The Girl Called Ella Dessa
by
Karen Campbell Prough
THE GIRL CALLED ELLA DESSA BY KAREN CAMPBELL PROUGH
Published by Firefly Southern Fiction
an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614
ISBN: 978-1-941103-85-2
Copyright © 2015 by Karen Campbell Prough
Cover design by Goran Tomic
Interior design by AtriTeX Technologies P Ltd
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Prough, Karen.
The Girl Called Ella Dessa /Karen Prough 1st ed.
To my husband
Thank you for understanding the desire within me to write about a day and time far removed from the one we live in. Your unrelenting support pushed me to continue the journey.
I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil:
I the Lord do all these things.
Isaiah 45:7 KJV
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Chapter 1
Thursday, September 15, 1836
“Mama, talk to me. I can’t do this by myself.”
Ella Dessa Huskey’s mama sat upright on the bed. “It’s too soon. I need help.” The lantern’s dull glow caused indistinct shadows to shift over the log wall and drift across the woman’s thin face and tangled straw-colored hair.
“I don’t understand what to do.” Ella knew nothing of birthing babies. Her twelve years of life hadn’t included that experience. She felt a surge of panic, which caused her stomach to roll. “Tell me what to do.”
Mama collapsed back on the flat pillow. Sweat poured down her face. She panted, her blue eyes staring upward. “Ella Dessa, remember,” her voice sounded weak but understandable, “I might go to screaming before it’s here.”
“What do I do?”
“Keep clean sheets under me so your pa can’t see the soiled bed. There’s more in my trunk.” She groaned, twisted sideways, and shifted her narrow hips. “I can’t catch my breath. I’m too tired. Ohh … another one’s coming.”
Her mama grimaced. Ella clamped her teeth on her bottom lip and scrunched her face.
Just as the contraction peaked and faded, the cabin door opened. The morning’s meager light slipped into the grim interior. Her pa ducked his head, stepped in with an armful of dried wood, and snatched the door shut with his right hand.
With one swift movement, Ella leaned across the bed and let her disheveled hair hide the side of her face. She placed her lips against Mama’s ear. “I’m skeered. He should go for Granny Hanks. Let me ride there myself.”
“No—hush.” Mama’s sunken eyes went shut. “It’s too late.”
“Meara?”
“Jacob?” The callous tone in Pa’s voice brought Mama’s exhausted blue eyes wide open. Her quivering hands wiped at the sweat on her forehead.
“Is Ella Dessa a help or is she a hinderin’ you? If so, I’ll kick her outside.”
Ella twisted sideways on the lumpy mattress and stared at her pa. Her initial panic doubled, and she clutched Mama’s clammy arm.
I won’t go, unless I’m told to ride for Granny. She hoped her touch relayed those feelings to her mama. Words couldn’t be spoken with Pa glowering at her.
“She’s a help. Leave her be.”
“Mama,” she whispered. “I want to be here. But I fear I might not know what to do.”
Unable to answer, Mama shook her head. Her colorless lips twisted with agony. She panted through the next contraction, and her body sagged to the bed. “Don’t let it frighten you. Just stand by to tie the cord. Ella Dessa, you’re brave. Remember that always.” Her barely audible words drifted away. Her eyes closed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw her pa squatting near the fireplace. His large-knuckled hands stacked the split wood. The fire had died to gray coals, and the cabin chilled. She had a hazy grasp on the birth process, and the immediacy engulfed and terrified her.
With her thumb, she rubbed the sweat from Mama’s eyelids. “How’s the pain?”
“Let me rest.”
“Pa?” She clenched her jaw and turned toward him. “She’s too weak.”
He dropped a piece of wood. His curse sliced through the room.
The irregular flicker of the lantern threw a jumpy, distorted reflection over the sagging bed, and the cabin’s one window cast a dull hint of daylight into the room.
“Oh, Lord, give me strength.” Mama’s voice rose in a whispered prayer. “Let it be a son.” She clutched at the bedclothes and moaned through colorless lips. With the mounting contraction, she struggled to lift her head and upper body off the sunken cornhusk mattress.
Ella wedged a rolled blanket behind her back. “Better?”
Mama grasped her knees, pulled them toward the sides of her chest, and strained. A deep groan erupted from her throat. “Awww. No—awww!”
Firewood clattered to the clay floor and rolled. Ella whirled toward the sound. “Let me go for Granny.”
“It ain’t needed.” Pa pivoted on broken-down boot heels, and his savage kick sent a stick of wood spinning at her. “Yell for me when it’s here.” He crammed a worn-out hat over his unwashed hair and shoved long arms into his coat. “I’ll be at the corncrib.”
“Pa, no. I ain’t never done this. You ain’t gone for Granny. You can’t leave me to do this.” She ran and grabbed at his worn shirtsleeve. “Stay.” Her fingers clung with determination, even though she knew the danger of touching him.
As if they were nasty, he plucked her fingers from his sleeve. His cold inflection spoke of his disdain. “Take yer hands away—gurl. This be jest another untimely birthin’. She’s goin’ to kill it, ag’in. I got m
ore important things on my mind, like a bear-damaged corncrib to repair.” He reached for the door latch and disappeared into the frosty dawn.
His frail wife writhed in pain. But he didn’t look back.
Fury and alarm choked Ella. She knew her mama wouldn’t kill her babies. Her pa just didn’t care. Crisp air rushed in at the wide-open door, and her hands shook as she closed it.
Mama struggled for another hour, growing weaker with each contraction. And Ella cried tears of relief when the blue-tinged baby, resembling a skinned rabbit, arrived. The infant slipped from its mother’s tortured body, onto stained sheets between skinny bent legs. A short span of eerie silence filled the cabin. The shrill screams of tormented birthing ceased.
She stared in disbelief at the infant until it gave a pitiful wail. “It’s here, Mama. It’s … here.” She stammered on the simple words expressing her astonishment. “It’s a real baby. This ain’t nothin’ like the pigs and cows droppin’ young. Mama, did you hear me?”
“It’s alive?” The woman sank back on the feather pillow, not bothering to examine the baby. Matted hair framed her head. The muslin gown, soaked with perspiration, clung to her emaciated form. Her once-beautiful face lacked color. She shook with chills. “If it’s a girl child, I want it named Aileen, after my mam. Aileen … such a soothing sound.” Her blue-veined eyelids closed.
“It is a boy. He’s awful little.” Ella spoke in hushed tones and marveled at the miniature human and the miracle of birth she’d witnessed.
The baby’s concave chest heaved. Delicate arms waved in the air, as his bluish-tinged legs and feet curled and drew tight to his body. He made pitiful raspy noises with every breath he tried to draw into his lungs.
With her eyes still shut, Mama smiled. “Ah, a boy. Let your pa name him.”
“Pa’s at the corncrib.” She shoved sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes. “He walked out.” She lifted a square of material and tried to wipe the quivering damp infant.
“Just as well.” Mama’s voice lost strength.
“The fire went out. He ain’t helped with that neither.” Bitterness welled inside her. She pressed her lips together to prevent another string of heated words.
“Don’t fret. The kettle of water will still have warmth.”
“He should’ve stayed!”
“Stop talking of him … like that. He’s done enough by you.”
“I don’t understand. Done what by me?”
“Hush. This be a woman’s trial. God’s punishment. Clear your brother’s throat and mouth with your finger. Has the cord stopped beating? Tie it like I showed. Keep him warm. I need to rest, I’m … so tired.” Sighing, she closed her light blue eyes. “Jacob Huskey can now stop bothering with me. I done paid the price for his name, accepted my duty. I bore him a live one. A son.”
“I’m not sure ‘bout it, Mama. I don’t know if I can cut it.” Her fingers trembled. She wrinkled her nose while she concentrated on tying two narrow pieces of cloth about the slippery cord. It reminded her of spilled hog guts at butchering time, and she shuddered.
“You can do it.”
“It’s makin’ me gag.” Soft moans of disgust escaped her lips as she used a knife to slice at the shiny, supple cord. “It’s done!” She felt as if she had run a lengthy race. “He’s his own sep’rate self.”
“I knew you’d do it. You’re a … brave child.” Mama’s bloodless lips formed the low words with short puffs of air. “Ella Dessa, stay that way. Keep faith in God … alone. Without His touch, we can’t stay strong. Don’t let no man beat you down.”
“I won’t.” She lifted the pot of lukewarm water out of the fireplace and set it on the clay floor. She used a dipper and poured water into a shallow pan. “I’ll clean the baby.”
She washed the baby’s body and bundled a scrap of blanket close around his trembling form. She felt older than her years as she cuddled her brother and rubbed her nose over the softness of his head. Ella drew in a deep breath. His sweet scent reminded her of baby rabbits plucked from a summer nest of dried grass.
She tucked him into the bend of her mama’s blue-veined arm. It took a moment or two of patting and jiggling Mama’s shoulder to get her to open her eyes.
“He’s right here by you. See?” Ella touched the baby’s diminutive hand and caressed each perfect curled finger. “Look at him. He ain’t cryin’, now.”
The baby’s convulsing limbs relaxed. His face took on a waxen appearance.
“I’ll look later. Ella Dessa, remember … I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She leaned to kiss the baby’s cool cheek. “This be home, little brother.”
“Ella? I feel …” Her mama grew silent.
“Open your eyes. Don’t go to sleep.” The chill in the cabin crept closer, surrounding the bed. She took Mama’s face between her hands. “Open your eyes!”
A weak moan passed over ashen lips.
“No!” Ella panicked. She threw a frayed horse blanket over Mama’s lower body and ran to open the cabin door. “Pa! She’s in a bad way. Come quick.” She screamed and beat the air with her clenched fists. “Please, hurry.” Tears poured down her cheeks.
Her pa jumped from the doorway of the raised corncrib, tossed aside a splintered piece of wood, and jogged toward her. “It’s here? What is it? It better—”
“Mama’s in a bad way. We need Granny.” She shrank aside to avoid physical contact. She wanted to slink into the shadows beside the cabin, but she continued to plead. “Don’t let her die. I’ve done all I were told.”
“I figgerd the baby were here. I ain’t fetchin’ the bossy granny-woman. She let my boy die years ago.”
“Mama’s strength’s gone.”
His calloused hands pawed at his unkempt beard, and his left eye squinted shut. “Take care of it, gurl. Women folk knows what to do. You’re born with it. Don’t tell me ya ain’t. You’re responsible fer what happens.” He stared over her shoulder at the quiet bed and woman.
“No, not me. It ain’t my fault. She’s gonna die!”
“She ain’t gonna die if ya take kerr of things the right way.” Pa grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. The back of her head banged against the doorframe. “You an’ her God will be to blame fer anythin’ bad. Ya stupid, gurl-child.” His fingers pinched her thin arms. “Should’ve left the wildcat to eat ya. I wish it had finished clawin’ yer head off.”
Shocked by his vicious declaration, she recognized pure loathing in his scorn. He sneered at her scarred neck. She sought to cover the bumpy disfigurement with her hands, but he held her arms too tight. She tried to wrench herself out of his grip while recalling how he slapped and beat her mother.
“Are—are you gonna beat me, ‘cause you wish I died?” she yelled, just as a raspy, choking noise filled the room.
Pa released her arms.
Ella ran to the bed and jostled Mama’s shoulder. “Mama, look at me.”
A soft sigh passed between parted lips.
The room grew unearthly quiet.
Ella stumbled away. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her shaky hands covered her mouth, and she thought about running away. But instead, in desperation, she reached for her pa.
Pa’s expression changed, showing fear and confusion, and he shoved her sideways. His forceful push sent her into a crumpled heap on the hard-packed floor. “I’m leavin’.”
He walked out.
“No!”
A piercing whistle sounded as he called their old mare out of the side field.
“No.” Ella whimpered and crawled toward the door. She grabbed the wall, stood, and stepped out into the brisk autumn air. Her breath rose in white puffs. Once again, she felt as if the panther clawed at her, disfiguring her, but it was her heart shredding into pieces.
She staggered through the doorway.
“Git back inside.” Pa grabbed a worn bridle off a fence post and slipped it over the horse’s head. His right arm spasmed as he doubled the reins ov
er his hand and pulled them tight. “Git back to yer mama.”
“Stay. Please?” She held out a hand to him, longing for him to make her believe he cared. “Pa, I’ll keep my neck covered so you can’t see the nasty scars. Please? I don’t want to be alone.”
Pa ignored her pleas and stepped atop a log. He threw a long leg over the bare back of the horse and hoisted himself up.
She experienced a sickening wave of shock rise in the back of her throat. It threatened to strangle her. Ella rubbed her face, wiping at tears.
Pa hates tears.
Before he nudged the horse with his heels, he stared at her—wild-eyed. His thin back hunched over the horse’s neck and caused his backbone to show through the worn material of his muslin shirt. His booted feet hung below the horse’s belly.
Her body sagged against the log wall. She stared in stunned disbelief until frost-tinged leaves of the mountain’s foliage hid the man riding away. The glow of the morning sun topped the ridge. It seemed like an evil iron vice gripped her chest, crushing her. She moaned and tried to fill her lungs, even as Pa’s hollered curses echoed along the mountain ridge.
“Nooo! You can’t leave me. Come—back.” She bent at the waist and clenched her arms across her midsection. It wasn’t her pa’s departure torturing her. The truth hit her. Almost gagging on the realization her mama had died, she dropped to her knees in the dirt and stony rubble.
Not Mama.
Ella fought to breathe, to feel, but a weight of numbness encompassed her while random thoughts flashed in her mind.
Pa’s gone. What if Pa don’t come back?
He ain’t seen the baby.
“He wouldn’t have left a boy baby. It’s just me he hates ‘cause I lived. The others died,” she whispered. Now, he’d blame her for Mama’s death. “He’d have stayed here, if I’d showed him the baby.”
She raised her head, peering through her tousled hair, expecting to see him ride into the clearing. Her fingers furrowed the dirt. The understanding of what Pa’s temperament would be like when he returned caused her to quake with fear. He’d make her the brunt of his rage. Mama wouldn’t be there to step between them when he reached for the twisted leather strap hung behind the door.
The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars? Page 1