“I know you said it, but I’m not sure what it means.”
“I’m not either. I guess my question is, how aware of this were they, and how careful were they to conceal it? I mean, within a small community, where a lot of people were probably interrelated, if any particular person seemed to know too much or too quickly, wouldn’t others come to look on them with suspicion? Wouldn’t it be a short step from that to thinking those people had some kind of second sight or special knowledge?”
“It’s possible. It is curious that three women in the same family, albeit pretty widely separated in age, would be accused. By all accounts, before the craziness started they were regarded as upstanding members of the community. They were married, they had children, their husbands were respectable citizens. So if—still a big if—they shared this particular trait, it could have jump-started some suspicion. So tell me this: how did Abigail Williams come to focus on them?”
“I don’t like Abigail Williams,” Abby said, surprising herself.
“You sound like a schoolkid, Abby. Okay, I’ll bite—tell me why.”
“I told you I saw her, twice, right? Once in court, and again on Gallows Hill.” When Ned nodded, she went on, “She smirked. She preened. She was very pleased with the mess she’d made. I suppose it’s understandable. In a time when women had limited power, and children even less, suddenly she’s managed to tear apart the whole community. She points a finger at someone and the whole town quakes. Heady stuff.”
“Kind of like a mean girl today?”
“Exactly, although there was a lot more at stake back then. Girls of her age—and eleven or twelve was probably pretty close to being an adult in those days—can wield a lot of power within their own circle. Although I’m kind of surprised that in a not-wealthy farming community, the young girls had time to hang out and get into mischief. I’ll bet the boys were out doing farm work pretty early.”
“Most likely,” Ned agreed.
Abby went on, “There are always toadies who will suck up to the head of the clique so they can feed off that power. They want to be part of the in crowd, or at least on the fringes.”
“It sounds like you speak from experience, Abby,” Ned said.
“Some. I was never part of a group like that. My nerdy friends and I hung out together and tried to avoid being noticed by anyone. Heaven help you if the mean crowd set their sights on you—they could make your life miserable. Tell me, are there parallels among the boys? Because boys could have been Martians for all my friends and I knew. No brothers among the lot of us.”
“Maybe. I’d say my own experience was pretty much like yours. My friends and I weren’t jocks, but we weren’t geeky enough to be worth bullying. We were kind of the invisible middle. We were decent kids and we got good grades, but we really didn’t come into our own until after we left high school. Do we agree to label Abigail Williams an official Mean Girl?”
Abby nodded. “I think so. Especially after seeing her in action and looking her in the face.” She burst out laughing. “Can you believe how ridiculous that sounds? But it’s true! I disliked her even before I figured out who she was. Very petty of me.”
“And completely normal, I’m sure,” Ned said. “Listen, can I suggest something?”
“Sure. About Salem, you mean?”
“Yes. Why don’t we hold sort of a roundtable. We sit down and allow as much time as it takes, and pull out all the theories, crazy or not, and put them out there? Some we can probably shoot down because the evidence doesn’t or never did support them, or whoever wrote about it had an axe to grind. But at the same time, some theories may stand out because later discoveries have added new perspectives.”
“You know, I kind of like that idea. Can we invite your mother?”
“Why?”
“Because she’s objective, and intelligent, and she’s been to Salem, and she shares this thing, which is the one wild card we’ve got that all those other historians and witch hunters don’t have.”
“Okay, fair enough. Our own tribunal, if you will. And when we’re done, we’ll put the whole thing to bed, at least for a while. Is that fair?”
“Only if you promise to talk to your mother about Ellie. Apart from that, I do understand that you want me to get on with my life, without this hanging over us. That’s fair. I started this as a kind of test, not a lifelong pursuit. So it’s a deal. You want to call your mother or should I?”
“I guess it’s my turn. And it’s my idea.”
“When do you want to schedule the tribunal?” Abby asked, tongue in cheek.
“Sunday? The Lord’s Day. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”
“I suppose. So I get the next few days to dig in and research everything, so I can present my case. Am I the prosecutor or the defense?”
“I don’t know. Who would you be defending?”
“The so-called witches, I guess. They got a lousy deal. So that makes the prosecution side Tituba and Abigail and the Reverend Mr. Parris? And any other followers they attracted along the way. Are you representing them? Making the case for the existence of witchcraft, and specifically those who practiced it in Salem Village?”
“I guess. Can I borrow some of your reference books?”
“Why should I make it easy for you? Do your own homework. Or go into it armed only with ignorance and prejudice and maybe a little animosity—that’s the way it happened the first time around.”
Ned smiled. “You know, this may be fun. Which are we: CSI: Salem or Law and Order?”
“The best of both.” Abby stood up. “I’ll do the dishes if you call your mother and invite her.”
24
Over the next few days Abby launched into her research with a focus she hadn’t known since her college days. If she was obsessing about her past and the ancestors she kept bumping into, maybe this was a way to at least put the brakes on. The history of what had happened at Salem was fascinating—and obviously people had been finding that out for centuries now, but there was little to be gained by wallowing in it, except maybe a small measure of personal satisfaction. The idea of reconstructing a trial, this long after the fact, was kind of fun, and it also forced her into a different kind of thinking. Present the evidence; make the case. Convince other people. And then move on.
The first two days of Salem Immersion took place when Ned was working, so he’d give her a kiss in the morning, then head out the door, leaving her with hours of peace to pursue her leads. Leads they were, in a way: she would come up with an idea about a certain event, and then she would have to check how many others had beat her to it. Usually there were plenty. If none, or only a few, she then had to do more research to see if there was any kernel of truth lurking in the theory. Sometimes there was enough to add it to her list, which kept growing. She’d started with the list of physical causes, and even there she’d managed to add a couple of ideas that people in centuries past might not have recognized. Still, she wanted to be able to list them and then dismiss them, because in her gut she felt that it was the people involved who had made the unholy mess, not an errant microbe or toxin. Maybe that was arbitrary of her, but she had to set limits somewhere.
Friday night Ned came home and Abby didn’t even notice. “Hello?” he said. “You seem to be breathing, so I assume that means you’re alive.”
“Ned? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously. I’ve been standing here for a few minutes watching you at work.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to figure out a few details . . . Wait, is it that late already?”
“It is. Have you eaten today?”
“Uh . . . I think so? I know I’ve had coffee. Lots of coffee.”
“Have you left the building?”
Abby shook her head. “Not that I remember.”
“It’s a beautiful day out there. How about we walk into town and see what they’ve got to eat there?”
“Sure, fine. Oh, maybe I should take a shower first.”
“Good idea.”
She stood up and grinned at him. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s say it’s not your usual standard.”
“All right, I get the message. You can save your welcome-home kiss until after I’ve brushed my teeth—I’m not sure I got around to that this morning.”
Ned took a step back in mock horror. “Go forth and scrub!”
Abby dashed up the stairs and saw herself in the bathroom mirror. Good grief, she looked like a street person! Combing her hair was another thing she’d kind of skipped that morning. And she really did need a shower. Maybe it was a good thing that this would all be over soon.
She showered quickly, aimed a blow-dryer at her hair until it was no longer visibly wet, and found some clean clothes in a stack in a laundry basket on the floor. Another thing she’d been neglecting: laundry. But she had enough clean clothes to make it to Monday, and Ned could fend for himself. She was back downstairs in just over ten minutes.
“Better?” she asked.
“Definitely.” He stepped in for the promised kiss, and Abby returned it enthusiastically. A chunk of time passed, until Abby looked at her watch. “I’m starving.”
“It’s your own fault. So let’s get moving.”
Once outside in the balmy late-spring air, Abby felt her muscles unkinking. Sitting hunched over a laptop all day was hard on an assortment of body parts. Probably the brain as well, since Abby was sure half the blood in her body had settled below her waist and was waiting for orders. “It’s not June yet, is it?” she asked as they approached the famous green.
“Not quite. You’ve really been sitting there all day?”
“Yup, and yesterday too. But I’m having a great time! I love learning something new. And there are so many odd preconceptions that go into this. People think they know something, but it’s wrong!”
“And you are going to set it all right?” Ned asked.
“Of course not, not after a week or two. But I’ll get closer. Oh, how was your day, dear?”
“Ordinary. No crises. A management meeting to plan who was going to take their summer vacation when. That was the high point.”
“I’m either on a permanent vacation or I never get a vacation. Where have you visited? We’ve never really talked about our college years and such.”
“England, France, Mexico, and an assortment of states. You?”
“No Mexico, but I did squeeze in a couple of weeks in Italy—goodness, five years ago now. Any places on your bucket list?”
“Australia and New Zealand, I guess.”
“Good choices—I could go for that. Will you ever let yourself take that much time off? I hear it takes at least a day just to get there.”
“Maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”
They’d reached the center of Lexington, passing the library and the train station. Plenty of people were out on the street, enjoying the fact that it was Friday and the weather was good. “Do you know, I haven’t been in half these shops?” Abby told Ned.
“So play tourist now and then. I grew up around here, so it’s familiar to me. I forget that you’re the new kid.”
“Do you have friends around here?”
“Depends on what you call friends. I don’t keep in touch with any of my high school pals—they’re scattered all over the place. A few college friends, I guess, but they’ve all gone different directions too. I get together with the people from work now and then. You know, they’re going to demand a housewarming party, once we get the house straightened out.”
“Maybe by the end of the summer. As long as you make it an outdoor barbeque and potluck. How many people would come?”
“I dunno—twenty, maybe? I’m sure there are plenty of people who are curious about this place. And you.”
“I’m afraid to ask what they’re imagining about me. Did they despair of you ever finding a mate? Wait, did they know about Leslie?”
“No, because we hadn’t gotten the company off the ground when Leslie and I were together. Do the math—you know how long ago that was.”
“So without knowing about her, they must have decided you were a wonk monk who lived in a crumbling cave and avoided women.”
“Just about. How about we stop here?” Ned pointed to a small restaurant they were passing, where delectable odors wafted out of the open door.
“Looks good to me.”
After they’d eaten, they strolled back the way they had come, not hurrying, enjoying the soft waning light and the breeze that drifted across the green. “Have we worked out a warning system?” Abby asked idly. “I mean, like ‘colonial soldier at three o’clock’ or ‘Teddy Roosevelt straight ahead’?”
“What, you expect to run into Teddy Roosevelt on the Lexington green? Is he a relation?”
“Not that I know of, but these days I never say never. Did you have a life plan at any point?”
“Your thinking is all over the place, isn’t it?” Abby nodded, so Ned went on, “When I was in college, I thought I did, but it kind of boiled down to ‘I’m going to do something really important and make a difference.’ Possibly with the subtext, ‘I’m gonna show all you guys who thought I was a dweeb.’”
“Actually you’ve come pretty close. Did you ever change course?”
“I thought I had the whole package when Leslie and I were planning to get married—you know, job I loved, woman I loved, or thought I did, kids somewhere down the way. And then I realized that the part about the woman wasn’t working.”
“Leslie told me it was a mutual decision, a while back,” Abby said softly.
“As I remember it, it was. After a while we realized we were just too different. What I had thought would be complementary turned out to be two people going in different directions. So we ended things before they went too far. We stayed friends, obviously—at least, until recently.”
“You and I are much more alike than different,” Abby said. “Is that good or bad?”
Ned looped his arm around her shoulder. “I don’t think there’s any right way to do it. Some people work out, others don’t. I can tell you that I feel a lot different about you, and being with you, than I did with Leslie.”
“I hope that’s good. Before all this . . . kind of blew up in our faces, I liked Leslie. She has a lot of qualities that I don’t, and that I admire. And maybe we’ll work it out eventually, once she gets used to the idea of her child seeing dead people.”
“Have you talked to your parents about any of this?” Ned asked.
“No. There’s no point. They’re lovely people, and they love me and I love them, but that’s one wavelength we’ll never be on together. That’s fine. If I need a maternal presence I’ll just borrow your mother. She is coming on Sunday, isn’t she?”
“She said she would.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That we were going to lay the Salem dead to rest.”
“That fits.”
They’d reached their house. The few lights they’d left on inside glowed in the gathering dusk, making it look warm and welcoming. Luckily the world couldn’t see the scruffy walls and peeling paint. Well, that could be fixed, maybe by the end of summer. Right now it looked nice.
“You still working on Salem tomorrow?” Ned asked as they climbed the stairs.
“Yes. I think I’ve done all the research I want to, but I have to organize my thoughts and write my opening statement for the court.”
“So what roles do my mother and I play?”
“You get to poke holes in all my theories. Most of them are pretty new, so I won’t be offended. I’m looking forward to a couple objective opinions. Just don’t pelt me with rotten tomatoes.”
“Would we do that? Waste of perfectly good tomatoes.”
“So, which of the many house-related chores are you going to tackle tomorrow?” Abby said, changing the subject.
“Uh, scraping paint? Is that the answer you want to hear?”
“There are so many possi
ble answers that there’s no way I could have a favorite. Maybe you should take me on a tour of the attic before it gets too hot. Is there anything up there?”
“I’m not sure. I took a quick look at it when I did a walk-through, around the time I bought the place, and I think there were unidentified lumps here and there, but I haven’t been back since. No vermin, anyway, and no leaks—the roof’s okay.”
“Well, that’s good to know. And we can save the basement for the hottest part of the summer.”
“Yes. But I warn you, there are things lurking in the corners there too.”
“Ned Newhall, you are a singularly uncurious person. How do you know there aren’t any treasures down there? Or some incredible vintage wine? Or a chest full of antique tools?”
“Which by now would be permanently fused together with rust. If I’m going to be diplomatic, I’d say I’ve been waiting for you to come along so we could go through them together.”
“Good save, pal, so I’ll give you a break for now. But next week, we get serious about this place!”
25
On Sunday morning, as she waited for Sarah Newhall to arrive, Abby found she was surprisingly nervous. She had never liked public speaking—she kept tripping over words, even though she had written them and knew them well, and in between she went blank, even though she had talking points neatly laid out on paper in front of her. She had never had the same problem talking to children, even in groups, although in the short time she had worked with them, they’d gotten more blasé and harder to impress. Nobody wanted to stay young anymore.
Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3) Page 19