“Prayer is the only recourse,” Mother spoke into the silent room, realizing the Spirit had gone.
“Are you fit, Jack?
” “I am, but I do seek some recourse.” Father’s voice was strange and tight.
“Jack Bell, you appear to have triumphed in your struggle with the Being,” Calvin Justice exclaimed. “I am glad of it, but I feel you ought to take some rest, and I will take my leave.”
“Mr. Justice, would you be so kind as to carry our Betsy up to bed before departing?” Mother spoke of me as though I were merely resting on the floor, not choked and stiffened by unnatural forces.
“Of course,” Calvin Justice said, taking a step toward me, but Father interrupted his movement.
“No, Mr. Justice, I will carry my darling daughter myself.” Father’s tone was deeper than before and I felt his strong hands cup my bottom and my back.
“Jack …” Mother was concerned he could not manage it. “Are you certain?”
“Of course,” Father answered, and with great effort he lifted me and held me to his chest, staggering only slightly.
“Is sleep possible under such circumstances?” Miss Sallie Barton spoke nervously.
“If you are weary, as we are,” Mother tried to reassure her, giving over the brand-new pallets we’d made, with fresh sheets and a stack of quilts. Father carried me through the hall and up the stairs. He paused when he reached the landing, breathing hard, and I heard Mother escorting Calvin Justice to the door.
“It would be my wish to keep quiet the recitation uttered here tonight, and I thank you for your voice of reason.”
“My pleasure, and of course, I will not speak of it.”
I nuzzled my forehead into Father’s neck and felt it slippery with sweat. The underside of his beard prickled my nose.
“Betsy,” he grunted, crossing the threshold of my room. He shut the door with my foot and I shivered, for the air upstairs was as cold as the outdoors. He lay me down on my bed and collapsed beside me, exhausted. “Darling daughter, all will come out right,” he whispered, but seemed too spent to say more. His skin beneath his shirt was soaked with perspiration and some of the frothy spittle that had issued from his mouth was drying on his neck.
“Dear Father,” I whispered. I curled into his arms and found him hot and comforting, though his breath stank of whiskey and he held me in a slightly painful posture, with my hands trapped between his legs.
if god is with you
Over the next month, the Spirit went about the community broadcasting that its origin was in Kate Batts’s kettle and there were many who were ready to believe this was the truth. The Randolphs, the Porters and Mrs. Hopson all closed their doors to her, and Mr. Thorn would no longer eye her wares for possible sale inside his store. At church no one would sit near to her, but contrary to what I did expect, Old Kate did not speak out against the treatment she received. Instead, she continued to be the first and only member of the congregation to fill with the Glory of the Lord every Sunday without fail, and no one present could equal the loud voice she used to proclaim her pure faith. While she wriggled her fat under the pulpit, the congregation whispered—Even if she had not created the evil presence, she clearly practiced magical arts of some sort, for what other explanation could there be for her unusual attitudes and ways, as well as her overly zealous nature, both undoubtedly a ruse for her secret dark beliefs? Despite the talk, Old Kate continued to drive into the churchyard her cart of amulets and elixirs to ward away the demons.
As our good name seemed as though it would be forever linked with the entity that tortured us, so it seemed Kate Batts’s name would be linked to what caused our suffering. This did not trouble me, as I did not believe it was true, and I did not care about Old Kate particularly. I was much more disturbed by the Being’s other proclamation and I wondered often, did it truly intend to torment the life from Father? It said no more about it for some time, spending its energy in gossip, songs and Scripture recitations.
By November, the weather had solidly turned to winter, and one night the temperature took a truly sharp drop. I woke in the morning to a thin film of frost on my windowpane. I put on the sturdy leather lace-ups with the thick soles Mother had just recently gifted to me, and I went outside before breakfast. Lovely white crystals of frost were sprinkled like raw sugar over the red and purple leaves shed by the plum and cherry trees. I admired the colors in the orchard, but I had taken only a light woolen wrap, and I was cold. I decided to visit the tobacco barn, where the heat of the year was extended and stored, released in the good smell of bittersweet leaves, culled and stacked high.
I ran past the stables, the dairy and the hog pen, and entered the barn just as Father was engaged in supplying his owl with its breakfast. The light was dim, slipping only through a few small cracks in the roof and walls, but I saw Father had let the sparrows loose on the plank floor and he stood beside the perch, unwrapping the strands of his owl’s tether. He had his back to me and I do not believe he saw or heard me come in the door.
The sparrows were two little brown birds, with white- and black-tipped wings. I wondered why they did not fly to the beams of the ceiling and attempt an escape. It was odd how still they stayed, allowing the owl an easy mark. He swooped down, caught the first bird in his talons, and cracked its neck with one thrust, before pecking it to pieces in the most gruesome but expedient form. His eyes were black as pebbles in the stream, and even as I watched him repeat the horrible predation on the second sparrow, I could not deny Father’s owl was a tremendous bird.
I felt abruptly the smothering weight again as if a heavy stone pushed against my breast, and I sat, right where I was, onto a hogshead drum full of tobacco. I heard the voice of the Spirit in my mind, torment John Bell out of his life, and I knew it was only in my mind, because it was so much fainter than when it spoke out loud. The satisfied cry of victory released by Father’s owl devouring its prey filled the barn. I could not breathe and I felt I would soon expire, but I did not, though the oppressive grievousness in my chest would not lift through the effort of my will alone. Father suddenly turned and noticed me, and I saw his trousers were unbuttoned and his shirt hung loose, and I wondered if he had a special reason I had not previously imagined for feeding his owl alone.
“This is not the place for you, Betsy Bell.” He strode across the room, irritated by my presence, or perhaps he assumed I was upset, having come upon the killing. I could not move or respond, because of the weight in my gut, and I wondered if it was fear that kept the sparrows still. I expected he would lay me out on the drum and lift my skirts, but Father ignored me, and I realized it was early and he had yet to take a drink. When the truss was completely stretched out, he turned his back on me and began winding the leash back to the tether. I watched his tall form turning the leather in his hands, and the stern angles of his shoulders rolled under his wool coat. He was oblivious to what I felt and heard, and I was suddenly glad of it, for my thoughts frightened me, and it was better he did not know them. As soon as I was able to take a breath, I jumped up and pushed open the great barn door, never so relieved to feel the crisp air in my lungs.
Near one month later, in the first week of December, Father was sent a message from the magistrate, Abraham Byrns, who lived thirty miles from our home past the growing settlement at Cedar Hill. Mr. Byrns requested that Father, as one of the most intelligent, prosperous and distinguished men of our community, appear at his home to serve on a jury to settle a law dispute.
“I wish you would decline, dear Jack,” Mother said, attempting to discourage him from going.
“Nay, ’tis my duty, Lucy. I must attend.”
On the morning of his departure I woke up late, and I could tell from the light in my room the first snow had fallen. I rose and stood at the window admiring the white fields. All the land was covered, like Chloe’s applesauce cake under a generous cream frosting. I missed John Jr. quite heartily, as he could be relied on to support my brothers and me in
hitching up the sleigh at the slightest dusting, to go riding over the hills.
Downstairs Mother and Chloe were beginning to prepare the Christmas fruitcakes, and I had to make do with cold biscuits. I spooned heaps of blackberry jam inside them while Mother sat across from me, absorbed in writing the recipe on fresh paper since she no longer had her kitchen book. I knew Mother’s fruitcakes would take near an entire day of her devotion, and it occurred to me I had the perfect opportunity to command a horse from Zeke and take a ride by myself.
“Would you like to chop the nuts, Miss Betsy?” Mother did not look up from writing with her request.
“No, Mother. If you do not mind, I should like to play outdoors in the new snow. I dislike the process of making those fruitcakes, for there is too much stirring and thickening involved!”
“As you wish, Miss Betsy.” I was correct in assuming the cakes obsessed her, and she was unconcerned with me. I finished my breakfast, meager as it was, and returned to my room announcing my true intentions to no one. I pulled wool stockings over my cotton ones, then my thickest undergarments, followed by my winter wool dress. I laced my boots too quickly, but I took my time pulling on the lovely soft gloves and hat Mother had just finished knitting for me from last season’s lamb’s wool. I hoped Father had left a pair of his leather riding gloves in the stable, as he often did. I felt a certain wild abandon realizing he was absent and I hurried downstairs, leaving quietly out the front door.
Drewry, Richard and Joel were having a game in front of the house, practicing their aim throwing snowballs through the bare limbs of the pear trees. I wanted to avoid them as I wished to be alone, so I turned sharply to my right and slipped around the side of the house, following the washing line. The snow crunched beneath my feet, a delicious feeling I enjoyed, but as the hill grew steeper I had to run to keep from slipping down. I burst into the barn and there was Zeke about to take the saddle off of Moses, one of Father’s favorite horses. I thought Father must have asked Zeke to saddle an extra horse, in case the need arose.
“Father intended Moses to be exercised by me,” I said quickly, telling Zeke a bold-faced lie.
“Mighty long stirrups he intended for you, Miss ’Lizabeth.” Zeke gave me an indulgent smile and laughed at his own joke. He helped me shorten the leather straps of the stirrups and placed the climbing stool beside Moses’ flank, so I might mount like a lady, important as Miss Sallie Barton.
“Be mindful, Miss ’Lizabeth,” he cautioned. “Lord knows the beasts get excited by the first snow. Our God wouldn’t want no red blood shed across it.” He gave Moses a pat on the rump and waved me out of the stable.
The feeling of riding Moses and leaving the barn so high above the world was unlike any other happiness. I set out sedately walking, keeping the reins short to impress Zeke with my control, but once out of sight, I encouraged Moses to canter, then trot, and we bounced across the snowy fallow cornfield down toward the stream. I wished to observe where it had frozen fast and where it managed to rage in falls over the icicle-covered rocks. The morning was both gray and bright at once and Moses’ breath combined with my own painted white frosty curls in the air around my face. The branches looked blacker than they really were in contrast with the new snow balanced on their edges. I had to brush aside the laden elm to pass and I turned in the saddle to watch the random pattern created when the snow fell to the ground. The stream was quiet, much of it beneath ice and snow, and the only sound was the clopping of Moses’ feet as he overturned stones hidden in the path.
I had gone quite a ways and was nearing the bend where the stream widened to meet the full river below the cavern where the elm had been struck by lightning during the storm in the summer, when I was surprised to see Josh Gardner standing in the clearing, his horse drinking where the water ran fast beneath his feet.
“Betsy …” He smiled and turned to me as if he had been waiting a long while. “ ’Twas you I had in my thoughts this minute and here you are!”
“I would be on your thoughts, dear Josh, as you are on my land.” The sheer unlikelihood that we should see one another alone in the woods emboldened my tongue. I had desired it so, but I had not allowed my heart to conjure such a fortunate possibility.
“I must confess many times I have stood alone on your land, Betsy, hoping you would venture out. At last my efforts are rewarded.” I felt my cheeks grow hot in the frosty air. Josh reached up to take the reins and help me dismount, which I did with enthusiasm, too much perhaps, as my foot slipped and I fell into him in such a way his arms had to come about me to steady us both. I looked to his face, laughing my apologies, and ever so quickly he drew me yet closer and kissed my mouth with his. Moses jerked the reins, held too tight by Josh’s arm around my back.
“Whoa, there,” Josh quieted him, and removed his arm from me. I stood solid, my lips tingling from the cold or the kiss I could not tell. It had happened naturally and been so brief I was not certain it had happened at all.
“I’m sorry, Betsy. I should not be so forward. I did not plan to kiss you. It’s just … you are so pretty, in the snow.” Josh shrugged, embarrassed, and I did not immediately soothe him.
“I am a girl of good repute!” I decided to tease him a little, holding my nose up and turning my face away, hoping he would know I was not serious. Almost instantly I longed for him to kiss me again.
“Shall we walk the path a ways?” Josh suggested, changing the subject, loosely tying the horses to a tree. “I saw the mouth of the cave has icicles of glory.”
“Did you see them last year? They grew almost to the length of the opening!” I was excited we were to walk together.
He reached for my hand and I gave it to him, happy when he squeezed my fingers inside the lamb’s wool gloves, acknowledging the heat that passed between us in the bitter cold. The ground was frozen hard beneath the snow and it was slippery going as we climbed the bank. Down below, the river grew wider, cutting an ever deeper swath through the rock. I had not come this way since the summer storm. The path was steep and we labored in our ascent, until we reached the top and achieved the best view of the cavern and the clearing below. Winded, I gasped at the winter glory before us. The ten-foot-square mouth of the cavern held icicles the size of horses’ heads hanging across the top.
“Which one is the longest?” Josh asked and I pointed to the center one. It occurred to me if I were standing with my brothers instead of Josh, they would be hurling snowballs across the river, hoping to strike an icicle and send it tumbling below. I felt decidedly pleased they were not present and I squeezed Josh’s gloved hand in mine.
“Did you know …” I thought to tell him a family secret, only it wasn’t really a secret, just something private. “Did you know, that cave leads all the way to our cold storehouse near the sinkhole? We have a rocky knoll in the hillside way behind the orchard and across the stream where the entrance lies. You must see it, Josh, for inside the storehouse far in the back, there is a passageway underground leading after some time to the mouth of that cavern.” I raised my arm to point and noticed Josh was slow to follow my gaze, preferring to look on my face.
“I hear that cavern is larger than the church.” Josh smiled at me and turned to look where I did, sharing my enthusiasm.
“It is! And it has the most remarkable view in all of Adams, perhaps in all of Robertson County. You can see forever, past Kate Batts’s pond. John Jr. showed it to me.” I paused and thought of John Jr. on the day he’d taken me into the cave. I had balked, disgusted by the slimy look of the smooth wet walls, the spiders magnified by the shadows thrown from his candle, but he had insisted I go on. He encouraged me step by step and I was never more grateful than when I emerged into the great cavern, hung with olive and purple stalactites, revealing the most lovely view. “Come springtime, perhaps I might ask Mother if you could help with the storing of the cheese and we might slip away. Then I could show you.”
“I’d like that.” Josh nodded, his cheeks pink with the cold.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
I was attacked by the sudden arrival of the Being, and a terrible empty feeling struck the pit of my stomach.
You will not go to the cave with him.
Abruptly I sat down on a snow-covered boulder beside the path and Josh sat with me, undisturbed by the cold snow against his clothing, and equally undisturbed by the Being.
“I have thought a long time on our last encounter, Betsy. We must not listen. It does not speak the truth.” He took my hand in his with great sensitivity and resolve, having clearly decided the best course of action was to ignore the Being.
Today! Today!
The Spirit’s voice trailed away, dissolving like our frosty breath. I tried to recover my enthusiasm for the moment, but I was shaken, and remained silent, turning my feelings over in my mind. What if the Spirit spoke the truth? I felt afraid. Why could I not enjoy a walk through the cave with Josh? What would happen? Why did it speak so certainly against this happy plan for my future? I felt sorry for myself afflicted as I was, even in my most joyful moments, with strange forebodings of my future. I thought of Mother’s advice to me to trust the unknown powers watching over us all. Josh squeezed my hand, kind attention in his face.
“Look at the majesty before us, Betsy! Is not God’s world a lovely place?”
“It is, if God is with you,” I answered, without thought or premeditation, and I believe I was nearly as surprised as Josh to hear myself profess such lack of faith. He turned and took my shoulders in his hands and looked into my eyes.
“Dear Betsy, never doubt that God is with you! Believe, there can be no greater God than He who walks with you.” He drew my shoulders to his own and my cheek pressed against the cold wool of his gray jacket. He held me gently, silently, as if he knew I needed several moments to force away the tears rising in my throat. I think he understood I did not wish to cry. For several minutes we remained in our embrace, the sound of the snow-covered river a bubbling accompaniment to our quiet stillness. I felt again the rightness of our being together, but when I could breathe naturally, I drew away. Josh took his hands from my shoulders and for a breathless moment held my cold cheeks between his leather gloves. Lifting my chin just slightly he closed his eyes and kissed me again, this time so slowly and deliberately I could not doubt that it was so. His lips were warm and soft and he pressed them into mine with some certainty, and I pressed back, whereupon our two mouths gently opened and I tasted the sweetness of his soul. I allowed this ecstasy only for a moment, for though I knew his intentions were honorable with me, I remained troubled by the Spirit’s words. I pulled back and looked quickly away, afraid to see disappointment in his eyes.
All That Lives Page 24