All That Lives

by Melissa Sanders-Self

  Mother said grace in Father’s absence and immediately after the Amen, Joel asked the question on all our minds.

  “How fares Father?”

  “He is resting comfortably now and I believe the worst must be behind him.” Mother smiled, but I could not believe she told the truth. I was surprised by her mood and her information, as Father had not looked to be recovering at all when last I saw him. Still, Mother continued to try and reassure us. “The good doctor’s medicines seem remarkably effective, for all afternoon your Father has made steady improvement. The color is returning to his cheeks and most likely he will be on his feet again so we might enjoy our Christmas.” I saw Joel and Richard exchange a glance and smile, attacking their potato pancakes with significantly more vigor.

  “Perhaps after supper we might begin to plan our holiday, as it is scarcely a week away,” Joel suggested, and around the table I saw a gentle easement in the tension of my family’s faces. I allowed into my heart the small hope that Mother spoke the truth and my own evil feelings of foreboding were based on too many bad experiences. It was uncanny how my heart and mind worked together to create this future I very much wanted, though I knew it was entirely unlikely it would come to pass. I believed, at that moment, as the rest of the family believed, that Father’s condition was much improved and I imagined in the morning he would rise as he had done every day for all my life, fully restored to himself. The shriek of wind against the glass panes and the flaring of the fire as it gusted down the chimney turned our table conversation away from his illness to the most pressing matters of concern regarding the farm.

  “The pump at the well is frozen solid,” Drewry reported, “and Dean fears the water at the garden pump may not outlast the storm.”

  “Was he able to dig the path to the necessary house?” Mother sliced her pancake delicately with the edge of her fork.

  “He was, but related the snow falls so thick and so fast, before he was to the end of the path, the beginning was buried as deep as when he started. At the necessary house itself, the water is iced over and he mentioned tomorrow may be spent boiling kettles and churning the pit below.”

  “Yuk!” Joel wrinkled his nose with disgust.

  “Our chamber pots will suffice,” Mother said, clearly not wishing to dwell on the subject over our meal. “ ’Tis too cold and blowing to use the necessary house, frozen or not.”

  “Zeke says the Negroes at the cabins haven’t enough pairs of solid shoes to work in this much snow without losing their feet and being no ’count come spring planting.” Drewry held his fork unconsciously aloft, awaiting Mother’s reaction. She pulled a face, and I looked down, for I remembered how she had been most upset in the summer about the possibility of this very thing.

  “What does Dean advise?” Mother asked Drewry, pausing in her meal, wiping her hands with the cloth on her lap.

  “Dean says Zeke’s brethren are worse off than the rest, and as he and his folk are necessary to any task, Dean is most concerned. All the Negroes do agree, this winter is unreasonably harsh.”

  “Drewry, I want you to go to the kitchen and tell Dean no one is to leave their cabins until this storm has passed. No one, except the hardiest of men to perform only the most essential chores, and even those men should not venture out if they haven’t wrapped their sorry boots with hide of some sort. Tell him to stock their cabins well with wood, and tell him also, when the storm is over your father will have the cobbler out for Christmas boots and whiskey fresh from the doubler for everyone.”

  “I shall tell him now,” Drewry said as he pushed his chair back from the table, pleased to be the bearer of this message.

  When we finished eating we moved the lamps into the parlor, and each of us peeked into the doorway of Father’s room, reassured to see him resting comfortably in bed.

  “Let us list the joys of Christmas,” Richard suggested, and Mother obliged him readily, citing sugared ham’s head, brandied fruitcakes and sleigh rides to the neighboring farms. I listened, but stood aside to poke at the fire with Father’s tool, and part of me was much distracted by waiting for the demon to descend. Because of my fear I did not wholly enjoy myself as the others appeared to. Or perhaps they all felt as I did, and simply hid it better, for I saw Mother, when she thought no one else was looking, casting watchful eyes to Father’s sleeping form, and I noticed her descriptions of the lovely cakes with cream and put-up cherries from the summer intensified just as the wind outside howled stronger, and soon I knew she was putting forth her best effort to keep her family calm, despite what ills might befall us in the night.

  “I love you, Mother!” I blurted out spontaneously, moving to sit beside her.

  “ ’Tis nice to hear you say so, Betsy. Now settle down, and I will read a favorite verse of Father’s.”

  “I love you, too!” Joel did not wish to be left out when there was affection to be had. He climbed up on her lap and she shifted her knees to accommodate him.

  “Whatsoever thy soul desirest I will even do it for thee,” Mother rocked Joel on her lap, while the room glowed with the light of the roaring fire and the lamps. Her smooth voice cast a serene spell over us all and despite my fear I became caught up with the story of the covenant of truth David and Jonathan had made until, abruptly, my peace was shattered by a shower of rocks in the hallway and the Spirit arrived, singing coarsely.

  Row me up some brandy O

  “Have mercy on us this evening,” pleaded Mother, placing the Bible down so she could bring Richard onto her lap as well as Joel. I stood and poked the fire viciously, shouting at the Being.

  “Why won’t you leave us be?”

  Drewry crossed the room to stand beside me, placing a restraining hand on my arm. I saw in his anxious features he was frightened the Spirit might cast me down, but it did not. It ignored us all, bringing into the room many ugly voices, until it was as if we sat at a barn dance with none but the roughest folk, engaged in chanting vile and hideous songs. We could not speak, for the noise in the room prevented any one of us from being heard, and when it became obvious the Spirit did not intend to cease this visitation, Mother led us upstairs to our rooms and tucked us into bed, while curses and musical vituperations carried on, ringing up through the floor-boards.

  “That which can’t be cured, must be endured,” she shouted. “I will sit with your father, and ignore this frightful revelry. You must try to sleep.” I left my own bed as soon as she had gone and climbed into Joel’s, encouraging him with my knees in his to snuggle up against me. He fell asleep quite shortly, nestled in my arms, and I found his warm and regular breathing so comforting that I did not mind how my position put a crick into my neck. I lay unhappy and distressed, more frightened than ever before, knowing the Spirit was about its final purpose, buried in the noise. I worried it meant to kill not only our dear Father but the rest of us as well, and I felt certain I would be the next to die. A howling like a marked hog rose from the noise and I wished suddenly the suffering would end at any cost. If death was to be the end of it, I did wish for it, for Father, for myself. This unlikely thought stewed a potion of darkness in my mind. I tried to pray to God, but found sufficient words absent. I thought of John Jr., and wondered, was he awake in this moment? Did he have any idea what was happening in our home?

  Downstairs the curses and laughter of a brothel raged, and time again seemed very slow as I listened to the Spirit’s destructive power. Every scratch of wind on the glass, every thump of snow shifting on the roof, gave me cause to fear the Being’s hand would soon be on my head, or wrapped around my throat and I would not breathe again. I thought I did not want my last moments on earth to occur while I was sleeping, so though I did not know if I would live or die, I knew I would not sleep! Yet, as the hours of darkness carried on, I wondered, why had I been so cursed that God should will for me to live through this?

  At dawn, the perverse merrymaking and the storm simultaneously ceased and all was quiet in the house. I heard the door open downstai
rs and then the sound of thumping on the porch. My brothers whimpered in their beds, as if they shared the same night terrors in their sleep. The light of day came through their dormer window and piles of blown snow were stuck against the glass, so the light was dim, but glowing, like white liquid in the air. I thought of angel wings again, and the ethereal quiet soothed me. The light had come and I was still alive. Maybe it was possible God did have a special purpose for me as Mother believed, and maybe I would live to see more propitious days in my future. I certainly was relieved to have made it through the night. Still, I did not wish to get up and out of bed as I was suddenly most sleepy, for it was cozy in the silent stillness with Joel’s warm body stretched against my stomach. I was just about to close my eyes when Drewry sat up quickly in his bed opposite.

  “Perhaps ’tis over now,” he whispered and I wondered if he had ever really been to sleep himself. His wool trousers and linen shirt were impossibly wrinkled from the night, and I thought back to the days before the Spirit when Mother would have insisted on taking a box iron to his clothes before she would allow him to sit at the table. “It cursed all the night and never did repeat itself!” Drewry shook his head in wonder, and did not pause to observe the quality of the light, but hurried downstairs to supervise the lighting of the fires and to survey the nighttime damage from the storm and the Spirit. I heard Chloe rattling bread pans in the kitchen and Joel twisted and sat up, pulling all the quilts along.

  “Betsy, is the Witch away?” Joel was wide awake immediately, and he woke Richard.

  “Let’s go and see.” Richard rubbed his eyes and looked about his bedclothes for the stocking that had slipped off his foot in the night. I could not remain alone, so I also rose. I expected a scene of destruction in our parlor, but it was as it always was, everything in place. All the stones had been removed from the hall, for the thumping I had heard had been Mother tossing rocks off our front porch.

  “Are you ill, dear Mother?” She shut the great front door and I saw that, like the rest of us, she had not changed her dress, and her face was as pale and wrinkled as Drew’s shirt. She embraced me and I felt the chill of the outdoors on her and the hallway smelled of snow.

  “No, child. I am just weary from no sleep.” She ran her hand along my fuzzy braid and down my back. “But your father is improved!” She turned me round and pushed me gently toward the table, for our breakfast. “I watched him through the night, and though we were much reviled, your father did not wake. He slept peacefully until just before the dawn, when he awoke, as has always been his custom. You may visit at his bedside shortly, but remember his illness has left him weak and you must not tire him further. What news of the storm, Drewry?”

  “None as yet. Dean is absent from our kitchen. I will go out after breakfast and inspect the lands myself.”

  “Oh Dean will be along, ’tis certain. Thanks be to you, Lord, we have survived the endless night.” Mother added this sparse amendment to her grace and I assumed her weariness extended to her vocabulary.

  “The snow falls no more,” Drew informed her.

  “A gift from God.” Mother sipped a cup of dark tea very slowly as if she had made it too hot.

  “May we build snowmen after breakfast, Mother?” Joel and Richard astounded me with their resilience.

  “You may, but you must come in through the kitchen, as I believe Chloe and I might today begin some Christmas cooking and I can’t spare her to mop up the snow you will bring back with you.” Mother smiled, and for a moment I felt the day was beginning as many that had come before it had begun, with a routine of living that made us all comfortable. But looking down, I saw the wrinkles in my sleeve and realized the fear of the night was still on all of us, marking our clothes less deeply than our minds and I knew our lighthearted conversation was all just pretense. I hurried to finish first and visit with Father to witness for myself his recovery.

  “I have done. Might I go and visit?” I rose with my plate in my hand.

  “Yes, Betsy, but be quiet and come away if he is sleeping.” Mother continued to sip her tea very slowly.

  Drew had built the fire to blazing at the hearth and it was warm in the parlor. As I passed Father’s desk I felt ashamed for having ripped a page from his book of accounts, and I reminded myself I must organize things there after I saw him. I decided I would confess straight away, and be done with my guilt, but when I crossed the threshold of his room I sensed immediately something was very wrong. Father lay with his arm hanging off the side of his bed and his face was turned to the ceiling at a very odd angle. His eyes were wide open and staring, and his chest heaved upward as though he could not get a breath.

  “Mother!” I screamed and Drewry and the boys came running with her.

  “What has happened?” cried Mother, taking Father’s hand into her own. She felt his wrist and found it pulsing quickly. “Jack, Jack, can you hear me? It’s Lucy! What ails you?”

  ’Twas me, I did it. He is poisoned and will die.

  The boys pressed against me, frightened, and I held them so tightly to my side my hand must have felt like the box iron on their wrinkled backs. Mother turned to Father’s bedside table and there I saw a strange smoke-colored vial of blackish liquid, one third full and with its cork out, standing beside the tinctures prescribed by Dr. Hopson.

  “What’s this?” Mother raised the vial up to her nose and turned to us. “Who has brought this here? What is this foul-smelling liquid?”

  ’Tis poison, Luce. I told you plain, I done fixed him now!

  The Spirit shrieked with glee, and Mother burst into tears as did Joel and Richard.

  While you ate I dosed him down.

  “I will fetch the doctor,” Drewry said, touching Mother’s arm. “Shall I?”

  “Yes, you must!” Mother readily agreed.

  “But Drew, the storm …” I knew the road was thick with snow and there might be more to come. Swathing out a path would be a trial for any horse, never mind the deadly wind and chill. I did not wish to lose my father and my brother in one day.

  “ ’Tis over now and for Father’s sake, I must depart.” He kissed Mother on the cheek and she did not detain him.

  “Use caution as you go,” she spoke softly through her tears. Taking Father’s hand she sat beside him on the bed, adjusting his contorted body as the Spirit launched into a ribald song.

  Row me up some brandy O

  She ignored it and beckoned Richard, Joel and me to form a circle by the bedside holding hands. She led us in prayer above the Spirit’s song.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.” The Spirit alternated lines of its own verse with our prayer in the most confusing way.

  Row me up some brandy O

  For on a journey I will go!

  “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

  Row me up some sailor’s drink

  For any sailor’s ship can sink!

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”

  Row me up some brandy O

  For on a journey I will go!

  We remained in our small circle praying over Father, barely aware of the passing time. The air in the room bristled with the Spirit’s ill feeling, and it continued to sing strident verses. I closed my eyes and felt a darkness unlike any other, terrible, cold and deeply empty, and when I opened my eyes it was there in the high corners of the room, a black and ominous fog, descending to the bed. Father’s eyes remained open, but unseeing, and when Mother spoke to him he gave no sign he was aware of our presence. Mother held his hand and we prayed each breath would be followed by another.

  I knew he did not have long and I realized only all the moments I’d spent with him in my life mattered now. They were all we would ever share, the sum of our time together. I hoped he knew I forgave him everything. His breathing seemed to happen more and more slowly and I saw tears were
falling silently from Mother’s cheeks onto the blanket. She looked as if her heart might break, and I thought of Josh saying, “there can be no greater God than He who walks with you” and I felt comforted. I wanted desperately to see him again and to spend all the rest of the moments of my life in his company, so when it came my time to go I would not be saddened with longing for my true love. Father’s breath caught short, and abruptly from his throat there issued a sudden gurgling cry, unlike any sound he had uttered previously. His limbs shuddered like a rabbit shot in the field, and his chest rose and fell no more. His eyes remained open, staring unfocused at the ceiling. Mother gently closed his lids with a trembling finger and I saw one single tear roll down his cheek. Mother placed her ear onto his heart and sobbed without restraint.

  “Your father has passed on.”

  I told you I done fixed him!

  The Spirit could not contain its excitement and its most pleasant laughter filled the room. Mother responded not at all, but kept her head on Father’s chest, crying bitterly. Richard, Joel and I held on to one another, not knowing what to do. We cried, but softly, beneath the Spirit’s giggles, disbelieving Father had breathed his last.

  I did it! He’s dead! I will go and tell!

  The Spirit’s joy at its accomplishment brought rage into my soul. I wished to throw my body down and strike the floorboards until my fists and head were bleeding, so I might fall into fortuitous unconsciousness, and so be released from the pain of grief. I thought I could not bear it, yet someplace near my stomach lay the heavy stone holding me in my place, rendering me immovable. If the Spirit had not placed it there, I could not have remained still and silent in that chamber, witness to my father’s death.

  The Spirit left us to broadcast Jack Bell was dead to all our community. Though we were unaware of it, the Being had told Frank Miles the trapper nearly three weeks previous, while he was bagging coons. After his visit to our house in the spring Frank had returned to his mountain to find all his traps sprung and open and all his furs and hides gone to Indian hands, exactly as the Being had predicted. When the Spirit had spoken the news of Father’s death to him, Frank had dropped his hides straight away and worn his horse near into the ground, traveling through the snow and storms to knock at our door, only minutes after Father breathed his last.