All That Lives

by Melissa Sanders-Self

  I had never heard a voice with syllables so keen and articulate and I felt transported to the pages of a book where castles stood on rocky bluffs surrounded by the sea.

  I was an unfortunate man, for I was burdened with many poorer relations who wished to benefit from my wealth without any cost to themselves. I was informed they were to visit me and thinking myself clever as the fox, I hid my gold coins and most valued treasures in a place not far from here. A place I will reveal to you.

  “Sister, when has it told such an excellent story …” Joel snuggled against me, whispering his remark with great excitement, but I told him to hush so I might better hear the fine and elegant voice continue.

  When my relations arrived, they found not the excess they imagined, and a dreadful quarrel ensued, the result being, I lay dead, by my own cousin’s hand. My riches lay hidden in the earth, and my house was burned to the ground.

  I felt a sudden leap under my breast, as if my heart jumped up, for I knew the intention of the immigrant before the Being spoke it to all present.

  I am the Spirit of the immigrant, and I have harassed you this many days only to divulge the secret hiding place, so Betsy Bell may have the treasures, to live blessed and prosperous all of her days.

  I nearly jumped out of my chair, overcome with the possibility that I might finally be the recipient of some good fortune rather than suffering and misery at the hands of our visitation.

  “This cannot be! You demonic spinner of tales. Who has heard of such a man in these parts?” Father objected to the rapt engagement and wonder seeping into the persons gathered in the parlor.

  “There were many men before us, Jack. We know not every history …” The Reverend looked to Calvin Justice, hoping he would concur, and say something wise to calm my father.

  I want you to be the guardian of these riches, Old Sugar Mouth. You must go when it is unearthed, to witness the counting and take it into safekeeping until Betsy comes of age for it.

  “How preposterous! The demon mocks you, Reverend! Do you not see?” Father turned away in disgust, and Mother took up his hand, speaking quietly.

  “Suffer no indignities to a man of God, Jack.”

  “Tell us where your treasure is hidden, and we shall most speedily move to investigate the veracity of your claim.” Calvin Justice spoke his practical suggestion to the empty fireplace in his most commanding tone.

  I will tell you, only when all involved promise to adhere to my conditions. Swear it will be so, and I shall reveal the place.

  “I shall agree to no conditions put before me by a demon from Hell!” Father shook his head.

  “Look, Jack, God’s Will is not meant to be understood at every juncture. Perhaps this is the Being’s final revelation to us.” The Reverend Johnston was obviously excited, and anxious lest Father refuse to swear. “Mark the accuracy of the immigrant’s accent and tone in the Being’s speech! It could be what has plagued you and our community speaks to us now in its true form. Recall, it has previously claimed to be a Spirit disturbed. The early immigrant of whom it speaks could have met his violent end too soon to be remembered in these parts.” The Reverend paused, and I had a sudden image in my mind of a man in foreign dress standing alone on the plateau where the thistles grew. Was it possible the Being spoke the truth?

  “Mr. Bell, if it is so, we must allow this soul redemption. Pray, give your consent to its conditions.” Calvin Justice urged my Father to agree.

  “I doubt the veracity of this story in its every aspect, and if Frank Miles were in this room I expect he would laugh at you and all.” Father held his mouth in a sour frown as if he wished to spit.

  “But, Father, Frank has gone to check his traps and could not stay.” Joel’s innocence was precious as the imagined hidden jewels and he did articulate the facts of the matter.

  Frank Miles will find them sprung and empty.

  Everyone ignored the Being’s comment, for the Reverend was intent on proceeding to discover the whereabouts of the buried treasure.

  “We have heard accurate predictions here already, Jack, and in this your own dear daughter may profit from our action. How say you?” The Reverend impatiently snuggled his Bible under his arm, insisting on an answer. Father looked not about the room at our anxious faces, but hard, at the empty fireplace.

  None shall dig except Jack Bell, his son Drewry and his man Dean. The Reverend and Betsy shall go, but must promise not to participate in the excavation. No one else may be present.

  “In good faith we agree to adhere to those conditions, in the hope that doing so will allow you to return peacefully to your own world.” The Reverend voiced the promise and prodded Father, “Eh, Jack? Agreed?”

  “So be it.” Father was most solemn, but everyone else seemed to have been holding their breath, as a general exhalation of relief floated around the room.

  Whither I return is not your concern, Old Sugar Mouth.

  “Where are they to search?” Calvin Justice was disappointed not to be included in the party but he maintained a keen interest in the organization of the affair.

  On the hill of the most southwestern corner of this property, there is a large flat rock above the mouth of a small stream. This marks the place and beneath it lies the treasure.

  The Being went on giving directions to the spring through the surrounding area on the high bank of the Red River, describing the paths so minutely there could be no mistaking the way. I closed my eyes and the powers of description the Spirit possessed transported me through a stand of blooming dogwood beside the rushing river. It was a curious feeling, for though I certainly remained sitting on the wooden bench in the parlor, rays of sun touched my arms and the gentle breeze swayed the many beautiful green leaves about my eyes.

  “Listen, sister!” Joel clutched my dress in his fists and we both heard the bubble and trickle of the stream at the base of the flat rock where the Spirit said the treasure lay.

  “I want to go …”

  “No, Joel, we know not what will be found on this expedition.” Mother turned to him but still gripped Father’s hand.

  “What, if anything,” Father snapped, withdrawing from her grasp, standing abruptly. “I believe I know the place and I should like to make an early start, so I will now retire. Gentlemen, I bid you a good night.”

  “Are you certain you have heard enough?” The Reverend’s round face had a dreamy expression and I believe he was greatly enjoying the Spirit’s recitation of our upcoming journey through the woods, but Father gave him only a cursory nod.

  “I am certain I have heard more than enough, Reverend.”

  I followed his example and hurried upstairs, and Drew ran after me, catching my hand on the landing.

  “An adventure …” He smiled at me before we separated to our rooms, and I could tell he shared the general feeling of excitement born of faith in the Spirit’s tale.

  I did not undress, for I knew I would be up early. I crawled under the quilts of my bed and lay there listening to the sound of the Reverend and Calvin Justice arranging their pallets in the parlor. I did not think I could sleep and I wished morning would quickly come. What if the secret of the treasure was revealed in town and someone beat us to the spring? That was impossible, I knew, for all who had heard of it, apart from the creature itself, were sleeping here at our house. The Spirit could broadcast the news, only why would it, if it truly meant for me to have it? I lay worrying about many silly things like that, until I reached the most legitimate fear of all. What if the evil Being was lying and meant only to torment me with impossible hopes? Unable to accept that was the most likely outcome, I fell asleep.

  At the break of day we set out from the stables in a line, Father and the Reverend Johnston in front, followed by myself and Drewry in the double saddle, and Dean in the rear, leading the mule laden with tools and the luncheon Mother and Chloe had packed for us. The farm dogs ran ahead, down the path, wagging their tails and yapping at the birds, as if to tell the world we were o
ff hunting treasure. It was more than an hour’s ride through the woods above the river to the head of the southwest trail, but once there, no one wished to take a break, as the ride was exhilarating and we desired to proceed directly to the spring. The sun shone favorably on us, and the skin of my arms grew warm with it, as they had the night before in the parlor during the Spirit’s recitation. I leaned lazily against Drewry, rocked by the rhythm of our trotting horse.

  Soon we turned into the hill and as we progressed deeper into the woods, the green leaves formed a thick canopy above our heads and the light became the color of moss. The trees were suddenly taller and thicker and rose on all sides so we were cramped, even in single file.

  “ ’Tis an excellent location for hiding,” the Reverend observed, twisting about in front of us and I looked to him, for his voice was nervous. By straining my head I could see Father, up ahead. He had brought his machete, had unsheathed it, and was hacking at the vines and saplings clogging the path before us. Some snapped back and others flew out in every direction, and the Reverend’s horse backed up, skittish, with good cause. Drewry expertly guided our mare back, shouting, “Back, Dean,” over his shoulder to successfully avoid a disturbance from the animals.

  “I’ll wait with the children,” the Reverend called to Father, who had disappeared from our sight into a wall of green bramble and vine.

  “Ride assured, we are nearly there,” Father called back and the Reverend reluctantly kicked his mare forward, instructing us to keep our heads down, for it was narrow. Leaves and vines raked at my hair as we clopped through what seemed to be a never-ending tunnel of bramble.

  At the end of it we found ourselves at the top of a hill in a most wondrous location, for the wooded area was actually the back side of a high rock outcropping. We had a marvelous view of the twisting Red River far below us on our right, and spreading to our left was a small meadow of young trees. A great flat stone marked the mouth of a spring that bubbled up near us, flowing down over the rock outcropping toward the river. I dismounted the moment I realized it was indeed the place of the treasure. Without pause, I ran and jumped up on the stone and spread myself flat across it. With my arms stretched out and my toes pointed, it was just the size of me, some five feet in diameter. The stone was hot, warmed by a morning in the sun, and I realized, absorbing the delicious heat through my stomach, it was impossible that anyone other than the hand of God could move such a rock. The treasure could not be dug from under it. All this way, for nothing. I sat up and saw Father and the Reverend and my brother, still mounted on their horses, staring at me, clearly thinking the same thing.

  “This will not be an easy task,” Drew spoke, breaking the circle of silence. The men dismounted, led the horses to drink at the spring, then tied them to trees in the woods, but spoke not another word. I sat on the stone watching the pretty lacy patterns made by the sun filtering through the trees. The Reverend shifted his feet and sighed a few times, contemplating the project. I imagine he was turning over in his mind the right words to speak, such as, “be not defeated before you begin,” or “strong as Samson are the righteous.” He cleared his throat, but said nothing. There was a terribly solemn tension in the air and no one seemed able or willing to break it. I expect the thought was in their minds, as it was in mine, that apart from the strength of the Spirit itself, nothing was going to move that rock. After a few minutes, Father sighed and kicked the boulder with the heel of his boot.

  “Break out the tools,” he instructed. They’d brought three spades, a mattock and the maul, and Drewry exchanged a woeful glance with me while rolling up his sleeves. With noticeable fortitude, Father set to thrusting his spade in the dirt and the Reverend cried encouragement.

  “The first thrust is the most difficult.” He had unpacked his Bible from his saddlebag and clasped it tightly to his chest for comfort, watching Father begin the digging. According to the Being’s instructions he did not attempt to help with the hard labor. He merely watched with sympathy, as Father, Dean, and Drewry grunted with the effort of shoveling wet earth.

  For hours they dug around the perimeter while the Reverend and I watched, following the growing pile of dirt in a circle around the great stone, listening whenever Father, Drewry and Dean attempted to analyze from which position they might most easily lift the stone from the ground. They had discovered it was most firmly embedded as they had expected. The spring bubbled up beside the rock, ensuring the red earth was wet and heavy, and the process slow and arduous. Dean was sent into the forest with his trusted ax to fell two pole trees to use as levers.

  “We ought to fix a prize for the first man to lift the stone from the ground,” the Reverend suggested, pacing helplessly by the edge of the growing ditch. Standing to his knees in mud, Drewry set his shovel in and leaned on it.

  “Endowing my dear sister with wealth for the rest of her days and providing solace for the Spirit of the immigrant is prize enough for me!” He was trying to improve the atmosphere and I laughed with him, finding the thought of riches for the rest of my days and the return of the disturbed Spirit back to where it had come from delightful.

  “I would use such funds, unlike the poor soul who lost them, for the betterment of my relations,” I announced, skipping around the circle to stand with sincerity before him.

  “Dig, Drewry,” Father commanded, frowning at our attempts to lighten the task. I watched for a while longer, then around midday I busied myself laying out the luncheon of cold meat and cornbread. The men took a break and the Reverend blessed the food and our mission, and after they had finished eating I packed what was left away again in the saddlebags. I returned to the edge of the stone to watch, but quickly grew restless with the monotonous heaving and piling up of earth, so I wandered to the edge of the outcropping, following the spring in its path to the river.

  I climbed down the hill a ways, and there I saw the stream progressed over a steep embankment, cascading in a long series of waterfalls to meet the larger river. It was a dizzy and exciting view. I looked over my shoulder to wave to the Reverend but I was too far down to see the men and the rock anymore. I made my way to the edge, pulling up my skirts so as not to wet them. There was a comfortable rock just above the first fall, and carefully I made a place for myself there. The noise of the bubbling water was peaceful and I was enjoying myself, feeling the strong sun on the top of my head. Leaning way out, I braced my elbow on a dry stone and was able to take a long drink from the spring where the water ran fast and clear. There is nothing so lovely as fresh spring water. When I’d drunk my fill, I turned to the carefree pleasure of slipping make-believe boats into the rushing stream. Each twig I dropped was propelled over the edge and carried off down to the river with great swiftness. It had been a long time since I sailed leaf and twig boats, and I began to daydream about the treasure.

  What I wanted most was the Spirit’s swift return from whence it came, but if it should leave treasure in its wake, that could be some compensation for the trials we had endured. I wished for a satin ribbon for my hair, and a pair of white silk stockings to put away until the day I married. I thought I would purchase pounds of hard candy from Mr. Thorn for Richard and Joel, and I would give a new velvet bonnet to Mother. Drewry should have an adventure storybook and John Jr. a beautiful new gun, and for Father, I knew not what to purchase. I was not sure what he most would like. I gazed at two green maple leaves I had dropped in the falls. They were caught in an eddy in a small pool beneath me, swirling in a perfect circle, chasing each other madly before being swept down to the river. It came to me that Father might like a new riding crop, as I’d noticed the leather on his current one had begun to fray.

  I heard a rise of voices and excitement from the spring above and I jumped to my feet, practically tripping over myself in my hurry to see what they had found. Through the combined efforts of Father, Dean and Drewry, and with the direction of Reverend Johnston, I saw the men had managed to prize and tilt and raise the stone from its bedding, and it lay ov
erturned beside the mouth of the stream. Where it had been was a large circle of dark earth.

  I reached the edge, and felt the air suddenly cold and dank, giving rise to tingles in the flesh along the back of my neck and arms. I recognized the presence of the Spirit, but reasoned it was just the cold wind let out from under the rock.

  “Look, there is nothing.” Father thrust his shovel into the damp red earth. Drewry dropped to his hands and knees, and began digging with his fingers, mindful of any glittering or hard substance he might discover.

  “The immigrant said it was beneath the rock, buried beneath it.” The Reverend stood close to the edge, leaning over the hole. “That’s it, Drewry boy. If you are tired, Jack, have Dean continue the digging. It cannot be much deeper.” He had not given up. Father looked at him and then at Drewry, whose hands and forearms were caked with red mud.

  “Use the tools,” he said, thrusting the shovel into the earth close beside my brother. I felt a sinking in my chest as though the great stone removed had fallen down inside me. If the treasure was under this rock which took three strong men near all day to lift, how had the immigrant sunk it there? I watched the men dig deeper and deeper, and I watched the Reverend’s face for some sign that God’s hand had worked alongside the immigrant, allowing the tale to be true, so I might buy my family presents and be released from future torment, but soon the hole stood six feet wide and near as deep, and no treasure had been found. The water which fed the stream had opened rivulets in the walls, and Father, Drewry and Dean were wet and exhausted from their labor, full of mud and hungry, as it was near the end of the day.

  “You have dug deeply here.” The Reverend shook his head in dismay, reluctant to be disappointed.

  “There is nothing.” Father did not say he had known it would be so, but it was apparent he had finished with the task.