Slewfoot

by Brom

  She hurriedly buttoned her waistcoat, grabbed her bonnet, then her breakfast—half a biscuit, hard as stone as she was out of lard—and headed out.

  She stopped at the door, where she’d hung the braided chain of hair on a hook. She took time to gently trace her finger down its rungs. She did this each morning, and when she did, it washed away the night fears and a sense of calm stole over her. She allowed herself a moment to breathe.

  She stepped out onto the porch still chewing, and Booka began rubbing against her legs, all but tripping her as he tried to keep her from leaving.

  “I know, Booka. I do not wish to go either. I’ve far too much work to do to be sitting upon my ass listening to endless sermons.”

  She stepped down off the small porch, scanning the sky for sign of rain. The morning sun shone upon the cornfield, revealing the crooked and uneven rows, some planted, others not. Yet Abitha felt a sense of pride. I did that, Edward. If only you were here to see. You would be so proud. I know you would. The first shoots were beginning to show, and she thought she might have a crop after all. Just need some rain. She’d spent most of the last several days carrying pails of water from the well but knew it wasn’t possible for one person to keep this much corn watered.

  “It’ll rain soon,” she told Booka.

  The cat responded with loud meow.

  “Well, at least I have something to pray for in church today.”

  One of the goats bleated and Abitha glanced toward the barn, searching for any hint of the shadowy devil that had assaulted her. She’d not seen it since it had touched her and wanted to believe the ash and salt had driven it away. But if that were so, why then did she hear sounds late into the night, unnatural sounds, hollow howls and moans? And how many times had she caught glimpse of spectral shapes, ghostly things, there one moment and then gone? And Edward, how many times now had she caught sight of him at the edge of her vision? To call his name, only to find no one, nothing. And always that feeling that something was there in the woods, watching, waiting.

  “What do you want?” she asked for the thousandth time. “What?”

  She turned toward Edward’s beehives, searching for the apple tree, the one from her dream, needing to assure herself it was indeed just another of her bad dreams.

  There was no apple tree, no serpent tempting her like Eve in Eden. Though Abitha did need remind herself that it had been her mother who’d said that the serpent in Eden had brought not a curse, but the gift of enlightenment. Abitha thought again how strong the sight had been with her mother, how she could reach across the void into the world of the dead and conjure lost souls. Is that it? Has this devil awakened the sight within me? Her mother had spoken about how her mother, and grandmother, had had the sight, how all the mothers had. Why not me then?

  She caught movement near the hives—a man, his back to her, staring at the sprouting stalks.

  “Edward?” she whispered, taking a step toward him. “Oh, God, Edward, is that you? Please be you.”

  This time he didn’t disappear, but turned around, and it was indeed Edward. He was there, right there, only—

  Abitha clutched her mouth, stifling a cry.

  Edward’s eyes were gone, leaving behind dark, vacant sockets.

  Abitha’s knees tried to buckle.

  Edward raised a hand and pointed a damning finger at her, began tromping toward her.

  Abitha stood frozen.

  Closer and closer he came, slowly fading with each step, until he finally disappeared, dissipating like smoke, just a few strides away.

  “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus Christ!” Abitha cried and spun away, trying not to stumble as she dashed up the path, suddenly wanting, no, needing to be at church, amongst people, even people she despised. She reached the road, glanced back down at the farm, searching for the man with no eyes.

  “Edward,” she whispered. “Where are you really?” She thought of his body down in that horrible pit, trapped forever with that devil spirit. Does it have you, your very soul?

  She thought of the accusing way Edward had pointed at her.

  Am I to blame? Was my father right, have I somehow meddled where I should not? Is my name in his book?

  Abitha raced through the forest along the two-rut trail to church. The towering trees grew ever denser as she went, leaning in on her from either side, blocking out the sun—a twisted tunnel of branches and leaves and gnarled roots that felt ready to swallow her at any moment.

  She kept glancing back, expecting Edward to be there, following her.

  About halfway to the village she heard someone speaking. She stopped and squinted into the deep gloom of the woods, searching, only to find that every shape and shadow seemed a devil ready to come for her.

  She heard it again, little more than a whisper, but near. Her flesh prickled.

  It is just the wind, she thought. Naught is there. But something was there; she felt its eyes upon her.

  “Leave me be,” she called, her voice shaky. “Please, leave me be.”

  She heard what sounded like a growl, but oddly distorted as though coming from beneath the ground. Still, she knew who it was then—the Devil, the very one from her barn.

  She dashed away, the growl chasing after her.

  She hiked her skirt and ran, but it was right behind her. She felt its hand on her shoulder, then … then nothing.

  She dared a glance back, sure it would be there, stumbled, fell into the bushes.

  Nothing was there. Nothing but the trees.

  * * *

  Father sat on the bank amongst the endless bones, watching the giant river drift slowly by. All was gray, the river, the bones, the nearby hills and mountains, the dim smoky sky. The only color a glint of orange in the far distance hinting at some great fire. Ash drifted along on the warm breeze, the air smelling of soot.

  He wiped his eyes clear of ash, noticed gray shapes along the far bank. It was them, the ghosts, a giant bear, a few bison, several wolves, and a mammoth. But they were not running as when he’d first heard their call; these were either shuffling listlessly along or just standing in place, staring endlessly at nothing, their eyes as dead as they were.

  Father didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here, as there was no day or night, not amongst the dead, just endless gray. He picked up a bone, watched it crumble in his hand, and tried to recall how he’d gotten here. He could remember following the ghost, how good it had felt to run with the spectral beasts, to share their song, but it seemed he’d become lost somewhere along the way and now wasn’t sure how to get back, or if he even wanted to get back.

  They moaned, those in the river; you could hear them as they passed, swirling and bobbing about in the lazy current. A face broke the surface, just for a moment, not one of the beasts, but a person, a woman. She stayed afloat just long enough for Father to see the look of utter emptiness in her eyes.

  “I am ready,” Father sighed. “Ready to join you.”

  “No, you’re not,” a voice said. It was the boar, the one with the small sigil of flame floating above its head, the one with three eyes—the third in the center of its forehead—all of them sad. It lay amongst the bones next to Father. “You keep saying that,” it added, all three eyes blinking in unison. “Yet you’re still here. Just admit it. You’re afraid.”

  Father grunted.

  The boar was as gray as the mud, hairless, missing an ear, a leg, its tail, and all of its teeth except one large tusk twisting up from the corner of its mouth. It appeared to be falling apart, crumbling as though slowly turning to dust. It sniffed at the water. “That’s the river Lethe. It is the river of lost souls. Its waters offer oblivion to any who drown in it.”

  “You have told me that already,” Father replied.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, many times.”

  “Hmm, that is disturbing to hear. It seems the longer I lie here the more forgetful I become. I need to go for a swim, now, right now, before I forget that is why I came.” But the boar
didn’t go into the river, instead it just laid its head back down.

  “Tell me,” Father said. “Why am I here?”

  The boar cocked his head. “Now it is you that are repeating yourself. Why are you here?”

  Father sighed, returned his attention to the river, to pondering what oblivion meant. An hour passed, or maybe a day, or maybe a week.

  Footsteps, approaching at a hurried pace.

  Father looked around.

  “What is it?” the boar asked.

  “Someone is coming.”

  The boar glanced about, sniffed the air. “I do not hear anything.”

  Father stood, spotted a hazy shape heading toward him. A person, a woman, but he couldn’t make out her features. She seemed to float, her feet not quite touching the ground as she drew closer and closer.

  “It’s her?”

  “Who?”

  Father pointed. “It’s the woman … Abitha.”

  “No one is there. You’re seeing things.”

  The woman walked past, stopped, and began looking fretfully around.

  “What are you doing here?” Father growled, but she didn’t seem to hear him, her eyes seeing beyond him. Then, as though startled, she darted away.

  “You shall vex me no more!” Father snarled and took off after her, but the closer he got, the dimmer she became. He leapt for her, but the instant he touched her, she vanished.

  There came a jolt and the ghostly world began to crumble, to spin.

  Father was falling, swirling into a storm of gray bones and dust.

  The dust slowly cleared and he found himself lying on the ground in a forest, alone.

  * * *

  Abitha entered the village commons and finally slowed down, sparing a glance behind her to make certain that it, whatever it was, hadn’t followed her into Sutton. She saw no demon, but instead Goody and Mary Dibble along with about a dozen other women heading toward her on their way to church.

  Abitha quickly wiped the sweat from her brow, swatted the leaves and dirt from her ragged skirt.

  “A bit of advice, Abi, dear,” Goody said. “If you would leave but a bit earlier, you’d need not worry about turning up here such a sweaty mess. Do you not think so?”

  The women looked her up and down, making no effort to hide their disgust at her appearance.

  “Your boots, Abi,” Dorthy Dodd put in. “Why, just look at them. They’re filthy. It is sad.”

  “If you’re asking me,” Goody added, “that is the folly of a woman trying to take on a man’s labors.”

  “True,” Fanne Howell said. “If you kept your hand to women’s work you would not be such a mess.”

  Others nodded adamantly.

  “Aye, do you really feel it is proper?” Goody asked. “You out there plowing?”

  “Well, I for one do not think so,” Fanne put in.

  “Nor I,” said Dorthy.

  The women encouraged one another, the comments hitting quick and hard as they circled Abitha, talking atop one another, giving Abitha no chance to respond.

  “It does not look good upon our community.”

  “Yes, you are giving all the women of Sutton a bad name.”

  “Aye, Abi. Why must you be so stubborn? What is it you seek to prove?”

  “What you’re doing is a sin. Reverend Smith even said so.”

  “It is high time you give Wallace back his land and come in and do your duty like a respectable Christian woman.”

  “If you are indeed a Christian woman like you claim, that is, and not some heathen.”

  Abitha began to shake, felt her face flush, knew she must be scarlet.

  “Aye, yours is a sin of pride. That is all.”

  “Indeed. Poor Wallace. Why are you doing this to him?”

  Abitha balled her hands into tight fists.

  “It is little more than thievery if you ask me.”

  “And after all he has tried to do for you.”

  “Mind your own houses!” Abitha cried. “You are all naught but a gaggle of clucking cunts!”

  The women fell quiet, all and one, staring at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

  “Just mind your own houses!” Abitha stormed away, nearly knocking Goody down as she pushed her way out from the circle.

  Abitha entered the meetinghouse, dropping into her usual seat in the last bench next to Helen and the other servants, clutching her hands together, trying to quell her shaking.

  Helen looked over, eyes full of concern. “Are you all right?” she asked in a whisper, then glanced behind as Goody and her crew marched in, all giving Abitha reproachful looks.

  Abitha kept her eyes forward. You’ve gone too far once again, Abi. They’ll not let it go. You’ll be in the stocks by noon. You know you will.

  Helen reached over and gave Abitha’s hand a quick squeeze.

  Abitha squeezed back, wishing she could tell Helen how much that simple gesture meant to her at this moment.

  Reverend Carter took the pulpit and started the service, then one minister after another droned through their sermons. Abitha tried to concentrate, but her thoughts kept returning to the black pits that were Edward’s eyes, to the long walk awaiting her back home through those dark woods, to what Goody and her crew would tell on her.

  She caught movement from the corner of her eye, an odd shadow flickering over by the stove, toward the back of the meetinghouse. She did her best to keep her eyes forward, but when she noticed it growing, she turned and stared.

  The shadow lengthened, stretched, then coiled, then stretched again, taking on the shape of a serpent. Abitha clamped a hand over her mouth as it began to slither, to crawl up the wall.

  A sharp jab struck the back of Abitha’s head. It was Deputy Harlow; he’d just thumbed her with the long pole.

  Abitha started to protest, to point to the shadow, only when she looked back, it was gone. A serpent in the house of the Lord. Jesus, please save me.

  Finally, the sermons ended and everyone stood for final prayer, after which the parishioners began to file out. Once in the yard, most of the women formed a circle around the reverend’s wife, Sarah Carter. As she did every Sunday, Sarah presided over their concerns and squabbles. Abitha watched her sorting out some minor quarrel between the Pratt sisters, captivated by how commanding the woman could be. Decision rendered, all nodded unconditionally. Her word was law, at least amongst the women, but Abitha could see in their faces that it was more than that, that these women shared a deep-down respect for this rigid woman. Abitha couldn’t help but feel it was Sarah, as intimidating as she could be, who kept daily life running smoothly around Sutton, even more so than Reverend Carter himself.

  Someone tugged at Abitha’s sleeve.

  “Thank you, Abi,” Helen said, and smiled coyly. “I believe your charm has done its work.”

  “Oh?”

  Helen nodded and whispered. “Have a secret. Swear you’ll not tell.”

  “I swear.”

  “Isaac gave me a kiss.”

  “Why, Helen, that is wonderful.” Abitha smiled, then added, “You best be careful Goodwife Carter not find out.”

  Helen beamed. “He told me he hopes to marry me one day.”

  “I am so happy for you,” Abitha said, then caught sight of Wallace, his wife, son, and daughter, all staring at her. She met Wallace’s eyes and held them, wondering how any man could be so willing to throw away his own son’s happiness.

  Wallace headed toward Abitha.

  Helen saw him and scurried off. Abitha started to follow when Wallace snatched hold of her arm, yanking her around to face him, his thick fingers biting into her flesh. He leaned over her. “You would not look so smug if you knew what lay ahead for you,” he whispered. “Reverend Carter is not the end of this. You will soon learn what I mean.” He shoved her away and strolled off as though not having a care in the world and rejoined his family.

  They were all watching her now, not just Wallace and his family, but so many of the others, and
she found no sympathy in any of their eyes, only biting looks of disdain.

  Abitha rubbed her arm and turned away, suddenly wanting only to go home. Devils at home, devil in the woods, devils at church, devils everywhere, is there no escape? She’d no sooner finished the thought than she noticed Goody Dibble and her crew talking intently with Sarah Carter, Goody pointing repeatedly at Abitha.

  When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut? Abitha thought, and started off, hoping to slip away.

  “Abitha,” Goodwife Carter called.

  Abitha pretended not to hear.

  “Abitha Williams,” Goodwife Carter shouted sternly. “A word.”

  Abitha halted, stiffened; she didn’t know if she could take a public scolding right now, not today. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be profane. It is just … well … those women, they can be so cruel. I just—”

  “Come,” Goodwife Carter said, leading her away. “I would speak to you in private.”

  She walked Abitha to the side of the meetinghouse and set her hard, firm eyes on her.

  Abitha stared at the ground.

  “Listen to me, Abitha. What I have to say I cannot say in front of the others.”

  Abitha braced herself.

  “What you are trying to do is brave and it is noble and I admire you. I truly do. And I am not alone.”

  Abitha wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Ma’am?”

  “But you are too vulnerable on all sides. Wallace has shown himself devious in the past, and I do not trust him. I believe it is about more than the land with him at this point. I fear he is out to do you harm, to ruin you if he can. And he has powerful allies in this, some men out of Hartford, Lord Mansfield and a judge, Magistrate Watson. They’re pressuring Reverend Carter to back Wallace. If you cannot bring in this crop, they plan to turn your unpaid debt into servitude.”

  “Servitude? I do not understand.”

  “You will be legally indentured to Wallace. You will be his servant until such time as your debts are paid off. That could be years, Abitha.”