All That Lives (32 page)

“How do you fare?” I could tell Josh was shaken, for his face had grown pale beneath his tan, but he focused all his attention
on my welfare.

“I have seen much worse than that!” I tried to laugh.

“Dear girl!”

“The twigs did not strike strong enough to injure …” I did not want the Spirit to ruin my ride with him, though I knew it
already had.

“But your cheek is scratched and your hands are bleeding.” Josh took my fingers in his gloves and I saw he was correct, fine
scratches lined the backs of my hands, and they lightly put forth blood. Josh dropped them suddenly and running back across
the bridge he shouted loudly in the place of our attack.

“Come out, you Spirit of the Devil, and let me have a round with you!” He picked up a large branch from the side of the path,
preparing himself for a fight with the Invisible. I ran back after him.

“Stop, stop, dear Joshua. Please, take me home, it is useless to provoke this Being further.” My hands began to tremble uncontrollably
and my knees were weak with the weight of me, as if I carried the large boulder of our fruitless search for treasure in my
belly again.

Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.

The Spirit spoke from every golden leaf in the surrounding canopy.

“Leave me alone …” I managed to whisper.

“Show yourself, that I may beat you to unconsciousness!” Josh raised his stick high above his head, and all around us the
wheezy laughter of the Spirit issued from the shrub and woods like wind. Josh whipped his head from left to right, expecting
blows, but none did fall.

“Otherworldly demon, fight or go! Trouble the innocent no longer!” Josh reminded me of Father for a moment, his jaw set, defiantly
stern.

How do you know Miss Betsy is so innocent?

The sound of the Spirit’s laughter made my heartbeat quicken, and I worried I might faint. I did not want Josh to engage the
Being in conversation, as there was no telling what it would say or do.

“Josh, please.” I stepped toward him and placed my arm on his. “I feel most suddenly unwell. Let us depart.” He turned to
me.

“If you wish it to be so, I will take you,” he said, placing his stick down on the ground. He grasped my bare and bleeding
hand gently in his gloved one and walked me back across the bridge.

“I am heavy …” I began, for when we reached the horse, he turned, and circling my waist with both his hands, he lifted me
up so I nearly flew into the saddle. I hoped perhaps Josh
could
be a formidable opponent for the Being, but as my Father, the Reverend, Calvin Justice and Frank Miles all had failed, it
did not seem likely any man, even so fine as Josh, could ever prevail against it. He mounted behind me, circling my arms with
his arms and the reins, his left leg pressing against my skirt, holding me up. I felt protected and found the warmth of his
body most comforting, but as we crossed the bridge and trotted through the space of air where the Being had unleashed its
tortures, I grew cold and weak inside, and I shivered, distressed by the event.

“Do not be afraid, Miss Betsy,” Josh spoke with confidence, and kicked his horse into a trot. I did not reply, for what could
I answer? I did not wish to bore him with my fears.

“Shall I deliver you to your front door, or to the spot of our rendezvous?” Sensitive soul that he was, he recognized I was
unhappy, but might wish to keep it to myself. The thought of meeting Father or even Mother while riding with Josh Gardner
with my hands cut and bleeding and having to explain did not appeal to me. Josh read me rightly.

“To the spot of our rendezvous,” I answered, repeating the sophisticated French, able to smile at the lightness of his choice
of words. I liked him immensely.

We reached the field and Josh dismounted, holding his arms out for me to slide down. I was careful not to fall into him, but
to remain arm’s length away. He gripped my elbows and made me look into his eyes. Earnest was his gaze and something passed
between us that made the moment lengthen and be still. Our stance together felt just right.

“You must promise you will make your way to where you will be safe.” He dictated a course of action for me with utmost seriousness.

“I am safe right now,” I answered boldly, staring back at him, forgetting for a moment about the Being, thinking I would be
frightened only if Father were to happen by and see me alone with Josh. He sensed my thoughts and looked up to the orchard,
allowing his hands to gently slip over my forearms and clasp my fingers.

“No doubt you have not been missed, Miss Betsy, for that was a short ride indeed.”

“I am sorry it came to such an end.” I bowed my head and looked at his gloved hands holding mine. Truly, I had enjoyed it,
despite the violence.

“On my word, we will meet again, and we will not be maligned. This incomprehensible horror can not long torment you.” Josh
lifted my chin with one gloved finger, forcing me to look again into the gray pools of his eyes, reminding me of Kate Batts’s
pond and the heron we had not seen. “Betsy, I know it is forward of me to say this, but with your circumstances as they are,
I feel the regular conventions for relating do not apply.” Josh took a breath and I could see he was slightly nervous in his
speech. “It’s just that I would have you know I think of you most constantly. You are so beautiful, Betsy Bell. Do not despair.
Go, and care for yourself, for you are most precious and deserving.” He smiled and I blushed at his strong words to me, pulled
my hand from his, and turned away, setting off as if the Spirit chased me.

Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.

The phrase echoed in my ears, stronger than the feeling of his finger on my chin. Why would the Being say such a thing? Why
was it so committed to my unhappiness? Why had I allowed myself even for a moment to think I might have happiness? I knew
the Spirit had its ways and means and did not want me content, but why had it chosen to torment me so grievously? I slowed
to walk through the cornfield, the prickly pumpkin leaves catching at my skirts. How wasted was my happy playtime. All the
dolls of my game and joyful moments had disappeared, blown by the wind into the river, scattered amongst the rocks, I knew
not where. Such was my fate, blown and bloodied by forces I could as much control as the wind. I felt Josh’s eyes on my back,
but I did not look over my shoulder until I reached the hill and began the climb up through the orchard. There I stopped and
saw he had mounted his horse and was waiting to leave until he could see me no more. I waved, suddenly aware he had revealed
a deep liking for me and I had shared nothing with him. I turned away, miserable that I had not told him how very often he
was in my mind. I ran up the incline, arriving breathless at the gate of the garden. There was Mother standing at the kitchen
doorway, shielding her eyes against the sun with her hand. I hoped she was inspecting the plants in between us, but I had
the feeling she was about to shout my name.

“Elizabeth! I wondered where you’d gone.” I felt if she saw my face she would see everything that had happened and I did not
wish to sadden or anger her with my experience. I walked as slowly as I could, keeping my eyes to the ground, but it was difficult
to keep secrets from Mother.

“Betsy dear, are you unwell?” She came to me when I stopped at the barrel by the side of the house where the rainwater was
collected. She stroked my braid as I rinsed the dried lines of blood off the back of my hands. “Your hair is in a massive
tangle, child, come inside, we’ll give it a good brushing.” Mother led me through the house into her bedroom, where she sat
me down on the bed, facing the small high window above her bedside table that let in a cheerful bright blue square of sky.
She took the wooden brush from the top of her chest and gently unplaited my braid, without speaking. I appreciated her silence,
but found without her questioning me, I could do nothing but feel my sadness, and the tears welled up in my eyes and spilled
onto my cheeks. I let them drop onto my dusty dress, and Mother ceased stroking the wooden brush across my hair, forced to
pull out the twigs and brambles with her fingers. I cried a little harder, relieved to feel Mother’s concern.

“There, there, little one.” These simple words made me feel the way I used to, when I was nothing but a tiny girl and Mother
could hold all of me in her lap when I was hurt.

“This is the matter …” I told her all, concentrating on the punishment I had received at the bridge.

“I was attacked in an evil way, with more violence than I have witnessed from the Being for some time. Look at my hands, scratched
to pieces, for I used them to shield my eyes. It meant to scratch my eyes out, Mother, laughing all the while!”

Betsy Bell, do not have Josh Gardner.

“See?” I turned quickly for the Spirit spoke from beside my mother. “I hate you, demon! I hate you!” I yelled into her face,
though my words were meant only for the Being.

“Betsy!” Mother threw her hands up, and for a moment I was frightened she might smack me with the back side of her brush,
but she was only startled by my turning or by the Spirit’s interruption, and her hands quickly dropped.

So what if you hate me? So what?

“Leave her be,” Mother spoke seriously to it, but without over much concern. She reprimanded the Being as if it were Richard,
caught teasing Joel, and I soon heard why. “Elizabeth, it was indeed wrong of you to go riding with Joshua Gardner unchaperoned
and without permission.”

She believes she will make her own rules.

“She knows the right true path,” Mother said. She turned her head to answer, for the voice now emanated from the blue square
of light. “And she will walk it, I am certain. Take no pleasure assaulting and abusing her, for then what will she learn?”
Mother picked up the brush to return to the task at hand, reasoning with the Being.

Your Betsy would go “preferably away from my abode.”

The Spirit taunted me with a perfect imitation of my voice and I saw Mother frown to hear the words I’d spoken, but good that
she was, she had me turn my head so she might continue brushing, rather than chastise me. She put her attention to distracting
the Being by sending it on an errand.

“Be useful, and let us hear news of John Jr.’s travels.”

I will bring you this, dear Luce, though I can not guarantee it will please you.

Mother’s artifice was effective and the room grew silent except for the swooshing of the brush.

“Mother, I believe it would be best not to trouble Father with this tale of my misadventure.” I spoke quietly though I was
still upset.

“Betsy, I shall not tell your father, solely because he has far greater concerns, and it will serve no one to disturb him
further, but what our mysterious Spirit will say of it, I would not try to guess.” She sighed and dropped my hair, ready to
plait it up again. I did not see how she could remain so calm and my chin began to shake with tears again. “Betsy,” Mother
pulled my hair back, “you are a young woman now and must constantly endure more than most. Be certain the Lord does have a
special purpose for you. He loves you more than you can know, and He has assigned you suffering. Though it is hard to reconcile,
pray constantly, and someday, perhaps, we all shall know God’s meaning in our special trials. You must trust it will be so.”
Mother’s knuckles moved from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine, braiding swiftly.

“In truth,” I sobbed, covering my eyes with my scratched hands, “I do not feel my special purpose or that love of which you
speak! I see only God’s punishments, for He does not protect me.” Mother paused only a moment in her plaiting, thinking on
my desperate words, before resuming at the same rate as before.

“That’s blasphemy, Betsy, and you cannot mean it.” She pulled my hair tight. “You must have faith and that is the end of it,
for the ways of God are as mysterious as our affliction. I tell you, trust the good Lord will provide and care for you as
you trust your father and me to provide and care for you.” She tightened the knots quickly and I felt her tying the leather
thong around the end of my braid before I could respond. What if she was wrong? What if there was no God in Heaven watching
over me, directing my sad trials for some higher purpose?

“Let the tightness of this braid remind you of this wisdom I impart, for somehow you must keep it in your head, Elizabeth.”
Mother patted my leg with the back of the brush, with more lightheartedness than she held in the tone of her voice. “Come
now, we must turn our attention to the slippery elm, for your father’s throat is a great nuisance to him.” I threw my arms
around her before she could rise, grateful my braid was fresh and tight, grateful, even though I could not grasp it, that
Mother believed I had a special purpose to my trials.

We sat on the front steps for near the rest of that afternoon in silence, amused only by the golden yellow leaves falling
from the pear trees. I had finally mastered the art of twisting and paring the slippery elm bark. My knife cuts were exact
and deep enough to cause the bark to peel its own self off the twig. When it recoiled back, I grasped it easily, pulling free
one long sturdy strip for Mother to store in the jars she’d lined up on the rail of the porch. The scratches on my hands were
making the task more difficult, but working slowly I was accomplishing it. Near time to get ready for supper, I heard the
racket of wagon wheels, and looking out, I saw a fine black carriage traveling down the Adams―Cedar Hill high road, and in
its dust, a wooden cart full of Negroes dressed in white, laughing together.