by Joe DeRouen
Derek caught Sierra’s eye, rolling his high to the ceiling. She caught herself before laughing.
“Fortunately, your father does not mandate state curriculum, Miss Stone.” Mr. Harlow dismissed her, eliciting a snicker from the rest of the classroom. Rebecca glowered at the rest of her peers, slumping down in her desk.
Sierra brushed her hand over the cover of the book. She knew it well. In fact, it was one of her favorites, not for the historical aspect, but more the sociological one. It interested her to know how fear of something different could propel people to condemn so many without true proof.
“I will be generous and let you pick your partners for this project. I want you to pair off and find a scene to present to the class. Then, I want a five page analysis of that scene and what it means to the rest of the play.”
Groans came from everyone. No one was in the mood to do any acting, not with Halloween coming up in the next week. Derek leaned over quickly as people began looking around for partners. “You’re in, yeah?” He grinned widely at her.
Rebecca was prancing down the rows of desks towards them. Sierra quickly whispered back, “Yes.”
“Derek! You’re my partner, okay?” Rebecca turned her back on Sierra.
“Sorry, Bec, I’m working with Sierra on this one.”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Dead serious.” He brushed back his dark hair, blue eyes never leaving Rebecca’s reddening face.
“You’ll be sorry for that, Derek Miller. You’ll BOTH be sorry.” She shot Sierra an icy stare before heading back to her cronies, one more than willing to partner up with her.
Sierra dropped her head into her hands. Derek leaned over and touched her bare arm in a reassuring gesture. “Hey, don’t be like that. She’s just all talk.”
When he touched her, it sent electric sparks through her skin. It was so familiar to Sierra, yet she couldn’t quite place why. “We can work at my house, after school, if you want?” She lifted her head, peering at him.
“Sounds good! I’ll meet you out front after school.”
Suddenly, things in Hartford didn’t seem that bad.
***
Excited to hear the final bell, Sierra didn’t hesitate as she gathered all her things and raced outside the school. She waited on the steps for Derek, excited and nervous at the same time. Unfortunately, it was Rebecca who found her first, surrounded by her following.
“Hey, no one wants you here. Your parents are doing bad things. You should just leave.” She sneered at Sierra. “And Derek is mine, not yours.”
Raising her chin, Sierra had enough of this meddling girl. “I think he’s big enough to make his own decisions. Besides, my parents do good work. Now leave me alone, or I’ll put a hex on you!” She raised her hands and mumbled some Latin words.
Rebecca’s face went white. That was not a reaction Sierra expected. “You…you leave me alone!” She hurried off, and the crowd parted. It wasn’t long after that Derek joined her, seeing the last of the kids run off.
“What was that?”
Sierra giggled, genuinely happy for the first time since coming to the high school. “I threatened to put a hex on her, and she ran off.”
“Weird. Oh well. Let’s head to yours.” They walked off down the street, Derek slipping his hand around Sierra’s. Her heart lightened.
They came along to Sierra’s house, and she withdrew the key, about to unlock the door, when a voice called from across the street, “You, girl!”
The key clattered to the wooden porch, and Derek dove to retrieve it. Sierra spun to see where the voice had originated.
“Yes! You! Come here!” The old woman across the road crooked her finger in Sierra’s direction. She gave Derek a fearful look, grabbing his hand for support. “Yes, him, too!” Turning her back, she walked back into her dark home, leaving the door open.
“Well?” He pulled her down the steps, crossing the street. “Aren’t you curious?”
Sierra nodded, feeling drawn to the house, but still wanting Derek’s safety, her courage banished from the earlier confrontation with Rebecca. Together, they entered the house, and the smell of mothballs hit her. On the walls were tintype photographs, along with more modern ones, traversing decades of family portraiture and fashion.
“The parlor! Look smart, you two.” They followed the sound of the voice into a room nearly as old as the house. The upholstery on the furniture had been meticulously looked after, and the wood on it and the end tables had been polished to a glimmering sheen. She gestured to a two-seater sofa. “Sit.”
Sierra and Derek obeyed, dropping their backpacks to the floor. More family portraits lined the wall, and the room was dominated by a rather large bookcase. A hunched woman searched the shelves. She wore a wool skirt, green bobbled sweater, and low shoes. When she turned, her eyes were bright and cheerful, something that surprised Sierra immensely.
“My name is Miriam Stone. Perhaps you know my granddaughter, Rebecca? I’m sure you go to the same school.” The shocked expression on both their faces had Miriam holding up a hand to stay their flight. “Please. I know how my granddaughter…and son can be. They are intolerant people, as were their ancestors. You see, my husband was the descendant of Samuel Stone, a minister who settled here in the 1600s.”
Derek nodded eagerly, “Yes, when Rebecca…well, she tried to get me to ask her to the dance. That was one of the cards she pulled.”
Miriam smiled, “I am not surprised.” She turned back and withdrew a very delicate leather bound journal, repaired throughout time, the pages barely contained in the binding. “This has been in our family for many years.” She tenderly handed it to Sierra. “I thought it might be of some use to your parents. I know they are revisiting old wounds.”
Carefully opening the cover, Sierra read the words, “The Personal Confessions of Elizabeth Stone, wife to Samuel Stone.”
Derek leaned over, peering at the old ink handwriting. “Cool.”
Miriam lowered herself into an armchair opposite them. “There is much scandal in our family, dating back to Elizabeth. It is said she gave her soul to the Devil to gain the love of a man in their village. Although, as she confesses herself, he was betrothed to another.”
“I’m not sure what…” Sierra started to say.
“Call me an old fool, but I knew something was in the air when you arrived on our street. It was as if an old presence had inhabited a new soul.” She gazed upward. “Our family has been plagued with a slew of bad luck, to put it in plain terms. They have made up for it with snide behavior, snubbing those they deem to be beneath them, or ones they feel might try to steal something precious.”
Derek linked his fingers through Sierra’s. “Like her trying to get me, and her jealousy for Sierra?”
“Exactly, my boy.”
Sierra touched the slanted writing. “Do you think my parents will discover something to help your family?”
Miriam shrugged. “I can only put the pieces in the right hands.”
Closing the book, Sierra stood up. “We have to go work on a project.”
Showing the teenagers to the door, Miriam touched Sierra on the shoulder, but recoiled, clasping her hand. “Sorry, dear, my…arthritis.” She spun and slammed the door, returning to her abrupt mannerisms.
“Weird.” Derek brushed it off, heading back across the street with Sierra.
“Yeah, weird.”
***
The cell door creaked open, and into the chamber strode Elizabeth Stone, dragging behind her a small, trembling child.
“My sweet girl!”
“Mama!” Into Mary’s arms tumbled her firstborn child, Sarah. “Oh, Mama!”
Elizabeth stared hatefully at the tearful reunion. “I have little time, Goodwife Young.” Her lip curled as she spat out the name, all smiles and sympathetic glances gone.
“I would speak to my daughter alone.” Mary raised her eyes, glowering at Elizabeth.
The woman shied away
. “Until the church bell strikes the hour.” She spun. “It is such a horrible stink.” She flounced from the room.
Mary gathered her daughter onto her lap, kissing the child tenderly. At least her daughter was clean, and seemed well cared for.
“Mother, Goodwife Stone is vile to me in private. She speaks such horrible things of you and Papa.” Tears formed in Sarah’s eyes, remembering her recently lost father.
“Shush, little one. Do not cry. If…” Mary choked on the words. “If I must go to our Lord, you must be strong. Take care of your brother, who now grows inside me. I have a kindly spinster aunt. She will come for you both.” Although, I shall have to do unthinkable things to get permission.
“I will try, Mama.” Sarah placed her petite hand on Mary’s belly. “He is strong, like Papa.”
Mary cradled the child to her breast. “Yes, my love, like Papa.” The church bell began to toll, and Mary’s heart shattered. She quickly kissed the child, whispering warm endearments into her ear.
Goodwife Stone returned, striding into the cell. “Come, Sarah. It will be supper soon.”
Mary rose to her feet. “Goodwife Stone? Might I speak to the Minister? I must confess.”
Elizabeth stopped, her hand forming a claw over Sarah’s shoulder. The silence was filled by the scurrying of rats. “Yes. He will come in the morning. He has already asked for the message to be delivered.” She left abruptly.
Mary collapsed on the bed, head resting against the stones for a few precious moments. Moonlight streamed into the window. She retrieved her journal to continue her story.
“My wife will bring the child this evening.”
“Is she well…my Sarah?” I asked, pleading for news of my daughter.
Minister Stone wrapped his hand around the bars. “I care for her because she is a part of you. Elizabeth does not feel so. She claims more bewitchment.” His voice had lost its malice. I was still fearful.
“Thank you.”
“Until tomorrow.” He left me alone.
I sighed with complete relief, sitting on my tattered bed. We had played together as children, our families arriving to the New World on the same boat. Samuel…how strange to call him by his given name…had made no secret of his affections, but I was not of the same mind. I urged him to have my friendship, but I could give none of my heart.
When Louis Young arrived in the colony, the single women were all enraptured, but he had only eyes for me, which infuriated the other ones to no end. I was a nobody, daughter to a farmer. Elizabeth Low was especially vengeful. I believe she and Samuel married at her father’s urging. I could never say what drew them to each other.
My Louis and I lived in peaceful married bliss, until the fever took him. Many claimed I had used potions to ease his suffering, but it was merely herbal remedies taught to me by my mother. In the end, they did nothing, and he passed in my arms.
Tears slipped from Mary’s eyes, staining the page, and running the ink. Louis had been so different from the other men seeking her hand in marriage. He ensconced her behind her father’s barn, pleading for her to walk with him. They shared their first kiss secretly by the river. The tender moment was forever burned on her memory.
Unable to continue, she tucked the journal away. With the promise of a letter to her dear Aunt Cynthia, she hoped her children would be safe. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. However, to get the letter in the hands of her aunt would require one, unthinkable act.
***
“Sweetheart, we’re home!” Chloe’s voice came from the entry way.
Sierra bit her lower lip and let her book drop. They had picked the confrontation between John Proctor and Abigail, one of Sierra’s favorite parts. “Umm, I’m here!”
Chloe came into the parlor, mud streaked across her right cheek, “Oh! Hello.”
“Mrs. Spears, pleased to meet you. I’m Derek.”
Owen came up behind his wife. “Pleased to meet you, Derek, and it’s Owen and Chloe. Do you want to stay for dinner? We’re just ordering pizza.”
“Sure.” Derek was all smiles, and very polite. Sierra was mortified.
“Great! We’ll uh let you two get back to what you’re doing.” Owen guided his wife out of the room, winking at Sierra, who crumpled onto the sofa.
“Oh geez.”
Derek laughed, “What? They’re nice.” He sat next to her, brushing her hair back.
Sierra leaned against him. “You’re too good to be true.”
Lifting her chin, he kissed her. His lips were warm, and Sierra shivered at her first kiss. It was nice, almost too nice. “There. Did it. Been wanting to do that all day.” He flashed her, what was becoming, his trademark grin. “Now, go to the dance with me on Saturday? I kinda left it late, considering today’s Friday…”
Sierra smiled just as widely back. “Yes!”
“Cool. I’d say we should go as our play characters, but that’s a bit dark…”
“What about…Tristan and Isolde? They were tragic lovers, but the costumes are much more fun.” Sierra blushed at the word ‘lovers.’
“Got it. I’ll Google it when I get home.” He kissed her again. They went back to rehearsing; sure the scene would be a hit by the time the pizza got there.
***
That night, Sierra brushed her teeth, and grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She felt older somehow, and brighter. She hoped her parents would decide to settle in Hartford, and then she wouldn’t have to leave ever again. Heading back downstairs, Sierra found her parents in the parlor, pouring over their notes from the day. The book she got from Mrs. Stone lay open on the desk.
“Mom! That’s mine!” She ran and snatched it up.
Chloe blinked a few times. “Oh…I thought it was a part of our notes. I didn’t recognize it though. You know…it looks familiar to one we do have…” She stood up, digging into a box. “Ah ha!” She handed her daughter the leather journal.
Sierra took it, nearly dropping it as she steadied herself against an onslaught of images and smells. A cell. Iron. Rats. Opening the cover in a hurry, she read: “My Tale by Mary Young.”
“Yes, Mary Young was my great-grandmother so many times over. She settled here. In fact, she is the reason your father and I are looking at this site. We believe it is the spot she was hanged after being convicted of witchcraft.”
“But how…”
Chloe sat back into her chair. “She had two children, given to an aunt to raise. The aunt protected this book, passing it on through the generations. There was talk of publishing, but the family of the minister…umm, Stone, I think his name was, fought the accusations. I am actually hoping to prove them correct, but…well, that’s tedious information.”
Sierra read the first few lines, and hugged the book to her chest. “Can I borrow this, Mom?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Oh, we’ll go costume shopping tomorrow.”
Taking both the books upstairs, Sierra sat on the edge of her bed, unsure which to read first. Mary’s seemed more enticing, because it belonged to one of her ancestors. She flipped to the first page, and took a deep breath. After reading for several hours, Sierra was asleep, the book on her chest.
Sierra… As the girl inhaled, an airy apparition extracted itself from the book, winding its way to the ceiling and down into the body of the teenager. Rolling over, Sierra moaned in her sleep. “Louis.”
***
I lay on this bed, ashamed of my betrayal to my dear Louis, but safe in the mind that my aunt will receive a letter to come for my children when this little one is born. I cannot write of my actions. Please assume whoever reads these confessions it is something utterly repulsive. Were I not with child, I would never have considered letting him use my body.
Mary leaned over and retched into the waste bucket. Bruise marred her tender flesh, but the deed was done. Her aunt would be summoned upon the verdict of the trial tomorrow. She had secreted away a paper signed by the good minister of his agreement with her. She assured him it would
find the hands of officials, should he betray her. Fearful of her, Minister Stone gave in to the demands.
Relieved her children would be safe, Mary tucked her journal away, awaiting her death sentence in the morning. No one would save someone whose property they coveted so dearly. She was roughly awoken at the first bell, pulled from her cell by the jailer, preparing to face her judge.
***
Sierra awoke with a start the next morning, pulling the blanket tight around her. She had to blink several times to clear away the image of the jail cell. “Weird,” she muttered, brushing her hair back, and heading down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Owen smiled, flipping pancakes at the stove.
“Hey, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“She was up all night working on her thesis. She really wants to publish this book.”
Sierra ran her finger over a scratch in the wooden table. “Dad…I met a strange woman yesterday. She said she was descended from Minister Stone. Then, there’s this girl at my school…it’s her grandmother I met. She’s not really nice.”
Owen set down the spatula and sat at the table. “There are a lot of people in this town who would rather let the past stay secret. The historical society has our back, Sierra. Nothing will happen to us.”
Chloe came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, and holding a cup of coffee. “Morning, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom. Are we still going shopping today?” Sierra didn’t sound too hopeful, based on her mom’s appearance.
Chloe brightened, “Yes, I almost forgot. Let me get dressed and we’ll see about your costume. Any ideas?”
Taking a stack of pancakes from her father, she smiled. “We are going as Tristian and Isolde.”
Owen waggled his eyebrows. “Tragic lovers, eh? Let’s hope you and Derek fair better.”
“Dad!” Sierra blushed, concentrating on her food. In the back of her mind, she heard a faint voice, You will. True love conquers all. “Huh? Mom did you say something?”