Suffer a Witch

by Claudia Hall Christian

  “Any ideas?” her father asked.

  “Only one,” Em said. She raised her hand to the sky to pull down the power of the angels and held her right hand in front of her. She said, “Show me the way.”

  For a moment, while Em held her breath, nothing happened.

  “There!” her father yelled and pointed to a small ledge to their right.

  A woman appeared. She was standing on a small shelf halfway up the black rock wall. When their headlamps turned on her, she seemed to disappear.

  “Turn it off!” Em yelled, and they turned off their headlamps.

  Once their eyes adjusted, they made out a woman standing on a black rock ledge halfway up the cave’s wall.

  “Who are you?” Em’s father asked.

  “State your business.” They could hear the woman’s voice clearly — as if she were standing right next to them. Her voice had a power to it that made them feel both safe and in terrible danger at the same time.

  “I am William, the truth teller,” he said. “I am here with my daughter, Martha of Truth. We are here for information.”

  “William of Truth,” the woman said. “Martha of Truth. This cave is shut.”

  “But not destroyed,” Em’s father said. “It’s you — Ellen, the Watcher — isn’t it?”

  “Yes, William,” Ellen said. “You should not be here.”

  The ocean in the channel rose up again and smashed down upon them.

  “We seek information,” her father yelled. “Wisdom.”

  “State your claim,” Ellen the Watcher said.

  “I am William of Truth,” her father said. “Born to power on Shetland. Raised in Rousay.”

  “You are not elder born,” Ellen the Watcher said.

  “I am what’s left,” Em’s father said. “Me and my daughter — we are all that’s left of our kind.”

  “Surely, you jest,” Ellen the Watcher snorted a laugh tinged with derision.

  “I am unable to lie,” William said. “You know that, Ellen.”

  “But. . .”

  “We scattered to the winds when the Romans came,” William said. “Without each other, our demons caught up with us, and. . .”

  Em watched sorrow and rage move across William’s face.

  “And you survived?” Ellen asked. “The sickly boy has turned into. . .”

  “A survivor,” William said. “As is my daughter. There are billions of humans on the earth now, and only the two of us left.”

  “And the witches,” Em said.

  “What is this about witches?” Ellen the Watcher asked.

  “Em has a few abominations,” William said. “They keep her company. Where are you in time in relation to Christ?”

  “The carpenter?” Ellen asked. “Why?”

  “Time is measured in relation to his birth now,” William said.

  “Really? That is odd.” Ellen thought for a moment before adding, “About a thousand years post Christ.”

  “They caught you some four hundred years later, in the Spanish Inquisition,” William said. “You were burned and quartered.”

  The woman put her hand on her heart. Em swallowed hard at the idea of being quartered alive.

  “Who did that?” Ellen asked.

  “Rome and the Christian God,” William said.

  As if to gather her thoughts, the woman jumped down from the ledge and walked into the cave. Em looked at her father. She was about to ask him what had happened when he gave her a severe look.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Em held her tongue. She braided her hair down her back while she waited. Her icy feet ached. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other to try to get the blood flowing. She glanced at her father, who stood like a statue, staring into the cave, and wondered if she’d ever gain his resolve. She was watching her father when a man flew out. He wore light-colored trousers with a white shirt. His skin was suntanned dark. He looked as if he’d stepped off a Bahamian golf course.

  “Argos!” Her father dropped to his knees, and Em followed his lead.

  “No time for that!” the man yelled. “You must hurry.”

  “But how. . .?” William asked.

  “If you are William of Truth and Martha, his daughter, you’ll know!” the man yelled.

  He turned and went further into the cave. Em could make out the outline of his light-colored clothing near the back of the cave.

  “Truth tell,” William said under his breath. “Any ideas, Em?”

  Em’s stomach turned over. This “Argos” had indicated that maybe this man wasn’t her father.

  “Em?” William asked. He put his hand on her. “Ideas?”

  “Yes, yes — I see it now,” Em said.

  “See what?” William asked.

  “There is no channel,” Em said. “Come, father!”

  Em jumped to her feet and helped her father to his. She stretched out her foot over the channel. Instantly, a creature with razor-sharp teeth, a long, serpent-like snout, and a body a thousand times more awful than any map monster flew out of the water. The creature’s mouth was closing around Em’s foot when her father knocked her off her feet. They fell hard on the wet, rocky ground. The creature extended its neck over them and howled with rage in such a high-pitched tone that Em’s ears rang.

  “We are not in your space!” William yelled. “Be gone!”

  The creature looked William in the face and let out another scream. Their hands went to their ears to try to block out the sound. The creature nodded his head and dove back into the ocean channel. Em’s entire body shook in fear. She clutched onto her father until she was able to catch her breath. He held her tight until their ears cleared.

  “It’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s never that simple.”

  “Oh, father,” Em said. She threw herself into his arms. “I was afraid that you weren’t you, and. . .”

  “I know,” he said.

  They held each other in a tight hug, for warmth as much as for comfort. After a moment, she looked up.

  “Father?” Em asked.

  He pulled back to look at her.

  “We’re in the cave,” she said.

  They had been transported into the cave with their hug. Her father touched the cleft in her chin and smiled.

  “Love,” he said. “It’s the only truth.”

  “Yes,” Em said. She wiped her tear-stained face and looked around.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Mary Eastey set Em’s hand next to her body and stood up. She straightened her simple Amish dress and gave George a smile. She’d been a deeply compassionate human and was now their strongest empath. She had been sitting with Em since she and Susannah Martin had arrived from Pennsylvania. George held out an arm, and they hugged. Mary Eastey put her hand over George’s heart and stepped back.

  “What does Ann say about Em’s body?” Mary Eastey asked in a low whisper, owing to the late hour and the situation. The witches were resting, reading, or sleeping on the couches and cushions around the room.

  “Ann says that Em is well, healthy,” George said. “Of course.”

  “Yes, I was the same when I died last,” Mary Eastey said with a nod. “My body was fine, but my soul took a while to recover from the shock.”

  George gave her an agreeing nod. He put his arm over her shoulder and led her to the small basement kitchen where Sarah Good had made a thick stew. Susannah was leaning against the counter, having a quiet conversation with Sam. She moved aside so that George could ladle some stew for Mary Eastey. He gave her the bowl, and Susannah gave her a hunk of warm sourdough bread.

  “Elizabeth’s?” Mary Eastey held up the bread.

  “She still has the starter,” Susannah said.

  “From the 1600s?” Mary Eastey chuckled at Elizabeth’s capacity to hold onto things.

  “Don’t laugh,” Susannah said. “I want to get some before we leave. Don’t want to offend the baker.”

  “As if
you could,” Elizabeth said from a barstool a few feet away.

  “It’s always so wonderful to see everyone,” Mary Eastey said.

  “Wonderful enough to rejoin the world?” Sam asked.

  “Maybe,” Mary Eastey said.

  “How is Em?” Alice asked from the entrance to the kitchen.

  She’d followed Mary Eastey and George into the kitchen to learn the news. Her worry and sorrow over Em made her too impatient to wait. Mary Eastey gave Alice the kind of soft smile she’d have given a child — and Alice bristled. She turned in place to leave.

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” Mary Eastey said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Mary Eastey set down her bowl of stew and went to hug Alice. They hugged for a moment. When they released, Alice was crying.

  “We’re all on edge,” George said.

  “Understandably,” Mary Eastey said. “And I’m afraid I don’t have much news.”

  “What do you know?” Wilmot asked.

  Stepping back from Alice, Mary Eastey saw that everyone was awake and looking at her. She blushed at the attention and looked down. The witches became very silent. After a moment of collecting herself, Mary Eastey looked up at them.

  “She’s definitely not here,” Mary Eastey said.

  Wilmot made an annoyed sound, and Mary Eastey gave her a kind smile.

  “Yes, I’d guess that you know that,” Mary Eastey said. “When I got very silent, I could hear Em’s voice.”

  “Calling for help?” Giles asked.

  Mary Eastey smiled at Giles, and he blushed.

  “No,” Mary Eastey said. “She seemed to be talking to someone. Nothing exciting. Just a conversation. Before I got up, she seemed to be moving — running, possibly. I’m not sure.”

  “What do you think it means?” George asked.

  “I believe it means that Em is all right,” Mary Eastey said. “We have to trust Em to return to us.”

  “You believe she will?” Margaret asked.

  “Of course, she will,” Mary Eastey said with a laugh. “Em loves us very much. Don’t you doubt it.”

  As if to say, “Em loves you,” Mary Eastey pointed to each of the witches in turn. With a soft smile, Mary Eastey picked up her stew and moved it to a spot next to Elizabeth at the kitchen bar. She took a seat. The witches returned to their resting spots.

  “The one thing I don’t understand . . .” Mary Eastey said, and everyone stopped moving.

  “Yes?” George asked.

  “What did my sister say?” Margaret asked.

  “It wasn’t your sister as much as George Jacobs,” Sarah Good said. “Rebecca still can’t hear and wasn’t able to understand that she’d been dead or that it wasn’t 1692.”

  “Sure,” Mary Eastey said while she shook salt onto her stew. “As we’ve learned, we are the same in life as in death. What did George say?”

  “‘Find John Proctor’s body,’” Alice sad.

  “Any ideas as to why?” Mary Eastey asked.

  “Nothing that made a lot of sense,” said Sarah Good.

  “To us,” George said. “It seemed to make great sense to George Jacobs.”

  “And Em?” Mary Eastey asked.

  George nodded.

  “Then we should turn our attention to that,” Mary Eastey said.

  “Why?” Giles asked. “That won’t bring Em back.”

  “Em will return when she’s ready,” Mary Eastey said. “In the meantime, we should find John Proctor’s body. Anyone know what Em thought would happen when we did?”

  “George Jacobs, John Proctor, and your sister would come to life,” George said.

  Surprised, Mary Eastey’s head jerked up from her stew. She looked at George and then Elizabeth for confirmation. They agreed with a nod.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t, then,” Mary Eastey said with a snort.

  “What?” Sam asked.

  “I’ve enjoyed more than three hundred years without her. . . uh. . . guidance.” Mary Eastey chuckled. “Can you imagine my sister trying to work out email or Skype?”

  “It’s going to happen!” Alice said. Still stinging from Mary Eastey’s earlier dismissal, Alice’s voice was hard.

  “I have no doubt,” Mary Eastey said with a nod and took a bite of stew. She nodded and made an “mmm” noise. When she’d swallowed, she said, “What’s the rush?”

  Mary Eastey laughed. On edge and worried, the witches joined her laugh with relief. The witches moved to their resting spots, and Mary Eastey ate her stew. George went into the kitchen area for another beer. He was pouring his Guinness when he felt Mary Eastey watching him.

  “Is there a place. . . um. . .” Mary Eastey paused for a moment to come up with the right words.

  “A place?” George asked.

  “An old place,” Mary Eastey said. “With burial chambers and stone circles and. . .”

  “Isle of Man?” George asked.

  “Orkney,” Sam said.

  “I’m not going to Scotland,” George said in a scathing voice.

  “Get a grip, George,” Susannah laughed. “It’s been more than three hundred years since the Scots betrayed a king you didn’t even like.”

  George cleared his throat and looked down.

  “You have to excuse him, Mary,” Sam said and jostled George’s shoulder. “It was one of George’s first wars. The resentment runs deep.”

  The witches laughed, and George grinned. Mary Eastey stared at the ceiling for a moment before she nodded.

  “I’m not talking about Scotland,” Mary Eastey said in a tone meant to get them back onto her question. “I mean, yes, there are sites on the Isle of Man and Orkney. I was with you when we went on the cruise to the ancient places of Britain. We went to the Isle of Man and those amazing ancient places in Ireland. Some of us even went to Scotland.”

  Mary Eastey winked at George, and he scowled. She looked at the men.

  “Human history is amazing,” Mary Eastey said. “But what I meant was is there someplace here, in the Americas?”

  “There’s a bunch in Mexico,” John Willard said. “In the Amazon and Teotihuacan, near Mexico City. I keep asking you to visit with me.”

  “Let’s go in January.” Mary Eastey gave John a soft, loving smile. He beamed. One of the reasons Mary Eastey was with the Amish was that she and John were on a break. It was clear to everyone that they were back on again. Mary Eastey turned back to George and said, “I mean, here — in New England. Some place old. Created before Christ.”

  George shrugged and looked at Sam. He shook his head.

  “There’s Gungywamp.” Bridget’s voice came from across the room.

  “Bridget?” Mary Eastey asked. “You get over here and give me a proper hello!”

  Bridget got up from the couch with a few thick blankets draped over her shoulders.

  “Sorry, I’m freezing,” Bridget said. She hugged Mary Eastey.

  “Same old Bridget,” Mary Eastey said with a smile. “How are you, dear?”

  “Good,” Bridget said with an impatient nod. “You said you were looking for someplace old in New England, created before Christ, right?”

  Mary Eastey gave Bridget an indulgent smile. Sam put his arm on Bridget’s shoulder.

  “No, don’t do that,” Bridget said. “I know you think that I’m an idiot.”

  “You just play that role to avoid responsibility,” George said.

  “True,” Bridget pointed to George. “But I’m not fooling now. There’s a place called ‘Gungywamp’ in Connecticut. No one’s really sure who made it. They say it was made by Native Americans. My last husband thought it was made by aliens because there’s a chamber there that lines up with the stars on the equinoxes. A stone chamber, no less. We used to go there for the spring equinox — or we used to, before he died.”

  “How old is it?” Mary Eastey asked.

  “At least 2000 years before Christ,” Bridget smiled and nodded.

  “Are there standing stones?” Mary E
astey asked.

  “Not like Stonehenge,” Bridget said. “Or that ridiculous ‘American Stonehenge.’”

  They shot hard looks in the direction of where Giles was lying.

  “Hey, you agreed to it at the time,” Giles said.

  They laughed.

  “Gungywamp is amazing,” Bridget said. “Not so much that it has a bunch of stuff — I mean, any square foot on the Isle of Man has more of the same thing — but this is. . .”

  “Here,” Mary Eastey said. “In the states.”

  “Right,” Bridget said. “In the north area, there’s short standing stones, a bunch of cairns. . .”

  “Is there a circle — no, two — concentric circles?” Mary Eastey asked.

  “That’s Gungywamp,” Bridget nodded.

  “We need to get there,” Mary Eastey said.

  “Why?” George asked.

  “Em will be there at first light,” Mary Eastey said.

  “Our Em?” Bridget’s voice rose with delight.

  “At this point,” Mary Eastey said.

  “We’d better get going, then,” George said.

  The witches launched into action, packing their belongings and getting ready for a road trip.

  “Where’s Em?” Ann asked.

  Everyone stopped moving and looked at her.

  “Em’s body’s gone,” Ann said. “Who took it? Giles?”

  “Why do you always suspect me?” Giles asked.

  “Because you’re a moron,” Martha Carrier said.

  “How dare you. . .?” Giles started.

  “There’s no time for this!” George commanded.

  “But Em’s body!” Ann said. “She needs. . .”

  “Let’s hope it’s waiting for us at this ‘Gungywamp,’” George said.

  “Shotgun!” Alice called as they filed out into Sam’s garage and into two perfectly reconditioned 1979 Chevy Suburbans.

  “You’re sure about this?” Susannah asked Mary Eastey under her breath.

  “As sure as I can be,” Mary Eastey said.

  “Let’s just hope she’s there,” Susannah said.

  Mary Eastey nodded and climbed into the back of the SUV John Willard was driving.

  “Let’s just hope she’s there,” George mouthed and took the driver’s seat of the second SUV.