With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  In a wooden bowl, she mixed two handfuls of flour, a small amount of water, and a teaspoon of salterous. She formed the dough into round balls and dropped them into the kettle with the rice. They wouldn’t cook up very soft and fluffy, but the results would be filling.

  A short time later, as the sun sank behind the tops of the tallest pine trees, the children sat on the porch and ate their share of the meal. Ella picked at her bowl of food, feeling sick to her stomach. Fear threatened to strangle her. They had a roof over their heads, but no way to close the cabin—no door to speak of.

  “But it has a bed,” she whispered, listening to Hannah and Amos’s contented chatter. “The children will sleep in the loft. It’ll be safe up there.” She wiped at tears coursing down her face. Her heart clenched with dread as her thoughts turned to Jim’s absence. “Oh, Jim, I cain’t secure the door. The top hinge’s gone. I’m gonna sleep on the rope bed, by laying the horse blanket over it and putting a sheet on top. I’ll keep the fire goin’ outside for the night.” She knew she was rattling on to herself … ignoring the truth.

  She lifted her skirt and wiped tears off her face and chin. “I must tend to things.”

  Her son and daughter finished their simple meal.

  “Yum, this is good. Amos, we can ketch lizz-erds in the mornin’.”

  “Yes?” He smacked his lips, enjoying the last of the brown liquid.

  “With our hands. They don’t bite hard. It’s a pinch. I’m not scared now, ’cause I’m bigger. Don’t grab their tails. They fall off.”

  “I don’t grab ’em.”

  Somewhere close by, she heard the single yap of a fox and then in the distance, a band of wolves lifted their nocturnal serenade, calling their pack together. The moon slipped into the late September night, only a slight edge missing from its rounded glory.

  Ella dropped the wagon’s canvas sides for the night. Her heart ached at the thought of her husband somewhere in the woods, alone.

  “Mama? Amos is scared.”

  “No!” He shoved at her arm.

  “Hush, I’m right here.” Ella gathered the dirty utensils and rinsed them with a meager amount of water from the barrel. “Sit quiet, whilst I finish my chores. Watch the moon rise.”

  She worked at keeping her emotions in control. Their safety depended on God’s grace and her ability to keep a clear head. She got one of the two lanterns from the wagon, lit it, and motioned the children to remain inside while she made one last trip to the rickety barn. She checked on the bulky oxen and led the cow and calf into the barn’s paltry shelter. With hurried movements, she pulled armfuls of grass, threw it on the floor, and barred the flimsy wooden door.

  Back at the cabin, she pounded two pieces of narrow wood between the logs over the door and got a blanket from her wooden chest. Standing on tiptoe, she draped the blanket over the wood spikes and covered the doorway.

  They wouldn’t have a real door.

  She could do no more. The chicken crate would be left on the side of the wagon for one more night.

  “Children, give me a kiss.”

  “Me not baby! No.” Amos pulled away.

  “Amos!” With a hidden smile, she patted his bottom. “I know you ain’t a baby, but I can still kiss you. An’ I put a chamber pot up there for use durin’ the night. Don’t soil your mat.”

  His little feet scurried up the rickety ladder, and he shucked off his britches. He kicked his filthy pants over the edge of the loft and giggled. They landed within a pool of light from the lantern. His chubby legs showed plenty of red scratches, not to mention the bites he received on his face when standing in the sinkhole’s nasty water. He dug at the bites and grinned.

  Hannah ran to give Ella a kiss.

  “Night, babies.” She held the lantern high, while Hannah’s little feet climbed to the low loft. “Pull those quilts up over you!”

  Somewhere, beyond the clearing, a screech owl gave a quavering call, stretching out the multitrilled notes, until they faded away into breath-holding silence. Numb with pure weariness, she placed the lantern on the table.

  From a rectangular box of white pine, Ella removed candles she had made before leaving the mountains. The Florida heat reshaped them, but they were useable. She set one in the candleholder she found in the loft, lit it, and placed it in the center of the table.

  “Oh, dear Lord, I didn’t realize today was the Sabbath. Please, forgive me an’ protect my husband.” She placed a shaky hand on the Bible. “Keep us safe tonight.” She extinguished the lantern, put the gun on the bed beside her, and lay down fully dressed. A bit of fresh air came in at the doorway, slipping around the quilt. She stared upward into the darkness where her children slept. It was a wretched existence, but she was grateful for the simple roof over their heads. It felt better than the wagon.

  Her thoughts turned toward what future they could hope for. The cabin was solid—other than the damaged door. Her mind whirled.

  “Ella Dessa, you hav’ta sleep. You gotta stop thinkin’!” Her terse whispers blended with the night noises. A fox yapped in the woods, and she restlessly turned over on the uncomfortable bed. The rope supports dug into her shoulder.

  It would’ve been nice closer to the river, but I can put out a barrel to catch rainwater. Milly’s milk is a plus, an’ the calf will grow fast. Maybe, after Jim gets here, we can capture some wild cows. When Samuel finds us, we’ll have more supplies. It’ll all be better.

  How much longer could she keep her fears at bay? Their situation was desperate. But she forced herself not to think of the bleak prospects, because if she did—she might lose control. She had to remain strong. There were two children depending on her.

  She tried to remember a verse from the Bible, a scripture from before her time, about John the Baptist. “Give light to them that sit in darkness an’ in the shadow of death, to guide our feet unto the way of peace. Oh, Lord, here’s my prayer. It’s darkness I’m in! And there’s a storm ragin’! I wish it’d fade away. Please, bring peace!”

  She could hear the faint breathing and childish mutterings coming from the loft as the children turned in their sleep. They were restless. The cooler outside air hadn’t quite infiltrated the interior of the cabin, but Ella didn’t feel free to remove her clothing because of the broken door. She pulled her skirt higher, exposed her legs to the air, and loosened the buttoned front of her blouse.

  The call of a distant horned owl broke the stillness of the night. She knew the nocturnal bird probably occupied a high perch on some snag in a tree.

  Fighting a rising tide of fear, Ella rolled to a sitting position. Her bare feet hit the log floor. God, I need help! We’re goin’ to die without Jim. I’m so afraid he’s dead—he’s gone from our lives!

  A muffled movement on the porch and the squeak of a timber sent her heart into her throat. She rolled sideways, feeling for the gun.

  The creak of wood wasn’t her imagination. Her trembling hands lifted the heavy weapon, and in one silent movement, she sat up, facing the blanketed doorway.

  The light from the flickering fire outside reached under the porch’s narrow roof line and revealed a tall shadow on the blanket—the outline of a man.

  Chapter 16

  “Don’t move!” Fear threatened to strangle her. “I’ll—shoot!” The heavy weapon shook in her hands. Her thumb sought the hammer.

  In the dark loft, Hannah and Amos called out for her, their voices shrill in childish terror. “Don’t shoot,” a deep voice replied.

  The frightened sobs of both children filled the cabin.

  “Who are you?”

  “Ma’am?” Out of the darkness, a slightly familiar voice spoke once more. “It’s Luke. You weren’t at the river when I returned. Let me throw more wood on the fire. Then you can see me?” he suggested.

  “Yes! Do that.” She then spoke to the hysterical children. “Amos, I’m here. Hannah, be quiet.”

  As the fire’s light grew brighter, Ella pulled back the blanket covering the
door. She could barely see Amos crouched at the edge of the loft, his fingers stuffed in his mouth. “Mama,” he whimpered.

  Hannah had curled into a ball, with her hands over her face.

  “Shh, no more noise.” Ella forced herself to step onto the porch.

  The dark-skinned man stood by the fire. Sparks flew upward as he tossed more branches on it. “Now, you see it’s me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “You frightened us.” The gun felt heavy in her arms. Her legs trembled.

  “Didn’t mean to.” He cautiously stepped closer. He met her gaze with gentle dark eyes that reflected the fire’s light. “Did your husband find you? May I speak with him?”

  She paused, considering what she should reveal.

  “No.” Her shoulders drooped, tension seeping out of her body. “He’s not here.” She wanted to sink to the porch and weep. The warm night and the fright she felt at his appearance had drained her of strength.

  A bead of sweat slipped down the side of Luke’s face, and his oiled chest gleamed in the firelight. “Do you want me to hunt for him in the morning?”

  “Please do,” she whispered, tears burning her cheeks. She wanted to collapse and cry. “The days are slippin’ by. I fear somethin’ bad happened!”

  The slave’s chest rose with each breath he took—as if he had just finished running a fast race. “I won’t hurt you. Keep the gun, but point it away from me. Please?”

  Startled, Ella gasped. “Oh, yes. Let me get the lantern.” As she fumbled in the dark, her daughter called out.

  “Mama?”

  “Don’t come down. Hear me?” She picked up the lantern.

  Luke waited for her to come to the fire, then took up a burning stick. As he bent over, the fire’s glow lit his back and Ella almost gasped. What happened to him? The slave’s skin appeared bumpy and marred with lines and stripes.

  They lit the lantern, and he placed it on the porch.

  “Was this your journey’s end?” Luke asked, his voice soft. “This place?”

  “No, it was empty—so, I will use it ’til my husband comes. How’d you find us?”

  “You left a trail and blue markers.” The slave’s slight smile revealed a missing tooth on the upper right.

  “Oh, my! I guess I wasn’t thinkin’ of that.” She brushed tears off her face.

  He folded his muscular arms, while the lantern’s light played over his strong facial features. “My Indian friends won’t come this way. They crossed back to the reservation.”

  “You live with them?”

  “No. I have a hidden place in the woods.” He pointed at the fire. “I suggest you don’t have a fire at night.”

  “But it’s so dark …”

  “Someone might see it.”

  “I—I didn’t think of that.” Her arms felt as if they couldn’t hold the gun much longer.

  “I can stand guard. May I be trusted with the gun?” He didn’t wait for her reply but lifted the perfectly balanced weapon from her grip. His hands rubbed the stock and hefted its five-pound weight. “A remarkable weapon.”

  For a moment, she studied his face. What should I do? Could she trust him not to leave with the only gun she had? Would he kill them? Did he even know how to use it?

  “I’ll give it back at daylight. Do you have—?”

  “Yes.” She reached into her skirt pocket and held up the wooden container. “This is all we have.” Her eyes met his tawny ones as she released the old pine box to his broad fingers.

  Ella sensed Luke instinctively knew her thoughts. She was a woman—alone in a remote wilderness, some distance from a safe settlement. She played a deadly game of chance by placing her only weapon in strange hands—the hands of a runaway slave.

  “I won’t run. You need sleep, and the children need you. I will put out the fire and be close by—perhaps on the wagon? Take the lantern. I’ll be here in the morning.”

  Amos cried out from the cabin’s interior. With tears blinding her, she took the lantern and went into the cabin.

  “I wet my legs,” Amos said, his babyish voice muffled. He sat with a thumb in his mouth.

  “It’s all right.” Her shaking hand set the lantern on the table. “Hannah, help him find a dry soaker in the pile of clothes.”

  “It’s hot up here,“ the girl whined as she helped her little brother.

  “I’ll open the window.” Ella pushed open the shuttered window. A cross breeze drifted in.

  After extinguishing the lantern, she sought the sagging comfort of the bed. As tears dampened the thin mattress under her head, she fought the sensation of panic engulfing her.

  “Oh Lord, protect my little ones and keep them from harm. I’m exhausted. Please, put your arms around Jim!”

  Chapter 17

  Thursday, October 14, 1847

  Before dawn, Ella awoke to giggles. The children found new silliness to blot out the sorrow from the previous weeks, but she felt no joy. Cooler air drifting in the open window was welcomed, but the pungent scent of a skunk tainted it. She shivered and pulled the quilt to her chin, tucking her fingers under its warmth. Sometimes, the pain in her heart hurt so much, she had to remind herself to breathe.

  In the loft, Hannah giggled and declared Amos’s feet were stinky.

  “No!”

  “Ow! You hit me.” Hannah’s loud wail demanded attention. “Mama!”

  “You stinky,” Amos cried.

  “Amos, stop it.” Ella peered up at the underside of the loft. “She’s teasin’ you.”

  She covered her face with the bend of her arm and fought the unstoppable heartache. How can I go on hurtin’ like this?

  A lonely grave in the woods held the love of her life. And the dawn of each new day brought anguish back to the surface. The only reason she stumbled from bed was her desperate desire to provide for her children.

  Ella couldn’t understand how life went on without Jim. Almost three weeks had passed since his body was found. The tall slave’s presence proved to be the rock, supporting her through the days of anguish. He had been a quiet shadow, accomplishing tasks she had no desire to do. He fed the animals when she lay on the bed, too numb to move.

  Luke had followed the strips of blue cloth back to the huge grove of trees where Ella said Jim went missing. He found the supply wagon, but he also spotted vultures circling. He discovered Jim’s remains moments later and dug a grave with a shovel from the abandoned wagon. When he returned with the report of Jim’s death, the slave’s knowledge of God’s Word and promises of Heaven kept Ella sane while she tended to the everyday tasks and her children. Luke told her it appeared Jim had been bitten by a rattlesnake and tried to return to her and the children.

  Ella rolled on her left side and watched the light creep through the cracks in the log wall. She felt lost in a world where she didn’t belong. There was no family to turn to. There was no longer anyone to love her or help care for the children.

  Her thoughts trailed back to three mornings after Luke had buried Jim. She was sitting on a log watching her children play, but Luke called her to the cabin porch.

  She had walked toward him after glancing back at the children. A difficult question burst from her stiff lips. “Are you leavin’?”

  “Leaving?”

  “Yes.” She had stared at him, waiting for the dreaded words. Please, don’t leave us alone.

  “I’m not going away.” His voice had been soft with compassion. “I want to show you something.”

  She remembered the lump in her throat as she said, “But bein’ with us places you in danger. You’re a … a runaway.”

  “My God gave me a job to do. I fear no danger. Yes, I now live a life of hiding. But I’m free.” He had faced her and motioned her up the porch steps. “I will stay if you wish. If you decide to move on or search for your kinfolk, I’ll trail along. When I feel my God releases me, you’ll no longer see me.”

  Relief had flooded over her. “Thank you. I don’t know how I
could’ve made it through the past weeks … without your help.”

  “God knew this was where I must be.” He touched the cabin’s rough-fashioned door. “I fixed the hinge. I had leather in my pack.”

  Tears had drenched her cheeks. Such a simple gesture was a unique blessing.

  “No need to thank me. I have a request in exchange. Would it be all right if I make the barn my place of rest at night? Sleeping in the wagon isn’t much protection from the blowing, cold rain we had last night. I have a canvas pouch in the barn with all my worldly belongings. I don’t need anything else.”

  “Use the barn.”

  His amber-brown eyes had searched her face. “If someone comes here, please don’t tell anyone of my presence. I’ll hide in the woods to keep you from being questioned.”

  “I understand. I won’t mention you.” She had turned to examine the door and its new hinge of thick leather. It swung smoothly into place. “Thank you for fixin’ the door.”

  “I’m taking the wagon and going to the river for water.” The porch had creaked and moved under his solid weight as he walked down the shaky steps and into the fall sunlight. It glanced across his scarred back and lit his dusky skin.

  “Yes—ah, please, do so.” An invisible hand had gripped her throat. The wagon remained her only way to return to the mountains—though it meant leaving Jim’s grave to be swallowed by the forest. But … would Luke steal her wagon?

  That same evening he had returned with water and two large turtles for their supper. The next day, he took the wagon, again—but this time he returned with all he could salvage from the supply wagon she had left behind. Her mama’s wooden chest was the most precious item he brought to her.

  Ella forced her thoughts to the present, reluctant to rise from the minor comfort of the sagging bed. “Oh, Jim, I want to go back home,” she whispered. “But now you cain’t go.”