Other Worlds (6 page)

Young as Betsy was, she had several admirers. Chief among
them was Joshua Gardner, the son of the neighbor who had unwittingly supplied the witch family with its whiskey. A picture of Joshua has survived; it shows he was a good-looking young chap, with regular features and a shock of thick dark hair. As soon as Joshua began to court the girl in earnest, the invisible chaperone made itself heard. At first its voice pleaded gently, "Betsy, please don't marry Joshua Gardner." Joshua and Betsy ignored the advice, so the Spirit took stronger measures. Not only did it resume its physical attacks on poor Betsy, yanking the combs from her thick yellow hair and slapping her face, but it abused the young couple verbally. One of the servants recalled overhearing one of these attacks when he was making up the fire in the room where the lovers were sitting:

"Lawd a mercy, I heard that Witch talk the awfullest 'fore them, just made Miss Betsy so shamed she had to rout out of the room, and that boy would go right on home."

One can't help wondering precisely what the Spirit said. It must have been vulgar in the extreme, for no one ever reproduced the remarks.

Joshua was not Betsy's only admirer. Another young man had watched her bloom into womanhood and had fallen helpless victim to her charms.

One of the admirable Mr. Bell's first projects on arriving in Tennessee was to build a schoolhouse on his property, not only for his own children but for any of the neighborhood youngsters who cared to attend. Betsy was a student for four years, between the ages of ten and fourteen. As the young master, Richard Powell, watched her develop in beauty and intelligence he fell in love with her, but kept silent about his feelings. Her attachment to Joshua was known, and Richard may have felt he had nothing to offer. He was only a country schoolteacher, without prospects or property, and a good many years older than she.

Both her suitors were helpless witnesses of Betsy's sufferings at the hands of the Spirit. She had a champion, however—a neighborhood Hercules named Frank Miles. His feats of strength became proverbial. A neighbor recalled seeing him crack a black walnut between his teeth. This native American fruit, my friends, is not one of your paper-shelled almonds or pecans; its covering is as hard as a rock. I confess this feat impresses me more than any of the usual demonstrations of muscle power— though if I had been Mr. Miles's dentist, I would have advised him to show off in some other way.

Frank was a friend of Betsy's brother John and a constant visitor. Betsy said he thought of her as his little sister, but we may wonder whether this modest giant did not cherish warmer feelings for the golden-haired charmer. At any rate, he proclaimed himself her champion and did his best to overcome the slippery Spirit.

His first match with his elusive opponent was not a success. Frank was spending the night at the Bells, as he often did. The weather was freezing, so he was particularly annoyed when the covers started slipping off the bed. He grabbed one end of the quilt, and a regular tug-of-war ensued, which ended with the quilt being torn to pieces. When Frank lay down, the bed tick— a thin mattress—was pulled out from under him, and then the Spirit began striking him. No doubt its sneers and mocking laughter hurt Frank even more than the blows. "You're sure a strong man, Frank; you can knock the wind out of the air, but you're not dangerous in a tussle with a Spirit."

This was the first time Frank had been defeated in a trial of strength, and he resented it as much as he deplored the Spirit's treatment of Betsy. Once when Frank was visiting he told Betsy to come and sit by him.

"Nothing will bother you while I am present," he promised.

"You go home," the Spirit shrieked. "You can do no good here."

It proceeded to pull Betsy's hair so hard her combs fell to the floor, and it pinched her cheeks till they flamed.

Betsy’s
cavalier sprang to his feet, clenching his fists. "You are the biggest coward on earth to torture a child who is little more than a baby! Why not work on me, you fiend of hell?"

As he exchanged threats and insults with the Spirit, Frank forgot his manners and used a few words gentlemen are supposed to suppress in the presence of a lady. The threats were useless; Frank learned that any attempt to defend the girl only made matters worse. He could only look at her sympathetically, and tell her she was bearing her trouble with the greatest courage in the world. Yes, I suspect Frank was another of Betsy's secret admirers, nor was she unmoved by his valor.

"I know he meant what he said," she remarked, in recounting the story, "when he offered to fight a fiend of Hell for the Bell family, even though he died on the spot."

Betsy has been regarded as one of the Spirit's chief victims; but I wonder. It certainly showed her kindness at times. To be sure, the slaps and tugging of hair can't have been comfortable, but they produced no serious injury, and the strange fainting spells may have been a side effect not directly caused by the Spirit. As for the broken romance—"the surrender of that most cherished hope that animates every young heart"—perhaps the Spirit was speaking the simple truth when it claimed Joshua would never make Betsy happy. We don't know what sort of man he was; in later life he may have been a drunkard or a wife beater—or just unsuited to Betsy.

A cynic might say that she had to be good. She had no opportunity to be anything else. In those sober, God-fearing communities, far from the luxuries of urban culture, secular amusements were lacking, and a mature married lady had neither the time nor the inclination to join in the games proper to children. Lucy's religion provided her sole source of entertainment—if that word can be used for meetings devoted to prayer and Bible study and the advancement of missions.

Of course there were the quilting bees. You gentlemen may not be familiar with that peculiarly American institution, nor was I, until curiosity drove me to investigate it. The custom arose from the scarcity of cloth in a pioneer society. Every scrap was utilized, and the ingenious ladies learned to sew the fragments together in attractive patterns. Cold frontier nights made coverlets welcome; the bright quilts, filled with an additional layer of material to increase their warmth, were a vital part of the household linen. They had another quality which was just as important: they provided an outlet for the love of beauty which is one of humanity's more admirable attributes. Heaven knows these women needed some such vent, deprived of luxury by their stern lives and forbidden vanity by their preachers. As time went on, the patterns became more elaborate, and the stitches that held the scraps together took on a baroque intricacy.

Quilting could be a solitary activity, but it went much faster when a number of people worked together, and who can blame these women for taking advantage of an opportunity to socialize? There is a sentimental charm in our mental pictures of these gatherings: the ladies in their modest gowns, gathered around the wide wooden frame on which the cloth was stretched, their full skirts billowing around them, their heads bent over their flashing needles. I wonder if you sense, as I do, the sinister currents in this harmless pastime? For who knows, gentlemen, what women talk about when they are alone? What thoughts burgeon behind the smooth white brows and issue from the demure, smiling lips?

A mere man hardly dares speculate. The ladies, of course, would have us believe their conversation was as innocent as
their work. Perhaps they exchanged recipes and household hints, boasted of their husbands' success and the beauty and intelligence of their children. No doubt there were references to certain subjects modest females would not discuss in the presence of men. But was that all? Gossip, gentlemen, gossip! Some of it innocent enough—Mrs. Jones's new gown, the Smiths' visitors from Virginia. 1 venture to suggest, however, that the news was not always so innocuous. Who knows what rumors of violence and cruelty, or legal crime and moral sin, were whispered across the quilting frame?

With these suggestions in mind, you will not be surprised to learn that the Bell Spirit was an enthusiastic participant in Mrs. Bell's quilting parties. Its propensity for gossip has suggested to some analysts that it was female, but I would not be guilty of suggesting that love of malicious talk is limited to the gentler sex.

On the whole the Spirit behaved well at these times, out of respect for Mrs. Bell. Sometimes it would sing lovely melodies, unfamiliar to the awed group of ladies—"but all agreed they were sacred hymns." Sometimes, however, it regaled the ladies with rude and humorous stories about their husbands. This doesn't prove it was female; it proves only that it was adept at talking about subjects that would interest its audience. Do not doubt, gentlemen, that our wives might listen with faint, sly smiles to tales that mock our folly, just as we sometimes joke about their charming illogic.

We can be sure that while the Spirit was in residence, quilting parties at the Bells' were extremely popular. Kate the witch knew everything that went on in the neighborhood and had no hesitation about telling tales. There was no shame in listening; the ladies might have scorned to repeat such scandal themselves, but how could they control the tongue of an invisible spirit, or question its supernatural knowledge?

Lucy Bell was afraid of the strange entity and tried not to antagonize it. "She always spoke kindly of it and to it, thus hoping in some measure to influence a better treatment for her two loved ones, her husband and her daughter." In this she did not succeed, but in every other way the Spirit repaid her with consideration and with assistance. It kept her informed about her family in North Carolina, told all the news about her neighbors (including some news the subjects would have preferred to keep quiet), and gave her useful advice on household matters.

Why the tender consideration for Lucy Bell? Her children and neighbors asked themselves the same question. The only answer they could come up with was that Lucy's pious, saintly character gave her immunity from demonic spirits. This Spirit was always ready to acknowledge genuine goodness; though it made fun of "Old Sugar Mouth," it called him a good man and sent Harry to cut wood for him when he was ill. It argued theology with the preachers, but told the members of their flocks that they were fortunate to have such fine men as spiritual leaders.

However, this interpretation is not really convincing. For if true kindness and virtue rendered an individual safe from the Spirit, what are we to think about Mr. Bell, who was tormented and reviled? Nothing in the record hints at evil-doing on his part. I myself have developed a respectful affection for this upright old man. I am not impressed by the conventional praise offered by his children and friends, but I am struck by his behavior throughout the whole dreadful affair. His reverence for the Indian graves and his stout defence of old Mrs. Kate Batts show him to have been an admirable human being. Why should such a man be tormented to death, as was the Spirit's avowed aim?

No doubt you all have explanations, as do I. But first let us see how the doom of John Bell was carried out.

Mr. Bell was much worse. An alarming increase in the severity of his muscular spasms was accompanied by a spate of abuse from the Spirit, whose violent threats and foul language were so bad that no one could bring himself to repeat them. Mr. Bell had already sought the advice of the family doctor, Dr.
Hopson. Now his friends persuaded him to seek the advice of a specialist.

Dr. Mize lived in Simpson County, Kentucky, about thirty-five miles away. His title is misleading. He was no physician, but a conjurer, magician, and medicine man. Let us not sneer at poor John Bell for consulting such an obvious quack; all natural means had failed him, and he was beginning to realize his life was in danger. Persuaded by his friend James Johnson and his son Drew, he agreed to give the magician a trial, and Drew and Mr. Johnson set off to fetch him. They left at three
a.m.,
in order to get out of the neighborhood before the Spirit turned up at its usual hour in the morning.

The journey was kept a profound secret, and this rather naive tactic seems to have puzzled the Spirit at first. When it realized Drew was not at home, it demanded to know where he had gone. Baffled in its enquiries—for John Bell was not inclined to give the secret away, and no one else knew the truth—it disappeared for the rest of the day.

Later that evening it joined the family in the reception room. It was in triumphant good spirits.

"I got on their track," it crowed. "Drew and Old Sugar Mouth—I overtook them twenty miles on the way and hopped in the road before them, looking like a poor sick old rabbit. Old Sugar Mouth knew me. 'There is your witch, Drew,' he said. Take her up in your lap. Don't you see how tired she is?'"

The Spirit had discovered the reason for Drew's absence, but it did not attempt to halt the mission. The travelers finished their journey and found Dr. Mize at home. After hearing their story he informed them that the case was a particularly difficult and unusual one. Mr. Bell was under a curse—that was the problem. However, he was confident he could remove the spell. As soon as he had finished his other jobs, he would visit the Bells.

Ten days later, Dr. Mize duly arrived. He got to work at once, searching the house for evidence of witchcraft. Triumphantly he pounced on an old shotgun that had been inoperative for some time.

"The witch has put a curse on it," he declared.

After some spells and conjuration—and some cleaning and repairs—lo and behold, the shotgun worked as well as ever.

The repair of the gun was the conjurer's major accomplishment during the three days following his arrival, but he did a lot of bragging about his former successes. Mr. Bell was not impressed; one look at Dr. Mize had convinced him the man was a humbug. But Mize insisted he was on the way to solving the case. Had he not taken the curse off the gun? Had not the witch been quiet since he came?

The family knew better. They had seen the Spirit deal with skeptics and know-it-alls before.

It is difficult not to side with the Spirit in this instance, as we read Richard Bell's description of the magician in action—drawing pentagrams on the parlor floor, intoning weird spells in a sepulchral voice, and cooking up noxious messes of horrid-smelling potions. While he was engaged in his gyrations a voice inquired, "What the devil do you think you are doing with all that hocus-pocus?"