All That Lives (45 page)

“He wishes our ordeal to be over,” Mother whispered into my ear, explaining Frank’s urgency, patting my arm under the shawl.
The Reverend and Calvin Justice and Drewry walked alongside Mother and me, through ruts and gullies of snow. The path was
too narrow to hold all present, and it was difficult going, what with stepping in the imprints of the horses’ hooves and buggy
wheels. I watched my black boots stepping, crunching through the snow, and I was happy to have a point of focus, for it was
all I could do to keep from running back to the house and gorging myself on sugared hog’s head, not attending my father’s
burial.

I was not in my bed until late,

’Twas only an innocent spree,

My wife for my coming did wait,

While sleeping I thought she would be.

At the barn, the horses neighed and whinnied, as if the Spirit ran snakes through their stalls. The chickens set up squawking,
the cows mooed in fear and protest, and the hogs began to scream and wail, as if they all were marked and called their angels
down. It was the most horrendous expression of animal sounds I had ever heard.

I found her in temper and tears.

Oh! she cried, it’s a sin and a shame,

And she scratched both my eyes and ears.

But I told her I soon will explain.

A loud screeching filled the air, and I thought it was the Spirit, but then Drewry cried, “Look!” pointing to the sky. Above
us, Father’s owl flapped, dangling its tether, loudly celebrating its freedom. I wondered how it had been liberated, but watching
it soar to the forest along the river I thought at least one being would profit from Father’s untimely demise.

And when I lay down in me coffin,

These are the words that I say.

I’ll never get drunk anymore.

I’ll never get drunk anymore.

I looked over my shoulder, surprised to see the long line of mourners trudging through the snow as we made our way on the
path across our meadow toward the poplar trees and the road. What a testament to Father’s renown. I turned back to walking,
fairly certain there was no one in that procession, judging by the bowed heads and somber attitudes, who did not wish the
whole thing over, just as I did. I put my attention on the toes of my wet boots, for I was frightened as we reached the poplars
and began ascending the hill. I did not wish to cross the place where I had seen his skeleton.

“Follow the tracks of the sleigh!” Mother called ahead to Calvin Justice, who was in the lead with Drewry on his right. The
Reverend had fallen back somewhere in the line. I wondered if he had the stamina for such a long walk.

“I know the way, Mother,” Drewry called back to her, reminding us that he knew the plateau well, as it marked the site of
his most constant regret, the day he had stolen the jawbone. The cold burned the skin of my cheeks and I squinted, looking
ahead, where we must turn off the road, to pass through the forest of elm and maple that led to the northern plateau. Large
black winter birds gathered in the bare branches of the woods, and I felt they watched our parade, dispassionate as the white
snow of the forest floor. We walked and walked, in the path made by Frank and the sleigh, and finally did reach the clearing
on the northern plateau. I was surprised at the size of it, for three hundred strong men could join hands and make a circle
there. Frank had driven the sleigh right up beside the northern edge where the large hill of red earth stood like a wound
in the land.

“Oh Betsy!” Mother stumbled when she saw the earth dug out of Father’s grave. She leaned heavily against me.

“ ’Tis almost accomplished, Mother, do not be afraid,” I whispered in her ear, and pulled her closer inside the shawl as we
walked the final steps. The Spirit stopped singing as we crossed the clearing. In the sudden quiet, a wind rattled the bordering
field of thistles, and I recognized the sound as what was visited on us long ago, before the Spirit spoke. I remembered hearing
conversations buried in the rustling and their hissing made me feel I would soon faint and fall into the gaping pit I drew
ever closer to. We stood and looked into the hole of red earth and waited for the Reverend to make his way through the crowd
behind us, trying to ignore the rattling thistles setting all our nerves on edge.

“God does remind us we are as nothing to the force of His Will and nature.” The Reverend’s cheeks were bright red and he breathed
heavily from exertion, but I could tell he wished to begin the service immediately, for he strode past Mother, Frank and me
to the top of the grave where the stone would be set.

Greetings, Old Sugar Mouth!

The Being laughed as the Reverend adjusted his coat, and standing with his back to the river, he removed his Bible from the
special pocket Mrs. Johnston had stitched for him. Before he could begin his eulogy, a mocking cry rose from the winter birds.

Goodbye, Jack Bell

You’re off to Hell!

The Spirit screamed with great vehemence.

“Lord God, forsake us not!” I heard Calvin Justice cry an earnest prayer from somewhere behind me and then every noise the
Being had ever visited on us descended. Stones dropped and bird wings flapped, hideous gulps and choking swallows filled our
ears, and Mother sank to her knees, in the snow, crying, unwound from the shawl that had kept us together.

“Finish this dreadful business! Bury the man!” Dr. Hopson pushed toward us, shouting in anger. He kneeled beside my Mother
while Frank, Calvin Justice and Drewry hastened to unload the casket and lower it on ropes into the grave.

Goodbye, Jack Bell, I fixed you!

The Spirit laughed, but nobody else attempted to speak. I felt I could not stand it one moment more, then they pulled the
ropes out of the pit, and the Reverend threw in the first handful of earth.

“Return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” He shouted over
the loud laughter of the Being, and Frank took up the spade and began to shovel, fiercely. Dr. Hopson had his arm around Mother,
attempting to raise her to her feet. I looked away, and over my shoulder I saw Thenny had positioned herself beside Josh in
the half-circle behind us. She was speaking in his ear, and I watched until I saw him turn and begin to answer her. I looked
away from them both and saw shovels of red dirt and snow splattering across the gleaming dark wood of Father’s coffin. Let
Thenny and Josh say what they liked, about Father, about my torment, about the evil inhabiting my life and how my battles
with it should be waged. What did either of them know about my suffering?

Old Jack, the soil falls over your head!

“I cannot bear it.” Mother stumbled back when she stood, then clung to me, so I nearly fell myself. The Spirit laughed and
continued singing.

“It would be best to depart.” The Reverend abandoned his position, realizing the Spirit was not going to allow him to speak.
Calvin Justice took Mother’s other arm and encouraged her to leave, though the dirt in the grave was not yet the height of
the coffin. The earth was frozen in clumps, and it made a hollow sound striking the wood. Mother looked to Joel and Richard,
who stood with tears streaming down their faces by the sleigh.

“Betsy, bring the boys.” She turned to walk between the Reverend and Calvin Justice and I followed, taking my brothers’ gloved
hands in my own. I avoided all eyes by staring at the snow, and the gray and hickory coats I passed reminded me of so much
dried tobacco and ash, rather than my friends. I listened not to the murmur of gossip hissing through the procession, but
to the rattling thistles under the Spirit’s rejoicing.

The new year of 1821 arrived without a single dropped stone and without a song from the Being. We had not heard from it since
Father’s funeral. I hoped our most welcome respite would be permanent, yet I felt the evil Spirit’s absence and the absence
of my father constantly. I also deeply felt the absence of Josh Gardner, for he had obeyed my request at the funeral and had
not come calling.

“I believe the Witch’s curses unto Father were its goodbye unto us,” Drewry suggested one evening when he saw me looking anxiously
to the window at the sound of a gusty wind. He recognized how I feared the Spirit’s return in every noise.

“I do hope that is the truth,” I answered, but I was uncertain.

“ ’Tis a waste of good energy to speculate regarding what will be, children,” Mother said. “The Lord directs our days. Concern
yourselves solely with right actions, and trust God for all the rest.” If Mother felt as insecure as I did she hid it well,
and on her advice I tried not to ruminate excessively on all that had happened to us.

We had hosted the town at Father’s funeral but since then, the path to our front door was allowed to fill with snow when it
fell, and we were left alone to grieve. I went about the tasks of my former life under Mother’s instruction, continually amazed
to find my hands and legs worked just as they had always done, unaltered by the dead weight of tragedy settled in my soul.
I missed Father greatly and often woke in the morning thinking I heard the sound of his boots on the stairs, but as the weeks
passed I began to feel a small sense of relief, for it occurred to me perhaps the Spirit’s purpose had been accomplished and
we would hear from it no more.

One afternoon, our quiet grief was interrupted by the arrival of a man employed to carry the mail from North Carolina. He
brought a letter for us from John Jr. and Mother read it aloud in the parlor.

My Dearest Mother, Sister and Brothers,

I have received the news of Father’s passing. The evil demon spoke it to me on the day of the foul event and though I was
afraid, I did not believe it, until your letter, dated December twenty-first of our year gone past. I wish to return home
at once, yet I must acquire new horses for myself and Isiah, for ours were uncurried and hobbled on the road, and when we
reached this destination I found the sides of my animal streaked with dried sweat lather and mud, and this where his ribs
were not showing through. I have the funds to replace them, but I have not done so as yet, for I believe it was Father’s desire
I bring the affairs of this estate to a close, and many issues here regarding livestock & land & improvements to the land,
and many additional items not worthy of the ink required to list them remain unresolved, and until they are satisfactorily
brought to a close, I will remain in this place.

I pray constantly for Father at peace in Heaven, and for you, beloved family. May we be delivered from all evil.

Yours always,

John Jr. Bell

Mother folded up the paper and tucked it in her apron, and I could see she was disappointed the news was not of his imminent
return. Her general frustration increased, when less than one week later we had word from Jesse and Martha.

Dear Mother, Sister and my brothers,

I hope this missive finds you in good health. I received your message regarding Father’s passing, and I am ashamed to say
I had already heard the news from that evil demon that plagues your house, for it visited us announcing its triumph over my
father. We prayed it was not so, but alas! How cruel! We would pack our buggy and brave the winter storms to return and comfort
you, but for the one happy detail of this letter—Martha is carrying our first child, and already more than half her time is
gone, and the midwife cautions against travel.

Mother stopped reading and laid the letter down on her lap.

“Martha? With child?” Joel was amazed to hear he would soon be an uncle.

“Our first grandchild … My first … What does your brother mean about the midwife? It would be no trouble to midwife to Martha.”
Mother was annoyed and frowning, and I could see she was upset they did not plan to return.

“Read on,” I encouraged her.

I say this next, hoping you will accept it in love, and will not be offended—Now that Father has passed on, might you consider
leaving Adams? We have a homestead much larger than we can fill, and the land is arable as paradise. All crops grow with little
effort, as the Being did predict. Apart from the visit we received at Father’s passing, we do not hear from the Spirit that
tormented us in Robertson County. Has John Jr. completed his journey? How is Betsy? And Drewry? Richard? And Joel? We should
welcome you into our home, at any moment of your choosing, and we pray for you, always.

Your loving son,

Jesse Bell

Mother folded his letter and held it in her hands on her skirt.

“What say you, Mother? Shall we prepare to depart?” I could see Drewry was ready to leave at any moment, and he itched with
hope that Mother would wish it so.

“I think not, Drewry.” Mother sighed. “This is our home, and our livelihood, we cannot up and leave. What would your father
say to that?” She looked irritated, acknowledging our circumstances were not to her liking, but were entirely beyond her control.

“I will be out with Dean then,” Drewry said, clearly disappointed. “The pump at the well is frozen again and needs fixing.”
Mother nodded as Drewry left, for she had set him up with the majority of Father’s tasks. If I needed Drew for any reason,
I looked first to where the hands were working, as he was certain to be there, the sole white face amongst the slaves. Richard
and Joel followed him, as they did most every morning, for they were never bored with sledding down our hill. The snow had
not melted, and on one or two occasions, more had fallen, though we had experienced no further heavy storms.

“Betsy, get the loom,” Mother announced, tucking the note away, determined to think on what disturbed her later. “I shall
try again to teach you the finer points of weaving.” I was not happy with her choice of how to spend our time and after several
hours of constant effort on her part and mine, she admitted my weave had to be torn out and done again, it was so uneven.