With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “Let go.”

  “I declare, look at the rings ’round your neck!”

  She scrubbed his hair, and he fought her. Her wet skirt twisted at her waist. “Gimme your foot.”

  “No clean.” He squirmed sideways and fell backwards. He came up sputtering with a shocked expression.

  She raised her eyebrows, grinned at him, and beckoned Hannah closer. “You’re next.”

  “Gonna wash my hair?”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah floated on her back as Ella stood thigh-deep in the water, her loosened skirt trailing around them. She worked the soap through the child’s long hair.

  “Feels good, Mama.”

  “Remind me to braid your hair tonight—git it out of your face.”

  The girl rolled to her stomach and stood. Her slender body cast a pure white reflection in the rippled water. “Papa didn’t want to see the river?”

  Ella stared at the water. “Oh, when he finds us, he will want a bath. This was the river we looked for—I think.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I don’t know when he’ll come,” she admitted, deciding not to hide the truth.

  Hannah hunched her thin shoulders. “Kin I git out of the water?” Goose bumps covered her skin.

  “Yes.” Ella wiped her own face. “I’ve gotta catch your brother ’fore he turns into a fish or gator. Amos, come here.”

  Back at the wagon, the fire was a heap of coals. Long-fingered shadows blotted the ground under the cypress. Annoying mosquitoes prompted Ella to drop the sides on the wagon. Her damp skirt hung heavy from her waist, replicating the leaden feel of her heart.

  She lifted Amos and Hannah into the shadowy wagon.

  Amos’s eyelids drooped as Ella’s lips brushed his forehead, and she whispered, “I love you, son.”

  She reached to the canvas ceiling over their heads and shook out the fine mosquito netting.

  She arranged it over Amos’s sprawled body, forming a see-through tent. The only other way she could keep the mosquitoes out was to close the openings to the wagon. She also had a mixture of leaves, orange and yellow flowers, and lard made into a salve to ward off bugs. But the children hated it, turning their noses up at the pungent smell.

  Hannah didn’t want to go to sleep. Instead, she begged to help stack branches and deadwood in a pile beside the low fire. Ella intended to keep the fire burning all night. It was a way to keep wild animals out of their camp, and come morning, there would be hot coals and embers for cooking. The problem was, any fire, day or night, might alert unwelcome humans of their presence.

  “Hannah, come here, let me braid your hair. Before it gets dark, I must go to the river, bathe, an’ gather the clothes.” She sat on the log, placed the girl between her wet, skirted knees, and worked her fingers through Hannah’s damp hair.

  “I want to go.”

  “No. The sun’s at the tops of the trees. It’s almost dark. I won’t be long. Wait in the wagon with Amos. Don’t be afraid—play with your cloth babies.” She kissed her daughter’s serious face and wove the child’s hair into one braid.

  Confident her oldest child would obey her, she lifted Hannah to the wagon bench. She relieved the gaunt oxen of their yoke, watered them, and roped them to trees on the opposite side of the wagon. The horse and cow also got a share of feed. She then blew her daughter a kiss and picked up the gun.

  “Get inside. Bugs’ll bite you.”

  She hated leaving the child, but it seemed the best choice—with the night creeping in on the river. Wild animals would be on the prowl.

  Ella chewed at her bottom lip and studied the darkening, uninviting water, searching for alligators and snakes. On the river bottom, only a light-colored rock and a sunken log remained visible. One fish drifted sideways with the lazy current and came close to the river’s surface. Heavy shadows hid the undergrowth.

  “Dear Lord, I fear what’s in the water—what loathsome critter.” She reluctantly put aside the gun, laid her clean clothes over a bush, and removed Jim’s slouch hat. Her fingers trembled as she shucked all her dirty garments and stepped into the unruffled water.

  With a loud sigh, she let herself sink into the river and relax. The caress of the cool water lifted her body and spirit. After hours and days of miserable heat and sweaty clothes, it felt more than refreshing—it soothed her frantic mind.

  If this is the Peace River, Lord, I now know how it got its name.

  She stood, bent forward, and used the irregular cake of soap to wash her long hair. Her fingers worked at untangling it. Ella knew what it meant to be a woman alone in the wilderness—there wasn’t much chance of survival. She had to find another settler to take shelter with, a fort, or a defined trail to take northward.

  Jim, please find us.

  “I hate this land. God, help us! I don’t know how to go home!”

  With a forlorn pang, Ella remembered the intimate moments with Jim, two nights ago. While the children slept, his fingers had slid through her unbound hair, pulling her head back, as he took her lips in possessive kisses.

  She wrung her wet hair while tears joined water, slipping off her body into the river flowing between her nude legs. A dim reflection of her own thin form quivered on the surface of the dark water.

  Determined to gain composure, she rubbed her face free of tears and made her way to shore. Dripping wet, she shivered with the change in the evening temperature.

  Perhaps Florida’s weather will cool for the winter.

  As she wiped moisture from her body, her fingers lingered over the distinct, bumpy rows of scars on the left side of her neck. They were easily traceable. They curved over her left shoulder, across her neck, along the rise of her left breast, and ended on her breast bone.

  They make me so ugly, but Jim has loved me, just the same. Other people cringe an’ look away, but not him.

  Purplish, ragged lines of disfigurement—marks from the claws of a young mountain lion—still showed. The awful scars had marked her since she was ten, and only after marrying Jim did she come to accept herself, but it was still difficult to believe they didn’t bother him. People couldn’t help but stare the first time they met her. And they asked about them, causing her more humiliation.

  She pulled on a tattered brown-striped skirt, a fresh chemise, and one of Jim’s old cotton shirts. With haste, she jerked damp clothes off the bushes, lifted her dirty belongings from the sand, and grabbed the gun. She hurried to the quiet wagon. The final glint of daylight faded around the campsite. A huge moon rose behind the trees, lighting the river’s surface with its round face. A log on the tiny fire slipped and fell, causing an upward shower of sparks and a ghost-like swirl of smoke.

  Hannah sat on the wagon bench, clutching a ragged cloth doll. Her darkened blue eyes were wide with fear, and the dying fire cast an eerie glow over her face.

  “Hannah, girl? Why ain’t you inside under the nettin’?”

  “Watchin’ for you. There’s somethin’ terr’ble in the woods.”

  “Where?” She tossed the clean clothes over a spoked wheel and pulled the gun around to her chest.

  Hannah pointed behind the wagon. “In there—in the swampy woods.” She dug at a bite on her forehead. “It’s breakin’ branches.”

  Ella’s heart skipped a beat. “A silly boar coon or a deer? I think you’ve been brave.”

  “I wanted you.” Her bottom lip quivered as she tucked her doll under her chin.

  “I won’t be long at this task. Isn’t the moon bright?” Ella rearranged the damp clothing on the tops of the wagon wheels as she listened for danger. Her hands shook, but she didn’t let on. “Has Amos woke up?”

  “No. Mama?” Moonlit tears caused her eyes to glisten, and a deep sob shook her hunched shoulders. “I don’t like the dark. Me an’ rag baby wants my real bed.”

  “I miss my bed, too. Honey, I need to light a candle. Feel around under the seat, find the candle box, an’ hand me a drip candle with a holder.”

  While her daughter searche
d for the candle, Ella pulled her wet hair back behind her ears, twisted its waist-long length into a bun, tucked in the ends, and patted it into place.

  “Here, Mama.”

  Ella took the misshapen candle, lit it on a glowing ember in the fire pit, and put it in the holder. “It’s almost melted from the daytime heat. Hold this for me whilst I climb up. I’ll build a bigger fire when I git you tucked in with Brother.”

  The candle’s light bounced over Hannah’s large-eyed face.

  Ella placed the candle holder on the bottom of the wagon, laid her gun within reach, and sat on the wagon bench.

  “Come here. Let me hug you.” She rocked the girl in her arms. “Oh, baby girl, I wish we could go home. But we cain’t. Papa’s missing. I don’t know the way, but God’s gonna help us. I’m believin’. I gotta keep the faith.” She spoke more to herself than to the girl snuggled in her tired arms.

  “My bites itch.” Hannah squirmed and scratched.

  Ella kissed her bug-bitten face. “Oh, I love you. You’re my firstborn, my sweet baby girl.”

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “Let’s get in the wagon. The skeeters are bad.” She held the candle high. “Crawl under the net with Amos.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  Ella held the candle higher. “Here, wait. Let me push Brother over.”

  While mosquitoes buzzed, she used her free hand to reach under the mosquito netting and roll Amos to his right side. It made room for Hannah to curl beside him on the feather mattress. A quick tug brought a thin sheet up over their little bodies, and she dropped the netting.

  Ella set the candle on top of a barrel and knelt in the confined space to roll out her bed.

  Without warning, the night erupted into horrific grunts and high-pitched squeals. Hannah screamed and covered her ears with her hands. Their remaining horse whinnied in fright.

  “Shh!” With swift movements, Ella snuffed the candle’s flame between her thumb and finger.

  She remained on her knees, frozen in place and shocked by the commotion. Milly mooed and bawled. The oxen struggled with their tie ropes, bumping into the side of the wagon, and adding to the turmoil. Then the disturbance died away as the unidentified raiders left, crashing through the underbrush and trees.

  Amos whimpered. “Ma—ma?”

  Ella crawled and reached out the front of the wagon. She retrieved the gun she’d forgotten on the bench.

  “Mama?” Hannah hiccupped with suppressed sobs. “What was it?”

  Chapter 10

  “Hawgs. Wild hawgs.”

  She scooted the length of the wagon and peered into the night. The moon’s silver light gilded the treetops.

  The oxen twisted their heads, shifting their heavy bodies. Their pointed horns caught the glow of the moon. Milly was the most agitated, with her calf wedged tight to her belly, but the horse was gone. The frayed end of the old rope told its story.

  “What is it, Milly?” Ella whispered, reluctant to get out of the insignificant safety of the wagon.

  She peered downward. A strange object lay in the dirt near Milly’s hind legs. It showed up as a black, irregular lump.

  Ella climbed off the wagon. With erratic beats, her heart pounded against her ribs. But she crept toward the fire pit, the gun a heavy weight in her hands.

  Ella tossed curly moss into the glowing center. Flames crackled, devouring the moss as she laid dried branches over it. Smoke twirled away. With the addition of three termite-riddled branches, the fire leaped to life.

  Then, she could see.

  A small hog, much larger than a shoat, and covered with a coat of coarse blackish-brown hair, lay on the ground. Blood, darkened by the lack of light, seeped from a deep slash on the top of its skull.

  Milly’s aim had been deadly.

  Nearby, the wooden pail of spilt milk gave Ella a clear picture. She hadn’t washed the dirty pot or covered the remaining milk. Wild hogs had wandered out of the swamp and through the quiet camp, searching for things to scavenge. One got too close to the cow and her calf, and Milly used a curved hind hoof to protect her baby.

  “Good girl,” she murmured, patting the rump of the nervous cow.

  Her fingers wrapped around the hog’s back legs. By leaning backwards and pulling, she jerked the dead animal toward the campfire.

  He was fat and had been enjoying a healthy life as a juvenile before the fatal mistake of foraging under Milly’s hooves.

  Ella knew she must act quickly, before wolves, panthers, or other predators came to investigate. A bigger fire would keep them at bay until she dealt with the hog. She had to save the meat. Her stomach growled as she recalled the fall hog-roasting back in the mountains.

  She leaned the gun against a rear wheel of the wagon. The moon forced its silver fingers between the tree branches and touched the surface of the river. Its brilliance bathed the ground in splotches of light. By that light, she found Jim’s skinning knife and retrieved their hewing hatchet and felling axe.

  With the sharp knife, she slit the hog’s throat and lifted the snout upward to make the slit gape. She bled the hog out on the ground, the firelight causing the thick liquid to gleam like black oil. There was no use saving it for blood pudding. Back home, she would’ve caught it in a basin.

  There’s no waitin’ ’til daylight. This meat’s a gift from God. It’ll spoil in the day’s heat.

  Ella collected pans and kettles from the storage under the wagon and set them in the dirt. She layered branches on the fire and arranged a kettle of water on the tripod.

  She slid the wide boards from the end of the wagon and whispered assurance to Hannah. “It’s me, don’t be skeered.”

  Ella placed the boards, side-by-side, one end positioned on the fallen log and one on the ground. They formed a crude ramp. The dead animal’s bulk occupied the improvised slope, head down.

  Next, she draped empty flour sacks over its body.

  While she waited for water to boil, she filled a second kettle and pushed it into the hot coals. Around herself, in the sand and dirt, she gathered what few iron pots and pans she had brought from the wagon. Every container would serve a different purpose.

  Using the iron kettle, full of boiling water, she poured the steaming liquid over the sacks on the hog. Working from the rear down to the head, she drenched it. She let it soak, removed the sacks, and scraped at the coarse hair with the edge of the hewing hatchet. By holding the head of the hatchet instead of the handle, it worked perfectly. After scraping away loosened hairs, she again covered the hog with sacks and started over.

  When one kettle was empty, she replaced it with another. It took numerous trips to refill the kettles at the river’s dangerous edge. She couldn’t see out in the dark water. Menacing reflective eyes shone, but they drifted away from the lantern’s glow.

  Despite the cooler night air, Ella couldn’t tolerate the encumbering clothes she wore. She stripped off her husband’s shirt to work in her chemise. Without hesitating, she soon shed her woman’s garb, tossed the garments over a wagon wheel, and slipped on her husband’s pants.

  Somewhere in the distance, a solitary wolf howled an invitation to others of its kind, and it sent sharp tingles of fear through Ella. A few frogs chorused up and down the river, and an owl hooted from a tree.

  A three-legged boar coon wandered within the circle of firelight, apparently scavenging for a free meal. She wondered who had fed him in the past.

  When the hog’s body was clean of visible hairs, Ella passed the torch over its hide—singeing any missed strands. She then rolled the animal off the dirty boards and washed the boards with lye soap and water. She rinsed the hog and pulled him up on the clean boards, situating him head down and belly up.

  One more time, she poured boiling water over the hog, washing him free of any debris from the ground. Then she used Jim’s knife to score around the head, clear to the backbone. Sawing at it, she managed to slice deep enough so with a few tugs, she could turn the head until it pop
ped and came off at the neck. She tossed it aside and started the gutting process.

  With practice learned early in life, she made an extended slit along the underside of the hog’s short body. The incision went from chin to crotch, carefully done, so as not to nick the intestinal membranes underneath. She sliced a second layer of tissue, using her fingers as a guide. The intestines bulged, and the warm inner-body scent wafted upward.

  Ugh, I fergot that smell.

  She carefully cut around the anus and large intestine. With her bare hands, she pulled the soft coils from the warm cavity. She couldn’t use the intestines for sausage, nor save any of the internal organs—as taught in the mountains. There was no time.

  “Sorry, Mama, I know you’d scold me, if you saw me bein’ wasteful.” She smiled as she thought of her dead mother—a bittersweet memory.

  Ella used hot water to douse the empty body cavity one final time.

  Freeing the leaf lard—which had cushioned the intestines—Ella tossed it in one of the iron pots. She turned the hog and made an elongated slash on each side of the backbone, pressing deep into flesh. With renewed determination, she flipped the small carcass chest up, used the heavy axe, and hewed the backbone away from both sides of the hog. The two halves fell apart—like a shelled walnut—and she sliced and drew the backbone out of the way.

  Ella panted from the exertion but continued hacking with the knife. She found the joints with her fingers as she probed the meat, and chopped out the shoulders and small hams. She set aside the middling meat and collected all the fat scraps, adding them to the leaf lard.

  “There. Lord, thank you.”

  She squatted beside the bloody boards. Her forearms rested on her knees, and her head dropped to her arms. She couldn’t save all the usable parts without the right conditions or a smokehouse to cure the meat. Regretfully, she’d waste a good portion of it.

  By the position of the moon, she knew it was past midnight. Her tired thoughts drifted back to the mountains. She recalled the mountain women preparing butchered hogs. An elderly woman—their old midwife—taught the techniques, while younger women sliced and cut. Granny’s thin, age-spotted hands had stripped the glistening intestines. Her adept fingers rolled them, rinsed them, and arranged them for sausage and chitlins. The old woman prepared the best sausage in the cove, and folks bought it from her after hog butchering.