ella fought the sour memories. Duncan fascinated the whole McKnapp family with superb stories, after he returned from the Florida territory.

  If’n he hadn’t been so good at fibbin’, maybe Jim wouldn’t be lost—!

  Ella had stood by her cooking fire in their mountain home and listened to Duncan entice her husband with his talk.

  “The cattle are there for the taking, Jim. No one owns them. Think of it. All we’ve got to do is round them up and get them south to the big village. There’s four big cattlemen working out the prospects of free-ranging cattle. Why can’t we?”

  “I got all I need.” Jim had caught Ella’s wrist with his large hand as she set a cup of tea near his elbow. “Duncan, here’s my life.”

  Later, when they slipped into bed, Jim hadn’t been able to sleep. He didn’t discuss his feelings, but she sensed his gray eyes staring into the night. Right then, she knew Jim would give in to Duncan.

  “Oh Jim, why didn’t you pray ’bout it?” She flicked the rod over the oxen and directed them around a fallen pine.

  Jim had said he would, but she sensed his own wishes dominated. In the end, after his mother fell ill and died, Ella accepted the foreseeable move.

  “Lord, I feel like one of the slimy swamps in this flat land. I know I’m lettin’ my anger at Duncan muddy my mind.” She pulled the hat lower on her forehead and muttered, “I must recollect what I read of Ruth in the Bible. I agreed to foller. But … ’tain’t easy.”

  Now their plans and dreary months of camping and traveling came down to Duncan and Samuel leaving … and Jim missing.

  There was no peaceful river by which to build a cabin.

  All I see is death ahead. All I got is Duncan’s hand-drawn map to depend on, an’ it’s worthless. He said the settler’s map was a mockery of directions. But maybe it wasn’t.

  “We’re lost.” Blinking tears out of her eyes, she clutched the reins. “Oh, God! I’ve watched my husband hack his way ’round swamps to no avail. An’ now he hasn’t returned to us!”

  Hannah’s hand clutched at her sleeve. “Mama, we left him!”

  Ella called the oxen to a halt, sat on the bench, and gathered the whimpering child into her arms. “Hannah, I think he got lost. We got to be strong.” She rocked her daughter. “Shh … shh. The Lord won’t forsake us.”

  The trail tightened. Every hundred feet or less, Ella walked ahead of the wagon. She used Jim’s hewing axe to hack limbs and low bushes overrunning the trail until her shoulder muscles screamed. She scanned Duncan’s map one more time and willed it to show her the way to the settlement he had labeled Big Pond.

  Each time she stopped to chop brush for an extended period of time, Ella got another cup of water for the children and herself. And she always tied the blue skirt material to a tree limb before climbing back up to the wagon seat.

  Amos curled up to sleep, but not Hannah. She sat beside Ella, her fingers clenching the boards under her bent legs.

  “You ain’t tired?”

  “No. I like to ride here.”

  The straining oxen pulled the wagon into sunlight. A wide expanse of flat land appeared, covered in cutthroat grass and low shrubs. It was bordered by ground-touching live oaks and a dim trail.

  “Praise the Lord,” Ella murmured. But her eyes scanned the unobstructed horizon and worry tightened her throat. There was no lake.

  The wagon rolled over a dusty trail through flattened turf. Hannah slid sideways on the wagon seat and settled her head in Ella’s lap. One bent arm shielded her face from the late afternoon sun slipping in and out of puffy white clouds.

  “It’s not so bouncy,” the girl said.

  Brushing aside anxiety, Ella smiled. “Now you can nap.”

  She held the long limber rod in one hand and used the other hand to keep her daughter from rolling off the bench. The movement of the wagon now mimicked a gentle rocker.

  They topped a gentle grade, and the faint resemblance of a wider trail reappeared under the wagon’s wheels. She gave a low cry of joy, which woke Hannah.

  “We’ve found a wider trail.” Wagon wheels passed that way often enough to wear grooves in the darker soil.

  Hannah sat up, and Ella stood to her feet.

  “Whoa!”

  The pair of oxen stopped. Passing seasons had attempted to camouflage human intrusion. The grassless dirt resembled old river mud—dried and cracked open.

  Is this my sign, Lord?

  “Hannah, we’re near water. Oh, Lord, let it be cool water. I want it to be ice-cold like under the springhouse back home.” She sat and tapped the rumps of the oxen. They tossed their heads and the wagon jerked forward, passing cypress trees.

  The wheels of the wagon crunched through the thirsty soil. Both horses still followed the wagon. Stubby cypress knees dotted the expanse, but no moisture covered them. Sunlight touched their upward points. Yellow-and-black butterflies flitted nearby, finding nourishment among the sun-dappled shadows.

  Finally, the trail grew defined. The wagon arrived at a wide fork. Ella allowed the oxen to choose the right fork, but stopped them long enough to tie the blue material to a tree.

  The team hurried, planting their wide hooves deep in the dirt. Ella braced her feet and held on as the oxen’s shoulder muscles bunched. The ground showed dampness, and then slick brown mud sucked at the wheels. It caused a loud slurping sound. In protest, the wagon’s rear left wheel and axle squeaked with every turn.

  High-water marks showed on the widespread bases of the cypress. The occasional branch of a sweet gum tree brushed the wagon. Some settler or passerby had laid a cedar sapling road through the wet areas, but water seeped around the logs and made the trunks slimy. Ella worried the oxen might wedge a hoof.

  The inadequate trail disappeared. Pools of green, stagnant water lay under the trees and around the wide root systems. Horizontal marks, four feet up the trunks, indicated the water once lapped at the cypress bark. Tracks of raccoons, deer, hogs, and turtles intermingled on the surface of the moist soil.

  She flicked the rod over the rumps of the oxen. Then the sparkle of sunlight reflected off peaceful waters.

  Chapter 9

  “For thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river …” Isaiah 66:12a

  Slow and lazy, the river did not resemble the mountain streams Ella Dessa was accustomed to, but it was fresh water. Fish jumped in the tree-shaded shallows, sending ripples outward in ever-widening circles. Two long-billed birds lifted off the river’s edge and flew over the wagon, their white wings beating audibly.

  Hannah gave a squeal of joy.

  The thirsty pair of bovines found a narrow opening between the cypress trees, even as Ella tried to hold them. They miraculously pulled through, to the edge of the clear, brown-tinted water.

  “Whoa!” She fought to keep her balance on the rocking platform. “Hang on! We’re goin’ over!” The wagon groaned and tipped to the left, only to right itself when the team stopped.

  The lar
ge animals stood deep in the water, slurping and drinking the tea-colored liquid. Milly scented the water, mooed, and jerked at her rope. She stumbled to the right and knocked her calf to its knees. The calf gave a bleat of distress and scrambled to stand on tired legs. And the two work horses trotted past the wagon.

  Ella held her breath, expecting an alligator to explode from the river’s surface and grab the head of a horse.

  “Water, water!” Hannah shouted, clapping.

  Amos woke from his nap.

  “Shh! Quiet.” Ella lifted the gun. The fact they hadn’t seen settlers the last few weeks doubled her fears. “Whisper! Don’t get down.”

  Her boots made damp imprints in the dirt as she bent to inspect the spokes and wheels of the wagon, fearing the worst. But all was intact. She faced the river. Her disastrous encounter with an alligator was fresh in her mind. Her sweaty hands gripped the gun. The big oxen stood unafraid, and the horses drank with gusto, soft muzzles in the water. But she knew the possibility of peril lurked beneath the river’s surface.

  She raised the barrel of the gun and studied the tree-lined edge. To the left, on the opposite bank, she saw a medium-sized alligator. But he didn’t move. Two large turtles, their humped shells covered in green and brown algae, rolled off a partially submerged log and plopped into the water. They caused ripples in the calm stream. Dragonflies darted and hovered above the water’s reflective surface.

  One horse raised its dripping muzzle and chomped at clumps of grass, while its counterpart waded deeper. Milly pulled at her lead rope, giving a low, mournful moo.

  “Lord, is this the river we seek?” Ella relaxed and sighed. “It seems peaceful.” She untied the thirsty cow and watched Milly trot forward with the calf hugging her side. “Easy, girl, easy,” she murmured.

  “Mama.”

  The children stood with arms wrapped around one another.

  “Want down.” Amos’s face was flushed from sleeping in the warm wagon. “Need d’ink—now.”

  “Keep still.” She squatted on her heels, encircled the tiny calf’s neck with one arm, and held him back from the water’s edge. “Little one, you shouldn’t be by the water.” She waited with the gun balanced across her bent knees and watched the cow.

  Within minutes, she pulled Milly into the shade and secured her to a tree trunk. She put the gun on the bench and made the oxen back the wagon to solid ground. With a soft flick of the long rod, she had them pull the wagon into some shade. She set the wagon’s brake and left the oxen hitched to the wagon—in case they had to leave in a hurry.

  In no time, she caught one horse, brought it up near the oxen, and tied a rope around its neck. But the other horse evaded her and trotted away.

  Ella walked around the wagon and gave the hens some cracked corn and water before facing the children.

  “No goin’ near the river. Big alligators swim there. See that one?” She pointed. “He’d swaller you.”

  Hannah nodded, her blue eyes huge. “Will he come here?”

  “He get us!” Amos scrambled to stand on the wagon’s seat.

  “He cain’t climb. I need you to sit quiet whilst I start a fire. Tell me if you see anythin’ move in the woods.”

  “I’m scared.” Hannah put a thumb in her mouth, a habit given up years before her brother was born. Amos’s dirty fingers wove through Hannah’s long hair, and he leaned against her.

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said. “Little girl, git your dirty thumb out of your mouth. Are you that hungry?”

  Hannah giggled. “Yes, my belly sounds like a bear.”

  “Mine, too.” Amos patted his naked stomach. “Grrrr!”

  “I’ll feed those bears very soon.”

  Ella gathered cooking utensils and iron pots from their storage under the wagon.

  While the children sat on the wagon’s bench, she took Jim’s short-handled felling axe and chopped branches from dead trees. Within a short time, a substantial pile of burnable material was gathered.

  Ella stacked the wood and used dried moss. She struck the flint from her cooking bag, cupped the resulting spark with her hand, and blew on it. The faint ember caught, sizzled, and grew red in the curling moss. And with each breath she blew, the flame sprang higher.

  From the wagon, she lifted a stained burlap bag containing what was left of their potatoes. They appeared wrinkled and dry, but they meant a filling meal.

  She wedged an iron tripod over the fire, hung a kettle, and poured river water into it. She left the shriveled skins on the potatoes and sliced them. After dropping the wedges in the kettle, she took slender root bulbs out of a cloth bag and tossed them into the water.

  “That the last of my dried leeks an’ onions.”

  She lifted the children out of the wagon. “Stay close to me.”

  “Here’s more sticks.” Hannah laid a handful in the dirt.

  With a tiny amount of water, Ella fashioned rough-looking dough from a lumpy mixture—taken from a deerskin bag. “I had no idea how long I’d git this stuff to last.” It contained dried berries and bits of venison jerky and flour. She patted the piece of dough and broke it into smaller pieces. With a fingernail, she flicked a hard-shell bug out of the mix.

  She pulled a flat slab of rock from the wagon and pushed it into the hot coals to form a surface on which to bake. The rock traveled with them, carried in the wagon each time they moved to a new camp. She always wiped it off, greased the top with fat, and wrapped it in oilcloth for storage. It had once belonged to her mama, and it held a special spot in her heart—a spot reserved for happy memories.

  The tantalizing smell of onions, drifting from the kettle, caused the children to crowd close. With a wooden spoon, Ella mashed the cooked potatoes and onions. She had nothing else to add, except salt, but each child held out their hands for a full bowl.

  “Hmm, smells good.” While balancing the bowl on her lap, Hannah stirred the chunky mixture with a wooden spoon.

  “Amos, let me help you,” Ella said, hurrying the boy by feeding him.

  Between bites, he munched on the flat bread made of pemmican and swatted at buzzing mosquitoes.

  “Is it good?”

  He nodded his head, too busy chewing to form words.

  Ella wiped his face with her skirt. “Your dirty face looks like a raccoon.”

  “Swim?” His wistful eyes lit up.

  She squinted at the river and shuddered. “If I can find a safe spot. I wish I dared move the wagon somewhere else for the night. This ground’s mucky. Bugs’ll be bad at dark. I’d like to move up on high land, but …”

  Hannah hit at a bug on her leg. “I like it here.”

  Ella stood. “I need to make a sling for the gun. We’re goin’ to bathe in the river after I git the clothes an’ washboard.”

  She pulled a piece of rope from her supplies and sat on the fallen log. She tied a makeshift sling for the gun and lifted it over her head. Danger lay on every side, but she had to stay vigilant—not dwell on Jim’s absence.

  It had grown late, and the sun drooped toward the tops of the trees.

  Ella picked her way through the short foliage, waving grass, and exposed roots. She found a tranquil area where fallen trees dammed a narrow section of the river. It kept alligators from swimming in from one side. Beyond the debris, there appeared a shallow pool with a sandy section. The river curved, washing the bottom clean, as if wiping a slate. It was the safest spot she could find. If they stayed away from the grass, she wouldn’t worry about snakes.

  She dropped the clothes, hesitated, and studied the clear, tea-colored water and sloping tree-lined banks. Muck surrounded the gnarled roots. She motioned the children to back away from the water while she took off her high-topped boots. With her skirt lifted above her knees, she waded in. Her toes sank in the layer of silt and sandy dirt. Minnows darted away.

  It seemed shallow and quite cool, only coming to her thighs at the deepest part. “This’ll do,” she announced, wading to land. “Stay close, you hear? N
o yellin’.” She bent to tug Amos’s knee pants off his sturdy legs. His clothes reeked of urine. “Watch for gators and snakes. Stay away from the grass an’ those trees.” She knew a snake might coil in the gnarled roots.

  Amos splashed into the water, uninhibited. Hannah acted more dignified. Shy, she turned her back and stepped out of her garments.

  Smiling, Ella watched her slim daughter walk into the water and sit to cover her pale nakedness. It wouldn’t be long before Hannah no longer felt the freedom allowed to children.

  She turned to the laundry as she listened to the two of them giggle and splash.

  To keep her long skirt from floating in her way, she tucked it into the snug waistband. With a sigh of exhaustion, she squatted in a place where the water ran deeper. Her hands rubbed the stained garments with lye soap and worked them up and down on the washboard, but her eyes constantly examined the river and watched the children. The water soon felt warmer than the air, and it quietly drifted around the backs of her thighs, hips, and legs.

  To rinse the clothes, she slapped them in the water, turning and lifting them repeatedly. Her mind mulled over their dire situation and how to protect the children and survive—until Jim came. There weren’t many choices. She was lost in a hostile wilderness. Unless she hunted, food was scarce, and they needed water to survive.

  “I must head north,” she announced to the peaceful river. “Got to find a way to follow the horizon. I’m goin’ back home. I’ll always leave markers for Jim an’ messages with people we meet. He’ll find us.”

  Ella wrung out each piece of clothing and draped them on branches. Her eyes shifted over the shadowed river, noting big birds with gray feathers walking the mirrored shallows upstream. Congregated in pairs, the birds did a methodical search for minnows. The presence of the children didn’t seem to bother them.

  “I should keep ’em quiet.” She realized the children’s voices carried in the stillness. “But they need some happy times …”

  When she finished the washing, she grabbed Amos—in spite of his protest—and soaped his wet body.