The Sacrifice

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  “Hard to feel it here, though,” another woman said softly.

  “Aye,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “One must work hard to maintain faith in this dismal place.”

  Abigail stared at the woman who had admitted to being a witch. She looked just like the others, dirty and haggard, but otherwise normal. Was she indeed innocent, as she claimed, or could it be possible that she was lying and was really a witch?

  “Are there days when food does not come, Aunt Lizzy?” Dorothy asked.

  “Nay, child,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “In this cell, we are fed better than most. Our families have paid most dearly for our upkeep, so we are fed regularly and given this goodly sized cell. But I fear the food will leave you hungry. It is not much.” She paused. “Still, ‘tis better than what those whose families cannot afford their upkeep will receive. They get very little, and in the end, if they cannot pay the jailer his fee, they remain here until their debts are paid, innocent or not.”

  As if he had heard them speak, the jailer came down the steps a moment later, preceded by a light in the hallway. Two young boys followed him, each carrying wooden bowls steaming with something hot.

  Abigail’s mouth watered. Neither she nor Dorothy had had anything to eat since breakfast.

  The jailer went down the rows of cells, doling out food to many. But he passed several others without stopping. Abigail heard the pleading of those who could not pay, crying for mercy and for more food. It would be difficult to have an empty belly, to smell that food yet have none of it, she thought.

  At last the jailer reached their cell. The boys with him were breathing heavily from the hard climb up and down the stairs to fetch bowls of food.

  “Move back, move back,” the jailer called to the women who had been crowding the door. They moved swiftly away. The jailer took out his ring of keys and opened the cell door.

  Abigail and Dorothy lined up with the others to receive their supper. Abigail was careful to leave some space between herself and the woman in front of her. In this place, there seemed to be no telling if one was next to a witch or not, and Abigail would not risk that closeness.

  When she reached the head of the line, the jailer handed her a wooden bowl and a rough wooden spoon. Abigail glanced down. It was broth, with only a few small, stringy pieces of meat in it. If this was what she was being fed, what did those who did not pay as well get? The jailer handed her a piece of bread. Abigail took it, noticing the mold along one side of the slice.

  “Please, sir,” she said, “might I have another piece? This bread is moldy.”

  “If it’s unhappy you are, then eat it not,” the jailer growled, snatching away her bread. “Let the soup fill your belly tonight.”

  Abigail gasped with surprise at the abruptness of his gesture.

  “Please sir,” she said, realizing that she would go hungry if she did not eat some of the bread. “I am truly sorry That piece will be fine.”

  “Please,” Aunt Elizabeth said behind Dorothy, “’tis their first day here, and they are most hungry. The child is sorry she has offended you.”

  The jailer gave Aunt Elizabeth a sharp look, but then relented, handing Abigail back the moldy bread, which she took eagerly. Abigail understood now why Aunt Elizabeth had looked so frightened of their jailer. It was he who controlled their lives.

  Dorothy was not so wise. She stared down at the clear broth and then handed it back. “Surely for what my Papa has paid there is more than this!” she said.

  “Dorothy!” Aunt Elizabeth gasped.

  Abigail turned and looked back at her sister. She prayed the jailer would not beat Dorothy for the comment, or do something even worse. Still, there was a part of her that admired her sister for having the courage to confront the jailer.

  “Nay,” the jailer cried, anger in his voice. “There is naught else, and with impertinence such as this, you shall not receive your candle that has been paid for either. Now move on. May your wicked, ungrateful little belly rumble loudly in your ears, for you’ll get naught to eat from me on the morrow either.”

  “You cant do that,” Dorothy protested.

  “I can and I have,” the jailer replied. “Now move on.”

  With that, he gave her a shove, pushing her toward the back of the cell. Dorothy stumbled in her heavy leg irons, but quickly righted herself and moved toward Aunt Elizabeths bug-infested bed. Abigail and Aunt Elizabeth joined her there.

  Dorothy looked disdainfully down at the plates in their hands. “I wouldn’t eat that food if it were on real delft china,” she said haughtily.

  Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “You will be happy enough with this food after having had naught for two days, niece. That was truly a most foolish thing to do, and now that our jailer has withheld your tallow candle, I fear you will get little sleep, either.”

  “Why?” Dorothy asked. “Because of the condition of the bed?”

  Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Because of the rats.”

  Then she bent to eat her food.

  fifteen

  “Rats?” Dorothy gasped.

  Even Abigail felt sick thinking of those awful creatures. Though they rarely frightened her, she was not overly fond of them either.

  “Aye,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “They mostly come during the night. It would have been better had we three candles near our corner rather than two, since the candles keep them at a distance.”

  Dorothy lifted her legs and chains up onto the straw. It seemed she was willing to risk bug bites rather than face the rats.

  When they had finished their meager meal, the bowls and spoons were collected by the jailer’s young helpers. Then they were left again in the silence and darkness of the cell.

  “Come. We must be about preparing for sleep,” Aunt Elizabeth said.

  “How do you even know when the nighttime comes?” Dorothy asked.

  Aunt Elizabeth shrugged. “There is a rhythm to the day that you shall soon learn.”

  Abigail wondered why they should worry about sleep when it seemed as if nighttime were all that existed in this gloomy place. But she stood as her aunt asked her to do.

  Aunt Elizabeth fluffed at the straw. “We will have to share this bed,” she said, “but no matter. The closeness will keep us warm, as this place grows cold at night.”

  “Colder still?” Abigail asked in wonder, for even now, her feet and hands were raw and damp.

  “I fear so, niece,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Come. Let us lie down and find a comfortable way to be together upon this bed.”

  Abigail and Dorothy removed their heavy leather shoes and stretched out upon the straw. Aunt Elizabeth joined them, lying at the opposite end of the wooden bed and spreading upon them all a thin blanket.

  “Is this all there is to keep us warm tonight?” Dorothy asked.

  “Be grateful, Dorothy,” Aunt Elizabeth replied. “Most here can afford no cover at all.”

  Dorothy said nothing, but Abigail saw her pull the blanket up over her head, and then heard her sobbing. Abigail turned on her side and put an arm around her sister, drawing her close until Dorothys body fit snugly against her own. She held her sister, comforting both of them, until at last, she felt Dorothys body soften in sleep.

  Abigail stared at the cell walls, on which the tallow candles made flickering shadows. She thought of home, of Franny and her dolls, of Paul and his gruff love, of Edward growing so fast, and of Mama and Papa. They seemed so far away now. The sound of her heart was loud in her ears, and her mouth was dry. Abigail knew herself to be a courageous girl, but she could feel the fear in this place like a rough cloth against her face, smothering her. She longed for the forgetfulness of sleep, but it would not come. Instead her head was filled with horrible images of waking to find a witch above her, and it was a long time before she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  · · ·

  Abigail woke in the middle of the night. The cell was quiet, except for the snoring and -ccasional murmurs of some of its occupants.
Her back was cold against the wall, and she turned over to warm herself against Dorothy.

  She knew that something other than the cold had awakened her. She listened and heard a slight scratching sound. Rats had come into the cell. Dorothy slept soundly beside her, and Abigail was grateful, for she knew her sister would have been horrified to hear them.

  There was a slight movement at the end of the bed where her aunt slept. Aunt Elizabeth began to cough.

  Abigail hoped she would stop and soon slide back into sleep, but Aunt Elizabeth’s cough worsened, growing louder and louder. That must have been what had wakened her.

  “Aunt Elizabeth?” Abigail finally said into the darkness.

  “Abigail, I meant not to wake you.”

  “Do not worry, aunt. I fear the rats would have disturbed my sleep anyway.”

  “Well, child, go on back to sleep. It will give you strength, and you shall need that here.”

  “Are you not afraid that perhaps the witches in here will come for you as you sleep?” Abigail whispered.

  “We are all chained, Abigail,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “In truth, I have been here a month now and have suffered no torments at these women’s hands.”

  Abigail thought about this, still wondering if some of them would not try to recruit her for the devil. Her aunt began coughing again.

  “How long have you had your cough?”

  “A fortnight, but it is naught. It comes only at night. Do not worry, Abigail. Sleep.”

  Aunt Elizabeth coughed again, her body shaking with the effort of it. Abigail listened to the force of the cough, aware of what it might mean.

  “Is there blood?” Abigail asked when Aunt Elizabeth had stopped.

  At first her aunt said nothing. Then, quietly, she replied with a sigh, “Aye.”

  Abigail moved her leg so that it touched her aunt’s. “We need to get you out of here soon, then,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and her concern hidden. Coughing blood was a serious sign, especially in a place so damp and cold.

  “Please say naught of this to your mother,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I do not wish to frighten her and Daniel.” She coughed again and then spoke softly. “Abigail, you are strong, and so I will speak truthfully to you. I hold out little hope for my trial. Not one has been found innocent without accusing another. If they refuse, they are condemned.”

  “Then you must accuse someone else, aunt,” Abigail said.

  In the dark, Abigail could sense Aunt Elizabeth smiling.

  “And condemn another innocent to this most horrid of places?” her aunt asked. “Come, Abigail. Surely you do not mean me to do this?”

  Abigail knew it was not right, but if her aunt was not freed from here, Abby knew death would be a possibility. But then, her aunt must realize it too.

  “Nay, Aunt Elizabeth,” she finally said, steadying her voice. “Nay, I would not have you lie.”

  “Good child,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “Let me say just one more thing, then. Though release for me seems unlikely, I cannot believe that the magistrates will hold two such as Dorothy and you. Your young age will surely convince them of your innocence. As for me, in spite of what has happened to the others, I am still determined to survive, if for no other reason then to hold my dear Daniel in my arms once more. This desire, I believe, will give me strength to find an answer as to how to effect my freedom, Abigail. Now let us both turn our minds to sleep.”

  Abigail did as her aunt asked and fell silent. But sleep would not come for her. That night she listened to the rats and her aunt’s cough and prayed for an answer to save them all.

  The food brought them in the morning was no better than the evenings meal. But Dorothy, on waking hungry, was quick to beg forgiveness of the jailer. Though he grumbled and complained, at last he gave in and handed her a bowl of the awful grub. Still, Dorothy could not resist making a face before eating the horrible mush. Abigail was glad to see her sister eat, and gladder still to see that Aunt Elizabeth’s cough had stopped.

  When the meal was finished and removed, they were left again in the dim light with nothing to do for the rest of the day. The other women sat on their beds or on the floor and stared into the darkness. Abigail, too, sat in silence, and the longer she sat, the more she was certain she would not survive this place. She longed to cry out, to beat on someone, to wake up and find she had only been dreaming this nightmare. And though it seemed impossible to believe, she longed to have chores to do: mending, sewing, baking, weeding. She would have welcomed these things now to make the time go faster.

  Just when she thought she would go mad from it all, a light appeared above, and the jailer descended with Mama behind him. Mama moved slowly, her belly large with the baby.

  Relief flooded through Abigail at the sight of her mother. She would have a plan and news of what was being done to get them all released. Abby ran her fingers through her hair and tried to press down her dress. She wanted to look good for Mama.

  “’Tis Mama,” Dorothy said. “Let us move to the front of the cell so that she may not be aware of the chains on our feet.”

  “’Tis a good suggestion, Dorothy,” Aunt Elizabeth said as she rose to greet her sister.

  “Abigail and Dorothy Faulkner,” the jailer said, “you have a visitor.”

  Abby smiled brightly. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Dorothy was doing the same, but Mama was not deceived. Her eyes fell on the chains, and she began to cry.

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “’Tis a far more horrid place than I had even imagined.”

  “We are fine, Mama,” Dorothy said.

  “We have eaten and slept well, Hannah. You mustn’t worry,” Aunt Elizabeth added.

  Mama began pacing outside their cell, shaking her head back and forth. Abigail watched, her concern rising. This was not like Mama.

  “How can I not worry?” Mama cried. “The house seems empty without you girls. We all miss you. You will understand when you have children of your own. If I do not free you soon, I will be destroyed. It is truly unbearable for me to see you like this.”

  Abigail had never heard her mother speak like this, as if she was out of control.

  “How fares Papa?” Abigail asked, hoping to focus Mamas mind on other matters.

  But it did not help. Mama gripped the bars of the cell so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  “He began hearing voices again on his return,” she said. “I tried to soothe him, but this morning the demons plagued him still. For once I could not help him, and I know not what to do to help you, either. I feel all is lost—everything I have loved and worked to keep together.”

  Abigail stared in fright. Her mother had always been the strong one, the one with a plan, the one who would aid them and comfort them. But now she seemed spent.

  “Mama,” Dorothy said, “you frighten me when you talk like this. Surely Grandpappy will find a way to free us. Do you not believe that the magistrates will find us innocent when they hear our case?”

  Mama shook her head back and forth, saying nothing. Dorothy looked at Abigail, her eyes wide.

  Then Abigail felt a hand on her shoulder. Aunt Elizabeth had moved to her side. The light the jailer had left fell full on her thin body and tired face. But when she spoke, there was no weakness there. “Hannah! You do these girls and the baby you carry no service in such an emotional state. Pull yourself together, sister, and concentrate your energies on your family and the means to free your daughters.”

  Mama looked up. Her eyes widened as she saw Elizabeth in the light.

  “Eliza,” she whispered, “you look most horrible.”

  Aunt Elizabeth let out a laugh. “Thank you, Hannah. You do not look particularly well yourself. But come. We were both aware of the horrors of this place before I or the girls arrived. I will watch over them here and keep them safe. But you, my dear sister, must do your part, too.”

  Mama shook her head. “What?” she cried. “What is there for me to do?”

&n
bsp; “Hannah,” Aunt Elizabeth said sharply, “I know not. I am in here, but you are there. You must find a way to convince these magistrates to free your daughters. There has to be a way, Hannah, and for them, you have to stay strong and find it.”

  Mama stared at the floor.

  “The Lord will help you, Hannah,” Aunt Elizabeth said.

  Mama laughed bitterly. “The Lord has deserted us.”

  Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Nay, sister. Our fellow man has deserted us. God is still with us, and he will save us. I believe that. And sister, if I can believe that, beinghere, surely you can believe it as you return home.”

  Mama lifted her eyes to Aunt Elizabeth’s. They looked at each other for a long time. Then, slowly, Mama nodded. “Aye, sister. You are right.”

  She sighed. “Forgive me, girls. I have been consumed with my own suffering. Aunt Elizabeth is right. You shall not be free unless I fight for your freedom, and this I promise to do. Though it pains me to see you, I must forget this heartache and work toward a solution that will end all our troubles.”

  Tears streamed down Dorothy’s cheeks.

  “I must go now, girls,” Mama said, “but I will find a way to free you. On this you may depend.”

  Telling them that she would be back in two days, Mama called for the jailer and was led away. But Abigail did not feel better. With Papa ill and Mama herself pregnant, what strength could she find to help them to freedom? Abigail looked back at the darkened cell.

  She would give anything, say anything, to be out of here. But what? What could she do that would convince the magistrates she was truly innocent?

  sixteen

  Abigail and Dorothy settled into the routine of Salem Town Prison. August gave way to September and then October, with no break from the cold, dampness, or dull weariness. Abigail’s arms and legs were soon covered with red sores from the bedbugs. Her hair grew greasy and full of lice. Her eyes burned from the smoke of the tallow candles, and she was no longer able to distinguish the bad smells of her cell. She knew that she, too, must smell as awful as the others around her.