Daughters Unto Devils

by Amy Lukavics

  But you have.

  I remember the moment after the miscarriage, how I stepped outside when Hannah was crying, how I broke open the skin of my palms and felt as though I would have done anything to silence her. But that wasn’t anything real, right? It was the sorrow of losing my own child that drove me to the thought, I wouldn’t have truly done anything to hurt her. I couldn’t have.

  You’ve been praying for her death since before the prairie. How despicable that I repeat this to myself as a comfort.

  It’s no wonder the devil came for my soul in the woods.

  “There is one other thing my grandfather always said,” Zeke mentions, staring at Emily to ensure that she’s listening. “He said that even though the prairie wasn’t safe, the forest always would be.”

  “How convenient,” my sister laughs. “It’s safe where you live, but the poor Verners are doomed!”

  He doesn’t look amused by her joke. A wild thought crosses my mind. He thinks I’m going to hurt them. He’s trying to protect Emily from me. Zeke stands and kicks the fire out with the loose dirt that surrounds the rocky perimeter. “I should be going now,” he says. “But I have to say, it was pretty fun to see the faces of the children. You two know it was just a story, don’t you?”

  Joanna and Charles nod, but don’t look entirely convinced.

  “It is, right?” I ask, standing, too, my voice quickening. “Zeke? It’s only a story.”

  “Amanda,” Emily says, confused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Of course,” Zeke answers as he walks to his horse without meeting my gaze. “Of course it is.”

  “You’re leaving so suddenly.” Emily stands up and brushes the bark from the back of her skirt. “But still, I enjoyed myself, Zeke. Maybe we can do it another time?”

  She is trying not to sound desperate for my sake, but still I can sense that she is pining for him. And by the way he turns around, looks into her eyes and steps close enough to kiss her if he wanted, it’s clear he feels the same way. This is when I fully realize that the post boy from the mountain never loved me at all.

  The intensity between my sister and the boy who lives in the forest is unmistakable, even after such a short time. It’s something I never had with Henry, and the envy is almost physically painful.

  “Why don’t we gather in the forest next time?” He looks to the children now, too, and me. “We could tell stories in the shade of the trees and not have to worry about the snakes. Please?”

  I think of Zeke’s shaking hands, holding the shotgun when I first saw him outside the cabin. I think of his hesitant glances and unanswered questions and the urgency in his voice now. He is afraid of the prairie. Does he know that I’m losing my mind?

  “Maybe we can sometime.” Emily shrugs, looking to me for input. “If Amanda wants to, of course.”

  “Yes,” I say, suddenly feeling very vulnerable out here in the grass. I want to get back to the cabin, right now. “Sure.”

  Zeke nods, takes Emily’s hand in his for just a second, then turns back for his horse. He mounts in a smooth, swift motion that reminds me a little bit of Henry.

  “So long, Verner family,” he calls over his shoulder. “Watch out for ghosts tonight.”

  By the time a few days have passed, I’ve learned that constantly anticipating something terrible happening is almost as bad, if not worse, than the occurrence of an actual incident. Something is building up in the air, something quiet but distinct, a vast heaviness that I cannot quite put my finger on.

  Pa has just returned from a trade and supply run to Elmwood, and announces that the rest of the day will be dedicated to rest and relaxation, with an especially fancy dinner to celebrate how well received his pieces were.

  “Nobody works today.” He grins, handing out horehound candy and dried blackberries that remind me of the mountains. Ma drags her rocking chair out into the front clearing so she can sit and look into the endless sea of flatlands, which are currently being shaded by thick smears of dark clouds that cover the sun. Since we’ve arrived, the heat has receded if only just a little bit, and the winds bring a welcomed rush of additional comfort.

  I haven’t been able to get the story of Jasper Kensington out of my mind, and now I second-guess every thought that I have. I vow to myself, over and over again, that no matter how unraveled my mind becomes, I will not hurt my family.

  My thoughts cannot trigger evil, I think. My thoughts cannot invite demons.

  I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about Hannah. Since my period of brief closeness with my baby sister, I feel as though she is always seeking me out, and even though looking at her still reminds me of what I’ve lost, I am also being steadily poisoned with the worry of losing my mind and hurting someone.

  Because even if what Zeke said about the prairie isn’t true, clearly something terrible and irreversible has happened to cause such hysteria within me. How long will I be haunted like this?

  If it becomes real to me, the others could suffer for it, and that is what petrifies me. I cannot let it happen.

  If I tried to explain a word of this to Ma or Pa, they would think that I was a witch or something of the sort, no way around it. And I thought their reaction to my pregnancy would be catastrophic. It’s hard to believe that I was so absorbed with that problem, so distressed and hopeless and sure of my fate.

  I would kill to have that problem again.

  In the early hours of the afternoon, it begins to rain, and everybody takes shelter in the cabin. I go to the area of the floor where Hannah sits exploring the giant head of the grizzly rug. She seems to like the teeth the most, and runs her fingers up and down the hardened gums and jaw of the beast. I slide my hand over her chubby calf, and she turns on her knees to wrap her tiny arms around my neck with an excited shriek.

  “Mlaaaarugh,” she cries out. I pull her close to me, kiss her fuzzy eyebrow.

  “Hello again, sweetness,” I whisper against her hair. I hum a low tone for as long as my breath will go, and the baby lays her head happily on my chest to feel it. I transition into a hymn called “Come, Holy Ghost,” slowly and gently, rocking the baby back and forth and willing her to feel and understand my thoughts as she falls asleep.

  I do not want you to die. I am so sorry that I ever did. I take it back. I love you. I love you. I love you.

  This needs to be over now, I think to myself in desperation. The madness must stop at once.

  “Oh, my,” Ma says from the rocking chair, her voice fragile. I look up at her to see that her eyes have gone misty, and her knitting rests forgotten on her lap. “That is just precious, Amanda. What a sight of true and wondrous joy.”

  I don’t realize until now that there are tears on my cheeks. Emily has looked up from her button collection, but doesn’t appear nearly as touched as Ma. In fact, she seems worried.

  “There’s no reason to cry, Amanda,” Pa says from where he sits on a stool, whittling a new handle for his hunting knife. “That baby knows how much you love her.”

  As if you would know, I think. You understand her about as well as you understand me.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just sorry I didn’t help you more with the baby until recently, Ma.”

  “Oh, dearest.” Ma nods sharply and begins working on her knitting again. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

  Hannah’s eyes are closed into tiny half-moons. I continue to rock her, even after the song is finished. Her hand grazes my arm up and down with such tenderness. I imagine how horrible it would feel to hurt her.

  It will never happen.

  Suddenly, the baby’s hand stops stroking the fabric of my dress and goes limp. Her blank expression twists into one of concern, and she moves her head to a different part of my chest, as if she’s listening to something. Of course she isn’t listening to anything, she doesn
’t hear, I am imagining it.

  Hannah whimpers, then wriggles out of my grip so that she’s sitting beside me. Her eyebrows are pulled together, and her gray eyes widen without blinking as she leans over and sets her ear directly over my womb. I look up in surprise to see if Emily is witnessing it, if anybody is, but they’ve all gone back to what they were doing, and I am alone in my wonder.

  I watch Hannah’s face as she sits still, her expression becoming steadily more afraid.

  “Hannah?” I whisper, no longer entirely sure that she can’t hear me. My heart skips in my chest when she looks up sharply in response.

  Her eyes have no whites. They are entirely clouded with gray, like the eyes of a dead fish, like the baby standing outside in the grass that night.

  The baby begins to scream. She reels backward from me and begins crawling away as fast as she can, stumbling over the fabric of her skirt at first. Her eyes are back to how they always are, but I’m still so startled that it takes me a moment to lean forward and try and help her. As soon as my hands are on her, the screams intensify.

  “Just start humming again,” Ma says nonchalantly from the chair. “Just grab her and—”

  But I’ve already pulled my hands away in reaction to the screams, and Hannah bounds forward off the grizzly-bear rug and into the mouth of the fireplace. I expect her to stop as soon as she feels the heat from the flames, but to my horror, she keeps going.

  She’s going to crawl into the fire.

  “Grab her!” Ma cries from the rocking chair and hurls herself forward. She gets to the baby right in time, sweeps her up so quickly that a flurry of ashes swirl into the air after her feet. “Oh, my God, she almost went in, oh, my God...”

  “Is she all right?” I stand up quickly and go after Ma, who snaps to face me with a look of anger and revulsion.

  “How could you just let her crawl in like that? I saw you, she got away from you and you just let her—”

  “Ma!” Emily says in surprise. “Amanda wouldn’t do that on purpose!”

  “Of course I didn’t do it on purpose,” I plead, trying to stroke Hannah’s hair, but every time I come close she gets even deeper into the fit. “It all happened so fast—”

  “Your sister almost died,” Ma yells into my face. I’ve never seen her lose control like this, none of us have. The children sit in their toy corner, still as statues as they look on with big worried eyes. “After everything she’s been through, she could have died due to your carelessness!”

  I step away, trying hard not to cry, and as soon as I back away the baby falls silent. She doesn’t want me near her anymore. Why? What have I done? What did she hear in my womb?

  “That is enough, Susan.” Pa says it with such force and intensity that Ma pulls herself together in an instant. “Hannah is fine. Look at her. It was a close call, that’s all. And now you’ve frightened poor Amanda into thinking she’s responsible for something that didn’t even happen. This was to be a day of rest and relaxation, and it will be. This conflict is over now.”

  Ma looks ashamed. “Daughter, I apologize, I was just so scared, my baby...”

  “It’s all right, Ma,” I say. The baby’s eyes are closed. “You don’t need to explain. I...I don’t know why Hannah dislikes being close to me all of a sudden.”

  I tell everybody that I need some fresh air and stand just outside the door, in the drizzling rain. I let it fall into my hair and dress, barely feeling it, not knowing what to do next. If Hannah had crawled into the fire, would it have been my fault? My doing? Did something inside of me want to let her crawl in?

  No. Something happened in there. Hannah sensed something. Her eyes changed. She became terrified of me.

  The door to the cabin cracks open, and Emily steps out to join me.

  “What is the matter with you?” she says. “Something has been bothering you for days now.”

  How do I even begin? I’m terrified of myself. I almost feel nervous for my sister, for being out here with me alone like this. Who knows what sorts of things will continue to happen around me?

  “At first I thought it was because of your baby,” Emily continues. “But ever since we went to visit with Zeke at the fire pit I’ve realized that it has to be something else. You’re not acting sad, sister, you’re acting scared. What is it? I thought there were to be no more secrets between us?” From the distance comes a roll of thunder.

  I cannot take it anymore. The secrets, the lies, the guilt, the fear. I have to find a way to let them all go. I can no longer manage to believe that keeping it all inside will somehow protect them. I am no longer able to figure this out on my own. I need to get it out to Emily, and I need to get it out now. If I am to lose my mind, someone will need to understand what is happening. Someone will need to protect my family from me.

  “I’m going mad,” I say, and already I feel some release. “I hear an infant crying at night, outside the cabin, and I saw something standing in the grass where I miscarried—”

  “The nightmares will cease eventually,” Emily promises, and takes my hand in hers. “Don’t be too afraid of them. You are strong, Amanda.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, and start sniffling. The rain lessens, and I hear the sound of Ma rustling around some cooking pots inside. “They weren’t nightmares. I really heard the cries. I went outside in the night, and I saw a baby in the prairie, I saw it with my own eyes, Emily, and I was awake. I was. And the knock on the window—”

  “Listen to me carefully, sister.” Emily cuts me off, her voice slowing. “This is just like that time on the mountain. There was no knock on the window that night. You imagined it.”

  “Then I imagined it!” I give up, throwing my hands in the air, making my sister jump. “But if I am, then would you mind telling me why? Just now, with Hannah, her eyes changed, they looked like they belonged to a dead fish. I think she’s in danger, Emily, I think that Hannah is in danger—”

  “Stop this,” she insists. “This is all coming from your stress, and your fear. You can’t even rest properly because of it! I feel you on the other side of the mattress, tossing and turning all through the night! You’re not even sleeping at all, are you? That’s why you’re hearing things again—”

  “Emily,” I whisper. “This isn’t the same thing as what happened on the mountain, or at least, I don’t think so—”

  “But how would you know?” my sister challenges. “You’ve endured an extraordinary amount of stress, your mind could still be vulnerable from last winter. And you haven’t gotten a decent amount of sleep since...since...you know.”

  “Since my baby was taken from me?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t continue for a moment. I was wrong before, when I thought that nobody had been hurt in the midst of all of this, when I was trying to convince myself that I could endure the madness forever. I was hurt. My baby was hurt.

  You prayed for it.

  “You have guilt over the baby, don’t you?” Emily says, peering into my face. “You think it was your fault that it happened.”

  “I didn’t want the baby, Emily. I was so mad when I found out I was with child. I wanted it to end.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Listen to me,” Emily urges. “Please. You’d been through a hard time. You needed a distraction to survive. The outcome was unfortunate, but it happened all the same.”

  I don’t reply, and she takes my hand. “Just promise me that tonight you’ll take some deep breaths, you’ll stop thinking about the boy from the mountain and whatever sounds you’ve been hearing in the night, that you’ll force yourself to rest. Truly rest. Just like after you saw that thing in the woods.”

  “And if I continue hearing things? Seeing things?”

  Emily pauses, studying me.


  “I am so very worried about you,” my sister says gently, squeezing my hand. “The circles under your eyes are dark enough to look like bruises, Amanda. You’ve grown so thin. The color is washed out of you. You have got to promise me that if this continues, if even one more thing happens that seems out of the ordinary, you’ll tell Ma and Pa so they can take you to Doctor Jacobson. And tonight you must sleep.”

  I feel as tired as I must look. I just want her to be right, more than anything in the world, I want to let go and forget about all of this. I only need some sleep, perhaps even a doctor. Either way, everything will turn out fine in the end.

  “All right,” I agree, and Emily hugs me tight. “Just for tonight, I’ll listen to you.”

  “Thank you,” she breathes, relieved. “I’ve never given you rotten advice before, have I?”

  “No.”

  “Precisely.” The embrace ends, and she points back to the cabin. “Let’s go help Ma get started with supper. The baby is sleeping by now, so there’s nothing to worry about. Just relax, sister, relax your mind and body. Everything will be all right. Hannah is not in danger.”

  I nod, even though something still doesn’t seem right, and turn to head back inside. I am tired of trying to figure this out, for now.

  An hour later, Ma and I are searing thick slices of salt pork that Pa purchased in town. The crisping meat spits enthusiastically when I turn it with my fork, and it smells lovely. Ma has apologized for getting cross with me at least four times since I came in from outside, and after finding me a dry dress to wear, hugged me tight and told me she loved me. I pay close attention to my breathing, keeping it long and slow and deep.

  Joanna and Emily use wooden forks to smash the potatoes we boiled previously into a smooth, creamy mush against the sides of a big bowl. The steam rises from the mash as they stir in a boiled garlic clove and spoonful of seasonings. Charles sets out a plate of cold cornmeal cakes left over from lunch and smears them with honey.