“Betsy dear, are you unwell?” She came to me when I stopped at the barrel by the side of the house where the rainwater was collected. She stroked my braid as I rinsed the dried lines of blood off the back of my hands. “Your hair is in a massive tangle, child, come inside, we’ll give it a good brushing.” Mother led me through the house into her bedroom, where she sat me down on the bed, facing the small high window above her bedside table that let in a cheerful bright blue square of sky. She took the wooden brush from the top of her chest and gently unplaited my braid, without speaking. I appreciated her silence, but found without her questioning me, I could do nothing but feel my sadness, and the tears welled up in my eyes and spilled onto my cheeks. I let them drop onto my dusty dress, and Mother ceased stroking the wooden brush across my hair, forced to pull out the twigs and brambles with her fingers. I cried a little harder, relieved to feel Mother’s concern.
“There, there, little one.” These simple words made me feel the way I used to, when I was nothing but a tiny girl and Mother could hold all of me in her lap when I was hurt.
“This is the matter …” I told her all, concentrating on the punishment I had received at the bridge.
“I was attacked in an evil way, with more violence than I have witnessed from the Being for some time. Look at my hands, scratched to pieces, for I used them to shield my eyes. It meant to scratch my eyes out, Mother, laughing all the while!”
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
“See?” I turned quickly for the Spirit spoke from beside my mother. “I hate you, demon! I hate you!” I yelled into her face, though my words were meant only for the Being.
“Betsy!” Mother threw her hands up, and for a moment I was frightened she might smack me with the back side of her brush, but she was only startled by my turning or by the Spirit’s interruption, and her hands quickly dropped.
So what if you hate me? So what?
“Leave her be,” Mother spoke seriously to it, but without over much concern. She reprimanded the Being as if it were Richard, caught teasing Joel, and I soon heard why. “Elizabeth, it was indeed wrong of you to go riding with Joshua Gardner unchaperoned and without permission.”
She believes she will make her own rules.
“She knows the right true path,” Mother said. She turned her head to answer, for the voice now emanated from the blue square of light. “And she will walk it, I am certain. Take no pleasure assaulting and abusing her, for then what will she learn?” Mother picked up the brush to return to the task at hand, reasoning with the Being.
Your Betsy would go “preferably away from my abode.”
The Spirit taunted me with a perfect imitation of my voice and I saw Mother frown to hear the words I’d spoken, but good that she was, she had me turn my head so she might continue brushing, rather than chastise me. She put her attention to distracting the Being by sending it on an errand.
“Be useful, and let us hear news of John Jr.’s travels.”
I will bring you this, dear Luce, though I can not guarantee it will please you.
Mother’s artifice was effective and the room grew silent except for the swooshing of the brush.
“Mother, I believe it would be best not to trouble Father with this tale of my misadventure.” I spoke quietly though I was still upset.
“Betsy, I shall not tell your father, solely because he has far greater concerns, and it will serve no one to disturb him further, but what our mysterious Spirit will say of it, I would not try to guess.” She sighed and dropped my hair, ready to plait it up again. I did not see how she could remain so calm and my chin began to shake with tears again. “Betsy,” Mother pulled my hair back, “you are a young woman now and must constantly endure more than most. Be certain the Lord does have a special purpose for you. He loves you more than you can know, and He has assigned you suffering. Though it is hard to reconcile, pray constantly, and someday, perhaps, we all shall know God’s meaning in our special trials. You must trust it will be so.” Mother’s knuckles moved from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine, braiding swiftly.
“In truth,” I sobbed, covering my eyes with my scratched hands, “I do not feel my special purpose or that love of which you speak! I see only God’s punishments, for He does not protect me.” Mother paused only a moment in her plaiting, thinking on my desperate words, before resuming at the same rate as before.
“That’s blasphemy, Betsy, and you cannot mean it.” She pulled my hair tight. “You must have faith and that is the end of it, for the ways of God are as mysterious as our affliction. I tell you, trust the good Lord will provide and care for you as you trust your father and me to provide and care for you.” She tightened the knots quickly and I felt her tying the leather thong around the end of my braid before I could respond. What if she was wrong? What if there was no God in Heaven watching over me, directing my sad trials for some higher purpose?
“Let the tightness of this braid remind you of this wisdom I impart, for somehow you must keep it in your head, Elizabeth.” Mother patted my leg with the back of the brush, with more lightheartedness than she held in the tone of her voice. “Come now, we must turn our attention to the slippery elm, for your father’s throat is a great nuisance to him.” I threw my arms around her before she could rise, grateful my braid was fresh and tight, grateful, even though I could not grasp it, that Mother believed I had a special purpose to my trials.
We sat on the front steps for near the rest of that afternoon in silence, amused only by the golden yellow leaves falling from the pear trees. I had finally mastered the art of twisting and paring the slippery elm bark. My knife cuts were exact and deep enough to cause the bark to peel its own self off the twig. When it recoiled back, I grasped it easily, pulling free one long sturdy strip for Mother to store in the jars she’d lined up on the rail of the porch. The scratches on my hands were making the task more difficult, but working slowly I was accomplishing it. Near time to get ready for supper, I heard the racket of wagon wheels, and looking out, I saw a fine black carriage traveling down the Adams―Cedar Hill high road, and in its dust, a wooden cart full of Negroes dressed in white, laughing together.
It is the young lady from Virginia, come to visit.
I was not surprised to hear the Spirit make this pronouncement. I had been waiting for this visit since the night before John Jr.’s departure. The wheels of the fine coach rolled steadily toward us, and I saw the window open and the head of a young woman pop out. I recognized her face, for I had seen her in the candle flame. The carriage turned off the road onto our path.
“Tie up the bundles and stash them at the end of the porch.” Mother stood and wiped her hands on her apron before reaching back to untie it. “Will they be staying long?” she asked the Spirit as though she trusted it to know, but it did not respond nicely.
Long enough for you to see what folly John Jr. has committed.
I dropped my pile of deadwood in the corner, wishing I could switch the Being’s backside with it. I returned to tie up Mother’s bundle and saw she was already hurrying down the path toward the horse tie to greet the visitors. The young woman from Virginia was delicately stepping from her carriage, assisted by the hand of an elderly gentleman with a long gray beard. My tight braid reminded me, trust in God, but it also made my head ache. I sat down to collect myself in Mother’s rocker on the porch, for I did not look forward to the coming evening. I ran my fingers over the scratches on my hands and thought of Josh’s worn leather gloves, the heat in his eyes by the bridge.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
“I will have in my thoughts what I please.” I spoke aloud, though I was alone, for I was uncertain if the Spirit had actually spoken to me or if I simply heard its words strongly in my mind. The Spirit laughed, unquestionably speaking out loud, for I could feel the vibrations that were its breath around my ear.
You will witness what it means to lose a love, Miss Betsy.
“Why must I witness my brother�
��s spurned opportunity?” I stamped my foot on the wooden porch, covering my ears with my hands. “You need not cause me further pain, and I will have my own opportunity to make the match I please!”
Do you think so, Betsy Bell?
The Spirit teased me. “You are not my maker, and know not what will be!” I was angry with the Being, and insisted it no longer dictate my actions, but abruptly I felt a hand grab my braid and yank my head back, as if its intent was to divide my scalp from my soul. I cried out.
I am all things, and your future is known to me. You would do well to remember it.
The Spirit laughed and caused Mother’s bunch of slippery elm to bust its jute and gather into a massive round ball of sticks. Before I could stand and grasp it, the giant sphere of twisted wood bounced down the porch steps, rolling with great accuracy toward the horse tie at the foot of the hill. I jumped from my chair and flew after it, calling to Mother.
“Look out!”
The Spirit’s haphazard sculpture was near the size of me and moving with such speed whoever was at the end of its path would certainly be hurt.
“Aiii, ’tis a whirligig!” The young woman from Virginia heard my cry and with great presence of mind she grabbed her escort by the hand and flew so quickly up the lowered steps of her carriage, the plume of her fancy hat went fast as a real bird through the sky. She shut the door with a bang and when the ball of sticks passed the horse tie, it miraculously lost its invisible glue, dissolving into a pile of wood.
“Praise the Lord!” cried the old black man who drove the cart, “this must be the place.”
“If you have come to see the Bell Witch you will be greatly disappointed, for what haunts us is unseen, except by mischief such as this.” Mother looked forlornly at the batch of slippery elm, so dusty and cracked I doubted it was usable.
“Mrs. Bell, I presume? This is my uncle, Sir Thomas Barton, and I am Miss Sallie Barton.” The young woman popped out of the carriage again and descended the steps, withdrawing a gold case from the brocade purse swinging on her arm. I had never seen anything like it and I watched mesmerized as she took from it a card, placing it urgently in Mother’s hand. There was an elegant quality to the swish of her light blue skirt and I saw the fabric was fine.
“We hesitate to impose on your good graces, Mrs. Bell, but we are traveling to Nashville and at the inn in Springfield we heard remarkable tales of stimulating activities about your farm, and we thought it worth the short journey to come calling.” Sallie Barton looked sideways at her uncle for confirmation and he nodded, clearly accustomed to allowing his pretty niece to speak for both of them. “Already we have experienced excitements beyond most days!” She smiled, so her face lit up with charm, expressing her clear beauty. “Please, Mrs. Bell, if we are any inconvenience, we will turn our horses straight, but if not, might we tarry just a short while?” Sallie Barton spoke so politely I was not surprised to hear Mother invite her to supper and to stay the night, adding that her slaves were welcome to join ours in the cabins.
Before we could lead the young lady and her uncle up the hill and into the house, two new sets of travelers, strangers who had met Miss Sallie Barton at the inn in Springfield, turned off the road and onto our path. Mother greeted them, and also Calvin Justice, who rode in behind the company.
“I heard the Negroes singing, Mrs. Bell,” Calvin Justice said. “I thought perhaps someone had passed away without my knowledge.”
“Why Calvin Justice! There is no such calamity.” Mother stopped and put her hands on her hips, sounding annoyed the preacher would jump to such a morbid conclusion. “Merely visitors from the state of Virginia. Meet Sir Thomas Barton and Miss Sallie Barton.”
Calvin Justice dismounted and removed his hat and I wondered if he realized whom he met. I expect he did, but what could be done about it? He was invited to share our supper of mince and pumpkin pies, along with the unknown travelers. I looked at no one, trudging back up the hill. I concentrated on the tip of my nose and the base of my neck, still tingling from the tight braid and the jerk of the Spirit.
“I feel an autumn chill,” Mother remarked, after our supper was finished. She led our guests into the parlor. The front window was open, but no one moved to close it, for it let in the pleasant undulating and unfamiliar songs of Sallie Barton’s slaves, rising up from the cabins, through the crisp fall evening air.
“Drewry, build us a small fire,” Father said as he crossed the room and stood at his desk, removing his silver flask from within. I had watched him casting studious glances at Miss Sallie Barton throughout our meal as she spoke of her plantation in Virginia and her travel on a ship to England and back. I wondered if he was thinking of John Jr.
“ ’Tis warmer than Virginia in this season.” Sallie had a heavy fancy shawl intricately woven in a cup and saucer pattern, wrapped loosely on her shoulders.
“Sister, she’s so pretty …” Joel tugged my arm, whispering his observation.
And a perfect match for your absent brother.
The strangers gasped as the voice of the Spirit entered the room on the crack and spark of the flames Drewry built up in the fireplace.
“Oh goodness, you must be the Bell Witch!” Sallie Barton smiled, as if pleased to be introduced.
I am many things. No longer will I lie to you. I am none other than a witch of Kate Batts’s making, here to torment Jack Bell out of his life!
There was a general intake of breath amongst the gathering, for though none present, excepting Calvin Justice and my family, knew Old Kate, all knew the name of the master of the house they visited, and they turned their eyes to Father, who had taken a seat in the hickory rocker next to me. His chair commenced rocking so unnaturally fast, Father had to grip the arms to keep from being flung from it. Before us his limbs grew stiff and he was seized with sudden contortions of his face. His flesh twitched and danced as if invisible hands attempted to rearrange his features. It was horrible to see, and it was made worse knowing there was nothing we could do to help him. The Being laughed, and magnified the crunch of the wooden rocker striking the floorboards, apparently enjoying its torment of Father tremendously. One of the strangers jumped to his feet.
“Who is this Kate Batts? In what direction lies her home? Let us bring her to justice tonight for the torture of this good man!” There were murmurs of enthusiasm for the suggestion rising from the strangers and I was abruptly unable to take a breath. I felt my body grow cold, for as much as I disliked Old Kate, I was as certain as ever the evil menace was not of her making, despite the Spirit’s claim.
Calvin Justice stood, and raised his hands high, so all would look to hear him above the noise of the rocking.
“Good people, if the Devil speaks to you, believe him not! For he will lead you down the path of no return.”
“Yea, but Preacher Justice, look, it is as the Witch proclaims!” The speaker gestured to Father, rocking madly in his chair, bits of white frothlike spittle appearing in the corners of his mouth. He did not look well.
“Friend, indeed we all are witnesses to the sufferings of John Bell, and his family, on this occasion and on many others, but to believe such as the pain they have endured could be magicked by a woman in our district whose only sin is in her strange eccentricities, is to give credence where none belongs.” Calvin Justice spoke with passionate authority and managed to quiet the impulse building to hunt down Kate and drag her from her bed. The grip on my lungs was loosened and I gasped for air.
I shall torment Jack Bell out of his life!
“I beg you, cease at once this torture.” Mother spoke in a quiet but desperate tone. “Let us join hands together and pray the eyes of God will look down on us here and take pity on our troubled souls.”
“Repent, Jack Bell, if you have sinned, is my advice,” urged the stranger who had previously denigrated Kate, but Miss Sallie Barton gave him such a look he should have put his tail between his legs, were he a hound. She took up Mother’s hand and with an earnest glance a
t Father’s seizing form, began the prayer.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven …”
Your prayers mean nothing. I am a witch of Old Kate’s making, here to torment Jack Bell out of his life!
“Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done …” All our voices in unison continued the prayer, watching, hopeful of a change in Father’s fearsome twitching, but the attack carried on until I felt again the heavy stone fall in my chest, as though my heart had turned to lead and dropped down along my spine, exactly as I had felt with Josh. No one seemed to notice, but I found I could not speak, my throat was closed, strangled with a weighty darkness. I knew, as I had known with certainty the night the Being first spoke, the Spirit would accomplish the evil deed of which it spoke. The light of the flames in the fire filled my eyes, and I had just a glimpse of Father released from his shaking, before I saw darkness and found I could no longer breathe. I fainted onto the floor but remained oddly present, though I could not speak or open my eyes. I felt Miss Sallie Barton kneel beside me, crying as though I were a sister to her.
“I beg you, whatever you may be, cease the torture of this pretty innocent!”
Who ever perished, being innocent?
“Do not quote Job to us, for gathered here, we are the faithful,” said Calvin Justice, kneeling beside Miss Sallie Barton. I felt a twinge in my chest as though the Being stabbed a needle at my heart.
“O my God, I trust in thee: Let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me.” Calvin Justice spoke the Psalm of David. The Spirit opened our great cedar door and slammed it, sending a cold blast of air into the parlor.
Miss Sallie Barton squealed in fear and jumped to her feet, and her uncle spoke to her firmly.
“Sallie, this excitement is more than I find necessary for any day.”
I stayed frozen on the floor, unable to move. The Being slammed the door a second time, shaking the house.
All That Lives Page 23