When Eliza Smith’s widowed father kept climbing on his barn roof, believing he could soar like a hawk, he was sent to an asylum in Boston. But what does that have to do with the deaf?
I glance at Papa. He does not seem as shocked and confused as I am. He doesn’t even seem surprised by our visitor’s wild ideas. There is a stillness in him. When I catch his eye, he reaches out and pats my hand.
No one replies. Andrew glances around the table. His nervous smile shows he knows he has made a misstep.
“I meant no offense to you and your family, madam. I am grateful for your hospitality,” he says, looking at Mama, and then at Reverend Lee. “You make me feel at home after my long, weary travels. Your fine, simple cooking reminds me of my own dear mother’s.”
Mama seems to soften at his words. “Thank you,” she replies. Is it Andrew’s resemblance to George that enchants her? I find Andrew’s notions of the mainland compared with our island rather grand. We prefer straightforwardness to dupery in Chilmark. Has Mama forgotten this?
Andrew Noble continues. “It is a marvel that you can keep up cheer and live such a civilized life away from the lively activity of Boston.”
“My goodness, did Andrew and I catch a fright driving here!” Reverend Lee says, changing the subject. “We were passing the old marsh when I heard a loud moaning in the woods. At first, I thought it must be a poor bear or deer caught in a trap, but as I slowed my cart, I caught sight of two apparitions floating among the trees. They appeared as luminous specters.”
I am frozen in my seat. I dare not look at Nancy for fear one of us will show a sign of our guilt.
Mama glances at Andrew Noble. “Did you see it too?” she asks.
“I am interested in facts,” he repeats. “But there was certainly something there. Perhaps it was swamp gas. It is said to cause such phenomena when an interaction with natural galvanic impulse—say, lightning—occurs. I can assure you, it is of a very earthly origin.”
I quietly exhale.
I turn to sign only to Nancy, but suddenly, Andrew and Reverend Lee jump up from the table. The dishes rattle and water splashes from my mug.
Mama signs quickly to Papa, “Outside, sounds like skirmish.”
Papa runs with Reverend Lee to the front door, the rest of us following.
It is dark and raining, with bright, intermittent flashes of lightning. From the doorway, I can make out two men struggling between our house and the farm. Nancy grabs me from behind and points at a cart and horse standing in the rain. They belong to her father.
Reverend Lee runs toward the men. Is he shouting? No one is interpreting for him. Papa is running too. I glance at Mama, who is holding her arms tightly around her body. She tries to pull me inside, but I run after Papa. Nancy follows. I look behind me and see Andrew standing with Mama in the doorway.
Papa seizes Mr. Skiffe under his arms and tries to hold him still. He was tussling with Thomas. They are both mud-splattered. Eamon tries to wrestle Thomas back to the farm, while Papa drags Mr. Skiffe to our house.
Mr. Skiffe knocks his head backward and hits Papa in the face. Abruptly Papa lets go. Reverend Lee goes to his side.
I see Mr. Skiffe sign violently to Papa, “Your freedman is lying! That Indian wife of his stole bedsheets right from under our noses! She is a conniving, thieving woman, and her husband is no better! After all that we have done for her and her daughter too!”
Bedsheets?
I look to Nancy. She is pale and drawn, backing away and shrinking into the shadows.
Did Nancy steal our haunting sheets? Did we steal them?
As Eamon leads Thomas toward the farm, I see the barn door is open, a lantern lit inside. Helen’s willowy figure is standing in the light. She steps forward, wrapped in a raccoon fur robe, her hair loose. Is Sally with her? What must they be thinking?
I tug on Papa’s sleeve and sign frantically, “It’s not true! It’s not true! Mrs. Skiffe discarded the sheets! We used them to create winding shrouds for the spirits in the Littlewoods! Oh, Papa, stop him!”
Papa gives me a surprised stare. Mr. Skiffe doesn’t see my confession, but I believe that Nancy, Reverend Lee, and Mama do.
Papa struggles to restrain Mr. Skiffe and hauls him toward the house. Mr. Skiffe’s boot heels drag in the mud and his arms are pinned, so he can no longer sign his nasty accusations. Reverend Lee follows, imploring him as gently as he can to be quieted and be at peace. From the look on Mr. Skiffe’s face, I think he will be no such thing.
Mama and Andrew retreat to the house as well. Waves of nausea pass over me and my hands tremble. The rain is coming down in slick sheets now. Everyone has gone in except for me and Nancy, who is shaking.
I gesture for her to follow me into the house.
“You told them!” she signs at me angrily.
“Had no choice,” I sign.
“Had no choice?” She emphasizes each word as she signs. “How about keeping silent to protect me?”
“Would you have an innocent woman take the blame?” I ask.
“She is just an Indian,” Nancy signs. “What do you think will happen to me when Mother finds out I took the sheets without permission and committed blasphemy in the woods?”
I think about Nancy’s words “just an Indian.” “I don’t know,” my hands stammer. I am soaked to the skin and without words. What have I done?
I walk to the front door and look back at my friend with her angry, clenched fists. Nancy hesitates, but she comes and slips in behind me before I close the door. In the kitchen, Mr. Skiffe is raving with his hands. He is using ugly,
