I woke to the sound of voices, and I ran outside, clad only in my thinnest nightdress, afraid I had missed my brother’s departure. I saw Drewry, Richard and Joel already gathered at the horse tie. Father was slipping a rolled-up map through the leather straps of John Jr’s. saddlebag and Zeke was busy with last-minute instructions regarding the care of the horses to his boy Isiah, who was to accompany John Jr. The horses stamped at the ground, impatient to be off.
“Farewell, and God bless you, my son.” Mother embraced him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. He was slightly taller than Father and looked every inch a man. Joel ran and hugged his legs and I believe Richard and Drewry may have wanted to, but they hung back, waiting. John Jr. lifted Joel onto his hip, then swung him down to the ground, tickling his sides.
“Be a good boy, Joel, and learn your tasks, and one day you and I may ride together.”
“I want to now!” Joel bounced up and down with desire, but John Jr. laughed.
“You want to, but you cannot!” He spanked Joel friendly pats on the bottom until he ran away to climb and swing on the horse tie and John Jr. turned to me.
“Betsy, I will bring you home fine silk or lace, which do you desire?”
“I desire only you would not leave,” I answered truthfully. The first rays of sun cut through the wet half-light, illuminating the stubborn set of his jaw along with the certain knowledge in my heart that his journey would be as the Spirit foretold, full of pain and suffering for no great end and the sweet match he left behind would never appear for him again.
“Don’t cry, dear sister.” He kissed my cheek and embraced me, misunderstanding the quivering in my chin as concern for myself with him gone away. “I will return to you.” I saw Mother was busy, discussing some aspect of John Jr.’s route with Father, and because they could not hear me, I pressed him.
“Brother, did you not hear the Being’s warning? Will you not listen?”
“Betsy.” He frowned and held me squarely by the shoulders. “Be a good girl and helpful to our mother and father. Speak not of our evils but endeavor to lead a good life, and pray to God.” He turned away, much preoccupied, and I saw in the set of his shoulders the same stance he took patrolling the fields alongside Father looking for worms in the tobacco. He was going to do it whether he wanted to or not. I put my index finger in between my teeth and bit down to keep from crying, for I suspected John Jr. knew, as I did, his journey would be arduous and most likely all for nothing, yet he was obligated to complete it. I thought the Spirit’s words must have dampened his enthusiasm for the ride ahead, particularly if he thought of the beautiful young lady in the candle flame, but John Jr. gave no clue as to whether these thoughts truly occupied his mind. Instead, he mounted the horse Father had chosen, and waited for Isiah to do the same.
“Ya!” He flicked the reins and they set off walking deliberately down the path to the road, where he turned and waved, before kicking his horse into the brisk and steady pace he would set for his journey.
“Will he come back, Betsy?” I felt Joel lean against my side, wrapping his fingers into mine.
“Of course he will, of course,” I reassured him, certain it was true, John Jr. would return. Only I had the strongest sense, watching the back of his sturdy horse swaying from our farm, when we did see him again, some vast change as yet unpredicted in our lives would have altered the faces we turned to one another. I wished I could know for certain what trauma lay ahead.
the accusation of kate
I thought of John Jr. often, and said prayers at night for his safety, but the harvest time was on us and I was constantly at work. The skies were cloudless and blue, day after day, and the air was crisp and dry, allowing near perfect conditions for tobacco curing. In August each tobacco plant had been cut off close to the ground, impaled on slender iron sticks with sharp points capable of pushing through their tough stalks, and then each plant had been hung in the barn to cure. Now they were being culled and carefully bunched into flat fan-shaped hands so they could be stacked into burdens and loaded into the hogshead drums Father would take to market in spring. The boys and the hands did most of that work, and I spent my days beside Mother and Chloe, sorting the beans for drying and seed, canning tomatoes and squash.
One afternoon, early in October, I told Mother I must go for a walk out-of-doors before I could pay careful attention to the afternoon’s task of stripping slippery elm again. She gave her permission and I walked out through the orchard. The air was warm but no longer heavy as it had been most of the summer. I could hear the thud-thud of ripe fruit dropping to the ground with the breeze and I picked up a golden apple to eat as I walked. I looked down the hill toward the stream where the flat cornfield was dotted with pumpkins, bright orange and ready for harvest. Chloe would soon be making pumpkin soup, a treat of unsurpassed goodness, and I looked forward to sampling this year’s crop.
Father had already harvested the corn and only the stalks were left in the field, tied into bunches and laid in stacks. They would soon be dissected into kindling and powder. Chloe had shown me when I was Joel’s age how to make a doll from a corn husk and there was nothing I had liked better, when I was little, than spending an afternoon in the cornfield indulging this pastime under the blue autumn sky. It seemed long ago when I played, mindlessly happy. I made a pillow of my skirts in a flat place between the bundles and managed for a few moments to focus purely on my own enjoyment. I chose the best husk from the pile at my feet. Sufficiently dry, yet supple. Carefully I smoothed it to shape a face and tidy bonnet. What fun it was, caressing the silk skin in my hands. I twisted and tied, and soon had a lovely little figure. She was sweet, but lonely, so I made another, then another, and before long I had a party of dolls. I got to my feet and used a stick to make roads in the red earth, pretending the dolls had come to live in pumpkin houses surrounded by prickly green leaf lakes and cornstalk mountains. I did not think of the mountains John Jr. was toiling through, I thought only of my game. I contemplated what lives my dolls might have, and I was about to give them names and invent the stories of their town when I was startled from my play by the shwoosh of a bird wing near my ear. I looked up. It was so peaceful and quiet in the field, a swallow traveling from tree to barn made a great sound. I looked to the woods beside the stream and saw dust rising from the bank and in the next moment I saw a horse and rider. I held the edge of my cotton bonnet to better shade my eyes, pleased to recognize Josh Gardner riding toward me. I waved and walked to greet him, leaving my dolls where the wind might take them.
“Hello, Betsy,” he called out happily. “Might you be allowed a short ride with me? I have my father’s saddle and it’s plenty wide enough for both of us.” He smiled and I felt he was even better looking than I recalled, for his face was tanned to the color of his dark saddle and his gray eyes stood out like the fox grapes ripening on the vines. I looked hastily over my shoulder pleased to realize from where we were in the flat space between the field and the stream, my house could not be seen.
“We needn’t be gone long and I would have come before, but every minute of every day I have been in service to my father on our farm.” Josh offered his arm to pull me up, his smile sincere. When I did not immediately take it he placed his hand on his hip, impatient. “I have but a short time now, Betsy Bell, and I did use it to make haste to your lands in the hope we might share a short ride along your lovely stream.” The way he said my name caused my stomach to tighten. I wished to go, but I knew Father would not allow it.
“I am uncertain …” I stalled, assessing if it would be worth the possible consequences.
“We won’t be long …” Josh spoke of it as though it was no great matter. He let the reins of his mare droop and she nuzzled my face, inviting me herself, so I felt I must consent.
“Why, yes, I’ll come, but let us ride preferably away from my abode.”
“Of course.” Josh laughed and leaned down, extending his arm to me again. I blu
shed, but grasped his elbow and nimbly climbed up the side of his horse.
“Betsy, you are graceful as the beautiful heron recently residing on Old Kate Batts’s pond.” He watched me twist my skirts to fit in sideways behind him on the saddle.
“I have heard of no heron in this vicinity,” I lied, not wanting to reveal what I knew of the witch creature predicted by the Being.
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Never.”
“Then we must go there,” he declared, snapping the reins. It seemed quite a sensible choice of direction, for we were nearest the trail to our southern boundary and to take that path we need not pass my house.
“Hold tight about my waist and we will get there all the sooner.” Josh was friendly even when commanding. I did as he requested, discovering the white cotton shirting of his back had a fresh smell much different from the lye of our laundry. We galloped at a good pace on the trail without speaking, while I pretended to admire the lovely yellow and red colors of the many trees, but really my eyes absorbed nothing more than Josh Gardner’s jaunty angling of his reins, and the sure movement of his buttocks in the saddle.
We reached the log bridge Father had built over the river near the boundary of our land and Kate Batts’s and we slowed considerably to cross it. The golden light of the sun filtering through the autumn leaves in the woods made the air around us glow with warmth. I felt secure and happy with my arms around Josh Gardner, and I wished our ride could last for days. All at once, a sudden shower of sticks and stones from the hedge growth by the bank caused Josh’s mare to whinny and neigh and rear up sharply and I found myself fallen to the ground, his horse’s hooves stamping dangerously close beside my head. With expert skill, Josh rode forward through the barrage and across the bridge, where he dismounted, left his horse to recover on its own, and hurried back to me.
“Betsy, are you hurt?” I saw him running but as he moved closer the falling sticks intensified, such that I could not answer or even uncover my head, for fear my eyes would be put out by the twigs attacking. I was surprised, as the Spirit had not been violent with me for some time. Nonetheless, it felt as I remembered, appalling and hideous. Josh fought his way through the storm of branches and tried to shield my body with his own, but it was no use.
“Get up!” he urged, pulling hard on both my arms, managing to drag me upright. I kept my hands over my eyes and I do not know what Josh did so he might see, but somehow he led me stumbling after him over the bridge and there the pelting ceased.
“How do you fare?” I could tell Josh was shaken, for his face had grown pale beneath his tan, but he focused all his attention on my welfare.
“I have seen much worse than that!” I tried to laugh.
“Dear girl!”
“The twigs did not strike strong enough to injure …” I did not want the Spirit to ruin my ride with him, though I knew it already had.
“But your cheek is scratched and your hands are bleeding.” Josh took my fingers in his gloves and I saw he was correct, fine scratches lined the backs of my hands, and they lightly put forth blood. Josh dropped them suddenly and running back across the bridge he shouted loudly in the place of our attack.
“Come out, you Spirit of the Devil, and let me have a round with you!” He picked up a large branch from the side of the path, preparing himself for a fight with the Invisible. I ran back after him.
“Stop, stop, dear Joshua. Please, take me home, it is useless to provoke this Being further.” My hands began to tremble uncontrollably and my knees were weak with the weight of me, as if I carried the large boulder of our fruitless search for treasure in my belly again.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
The Spirit spoke from every golden leaf in the surrounding canopy.
“Leave me alone …” I managed to whisper.
“Show yourself, that I may beat you to unconsciousness!” Josh raised his stick high above his head, and all around us the wheezy laughter of the Spirit issued from the shrub and woods like wind. Josh whipped his head from left to right, expecting blows, but none did fall.
“Otherworldly demon, fight or go! Trouble the innocent no longer!” Josh reminded me of Father for a moment, his jaw set, defiantly stern.
How do you know Miss Betsy is so innocent?
The sound of the Spirit’s laughter made my heartbeat quicken, and I worried I might faint. I did not want Josh to engage the Being in conversation, as there was no telling what it would say or do.
“Josh, please.” I stepped toward him and placed my arm on his. “I feel most suddenly unwell. Let us depart.” He turned to me.
“If you wish it to be so, I will take you,” he said, placing his stick down on the ground. He grasped my bare and bleeding hand gently in his gloved one and walked me back across the bridge.
“I am heavy …” I began, for when we reached the horse, he turned, and circling my waist with both his hands, he lifted me up so I nearly flew into the saddle. I hoped perhaps Josh could be a formidable opponent for the Being, but as my Father, the Reverend, Calvin Justice and Frank Miles all had failed, it did not seem likely any man, even so fine as Josh, could ever prevail against it. He mounted behind me, circling my arms with his arms and the reins, his left leg pressing against my skirt, holding me up. I felt protected and found the warmth of his body most comforting, but as we crossed the bridge and trotted through the space of air where the Being had unleashed its tortures, I grew cold and weak inside, and I shivered, distressed by the event.
“Do not be afraid, Miss Betsy,” Josh spoke with confidence, and kicked his horse into a trot. I did not reply, for what could I answer? I did not wish to bore him with my fears.
“Shall I deliver you to your front door, or to the spot of our rendezvous?” Sensitive soul that he was, he recognized I was unhappy, but might wish to keep it to myself. The thought of meeting Father or even Mother while riding with Josh Gardner with my hands cut and bleeding and having to explain did not appeal to me. Josh read me rightly.
“To the spot of our rendezvous,” I answered, repeating the sophisticated French, able to smile at the lightness of his choice of words. I liked him immensely.
We reached the field and Josh dismounted, holding his arms out for me to slide down. I was careful not to fall into him, but to remain arm’s length away. He gripped my elbows and made me look into his eyes. Earnest was his gaze and something passed between us that made the moment lengthen and be still. Our stance together felt just right.
“You must promise you will make your way to where you will be safe.” He dictated a course of action for me with utmost seriousness.
“I am safe right now,” I answered boldly, staring back at him, forgetting for a moment about the Being, thinking I would be frightened only if Father were to happen by and see me alone with Josh. He sensed my thoughts and looked up to the orchard, allowing his hands to gently slip over my forearms and clasp my fingers.
“No doubt you have not been missed, Miss Betsy, for that was a short ride indeed.”
“I am sorry it came to such an end.” I bowed my head and looked at his gloved hands holding mine. Truly, I had enjoyed it, despite the violence.
“On my word, we will meet again, and we will not be maligned. This incomprehensible horror can not long torment you.” Josh lifted my chin with one gloved finger, forcing me to look again into the gray pools of his eyes, reminding me of Kate Batts’s pond and the heron we had not seen. “Betsy, I know it is forward of me to say this, but with your circumstances as they are, I feel the regular conventions for relating do not apply.” Josh took a breath and I could see he was slightly nervous in his speech. “It’s just that I would have you know I think of you most constantly. You are so beautiful, Betsy Bell. Do not despair. Go, and care for yourself, for you are most precious and deserving.” He smiled and I blushed at his strong words to me, pulled my hand from his, and turned away, setting off as if the Spirit chased me.
Betsy Bell, do not have Jo
sh Gardner.
The phrase echoed in my ears, stronger than the feeling of his finger on my chin. Why would the Being say such a thing? Why was it so committed to my unhappiness? Why had I allowed myself even for a moment to think I might have happiness? I knew the Spirit had its ways and means and did not want me content, but why had it chosen to torment me so grievously? I slowed to walk through the cornfield, the prickly pumpkin leaves catching at my skirts. How wasted was my happy playtime. All the dolls of my game and joyful moments had disappeared, blown by the wind into the river, scattered amongst the rocks, I knew not where. Such was my fate, blown and bloodied by forces I could as much control as the wind. I felt Josh’s eyes on my back, but I did not look over my shoulder until I reached the hill and began the climb up through the orchard. There I stopped and saw he had mounted his horse and was waiting to leave until he could see me no more. I waved, suddenly aware he had revealed a deep liking for me and I had shared nothing with him. I turned away, miserable that I had not told him how very often he was in my mind. I ran up the incline, arriving breathless at the gate of the garden. There was Mother standing at the kitchen doorway, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. I hoped she was inspecting the plants in between us, but I had the feeling she was about to shout my name.
“Elizabeth! I wondered where you’d gone.” I felt if she saw my face she would see everything that had happened and I did not wish to sadden or anger her with my experience. I walked as slowly as I could, keeping my eyes to the ground, but it was difficult to keep secrets from Mother.
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