All That Lives (50 page)

“The Reverend is born to his calling,” Drewry answered Josh as I did not, for I was unable to speak, silenced by silly fears.
What did Josh think of me? Did he think I had told my little brothers of the kisses we’d shared? Did he think my love was
openly declared for him inside my family? I felt wholly unlike myself.

“Soon it will be spring, for the smell of it is promised now in the chilly morn.” Drewry did me a kind favor, chatting with
Josh.

“I believe the best fishing will be on your land, under the cavern, where the mighty tree has fallen and made such a pleasant
dam.” Josh bumped his leg accidentally on purpose into mine and I saw Drewry frown. I could tell he was wondering how Josh
was aware of the spot, but he did not ask.

“There, and in Kate Batts’s pond, where the fish are always biting.” They speculated further on where the best fishing spots
were likely to be come spring, and I remained quiet and withdrawn. I wondered, could it be possible for Josh to be filled
with the same longing I experienced every time I saw his gentle face? I did not believe right then that it was so.

Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.

The Spirit suddenly hissed in my mind, but it did not speak out loud. I felt the pinpricks of its touch up and down my hands
and arms as we traversed the rutted road. I said nothing and I bore them without flinching, pleased they did take away the
heat from my cheeks. We soon reached the crossing and Zeke reined the horses to a stop. Josh climbed from the buggy with a
lighthearted jump, turning quickly, holding up his hand.

“Thank you kindly, Drewry, Miss Betsy, boys.” He tipped his hat at Joel and Richard, making fun, and for the first time I
looked into his eyes as he waved farewell to me. What I saw most clearly announced the love he felt. “Miss Betsy, tell your
dear mother I will pray for her swift and full recovery. My mother has also been ill and incapacitated so I have been most
needed at my home. This is my first outing in several weeks, and I am well pleased it resulted in our meeting.” That was clearly
as much as he could say in front of my brothers and Zeke about how he had managed to obey my wishes and not call on me. My
heartbeat quickened and I knew he was the one soul who could best understand the heavy weight of my continued isolation, but
I was too frightened to ask him to call when he could.

“Please wish your mother a swift recovery from our family as well!” I had to lean out the window and shout, for Zeke had whipped
the horses and we were rolling off.

“Betsy and Joshua, swinging on a swing!” Richard and Joel started in with the schoolyard teasing song and I could tell they
were begging for me to swat at them again, and I did so, with much more enthusiasm than when Josh was in the buggy.

That afternoon, the boys told Mother all about Josh hitching a ride and how nervous I became. She laughed until she coughed,
then smiled and patted my hand.

“Perhaps our Betsy will soon have a beau …”

“Stop, Mother! Josh Gardner is kind indeed, but he begged a ride purely for convenience.” I was not ready to announce my love
for him and I changed the subject. “Nearly all the members of our congregation did sample the fruit, and they were happy as
Old Kate to get it.” I hoped Mother would not admonish me for insulting Mrs. Batts. “And the Reverend spoke of you in the
yard as a soul singled out by God.” I left out the part about why he had done that, and also everything about Mrs. Hopson,
because Mother was still very fragile and I thought it best not to worry her with any little details that might make her sad.
She coughed again and frowned, and I wondered if she guessed at what had prompted the Reverend’s praises.

“Betsy, I would have you take a look into John Jr.’s chest. Last year before our troubles started up, I had it in my mind
to stitch us both new dresses for the Easter celebrations. At the bottom, you will find two bolts of printed cotton, ten yards
each. Fetch them hither.”

I did as she asked and when I returned, I laid the bolts slightly unrolled on the parlor rug at Mother’s request.

“Choose which you prefer.” One was a very pretty white with tiny blue roses printed on it, and the other was a solid pale
blue with a darker stripe. I had nothing made of printed cloth and I was fascinated by the pattern.

“Might I have the dainty flowered one?” I asked, choosing the fabric I knew would brighten my mood every time I saw it.

“You may,” Mother nodded and reached for my hand. “I have something else for you.” She opened the robe she wore over her flannel
petticoat and pulled a piece of paper from inside the folds of her nightdress. She handed it to me and the texture of it was
unlike any paper I had seen before in ream or book. A woman in the most beautiful modern dress was printed on it.

“The Spirit brought it,” Mother explained. “When I woke from the nap I took while you were at church it was in my fingers
and the Being says it is from the French Almanac of this very year. Shall we make you one just exactly like it?”

“Might we try?” I marveled at the sophisticated style. Mother gave her answer with a willing nod and I thought she was most
likely very bored with lying about every day, and glad to have the activity of dressmaking. It seemed a good measure of her
restored health that she wished to spend hours cutting and pinning. Chloe helped me move the chairs off the rug and Mother
and I laid out the fabric with the paper picture in the center. We studied it carefully before cutting the cloth.

“The skirt will be the widest of any you have ever owned.” She adjusted her knees on the pillow Chloe had brought from her
bed.

“And there are so many pleats in the waistband to sew.” I stared at the picture, attempting to see how it should be done.

“Yes, it will require many tiny stitches to make it up right.” Mother finished cutting the front panel of the skirt. “I have
found the challenge for your skills, Miss Betsy, or rather, the Spirit has.” She sat back and coughed again.

“Shall I help you to your bed now, Mother?” I was worried she was attempting too much.

“No, I should like to cut it all today. When this dress is finished, your skirt will sway like a bell when you cross the room.”
She smiled at the thought.

“Mother, it means so much to me to see you so recovered.” I felt exceptionally lighthearted. She had me stand with my arms
above my head and just my petticoat on while she gathered yards and yards of the crisp cotton around my waist, to pin it up.
We worked all day and burned the lamps awhile after supper to finish the pinning.

In the morning after breakfast, I began to sew. I had decided I would follow Mother’s example and devote every day to the
completion of my dress. I was sitting at the chair by the front parlor window stitching away, when the Spirit spoke.

The deed is done and not one of you did try to stop it.

The next moment brought a knock at our door.

“What was that about?” Mother was crocheting lace for my sleeves in the chair across from me. “I am expecting no callers.”
She stood, pulling her robe close around her, opening the door. There stood Calvin Justice with his hat in his hands. He refused
Mother’s invitation to step inside.

“I bear news of a dreadful tragedy, Lucy. Young Amanda Ellison has drowned in Old Kate’s pond.”

“Oh!” Mother’s hand flew to her mouth and she let out a cry as if she’d been struck. “How did it happen?”

“The story of her last hours was related by her friend Gertrude, and all was revealed to have happened exactly as the Being
foretold it, nearly one year previous. Do you recall the night? We talked of witch creatures.”

“Of course I do recall it.” Mother shook her head.

“The Reverend wished to warn the parents …”

“But Jack did not want to frighten the girls …” Mother and Calvin Justice stood silent a moment and their expressions told
how they felt most painfully responsible. “God must have wanted her sweet voice in his choir of angels.” Mother sighed, choosing
to attribute the tragedy to God’s will.

“The funeral service is tomorrow at three. I must go and inform the Thorns.” Calvin Justice looked away down our path and
I could tell his penance for himself was to carry the news through the district.

“Thank you so much for coming. We shall attend the service.” Mother gently closed the door and I stood up, dropping my sewing
to the floor.

“I should have told her, Mother. I thought of it when I saw her at the schoolhouse.” I recalled with regret how my eyes had
purposely avoided Amanda’s. I had been too embarrassed and uncertain to tell her my thoughts, yet now she was dead and the
prediction had never been foremost in my mind. “How awful, I should have done something!”

“Betsy, this did not occur because of anything you did or did not do. God must people his Heaven with some young souls.” She
patted my back and tried to comfort me but I felt she too was upset. We stood and cried awhile together but soon crying caused
Mother to cough and I insisted she lie down. I returned to busying my needle for the rest of the day and most of the next.
I sewed until my thimble had rubbed a blister and it was time to attend Amanda’s funeral. It was Mother’s first outing since
her pleurisy, and though I felt she was still too weak, she insisted on going.

“Losing a child is the worst evil God suffers on the faithful,” she whispered into my ear while we stood in the graveyard
behind the church. I knew some in the congregation had heard about the Being’s forewarning but out of kindness to the Ellisons’
grief and to our family, no one spoke cruelly about us, though I wondered what they were thinking. Did they know we had decided
not to tell the Spirit’s prediction because we did not wish to scare the girls? Did they know we had not believed this tragedy
would actually come to pass? Once again, because of our troubles, misery was unleashed in the world. Perhaps they thought
Mr. Ellison ought to strike us with a red-hot poker from his forge, as the Spirit had everything to do with the witch creature
heron and, thus, his daughter’s drowning. I bowed my head in prayer, exceedingly contrite, curious to know if I had experienced
my knowledge differently, could poor Amanda still be living? At the time there had been so many odd occurrences, the thought
of a witch creature drowning her and what I could do to prevent it had been impossible to ponder.

When the Reverend pronounced Amanda laid to eternal rest, Mr. Ellison broke down in tears beside the grave.

“Thou art a selfish God!” he cried, beating the ground with his fists.

“Take Richard and Joel back to the buggy, Betsy,” Mother hissed into my ear, so I did not witness how the faithful managed
to comfort him. I wanted to know what words they spoke to help him with his loss, for I wished to say them to myself.

By March the ground had thawed and it was time to turn the earth over and ready the fields for spring planting. The subject
on everyone’s mind was how to grow a successful tobacco crop without Father. Dean and Mother knew all about the soil, the
seedlings, and how best to grow the plants, and when John Jr. came home, as we hoped he would soon, he had knowledge of the
harvest and the markets. Certain aspects of my life I had discovered to be easier since Father’s passing. It made me uncomfortable
and I would not have confessed the truth to anyone, not even Josh, but I did not miss him lying down with me. I had seen Little
Bright one day and called out hello to her, pleased Father could no longer object. Yet I was worried the farm could not be
profitable without him and I missed his reassuring presence at our table.

It felt odd, approaching our first season without Father’s dominant skills. The dawn arrived ever earlier and so increased
my anxiety, but Drewry simply rose with it. He left the house each morning with his gun and his woolen coat, hoping he might
shoot a wild boar or turkey on his way to meet Dean in the fields. He saw the ox team hitched to the iron plow and driven
nearly all day for a week of the spring weather, so soon every field had been plowed up and over, leaving mountains of red
earth behind for the slaves to shape into rows and plant with seedlings.