All That Lives (16 page)

“Brothers and sisters,” he took a deep breath, “I must speak again this week on the tribulations of the Bells and those who
care for them. How great is the darkness! We must pray ever more for the Lord to lift us to the light.”

“Pray, Reverend, is Jack Bell inclined this Sunday to speak to his torment, for all to hear and better know its aspect for
their prayers?” Old Kate spoke freely from the back of the church and stood to emphasize her broadcast. “I have seen it myself
and would have all know its nature, so they may guard against it.”

“Yea, Kate, I would speak against corrupt minds who talk of what they know not.” Father did not stand but spoke sharply over
his shoulder, twisting his jaw like a dog biting its fleas.

“Speak to it, Jack, go on!” A round of spontaneous encouragement for Kate’s suggestion went about the church and Kate sat
down, vindicated.

“I will ask you all to do as I have done on the good Reverend’s advice.” Father stood reluctantly, nodding to the Reverend.
“Read the Book of Job and ask yourselves as I ask now, Shall vain words have an end?” He quoted the verse and though his voice
was solid, it was deep with emotion. A silence fell over the congregation and he remained standing, as upright and sturdy
as ever I saw him. I felt full of pride, witnessing his demand for the respect he deserved from our community. Several members
shifted uncomfortably on their benches, and I looked to Thenny and saw her head was bowed.

“Please, continue, for verily this sermon teaches.” The Reverend opened both his arms out wide, with serious fatigue in his
gesture, inviting all to listen to Father.

“I also could speak as ye do,” Father quoted the text in his firmest tone. “I could heap up words against you and shake my
head at you.” I saw Kate turn to her neighbor and make some remark, and a few others began to mumble, but how could they take
offense, when we were the ones who suffered? I could see Father interpreted their talk as more of the same treatment we’d
already received behind our backs and decided to end his speech without requesting prayers to help us. “People, I know not
why, but God has delivered me to the un-godly, and turned me over to the hands of the wicked.” He sat down and I saw his eyes
were angry and his back too straight.

“Yea, surely God will not do wickedly,” the Reverend said, looking surprised at the direction Father’s speech had taken. He
tempered the effect on the congregation by speaking calmly, with pure confidence. “Neither will the Almighty pervert Judgment.”

“O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!” A disturbance and gasping began at the back and I turned to see Kate Batts on her feet, wobbling
from her bench down the aisle to the pulpit. “I am filled with the Glory of God!”

“Blessed be, she is filled with the Spirit of the Lord!” Mrs. Randolph called out her condition and everyone sat up taller
to see Old Kate falling to her knees, her straggly long hair loosened from its pins, flying in every direction. Her head jerked
rapidly back and forth and she laughed uncontrollably, waving her arms to the sky before the Reverend as if she were drowning
and reaching out to be saved.

“Bless this woman for she walks with the Lord.” The Reverend gave the blessing somewhat perfunctorily I thought, and Father
looked away from the scene, an expression of disgust on his drawn features. I understood his feeling, as I was also suspicious
of Kate’s motives, but I noticed no one tittered as they usually did, though no one called out “Praise the Lord,” either.
For the first time our congregation as a whole was uncertain how to act, so no one spoke. We sat in silent witness to her
filling with Spirit and it was not long before she collected herself and walked back to her place, wiping her nose with a
bit of tattered white lace.

The Reverend ended the service with a short prayer and by the time our family had reached the doorway I saw Old Kate had her
wooden cart down at the bottom of the road. She had quickly recovered from the Jesus in her and was attempting to hawk amulet
bags of herbs like the scrap she wore around her neck.

“Guaranteed to ward against witchery and demons!” she called out to the crowd.

“How dare she mock us?” Father wished to speak with her and I wondered what harsh words he would say, but Mother insisted
we must depart immediately.

“It would be unwise in our situation to issue unkind words to anyone, even someone engaged in profit at our expense,” she
said. I thought Father would ignore her advice but instead he listened. He kept his lips tight and drove our buggy swiftly
home.

After the Sunday supper I retired to my room, hoping to rest a few moments before the Reverend and Preacher Justice arrived
and the evening trials began. I lay down on my bed but I could not get comfortable. On my back all I could think of was the
harsh jerking which nearly pulled the hair from my head, and when I rolled over, the beautiful star pattern on the quilt Mother
had made for me gave thoughts of the covers flying off. I was sad to realize my bed was no longer a place of rest. I rose
and sat in front of my window in the rocking chair Father and John Jr. had crafted. In the distant woods beneath the orchard,
beyond the cornfield and past the stream, I saw a light steadily moving through the trees, as if someone walked there, carrying
a candle or a lantern, but I knew it was no person. For the first time, I experienced something that was not entirely fear
in connection with the presence. I
knew
that night the thing would speak, as though it whispered its intention in my ear. I had the feeling once it spoke I might
discover why it had chosen to torment me and the knowledge gave me strange comfort, though I did not yearn to hear what it
might say. I felt soon the violence against me might lessen and I would be protected by the very same force that now abused
me. This did not seem possible, but I felt it was. My room was darkening and I heard many footsteps coming up the path, then
greetings at the back door. I looked to the light in the woods and saw it flash brightly, sparking from the ground. It was
time for me to go downstairs. I held my skirts as I descended and prayed to God most earnestly, please, please, let our torment
come to an end.

In the parlor three men I did not know occupied chairs beside Calvin Justice and I assumed correctly they were members of
his church in Cedar Hill. Mother shared the bench by the doorway with the little boys, and Mrs. Johnston, Jesse, Martha, Drewry
and John Jr. occupied all the remaining chairs, which were placed about in a circle. Father took a quick drink from his flask
before sitting in his chair. Everyone faced the hearth where the Reverend stood, clearly anxious to begin his reading from
the good book. Mother moved to make room for me but only the edge of my bottom fit on the bench.

“In keeping with the text of this morning’s sermon, I will read from the Psalms in praise of God’s law.” The Reverend took
his time turning the pages of his worn Bible and I shifted, uncomfortable in my spot. “Open mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous
things out of thy law. It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes.”

I bowed my head, listening for whatever noise would announce the arrival of evil, but there was only silence.

“My soul is continually in my hand: yet I do not forget thy law,” the Reverend read on. Mother took my hand in hers and I
in turn took up Joel’s and very near us, from the direction of the front staircase, came the windy whistling. The air in the
room bristled with feeling as those visitors not accustomed to being in the presence of the phenomenon confronted their fears.
I attempted prayerful meditation. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deep to the limits of the laces of my dress, praying,
God help me to endure all pain and suffering, for I knew it would soon be administered to me.

“I am small and despised: Yet I do not forget thy precepts.” The Reverend spoke with confidence and faith. I felt the warmth
and strength of my mother’s hand in mine and I tried to pass the same current through my other hand to Joel,
think of others always first.
On my cheeks I felt a sudden burning flush, but the room grew noticeably colder. The wind rushed around the room yet not
one person cried in fear. All were riveted to the Reverend Johnston’s upturned face or attentive to me. Abruptly the heavy
cedar door flew open and slammed shut again so forcefully I thought it would bust off its hinges. Father and John Jr. jumped
up and pressed themselves against the door to hold it shut, but it blew open again, hurling them to the stairs before crashing
back with a tremendous bang, like a gunshot.

“Reveal yourself,” cried Reverend Johnston. “What or who are you? What do you want? Why are you here?” The lamps were suddenly
extinguished. We heard one long tone develop from the myriad of sound inside the wind and the lamps spontaneously lit again.
Instead of the indistinct utterances and weak whispering, we heard word for word, in a faltering but clearing distinguishable
voice, the sermon Reverend Johnston had read on his very first evening at our house.

We see not our signs. There be no more any prophet; neither be there amongst us any that knoweth how long.

I listened, squeezing Mother’s hand, strongly reminded of my feelings in my room when I had known the Presence would be verbally
forthcoming. I wondered if I should tell the company assembled, when all of a sudden I felt as if I was falling from a great
height into a dark place. My body was roughly torn from beside Mother and Joel and flung onto the floor where I twitched with
unnatural movements, locked in violent convulsions.

“It is a seizure!” One of the visitors from Cedar Hill had been schooled in elementary medicine and pronounced it so.

“I fear she is in the grasp of what speaks to us.” The Reverend looked about the well-lit room with trepidation.

“Jack, she does not breathe!” Mother came to my side and listened at my heart, near hysteria. I wished to comfort her but
found I could not speak.

“Release this innocent, evil fiend!” Father used his great strength to lift me onto his shoulder and, clapping my back hard,
he forced air into my lungs until I coughed. As suddenly as it began, the seizure ended, but I fell into a state of semi-consciousness
where I could not speak and breathed as though I slept. They laid me out on the bench.

“I shall fetch Dr. Hopson,” Calvin Justice said, greatly concerned. His visitors rose to leave with him.

“John Jr., you and Jesse go along, accompany the doctor to our home. Tell him it is most urgent, and Godspeed,” Father commanded
them to action. The Reverend, Mrs. Johnston, Mother and Father stayed in prayerful vigil around my sleeping form, but nothing
more occurred until several hours later when the doctor knocked at our door and I abruptly awoke.

“How does your Betsy fare?” He entered our parlor, removing his hat. Dr. Hopson was of my father’s age, but his hair and beard
were pure white and well trimmed. He wore round spectacles with immensely valuable gold frames. They glinted in the lamplight
as he approached me and I was reminded of the sparks in the forest.

“She was cast down unconscious,” the Reverend began explaining.

“And her poor body twitched like a fish out of water,” Mrs. Johnston continued.

“Jack had to pound her back to force her breathing,” Mother said as she took Dr. Hopson’s arm and pulled forward a chair where
he could set his large black leather bag.

“Hello, Miss Betsy. Open wide.” The doctor began his examination by looking down my throat and his glasses reflected away
the light so I could not see his eyes. He attended our church, despite its distance from his home, so I knew he had heard
of our family troubles, but he said nothing regarding them.

“She appears the picture of good health.” He gave his assessment with a puzzled frown. “She was most likely the victim of
fainting. Did you eat your supper, Miss Betsy?”

“I did, sir,” I replied, confused as to why exactly he was there.

“Take these smelling salts.” He rummaged in his bag, placed a packet in my Mother’s hand, then lowered his spectacles before
giving over his advice. “I would prescribe less excitement for the girl.” He looked up at the Reverend and my parents as though
he wished to scold them for rousing him from his bed late at night and forcing him to ride through the dark for no discernible
cause.