The Sixty-Eight Rooms

by Marianne Malone

  “I’m Ruthie Stewart and this is my brother Jack,” Ruthie said, lowering her head in the same fashion.

  “Hello,” Jack offered.

  “Please forgive Thomas. He is too bold,” Sarah said. “Nay! I am not!” Thomas protested.

  “You prove it every time you speak so!” his mother said to him firmly, hiding a hint of a smile as she spoke. Then she said to Ruthie and Jack, “Will you come inside?”

  “We’d like that very much, thank you,” Ruthie answered.

  Ruthie noticed that Sarah looked around warily before they entered the house. Was it her imagination or did it seem as though Sarah did not want to be seen with the two of them?

  The house looked very much like room A1, only larger. It had one main room with a big fireplace and hearth. A door led to another, smaller room on the first floor and a ladder led to a second story. As the visit progressed, they learned that the children slept upstairs in the loft and the parents had the chamber on the first floor. But everything except sleeping took place in this main room—cooking, eating, reading and writing. The furniture was simple and made of wood—as was just about everything—and very clean.

  Sarah asked them to sit down, pouring apple cider for everyone. Ruthie took a sip, wondering how three-hundred-year-old cider would taste. It was not as cold as she was used to, and not nearly as sweet. As she swallowed she felt it burn the back of her throat, so she only pretended to take a few more sips. Thomas sat at the table with them while the younger children sat silently on the floor. Their three sets of eyes barely left the two travelers.

  “Thomas says you are journeying to Boston?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, that’s right. Jack will be going to school there,” Ruthie answered.

  “My husband is in Boston, buying fabric and items for our store in town,” Sarah explained. “He will return tomorrow. Where is your family?”

  “Chicago,” Jack answered this time.

  “I do not know of this place.”

  “It’s … new,” Jack said. “I predict it will grow into a very well-known place, though,” he added confidently.

  “And your parents do not need you to help them?” she asked.

  “We come from a large family,” Jack answered. “There is plenty of help.” Ruthie knew Jack would now begin spinning a tale, just like he had for Sophie. “Our father wanted me to have an education, so he is sending me to boarding school and Ruthie will take care of me.” In your dreams, Jack, Ruthie thought as she shot him a look.

  “My, what an adventure,” Sarah said.

  “I’d like to go to Boston to get an education, Mother,” Thomas jumped in.

  “Thomas, you have not been spoken to,” his mother said gently. “How are you traveling and where do you stay?”

  “Horseback. And we pitch a tent and camp along the way.”

  Thomas’s eyes widened.

  “We have been traveling for so long,” Ruthie put in, “I’m afraid we’ve lost track of the date. What day is it today?”

  Thomas looked like he would jump out of his skin to give the answer. He wanted to participate in the conversation in the worst way. Sarah was well aware of this.

  “Thomas, what is today’s date?” she asked him.

  Thomas stated confidently, “July the nineteenth, in the year of our Lord 1692.”

  Jack and Ruthie quickly exchanged glances. Exactly the summer of the Salem witch trials!

  “Very good, young man,” Sarah said approvingly, sounding more like a schoolteacher than a mother.

  At that point the oldest of the younger children jumped up and went to the window. “Mother, look!”

  “What is it, Anne?” her mother said, going over to the window to see. “Oh, my …” Sarah turned to Jack and Ruthie, a fearful look on her face. “Please, speak only what you have already spoken to me! Nothing more!” Then came a knock on the door.

  As Sarah answered the door, all the children sat down again, Thomas staying at the table next to Jack. In the doorway stood a woman, dressed in black like everyone else, but somehow her black looked darker. She did not smile.

  “Good day, Sarah,” the woman said, entering without waiting to be asked in.

  “Good day, Martha,” Sarah replied. “May I offer you cider?”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, sitting down. She looked each of the children in the eye. The little ones squirmed. Thomas stared right back.

  “I heard you had visitors,” this large woman stated. Wow, word travels fast here, Ruthie thought.

  “Relations, actually, passing through on their way to Boston,” Sarah said without skipping a beat. “Jack and Ruth Stewart, I’d like to introduce Goodwife Martha Williams. She is our pastor’s wife.”

  “Relations? I did not know you had relations coming,” Martha said critically.

  “Nor I,” Sarah said promptly. “A happy surprise!”

  “Where are you from?” Martha asked with a suspicious glint in her eye.

  “Chicago!” Thomas blurted out.

  “Thomas! Your manners!” his mother reprimanded. He put his head down, but only for a moment.

  “I’ve never heard of Chicago,” Martha declared. She spoke in a way that implied the town could not exist if she hadn’t heard of it.

  “You will!” Jack said with a smile on his face. Thomas smiled too. Martha was even more suspicious now. She glared at Jack as though she were trying to look past his eyes directly into his brain. “It is far to the west of here,” Jack added.

  “I see. And how are you related?”

  “Cousins … second cousins on my side,” Sarah answered quickly. “I had a letter months ago but no mention of dates. So it fell from my memory, I’m afraid. Jack is heading to boarding school to study and Ruth is accompanying him.”

  “I see,” Martha mumbled, as though she was trying to decide whether to believe this story or not.

  I wonder if she has some reason for not believing us … or maybe she doesn’t believe anybody ever, Ruthie thought.

  “You look very young to be traveling on your own,” Martha went on.

  “I’m older than I look,” Jack said, offering no more information. Martha clearly doubted Jack but decided to move on.

  “Sarah, I’ve also come with some news from Salem.”

  “Oh, dear, it cannot be good, then,” Sarah said with a heavy sigh.

  “Elizabeth Howe has been hanged … just this morning!” Like every true gossip, she delivered this horrible news with a touch of wicked glee in her voice.

  “Her poor family,” Sarah responded.

  “We must all be very watchful!” Martha declared, looking pointedly at Sarah. Then she scanned the table, eyeing first Jack and then Ruthie. “All of us!”

  “What was her crime?” Jack spoke up.

  Martha gasped loudly, her large chest expanding as she did so. Ruthie had never seen a human look like some sort of poultry, but this woman did.

  “Sarah, I trust you will educate your visitors after I leave … which I must do now!” She pressed her hands heavily onto the table, heaving herself up. She strutted out the door.

  The room stayed silent for a moment after she left;

  Sarah’s expression was serious. Then she said aloud, “I wonder what that visit was really about.” She looked at her children. “I want you all to go back outside. Thomas and Anne, pick the beans for supper,” she directed. Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but Sarah only needed to give him a look and he dutifully went out the door.

  “Forgive me for telling untruths,” Sarah said.

  “It’s okay,” said Jack.

  “I do not understand this word okay,” she said.

  “It’s a word we use in Chicago,” Ruthie jumped in. “It means ‘Don’t worry.’ ”

  “I understand. Thank you. But you must understand why I lied. Terrible things are happening in Salem and are beginning to happen here in Topsfield as well.”

  “Who was Elizabeth Howe?” Ruthie asked.

&nbs
p; “A member of our church. She was accused of witchcraft!”

  “We’ve heard about all that as we’ve been traveling,” Ruthie said. “Thomas told us he is not afraid of witches.”

  “Nor am I. It is the accusers I am afraid of. That is why I lied—to protect you.”

  “Us?” Jack asked, surprised.

  “You are strangers here. These people have no charity for strangers. You saw how Martha Williams looked at you. Everyone is watching everyone else. No one is above suspicion.” Sarah looked sad as she said this.

  “I’m sorry if we put you in a difficult position. I’m sorry you had to lie for us,” Ruthie said. Maybe going back in time isn’t such a good idea after all, she thought.

  “It is not your fault. It is the fault of many who should know better. And you needn’t worry on our behalf; my husband is a very important merchant in town,” Sarah said wisely, and then added, “I have a request.”

  “Anything,” Jack said.

  “Please go on to Boston. You cannot stay here.”

  “Of course,” Ruthie answered. “Thank you for being so nice to us, for inviting us into your home.”

  Outside, Sarah told the children that their visitors had to be on their way. Thomas wanted them to stay longer.

  “At least let me show you what I’ve grown!” he insisted. Sarah assented but said her goodbyes and went indoors with the smaller children. Thomas, proud of his gardening skills, ran around and showed them every last bean and tomato. He jumped from place to place in the garden, and at one point he bumped into Jack rather hard.

  “Ouch! What have you under your cloak?” Jack realized that Thomas had knocked into him right at the level of the pocket that held his flashlight. Thomas’s curiosity could not be stifled. Before Jack could stop him, the energetic young boy had lifted Jack’s cloak to reveal the lowest pocket of his cargo pants. The handle of the flashlight was visible. “What is that?”

  “Well … can you keep a secret?” Jack started.

  “Jack!” Ruthie cried.

  “On my honor!” Thomas’s eyes shone an even deeper blue.

  “Come over here.” Jack led Thomas behind a large lilac bush for cover, looking around to make sure no one saw them. Ruthie followed nervously.

  Jack lifted the cloak again, showing the legs of his twenty-first-century pants. “These are special traveling pants that people in Chicago wear.”

  Thomas had no trouble believing that. The flashlight, however, was a different story. Jack pulled it out of his pocket, the shiny aluminum body gleaming in the sunlight. Thomas’s jaw dropped. Jack placed his thumb on the switch.

  “I have never seen pewter so bright!” Thomas said, awestruck.

  “Jack, are you sure we should do this?” Ruthie questioned. But there was no going back; Jack and Thomas were too much alike.

  “Watch,” Jack said to Thomas. He aimed the flashlight at his cupped palm and flipped the switch. Thomas gasped and took a step back when he saw the beam coming from behind the glass lens, shining on Jack’s hand. Then he looked at Jack’s smiling face and smiled back in delight.

  “If this be witchcraft, then it is not a bad thing!”

  “It’s not witchcraft,” Jack told him. “It’s science.”

  “Ohhh,” Thomas said, unable to take his eyes off the light. From the look on Thomas’s face, Ruthie wasn’t sure that the word science had any meaning to him. But it didn’t matter, she thought; a word he didn’t understand was nothing compared to what he had just witnessed. “How does it work?” he asked.

  Now, this was a challenge—to explain to an eight-year-old the concept of electricity before it had been discovered. Jack gave it a try.

  “You’ve seen lightning in the sky?”

  “Aye,” Thomas said.

  “Where we come from—in Chicago—we know how to capture small amounts of it and put it in here. This switch lets a little bit of it come into this small ball of glass.” He pointed to the tiny lightbulb. “It’s called electricity.”

  “Ohhh” was all the captivated boy could say.

  Jack flipped the switch on and off with his thumb.

  “May I try?” Thomas asked. Jack handed him the flashlight. His thumb flipped the switch and his eyes widened with curiosity, trying to take it all in.

  “Thomas,” Ruthie began, “you probably shouldn’t tell anyone about this. It will be too difficult for them to understand without seeing it. Keep it a secret.”

  “Aye,” he agreed, his eyes still glued to the flashlight. But then something happened to draw his attention away from it. A group of people, maybe eight or ten, came marching down the street in their direction, led by the stout Martha Williams. “Stay where you are,” Thomas ordered Ruthie and Jack.

  From their vantage point behind the lilac bush, they watched as Thomas walked back into his family’s garden and met the mob.

  “Where are your visitors, Thomas Wilcox?” Martha demanded.

  “They’ve left for Boston.”

  “So soon?” one of the angry men pressed.

  “Aye.”

  Hearing the noise, Thomas’s mother came out of the house.

  “What is this all about? Thomas, go inside.”

  Ruthie and Jack listened to the argument that followed. Martha did not believe that Jack and Ruthie were cousins traveling to Boston. The mob questioned poor Sarah until she insisted that she had her children and work to attend to. She marched back into her house, leaving the group unsatisfied and suspicious. With nothing more to do than stand there, though, they headed back in the direction they’d come from, arguing amongst themselves.

  “I think it’s definitely time to get out of here before we cause any more trouble!” Ruthie said, feeling terrible about the position they had put Sarah in.

  “I think you’re right. Let’s go,” Jack agreed.

  They looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Then they hurried down the street in the opposite direction from the angry townspeople. They had to go in a big circle in order to end up back at room A1 without being seen. Or so they thought. As they turned the corner to Essex Street, they ran headlong into Martha Williams and one of the men. Apparently the group had separated and gone in different directions.

  Keeping his cool, Jack said, “Good day, ma’am.” Ruthie kept silent as they tried to walk past and head toward the garden of room A1.

  “One moment! My husband, Pastor Williams, would like to speak with you,” Martha commanded.

  “We have a long way to go and must keep going,” Jack responded as he and Ruthie kept walking.

  “Boston is in the other direction!” she said, her chest still puffed out.

  The man with Martha called out to other members of the group who were still within shouting distance down the road. Seeing Jack and Ruthie, they started toward them, fast.

  Jack and Ruthie looked at each other, knowing they had only one option: to run. The gate was still three houses away. The mob, fast and determined, nearly caught up with them, with Martha yelling instructions from behind to prevent them from getting away. They entered the door to room A1 just before the mob reached the gate.

  They ran to the window and saw the crowd responding to having just witnessed their two suspects vanish into thin air. Out of breath, they watched the confused group, led by the perplexed Martha Williams. The angry townspeople stood looking at each other, turning in circles, throwing their arms up, not believing their own eyes. Ruthie nearly shook as she heard the irate crowd through the window; remarkably, Martha declared that it had all been a mistake. She began blaming other members of the group for causing her to see evil that did not exist. She even accused some of them of casting some sort of spell on her. She walked furiously down the street, leaving them to argue and throw accusations at each other.

  “Can you believe that?” Jack said, astonished.

  “Well, now I understand why they hanged so many people! Everyone was blaming everyone else for things they didn’t understand!” Ruthie though
t about it all for a moment. “Jack, I’m worried. I hope we didn’t cause any trouble for Thomas and his family. This could be terrible for them.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Jack searched his memory. “I’m pretty sure I never read about anyone named Wilcox being involved,” he said. He thought some more. “Sarah said her husband owned a store. Remember what we learned in class—that the important merchants and their families were never accused.” But he was worried too. Then he looked back at the ship on the fireplace mantel. “I wonder …,” he said, walking over to it. “There was a name burned into the bottom of this.” He took the model of the Mayflower down to inspect the underside of it. “Look! Does this say what I think it says?”

  Ruthie took a look. It was hard to make out, but burned into the bottom of the ship was a name. “Thomas Wilcox,” she read, astounded.

  “Thomas made this model ship!” Jack exclaimed.

  Ruthie could hardly believe what she was seeing, but there was no doubt that was his name on the ship. It didn’t prove for certain that Thomas and his family were safe, but it was a good sign. “What is it doing in here? How did Mrs. Thorne get it?”

  “I dunno,” Jack answered. He examined the ship with great admiration. “But Thomas sure built a beautiful ship!”

  A WISH FULFILLED

  RUTHIE AND JACK TOOK OFF the cloaks, shoes and hats and put them back on the hooks where they’d found them. They returned to the corridor filled with new questions and perhaps one important answer: it appeared that the townspeople could not see room A1.

  “So people from the past can’t see us enter the Thorne Rooms. We must just vanish into thin air,” Ruthie figured.

  “It sure seems like that,” Jack agreed. They still planned to verify this by asking Sophie some carefully worded questions in the morning. “What I want to know is how that ship got into the room. How did Mrs. Thorne do that?”

  “How did she do any of it?” Ruthie added, her head a jumble of questions. She was also beginning to feel something else: fatigue.