by Anthology
He waited for me to speak then. I said simply: “What became of Ruth?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since.”
I didn’t take my eyes from his as I emptied my pipe into the fire—slowly and carefully refilled it. Then I asked Tommy.
“And the other girl—this older one?” And when he didn’t answer me right away. “You heard from her, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I heard from her—”
I got up. Took plenty of time to light my pipe. Then I went to my little wall safe and taking the key from my pocket opened it, put in my hand and pulled out hundreds of pages of notes.
“An interesting story, Tommy,” I said when I had returned to my chair, placed the pile of papers on my knees. “These notes have been gathered after an exhaustive study and research over a period of nearly twenty years. My book will have to do with Egypt, Tommy. I doubted if I would ever have time to finish it.”
“Perhaps,” the wistful smile was strong, now, “You don’t need time—but the absence of time.”
“Perhaps.” I was very serious. “I have a little story of my own. Not so dramatic as yours. Not so exciting as yours. But it has puzzled me a great deal. Within a period of a few hours while I slept someone got possession of these notes—made corrections and additions to them. Added material that I only dreamed about. Verified facts that I have not been able to substantiate in all those years. There is other data that I thought was beyond the knowledge of man.”
“Something like my experience with my medical research, eh?”
“Very similar,” I agreed. “There was, however, one clue. A scribbled pencil name on one of the pages. Almost undecipherable but I made it out. Is the name of Ruth’s friend—Naomi?”
“Then you do believe.” Tommy came out of his chair. “Yes—it was Naomi. I wasn’t to tell you. You were to tell me. You—” He stopped.
“She told you to come and see me?”
He looked around the room, peered hard into the shadowed corners as if he half expected to see someone, lurking there.
“Yes—she did, L.D.” And then he blurted it out. “It’s Naomi. I’m afraid of her. I don’t think she has any interest in me—or even in Ruth. It’s you. She questioned me about you for hours—and now—well, I’m not to see Ruth, again unless—unless—Lord, L.D., Naomi. She—she’s interested in you.”
“In me or my work.” I smiled at him. “But she’s right, Tommy. There won’t be enough time in life for me to finish it.” And I hope without immodesty. “It’s an important work—a great work—a very great work.”
“I’m to call her up.” Tommy was all excited as he looked toward the phone. “If I am to see Ruth again I must call Naomi at once. She sent me to you—and—and—” He paused then and swallowed his swallow. “I’m not so sure it’s simply your work, L.D. Not the way she speaks of you. And I am sure—she’s dangerous—a very dangerous woman. She wants you to step outside of time with—with her. Can you—will you—do it? She’s hundreds of years older than Ruth. Dare you do it?”
An honest boy, Tommy. A romantic one too I thought then. And I who had listened to so much—and experienced so little. Perhaps I smiled as I thought of talking with a woman—well—say, well over twenty-five hundred years old. And my work—my unfinished work.
I looked over at Tommy. He seemed so excited. It has been a great many years since I was excited—like that. I said, I think gently:
“Call up Naomi, Tommy. And tell her—I’ll be very pleased to step outside of time with her.”
OYER AND TERMINER
Joe Masdon
April 19, 1692
“Abigail Hobbs confessed to being a witch today before the court.”
The sound of three slowly rocking chairs was the only noise on the porch for the next few minutes. Hands worked busily at patching small tears in shirts, knitting a small blanket, and shelling early season peas. A low whistle finally came from the youngest woman, and a hunting dog stood up from the steps and padded his way around the house. Pausing to sniff the air a few times, the dog raised his leg at a fence post, marked his territory, and finished his walk around the yard.
The old bloodhound had baggy eyes, and his tongue lolled from his mouth as he panted lightly. He stretched out near the corner of the house. It was early spring, and the New England air still held a chill in it. The bloodhound’s spot was in the sun, and he closed his eyes as if to take a nap.
“No surprise about Abigail. The poor young girl would confess to being a butter churn if she thought it might shock those men.” This came from the tall, rail-thin older woman who was shelling peas.
“She did certainly spend enough of her life being used as a butter churn—more like a butter churn than a witch by any account,” came a muttered invective from a woman whose small gnarled hands were creating a baby blanket.
“Now, now, don’t go being spiteful, Agnes. The poor dear has never been in her right mind, least not since . . . that business when she was younger.” All three heads nodded briefly, sadly, at the truth behind the words of the youngest on the porch.
“Well, not the first to suffer such business, our young Abigail, nor will she suffer the last, I fear.” Fingers flexed slowly, taking a break from the labor with the peas.
Repositioning the shirt, the youngest continued, “Even so, Constance, while it is the girl’s nature to be inappropriate, I wonder at the things she claimed. Poor thing said she pinched those three young girls at the devil’s bidding and flew on a witch’s pole to dark meetings with others of the village.”
Disapproving frowns and clucks came from the two older women. “Why didst she make such an outrageous claim, Ruth? I hope all in attendance did see her stories for the twisted yarns they were.”
“I fear not, Constance. Judge Hathorne and Captain Sewall were most interested in her tale. It came as quite a shock to the gallery, let me tell you, when she talked of her parents being witches, too.”
“That ungrateful child! Deliverance Hobbs, a witch? Foolishness!” Agnes scowled as she shook her head.
“They took much truth from her tales, as though she spoke gospel. Names were put to paper, and Sheriff Walcott didst hold the paper most solemnly when he was given it.” Agnes snorted quietly as she heard this.
Agnes held up the blanket, examining it for some nonexistent flaw, “First Tituba, and now Abigail. How many others must falsely claim to be Satan’s brides to appease these men?”
For a few minutes, there was no conversation on the porch, just rocking. Peas were shelled with a bit more agitation, and stitches were made a little tighter. The sound of gentle rocking continued unabated.
“Stupid color-skinned Indian sow,” Agnes spat.
“Her and her backwards voodoo talk. Got all those little girls all turned around with her words of fortune telling and bespelling men’s hearts,” Ruth agreed.
“Do not show pity too quickly on all those girls. I believe they have some knowledge of what they are doing. The contortions of young Parris and her cousin we all three knew as grain-fed when first we were told, despite Dr. Griggs being befuddled as a man on his wedding night.”
Constance and Ruth nodded their agreement.
“But I do not see as anyone would have given them any of the purple rye since Tituba got jailed.”
“I am most put out by Mercy Lewis, for I had hopes for her.” Constance irritably threw an empty pod to the porch.
“It’s the men I most hold in harm for this day. To follow the Book, and to try to do the Lord’s work is one thing, but to let girls lead you astray when you ought know better is unconscionable.” The baby blanket felt warm to Agnes’ frail old hands.
“Aye, a problem not uncommon in Salem, is it; men acting unconscionably in the presence of girls, young and old.” Constance was becoming agitated, and her voice started to rise. “Parris and his . . .”
A snuffling bark came from the corner of the yard. The gentle sounds of rocking returned,
along with a subdued humming, halfway through a hymn.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” A strong voice came from the front of the yard. “Might I come visit and share a bit?” The man held his hat, and absently patted the large bloodhound who had padded casually over to him.
“Well, of course, Mr. Samuel Wardwell.” Constance’s lined and weathered face smiled with genuine motherly warmth.
“You’re very kind, ladies.” The large hound followed him lazily and laid down at the steps when Wardwell joined the women on the porch.
“I hate to bear unpleasant news, but have you heard that Judge Hathorne pulled a confession of witchcraftery from Abigail Hobbs today?” If he found the news unpleasant, it was clear that he was nevertheless eager to be the one to make the delivery.
“My word, no!” Constance dropped her hands slowly, looking genuinely surprised.
“Goodness, Mr. Wardwell, what on earth did she say?” Agnes demurred.
“Well, ladies, I do hate to shock, but she claimed that she had pinched at poor Elizabeth Parris and her cousin Abigail Williams at the heed of the Devil. She confessed that she did fly by witch pole to a gathering right here in Salem Village, and that other witches are among us! I am just come from the court where she made her confession not thirty minutes ago!”
“My sakes, Mr. Wardwell, suren the child was being fanciful! I do hope the judges set a switch to her to see if the truth could be had.” Constance and Ruth nodded agreement.
Samuel Wardwell pulled back at the notion. “I fear she spoke truth. She proclaimed with such recollection and detail that it chilled me as I sat. I daresay the room itself grew colder as she spoke. Further, all the while, poor Elizabeth and her cousin, the younger Abigail, were twisting and groaning in the court, in ways most unnatural. Such afflictions seemed only to stir the awful confession from the witch Abigail, as if she took devilish strength from their torment.”
The three women sat stunned on the porch, shaking their heads. “Well, Mr. Wardwell, I am glad you have shared the truth of it with us. Without your direct account, we might not know the truth of it all.” Constance said.
“Ladies, I fear our own neighbors might become revealed as doing the devil’s work in this fine village. I must return to Andover on the morrow, so my prayers are with you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wardwell, and ours with you,” Ruth nodded as he left.
After Samuel Wardwell departed, pea pods and clothing remained untouched. The chill New England breeze carried Samuel Wardwell along to another porch where he hurried to deliver the ill tidings.
“What do we do?” Ruth asked.
One of the chairs began rocking slowly, and a baby blanket was picked back up, “We do nothing. You heard him. At the very suggestion that the girls might be dissembling, his own tendency was to make his memory more than it was. We do not speak against this. We are especially careful not to . . .”
A soft woof from the front yard was followed by the sound of three chairs gently rocking, and three kindly women humming hymns as they smiled and waved pleasantly to passing neighbors. Many stopped to discuss news of a second confession with the three kindly goodwives.
June 15, 1692
Their husbands walked ahead of the women under the pretense of discussing business while they returned from church. The women were also discussing business.
“Reverend Parris did go on from the pulpit today, did he not?” Ruth walked slowly to accommodate Agnes’ pace and to maintain distance from their husbands. “Very Godly of him to try to save our souls from witchery, wouldn’t you say?”
“Like they saved Bridget Bishop?” sniped Constance. “I still cannot believe that they hanged that woman.”
“Serves her right. Always harsh with words and spiteful to others was our Bridget. Three husbands dead and never a nice word for anyone.” The words came slowly, matching the pace of the small, fragile legs. “She hanged because hanging her was easier than not. She cavorted with men not her husband, and a great many of them. Such a woman gets no care from me, even when the rope draws tight. Standing before the magistrate is late for one to show courtesy and respect to others.”
Chastised a bit, the youngest took the wisdom of the eldest’s words. “Parris’ daughter and the Putnam girl sat beside the judges as if they were lawyers themselves, and privileged to stand judgment.”
“They are standing judgment. And we must all now fear these unbled girls as surely as if their displeasure was death itself.” Agnes slowed to rest. A hawk flew far overhead. “They play with the lives of the people in this village as casually as they play in the church-yard.”
“Again, my anger is for the men who hang on these girls’ every word. For Putnam and Parris, it holds no surprise, as the little bitches are their own blood. But I feel an especial loathing of these men whom Governor Phips sent to oversee this Court of Oyer and Terminer. Judge Stoughton in particular has become a favorite of mine for . . .”
A distant screech from above went unheard by most.
“. . . his tireless devotion to the Lord and his selfless pursuit to keep our village safe. May the Lord bless him,” came the words a bit louder than they started.
“Ladies, my apologies, I did almost run over you.” A girl in her late teens dashed out from behind a small hedge that the husbands had passed a few dozen steps before, nearly running into the trio of goodwives. She was a pretty girl, wearing poor clothes that marked her as a servant. She seemed a bit simple, but pleasant enough with a genuine smile.
“Mercy Lewis, dear, dear. Think nothing of it lass, for you stopped yourself before sending these old bones to the ground.”
“You are kinder than any, Greatmother. I did hear you speak of Chief Justice Stoughton. I am most impressed with him as well. He is a most formidable magistrate, is he not?”
“Yes, dear, a powerful force for the Lord, to be sure. He blesses us all with his presence. We should be especially grateful that a man with such little experience and knowledge of law should come forth to help protect us from those who would seek to deceive us. And to have the esteemed Reverend Mather among us encouraging the judges to understand the value of spectral evidence in the absence of other proof has brought a tear to my old eye.”
Constance and Ruth stiffened for the briefest of moments. The simple face of the young woman showed no sign that she heard anything other than glowing praise of the Chief Magistrate and the reverend who was advising four of the judges. “Yes, Greatmother, I would say we are blessed to have them. I must beg your leave. Ann and Abigail await me at the church.”
“Good day to you, dear, and may God bless you.” The other two echoed similar blessings as Mercy Lewis hurried along.
“She is a good-hearted child, for all her foolishness.” Baited the youngest.
“If the sight of Bridget Bishop on Gallows Hill did not show her the cost of her foolishness, I fear she may lose what goodness is there,” Agnes observed. “But then, suren the sight of wee Dorcas Good languishing in chains has not stirred her ‘good heart,’ so I misspeak to think an old whore hanging from a rope to shake her from this path.”
“I fear you both overvalue the goodness in that child. While she has much potential for charity, there is much hurt and hardness at her core. Being orphaned as a child caused her less anguish than most believe,” Constance said as they walked, “This child was not orphaned by accident or divine fate.”
Agnes paused and looked back toward the church-yard, “Truly, Constance? You are confident in the child’s now and past?”
Constance nodded.
Agnes resumed walking, “Then should we have the child . . .”
Constance interrupted, “Have you taken leave of all senses? Would you feed the wolf off your own throat?”
Ruth interrupted, “Is there else we should do at this time in light of Bridget Bishop’s fate?”
“No, this is none of our dealing. One hateful old biddy hanged by a court led by outsiders who could see how despised she had made
herself. It is not our business, and it will pass. And we are not as strong as once we were, so prudence is well considered.”
Ruth self-consciously twisted the wedding band that still felt slightly out of place on her hand, and struggled meekly for words.
“That was no admonition, child, merely a statement of fact,” Agnes said, waving away Ruth’s words.
“Truly, Ruth, Agnes speaks for me as well. We hold no ill will to you. You deprived yourself for longer than we could have asked. We must merely be cautious.”
Accepting their words, Ruth nevertheless remained subdued. After a short time, she spoke quietly again, “Rebecca Nurse has been arrested.”
Constance spoke, “She is not a despicable old crone. She is as kindly as any of us, and more so. She knows her scriptures and owes no one money or property, though she and her husband have quarreled with many over land in the past. She is as Godly a woman as this village knows. She has brought eight fine children into this village, more even than you, Agnes.” Agnes cast a sidelong look to Constance at the mention of the delicate subject. Undaunted, Constance continued, “What is needed that we should see it our business?” The question was genuine, and full of unspoken pleading.
“Rebecca Nurse will not be found guilty. She is among the best of this village, and even Putnams cannot bring a jury to convict her. As to the rest, we keep to our own affairs, and go to Gallows Hill only to bear witness, not courtesy of Sheriff Walcott’s buckboard. We owe these people nothing. What would Our Lord have us do? Perhaps this is His will after all.” Agnes walked slowly up the steps to her home.
“I stand by your wisdom.” Ruth said as she helped Agnes up the steps.
“As do I. As long as they only lead sheep to slaughter, I will abide. I am not a Shepherd, and should remember that. But if I see any of our backsides headed to Walcott’s jail, I will act.” A cold breeze blew through Salem Village. The eldest and youngest watched the strongest of their trio walk calmly away.