Within the Candle's Glow (11 page)

“He’ll learn.” She held the small dog up in front of her face. “He needs a doggy nap.”

“He can nap while we pick.” Samuel pointed beyond the rocks. “There’s the berries. A hot fire burned out trees sometime in the past. Must’ve been lightning, not a campfire.”

Low bushes—covered with round blueberries—blanketed the area. They grew in the warm sunshine, on the northeast side of the mountain.
The ground sloped away from them, with gray boulders dotting the area.

“Samuel, you were right.” The sight brought a pleased sigh from her parted lips.

“Told you.”

She jumped off the rock, lowered the panting puppy to the ground, and hurried to the small-leafed shrubs. She plucked a few of the ripened berries and popped them in her mouth. With eyes shut, she chewed.

“
Hmm
, they’re so ripe. I can taste a blueberry cobbler bubblin’ with thickened juice.”

Samuel chuckled. “Stop. You’re making me hungry. Come get a basket.”

She chose a basket and left one on the ground for him.

“I’m not setting this pack down.” He slipped the shoulder straps back over his arms. “If I do, I’ll lose it. Then we won’t have our lunch, and Papa will whip me. He takes pride in his leatherwork. This pack is one of them.”

“He’d never whip you.” She swung her basket back and forth. “We’ll fill these in no time.”

“I agree.” He placed the basket between his feet, and his fingers plucked at the tiny tokens of sweetness. “Watch for bees,” he muttered, shoving berries in his mouth.

She snickered. “Samuel, you’re so silly. You won’t fill the basket that way.” She gathered her old skirt to the side, stepped into the thick of the bushes, and rested the basket’s handle in the bend of her left arm. “I hope we don’t get chiggers on us. I hate ‘em.”

“Naw, they like blackberry bushes.”

“Velma will be able to fix Mr. Beckler an’ us blueberry cobblers.”

“So, when’s the wedding date?”

“September nineteenth. His sixty-first birthday.”

“He sure loves her.” Samuel paused to sample another handful of berries. “
Hmm
. I can’t pick and eat, too.”

Ella saw his eyes travel over the nearby rocks.

“What you lookin’ for?”

“Where’d Fuzzy Mutt go?”

She pointed. “He’s beside that boulder. See him? He’ll spend his time nappin’.”

“Got to keep an eye on him. We could lose him. He is too little to survive a night here. There’s rattlers in the rocks, plus some mountain
lion could snag him for supper.”

“
Ugh
.” She shuddered. Images from the past flashed into her mind—tan fur, pointed fangs, and amber eyes. “Don’t talk like that.” She returned to picking berries from a chest-high bush. “I still get awful nightmares of that creature knockin’ me down.” She stared at a blueberry on the bush and bit down on her bottom lip. With determination, she forced herself to stay focused and not start searching for an imagined creature lurking above them on the irregular gray rocks.

“Can you remember all of it?”

“Yes, I was ten. Pa and I were by the creek. He made me help clear away a deadfall so he could pan for gold. Then he went into the woods—for a short time. I went out on a rock near the rushin’ water. The painter—
panther
came from a rocky outcroppin’ above me. I saw him jump. It was like everythin’ moved slow. I couldn’t run.”

“Must’ve been awful.” He stood staring at her, hands idle at his sides. “I never had the courage to ask you what happened. But I heard it from others.”

She lifted her chin and forced a smile. “I can talk ‘bout it now.”

“I always thought it was incredible you lived. God was there.”

“Yes.” She shuddered. “I felt its body slammin’ into me. I landed half in the creek. My head hit a rock. Cold water splashed over my face. I tasted bloody water washin’ in my mouth. From underwater, I heard the gun. But I still don’t remember no pain. Not right then, anyway. The pain came—when Pa lifted me from the creek. I was gaspin’ for air.”

“Was the cat dead?”

“Floatin’ on its side. One open eye ’bove water. Its body bobbed,” she motioned a circle with her finger, “turned in a lazy, bloodstained pool ’tween two rocks and drifted away. Pa let it go without claimin’ its hide.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“He said it were too scrawny and young, that I were lucky it hadn’t been a big one.” Waves of apprehension caused her to lift her head and stare upward. The craggy rocks on the slope jutted forth—balanced against the forces of nature—a perfect perch for a camouflaged tan beast. “The claws scarred me for life. Granny said infection did the worst to me.”

“I’ve never minded the scars.”

Surprised, Ella hesitated and fingered her bumpy neck. “
Never
?”

“Never.” His honest eyes reflected the green foliage and a subtle hint
of the blue sky.

“I figgerd most people still stare at ‘em.”
Josh did
, she thought.

“No.” He playfully tossed a berry in her direction.

Ella pretended she didn’t see it hit her skirt. She wanted to ask him if he thought Jim ever noticed her scars, but she realized it’d cause a wet blanket to descend on their berry gathering. When she talked too much about Jim, Samuel got grouchy.

“I heard your brother, Duncan, came home.” She changed the subject, curious about Samuel’s roving, red-haired brother.

“Yep. Showed up on the bottomland while we were working a fence. He hasn’t changed none, but we were happy to see him. He and Papa had their first argument this morning. Papa wanted him to promise to stay through the winter. He went out—slammed the door. He even swore.”

“That’s too bad.”

“You ought to see him. He’s got a red beard and heavy mustache. He looks older to me—thinner and harsher. He turns twenty this month.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say to him. Years ago, I don’t think he ever liked me.”

“He does like you. Duncan’s a loner.”

They picked without talking. The light breeze, rustling through the tree branches, had a soothing sound. The sunlight warmed the slope. The twitter of gnatcatchers accompanied the birds’ swift movements among the leafy bushes.

Ella glanced at the little dog. The puppy slept, his short legs paddling back and forth as if he were running. It was likely a doggy dream, taking him on a rabbit trail.

With a full heart, she stepped closer to Samuel. “Thanks for givin’ the puppy to me. He’s grown so much since I saw him at your place. His stubby legs are longer.”

“I wanted to give him to you earlier, but Papa kept saying it’d be a burden to Velma. Now, she’s getting married. And she’s got
gold
.” He grinned. “You have to choose a name. I think ‘Fuzzy Mutt’ is good.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re bein’ silly. I thought of ‘Deer.’”

“‘Deer’?
Now
who’s silly?”

“He’s the color of a deer.” She stuffed more berries in her mouth and wrinkled her nose at him. “And he’s kinda en
dear
in
’
.”

“Oh, no.” Samuel slapped a berry-stained hand to his forehead. “I can hear you calling him. Here,
Deer
. Come here, Deer!”

Laughing, she tossed a handful of berries at him. “Don’t make fun of my puppy’s name.”

“Hey!” He reached into his basket and lobbed a fistful of juicy berries. They pelted her face and hair. “Gotcha.”

“That wasn’t fair. You used more than me.” Snatching a whole handful out of her basket, she drew back her arm, and slung them. “Oops!” Bluish-purple juice speckled Samuel’s face. Berries stuck in his hair above his left ear.

“
Ugh
.” He dug through his hair, pulled the berries out, and held up his purple- and red-tinted fingers. “See these?”

Shaking with laughter, she nodded. “You ought to wash more often.”

“I
do
wash.” He stepped over his basket and sauntered toward her. A glint of revenge sparked in his fun-loving eyes. “Let me see your berries.”

“What?
My
berries?” Puzzled and wary, she lifted her basket for his inspection—keeping the basket between them.

He shoved his hand into the woven grapevine basket and came up with a handful. “These are nice.”

Backing away, she waved a hand. “Samuel, don’t do somethin’ you’ll regret. After all, we’re best friends.”

Samuel dove and grabbed her arm. With his other hand, he smeared the squishy berries all over her face. Juice dripped to her white blouse. Sputtering, she fought free and ran, but her boot caught on a branch sticking out in the way. She tumbled sideways and ended up sitting on her bottom under waist-high bushes. Her basket landed beside her.

“You’re a rat,” she groaned, wiped at her face, and righted her basket. “Look, you dumped my berries.” She pulled at her skirt, in order to arrange the material over her lower legs. “
Ugh
,” She pushed at the limbs in her face. “My skirt’s so tangled I cain’t stand.”

“Are you hurt? Let me help you.” Samuel shoved into the bushes and offered his dirty hand. An amused grin lit his handsome face. “You sure are a mess. Want to continue this war?”

“War?” She licked her lips, tasting the sweet juice on them. “No. Wipe the smile off your face.”

He compressed his lips into a straight line and presented his hand one more time. “Truce. Let me help you.”

She grasped his hand, jerked on it, and stood. But she immediately bent to snatch berries from her basket.

“Ah, no.” He blocked her movement with his right knee and leg. A
hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Ella Dessa, you have revenge written all over your face.”

She tipped her chin up and glared at him. “My berries got spilled.”

He studied her dirty face and chuckled. “If you could see your face …” With his finger, he traced a stain across her cheek and nose.

Her lips parted, but Ella couldn’t move. The startling caress of his finger made her tremble.

“You have blue streaks here … here … and here. Pink, purple, and blue all mixed. Even on your mouth.” His eyes lingered over her lips, but his hand moved to her neck.

“Sam.” Her heart hammered against her ribs, and her breath quickened. She observed changes on his berry-stained face as he traced the scars on her neck. She tried stepping away from him. “
Don’t
.”

“No.” He shushed her with one blue finger against her lips. Bending, he pressed his lips to the scars showing on her neck.

She gasped in reaction to the intense feelings engulfing her. “Samuel,
stop
.” She pushed at his wide chest, conscious of their closeness, fully aware of how tall he had become that summer.

His arms encircled her back. “Ella Dessa.” He murmured her name with a note of awe and pulled her closer. His young lips met hers.

The trees spun around her. She clung to his shirt and twisted her fingers in the fabric to keep from falling. She hadn’t been prepared for the sensations erupting at the tender touch of his mouth. Ella tried to cry out, but her breath came as a moan. Her arms willingly encircled his neck. She returned the sweetness of his kiss.

Then he lifted his lips from hers.

Letting go, Samuel stepped back, astonishment registering in his eyes. “I … I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He walked away, seized his basket from under the bushes, and ran a berry-stained hand through his hair. “Don’t know what got into me.”

She pressed her hands against her cheeks. “I lost my basket,” she whispered.

He came toward her.

“No, stay away.” She kept her head down and searched for the basket amongst the broken branches. Her heart rate slowed as her hand made contact with the handle. She snatched it from the ground.

“Ella Dessa?”

Biting down on her bottom lip, she hurried some distance from Samuel before she dared speak. She couldn’t keep silent, and it wasn’t
her nature to ignore the obvious. Their world had tipped sideways.

“We best pick berries,” she said.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “A perfect idea.”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed his hands shook as he reached for the fruit. It amazed her to realize the kiss also affected him. She struggled with the truth—the truth that she longed to slip back into his arms and let him kiss her, one more time. But she made herself turn away.

Deer got up and trotted to her, crawled under the bushes, and chewed at twigs near her feet. He mouthed fallen berries and shook his head.

Her mind went over and over the kiss, revisiting the wild reaction that had enveloped her. Never in her life had such a powerful awareness infused every fiber of her body. She blushed once more at the remembrance of Samuel’s gentle lips on her neck. She wanted to say more to him, but she didn’t trust herself to approach him. He might see what mixture of thoughts tumbled through her mind—the acute longing to feel his touch and to kiss him one more time.

How can anythin’ ever be the same? Shouldn’t I be angry?
She rubbed at tears on her cheek. The skin on her neck still tingled where his lips had lain.
Why’d he do that? He kissed my neck—my scars. They didn’t bother him.
Pushing through the bushes, she worked her way further from him, until her basket overflowed.