Read Online Within the Candle's Glow by Karen Campbell Prough - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Campbell Prough
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Now they would separate her from ever experiencing a man’s love. Resentment at what life had dealt washedover 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
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
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