Jim hung his head and hated to tell his papa. “Jacob said Duncan was ripping the girl’s clothes off, kissing her, and … having his way with her in the woods by the spring.”
“Enough!” His papa slammed a big fist on top of the stall and shook his head. “Now it’s time to deal with it.” His lips went pale under his white mustache.
“Papa, give Duncan some slack. Listen to his side. Remember, Jacob’s a liar. We all know that. What if there wasn’t even a fishing yarn’s truth to it? What if he did see someone with Fern, but it wasn’t Duncan?”
Papa stepped out of the stall and headed for the barn door. The cords on his neck bulged and stiffened like an old bull’s neck. He threw open the door and bellowed Duncan’s name.
Jim groaned. He knew Duncan would make him pay for revealing the details. Even so, a part of him rejoiced in his brother’s probable whipping. He started for the door, intending to make his escape before Duncan came in, but Papa threw out a sturdy arm and blocked his way.
“You’re staying. Duncan ain’t backing out of this. When you’re done with tomorrow’s morning chores, I want you to take a bundle of goods to Meara Huskey’s little girl. Check on her. See if Jacob came home. She’s skinny as a cattail, and her amazing eyes appear huge as an owl’s.”
Duncan stepped out of the night and into the barn. A waning moon showed over his shoulder. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light from the single lantern. “What’d you need?”
“Did you dishonor Nettie Stauffer’s daughter?”
The teen’s startled green eyes jerked sideways to search Jim’s face. “What do you mean?”
Ephraim raised his fist and shook it. “You heard me. Answer—now!”
“No.” Duncan swallowed. “Papa, I found out she’d be at the burying. I went to see her.”
“Is that all?”
“We took a walk above Jacob’s springhouse. I asked her to kiss me.”
“And?” Papa limped closer to him. His fist leveled with Duncan’s nose.
“I got carried away. I admit I held her tight and took kisses she refused to give. Something came over me. I didn’t do what Jacob said. I didn’t dishonor her. He lied. He got Fern in trouble for nothing. He wasn’t there.”
“He says he saw—”
“He didn’t see anything from that distance. I didn’t get a chance to tell Fern I was sorry. I ran into the woods because Jacob yelled for his girl—the one we met today. No, I shouldn’t have run and left Fern to face it. Manfred believed what that hateful man told him.” Duncan was as tall as his papa, but at the moment, he looked like a five-year-old. “I heard he’s sent Fern to where her sister lives in Saint—”
“Saint Augustine,” Papa bellowed.
“Papa, didn’t I say maybe Jacob lied?” Jim grabbed his arm. “Duncan, I told him that.” Jim had never seen their papa so livid. Regret hit. He was sure, at any second, his younger brother would get the worst beating of his life.
Duncan’s heavy-lidded eyes searched their papa’s face. “Papa, I’ve told you the truth. You gotta believe me. That rotten man’s lying. He left his girl child on the mountain alone the last couple days, while he frolicked with the cove’s worst woman. And he didn’t just start doing it since the burying. He’s no good. Papa, look at the source of the remarks. Jacob Huskey. You ain’t never had this kinda trouble out of me.”
“You’re right.” Papa dropped his arm and flexed his large-knuckled fingers. His chest heaved. He pushed one hand through his thick hair and nodded. “You boys haven’t given me reason to believe the likes of Jacob.”
“Whew.” Duncan stepped forward and grabbed Papa in a bear hug. “I figured I’d have to fight my own Papa.” He gave a weak chuckle and flashed a pleased look at Jim. “Brother, you heard it all. If’n we could talk to Fern, she’d tell the same. It’s just her stepfather thought it would shame him. He believed a lie.”
“Duncan, don’t you ever mistreat a girl or woman, again. That goes for little Ella Dessa. You were shameful today. I was disgusted to hear your disregard for her and to know you were my son.” Their papa wiped his face and head with his work-toughened hands as if cleansing the problem out of his mind. “I raised you better. I’m going to think things over. I might have you go tell Manfred the truth and beg him to bring the girl home for Nettie—that you’ll stay away from her. And—you will.” He lifted the assorted packs to his shoulder and pushed open the barn door. “I’ll take these.”
“Papa, I’ll bring them.” Jim eyed Duncan, judging his brother’s temperament.
“I’m taking them now. I know the path, even in the dark. You boys don’t dawdle. Mother’s probably got supper on.”
The wind whistled through cracks in the board walls and swept in at the open door. The lantern fluttered as Jim lifted it off the hook. “You coming?”
“No.” Duncan stood with head bowed. He kicked at the clay floor and scattered the litter of grass and leaves. The heavy scent of animal droppings drifted with the air movement. The summer calves jostled each other and bumped against the wall.
“Angry at me? I spoke to Papa about things, when I shouldn’t have.”
“So? Jim, I’m thinking of leaving here and striking out on my own. Maybe go south and find Fern. I need to tell her I’m sorry. She might consider marrying me.”
“Marry you? Naw. I bet she hates you. Besides, Papa said he’s not putting up with the way you wander off here and yon.”
Duncan ignored him and jerked his thumb at the calves. “You cleaning it out?”
“It’s your turn.”
“No. You owe me.”
Jim handed him the lantern. “Your words hurt Ella Dessa today. You stay and clean it. I won’t tell Papa you’re thinking of running out on him and the family, just when winter’s ready to set in. We need you.” He walked into the crisp night. The light in the cabin window and the lopsided moon guided him along the path to the steps.
*******
Two hours later, after supper and the evening Bible reading, Jim lay on his back in bed. He stared at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. The lopsided moon shone through the only window and dimly lit the bed. He wondered about the petite girl on the mountain. What had she eaten? Was she lonesome? Was she safe? He folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him.
The round cornflower-blue eyes of the girl kept bursting into his mind. He could see her sun-streaked hair lift with the breeze and wave across her thin face. Her hand moved, ever so slowly, to push a wayward strand of hair out of the way. The awful scars showed—revealed to his view. Bumpy and red, they engraved an appalling design into her delicate skin.
He wanted to reach out, trace the tracks of the scars, and fit his fingers in the lines disfiguring Ella Dessa’s neck. He wondered what caused them. He tossed and turned on his lumpy mattress. What did that to her? Her father’s own hand?
An animal? He raised his right hand in the dark, spread his fingers, and then snatched them down across his neck and chest. His elbow hit the cornhusk mattress. “Yes!”
Duncan groaned and rolled over. His knees prodded Jim’s side. “Go to sleep. You woke me with your muttering and bouncing. Give me more of the quilt!”
“Sorry.” Jim turned to face the log wall. The air was cold, but the quilt was a big comfort. And Duncan’s solid body next to his added warmth. He felt sorry for Ella in the dilapidated cabin higher on the mountain.
Chapter 11
Tuesday, September 27, 1836
Jim watched his mother put whole potatoes and dried beans in one burlap sack and wrap a piece of muslin over a loaf of spiced pumpkin bread. The scent of breakfast hung heavy in the warm kitchen.
“Here’s the bread. I’ll put it on top so it isn’t crushed. I packed a small hunk of ham in the bottom. This other bag has two apples.” She wrapped a bundle of onions with a piece of yarn and tied it. “There, that does it. I have to tend to my bacon.”
“I think it’s a bit much for one under
sized girl.” He left the bundle on the table and smashed his felt hat on his head. He lifted a long-barreled rifle off iron hooks above the fireplace.
“Remove your hat.”
He pawed the hat off his head. “I’ll be gone most of the morning.”
“I know.” His mother bent over the fireplace. With a metal fork, she pierced and turned thick strips of bacon in the iron skillet. She gave a loud sigh and laid the fork on a nearby stone. “Maybe Jacob went home last night.” Her eyes appeared troubled, and the frown lines on her forehead were more prominent.
“I doubt it. After hearing all the rumors—”
“I wish I had known her mother better. She didn’t come off the mountaintop much, but I heard she did join the women when they quilted. You know I’m not much of a quilter. I missed meetings and failed to get to know her.”
“Mother, what made the scars on Ella Dessa’s neck?”
“A young panther. Over two years ago.”
“How come I never heard about it?”
“I would think you had.” She thought for a second or two. “Well, none of us knew about it at first, and I guess you had your feelings set on a pretty girl at that time.” Her hazel eyes twinkled. She pointed a finger. “Remember? You always hiked down to see that little redhead.”
“Hmmph. That was a waste of time. She’s gone. Her family left for Virginia. So, what about the panther?”
“Well, from what I heard, it attacked her by their creek. Jacob shot it. But it was the old circuit rider, Brother Cassel, making a visit to their cabin, who found out about the incident. Meara feared she’d lose her only child. Ella Dessa had ran a high fever, and the scratches got infected. Jacob refused to go for Granny and prevented his wife from seeking help.”
“He’s crazy.” Jim felt his face flush with anger. “He deserves to be hanged.”
“Watch your talk, young man.”
“So, what did Brother Cassel do?”
“He got word to Granny. She rode her old mule to the cabin and bullied her way in. A skinny, immature panther had tried jumping the girl, but instead knocked her in the creek. Its claws only gouged her skin. Otherwise, she’d have died. Granny doctored the poor child, but it was months before she recovered from the infection. Jacob wouldn’t allow Meara to leave their homestead during that time. Guess he figured his wife might talk bad of him. So, talk of it died away—at least it did when Jacob was within hearing.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “You know why. Most people don’t like to rile him.”
“Unbelievable.” He gritted his teeth. “That man’s lacking in normal human feelings.”
“Tut-tut. Let’s leave off the condemning.” Inez ruffled his hair.
“Don’t.” He tried to duck out of her reach.
“Son, not everyone is as wonderful as your father. You’re blessed. All of us are.”
“Mother, when was the last time you saw the girl and her mother?” He ran a hand over his thick hair and smoothed it to his head.
“Oh, let’s see. Meara came to the only quilting bee I attended this past summer. She brought Ella Dessa with her, but we didn’t talk. Meara spent time cutting out a couple of shirts for Velma’s boys, instead of quilting with the others. From what I hear, she had a heart of pure gold and a knack for designing patterns of all sizes.”
The heavy outside door opened. Duncan and Josie came in, bringing a draft of cooler air with them.
“Hmm, smells good,” Josie said. “Can I have a piece of bacon?”
“When we all sit down.” Inez waved them to the table. “Where’s your papa and the others?”
“Coming. Grace is dressing Phillip. He’s ornery today.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. Its brown waves shimmered, crimped from the tight weave of a single braid during the night.
Jim asked one more question of his mother. “Did Jacob beat his wife?”
Duncan gave a loud snort and mumbled, “Do porcupines waddle?”
Josie giggled. “Yes.”
“Hush, Jim—Duncan.” Mother’s voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s not a subject we should discuss.” She moved away from the table.
“Maybe, that’s the problem,” Jim said. “Men like him can treat their wives as if they are nothing but a dog.”
“Just make sure you never treat a wife that way.”
“Not getting married.” He snatched a piece of bacon from the iron skillet and nibbled at it. “Ouch, that’s hot.” He had already eaten, but the thick crunchy-sided slices were too tasty to ignore. He lowered his voice. “It’s too bad about the girl’s neck. It’s shocking to see.”
“Yes, I know. I need to explain it to the other children so they don’t ask her about them. I was surprised no one did yesterday.”
“I am, too. But you brought us up to not hurt another’s feelings.” He gave Duncan a meaningful look. “She’s a tough girl.”
“That she is.” His mother smiled, and tears welled in her eyes. “And so skinny. You wouldn’t think of her as tough. Jim, let her know she’s welcome to come stay here.” She wiped at her eyes. “I wish I could go with you, but Leigh sent word Velma took a fall. Little Scott had to go for help. They think she broke her wrist. Granny Hanks requested I prepare a meal for the family.”
“Gust just left yesterday morning for the mines. Maybe, she didn’t fall on her own.”
“Hush, Jim.”
“Well, people wonder about her unusual injuries.” He stepped to the table, ignoring Duncan’s dark scowl.
“Have fun hiking while I work,” Duncan muttered.
Jim chuckled, enjoying his brother’s dark scowl. “Why, thank you, brother.” He collected the sacks, shouldered the weapon, and bent to kiss his mother’s soft cheek—cool where tears had flowed. “Mother, I do believe you’re getting shorter and shorter.”
“Quit being a smart face.” She made a fist and punched him on the upper arm. “You’re just outgrowing your pants. Get along with you. Please give her my love. Make her understand we care.”
Duncan spoke up. “Why do I get stuck sorting traps and plowing under the field? And he gets to traipse up the mountain?”
“It’s because you’d get lost following the trail to the top.” Jim grinned over his shoulder. “Have fun oiling those traps.” What he wanted to add was—you didn’t exactly make friends with Ella Dessa.
He went to the barn and got a backpack his father had constructed from worn leather saddlebags. He flipped it open and slid the burlap sacks of vittles into its depths. After adjusting the straps, he fitted it to his shoulders.
With the gun in hand, he jogged the first part of the trail.
An unusual, heavy frost had turned the mountain pines into tall white sentinels. The morning was dreary and cold, more wintery than fall. He pulled the brim of his hat lower and watched his breath float upward.
He dreaded winter. It meant miserable, short daylight hours. More than any other season, winter ate at his soul. His parents shook their heads at his complaints about tending to penned cattle and sheep, watching for predators, and hauling in cord after cord of split wood for the fire, not to mention treacherous hikes to the spring for water. It wasn’t his idea of fun. Plus, nights of marauding animals and daylight hikes to check trap lines along rocky streams didn’t appeal to him.
The innumerable cases of jangled nerves, sickness, and cabin fever brought out the worst in all family members—especially when it rained and the temperatures dropped. He hated it when their large clan had to stay crammed between solid log walls. Now that they were older, it felt like suffocation.
Before he topped the trail at the Huskey homestead, he saw and caught a whiff of wood smoke. It drifted low to the ground, like a fog crawling among the trees. The coarse log building, secluded under the pines, came into view.
A weighted plume of smoke rose from the stone and clay chimney, curled snake-like, and drifted toward the ground.
“Morning! Hello?” He respectfully stopped six fe
et from the moss-edged structure. No breeze moved the surroundings while he waited. His lips felt chapped. His fingers had grown stiff, even while stuffed in his pockets.
The warped wooden door eased open. Ella Dessa had a tattered, multi-colored quilt draped over her narrow shoulders. Gray stockings showed below her muslin shift. Her light-colored hair fell disheveled about her narrow shoulders, emphasizing her stiff posture.
“I weren’t expectin’ you back so soon.”
“Mother sent me with staples she thought you could use. We’ve more than we can eat. May I speak to your father?”
“He’s not here.” Her blue eyes had purple circles under them.
“Mother sent food.” He shrugged the pack off his back and leaned his gun against the exterior log wall. His cold fingers fumbled with a buckle on the pack. “Look, fresh pumpkin bread.” He held up the muslin-wrapped loaf. “Mother baked it before daybreak. I saw her scraping the pumpkin. Still feels warm to my freezing hands.”
With her eyes on the oblong bundle, the girl stepped back and motioned him into the cabin’s dim interior.
The heat from the fireplace hit him and reminded him of sunburn. He set the pack and bread on the table and grinned. He saw the girl’s wide-eyed look of delight—because of a loaf of bread.
“Hmm.” She unwrapped the bread, gripped the loaf with both hands, and held it under her nose. “It smells like heaven,” she whispered.
He laughed. “Well, go ahead and taste a bit of heaven. May I sit by your fire? It feels like heaven in here.”
“Yes.” She laid the bread on the table and snugged the quilt tighter about her small frame. “I’ll be back.” She slipped behind a bit of frayed sheeting hanging from a rope.
Jim added more wood to the fire and poked at the glowing coals while he eyed the contents of the cramped living space. Only the barest of essentials filled the one-room cabin. A rough-sawn pine table, with two benches, took up the most room. A rocker and chair sat to the left of the fireplace, and a broken spinning wheel leaned against the far wall. A basket of jumbled clothes stood near the curtain, which blocked his view of the bed.
The Girl Called Ella Dessa: Will she ever be cherished for the inner beauty beneath her scars? Page 11