by Ron Ripley
Isiah glanced at the front door and frowned. “The boys take too long.”
“Shall I fetch them?” Sarah asked, getting to her feet.
He shook his head. “Serve the tea, Wife. They can drink theirs cold as well as hot.”
Sarah nodded and poured the tea. When she had finished, Isiah picked his up and drank half of it in a single swallow, seemingly ignorant of the heat of the steaming liquid.
“I am hopeful of clearing the field by the end of June,” Isiah said. “The wood will be stocked fully. I’ve spoken with a few of the Abenaki who remain. They say the winter will be difficult this year. Heathens they may be, but they are quite correct when it comes to portents and the weather.”
Sarah remained silent. She was fearful of the Abenaki. As a child she had seen a man brought in from his field, his body pierced with arrows and his skull split with a war ax. The Abenaki raiding party had scalped him and left him for dead. He had not died. Not right away.
She had listened to him scream for days before his voice broke and his heart gave out.
“Sarah?” Isiah asked, a frown on his face. “Are you well?”
“Yes,” she replied, smiling quickly. “I was remembering a bit of my childhood. A raid.”
He nodded. “Terrible things.”
The sound of a scream filled the air and Isiah leaped up from his seat. His hip slammed into the table, spilling the tea as he ran from the house. Sarah followed him, pausing only to grab the musket before exiting their home.
Another scream sounded, and Sarah hastened her steps. Soon she saw Isiah and the two boys. Isiah stood behind Joseph and Samson, his back stiff.
Sarah stumbled, gasping in horror at the sight before her.
An old Indian woman sat on the ground, in the middle of the path that led to their home. Blood ran down her face from her empty eye sockets, and she chewed thoughtfully. Her hands were covered in blood, and she held one eye in her right hand.
“Where’s her other eye, boys?” Isiah asked in a low whisper.
“She’s eating it,” the thirteen-year-old Joseph replied.
Samson let out a bored sigh and turned away from the bloody scene. He paused by Sarah, and when she looked down at him, Samson smiled.
Sarah bent down to look at her son, the only offspring of her union with Isiah.
“Are you alright, Samson?” she asked him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“Yes,” he answered. “Is it time for tea?”
She nodded. “What happened here?”
Samson glanced over his shoulder and then said, “With the Indian?”
“Yes,” Sarah answered.
“She shouldn’t have looked at me,” her son answered, and walked away.
The old Indian woman laughed and placed the other eye into her mouth. In the morning silence, Sarah heard the organ pop.
Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 2: A Growing Fear, July 1733
Sarah sat in the pew and heard the words the reverend spoke, but she did not listen to them.
Her eyes were on the other children around them, whose eyes stole furtive glances at Samson. Her son sat beside her, still and polite, a half smile on his beautiful face. He seemed oblivious to the rumors the children whispered, the half-told tales and nightmarish stories.
Even the few, Christian Indians in the area avoided Samson. He walked and played alone unless he chose otherwise. Then there was no shortage of playmates. Children howled to be in his company and mothers sought him out.
It was strange, and had he not been so attentive to his lessons during service Sarah feared some men might harbor ill-will towards him.
When service ended, and they greeted Reverend Klain, the man smiled down at them. To Isiah, he said, “Captain, I have heard that your son Roland has finished his apprenticeship in Boston.”
Isiah nodded, and Sarah saw how difficult it was for him to remain humble. Of all of Isiah’s children, Roland was the one he was the most proud of. Joseph and Roland were the children of his second wife, while his daughters had been the product of his first. Little was heard from them, as they had married well and returned with their husbands to England.
Roland, however, was only a week away in Boston, and he had become a bookbinder and paper merchant. The young man would do well for himself, which in turn meant that both Isiah and Sarah could hope for some respite as they aged. She doubted if they would ever leave their home, but she would be surprised if Roland did not occasionally send funds to assist his father.
“And how are your two youngest?” the reverend asked, looking down at the boys.
“Well, sir,” Joseph replied.
Samson smiled a broad expression that seemed to fill the meeting house with light and joy.
“I am well, Reverend Klain,” Samson answered. “Your wife said you wished for me to dine with you.”
A confused look flashed across the reverend’s face before it was replaced with a sheepish grin. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten.”
Reverend Klain turned to Isiah and said, “Captain, would it be alright for Samson to dine with us this evening? We are occasionally reminded of the passing of our dear Luther but a year ago, and it would do us both well to be in the company of a child. Especially one as bright and cheering as Samson.”
“Of course,” Isiah replied, inclining his head slightly. “What time would you like for him to arrive?”
“Sooner rather than later,” Reverend Klain stated. “I am sure it would be beneficial to us if he were to remain here until after dinner.”
“Excellent,” Isiah said. “We shall send for him after seven then if you find the time agreeable.”
“Exceptionally so,” the reverend agreed.
Sarah looked from Isiah to Reverend Klain. Neither of the men seemed quite right. She knew that neither the reverend nor his wife had made any desire to dine with Samson known before. Sarah knew as well that Isiah would not have condoned such an event had it been Joseph or herself the Klains had wanted. More often than not he disapproved of such social graces, especially with Samson.
The boy could be both wild and unpredictable.
Letting him out of sight, without so much as a harsh look or stiff reminder was out of place.
Yet there her husband stood, smiling at the boy. As was everyone else who had heard the conversation. Reverend Klain, Joseph, the miller and his wife, and even one of the Christian Indians.
And Samson stood in the center of them all, grinning.
Sarah realized she was the only one who found the situation odd.
Samson turned and faced her, his smile widening as he saw her lack of acceptance.
“Mother,” he said, “will you come for me this evening?”
She cleared her throat, forced a smile and nodded. “I will.”
“Good,” Samson said in his sweet voice. “I will need to see you, of that I am sure.”
Sarah watched as he turned away, reached his small hand up to the reverend and said, “Come, Reverend Klain, shall we go and see your home.”
The reverend nodded and took Samson’s hand into his own.
Sarah shuddered as she watched them leave, knowing it was not the reverend who led the boy, but the boy who led the reverend.
Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 3: Dinner, August 1733
It became a strange ritual.
After each service, Reverend Klain and his wife would take Samson with them into their home, and Sarah’s child would dine with them. Everyone, except for Sarah, was pleased with the arrangement.
Isiah spoke with pride about the boy’s theological leaning. On more than one occasion, he mentioned to Sarah that it would be no small coup should their child desire to become a minister.
Sarah kept her thoughts to herself.
She doubted Samson’s sincerity.
In her mind, she replayed the events of the July day, where the Indian woman had eaten her own eyes on the path. Sarah heard, with disturbing clarity, the sweet sound of her son’s voice as he told
her that he had disapproved of the way the old woman had looked at him.
These memories came to Sarah unbidden as she walked along the narrow path that led away from her home. Isiah and Joseph remained in the house while she went to gather Samson from the Klains. The sun sank as she walked, the sounds of the forest vibrant around her. A small part of her was fearful of Indians, but in truth, she found herself more concerned with her son.
And what damage he might be able to cause.
There was a growing strangeness in him. An uncanny ability to speak in such a way that caused others to not only listen but to obey. When he pitched his voice in a certain manner or caused a curious inflection to arise, people did his bidding.
They did it willingly. Cheerfully, and as if the idea was their own and not placed there by a young child.
Occasionally Samson would try and speak to her in the same fashion, yet she never felt more than a twinge. She had no compulsion to do as he asked, or to cater to his whims.
Her immunity to his charms seemed to please him.
Eventually, the path opened up, and she found herself on the village green, passing by the blacksmith’s shop and traveling to the well-built home of Reverend Klain. His home, should trouble arise with the French or the Indians, would serve as a place of refuge. The walls were thick, and the house was the only one in the small community with a second floor.
Sarah walked along the short path to the front door, knocked on it and waited. She heard laughter from within, and when no one came to the door for her, Sarah knocked again.
The voices inside grew louder, the sounds of mirth almost shaking the wooden portal in front of her.
Sarah’s heart beat faster with fear, and she knocked for a third time.
A moment later the door swung open, and Samson looked up at her, smiling.
“Hello, mother,” he said, turning away from her. “We’re almost done with our dinner.”
Before she could stop him, the boy slipped away into the dim light of the main room.
Sarah followed with tentative steps, her nose wrinkling at the stench of burnt meat. She felt badly for the serving girl, for Sarah knew that both the reverend and his wife were harsh task masters. There would be a severe punishment for the girl if she had ruined their meal.
The room brightened as Sarah followed Samson around the center chimney and she stumbled to a halt.
Before her was a long table, and upon it was the good Reverend Klain. He was as naked as God had made him, his arms and legs tied down. The man’s legs had been opened from hip to knee, the flesh removed and cooked potatoes placed within them.
His stomach too had been opened, and a soup tureen placed there. The Reverend’s wife sat on one side and the serving girl across from her. They were dressed, but their hair was down. A guttural voice spoke, and the women laughed, sounds full of madness and delight.
As the serving girl took up a ladle and served soup into a bowl for her mistress and then for herself, Sarah realized who had spoken.
Reverend Klain was still alive.
With every clang of the ladle against the side of the tureen, the man laughed, a sound muffled by the onions someone had stuffed into his mouth.
“Would you care for some soup, mother?” Samson asked politely.
Sarah could only shake her head.
“A pity,” he said, walking to the head of the table and picking up a bowl. He held it up to the serving girl and smiled his thanks as she filled it for him. Samson smiled at Sarah.
“Mrs. Klain is quite the cook,” Samson explained, walking back to stand in front of Sarah. He took a spoonful of the soup, sipped it and grinned. “This is a bone broth, with fresh vegetables. It calls for beef bones, or a hog’s, whichever one can get. She has, in the past she told me, substituted deer bones. Usually, she uses leg bones. Today, she confessed, was the first occasion in which she used ribs.”
Samson turned to Mrs. Klain and said, “This soup is quite delicious, little mother.”
Sarah watched the woman’s face go a deep crimson as she blushed with pleasure.
The Reverend Klain mumbled through his onions, and the serving girl let out a high-pitched laugh.
“Lillian,” Samson said, frowning. “What have I said about that particular laugh?”
The girl dropped her chin to her chest, put her soup down on the table and stood up. Sarah looked on, horrified as the servant went to the fire and thrust her already burnt hand into it.
A foul, nauseating stench reminiscent of burnt pork filled the air.
“Thank you,” Samson said, a moment later.
Lillian nodded, withdrew her hand and returned to the table.
“If she keeps that up,” Samson confided, “then I don’t believe she will have much of a hand left soon.”
“Samson,” Sarah whispered, unable to keep the horror from her voice. “What is going on here?”
“Hm?” Samson asked, taking a bit of soup. “Well, let me see, mother. The good reverend and I were discussing the Book of Genesis. He said the world was worse off for the eating of the apple. I said there were worse things for Eve to have eaten. Reverend Klain disagreed.”
Samson fished around in the bowl for a moment, found a slice of carrot and ate it before he continued. “I had both Lillian and Mrs. Klain prepare a meal of him to prove my point. Do you think it has been proven, mother?”
Sarah nodded.
Samson smiled. “You are such an excellent parent. I am pleased you are unaffected by me. Now, are you certain you would not care for some soup?”
Sarah turned, grasped the back of a chair and vomited onto the floor in answer to his question.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Samson shrug.
“Oh well, mother,” he said, taking another spoonful. “The more there is for me.”
Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 4: After the Hanging, September 1733
A somber air had fallen over the town after the death of Reverend Klain.
His wife and their servant had been brought to Boston to be tried for his murder, for the reverend had died before the meal had been finished.
The hanging of the two women had been more of a mercy than a punishment. Both had gone mad, though none could say why.
Although Sarah knew the reason for their madness.
It had been Samson. Sarah had watched him finish his meal, and then he had spoken to them. First Mrs. Klain, then the serving girl, Lillian. He had whispered to them, and while Sarah did not know what had been said, she knew it had been enough to drive both women mad.
When Samson had sent Sarah out for the menfolk, it had taken a dozen of them to secure the arms of the gibbering women. Samson had professed horror and terror over what he had seen, never once mentioning how he had talked the Klains and Lillian into their actions.
And Sarah had not spoken of it either.
The thought of it was too terrible.
Part of her could not believe it. Could not understand how her son could persuade people merely by speaking to them.
Yet the evidence was there. The truth before her.
No one suspected Samson. No one believed the sweet child of Captain Isiah Blood would be anything more than a horrified witness to the crimes.
Who could see him as anything other than an innocent child?
Only Sarah could, and her loneliness in that regard bordered on sickness.
Samson never seemed to see her as a threat. The idea that she might turn on him, and inform others about his frightening ability to murder with words, did not cross his mind. Or if it did, he never spoke of it.
“Damn it, boy!” Isiah spat, jarring her out of her thoughts.
Sarah looked up and saw Isiah raise his hand and lash out at Samson. The blow caught the child on the side of the head, sending him sprawling across the floor.
“I’ve told you a thousand times to mind where you put those damnable stones you collect,” Isiah snarled, kicking at the gathered pebbles with a bare foot. “If you can
’t listen you won’t have them.”
Sarah watched Samson stand up and look meekly at the floor. The set of his shoulders and the tone of his voice were anything but submissive.
“Yes, father,” Samson whispered, “you know how sorry I am.”
She watched as Isiah visibly relaxed. All traces of anger fled from his face as he said, “I know. But you must heed my words and listen. You must strive to have more sense. Emulate your brother Joseph. Within him is a soul both meek and mild when it comes to his parents, and to heeding them. I know you would do better if you understood this.”
Samson glanced at Joseph, who was attempting to ignore the conversation while cleaning the rust from a hoe.
“Of course, father,” Samson said. “I will try to be like Joseph.”
At Samson’s words, a cold spike of fear was driven into Sarah’s stomach, and she was terrified at the hidden meaning behind them.
Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 5: Seeing the Unseen, February 2nd, 1734
“Have you seen the boys?” Sarah asked Isiah when he came in from the snow. He and their sons had spent hours moving wood closer to the house.
Her husband shook his head as she brushed the snow off his shoulders and removed the thick scarf from around his mouth and nose. He pulled the deerskin cap off, ran a hand through his thin, gray hair and said, “I’ve not. I sent them home an hour ago, if not sooner. They were to check on the oxen and the horse. Nothing more. It is too cold for them to be out of doors.”
Worry gnawed at Sarah as she went to the window and looked out towards the small barn Isiah had built in the fall. Through the heavy snow, she could make out the structure, and the faint glow of a lantern around the edges of the window’s shutters.
“I think they may still be in the barn,” Sarah said.
Isiah grimaced, for he had sat down on a chair. The cold weather bothered his joints and reminded his body of old wounds and injuries which had never healed properly.
“I will go, husband,” Sarah said. She went to the fireplace and removed the teapot, which she had kept close to it. Sarah carried it to the table and poured him a cup, adding a sliver of honeycomb to it before he could protest. She kissed him on his cheek and said, “Drink it and rest. I will return.”
