“What do you know you about it, Mrs. Batts? My slaves say what ails the Bells is some old hag practicing witchcraft in these parts.”
“Helen!” Mother looked upset with both of them and pulled her woven shawl close, folding her arms across her chest, her face terribly sad.
“And who might this old hag be? What say you?” Old Kate raised her voice to Mrs. Thorn and the Reverend turned to her, clapping his Bible mightily to his chest, a gesture which brought the focus of the room to him.
“Have you some knowledge you wish to share with us, Mrs. Batts?”
“Ask Helen Thorn for knowledge, Reverend, as she claims to have some, but first, let us hear how Jesus prays for us.” There was silence for a moment and Mrs. Thorn looked away, out the parlor window. The Reverend decided not to pursue the matter and instead cleared his throat, commencing his reading.
“Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” I wondered, what did it mean exactly to overcome the world? Did it mean to die and go to Heaven? All my friends and family were on earth, and I did not wish to leave them to overcome my tribulations, however horrible they might be.
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened unto you.” There was a sharp drop in the temperature of the room and a windy whistling sound descended on us. The Reverend continued quickly. “For everyone that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.”
Our great front door swung open at the close of the Reverend’s sentence and gasps of shock came from the lips of the startled crowd.
“Is it an apparition?” Mrs. Porter spoke in a frightened whisper and the rush of wind walked through the hall, billowing Old Kate’s skirts, chilling the boys and me on the floor.
“It is only the wind.” Father crossed the room to shut and bar the wooden door but abruptly we heard smacking thuds against the wall of the parlor, as though someone threw cobblestones against our house with force. I drew my arms around my knees and Joel and Richard did the same. The adults rose and went to the windows. They opened the door Father had just closed.
“There’s nothing there!” Mr. Porter shouted with surprise.
“But we hear it and can feel the strike!” Mrs. Porter was not brave enough to look, but she seemed to believe there must be someone outside, throwing the rocks.
“The stones do not always appear.” John Jr. held a lamp aloft for Mr. Thorn, who squinted out the window. We heard the sound of wind rushing through the leaves in the forest, as if the forest stood inside the very room.
“What is this noise?” Mr. Thorn inquired.
“Look, there is no wind up in the trees, and yet, I hear it blow.” Mr. Porter was puzzled and stood beside my father at the door.
“Pray, good people, grasp hands together now!” We stood and made a circle in the parlor, holding hands, while the blowing winds continued, so fierce I expected any moment the walls would dissolve and we would stand in a clearing under a rage of wind in the woods. I held tight to Joel and Richard’s fingers.
“In the name of God, reveal yourself.” The Reverend raised his hands and so did every pair about the circle. There came a sudden silence of the wind and stones, but the next moment the bristling coldness returned to the air, and I knew it meant to hurt me.
“No! Please!” I cried out, just before a stinging slap was laid into my cheek. I heard the noise of furniture flying apart upstairs and general cries of fear as all our eardrums were set to vibrating. I was pulled from my place and something grabbed my hair in fistfuls while I stumbled to the center of the parlor rug.
“The girl’s possessed of demons! God forbid!” I heard Old Kate shout above the noise.
“I’ll not have such blasphemy inside my house!” Father shouted back. “To speak of evil is to be of it!”
“Nay, to be of evil is to not speak plainly of it when it raises its ugly head inside your home. How long has this demon been in attendance here?” Kate demanded.
“What do you see? I see nothing but invisible tortures to my girl!” Father came to where I’d fallen to my knees and Mother was already there, stroking my back.
“Bear up, Betsy, trust the Lord will keep you safe,” she tried to soothe me.
“Be quiet!” The Reverend silenced everyone in his loudest voice. “In the name of the good Lord, tell us, who are you? Why are you present here?”
An unnatural silence filled the house and everyone waited, surprised to feel they might hear an unearthly answer to the Reverend’s query. I though it promising that when he spoke directly to it, the violence did cease. I sat up and did not cry, for I was strengthened by the numbers of people populating the room. I felt a cold shiver at the base of my spine, traveling up my neck, causing me to shake slightly. A high-pitched whistle was heard, faint as a sharp wind at first, but as we listened the sound grew so loud, all present were forced to cover their ears with their hands.
“If you can whistle, can you communicate with us?” the Reverend bellowed, and the whistling ceased. And as if in direct response, we heard a loud thud against the door. “Good!” The Reverend was obviously pleased, but Father looked grim and angry. “Jack, I believe we must try to communicate with whatever it is,” the Reverend began to explain his enthusiasm, but Father cut him short.
“Reverend, I believe it is your responsibility to expedite its return to whence it came.” Abruptly I was slapped again without a warning, so I reeled backward and the blow was loud enough for everyone present to hear.
“Look, it leaves a mark!” cried Mr. Thorn with concern.
“Don’t let it hurt our sister!” Richard began to sob and Mrs. Johnston hurried to comfort him and Joel too. She drew them close to her ample chest.
“Good people, pray unto the Lord! Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come …”
I screamed in pain from a new slap to my cheek and fell forward pressing my forehead against the rug, suffering more blows descending on my arms and back. Mother and Father and the Reverend tried to shield me, but it was impossible. They were pushed aside, while the invisible blows fell fast and furious along my spine.
“Good Lord, is this the Devil’s arm?” Old Kate did sound more curious than frightened.
“You would be the only individual to recognize it,” Father snapped at her over his shoulder, as all two hundred and fifty pounds of Kate moved closer to see me flinching, beaten to the carpet.
“Darkness covers a multitude of sins.” Old Kate looked down at me as if I were a squirming creature of the dirt.
“Be quiet, Kate, or leave this house.” The Reverend spoke with severe authority, and I believe the larger audience was helping him adjust to the ways and means of the mysterious force. “The Lord will stand by us, and by this innocent, the Lord shall deliver us from every evil work.” The blows increased against me while the Reverend prayed, and he was quick to return to speaking directly to the phenomenon, as if it could hear and understand.
“Cease this torment of Betsy Bell! Tell us who you are and why you are present here.” At this, the blows stopped again. I lay prone, my knees to my chest, grateful for the woolen cushion of the carpet under my cheek. I saw the trousered legs and skirts and petticoats of our visitors and I heard them rustling in the sudden silence. The guests spoke softly, seeming very far away.
“What can it be?” I heard my brother Jesse ask.
“What should be done?” Martha posed the more relevant question.
“Pray, goodly assembled, let us combine our prayers. Deliver us from evil, O Lord …” The wind started up again and I heard a general gasping for air amongst the startled persons. There was the noise of a slap and a cry of pain, but it did not issue from me. Instead, the Reverend found himself abused.
“O Heavenly Father, deprive us not of our dear emissary.” Mother closed her eyes and raised her arms to the ceiling in a pos
ture of devotion.
“No, not my John!” Mrs. Johnston rushed to his side and put her hand to his cheek to soothe him but she too was slapped, whereupon she burst into tears. The Reverend bore his attack with great stoicism, barely flinching, and in this he was a fine example. I placed my arms above my head, expecting blows across my back, bad as a whipping, but instead the blows were laid unto my dear community, across the backs of my brothers and the adults gathered, so I was mercifully spared the full energy of the force. Amid the rushing wind and the furious whistling I heard the guests call out.
“Something has pinched my ear!”
“There’s a pin stabbed in my hand!”
“I have been slapped!”
I felt a disgusting sense of relief that persons other than me were suffering the physical abuse, but as soon as that thought crossed my mind I felt hands jerking back my head.
“I will out from this cursed place!” I saw Kate Batts turn toward the hallway to fetch her coat.
“Kate, you cannot, the night is black.” Mother stood and followed her with kind concern for her welfare, ignoring the storm of noise and blows about the room.
“I have a lantern, Lucy, and more would I trust the night animals of the forest with my fate than would I remain where evil is at work.”
“Let her go if she is not inclined to help,” Father shouted after Mother with disregard for Kate’s welfare.
“I am inclined to return home and see what I can do to mix you up a remedy!” Old Kate shouted back across the room.
“Wait, you must not go alone,” Mr. Porter called out, rising, with Mrs. Porter clinging to his arm, suddenly anxious to accompany Old Kate.
“Good people …” The Reverend rubbed his stricken cheek with his hand and looked after them with some dismay.
“When will this visitation take its leave of us?” Mr. Thorn looked to my father, and I saw his brow was deeply furrowed with fearful concern.
“Be there any amongst us that knoweth how long,” the Reverend said, quoting what was apparently his favorite psalm on the subject, as an answer to Mr. Thorn. “O God, how long shall the adversary reproach? Shall the enemy blaspheme thy name for ever?” He offered it up as a prayer with his hands raised to the ceiling.
Mother bolted the door after Old Kate and the Porters departed and the rest of us endured the night alternating between our prayers to God, our direct entreaties to the thing itself, and our suffering of maddeningly cruel abuse. All suffered save Mother, who remained untouched. She ministered compresses and cups of tea and fervent prayers to everyone in torment, and eventually, in the early hours of the morning, she was able to hand out pallets and quilts and we were again allowed a few hours of rest before the dawn.
the constant passing of all things
Mr. and Mrs. Thorn departed as soon as it grew light and the Reverend and Mrs. Johnston followed, leaving even before Chloe had readied our breakfast. Jesse and Martha decided to remain another day and I could hear them upstairs talking with Drewry, Richard and Joel. The scratch of Father’s pen across the paper in his book of accounts caused me to squirm on my chair at the dining table.
“May I please go?” I turned, most earnest, to Mother. I expected she would oppose my request and I sat up straighter, trying to appear as sturdy and robust as possible, hoping I could influence her decision.
“No, I would have you by my side today, Miss Betsy. And your brothers also.” Mother had her mind made up, I could see, but I very much wanted to speak to Thenny and I did not think it right I should have to stay at home, as everyone would surely talk of our family at recess.
“I want to go. I want to hear my lessons!” I unfolded my hands and banged my palm lightly on the table for emphasis to my speech. Mother tilted her head at me and smiled slightly, implying I ought to know better than to tell such a bold lie.
“Betsy, to the spring for water go. Gossip is an evil thing.” She frowned at the word evil, which held new connotations for us both. “That reminds me, you need to bathe and cleanse your body and soul. I will have Chloe build the fire and heat the water.”
“But I am the spring here, Mother. I am the source to drink from regarding what ails our family.” I did not like the picture in my mind of Thenny telling stories gathered from eavesdropping on her parents’ conversations. And what of the Batts children, what would they have heard?
“Elizabeth! How say you? ’Tis false pride on your face! How does false pride seem to our Lord?”
“They will say what ails us is demons and my fault!” I don’t know how I knew it would be so, but I was certain. Mother softened her features and a heavy sigh escaped her lips.
“A true friend of moral character will come to you for the facts of the matter. All in good time, dear child.” Mother was possessed of a patience and certitude I did not have within me and she was absolute in her decision I would remain at home. She left me sitting on my own at the table while she went to heat the water for my bath. I laid my head down on my arms and breathed my own heavy breath, impatient with my inability to change her mind, but by the time the boiling water had pushed the lid off the pot, I knew there was nothing I could do but make the best of it. In the winter, bathing was accomplished in the kitchen in the large washtub and Chloe always built the fire up high, but in the spring, summer and fall, we took our baths outdoors.
“Fetch a pail of cold from where the stream runs fast,” Mother handed me the light tin pail and sent me off while she and Chloe lifted the pots and carried the boiling water out. I ran down the stone path to our necessary house where Father had built a platform with a cedar hip bath on the southern side. I passed it and went to the stream where I could easily fill my pail, for the water ran close there, and Father had made a small dam of stones and laid a hollow hickory pipe to serve as a waterspout. I hurried back to dump my full pail in the bath and repeat the process, for I liked my water deep. When I returned from my fourth trip, Mother and Chloe were on the platform mixing my stream water with the hot water they had carried from the house. Mother had pulled the sleeve of her dress above her elbow and she was testing the mix with her hand. I shed my outer garments, climbed up the wooden foot stool, and stepped into the bath. The water was warmer than the breezy day and I sank luxuriously deep.
“Bring more hot, Chloe!” I called out as she started back to the house, but I had a feeling she was moving on to other chores.
“Use this to cleanse your head, Miss Betsy.” Mother handed me a rosemary soap bar and I let it float between my hands, looking down at the water. Chloe and Mother knew how to mix the lye, the ash and lard to make a perfect soap. My cotton petticoat billowed up and I saw white fluffy clouds advancing across the sky reflected in the water behind my face. The sun was hot, but the feel of my wet petticoat against my skin gave me cause to shudder and I was reminded of cold prickly airs and pins.
“Will you help me, Mother?” I dipped my hair back to wet it.
“Oh yes, I will help you, Miss Betsy!” She crossed quickly behind me, smiling, and I could tell by the mischief in her voice she was set to play. She dropped the long wooden ladle by my knees and pulled it high, pouring streams of hot water over my forehead. I plunged lower in the bath and shook my hair, like a fish wriggling on the line.
“I’ve got a live one!” Mother teased me, imitating Father at the fishing hole. “Whoa, it’s a big one.” I held my breath and she dunked me under, but I sprang back toward her laughter, so welcome was the sound. She stood smiling down at me, then caught the bar of soap and set to rubbing the top of my head and the nape of my neck, her fingers massaging peace and spicy lather into my hair.
“Betsy, you are a beautiful girl …” Her fingers paused and I could tell she was finished playing and engaged in serious thought over her next words. I tilted my head farther back on the edge of the cedar tub to keep the soap from my eyes. I squinted against the sun, but I could not see the features of her face. “All your troubles, no matter how large, shall pass away like the day
s. You may rely on the constant passing of all things.” Mother sighed as if distracted and I had the sense she was keeping something back. She had meant to tell me more, I was certain of it. She pushed my forehead down and separated the locks of my hair with her fingers, keeping my ears underwater, so they filled with heavy silence. The constant passing of all things did not seem a very inspiring or even comforting thought to me, but I knew that was how she meant it.
When I had finished washing, Mother wrapped me in a cotton sheet and I returned to the kitchen to dress before the cook fire. Martha had brought a pretty broomstraw yellow cotton dress she had stitched just for me and even though it was a little large through the waist and hung too low over my petticoat, Mother allowed me to wear it, I wanted a change so badly.
“Just for today,” she told me, “I will tailor it tomorrow,” but I doubted she would get to the tailoring anytime soon with so many guests and I planned to ask Martha if she might do it with me later. Mother had to set the house in order. The pal-lets had to be aired, the wood floors needed sweeping, and all the dishes had to be stacked in the cupboards, while Chloe prepared the food. I was afraid Mother would ask for my help with these tasks, but she did not. Instead she encouraged me to go out of doors.
“Go take in the sun, Miss Betsy, and dry your head, or you may well catch cold. I hope to join you soon, for I must sort the beans for seed.”
I wandered out the front door and down the porch steps to our wooden swing, which hung on the lowest branch of the giant blossoming pear tree. I sat down on the board, worn smooth by all our bottoms, and held tight to the ropes, pushing my legs up to the sky, lifting my dress. I noticed the dye of the cloth was a perfect match for my hair. It smelled better than the blossoms and made a long yellow cape behind my back when I swung out far, my feet dangling over the grassy hill. I leaned back, then swept forward again, and the movement of the swing shook the branch, sending flurries of white petals down. I watched them sail lightly to the ground and thought how good God was to give us flowers in the pear trees. Perhaps knowledge of the passing of all things had comforted me, for I did feel quite content. Looking out, down the road, I was surprised to see Old Kate Batts appearing like a dark nut amongst the flowery blossoms.
All That Lives Page 8