All That Lives (5 page)

“May we keep the lamps lit through the night?” I asked John Jr., hoping he would support such an effort. Father was not stingy
with the lamp oil as many were, but he was not wasteful, and burning a lamp through the night without good cause would mean
a certain trip to the barn.

“I know not.” John Jr. looked confused regarding what to do. “Perhaps we should wake Father …” he suggested, but he did not
start for the door.

“I am awake, my son.” Father was on the stairs and spoke curtly. He entered with Drewry behind him carrying the lamps, unlit.

“Blow out your candles, I have brought the tinderbox should we need it.” Father had a plan and we obeyed him, blowing out
our flames, but I grew most anxious and concerned, for as Drewry had just described, I knew the flint and steel of the tinderbox
could take an eternity to light. In the dark we listened and immediately there came again the sound of the rat gnawing the
bedpost, only now it was in my room, right beside us, and the sound of wood splitting came from Drewry, Richard and Joel’s
room, accompanied by the discordant tinkle of metal screws falling to the floor.

“Don’t let it bite me, Betsy!” Richard wailed, turning his face to my shoulder while Joel hiccuped a sob of fear. I pulled
the two of them up to the head of the bed, moving as far away from the sound as possible. The gnawing grew louder, evolving
into a hideous scratching on the floor, as though an animal as large as a dog or a deer was trapped beneath my bed. I held
tight to the boys and was about to scream for Father to hurry and strike the flint and catch a spark when Mother appeared
in the doorway with a lit lamp in her hand, revealing my bedpost, whole and uneaten, and nothing present except ourselves
in the room.

“The good Lord gave us light and so be it. We will burn a lamp in each room this evening and consider this matter with the
sun on our faces tomorrow.” Mother was calm, as always, and made this pronouncement as though nothing was amiss that we could
not address. “Richard dear, no rat will bite you, Father and I will guard your beds.” She took Joel from me into her arms
and there was no further discussion of the trauma. She managed to balance him on her hip so his curls mashed against her shoulder,
while motioning with her other hand that held the lamp for Richard to follow her. He jumped quickly off the bed and rushed
to her side, clutching her nightdress with tight fingers. I saw Joel gripped her waist with his legs and her neck with locked
hands as though he planned never to let go.

“I want to sleep with Richard and Joel!” I cried, though I knew it was not brave. I was too scared to lie in my own bed.

“I will sleep with John Jr.” Drewry volunteered to give his bed to me and I believe he needed his elder brother’s comfort
as much as I needed not to sleep alone. Father nodded his agreement, but his attention was not with our sleeping arrangements.
He lit the two remaining lamps with Mother’s flame and held them high above his head, illuminating as much of my room as possible.

“Give one to the boys, Jack.” Mother saw him hand a lamp to John Jr. and then she left to tuck Joel and Richard in their beds.
I wanted to jump from my bed and run after her, but her departure left a darkness at my doorway I feared to cross and I decided
to wait until Father had finished his inspection so he might walk me down the hall.

“What is this, Betsy?” His voice was low and quiet and his inquiry so sincere I thought he had found something previously
hidden. I stretched forward on my hands and knees, craning my neck to see off the edge of the bed what he was referring to.

“What is what, Father?” He did not reply to my question, but turned instead to face me, allowing the lamp to dangle from his
hand so the room darkened and only a portion of the floor received the light.

“Darling daughter, shall I lie with you awhile?” He suggested this, but I could see he did not really want to lie with me.
I could hear the tiredness in his tone.

“No, please, Father. Rather, I would go to sleep in Drewry’s bed for I am frightened, and I wish to be near the little boys
should they awake, for they will inspire me to be brave.” I stood up quickly and Father took my hand in his and pulled me
to him in the dark.

“Fear not, darling daughter, I will be close at hand.” I was greatly relieved he did not wish to lie with me, for though his
hand on my back was reassuring and his skin warm and comforting under his worn cotton nightshirt, I found the smell of the
drink he had consumed after dinner sour and disgusting on his breath. He stepped out of our embrace but kept hold of my hand,
raising his lamp to light our way down the hall.

Mother was tucking the quilts around Richard and Joel when we reached the bedroom. “Go to sleep now,” she told the boys, managing
to make it sound reasonable to try again.

“You too, Betsy.” Father patted my behind as I hurried to be near Mother. Her lamp burned on the golden pine table under the
window between Richard’s and Joel’s beds and there was plenty of light, enough to see that neither Richard nor Joel were crying,
and they both looked fairly sleepy. I did not think I would sleep again, as my eyes felt stretched and widened by my furtive
glances into the dark corners of the room, but Mother kindly agreed to stay awhile. We climbed together into Drew’s bed along
the wall and, pulling my body against hers, she snuggled her knees into my own.

“Do not be afraid, dear Betsy,” Mother said, patting my leg with her hand under the quilts. “Your father will soon discover
the cause of this disturbance.” He had left the doorway and I heard his footsteps descending the stairs.

“I pray that will be so.” I was calmed by her warmth and confidence and I allowed my lids to shut over my stinging eyes. Though
we were troubled by no more noises that evening, I slept only fitfully in the well-lit room.

I woke early to the sound of furniture being moved about in the hall. I looked outside and saw the day was not a sunny spring
one, but instead, the sky was overcast with a gray pallor that reminded me of the winter months. It looked not at all warm.
I left Drew’s bed and discovered Father, Dean, John Jr. and Drewry were in my bedroom, having moved my heavy wardrobe and
my washstand out into the hall. They had up-ended my bed so it stood against one wall, and my whole floor was in plain view.
Father held a crowbar in his hands and was set to pry up the boards.

“Some vermin could be hiding in between the ceiling and the floor,” he explained, ripping the first board out. The creak it
gave squawked like the wood splitting we had heard the night before. I shivered in my nightdress, unhappy to be reminded of
it.

“What hides there, Father?” I wondered what he might find. On his hands and knees he leaned forward, peering into the empty
space between the boards.

“I see no nests or evidence of animals, but I will look some more,” he said. I realized he intended to rip apart the whole
house if need be, to discover what visited such fear on us. A hopeless panic came over me that he would find no vermin. My
stomach felt queasy and I put my hand across it as I wondered, if not vermin, what would he find? What could make the sound
of birds and of gnawing and gnashing wood, and yet be invisible to the eye? My intuition screamed it was something unlike
anything I had known before, something uncommon on this earth, and I wondered, why had it come to us?

I turned back into the hall, removing from my wardrobe cotton stockings and a plain cloth dress the color of the hickory nuts
used to dye it. I walked to the boys’ room to change and it felt odd to dress there, but odder still was the cause of it.
I did it quickly, disliking the sound of ripping wood issuing from down the hall. I felt again the nausea in my stomach and
I hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen where Mother was stirring a pot of beans and bacon at the stove. There were
two brown vine baskets of laundry and ironing for Chloe and another of mending for me by the door and it made me tired to
see them.

“Good morning, Betsy. How are you this day?”

“I am well, Mother.” I know not why I lied to her, but I knew my true feelings would make her sad and I did not wish to add
my fears to Mother’s pile of burdens, like another basket at the door. Unfortunately, the smell of cooking beans was abruptly
repugnant to me and I stood and ran out the back where I vomited into her blue flowering rosemary bush.

“Dear Betsy, I should say you are not well at all!” Mother followed me, and stroked my back. She scooped a bucket of cold
water from the barrel where the rainwater was collected by the back door and washed my sick into the ground, before leading
me back to the kitchen. “Sit, child.” I sank into the chair by the woodstove and she brought me a wet muslin cloth smelling
of comfrey. I closed my eyes while she gently wiped my face. “You have no fever …” She felt my forehead with the back of her
hand, then stroked my cheek. “Sometimes with the bleeding, the stomach is upset.” She ran her fingers over my eyelids, meaning
I should open them, and when I did, she took up my chin, and tilted my face, so she could look me in the eye. “Are you frightened,
dear girl?”

“Yes, Mother, truly I am!” I threw my arms around her waist and began to cry, while she combed my hair with her fingers. The
touch of her hand pulled the truth from me. “I am afraid it is some evil thing that visits us and I know not what I might
do to keep it from me!”

“Elizabeth! What nonsense. There is no evil in this house.” Mother took a step away from me and frowned. “You know not the
many possibilities of nature. We are greatly concerned with the noises we have heard, why else would your father at this moment
devote his day to taking the house apart from the inside out?” I saw Mother was most distressed and upset herself, which frightened
me the more. She turned to stir again the bubbling pot, lest it begin to burn, and I watched her shoulder blade rise up, spooning
round the thickening beans. She sighed and turned to look at me. “Your father and I will solve this mystery, Betsy,” she promised.
“With the good Lord’s help. And yours.” She laid her wooden spoon across the top of the pot and placed her hands on my shoulders.
I could see from the many lines about her eyes, she too was tired. She held my gaze with hers. “Of utmost importance is your
health and constitution. Go lie in my bed and I will make you a peppermint tea.”

“No, Mother, I will take the mending and sit in the parlor.” I wanted to prove I too could be strong and brave in the face
of our afflictions. I sewed all that day, finishing more than half the basket of mending, listening to Father move from room
to room upstairs, prying up boards and replacing them, looking for he knew not what. I was not surprised when he found nothing
at all, apart from dust and some old mouse droppings which were clearly unrelated to the noises we had heard. Supper was again
solemn and silent, as a great heaviness weighted our necks when we bent them in prayer.

“Dear God, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name …” Father’s voice held a somber intonation, “… for Thine is the Kingdom
and the Power and the Glory. Amen.”

“We will have a special Bible reading this evening, won’t we, Father?” Mother’s good cheer was out of place and though I did
appreciate her effort, we remained a sullen group. Only Joel and Richard turned their heads, inclined to abandon their glumness.

“What story will you read, Father?”

“Whatever your mother likes.” Father wiped his mouth with his napkin and smiled at Mother acknowledging her courage, but I
noticed he was merely picking at his food.

“I should like to hear a story of God’s love, perhaps John fourteen, on the coming of the Spirit, how He will be in you,”
Mother said, her eyes lit with good humor. She knew the connotations such a reading would bring. All around the table our
mouths began to curl slightly upward, as each of us pictured Old Kate at the pulpit in her Sunday finery, imbued with the
glory of the good Lord. Mrs. Kate Batts was called Old Kate by everyone, though she was about the same age as our mother.
I was happy they shared few other traits, for Old Kate was quite unusual in her affect and appearance. Unpredictably outspoken,
she weighed over two hundred pounds and dressed without regard to style or fashion. Our entire community took some delight
in mocking her, and her strange ways were the focus of conversation as frequently as the topic of the weather. She did cut
a distinct figure, traveling the district up and down the high road, peddling mostly stockings, woven from cast-off scraps
of wool begged on previous visits from farm to farm, all to create an income. Her poverty was so severe, it was said she spun
her cat hair into yarn. Mother both donated to her and bought from her. I’d heard Mother say that those who did not gave the
excuse Old Kate worked her slave woman long into the night by the thin light of a single candle, but the more likely reason
was they did not have charitable hearts. Old Kate’s husband, Ignatius, was a crippled invalid, and we never saw him out-of-doors,
not even in church. He sat hunched at the front window of their house, on the Adams―Cedar Hill high road, every day of his
life. They owned a fair piece of property that bordered ours in places, but because of her husband’s illness, Kate ran their
farm, and it wasn’t much to speak of.