Slewfoot: A Tale of Bewitchery

CHAPTER 1

The New World

Sutton, Connecticut, March 1666

A shadow deep in darkness.

A whisper …

Another.

No.

More whispers—urgent.

I do not hear you … I cannot hear you. For the dead do not hear.

A chorus of whispers.

Leave me be.

You must wake.

No. I am dead. And dead I shall remain.

You can hide no longer.

There is nothing left for me out there.

There is blood.

No … no more. I am done.

They come.

For the sake of all, leave me be.

They are here, at your very door.

I care not.

We have brought you a gift.

I want nothing.

Blood.… Smell it.

No, I smell nothing. I am dead.

But the shadow did smell the blood drifting around it, into it, becoming part of it, and with it came the hunger—but an itch at first, then, as the smell permeated the air, a painful clawing.

Oh, the shadow moaned. Sweet blood.

The shadow opened its eyes, shut them, then opened them again.

There, in the dirt, lay a four-legged beast, not a deer, not any animal it recognized, but a shaggy thing with split hooves and thick curling horns. It lay broken with its guts spilling from its belly, its eyes flickering and its breath fast and shallow.

The shadow drifted toward the animal. The beast fixed wild eyes on the shadow and began to quake, then bleat. The shadow fed on the fear, sliding closer, closer, pushing its smoky tendrils into the warm gore, drinking in both the terror and the blood.

The shadow began to find its shape, the blood forming arteries and veins, cartilage, bone, sinew and muscle. It began lapping the blood, then—realizing it now had teeth—tore into the animal, shoving its muzzle into the warm guts, devouring flesh and bone alike. The shadow felt a thump in its chest, another, convulsed, then a heartbeat, drumming faster, then faster. The shadow, which was no longer a shadow, lifted its head and let out a long howl.

Good, said the other.

Good, said the shadow, now a beast. And for the first time in ages heard its own voice echoing off the cave walls.

Are you still hungry?

Yes.

Would you like more blood?

Yes.

There is more above.

The beast looked up, spotted a sliver of light at the top of a long craggy shaft.

What is your name? asked the other.

I do not remember, replied the beast.

You will. Oh, but you will … and so will they.

SAMSON! Abitha called, trying to quell the rising panic in her voice.

She moved quickly, following the split-toe tracks as they wove through the shocks of dried cornstalks. She knew the goat couldn’t have gone far, as she’d just seen the beast not an hour before. She reached the edge of the field and stopped, scanning the dense Connecticut woods. The trees, even at the dead end of winter and with all their leaves shed upon the cold earth, swallowed the light, making it difficult to see more than a hundred paces forward.

Samson, she called again. Sam! The chill air made mist of her words.

She noted the heavy clouds above, could see dusk would be upon her soon. If she didn’t find Samson by dark, then the wolves, or one of the wild men, surely would. Yet she hesitated, knowing how easy it was for a soul to enter that wood and never come out. She looked back to the cabin, debated fetching the musket. Deciding there was no time, she sucked in a deep breath, hefted the hem of her gray woolen skirt, and forced herself into that murky maze of trees.

She followed the tracks around a knot of blackberry vines and down an embankment, doing her best not to slip in the half-thawed mud and leaves. The branches and brambles tugged at her coat and long skirt. A limb caught her bonnet, pulling it from her head, unbinding her long auburn hair. She reached for the bonnet and her foot slipped out from beneath her, sending her sliding down the slope and into a boggy ravine.

Hell and hell! Abitha cried, then glanced furtively about. There was no one out here, but being careful had become habit, as she well knew the price should one of the sect hear her curse so.

She grabbed a branch and made to stand, but the branch snapped, sending her over onto her hands and knees, the muck sucking the boots from her feet. Son of a whore! she cried, this time not caring who heard.

Abitha spat out a speck of mud and began digging for her boots, found them, and tugged them from the bog. She tried shaking out the mud. When that didn’t work, she began raking out the muck, the hard leather biting into her half-frozen fingers. When the pain became too much, she stopped, clutching her numb hands to her chest, trying to regain some warmth.

Samson, she called, searching the soggy bog, scanning the endless wilderness, wondering how a girl from London ever ended up in such a brutal, unforgiving land. She felt the sting of tears and wiped at the corners of her eyes with the backs of her wrists, smearing mud across her cheeks. Stop with the tears. You’re not a child anymore.

She let that sink in for a moment.

Nay, be twenty come spring. A woman now … and a married one at that. Her brow tightened as she tried to count the months, realizing she’d been married nearly two years, found it all so hard to accept—a husband, a farm, the Puritans, especially the Puritans and their austere way of life. And all her days she’d been led to believe she’d be a maid to some lord or lady. Not much of a life to be sure, but at least she’d not fear starving come each winter. Did not turn out so, did it, Abi? Nay, Father certainly saw to that.

Her father had heard about the king’s bounty for brides to the colonies, selling her off to the government for a handful of coins. She’d been promised to her husband, Edward Williams, before she’d even left the shores of England, a girl of only seventeen.

Being a teacher, Abitha’s father had insisted she learn her letters right along with her two younger brothers. Thus, Abitha had no problem reading her promissory note, pulling it out during the long voyage over whenever she needed a good laugh, or a good cry.

Virtuous, obedient young woman, fair of face and complexion, shapely figure, good upbringing from pious, well-mannered house.

Pious indeed, she’d thought, if having a father who put more money to drink than bread and a mother who’d used cursing as a form of poetry counted. And calling her virtuous? Well, if you ignored the outbursts of profanity, occasional thievery, and a propensity for brawling, then perhaps she was just the candidate to marry into a Puritan village. As to fair of face, well, no one had ever told her that one before, not with her impish nose, not with a complexion that bloomed red with her temper and ruddy with the cold. And she guessed shapely meant something else to the man who’d penned this ditty, because her scrappy figure had rarely turned the head of any man she’d noticed. But it all lost its humor as the ship entered New Haven harbor. As it became real, she found herself sure her new husband would turn her away on sight. But if Edward had been surprised, so had she, as Edward wasn’t all she’d hoped. He was a fair-looking man, maybe even handsome, about ten years her senior, with a full head of dark wavy hair, but he had a swayback, a hunch, that caused him to walk with a stoop.

And what he might think of her, she couldn’t tell, at least not then, because if Edward had been disappointed, he never let on—greeting her upon arrival with a timid smile. Then, after an awkward handshake and a brief, businesslike introduction, he plucked up her only bag and led her to his mule-drawn wagon, taking her away to her new life.

And here I be, she thought, digging frozen mud out from my boots and chasing a stupid goat into the deep, dark wilderness.

A distant howl snapped Abitha from her thoughts. She gave up trying to empty the muck from her boots and just shoved them back on, struggling up. Her long skirt was now covered in mud and soaked through, weighing her down, making the going even more difficult. She plucked a stout stick from the muck for balance and searched for the tracks, quickly picking them up again. They led her to the far side of the ravine, to a clump of boulders jutting out from the hillside.

Abitha studied the dark stones, was struck by how similar they looked to a giant crumbling stump, wondered if it might be the petrified remains of some ancient tree, tried to imagine just how huge such a tree would need to be to leave behind such an immense relic. She noticed something else, smaller boulders, upright and evenly spaced in a broad circle around the stump; she counted twelve of them. There was something peculiar to the way they were set, as though placed there by some bygone giant.

The hoofprints disappeared into a hollow at the base of the petrified stump. Abitha could see it was the entrance to a den or small cave and approached cautiously, scanning for signs of bears or wolves. But the only disturbance to the wet leaves was that of the goat.

She stepped closer and, setting a hand on the overhang and peering into the cave, found only darkness and shadow within. Yet, still she felt uneasy, as though eyes were on her, and regretted not bringing the musket.

Samson?

No response, nothing but that unsettling darkness.

Damnable beast, why would you wander into such a hole? And it struck her as odd how the tracks had been so direct, almost a beeline from the barn, as though the goat knew about the cave.

Samson, she called again.

Nothing.

"Samson! Get out here … now! Do not make me come in after you. And in a soft whisper, Please do not make me go in there." She contemplated going back to the cabin and returning with Edward, but she didn’t know when he’d be home—could be hours. We cannot lose the goat, she fretted, knowing the beast had cost them dearly, another debt atop all their mounting debts. But it was more than that, it was knowing this was her fault, as she’d been the only one in the goat pen today, discovering the errant goat only when she’d come out to milk the two nannies for supper. But what she most dreaded was seeing Edward’s face when she told him what she’d done, of having to bear his defeat at the loss. No, that she couldn’t take.

Samson, she pleaded. Please.

She set her teeth, stooped, and stuck her head into the opening, waiting as her eyes slowly adjusted. The cave was larger than she’d expected, about the size of a wagon, with a low-hanging roof. She probed ahead with her stick, finding the floor, and slid in.

Samson, she called, her words echoing off the back of the cave. Her eyes continued to adjust and she could see another chamber. Nay, she thought. I’ll not go in there. Naught can make me go back there.

A slight rustle came from farther within, followed by a snort, like that of a goat. Abitha tensed, readied to flee. Who’s there? she called, wielding the stick like a spear. Samson? Pray tell, is that you? She waited, clutching the stick so hard her hands hurt. When a full minute crawled by without another sound, she slowly let out her breath. Stop being such a frightened goose. She bit her lip and took a cautious step forward, another, and suddenly she was falling.

She landed on her side, flailing for purchase as she slid downward, clawing at the loose dirt seeking something, anything, to stop her descent. She caught hold of a protruding rock with one hand, then the other, and held tight as she tried to find purchase with her feet, gasping when she realized there was no ground beneath her, just a dark hole.

Abitha hung there breathing hard and fast, listening as the loose rocks tumbled down the shaft, seeming to fall forever, and that was when she heard it again, the rustling. This time she had no trouble locating its source—it was coming from the pit below her. Then she understood what had happened, that the goat had fallen in the pit.

Oh, you stupid beast, she said. You stupid, stupid blunderhead. She felt sure the goat’s neck must be broken, or its back, and if so, the beast would no longer be any good for breeding, and you couldn’t milk a billy goat the last she’d checked. Oh, you’re stew now, you fool of a beast. When I get—

She fell quiet.

Another sound came from below.

She stared down the dark shaft.

Again, the sound, and she knew with absolute certainty it wasn’t the goat, but whispering. It sounded like children. She couldn’t understand the words—it seemed some other language. The natives, she thought, but no, this was something else, because she didn’t just hear the words, she felt them, as though they were crawling beneath her skin. A chill raked her body and suddenly she did understand.

Let go. We will catch you.

Abitha redoubled her efforts to escape, struggling against the weight of her muddy skirt.

Again, the voice—closer now. She spared a glance downward, could see nothing, her feet disappearing into that terrible darkness. She got an elbow over, then managed to swing up a leg, hooking it on the lip of the pit. She rolled away from the hole, made it to her knees, scrambling as fast as she could for the entrance, toward daylight, lost her footing, stumbled—and that’s when something touched her! She screamed, but nothing was there.

Leave me be! she cried, scuttling on all fours out the mouth of the cave, tumbling down the hill. She rolled up onto her knees, staring back up at the cave, waiting for it, whatever it was, to come out.

You’re not real, she whispered, shaking her head. Not real!

She wiped her hair from her eyes and saw it, there in the tricky shadows of twilight, a giant tree towering above her, impossibly immense, its leaves crimson, the color of blood. She couldn’t move, couldn’t so much as blink. She heard her name, far away, then closer, louder.

Abitha!

Abitha spun to see Edward holding a lantern on the far side of the bog, his stooped form silhouetted in the fading light.

She glanced back to the tree—it was gone, but in its place a sapling sprouted from atop the giant stump. That was not there before, she whispered. Nay, I could not have missed it, not with those leaves so red.

Abitha!

She climbed to her feet, ran to Edward, skirting the bog, never so happy to see the man.

Abitha. What— He raised the lantern, looking her up and down, his eyes wide with dismay. And what a sight she made, covered in dirt and leaves, her bonnet lost, her wet muddy hair stringing down her face, and—she only just realized—missing a boot.

You poor girl, what—

I lost him, Edward, she said, talking fast, her voice breaking. I lost him!

Who? Lost who?

Our new goat, Samson. I’ve lost him. I am sorry.

He scanned the dark. We shall find him.

Nay, you’re not hearing me. Samson is dead. He fell in a hole. Gone … just gone, Edward. And she saw the understanding of what that meant for them dawn on his face. Without the billy to breed with their nannies, there’d be no kids come spring.

Are you sure?

Aye. Edward. There’s a pit. Her voice broke as she pointed back behind her. He’s at the bottom. I am so bitterly sorry. I … I—

Edward reached for her and did a rare thing—embraced her. The hug was awkward and fatherly, as all his attempts at intimacy tended to be, but she knew he was doing his best to comfort her.

She pushed away. "Edward, did you not hear me? I lost Samson. Me. You should be cross. You have the right to be angry."

Let us worry on this tomorrow, he said. In the light of the day. If this be the Lord’s will, then … then we shall make do.

She felt hot angry tears—anger at Edward, anger for Edward, because he wouldn’t lose his temper, not at her; he never did. But she wished he would, wished he would curse her. Then maybe she wouldn’t have to be so angry with herself.

It were not God that left the gate unlatched, she snapped. It were me. This is my doing. We cannot spend our lives blaming the Lord. That is no way to—

Enough! he said, his voice suddenly terse. But she caught the fragility just below the surface and had to remind herself to not push too hard, to give him plenty of space to work things out his own way.

Enough, Edward whispered, and turned, heading back up the slope, looking beaten and tired.

Abitha glanced back at the dark cave, then followed along.

As they approached the cabin, Abitha spied a white stallion hitched to the porch. Oh no, not this night.

Edward stopped, and for a minute Abitha thought he might turn and leave. Instead he inhaled deeply and headed in. Abitha followed.

Wallace, Edward’s older brother, sat with his boots propped atop the table. Both men shared the same wavy hair, dark eyes, and brooding brows, but that was where the similarities ended, as Wallace seemed everything his brother wasn’t—a huge breadth of a man, brash in voice and manner, square of jaw, a gallant-looking fellow by anyone’s account.

Edward! Wallace called through a mouthful of ham.

Abitha had been preparing the table before heading into the woods, and Wallace had seen fit to help himself to one of the two small slices of ham. Abitha struggled not to shout at the man, that being the very last of their salted meat and there being no telling when they could afford more.

Wallace looked at the mud on Abitha’s clothes and in her hair. Dare I ask.

We’ve lost a goat, Edward said, and added no more.

Oh … I see, Wallace replied, taking another bite of ham. I am sorry to hear of this. He held up the chunk of meat. Hope you do not mind, brother. It is a long ride out here and I’ve not eaten dinner as yet.

You know full well we mind, Abitha thought, and looked to her husband, willing him to call the man out. Do not make this easy, Edward. At least tell him it would’ve been courteous to have asked first. For once in your life, do not let him walk all over you.

Oh, Edward said. Well … yes, it is good to be able to share the Lord’s bounty.

Abitha, Wallace said. Fetch me a spot of Edward’s sweet honey mead. Need to clear my throat. I have a bit of news to share.

Abitha hesitated, being in no mood to be ordered about by this man, not tonight, not in her own house. But there was more to it; they were almost out of mead. This being the end of winter, they were out of most commodities, and the man before them was a big part of the reason why.

Wallace waited expectantly. He wiped the grease from his lips onto his sleeve, then looked to Edward. Something wrong with her?

Abitha, Edward said. Some mead.

But, Edward. There’s just the last—

Abitha, he repeated sternly.

Edward. I—

Abitha! Edward snapped. Now!

Wallace watched the exchange with a bemused grin. The patience you show this one, brother. You are a lenient man, to be sure. But some say too lenient. Do not mean to tend your house, but a stern hand in the home might save that one a thrashing in the village. That is all.

Abitha flushed, turned away, and marched to the cupboard. She knew all too well that Puritan women were to be seen and not heard, to be subservient and respectful to all men at all times. It had been drilled into her since the day she’d arrived, and she sure as hell didn’t need Wallace to tell her once more. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to quell her temper, opened the cupboard, and lifted out a jug of mead. It was their last, and by the weight of it, all but gone. She grabbed a mug, filled it halfway, and sat it down with a thump on the table in front of Wallace.

You can certainly tell when this one has her dander up, Wallace said, and smirked. Face turns the color of a raspberry.

You say you have news? Edward asked.

Wallace’s smirk fell away and he downed the mead in a go. Edward, here, sit down. Abitha, a cup for Edward.

Edward took a seat at the table and Abitha brought him a cup and filled it.

Wallace tapped his cup. A bit more.

Abitha glanced at Edward. Edward nodded and she poured out the last of the mead, barely enough to fill the bottom of Wallace’s cup.

Wallace didn’t hide his disappointment.

There is no more, Abitha said tersely. That is the last of it.

Wallace sighed. Aye, hard times all around. He paused, searching for the right words. Edward, it seems we are in a bit of a bind.

Oh?

Wallace cleared his throat. I did my best with the tobacco … everyone knows that. Yes?

Only God can control the weather, Edward said.

Yes, Wallace continued. Exactly. I spared naught, as you well know … went to such trouble and expense to bring in the proper plant, the new sweet leaf that showed such promise. I did all things right. But yes, you speak true, I cannot bring the rain. That … only the Lord can do.

Oh, is it the weather that is to blame now? Abitha thought, fighting not to scoff. The weather that made you take on tobacco even after you were warned by so many that the plant did not fare well in Sutton soil. But did you heed them? Nay, because you always know better, Wallace. Better than anyone.

Wallace was quiet a moment, his face pained as though reliving a nightmare. "Anyway, I am not here to go over all that again. The crops failed and the venture did not work out. That is that. What matters now is our family’s circumstance. I took on tobacco for all of us. You and Abitha too. As you know I had hopes to bring you in on it … to expand the operation to your spot out here. To honor Father’s legacy and all he did for us by building a family enterprise."

He stared at Edward, his eyes all but demanding agreement.

Edward nodded.

Well, it seems this venture has left us in a pinch. Wallace paused. Seems … it seems we have a loan to repay.

A loan? But … I thought you had gone in with Lord Mansfield as partner?

Yes … in a way. But … well … when the cost kept spiraling, he demanded some collateral.

"Your farm? Wallace … say you did not!"

Wallace peered into his empty cup. No … no, I did not do that. I would never risk our father’s farm.

Edward appeared relieved.

I put up this place.

Edward sat straight up. "This place? You mean my farm? Here?"

Wallace nodded slowly.

Abitha steadied herself against the cupboard. What … what do you mean?

Wallace gave her a cutting look. Mind you to stay out of this, woman.

Abitha bit her tongue, knowing too well that women were strictly prohibited from engaging in business affairs, that it was the very law.

Wallace, Edward said. Please explain this to me. I do not understand.

Wallace scowled, his face red. How much plainer can I make it. I put this homestead up for collateral. I am sorry. I never thought it would come to this.

"But … you cannot do that. This is my land."

Brother, it is not that simple, as you well know.

It is. We … we have an agreement. I’ve made all payments on time. There is but the one season left.

"I am not saying this is fair. What happened with the tobacco was not fair to any of us. You think I do not feel bad about all of this? What I am saying is I am trying to be as fair as I can. Not just to you, but to all of us."

And when did you become so fair-minded, Wallace? Abitha wanted to ask. Was it fair that you should inherit both farms simply for the being the eldest son, then push Edward to buy this one from you … these scraggly acres way out here in the wilds? And for a deal that made us all but paupers. Fifty bushels of corn per season. Fifty! At least twice, mayhap three times their worth. Was that fair?

But listen, Wallace continued. Hear me out; it is not so bleak as you would think. I have worked out an agreement with Lord Mansfield.

What sort of an agreement?

You can stay on here. You need not leave. Only you will be making your payments to Mansfield instead of me.

So, I make my final payment to him?

Wallace shook his head sadly. There is no final payment, little brother. The property belongs to Lord Mansfield now. You work the land, giving him half the yield each year.

Like some tenant farmer, Abitha said beneath her breath.

Wallace gave her a scathing glare. Edward, I pleaded your case … explained the situation. Lord Mansfield is a fair man. He said he is willing to discuss terms for you to eventually own the land.

How long?

Wallace shrugged. Twenty years, mayhap.

Twenty years? Abitha thought. Twenty years! Edward, do not let him do this to us.

Edward said nothing, just stared at the table as though lost.

We are lucky to get that. I did my best. I am telling you.

Abitha began to shake, found both her hands balled into fists. Edward, can you not see that this man is playing you, that he is always playing you? But she knew no matter how many times she pointed it out, he could not. Edward could rarely read people’s true intentions, leaving him vulnerable, and she had to watch as his brother took full advantage of this, over and over.

There must be another way, Edward said. Mayhap, if we, the both of us, put up a bit more each season to help you pay this off.

"No. I’ve been round this. This is the only way."

You must stand up to him, Edward, Abitha thought, taking a step forward. Edward glanced up at her, saw her outrage. Abitha shook her head vehemently at him.

Wallace, Edward said. "I am sorry. But this is your debt. It is not fair to ask this of me. I have put everything into this place. You cannot just give my land away."

Edward, who does this land belong to?

What do you mean?

Little brother, Wallace said in a gentle tone, the way you would talk to a child. I’ve been doing my best to say this in such a way as to not make you feel small, as we both know you do not always understand the bigger picture. But you are forcing me to be blunt. Wallace leaned forward. Who does the land belong to?

Well, it’s not that simple. The land—

"It is that simple, Wallace said sternly. You are just not able to see it. Now, whose name is on the deed to this property?"

Why … that be yours, of course.

"Of course. And as such it is my asset and therefore can be, and is, available to pay off my debts. It is that simple."

Nay, Abitha thought. None of this is that simple, Wallace Williams. You made a deal for these parcels. And here we are with but the one season to go, and you … you what? You think you can just take it all away? No! Abitha blurted out. "Why does it need be Edward’s land? What … what about your land, Wallace?"

Wallace stood up, appeared ready to slap her. Why is this woman speaking?

Abitha! Edward snapped. Enough. Please. Wallace, I am sorry.

I have had about all I will take from that one.

I will see to her. But this matter. It is upsetting for all of us. And you have to agree it is a fair question.

What is?

Why do you not put up your own acres?

"What part of this are you not understanding? These are my own acres."

No, I mean your homestead.

How can you ask that? Wallace retorted, sounding wounded. Would you have me give up the very home we were born and raised in? The farm that Papa built with his sweat and blood? And that would make no sense; my acres are worth ten times this place.

"Edward built this farm with his sweat and blood, Abitha said. It was worth almost naught until he cleared it, brought in topsoil. It is his labors, not this land, that you are paying your debt with. Have you no shame!"

Edward looked at Abitha, horrified. Abitha!

I have had enough of this! Wallace growled. I have signed this land over to Mansfield. It is done and that is all!

No! Abitha cried. It will never stand. You’ve signed a deal with Edward and you will be held to it! Abitha knew she should stop. "What you have done is sold your own brother into servitude to pay off your debts."

Abi! Edward cried. Enough!

Edward, do not let him cow you. Not after all our hard work. He—

Abitha! Not another word!

Abitha saw Edward was shaking, that he appeared ready to bolt from the room. She closed her mouth.

You have gone too far this time, brat, Wallace spat, his eyes furious. Your tongue has earned you a hearing with the ministers. We will see what they think of your outburst.

Abitha flinched; she knew this to be no groundless threat. She’d seen several women set out in stocks for speaking their minds, one even lashed for far less than what she’d just done. And Wallace’s threat might hold less weight if this were her first offense, but Abitha was already on probation for not keeping her tongue in check.

Wallace, Edward pleaded. Please … no. I am appalled by her behavior. Please forgive her. She is high-spirited … is still learning our ways. I—

No.… Enough excuses. She has been warned many times. I will be placing her on charges tomorrow. It is high time she learns her place. He picked up his hat and started for the door.

Edward stepped in front of the larger man, held up his hands. Please, Wallace, do not do this. For me, please.

Abitha stood shaking, watching Edward begging to be heard. This is my fault. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Wallace pushed past.

All right … I am willing to work with you on this, Edward conceded. The farm. I am.

Wallace stopped, gave Edward the look one would give a contrite child. I am listening.

I just need a little time to get my thoughts in order. That is all. It is a lot all at once. Surely you can understand that?

Wallace waited.

I… Edward started, glancing fretfully at Abitha. I am sure we can come to an agreement. I mean, I know we can. There has to be a way.

Wallace smiled. Now, there is the little brother that I know and cherish. You sometimes forget that Papa left all this to me for a reason. He knew well of your weakness of mind and trusted me to look after you. You must trust me as well. We must not let Papa down.

Edward dropped his eyes.

Wallace let out a sigh. And, Edward, to be fair, I guess I could have handled this better. He jabbed a finger at Abitha. It is just hard to keep one’s temper with that harpy nagging at us.

I will see to her. But let me handle her in my way. Please say naught to the ministers.

"But can you handle her, brother? I am beginning to believe otherwise. Do you not see how she takes advantage of your gentle nature, plays you, bends you to her will with that poisonous, nagging tongue of hers? Look at her even now, glaring with such venom. I feel a few days in the stocks and a sound beating would be the best thing for that one."

Nay, I can manage her. Abitha, Edward said sternly. You will apologize.… You will beg Wallace’s forgiveness. Now!

Abitha gasped. Even knowing Edward was but trying to spare her punishment, it still felt as though he’d slapped her. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so just stood there trembling.

Abitha! Edward all but growled.

Wallace smirked, and she knew he was hoping she would scream and curse, would throw something at him, anything to give him more leverage over Edward. She dug her nails into her palms as the tears welled up in her eyes. You have to, Abi. You must.

It is no good, brother, Wallace said. She will never—

I beg your forgiveness, Wallace, Abitha said, all but spitting the words out. She was shaking now, knew her face must be scarlet. I should not have spoken so. Please forgive my disrespect.

Edward looked to the larger man. "There, see. She is trying."

Her eyes are like knives, Wallace said. I do not appreciate the way she is glaring at me.

Abitha, Edward said. Cast down your eyes.

Abitha continued to glare at Wallace.

Abitha!

She shifted her glare to Edward, wanting to slap him for treating her so in front of this beast. But when she saw the fear on his face, fear for her, it was then that the tears came, spilling hotly down her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, stared at her feet.

Wallace, what more do you want? She is contrite. Please. This night would be a trial for anyone. I have promised to work with you. So, now let us put this behind us.

Abitha glanced up, caught the sly grin on Wallace’s face.

Perhaps you are right, little brother; there are bigger matters to settle here. We should not allow this one’s ill-bred behavior to come between us. But I promise you this, the next time she butts into our business, she will receive the lash. Am I clear on that?

Yes, Edward said. Of course.

Are we clear on that, Abitha? Wallace asked. It was obvious he was enjoying every second of this. "Do you understand your place? Do you? I need hear it from you so that next time there will be no argument. Do … you … understand … your … place?"

I understand, Abitha said, keeping her head down, forcing the words out between her teeth.

Wallace smirked; he was positively gloating. Abitha had no doubt he’d gotten everything he wanted from this visit and more.

Tomorrow then, little brother, Wallace said, his tone suddenly light. After church. We can work out the details and let the ministers know where things stand. He put on his hat and left the