Slewfoot Read online

“We’ve plenty of time,” he said over his labored breath. “We’re almost there and I’ve not yet heard first bell.”

  Abitha nodded. “Indeed. I am just so nervous, that is all. I did but barely sleep last night.” But worry was only half of it—she made no mention of her dreams of the giant tree, how it whispered her name, how its mighty roots slithered about like snakes, chasing her through the dark woods.

  “We are in the right in this, Abitha. You know this, and with God’s help, the ministers will see the truth as well.”

  God’s help, she thought. If only I could count on that. But where was God when I was watching my mother die and my father going mad with grief and drink? I wish I shared your faith, Edward. What a comfort that would be.

  And as though reading this on her face, Edward reached out and took her hand.

  Abi pulled away.

  “What is it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You are still angry about last night?”

  “It is hard not to be.”

  “Abi, I have said I am sorry, but if you need hear it again, then so be it. I am sorry. I had to address you so. You know it true. Wallace would’ve reported you otherwise.”

  She did know it. She also knew he was right, that she’d gone too far, but it still hurt. She saw him struggling for the right words and halted.

  “I am lost without you, Abitha. I shouldn’t need say it.… You know this.”

  She took his hand and he squeezed it tightly, that simple gesture saying so much more than all his words. But it was then that the bell clanged once, bringing awareness to just how close they were to the village. Edward dropped Abitha’s hand and stood away. They both glanced fretfully about, knowing too well that public affection was yet one more offense on the long list of offenses and that zealous eyes were everywhere.

  They continued along, the wagon ruts deepening as they neared the village, often forcing them into the brush to avoid the icy puddles. The bell tolled twice, and Abitha finally slowed down. “We do not want to be early, but right before the doors close.”

  “Wallace will be none too happy about that. I am sure he wishes to discuss this matter before church.”

  Abitha smiled. “Aye, I know.” What she didn’t say was that she didn’t want to give Wallace any chance to confuse Edward before they met with the ministers.

  Abitha smelled the river, then saw the gate loom out of the fog as though summoned. Tall timber fortifications disappeared into the mist on either side, their jagged tops like deadly teeth. These fortifications surrounded the entire village and were built to protect, to keep evil at bay. But Abitha shuddered as they entered; passing through the gate always felt more as entering a trap than a sanctuary.

  There was no guard to challenge them—all were at church—so they picked their way down the lane, carefully skirting puddles and clumps of manure, passing through the orderly rows of modest thatched-roof houses.

  Each home conformed to the one before it, all covered in unpainted clapboard and partitioned off by gray wattle fences made from saplings. Abitha searched for decorations—a wreath, a string of dried flowers—anything to break up the suffocating sea of gray. She found only drab waxed windowpanes staring back at her as though judging, weighing her soul, just waiting for her to say or do something wrong so they could condemn her before all.

  No smoke rose from chimneys, the fires, stoves, and candles all snuffed out, as the occupants were either at church or silently on their way by now. The only sound Abitha heard was that of their feet crunching on the light frost, and in that moment, it felt as though Edward and she were lost in some gloomy ghost town.

  Finally, they spied the commons ahead and could just make out the silhouette of the meetinghouse beyond.

  “Now, remember what we went over,” Abi said in a hushed voice. “Do not let that man—”

  “I know, I know,” Edward replied in a whisper. “We have been round this a dozen times. I’ll do my best. That I promise you.”

  “I am sorry, Edward. I do not mean to nag. Just … just so much is at stake.”

  He smiled and gave her hand a quick, furtive squeeze. “You are no nag, Abi. You’re a blessing. You give me strength. Worry not, I know what must be said. Let us just hope the ministers see the fairness of it all. Now you must make me a promise.”

  She gave him a wary look.

  “No matter how things may go, you will mind your tongue and stay in your place. You’re out of chances. One slip and Wallace will see you in the stocks with a good lashing. Now promise me.”

  “I promise,” Abitha said, and thought, Please, Lord God, help me keep my temper.

  The stocks materialized out of the gloom, stark warnings to all of the consequences for any who did not conform. Abitha felt a chill; she did every time she saw them.

  There was a whipping post and five sets of stocks in the commons. Two of the stocks were standing, with a yoke that fit around one’s neck and wrists, then three that clamped around one’s ankles so that the person was forced to sit in the dirt. When she’d first arrived Abitha was shocked to see so many, couldn’t fathom such a small community needing them all, but on more than one occasion since she’d come to town to find them full.

  Abitha noticed a figure hunched on the ground. As they drew closer she saw it was a man, his legs in stocks.

  “Joseph?” Edward inquired in a low voice.

  It was indeed Joseph, but he didn’t look up, turning his face away as though ashamed. He was clutching himself, shivering uncontrollably, and it took Abitha only a moment to see why. His blankets were on the ground beside him, just out of reach. She wondered why he would’ve tossed them away. It wasn’t until she saw the mud on his back and in his hair that she realized of course he hadn’t, that someone had done this to him.

  “Oh, you poor soul,” Abitha said, and quickly scooped up the blankets, bringing them over, then hesitated when she noticed the dried blood on his back, realized he’d been thrashed severely. “Joseph … I am so sorry.” She gently wrapped the blankets around him, and that was when she saw it was more than mud in his hair, but manure too. And that, she knew, was not part of the sanctioned punishment, but someone’s idea of sport. “Who did this to you, Joseph? Who took your blankets?”

  Joseph didn’t answer, just tugged the covers up over his head as though trying to hide.

  “You should not do that,” someone called.

  Abitha looked round to see Wallace’s daughter, Charity, and her friend Mary Dibble, walking past on their way to church.

  “Uncle Edward, you would do her a kindness to tell her not to interfere.”

  “And you would do well to mind your own, Charity Williams,” Edward said, in what was for Edward a severe tone. “You’re not of age to be speaking so.”

  The girls stopped. “I meant no disrespect, Uncle. Just do not wish to see my aunt sharing the stocks with this man. Not in this cold.” And though her words spoke of concern, her eyes showed nothing but contempt for Abitha.

  A thickset woman, Mary’s mother, Goody Dibble, walked up and joined the girls. “What is it now?”

  “Abitha were aiding this sinner. I thought it good to warn her of the consequences.”

  “Abitha,” Goody chastised. “Do you not know what this man has done? Why, he is guilty of skipping midweek church.”

  Thursday church, Abitha thought. She often forgot that those in the village proper had two services they were required to attend.

  “Not only is he a truant,” Goody continued, her voice rising, full of righteousness, “but also a liar. For he told Reverend Carter that he had been on his hands and knees with the stomach cramps during service. But he was found out when his neighbors came forth and reported that they’d witnessed him napping in his barn, both before and after service.” She jabbed a condemning finger at the man. “This man did lie directly to the reverend.”

  And you, Goody, Abitha thought, should be in the stocks for being a tireless gossip and sticking y
our nose in everyone’s business.

  Two young men showed up, the brothers Luke and Robert Parker.

  “He’s still out here?” Luke asked.

  “Aye,” Charity said. “After what he has done, I am not surprised.”

  “Four nights was the sentence,” Goody said. “I bet he’ll not sleep through church again.”

  Luke casually bent down and plucked up a clod of manure, lobbed it at Joseph. The clod struck the man on the shoulder. Joseph let out a grunt.

  “What are you doing?” Abitha asked, stunned.

  Luke looked at her as though he didn’t understand the question, then reached down and picked up another clod.

  “He is doing his duty before God,” Goody Dibble said. “Reverend Carter says that we must all help cast out the Devil … wherever he might lurk.”

  The others nodded and followed Luke’s lead, the girls too, even Goody Dibble, all plucking up dirt clods and manure.

  Abitha gasped as they began pelting the cowering man, Joseph letting out wounded bleats with every strike.

  Abitha was startled by their intensity; there were no grins, or the laughter of those up to hijinks, nothing but set, grim faces. She felt she could’ve understood them better if it had been simple cruelty, but it was as though they were at war with Satan himself and Satan was somehow inside this poor man.

  A large clod hit Joseph against the side of his head, knocking him over.

  “Stop it!” Abitha cried, starting forward, but Edward grabbed her arm.

  “Abitha, no.”

  “Let go,” Abitha snapped, trying to twist free.

  A stern voice came from behind them. “Why are you not in church?”

  The group froze.

  A man wearing a tall hat and a long flowing overcoat walked out from the fog. It was Reverend Thomas Carter, the head minister, a lean man, edging toward his fifties. His wide hat brim kept his long face in shadow but couldn’t hide his ponderous brows and severe eyes, eyes that appeared to be judging each and every one of them. “Look at your hands. They’re filthy.”

  The group appeared stricken, incapable of speaking.

  “Clean up and get to church, now.”

  They dropped the clods and dashed away, leaving Abitha and Edward alone with the minister. Abitha hoped he’d not witnessed her with Joseph, as she was sure it wouldn’t help their case if he had.

  “Walk with me,” the reverend said, and they did, heading toward the meetinghouse.

  “Abitha, do you feel you were helping Joseph?”

  Abitha’s blood chilled. “I … I didn’t mean to overstep, sir. I just … just—”

  “You never mean to overstep, yet you keep doing it. Why is that?”

  “I am trying. I truly am.”

  “Do you feel you are being merciful to Joseph?”

  “I just thought … thought they were being so very cruel.”

  “Can you not see how your intentions undermine Joseph finding grace? Undermine this very community?”

  “I am not sure, sir.”

  “Joseph must understand that his sins are condemned by all. It is not always easy, and yes, it can be cruel, but it is the only way. If one parent punishes the child for his poor behavior, only to have the other give him comfort for his tears, then the lesson is undermined and the family unity put in jeopardy. Can you see that?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she said, trying to make sense of what any of this had to do with pelting a man with manure.

  “We must all fight the Devil together. If we allow the Devil to divide us, we shall perish. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  They crossed the commons and approached the meetinghouse—a large grim structure that, like all the buildings in Sutton, was covered in unpainted clapboard and lacked any embellishments. When Abitha first arrived from London, she’d been surprised to find there was no church proper in Sutton—no building with a steeple and cross atop it—stunned to find that Puritans actually considered churches, no matter how austere, to be an offense against God. Thus, they held their services in the meetinghouse instead, in the same space as they held all their civil and social meetings.

  But there was one bit of adornment added to the façade this day, a row of wolves’ heads nailed above the door, their dark crimson blood staining the planks. Sutton paid a bounty for wolves and these trophies were meant to serve as a reminder to all that this land was wild and untamed, and that death and God’s judgment could be upon them at any time. Abitha looked up into their dead eyes and shuddered.

  They walked up the steps just as the adjunct minister, Reverend Collins, was preparing to shut the doors, bid him a good morning, and entered.

  They were all here, the entire village of Sutton, over a hundred of them, packed into one room. Seating was arranged by land ownership and status, with the men on the left and the women on the right. Abitha gave Edward’s arm a quick squeeze and he took his place. Abitha, even after two years, was still considered an outsider by most, so slid into her spot at the very rear on the women’s side. She had yet to be confirmed into the community, partially due to her behavior, so was seated amongst the servants. In truth Abitha was glad not to feel the judgmental eyes of the congregation on the back of her neck.

  “Abitha,” came a hushed call.

  It was Helen, waving her over. Helen was immediately shushed, as all women were required to remain silent through the entire service.

  Wallace spotted Edward and pushed his way over, seating himself next his younger brother, leaning in on the smaller man, bending his ear.

  The fool is probably going on and on about what their father, their dear Papa, would expect, Abitha thought. I swear the man believes himself a conduit to their father’s soul. She bit her lip. Careful what you say, Edward. Careful now. He’s a snake, that one. She’d spent a good part of last night talking Edward through and round this whole thing, but even though they both felt Wallace’s claims were outside of anything either of them had heard of, that he had no real legal footing, they both knew the law in Sutton was often open to interpretation based on sentiment and bias, and far too often by how much wealth and land one possessed. She felt Reverend Carter a fair man, but the other two ministers were not so consistent in their rulings. She glanced over at Reverend Smith. Reverend Smith was Wallace’s nearest neighbor and the two had been good friends since early childhood.

  Abitha closed her eyes, crossed her fingers, and prayed for God’s help this day. When she opened them, she caught Cadwell’s son, Cecil, giving her furtive looks and realized a lock of her hair had fallen loose from her cap. Then she noticed Wallace’s daughter, Charity, glaring at the both of them, making no attempt to hide her jealousy and disapproval. Charity fervently tapped her own bonnet and pointed at Abitha, drawing the attention of several of the women, most of them shaking their heads and giving Abitha condemning looks.

  Lord, you would think I’d shown up with both my diddies a-hanging out. Abitha sighed, shoving the lock back under her cap. Such nonsense, she thought. What possible harm can a loose bit of hair do?

  The doors closed with a resounding thud, signaling service was about to begin, and everyone faced forward, sitting stiff and straight on the hard, backless benches.

  Reverend Thomas Carter walked up the aisle and they all stood as he removed his overcoat and took the pulpit. Reverend Carter didn’t don the billowing robes that other ministers preferred, dressing instead in the same simple black coat and white collar that he wore most every day. He set down his substantial bible with a thud that reverberated through the entire room, setting it next to a large hourglass. He flipped the book open to the first mark, started to speak, when a timid tapping came from the doors.

  Reverend Carter nodded to Samuel Harlow, one of the town deputies, standing in the back holding a long pole with a wooden knob on the end. It was his duty to prod or thump any who were not fully attentive. Samuel walked over and opened the door.

  Ansel Fitch stood on the stoop clut
ching his hat to his chest, his eyes cast down.

  “Come in, Ansel,” Reverend Carter called over the congregation.

  Ansel made a small bow and quickly scurried to a seat in the very back.

  “Ansel,” the reverend called.

  “Aye.”

  “Stand up.”

  The man stood. Ansel was older than most; Abitha judged him to be in his late fifties. He was whip thin and a bit beaten down, with a craggy, bitter face and shifty eyes that tended to bulge at the slightest provocation, and they were bulging now.

  Reverend Carter sighed. “You are late. You well know what that means.”

  “Please beg pardon … all of you. But I had other Godly duties that would not wait. I did spy two cats acting in a most unnatural manner. Walking side by side murmuring in each other’s ears as only servants of the Devil might. I was but trying to find out what it was they were about. So, I ask you, good reverend, please grant me pardon this once.”

  “How many times have I granted you pardon now? Is it three, or four? Seems you are often following cats, or chasing some other hand of Satan come the start of church. It makes one wonder if it is your vigilance that is making you late, or if mayhap you just do not wish to crawl out of bed as early as the rest of us.”

  Ansel’s face turned red. He glared at the reverend with his bulbous eyes. “I would have you know—”

  “Enough! Your responsibilities to God start here in church. Now, come forward.”

  Ansel’s face creased like a man forced to eat stinging ants. He shuffled forward and the reverend pointed to a spot on the floor, just to the side of the pulpit.

  “There. Take your knees.”

  Ansel groaned and slowly knelt onto the hard planks, his knees cracking as he bent. As was the law, he would have to stay there, before everyone, through the entire sermon.

  Reverend Carter returned to his bible and led them in opening prayer. After prayer, he flipped the hourglass and began his sermon. There were usually three sermons, one from each minister, over three hours of preaching.

  On and on and on, Abitha thought, as she listened, finding it hard to understand how they could go over and over the same sentiments every Sunday. It’s not that complicated, she thought. Just do your best to treat others as you wish to be treated. What more needs to be said? But in Abitha’s experience the Puritans tended to make most moral matters as complicated as possible. Which surprised her, as edicts and rituals and canon, especially those smacking of Catholicism, were the very heart of all they wished to escape, their philosophy being one of eliminating all things between them and the Lord above. This not being more apparent anywhere than here in the meetinghouse, where all was stripped bare, there not being any adornment—no altar, no cross, not a sole decoration other than a large eye, that of God, painted on the pulpit, staring at them all, judging them all.