Slewfoot

by Brom

  Abitha glanced at the eye, then quickly away as an intense feeling of uneasiness stole over her. It wasn’t God she thought of when she met that unforgiving gaze, but her own father, of his rantings and ravings, especially there at the end, after her mother had passed.

  The reverend was building up steam now, standing stiff and unyielding, leaning into the congregation as though against the very winds of Hell. He clutched the pulpit with one knotty hand while thumping the bible with the other, punctuating every condemnation as he lectured them on how they all could be more virtuous in the eyes of God.

  Someone let out a cry, and Abitha glanced over to see Cecil rubbing the back of his head. Deputy Harlow had just thumbed him soundly with the long pole. She guessed he must have nodded off, or maybe was caught whispering to one of his friends.

  Abitha straightened up, as did most, none wanting to appear to be unengaged. She tugged her shawl tight around her, trying to keep warm, swearing it was colder inside the meetinghouse than out. There was a large stove, but it was forbidden to light it during service, as someone, somewhere deemed it best to freeze during sermons, that it somehow brought them closer to God. And who came up with that? Abitha wondered. What sadistic fool thought that a good idea? She pictured a group of bitter old men in really tall hats huddled together in some smelly cellar, each trying to outdo the other in ways to make parishioners suffer.

  Reverend Collins took his turn at the pulpit, then finally Reverend Smith. It was halfway through Reverend Smith’s sermon that Ansel began to groan. Abitha could see him trying to relieve his agony by shifting from knee to knee. Most already thought him a loon, the way he crept about, spying on folks, always on the lookout for deviltry and witchcraft, but there on his knees, his shoulders sagging, he looked like nothing more than a broken old man to Abitha, and she couldn’t help feel bad for him. But she found no sympathy in the eyes of the parishioners, only condemnation. It seemed at times as though they took great joy in others’ failings, as it made them appear the better, the more pious, more likely to be included when the great rapture finally came and God gathered his flock to him.

  The sun broke free of the heavy morning clouds. There were glass panes in the meetinghouse windows, a rarity in Sutton, most homes still having wax paper. The sun’s rays fell on Abitha’s face, warm and soothing, and as the minister’s words began to fade into a distant hum, her eyes drifting over the congregation, coming to rest on Sheriff Noah Pitkin’s graceful neck and strong jaw, his full mouth and easy smile. She thought, and not for the first time, how nice it would be to feel the press of his mouth on her lips, his strong hands on her breasts. She felt a mild stirring in her loins, blinked, thought, Oh no, Abi. Do not do that to yourself. Not here.

  Her eyes cut to Edward and she felt a dash of guilt. Edward was good to her, and she wanted to do right by him. But it wasn’t always easy as he tended to be more the kindly uncle than a husband to her. She knew part of it was his piety, but thought it was also his condition, the odd way his mind worked. She often had to remind herself that he was awkward with everyone, not just her. She glanced at the sheriff again and sighed. I just need to feel desired, Edward. That is all.

  “Rise,” Reverend Carter said, pulling Abitha from her thoughts. She stood and waited, as did all the women, as the rows of men silently exited from front to back. Edward glanced at her as he passed, and Abi tried to send him as much encouragement as she could. Wallace walked closely behind him, his meaty hand on Edward’s shoulder, a broad confident smile on his face.

  Oh, to be a man just this one day, Abi thought. How I’d put that lout in his place.

  After all the men had exited, it was the women’s turn; Abi, being on the last bench, felt her turn would never come. Can you but move any slower, she thought as old Widow Pratt toddled by. Finally, Abi got her chance, pushing past several of the younger women. She made it outside and spotted Edward, Wallace, and the ministers walking toward the town commons. She started after them when Helen pushed in front of her.

  “Do you have it?” Helen asked, glancing furtively about.

  “Huh?”

  “The charm,” Helen said in a hushed voice.

  Lord, of course, Abitha thought. She patted her apron pocket, certain she’d forgotten in all the turmoil, but no, it was there. She’d put it there the previous day. She pulled out an item hidden in a small fold of sackcloth.

  Helen’s eyes grew wide. “That’s it?”

  Abitha nodded, pressing the item into Helen’s hand.

  The girl clutched it to her breast. “And it will work?” she asked in a whisper. “For Isaac. Like you said?”

  “Indeed,” Abitha replied, glancing past Helen. She could no longer see Edward. She needed to go.

  “And I just put it under my pillow with a—”

  “Yes, yes.” Abitha spoke quickly. “Just do everything as I told you. But I make no promises. Sometimes the muses grace you with their gifts, sometimes they do not.” But Abitha was pretty sure this charm would work, as it was plain to anyone with eyes that Isaac felt as strong for Helen as she for him.

  “And what about—” Helen’s eyes shifted to something behind Abitha and she darted away. Before Abitha could turn, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  It was Sarah Carter, the minister’s wife. Abitha felt the couple had been spun off the same loom, as the woman shared her husband’s preference for only the most austere of dress. Where most women preferred to dye their skirts and coats brown or indigo, Goodwife Carter covered her lean, spindly frame in only the simplest of black dress and plain white cap.

  “Abitha,” she said. “Your hair.” Nodding toward Abitha’s bonnet with a disapproving look.

  “My hair?” Abitha asked, then understood: the long lock had fallen loose again. She quickly tucked it back beneath her cap.

  “You need watch yourself better. It does not take much to lead these young men’s thoughts astray.”

  “Yes, beg pardon, Goodwife Carter.”

  “It is not my pardon you need beg, it is God’s.”

  Abitha bowed. “Of course, ma’am.”

  Goodwife Carter looked her up and down with her intense blue eyes. Abitha knew she was inspecting the length of her sleeves for too much wrist, the hem of her skirt lest an ankle might be showing, checking for any sign of adornment such as a bit of lace or colored ribbon or any other item that might go against the many sumptuary laws.

  Do we not have enough to worry about? Abitha thought as she struggled to hide her annoyance.

  “Long hair is a tool of the Devil,” Goodwife Carter said. “Why have you not considered cutting it short, like the other women?”

  “I have thought on it,” Abitha lied. “But Edward … he likes my hair so.” That not being a lie. Indeed, Edward often encouraged her to remove her cap in their cabin, and she would catch him admiring her curls. And she liked that—feeling attractive. There was much about her own appearance she would’ve loved to change, but not her hair; it was long, lush, and when washed, rolled into natural curls. Reverend Carter would’ve called that pride, and perhaps it was, but Abitha didn’t see the harm in having pride in oneself.

  “And, girl,” Goodwife Carter added. “You are not as sly as you may think. Do not let me catch you plying your charms and potions. Not here … not anywhere in the village. I will turn my eye this once, but next time it will be in the reverend’s hands.”

  Abitha flinched. She knew better, knew the risks, but she rarely came to town except for church, and word had gotten around that she was a cunning woman, a fact that was only partially true. She did indeed dabble—bartering minor potions and charms for small items when the opportunity arose—but she considered herself only a novice. Her mother though, she’d been a true cunning woman, and it was through her teachings—teachings cut short upon her untimely death when Abitha was just twelve years old—that Abitha had gained the handful of remedies, charms, and divinations she now possessed.

  “You do me a kindness, ma’
am. Thank you.” Abitha made another quick bow, darting away before the woman could say more.

  She found Edward engaged with Wallace, Reverend Carter, and the two adjunct ministers, Reverend Collins and Wallace’s neighbor and good friend, Reverend Smith. Wallace appeared calm and well composed, and Abitha took that as a bad sign.

  She drifted over, sidling up next to a large maple, getting as close as she dared, knowing if they caught her eavesdropping on business affairs, she’d receive a severe tongue lashing, or perhaps even the stocks.

  “This is a simple matter,” Wallace stated loudly and with ardor, as though his mere volume made it so. “The land is mine. There is naught else to be said.”

  Edward held his hat, wringing the brim. “But … I feel … well, you see…”

  Oh no, Abitha thought. He’s floundering. She caught Edward’s eye, clutched her hands together in front of her chest, and gave him a tight smile, willing him to be strong. He straightened, closed his eyes, nodded, then opened them, setting them directly on Reverend Carter. Edward began talking clearly and directly, just as she’d coached him. They’d both agreed that Reverend Carter was their best chance. That if he could convince him, there was a strong likelihood that at least Reverend Collins would follow. “The land was promised to me first. That is the heart of the matter. To take it from me and give it to another amounts to going back on one’s word.”

  Abi held her breath, trying to read the ministers’ faces.

  “Little brother,” Wallace said, shaking his head as though in pity. “It is my land. We did establish this last night. You have no say on the land until you have paid it off, which has yet to occur. Until then, you are little more than a tenant.”

  Reverend Smith nodded. “I do see Wallace’s point. Until the land is paid off it is legally his and he should be able to do with it as he wants, including using it to pay off his debts.”

  Oh, Abitha thought, you are as stupid as a piece of wood. She fought not to walk right over and set the man straight. And she felt it would almost be worth the lashing, if they would only listen. Edward, you can do this. Remember what we discussed. Now, Edward, tell them or we lose everything we have worked so hard for.

  Edward cleared his throat. “As I have pointed out, I have cleared the fields of rock and tree, brought in soil. Have improved the land such that most of the value is from my labors. I have paid all but the last payment due. This alone should entitle me control of the land. But the real issue is more fundamental than that. This is about keeping one’s word before the church and before God. I have kept my promises. All I am asking is that Wallace keeps his.”

  Abitha blinked. Well said, Edward.

  Reverend Carter studied Edward for a moment, seemed to be appraising him afresh. He nodded. “Yes, Edward. What you say bears weight. If we do not stay true to our word, then who are we? That does makes sense to me.”

  “What does?” Wallace demanded.

  “Wallace,” Reverend Carter said. “Your agreement with Edward predates that with Lord Mansfield, does it not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Thus, I feel if you do not honor it, it amounts to taking back that which you have already granted and promised to another. Do you not see that?”

  Wallace shook his head. “No, I do not. You are making no sense.”

  Reverend Collins nodded. “Yes, I see what you are saying. Wallace was not within his rights to promise away the land to Lord Mansfield, since he had already done so to Edward.”

  “Exactly,” Reverend Carter said. “So it is my judgment … that so long as Edward makes his payments in a timely fashion, that the land, being thus developed by Edward’s labors, shall be, for all but in deed, his to master. What say the two of you?”

  Abitha let out a squeak, quickly covering her mouth.

  Wallace’s face clouded. “What? No! Absolutely not. I will—”

  Reverend Carter raised his hand. “Enough, Wallace. You have had your say. Ministers … what say you?”

  “Yes,” Reverend Collins said. “I am in agreement.”

  Reverend Smith seemed on the fence, but reluctantly nodded. “I am sorry, Wallace. But I am inclined to agree.”

  “Then this matter is so settled,” Reverend Carter said.

  Abitha wanted to shout, wanted to run down and hug Edward. She’d not ever seen him so bold, so sure of himself. She felt ready to weep with joy.

  Wallace appeared dumbfounded, as though not comprehending. “No, but what about Lord Mansfield? How will he be paid?”

  “Your debt is a matter between you and him,” Reverend Carter said. “You will have to find some other means.”

  “No!” Wallace growled, his face growing red. “That is not acceptable. I demand—”

  “Wallace!” Reverend Carter snapped. “You will heel yourself now, or be put up on charges.”

  Wallace glowered at them, looked ready to punch the minister. “We will see what Lord Mansfield has to say on this.”

  Reverend Carter blinked, seemed taken aback. “This is Sutton, not Hartford,” he said, sounding somewhat rattled. “We do not take orders from Lord Mansfield here.”

  Wallace glared at Edward. “What has become of you?” he spat. “You have allowed that woman to turn you against your very family. To betray your own father and his legacy. You should be grateful Papa is not here to witness such abhorrent behavior. The disappointment and shame of it would break his heart.” Wallace gave Edward a final scornful sneer and stormed away.

  CHAPTER 2

  Edward brought in an armload of chopped wood, kicking the door shut behind him. He placed the logs and stoked the fire as Abitha finished preparing dinner—an egg scramble and yesterday’s cornbread.

  Abitha took a moment to unlace her fitted waistcoat, letting out a gasp of relief as she removed it, tossing it over onto the bed. She then undid her cap, tugging it from her head. Could never do such a thing in Sutton, she thought, knowing women were required to keep their caps on even while sleeping. But I am not in Sutton, am I? She shook loose her hair and ran her fingers through her long locks, taking a moment to enjoy how freeing that felt and giving thanks for the thousandth time that they lived out here in the wilds, away from all those prying eyes and wagging tongues.

  She brought the pan over to the table and they both took their seats.

  Edward clasped his hands together and Abitha followed suit as he gave thanks.

  “Amen,” he said.

  “Amen,” Abitha said, and they began to eat.

  “Why the long face, Edward? You should be smiling.”

  He looked up from his plate. “Huh … oh, yes. I know.”

  “Is it dinner? The cornbread is tough, I know. We’ve no more lard, but—”

  “Oh no, Abitha. Not the food. You could make a pot of bark delectable. It is not that at all.”

  She waited; she’d learned to give him time.

  He sighed. “Just Wallace. What he said about Papa…” He trailed off.

  “You mean about being ashamed? That is nonsense and you know it well, Edward Williams. It is your brother who should be ashamed.”

  He nodded. “I agree. I know I do not always see such things clearly, but I do at least see that. It is more just that we are feuding. He is my brother. My family. The rift is so hard to bear.”

  “And Wallace knows that well, Edward. Wields it like a weapon, twisting your love to make you do as he wants.”

  Edward watched the fire for a minute. “You know well of my difficulties. How people are such a mystery to me. It is so hard to know what is expected … what to do, what to say. Growing up, other children picked up on that … and children can be cruel to those who do not fit in. Well, it was always Wallace who took up for me. He would not let anyone bully me … ever.” Again, Edward drifted off.

  Abitha wanted to point out that it was Wallace doing the bullying now. Instead she sighed. “Perhaps with time these wounds will heal.”

  Edward didn’t respond, just continued wa
tching the fire.

  Abitha got up, walked over to the cupboard, slid out a tin, and brought it back to the table. She nudged it over to Edward.

  He blinked. “What’s this?”

  “A little something I stirred up for you.”

  His brows furrowed.

  “Well, open it, silly.”

  He tugged off the lid, revealing a handful of honey brittle wafers, and a small smile snuck across his face.

  “We may be running low on all else,” she said. “But thanks to your masterful beekeeping, we have honey aplenty.”

  He took one, bit into it, began to chew. “Thank you, Abi.”

  “You did well today, Edward,” she said. “With Wallace. I felt so proud. I know how hard such things can be for you. But you handled yourself admirably.”

  “Why, yes, I did.” He beamed and managed a chuckle. “And you over by that tree making faces. It did me such good. How can such a wee thing like you have such mettle?”

  He started to put the lid back on.

  “Nay, take another. You have earned it.”

  He did take another.

  “One last payment to go, Edward, and we are free. Think about that. And once we are out from beneath this burden, we will have plenty. I will be able to buy sugar and lard and salt, enough to make you all the gingerbread you might want. Mayhap even some cloth to sew some new clothes. Would that not be nice? To not have to look like beggars for a change.”