All That Lives (22 page)

“How did it happen you were hunting in my field, Mrs. Batts?”

“’Twas less than one hundred yards into your boundaries, Jack Bell, and I had chased it a good mile!”

“You rattle like a bell clapper up a goose’s ass.” Father was annoyed.

“Jack!” Mother frowned.

“Let me have it, Kate,” said the Reverend Johnston. He pushed forward and was about to take it from her hand when she closed
her plump fingers over the fur and returned it to her person.

“Nay, good Reverend! This is the foot of a witch creature! It must be buried before morning on the north side of a mossy log.”

“You better get on with it then, as the hour grows late.” Father turned away from the circle and sat heavily in his chair
by his desk, no tolerance of Kate’s eccentric ideas in the straight of his back.

“ ’Twas my intent to share with your good family a charm to ward away what ails you, Jack Bell.” Old Kate looked after him,
narrowing her eyes.

“Jack, we must not allow our kind neighbors to wander in the woods alone at night,” Mother said, crossing the room to stand
beside him. She stroked his shoulders, as though she would impart new manners into him.

“ ’Tis no matter, Lucy, I am adept at my way in the woods.” Old Kate leaned back again in the chair, replacing the foot into
the pouch about her waist. I saw the Reverend and Calvin Justice exchange a solemn glance, and I understood the mood was such
no one there was inclined to laugh at her strange ways. Instead, our experiences were so out of the ordinary that Calvin Justice
and the Reverend were prepared to go along with Kate’s bizarre ideas.

“We shall accompany you, Mrs. Batts, and facilitate the burial.” Calvin Justice politely offered his hand, and Old Kate rose,
smiling.

“Let us pray all future witch creatures will be deterred!” Kate called over her shoulder as she and the Reverend and Preacher
Justice departed to find a mossy log in the woods.

Father waited until the door was closed behind them, before removing his silver flask from his desk.

“What must we bury to deter Old Kate?” he asked, but clearly he did not expect an answer from us.

The following day, I was sitting in the parlor near the dinner hour, engaged in sewing, pondering Kate’s witch creature rabbit.
I wished there were someone who might know if Kate’s methods and means of protection could have any measurable effect. Looking
out the window, I saw the only man who possibly might, dismounting at our horse tie. His arrival was so unlikely, I hesitated
and rubbed my eyes. Father was writing in his book of accounts at his desk and I glanced over to him, then jumped up to pull
back the heavy brocade curtain so he might see Frank too.

“Father, I believe Frank Miles is calling!”

It was a great coincidence, for Frank Miles the trapper was one of Father’s favorite friends, but we saw him rarely, as he
lived a nomad, most often encamped in the Great Smoky Mountains trapping coons, badgers, bears and the large river beavers
abundant in those parts.

“What luck! It has been some time,” Father said and I ran to throw open our door, surprised when Frank reached it how completely
his wide girth did fill the space. He set his gun down inside the door, near Father’s, and held out his arms for me.

“Hello, Miss Betsy, why, you’ve grown a foot.” Frank hoisted me into the air so easily, I might have been a feather in his
hands. He wore a deerskin coat unlike anything I had ever seen, and I reached out to touch the collar of rabbit fur circling
under his bushy black beard. He laughed and drew me closer, tickling my face with it. “Aye, and you weigh near as much as
a doe!”

“Oh, Frank Miles!” Mother hurried in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling. “ ’Tis a joy to hear your voice!”

“Greetings, Miz Lucy, greetings, Jack.” Frank shook Father’s hand with both of his and Father pulled him forward into an embrace,
revealing how much he had missed his friend during our period of torment. Mother readily wrapped her arms about his waist,
smiling, then pulled back to admire his coat.

“Where on earth did you get this?”

“ ’Tis doeskin, and winter rabbit fur. I had an Injun stitch it up for me in trade for a sack of grist this winter.” Frank
held his sleeve out for us to marvel at both the delicate work of it and at his bravery for trading with the red men. “Yea,
Jack, I come to call, though I am still stinking of my winter ways, for yesterday when I arrived in Clarksville I heard serious
gossip against your good family name.” The mood of merriment and celebration induced by our lively greetings plummeted, and
Mother and Father exchanged a look of dismay. “I was standing in the store the unwilling recipient of grievous insults, as
men claimed you are haunted by some demon at your farm.”

“Say what you heard, good friend, for I would know it,” said Father.

“A man, who said he knew you not, but knew a preacher man who knew you, said the Devil has staked a claim on your fair Betsy,
so she was thrown about the room despite the strong arms of steadfast men.” Frank put his hands on his hips, incredulous,
and I was surprised how far behind our experience the gossip in Clarksville was.

“ ’Tis true, in part, what you heard said.” Father reluctantly shook his head, pained anew by our situation before his friend.
“Come share a meal with us and we will tire you with our tales of woe.”

“Tell me only how we might put an end to this deplorable affair, for nevermore do I wish to hear a slur against this house!”
Frank removed his coat and handed it to Mother and I marveled at the wide leather belt he wore, equipped with three knives
of varying sizes, a wound length of silver chain, and a bead-and-feather-embroidered pouch.

“Ah, Frank, would it were possible.” Father shook his head, resigned.

“ ’Tis possible! How say you? Look about you, man! Yours is the home which comes to mind during my coldest winter nights,
for yours is overflowing with righteous living.” He smiled warmly at my Mother. “We shall rid your house of evil, and oust
it permanently, like vermin to the night.” Frank’s confidence in his own ability to remedy our situation was a welcome attitude,
and we moved to the parlor to discuss various plans and strategies heretofore not mentioned by the Reverend or Preacher Justice.
“We shall catch it and roll it in a blanket and put it in the fire so it might burn in Hell where it belongs.” Frank’s white
smile stood out, splitting his black beard like the white stripe on a skunk.

Mother cast an uneasy look to me when Frank began to scheme, wishing to ascertain the resonance such violent thoughts might
have on my countenance, but I felt nothing more than pure and delicious excitement at the thought of Frank Miles willing to
do battle with the Being.

“Have you ever seen a witch creature, Mr. Miles?” I asked and he nodded his head, quite slowly, in assent.

“Have you seen a
rabbit
witch creature with a black spot on its white left hind foot? And did you kill it and cut off its foot and bury it in a field
on the north side of a mossy log?”

Frank threw his head back and laughed as though I’d told the greatest joke he’d ever heard.

“God granted you imagination in abundance, did he not, Miss Betsy!”

“ ’Twas not my tale, but that of Old Kate Batts!”

“ ’Tis true, Old Kate did say as much.” Mother put her arm around my shoulder and we both laughed with some relief, as Frank
clearly felt Old Kate’s theory was absurd.

“Has that eccentric woman called often at your home?” Frank grew serious, inquiring.

“Not so often as some,” Mother said, shrugging her shoulders. She looked sad thinking back on the many callers we’d experienced.
Some had not fared well.

“The Reverend Johnston and the new Methodist preacher, from Cedar Hill, Calvin Justice, they come each evening,” Father explained.

“I heard ’twas so. Perhaps the demon is attracted to their spiritual ways …” He laughed and I could tell Frank’s thoughts
in this regard appealed to Father, for he laughed also and called over his shoulder for Chloe to come from the kitchen.

“Go to the field and have Dean deliver this instruction to the Reverend and Preacher Justice. ‘Respectfully, we do request
you stay at home this evening, for Mr. Frank Miles is at our house and will hold his own with our visitation.’”

“Yes suh.” Chloe bowed her head, memorizing the message.

“Tell Dean also, he might surprise his wife this evening, as he likes.” Father related Dean’s experience with the black dog
and Frank laughed until he rumbled like a snoring bear.

“Tonight we shall see what your demon is made of!” He nudged Father’s elbow with his own, not at all frightened by the prospect.
“I have a brew that will fortify our souls in preparation, Jack.” Frank turned to Father. “How say you? Have you strength
enough for a hearty draught?”

“Come, Betsy, let us help Chloe with the supper preparations,” Mother said, taking my hand as she led me to the kitchen where
I did not wish to be. It took near an hour to prepare the succotash of corn and green beans seasoned with bacon and after
that Mother found more chores for me. I heard Father and Frank laughing together from the front porch where they had taken
out two chairs but I did not see them again until it was time for the meal. I noticed Mother served Frank and Father strong
cups of fresh ground coffee with their supper, and when the meal was finished she made certain they each carried another cup
of the dark brown steaming liquid with them to their places by the fire.

“Tonight
I
shall read,” Father declared, placing his feet square on the floor. He leafed through his Bible as he sat down, well satisfied
at the prospect of returning to his own routine.

“Darling daughter, come sit beside me …” He crooked his finger, inviting me to move.

You shall not!

A rush of air whisked his Bible off his lap and the Spirit arrived before I could rise from my place. His good book struck
the rug with a thud, and the incongruent nature of Father tossing the word of God to the ground caused Frank Miles to burst
out laughing. Richard and Joel laughed also, relieved to see Frank make light of the Being’s antics, but I thought their boyish
giggles sounded more nervous than hearty.

“Shhh,” Mother scolded them, not amused. She sat down on the bench between them. “The good book is the sacred word of God
and we honor it holy as such.”

Mr. Miles, you cannot catch me like a common coon!

“You knowest not the mind of a trapper,” Frank responded, placid as if the Being were no more than a new acquaintance he wished
not to pursue. I was greatly impressed by his calmness. Ignoring its claim, he spoke to Father as though it were not present.

“How fares your crop this year, Jack?”

“The tobacco grows well in all my fields.” Father followed Frank’s lead and kept his temper, ignoring the Spirit.

The worms grow fat in all his fields!

Frank stood up suddenly, affronted.

“Who are you, demon? Why are you here?”

To wrap you in a blanket and throw you in the fire!

The Being repeated Frank’s own scheme in a teasing singsong, revealing it knew of his plot.

“Ho, you should try it, for I doubt you would succeed!” Frank Miles rolled his large shoulders back, ready for any attack
against his person.

“Be careful, Mr. Miles,” Drewry spoke, rising from his chair. “We have seen this force flatten the strongest among us.” No
doubt he was thinking of Dean and the witch dog, and the many nights of violence we had endured before the Spirit started
to speak.

“We
have
no fire this evening, Frank.” Mother stood and coaxed him back into his chair, also worried violence would be the natural
result of his bravado. “The evening is quite warm enough without it.” Frank understood her unspoken meaning and returned his
manner to exemplary politeness.

“I should like to shake the hand of a demon, Lucy, for I desire to add the tale of it to my repertoire.” I marveled how he
used the French with ease.

Why should I wish to touch a man as filthy and odorous as you, Frank Miles?
The Being spoke in a soft flirtatious tone to Frank and I wondered what it intended.

“For the same reason I should like to touch your hand. You might tell the tale, how you did stroke the open palm of Frank
Miles, Tennessee Trapper Extraordinaire.” Beguiling it to respond, he held his hands out, palms open to the ceiling. “Shake
my hand, demon, or are you frightened?”

I fear no man.

The Spirit slipped what Frank attested was a delicate and ladylike hand into his own, and as he felt the unbelievable touch
of the invisible, his mouth fell open, amazed to find it was more luxurious to him than the softest fur across his fingers.

“You are a velvet lady …” Shocked by his experience, Frank grasped at the silk feeling, but the Spirit would not allow him
to hold on.

I am all things.

“Be gone, you evil demon, be gone from here this night!” Father rose to stand beside his friend, reminding him it was their
purpose to expel the Spirit from our home. Frank lunged forward, flailing his arms wildly through the air, hoping to grasp
a piece of the Being, and Father’s Bible rose off the floor and struck Frank a hard blow on the back of his head.