To his left, Naddy knelt with a bucket and brush, and scrubbed the carpet. He saw the frothy yellow water slosh out of the bucket as she dunked the brush, and he knew what that odd smell was.
Standing slowly, he felt the first rappings of a powerful headache pulse through his head. “Naddy?” he asked, rubbing his temples.
Naddy, who hadn’t heard him stir, gave out a little squeal and dropped the brush. “Mr. Bell! I didn’t hear you. I was just cleanin’ the rug.”
“Where’s everyone gone?”
“They’s all in bed, sir. Mrs. Bell told me to just leave you be.”
Jack rubbed his eyes, took a tentative step away from the table, and found he could stand unsupported. “Where’s General Jackson?”
“They’s out packin’ and fixin’ to leave.”
“Leaving? Hell!” Listing slightly, he stumbled from the room to the front door.
The night air was cool and breezy. The fingernail paring of the moon waxing overhead shed a thin light across the landscape. A group of figures bustled around the wagons, took down the tents that had been scattered near the pear orchard, and packed the wagons.
Jack staggered toward the slight silhouette standing a little apart from this group. “General?”
Jackson, his hands clasped behind his back, turned suddenly. “Col. Bell! You’ve recovered,” Jackson said, smiling politely.
“Yes, sir,” answered Jack sheepishly, feeling like a raw recruit again.
“Interesting dinner. Is it like this every night?”
“Pretty much.”
Jackson turned to monitor his men’s progress, and Jack stood beside him.
“That Witch… she really showed up Dr. Mize,” Jackson laughed. “He’s in the wagon, afraid to come out. I think he even pissed himself. I don’t think he’ll have the guts to ask for his pay.”
“Are you leaving?” Jack blurted.
“Yes. Unfortunately, I can’t get them to stay,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the scuttling men. “They’re so spooked, they almost left without me. The only thing that kept them here was the memory of how I handled those deserters in New Orleans. It’s incredible! These men fought the British. Damn it, they fought Indians!”
“Sorry for the evening, General.”
“Sorry? Good Lord, Jack, this is exactly what I came down here to see,” exclaimed Jackson, thumping Jack on the back and nearly toppling him. “I’m just sorry Mize didn’t work out like I had hoped.”
“All ready, General,” yelled Jeffries from the driver’s seat of the lead wagon.
“Time to go, Colonel,” Jackson said, shaking Jack’s hand. “Good to see you again. Express my thanks to your wife for the lovely dinner––and to the Witch.”
“Yes, General,” said Jack, grasping the man’s hand. “I will. And you’re welcome to return whenever you want.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer soon, Jack,” he said, then he turned toward the wagons and left.
Jack stood watching as the wagons rumbled away. Jackson gave him one last, jaunty wave, the moon playing silver through the mane of his hair.
TWENTY-SIX
“Pleurisy?” asked Jack in shock as Hopson eased quietly out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “How serious is it?”
Hopson folded his stethoscope and slipped it into his coat pocket, fixing Jack with his eyes all the while. It was hot in the upstairs hallway, and Hopson produced a handkerchief to wipe his brow.
“Serious. I think it’s complicated with pneumonia. Lucy has a high fever, she’s bringing up bloody phlegm, and she’s racked with coughing. Judging by how much pain she’s in, I’d say the inflammation is fairly progressed. She’s also delirious from the fever.”
Jack, who didn’t look at all well himself, slumped against the wall. “She’s going to be all right, though. Hopson?”
“This is very serious, Jack. I’ve given her some medication, and she’ll sleep for a while. I’ve left some of the drug on the table near the bed. When she wakes up, give her a little more with some water. Change her cool compresses. Keep her warm and make sure there’s someone with her at all times. I’ll be back to check on her this afternoon, then again in the evening.”
Jack pursed his lips and flinched when he felt Hopson’s hand on his shoulders.
“Look, Jack… I know we’ve never been friends. But damn it, Lucy is like family to me. She needs help now, from both of us. You’re going to have to tolerate my presence here for a while.”
Jack shrugged off his touch, and looked at him with hollow eyes. “Make her better, Hopson. Nothing else matters. They can’t lose us both.”
Before Hopson could reply, Jack turned and walked downstairs.
Hopson stared after him, wondered what that had meant.
After a moment’s consideration, he decided he’d best tell John of his mother’s condition.
Jack just didn’t seem quite right these days.
* * *
Luce? Luce? Are you in here? Jack said you were sick. But I know better. I know my sweet Luce is not meant to get sick… Luce?
The curtains were drawn apart quickly, and the afternoon sun rushed in, bright and hot. Lucy lay in bed, covered from head to chin, sweating profusely. Her eyes had a wild, febrile look to them as they scanned the room.
“Who?” she hissed. “Who? Who?”
Oh, Luce…, the Witch whispered.
“Witch?” croaked Lucy, her face a mask of sweat sheen and confusion. “Is that you?”
Yes, dear heart, yes. I’m here.
“I don’t feel well. I need to sleep. Please go away. Please,” Lucy moaned, pulling the covers around her.
Oh, my dearest! the Witch soothed. Has Doc Hopson been here? Ah, I can see by the medicine on the table that he has. Pleurisy! I did not see this! How?
“Please go. Please go. Pleasegopleasegogogo,” rambled Lucy, barely audible, then she broke into a terrific, spasm of coughing that scattered the bedcovers and left her red-faced and gulping for air.
Luce! cried the Witch. There, is this better?
The coughing subsided, and Lucy settled back into bed. “I feel something… here,” she said, reaching from under the covers to pat her chest. “Pressure.”
It is me, dearest. This should make you feel more comfortable. Settle back and sleep for a while. I’ll not leave you.
“You’re so sweet to me, so kind,” Lucy mumbled, closing her eyes. “I’ll just sleep… for a while. Then, I’ll feel better.”
I’ll sing you a song, Luce, said the Witch. Just relax.
“Come my heart, and let us try,
For a little season,
Every burden to lay by.
Come and let us reason.
What is this that casts you down?
Who are those that grieve you?
Speak and let the worst be known.
Speaking may relieve you.”
At the first touch of her voice, Lucy relaxed fully and let out a long, slow sigh. The Witch felt her breathing even out and her muscles droop.
Then, Lucy’s eyes flew open. That song!
“I know… I know,” she whispered to the ceiling.
Shh, whispered the Witch, and Lucy felt a soft hand stroke her cheek, her brow. Of course you do, silly Luce. You always have.
Lucy slipped into a deep sleep.
* * *
Luce? Wake up, Luce. I’ve something for you.
The door to the bedroom hung open a crack, and a pair of curious eyes peered in.
Skedaddle, Naddy! hissed the Witch. I’ll watch over her for a spell. You know me better than to think any harm’ll come to her.
The eyes narrowed, appraising the situation.
The door closed.
Luce? Come on, sweetheart, wake up. I’ve traveled such a long way to bring you a gift.
Lucy, gaunt and wan, stirred beneath the blankets. “Yes?” she breathed.
Luce, I’ve sent Naddy away. I’m going to sit with for a
while, if that’s all right with you.
“Yes, Witch. Just sit and visit.” Her voice was as weak and listless as she appeared.
Everyone is worried about you. You’ve been sick for more than a week. Are you feeling any better?
“Some. The coughing is… not so bad now.” As if to prove it, she produced several feeble hacks, that sounded as if they were lodged somewhere deep in her thin chest.
Doc Hopson says you must eat, Luce. And you aren’t listening to him, said the Witch, attempting a lighter tone.
“I’m not hungry.”
How can you expect to get better if you don’t eat?
“I can’t.”
I’ve brought you something, dear. You’ll eat these.
A pattering on the blanket drew Lucy’s bleary attention, and she rose slowly to look. Raspberries,” she exclaimed with as much excitement as she could muster. “How did you know?”
Silly question. You’ll eat them won’t you, Luce? Say you will. You must get better. I can’t bear to see you so sick… it frightens me.
Lucy scooped up a handful of the plump little berries. Almost immediately, she swooned and fell back onto her pillow.
Foolish woman, I’d have fed them to you.
Lucy popped a berry into her mouth and smiled. “I’m all right. These are delicious. You take such good care of me, Witch. Will you stay and talk with me while I eat them? I don’t know how long I’ll be awake. I feel so weak.”
Of course I’ll stay, Luce. Would you like to hear a song?
Sudden cold clenched her heart, and Lucy nearly swooned again. “No songs today.”
All right, Luce, replied the Witch, with a knowing smile in her voice. What shall we talk about?
“Tell me who you are.”
Those raspberries must be working a charm, the Witch chuckled.
“Always changing the subject, always joking. Answer me the question. Who are you?”
Silence as Lucy chewed slowly on another raspberry. “You don’t know, do you?”
I know why I’m here. But I don’t know who I am.
“This bothers you?”
Think how you would feel if you suddenly didn’t know who you were. But, you’d be surrounded by people who know and love you. I have no one. No one knows who I am any better than do I.
“But surely, as a spirit, you have loved ones?”
I have never walked the earth. Never loved, nor lived nor died. I had no life whatsoever before I was given my purpose. And I will cease when it’s fulfilled.
“Purpose? What’s this purpose you talk about?”
Don’t concern yourself with that.
“Perhaps if you told me, I might help in some way.”
Doubtful.
Lucy picked another raspberry, regarded it in her fingertips. “That song you sang to me last week, what was it?”
Just a little tune I enjoy. It makes me feel better when I sing it, and I hoped it might make you feel better, too.
“I’ve heard it before.”
You have? asked the Witch in astonishment. How could you… it’s a private song, dear to my heart.
“I heard Betsy sing it to me, just as you did, right after she recovered from her coma.”
The Witch said nothing for a moment. Of course. Stupid, stupid me. Though I guess I come by it honestly.
“You’re part of her, aren’t you?”
One part, perhaps. The anger.
“Why anger?”
Luce, you’re straying onto ground where I’m obliged to answer.
“Why anger? Tell me, Witch. Why would Betsy be so angry?”
Luce, she said. You know the truth. It is not my purpose to tell you this, but to make you drag it from your own secret heart.
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
The Witch hesitated. Because it will hurt you more to learn it on your own. I’m sorry. For you, that is my purpose.
Lucy bitterly swept the remaining raspberries from the covers. They struck the wall and left a dozen small red blotches there. “Nasty spirit! Bitter and vindictive. I help you learn a little more about yourself, and you won’t tell me about my own daughter. Leave me be!” She lapsed into a coughing attack.
Luce, I’m sorry. But I told you two things when first I came here. I am for you as much as for Jack or Betsy. Don’t forget that. And I can never lie to you. But sometimes, we lie to ourselves. Those are the most destructive lies of all, because they survive the light of truth.
“Leave me,” Lucy sobbed between coughs.
You know, Lucy. Never forget that you know.
“Leave!”
Because she knows. And she will never forget.
PART III
THE FLINT BEARS FIRE
July to October, 1820
TWENTY-SEVEN
Betsy?
“Yes, Witch?”
Were you sleeping?
“No.”
What’s keeping you up?
“Besides you?”
(Laughs) Yes, besides me.
“I was thinking…”
About what?
“A lot of things.”
Such as…?
“Why you’re here, who you are. Things like that.”
And what are your weighty thoughts on the subject?
“Why are you so interested in what I think? You’re always making fun of me, saying how stupid I am. What does it matter?”
Regardless of what you may think, I do care for you, Bets.
“And you show that by hitting me, embarrassing me, hurting my family?”
Suppose you had a puppy that you loved very much. But that puppy had a bad habit of running out in front of wagons. Wouldn’t you do anything you could think of––including spanking him––to make sure he wouldn’t run out in front of a wagon and get hurt?
(Silence) “I guess. Am I supposed to be the puppy?”
Of course, foolish girl! I can’t believe you still don’t see the path you’re on and the wagons that are even now bearing down upon you. I’m merely trying to see that they don’t hurt you.
“So, you’re saying that you’re really protecting me?”
Yes!
“You’re protecting me from marriage?”
To Hank, yes.
“Why would I need protection from marrying Hank? I’m engaged to him.”
Don’t marry him, Betsy Bell! Please. You don’t know what he’ll do to you. Believe me.
“I don’t believe you.”
(Sighs)
“How can something that hurts me be good for me?”
What a silly question! When the surgeon pulls your bad tooth, it hurts for a moment, but it’s for your own good. When Old Doc Hopson gives you a foul-tasting medicine, it may not be so good going down, but it cures you. You’re going to find that, in this life, the most good usually comes from the worst bad, just as the flower springs best from manure. It’s a paradox that transcends any explanation I can give.
“Why do I feel I know you?”
You should know me.
“You’ve said that since you first came. But why?”
(Hesitation) Do you remember your dreams? The bad ones?
(Silence) “How do you know about those? I haven’t had one since…”
… I came. Right?
(Silence) “Yes. Since you came. Did you have something to do with that? Did you stop my dreams?”
Do you remember right before your dreams stopped, when you felt the most helpless, the most powerless? Do you remember feeling a presence nearby?
“Yes.”
That was the part of you that didn’t feel powerless or helpless. That was the part of you that felt angry and violated. That was the part you put aside, pushed away, forgot.
“Was that you?”
It wanted to protect you then. To get angry. To fight back. But you ignored it. Fought it. Closed it off. But it got away.
(Angrily) “Was that you?”
Yes. And those weren’t dreams.
>
“Weren’t…? I don’t understand.”
Yes! Yes, you do understand. Think! Someone hurt you!
“No! They were only dreams. Bad dreams. Nothing more. No one would hurt me like that. No one! He’d never let anyone!”
Who?
“My…” (sobs)
(Sarcastically) Your father?
(Sobbing)
I’m sorry, Bets.
(Sobbing) “I hate you! I hate you! Leave me alone!”
You can hate me, Bets. Just understand, child.
(Sobbing) “Understand what?”
That I am a part of you. You can never be rid of me. Never should be rid of me.
(Sobbing)
Betsy Bell, do you know who I am?
(Sobbing)
Answer me.
(Sobbing) “Yes.”
Goodnight, Betsy.
(Sobbing)
* * *
Jack? Jack Bell.
(Silence)
Jack!
(Loudly) “Damn it! Leave me be!”
Jack, you know I can’t do that.
(Silence)
Talk with me, father.
“God damn you!”
He has. Or isn’t that what you believe?
(Silence)
Jack, please, talk with me. Your silence only makes my job that much easier.
“Your job? To kill me?”
(Quietly) Yes. If I so choose.
“You said you were compelled to do it. There was no choice.”
(Hesitant) I have as much right to choice as do you. What concern is it of yours either way?
“If it’s choice, then you don’t have to kill me.”
If it’s my choice, perhaps you’re dead already.
“Just do what you wish and be done with it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
It should.
“Why?”
Are you repentant, Jack? Sorrowful for the hurt you’ve inflicted? Aware of the pain you’ve caused?
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