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

by Karen Campbell Prough

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” In order to face her, he walked sideways—shuffling his boots.

  “I know the things I can take care of, ‘specially with God’s help. It’s best I do this.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch. “We need to get by on our own—Velma and me—without people in the cove helping us. Why, just last night, Lyle brought us a chicken he killed.”

  Samuel’s face brightened. “Hey, Ella Dessa, I forgot! Papa told me last week to let you know I’ll be bringing your two cows to Velma’s, along with your chickens. The hens will be laying soon—it’s that time of the year. A couple will be good brooders.”

  She almost came to an abrupt halt in the path. “Oh, Samuel. For honest? I never expected them back—after your papa havin’ to feed them.” She touched his arm. “That’d be just what we need. I’d feel like I were repaying Velma, if my chickens laid eggs and had chicks.”

  “That’s not all. Some time back, Papa said he put our bull in with your two cows. I heard him tell Mother the old bull stood up to them—right nice. Bet your cows will have calves.”

  Ella felt her face go warm, to hear such boldly stated information. “I see. Tell him thanks.” She stopped as they reached Beckler’s small store. “Well, here we are.”

  “I don’t know as I like you starting school.” Samuel shuffled his boots in the dirt and folded his arms. “It’ll seem funny not stopping by with your assignments. My feet are accustomed to going that way.” He grinned boyishly. “How do I retrain them?”

  She realized a lump had formed in her throat. “Samuel, you’ve been faithful to help me the last few months. I will miss you stoppin’ by.”

  His face brightened with pleasure at her words, and he tapped at his chest with his right thumb. “Oh, I’ll miss it more than you.”

  “Oh, but just think, you’ll be gettin’ home earlier. It won’t be near dark.”

  He gave a harrumph. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He fiddled with a ragged spot on the sleeve of his coat and gazed up at the mountain behind the store. “My brothers will expect me to help them.”

  With a peal of laughter, she waved her hand. “Bye, Samuel.” She told Velma’s children to sit on the steps and wait for her. She wanted to be alone when she talked to the owner.

  It felt cooler inside, and she shivered. Mr. Beckler towered over a short bald man, and the two of them were haggling over the price of some leather gloves. Ella gripped her hands behind her back and waited.

  The rear door of the store stood as wide open as the front door. It caused a waft of air to blow through the entire store, from back to front. She could see a reddish bank of dirt and stony rubble piled behind the building. Smoke drifted from a smoldering outdoor fire pit. An iron tripod and kettle straddled it. An old donkey, tethered to a tree stump, stood with his head hung and eyes closed. The dropping sun glinted along his back and scruffy coat.

  She breathed in the scent of wood smoke, the grassy smell of twirled hemp ropes, and the familiar aroma of dried herbs. Mixed in was the taint of human sweat. With a slight turn of her head, more scents grew recognizable. There were soaps made from delicate flower blossoms, crisp new cloth, bagged grains, lantern oil, and leather—her favorite scent in the store.

  Ella curled her toes in her leather boots and remembered when her pa gave them to her. Even though his last and only gift to her had been a token of his unspoken guilt-feelings, the sight of them always filled her with joy.

  Pivoting on her boot heels, she surveyed the room. Tanned leather whips hung coiled and looped over wood pegs on the sidewall. They were part of the store’s leftover stock—supplied for cattle drives down to the gold mines.

  Three-drawstring bags, fashioned from cured deer hides caught her attention. They hung at eye level, and she moved closer.

  Intricate images of deer, bear, violets, butterflies, and a variety of birds graced the golden leather bags. The designs had been cut and tapped into the surface. With her fingertips, Ella traced the patterns and marveled at the minuscule details. The fine feathers on the birds were so delicate they couldn’t be felt, only seen with the eye.

  She whispered each name as she identified them. “That’s a hummingbird, a ruffed grouse, and—”

  “Well, well. Ella Dessa, what can I do for you?”

  “Oh!” She jumped at the sound of Mr. Beckler’s voice and realized his customer had left.

  “Admiring the leather bags? They are more than beautiful. They are works of art.” The hefty-shouldered man moved to stand beside her. “Shouldn’t be hanging in my small store.” His pleasant smile widened under the white mustache covering his top lip. “Like them?” He studied her face as if he perused an open book.

  “Yes, very much. I like to draw.” Self-conscious at his frank scrutiny, she turned her head away and dipped her chin downward. She knew he had seen her scars many times in the past—but not when she hoped to ask for a job.

  “I’m selling them for a relative of the schoolmaster. The gentleman delivered them today, along with other leather goods. He says to give some of the profit to the schoolmaster.”

  Ella’s pulse quickened. “Our teacher?”

  “Yep, the same. I think the man is his uncle.”

  Miles Kilbride!

  “He brought … brought this in here?”

  “Yes. Konrad Strom’s uncle is an artist. My sister’s thrilled with his work—her being good at that stuff herself. He even does wood carvings. Konrad told me his mother’s brother made a second trip from North Carolina, to bring a bundle of books for the schoolhouse. He’s now headed back east. He’s a very friendly, likeable man. In fact, he was here this morning.”

  Her thoughts flashed back to the letter in her carved wooden box.

  Walter chuckled. “He teased me about having a mountain cove named after me. I told him it was named after my father, who set up a trading store with the Indians many years ago.”

  Ella chewed at her bottom lip and eyed the beautiful designs. They rivaled anything she had ever seen, except one particular item. Her thoughts went to the meticulous, detailed flower petals carved into her mama’s box. She knew the artist had to be the same person. And the connection must be kept a secret.

  Mr. Beckler rubbed a hand over his neatly-trimmed beard and waited, apparently puzzled by her prolonged silence. He nodded toward the rear of the store. “Nice day we’re having. It’s invigorating. I’m bringing in the good air by propping the doors. It helps build the body’s strength.” He flexed his arm muscles and grinned. “How’s Velma? My sister’s worried about her.”

  “She’s fairly well. The baby’s growin’.” With nervousness mounting in her chest, Ella eyed the friendly face of the storeowner. Then she swallowed her pride and blurted out her reason for dropping in. “She’s why I’m here. I need to find a way to help Velma. I want to earn some money for vittles and cloth.”

  “Oh? You want to help Velma?” He didn’t hesitate. “I could use someone to straighten these shelves.” He lifted a bolt of material. Its tight-woven, beige finish contrasted his tanned fingers. “If Velma can spare you, can you start tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Her mouth went dry. The asking and the receiving had been quick and easy. “After school, perhaps?” she ventured to ask in return.

  “Of course, after school it is.” He placed the bolt of material on a shelf behind him and lovingly patted it with his hand. “This here is my finest linen. I don’t let folks touch it, unless buying, so remember that. I ordered it from Richmond.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her heart turned flips. She had a job—it would help provide food and dry goods for Velma’s family.

  “To start, Ella Dessa, at the end of each week you may exchange your earnings for supplies Velma may need.” He hesitated and then said, “Plus, I’ll throw in a small sack of flour or meal once a week. Feel free to take a piece of taffy to the little ones when you leave on Fridays. If I need you on Saturdays, we’ll do an exchange for your time. Is that
agreeable?”

  “Oh, yes! Thank you.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her heart overflowed with joy. She paused at the doorway and smiled at him. “I’ll work hard.”

  “Whoa!” Mr. Beckler smacked his own forehead with the palm of his right hand. “Near about forgot. There’s a letter for you. The rider dropped it off here last Friday—literally on the run. The man hardly paused. He was heading north.”

  “Me?” Dumbfounded, she pointed at her chest.

  “Yes. Let’s see.” He opened a shallow drawer in the rough-built counter behind him and pulled out a dirty, folded piece of paper. He wiped it across the front of his shirt. “It has your name but no return address. I was going to bring it to you.” His brown eyes peered over his spectacles and showed immense interest. “Must be from far away, it’s so soiled. A bit was due on it, but I took care of it.”

  “Thank you.” Her fingers trembled, as she grasped the sealed missive. She didn’t want to open it in front of him.

  “The courier will ride through the first of the month, on his way down to Dahlonega, and then south,” he gave her a slight nod, “if you’re hoping to attempt a reply.”

  “I understand.” She clutched it in her hand and joined the children outside.

  Scott leaped to his feet. A long stem of wild grass dangled from the gap between his front teeth. “What did he say?”

  “I start tomorrow.” She answered Scott, but her eyes sought Samuel’s beaming face.

  “I knew you’d do it,” Samuel said. “Nobody can say no to you. Now, if it was me—he’d laugh.”

  “What’s that?” Scott plucked the stem from his mouth and grabbed at her arm. “For Mama?” He tossed the grass and tried to jerk the sealed letter from her grasp. “It’s from Pappy?”

  “No, it’s my very own letter—penned to me. See?” She pointed at her name on the front fold, fluttered it in front of his frustrated face, and then tucked it in the waistband of her skirt.

  “I waited. Can I walk with you today?” Samuel’s eyes seemed more blue than green in the afternoon sunlight. “I’ve never been able to walk you home.”

  “I’d like that—we’d like that.” Ella took Carrie’s hand and headed past the small blacksmith’s shack.

  A chinking noise and the hiss of hot steam coming from the crude structure seemed to add to the sound of her heart thumping in her ears. Exhilaration churned in her veins. The day turned out wonderful—first school and then news of her cows and chickens. To top it off, she had a job and a personal letter to read.

  Samuel fell into step beside her. “You’re smiling.”

  “I’m happy.”

  “Why are these birds comin’ back so soon?” Scott grabbed cherry-sized stones from the ground and tossed them at tiny blue-gray birds flitting through leafing tree branches.

  “The gnatcatchers must know it’s an early spring. They want to build nests. After all, it’s nearly half through April. You shouldn’t hurt ‘em,” Ella said.

  Carrie frowned. “He always hurts birds.”

  Ella stopped and pursed her lips. “Spee, spee, spee!” She mimicked the bird’s soft and repetitive call. “Why hurt them? There’s times when you can call ‘em right down out of the trees by doing that. They get curious. My Mama taught—Scott, don’t!”

  Carrie giggled, a very extraordinary sound coming from her. She watched Scott throw another wild stone. “He always misses.”

  “Shucks, Carrie. I heard that.” Bending over, Scott scooped three more round stones. “Watch this.” He trotted ahead of them and continued his barrage on the feathered creatures.

  Ella shook her head. “That’s mean.”

  Carrie nodded and slipped her hand into Ella’s hand. “He likes to be mean.”

  “I want to do that.” Remy collected his own arsenal of stones.

  Samuel glanced at Ella and chuckled. “I remember doing the same thing.”

  “When you was a child, many moons ago?” she said, with a bit of sarcasm.

  “Why, sure. I’m fourteen, now.” He took a deep breath and stuck out his chest. “I’m almost grown.”

  She stopped and faced him, swinging Carrie’s hand in hers. “You’re taller, that’s for sure.”

  “Head taller than you.”

  “Ah, huh. Isn’t it funny how things change?” She was fully aware of how handsome Samuel had become—how broad his shoulders seemed. The teen boy had made a turn toward manhood, and she felt left behind.

  He cleared his throat. “I like changes.” His intense eyes said more than his words, as they moved from her eyes to her lips.

  She dropped her head, hiding from his frank scrutiny.

  Carrie tugged loose of her hand and ran to join the stone-flinging fun.

  “I think we’ve been left alone.” Samuel stepped closer.

  She felt his hands touch her shoulders and raised her head. “What?” His fingers pulled her toward him.

  He touched his lips to her cheek. It was a soft, fluttery caress, and Ella shivered, forgetting where they stood.

  “Hmm. I better hike up the mountain.” He stumbled backwards and tripped over an exposed tree root. His lips curved in a wide smile. “I’m happy for you—for Walter hiring you. I have chores to do.”

  “Samuel?” She touched her cheek.

  “Gotta go.” He pointed to a faint trail going up a ravine. “I’m taking the old path. See you tomorrow.”

  She still felt his light kiss. A lump formed in her throat. Something told Ella her life had turned a corner, much like spring pushing away winter’s harshness.

  The three children reappeared at the bend in the trail, and Carrie placed her hands on her hips and called. “Are you comin’?”

  “Yes, wait for me.” She ran to join them—her heart so bubbling full she couldn’t stop smiling.

  The four of them rounded the last curve in the dirt trail. The sound of the babbling creek grew in volume, and the wretched cabin slipped into view.

  Carrie’s bare feet came to a stumbling halt. Her fingers clawed at Ella’s sleeve, and she made an abnormal whimpering sound. Scott’s stones slipped from his fists, and the boy froze in his tracks.

  Remy’s mouth fell open. “A wagon.” He sidestepped toward Ella and crouched on his heels in the dirt. “Why?”

  “Our wagon.” Scott’s words were a mere whisper in the breeze. “He’s home.”

  Chapter 25

  “It’s Pappy. He’s come home.” Scott’s legs broke into a trot, and he headed for the wagon with two horses tied to a tree. Two more horses, wearing ragged saddles, stood in front of the cabin—reins wrapped about the single hitching post.

  Carrie remained planted. Her flat chest jerked with each breath she inhaled. “No, no!” Moans poured from her colorless lips. “Quick! Go back—to the school.”

  Ella laid her stuff on the ground, encircled Carrie with her arms, and used her own body to shield the child from the sight of the dilapidated wagon. “Come here, Remy.” She held her hand out, wiggling her fingers to the younger boy. “I want you close to me.”

  Her hands patted the girl’s back while she looked over her shoulder at Scott. He jumped on the wheel of the wagon, stared into the bed, and then hopped backward to the ground—almost falling in the process. With extra haste, he scampered away as if a snake were coiled within the rotted sides of the wagon.

  Then he ran to examine the two skinny horses in the harness. He expertly ran his child-sized hands over their necks, backs, and withers. With unexpected tenderness, he cupped the one horse’s dark muzzle and leaned his forehead against it.

  Ella then realized one thing about the hotheaded child—he could show tenderness.

  Scott jogged to them and faltered to a stop.

  “It’s him. And sure ‘nough our horses. High Knees is the blood bay. But he’s thin, now. Bellows is the black. He breathes funny, but I like ‘im.” Scott bounced on his toes with dirty fists and arms drawn close to his chest. Nervous energy showed in his movem
ents.

  “The horses—they’re yours?”

  “Ah-huh.” He nodded then shrugged. “Least ways, the two hitched to the farm wagon. Wagon’s ours.”

  She stared at the tall red horse with its ribs showing. The sight caused her shudder—as if it represented a dreadful warning. She wondered what to do.

  “There’s a dead wolf in the back of it.” Scott almost shouted it at her.

  “Shh!” She placed her finger against her lips. “A wolf?”

  “A dead wolf?” Remy’s mushroom-brown eyes grew big and round.

  Scott nodded. His face had lost color. He nervously licked his pale lips and drew in air through the gap between his front teeth. “Flat dead. Eyes open.”

  Carrie clung tighter to Ella and whimpered.

  “He shot it. The head’s bleedin’. Pappy must be in … with Mama. I didn’t hear nothin’ though. He’s usually yellin’.” The uptight tone in Scott’s voice said more than mere words could’ve at that point. He feared for his mama’s safety, and he wanted to fight for her. “I got to go in there.”

  “No, you don’t. Let me think.” She swallowed. “Stay quiet.” She couldn’t let the children walk in on an awful situation. Where could she send them? Back to the store?

  Remy tugged on her skirt. His uneasy eyes searched her face. “He don’t hear Pappy?”

  Instantly, she made a decision. “Scott, take Carrie and Remy. Go along the trail to the dead pine. You know the one. Near the angled path to the creek?”

  He nodded, and his brown-flecked hazel eyes widened with apprehension. “Ah-huh. The lightnin’-struck one. Looks like a gray haunt.” With the tip of his tongue, he explored the gap between his teeth. His lips twisted, and he fought tears.

  “Don’t follow me.” She pointed her finger at the three of them, her voice firm. “Stay under the tree, ‘til I come for you. You hear?” She snatched her stuff from the ground.

  Scott grabbed Remy’s hand and ran. Carrie fled right behind them. In no time, they vanished and dust settled in their small tracks.