by Suzanne Weyn
“It sounds possible,” I said.
“Is there a song she would recognize as coming from you?”
For a moment I looked blankly at my friend, not sure what to answer. But then I tossed my head back, singing “The Water Is Wide” at full volume into the wind.
My voice croaked and tears welled as I sang the verse, “Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my true love and I.” It made me long for Aakif. Where was he now? Was he all right?
As I repeated the song again and again, striving to sing above the wind, my voice picked up strength. I scanned the sky as I sang, searching for any sign of Bronwyn. Could I really sing her down out of whatever astral plane she was now on?
By sunset that night, I had sung the song without stop until my throat was a rasp. Sister Mary Carmen brought me a bowl of chicken broth from the ship’s galley and insisted I eat. As I devoured the golden soup, she took up the song, taking it an octave higher in a voice of pure crystalline beauty.
Finishing the soup, I set the bowl aside and sat mesmerized by the loveliness of Sister Mary Carmen’s voice. The daylong vigil of song had left me weary, and I laid my head on Bronwyn’s bony shoulder and drifted into sleep.
When I woke, I saw that it was fully night. Sister Mary Carmen’s otherworldly singing still filled the air.
Something in the sky caught my attention. A shooting star arced, sparking through the blackness. And then another and another. My father would have called it a meteor shower.
Instantly, I was on my feet, clutching Sister Mary Carmen’s wrist and pointing to the lights. “It’s her! She’s found us! Sing louder!”
Together we raised our voices to top volume, straining to sing even louder. The shooting stars shot through the sky ever lower and larger to our sight.
“Put your hands on her,” I urged Sister Mary Carmen.
Still singing, Sister Mary Carmen knelt beside Bronwyn, one hand on the top of Bronwyn’s hair, the other on her bony chest.
The lights in the sky blinked out.
Turning, I was in time to see Bronwyn’s eyes open. I knelt at her side. “Bronwyn, you’re back,” I sobbed. “You’re back.”
“Do I know you?” Bronwyn whispered, her voice low and hoarse.
“It’s me, Elsabeth!”
Bronwyn sat up and her eyes shone with a ferocity I had never witnessed before — not from her, nor from any other living creature. The blue of her eyes appeared to spin, rotating ever faster.
I froze, mesmerized by the sight, unsure if what I was seeing was real.
What remained after the spinning ceased was a void, as though there were no eyeballs in her sockets at all. Her eyes were completely black.
Jerking back in terror, I looked to Sister Mary Carmen, but she was paralyzed with fear, mouth agape.
“Bronwyn, what’s wrong?” I shouted.
Pivoting toward me, Bronwyn opened her mouth as though to scream, but no sound emerged from her mouth.
Alarmed, I looked once more to Sister Mary Carmen and saw that she was clutching her ears, cringing in horrible pain.
In the next second, I heard it too. Screaming filled my head as though a thousand voices howled in unbearable pain while another thousand moaned in despair. The sound became so shrill the vibration caused my bones to quake.
Bronwyn rolled from the mat and in an instant was standing.
Father Bernard turned the corner and witnessed Sister Mary Carmen and me writhing in pain. His eyes darted to Bronwyn and he tensed.
He spoke urgently to Sister Mary Carmen and me, but the sound in my head was so great I couldn’t hear his words.
Father Bernard grabbed my arm and that of Sister Mary Carmen, yanking us away from Bronwyn before hurling us even farther down the deck. The screaming dimmed enough for me to hear his words. “Get away from her. Stay away!”
Bronwyn glowered at the priest, her eyes radiating fiery pin-pricks at the center of their blackness.
Father Bernard lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders, but Bronwyn lifted him effortlessly above her head.
I was thrown across the bow of the ship as it spun counterclockwise at an incredible speed. I hit the deck hard and then slid, banging off the sides of ropes and barrels, unable to regain my footing.
I screamed as Father Bernard hurtled over my head, his arms and legs flailing.
“Father!” Sister Mary Carmen screamed, reaching out. But she was unable to help him, since she too was sliding across the ship.
Father Bernard hit the side wall of the ship at incredible speed and was shot into the air, falling down into the black ocean below.
And then everything was suddenly quiet and still.
Bronwyn stood with her arms folded, seemingly unfazed by the ship’s bizarre spin. Her eyes had returned to their blue, but there was none of Bronwyn’s warmth in them.
They were the coldest eyes I had ever seen.
A MAN OVER!” THE FIRST MATE BELLOWED, RUSHING TO the side of the ship and peering over. Sister Mary Carmen and I followed him but spied no sign of Father Bernard.
The captain assigned crew members to check for structural damage to the ship and told the passengers not to worry. My eyes were riveted on Bronwyn the entire time and I was sure I saw her lips twist into the slightest smirk as the captain spoke. I had never before seen her wear such a contemptuous expression.
The father and daughter who had boarded in Charleston were also staring at Bronwyn. When Bronwyn sensed their gaze, she snapped around in their direction. The father wrapped a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulder and hurried away with her.
Without a word to us, Bronwyn headed belowdecks.
As everyone slowly dispersed, Sister Mary Carmen and I stayed at the side of the ship, watching vigilantly for any sight of Father Bernard. “What have we done? What’s happened?” I asked.
“Maybe the weather caused the spin,” Sister Mary Carmen suggested hopefully.
“You know that’s not so. You saw what happened. She is completely changed. She raised me since I was born and — you saw — she didn’t even recognize me.”
Sister Mary Carmen sighed in distress. “Well, she has been asleep for a very long time. It could be that her mind is not right.”
“But her eyes! And what was that screaming?”
“Perhaps she has a medical condition due to her long sleep.”
“And the screaming?”
Crossing herself, Sister Mary Carmen said a prayer for Father Bernard’s soul as tears came to her eyes.
Putting my arms around her, I murmured my condolences. “I am going to check on Bronwyn,” I said, thinking Sister Mary Carmen might want a moment alone with her grief.
As I headed belowdecks, I fought down an inexplicable sensation of growing dread. It was silly, I told myself. This was Bronwyn, after all, dear Bronwyn who was like a mother to me. She was simply changed — as Sister Mary Carmen had suggested — by spending such a long time in an unconscious state. The separation of her body from her soul for so long a period had altered her in strange ways, perhaps, but still, she had just now awakened. By morning she might be recovered.
I found Sister Costancia once more asleep against the wall. Bronwyn lay in Sister Costancia’s narrow cot with her back to me. The slow rise and fall of her back made me sure she was sleeping.
The ship rocked and I held onto the doorjamb to steady myself. Sister Costancia listed to her right and then fell out of her chair. Hurrying to help her, I recoiled in surprised horror.
Two streams of blood ran from Sister Costancia’s nose. Her eyes snapped open and there was a milky glaze over them. Kneeling to feel her pulse, I quickly knew she was dead.
We docked at the Port of Salem on a gray, rainy day in mid-November. Nearly everyone on board was ill with dysentery. It had killed a number of passengers and crew members. The cause of Sister Costancia’s death was never determined.
Bronwyn had stayed on her cot for the remainder of the voyage. I watched her wi
th increasing dismay as her altered personality did not show signs of fading away. She awoke at noon each day and ate the bowl of broth I brought her without saying anything to me and then resumed her endless sleep. It was as though she was in a waking but still comatose state. All her former emotion and warmth had deserted her. In its place was an iciness that frightened and pained me to my very depths.
If not for the companionship of Sister Mary Carmen, I don’t know that I could have survived the journey. I had lost everyone I loved: Father, Kate, Aakif, and now Bronwyn. My former governess was so transformed that she was as good as gone, but having the image of her there in the flesh on a daily basis made it twice as hard. Each day I awoke hoping to see her smile and hear her lilting voice, only to be met with the same stone visage and fierce eyes.
Just before we were about to disembark, Sister Mary Carmen took hold of my elbow. “I’ve made a decision,” she said seriously. She pulled her veil off, revealing curly black hair cut to her chin. “I am not going forward with this idea of becoming a nun. My calling is not authentic, and to proceed just so I can use my healing powers is not right.”
“Are you certain?” I asked her.
“Very certain. From now on don’t call me Sister, only Mary Carmen.”
“All right,” I agreed, “if you’re sure.”
Mary Carmen left to gather her belongings, preparing to disembark, and I did the same. I didn’t have much, so I planned to be done quickly and then go to help Bronwyn. I had no idea where she would go, since she had no money. My only idea was to ask Reverend Parris to help me in that regard. He was a man of God, after all, and hopefully charitable.
Mary Carmen returned before I’d even begun to pack, alarm written across her face. “She’s gone! I’ve looked all over. She’s disappeared.”
Instantly, I bolted past her in search of Bronwyn, racing to the galley, the captain’s quarters, and then above deck. The gangplank was out and so I looked down at the busy streets of Salem Town.
“There she is!” I cried to Mary Carmen, pointing at the figure of Bronwyn moving serenely through the bustling crowd below, wearing the white nightgown she’d worn through the entire voyage.
Without a second thought, I bounded down the gangplank and darted through the crowd, running to catch up with her, shouting her name.
At a corner nearly two blocks from the dock, I caught sight of her and ran as fast as I was able, maneuvering around a man pushing a wheelbarrow, a woman selling bread, and a dog. “Bronwyn, stop!” I shouted.
Bronwyn ceased her progress and turned back toward me. I slowed, panting, about three yards away from her. But then I froze altogether. The look on her face was so filled with cruelty and hatred that I was afraid to go any nearer.
We faced each other for a long minute, our eyes locked. I couldn’t move.
Once more, her eyes rotated, and when they settled, they were flooded with blackness.
The screaming began in my head, the same as before.
I crashed to my knees and closed my eyes.
It was only when the noise was finally over and my head rang with pain that I opened my eyes again. Mary Carmen’s face hovered above me. “What happened, Betty-Fatu?”
Pulling myself up, I rubbed my head. “She stopped me with her eyes.” It was the only way I could describe it.
“What? How? That’s impossible!”
Mary Carmen was right, of course. And yet it had happened. It had been so powerful, enough to drop me to the ground.
The memory of Bronwyn’s face swam in front of me. In that moment I knew something so dreadful it caused cold gooseflesh to crawl up my arms.
“Mary Carmen,” I said slowly. “That is not Bronwyn.”
“What?” Mary Carmen gasped. “Surely it is!”
“No. It’s not,” I insisted. “We have called down something evil and set it loose here in Salem.”
WHEN MARY CARMEN AND I WERE NEARLY BACK TO THE SHIP, we saw the captain pointing at us. Next to him was a tall man with very dark hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore a high, starched white collar above a brown cloak. His breeches were buckled at his knees and he wore brown boots, also buckled. His demeanor was stern and he scowled at Mary Carmen and me as we approached.
“You girls should not have run off like that,” the captain upbraided us. “I almost had to tell Reverend Parris here that I had lost his new servant.”
Reverend Parris gazed at me sourly. “So you are Elsabeth James, the shipwrecked waif they call Betty-Fatu.” I detected a British accent when he spoke.
“Yes, sir, I am she, and this is my friend Mary Carmen. Are you from England, sir?”
“I was born in London. I hear from your speech that you are also from England. I am done with it now. America is the anointed nation of the future.” He looked to Mary Carmen. “Where are you headed, young woman?”
“Her two traveling companions died during the crossing and she has no place to go,” I jumped in.
“Yes, the captain has informed me of the ominous troubles at sea. I am especially disturbed by the event near the Isle of Devils. That name has not fallen to the Bermudas by accident. It is an area of the Americas where the Devil has made a portal for himself whereby he may more easily transport onto the earthly plane.”
His words sent shivers up my spine. Was that what had happened?
“We are God-fearing people here in Salem,” Reverend Parris continued. “Puritans have come to this land to create a shining city on a hill, a beacon of godliness free of the corruptions of Catholicism and the Church of England.”
Mary Carmen and I exchanged a darting glance. Since Mary Carmen was Catholic and I had been raised in the Church of England, this wasn’t auspicious for us.
“Charity compels me to find a living situation for you, Mary Carmen. As the ordained minister of Salem Church, I know several families who are in need of servants.”
The captain offered Reverend Parris a list of passengers. “Please initial, sir, to prove you have taken custody of these young ladies.”
Reverend Parris drew in a long breath as he initialed the passenger list. “The stench of evil is in the air,” he remarked.
“It’s the dysentery,” the captain corrected. “It’s a pretty horrendous journey in that regard.” He turned toward Mary Carmen. “What has become of your patient?”
“She is so very improved that she walked off the ship of her own accord,” Mary Carmen replied. “We were just now trying to retrieve her, but she has eluded us.”
“I’ll send some crewmen out to search for her and get word to Reverend Parris when we find her,” the captain offered. “Has she any family here in Salem?”
“None,” Mary Carmen replied.
“But by coincidence she is my governess and is like family to me,” I added. “We were sailing on the Golden Explorer when it went down and have been separated until now.”
“You were?” the captain questioned. “I heard that no passengers survived that unfortunate wreck.”
Tears jumped to my eyes. “None at all?” I asked.
“That’s the story they gave us.”
Reverend Parris noticed my tears. “Why are you distressed?”
“My father and sister were also on the ship, and I have been hoping that they are alive,” I answered.
“Hoping does not make it so,” Reverend Parris said coldly. “Each man and woman’s destiny is preordained by God. If a man or woman behaves in a godly manner, God will bless him or her. If he or she does not live in accordance with God’s law, then God withholds His blessings.”
Red temper burned in my cheeks. “I assure you, Reverend, my father and sister were the kindest, most wonderful people imaginable.”
“And I assure you, Miss Betty, that —”
“Betty-Fatu,” I corrected him.
He raised an eyebrow, glaring down at me with annoyance. “And what sort of name is Fatu?”
“African.”
Reverend Parris’s eyes went wide
with disapproval. “Ah, yes, my cousin wrote me of your time spent with the Africans. We cannot hold it against you since you were stranded, but you will bear no heathen name in my household. Miss Betty you shall be. My own daughter Elizabeth is called Betty.”
Reverend Parris summoned us to follow him to a wagon pulled by a chestnut horse beside the dock. Reverend Parris waved to the driver, a tall, strongly built man with jet-black hair and tan skin. “My slave John Indian will take us to the parsonage,” Reverend Parris said as he headed toward the carriage.
Mary Carmen also walked toward the carriage, but I was too distracted to follow. I had spied a ship one berth over that was unloading its cargo.
Human cargo.
Ten African men and women, mostly young, descended the gangplank, hands bound in front of them and linked together by a rope. The sight of people being treated in this way was more than I could bear.
To my added dismay, I suddenly realized that some of the enslaved were familiar to me. Bala and Salifu, who had rowed me to Charleston, were barefooted and shirtless. Also there were young women I had shared meals with and sung the call and response rounds with in the evenings: Mariama, Hawa, Jilo, and Isata.
And then my heart surged in my chest with a mixture of complete joy and utter horror.
The last to emerge from the ship was Aakif!
With my mind on nothing else, I ran to the slave ship, calling his name.
Aakif looked toward my voice. Seeing me, his face broke into radiance.
My love! My friend!
“Betty-Fatu!” Aakif shouted joyfully.
“Aakif!” I cried out, waving.
Suddenly, my shoulder was wrenched back painfully. Reverend Parris’s face came in close to mine. “Don’t you ever humiliate me like this again,” he hissed, red with fury, “or I will pitch you out onto the road and from the pulpit I will bid all God-fearing Puritans not to take you in. You can beg for your supper, but no supper will you receive.”
I twisted toward Aakif but Reverend Parris’s grip was unbreakable.