Within the Candle's Glow (13 page)

“No. You’ll hike faster without me an’ the dog. I know my way home. Go.”

“I’ll see her down to Velma’s.” Miles smiled at her.

Samuel’s hand squeezed Ella’s shoulder, and he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. His unusual bluish-green eyes darkened with worry, but he murmured, “I had fun today.”

“I did, too. Go.” She pushed him.

“Keep my berries.” He started down the trail at a trot.

“Be careful!” She worried about him running the rock-strewn trace. “God be with your papa!”

Miles extended a slender, work-roughened hand. “Shall I take one basket?”

She silently handed over Samuel’s basket and saw the man’s lively brown eyes note the stains on her face. She rubbed dirty fingers across one cheek and wondered how awful she appeared. “I lost some berries. We ran from a bear.”

“Bear?” His dark eyebrows rose.

“Yes, it shared our berry patch.” She thumbed the direction over her shoulder. “Up there, a bit higher. The old treeless section.”

“Near the ridge?”

“No, above the narrow ridge. It’s a clearin’ where the sun reaches the slope, ‘cause of a old fire.”

“
Hmm.
It appears the bear rolled and stomped you both in blueberries.”

She smiled and told of their bear adventure. “Deer kept whinin’.”

“Your dog? That’s his name?”

“Yes.” She watched Deer shake droplets of water from his tan back. “Named him that ‘cause of the color of his hide. He almost became bear food.”

Miles patted Deer’s damp head and chuckled. “Shall we start down?”

They walked side by side whenever the narrow path let them. Ella forced herself to act calm, even though it felt unnerving to be close to him. She fought the desire to search his handsome face for any resemblance to her own. With squinted, sideways glances at him, she decided their hair sure didn’t match nor did their eyes. Was she mistaken about all the evidence in Mama’s Bible?

“What happened to your faces?”

“Our faces?” She recalled Samuel’s kiss and inhaled too quickly. “Well …”

“You don’t have to tell me, of course. If the bear didn’t do it, then you were practicing the art of Cherokee war paint.”

She giggled. “I ain’t—
haven’t
seen it, but I saw Samuel’s. Umm, we
had a berry fight.”

“I see. When I was a child, I plastered my sister’s face with berries.” His brown eyes twinkled. “Tell me—who won?”

“I did.” She made a face. “Well, I’m goin’ to
insist
I did.” She warmed up to the man’s friendliness and decided he wasn’t so intimidating, once she got over her initial qualms. She knew Miles had no idea there was a connection between them. She could relax and be herself.

I can cherish these moments
, she thought.
They’ll be for me to remember—like he’s been my father since birth.

As they hiked the stony trail, Ella realized she had no pleasant memories of the man she once called “Pa.” Jacob Huskey was the man who was married to her mama at the time of her death.

On three fingers, Ella could count the decent things Jacob had ever done for her. He shot the young mountain cat that attacked her by a creek. He pulled her bleeding body from the water so she didn’t drown. And he bought her a pair of boots before he left Beckler’s Cove with his new wife.

I’ll never believe he did those things out of kindness.

“Ella Dessa?”

“Yes?” She lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped over a fallen log. They had reached the side trail to her old home and Mama’s grave.

“I’m sorry your day with Samuel was cut short, but I felt I must come find him. His mother requested I do so.”

“You didn’t cut the day short. The black bear stopped our berry pickin’. We were headin’ back down to my … my mama’s
grave
,” she said, ending her words in a whisper.

“Your mother’s?”

“Yes.” She motioned at the dim path to the right—which disappeared into denser woods.

“I’m sorry. I heard you had no family, and you lived with Velma. Visiting your mother’s grave must be important.”

“There will be other times.”

“No need to wait. Shall we go?”

Her thoughts raced, trying to decide what to do.
Was there solid truth in her name inscribed in Mama’s Bible?
It did say “Ella Dessa Kilbride,” not “Huskey.”

I know I were born too early for Jacob to be my pa. If we go to Mama’s grave—he’ll see her name. He won’t know it’s her, ‘cause the last name’ll be diff’rent.

Miles cleared his throat, seemingly puzzled by her silence. “Want me to go with you?”

“You don’t have to.” She avoided his eyes.

“It’d be enjoyable. I love the mountain views.”

Deer sniffed at the base of a huge pine, snatched a discarded crow’s feather, and bounded to Ella’s side with his prize.

“If’n you have time.”

“I do. Once we get there, I can sit and work on some sketches. That’s what I planned to do with my day.” He turned, so she could see the flat leather backpack he wore high between his shoulder blades. “I have my pencils and charcoals. In fact, you’d make a wonderful subject for a picture.” His kind eyes wandered over her face with a blend of sadness and interest. He cleared his throat. “I could draw the shape of your face … almost from memory.”

“You don’t have to. I’m right here.” Her hand covered her blemished neck. “I don’t want a drawin’ done of me.” The thought of her dreadful scars rendered on paper, for all to see, was unsettling.

“Then I won’t include you in my drawings. You can take all the time you need—” His voice trailed off, and he motioned at the path ahead of them. “This part seems narrow. Let me go ahead of you, in case there’s trouble we don’t see from here.”

“Such as another bear?” She grinned.

“Let’s pray not. I have no weapon with me, other than a knife.”

Together, they started the slight climb under the canopy of the tall trees. Without him knowing it, she could safely raise her eyes and study the man hiking in front of her. Miles climbed with ease, his hiking stick not needed. His eyes scanned the rugged slopes under the trees. At one point, he stopped and silently pointed at two does watching them. With a snort, the pair twisted around and bounded into a deep ravine.

“They saw us,” Ella whispered, as she clasped her basket and stepped up on a rock. Her eyes searched for the deer. “Not easy to sneak up on ‘em.”

“
Hmm
, probably many other eyes watch us as well.” He nudged his hat higher. Curls, dampened by sweat, clung to his forehead. “God blessed the woodland creatures with better eyesight and hearing than we were given. A lot of them can stand still and blend with their surroundings.”

She nodded and pointed directly across the ravine. “Look yonder,” she whispered.

“Ahh,” he murmured, “A fox. Beautiful subject to draw.”

Slipping between and around gray boulders, a red fox made his way down the opposite side of the ravine to an old rockslide. He stopped and pounced on something near the edge of a cracked boulder. With his paws, he held the prize down, used his teeth to snatch it from the leaves, and trotted away.

A final dot of burnished red marked where the fox slipped into a swathe of low scrub.

“Did he catch a mouse?” Miles wiggled his shoulders to adjust his pack.

“That or a chipmunk.” She stepped off the rock, careful not to spill what was left of her berries. “A fox once tried to steal my mama’s chickens in broad daylight. I chased it away.”

“They are daring.” He pointed ahead of them. “I see we are joining another trail?”

“Yes, one fit for a wagon.” Her heart beat faster as they topped the trace. The cabin’s weathered wood shake roof came into view. A section of it had collapsed inward. She saw Miles turn his head and study it with an artist’s noticeable interest, but she angled to the right, up the slight incline, and into the thick pines.

The last time she and Samuel made the trip, she had cleared an area around the burying plot—pushing back the persistent forest. A slab of smooth stone stood at the head of the mounded, algae-covered rocks, and the old cross still marked the spot. The carved name was barely visible in the weathered wood. A peaceful breeze stirred the limbs of the pines and sighed through the delicate green needles.

Miles paused and allowed her to walk alone to the grave. Deer ran circles in the high grass and jumped at grasshoppers and butterflies. Ella knelt, placed the basket of blueberries to the side, and sat back on her bent legs. She couldn’t speak the words she longed to say with a stranger so close, but she let tears spill down her cheeks. The years had slipped by—years she hadn’t thought she could endure without her mama. Living with Velma and the children had helped fill a void, but she longed for Mama’s presence and soft voice.

A sob convulsed her shoulders. She closed her eyes and talked to Mama in her mind.
If’n you could see him, would you recall his face? It’s him, Miles Kilbride. Mama, I dare not tell him. I don’t want people in the cove talkin’ of you … like you was a sinner. What’s penned in your Bible tells me the truth. The man I figgerd was my pa left after you died. I don’t
know why you didn’t tell me. How do I keep up with the secret? I feel I’ll break into little pieces.

A warm hand settled on her shoulder and caused uncontrolled sobs to burst from her parted lips.

“Ella Dessa.” Miles crouched and faced her. “I see your pain. I sense your heartbreak. God can give healing. There’s nothing He won’t help you with. I want to—”

“
Don’t.
” She shoved his hand off her shoulder, lifted her skirt out of the way, and gained her footing. She tripped on some stones. She felt resentment and panic flood over her.

“What’s wrong?” He stood and faced her.

“Her heart was broken,” she cried and pointed at the grave. She couldn’t stop the stream of words. “Mama don’t deserve to be … to have her name soiled! She were a God-fearin’ woman. Why’d you come here? Why
here
? Why not some other hollow or cove?”

“What? Why did I
come
here?” His facial expression showed his confusion at her apparent irrational behavior.

Tears blinded her, but she stabbed a finger in the direction of the slope. “
Leave
. Leave me here.
Go—!
” she screamed. “I don’t need you near me. You caused her to give birth to me. Now leave her in peace!”

Shock registered on his face. “I did
what?
What—”

“Stop talkin’!” She failed to stem the words in her head. “Go back where you come from. Stay away from Beckler’s Cove.”

His countenance hardened and paled. “I think we need to start home.” He stepped sideways a few steps.

“I know the truth! Don’t you
never
tell no one. I ain’t havin’ her name ruined.” She staggered away from the grave. She couldn’t control the earthquake of grief wracking her mind and body. Coming up the trail with him had been an awful mistake. It had broken her last reserve.

“Ella Dessa?”

She turned. “My mama loved you.”

“I didn’t
know
your mother.” He kept his distance—as if he feared she’d lost her mind. “What’s
wrong
with you?”

She fled from his presence, darted down the slope, and headed for her childhood place of solace—the cool springhouse. The weathered door sagged. It broke away from the lower leather hinge as she snatched it open and crawled inside. She dragged her skirt free of her knees and squatted on the scattered wet leaves and damp soil. The water flowed near her boots. She buried her face in her hands. Every crack in her
heart opened. Sorrow poured out in a river of loud sobs.

#

What seemed like hours later, Ella peered through the gaps between the mossy, algae-ridden logs. Miles sat on the slope above the springhouse, knees bent, and his arms wrapped around them.

He ain’t left.

Shame for her unreasonable actions made her sick. The calves of her legs were numb from squatting in the tight space under the rotting roof. She was no longer a child, and the building seemed smaller. The scent of damp earth and rotting leaves caused her to remember the last time she hid there—years ago, at the time of her mama’s burying. The irregular, melodious trickle of water over rocks and through the springhouse calmed her inner spirit.

She winced and tried to ease the pain in her cramped legs. Ella accepted the fact she had to leave the springhouse, face Miles, and apologize. She dipped her fingers in the ice-cold water, rinsed her face, and wiped it with her skirt.

Two stone jugs sat in the water. Green and brown algae, and the passing years, had disguised them as rocks, except their necks protruded from the surface of the flow. Her throat tightened. She recalled they once contained milk from her mama’s cows.

She peeked out at the man on the hill. She had to tell him the truth.

The gentle wind ruffled the dark curls on his bowed head, and he had rolled his sleeves above his elbows. The two baskets of berries lay abandoned. His hat, backpack, and sketchbook rested in the grass—heedlessly tossed aside. The pages in the sketchbook caught the wind, rattled, and turned. A fluttering orange butterfly dipped near his head, spiraling in lazy circles.