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

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “Ohh!” She eagerly wiped her hands on her dress and reached for it. “Tell her I love minced meat.”

  “So, you are by yourself.” He dismounted and adjusted the wire spectacles on his nose.

  She frowned and shrugged. “Pa went to the cove.”

  “I know. We all saw him last evening. He rode by when we came out of the service.” His voice sounded strained. It was as if he tried to be cheerful, but felt otherwise. He pulled a wrinkled and folded piece of paper from his pocket and tried to straighten the creases. He presented it to her. “Here. It’s addressed to you and hand-delivered to us three days ago by Nettie. I knew you’d want it.”

  “Nettie?” She held the paper in one hand and the pie in the other. She gave him an intent look, not quite believing him. “I—it’s a letter from her?”

  “No. It’s from Fern. I can read it to you, if you wish.”

  She raised her chin higher. “I can read.” She gripped the precious item in her right hand and hid it in the folds of her skirt. She wanted to read it after he left, and her heart pounded with anticipation.

  I got a real letter.

  Leigh squinted at the cloudless sky. “The day’s turning out nice.”

  “Yes, it feels warmer.”

  Her fingertips tingled, wanting to unfold the letter. She could feel the wax seal under her thumb.

  He removed his hat and scratched his head. “My wife said to let you know Velma’s in the … family way, again. It’ll be born in the spring.” He appeared uncomfortable delivering the message to her. “Naomi figured you’d want to know, ‘specially it being about a friend.”

  “That’ll be six. I hope she figgers how to cut shirt patterns with Mama gone.”

  Her chest tightened. She dropped her head and fought tears. It hurt to say Mama was gone. A picture played out in her thoughts—her mama sitting in a corner while other women crowded a quilting frame. A rumpled, half-finished shirt covered her lap. A needle dipped and stitched the shoulder seam on a child’s shirt.

  “Your mother showed kindness to Velma.”

  “Yes. Velma’s brood goes through clothin’, much as water strained through a straw basket.”

  He nodded. “My Naomi was pure upset to hear the woman’s husband has abandoned her. He joined men working a new vein of gold, southwest of here.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah. Reckon he’ll be gone for the winter, foolhardy soul. These men leave their womenfolk behind for others to see to and chase after mammon.”

  “Mama told me it’s the root of all evil. Only a godly man might turn away from its pull. It’s in the Bible.”

  Leigh raised his eyebrows as if surprised at her knowledge. “Yes, so the Good Book tells us. I’ve seen nice men go bad following after money. Gold fever wrecks homes—much like other things.” He pushed his hat down on his head. “Child, is there anything you need?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll be riding on. Got some sick folks to see.” He stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over. “When Jacob gets home, make sure you tell him I dropped by.”

  “I will.”

  She wasn’t about to tell Leigh Chesley she didn’t know when her pa would return or how fearful she felt. While she clutched the letter, Ella noted his troubled gray eyes studying her from behind the wire-rimmed glasses.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes. Tell Velma I’m happy for her. Also, her kettle’s still here. Shall I fetch it?”

  He nodded. “I’ll take it to her.”

  She ran to get the kettle, placed the pie on the table, and tucked the letter under the edge of the tin, so it couldn’t disappear.

  When she returned, he said, “I’ll go by Velma’s on the way home. Got to see what we can do for her. I’d like to go hunt up Gust and pound—talk sense into his head,” he muttered.

  “Here’s her kettle.”

  He bent from the saddle and reached for the wire handle.

  “Ella Dessa, me and my wife, we’d welcome your presence for the winter months—if your father doesn’t ever come home.”

  “Why?” She felt confused. Why wouldn’t Pa come home in a few days? Where else could he go?

  “Well.” He balanced the iron kettle on the saddle in front of him. “The twins leave my wife no extra time to do her duties. She’d love help corralling them. I caught both of them standing on top of the chicken house last night.”

  “I can’t. Pa’ll be comin’ back.” Leigh meant she could live with them and help care for the boys. The thought of her pa’s anger, if she did that, shook her.

  “Just saying … if he don’t.” He tipped his hat and rode away.

  She dashed into the cabin and snatched up the letter. She sat on a flat stone outside the open door, where she’d be in the sun. Her trembling fingers loosened the wax seal and unfolded the paper. She held the first letter she had ever received. With the tip of her tongue, she moistened her lips and whispered the written words.

  “My Dear Friend, I am being sent south, to St. Augustine, to join my sister at my Aunt Katarina’s home. My stepfather will not relent. He does not believe what I say. He even went so far, I am ashamed to write, he fears I am with child. He believes I have shamed him. My poor ma is sick at heart. I do not know if I will ever see you again. I fear not. I worry about the Indians in Florida. Please, pray for me, and do not forget me. As soon as I am settled, I will try to post a letter. Stay safe. I pray for you every night. I know your sorrow is great. May God stay close by you. Your friend, Fern Abernathy.”

  Ella tested the sound of the long name. “Aber … nathy.” She hadn’t known Fern’s last name, having thought of it as Stauffer. Slowly, she reread the letter, sounded out the words, and felt a quiver of sadness at each syllable.

  Her new friend was gone.

  She went to the loft with a heavy heart and tucked the prized letter into the carved box. She wondered how she could write to Fern without paper and a way of posting the letter.

  An abrupt wave of sorrow swept over her. She descended the ladder and ran to the isolated grave. After slipping to her knees, she stared upward. Because of her seclusion, only the wind-filled pines, whose sprawled roots had embedded deep in the rocky hillside, heard her words.

  “I wish I might see straight to heaven. I need to see you. Mama, the leaves are turning. It won’t be a moon’s growth, ‘til they burst with more color.” She paused, wiped her hand over her face, and smeared her tears. “I got me a letter today—a real letter from a new friend I met at your buryin’. She had to go far away. Naomi sent by a pie, and Velma’s in the family way again.”

  The pines whispered in the wind. Hush, hush, hush. She labored over her emotions, tried to control her inner turmoil, and fought to think of things besides her lonesomeness.

  “Mama, we never named the baby. Pa wouldn’t do it. Can I call him Timothy, like in your Bible? I were readin’ of Timothy, and I were thinkin’ it might fit.” She fixed her eyes on the deep-blue cloudless sky. She felt the autumn breeze on her face. “God, please keep Timothy warm and Mama happy.”

  She asked nothing for herself.

  As she meandered down the sunny slope, through frost-nipped golden grass, she spied her pa riding the last hump of the trail. She walked slower, dragging her bare feet, and wondering what type of mood he’d be in when he saw her.

  His step seemed lighter, more youthful, as he jumped off the horse and headed toward the cabin. He wouldn’t have noticed her, except the old horse spotted her. It lifted its head and whinnied.

  Pa jerked off his hat and stared up the hill.

  She advanced and stopped ten feet away, hands clasped behind her back.

  “You’re the spittin’ image of your mama.” An unfathomable, leering expression lit his face and dark eyes—a glint of unusual interest at the sight of her. “You’re lookin’ older today.” He slapped his hat against his pants leg. “Bought ya a gift.”

  “Me?” Her eyes flickered to a leather sa
ddle on their horse. “You got a—a saddle.”

  “Yep, paid fer it this mornin’.”

  “You bought it?”

  “Yes, gurl, but it ain’t none of yer dealin’s. I had need of it.” He reached for a cloth-wrapped package tied to the saddle, undid the string, and handed it to her. “Yer mama’s shoes ain’t fittin’ ya. I got these. Grease ‘em down ‘fore they get wet. They’ll feel good in the winter.”

  She went speechless. Her shaky fingers pulled aside the material and unwrapped leather boots. She stared. Her bare toes curled in the gritty dirt. Tears blurred her vision, and she hastily blinked them away. Never once had Pa given her anything. Clutching them to her chest didn’t still the irregularity of her heart. She attempted to form words of thanks, but her lips couldn’t shape the sounds.

  He gave her another strange look and grunted. “Not stayin’ the night.” He removed a second package from the saddle. “I brung a venison slab, cornmeal, bag of salt, an’ flour. That’s all.” He pointed a finger at her and wagged it back and forth. “After today, don’t look fer me.”

  He walked away.

  She nodded her head and barely heard the significance of his words. She remained standing in one place. The solid boots felt wonderful held to her chest.

  “Thank you, God.” Joyfulness filled her heart. She longed to giggle and dance in circles. The boots signified a miracle to her. She was afraid to put them on her feet—afraid they might disappear.

  After slipping into the cabin and placing her new treasure on the table, she informed him of Leigh’s visit. “And Naomi sent a minced meat pie.” She knew it was best to keep Fern’s letter a secret.

  “He ain’t needin’ to bring no handouts here. I won’t eat it.” He sliced a hunk of venison from the cloth-wrapped meat, dropped it on the table, and hung the remainder under the edge of the loft. “Warm that.” He pointed at the meat, sank into the rocker, and fixed his stare on her.

  Pa’s cold eyes became unreadable.

  His large hands slid back and forth on the arms of the rocker, in a slow and methodical rhythm. The right one quivered. The thumb drummed against the wood arm in hollow thumps.

  Ella swallowed and felt an uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach. She had to break the silence. “I doubt he’ll be back.”

  “Who?” His unruly eyebrows rose with the one word.

  “Leigh.”

  “What else did he say? I don’t think I like him moseying ‘round you. He’s got a pretty wife.”

  “He didn’t say much.” Fern’s letter was her special secret.

  “Hmmph!” A low growl occurred deep in his throat. “He’s got no business up here.”

  His jerking hand caused her a pang of anxiety. She turned away and propped the cabin door open with a rock. She acted as if the open door was to let in the sunlight, but in reality, she intended it to be a way of escape—should he reach for the strap. She feared her mama’s absence would make him turn on her.

  “He said he saw you in the cove last night.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him what Leigh said about her helping with the twins, and then she thought better of enraging him. She also knew not to mention Velma expected another baby.

  “He needs to mind his own household.” He glowered at her and rubbed his unshaven jaw. “You’re a mess. That dress is wrinkled like an old goat’s hide. Besides, I don’t like seein’ you prancin’ about in Meara’s clothes. Find somethin’ else to wear ’sides her dress.”

  “I outgrew my—dress.” Her voice squeaked and broke.

  “Well, git out of her dress ‘fore I rip it off ya!” Pa half rose from the rocker. His narrow face twisted with an emotion more sinister than anger. His disturbing eyes moved down the length of the dress, and his hand lifted—as if to touch her.

  “Yes.” Ella gulped in air and sidled away from him. She ran to the ladder. Her fingers seized the irregular rungs, and she climbed as if he chased her.

  She crawled to her pile of clothes, alarm causing her to whimper. The selection was pitiful. She grabbed an old muslin shift and crept to the rear of the loft where he couldn’t see her undress. She changed in a hurry, but felt vulnerable in the shorter thin shift, so she snatched up a shawl to throw around her neck and shoulders.

  Her thoughts drifted to the blouses and skirts her mama kept folded in the trunk. She’d have to cut them apart and see what she could do with them, in order to have more clothes to wear—decent grownup clothing. Mama had promised to do it, but the pregnancy had kept her drained of energy just trying to get through each day.

  With her clothing changed, she turned her attention again to cooking.

  Ella cut up potatoes and heated them with slices of the smoked venison. She broke the meat apart with a fork. By adding a little water and flour, she produced gravy from the grease in the kettle. She formed two flat cakes and laid them on the rock shoved into the glowing coals. While she did the preparations, she avoided his eyes.

  Once they had eaten the silence-filled meal, he disappeared behind the curtain around the bed. She cleared the bowls and set her boots on the table. She applied bear grease to them, wiped, and rubbed it in with her fingertips. A shaft of sunlight beamed through the open door, shone along the tabletop, and caused the greasy leather to shimmer.

  “Mmm.” She sniffed the inside of one boot. At the same time, a familiar noise caused her to turn toward the curtain drawn along the foot of the bed. The lid of her mama’s trunk had been lifted. Its rusty hinges squeaked in protest.

  Why was Pa opening the trunk?

  She knew it contained her mama’s personal clothes, wedding sheets, and delicate items her mama treasured from before she got married. She tiptoed to the edge of the curtain, held her breath, and dared to peek beyond it.

  In the dimmer light, Pa squatted in front of the round-topped trunk. He carefully lifted folded sheets and blouses out of the way and dug into the depths. He pulled out a small light-colored item, resembling muslin rolled and secured with a string. His right hand and arm trembled as he untied a knot. The material unfurled like a flag. A folded bit of yellowed paper fluttered downward. It landed in the shadows near the foot of the bed.

  A bag hung from his fingers, and he loosened the drawstring at the top. Pa held it by the bottom edge, shook it, and poured the contents into his left hand. He used one quivering finger to poke the stuff in his cupped hand. A smile lifted his sunken cheeks.

  “Thank ya, Meara. The rest of this’ll pay me back in full. Better than a son,” he muttered. He managed to refill the bag and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Better than a son?

  Ella ducked out of sight and scooted to the bench. She stared at the boots, her mind spinning with questions. She tried to breathe slower and not exhibit any emotion. The muted thump of the trunk’s lid heralded his appearance. Pa slipped past the curtain. His arms held clothing and a quilt off the bed.

  “Move those boots.”

  She jumped, clutched the boots to her chest, and watched him. She hadn’t understood what took place behind the curtain, but now, she figured he had lost his mind. Why did he dump his clothes on the clay floor by the table?

  He spread the ragged patchwork quilt on the table and situated his chosen belongings in the center. Ella edged crosswise the room and sat in the rocker. She saw him collect hand tools and more small items. She swallowed the question on the tip of her tongue. Without a word of explanation, he folded in the corners of the quilt and tied it all with a thin strip of leather.

  His arm stopped shaking.

  To her, the quilt reminded her of Granny lifting the sides and corners of the sheet over her mama’s body for a shroud. Shuddering, she placed the boots on the floor and left the cabin without speaking to him.

  Why’d he pack all his clothes?

  Ella felt it best to avoid him, and she trotted to the springhouse. She climbed rocks above the gurgling creek and sat on a flat-surfaced boulder. Although the sun dappled the slate gray rocks, she shive
red. The spots of sunlight shifted, as the breeze caused the nearby branches to dance. She clasped her arms about her knees and tucked her bare toes under the full shift. She puzzled over Leigh’s words and the offer she live with them.

  She felt the big man knew things he didn’t tell her.

  Things about her pa didn’t make sense.

  “He’s goin’ to stay in the cove and not come back?” She tested the question aloud, because it tumbled through her mind. It would explain why her pa gathered his clothes.

  What will happen to me?

  A new sound reached her ears. Someone whistled a lilting tune.

  What now?

  She slid off her perch and crept barefooted through the woods. She watched Pa tie his belongings to the new saddle.

  “That’s strange.” She couldn’t recall ever hearing him whistle. A realization caused her to catch her breath.

  He did plan to leave for good.

  She scurried down the hill. “Pa? Wait.”

  He raised his head and watched her approach. “What do ya want?”

  “You’re—you’re leaving. Not comin’ back?” She felt dizzy. The lump in her stomach made her want to throw up.

  “Not returnin’.” He stepped into the stirrup and slipped onto the creaking saddle. His hat set low on his forehead and shielded his harsh eyes from her scrutiny. “Don’t ferget to feed the chickens an’ cows.”

  “But you can’t.”

  “I can’t? What I won’t do is stay here an’ see to the likes of you. I spent a fair share of these years waitin’ fer repayment—a son—fer givin’ ya my name. Now, I’ve only taken what’s owed me. I figger I ain’t duty-bound to the likes of ya. ‘Sides, I like grown women, not a skinny, no-curve girl.”

  She didn’t understand his rambling remarks.

  “You got in Mama’s trunk. You stole from her.” Shocked at her own blunt accusation, she edged out of reach. “I saw ya.”

  “No, it’s my past dues.” He swung the horse sideways and leaned from the saddle. His thin lips curled in a cruel, mocking smile.

  She saw disgust in his shadowed dark eyes.

  “Yer mama weren’t nothin’ but a tramp. I give my name to her offsprin’, at her pa’s pleadin’, in exchange fer this.” He waved a hand at the cabin and land surrounding them. “This stinkin’ land ain’t worth what I done. This is.” He padded his pocket.