The Sacrifice (2 page)

She had made it. She was home.

“Drink this,” Mama said, handing Abby a warm mug of steaming cider.

Abigail, who lay in bed with several coverlets over her, took the pewter mug and drank deeply. The warmth of the cider ran through her. Still, she shivered.

Outside, the night watch called the hour.

“Take your ease, Bear,” Mama whispered. “I want you abed this evening. Tomorrow is the Sabbath, and you’ll be wanted at the service. So rest now.”

Abby scowled. Already, she could feel the stares of the congregation and the fiery sermon her grandfather would deliver for her benefit alone. She could feel the aches in her bones as she tried to sit still for the four hours of service on the hard wooden pew
of the meetinghouse. After a day in the stocks, she knew this would be no easy task. It angered her to think that she would have to withstand a long sermon on top of today’s punishment.

Mama smiled and stroked Abigail’s cheek. “Stop fussing, Abby. You’ll face tomorrow bravely. You proved today that you’re stouthearted enough.”

“Mama, what Abby did was wrong,” Dorothy whispered. Abigail’s older sister stood at the door with a bowl of stew and a piece of corn bread.

Abigail could smell the stew, and her mouth watered.

“Dorothy, come,” Mama said. “Bring Abigail’s food here and take her soiled garments downstairs with you.”

“But Mama,” Dorothy continued, as she handed the bowl to Abigail, “it’s wrong for her to race. Shouldn’t we be telling her not to do it?”

Mama sighed and reached out to rest her hand on top of Dorothy’s head. “I know they say it is wrong, daughter, but I fear I am as uncertain as your sister as to why lifting one’s skirts and racing is against the Lord.”

“It’s sinful, Mama,” Dorothy said. She turned
and looked at her ten-year-old sister. “I fear for Abigail’s soul.”

Mama laughed. “It seems anything that is pleasurable is sinful, dear one, and as for Abby’s soul, she is as innocent as you are. Do not take things so seriously, Dorothy. Life is hard enough without some joy at times. Perhaps I shall have you join Abigail here, and let you race with the devil for a fortnight.”

“Mama!” Dorothy said, her eyes wide.

Mama laughed again.

Then Dorothy, too, began to laugh. “I would never race, Mama,” Dorothy said, making a face, “as I do most truly hate to run.”

Mama and Dorothy laughed all the harder. Mama hugged Dorothy and then gave her a little push. “Take the garments, Dorothy. We will speak more on this matter later. Tonight I am weary, as is Abigail.”

“Are you all right, Abby?” Dorothy asked, turning to her sister.

“Aye,” Abigail answered with a weak smile. “I shall be fine on the morrow.”

Dorothy picked up the wet clothes and left the room, looking back uncertainly at Mama and Abigail.

“So, daughter, pray, tell me. Was the race worth the result?” Mama asked.

Abigail swallowed her stew before answering. She was well aware of what her family would suffer because of her behavior. But then she thought of the run, of the race across the field this morning, of the way she’d let her legs fly.
It was worth it,
she thought fiercely.
It was worth every minute
.

“Say it not, Bear,” Mama said, smiling. “I see the answer in your face.”

Then Mama’s smile dimmed. “Still, I fear life will not be easy for you should you always insist on doing things in your own fashion.” She rose from the feather mattress, taking the bowl from Abigail’s hand.

“Mama,” Abby said, “I am sorry for the trouble I cause you.”

Mama bent and kissed her daughter. She stroked her cheek. “Oh, Abby,” she said. “I truly don’t mind if it means you are happy.”

There was a noise in the doorway. Abby’s father was there, shuffling back and forth. He cleared his throat as he shifted from foot to foot. “How fare you, Abigail?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Well,” she replied. Her impatience rose at the
sight of him. He had not come to check on her once while she was in the stocks. She had known he wouldn’t. He never could face anything unpleasant, and that fact irritated Abby.

Her father nodded. “All right, then.”

He turned and was gone.

Abby’s mother sighed. “If only happiness for others in this house could be so easily won,” she said.

Abigail knew Mama loved Papa, and so she understood her mother’s sadness. Abby loved him too, but she hated his weakness and sometimes lost patience with him, even when she tried her hardest not to.

“Good night, Abigail,” Mama whispered, then blew out the candle in the room.

“Good night, Mama,” Abigail whispered back. She turned on her side and stared into the darkness. Her legs ached from having been held so straight and stiff in the stocks. She knew the pain would keep her from sleep. And too, Abby wished tomorrow was any day but the Sabbath.

Abigail woke to find her body
stiff and sore. She moaned slightly as she turned over in bed. Even the feathers beneath her seemed to poke at every weary spot on her body. In the room next door, Abby could hear Mama and Papa talking, and she noticed that Dorothy was not in bed with her. Mama had obviously let her sleep later than normal on the Sabbath, and Abigail was grateful for that, but now she must hurry in order to be ready in time.

Painfully, she pushed herself up and out of bed. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she grabbed onto the washstand to steady herself.

She used the chamber pot and then washed her face and hands. The water was bitingly cold, and
Abigail wished she could go back to her bed and coverlets. But staying in bed was not possible. She must sit through the long Sabbath service, like it or not.

Slowly, Abigail put on her best gown and stockings for the service. Had she been permitted a glass, she would have committed the sin of gazing into it today to assure herself that she did not look pale. She meant to arrive amidst the stares of the towns-folk with her head held high and a ruddy glow.

She left her room and made her way painfully down the steep stairs to the kitchen. Her younger sister, Franny, was sitting on the floor, playing with her cornhusk doll.

“Dorothy watered the garden for you today,” Franny piped up. “But only because Mama said she must.”

Abigail was relieved not to have to draw water from the well or tend to the garden this morning, but she knew that now she’d hear Dorothy complain of the extra work. Each of them had enough chores without adding more to their load.

Sarah Phelps, their maid, came into the room. She went to the fire and began to dish out food and
place it on the table. While some townsfolk had been critical of the Faulkners for employing a maid, saying it smacked of excessiveness and an open display of wealth, Abigail knew that Sarah’s family desperately needed the money. Because of this, Mama had kept her on, in spite of all the criticism.

Abigail held onto the back of Papa’s chair to steady herself. “Good morrow,” she said to Sarah.

“Your mother will be down straightaway, Abigail,” Sarah said without looking at Abby.

Abigail’s heart thudded at Sarah’s curt response. They had always been friends, and Abigail was surprised that one transgression could change their friendship. It hurt her to see Sarah acting so cold.

And yet she had to face the truth. Sarah’s reaction would be like many others today at Sabbath service. Abigail must prepare herself to handle the unforgiving looks of some and the averted eyes of others.

“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. But
he
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.