The Sacrifice

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  As the weeks passed, Dorothy seemed to give up all hope. She did nothing all day but stare off into the darkness. Many times she refused to eat, though she took what was offered, only to sit on the bunk with the food held listlessly in her lap.

  Aunt Elizabeth’s health worsened. Her cough, racking her only at night before, now continued into the day. Some days she never left her bunk, lying for hours with the heaving cough, which left her face spattered with blood.

  As Abigail watched them worsen, she feared for her mind. She knew the time would come when, like Dorothy, she would have no courage to get up at all, but would sit half-mad next to her sister, staring out into the darkness, not caring anymore.

  Mama and Uncle Daniel came every other day to visit. They brought knitted caps from Franny, a whittled animal from Paul, and new stories of Edward’s escapades. But their visits did little to lift Abigail’s spirits. Though Uncle Daniel was hopeful with Aunt Elizabeth, Mama grew more depressed with each visit. Papa had worsened, rarely leaving his bed now, muttering over and over that someone was after him. Mama had tried hiring help to watch him, but each one lasted only a day or two before their fear of Papa’s fits and witchcraft led them to believe that Papa was afflicted by his own daughters, who were able to reach him from their cells.

  This rumor, reported in guarded tones by Uncle Daniel to Aunt Elizabeth, but overheard by Abigail, worried her. If the magistrates learned of this tale, they could have her sentenced before she was even able to plead her case.

  It seemed to Abigail that their lives could not possibly get worse. Then came the rains.

  In that terribly dark and gloomy place, Abigail was not aware of the fact that fall rains were coming down heavily outside. It wasn’t until she noticed a wetness along the base of the floor that she learned of it.

  “Aunt Elizabeth,” Abigail said, pointing, “what is that?”

  Elizabeth turned her pale face toward the seams of the floor of their cell. “I know not,” she replied in a puzzled voice.

  “Ah, no,” a voice moaned, “’tis the fall rains from outside. They must have saturated the ground. Let us pray that the rain ceases, for if it does not, the seawater will begin to rise.”

  “Inside the cell?” Abigail asked.

  “Aye,” another voice said. “’Tis what happens so close to the ocean. The floor of this cell will not hold it back. I daresay we will be walking in saltwater before the week is out.”

  Abigail prayed for the rains to stop. Their conditions were terrible enough without having the jail cell flooded.

  But the next morning, the water continued to press its way inside, and the morning after, an inch covered the floor.

  “Up, up you go,” the jailer called out. “I’ll not be bringing your food in to you like a servant. If it’s food you want, you must come to the door to get it.”

  Abigail rose with the others and gingerly made her way to the line for food. Saltwater seeped into her shoes and stung her feet with cold. Abigail looked at the hefty boots on the jailer’s feet and envied him. She would remember to ask Mama to bring them all boots when she was next here.

  “Abigail,” Dorothy whispered, “I cannot seem to get warm.”

  Abigail put her arm about her sister. “If I could get your supper for you and let you return to bed I would, but you know he will not allow it.”

  “I can manage,” Dorothy said. “But I fear Aunt Elizabeth may not fare as well.”

  “Aye,” Abigail agreed, turning to see Aunt Elizabeth in line behind them, her body trembling from the cold water. “But we will do what we can. Tonight we will draw close to her, and try our best to warm her.”

  But that night, Aunt Elizabeth would not hear of it. “Nay,” she said, coughing heavily and trying desperately to draw a breath. “I can manage at this end nicely. Curl yourselves together, girls. You need the warmth more than I.”

  Abigail opened her mouth to object, but she knew it would do no good. Aunt Elizabeth was stubborn and would not hear of them warming her if it meant either one of them would be cold. So Abby drew herself to Dorothy and held her close that night.

  Early the next morning when Abigail awoke, she sensed something was wrong even before she saw that there were things floating in the now ankle-deep water.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “’Tis rats!” someone cried.

  Dorothy sat up beside her, looking down into the water of their cell. “Abigail,” she moaned, “what are we to do? Is it not bad enough we are bothered by these demons at night? Must we suffer their presence during the day, too? How shall we go for our food?”

  “You can’t really think he’ll come down here to feed us with these rats about?” a woman laughed. “Nay, girl. We will go hungry until the waters go away.”

  “Oh, Abigail,” Dorothy moaned, “how shall we survive without food?”

  But Abigail did not answer. Though everyone was awake and staring in horror at the rats swimming about their cell, one person had not moved. Abigail felt underneath the thin blanket for Aunt Elizabeth’s leg and shook it gently. Her aunt did not move, and her leg was cold.

  Abigail looked at her sister, tears tumbling from her eyes.

  “Dorothy,” Abigail whispered, “our aunt is dead.”

  seventeen

  Dorothy scrambled to move away from the dead body. She stared at her aunt, who lay motionless beneath the thin blanket.

  “Abby,” she whispered, “what are we to do?”

  Abby wiped at her tears. “There is naught we can do now, Dorothy,” she said.

  Abby looked at the white face of their aunt, so pale and gaunt in death. She remembered the day her aunt had wed her uncle, how happy they had both been on that day. Abby had been only four then, but she could still see their smiling faces in her mind. Now Uncle Daniel must face a life without Aunt Elizabeth. Abby bent her head and wept for Uncle Daniel, for her mother, who must now face life without her sister, and for her grandfather, who had lost one of his daughters. Aunt Elizabeth had been but twenty-four. How quickly her life had passed, only to end here, in this miserable prison. What if tomorrow Abby should start coughing? Wouldher death be swift? Would she end her days here in this horrid place?

  The other women in the cell sat upon their beds, staring at the girls and their dead aunt. They said nothing to comfort them.

  But Dorothy, who was sitting on the other side of Abby, suddenly pushed past her and waded into the rat-infested water.

  “Dorothy,” Abigail said, rising to her knees, “what are you doing?”

  “Hello!” Dorothy yelled out into the dark. “Hello, up there!”

  There was no response.

  “Do you hear me?” Dorothy yelled again. “Hello! We need help down here!”

  “You’ll get no answer,” one of the women muttered.

  “Well, I’ve got to try, haven’t I?” Dorothy said, whirling on the women, facing them defiantly. A rat swam next to her. Dorothy shot out her leg and gave it a good, swift kick. She turned back to the bars of the cell.

  “Hello!” she screamed. “Help! Help!”

  To Abigail’s amazement, a door opened above.

  “What’s the commotion all about down there?” the jailer yelled. “People are trying to sleep. If you don’t pipe down, I’ll not feed you, not a one of you, you hear?”

  “Please, sir,” Dorothy cried out, “my aunt has passed away. Please. Won’t you send for my family?”

  There was a silence from above.

  “What’s the family, then?” the jailer finally called down.

  “The Faulkner family, sir,” Dorothy answered him.

  “Fine. Fine,” the jailer said slowly. “I’ll send on word. But no more noise or I might change my mind. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dorothy called out.

  The door closed, and Dorothy waded her way back to the bed. Abigail looked at her with new appreciation.

  “That was very brave of you, Dorothy,” she said, putting her
arms around her sister and hugging her tightly.

  “’Tis nothing,” Dorothy said. “Come, Abby, for now we must be braver still.”

  “You mean because now we are alone?” Abigail asked.

  Dorothy shook her head. “Nay, sister,” she said. “Because we must be about preparing the body of our aunt.”

  For the first time in her life, Abigail took direction from her elder sister. In all the years that she could remember, she had been the brave one. But Aunt Elizabeth’s death seemed to have given Dorothy a courage she had not shown before.

  Dorothy pulled back the blanket and found Aunt Elizabeth covered in her own blood. “Abigail,” Dorothy instructed, “rip a piece off your undergarments and dip it in the water below. We must clean her as best we can.”

  Abby did as she was told, tearing off a piece of her petticoat. As she bent over the water, the rats swam near, thinking she had food. She shooed them away and dipped the cloth in the water. Then, with Dorothy helping, she cleaned the blood from Aunt Elizabeth’s face and neck. There was little they could do about her gown.

  Abigail shivered when she felt how cold a body turned once its spirit was no longer there. She wished to turn away from the gruesome task, but Dorothy’s determination kept her focused. If her sister could do this, then so must she.

  “Hand me your comb, Abby,” Dorothy said.

  Again, Abigail did as her sister commanded, and Dorothy scrambled up onto the far side of the bed, carefully lifting Aunt Elizabeth’s head into her lap. Slowly, she began to comb out her hair. When the knots were all worked out, she arranged the hair, skillfully plaiting it and curling it on top of Aunt Elizabeth’s head.

  At last she crawled back down and carefully placed Aunt Elizabeth’s hands over her chest. Abigail looked at their aunt. She was white, almost alabaster, and her skin had shrunk into itself about her cheeks. But at least now she looked presentable and peaceful.

  Abigail laid her head against her sister’s shoulder. “That was truly a brave thing to do, Dorothy,” she whispered.

  But her sister was crying now, and Abby realized that Dorothy’s newfound courage had been but a temporary thing. She hugged her sister close, taking back the role she had grown up in all her life.

  The jailer would not come to the cell when he saw the amount of water on the floor. But he did keep his word and sent home news of Aunt Elizabeth’s death. It was the next day when Mama, Uncle Daniel, Grandpappy, and Paul arrived. Abigail felt a great weight lift from her shoulders when she saw them coming down the stairs. Last night, she had kept herself away from her aunt’s body, but several times had wakened to feel her aunt’s cold leg next to her own. It had shocked her each time.

  The jailer led her family to the cell and opened the door, grumbling the whole time about the water. The rats swam from the unwelcome light of the jailer’s torch, as he lifted the blanket from Aunt Elizabeth’s feet and unchained her. Uncle Daniel was the next one in. Without seeming to notice the water, he knelt next to Elizabeth and placed a hand on her forehead. Then he laid his head on her chest.

  Mama came and hugged Dorothy and Abigail. She looked down at the face of her sister. “Did you girls arrange my sister so?” she asked.

  “’Twas Dorothy’s idea, Mama,” Abigail said.

  Mama nodded. “I can see it was truly done with love, girls,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Grandpappy came in too, and kissed Abigail and Dorothy. He looked over at his daughter, lying still upon their bed. “How many more lives will be lost in this madness?” he asked.

  Abigail did not answer. What could she say to his question?

  “You’ll need to hurry there,” the jailer growled. “I must get this door closed so them witches don’t escape.”

  “In good time,” Grandpappy said. “We’ve paid to retrieve the body.”

  “Shall be inmy time,” the jailer retorted, “or I’ll have my boys carry her out and bury her in a pauper’s grave as all the others who’ve not been retrieved by their families.”

  Grandpappy’s eyes flashed with fire. “You speak to a man of the cloth,” he said angrily. “Mind your tongue, or it shall be a day in the stocks for you.”

  The jailer scowled but was quiet.

  Paul came into the cell. He shrank from the other prisoners, his eyes turning to Abigail.

  “They’ll not hurt you,” she said, going to his side. “We’re all chained.”

  “Oh, Abby,” he said, looking about him. “I hate to think of you and Dorothy in this place. I hate not being able to help you get out of here.”

  “Help Mama,” Abigail said.

  “Aye,” Paul agreed. “You know I will. Papa has had fits more frequently these days. I think the fear for you and Dorothy has been too much for him.”

  Grandpappy pulled Abigail and Dorothy to him. “Let us pray for your aunt’s goodly soul,” he said.

  Mama, Paul, Abigail, and Dorothy bowed their heads while Grandpappy said his prayer. The women around them bent their heads too, and for once, they were together as one.

  When he had finished, Grandpappy went over to Uncle Daniel and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come,” he said. “Let us be about taking my daughter from this horrid place.”

  Daniel nodded and stood.

  “Here boy,” Grandpappy said, turning to Paul. “Lend us a hand.”

  Paul nodded and went forward. He reached under Elizabeth’s waist and lifted, while Uncle Daniel held her head and Grandpappy lifted her feet.

  “Come along, come along,” the jailer groused, having found his voice again and deciding to risk the minister’s wrath. “I have other chores to attend to.”

  Mama turned an angry face to the jailer, but Dorothy laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mama,” she said softly, “do not forget who decides our fate in this place.”

  Mama swallowed hard, then nodded. Uncle Daniel, Grandpappy, and Paul carried Aunt Elizabeth to the cell door.

  “Be strong, girls,” Grandpappy said. “Your mother and I will find a way to get you out of here.”

  Uncle Daniel said nothing, but Paul’s sad eyes met Abby’s. Then they were gone.

  “Ma’am,” the jailer said, indicating that Mama should leave.

  “Papa is ill?” Abigail asked quickly, wishing to prolong the visit.

  Mama nodded. “Aye. He is distraught,” she said. “I could not let him come and see Elizabeth here. I asked him to stay with Franny and Edward and told him he must be about finding a spot in which to lay my sister to rest.”

  “We shall not be there,” Dorothy said softly.

  “She would know that you meant to be, child,” Mama said.

  She hugged and kissed them both. Then she followed the jailer up the long prison stairs, the light disappearing with them.

  The other women turned away from Abigail. Their moment of togetherness had ended. Abby stared into the dark at their now empty bed.

  eighteen

  In the stillness of that morning, Abigail lost all hope. Like her sister had before, she began sitting day after day, caring little if she ate or if she starved. She stared out at the darkness, her mind numb, no longer longing for freedom, ignoring the awful truth of Aunt Elizabeth’s death. For the first time in her life, all she could feel was fright. Every little thing scared her. Every little noise made her jump. She was going to die. She knew it.

  She retreated and spoke not at all, simply closing her mind off. It was not until many days later, when Mama stood directly in front of her, shaking her hard, that Abigail even became aware of the fact that her mother was there. “Abigail!” Mama cried. “Abigail, rouse yourself, daughter. Do not frighten me so.”

  Abigail stared at her mother. She wondered why Mama was screaming. Could she not see that there was no hope? Could she not feel the end and the frightfulness of it?

  “Abigail,” Mama cried again, putting her arm around her and rubbing her shoulders.

  “Here, here, Mistress. Not so close. ’Tis not permitted. I could have
trouble for letting you into the cell as it is,” said the jailer.

  “Can you not see that she is ill?” Mama snapped.

  The jailer glared at her but said nothing more.

  “Abigail,” Mama said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Bear, I know this has been a hard time for you. But I have good news! Good news! I have the way to free you at last!”

  Into Abigail’s vision came the face of her sister. “’Tis true, Abigail,” Dorothy said. “Mama has devised a plan whereby we shall be quit of this place. Think on it, Abigail! Free from this horrid prison! Free from this cell of death! Come, Abby. Listen to Mama. We must do as she tells us.”

  Abigail looked at them both. What good was freedom if Aunt Elizabeth was not here to have it also? Or was she free? Did her spirit roam about now, glad to be rid of this earthly hell? Abigail shivered.

  The slap, when it came, was hard and shook Abigail to the core. “Rouse yourself, daughter,” Mama scolded her. “They may have taken Elizabeth, but they shall not take you also. It is time to fight, Abigail. I mean to bring you home.”

  Home, Abigail thought. Home. Somewhere deep inside her something stirred, a hope, a glimmer of her old self. Could it be so? Could she be rescued from this horrible cell? Could she return to some-place warm, somewhere safe?

  Abigail opened her mouth for the first time in days. Her voice cracked from lack of use. “How, Mama?” she asked. “How can I get home?”

  Mama smiled. “I have managed to arrange your trial for the day after the morrow,” she said.

  Abigail’s heart fell. The fright returned. “What of it?” she croaked bitterly. “The trial offers little hope.”

  “’Tis true if you refuse to accuse someone as your teacher in the devil’s ways,” Mama said, her eyes glowing and dancing with some secret.

  “Would you have me falsely accuse someone?” Abigail asked, crying. “Would you have me condemn someone to this life?”

  Mama nodded, smiling again. “Aye, Bear. I would.”

  “Who?” Abigail cried. “Who would you have me name as a witch, Mama, that I might go free?”