by Aaron Galvin
“Aye,” I say. “And that is why I came as quick as I were able. That I might warn you—Mercy says another party comes for us.”
Rage crosses his face as he strides to the tree and takes up his long rifle, his gaze searching the surrounding area.
“When will they come?” George asks.
“I do not know,” I say. “Tonight, mayhap. Tomorrow?”
“Then we should make ready for them,” he says grimly. “I have more than enough powder and shot to manage all who would fight against us.”
“Is Andrew here? Bishop and Hannah?”
“Aye, for all the good they will do us. An old man, a drunk, and my wife against a war party of braves and witches,” says George. “It falls to you and I to fend them off, little sister.”
I nod. “I bring others also, in the woods not far from here, though I fear they will be little help either.”
“If they can hold a rifle and stand to post they will suffice,” says George. “This will not be the first war party I’ve defended against. I built these grounds for such times. If they be like all the others, we will yet stand come the end.”
My brother’s words lend me courage as we together go to reclaim the others in my company.
“You said Priest was taken also?” he asks.
“Aye, taken that I might be free.”
“Should we survive this wave, we will seek them out,” says George. “Pay whatever they require to free him and the others.”
I relish the idea, but fear our aid will come too late. I push aside such ill thoughts and allow myself some of the hope my brother speaks on.
“George,” says Mary upon our arrival. “Oh, George, I had not thought to ever see you again.”
“Nor I you,” he replies. “At least not for some time. Your husband—”
Mary shakes her head.
“I shall miss him,” says George. “A stubborn brute, he was, but he had a good mind for the trade.”
My brother turns his attention away from her, walking to Ciquenackqua and pulling him close.
“I am sorry for your loss, brother. But I know your father would be proud that you yet live. You will do him prouder still.” George roughly brushes Ciquenackqua’s hair. “Now come, all of you. We have much to plan and discuss.”
I bring up the rear of our group as George leads us into his yard.
“Mary, go tell Hannah what has happened,” he says. “Ciquenackqua, put some food in your belly and gather what rest you can. It’s man’s work we do tonight, and I’ll have need of you beside me. Now off you go.”
Ciquenackqua smiles upon hearing my brother name him a man, a catching sight that takes hold of me also. Though I were but a girl at the time, I well remember seeing George and Andrew brighten when Bishop welcomed them into manhood with such a claim.
“What of me, brother?” I ask.
He looks on Mercy’s body, still lain across the mare’s back. “I would hear from this witch with my own ears. And it might be I have means of fetching truths from her that you did not.”
I follow his lead into the barn and witness my father’s stallion bristle at the sight of more his own kind come into his home. Together, George and I cut Creek Jumper’s body free of the tethers binding him to the mare’s back. We lay him gently into a mound of hay, and I cover him with a blanket. I hope the time arises where we may give him a proper burial, though my mind speaks it may never occur.
My mourning turns hateful as George brings Mercy to the ground.
He takes hold of her armpits, dragging Mercy into a stable and tethering her against a wooden post.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“She be the one who murdered Sarah?” he asks. “The cause of all this?”
“Aye.”
George’s face wrenches with pain, struggling with such emotions, as he looks down on Mercy. He leaves me alone with her and returns with a bucket full of water, throwing it full on her face.
Mercy wakes with a shriek, sputtering and spitting. She shakes wet hair from her eyes and looks around the stable then to my brother and I. “So it has come to this?” Mercy asks. “Hello, George Kelly. Have you brought me here for torture?”
“You know me?” He asks.
“Aye. You look an exact twin of your father.” Mercy sneers. “And I see his coldness in your eyes.”
“Good,” says George. “Let you think well on it and answer my questions wisely.”
“I will answer,” she says. “But with little concern for whether you find them wise or no. I prefer truth.”
George scratches his beard and glances at me. “Why do you come for us after so many years? Why could you not let us be?”
“This new world be a large place,” she says. “Not all are so fortunate to have friends among the savages. Say instead it has taken us this long to find you and—”
George kicks her ribs with his boot, silencing Mercy.
I wince as she groans from the blow and turns her glare on him, her chest heaving, her breath wheezing.
“Speak no more lies to me, witch,” says George. “Or you will receive more of the same and worse. My family and friends are but a few whites in a sea of copper out here. From what my sister says, you have native friends also. They could have found us if and when you wished. Why now?”
Mercy chuckles then coughs, clutching her ribs where George kicked her. “You are much better at this game than your sisters.”
“Answer me.” George growls.
“We knew you lived, aye,” says Mercy. “And I should have found you easy enough, if sent out. But I am only a humble servant in this game between our fathers, as I told your sister.”
“Then by all means,” says George, “give me the name of whom you serve.”
Mercy grins. “You already know.”
“The Mathers,” I say.
“Aye,” says Mercy. “Though there be only one left now. The son, Cotton.”
“Why should famed reverends we have never met wish us harm?” George asks.
“I do not suppose the elder Mather did,” she says. “Increase protected you all, once he learned Abigail were sent out to fetch you. He bid us give up our anger and vengeance and allow the score be settled with the deaths of your father and Abigail. The lot of us mattered little to him.”
I weigh her words, trying to recall all I could from the Putnam journal. “Then why does Cotton hate us so?” I ask. “What keeps his hate for us burning?”
Mercy shrugs. “Torture me all you will, but I do not know the answer. Cotton is a goodly man though. He understood my pain at the loss of Abigail and set me to find you all and end this strife.”
“Such a powerful man as he would not send you out for that reason alone,” says George. “There must be another reason he would see us dead.”
“I suppose you right,” says Mercy. “But it matters little to me. His order served my purposes well enough.”
I make a show to her of looking around the stable. “Aye. He has served you well.”
“Better than you know.” Mercy grins in a way I like not at all. “I should not have found you without his resources, aye, and his social connections.”
“Let you speak to them then,” I say.
“No, sister. She knows naught,” says George, lifting the hammer from his belt. “We should be done with her lying tongue now and make our preparations.”
“Many things and names are what I know, George Kelly,” said Mercy. “Strike me again and you will learn no more of them.”
“Perhaps I should burn you then,” says George. “Give you a sampling of Hell before I send you there.”
An edge taints my brother’s voice that I have never heard before. When Mercy shows little regard for his words, George looks to the rope and station he hangs deer to bleed them out.
“Or maybe I shall string you up like Abigail Williams did our father in the woods,” says George. “That you might see your blackened guts before you leave this world.”
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�There is nothing you could do that has not already harmed me a thousand times over.” Mercy levels her gaze on my brother. “Do your worst.”
The icy way she speaks bids my body shiver, though I gather it has not affected my brother in the same manner.
“You still have all your limbs, and no missing teeth,” says George. “There is much and more I could do to you that has not been done.”
“Strong words,” Mercy laughs. “But you are no torturer.”
“Not before this day, but you will find my hand steady nonetheless,” says George. “As you said, I am my father’s son.”
And I am my father’s daughter, I think, my thoughts dwelling on Priest.
“Then you should look after your own life and flee now,” says Mercy. “As your father did when learning a storm came for him.”
“Our father fled Salem with a guilty conscience,” says George. “Nothing more.”
Mercy shakes her head. “He left for wont of his life. You should do the same, if you were wise. There’s a traitor in your midst, fool. And you’ve been blind to it all this time.”
Mercy laughs at the apparent confusion upon my face and George’s.
“Can it be you still do not know where I learned of your location?” Mercy asks. “Of this trade post and your names?”
George and I say nothing, though my mind races with Mercy’s mention of a traitor.
“Your friend”—Mercy grins as she looks on George—“Andrew Martin.”
-14-
I reel at Mercy’s claim.
“That cannot be,” I say, seeing George also confused. “Andrew loves my brother more than his own soul. He would never betray—”
“Whiskey loosens the tongues of men,” says Mercy. “And a pretty face fetches more answers still.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You lie.”
“Do not name me liar,” Mercy says, her voice rising. “Would you have more proof from me? Let you ask Andrew of his bride to be, Susannah Barron.”
George flinches beside me.
“Ah. Does it surprise you I know her name?” Mercy asks. “Let that speak to my truth.”
“How do you know her?” I ask.
“Who should have guessed a little bird from my past would spawn another to aid me in the present,” says Mercy. “It seems only natural a daughter of my Salem sister came to me, especially with news of her engagement to a fiancé hailing from the wilderness.”
My face pales at her words.
“Oh,” says Mercy. “But do not take my word for it. After all, you both yet think me a liar. Might I suggest you bring Andrew here?” She sneers. “Let the truth of his face speak plain the moment he sees me among you.”
“Aye,” says George. “I would judge the truth of it in such a manner.”
George storms out of the stable so quickly that he does not witness the smirk draw across Mercy’s lips as I do.
I chase after him, catching my brother before he leaves the barn.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Finding him,” he says. “If Andrew truly led her here…if Sarah and the others in your village died because of him—”
“But what if Mercy is lying?” I ask. “Perhaps all her actions and words distracts us from preparing for war against Two Ravens and the second war party she spoke of.”
George sighs. He runs his hand through his hair then shakes his head. “Perhaps she does,” he says finally. “But I must learn the truth of it.”
He leaves me to guard Mercy.
Turning back to the barn, I wonder if I should revisit her. My thoughts wander to Andrew, fearing what it will mean if she spoke true of him, wondering what George would do to him. Worse still, what I might do.
I watch from afar as George knocks on Bishop’s door. Seeing the old man appear in the entry stabs my heart. We must tell him of Sarah soon too, though my mind warns it will not take him long to know the truth of it upon seeing me again so soon and us preparing defenses.
My palm brushes the hilt of Father’s dagger, and I find myself walking toward the stable.
“Back so soon?” Mercy asks me. “One might begin to wonder if you and I are drawing close to one another.”
“The only time I will draw close to you is—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she says. “To kill me and take my pretty hair.”
I glare at her returning my hate with a spiteful grin.
“Still, you have had many a chance now and not done so,” says Mercy. “Why?”
“Do you hate living so that you would tempt me?”
“No,” she says. “I much prefer life. But my curious nature would understand your reasons. I said you and I are much alike, yet now I doubt myself.”
“Perhaps I think you yet have some little value left,” I say. “Though it lessens as time passes.”
“Then you grow wiser,” says Mercy. “But you are also foolish. I should never have brought you to stir chaos within my own home on the eve of war.” She grins at me. “Then again, you are no product of Salem.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Cotton chose me wisely,” says Mercy. “He sees talents in people and recognized mine in Salem, furthering them after. Place me where you will, girl. Whether at church in Boston, supping in the wild with savages”—she holds her bindings up in a mocking show—“or tied in the enemy’s stable, I find a way to prove my worth.”
“Your worth runs low.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But you shall need my talents yet when Two Ravens comes to claim vengeance on you and yours.”
I look out the stable when hearing my brother and Andrew approach, though both are yet far off.
“I would ask your forgiveness, Rebecca,” says Mercy, her ears also pricked in their direction. “For the lie I earlier told you.”
Curiosity takes hold of me. I spin back to her, my face plain in question for the lie she speaks of.
“I told your brother he were better at this game than you,” says Mercy. “That were proved wrong the moment he left to search out Andrew Martin. George would have done well to listen to you—”
I alter my gaze between her and George. Nearing the barn, grimness clouds his face that seems to surprise Andrew also. Bishop hobbles behind them, and I wonder for what purpose he comes.
“It were a small seed I planted in your brother’s mind,” says Mercy. “Now you will see it watered and blooming.”
My tongue cannot form the words to halt George as they round the stable corner. He guides Andrew through first, keeping careful watch of Andrew’s face.
“What is this you would have me see, Geor—” Andrew’s eyes round at the sight of Mercy and me. “Mercy?”
George grabs Andrew by the collar of his shirt, and flings him against the stable wall. My brother draws his knife and puts it to Andrew’s throat.
Andrew shrinks at the blade. “What are you doing?”
“Quiet,” George says. “You listen to me now, Andrew.”
The confusion in Andrew’s face cautions me step forward. “Brother, let you stop this—”
“I said quiet,” George says, turning his gaze back to Andrew. “Answer me, and let you be honest.”
“I have ever been honest with you,” says Andrew. “What cause would I have to lie?”
“How do you know this woman?” George jerks his head toward Mercy.
Andrew’s mouth works wordlessly, and I near doubt he can speak at all.
“Come now, Andrew,” says Mercy. “You and I—”
“Rebecca, keep her quiet,” George yells.
I move to obey his command, kneeling beside Mercy and drawing my own blade to her throat. Her throbbing veins beckon me, and I think how easy it would be to end this now and let my brother gain his senses without further plots from her. Instead, I hold my blade ready, awaiting George’s command.
“What is the meaning of this?” Andrew asks. His voice pained with concern.
“How do you know this w
oman?” asks George.
I think Andrew dazed, he looking from Mercy to George as if puzzled. “It be Susannah’s Aunt Mercy,” he says. “You know well my bride’s mother and father did not approve of us courting, George. When they were in a foul mood, Susannah often bid us meet at her aunt’s home so we might be alone with one another.”
“You stayed with this woman?” George points to Mercy.
“Aye, many a night,” says Andrew. “She were always kind enough to take me in.”
I look on Mercy, and think her happy as a tomcat with a mouse between its teeth.
“And you,” my brother’s voice breaks. “You told her of us? Of our family?”
Andrew looks from me to George. “Aye.”
My brother’s shoulders sag and his knife drops from Andrew’s throat.
“What?” Andrew asks, bewildered. “She often asked of my kin and trade.”
George releases his dagger, dropping it into the straw. He backs away as one dazed. “You have killed us all,” he whispers.
Andrew looks to me. “What is this?”
I shake my head and sigh, turning my gaze from Andrew.
“Mercy?” he asks. “What are you doing here?”
“You have killed us all,” George’s voice rises.
“I don’t understand,” says Andrew.
My brother has Andrew off his feet and pinned against the wall before I can think to stop him.
“You have killed us all!” George rages, his face blistery red. Tears streaming down his cheeks. “My sisters, me, and my…my wife….”
“George, I—”
“You have kill—”
“That’s enough, lad!”
Bishop leans against the stable. He wipes his brow with the back of his forearm, then wheezes as he looks on all of us each in turn, stopping on George and Andrew.
“That one’s yer brother,” says Bishop to George. “I know yer angry and ye’ve a right to be. It’s a damned fool what runs his mouth off to strangers, especially old hens who’ve nothing to do but blather on about the tales they’ve learned.”
“Bishop—”
“No, ye listen to me now, lad,” says Bishop to George. “Let him go.”
My soul cries for the pain in George’s eyes, the confusion in Andrew’s face.