The Sacrifice

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  “Thank you, Sarah,” Abigail said in her most civil voice. She began to help spread the food around the table. Though her muscles cried out in agony, Abigail mustered her courage and ignored the pain.

  “Are you through with your chamber pot?” Sarah asked, still avoiding Abigail’s eyes.

  “Yes,” Abigail said curtly. If this was the way Sarah was to act, so be it.

  Mama came down the stairs. “Thank you, Sarah,” she said. “I can manage now. I daresay you are most anxious to dress for the Sabbath service.”

  Sarah did a quick curtsy and left the room without a backward glance.

  Mama touched the top of Abigail’s head. “How are you today, Bear?”

  “Weary,” Abigail said, as her legs shook beneath her. She gripped the back of the chair more tightly.

  “It’s to be expected,” Mama said. “I’ll wager you’ll feel like this for a day or so.”

  Mama went and took Franny’s doll from her. “No playing on the Sabbath, little one, and breakfast is served.”

  Papa came into the kitchen, carrying Abigail’s baby brother, Edward, in his arms. He said not a word to Abby, but handed Edward to Mama and sat to eat his breakfast. For once, Abigail welcomed his quiet ways. Other fathers might have added their own additional punishment to time in the stocks.

  Dorothy came in from outside, clearly unhappy about her extra duties that morning.

  “I am most grateful to you, Dorothy, for watering the garden today,” Abigail said quietly.

  Dorothy looked at Abigail for a moment. “The grubs have returned and are in the garden,” she said grudgingly. “You’ll need to use dried blood on the morrow.”

  Abigail nodded. Before she could say another word, her eight-year-old brother, Paul, came skidding into the house.

  “You are tardy, Paul,” Mama said. “Let me see your hands.”

  He held them out. They were black with dirt, a condition Paul tended to favor and Mama tended to bemoan.

  “To the washbasin,” Papa commanded.

  Paul gave his hands a halfhearted scrub. When he was finished, his hands remained grimy.

  “Paul, did you not see the dirt you were gathering on your hands this morning?” Mama said, smiling slightly as she took him back to the washbasin and began to scrub his hands with the rough lye soap. “Whatever were you doing?”

  “I trapped that badger that has been plaguing the fields,” Paul said. “He is a most goodly size.”

  “There is to be no trapping on the Sabbath, Paul,” Papa said.

  Paul ignored him. “Can I take him with us to meeting to show Steven?” he begged Mama.

  The mention of her cousin brought a flush to Abigail’s face. He was the one who had goaded her into racing yesterday. Buthe had not been caught, for he’d never finished the race, leaving her alone to face Elder Stevens at the end of the field, her skirts still high, her legs still pumping.

  “I think a badger at Sabbath service would be unseemly, Paul,” Mama said. “Now, let’s eat. I am anxious to leave early today, as Abigail will be slower than usual.”

  Paul stood beside his siblings, while Mama and Papa sat at the plain board table. Papa gave thanks to the Lord, and they all began to eat. The room was quiet. They were not to talk during meals, and though Mama sometimes overlooked the rule, breaking it was never allowed on the Sabbath. The quiet was meant to prepare their souls for God.

  When they finished, Mama rose. “Get your cloaks and caps, girls. Francis, can you get Edward?”

  Papa did not respond, but instead began muttering to himself. Abigail recognized the tension in the air.

  “Francis!” Mama spoke sharply. “It is time for the Sabbath service. Will you not walk with us to the meetinghouse?”

  “Can’t,” Papa mumbled. “Why must they bother me so?” He began to rub his head, running his fingers over and over through his hair.

  “Dorothy,” Mama said, “get me a basin of warm water and some cloths. Quickly!”

  Mama knelt in front of Papa. “Francis?” she said softly. “Francis? Can you hear me, dearest?”

  Papa stared at her blankly.

  She reached up and began to rub his temples. “Francis, can you hear me? Come, Francis. Let us go to the service.”

  Papa moaned and rocked his head back and forth. “Oh, why are you here for me again? Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

  Franny came and stood close to Abigail. She reached out and grabbed onto Abigail’s gown. “Is Papa sick again?” she whispered.

  Numbly, Abigail nodded. She hated when her father took with the fits. She hated the mutterings, the sullen moods, the unreasonable belief that someone was after him, and the violence, sometimes directed at others but mainly at himself. The doctors had examined him many times, but they could not understand what caused his fits. Some said he was taken with madness. But to Abigail it seemed as if he just became very confused and scared.

  “Abigail, Paul, Franny”—Mama’s voice was sharp—“get your cloaks and caps. Go on to service.”

  Abigail stared at her mother in shock. Go to service without Mama? Make the slow, painful walk to the meetinghouse by herself? Sit amidst all those staring eyes without Mama?

  “Abigail,” Mama said, “I’ll have no argument on this. You’ll go to Sabbath service without me!”

  Dorothy brought over a large bowl of warm water and a clean linen cloth. Abigail grabbed Franny’s hand and took her cloak from the peg by the door.

  “Abigail?” Mama spoke, softer now.

  Abigail turned to face her.

  “Don’t worry, Bear. Be brave and remember well who you are. I will be with you here”—Mama touched her own chest—“even if I am unable to be by your side.”

  Abigail bit her lip and took a deep breath. Mama was right. She could do this. Dorothy picked up Edward, and Abigail led Franny and Paul from the house. Behind her, Papa began to shout and cry.

  “Abby?” Franny asked, as Abigail helped her into her cloak outside. “Will Papa be all right this time?”

  Abigail wasn’t sure, but she would not let Franny know that. Mama would want her to be strong, strong for Franny and Paul, and strong in front of the congregation.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine, Franny,” Abigail said. “Let me tie on your cap for you. We mustn’t tarry now. Paul, button your coat.”

  Dorothy came outside and stood behind them. “It is an ill omen that this is happening today,” she muttered. She had Edward’s coat and began to put it on him, roughly forcing his arms into the sleeves, causing him to cry out in protest.

  “Be gentle with him,” Abigail said.

  Dorothy gave Abigail an embarrassed look, then hugged little Edward to her. “I’m sorry, Edward,” she whispered to him. Abigail could see the worry in her sister’s face.

  Together, the Faulkner children began the short walk to town. The outside air was chilly for a late May morning, and Abigail pulled her red cloak close about her.

  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.

  three

  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.

  Abigai
l 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 couldfind 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.

  four

  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.