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would sleep again, as my eyes felt stretched and widened by my furtive
     glances into the dark corners of the room, but Mother kindly agreed to stay awhile. We climbed together into Drew’s bed along
     the wall and, pulling my body against hers, she snuggled her knees into my own.
    “Do not be afraid, dear Betsy,” Mother said, patting my leg with her hand under the quilts. “Your father will soon discover
     the cause of this disturbance.” He had left the doorway and I heard his footsteps descending the stairs.
    “I pray that will be so.” I was calmed by her warmth and confidence and I allowed my lids to shut over my stinging eyes. Though
     we were troubled by no more noises that evening, I slept only fitfully in the well-lit room.

    I woke early to the sound of furniture being moved about in the hall. I looked outside and saw the day was not a sunny spring
     one, but instead, the sky was overcast with a gray pallor that reminded me of the winter months. It looked not at all warm.
     I left Drew’s bed and discovered Father, Dean, John Jr. and Drewry were in my bedroom, having moved my heavy wardrobe and
     my washstand out into the hall. They had up-ended my bed so it stood against one wall, and my whole floor was in plain view.
     Father held a crowbar in his hands and was set to pry up the boards.
    “Some vermin could be hiding in between the ceiling and the floor,” he explained, ripping the first board out. The creak it
     gave squawked like the wood splitting we had heard the night before. I shivered in my nightdress, unhappy to be reminded of
     it.
    “What hides there, Father?” I wondered what he might find. On his hands and knees he leaned forward, peering into the empty
     space between the boards.
    “I see no nests or evidence of animals, but I will look some more,” he said. I realized he intended to rip apart the whole
     house if need be, to discover what visited such fear on us. A hopeless panic came over me that he would find no vermin. My
     stomach felt queasy and I put my hand across it as I wondered, if not vermin, what would he find? What could make the sound
     of birds and of gnawing and gnashing wood, and yet be invisible to the eye? My intuition screamed it was something unlike
     anything I had known before, something uncommon on this earth, and I wondered, why had it come to us?
    I turned back into the hall, removing from my wardrobe cotton stockings and a plain cloth dress the color of the hickory nuts
     used to dye it. I walked to the boys’ room to change and it felt odd to dress there, but odder still was the cause of it.
     I did it quickly, disliking the sound of ripping wood issuing from down the hall. I felt again the nausea in my stomach and
     I hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen where Mother was stirring a pot of beans and bacon at the stove. There were
     two brown vine baskets of laundry and ironing for Chloe and another of mending for me by the door and it made me tired to
     see them.
    “Good morning, Betsy. How are you this day?”
    “I am well, Mother.” I know not why I lied to her, but I knew my true feelings would make her sad and I did not wish to add
     my fears to Mother’s pile of burdens, like another basket at the door. Unfortunately, the smell of cooking beans was abruptly
     repugnant to me and I stood and ran out the back where I vomited into her blue flowering rosemary bush.
    “Dear Betsy, I should say you are not well at all!” Mother followed me, and stroked my back. She scooped a bucket of cold
     water from the barrel where the rainwater was collected by the back door and washed my sick into the ground, before leading
     me back to the kitchen. “Sit, child.” I sank into the chair by the woodstove and she brought me a wet muslin cloth smelling
     of comfrey. I closed my eyes while she gently wiped my face. “You have no fever …” She felt my forehead with the back of her
     hand, then stroked my cheek. “Sometimes with the bleeding, the stomach