The Eighth Husband

May Beecher

• Publisher: Left of Brain Books
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781396318962
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

May Howell Beecher takes us on a rollercoaster of intense feelings of joy, love, sorrow, and death in a novel that will have you on the edge of your seat more often than not. The story follows a girl, Sara, born in peculiar circumstances who would grow to possess, quite literally, murderous beauty.

There's no doubt that, if this book was published today, it would be an international best-seller.

"Only one child -a girl- shall gladden your heart, and she might better remain unborn than to suffer all that fate holds in store for her. Though blameless, yet shall she be cursed."

"For even as a baby she seemed to bewitch men, and it was sickening to hear some folks rave over her beauty, which would most likely be the ruin of her."

"The angel said to the young man "Brother, today we shall lodge with Raguel who is thy cousin; he hath also one only daughter named Sara; I will speak for her that she may be given thee for a wife."

Then the young man answered the angel, "I have heard, brother Azarius, that the maid hath been given to seven men who all died in the marriage chamber."

What will happen with Sara's eighth marriage? Will the curse ever be lifted? And how can such a bliss as beauty become a life-threatening curse?

Read this timelessly breathtaking novel to find out!

CHAPTER I

The Curse

It was the fifth day of May in the year of our Lord 1817. All the early morning the weather had been threatening. At the noon hour the rain fell in torrents and the lowland meadows were soon transformed into ponds. At sunset the clouds parted and a rift of golden splendor illumined the west, dying away in crimson glory beyond the green verdure of the hills.

A young and comely woman stood leaning against the stile that did duty as gateway to the old farmhouse. Shading her eyes with her hand, she gazed along the roadway that led to the town. She had been alone all day, for it was training day and all the men folks were enjoying a holiday. Raguel, her husband, was an officer of the state militia and had gone away in the early morning, well pleased that his little wife should see him in his gay regimentals.

Only two weeks had elapsed since he had brought Edna, his girl-bride, to dwell in the old farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.

As she scanned the road, instead of the loved form of her young husband, she saw a bent, strange looking figure, leaning on a staff, slowly advancing over the hill. Stray locks of gray hair hung over the scarred, uncanny looking face that was framed by a faded red hood.

Edna’s heart beat fast, almost to suffocation, for she was a timid little body, and the strange appearing creature would have caused anxiety, if not alarm, to one of a less nervous temperament. She hastily retraced her footsteps towards the house, entering and closing the door, knowing that she had been seen and that in all probability the woman would enter the house, for there was nothing to hinder her from so doing if she desired. There was no lock on the door or other mode of fastening except the latch, for Raguel held to the rule that had governed his ancestors, that the latchstring must always be hanging out in hospitable greeting to all who desired entertainment, and in the house she waited In fear and trembling.

Up the winding pathway, where the cinnamon roses were putting forth their green leaves, hobbled the bent figure of the old woman. As she reached the house, instead of sounding the old brass knocker on the door, she brought the large knob of the heavy staff that she carried down against the panels with a loud, resounding thud. Edna, with trembling hands, opened the door and stepped far back in the wide entry. The elflike creature made a low, mocking bow, then spread out her scant skirts in a curtsey, as if to emphasize her pretended reverence, as she slowly straightened up, making a great effort to stand erect, which was a physical impossibility. She said:

“You are a fine looking wench, but at your age I was much handsomer, and I never wasted my time watching and waiting for a recreant knight. A woman and a dog will chase after a gay uniform, even if it leads them to the devil and he who wears regimentals wears also a thick coating of conceit plastered on by the silly maids and matrons who bow down and worship the brass buttons the fools wear for their adornment.”

And turning her eyes upward, she chanted:

“Your feasts shall be turned into mourning, and all your mirth into lamentations.

“Don’t look so frightened, simpleton. I’ll not harm a hair of your head, but there’s a many who will not prove so kind. A curse hangs over your head by a silken thread, taut at the present time, but before many moons have come and gone the silken thread shall weaken, the strands shall slip apart, and the curse will fall.

“Only one child—a girl—shall gladden your heart, and she might better remain unborn than to suffer all that fate holds in store for her ere the gates of heaven open to receive. Though blameless, yet shall she be accursed. I have spoken.”

Ere the last wards died away Edna had fallen on the hard floor, a limp, unconscious form.

The old woman spurned her with her foot, saying:

“Poor, weak fool! And it is such as she that strong men love. But the eagle may not mate with the dove, and the curse shall fall.” And without another glance at the prostrate form, she adjusted her old red hood, and wrapping the faded blue cloth mantle about her bent shoulders, she wended her way down the wooded path to the highway.

Raguel, coming home from a mimic war, saw the wrinkled face and the glare of malice in the woman’s eyes as she passed him in the road, and wondered greatly; then in sudden fear lightly touched the whip to the black horse that carried him so proudly, remembering that Edna was alone and doubtless had been frightened if the woman had stopped at the farmhouse, for her appearance was that of a wild creature.

He could not recall ever having seen the woman about the neighborhood. If his father were living—and so desired—he could have told him the woman’s history. A poor half-breed Indian, educated above her station by a white father, she had given her foolish trusting heart, as her mother had done before her, to a white man (a wasted love and a ruined life) the gay ship’s captain, who had sailed away after making shipwreck of her happiness. The man returned after a few years from foreign parts with his pretty girl-wife, to settle down in the old homestead at the foot of the mountains, giving no thought to the poor creature at the town poorhouse who was a mental wreck with lucid intervals when half-formed plans for revenge entered her crazy head. She would disappear for weeks at a time; no one knew how she lived or where she wandered to during these intervals. Then she would put in an appearance again to be cared for at the poorhouse.

Raguel rode swiftly on his way to the farmhouse and, quickly alighting from the saddle, entered the house. Edna’s unconscious form was in the entryway, and to the horrified young husband the cold, white face looked like death. As he gathered her close in his arms there was a faint movement of the eyelids, and with a startled expression her eyes looked up at him. With glad recognition she exclaimed:

“Oh, Raguel, I am so glad that you are here. I have been so frightend. A horrible old woman came here and said such awful things to me. Where has she gone?” Starting up in affright, she asked, “Did you see her?”

“Yes, I met her down the road,” said Raguel. “I think she must be crazy, judging from her looks, and not responsible for anything that she said. Try not to mind it; don’t think of it again, dear. She cannot harm you.”

To the nervous, hysterical woman it was not easy to forget or refrain from speaking the fears that the old woman’s words had suggested to her mind.

One of the neighbors came in next day, and Edna told her the story in all its details. The woman had heard all about the crazy woman years before, and without daring to say outright all that she knew, she managed to convey to Edna’s mind that something was being kept back, a mystery that concerned her to know.

Still troubled in thought, Edna that evening asked Raguel if he knew what Mrs. Payson meant, and if there was any secret connecting them with the old Indian woman, adding:

“She made me so uncomfortable by her innuendoes, but I would not please her by inquiring what she meant, because I knew she was just dying to tell me.”

“Of course she was, and what does it all amount to—just crazy talk. I wish that woman would mind her own business and keep away from here. It is just as Otto” (the farm hand) “says, ‘She talks so much and she says noddings.’”

“I know,” said Edna. “She came in the other day as I held a small mirror in my hand, and she said, ‘Law sakes, I guess you must think yourself handsome.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I do.’ Then she tossed her head and asked, ‘What made you have a turned up nose?’ And I answered, ‘So that it would not always be poking itself into other folks’ business.’ You know that she has an awful long nose. She looked mad, but she did not say any more.”

“Ha, ha! I am glad if you can hold your own with her, and that was a pretty good shot. All the same, I wish she would keep away from here. Association with her is not good for you, and the hateful things she is so fond of saying rankle.”

CHAPTER II

The Birth of a Child

The weeks and months passed on until the May training day was at hand again. The purple and white lilacs were putting forth their fragrant blossoms, and over hill and dale the grass looked like great squares of green velvet.

In the front room at the homestead, not far from the fireplace, a large, old-fashioned wooden cradle stood; handed down for several generations, it had been the first resting place of the little new comers to the old house. With pillows of softest down, and white quilted blankets, it was ready for another occupant. Folded away in sweet lavender blossoms were tiny garments of softest linen, spun and woven by the little mistress of the house, who was looking forward to the time when a baby face with Raguel’s blue eyes should look up to her in all the beauty of infantile innocence. Many times Edna would say:

“If the child is a boy I shall be content, for then I shall know that all of the old woman’s talk was nonesense, but if it is a girl child I shall have great fears.”

Raguel had tried to calm her anxiety, for her condition was giving him grave concern. She would waken in the night trembling with fear, and to Raguel’s questioning made answer that every night a woman in a white gown came down from the attic and stood at the foot of the bed, brandishing a large knife. She would vanish when Edna screamed in her agony of fear. A nervous chill would follow the harassing scene, and it would be nearly daylight before she fell into a troubled slumber. All this was telling on her strength, which was not great at any time.

One morning, after an unusually distressing night, she was so ill that they sent for the doctor. Doctor Munson was a kind-hearted, sensible old gentleman. After gaining Edna’s confidence he questioned her about the apparition, and asked to examine the door that opened from her sleeping room on the attic stairs. There was no lock on the door. The doctor suggested putting a bolt on above the latch, so that it could be securely fastened. The ruse was successful, and the woman in white never put in an appearance again.

One dark night, while a heavy thunderstorm was raging, Edna was taken sick. Doctor Munson was hastily summoned. All night and the day following he was in constant attendance. The day was dark and gloomy, the rain still falling in torrents. To the anxious watchers a great fear had come, for death hovered near and might at any moment bring desolation to the household. Just as the sun went down in a black cloud beyond the western hill an infant’s cry was heard in the old house. The young mother heard it and rallied from her half-unconscious state to inquire:

“Is it a boy?”

The doctor raised his hand in admonition to the nurse, and replied:

“Yes, dear, it is all right.”

A smile of glad content illuminated the wan face, and with a restful sigh her head settled back on the pillow.

The little one was a girl with wonderful, blue eyes that held within their depths a look of patient resignation.

The nurse said:

“She is the oldest looking baby at birth that I ever set eyes on. She looks as if she might be three months old this minute, and that air strange, far-off look in her eyes gives me the fidgets. I hope that she’s going to live, but I dunno. She don’t look as if she were long for this world. And how we’ll ever tell Mis’ Raguel the truth about her is more than I know or can guess. I shift all the responsibility on the doctor’s shoulders. It’s his mess, not mine, and he’s got to git out of it the best way he can. Though I do suppose the poor creeter would ha’ died if he hadn’t deceived her.”

The young mother came slowly back to health and strength, and at last to a knowledge of the little one’s sex. The doctor told her the truth in the gentlest manner possible. The shock was so great that only the immediate use of restoratives prevented her from losing consciousness. The doctor felt that it was necessary for the matter to be straightened out at once. The crazy woman’s words had made a deep impression on Edna’s mind, weakened by her illness. The doctor told her that if the truth had not been withheld from her at the critical period of her sickness the result might have been fatal, and with calm, gentle words he tried to convince her of the folly of placing any credence on the foolish wanderings of an insane person.

Then he placed the beautiful little girl in her arms. Baby commenced to cry and, with a hysterical sob, Edna clasped the little one to her breast. Mother-love and anxiety rose uppermost; she wiped away her own tears and hushed her babe to sleep. The doctor went on his way, feeling sure that each would comfort the other, and that time would set all things right.

They named the baby Sara, and she grew and thrived in spite of nurse’s prediction to the contrary. Her pretty face and dainty ways were a revelation and source of great delight to her parents.

Mrs. Payson said (but not in Edna’s presence, for she had been spoken to by Raguel in a very plain manner after Edna’s illness, and warned that it would not be safe for her to say anything about the child that would tend to increase the mother’s fears), “that it was her opinion that there child of Raguel’s would raise the mischief with men’s hearts, and she for one believed the crazy woman’s words would come true, for even as a baby she seemed to bewitch menfolks, and it was sickening to hear some folks rave over her beauty, which would most likely be the ruin of her.”

Sara developed early a great love for flowers, and would sit in her little chair for hours at a time in the garden, watching the flowers, the bees, and the butterflies. The winged visitors there were so accustomed to her presence that they would come and go as undisturbed as if she were a part of the garden. Just above her head the trumpet flowers were blooming, and Sara became friendly with a little hummingbird that always hovered there among the blossoms. The tiny bird would flutter about her curls and rest for a second on her hand without the slightest appearance of fear.

One day Tom, the house cat, came out to the garden for a frolic. He saw the humming bird just poising above the flowers, and with one bound he crashed among the vines, and then appeared with the little bird in his mouth.

Sara gave a startled scream and then grasped Mr. Tom by the throat, and quick as a flash the little captive was set free. Its beautiful plumage was ruffled and the bird seemed to be nearly dead, but Sara fixed up a little box for it in the house, and after a few hours it rallied and sipped the sweetened water prepared for it, and was soon winging its flight.

Edna had tried to instill in the little one’s heart a love for and tenderness towards all of God’s creatures, but Sara had her peculiarities.

She had a rag dolly, and dolly’s dress was pinned together with tiny thorns. They were thrust through the cloth into dolly’s body. One day it occurred to Sara that it was a cruel thing to do, and as she drew them out, her tears fell fast—she was deep in the pangs of remorse at what dolly must have suffered, pierced by the cruel thorns.

In a few minutes Sara was in the garden and had rolled away one of the large stones that rested against the stone wall. Out walked several daddy longlegs, and she remembered the thorns in her apron pocket. As the poor daddies scrambled along, she stuck a thorn in the body of each. That was like Sara—tender-hearted about some things, impulsive and incorrigible in many ways, yet always lovable and charming.

Her education commenced when she was three years old. She was started off to the district school, and soon became the pet of the older pupils, who never tired of repeating her smart sayings and pert ways.

In the winter the big boys stopped with their sleds to carry her to and from school, and her mother often had to settle the disputes arising among them, for each lad desired to be the chosen one. She reigned a little queen over many subjects. She was a lovely little maiden, small and slender, yet perfectly formed—a wonderful expression in the blue eyes that sometimes were almost black in their intensity.

When she was eight years old she was the promised wife of half a dozen boys, who considered themselves quite old enough to ask that momentous question at the mature age of ten years and were looking forward to the time when the promise should be fulfilled.

One boy made a confidant of his chum, and was informed:

“That’s nothing; she’s engaged to all the other fellers, too.”

And when he chided her for her faithlessness, she cried and said that she thought he was real mean. She had said yes to the other boys bec...

Table of contents

• CHAPTER I The Curse
• CHAPTER II The Birth of a Child
• CHAPTER III The Deacon’s Marriage
• CHAPTER IV Sara Meets Her Ideal
• CHAPTER V Sara’s First Marriage
• CHAPTER VI Sara’s Second Marriage
• CHAPTER VII The Women Hold Themselves Aloof from Sara
• CHAPTER VIII Sara’s Third Marriage
• CHAPTER IX A Good Friend
• CHAPTER X Abby Ann’s Thanksgiving
• CHAPTER XI Sara’s Fourth Marriage
• CHAPTER XII A Stranger within the Gates
• CHAPTER XIII Sara’s Sixth Marriage
• CHAPTER XIV Julia’s Disappointment
• CHAPTER XV Sara’s Seventh Marriage
• CHAPTER XVI Sara’s Prayer
• CHAPTER XVII The Lady Sophia’s Visit
• CHAPTER XVIII Deacon Eaton ’S Revenge
• CHAPTER XIX John Proposes Marriage to Sara
• CHAPTER XX The Indian Woman
• CHAPTER XXI Tobit’s Lost Son
• CHAPTER XXII The Indian Woman Returns
• CHAPTER XXIII The Eighth Marriage
• CHAPTER XXIV Tobit’s Son Restored to Him