“The floor is smooth as window glass, John Jr. Let us spread our luncheon here.”
“Are you growing, Betsy?” John Jr. came quickly over, teasing me, unshouldering his gun and rope. He set the lantern down and sat cross-legged at my side.
“ ’Tis nowhere more lovely,” he said, resting his hands on his knees, looking out. I saw he was completely satisfied with what lay before him, and yet, deep sadness etched contours in his face and made his spine too stiff. I recognized his mood, for I had seen it in myself and Drewry. His blessings were not enough to provide sufficient relief from his pain. I wished to make him understand how ready I was to leave behind our times of dread, and be able to enjoy the warm excitement a handful of black cherries or innocent kisses in the woods could bring.
“You know, dear brother, the Spirit saved our mother from her death.” I started the discussion I realized we must have.
“I know only the Spirit murdered our father and has done damage to the souls of all his children and his wife. I will not hear you speak in its favor, little sister.”
The pile of bones we had chosen not to approach set up rattling in the corner, and turning our heads, we saw them rise to do a noisy dance. The clinking of their joints against the stone made a nasty rhythm, reminding me of the spoons the Spirit beat in Father’s hands his last day at our table. The clatter echoed large out of the mouth of the cavern.
Know you, John Jr., your mother is an exceptional human, protected from each existing wickedness by her goodness and gentleness toward every creature of whatever kind.
“Please stop, I beg you, hurt us not today!” I grew afraid, because the sound increased under the Spirit’s words until it was truly deafening.
Lucy Bell appreciates the smallest tribute rendered her; extended by a madwoman, an evil demon or a most demanding man.
“Your only virtue, creature, apart from certain kindness to our mother, is you do not profess to be other than you are, and declare yourself an outcast from Hell and a murderer!” John Jr. shouted at the Being.
Yea, I am outcast, but I have many virtues unknown to you. You will not understand all I say, but you will know I speak the truth.
“You speak not the truth. You speak of murder and wrong-doings, of buried teeth and treasure and other stories proven false.”
The things I have told others which were not true are not important. They were told to prove to you the foolish ways of men. Did I tell you true I had poisoned your father?
“Your falsity is all of you, not only what you say.”
No, no, John Jr. Bell. I am true as the drop beneath you from this cave into the river. I am true as the hard ground below.
“Please stop,” I begged the Spirit, fearing the next moment would see my brother hurled over the edge to certain death. The bones collapsed back into a pile and the sound of their clamoring died in echoes off the walls.
Though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, have I not charity, I am nothing. I will leave you be, John Jr.
The Spirit held a firm but less menacing tone with my brother and I detected gentleness within it, as though it educated a well-loved child.
A demon is not the only Being who laughs at the foolish things men do over and again, and encourages them to carry on in folly, so as to laugh the more. The evil in men’s hearts surpasses all the evil made in Hell, for it is one and the same.
“Why did you murder Father? In all your talk never do you say a reason why.”
For the good of future generations.
“I see no reason there.”
Someday you will have a daughter and you will know my reason.
“You need not speak to me of future good. I will not believe you and I do not want to hear it.”
I could kill you too, John Jr., but I will not.
“Kill me, for I am doomed to misery alive, tormented by your presence!” John Jr. was as beside himself as ever I had witnessed.
I will not kill you for the good of future generations.
The Being continued its patronizing yet tolerant tone.
“Spirit, you speak nonsense and lies eternally! Kill me, or begone!”
Why wish for death?
A bone flew across the cave from the pile and rapped John Jr. lightly on the head not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to anger him further.
You will be dead much longer than alive! There are many things I could tell you, many things I should like to say to someone with enough compassion and intelligence to understand.
“Tell me,” I begged, interrupting, engaged by the Spirit’s speech.
My tellings are beyond the grasp of the human mind. Your salvation will be faith in unknown power, therein lies Heaven on earth.
“Your lies are tiresome, demon.”
When you understand me, John Jr., you will understand the truth. I live forever, and all living beings are part of me. One who does good is never overcome by evil. I can not tell you all my powers for they are endless, but know, I am the life of all that lives, the intelligence of the intelligent, and the strength of the powerful Beings. I am unending time and silence, I am music and all secrets. Everything comes from me. I am your most dear friend.
“You talk well when you like,” John Jr. said, tossing the bone back across the cave. “But I shall never believe a word you say.” He looked again at the beautiful vista of Father’s land. “Betsy, unpack the luncheon,” he commanded.
“I am not so famished now as I was before, dear brother.” I was in fact most anxious to depart, for a horrible cold dampness had descended in the cavern, and I recognized it as the cold spot I had felt in the woods when I was only nine and unaware.
I am unspeakable and all truth that is spoken.
The Spirit rattled the pile of bones one last time, and left us alone.
Over the next few weeks I gradually became aware I had learned something very important from the Spirit’s talk in the cave, and though I could hardly articulate it, the learning was growing inside of me. I walked through sweeping and dusting, washing and polishing so slowly Mother began to complain my tasks were being accomplished at the rate of the moon. I was thinking so hard about other things I could not concentrate on a cloth in my hand. I was thinking about unending time and silence, and about the intelligence of the intelligent and the strength of the powerful Beings, and also I thought a great deal about Josh. I was slow at my tasks, but quick to get away after the dinner hour, for Mother liked to lie down in the afternoons, and that meant I was free to meet Josh in the woods.
We both tried to be there as often as possible, sometimes indulging in the exquisite passions we had shared on my birthday, but most often playing like children together. We plucked new leaves off the trees that circled and hid us and we pretended they were boats racing down the streams. His managed to reach the finish line of the little rapids before mine most consistently and he took as his prize kisses up against the elms. The hours flew by, each day it grew late too soon, and though we met as often as possible, I did not feel it was enough, for those hours simply enjoying our time together were brilliant with laughter and silly fun.
On the Friday before the Lovers Promenade Josh and I walked all the way to the fishing pool under the cavern. We sat down together on a large boulder near where the stream poured down in a waterfall into the pool. I looked up at the gaping mouth of the cave and thought suddenly of the pile of bones in the corner. I realized I had learned as deep in my soul as the cave was recessed into the rock above, that the Spirit and all its actions were way more than I could comprehend. I was about to tell Josh what the Being had said to John Jr. to see what he would make of it when he spoke to me of a conversation he had had with his father.
“He has been asking me, Betsy, since your father’s funeral if I feel a particular affection for you.” Josh squeezed my hand in his, and smiled, but his eyes held a most determined aspect. “I know it has been your wish to keep our affectio
ns circumspect, but I was bound by my heart and my love of the good Lord to speak the truth in a matter of such importance, so I told him as I have often told you, I mean to have Miss Betsy Bell to be my wife.”
“You told him that? Dear Josh!” I was surprised, for he knew I felt it best we live from one meeting to the next, as the Spirit made my life so unpredictable. When I thought of marrying Josh, I heard immediately the Being’s warning in my mind. Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.
“My father has a property in the fertile land of Kentucky that already has a log cabin erected. He has promised it to me so you and I can begin a farm and family there. When shall I speak to your mother and brother, Betsy? I am anxious to put our love before the altar of the Lord our God and sanctify what we know to be true and right. How say you?” Josh was pleased and excited by his plan. He brought his fingers to my face and I took hold of them, pressing them to my lips to make the sign for silence, for the very mention of a future happy life with him clouded my enjoyment of the present moment. I knew it was not to be. “Betsy, why do you not see the blessing offered in this change?” He held my face as though in prayer.
“Josh, why do you not see the happiness of this present moment? Why must you be looking to plan our future instead of enjoying my company now?” I took his fingers from my cheeks allowing my irritation with the subject to be apparent, but then I placed his hands in my lap hoping to remind him of all we had shared and must be grateful for.
“Very well, Betsy, I will not dwell on the subject.” Josh sighed and squeezed my thigh playfully before pulling his hands away, grasping my shoulders. “But it is one we must return to, for the future will come, planned or not, and my intentions are honorable with you, Betsy Bell, though I begin to wonder about yours, darling girl!” Josh teased me, but there was a frustration in his voice I had not previously heard, and to hear him call me “darling girl” reminded me of Father, and caused me pain. I went limp when he embraced me, for I felt again the heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. Was I more connected to a dead man and a boulder than I was to my warm lover’s body? I looked up at the mouth of the dark cavern and I felt afraid.
Later that same day, we received a letter from Jesse announcing that Martha had successfully borne their first son without trauma or tragedy.
“They have named him John, but plan to call him Jack, as we did your father.” After sharing the news, Mother folded the letter and retired to her bedroom to be alone, leaving me to wonder why such a happy issue caused her to grow sad. I realized there were those who might say the same of myself and Josh. Why did thoughts of a happy future with him seem overwhelming and impossible to me? I suddenly understood Mother’s sadness was for all she had lost at Father’s passing, all the news and years they would not share, and that was how I felt it was going to be for me as well. Only instead of years of memories I would be left with only months. I went early to bed and fought self-pity until I fell asleep.
The next day was the Saturday of the Lovers Promenade and we were blessed with a bright, strong sun that gave us all a taste of summer heat. I woke in the morning to find the curse of blood between my legs. Although not a lot was flowing, I felt slightly unwell and thought instead of walking I ought to lie all day in bed. The tight waist and all the buttons in my special dress seemed impossible. Even though I greatly desired Josh to see me in it, I was uncertain if I could manage to get it on. I went downstairs intending to ask Mother for help.
“Betsy.” Mother was sitting at the dining table resting her chin on her hand, and before I could speak of my dress, she turned to me. “Your father’s book of accounts is missing. I looked for it today to show John Jr. the tobacco records and discovered it has disappeared from its place in Father’s desk. Drewry knows nothing of it. Do you?” She raised her eyes to mine. I thought of the red silk ribbon, the wagging demon tongue. If Father’s book of accounts could speak, would it cry more than forgive me?
“No, I know nothing of it,” I lied, realizing I had never returned to it, though I had meant to the day before Father had died. Where was it now? I felt suddenly ill.
I have taken it!
“For what purpose?” Mother let her hand drop to the table with consternation.
Your Jack, so fond of judge and jury, will be judged by what was written in the book.
I felt extremely uncomfortable. Did that mean his request for forgiveness would not be acknowledged? Why had I ripped away that page and burned it? My impulsive actions seemed to have larger repercussions than ever I intended. I forgave him everything. I hoped God knew I had. I hoped Father knew. I realized suddenly it was myself I had now to forgive. I thought of the Spirit’s words to John Jr. in the cave. Have I not charity, I am nothing. I must have charity for myself.
“Well, if you might find some way to return it, all the running of the farm he documented there.”
And much else as well, but you will not see it again.
“If that is so, then I will cease to worry over it.” Mother sighed and turned to me. “What’s the matter, Betsy? You look pale.”
“ ’Tis my time to bleed again,” I told her, happy to change the subject, “and I wish to wear my finest dress to the picnic.”
“Oh, never mind, Joshua will not know. Your red petticoat will be completely hidden by the bell of your skirt.” Mother sighed again. “I will help you prepare.”
It took almost two hours for me to dress and pin up my hair in the sophisticated style with the Spirit’s comb, but finally Mother had finished with me and I was released out-of-doors. I still felt queasy, but I was growing excited about the stroll by the riverbank before our community. I walked down our hill to the road to see if I could spot Josh’s carriage, for he was due to arrive, but I saw nothing but bunnies, nibbling on the clover and buttercups, growing in ever larger patches on the ruts of our road. My womb cramped and twisted and I turned back, walking to the horse tie where I could sit and wait. I wondered if I should tell Josh it was my time to bleed, but I was not sure how to raise the subject. Zeke walked past me, a fishing pole in his hand, heading toward the river.
“Where might you be going, Zeke?”
“Miz Lucy done asked me to fetch her up some fish for Easter, so I be on my way.”
“Mind the Spirit don’t mess with your fishes!” I teased him, for we had recently heard a rumor the Spirit was being blamed by some for the disappearance of bait off their hooks when no catch was resulting.
“Your mama don’t like no phantom fishes for her supper, do she Miss ’Lizabeth?” Zeke winked at me and I noticed as he set off smiling he had a fat pocket of tobacco to help him enjoy the day. When I turned back around, there was Josh’s carriage, coming down the road.
When we arrived at the churchyard Josh jumped down and pulled the footstool out for me to disembark, grasping my arm with such commanding certainty, I felt my stomach fill with excitement. “Let me help you, Betsy. Your hair and dress are more lovely than the day,” he whispered in my ear and gently closed the door. We were about to pick our path when Thenny and Becky, walking with James, Alex, Mary Batts and Ephraim, approached us.
“Have you heard, Betsy, about the heron on Old Kate’s pond and Mr. Ellison?” Thenny did not wait to greet me before speaking her news. I looked to Mary but she looked away, ever stoic.
“Tell it again, Thenny!” Becky giggled, and cast down her eyes.
“Mr. Ellison, as he said he would do at the funeral, has made it his single purpose to shoot that heron off the lake, and only today he has accomplished it.”
“What is so remarkable in the killing of a bird?” Alex Gooch raised his arm and closed one eye, posturing he pulled the trigger of a gun. I wondered if he was pretending for my benefit, or did he really know so little?
“The bird was no ordinary bird, silly! It was the witch creature that drowned Amanda. Recall it now?”
“Thenny! We are to have a jolly day, cease to be morose,” I chastised her.
“I am not morose. No, I am we
ll pleased, for that witch creature is dead!” Thenny pouted slightly and was silent for a moment but could not prevent herself from going on. “Not only is it remarkable Mr. Ellison did kill it, but the heron did not float as naturally it should have done. Instead it disappeared where he felled it, and sank to the bottom of the lake.”
“Oh Thenny!” Becky giggled and James joined her with a nervous laugh.
“Next you’ll be thinking it was the witch heron eating the bait off the hooks this spring.” I meant this as a joke, but from the silence that fell I understood it had been suggested as a real possibility before the group met up with us. A tense silence settled over us and Josh attempted to change the mood.
“Well, friends, shall we walk along the river? This is a promenade …” He held out his arm to me.
“Yes, let’s,” I readily agreed. Mary Batts passed by my ear, whispering.
“Mother says fear of that heron will keep the boys from swimming in our pond come summer.”
“Is that a good thing?” I answered her cryptically and stepped aside. Looking round, I saw the riverbank was crowded with members of our community strolling and picnicking and farther downstream there lounged a large group of Negroes, fishing and eating corn cakes in the shade.
We let Thenny and Alex and Ephraim and Mary and James and Becky move in front of us, and I held back with Josh so we were last on the path. When we had passed the clusters of people near the bridge and finished the superficial convivial greetings exchanged there, I allowed Josh to hold my hand as we walked, enjoying the heat of his fingers and the warm sun on my head. The others were far ahead around a bend in the river so we could not see them and I believe they sensed we wished to walk alone.
“Come, Betsy,” Josh pulled me off the main path onto a smaller cow path leading down to the water. Violets dotted the carpet of purslane and chickweed on the riverbank, and I noticed a patch of red sassafras towering over wild iris in bloom, a sight most certainly a gift from God. Josh stopped me when we reached a thick stand of elms that hid us well.
All That Lives Page 39