Slewfoot Page 7

  They stopped as one, all of them setting their eyes on her.

  “Can I say a few words? Is that asking too much? Just a few words?”

  There came many pitying looks—it was plain she wasn’t the only one who felt the funeral too austere—but others didn’t hide their ire.

  Reverend Carter stared at her as one would a disobedient child, and for a moment Abitha thought he would reprimand her there in front of everyone, but his eyes fell on Edward’s grave and he sighed. “Go on then.”

  Abitha sucked in a deep breath. “I just want it said, here, before everyone, that Edward were a good man. That is all.”

  She received many odd looks and knew her words had fallen flat. So be it, she thought. The words are for you, Edward, not them.

  They turned their backs and headed away, leaving Abitha alone with a box of clothes in the ground and a stone with her husband’s name on it.

  She waited until they were over the rise, then knelt down. She dug into her coat pocket and removed a braid of her hair tied into a small bow. “This is for you, Edward. For being a kind and gentle soul … for being my friend.” She kissed the bow and placed it upon his marker.

  She stood, slapped the dirt from her hands, and headed back. She topped the rise and saw the three ministers waiting for her down by the road. Wallace was with them. “Jesus,” she said beneath her breath. “Could that vulture not wait one day?”

  “Abitha,” Reverend Carter called. “A word, if you would.”

  Abitha strolled up to them, feeling overshadowed by these men in their tall hats and wide, billowing black cloaks.

  “I apologize for what I must say here,” the minister continued, “on the very day of Edward’s burial, but there are pressing matters.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “We need to see to your well-being.”

  Abitha tensed, realizing that they were deciding her future—her very future—right here and now.

  “Wallace and I have been discussing what would be best for you. Given that you are now on your own.”

  Abitha’s blood went cold. Pay attention, Abi, she thought. Be sharp, this is everything, this is your very life. “I do not see how my well-being is any of Wallace’s concern.”

  Wallace stiffened.

  “Abitha.” Reverend Carter cleared his throat, his voice becoming as stern as when he gave his sermons. “Listen to me. Wallace is your brother by law, your closest male relation, and as such your welfare falls upon his shoulders. Surely you understand that? And Wallace has stepped forward and offered to help you. If you but give him a chance, I believe you will find his offer most charitable considering your circumstance.”

  Circumstance? And what is my circumstance? Abitha felt ambushed. These men weren’t here to deliberate with her, to have protracted discussion. She was a woman, and women didn’t have say in such affairs. They’d come to inform her of what was to be. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Reverend. But I need time to consider—”

  “Abitha,” Wallace interjected. “Here, now, listen to me.” He was speaking to her as to one of his children. “Edward’s gone. You cannot be on your own. So I am inviting you into my home. You can help Charity and Isaac with the chores and—”

  “You wish me to be your servant?”

  “He’s offering you a roof over your head,” Reverend Carter stated. “You are still young; there are many men here in need of wives. You would work for Wallace until such time as a suitable husband is found.”

  “I have a roof over my head. As well as a farm and a field ready to be planted. Why would I leave it to be this man’s servant?”

  The four men looked to one another as though she’d asked why she needed to breathe.

  Wallace threw up his hands. “I told you this is beyond her.”

  “Abitha,” Reverend Carter said. “You are in mourning, confused and overwhelmed. We all understand this. But you need to see that due to his debt, Wallace cannot keep both farms. It is obvious that he should forfeit Edward’s homestead. It is best for you and the community as a whole. No one wants you left out in the cold.”

  How did it become Wallace’s land? Abitha wondered. Can they just take it? Nay, that does not seem right. Something tickled at the back of her thoughts. She tried to focus, to ignore the minister as he rambled on. The Widow Pratt! Aye, that’s it. Widow Pratt did not have to leave her place when her husband died last spring. Why? Abi didn’t know why, not exactly, but something about representing her husband in his absence.

  “Abitha,” the reverend asked, “are you hearing me, girl? Those are your only choices: work for Wallace or strike out on your own. It is an unforgiving world out there. I would suggest—”

  “There is another choice,” she said firmly. “I can farm my land.”

  They all appeared dumbstruck.

  “But … Abitha,” Reverend Carter started, “how—”

  “No!” Wallace interrupted. “You cannot. That is not your land to farm. That is my land. It is only by my charity that I let you stay even another night.”

  “The farm belongs to me so long as I make timely payment. That is the agreement.”

  “That agreement were with Edward, not you!”

  Abitha set eyes on the ministers. “I am a widow now,” she stated calmly and evenly, trying to sound confident. She didn’t know her rights with any certainty, but felt if she spoke as though she did, she might stand a chance. “Does that not afford me the right to own land and conduct business in Edward’s name?”

  The ministers appeared taken back, unsure what to say. But she saw it then, on their faces, that she was right.

  “Well,” Reverend Carter started. “Well … yes, I suppose that can be the case.”

  “And is that not my duty before God, to fulfill my husband’s wishes? To fulfill all of Edward’s debts and obligations to the best of my abilities?”

  Reverend Carter raised his eyebrows. “Yes … but—”

  “Nonsense!” Wallace cried. “I shall not listen to this. We all know she cannot bring in that crop. She will lose the property regardless, so why play this game?”

  The ministers appeared at a loss as to how the conversation even got to where it was. “One moment,” Reverend Carter said, pulling Reverend Collins and Reverend Smith aside, where they continued the conversation in hushed voices.

  Wallace stepped right up to Abitha, glaring down at her, his anger palpable. “You best hear me, you ungrateful girl,” he hissed. “Edward is no longer here for you to hide behind. You play this game and you will lose everything. Do you understand me? Everything. I will see you in the ground before I concede that land to you.”

  Abitha turned her back to him, clutching her hands together, trying to hold steady.

  The three ministers returned.

  “Abitha,” Reverend Carter said. “Again, let me emphasize that we all feel your best course is to accept Wallace’s charity and live with him until you find a suitable husband. We feel it would not be proper or prudent for you to try and manage Edward’s homestead on your own.”

  Wallace nodded in agreement, a smug smile on his face.

  Reverend Carter then looked apologetically at Wallace. “Wallace, as much as we feel this is not the best course, Abitha’s words are true. It is the law that she serve as Edward’s stead. She is morally obligated before God to do Edward’s will as best she knows it. So it must be left for her to decide.”

  “What?” Wallace cried. “That is utter madness! Can you not see? I will lose my farm, and then where will we all be?”

  “I am not disagreeing with you,” Reverend Carter said. “But this is our law. Who are we if we do not uphold our own laws?”

  “You would have me lose my farm just to placate this insolent woman … this outsider?” Wallace growled, his face red, furious. “Why … that is utter lunacy!”

  “Wallace!” Reverend Carter snapped. “Please, calm yourself. Mayhap there are other ways to—”

  “The magistrate was right
,” Wallace said. “You cannot see the forest for the trees!”

  “The magistrate? What magistrate?” Reverend Carter slowly narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean Magistrate Watson? You talked to him on this matter?”

  “I did, and … and, well, see here.” Wallace tugged a folded letter from his jacket. “He told me to give this to you.” Wallace jabbed the note at Reverend Carter like a knife.

  The reverend took the note, unfolded it, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he read, then suddenly he crumpled the note and threw it to the ground. “That man,” Reverend Carter said beneath his breath, a noticeable quiver in his voice, but then his brows knotted together and his face was like that when he spoke of Satan himself. “Magistrate Watson likes to bend the word of God whenever it suits him. His say means naught around here. The ruling stands.”

  Reverends Collins and Smith both appeared unnerved by this proclamation.

  “But, Reverend,” Reverend Smith started. “Mayhap we should discuss—”

  “I said the ruling stands.”

  Wallace’s mouth fell open. “What … you cannot! Who do you think you—”

  “It is on the account of men like Magistrate Watson, men with weak morals, that I left Hartford all those years ago. I will never allow his ilk to assert their influence here. Never! My ruling stands. Do you hear?”

  “No, no, I do not! Do you have any idea what it is you do to me? Do you?” Wallace was all but shouting at them. “This is not acceptable! The magistrate will be hearing—”

  “Enough!” Reverend Carter shouted. “Check yourself, Wallace Williams! Now!”

  Wallace grimaced.

  “This is the law according to our charter, before God,” Reverend Carter declared. “Do you challenge the council’s wisdom on such matters?”

  Wallace opened his mouth to speak, could find no words, but his eyes found Abitha, burned into her. “I will come to the farm tomorrow and we will speak more on this matter.”

  Abitha held his glare. “I am done talking to you,” she said, her voice loud and firm, like a sergeant snapping out commands. “Hear me and hear me well, Wallace Williams. You are to stay away from me.”

  All the men seemed shocked by the brass in Abitha’s voice, but none more than Wallace.

  Wallace’s face cinched into a knot. “No! I have put up with enough! I will not tolerate such insolence, not from a woman!” He snatched hold of her, his big callused hand swallowing her small arm. “You are going before the sheriff. He will see you thrashed and in the stocks.”

  “You will unhand her!” Reverend Carter cried. “Or it is you that will be thrashed.”

  “What … what do you mean?” Wallace stammered, staring at the man incredulously. “Did you not hear her?” He looked from minister to minister. “Has everyone gone mad? No woman is allowed to speak in such a disrespectful manner.”

  “It is her place to speak up in all matters to do with Edward’s holdings,” Reverend Carter said tersely. “And if that means standing toe-to-toe with one such as you, then it is her right. Do you understand me, Wallace?”

  Wallace started to speak.

  “Do you understand me?” Reverend Carter growled.

  Wallace said nothing, but he let go of Abitha.

  “This matter is closed,” Reverend Carter stated firmly.

  Wallace looked from face to face, like some cornered mongrel, his breath hissing through his teeth. He began to nod, the hiss slowly turning into a mean laugh. “She will not last through the season. Of course, by then it will be too late. I will have lost my land.” Then directly at Abitha: “And you.” He smirked. “When you’re hungry … when you’re cold, do not come begging at my door. That door is closed to you forever.”

  He spun away and stormed off.

  “Sir,” Reverend Smith said. “I worry about the magistrate. He is not a man to be trifled with.”

  Reverend Carter let out a long, troubled breath, shook his head. “Why must you do this, Abitha? Is it spite? Is it your pride? No good can come of this. If I were you, I would go home and reconsider, then go to Wallace and beg his forgiveness.”

  The rain picked up, and the ministers buttoned up their cloaks and left.

  Abitha stood there on the roadside watching the dirt turn to mud, shaking her head as the weight of what she’d just done settled on her shoulders, as the dread clutched at her heart. What are you doing, Abi? Why must you always let your stubbornness get the better of you?

  She looked up toward the gravesite, thought of the plain casket with Edward’s clothes in it, and felt more alone than ever in her life.

  CHAPTER 3

  Screaming.

  Flames licking a night sky. Huts on fire. People running in all directions, their faces fraught with terror. Bodies, so many bodies, limbs torn away, guts ripped open, brains splattered. The air smelling of blood and burning flesh. And the screams, going on and on as though never to stop.

  The beast opened his eyes.

  “At last, Father. You’re awake.”

  The beast groaned. An opossum stood before him on its hind legs, thin to the point of emaciation, its face that of a human child, a boy perhaps. Its two eyes, small and black, with tiny pinpricks of light at their centers, sputtered like fireflies.

  “Who are you?” the beast asked.

  “He is awake,” the opossum called, his voice echoing up the shaft.

  A large raven flew silently into the room, alighting on a rock, followed by a fish. The fish floated in the air, swishing its tail softly back and forth as though holding itself in place against a gentle current. They too had the faces of children, the raven with human hands instead of claws, the flesh blue as the sky.

  “Get up, Father,” the opossum said. “There is blood to spill.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Have you forgotten us?”

  The beast shrugged.

  The opossum appeared deeply disturbed by this. “You have known us for a long time. Try now to remember. It is important.”

  The beast tried to remember, to recall anything, but his mind seemed nothing but tumbling shadows and hollow echoes.

  The opossum clutched the beast’s hand. “Close your eyes. See us!”

  The beast closed his eyes, felt a soft pulse coming from the opossum. The pulse fell in rhythm with his heartbeat and hazy shapes began to appear. Slowly they came into focus and he saw them, little impish beasts just like these, hundreds of them, running through a forest, chanting and howling, their childish faces full of fervor and savagery. He tried to see more, but the vision blurred, began to slip away, then nothing.

  The beast let out a frustrated groan, shook his head, and opened his eyes.

  The small creatures shared a worried look.

  “Do not fret,” the opossum said. “It will all come to you soon. You just need more blood. We are the wildfolk … your children.” The opossum thumped his own chest. “I am Forest.” He pointed to the raven—“Sky”—then the fish—“Creek.”

  “And I am Father?”

  “Yes,” Forest said. “You are the slayer … our guardian. It is time to leave this pit. Time to drive the people away before they kill Pawpaw.”

  “Pawpaw?” The name brought forth an image, a shimmering mirage, that of a giant tree with crimson leaves. “Yes, I know this.”

  The children grinned, revealing tiny needlelike teeth.

  “Hurry,” Forest called. “Follow us!”

  Sky, the raven, took off, flapping soundlessly up the shaft. Forest and Creek followed, the opossum scampering up the rocks as though weightless, while the fish swam as through some invisible stream, all three disappearing into pale light at the top of the shaft.

  Father climbed to his cloven feet and noticed the ground was covered in bones, some fresh but most ancient, all shapes and sizes, tiny skulls mixed with larger ones, even a few crumbling tusks. He took a step and realized that the bones were layers thick, wondered just how deep down into the earth they went.

&nb
sp; His eyes shifted to the bodies, the man and the goat, understood that he was now a bit of both. He noticed something sitting upon a stone above the dead man—some kind of egg-shaped fruit, split in half, its meat crimson, the color of blood. Above the fruit, painted in that same blood, an eye. I know this too, he thought as he stared into it.

  The eye blinked, split into two, four, six—six black eyes like those of a spider, flickering this way and that, searching for something.

  Father’s skin prickled. He raked his claws across the symbol and the eyes disappeared. He shuddered, suddenly wanting out of this pit, this tomb. He looked up at the slice of pale light far above. The sun, yes. The sun will help clear my mind.

  He began to climb the clammy stones and a short time later found himself in a cave, peering out into the forest. It appeared to be early, fog lingering amongst the trees, a few birds singing their morning song. He crawled out and stood, sucking in the cool air. It was sweet with woodland spice. Then he smelled something else.

  “They stink, do they not?” It was Forest. “The people.”

  Father nodded. “Did I not drive them from this land once before?”

  “Ah, you are beginning to remember, Father. You did indeed.”

  “And they have returned?”

  “These are new people. A different kind of people. They come from far away and know not to be afraid yet. But that is all about to change. Now, do you remember why you drove them away?”

  Again, Father saw the tree like a dream in his mind. This time noting the egg-shaped fruit dangling from its limbs, the same fruit as in the pit. “The tree.”

  All three of their faces lit up.

  “Yes!” Forest cheered and pointed at the rocks and boulders above the cave. “See the bones of the grand pawpaw tree.”

  Father saw only a tower of dark jagged stones.

  “Do you not see?”

  He stepped back and realized that it was the remnants of a vast tree trunk.

  “What is this place?”

  “This is our heart and soul, our place of birth and our place of death. This is the house of Pawpaw. Look there.” Forest pointed to the top of the stones. “Mother Earth has given us back our Pawpaw.” His voice sounded on the verge of tears. “After all these years she has given us another chance!”