All That Lives (21 page)

“Careful, dear,” Mother said, dropping a handful of her own into the pot. “ ’Tis Dean’s only weakness, his love of a good
story,” she commented, seeming disinclined to believe the witch creature tale, but later, during supper, I heard her mention
it to Father.

“For certain he has made the matter worse with vivid details.” Father sighed, leaning his elbows on the dining table. “We’ll
have no slaves out in the nighttime now.” He correctly perceived the effect the attack on Dean would have. The May Day holidays
were approaching and it was sometimes necessary with so much work and so many gatherings for the slaves in the district to
run messages for their masters after dark. However, after the attack on Dean, none of them would leave their cabins once the
sun had set, and all feared the witch creatures in the night.

“We must protect them and ourselves from further harm,” Mother insisted, and she asked Father to speak with the Reverend and
Preacher Justice about it. He raised the subject that Sunday as soon as the two men settled into their chairs in our parlor.

“You have heard the tales of my man Dean, as trustworthy a slave as ever there could be?” Father said.

“Oh yes, we heard the tales.” Calvin Justice pulled his riding gloves off with a snap, and I wondered why he was so dismissive.
He had the chair farthest from the window and I saw the last daylight caused his chestnut hair to gleam dark red.

“Witch creatures in the night! Are they varied in their aspect?” The Reverend raised his eyebrows to my Father, expressing
his great interest. “What do you think?”

“I think we must ask Dean.” Mother set her teacup on the side table with determination in her attitude. “John Jr., fetch Dean
and bid him make haste here to our home.” I could tell Mother and Father had already agreed on this course of action, and
I was amazed how the conventions governing our lives were falling away. What had seemed unthinkable was now easily practiced.
John Jr. rose and left without a word.

“ ’Tis well we should discuss the matter with your man.” The Reverend seemed to look forward to the accounting and leaned
back in his chair, opening his Bible to choose the passage he would read.

You would do well to speak to me of Dean’s exiguous troubles.

The Being’s voice caused all of us to sit up straight as ladder-backed chairs, for it had arrived without warning, bringing
with it no noise, or sudden faint, but only a small cold bristle to the air. I shivered, for I was dressed in a spring cotton
and I wrapped my arms about my front as much for warmth as for protection from the unknown. Our lamps spontaneously lit.

“Why, thank you for the light, but could you kindly cease to visit us each evening?” Mother spoke the plea softly, with respect
and deference. Father twisted in his chair and looked upset with her.

“Be gone, evil demon from Hell! Return to this world no more!”

“Jack, Jack, I would know what it has to say.” The Reverend put a restraining hand on my Father’s shoulder, and I felt suddenly
immensely tired of their petty arguments.

“Tell us, what constitutes a witch creature?” The Reverend directed his voice to the unseen.

You will know when you see one.

“I do not wish to see one!” The Reverend shook his head, smiling as though he shared a cup of whiskey at the still with the
Being. “Are there many such creatures in this district, or is it yourself, inhabiting other forms?” He bent forward, inclining
his ear around the room, listening for the location of the voice, his perpetual curiosity displayed as vivid as his Bible
held against his chest.

They are many and all are me.

“What do you mean?” The Reverend looked at Calvin Justice and my Father, puzzled by the Spirit’s bold assertion.

Old Sugar Mouth, you are a potbellied ninny!

Mother gasped at the affront to the Reverend but I wondered how she could expect good behavior from a force so evil in its
ways and means.

“Cease your insults in my good home!” Father stood, casting his arms wide as though he might catch the Being and throw it
out.

O long-suffering Jack, so it is with you.

“The Lord knows my character.” The Reverend stood beside my Father, about to give a patient listing of his own best qualities,
accompanied by a statement of his intent to learn the true nature of the visitation, but the Spirit cut him off.

I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of
the mouth of the false prophet!

“ ’Tis Revelation …” Calvin Justice remained seated and I observed the line of his mouth was pure concentration. Behind me
the door opened and John Jr. arrived with Dean.

I smell a slave in this room!

Dean entered the parlor with his chin set down but his shoulders straight, as if John Jr. walked him to a whipping, a stance
uncommon for Dean, as Father certainly had not had the occasion to whip him so often as he found it necessary to praise his
skills. He did have an unwashed smell though, for his plain cloth shirt reeked of a hard day’s labor.

“Have you appeared as a dog tormenting this Negro who goes by the name of Dean?” The Reverend put on his church voice, interrogating
the Being.

I am many things in many places. I am everywhere at once. Know you not the truth of this, Old Sugar Mouth?

“Speak, man, for you are among the good and righteous. In the name of God, tell us, what meets you on the road at night?”
Father ignored the Spirit, addressing Dean, encouraging him to tell his tale.

“I met with a black dog what has the witch in it, masta.” Dean spoke with his eyes on the parlor floor and I thought how much
smaller he looked indoors than when I saw him in the fields.

“What sin stains your footsteps? Why does this creature of the night acquaint itself with you?” asked Calvin Justice. There
was a harsh, unnatural tone to his query and Mother looked sharp in his direction.

“I practice religion, suh, there ain’t no black magic on me!”

Nay, there is no longer magic on you for I have cast it out! Fox-fire to pester me! Get out! Get to the road and dare to raise
your ax and strike again!

“O Good Lord God Almighty help me Jesus!” Dean fell to his knees and clasped his hands up toward the sky in an exact imitation
of what he’d done on the road in his story. His eyes were shut so hard the wrinkles ran like streams along his upturned face.

“What say you, Spirit?” Calvin Justice maintained an edge in his voice.

Get rid of the slave, for I cannot abide his smell and I will tell you all you need to know of witch creatures in the night.
“Go, Dean, but do not leave this property.” Father helped him to stand and Dean began to walk to the door.

“Look! There are marks on his trousers!” Joel pointed to Dean’s leg and I saw a patch of cloth was missing. Dean stopped walking
and Father raised his eyebrows, waiting for his explanation.

“Suh, last night the dog done come again to me on the road and now he got two heads and both of them full a snapping teeth.
I ran fast but he did nip the cloth. But only cloth suh, he got no skin of mine against his teeth.” For a moment I saw Dean
as I knew him, strong and unafraid.

“Stay home tonight, Dean,” Father said again.

“Masta, I can brave the black dog now, for I done seen the worst of it!” Dean trusted my Father and confided in him.

“Perhaps ’tis true, but it is not worth the risk. Stay home and tomorrow we shall send a message to your wife regarding your
confinement.” Father opened the door, but Dean hesitated and I could see he was thinking of Aggie. Father saw it too, and
sighed.

“You can carry the message yourself in the daylight, if you like.”

“Thank you, suh, I am most obliged.” Dean left and Father bolted the door. He returned to the parlor and the Reverend Johnston
was the first to speak, directing his words to the empty air, to the Spirit.

“Tell us more about the witch creatures aforementioned.”

I shall.

The loquacious Being changed its tone completely and the cold bristle was replaced by a heavy summer air, so thick I could
hardly breathe. It spoke in a soft girl’s voice I could not identify as that of any particular youngster.

Amanda Ellison and Gertrude Harris of families to the east of this homestead will soon meet a heron on Kate Batts’s pond that
is no regular bird.

The girls the Spirit named were known to me. Both attended school and though they were of Richard’s age, I could easily see
them in my mind. Amanda had a long blond braid, much like my own, while Gertrude’s hair waved and curled, and frequently broke
loose from its plaits, becoming ringlets around her face.

These girls are playing games together while their fathers speak of business, and tarry at the forge. They wander, a short
way, down Piney Woods, then on they go, along the eastern boundary of Old Kate’s farm. Their eyes are to the ground, searching
for the special cones strewn about the forest floor.

I thought of the many times I had wandered with Joel and Richard in the Piney Woods, the smell of Mr. Ellison’s charcoal fire
pungent in the air. He shod our horses and had crafted our andiron and grate. I looked to the hearth and listened.

Amanda feels someone watching her, and looking up, she sees the witch creature, a heron, standing in the path ahead. “Hurry,
Gerty, hurry. There is a beautiful grand bird,” she calls out to her friend.

The Spirit duplicated Amanda’s young lilt accurately, and Joel slipped his hand in mine, moving closer to me on our bench.

They chase the lovely heron and its white wings shine in the woods like God’s light, beckoning them farther and father on.
Many times they think the graceful fowl is settling its feathers, ready for a rest, and their hopes ignite, for they want
to be near it, but just as they come upon it, the heron vanishes, reappearing farther on, until the light of the day draws
to a close.

They come suddenly to their senses and realize they are deeply lost within the woods. Darkness falls around them and they
hear gunshots in the distance, and understand their fathers are firing their rifles, hoping they will hear and make their
way toward the sound. They try, but they cannot return. Their progress through the trees is halted by the reaching arms of
branches, grasping at their clothes and hair.

The Spirit added the frightening sound of branches scraping together to its recitation.

These girls find a tree large enough to support both their backs. Bravely they lie down together, side by side, to await the
morning light. The heron now appears and spreads its great white wings like an angel, covering and sheltering them. The girls
sleep peaceful as new babies in a cradle, but just before sunrise, the heron speaks, insisting Amanda must come down to the
lake to greet the day, while Gertrude must wait by the tree, as her father will shortly arrive. The girls are reluctant to
separate, but the heron waves its wing and Amanda follows. This parting will be their last in this world. By mid-morning Gertrude
will be found by the fathers beside the tree, but Amanda will be drowned in Old Kate’s pond. They will find her body with
her arms spread wide, like the wings of the witch creature heron.

The soft girl voice the Spirit used to tell this story ceased at its end and the more regular tone of the Being returned,
taunting Reverend Johnston.

Are you educated on witch creatures now, Old Sugar Mouth? Do you want to know more?

“We have heard enough from you, forevermore! Be gone, you evil teller of tales,” Father said, clearly disturbed by the tragic
prediction.

You are idiots, and recognize no truth, even when it is before you.

The sound of water lapping at the edge of a lake filled the room, then died away, and I felt the Spirit had left us.

“ ’Tis likely nothing more than a twisted fairy story,” Mother softly reassured Joel and Richard and I noticed both of them
had tears in their eyes. I hoped they would not go blabbing it to Amanda Ellison or Gertrude at school, for I immediately
thought it best not to give strength to the Being’s prophecy by repeating it.

“Should we tell those girls what we have heard tonight? Perhaps they should not be allowed any trips to the Piney Woods.”
The Reverend clearly felt the opposite approach would be wisest, but Father agreed with me.

“The thing speaks lies, Reverend. Why scare the girls for no reason?” There was a startling knock at the door and we looked
about, confused, for it was late for a caller and, since Clara Lawson’s suicide, only the Reverend and Preacher Justice had
visited us. Mother answered it, admitting Mrs. Batts.

“Hello, Lucy Bell, know ye no creatures accosted me on the road this evening, and I am here to tell you of it.” Kate entered
the parlor talking, with utter disregard for the assembly gathered.

“Greetings, Mrs. Batts, we are engaged here with serious concerns.” The Reverend Johnston frowned at her, looking as though
he wished she had not interrupted.

“As I am, Reverend, engaged in the very same serious concerns. I should have been here earlier, but I had to attend to bedding
Ignatius, so my girl could easily care for him in my absence. Speak ye of serious concerns …”

“Sit, Kate, and tell us your cause to call.” The Reverend sighed and we all watched Old Kate settle her massive form onto
the edge of a sturdy wooden chair John Jr. brought in from the dining table. She leaned back, straining to reach the pouch
she wore about her waist, for it was buried under her folds of fat encased in her plain cloth smock.

“Here,” she breathed, yanking something from it. “ ’Tis the foot of a witch rabbit I shot and killed in your southernmost
field, John Bell, this very day. Look, it bears the telltale sign.” Kate extended her fleshy palm and we all rose and gathered
around to see what it contained. She held a lean hind leg butchered off a white rabbit, marked with an unusual spot of black
fur in its center under the pink pads of its toes. Father looked at her grimly.