“Jack, there is barely oil left for the lamps, and I do not believe we can stand many more nights like those of late. We must do something.”
“Pray, Lucy, what is your suggestion?” Father turned his stoic face to hers.
“Understanding this phenomenon requires the help of God. Ask the Reverend to spend the evening here with us. Please.” Mother placed her hand firmly on his shoulder and I held my breath for his response.
Father stood and pulled the heavy brocade curtain in the parlor farther aside so he could better see the Reverend engaged at our horse tie, delivering to Zeke instructions regarding the feeding of his horse down at our stables.
“He must mean to stay awhile without our invitation.” Father’s jaw was grave against the windowpane. “All right, Lucy. We will discuss it with him.” His lips were tightly drawn and I could tell he wished it had not come to this, for he did not want to break his vow of silence regarding our family troubles. My feelings ran more toward throwing open the great door and racing down the hill to drag the Reverend in. I hoped he could do something to help us.
“Why, Miss Betsy, hello.” When he reached our porch, huffing in his long black coat, and carrying his Bible in his right hand folded over his heart, I thought the Reverend was possibly the most comforting sight I had ever witnessed.
“Hello, Reverend Johnston!” I delivered an enthusiastic greeting to him, and he removed his hat, entering our hall.
“Reverend Johnston, we are delighted you have come to call. Never have we been more pleased to see a visitor.” Mother shared my enthusiasm and grasped the Reverend’s hand in hers.
“I confess I came this way on purpose for there were rumors of illness here, and yet, I trust you are all well?” He looked about, seeming slightly bemused.
“We are well, and not so well.” Father gave him a firm handshake and it was then I saw the Reverend raise his eyebrows, for Father was not known to be so inexact in his responses.
“How say you, Jack?”
“Please, join us here for supper and we will tell you all our news.” Mother took the Reverend’s arm and drew him to the table, enacting the regular social convention, yet clearly she was not her normal self either.
“I am happy for the invitation,” the Reverend replied calmly, unaware of anything amiss. I took his coat to hang, and everyone got seated at the table while Chloe laid an extra place.
“We are experiencing unusual events in the evenings at our home,” Father began, coming straight to the point.
“Is it related to the earth movements we recently discussed?” the Reverend inquired, settling his round bottom in his chair.
“Perhaps …” Father paused, as if he did not have adequate words to describe our trauma. “Yet, I wonder if these noises are earthly.”
“How say you?” The Reverend smiled and balanced the heel of his hand on the table edge, awaiting Father’s explanation of his claim, but it came from Mother, who touched the Reverend’s arm and nodded in my direction.
“Our Betsy has had her quilts ripped from her bed and her hair pulled and twisted by invisible hands.”
“Not only that, there is a terrible sound of lips smacking and gulping in the air, yet there is no person there!” Without requesting permission to speak I interjected, I so wished to relieve myself of the experience.
“And there are rodents gnashing their teeth on the bedpost!” Richard added. He was most frightened by the thought of being bitten in the dark.
“You could fill a riverbed with the stones dropped down our stairs,” John Jr. said, for he had spent some part of every day carting wheelbarrows of rocks from the front of the house down to the stream.
“But if you keep the lamps burning it won’t come in the room.” Joel looked across the table at the Reverend with hopeful eyes, expecting a man of God would know what to do.
I could not ascertain what the Reverend was thinking, but he did not immediately volunteer an explanation for our complaints, though he did return his hands to his lap.
“I will happily pass an evening in your good company,” he responded, “and if tonight is convenient, so be it. Mrs. Johnston is aware I planned to call on you, and she will assume I have accepted some kind invitation, and that I am not lost to bandits on the road, for Adams is blessed this year in having none about.”
“To be certain I will send my man with a message to your home,” Father reassured him. “We do not wish to worry your good wife.”
“That would be kind of you indeed, Jack Bell.” The Reverend folded his hands before his empty plate, with no expectation of trauma in his expression, despite what he had heard. I was surprised he asked no further questions and the conversation turned to how the crops were growing.
After the meal, Mother and I helped clear the table, and in the kitchen Chloe was bold, touching Mother’s forearm.
“We done seen your house at night, Miz Lucy. Your double logs do shake and pulse as if it ’tis a livin’ thing.” Chloe’s forehead wrinkled nearly into her kerchief with concern.
“We are gripped by a storm of violence inside, dear Chloe. Tell all the Negroes they must pray to God for our deliverance and never fear.” Mother turned away to join the men already in the parlor. I wanted to ask Chloe if the slaves had seen the lights and heard the noise, and I wanted to discover what they did imagine it to be, but I did not dare, for I could tell it was contrary to Mother’s wishes. I left Chloe alone in the kitchen without a backward glance, following Mother to the parlor.
The Reverend was seated in Father’s usual chair by the fire with his good book in his hand so he might read to us. Father sat at his writing desk, drinking from his silver flask. I saw him upend it, shaking the last drop into his throat while I made myself comfortable at Mother’s feet.
“I shall read to you from I Samuel,” the Reverend announced, and Father moved to sit in the rocking chair, nodding his head, as though I Samuel was the text he himself would have chosen as appropriate for our situation.
The boys fidgeted on the bench, despite John Jr.’s presence beside them, but as the Reverend read how Samuel had heard a mysterious voice in the night and prayed to the Lord for deliverance and knowledge, they grew still and attentive.
“And the Lord said, Behold, I will do a thing at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle.” I wondered how the Reverend knew about the tingling, but the fact he did greatly deepened my faith in his abilities. When the story was over, he asked us to rise while he recited a psalm. “We see not our signs. There be no more any prophet; neither be there amongst us any that knoweth how long. O God, how long shall the adversary reproach? Shall the enemy blaspheme thy name for ever?” I did not understand the Reverend’s meaning in this, but to see him praying, with his eyes and hands raised to the ceiling, made me feel he sanctified our home, calling God into our presence. I grew excited, for surely God would protect us, God would grant us a respite.
“Betsy, will it now be over?” Joel turned his wide excited eyes to mine when we climbed the stairs up to our bedrooms. Mother walked behind me with a lamp and though I smiled, I deferred to her to comment.
“It will be what it will be, my little Joel,” she answered, but her good humor added a great measure of trust and when I pulled the quilts around my nightclothes I was able to hope the night had arrived when our trials would cease.
“Blow out your candles, then, and let us sleep.” The Reverend called good night from John Jr.’s bedroom, where he lay in Jesse’s bed. I lay in my bed not even long enough to feel a feather poking through the mattress ticking, before I rose up and went to my door. I was surprised to see no candlelight wavering into the hall from the boys’ rooms. I did not wish to blow my candle out and I decided I would not, but a sudden gust of wind accomplished the task for me and WHACK! I was slapped in the face in the dark by an icy hand. I screamed and heard the sound of chairs whipping to the floor all about the house, and then Mother and Father came running up the stairs. I saw behin
d the flame of their candles they hadn’t yet undressed.
“Mother, it has struck me!” I held my hand to my cheek.
“How say you?” The Reverend entered and stood bowlegged before me in a long white nightshirt begged off my father. His candle dripped wax into its holder as he tilted it toward me.
“Look, there is a mark.” Mother lit the lamp and held it up. The Reverend bent so near into the light above my face I could see the silver whiskers sprouting from his nose.
“It does look to be a handprint on her cheek,” he said, verifying what I had felt. I watched him step back toward the doorway, appearing much preoccupied with the splintering sounds of breaking wood occurring throughout the rest of the house. Joel and Richard squeezed by him and climbed onto my bed. They were not crying, but very solemn, and they kept their eyes on the Reverend to see what he would do.
“What can this be?” he mumbled and held his candle high, looking to Father as if for sustenance, not at all the godly force I had expected.
“The light no longer has effect,” Father dryly observed, for though the room was well lit with the lamp and candle, the gulping sound remained audible, as if all manner of animals were chewing cud inside our ears.
“I have never …” The Reverend concentrated, listening hard to the choking rasps that followed the smacking of lips.
“You must do something!” I was desperate, for what violent destruction would follow the gulping sound? What evil act? I despised the shaking of the house and I pleaded with the Reverend as my only hope, “Take action!”
“Yes, child,” Reverend Johnston raised his fingers to his lips to silence me, “I will.” He paused only a moment before determining he would speak to the entity as if it were possessed with human character. “In the name of the Lord,” he pleaded, “what are you? What do you want? Why are you here?” Incredibly his queries brought a sudden silence to my room. Mother and Father exchanged a quick glance I could not interpret, then all of us spontaneously bowed our heads in silent meditation and prayer. I prayed and listened to each breath and shuffle of nightclothes with wide ears for the better part of an hour. Joel, even when frightened, had no tolerance for attentive waiting, and he had just fallen asleep when I felt a yank on my braid and the quilt wrapped about us was whisked to the floor.
“It’s back!” I cried, receiving a sharp stab in my neck as though a straight pin jabbed me. The unseen hand slapped me broad across the face again and I shrieked in pain from the force of the blow.
“Oh Betsy,” Mother whispered. Everyone else distinctly heard the slap. She sobbed and held her hands to her own cheeks, watching the red mark appear on mine.
“Dear Jesus!” the Reverend said. He placed his hands across my shoulders to steady me and better see my injuries but I was pushed from behind by invisible hands, wrenched from his grasp and thrown face down to the floor. The sound of choking filled the room as I lay prone on the wooden planks. I did not wish to move for I was afraid I would be struck down again. I closed my eyes and kept my cheek against the rough wood, while the smacking lips played in my ear.
“Get up!” Father commanded, lifting me by my waist. I was beside myself with fear and did not rise willingly. The Reverend Johnston took my arm to help him and I went limp as a slave to the whipping post, crying silently to my chest, leave me alone, evil, leave me alone.
“Miss Betsy, what has pulled you down?” The Reverend spoke sharply to me, squeezing my forearm with his pudgy fingers.
“I know not!” I cried, and then again, an icy slap struck my face. I threw my hands up to protect myself from further blows, but it was no use, needles stung my cheeks and fingers. Father and the Reverend made a sudden grasp for my arms, to hold me, but I was pulled from them and thrown down by what I could not see, though I felt its strength, and it was greater than any man’s. My forehead to the wood, I could not get my breath.
“In the name of God, I beseech you, cease your torture of this innocent! What are you and why are you here?” The Reverend threw his arms up to the ceiling, mustering great passion for his query. Again, the noise did stop.
My lungs opened and I dropped tears onto the floor. Mother kneeled beside me and stroked my back and the sudden silence felt as much a shock as the horror that had preceded it. No one knew what to do, but the Reverend began to pray.
“O God Almighty, our Father in Heaven, hallowed be thy name! This is a house of righteousness, inhabited by worthy servants of the faith! If there is sin, forgive us, forgive us Lord, for any abominable unclean thing, for we shun profane and vain babbling, knowing they will increase unto more ungodliness, and we are good, and strive to walk with you, O Lord.” The Reverend’s prayer was rambling and breathless, compared to his usual sound oratory. He too kneeled beside me and hissed into my ear.
“Miss Betsy, rise and tell me, what do you know of this disturbance?”
“I know only I am suffering with these torments you do witness.” I raised my head and saw the Reverend studying my face as if he thought I might be the cause of the violence rather than its victim. “What do you know of them?” I responded, insolent,in tears. “Is this a punishment from God, Reverend? For what? What have I done?”
“Nothing!” Father was angry at the direction of the Reverend’s inquiry. “Ask the Good Lord, not our Betsy, to explain to you the unexplainable, Reverend, so you may interpret unto us the right true path through this malignant force.”
“It is unfathomable, Jack, until it is experienced. I know not how to act.” The Reverend huffed and stood, nodding to my father, much subdued. He smoothed a hand down the round front of his nightshirt, stroking his belly in anxious contemplation.
“Your prayer has helped immensely, Reverend. Hear the quiet now,” Mother said, attempting to console and encourage him.
“But will it come again?” Joel asked very softly, frightened. “If it does,” Mother comforted him, “I will hold you tight as before and we will pray to the Lord and trust He will keep us all safe, as He has so far. Look, are you hurt? Is your dear sister hurt?” Mother pulled Joel off the bed with one arm and pulled me at the waist with the other, so we were facing one another. His fearful eyes locked on to mine and he wrapped his arms about my neck. I found his curls the softest handkerchief for my tears.
“I am not hurt, little brother,” I reassured him. I understood it was necessary to be brave, and I allowed Drewry and John Jr. to help me back to bed. I pulled them down to sit beside me, and once again we clustered together, a litter of siblings, guarded by Mother and Father and the Reverend too.
“Has your Betsy been singled out to suffer grievously at every visitation?” The Reverend turned to Father, pursuing aloud his thoughts.
“Yea, though she has not suffered on her own.”
“Has no one else been physically abused?”
“These events have abused us all.” Mother was absolute, and I realized seeing me suffer was as horrible for her as suffering herself.
“What connection do you postulate, Reverend?” Father seemed annoyed and impatient, and his voice flickered like the lamplight on the wall.
“I know not. I am grasping for an indication of a meaning here. Perhaps there is some connection, or perhaps there is none. I want not to offend you in any way, but we must strive to know all in our quest to expunge evil.” Flustered, the Reverend turned his round face to me. “Betsy, do not be afraid, for the Lord is with you, but tell me, is there any cause or reason for the Devil and his demons to have business with you here? Is there a sin of yours of which we are not aware?”
“What say you, Reverend Johnston? Pray to God the answer to your query is within your soul this moment. Our Betsy is as innocent as the day she was born!” Mother stood, so upset I thought she might ask him to leave our home with his dubious speculations, but there came the metal tapping at the glass and a wind entered and blew out every candle, leaving only the one lamp, low on oil, burning darkly atop my washstand.
“Please, no!” I cried be
fore I felt a thing, for I wished to attempt to communicate with my torturer as the Reverend had successfully done, assuming it had human character and could understand my pleas. It paid me no attention except blows to my cheeks and I screamed in pain. Slowly, the room began to shake with the thundering noise. The lamp rattled on the china basin and Father took it in his hand before it hit the floor. My brothers grasped my arms and I screamed again, “Please! No!” They tried to hold me to the bed, but I saw their hands stream past as I was wrestled from them to the floor. I struck it with enough force to know I would have bruises in the morning.
“Good God!” Mother threw her body over mine where I lay face down, struggling to catch my breath. I prayed silently, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me.
“In the name of God, I beseech you, cease your torture of this innocent!” The Reverend resumed his tone of passion and intensity, his arms raised to the ceiling. “What are you and why are you here?” he yelled, and again the noise did cease. Flat silence and my quick breaths filled the room.
“Keep talking, Reverend.” Father seemed annoyed. He lifted me in his arms as though I were a small child, and set me down on the bed where the boys embraced my battered body and I began to cry in despair, aware of how powerless I was in the grasp of unearthly torments. We endured this way until the early hours of the morning, when the attacks ceased and we were allowed a few hours of precious sleep before the dawn. No one left my room, we were all so exhausted. My parents, my brothers and the Reverend lay strewn about my floor like the quilts ripped from my bed.
“Jack, if I had not witnessed with my own eyes this phenomenon, I would not have believed such was possible.” At breakfast Reverend Johnston and Father discussed our situation. “Clearly God must mean for us to find the righteous path amid evil in this instance.”
All That Lives Page 6