All That Lives (34 page)

“Of course,” Father answered, and with great effort he lifted me and held me to his chest, staggering only slightly.

“Is sleep possible under such circumstances?” Miss Sallie Barton spoke nervously.

“If you are weary, as we are,” Mother tried to reassure her, giving over the brand-new pallets we’d made, with fresh sheets
and a stack of quilts. Father carried me through the hall and up the stairs. He paused when he reached the landing, breathing
hard, and I heard Mother escorting Calvin Justice to the door.

“It would be my wish to keep quiet the recitation uttered here tonight, and I thank you for your voice of reason.”

“My pleasure, and of course, I will not speak of it.”

I nuzzled my forehead into Father’s neck and felt it slippery with sweat. The underside of his beard prickled my nose.

“Betsy,” he grunted, crossing the threshold of my room. He shut the door with my foot and I shivered, for the air upstairs
was as cold as the outdoors. He lay me down on my bed and collapsed beside me, exhausted. “Darling daughter, all will come
out right,” he whispered, but seemed too spent to say more. His skin beneath his shirt was soaked with perspiration and some
of the frothy spittle that had issued from his mouth was drying on his neck.

“Dear Father,” I whispered. I curled into his arms and found him hot and comforting, though his breath stank of whiskey and
he held me in a slightly painful posture, with my hands trapped between his legs.

Over the next month, the Spirit went about the community broadcasting that its origin was in Kate Batts’s kettle and there
were many who were ready to believe this was the truth. The Randolphs, the Porters and Mrs. Hopson all closed their doors
to her, and Mr. Thorn would no longer eye her wares for possible sale inside his store. At church no one would sit near to
her, but contrary to what I did expect, Old Kate did not speak out against the treatment she received. Instead, she continued
to be the first and only member of the congregation to fill with the Glory of the Lord every Sunday without fail, and no one
present could equal the loud voice she used to proclaim her pure faith. While she wriggled her fat under the pulpit, the congregation
whispered—Even if she had not
created
the evil presence, she clearly practiced magical arts of some sort, for what other explanation could there be for her unusual
attitudes and ways, as well as her overly zealous nature, both undoubtedly a ruse for her secret dark beliefs? Despite the
talk, Old Kate continued to drive into the churchyard her cart of amulets and elixirs to ward away the demons.

As our good name seemed as though it would be forever linked with the entity that tortured us, so it seemed Kate Batts’s name
would be linked to what caused our suffering. This did not trouble me, as I did not believe it was true, and I did not care
about Old Kate particularly. I was much more disturbed by the Being’s other proclamation and I wondered often, did it truly
intend to torment the life from Father? It said no more about it for some time, spending its energy in gossip, songs and Scripture
recitations.

By November, the weather had solidly turned to winter, and one night the temperature took a truly sharp drop. I woke in the
morning to a thin film of frost on my windowpane. I put on the sturdy leather lace-ups with the thick soles Mother had just
recently gifted to me, and I went outside before breakfast. Lovely white crystals of frost were sprinkled like raw sugar over
the red and purple leaves shed by the plum and cherry trees. I admired the colors in the orchard, but I had taken only a light
woolen wrap, and I was cold. I decided to visit the tobacco barn, where the heat of the year was extended and stored, released
in the good smell of bittersweet leaves, culled and stacked high.

I ran past the stables, the dairy and the hog pen, and entered the barn just as Father was engaged in supplying his owl with
its breakfast. The light was dim, slipping only through a few small cracks in the roof and walls, but I saw Father had let
the sparrows loose on the plank floor and he stood beside the perch, unwrapping the strands of his owl’s tether. He had his
back to me and I do not believe he saw or heard me come in the door.

The sparrows were two little brown birds, with white- and black-tipped wings. I wondered why they did not fly to the beams
of the ceiling and attempt an escape. It was odd how still they stayed, allowing the owl an easy mark. He swooped down, caught
the first bird in his talons, and cracked its neck with one thrust, before pecking it to pieces in the most gruesome but expedient
form. His eyes were black as pebbles in the stream, and even as I watched him repeat the horrible predation on the second
sparrow, I could not deny Father’s owl was a tremendous bird.

I felt abruptly the smothering weight again as if a heavy stone pushed against my breast, and I sat, right where I was, onto
a hogshead drum full of tobacco. I heard the voice of the Spirit in my mind,
torment John Bell out of his life,
and I knew it was only in my mind, because it was so much fainter than when it spoke out loud. The satisfied cry of victory
released by Father’s owl devouring its prey filled the barn. I could not breathe and I felt I would soon expire, but I did
not, though the oppressive grievousness in my chest would not lift through the effort of my will alone. Father suddenly turned
and noticed me, and I saw his trousers were unbuttoned and his shirt hung loose, and I wondered if he had a special reason
I had not previously imagined for feeding his owl alone.

“This is not the place for you, Betsy Bell.” He strode across the room, irritated by my presence, or perhaps he assumed I
was upset, having come upon the killing. I could not move or respond, because of the weight in my gut, and I wondered if it
was fear that kept the sparrows still. I expected he would lay me out on the drum and lift my skirts, but Father ignored me,
and I realized it was early and he had yet to take a drink. When the truss was completely stretched out, he turned his back
on me and began winding the leash back to the tether. I watched his tall form turning the leather in his hands, and the stern
angles of his shoulders rolled under his wool coat. He was oblivious to what I felt and heard, and I was suddenly glad of
it, for my thoughts frightened me, and it was better he did not know them. As soon as I was able to take a breath, I jumped
up and pushed open the great barn door, never so relieved to feel the crisp air in my lungs.

Near one month later, in the first week of December, Father was sent a message from the magistrate, Abraham Byrns, who lived
thirty miles from our home past the growing settlement at Cedar Hill. Mr. Byrns requested that Father, as one of the most
intelligent, prosperous and distinguished men of our community, appear at his home to serve on a jury to settle a law dispute.

“I wish you would decline, dear Jack,” Mother said, attempting to discourage him from going.

“Nay, ’tis my duty, Lucy. I must attend.”

On the morning of his departure I woke up late, and I could tell from the light in my room the first snow had fallen. I rose
and stood at the window admiring the white fields. All the land was covered, like Chloe’s applesauce cake under a generous
cream frosting. I missed John Jr. quite heartily, as he could be relied on to support my brothers and me in hitching up the
sleigh at the slightest dusting, to go riding over the hills.

Downstairs Mother and Chloe were beginning to prepare the Christmas fruitcakes, and I had to make do with cold biscuits. I
spooned heaps of blackberry jam inside them while Mother sat across from me, absorbed in writing the recipe on fresh paper
since she no longer had her kitchen book. I knew Mother’s fruitcakes would take near an entire day of her devotion, and it
occurred to me I had the perfect opportunity to command a horse from Zeke and take a ride by myself.

“Would you like to chop the nuts, Miss Betsy?” Mother did not look up from writing with her request.

“No, Mother. If you do not mind, I should like to play outdoors in the new snow. I dislike the process of making those fruitcakes,
for there is too much stirring and thickening involved!”

“As you wish, Miss Betsy.” I was correct in assuming the cakes obsessed her, and she was unconcerned with me. I finished my
breakfast, meager as it was, and returned to my room announcing my true intentions to no one. I pulled wool stockings over
my cotton ones, then my thickest undergarments, followed by my winter wool dress. I laced my boots too quickly, but I took
my time pulling on the lovely soft gloves and hat Mother had just finished knitting for me from last season’s lamb’s wool.
I hoped Father had left a pair of his leather riding gloves in the stable, as he often did. I felt a certain wild abandon
realizing he was absent and I hurried downstairs, leaving quietly out the front door.

Drewry, Richard and Joel were having a game in front of the house, practicing their aim throwing snowballs through the bare
limbs of the pear trees. I wanted to avoid them as I wished to be alone, so I turned sharply to my right and slipped around
the side of the house, following the washing line. The snow crunched beneath my feet, a delicious feeling I enjoyed, but as
the hill grew steeper I had to run to keep from slipping down. I burst into the barn and there was Zeke about to take the
saddle off of Moses, one of Father’s favorite horses. I thought Father must have asked Zeke to saddle an extra horse, in case
the need arose.

“Father intended Moses to be exercised by me,” I said quickly, telling Zeke a bold-faced lie.

“Mighty long stirrups he intended for you, Miss ’Lizabeth.” Zeke gave me an indulgent smile and laughed at his own joke. He
helped me shorten the leather straps of the stirrups and placed the climbing stool beside Moses’ flank, so I might mount like
a lady, important as Miss Sallie Barton.

“Be mindful, Miss ’Lizabeth,” he cautioned. “Lord knows the beasts get excited by the first snow. Our God wouldn’t want no
red blood shed across it.” He gave Moses a pat on the rump and waved me out of the stable.

The feeling of riding Moses and leaving the barn so high above the world was unlike any other happiness. I set out sedately
walking, keeping the reins short to impress Zeke with my control, but once out of sight, I encouraged Moses to canter, then
trot, and we bounced across the snowy fallow cornfield down toward the stream. I wished to observe where it had frozen fast
and where it managed to rage in falls over the icicle-covered rocks. The morning was both gray and bright at once and Moses’
breath combined with my own painted white frosty curls in the air around my face. The branches looked blacker than they really
were in contrast with the new snow balanced on their edges. I had to brush aside the laden elm to pass and I turned in the
saddle to watch the random pattern created when the snow fell to the ground. The stream was quiet, much of it beneath ice
and snow, and the only sound was the clopping of Moses’ feet as he overturned stones hidden in the path.

I had gone quite a ways and was nearing the bend where the stream widened to meet the full river below the cavern where the
elm had been struck by lightning during the storm in the summer, when I was surprised to see Josh Gardner standing in the
clearing, his horse drinking where the water ran fast beneath his feet.

“Betsy …” He smiled and turned to me as if he had been waiting a long while. “ ’Twas you I had in my thoughts this minute
and here you are!”

“I would be on your thoughts, dear Josh, as you are on my land.” The sheer unlikelihood that we should see one another alone
in the woods emboldened my tongue. I had desired it so, but I had not allowed my heart to conjure such a fortunate possibility.

“I must confess many times I have stood alone on your land, Betsy, hoping you would venture out. At last my efforts are rewarded.”
I felt my cheeks grow hot in the frosty air. Josh reached up to take the reins and help me dismount, which I did with enthusiasm,
too much perhaps, as my foot slipped and I fell into him in such a way his arms had to come about me to steady us both. I
looked to his face, laughing my apologies, and ever so quickly he drew me yet closer and kissed my mouth with his. Moses jerked
the reins, held too tight by Josh’s arm around my back.