by Brom
“God willing,” he said, and then set his hand atop hers. “You are a blessing, Abitha Williams. I would truly be lost without you.”
She laughed. “What a couple of odd ducks we are. Well, mayhap together we will find our place.”
Abitha put the plates and utensils in a large pail to be washed come morning. When she was done, she found Edward tugging out the black leather satchel he kept hidden behind the cupboard.
He met her eye. “Would you read to me tonight, Abitha?”
She smiled. “I would. You know I would.”
He brought the satchel over to the bed, removed his boots, and took a seat. He turned up the oil lantern, slid out a couple of books, and picked one. Edward could read, but it tended to be a slow process of sounding out each word.
“What will it be tonight, Edward?”
He handed her The Faerie Queene, by Edmund Spenser.
“Ah, I love that one.”
“I know you do.”
It was the one she’d brought from England. She recalled how nervous Edward had been the first time she’d showed it to him, insisting she burn it right away, as it was considered a sin to read any book other than the bible. She’d insisted he let her read him a few chapters, after which he agreed to keep it until they were finished. They were currently on the third read-through. She glanced at the six books he now possessed. It seemed every time he went to Hartford another novel appeared. She smiled. Edward, there may be hope for you yet.
Abitha undressed down to her shift and sat cross-legged on the bed next to him, opening the book to where they’d left off, and began to read.
Edward tugged over the satchel. He’d inherited it from his father. It contained a few charcoal pencils and several dozen sheets of old parchment. The parchment was filled with his father’s long-winded interpretations of bible passages. Edward didn’t keep them because of this, he kept them because he loved to draw on them—the fronts, the backs, blank or not, scribbling right across the words and letters, covering the pages with his bold, loose drawings. He pulled these out now, propping the satchel on his knee, using it as a backing board so that he could sketch while she read to him.
“It brings me such joy when you allow yourself time to draw,” she said, plucking up one of the sketches. It was of her; most of them were. It was one of the first he’d drawn, and the face was crooked, the eyes lopsided, the lips little more than thick lines. She stifled a giggle—she looked like some sad scarecrow. Yet, despite the crudeness, she found she still recognized herself. She picked up another, a recent one, and was amazed by the contrast. Here her face and hair were etched out of soft flowing marks, the features brought to life with subtle shading. But what she liked best was that he’d made her look so lovely, and she hoped that this was how he really saw her.
“Edward, tell me, how is it each drawing gets better than the one before? Did you have lessons when you were a child?”
“Oh no, the only art lesson I ever had was the beating I received when my father caught me drawing. I believe I was around eight. I did not draw again until sometime after he died.”
“How then do you do it? How does one teach themselves such a skill?”
He shrugged. “It is just a thing that is in me. I know not another way to put it.”
“These new ones, they are wonderful. It is a crime that we cannot frame and hang them on the wall.” She imagined the look of horror on Sarah Carter’s face if she were to see one of these, and grinned. Abitha picked up another. She’d not seen this one before; it was of her sleeping, her hair swirling dreamlike around her moonlit flesh, the emphasis on her full lips and the swell of her half-exposed breast.
It’s beautiful, she thought, so beautiful. She looked at Edward then, almost as though seeing him for the first time. She thought how handsome he appeared, sketching away with such passion, his full lips slightly parted, his eyes aglow with intensity. Edward, I believe there is a romantic hidden somewhere beneath all your awkwardness.
She held the sketch up. “Is this how you see me?”
He blushed, nodded.
Abitha smiled coyly at him and began tugging her shift slowly down, revealing first her shoulders, then her breasts.
Edward averted his eyes, keeping them glued to the parchment.
“I like the way you see me, Edward. Would you draw me … like this? Please.”
He didn’t say a word, just peeked up, all but hiding behind the parchment, and began to lightly sketch. His pencil gradually picked up speed until he was scribbling at an almost frantic pace. His eyes were alive, crawling all over her. His breathing grew heavy, and so did Abitha’s as her pulse began to race.
“Edward, I seem to no longer be in the mood to read.” She set down the book, reached over, and took the parchment and pencil from his hand, setting them aside.
She kissed him on the lips.
There was a moment when he seemed not to know what to do, then he kissed her back, pressing his lips passionately against hers, then their tongues met, and his hands were all over her.
They made love there in the dark to the sound of the crackling fire, neither one aware of the spiders, dozens and dozens of them, big and small, suddenly spooked from their hiding places and scurrying across the ceiling and floor. Neither one of them aware of the three small shadows hovering in the far corner of the room, watching them, waiting.
* * *
“I’ll not lose your farm, Papa,” Wallace whispered as he climbed the steps onto Lord Mansfield’s stately porch. “That I swear to you.” He clanged the large brass knocker three times and waited.
The butler opened the door, appeared confused. “Mr. Williams, sir. Ah, I was not expecting you today.”
“Yes, well, I need to see Lord Mansfield. It is urgent.”
“Hmm … let me check if he is available. Please come in. You may take a seat here in the foyer.”
Wallace stepped in but didn’t take a seat, pacing back and forth instead. He stole a peek into the adjoining parlor. It was the first time he’d been inside Lord Mansfield’s home, and he was amazed by the brass fittings, beautiful oil paintings, and ornate rugs and furniture. Lord Mansfield was a Puritan, but even amongst the Puritans, wealth and class afforded many privileges. There were those who felt that wealth showed them to be in good standing with God and therefore should be flaunted. Wallace knew the man’s ostentatiousness didn’t fit well with Reverend Carter’s teachings and was one of the reasons the minister held the man in such disdain.
“Wallace, sir,” the butler called. “Lord Mansfield will see you in his study. Please follow me.” The butler led him to the end of the hall and opened a door for him. “You may go in.”
Wallace entered to find three men sitting upon elegant upholstered chairs. They were all smoking pipes and the room was thick with smoke, the smell of tobacco stinging Wallace’s nose. The men were deep in conversation, so Wallace just stood waiting. Finally, Lord Mansfield looked up. “Ah, Wallace, do come over. Here, you know Magistrate Watson, do you not?”
A somewhat pudgy middle-aged man wearing a powdered wig and dressed in immaculately tailored clothing glanced over his shoulder and gave Wallace a nod.
Wallace nodded back. “Indeed, we’ve met.”
“And his aid, Captain John Moore.” The captain was a hard-looking man with dark, piercing eyes, dressed all in black. The butt of a flintlock pistol jutted out from his wide leather belt and his sword rested against the chair in which he was seated.
“I have not had the pleasure.”
“Captain, this is Wallace Williams. We’ve been engaged in a spot of business together. He is Nathaniel Williams’s son. The Nathaniel that helped settle Sutton.”
“Why, I know well who Nathaniel Williams is.” He stepped forward, extending his hand to Wallace. “It is an honor. I fought alongside your father when I was but just a lad.” The two men shook.
“Yes,” Lord Mansfield said. “Why, if it were not for Wallace’s father, I am not sure I
’d still have this lovely scalp of mine. When I took that arrow at Ferry Point, the one in my thigh here, it was Nathaniel who lent me his shoulder. Together we hobbled our way back to Fort Saybrook, and with those bloody savages harrying us the whole of it. Your father was a damn fine man, Wallace.”
“Thank you, sir. Means a lot to me to hear you say that. You know how much he meant to me.”
“He is sorely missed. Now, what is it? Bad news, I fear, by the look on your face.”
Wallace sighed.
“I see,” Lord Mansfield said. “Well, here, have a seat. Tell me where things stand.”
“I am sad to report the problem lies with my brother’s wife, Abitha. I conveyed your offer, your fair and generous offer. And I am sure Edward would’ve stepped up, would’ve done his part. As he has always done so before. But his wife continues to stick her nose in our affairs, taking every opportunity to place a wedge between my brother and me. It was she that pushed him to reject the terms.”
“What, a woman?” Magistrate Watson asked, speaking up for the first time. “Why, man, did you not report her right away?”
“I should have. But my brother pleaded with me not to, and I promised him I would give her another chance.” Wallace shook his head. “I regret that now. My brother, his mind is not sound, and she takes advantage of this, turning him against me.”
“You are a good soul, Wallace,” Lord Mansfield said. “To care for your brother so. I know he is family. But you need consider everyone’s stakes in this matter, not just Edward’s. You have a family to look after as well. He has forced you into a corner. Like it or not, you will have to go to Reverend Carter. The reverend will not stand for Abitha’s behavior. And he will make Edward see reason, I am sure.”
Wallace coughed. “I did, and, well … well, the harpy has filled Edward’s head up with such nonsense that he convinced the ministers otherwise.”
“What?” The three men appeared dumbfounded. “On what grounds? How is this?”
Wallace explained in detail, and still the three men appeared stunned.
“Reverend Carter has always been a thorn in my side,” Lord Mansfield said. “The man can be so very literal. He does not always perceive the larger context of our tenets.”
“Cannot see the forest for the trees,” Magistrate Watson put in.
“Yes, precisely. That was the heart of the problem all those years ago. And why he broke away and settled there in Sutton.” Lord Mansfield let out a long sigh. “Wallace, I owe it to your father to see to it neither you nor your brother lose your farms. There must be a way to make this work for everyone.” He took a long draw from his pipe. “How about this? How about if we all shoulder a bit of the debt? I reduce payment and split the remaining debt between the two of you. Say … you both pay me a quarter of your farm’s yield for ten years. Then everyone is free and clear. How does that sound?”
“That sounds more than fair,” the magistrate stated.
Ten years! Wallace thought, and almost choked, then reminded himself it was better than losing the farm outright, and managed to nod. “I know Edward would do it. Do it for the sake of our father. But again, it is the woman that is the problem. I fear no matter how fair the offer, she will poison him to it.”
“Then we need see to her,” the magistrate said.
“Yes, we need to see to this Abitha,” Lord Mansfield agreed. “Look here, Wallace, I know you wish to protect your brother, but I insist you report his wife’s behavior to the reverend immediately. That is one bit of ground that he will most certainly side with you on. He does not tolerate disobedience in the home. A severe lashing and a few cold nights in the stocks and she will learn to keep her nose out from where it does not belong.”
Wallace smiled thinly.
“Allow me to add something that might help,” Magistrate Watson said, and walked over to the desk. He slid over a sheet of parchment, plucked a quill from the inkwell, and scribbled out a note. He folded it and handed it to Wallace. “It is just a nudge to let the reverend know that we hope he resolves things appropriately.”
“And if that does not work, Wallace,” Lord Mansfield said, “I strongly suggest you come up with a plan that will. What she is doing is an affront to the foundation of our society, an affront to you, to the good folks of Sutton, and to the good Lord himself. I know you are a Godly man, but if the Devil is working havoc through this woman, then sometimes one must step off the orthodox path to set things right. Do you get my meaning?”
“I believe I do, sir.”
“Angels must often do dark deeds in the name of the Lord,” Magistrate Watson added. “Do they not?”
Wallace considered this a moment, then nodded, more to himself than to the two men. “Why, yes … indeed they do.”
Wallace shared a firm handshake with both men and headed away. As he rode home, it was the judge’s words that he heard over and over again.
“Angels must often do dark deeds in the name of the Lord.”
* * *
Wake.
“No.”
They are here. You must kill them.
“Who?”
The people … smell them.
The beast did, smelled the blood beating in their veins. There were two of them. It opened its eyes.
You must kill them, Father.
“Father?”
Do you remember your name?
The beast considered. “I believe I have many names?”
Many indeed.
“Who are you?”
Your children. You must protect us, protect Pawpaw … from the people. Do not fail us. Not again.
“I am tired.”
You need more blood.
The goat beast heard a thump from far up above, realized he could not only hear the people, but feel them, their souls. One was a man, the other a woman. The man was at the opening now.
We will call them, bring them to you. You can do the rest. It is time to feast.
“Yes, time to feast.”
* * *
“That’s close enough,” Abitha said.
Edward ignored her, walking up to the mouth of the cave, his ax slung over his shoulder.
“Edward, you will fall in.”
“Goodness, woman. Stop fretting so. I am not going to fall in.”
“Stop!” Her voice suddenly severe. “It … it’s in there, Edward.”
He met her eyes.
“I know you will think me silly, but … well, I felt something in there. I truly did.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Devil!” she blurted out. “I can feel it!”
“The Devil?” He smirked. “The very Devil? Here in our woods. I shall alert Reverend Carter right away.”
“It is not a jest!” Her color was up, and it made him grin.
“Abitha, do you think old Slewfoot is going to grab me and carry me down into his pit?” By the look on her face, he could plainly see that she did.
“You think it funny?” She clapped her hands to her hips. “Well, you can just throw yourself in then, save me and Slewfoot the trouble. See how I care.”
And he did see how she cared, and he could see she cared a lot. He stifled his grin. “Ah, Abitha, I am sorry. I do not mean to mock you. I will be careful. I promise.” This seemed to placate her somewhat. But her eyes kept darting back to the cave, and he wondered just what it was she’d seen or thought she’d seen. Whatever it was, she wanted him to build a gate across the entrance. She’d said it was to keep any more livestock from wandering in, but he was now pretty sure it was to keep whatever she thought was in there from getting out.
Loud squawks came from overhead. Abitha started. They both looked up.
“Trumpeter swans,” he said. “They’re coming home.”
Abitha pushed back her bonnet to watch the birds and several long locks of her hair fell loose, the rich auburn color lit up by the spots of sunlight dancing through the trees. What a picture you make, Edward thought. Wallace had quippe
d about her looks, about her freckles and scrawny figure. And perhaps she did lack the darling cheeks and dimples of Rebecca Chilton, or the shapeliness of Mary Dibble, yet to Edward, Abitha’s striking green eyes seemed to radiate more life and loveliness than both of those young women together.
“Spring is almost upon us,” he said. “We can start planting soon.”
She flashed him an almost vicious smile, and he understood everything about that smile. “And, God willing, we will be done with him soon,” she spat. “Wallace will have to find someone else to lord over. Glory, but what a wondrous day that will be. Will it not?”
“It will.”
She stepped closer, reaching for his hand. He took hers, gave it a squeeze, but when he went to let go, she held on, pulling him close and slipping an arm around his waist, pressing her stomach against him. Edward tensed as thoughts of their lustful night returned. He blushed and drew back, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
“What is it, Edward?”
“You know we should not act in such a way. The flesh makes us weak. About last night, I overstepped. I am ashamed.”
She twisted loose from his hand, and the look on her face, it was as though he’d slapped her.
See, he thought, such shameful lust only leads to pain. I will destroy that drawing, all the drawings. Lord, forgive me, I was so weak.
She walked away from him, over to the cave. He could see by the set of her shoulders that she was upset. She pulled something from her apron, hung it in front of the cave. Edward stepped up for a closer look, saw that it was a cross made from twigs and feathers, bound in red yarn.
“What is that?”
“But a warding charm. Something my mother used to keep wicked spirits at bay.”
He looked quickly around. “Abitha, you must not. What if someone sees?”
“None are out here but us.”
“No more of these spells of yours. Do you hear me? It must stop.” He realized the words had come out harsher than he meant.
“It is but rowan twigs and twine, Edward. How—”
“Twigs and twine that will see you tied to the whipping post!”