Within the Candle's Glow (8 page)

Ella backed away. “Samuel, it’s nothin’.”

She fled toward the comfort of the church, her skirt tangling around her running legs. She wanted to hide inside the cool interior, to still her inner quaking and resentment. With a sweeping glance at a group of women collected nearby, she circled them and went up the steps of the log church. The dim interior offered solace.

The cool surface of a flat bench supported her body. Her heart ached. She stared at the low platform where every Sabbath she saw Leigh Chesley stand and speak of sins, peace, resentment, and forgiveness.

Would someone discover her mama’s sin? Would they find out that she, Ella Dessa, was the result of her mama’s immoral relationship with Miles Kilbride?
She needed to pray about all those things.
How could she forever hide secrets about her dead mama?

Josh’s bedraggled, half-starved appearance at the picnic had been a shock. She felt sorry for him and his plight. Ella figured she needed to be praying for him as she sat there. But instead, the sight of Jim and Sophie talking together made her feel jealous and lonely.

The bumpy scars, etching a path from her left shoulder to her chest, had always affected her. Now they would separate her from ever experiencing a man’s love. Resentment at what life had dealt washed
over her.

Who would want me?

A beam of sunlight flashed through the dim interior. The quiet creak of a board told her someone had entered the church. The rustle of fabric announced the presence of a woman standing at the end of the rough bench.

Reluctantly, she raised her head and met the woman’s sympathetic gaze.

“May I sit with you?” Miles Kilbride’s wife pointed at the bench. Her low voice contained an unfamiliar accent.

Ella shrugged and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve.

“My husband reminded me … you are Ella Dessa. We met briefly, a few years ago. My name is Leona. He is the uncle to your teacher.”

“Yes.”

“It is sad—about this starving man. I saw you slip in here. I do not pretend to know you. But you might need comfort?” She slid onto the bench. The crisp material of her dark-green dress pressed against Ella’s limp skirt.

“I just came to … think.”

Leona took Ella’s hand in hers. Covering and patting it, she continued, “You’ve become a young lady since I last saw you, years ago, at Konrad and Grace’s wedding.”

“I’m past sixteen.”

The woman’s dark eyes met her quick glance. “Ahh. I see sorrow in your eyes. It isn’t brought to the front by this poor wounded traveler. It’s something else or
someone
different. Do you need to talk?”

Ella bowed her head and chewed on her lip, not welcoming the scrutiny of the woman’s kind gaze.
How would Leona react if told the truth? Would she be stricken with anguish upon learnin’ her husband conceived a child with a young girl he didn’t marry?

“There’s nothin’ to talk of.” Ella tried to still the unsteady rise and fall of her chest.

She felt the woman’s long fingers smooth her hair. The faint scent of roses followed Leona’s fingertips.

“The sick man … you know of him?”

“Saw him once, years ago. An older man and him brung news how a friend’s husband died. Then they left. They were gold miners.”

“I understand.” Leona laced her fingers in her lap and stared straight ahead.

Ella studied the woman out of the corner of her eye. Leona’s elegant profile revealed raven-black upswept hair and a slender neck posed above a ruffled white blouse.

Not quite knowing why, she murmured, “You’re beautiful.”

A minuscule smile changed the corners of Leona’s full lips. “Thank you. Although you do not believe it—
so are you
.”

“No.” She turned away and shook her head. “I’m not.” She twisted her hands in her lap. A buried misery ripped through her chest. “I never
will
be. These—these scars say that.” She stood, and pulled down on her dress collar. “See?
See this?
” She lost control. Sobs rocked her body. “Mama loved me ‘spite of them.” The aged cotton fabric tore under the sudden jerk of her fingers. A wooden button popped loose, only to roll away under the benches.

Leona rose and enveloped her with tender arms. “Oh, darling child. That’s only a scar. You’re
bello
… beautiful inside.”

“No. No man will ever want me or love me. A mountain cat did this! It clawed me when I was little. It ‘bout killed me, but my pa shot it.” She yelled the words and fought off the woman’s embrace. She pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. Her composure threatened to slip. “Don’t—don’t touch me. You’ve never known scars like mine!
Get away
.”

“I have,” the woman whispered, negating Ella’s loud outburst. “Look at me.”

Unwillingly, she let the woman’s compassionate voice draw her into turning.

Ella gasped.

Leona brazenly lifted her full skirt, gathered the ornate, white petticoats in her hands, and revealed the leg of her drawers. In the hallowed shadows of the church, Leona exposed her expensive silk stocking, rolled it downward, and bared her right leg. Revolting, deep scars of mottled red and purple ran the length of her lower leg and disappeared under her plain cotton drawers. The skin around her ankle had the appearance of a melted candle.

“A
fuoco
—an awful fire,” she whispered.

Ella’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. She moaned. “How?”

Leona’s hands rearranged her clothes and hid the appalling sight. “My father raised horses in Italy, my home country. Lightning struck the barn. I was sixteen. I foolishly ran to help—or thought I could.” Her accent thickened. Her voice quivered and broke. “A burning wall fell.” She wiped at her eyes. “My lower leg—was trapped. A horse trainer
pulled me free, but the … the pain sent me into a black world for many weeks. No one thought I’d live, but I did.
Dio
—our Savior granted me life, peace of mind, and drew me back within the candle’s glow of His love. I lived and learned to walk without a limp. My
padre
—my father—brought us to America because of a dream he had.”

The long skirt fell about Leona’s ankles, restoring her elegance.

The sight of the woman’s disfigurement revolted Ella. It hit a chord so deep within her heart, she bent and sobbed into her hands.

“Don’t cry for me.” Leona’s voice became warm and feathery in accent. “I’ve never been happier in my life. When Miles took me as his wife he knew what he was getting, because I told him. I bared my soul and shamelessly bared my lower leg—to his intimate inspection—to prepare him for our wedding night.” She lifted Ella’s chin with her cool fingers. “Look at me, child.”

“No.”

“Darling, my husband declares I’m the most attractive woman he ever held in his arms.”

“No.” Her cries deepened, and her heart twisted as if it might rip apart.
My mama, Meara Huskey, was pretty. Doesn’t Miles remember that?

“Yes. These scars mean nothing to him. When memories bury me in dreams and nightmares, his hands caress me. He holds me, until I come to myself and experience his protective arms. Someday,” she whispered, with her forehead now against Ella’s brow. “
Someday
, a man will lay his lips against your scars and swear he never met a lovelier woman on this earth.”

Ella felt weak and drained. She leaned away from the woman, willing her own mind to go blank.

“Are you all right?”

“I cain’t find words … the words to say.”

“Dry your face. There’s nothing to be said.”

“I’m sorry you suffered from a fire.” The sensual fragrance of rose petals reached her senses as the woman pressed a delicate handkerchief into her trembling hands. “I know it hurt,” Ella whispered. She touched the cloth to her cheeks.

“We’re women of kindred pain. We understand.” Leona’s perfect lips curved into a full smile. “God will give you grace and fortitude to be the woman he wants. His measure of peace to you will be just right, just what you need, not what someone
else
has to have. Only you.” She
extended her arms. “Come, let me hold you.”

#

A short time later, the two of them slipped out of the church and walked hand-in-hand to the Chesley homestead. Ella vehemently promised herself she’d never reveal the facts hidden in Mama’s carved box. She also prayed Velma would never remember a name she once saw—years before—written in Meara Huskey’s Bible, along with a baby’s birth date.

Granny glanced up from spooning a brown liquid into Josh’s mouth. She didn’t comment on their tear-reddened countenances.

“He might live. An angry person tried to carve out his ribs.” She waved the wooden spoon in her wobbly right hand. Her arthritic fingers struggled to hold it. A cup of steaming broth occupied a spot on a little table near the bed. “I shooed the others away. They’s like vultures hoverin’ over carrion. Child, take this.”

Reluctantly, Ella accepted the spoon and slipped into another chair near the bed. The scent of venison broth and leeks wafted from the cup. She touched the spoon to Josh’s lips. His parched lips parted, accepting the warm liquid. A moan escaped his throat. His bottomless, dark eyes fluttered open to search her face.

“You’re here?”

Granny grunted and leaned back in her chair. “Ahh, he speaks.”

“Ella Des … sa?”

She nodded. “Don’t talk. We’ll do that later.”

He took every bit of the steamy broth she offered. His dark eyes never left her face.

Leona stepped to the door. “Most of the families went home, but some waited for word on how the young man is doing. I’ll give the report as I search for Miles.”

“Thank you.” Ella continued to feed Josh until his eyelids closed. “He’s asleep,” she whispered to Granny. “I will slip outside.”

“Go, child, go.” She yawned. “I’ll doze right here.”

Careful not to awaken him, she slipped out of her chair and joined those still lingering near the church. “He took liquid,” she told them.

Jim and Samuel’s mother, Inez McKnapp, gave her a hug. “By running out there to approach that stranger, you were braver than most men. You made my heart turn over. I wanted to scream your name, but I let Samuel do that.” She chuckled. “You gave my son a fright.”

“His name is Josh. He and another man were the ones who found
Velma’s dead husband some years ago.” She tried to smile at the woman. “I wasn’t brave. I was puzzled by his return.”

“It is mysterious. Here comes Peggy. She was looking for you earlier.”

Samuel’s redheaded sister grabbed Ella in a bear hug. “I was terrified when you scurried out in that field and went near the man.”

“I didn’t
scurry
.”

“You got there before the men. I thought I’d faint. Katy Stuart cried buckets of tears. She was sure you went to your death. She tried to cling to Samuel for comfort, but he fought her off and bolted after you.”

“Oh, so Katy used
me
walkin’ into danger as a way to capture your brother.” She had to laugh at her friend’s breathless exaggeration.

“That’s what she did.” Peggy giggled and tossed her bright curls over one shoulder. “Samuel’s been dodging her for at least an hour. He’s sweaty from running.”

Inez patted her daughter’s arm. “Peggy, go find your sister, Anna. Phillip is with your papa. Oh, never mind. Here comes Jim with her in tow. Josie is nearby.”

Peggy nodded. “Yes, she’s begging for another piece of flat bread with honey butter.”

“I don’t see how you keep up with all the brothers an’ sisters. It’s worse than Velma’s batch of young’uns.” Ella turned to scan those still talking in groups near the church steps.

“You need to come visit,” Peggy said. “I’m making a new dress.”

“I’d love to see it.”

Someone touched her shoulder. “Ella?”

She faced the preacher. “Yes?”

“That man at our house insists he speak with you.
Alone
.” Disapproval showed in his tight expression, but curiosity managed to light his eyes.

“Granny said he’s thrashing about. She was tired, so we sent her home.”

“Alone?” She hesitated for a couple seconds, wondering what Josh wanted.

“May I walk you back?”

“Yes.” She turned to Peggy. “One day I’ll come see your dress.”