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Authors: K.H. Koehler
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intention of poisoning anything.”
“I told them that.”
That
surprised me.
She hobbled forward. A few of the Swartzcopf men turned to watch us, but I noticed they made no move to interfere in this strange midnight encounter. Naturally, a part of me wanted to question her connection to Caleb, but a bigger part of me was just plain impressed with her courage in approaching me. Lesser men often turned away.
When she was close enough that she didn’t need to squint, she reached out and touched my arm, briefly. She laid her fingers upon my sleeve and tugged on it. Her fingers were incredibly strong. “You feel like a real man. I did not expect that. Is it true what they say about your command over the spirit world?”
I saw no point to lying, since Mrs. Knapp obviously knew quite a bit about me and my kind. “Yes, ma’am. The demonic hosts are under my dominion.”
“Good.” She smiled then, showing weathered, yellow teeth. “In that case, I welcome you into my household, Daemon.”
rode down to Mrs. Elsie Knapp’s farm with her, the two of us sitting on the buckboard of her buggy. It was a long, sweaty, bumpy ride, but at least we got to know each other better. She explained that her grandmother had had the Sight, so even though she herself had not inherited it, she was still familiar with the phenomenon. Not long after he was married, it was discovered that her son John’s wife also had it. Mary Knapp, John’s wife and Mrs. Knapp’s daughter-in-law, acted like a kind of first-warning system to the colony when it came to matters of spiritual evil.
I didn’t appreciate the spiritual evil reference, but I found their system pretty clever.
Elsie Knapp had relied on Mary’s assessment, as well as colony word-of-mouth, to better understand what had happened today. When she’d heard that Vivian and I had shown up at the fair, a pair of daemons (which, in itself, was rare, in her opinion), she’d quickly hitched her horses and ridden down, hoping to find us. But by the time she’d arrived at the fairgrounds, we’d already gone. She said she was happy to see I had returned.
“Not too many people are thrilled with my presence,” I said. The other Swartzcopf, crammed into their buggies and flatbeds, had elected not to speak to me on the ride home, and when we finally pulled into the barn moments later, one of Mrs. Knapp’s many grandsons took the horses from her but immediately turned his back on me.
“They’re afraid, Daemon, and for good reason,” she told me as she let me help her down off the buckboard and then led me inside her cozy farmhouse.
I looked around the kitchen. There was a wood-burning stove and a pump sink. The rest of the room looked like something from a 1950’s cowboy show—the gingham curtains, china closet, a trestle table with built-in benches, picnic-style, long enough to feed a small army of men. Huge gunny stacks of dry goods were lined neatly against the back wall, near the pantry. I felt like I’d been thrown back in time. I expected to see Hoss and Little Joe show up anytime.
Mrs. Knapp undid the ties on her bonnet and hung it near the door. Under it, she wore a black
kapp
, the mark of the Swartzcopf woman. The Swartzcopf were the only Amish in the Lancaster area to wear black caps all the time. “The Church’s warned us plenty about English ways our whole lives. Our colony leader makes a point of mentioning it at every sermon. But you’re an entirely different animal, yah?”
“I suppose I am,” I said, trying not to drip rain on Mrs. Knapp’s polished hardwood floors. “Not afraid?” I said as she approached me to take my coat.
“I’m nearly eighty-seven years old. I’m too old to be afraid of anything anymore, Daemon,” she said as she hung my coat near the woodstove to dry.
“Nick,” I corrected her. I looked around the spacious room full of hand-woven rugs and Shaker furniture, every little thing neat and in its place. But
Nick
seemed a little too
“I told them that.”
That
surprised me.
She hobbled forward. A few of the Swartzcopf men turned to watch us, but I noticed they made no move to interfere in this strange midnight encounter. Naturally, a part of me wanted to question her connection to Caleb, but a bigger part of me was just plain impressed with her courage in approaching me. Lesser men often turned away.
When she was close enough that she didn’t need to squint, she reached out and touched my arm, briefly. She laid her fingers upon my sleeve and tugged on it. Her fingers were incredibly strong. “You feel like a real man. I did not expect that. Is it true what they say about your command over the spirit world?”
I saw no point to lying, since Mrs. Knapp obviously knew quite a bit about me and my kind. “Yes, ma’am. The demonic hosts are under my dominion.”
“Good.” She smiled then, showing weathered, yellow teeth. “In that case, I welcome you into my household, Daemon.”
rode down to Mrs. Elsie Knapp’s farm with her, the two of us sitting on the buckboard of her buggy. It was a long, sweaty, bumpy ride, but at least we got to know each other better. She explained that her grandmother had had the Sight, so even though she herself had not inherited it, she was still familiar with the phenomenon. Not long after he was married, it was discovered that her son John’s wife also had it. Mary Knapp, John’s wife and Mrs. Knapp’s daughter-in-law, acted like a kind of first-warning system to the colony when it came to matters of spiritual evil.
I didn’t appreciate the spiritual evil reference, but I found their system pretty clever.
Elsie Knapp had relied on Mary’s assessment, as well as colony word-of-mouth, to better understand what had happened today. When she’d heard that Vivian and I had shown up at the fair, a pair of daemons (which, in itself, was rare, in her opinion), she’d quickly hitched her horses and ridden down, hoping to find us. But by the time she’d arrived at the fairgrounds, we’d already gone. She said she was happy to see I had returned.
“Not too many people are thrilled with my presence,” I said. The other Swartzcopf, crammed into their buggies and flatbeds, had elected not to speak to me on the ride home, and when we finally pulled into the barn moments later, one of Mrs. Knapp’s many grandsons took the horses from her but immediately turned his back on me.
“They’re afraid, Daemon, and for good reason,” she told me as she let me help her down off the buckboard and then led me inside her cozy farmhouse.
I looked around the kitchen. There was a wood-burning stove and a pump sink. The rest of the room looked like something from a 1950’s cowboy show—the gingham curtains, china closet, a trestle table with built-in benches, picnic-style, long enough to feed a small army of men. Huge gunny stacks of dry goods were lined neatly against the back wall, near the pantry. I felt like I’d been thrown back in time. I expected to see Hoss and Little Joe show up anytime.
Mrs. Knapp undid the ties on her bonnet and hung it near the door. Under it, she wore a black
kapp
, the mark of the Swartzcopf woman. The Swartzcopf were the only Amish in the Lancaster area to wear black caps all the time. “The Church’s warned us plenty about English ways our whole lives. Our colony leader makes a point of mentioning it at every sermon. But you’re an entirely different animal, yah?”
“I suppose I am,” I said, trying not to drip rain on Mrs. Knapp’s polished hardwood floors. “Not afraid?” I said as she approached me to take my coat.
“I’m nearly eighty-seven years old. I’m too old to be afraid of anything anymore, Daemon,” she said as she hung my coat near the woodstove to dry.
“Nick,” I corrected her. I looked around the spacious room full of hand-woven rugs and Shaker furniture, every little thing neat and in its place. But
Nick
seemed a little too
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