All That Lives (3 page)

“Come with me, Drewry, Elizabeth, I will learn you the method.”

We dismounted and I allowed Drewry to go ahead of me, following Father. The mud was sticky beneath my feet and, holding up
my skirts, I walked unsteadily. The ride had jarred my insides a little more than I’d expected and my stomach was cramping
again, but I tried to regain my poise. Father stopped at the top of the first row, empty of children, and I listened attentively
while he described the task at hand.

“The young tobacco plant is delicate and tasty to a fat white worm, as you can see.” He bent down and without a long inspection
pulled three slimy round white worms off a wide green leaf. He dropped them from his gloved hand and squished them against
a stray stone in the row with the heel of his boot. “They make our soil the richest in the district,” he said. Behind his
shoulder I noticed the slave children casting uneasy glances in his direction and I could tell they were frightened of him,
though I did not immediately guess why.

“ ’Tis of utmost importance every worm be plucked out of hiding and killed with a stone, for if there is carelessness, the
worm will crawl back and eat and eat and eat, that is his purpose.” He paused, gazing out across his field as though distracted.
“Our purpose is to educate those ignorant of the proper technique.” Father glanced with squinted eyes in my direction but
before I could discover his meaning he turned and walked quickly to the next row where there were children picking worms.
Drewry and I followed, finding it easy to keep up with him as he stopped often, bending to peel apart the new green leaves
in search of the fat white worms. I looked beyond his figure to the backs of all the children and I saw that the clapping
of the stones was the killing of the worms and it seemed to me the tempo had increased since our arrival.

“See here,” Father stood and held again in his gloved hand a pile of the wriggling pests. He advanced to the closest child
picking, who happened to be Little Bright. She was our housemaid, Chloe’s, youngest daughter and we had played together for
years until Little Bright was put to work in the fields and Father disallowed our friendship. I had been extremely fond of
her, but I had not seen her for some time. I noticed her breasts had developed more than mine. Our eyes met and I saw she
was afraid.

“We shall not tolerate worms on our green livelihood,” Father said.

I watched with horror as he bent and stuffed the live worms from his hand into her mouth. “You must pick off every one,” he
warned and stepped back, waiting, making certain she chewed and swallowed. My hand flew to my mouth and I felt an uncomfortable
knot rise in the back of my throat, for I could easily imagine the worms there. I shut my eyes so I might not witness her
punishment further.

“Open now.” On his command to her I was compelled to open my own eyes and watch, as he pulled her red tongue out with his
gloved fingers and peered down her throat. Satisfied the dreaded grubs had disappeared, he patted her head and continued his
walking inspection, but I could not follow. I wanted to sink to my knees in the mud and comfort Little Bright, if there could
be any comfort. I wished to hold her or offer my clean apron so she might wipe her mouth out, but I was too frightened of
what Father might do to me. Whenever I behaved not as he wished he took me out to the barn and whipped my bottom with his
riding crop to impart the right true path into my mischievous heart. I feared to upset him. A sudden nausea I could not contain
wrenched my insides and without looking at Little Bright I turned, tripping my way back down the muddy row toward the tree
where the horses were tied. I leaned my forearm against the smooth bark of the elm and took deep breaths of the clean spring
air to prevent myself from vomiting. I heard a rumbling whisper rising above the clapping of the stones.

“Pick-’em-all-off, Pick-’em-all-off, Pick-’em-all-off!” the slave children chanted fearfully.

I was afraid Father would be angry with me for abandoning the task, but when his inspection was complete he returned to where
I waited near the horses and hugged me close.

“I know this teaching may be hard for you to understand. It may seem harsh and low-minded to you, dear Betsy.” He pulled gently
on my braid while patting my back, almost allowing me the time to release the tears gathered in my eyes and throat, but before
I could, he carried on. “Yet, this is the most efficacious method and by it the new plants are thriving in the field.” He
lifted me up onto Dipsy, avoiding my eyes. He turned away and mounted his horse and I saw him nod with satisfaction at the
quick moving hands of the slaves.

“His crop is the finest in all of Robertson County,” I said softly into Drewry’s back, resting my head against his jacket.
I wished to look at the billowing white clouds of the sky and not at the little Negro children at play in the mud on our way
back past the cabins.

That night I was awakened, shortly after retiring, to the same tapping I had heard the night before. I stayed in my bed listening,
and I heard it in regular intervals,
tap-tap, tap-tap.
It struck the windowpane, then moved along the wall of my room. What was it? It was as if someone floated outside and knocked
for entry, but I knew that could not be. It had to be the wind, a bird or rodent, as Mother had suggested. I pulled the quilt
up to my ears and lay still, listening, immobilized, afraid as if I’d wakened from a horrible dream and found it to be real.
TAP-TAP,
the sound came louder and sharper and I tensed my body, for I thought my window glass had cracked.

“What is that noise?” John Jr. appeared in my doorway, a lit candle in his hand. He did not wait for my reply but crossed
firmly to my window and opened it, looking out.

“How does it seem to you, dear brother?” I was much relieved to see him and his presence allowed my curiosity to prevail over
my fear. I threw off my covers and went to stand beside him, finding the wood floor painfully cold under my bare toes.

“I see nothing, but I heard something, and it came from here.” His thick eyebrows twisted downward, much perplexed. He shut
the window and immediately it came again as we stood watching.

TAP-TAP! TAP-TAP!

For certain there was no visible explanation for the sound. The glass shivered in the candlelight when struck, but no twig
or wind or animal did appear. We stepped quickly back away from the glass, afraid it might shatter as the noise came again,
louder and more insistent.

TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!

This time, it did not immediately cease.

“How can this be?” John Jr. looked at me and I could see the disbelief I felt mirrored in his eyes, flickering in the candlelight,
disturbed by our quickened breathing. I shook my head.

“I know not, but I heard it last night as well.” I shifted from one foot to the other, nervous and cold.

“Let us get your candle lit and fetch Father. He must witness this.” My hands shook as I took the flame from John Jr.’s candle
for my wick. I had a feeling the tap-tapping was something quite out of the ordinary and unpleasant and I did not relish waking
Father to tell him of it. As it happened, I did not have to, as we heard his step on the stair and he entered my room.

“What is wrong here?” His voice was gruff with sleep, though he looked sharp enough.

“Hear it! Our sleeping is interrupted by rapping at the window, but we cannot see its cause.”

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

The knocking started up again like metal on the glass and Father was attentive. He cocked his head listening a moment before
striding toward us and the window. His legs were long and bare beneath his nightshirt and he pushed up on his toes and leaned
far out to ascertain the source of the noise, but as we had done before him, he saw nothing there.

“What could it be?” Father was genuinely puzzled and my concern deepened, as he usually had a quick solution to most problems.

Tap-tap.

“Perhaps a shingle has come undone. It is difficult to see.” He turned away from the window and looked at me, accurately assessing
my fear in one glance. “Betsy, sleep in Jesse’s vacant bed, if you like.” Jesse had married his girlfriend, Martha, months
before and had moved to his own property further down the Adams―Cedar Hill high road, so his bed beside John Jr.’s stood empty.
Having dispensed this advice Father shrugged his shoulders and left the room, communicating that whatever tapped on my window
gave him no cause for great concern. John Jr. did not look at me, nor I at him, but I believe we both knew it was not a shingle
in the wind, though we pretended it might be, as we silently retired together to his room.

We knew for certain it was
not
on the following day when a detailed inspection was made of our roof. Though we had planned a day at the schoolhouse, Mother
allowed us all to participate in the examination of our home and the sun cooperated, shining strong on our backs, though it
was still early in the spring. The tallest ladder was brought from the barn and Father and Dean and the boys climbed everywhere
about the roof, but found no loose wood shingles, no stray branches, and no sign of rodent infestation.

“May I sleep in John Jr’s. room again?” I requested this permission shortly before the hour to retire when Mother had finished
braiding my hair and the Bible reading was accomplished. I’d found Jesse’s bed plenty comfortable the night before.

“You may not.” Father shook his head and frowned. Disappointed, I looked away. I had suspected Father would not allow it,
for having found conditions satisfactory in the structure of our house, he did not intend to alter our regular routine.

“What shall I do if I hear it again?” I was most discomfited by the thought of what had knocked against my window.

“Be reassured,” Father stroked my undone hair with his heavy fingers, “God made the darkness and called it night, but also
He did make every moving creature, and called them good.”

Despite his comforting words, I found it difficult settling into sleep and I twisted about in my bed. The moon was nothing
but a sliver of God’s thumbnail behind the glass of my window. My ears felt stretched with listening and there was mostly
silence in the house. John Jr. snored lightly in his bed down the hall and from the younger boys’ room I heard the regular
breathing of Drewry and Richard, while Joel made a precious little sucking sound as if he were still a baby, nursing in his
sleep. Without knowing it, I did fall asleep, but wakened suddenly with the sense someone had touched my shoulder. Rapidly
I looked about but I saw no one in my room. The sliver of moon was gone and out in the pure dark I heard a sudden loud flapping,
as though a great flock of birds beat their wings against my walls. I cried out and pulled the quilt above my head, squeezing
my face between my elbows for I knew their beaks would break the glass and my room would shortly be invaded, whereupon I would
be pecked to death.

Drewry and John Jr. came running and I heard their bare feet rushing to my window. They looked outside and declared in unison,
“Betsy, there is nothing there!”

“There is! A flock of birds!” I refused to take the covers from my head and my speech was muffled through my quilts.

“It would sound so, but it is not!” John Jr. was upset.

“What is this grievous disturbance?” Father entered my room carrying a lit candle with Mother right behind. I felt her bottom
sink against my hip as she sat down on my bed and gently removed the quilts from off my face. Gathering me into her arms,
she spoke to Father over the thunderous flapping of wings.

“Perhaps they are confused of their direction, Jack.”

“That would be so, dear Lucy, if only they were present! I cannot see what we can hear.” Father opened my window and the sound
grew so intensely loud I grabbed Mother’s cotton nightdress in my fists and buried my face on her shoulder so as not to feel
the talons and beaks I was certain would descend in the next moment.

“Impossible!” Mother pried me loose and bade John Jr. come and sit beside me, as she wished to see the source of the noise
for herself. I clutched my brother’s arm and peeked fearfully over his shoulder watching Mother squeeze in front of Father
at my window. She bravely thrust her head outside and in a moment she drew back into my room and shut the window tight, diminishing
the roar, but only slightly.