All That Lives
Page 31
“Check the fire keeps lively, Miss Betsy, and I will soon return.” Chloe hurried back through the house, leaving from the kitchen. I realized I was alone and I grew cold, as if a large hand of ice lay across my back. Frightened, I thought it was my father’s hand and I expected he had risen from his bed to tap me on the shoulder. I could not turn around to see if it were so, and I endured my fear, repeating to myself, Father’s body lying in his bed was nothing but the shell of him. His body was like the barn, emptied of its harvest crops. I stared at the white expanse of our lawn, and thought of Ignatius Batts sitting all the days at his front window, the same unseeing expression on the features of his face. I wondered if he saw as I did, nothing but shapes and colors without meaning. The cold air carried the uncomfortable sensation of waiting, waiting for some unpredictable evil, and the hand of ice on my back did not move.
On the road I saw a horse and rider of familiar stature taking the turn onto our path. He rode quickly and though he wore a cloak with a hood around his head I recognized Josh Gardner dismounting at our horse tie. My heart quickened as he looked up to the house and I wondered if he could see me at the window, for he hastened in the tying of his horse. I wished to rise and open the door, but the cold air in the parlor was so intense I felt frozen in my spot. I wanted to tell him of Father’s last breath and how I knew in my soul the importance of deep love. I wanted to feel Josh’s warm arms circling me and holding me safe, but though he had more distance to cover than I, it took me until he was knocking to move my frightened body to open our door. I saw instantly so much kindness and concern in his gray eyes, I did not know how to say what had happened, and I was grateful he spoke first.
“Say it is not so, the evil Being has dealt a fatal blow unto your father?”
“ ’Tis true! He lies cold as stone in his bed, poisoned by the menace.” Sudden tears filled my eyes and Josh pulled me to him in embrace without a thought of who might see. Only I knew we were alone. The one other person in the house who might have cared lay dead.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
The Spirit filled the hallway with its warning, and a sudden wind whisked eddies of snow inside the door.
“Be gone, you evil demon! Your horrors are accomplished here!” Josh held my face in his two hands, still gloved and cold. He covered my ears so I might not hear the fiend’s command.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
It repeated itself without a change in tone.
“Please, go!” I pushed Josh back away, onto the porch, for I did not want to die, and I knew the Being was capable of many tortures.
“But, Betsy.” Josh grasped my arm and firmly held it. “I must pay my respects,” he insisted. “Are you alone with that foul creature?” He stepped back inside.
“Go, Josh! If ever you had a care in your heart for me, please, go, now!” It was most painful to make that loathsome request, for I knew he would not stay if I so entreated him. I wanted more than anything to be transported to some other house where I might live another life and associate with him, yet I did not want to fight the Spirit.
Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
“Quiet, you horror, leave her be!” Josh shouted as I managed to turn him around and, using the heavy cedar door to my advantage, I pushed him out. He did not physically fight my requests, and I was glad, for my resolve to be rid of him was weak indeed. A sudden wind blew under the door and up my skirt, pushing snow into a tidy line before my feet. I heard a crack, like a gunshot, and I ran to the window in time to see Josh jump nimbly away from a branch falling with great velocity off the pear tree. It smashed into the snow, and Josh was not struck. He stood on the lawn, shouting, but his words were unintelligible to me against the wind. He faced the house, apparently determined not to leave. The pear trees swayed above him, dropping sheets of snow onto the ground, freeing the mighty armlike branches. I feared they would come alive with the Spirit’s mischief and harm him with their black and pointed ends.
“Go, Josh!” I shouted through the window, then turned away, unable to watch him remain. I fled up to my room and from the stairs shouted loud into the house, empty of all except Father’s corpse and the ugly Spirit, “I am still alive!” I yelled, “I am alive!” I threw myself down on my bed on my back and closed my eyes. If I lay still long enough would it kill me? Would my heart be frozen into silence, and would I lie in my position forevermore, never rising from the bed, but descending in a box into the ground? Dear Lord, I will fear no evil … I made an attempt at prayer, but found I could not encompass the thought of the Lord in my fear. I felt the cold stone in my belly and I knew suddenly what it was, a grave marker. The Spirit had placed the stone inside me, so to mark where I already was dead.
On the day of the funeral, the house swirled with activity as the snow had swirled on the day Father died. It filled the distances and made it impossible to see three feet beyond what lay directly before our busy hands. Mother chose my dress for me, a woven wool dyed with hickory nuts to the dark brown of autumn bark. Martha had left it behind.
“ ’Tis nice with your hair,” Mother told me, though I doubted it mattered. Richard and Joel had suits fashioned from the same cloth and they wore them without protest, a testament to their deep sadness. Drewry wore dark gray, as did Mother, Frank and most of the rest of the community, as black elder and juniper berries were plentiful in those parts and often used to dye the winter wools. We were a somber crowd, but our preparations were much the same as those for a party.
“Help Chloe move the table up against the wall.” Mother busied herself giving instructions. I spread our whitest linen, ironed by Chloe until it shone, and she put the fruitcakes out, leaving spaces for the biscuits and sweet breads we knew the neighbors would bring. I went to the kitchen pleased to see Chloe had fetched five sugared hog’s heads from the storehouse and arranged them on a platter. I craved the taste of the brown-sugared meat along my tongue, but I thought of Father and how he too had felt a special liking for the sugared hog’s head. It pained me to know we would never share another.
“They’re bringing in the coffin …” I heard Drewry shout from the hall and I hurried back to see Dean and Zeke carrying in the dark and shining box. Dean had toiled through three days and nights to complete Father’s coffin, and it was indeed a master’s work. He and Zeke placed it on two tables Mother had set together, perpendicular to the hearth, and I saw the shine was from liberal amounts of wood oil Dean had rubbed into the finish. He had carved a pattern of intertwined tobacco leaves along the side.
“It seems a shame to hide so fine a piece beneath the ground.” Mother held her white cotton handkerchief up to her eyes, staring at the lovely empty coffin in our parlor.
“ ’Twas masta Bell’s own idea.” Dean took a step forward, touching the wooden vine. “We were talking one day after Miz Lawson died and he told me, ‘A tobacco vine ought to circle my box for what more vigorous emblem could a man wish for?’” Mother began to cry and Dean and Zeke appeared likely to join her. I could easily hear Father making that remark.
“ ’Tis time the body should be placed inside.” Frank hung his massive head.
“Children, leave us to it.” Mother sighed, waving Joel, Richard and me into the kitchen where Chloe patted our backs and slipped bits of brown sugar melting off the edges of the hog’s heads into our mouths.
“On the count of three …” I heard Frank Miles from the bedroom, instructing, “Heave!” I imagined Father’s corpse was heavy as the stone above the phantom treasure. How would they maneuver him from the bed into the box? I licked the sweet and sticky sugar off my lips and tried not to picture the scene.
“Jack! Jack!” Mother cried his name in pain and we heard Frank’s strong hammer driving nails into the walnut. A bad odor I recognized as the smell of Jack three days hence replaced the lovely hog’s head in my nose. “I cannot bear it!” I heard a clatter in the parlor and Mother burst into the kitchen, her handkerchief over her mouth.
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“Oh Miz Lucy! Make no memory of him in death!” Chloe hugged Joel close to her. Mother did not reply, but pressed her back against the door between the kitchen and the dining room, and her expression clearly wished to keep the day ahead away. The back door burst open and the cold came in, along with Old Kate and Mary Batts.
“I heard them nailing, so we came around the back. Dreadfully sorry to hear of your misfortune. I done brought a nut-meat pie, with our regrets.” Old Kate thrust the pie toward Chloe, who took it with one hand, prying Joel’s arms off her waist with her other hand. “Ooh, the stench of death is foul in here!” Old Kate wrinkled up her nose, withdrawing her amulet from her coat and dress. Mother sighed and wiped her cheeks. Standing straighter, she recovered herself. I heard a knocking behind the pounding of the hammer and I realized the community was arriving to pay their last respects to John Bell, landowning upright tobacco farmer, my father.
“We so appreciate your kind concern.” Mother thanked Kate and drew Joel from Chloe, allowing her to open the door to place Kate’s pie on the dining table.
“Lucy, I also made you this …” Old Kate reached inside her coat, removing a scrap of velvet stuffed with herbs she dared to call an amulet. “You can have it, free of charge, and I suggest you wear it, as it has herbs to keep the evil off.”
“Thank you, Kate,” Mother replied and as she reached out to take the gift Kate caught her hand, speaking close to her ear, but I heard her whisper.
“You have tolerated enough, now, Lucy. Grieve not for the dear departed, for he shall suffer this earth no more.” I could not stand to listen to her penny wisdom and I retreated to a solitary ladder-backed chair placed in the corner of the parlor behind the coffin. I saw Thenny arrive with her family but I purposely did not look to her and I believe she could well sense I did not wish to speak, as she followed her mother into our dining room.
When next I looked at the arrivals, I was pleased to see Josh Gardner, accompanied by his father. Mr. Gardner and my father had not been friends, so I knew he was present only at Josh’s insistence. I was momentarily heartened, but then I remembered the Spirit’s warning, and I became afraid to speak with him. Josh looked about the room for me and, seeing my position, frowned. I saw him try to catch my eye but I pretended I had not by looking down at my two hands folded on my lap.
The parlor filled quickly, and the Reverend and Frank Miles moved to stand before the casket, so I was mostly hidden from view. I sat listening to the somber murmur of voices, feeling, as I had on the afternoon when I was alone staring out into the snow, the sounds in my ears and the shapes before me had no meaning.
“Betsy, Betsy …” I looked up and there stood Josh. Having paid his respects to the Reverend and Frank to get to me, he stood at the head of the gleaming casket, and I had the sense he had been a long time waiting for my attention. “I want to tell you how I long to relieve your grief. I did not wish to leave your house the day before yesterday, but I did wish to respect your wishes, though they were contrary to my own.” Josh bent and lifted my hand from my lap to his lips. I allowed it, but Father’s coffin at my elbow made the gesture grimly formal.
“Thank you, Josh,” I replied without a smile, for my despair was large. I saw behind him our parlor was full and overflowing into the yard, reminding me of the Spirit’s early days. How the crowds had come. I tried to focus on the individual members of our community wrapped in their warmest cloaks in our parlor, but I could only see a crowd of familiar faces. Who was simply curious regarding supernatural acts of murder and who was there to pay their last respects to a man who had wielded power in his dealings amongst them? Only a few had really known my father.
“Betsy, your father has gone to where we all shall go, though I mean not to further sadden you with that thought.” Josh sighed with some frustration, but carried on. “Truthfully, it is hard to know what to say to you, but I did find a most modern poem that expresses some approximation of my thoughts, and in later moments perhaps it may provide you small comfort.” From inside his vest pocket Josh withdrew a piece of smooth folded paper, which he deposited onto my lap. “Perhaps I may call on you again soon?” He squeezed my hand with affection. I shook my head no, most absolutely, as I was too frightened by what the Spirit might do to us. There was a shuffle amongst the crowd and Josh was forced to move aside. Frank and Drewry set a wooden bench before the casket and many people shifted, their backs to me. I opened the paper on my lap, easily able to focus on Josh’s perfect script.
“Mutability”
by
Percy Bysshe Shelley
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
Where had he discovered such blasphemous poetry, and what was his meaning in sharing it with me? I was intrigued, and set to read it over when the Reverend climbed up the bench in front of me and began to speak to the assembled in his loud church voice.
“None of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. For whether we live, we live unto the Lord, and whether we die, we die unto the Lord; whether we live, therefore, or die, we be the Lord’s.” A rush of cold air blew up the hill and in our door, chilling all persons present until we were as frozen as stones in the stream, buried under ice and snow.
Oh here’s success to brandy, drink it down, drink it down,
Oh here’s success to brandy, drink it down, drink it down,.
The Spirit filled the room with a hundred voices on the chorus, so outside the sound resonated as if our home were a rumbling brothel. Inside, the people in the parlor bowed their heads and shivered in silent prayer. At least, I hoped they prayed, and did not bow their heads to hide their laughter, as the Spirit made a mockery of Father’s life.
Oh here’s success to whiskey, drink it down, drink it down,
Oh here’s success to whiskey, drink it down, drink it down,
For it always makes you frisky,
Drink it down! Drink it down! Drink it down!
The picture of Father draining his silver flask at his desk occupied my mind, and if not for the heavy stone in the pit of my stomach that held me in my place, I believe I would have fallen on the floor under the casket in tears. The Reverend shouted the Lord’s Prayer and Frank cursed the Spirit, but no voice could compete with the voice of the Being in song.
“We shall end this torment!” Frank pushed through the crowd and out the door, and I could see in the set of his deer-skinned shoulders he was full of anger. I stood and climbed the bench beside the Reverend, so I might see out the window Frank’s plan of action. He tore through the crowds running down the hill to the horse tie where Zeke waited with the sleigh that would carry Father’s coffin to his grave.
Be like me, and good for a spree,
From now till the day is dawning,
“ ’Tis time!” Satisfied the horses were ready for the journey through the snow, Frank turned and ran back up the path toward the house, shouting, “We must go now, to the grave!”
Good for any game at night, my boys,
Good for any game at night,
Drewry, the Reverend, Mr. Thorn and Calvin Justice simultaneously understood Frank’s intent and the R
everend stepped heavily down to the floor to help the men lift the coffin.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for the Lord is with me.” He led the room in prayer and struggled to balance his corner of the coffin as they turned to the door, but the Spirit would not allow the Reverend to be heard and increased the number of voices singing its wicked tune.
My father he was a great drinker,
He never was sober a day,
And when he’d roll in, in the morning,
Oh these are the words he would say.
I’ll never get drunk anymore,
I’ll never get drunk anymore.
The pledge I will take, the whiskey I’ll shake,
Oh I’ll never get drunk anymore.
“Let us get on with it!” Frank shouted, and holding the head of the coffin he guided the men and Drewry forward. The crowd parted, moving somberly, in contrast with the ribald Spirit. I followed the Reverend and Calvin Justice, who carried the foot of the casket, and I was careful not to look at who I passed. In the hall, Mother handed me my coat, my gloves and hat, and she wrapped her warmest lamb’s wool shawl around my right arm and her left, so we were both encompassed. We descended the porch steps together, with Joel and Richard following us closely, bumping against our backs.