The Sacrifice (3 page)

Franny held Abigail’s hand, but their progress was slow. Abigail’s hips and legs hurt with each step she took. Paul and Dorothy walked quickly on ahead with Edward.

As they neared town, the meetinghouse bells rang out. Abigail’s pulse quickened. She lifted her head and went forward to face the upcoming sermon, mustering all her courage and wishing that Mama were there.

As the family neared the
meetinghouse, they heard parishioners calling greetings to one another. Children were gathered in little groups, happy that on the Sabbath they had fewer chores and more time to see other children from the village, even if there was no running or playing allowed. Abby saw her cousin, Steven, off with one group. He saw her, too, and he grinned and stuck out his tongue at her. Abigail did the same.

But as she grew closer to the meetinghouse, the noise died off, and silence enveloped Abigail and her brothers and sisters.

“It seems we’re all to suffer today because of your sin,” Dorothy said, tears in her eyes.

Abigail was hurt by Dorothy’s harsh words, but she knew her sister. Dorothy worried all the time, and often when she was concerned about something, she was unaware of how harshly she spoke. Abigail forgave Dorothy her comments, for she knew Dorothy loved her in spite of her transgression. The townspeople, who were now giving her the silent treatment, Abigail could less easily forgive.

“What ho,” whispered a voice in Abigail’s ear.

Abigail turned to find her mother’s sister behind her. Aunt Elizabeth reached out and tightly grasped Abigail’s arm. Her husband, Daniel, swept Franny up into his arms.

“Uncle Daniel! Uncle Daniel! Put me down!” Franny shrieked.

Daniel set Franny down, smiling at her. Then he leaned in toward Abigail.

“What, niece, no smile on the Sabbath?” Uncle Daniel said. “Pray, Abby, pay them all little attention.”

Abigail felt relief run through her. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Daniel were considered among the most beloved and devout of the town. No one would dare ignore them.

“Greetings, Goody Sprague,” Aunt Elizabeth
called out, as they approached the meetinghouse, her grip tight on Abigail’s arm.

“Good day, Mistress Johnson,” Goodwife Sprague replied.

Though her reply to Aunt Elizabeth was courteous, Abigail could feel the woman’s eyes upon her, unforgiving and critical.

“Good day, Goody Sprague,” Abigail said, lifting her head defiantly to look at the woman.

Goody Sprague glared at Abigail. Turning toward Aunt Elizabeth, she said, “A man with a firm hand would stop that one from her sinful ways.” Then, sweeping up her skirts, Goodwife Sprague left them to enter the meetinghouse.

Abigail could feel her cheeks redden, but she kept her head high.

Uncle Daniel grinned at her side. “That one wishes she could
find
a man with a firm hand.”

“Daniel!” Aunt Elizabeth protested, blushing, but Abigail saw her smile slightly.

Then her aunt turned toward her. “Pray tell, Abby, where are your mother and father that you are to face this criticism alone?”

“Papa is ill,” Franny piped up. “He couldn’t come with us. Someone’s after him.”

Aunt Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “But he has been so much better of late,” she protested. “Are you certain?”

Dorothy shivered. “’Tis probably the Lord’s way of punishing us for Abigail’s indecent act.”

“Nonsense, Dorothy,” Aunt Elizabeth replied.

“Your father’s fits have naught to do with Abigail.”

The bells of the meetinghouse tolled again.

“Come,” Uncle Daniel said. “Today of all days, we shouldn’t tarry, or we will bring the wrath of Goody Sprague and the others down upon us all.”

Aunt Elizabeth nodded. “Here,” she said to Dorothy, “I’ll carry Edward. Where is that rascal Paul?”

“He ran on ahead with Steven,” Dorothy said.

Aunt Elizabeth looked at her husband. “Daniel, go on ahead. Be sure Paul and Steven are behaving themselves. Abigail, have you Franny?”

Abigail nodded, but her throat tightened as they neared the doors.

“Now, remember,” Aunt Elizabeth said, “do not
pay attention to the looks, Abigail. Be brave and bear it well, just as you did with Goody Sprague.”

Together they entered the meetinghouse, and Abigail prepared herself for what would perhaps feel like the longest day of her life. The sermon would be for her. It would be about her. It would be long and fiery, and though Abigail might question the validity of God’s command not to lift her skirts and race for pleasure, on the subject of the sermon she had no doubts.

The first two hours of service were always difficult, as Abby knew two more hours were to come after the midday meal. But today was harder. Abigail’s legs ached and the rough cloth of her gown chafed against her skin. Though the late spring day had grown warm, the meetinghouse was still cold from the long winter. The hard wooden seats were unforgiving, and Abby could not find a position that didn’t cause her pain.

During the midday meal, Abigail and the others stayed in town to eat. Abigail had hoped Mama and Papa would join them, but they did not come, and she began to worry about them as she slowly ate her bread and sausage.

Paul, Franny, and Dorothy went off to eat with the other children, but Abigail stayed with Aunt Elizabeth, Uncle Daniel, and Edward. She did not want to listen to any possible taunts and teasing.

After the break, when Grandpappy came to the pulpit, his eyes turned toward Abigail. He looked troubled, and she felt awful that today he would be forced to lecture her publicly. She stiffened, yet did not move her gaze from his. She heard the satisfied sounds of the townspeople behind her. They seemed almost gleeful to have their minister tongue-lash his own granddaughter.

But when Grandpappy’s readings from the Bible came, they were not what Abigail, nor anyone else, had expected. He did not choose God’s passages on sinful behavior. He did not speak about indecency.

Abigail was relieved, though puzzled, and then troubled. Would Grandpappy not speak about her? Would he refuse to mention her sin and thereby open himself up for criticism? As much as she disliked being the center of the town’s ridicule, much less would she like it if her Grandfather suffered for not addressing her publicly as he did all others who had faced time in the stocks.

Beside her, Aunt Elizabeth sat with her eyebrows raised. Abigail could stand it no longer. Though she knew it was wrong to speak in the meetinghouse, she had to ask.

“Why does he not speak of my sin?” she whispered to her aunt.

Aunt Elizabeth gave her a stern look, but Abigail could see that she was confused also.

“Let no man lie nor make false accusations in the face of the Lord!” Grandpappy’s voice bellowed out. “So sayeth the Lord.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Dorothy asked, her voice shaking.

Aunt Elizabeth made a motion with her hand for Dorothy to be quiet. She looked around, but the tithing man had not heard their whispering. If he had, they would have been tapped on the shoulder and their family fined for speaking during services. The tithing man had a sharp eye and a heavy rod, and it was lucky they had escaped his notice.

“It is one of our dear Lord’s commandments, and it must be obeyed!” yelled out Reverend Dane. “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor!”

Her grandfather’s voice was loud and angry.
What was he talking about? If his lecture had directly concerned her behavior, she would have been warm with the shame. But lying? This sermon was not for her.

Abigail stole a quick glance behind her. The rest of the congregation looked as puzzled as she felt. They were looking at one another, their eyes clouded with confusion.

“Break one of these commandments,” shouted Grandpappy, “and thou art doomed to damnation for eternity!”

Abigail shivered at the word damnation. She hated it.
If salvation was so hard to get,
Abby wondered,
why did everyone keep on hoping for it?
Abigail had long ago resigned herself to hell. Try as she might, she had sinned a lot and often, both in thoughts and in deeds. She knew there was little hope for her redemption. The gaping jaws of hell loomed large for her, but only when she thought of it, which was on Sunday. The rest of the week, death and its ultimate penalty seemed a long way off.

“Let us pray,” Reverend Dane whispered.

The sudden softness of his voice startled Abigail, and she dropped her head. She listened to her
grandfather pray for their souls. The four-hour service had almost ended, and still no word for her. Something was wrong.

“Amen,” her grandfather said, and he turned and left the pulpit.

There was silence in the meetinghouse. Everyone was stunned. Then, behind her, Abigail heard the low mumbling of dissatisfaction. Grandpappy would pay dearly for not having talked about her today. There was a lump in Abigail’s throat.

“Come,” Aunt Elizabeth whispered, “let us take our leave. There is much anger here, and I think it best if we depart immediately.”

“Why did he do it?” Dorothy asked. “Why did he not address the question of seemly behavior?”

“Why is everyone acting so strangely, Aunt Lizzy?” Franny asked.

“Not now, Franny,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Come. Let us go see to your mother.”

“But shouldn’t we stay to be with Grandpappy?” Abigail asked, forgetting her own fear of facing the congregation.

Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “Truly, I wish I knew which choice would be best. Your mother needs us
now with your father, but surely your Grandpappy will need us to help him set things right with the townspeople. And yet it would not be seemly to divide as a family, either.”

“Then let me suggest that we go to the aid of your sister first,” Uncle Daniel said, having come with Edward and Paul from the men’s side of the meetinghouse. “Your father is an intelligent man, Elizabeth, and he chose to do what he did today for some purpose. I am certain he is aware of what he will have to endure, with or without your support.”

Aunt Elizabeth nodded. “Aye, husband. You speak wisely. Let us hurry to my sister’s and find out what awaits us there.”

Aunt Elizabeth gathered Edward up and took Franny by the hand. Abigail followed Uncle Daniel, Paul, and Dorothy, but she paused on the meeting-house steps.

Outside, the townspeople gathered, surly looks upon their faces. They turned their disapproving, angry glances upon Abigail. The elders stared at her.

Aunt Elizabeth, however, continued on, sweeping up her skirts and marching past the congregation. Uncle Daniel came and took Abigail’s and Dorothy’s
arms, and together they hurried after Aunt Elizabeth.

Abigail could feel the eyes of the congregation following them up the hill toward home. In spite of everything, she almost wished to turn back and face them. What lay ahead, she knew, would probably be worse.

There was an eerie silence in
the house. Abigail and her family stood just inside the doorway, not moving. Everything was in place. The fireplace was freshly swept and sanded, a few embers still burning. The pewter gleamed and shone with polish. Fresh herbs hung from the rafters to dry. The spinning wheel stood ready for use. The loom held cloth for a new dress for Franny. Still, an odd tension seemed to fill the air.

Aunt Elizabeth turned, startling them all. “Abigail,” she commanded, “go at once and fetch some firewood to get the fire going again. Dorothy, check if your mother and father are upstairs.”

Aunt Elizabeth strode into the kitchen, Edward on her hip.

Abigail felt a lump in her throat. What would Dorothy find upstairs? Had Papa finally done himself damage in trying to elude the figures he always felt were chasing him? Had he hurt Mama in the process? She remembered all the times the doctors had tried to figure out what was wrong with Papa. They had bled him, changed his diet, and prayed over him. Finally they had shrugged their shoulders and told Mama that there was nothing they could do to remove these strange, dark fits he had.

“Please don’t tarry, Abigail,” Aunt Elizabeth admonished, setting Edward on the floor. “The fire is almost out, and there’s the Sabbath meal to warm.”

“What shall I do, Aunt Lizzy?” Franny piped up.

“Here, Franny,” Aunt Elizabeth said, removing Edward’s jacket, “watch over your little brother for me and keep him quiet.”

Paul was sidling toward the door, but Aunt Elizabeth saw him out of the corner of her eye. “And you, young man, go out with Abigail and bring in some kindling.”

“Bringing in kindling is tomorrow’s chore,” Paul complained.

“Stop your griping, Paul, and go,” Aunt Elizabeth said, removing her cloak and cap. “You too, Abigail. Quickly now. We have much to do.”

But Abigail could not leave until Dorothy came down the steep front stairs. She descended slowly, carrying a pewter mug.

“Some linens were shredded,” Dorothy said softly, “and a chair was upended. The rooms are empty.”

Aunt Elizabeth’s face went white. Mama and Papa were not in the house, and it was growing dark outside.

“Are Mama and Papa all right?” Franny asked.

“They’re probably out having some sport, leaving us with their chores,” Paul muttered.

Aunt Elizabeth shot him an angry glance. Then she turned to Uncle Daniel. He nodded, and without Aunt Elizabeth saying a word, picked up his hat. “I’ll return with news as quickly as I can,” he said.

Abigail followed him out into the cool evening air, shutting the door behind her. She walked after him, down the path between the vegetable and herb gardens to the wooden gate in front of their house. “Uncle Daniel?” she called softly.

He turned. “Aye, Abigail?”

“It will be all right, won’t it?” she asked.

Visions of Papa doing himself some terrible harm and accidentally injuring Mama filled Abigail’s head.

Uncle Daniel had no words of comfort for her. “I cannot say, Abigail. Your father is terrible to see when the fits take him. We can only pray your mother and her reason will protect him this time as before.”

He turned, and Abigail watched him walk away into the evening’s darkness, down the rutted road toward the village. She tried to hold onto some small hope that Papa was well, but the emptiness of the house seemed to indicate differently.