All That Lives (10 page)

“Thank you, Reverend, we are much obliged. Whatever ails us, may your godliness be like water to its fire.”

“Or perhaps my speech will be the fire of purification to its pestilence …” The Reverend stood lost in thought for a moment
on our porch, a dreamy look shading his features, and I wondered if he entertained a grandiose vision of his own capabilities.
How could he? I recalled his fear, his “I know not!” But I wished to be charitable in my assessment of him, for he seemed
my best and only hope for salvation. He was a man of God while I was a mere girl, powerless and tortured.

“God bless you, Reverend.” I bade him goodbye and came to stand under Mother’s arm at the door. Together we watched him walk
away down the path. He stopped at the well and turned to consider our house from a distance, then waved and went on. The pear
trees were covered in white sweet-smelling blossoms and a light wind blew the petals down like a snow of flowers. The Reverend
Johnston’s black coat and top hat were dotted long before he reached the horse tie where Zeke waited with his horse, saddled
and ready to ride.

“May I go for a walk, Mother?” I was overcome with a desire to be out-of-doors.

“You may, Miss Betsy,” Mother answered, squeezing my shoulder. I could tell she thought it was a good idea. “It’s near warm
enough to sow beans today. Perhaps I’ll do a row, when the pallets have aired.” Mother, ever a gracious hostess, turned her
mind to preparing the house for the callers we would have that evening. “Take your brothers with you, Betsy.” She hugged me
closer before she let me free. “And be mindful as you go.”

I called to Drewry, Richard and Joel and they were happy to join me. We went out the back, skipping down the hill, running
past the cornfield, where I noticed the grassy stalks were already ankle high. We turned onto the path by the stream and Joel
and Richard raced to reach the pools forming under a small waterfall, hoping they might see some fishes. I had just come up
behind them when Richard caught a crawdad and tried to scare me with it, in what I thought to be mean-spirited fun.

“EEEEE Betsy, I shall slap your face!” He held the ugly thing up, jiggling it, while its claws grasped the empty air and its
legs and antennas squirmed helplessly.

“You are not amusing, Richard!” I pushed him so hard, he tripped over a rock and landed with his bottom in the mud, while
the crawdad flew from his hand, hitting the ground with its legs running, scurrying to a safer hiding place.

“Look what you did!” Richard stood and bent over, turning the muddy behind of his trousers to my face.

“It was your own doing, not mine!” I shouted, annoyed that he had accused me. After suffering the Reverend’s insinuations
I could not bear to be held responsible for any wrong-doing, even something so trivial as mud on Richard’s clothes.

“It was the combination of you both,” Drewry declared. He pulled a handful of leaves off a budding elm and began wiping away
the mud on Richard’s backside. He said something into Richard’s ear as he did so, but I could not hear it.

“Sister, I am sorry, truly.” Richard stepped forward, and looked me in the eye, and I saw his remorse was sincere. I did not
wish to argue and I hugged him, feeling tears of weakness rising in my throat. Drewry and Joel moved to stand beside us and
we formed a silent circle, as we had in the night, clustered on my bed. Richard’s head was just the height of my shoulder,
and his hair smelled of the fresh stream. I shut my eyes, inhaling it beside the bleached flax of Drew’s shirt. Joel circled
his arms around all our waists, as though he bound the corn, and the sun fell warm on my cheeks. I absorbed it greedily, hoping
it was God-given strength.

That evening, the Reverend returned, and all the events of the night before were repeated for Mrs. Johnston’s benefit, only
with more intensity. The force abused me violently, with beatings to my face and body. Mother and Mrs. Johnston cried helpless
tears, while my hair was pulled and my neck was stabbed with pins and needles, and though I did not bleed, the marks were
evident. Again, we survived until dawn, Sunday morning, and though no one had slept and all tempers were short, we set out
to fetch Jesse and Martha to go to church.

“Good morning, Father, Mother. God has blessed us with another lovely Sunday.” Jesse seemed in a particularly good mood when
he opened the door for Martha to climb into our black buggy. I thought it was a shame he would soon be burdened by the horror
of our trials. Martha stepped up and settled in beside me, turning her head to admire my pokeberry dress as she did every
Sunday and I saw her take in my bruised features under my bonnet.

“Why, Betsy, what happened? Are you ill?”

“What’s this?” Jesse was about to shut the door, but stopped at the mention of illness.

“Ride in the buggy today, my son,” Mother requested. Usually Jesse rode with Father and John Jr. up front on the driver’s
bench. He squeezed into the buggy, and Mother proceeded to tell the two of them what had been happening at our house. They
listened silently, asking no questions, but glancing several times at my face while their expressions relayed concern.

“I felt it strike me, an invisible icy hand,” I said, affirming the unbelievable, and the buggy rumbled over the bridge past
the schoolhouse.

“ ’Tis true, ’tis true, ’tis true!” Joel clapped his hand against his leg, regressing in an outburst of emotion.

“Hush now, you must prepare to sit still and quiet through the Reverend’s sermon,” Mother reprimanded him, but only gently,
and we rolled at a brisk pace past Thorn’s store, shut up and deserted. We carried on down the next hill and then up again
onto the ridge above the small valley where the river wound back on itself. Shortly we rode downhill and, crossing Johnston’s
bridge, entered the churchyard.

“Reverend Johnston means to inform the congregation of our trials.” Mother spoke softly, but I felt an underlying warning
in her tone.

“Why were we kept uninformed?” Jesse thought only of his own part in the matter, just like always. Annoyed, I turned my face
fully to the small window.

“It was your father’s wish.” Mother was calmly unequivocal with him. I noticed the whitewash on the building gave our church
the look of a bright beacon on its green knoll. I loved the tall windows and the pointed steeple above the belfry with the
cross on top, standing white and pure against the cloudless blue sky. The great brass bell the Reverend had purchased with
donations from the congregation rang peals of welcome. I recalled watching the fathers and the Reverend hang it high, the
very day it was carted in from Nashville. We had all felt so proud our church was to be so distinguished.

Many carts were already tied up in the yard and I expected it would be a great relief to finally share my troubles with my
friends, so I was very much surprised, when, after my family had filed carefully into our pew and been recognized with a nod
of greeting by the Reverend, I became attacked by instability. I was suddenly weak and nervous, and I felt I might dissolve
at any moment into tears. I bowed my head, glad of the wide cotton ties on my bonnet, and Joel beside me graciously slipped
his small hand into mine.

“Good brethren and sisters of the Lord, today we will take our sermon from I Thessalonians
and
from events occurring among us, in our community.” A murmur of whispering guesses breezed through the church and I thought
some turned to look at us even before the Reverend told the story, but I could not be sure. I did see Thenny twisting in a
pew to my right and I thought she flapped her arms behind her father’s back for my attention, but I returned my eyes to my
hands in my lap. I was extremely conscious of my tender skin and my arms ached where Joel and Richard pressed against my bruises.
I listened to the Reverend read aloud.

“See that none render evil unto any man, but ever follow that which is good, both amongst yourselves and all men. Pray without
ceasing, quench not the Spirit. In everything give thanks, for this be the will of God. Faithful is He that calleth you, who
also will do it. Amen.”

“Amen,” answered the assembled.

“Now, were I to ask among you, name the man most formidable, steadfast and upright in following God’s law, what name would
you give? I believe the name John Bell would slip from many tongues.”

Another breeze of whispers circulated through the church and Father shifted, uncomfortable, his movement shaking our entire
pew. The congregation quieted, as any announcement in church regarding members of the community was almost always to do with
an illness, a birth or death, so everyone’s attention focused on what they did not know about our family.

“Our Brother John Bell has experienced strange and unearthly occurrences at his good home.” The Reverend paused and in his
silence I heard someone behind me whisper.

“ ’Tis true then, what the cook did say.” I realized many in the church must have suspected some disturbance was occurring,
for they must have heard the gossip of the slaves.

“I have stayed the past two nights along with John Bell and his fine family and witnessed for myself many horrific noises
and some violent abuse of fair Betsy Bell. I ask all gathered here today, turn your prayers to the house of the Bell family,
and apprise John Bell or myself with any knowledge you might possess to aid and remedy this dreadful circumstance.”

“Ho, Reverend!” Kate Batts rose from her pew in the back, requesting attention.

“Yea, Mrs. Batts, speak freely.”

“Ask John Bell to speak of what torments him!” Kate yelled her request as if we were across the bridge and needed to hear
her many yards away. A chorus of other voices joined hers, shouting.

“Aye, speak! Speak to it, Jack.” Nearly the whole of Adams was gathered in the church and most of Father’s peers. I saw Mr.
Thorn and Mr. Porter looking very much concerned. Everyone waited for Father’s response, even the good Reverend at the pulpit.
The murmurs quieted, while Father stiffly rose, clearing his throat.

“I know not what torments me.”

“Might you know what form its actions take?” Old Kate had remained standing at the back, appearing very interested in the
matter.

“I am no good at speaking,” Father shrugged his shoulders, “especially on subjects I am not well versed in. The Reverend can
relate the aspects of our suffering.” Father sat down and looked at his hands. I knew he would say no more. The sunlight outdoors
had reached the high window over the pulpit and it spread out in rays to the floor. I watched it reach the Reverend Johnston’s
back, producing a striking effect, as if God was sending his light down to us through the Reverend’s arms.

“To speak and describe evil is not our business here. I shall say only never in my long experience have I witnessed such events
as these, and blessed congregation of Adams, the Lord compels us to make our sole occupation as a community to rid John Bell’s
family of this visitation, whatever it may be! All who are well intentioned and strive to walk the right true path of the
Lord shall gather at the Bell residence this very evening at six o’clock to this effect.”

A rush of questions issued from the mouths of all present and the noise of everyone talking at once gave me a dizzy feeling.
Mother and Father looked to each other and I wondered if they had known in advance the Reverend was planning such a gathering
at our home.

“Let us sing our final hymn!” The Reverend had to shout loudly above the talking going on and when it did not immediately
stop, he was forced to clap his hands, then bang them hard on the wooden pulpit before he had the assembly quiet enough to
hear his instructions.

“Come now, Almighty King.”

Throats were cleared and the congregation rose, buzzing with curious excitement over our troubles.

“Come now, Almighty King,” our voices in unison sang with more enthusiasm than usual, as if all gathered believed we could
summon the Lord.

Help us your name to sing,

Help us to praise Father all glorious,

O’er all victorious,

Come, and reign over us,

Ancient of days.

At the close of the hymn I felt comforted, for faith in God and his power against any evil force was strong inside the church
and in my heart. I was reluctant to leave but Father seemed anxious to set out, for he passed a whispered command down the
line of his children.

“No talking in the yard. Get yourselves to the buggy for we will swiftly depart.” I looked for Thenny and she waved to me.
She was mouthing something, but Father and John Jr’s. tall backs, as well as her father’s wide front and too much distance
across the church aisle, were in between us, and I could not make out her intentions. Father turned and frowned severely at
me and I understood I was to hurry to the buggy in silence, absolutely. Whatever Thenny wished to say would have to wait.