The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars?

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier, but you was visitin’ with those girls. I don’t know ‘em.”

  Katy nodded. “That’s ‘cause you disappeared when we first arrived. I couldn’t introduce them.”

  “I went for a walk.”

  Ella wanted to crawl to the ladder and climb down. She yearned to wrap her arms about her mama’s neck and beg her to come back from Heaven. Abruptly, she squished her eyes shut and tried breathing through open lips. She fought a scream of anguish. It couldn’t be true!

  I’ll soon wake up. I won’t be left alone with Pa. Mama will be smilin’ and cuddlin’ the baby. Please God.

  The door to the cabin opened and shut. The clump of heavy boots on packed clay told her a few men joined the women. Below them, a woman’s voice lifted in song, tender and melodious. The words to a hymn of faith filled the small cabin. Katy’s warm fingers squeezed her right hand. A deeper voice joined in the song, and it became a duet—beautiful and simple.

  She listened, almost without breathing. She fought her grief and clung to the childish hand holding hers. She tried to understand the rich words about faith.

  My faith looks up to thee ….

  She wanted to have faith like Mama. She recalled her mama singing the same words.

  Tears ran past her ears and dripped to the begrimed pallet under her head. Her left hand dug into the bedding material. The last verse echoed through the cabin and continued, even after the voices went silent.

  O, bear me safe above, a ransomed soul.

  Chapter 5

  The insistent fussing of a baby woke Ella. She rolled onto her stomach and elbows to stare at the busy room below her. The night had seemed unending. Adult voices had kept up a constant murmur, but she didn’t go down to join them. She sighed and pondered how she could possibly make it through the burying. Her mind shied and bolted away from the unwanted deliberation.

  She sat up, and her head almost touched the barked saplings holding the roof. She studied the three slumbering girls. One of Katy’s braids hung loose. Her curly red hair cascaded down her back. Faith had pulled the quilt off Abigail and rolled in it, like a loosely stuffed sausage casing. Her dirty bare toes protruded from one end, and her tangled blond hair stuck out on the other.

  The comical image caused Ella to smile.

  Her own hair slipped free from the pins holding it on top of her head, and stringy strands fell alongside her face and neck. She dug her fingers through the tangled mess and removed the bone pins. They had been her mama’s, a treasured possession, kept in an undersized wooden box. The box had a perfect rose and the initial “M” carved into its lid. Her mama had given the box to her on her twelfth birthday and admonished her to keep it out of Pa’s sight. Mama feared he’d break it when he got angry.

  She searched under her pallet and lifted the beautiful box to the dim light. With reverence, Ella removed the lid. The scent of cedar wafted from the interior, reminding her of the forest on a warm summer day.

  The pins were white, polished smooth, and cool to Ella’s touch. As she closed her hand on all six of them, she fought for control over bittersweet memories. Her lips formed words with no sound.

  Mama, I’ll keep them safe.

  She tucked the delicate pins in the box and slid it under her pallet. She combed her fingers through the knotted tangles in her waist-length hair and winced.

  In short order, she completed two tight braids, instead of putting her hair up. She wanted to feel like a child, again. With haste, she searched through her meager belongings—wedged under the slant of the roof. She found two pieces of thin leather and bound the ends of each braid.

  Hazy air shifted through the loft. She leaned sideways to study the goings-on near the fireplace. Laura stirred a kettle of thick mush while Velma turned browning meat. Adults talked in reverent tones as they picked up their food and went outside.

  The door opening and shutting allowed her a quick glimpse of the dim morning light—the day of her mama’s burying.

  She scooted on her bottom past the sleeping girls to the wobbly ladder. She kicked her skirt out of the way, as her bare toes sought the splintery rungs. No one noticed her presence when she reached the dirt floor.

  Self-conscious, she inspected her crumpled dress. It needed scrubbing. Even rubbing her fingers over the thin fabric didn’t smooth the creases, and she regretted sleeping in it. She hadn’t put much consideration into what she’d wear for the burying. She had no other choice, because she made up her mind she wasn’t going back to her shorter little-girl shifts with no collars. She had recently outgrown a dress her mama had fashioned from one of her own. Pa hadn’t allowed Mama to purchase or barter for dress material.

  “Ella Dessa, ye can’t go without eatin’.” Granny’s sharp-eyed glance spied her bearing for the door. “I know ye didn’t eat last night.”

  Others in the room turned to witness her beeline flight.

  “I’ll be back.” She ducked outside, desperate to get beyond the sight of her mama’s body.

  The new sunlight filtered through the tops of the pines but left the understory of forest undistinguishable. Ella expected it to be cool outside, a typical September dawn in the mountains, but an odd balmy wind wafted upward from the steep-sided cove. Four men waited near a smoky fire. They drank chicory coffee and paid no mind as she slipped out of the cabin. Two wagons that left the night before had returned.

  She ran to the slab-board outhouse and opened the narrow door. The interior appeared foreboding. The meager light didn’t penetrate the cracks in the walls. Quickly, she took care of her morning needs and slipped outside. A flock of birds flew overhead and landed in a nearby oak.

  Late sparrows, going south, she thought.

  Their twittered notes and snatches of song reminded her of happier days, especially with the mild morning. But the welcomed warmth of the day didn’t saturate her heart or pacify her spirit. She fervently tried not to reflect on what the day meant.

  She spied Pa walking the narrow trace from the creek and hunkered out of sight behind a wagon’s front wheel. From her hiding spot, she spied on him. Her mouth fell open at the change in his appearance. His damp, unruly shock of hair was slicked tight to his head. The ends curled without his hat to hold them down.

  But what dumbfounded her was the fact he’d shaved his gray-streaked beard.

  When he managed to do it, she didn’t know, but the astounding transformation took years off his countenance. It made him seem more peaked. He stopped near the fire and plucked his hat from a wagon seat.

  She lifted the hem of her skirt and dashed to the cabin door. Her bare feet made no sound. She hated the thought of talking to him. His hearty laughter from the night before recurred in her head and resentment sluiced over her.

  Katy, Faith, and Abigail stood near the fire. They each ate from wooden bowls. Laura stood behind Katy, smoothing and braiding her daughter’s curly hair. Ella ducked around the privacy curtain, sat on the bed, and impulsively lifted Rebecca’s son into her arms. She hugged him and planted a kiss on his pink cheek. The little boy babbled nonsense, reached for her braids, and used them to pull himself to standing in her lap.

  “Git-up,” he said, his two words ending with a giggle. He bounced in imitation of a horse ride, and his bare toes dug into her thighs.

  “You’re feelin’ right pert.” Her hands protected him from a tumble, and his bubbly giggles caused her to grin—until Pa’s gruff voice filled the cabin. She jerked the curtain back and peeked out.

  “Manfred said one of you women called fer me.” Pa removed his hat, bunched it in his large hands, and awkwardly waited for an answer from the unsmiling cluster of women. The indent from his hat showed as a ring encompassing his wet head.

  Ella tried to squelch the profound dread she felt. All the people would leave after the burying. She’d be alone with him. The child in her lap chewed on the end of one of her braids, but her attention stayed on Pa. She crumpled the edge of the
curtain in her fingers.

  “Leigh said it’s light enough under the trees.” Laura left off braiding Katy’s hair, braced her dimpled hands on her stout hips, and faced him. “He wants to start up the hill and requires the coffin brought in. Abe Hanks carved the writing for the cross.” Her whole stance portrayed her extreme dislike of him, but her next words were a compliment. “By the way, Jacob, you look younger without the beard.”

  “Young enough to fetch me a new wife? A pretty woman?”

  A gasp of horrified disbelief came from most of the women, and they shrank away from him.

  “How dare you,” Laura hissed. Her jaw jutted forward, and her heavy bosom lifted with her indrawn breath.

  Pa whirled and left the cabin, his hat clenched in his shaking right hand.

  A pretty woman? With Mama not even in the ground? Ella dug the nails of her right hand into her palm—in an attempt to staunch the twisting pain in her heart.

  “I don’t know how Meara made it so many years with the likes of him.” In disgust, Laura tossed her head and rolled her eyes. Her auburn curls bounced and threatened to slip loose from where she had piled and coerced them into a fluffy clump. “Granny, you can recall how he mistreated his first wife—what, nigh on thirteen years ago? Sakes alive. Poor soul yearned to die. To get shed of him.”

  Ella pressed a hand to the side of her forehead. Pa’s first wife yearned to die?

  “But the fire took her and the little one. Perhaps, one ought to call those deaths a blessing.” Laura plopped her heavy hips on the bench and reached for a hunk of bread on the table. “A real blessing. Katy, back up here, so I can finish with you.”

  “Don’t go diggin’ up dead dogs. Best left buried,” Granny said.

  “Some think Meara’s father had a bit to do with Jacob marrying her.” Laura chewed on the heavy-crusted bread and ignored the midwife. “Them being new to the cove, and no one knew Meara’s past. They wed so quick.”

  “You’re talkin’ of the dead.” Granny tapped her forefinger on the table. “Stop, now. We don’t need to speak of it at this time.”

  There was instant silence. Laura raised her reddish eyebrows and gave the other women a knowing smile.

  “Enough said.” Granny eased out of the rocker and rested her hands on the table. “Ugh, stiffness seizin’ my joints.” She lifted the sides of the muslin sheet under Mama’s body. Crossing and tucking the material over mother and child, she encased them together. But when Jacob and the other men came through the doorway, Granny stepped back. The men balanced the pine coffin between them. Women scurried to shoo children out of the way, and the men carefully lowered the coffin to the hard-packed floor.

  With her heart skipping beats, Ella observed Pa draw away from the empty coffin—even though Granny motioned him forward. Instead, Rebecca’s young husband, Lyle Foster, and Leigh reverently slid their work-callused hands under her mama’s shrouded shoulders and legs. They removed her thin body from the cooling board and lowered it into the waiting coffin.

  The two men lifted the box and maneuvered it through the doorway.

  Naomi Chesley’s face flushed as she faced Jacob. “Go outside with your wife.” She brushed past him and drew her shawl around her shoulders. “We’re ready. Anyone seen Ella Dessa? I’ll search outside.”

  “No—no.” Ella’s breath came in rapid jerks. She let the curtain fall back into place. She didn’t want to go up the hill to the deep hole called a grave. It would take Mama from her.

  “Ella Dessa?” Fern eased behind the curtain and hugged her. “I thought I saw you slip in here. I gave you privacy. You feeling bad?”

  “My legs won’t carry me to the burying spot.” She set the dark-haired tot on the floor and stood. Her legs shook.

  “They will.” Fern linked an arm through her elbow. “Come, they need you for the service.”

  “I ain’t washed my face.” She hung back and shook her head. “My—my dress is filthy.” She flicked her fingers at the wet marks caused by her tears. “I’m not ready.”

  “Shh, just wait here.” Fern got a wet rag. “Let me wash your face. Your braids are slipping loose.” She used the rag, dampened, and coaxed the hair into place. “You’re very pretty. Don’t worry. No one will notice the dress.”

  Ella tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t curve upward. Her body shook. Her right hand fingered the sensitive bumpy skin on her neck. She remembered Mama’s tender hands smoothing Granny’s herbal salves over the inflamed gouges.

  Fern whisked Zeb into her arms. “Hey, big boy, I told your mother I’d get you. Come, Ella Dessa, they’re calling you.”

  “I hear ‘em.” She felt the finality of it all.

  They had taken her mama away.

  She ducked past Fern. She stumbled into the sunlight. The coffin rested on the stony ground. Lyle slid the wooden top into place while the men and women watched in silence. Another man bent to grab a wooden mallet.

  “No!” She shoved Lyle and fell on her knees. Her hands quivered as she knocked the top aside and drew away the folded muslin. She plucked the large coins off her mama’s eyes and flung them to the dirt. All she wanted was to see Mama’s face one more time.

  Hands tried to pull her away. She savagely slapped them.

  “Let her be.” Naomi spoke in a firm voice. “Give the child a moment.”

  Ella ran her hands over her mama’s silky hair. Blond tendrils glided between her fingers. “Oh, Mama, it ain’t right. You shouldn’t have died! Please, don’t leave me here.” She wiped at the stream of tears blurring the last sight of her mama’s face. “I don’t wanna be alone,” she wailed, not caring who heard her.

  “Get her away.”

  Forceful hands gripped her upper arms. The fingers bit and yanked her to her feet. Stunned, she went silent. She recognized the voice and the ruthless hands dragging her away from the coffin.

  “Keep her out of the way.” Pa whirled her sideways and sent her bumping into Granny. His right hand convulsed with a tremor. He pointed at the coffin. “Nail it.”

  “No!” Ella cried, but Granny’s tender arms hugged her.

  Lyle picked the coins from the ground and blew dust off them. His work-roughened fingers reverently laid them over Meara’s closed eyes. As he straightened up, he gave Ella a slight nod. Unshed tears filled his eyes.

  She hid her face against the skinny midwife, sobs suffocating her. Her stomach felt sick, but she twisted sideways to watch, and Granny’s right arm tightened around her waist.

  With stony expressions, Frank and Lyle repositioned the top. They pegged it into place. The sound echoed into the woods.

  No one spoke.

  The drifting, repetitive two-note whistle from a bird in the woods died away. A heavy silence cloaked the thick forest and the mountainous terrain surrounding them. The sighing pines held their breath.

  Even the littlest child went quiet, sensing the turmoil of withheld emotions among the adults. Women demonstrated their dislike of Jacob Huskey by giving him cutting stares. They covered their mouths as if to block remarks. Three turned their backs on him. The mountain men kept their heads bowed, seemingly fearful violence might erupt if they dared to look the man in the eye.

  Nothing could be gained by a fistfight before a burying.

  “No.” Granny pressed her colorless lips together and reached for her husband’s boney arm. She muttered the single word under her breath, as if she sensed the old man seethed with fury and was about to approach Ella’s pa. “Abe, don’t fritter away yer breath on the likes of him. He ain’t worth it. Come on, child.”

  She made Ella walk beside them, and they joined the subdued procession hiking to a cleared space under the huge pines. The yawning hole in the ground waited for the body to be delivered into its smothering embrace. Clay-stained stones, dug and pried from the ground, were stacked in a tumbled heap. One man carried coiled lengths of rope to lower the wooden box into the ground.

  Ella’s bare feet dragged. “Granny, I can’t.” />
  “Ye can make it, child.” Her arm encircled Ella’s waist. “Death’s only the creation of fresh life. Yer mama’s happy, now. She holds that new infant son hugged in her young arms, an’ the trials of life ain’t goin’ to reach her no more. Why, she’s even got her other babies with her.”

  “Granny, Mama’s gone.” Ella vehemently shook her head. “I can’t see her no more!” As her legs threatened to collapse, the midwife held her closer.

  “Yes, ye can. Child, look at the heavenly sky. It’s the eternal shade of her eyes—cloudless blue. Her face’ll be imprinted in every soft cloud ye see. You’ll feel her no matters where ye go. God’s blessin’ her by fetchin’ her home. Now, listen to what old Abe says. Lift yer head, child.”

  Her fingers gripped Ella’s chin.

  “Granny, I’m breakin’ inside!”

  “Listen to my old husband. He had schoolin’, so Leigh asked him to commence with the buryin’. It’s only fittin’ since Leigh’s new here.” Granny pointed at her husband.

  The short, bent man stepped to the head of the open grave and raised a tattered Bible in his spidery-veined hands. “Beloved, we’re here to lay Meara Huskey in the arms of her God.” Abe’s quivery voice grew stronger with each word. “The Bible says the Lord of everlasting peace will give you peace during life’s walk. I think it means peace even in death. Meara isn’t without His touch. She’s at peace, but we must still seek inner peace here on earth.”

  A chorus of soft amens lifted from the small crowd of people.

  “We can’t bring our beloved sister back nor would she long to return to the drudgery of this life. We’re the ones left with longing—and sadness. But it doesn’t have to be the way of our days.” Abe cleared his throat and held the Bible closer to his face, almost touching his undersized nose. “It says here … now the Lord of peace himself give you peace always by all means.” He rubbed at his watery blue eyes. “You may read it in Second Thessalonians, in the third chapter.”

  Ella wondered how he could speak of peace while her heart cracked into a thousand shards. What did peace mean? She didn’t even feel God’s presence in her life. Shouldn’t God’s closeness equal real peace?