All That Lives

by Melissa Sanders-Self

  Dean entered the parlor with his chin set down but his shoulders straight, as if John Jr. walked him to a whipping, a stance uncommon for Dean, as Father certainly had not had the occasion to whip him so often as he found it necessary to praise his skills. He did have an unwashed smell though, for his plain cloth shirt reeked of a hard day’s labor.

  “Have you appeared as a dog tormenting this Negro who goes by the name of Dean?” The Reverend put on his church voice, interrogating the Being.

  I am many things in many places. I am everywhere at once. Know you not the truth of this, Old Sugar Mouth?

  “Speak, man, for you are among the good and righteous. In the name of God, tell us, what meets you on the road at night?” Father ignored the Spirit, addressing Dean, encouraging him to tell his tale.

  “I met with a black dog what has the witch in it, masta.” Dean spoke with his eyes on the parlor floor and I thought how much smaller he looked indoors than when I saw him in the fields.

  “What sin stains your footsteps? Why does this creature of the night acquaint itself with you?” asked Calvin Justice. There was a harsh, unnatural tone to his query and Mother looked sharp in his direction.

  “I practice religion, suh, there ain’t no black magic on me!”

  Nay, there is no longer magic on you for I have cast it out! Fox-fire to pester me! Get out! Get to the road and dare to raise your ax and strike again!

  “O Good Lord God Almighty help me Jesus!” Dean fell to his knees and clasped his hands up toward the sky in an exact imitation of what he’d done on the road in his story. His eyes were shut so hard the wrinkles ran like streams along his upturned face.

  “What say you, Spirit?” Calvin Justice maintained an edge in his voice.

  Get rid of the slave, for I cannot abide his smell and I will tell you all you need to know of witch creatures in the night. “Go, Dean, but do not leave this property.” Father helped him to stand and Dean began to walk to the door.

  “Look! There are marks on his trousers!” Joel pointed to Dean’s leg and I saw a patch of cloth was missing. Dean stopped walking and Father raised his eyebrows, waiting for his explanation.

  “Suh, last night the dog done come again to me on the road and now he got two heads and both of them full a snapping teeth. I ran fast but he did nip the cloth. But only cloth suh, he got no skin of mine against his teeth.” For a moment I saw Dean as I knew him, strong and unafraid.

  “Stay home tonight, Dean,” Father said again.

  “Masta, I can brave the black dog now, for I done seen the worst of it!” Dean trusted my Father and confided in him.

  “Perhaps ’tis true, but it is not worth the risk. Stay home and tomorrow we shall send a message to your wife regarding your confinement.” Father opened the door, but Dean hesitated and I could see he was thinking of Aggie. Father saw it too, and sighed.

  “You can carry the message yourself in the daylight, if you like.”

  “Thank you, suh, I am most obliged.” Dean left and Father bolted the door. He returned to the parlor and the Reverend Johnston was the first to speak, directing his words to the empty air, to the Spirit.

  “Tell us more about the witch creatures aforementioned.”

  I shall.

  The loquacious Being changed its tone completely and the cold bristle was replaced by a heavy summer air, so thick I could hardly breathe. It spoke in a soft girl’s voice I could not identify as that of any particular youngster.

  Amanda Ellison and Gertrude Harris of families to the east of this homestead will soon meet a heron on Kate Batts’s pond that is no regular bird.

  The girls the Spirit named were known to me. Both attended school and though they were of Richard’s age, I could easily see them in my mind. Amanda had a long blond braid, much like my own, while Gertrude’s hair waved and curled, and frequently broke loose from its plaits, becoming ringlets around her face.

  These girls are playing games together while their fathers speak of business, and tarry at the forge. They wander, a short way, down Piney Woods, then on they go, along the eastern boundary of Old Kate’s farm. Their eyes are to the ground, searching for the special cones strewn about the forest floor.

  I thought of the many times I had wandered with Joel and Richard in the Piney Woods, the smell of Mr. Ellison’s charcoal fire pungent in the air. He shod our horses and had crafted our andiron and grate. I looked to the hearth and listened.

  Amanda feels someone watching her, and looking up, she sees the witch creature, a heron, standing in the path ahead. “Hurry, Gerty, hurry. There is a beautiful grand bird,” she calls out to her friend.

  The Spirit duplicated Amanda’s young lilt accurately, and Joel slipped his hand in mine, moving closer to me on our bench.

  They chase the lovely heron and its white wings shine in the woods like God’s light, beckoning them farther and father on. Many times they think the graceful fowl is settling its feathers, ready for a rest, and their hopes ignite, for they want to be near it, but just as they come upon it, the heron vanishes, reappearing farther on, until the light of the day draws to a close.

  They come suddenly to their senses and realize they are deeply lost within the woods. Darkness falls around them and they hear gunshots in the distance, and understand their fathers are firing their rifles, hoping they will hear and make their way toward the sound. They try, but they cannot return. Their progress through the trees is halted by the reaching arms of branches, grasping at their clothes and hair.

  The Spirit added the frightening sound of branches scraping together to its recitation.

  These girls find a tree large enough to support both their backs. Bravely they lie down together, side by side, to await the morning light. The heron now appears and spreads its great white wings like an angel, covering and sheltering them. The girls sleep peaceful as new babies in a cradle, but just before sunrise, the heron speaks, insisting Amanda must come down to the lake to greet the day, while Gertrude must wait by the tree, as her father will shortly arrive. The girls are reluctant to separate, but the heron waves its wing and Amanda follows. This parting will be their last in this world. By mid-morning Gertrude will be found by the fathers beside the tree, but Amanda will be drowned in Old Kate’s pond. They will find her body with her arms spread wide, like the wings of the witch creature heron.

  The soft girl voice the Spirit used to tell this story ceased at its end and the more regular tone of the Being returned, taunting Reverend Johnston.

  Are you educated on witch creatures now, Old Sugar Mouth? Do you want to know more?

  “We have heard enough from you, forevermore! Be gone, you evil teller of tales,” Father said, clearly disturbed by the tragic prediction.

  You are idiots, and recognize no truth, even when it is before you.

  The sound of water lapping at the edge of a lake filled the room, then died away, and I felt the Spirit had left us.

  “ ’Tis likely nothing more than a twisted fairy story,” Mother softly reassured Joel and Richard and I noticed both of them had tears in their eyes. I hoped they would not go blabbing it to Amanda Ellison or Gertrude at school, for I immediately thought it best not to give strength to the Being’s prophecy by repeating it.

  “Should we tell those girls what we have heard tonight? Perhaps they should not be allowed any trips to the Piney Woods.” The Reverend clearly felt the opposite approach would be wisest, but Father agreed with me.

  “The thing speaks lies, Reverend. Why scare the girls for no reason?” There was a startling knock at the door and we looked about, confused, for it was late for a caller and, since Clara Lawson’s suicide, only the Reverend and Preacher Justice had visited us. Mother answered it, admitting Mrs. Batts.

  “Hello, Lucy Bell, know ye no creatures accosted me on the road this evening, and I am here to tell you of it.” Kate entered the parlor talking, with utter disregard for the assembly gathered.

  “Greetings, Mrs. Batts, we are engaged here with serious co
ncerns.” The Reverend Johnston frowned at her, looking as though he wished she had not interrupted.

  “As I am, Reverend, engaged in the very same serious concerns. I should have been here earlier, but I had to attend to bedding Ignatius, so my girl could easily care for him in my absence. Speak ye of serious concerns …”

  “Sit, Kate, and tell us your cause to call.” The Reverend sighed and we all watched Old Kate settle her massive form onto the edge of a sturdy wooden chair John Jr. brought in from the dining table. She leaned back, straining to reach the pouch she wore about her waist, for it was buried under her folds of fat encased in her plain cloth smock.

  “Here,” she breathed, yanking something from it. “ ’Tis the foot of a witch rabbit I shot and killed in your southernmost field, John Bell, this very day. Look, it bears the telltale sign.” Kate extended her fleshy palm and we all rose and gathered around to see what it contained. She held a lean hind leg butchered off a white rabbit, marked with an unusual spot of black fur in its center under the pink pads of its toes. Father looked at her grimly.

  “How did it happen you were hunting in my field, Mrs. Batts?”

  “’Twas less than one hundred yards into your boundaries, Jack Bell, and I had chased it a good mile!”

  “You rattle like a bell clapper up a goose’s ass.” Father was annoyed.

  “Jack!” Mother frowned.

  “Let me have it, Kate,” said the Reverend Johnston. He pushed forward and was about to take it from her hand when she closed her plump fingers over the fur and returned it to her person.

  “Nay, good Reverend! This is the foot of a witch creature! It must be buried before morning on the north side of a mossy log.”

  “You better get on with it then, as the hour grows late.” Father turned away from the circle and sat heavily in his chair by his desk, no tolerance of Kate’s eccentric ideas in the straight of his back.

  “ ’Twas my intent to share with your good family a charm to ward away what ails you, Jack Bell.” Old Kate looked after him, narrowing her eyes.

  “Jack, we must not allow our kind neighbors to wander in the woods alone at night,” Mother said, crossing the room to stand beside him. She stroked his shoulders, as though she would impart new manners into him.

  “ ’Tis no matter, Lucy, I am adept at my way in the woods.” Old Kate leaned back again in the chair, replacing the foot into the pouch about her waist. I saw the Reverend and Calvin Justice exchange a solemn glance, and I understood the mood was such no one there was inclined to laugh at her strange ways. Instead, our experiences were so out of the ordinary that Calvin Justice and the Reverend were prepared to go along with Kate’s bizarre ideas.

  “We shall accompany you, Mrs. Batts, and facilitate the burial.” Calvin Justice politely offered his hand, and Old Kate rose, smiling.

  “Let us pray all future witch creatures will be deterred!” Kate called over her shoulder as she and the Reverend and Preacher Justice departed to find a mossy log in the woods.

  Father waited until the door was closed behind them, before removing his silver flask from his desk.

  “What must we bury to deter Old Kate?” he asked, but clearly he did not expect an answer from us.

  The following day, I was sitting in the parlor near the dinner hour, engaged in sewing, pondering Kate’s witch creature rabbit. I wished there were someone who might know if Kate’s methods and means of protection could have any measurable effect. Looking out the window, I saw the only man who possibly might, dismounting at our horse tie. His arrival was so unlikely, I hesitated and rubbed my eyes. Father was writing in his book of accounts at his desk and I glanced over to him, then jumped up to pull back the heavy brocade curtain so he might see Frank too.

  “Father, I believe Frank Miles is calling!”

  It was a great coincidence, for Frank Miles the trapper was one of Father’s favorite friends, but we saw him rarely, as he lived a nomad, most often encamped in the Great Smoky Mountains trapping coons, badgers, bears and the large river beavers abundant in those parts.

  “What luck! It has been some time,” Father said and I ran to throw open our door, surprised when Frank reached it how completely his wide girth did fill the space. He set his gun down inside the door, near Father’s, and held out his arms for me.

  “Hello, Miss Betsy, why, you’ve grown a foot.” Frank hoisted me into the air so easily, I might have been a feather in his hands. He wore a deerskin coat unlike anything I had ever seen, and I reached out to touch the collar of rabbit fur circling under his bushy black beard. He laughed and drew me closer, tickling my face with it. “Aye, and you weigh near as much as a doe!”

  “Oh, Frank Miles!” Mother hurried in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling. “ ’Tis a joy to hear your voice!”

  “Greetings, Miz Lucy, greetings, Jack.” Frank shook Father’s hand with both of his and Father pulled him forward into an embrace, revealing how much he had missed his friend during our period of torment. Mother readily wrapped her arms about his waist, smiling, then pulled back to admire his coat.

  “Where on earth did you get this?”

  “ ’Tis doeskin, and winter rabbit fur. I had an Injun stitch it up for me in trade for a sack of grist this winter.” Frank held his sleeve out for us to marvel at both the delicate work of it and at his bravery for trading with the red men. “Yea, Jack, I come to call, though I am still stinking of my winter ways, for yesterday when I arrived in Clarksville I heard serious gossip against your good family name.” The mood of merriment and celebration induced by our lively greetings plummeted, and Mother and Father exchanged a look of dismay. “I was standing in the store the unwilling recipient of grievous insults, as men claimed you are haunted by some demon at your farm.”

  “Say what you heard, good friend, for I would know it,” said Father.

  “A man, who said he knew you not, but knew a preacher man who knew you, said the Devil has staked a claim on your fair Betsy, so she was thrown about the room despite the strong arms of steadfast men.” Frank put his hands on his hips, incredulous, and I was surprised how far behind our experience the gossip in Clarksville was.

  “ ’Tis true, in part, what you heard said.” Father reluctantly shook his head, pained anew by our situation before his friend. “Come share a meal with us and we will tire you with our tales of woe.”

  “Tell me only how we might put an end to this deplorable affair, for nevermore do I wish to hear a slur against this house!” Frank removed his coat and handed it to Mother and I marveled at the wide leather belt he wore, equipped with three knives of varying sizes, a wound length of silver chain, and a bead-and-feather-embroidered pouch.

  “Ah, Frank, would it were possible.” Father shook his head, resigned.

  “ ’Tis possible! How say you? Look about you, man! Yours is the home which comes to mind during my coldest winter nights, for yours is overflowing with righteous living.” He smiled warmly at my Mother. “We shall rid your house of evil, and oust it permanently, like vermin to the night.” Frank’s confidence in his own ability to remedy our situation was a welcome attitude, and we moved to the parlor to discuss various plans and strategies heretofore not mentioned by the Reverend or Preacher Justice. “We shall catch it and roll it in a blanket and put it in the fire so it might burn in Hell where it belongs.” Frank’s white smile stood out, splitting his black beard like the white stripe on a skunk.

  Mother cast an uneasy look to me when Frank began to scheme, wishing to ascertain the resonance such violent thoughts might have on my countenance, but I felt nothing more than pure and delicious excitement at the thought of Frank Miles willing to do battle with the Being.

  “Have you ever seen a witch creature, Mr. Miles?” I asked and he nodded his head, quite slowly, in assent.

  “Have you seen a rabbit witch creature with a black spot on its white left hind foot? And did you kill it and cut off its foot and bury it in a field on the north side of a mossy log?”<
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  Frank threw his head back and laughed as though I’d told the greatest joke he’d ever heard.

  “God granted you imagination in abundance, did he not, Miss Betsy!”

  “ ’Twas not my tale, but that of Old Kate Batts!”

  “ ’Tis true, Old Kate did say as much.” Mother put her arm around my shoulder and we both laughed with some relief, as Frank clearly felt Old Kate’s theory was absurd.

  “Has that eccentric woman called often at your home?” Frank grew serious, inquiring.

  “Not so often as some,” Mother said, shrugging her shoulders. She looked sad thinking back on the many callers we’d experienced. Some had not fared well.

  “The Reverend Johnston and the new Methodist preacher, from Cedar Hill, Calvin Justice, they come each evening,” Father explained.

  “I heard ’twas so. Perhaps the demon is attracted to their spiritual ways …” He laughed and I could tell Frank’s thoughts in this regard appealed to Father, for he laughed also and called over his shoulder for Chloe to come from the kitchen.

  “Go to the field and have Dean deliver this instruction to the Reverend and Preacher Justice. ‘Respectfully, we do request you stay at home this evening, for Mr. Frank Miles is at our house and will hold his own with our visitation.’”

  “Yes suh.” Chloe bowed her head, memorizing the message.

  “Tell Dean also, he might surprise his wife this evening, as he likes.” Father related Dean’s experience with the black dog and Frank laughed until he rumbled like a snoring bear.

  “Tonight we shall see what your demon is made of!” He nudged Father’s elbow with his own, not at all frightened by the prospect. “I have a brew that will fortify our souls in preparation, Jack.” Frank turned to Father. “How say you? Have you strength enough for a hearty draught?”

  “Come, Betsy, let us help Chloe with the supper preparations,” Mother said, taking my hand as she led me to the kitchen where I did not wish to be. It took near an hour to prepare the succotash of corn and green beans seasoned with bacon and after that Mother found more chores for me. I heard Father and Frank laughing together from the front porch where they had taken out two chairs but I did not see them again until it was time for the meal. I noticed Mother served Frank and Father strong cups of fresh ground coffee with their supper, and when the meal was finished she made certain they each carried another cup of the dark brown steaming liquid with them to their places by the fire.