With This Peace

by Karen Campbell Prough

  He bent and patted the dog sprawled under the bench. After trailing his grimy fingers over the animal’s tangled fur, his short laugh cackled in the morning air. “He looks like he’s grappled death an’ crawled back from the abyss.”

  “What’s a—biss?” Hannah asked. She brought her dolls over to Perleu and propped them beside him.

  “A word I used when preachin’.” Perleu accepted the cup from Ella and drank the water in one gulp, sighed, and fingered one of the doll’s ragged strips of cloth hair. “Well, it’s what yer dead papa kin relate to. It’s a deep bottomless hole or cave—wants ta swallow ya whole like.”

  Hannah’s blue eyes got huge.

  “Perleu?” Ella felt sick to her stomach. The old man don’t care what he says! “Stop. It’s best we don’t talk of that.”

  Samuel stared at her but held his tongue.

  Amos scowled. “A hole?”

  “There’s a water hole by the barn—with snakes,” Hannah said, her blue eyes peering at Perleu’s scruffy, bearded features. “Amos fell in it.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Yep.”

  While patting the man’s soiled knee, Amos asked, “You a Granpa?”

  Perleu’s twisted, arthritic hand caressed the boy’s untidy curls. His green eyes shimmered with tears. “Ah, no—no. I been a preacher, nearly since knee-high to a toad’s wart! I spread God’s word an’ bury the dead.” He struggled to stand. “I’m sorry, I must go on.” He rubbed at his tearing eyes. “I … I jest ’membered places I must be.” He placed the cup on the bench.

  “Leave?” Ella said. “But why don’t you stay? It’s beginnin’ to rain, an’ it’s cold. You’ll get sick. I’ll cook us a hot meal—flapjacks an’ coffee. How’s that?”

  He hesitated. His watery eyes widened, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Hot coffee? Real stuff?”

  “Yes, real coffee.” Samuel replied, stepping closer to Ella. “And if you’re a preacher, Ella Dessa and I need you to marry us.”

  Chapter 24

  “Samuel!” Ella gasped. “We cain’t! I know Jim wrote that in a letter, but it’s … it’s too soon. An’ it’s not that we have to follow Jim’s wishes. Do we?”

  Samuel squeezed her shoulder. “It was Jim’s wish—his wish I take care of his family. Ella Dessa, we might not have another chance, and this rugged land holds its grip on us. You know I care about the children, and they need a father.”

  “Indeed they do.” Perleu bent over and dug in his leather pack. “So, let’s begin.”

  “No, let’s not!” Ella shook her head. “I must think ’bout this. We have to—”

  “Hmmph! I knew the Good Lord sent me here for a reason,” Perleu muttered. His dirty fingers flipped the thin pages of a worn, leather-covered Bible. “Let’s see. Ah, yes.” He motioned to Samuel. “Git over by yer wife-to-be.”

  “No.” Ella held her hands up in protest. “Let’s talk this over.”

  Hannah whirled around, puzzled. “Mama?”

  Samuel moved close and bumped Ella’s arm with his. He motioned to Hannah and then to her brother. “Children, come stand with us—as a family.”

  “Samuel McKnapp, you must be jokin’!” She turned to stare up at him.

  His unusual eyes glinted with a familiar hint of laughter. “Weren’t you once willin’?”

  “Let’s go talk ’bout this! We cain’t marry. There has to be—ah, love,” she whispered.

  “What’s marry?” Amos asked, frowning.

  Samuel’s big hand rested on the top of the child’s head. “Watch and see.”

  “He wants to be our new papa,” Hannah blurted out as she tugged on Amos’s sleeve. “Be quiet.”

  “No, Hannah! Amos, go in the cabin, while I talk to Uncle Samuel—”

  “Dearly beloved,” Perleu shouted, his raspy voice rising with emphasis, as rain pattered across the roof. “We’re gathered before our Almighty God an’ witnesses.” He lifted his eyes from the Bible and motioned for Luke to get out of the rain and on the porch. “You’re a witness.”

  “Wait!” Ella pinched Samuel’s arm through his shirt. “I never said I would.”

  He bent close to her ear. “Years ago, I recall you saying you would.”

  “Well, we know what happened with that! We were … young. You refused, not me!” She felt faint, and the porch seemed to tip and whirl. A blustery wind whipped across it and blew droplets of rain against the side of her face.

  Perleu’s voice dipped and rose with emphasis as he continued with what he read, ignoring them. “An’ with that, I pronounce you husband an’ wife.” He lifted one shaky hand in the air and waved it toward them. “There! You’re wed, an’ I’m thinkin’ of that breakfast I were promised. Now, it’s a weddin’ breakfast, an’ Samuel—you may kiss your bride. Yahoo!” He shut his Bible and held it high as a furious gust of wind swept rain in on everyone on the porch.

  Hannah squealed and ran for the doorway. Perleu grasped his stained bag and hobbled after her. Luke stood with his back against the log wall, a bemused half smile on his face and something unreadable in his eyes. Ella stepped away from Samuel and felt the force of the wind and rain tug at her clothes.

  Tears filled her eyes before she whirled to face her new husband.

  “Samuel McKnapp! This wasn’t the time—or place.” The chilly wind tugged strands of her hair from the hairpins holding it.

  Luke jumped off the porch and into the onslaught of the storm. Ella watched him sprint for the barn as she dried her face on the shawl whipping about her upper body.

  Samuel turned her gently toward the door. He placed his lips close to her ear so she could hear him above the storm.

  “Ella Dessa, it’s in name only, but with you as my wife—I feel I have the right to watch over you like my brother wanted. We’ve been best friends since childhood. We can continue that.” His warm hand drew her into the cabin where Perleu waited for his reward—a solid meal and a dry resting place.

  She pushed aside her disheveled hair. The feeling of being tricked made her furious. “I still love your brother. He was my husband.”

  “I know that.” With his left hand, he wiped the remaining tears off her face. His fingers raised her chin. His sad eyes studied her angry expression, ignoring the fascinated stares of the children and the old preacher. “We both loved him, and this was his last wish. Let me honor him with what’s always been in my heart—and still is. You’ve always known that.”

  Ella took a shaky breath and backed away. “I—I will fix breakfast. An’ you must holler for Luke to come back an’ eat with us.”

  She prepared their food, stopping often to wipe tears.

  Luke rejoined them with a lengthy core of a palm in his hands. “Indian cabbage—a wedding present,” he murmured. “Cook it for the evening meal or tomorrow.” A teasing smile twitched the corners of his wide mouth. “It’s all I could come up with, you getting married so quickly. I chopped a short one down yesterday. Had this in the barn.” Water dripped from his dark curls and ran down the sides of his face. “It’s chilly out there. Feels better in here, with the fire.”

  She felt her cheeks flush and laid the unusual wedding gift on the mantel. “I cain’t cook it now. Better get by the fire an’ dry out. You’re soaked.”

  He shivered. “Glad it wasn’t snow and ice.” His damp shirt clung to his wide shoulders.

  “Here.” She handed him a piece of muslin sheeting. “Wipe the worst off, so you don’t take a chill.” She turned to the children and motioned toward her bed. “Both of you sit there. I’ll hand you a plate to hold.”

  Wolf cowered underneath the bed’s rugged frame, expecting to be shooed outside.

  Perleu recited a rambling story about his travels and news he gathered. Ella kept her eyes glued to her plate, eating and pushing the food around with a fork. She couldn’t be angry at Perleu. His childish actions and crazy conversation won her heart. Deep in his chest, a heart of gold revealed itself in the stories he
told to them—stories of people he met on trails and how he tried to help them. Around him was a cloak of loneliness, an indication of horrific things he had witnessed in the Florida wilderness.

  After the simple breakfast, Perleu stood with his gnarled hand braced on the tabletop. He bowed to Ella. “I’ll recall this food forever. But I jest got to walk on. Got places to go an’ see ’fore I die.”

  There was no detaining him. He gathered his meager belongings and hobbled down the steps. The wind flattened the brim of his hat and patters of rain hit him. Mud squished around Perleu’s worn boots.

  Ella wanted to beg him to stay. The weather threatened to be freezing by morning. He seemed lost and on an endless road to nowhere. But instead, she called out, “Please, come ag’in.”

  Perleu tugged his hat down over his wrinkled face and coughed into one hand. “You married folks need ta move on to Tampa.” He waved his cane at Amos. “Love that dog, son. Watch out fer bars.”

  Amos grinned from the porch and patted Wolf’s head.

  Perleu hesitated and wrinkled his brow, as if in thought, and then he pointed a bony finger straight at Luke. “I don’t think ya understood me. I’ve got ya beat by many a year, so I don’t wiggle ’round the truth. I knows there’s danger inchin’ towards ya. Hide, before it’s too late.” He adjusted the brim on his limp hat and hobbled into the slanted rain.

  “He’ll be soaked an’ take sick.” Ella leaned against one porch support and clutched her shawl under her chin. Samuel stood at her side.

  “He’s already soaked.” Luke’s mood was sober. “I’m going to the barn.”

  Ella glanced his way. “Why don’t you stay by the fire?”

  “I think my blanket roll will make for a good nap,” he muttered, squinting as he followed Perleu’s meandering progress through the rain. “That old man has many stories he could tell. A person ought to write them down.” His amber gaze switched to Samuel’s face. “That someone could get them published.”

  Samuel nodded with a look of deliberation. “Maybe Perleu has written things down. A person ought to ask.”

  Luke chuckled and ran for the barn.

  The wind picked up. Raindrops blew under the roof of the porch and pelted the cabin’s walls. Perleu gave a whoop and a holler as he disappeared into the distant pines. Ella reached for her son’s cold hand and turned toward the door.

  “Children, get by the fire.”

  The pounding of the rain and wind shook the log walls. Disquiet showed in the dog’s one eye. With a sigh, Ella knew the animal wouldn’t leave the cabin or Amos’s side, so she shut the door. She threw a couple feed sacks on the floor for him, and wrapped a quilt around her son and daughter. She urged them to sit on the floor near the fire. Wolf snuggled beside them, his head on his paws—one blue eye watching the little boy’s every move.

  Ella sat on the edge of the bed, while Samuel knelt to replenish the fire. The rain hammered the cabin’s unchinked walls, flowing around the wedge-shaped wooden strips placed between each log. Water ran between the timbers and down the wall to drip under the floor. There was no way to talk—the rain drowned all noise.

  But as the storm lessened, a miserable dampness filled the room—one hard to tolerate, unless you stood near the fire. Ella pulled the patchwork quilt off her bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and slid a bench near the fire.

  Perleu’s warning they should move on ran through her mind. What danger is Perleu talkin’ of? What’s inchin’ towards Luke?

  Samuel came to the bench, squatted on his heels, and gazed up at her, his captivating blue-green eyes searching her face. “Now that we’re an old married couple, do you think I need to try my hand at making us a set of matching rockers? I might have them done by spring. They’d be better than only two wobbly benches.”

  Her lips trembled with a reluctant smile. Even though she felt upset at him for tricking her into marriage, Samuel’s remark made her think of years past—when he could always make her laugh or see the funny side of things.

  “Try your hand at makin’ them? I wouldn’t want to sit in any rocker you built with one hand.”

  He chuckled. “Neither would I.” He sighed, sat on the floor, and leaned back against the framework of the bed.

  “You cold? There’s another quilt on top of my trunk. Or you could sit with me on this bench.”

  “I’m fine.” His forearms rested on his bent knees. “I’m sorry I upset you.” He stared at the rough flooring. “I should’ve asked you.”

  “Yes, you should’ve.”

  Ella’s gaze traveled over his damp blond curls and the shadow of a beard. How well she knew the man, who was now her husband. And she sensed the awful pain he carried because of his brother’s unfortunate death. She also knew he felt guilt for not being able to help. With a soft sigh, she leaned sideways and touched his shoulder.

  “Let’s not discuss it. It’s not as I wished—but it’s done. Let‘s do our best to find a way home to the mountains.”

  He nodded. “Soon. We’ll go after Christmas.” His gaze switched to the children, huddled under their quilt, giggling at the way Wolf’s ear wiggled when the fire crackled and snapped. “Why don’t you have the children snuggle with you for a few nights, until this cold weather passes? That loft is awful cold.”

  Ella shook off the worry Samuel would assume they were married in every sense of the way. She had no desire to share a bed with her childhood friend, but she bent forward and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m forgiven.”

  Chapter 25

  Friday, March 10, 1848

  Christmas and the first couple months of 1848 went by without incident. The few bouts of cold weather hadn’t dampened their moods. It heightened the energy level. Everyone felt more secure and relaxed. They were ready for spring, and the urge to leave grew stronger. Ella and Samuel studied Duncan’s map and tried to figure out where the trail went wrong. But nothing made sense, other than she found the inked words, Peace River.

  It was washday. Luke chopped and split pieces of dried oak for Ella before going fishing. She shoved three short lengths under the huge, boiling-hot round kettle. A reddish-orange flame licked the logs. Smoke drifted past her. On a rope Samuel strung from the porch support to a tree, her first load of clean clothes dripped water.

  From the barn came the sound of Samuel whistling. Ella knew he worked to cover the dirt floor with dried grass cut from the overgrown field. Since their unplanned wedding, he had been gracious to her. With both him and Luke taking turns hunting and fishing, there was always a man close by. The week before, Samuel had even managed to build a new outhouse for her and the children to use. He called it his belated Christmas gift.

  In her head, she figured up the weeks and months since leaving Georgia. It had been six months since Jim’s death. It seemed like an eternity. Life hadn’t gotten easier, but at least with the past months of cooler weather, the mosquitoes had vanished. She missed Jim, longed to talk to him, and be held in his strong arms. Loneliness wrapped its uncaring arms about her.

  She went up the porch steps to get the last bundle of dirty clothes. Jim won’t git to see our children grow into adults. Tears sprang to her eyes as she opened the cabin door. Hannah and Amos looked up from their play in front of the fireplace.

  “What?” Her daughter’s blue eyes widened. Both children knew to watch for any indication of danger. “You cryin’?”

  “No—tired.” Dear Lord, I knew life would toss me surprises, but I didn’t plan to live alone—without Jim.

  She collected the dirty clothes and trudged back to the fire. Fatigue made her steps slow as she added water to the wash kettle. She was short. And that fact made it hard for her to wield the long pole, push the clothes down into the steaming kettle of water, and stay away from the flames.

  Luke strode from the woods. A leather thong tied the back legs of two dead rabbits. They swung upside down over his shoulder, with his left hand hold
ing the leather. The late afternoon sun lingered at the treetops, and without its bright light, his skin seemed darker.

  “Where’s Samuel?”

  “In the barn spreadin’ dried grass.”

  Wolf rose from where he slept under the porch. He sniffed, catching the rabbits’ scent.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Ella shook her head. “No. Boilin’ clothes is just a hot job, even with cool weather.” She fanned her cheeks with a trimmed palmetto branch. “These work good. Thanks for cuttin’ them for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He pushed Wolf out of the way with his leg. “Go. Get back.”

  “So, we’re havin’ rabbit tonight?” She smiled at him.

  “Yep. Snare worked.”

  Amos ran from the cabin. “Me? Kin I carry ’em?” He reached and stroked the silky rabbit ears.

  “Can you keep Wolf from eating them?” Luke lifted the rabbits off his shoulder, but froze with them dangling in midair.

  A loud gunshot resounded through the towering cypress—beyond the piney woods—in the direction of the river. Wolf’s ears went up, and he pushed against Amos’s short legs. Luke tossed the stiff rabbits to Ella. His narrowed eyes said what he didn’t speak in words.

  Ella clutched the leather strip holding the rabbits, while pushing her son forward. “Amos, go! Get in the loft! Stay with Hannah.”

  The little boy scrambled for the steps but stumbled.

  Ella snatched him under the arms and lifted him up the last step. The dead rabbits bumped him in the back.

  Luke trotted for the closest angle of woods, his head low, and hefty shoulders bunched. He stripped off his white shirt as he ran. Ella saw it float to the ground, not unlike one of the many white birds they watched all the time. She instinctively knew why he shed the shirt. White showed too well in the forest.

  Samuel appeared, running from the barn with a whip over his shoulder, pistol grasped in his left hand.

  Amos turned at the doorway. “Mama,” he said, but she shoved him inside.

  “No, get up the ladder. Hannah—go with ’im!”