House of Darkness House of Light (47 page)

The far side of the plank lifted up off the ground. Someone had come to her rescue. It rose several feet from the grass and was held in place, suspended in midair by someone invisible. Cindy stood up and still, shocked into silence, disbelieving her own saturated eyes, stinging tears evaporating in the wind. The heavy plank securely held in place and ready to receive ten pennyweight nails, she put her end of the board up against the post and began banging into the dense pine, anxious to finish the task quickly lest her assistant suddenly dissipate with another gust of wind; heart pounding as hard as her hand.

Amazed, stunned by this revelation, Cynthia walked cautiously toward the other post, pulling a few more nails from her pocket. When she arrived at the spot where the plank was obviously still being held off the ground, precisely where it needed to be nailed, she humbly uttered “Thank you” then resumed the chore. The heavy board never moved. It was held in a proper position for the duration of this task. When completed, Cindy did not know what more to say. The horses were safe. She was able to bring them into the barn, one at a time, before the brunt of the storm was upon them, all the while sensing she was not alone in the effort; someone was there to watch over her, to intercede if anything went wrong. The jittery horses were responding to something but it was impossible to interpret; it could have just been the inclement weather they were reacting to by acting up. It may have been an invisible companion; no way of knowing for certain. However, Cindy was able to get both of them fed then watered then blanketed without any further disruptions. On her way back to the house from the barn, Carolyn pulled into the yard. The next chore was a very quick offloading of paper bags before rain arrived in force. By the time this was accomplished, groceries safely stowed away on pantry shelves, Cindy sensed her helper had departed; services no longer required.

The other children scattered but Cindy remained behind in the kitchen with her mom. There must’ve been a rather odd expression on the child’s face as it prompted Carolyn to ask: what’s the matter? They sat together at the table. Cindy began to tell her story. When she arrived at the sentence regarding her sibling’s unwillingness to help, Carolyn stopped her abruptly, yelling out the name of the offender, the one who’d shirked a critical responsibility. Uh-oh! Nancy knew
that
tone of voice; her desk chair scraped across the floorboards overhead and she sailed down the staircase. Time to be held accountable for her inaction: gross negligence in a time of crisis. It was strange, considering the severity of the infraction, yet Cynthia harbored no grudge against Nancy, having subsequently forgiven her sister, without so much as a well-deserved apology. Carolyn was not quite as forgiving. Confronting Nancy, Cindy tried to re-establish eye contact with an angry mother, a gaze focused elsewhere.

“Mom! Listen! I’m trying to tell you something important!”

“You
begged
for horses; then left your sister alone with them in a storm!” Carolyn was as disappointed as she was livid with Nancy. “How could you? Cindy needed your help. She would
never
have done that to you!”

“But
that’s
what I’m trying to tell you, mommy! I
wasn’t
alone!” Grasping her mother’s full attention along with her forearm, Cynthia sat back down on her chair, prepared to continue telling a miraculous tale. “Someone
did
come to help me…someone held the plank for me while I nailed it in!”

“Who came to help you? No one else was home.” Carolyn was confused.

“I don’t know who it was!” There was a serene expression in Cindy’s eyes.

Nancy was summarily dismissed. Suddenly, just as curious as their mother was, Nancy was clearly not invited to participate further in this conversation; her totally inexcusable behavior destined to be addressed at some other time. Meanwhile, Carolyn listened thoughtfully to her daughter’s description of the event as it unfolded like blankets used to warm the cold horses, providing the equivalent sensation for her mother. Carolyn had not been there to help her, to intervene during a perilous situation, but someone else had done so in her absence. For the kindness Carolyn was deeply grateful but to what or whom? Acknowledging the episode occurred, never doubting for an instant the child was telling the truth, her mother marveled at the news, wondering aloud with Cindy about the source of such an inspiring intervention. Obviously someone was watching out for her…and watching over her.

“Maybe it was your Guardian Angel. How did you feel when it happened?”

“It felt all warm inside me even though I was freezing then all of a sudden I stopped being mad and I stopped crying. I was too shocked to cry anymore! It held the board in place for me, mom…
it did
…until I was done hammering. It held the board right where I needed it to be and it never let go!”

“I believe you, honey.” Carolyn smiled, embracing her daughter.

“Mommy, I felt love…so much love it made me stop being mad at Nancy!”

“Oh, baby doll…” Carolyn winced. “That was one pitiful sentence but I
do
understand what you’re
trying
to say.”

As wind-driven rain pounded against their windowpanes, billowing clouds released a torrential flow of fluid from the sky. Carolyn made cocoa. Mother and daughter discussed the effects and importance of gratitude over mugs of heavenly hot chocolate. Cindy was grateful to have the horses secured in the barn. Above all else, she was truly thankful to her saving grace. Carolyn was grateful her daughter had not been injured in the process and was supremely appreciative of the supreme being who’d come to provide rescue in a time of need, no matter from whence it came…it was there when she needed it most.

“Do you think it was one of
our
spirits?” Cindy searched for an answer.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I really don’t know how to answer that question. Whoever it was obviously cares for you and could see from
somewhere
that you were in trouble.”

“But I didn’t even pray for help this time! I just yelled at Nancy’s windows from across the yard. I’ll bet all the neighbors heard me way down the road, I was yelling
so
loud! I said some really bad words, too, mom. I’m sorry. I was
really
mad…and really scared the horses would get out. Sorry for swearing.”

“Maybe the wind carried your voice all the way to Heaven and it
was
your Guardian Angel who came running to the rescue.” No less plausible a theory.

“Maybe it was Mr. Kenyon.” That thought had not yet occurred to Carolyn. Cynthia had an innately reliable sense of all things pertaining to the Cosmos. The mother had learned to listen closely to her daughter well before this day. He had not been gone long and perhaps he was not long gone. In her heart, Carolyn hoped Cynthia was right; perhaps her dear old friend had helped the hapless child. She hoped he had come back to this farm he loved so much in life…back where he belonged. Even though she would never wish upon him a presumed curse of remaining an Earth-bound spirit, she privately hoped he’d been dispatched from afar for the useful purpose served.

“It doesn’t matter who it is as long as we say ‘thanks’ they get the message. I believe it was a good spirit; it’s all that matters. You said you felt loved and protected. It’s all we
can
know and sometimes, it’s enough.” Carolyn cradled sweet little Cindy in her arms then enlisted her as the little helper; assistance required in the kitchen. Pay it forward; an important lesson to instill in one so young. (Perhaps
pray
it forward
was an equally important lesson to learn.)

Boo! Who in God’s name was it? Cindy has since wondered often where a kind assistant from beyond originated; too many times to count. She remains as awestruck by a memory as she was by the event, that such powers exist; a force capable of manipulating objects at will or rescuing a damsel in distress. About the will; the intention behind an action: the child was in an untenable predicament. At precisely the moment she required another set of hands and a stronger back, it
appeared
as an invisible manifestation. It
knew
what she needed and did her bidding, in spite of the fact she had requested assistance only from a mortal soul; a corporeal problem causing her to seek an equally corporeal solution. A truly benevolent soul was watching over her; someone willing and able to help in a crisis. To this day, Cindy is as blown away when recalling that encounter as she was on the blustery day it occurred; the day a rogue plank from a horse corral went sailing with the wind: a pivotal moment in her spiritual development. She did not just rebuild the fence with a savior that fateful day; she built a bridge to a higher faith. Whoever it was, whatever altruistic spirit intervened on her behalf, whoever the metaphysical force was coming to her aid in a storm, it stunned away her tears and warmed her to the bone. Holding that heavy plank in place, it steadied the weight of the wood in spite of a gusty wind whipping against it. Cynthia made contact, the implicit messages clearly received in both directions. It was something miraculous; someone wonderful stepped through the portal of eternity. In return for effort extended, it received the eternal gratitude of a child as an everlasting Light.

“Will is to grace as the horse is to the rider.”

Saint Augustine of Hippo

~ going for a joy ride ~

 
Bathsheba

“A wounded spirit who can bear?”

Proverbs xviii. 14

Could it be true? Was this the evil temptress so many proclaimed her to be in her own time and since? Was the young woman accused of impaling the skull of a baby with a needle the same old woman haunting and threatening and chanting incantations in the night? There is no written history of the life of Bathsheba Sherman, save what records remain of her inquest regarding the death of an infant. Folklore and fable, rumor and innuendo: all that remains of the one called Bathsheba; scary stories handed down over the generations as she became more a punch line than a persona. Anecdotal evidence alone does not make a spooky story true. There was something deeper to discover.

Carolyn had to know more about her. Fran became the sidekick, her partner in pursuit of the whole truth. On a raw November afternoon, Carolyn scoured through dusty archives at Glocester Town Hall. This time, though, Fran was there beside her. On their way through the front door they literally ran into a local treasure. Edna Kent was the woman who knew more than anybody else about the history of that region; a sauntering encyclopedia. She was quite the lady; stately and majestic, gracious and good-humored, willing to share what she knew with anybody interested and inclined to listen. The natural historian possessed a voracious appetite for knowledge, much like Carolyn. Edna Kent devoured every old book she could locate; anything pertaining to their area: Foster, Glocester and Burrillville; rural, remote northwest corner of the state. Most of the earliest homes had survived, many as farms, including her own; a spectacular Colonial specimen surrounded by rich, fertile lowlands on the outskirts of Chepachet. Fran’s instinct dictated she detain her friend; keep her from whatever chore had brought her there by introducing Carolyn. The three women shivered as they stood beneath black, billowing clouds…an ominous promise of winter: an impending doom. It was really quite spooky; perfectly suited to their subject matter. There they huddled blocking the main entrance, outside in the cold damp air, chatting for the better part of an hour. Three fair maidens spoke of ancient graveyards and an assortment of obscure dumpsites they had discovered over the years; the earliest homes and names of original families in the area going back to the Colonial era. Lost in thought, distracted by the content of their conversation these ladies apparently forgot the three of them were free at any time to step back inside an almost too toasty town hall. It never occurred to any of them to do so.

Mrs. Kent asked Fran what and who they were researching. Fran divulged the mission. Carolyn was anxious to hear Fran’s longtime friend expound on anything she knew though she knew little of Bathsheba. However, Edna did know Mr. McKeachern, deeming him a reliable source of information as well as a lovely companion. Her endorsement was in keeping with his sterling and gold reputation in Harrisville. This gentleman knew well his own neck of the woods and everyone dwelling within them, past and present. Explaining how well-acquainted she was with him, the man as kind and gentle as their mutual friend Mr. Kenyon, Carolyn told Edna how they first met.

“We were just out joyriding again…searching for cellar holes, graveyards, abandoned dumpsites; the usual.” Carolyn remembered details of excursions. “Fran knows this local area better than I ever will. We drove past his house off Sherman Farm. I noticed all the outbuildings and wondered if he had any old tools for sale so I went back a few days later. We never did talk about his tools but we’ve discussed
everything
else ever since. He’s a wonderful man.”