All That Lives (17 page)

“Excitement was not the cause of this,” Father disagreed.

“Pray, know you the cause, John Bell?” The doctor stood tall before him and Father was forced to sigh and bow his head.

“I know not the cause. I know only she did suffer.”

“Yet, I have examined her and found her fine, of robust constitution even, and surely, this must be some excitement for the
girl, the sheer numbers gathered at your home this evening.” He looked briefly about the parlor. “ ’Tis late for a young girl,
or an old man.” He nodded to the Reverend and frowned at the assembly without saying more. Father and the Reverend exchanged
a glance, but neither spoke.

“Have a cup of tea before departing, Dr. Hopson. What news have you of Mrs. Hopson? I trust she is keeping well?” Satisfied
I was indeed no longer in danger, Mother took Dr. Hopson’s arm and led him to the dining table. Father and the Reverend did
not move. They stared down at me as if my body held some hidden clues to what they wished to know, but did not know, and Father
shook his head, dismayed.

“I must take our Betsy to bed.” He scooped me off the floor, curling my body to his chest with great strength.

“But, Jack …” The Reverend looked as if he wished he had not spoken, but could not help himself. “Are you certain you are
able?” I thought he was concerned Father had consumed too much whiskey to carry me.

“I am able as always, Reverend.” Father lifted me up, grunting, and I closed my eyes against the Reverend’s worried concern,
limply allowing Father to carry me upstairs without speaking. I heard Reverend Johnston’s footsteps, and then his voice as
he joined Dr. Hopson, my mother and brothers in conversation in the dining room, far away. Father lay me down on top of my
quilts and shut my door, so I knew he intended to spend some special time with me.

“Darling daughter …” His breath stank of sour whiskey as he bent over me, and I turned away, so his whiskers scratched against
my cheek. “Let me help you with your nightclothes.” He rolled me onto my side so I faced the wall and he made room for himself
on my bed. He untied my smock while I held my breath, as anxious as I had been on many dark nights previous, while I waited
for the jerking of my braid and the slaps across my face. Father’s callused fingers walked across my ribs, undoing all my
stays. “I find our trials are most disturbing to my soul.” He cupped his hand gently around my breast. “And you are a young
woman now,” he sighed and pushed his hips against my bottom. “Give me refuge in your loving ways, Betsy, though it must not
be as it was, still, darling daughter, you are a great comfort to me.” He placed his heavy hand on my hipbone and pulled me
flat. Father’s breath was hard to face and I did not feel capable of satisfying his desire for comfort, but I feared the absence
of his love much more than I feared his unwanted touch. I wished I could leave my body as I did when the Spirit spoke, but
that power was no more under my control than the Being itself.

In the morning, I awoke feeling weak and quite worn out, but Mother had decided to set up the spinning wheel in the parlor
and make it her day’s business to occupy my hands and mind with instruction in manipulating the cards, the wool and spindle.

“Betsy dear, not like that, try this.” Mother was patient and soft-spoken with her teaching, but I knew myself to be more
adept with a needle and thread, and my heart was not in the lesson. My breaking cards would not separate the fibers, and my
fine cards made lumps instead of rolls. Mother had already filled a corn shuck spindle on the wheel. I sighed as she passed
it to me for inspection. I felt I could not do it. I wished Martha and Jesse had decided to stay on at our house so I might
have an excuse to sew instead of learn, but they were occupied at their own home. I imagined Martha out-of-doors, planting
her kitchen garden. I wondered what Mother would say if I suggested we put the spinning wheel aside and plant some beans.
Averting my eyes from the spindle to the parlor window, I was rewarded to see a visitor walking up our path.

“Isn’t that Josh Gardner, frail Elsa’s son?” Mother set the unspun wool in her hands on her lap, following my gaze. We had
been at it for several hours with little progress, and I believe she too was grateful for the interruption.

“It is,” I said, fumbling with the balls in my lap, ashamed to be wearing my plainest cloth work dress. Mother tilted her
head to the side, inquiring.

“I wonder why he’s calling?” She left to greet him at the door and I busied myself wrapping the spindle, attempting to appear
as though I was well experienced with it. Josh Gardner had been in the back of my mind since that day long ago when we played
tag at school, shortly after the Spirit’s arrival. There was something about the curl of his lip when he said my name that
caused me to catch my breath and grow warm inside. I thought of what Martha had said, how I would soon find my love, and although
I did not look my best I hoped to impress Josh in some way. Mother ushered him directly to the parlor.

“Miss Betsy Bell, we have a caller, young Joshua Gardner.” Josh was already the height he would stand as a full-grown man,
which was almost as tall as our front door. His dark hair coiled around his cheekbones like the twists of rope he’d used tying
up his horse. I met his eyes only briefly, but I saw they were gray as a dark summer sky when it’s hot and holding back rain.
I stood to curtsey and forgot the full spindle on my lap. It struck the floor and came unwound, rolling a white line of new-spun
wool from me to him. I felt my cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment.

“Hello, Betsy,” he smiled, most warm.

“Will you have some cake and tea with us?” Mother distracted him from watching as I rolled the yarn.

“I’d be honored, Mrs. Bell, but take no trouble on my account. I call to ascertain your daughter’s welfare and I bear a book
from Professor Powell for her long days at home.” He withdrew a thin green book from the satchel over his shoulder.

“How kind of you. I’ll fetch refreshments for us all.” Mother excused herself and I directed Josh to take a seat, surprised
when he chose Father’s. I settled across from him in Mother’s chair beside the unlit hearth and it felt odd indeed to sit
that way with him.

“How do you fare, Betsy?” He leaned toward me with great concern, setting the Professor’s book on the floor with disregard
so I knew it was not his real reason for calling. “I hear say you were cast down in a fit last night by your evil menace.”
His straightforward nature pleased me greatly.

“And yet, I have no memory of it,” I answered.

“At school they say it is a witch or demon that attacks you. Would it were a dragon, and I, its princely slayer!” Josh spoke
with passion but wore a wide smile on his face, and the image of him armed and dueling with a mythic beast did make me giggle.

“Would it were so!” I encouraged him, smiling, but quickly sobered. “I can tell you of what led to my unconsciousness …” I
looked at my hands, still holding the roll of wool, and I remembered the words of God uttered by the faltering voice of the
phenomenon.
We see not our signs.
It was enough to remove the smile from my lips, but Josh was such a sensitive soul he put his hand up to stop my speech,
and leaned forward.

“Betsy, do not torture yourself further by speaking of it,” he begged me. “Might we take a stroll by your stream?”

Mother entered the parlor and I saw by her frown she had heard his request.

“Please, Mother, we will be so careful and when I return I will have new energy for the spinning.” Mother studied my face
and for certain she was thinking of the cake already cut in the kitchen, as well as how improper it was to allow me un-chaperoned
with a young man out-of-doors.

“You may go,” she agreed, recognizing I suffered experiences which circumvented all etiquette, “but ask Richard and Joel to
join you. Walk where you will, but tarry not over long for you must return to the house for your cake.”

“We will not fail in that, Mrs. Bell.” Josh smiled with polite enthusiasm and his fine manners impressed me.

“Most likely it will do Betsy’s constitution a world of good.” Mother spoke aloud her thoughts, opening wide the door for
us. Richard and Joel were engaged in a game of ball under the pear trees, but they were fast in running to join us. We set
out walking to the stream in conversation.

“Which of you can skip a stone the farthest distance?” Josh was an only child and knew not the joys of a large family, but
he was ever so friendly with my little brothers.

“I can!”

“No, me! You’ll see!” They raced ahead of us, eager to find the best flat rocks to show Josh their abilities. The elms were
in full leaf and the wild iris and sassafras bloomed on the banks, filling the lush midday air with their fresh scent. There
was no wind reminding me of evil and I was enjoying myself, picking out a path through the grass, listening to Josh tell of
his adventures out rabbit hunting with Alex Gooch. I felt we were in our own private world, secluded in the forest, and it
was so much the better world. Josh was describing the rabbits jumping in the field like popping corn when I slipped on some
slick moss and he caught my arm, preventing me from falling to the ground.

“Careful as you go, Miss Betsy.” He steadied me and the kind concern in his touch filled my heart with excitement. I was sad
when he politely dropped my elbow as we reached the stream. Suddenly, I wanted to tell him about the way I’d felt alone in
my bedroom, before the Spirit spoke. I wanted to tell him how I had known beforehand what would occur. I sensed he would try
to understand, but I couldn’t find the words. He carried on with his stories, lighthearted and cheerful, and I gave myself
up to listening, allowing laughter to flow from my soul like the water flowing beside us, careless and calm, held fast by
the red mud of its banks.

Josh’s visit was a great comfort to me and I thought of it often during the following weeks of isolation I endured. I attended
the Easter sermon with my family but other than that grand outing, Mother continued to keep me at home, where I spent long
days engaged in chores and tasks she insisted be performed, though they seemed meaningless to me. The days passed quite slowly,
and the only surprise in them was how I had begun to look forward to their closing, for as the Spirit used its energies to
develop its speaking ability, the violence against us was growing less.

The Being had continued its established pattern of arriving after the supper hour, when the evening lamps were lit, with a
rush of cold air and various noises, including knocks on the walls, splitting bed frames and gulping swallows of air. Yet,
it wasted no time in blows but cast me down unconscious straight away, beginning its vociferous imitations, repeating phrases
of Scripture previously recited by the Reverend and Preacher Justice in our home. The fainting was nowhere near as painful
to me as the nightly slaps and jabs and pulling of my hair had been, for I quickly learned to prepare myself for the loss
of breath by closing my eyes, and relaxing all the muscles in my body so I might not be further injured if it chose to thrash
my limbs about the floor. No one suggested calling Dr. Hopson again. In this matter the Reverend and Calvin Justice had joined
forces. They had instructed Mother and Father to trust in the Lord, for He would make certain that I would survive the fits.

The Reverend’s and the Preacher’s amazement at the visitation’s ability to speak at all was quickly giving way to overwhelming
curiosity regarding what the force did mean by speaking. It could mimic the Reverend Johnston’s cadence so accurately, it
was difficult to believe it was not himself. One evening, he insisted Father cup a hand over his mouth and search for evidence
of ventriloquism, but Father found no such thing. Not that he expected to. On the next evening, the voice adopted Calvin Justice’s
passionate tenor, as if to prove its versatility, and it read with eloquent force. When the Being finished its talks, it left
and I awoke, whereupon I was told of its antics.

A new interest in the force was growing inside of me, for I enjoyed puzzling out the meaning in its recitations as much as
anyone, especially since I was not privy to them. I was amazed to hear how the amorphous and intangible violence now parlayed
the words of God while I slept unconscious, and I hoped Mother was correct when she said the Being was clearly altering itself
into a new personality with a range of aspects beyond evil. Nevertheless, I remained uneasy as I scooped fish guts from the
bucket to fertilize the garden and sewed through my afternoons, for despite its new regularity of action, I knew from experience
what troubled us was entirely unpredictable.