Within the Candle's Glow

by Karen Campbell Prough

  She patted the bench. “Sit with me?”

  He sat, stiffened like a statue, and stared straight ahead. His hands clenched on his thighs. “Now what? Me sitting—will this help?” His tone sounded rude and sarcastic.

  “God will give peace, in the measure you need. Pray … ask him to help you.” She wrapped her fingers over the top of his right fist.

  “Ella, I’m not much on praying. That was Papa’s thing to do.” Jim’s hand shook under hers. “That’s a part of me you don’t know. God seems far away.”

  “He’s not. You’re the one resistin’ Him.”

  His hand turned and clasped hers. His red-rimmed eyes stared at their hands.

  “Ella, when I was younger, I was afraid to pray—knew God would see temper bubbling under the surface of my skin. So, I tried harder to control it. It did no good.”

  “Jim, by prayin’ about your temper, you’d get His help … not His dislike. Don’t you know that? Duncan’s away from your control, but not your prayers. He mightn’t never come back. Let God deal with him.” She took a deep breath and continued, “Perchance, he ain’t wrong in what he does. He’s jest diff’rent from you. He makes his own way in life. The sting of your papa’s death … you cain’t change. Let God wash it away, like a waterfall pushes aside woodsy trash.”

  Jim squeezed her hand. “I’m not worthy of God’s attention. I’ve been too bitter.”

  “No! Look at it this way. Samuel’s keepin’ busy. We’ve talked a few times. He tries to find humor in things. He’s helpin’ Konrad teach, so he don’t brood over things. That’s his way of dealin’ with sorrow.”

  Jim snorted in disgust and glared at the sloping woods in front of them.

  “Oh, I’m keeping busy. I shouldn’t even be here. You see … I wish Samuel would be busier at work around the homestead. Papa built up the place, knowing he had three older sons. I’m only one of them.”

  “Jim, you know Samuel has yearned to teach. Workin’ a farm ain’t in his blood, ‘though he loves these mountains. Tillin’ the soil’s not what God put in his heart. I know he helps you with chores.”

  “Then I’m left to handle the rest alone? The girls can’t help. Phillip’s too young, and he’s got unusual problems—” Jim shook his head. “Our little brother will never talk like he should.”

  “He’s a smart boy.”

  “His problem adds to Mother’s burdens. I watch her stand by the ridge and stare down the slope to the cove. There’s sadness in her. She’s empty and not bubbling with the sweetness and joy we used to see. My sister, Grace, has her own family, with Quinn and baby Emma to care for. Mother’s lonely. What do I do?”

  In order to get his attention, Ella tugged on his hand. “What if she’s not needin’ help? Have you asked her? Maybe you’re anguishin’ daily over sorrow she has in control. Inez is a strong woman. Prayer and thoughts of Heaven will see her through the bad times. The pain’ll ease after a time.”

  “Ella, I wish Papa had agreed to settle in the cove instead of higher up.” He stared at her hand, pressed his big fingers along her palm, and then clasped her whole hand in both of his. “I don’t know how to release the bitterness inside me.”

  “You don’t want to.” She recognized the signs of pure stubbornness. “You’re hangin’ onto pain plus anger. It’s keepin’ you afloat, like a dead limb goin’ downstream.”

  “Watch for waterfalls?” He turned his head and regarded her with a smirk.

  She smiled at his sarcasm. It gave her a sense of relief. “Well, if that be so, can you ride your anger over it?” She leaned closer. “God may test you.”

  “You have a way with words.” He frowned.

  “God sees your anger over Duncan. You’ll never control that wayfarin’ brother, but you can love him. Stop biddin’ him to be the brother you want him to be. Let him go. God may approve of him.”

  “Approve?” Jim’s dark mustache hid most of a tentative smile touching his lips. “That red-headed brother of mine is tough to love and hard to understand.”

  “Ah, I disagree.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “We’ve talked since your papa’s death. There’s more to your wanderin’ brother than shows on the surface.”

  “Hmmph!” He regarded her with apparent fresh interest. “I don’t think you’re right. But, you know, when he came home before Papa died? He got to telling stories of the Florida Territory, and I had the wildest urge to run away with him.”

  She smiled. “You two once liked hikin’ together.”

  “Yes, but I better not leave, eh?” Jim gave a mocking laugh. “Samuel would be in charge. Poor Mother.”

  Ella carefully chose her next words. “Samuel might surprise you. You’re not lettin’ him step out of the little brother spot. Why … he’s older than me! He can handle more than one thing at a time—if he has to.”

  Jim retained her hand. “So, what do you think of me? You’ve got to have an opinion. You seem to know my brothers.”

  Surprised at the swift turn in the conversation, she bowed her head and studied their fingers—intimately laced together. It felt comforting and unbelievable to have her hand nestled within his.

  “Jim, I’ve seen your loyalty to your family—since I was twelve. I know ‘bout Duncan wanderin’ away. Your mother depends on you.”

  He tugged on her hand and shifted closer, so his leg pressed against her skirt and thigh. “No, Ella, I guess what I want to hear is—what do you feel about me?”

  Her eyes met his. She fought to hold back what filled her heart. “I don’t know what you’re askin’. I … I like you. You’re nice to me.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s nothin’ more.” She wiggled her fingers and struggled to release them. “We’ve talked ‘bout enough things.”

  His clasp tightened, but his gray eyes softened. “You’ll soon be seventeen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what else I wrestle with?” His lips barely moved with the question. “It’s jealousy. I know Samuel’s in love with you.”

  “No—” She shook her head.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “How silly.” She twisted her hand free and jumped to her feet. Her shawl fell to the leaves. “Samuel’s not in love with me. Jim McKnapp, go find your hat—over by that tree. I’m happy your bad mood has changed. Now stop teasin’ me.”

  “All it took was time spent with you.” He bent forward, and his fingers caught the corner of her shawl and lifted it from the ground. “Here.”

  She grasped it against her chest. “I must go help Carrie. Until today, she’s never been in charge.”

  Jim stood facing her. “I’ll take your words to heart. I’ll do better at talking to God about my problems. And … I wish I could protect you the rest of my life.”

  “Protect me?” She didn’t want protection as a child or sister might need.

  “Promise to let me be your protector—when there’s trouble?”

  “Promise you?” She didn’t understand his request. She wanted to throw herself in his arms and beg him to love her. “Then you must promise to give your anger to God.”

  “I’ll try, if God’ll listen to me. A weight is gone for the moment, because you listened.” He grinned and gave her a slight shove toward the trail. “Get out of my sight, little girl.”

  “Little girl!” She experienced a flare of anger. “Jim—”

  “Ah, watch the temper.” He lifted a hand, with the palm facing her. “I’m not like my brother, Duncan, but I’m fighting the wild desire to grab you in my arms. Run, little Ella Dessa Huskey, before I kiss that childish pout off your face.” He strode away to snatch his hat from the leaves.

  As if her feet had sprouted wings, she fled from his presence. He threatened to kiss her! He didn’t know how much she longed to be in his arms. “Childish, indeed,” she whispered with a happy giggle.

  #

  A small hand patted his hip. Jim turned from unsaddling his ho
rse and nudged his hat higher on his forehead. “Phillip? What is it?”

  The boy’s childish green eyes squinted in the late afternoon sun. He pointed at the house and touched the back of his head.

  “Mother wants me?” The hand movement indicated their mother’s hair bun.

  He nodded.

  “Run and tell her I’m on my way. Got to put up the saddle.” He tugged the homemade saddle off the horse and toted it to the barn. He glanced over his shoulder and eyed his little brother. The child trotted across the field to the house, his bare feet kicking dust.

  Close to seven years old, Phillip still acted like a younger child. His lack of full speech and short build caused the family to baby him. He was always obedient and mild tempered, which helped endear him to everyone.

  How much will Phillip remember of Papa?

  Jim struggled with sadness when he thought of the future without Papa’s presence and guidance. He lifted the old saddle to the wall of a stall, barred the barn door, and walked to the house. He ignored the urge to turn his head toward the empty field. He still had a notion if he did, he’d see Papa limping up from the sheep pen.

  “Hey, where’d you go to?” Samuel burst from the house and jumped off the porch—ignoring the steps. Because of his compact build, he appeared shorter than his five-foot, eleven-inch frame. “I figured you’d be right home. I forked some old fodder to the pigs. Would you believe one sow gave birth last night? Ten of them.” He held up both his hands, fingers spread wide. “Mother’s sure happy.”

  “I left the mill and stopped to talk to Ella.”

  “About what? The barn dance at Kilbride’s? I planned to ask her.” His face reddened.

  “Sam, there’s no contest. I didn’t ask her.” A knot of anger in his chest caused his next words to reflect his own jealousy. “Go ahead, see if she’ll go with you.”

  “Hey, you angry with me?”

  “No. Should I be?”

  Samuel followed him to the porch steps of the dogtrot and tapped his arm. “Jim, I know something’s eating at you like a bear trap.”

  He whirled. “You’re right. It’s a trap—a trap wrapping itself around me and pressing its teeth into my soul. I’m tired of trying to do all the work. I get no help from you, apart from what you can spare from school. Do you understand? You’re past seventeen. Papa’s death didn’t free you of chores around here.”

  Samuel’s face went pale. “I’m sorry.” He raised his right hand to touch Jim’s arm.

  Flinching, Jim stepped out of reach. “Prove you’re sorry by doing more around here. That’s our mother in there. She needs both of us helping her, not just me.”

  “Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it, as he stared at Jim. “I understand. Sorry, I’ll do my share.” An unusual, withdrawn look passed over his youthful face.

  “You need to. Or I’ll leave like Duncan has.” His conscience immediately slapped him for what he said, but he ignored Samuel, and entered the log house.

  “Jim?” His mother turned from the pine table, a cleaning rag in her hands. “What’s wrong? I heard raised voices.”

  “Nothin’.” He averted his eyes, flipped his hat at a peg on the wall, and headed for the washbasin.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He splashed water over his face, wishing he could cleanse away the turmoil in his mind. Samuel’s hurt expression flashed before him.

  I forgot the age difference between us. He groaned. What was I thinking? He’s Ella’s age.

  Jim dried his face and hands while his eyes scanned the orderly room. The spinning wheel was the only item out of place, indicating his mother had used it. Samuel had chosen not to follow him inside, and none of the other children sat at the table.

  “My sons know they can’t fool me. Come talk?” She went to a couple rocking chairs by the cooking fire. “Our meal isn’t ready, and the others are busy.”

  Jim slumped into a rocker and rested his head on wood his papa’s hands had carved to form slats for the back. The arms of the rocker were smooth and worn from hands gripping them.

  “I miss Papa.”

  “You’re not alone.” She settled into the second rocker and smoothed her gathered apron with age-wrinkled hands. A mauve-colored blister showed on her right thumb. “Your sisters and brothers also cope with the loss. We must pull together and comfort one another.”

  Comfort? Where was any comfort?

  Jim wondered how he could express his feelings. He noticed her gray apron bore a dusting of flour down the front, and the welcoming scent of fresh-baked kettle bread wafted through the large room. All the appearances of ordinary life were in place—except his papa wouldn’t step through the door and ask when the evening meal might be ready.

  “Jim?”

  “Sam’s not doing his share. He’s leaving it to me like Duncan has. I’ve nothing of my own life—like my own home and wife.” There, I’ve said it. He gazed about the crowded room and sighed. “I’m caught in a … a circle of never-ending responsibilities with this large piece of land and dumb sheep. It might be better to go pan for gold.”

  “I understand.”

  He experienced a jolt of surprise. He noted her sad, tired expression. A stab of remorse, for his self-centered words, hit him. His mother seemed older and more fragile with each passing day.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “My son, your hands are like your father’s.” She leaned sideways, lifted his right hand, and clasped it between her work-roughened palms. “Large and capable.” A single tear slid down her cheek. She rubbed his hand between hers, turned it, and traced the lines in his palm with one broken-nailed finger. “But … you’re not your father. I know you need to have a life of your own—your own future to dream about. Life goes on. Things must change.”

  Regret hit Jim like a hickory mallet. He shook as if from a physical blow. He understood how his coarse attitude and moodiness must look to others. “Mother, I want to take care of you and the girls—and Samuel. It’s just that sometimes—”

  “You’re being smothered. Like this will be your whole life.” She patted his hand and released it. She wearily sat back in her rocker, and the rungs creaked with her movement.

  “Yes.” He gazed into her sympathetic eyes. “That’s the best way to put it. Samuel has his dream of teaching. I don’t dream of—”

  “Jim, I’m contemplating a move to Virginia, to live with my brother and family. I’ve written them about your father’s passing. They have a huge house—with plenty of room.”

  “What?” He straightened up. “No.”

  “Yes. The three girls and Phillip will go with me. You and Samuel can choose your own paths.”

  “No.” He shook his head. A wave of shame and alarm hit him. “No, it’s not what I want. Mother—”

  She raised her hand, indicating he should listen.

  “We’d sell the homestead. Of course, I’d pass it to you or Samuel, if one of you wanted to stay. The sheep can be sold or slaughtered. This land was a dream of your papa’s, not mine, but I loved him. I know how hard you boys struggle to keep those wooly animals safe up here on the ridge. I’ve enjoyed having wool available, but lambing season and the shearing is wearisome when we don’t have enough hands to help. The past two years have taken their toll on both the sheep and us. I hate calling in all the neighbors so often.”

  “No!” He had acted foolishly in voicing his selfish thoughts. “I want all of us to stay here. You couldn’t leave this place, could you? It’s home. Papa’s grave is here.”

  “Jim—”

  “Leave Grace and the grandbabies?”

  Her dark-hazel eyes filled with pain. “That’ll be hard.” She placed one hand against her trembling lips. “But they’ll be fine.”

  Jim smacked the palm of his right hand against his forehead. “I’m acting like a low-down skunk, feeling sorry for myself, and not considering you and the others. Don’t ever think of leaving.” He slid out of the ro
cker, knelt by her knees, and bowed his head. “I’m missing Papa. I let my temper at Samuel’s easier ways and more relaxed attitude irk me for no cause. Mother, I fume over Duncan’s escape tricks. Never do I want to separate the whole family. I can handle the sheep. Maybe reduce the number for easier work? I’ll think of something. Build a better fence and a new barn? Don’t leave.”

  She stopped his flow of words with a hand cupped under his chin. With a slight movement, she raised his chin and made him look at her. “Are you sure? I want the truth, once and for all. Then it won’t be mentioned.” Her dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

  “I’m sure. Oh, God forgive me.” He snugged his arms around her waist and laid his head in her lap, like a chastised child.

  He felt her cool fingers smooth his hair and pat his head. A low chuckle came from her throat. “Son, we all need something to tap us on the head every once in a while—like an angry woodpecker. I knew your heart, but I’m willing to offer a release to you.”

  He sat back on his boot heels and grinned. “I’m getting old. I forgot what’s important. I’ve got to weigh everything, like on a scale.”

  “You’re not old. Twenty-one isn’t old.”

  “Yes, it is when you consider I love a girl who was twelve when I first met her. Now … you know.”

  “Jim, a mother knows her sons. I’ve kept your secret in my heart for some time. The gap between ages diminishes with time. Ella Dessa is turning out to be a beautiful young lady, wise beyond her years.”

  Jim groaned. “Mother, can it stay a secret?”

  “Yes, but I worry about the outcome. I know I have two sons in love with the same girl.”

  “Samuel.” Jim sat back on the wood floor and swiped a hand over his face. “I was with Ella today; talked to her about my anger. I came so close to telling her how I felt. I stopped. I made it a joke. She’s more Samuel’s age. I think of him as immature. Then I look at her and him. They’re the same age, and I back away. There’s no one to take her place.”