Bewitching Familiar

by Caroline Burnes

  “Go.” There was no time left to discuss the merits of leaving the cat. “Go now, and Godspeed.” She kissed Hester’s cheek.

  “I’ll deliver your letter.” Hester’s words were a vow. “And I’ll be back to help you.”

  Abigail shook her head. “Stay away from Salem Village. For Pearl’s sake.” She gave them a slight nudge out the door and then closed the heavy wood behind them before she could change her mind and run after them.

  SO, THE CAT IS OUT of the bag, so to speak. I’ve been seen by one of those sneaky little urchins. Mary Wadsworth? Was that her name? And to add insult to injury, Madame Mysterious was going to send me away with Hester and Pearl. She was going to trust my fate to fictional characters. Or, at least, I’d always thought they were fictional. And I’m proud to see that Hester has not allowed that sniveling Dimmsdale to ruin her life. But enough about them. What I’m concerned about now is me. Whoever thought that saving a nine-year-old child from snakebite could result in accusations of being a witch’s familiar? This is grossly unfair.

  Whining aside, I’ve come to some basic conclusions. First, Abigail West is no ordinary woman. Excluding her beauty and her brains, she’s still cut from a different bolt of cloth. There’s something…extraordinary about her. How do I know this? you ask. Oh, from minor observations. Just little things, like being in her proximity has resulted in a leap back in time of more than three hundred years. That was my first clue!

  I’ve been giving this serious thought, and the last thing I remember from my 1995 life was a fierce pain in my head as I made cranial contact with the bumper of a really striking little BMW. I had just pushed a dame—one that looked exactly like Mistress West—to safety. The next thing I know, I’m here.

  It seems to reason that Abigail and I came here together. And she thinks Pilgrim Man might be from the future, too. While I feigned sleep last night, I listened to him. He talks like an alien when he’s around Abigail, but it could be that he’s easily influenced. Fellow traveler or not, he seems to be the only one in Salem Village interested in stopping these horrible trials.

  Okay, there go Hester and Pearl. Now that Abigail can’t send me away, I can mosey on home and help her think up a plan. Even though I was sitting beside the old babbling brook, my mind was in high gear. Why are these young girls allowed to bring charges against others? These are children. Unreliable at best. Why are they suddenly being believed?

  And isn’t it strange that most of the accused are women? Single women. Women who have property. Oh, there is a man or two accused, but these are men who have challenged the credibility of the children.

  Knowing what I know about humans, I find that greed and jealousy are always prime motives in any crime. This isn’t always the case, but it often is. Fear is another motivating factor. Is it possible these girls honestly fear these women?

  If the motive isn’t greed or fear, what else could it be? Is it possible that these little girls are simply mean? Now that is a scary thought. I know that humans are capable of such meanness. I’ve seen it in action. But it is still hard to accept, especially from young girls.

  I’d rather believe that perhaps they’ve become caught up in the center of a great drama. Never underestimate the human ego, not even in the rug-rat-size humanoid. I can see a likely scenario where the girls made an accusation and the response to what they said was far greater than anything they’d expected. Suddenly they’re stars, the center of attention. The entire town is focusing on everything they do and say. That would be very appealing for young girls who see nothing but a life of toil in front of them. Yes, I can clearly see how this might have happened.

  And once the first accusation was made, the girls couldn’t stop. Fear of being caught in the lie would make them continue, as well as a need for the attention. Now they are accusing everyone. But surely if this is the case they would recant when they saw that people were being hanged. Surely. Then again, maybe not. Humans seem to have a positive lust for the limelight. And if these children have gotten caught up in a lie, how can they stop now? Innocent people have already suffered greatly.

  Here comes Abigail, and I can see by the look in her eyes that she’s angry with me. I know she wanted to send me to a place of safety, but that was out of the question. If she’s here on some kind of mission, then I must be, too. Should I step out and surrender myself to her? Or maybe I should wait until she hunts long enough to become worried. Then she’ll be glad to see me. Cats have learned to value the delayed response. It’s one little tool we have to keep humans on their toes.

  “DAGNABBIT! Familiar, where are you?” Abigail hurried around the corner of the house. The cat was watching her. She could almost feel his wily gaze on her, calculating the best time to show himself. Perhaps he didn’t realize his elegant black hide was in danger. She wanted to put him in the safety nook of the fireplace before the young girl and Silas Grayson made an appearance to cast yet another accusation at her feet.

  “Familiar!” She stopped at the road, noticing the small band of black-clad people who were moving her way. She recognized Silas Grayson’s tall form, and that of a young girl. Fear tripped in her chest but she didn’t move. Now it was too late to find the cat and put him in a place of safety. Familiar would just have to look out for himself, because she had the feeling that she was going to have her hands full protecting herself.

  “Mistress West.” Silas Grayson bowed, but not before he smiled. “We have it on good authority that you have been consorting with one of Satan’s familiars. A black cat.”

  “I saw him strike a snake in the head!” The young girl stepped forward, her blond curls spilling out from beneath the cap she wore. If it had not been for the expression on her face, she would have been a lovely child. Her plump cheeks were dimpled, her skin flawless. But it was the set of her mouth and the anger in her eyes that told of her true nature.

  “You saw a cat and a snake?” Abigail asked the question gently. “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure.” The child stepped forward. “I accuse you of witchcraft.” She pointed her finger at Abigail.

  “I have no black cat.” Abigail still spoke softly, but she didn’t flinch as others who had been accused had done.

  “I saw him. He was at the creek with that young girl. The snake floated down, and the girl was going to pick it up but the cat saved her.”

  “A young girl. A snake. A cat that saves children. Where are all of these magnificent things that you’ve seen?”

  Silas Grayson shifted uncomfortably. The smile that had been on his face was gone. The other two men with him murmured together.

  “I think this young lady sees what she wants to see.” Abigail’s tone was no longer soft. “There is no child in my house. There is no cat. Search if you will, but you’ll find nothing because there is nothing there. I am no witch, but this girl is a liar.”

  Before Abigail could say another word the girl pitched forward into the road and began to scream and writhe. “She’s pinching me! She’s pinching me!” She screamed. “Make her stop! Make her stop!”

  Chapter Five

  Agile as a cat, Abigail eluded the grasp of the three men as they lunged at her. In a moment she had Mary Wadsworth by the forearm and had tugged her to her feet. She pulled back and slapped the girl across the face with a resounding crack.

  For several seconds there was only silence.

  Disbelief, shock, then fear marched across the blond teenager’s face as she stared at Abigail in openmouthed wonder.

  “I don’t know who you think was pinching you, but if you don’t stand up and behave yourself, I’m going to take a switch and beat the hide off your legs.” Abigail was startled at her own words. She hadn’t heard such talk since her grandmother had switched her for throwing red mud balls at a neighbor’s newly painted white house. It had effectively curbed Abigail’s wayward desires for vandalism and trouble-making.

  “Who are you?” Mary Wadsworth was still in awe.

  “I am not a wi
tch, that’s for certain, and you’d better watch yourself, young lady, or you’ll find yourself in hot…” She stopped herself. She didn’t think a threat of hot water would be understood—or appreciated—by her current audience. She dropped Mary’s arm. “Now quit making a spectacle of yourself in the middle of the road.”

  “Mary?” Silas Grayson’s face was a thundercloud. “Is she a witch or not?”

  Abigail looked at a bridal wreath bush that grew beside her house. The long, slender branches would make excellent switches.

  Mary followed Abigail’s gaze. “I don’t think so,” she said. She backed a few steps away from Abigail.

  “What about the cat? What about the snake? What did you see?” Silas pressed.

  Abigail put her hands on her hips and arched her eyebrows. “What did you see, Mistress Mary?”

  “I don’t remember,” the girl answered. She backed away several more steps. “I couldn’t see clearly. Maybe it wasn’t a snake.”

  “As I said before, I don’t have any children in the house, and I don’t have any pet…cats. You’re welcome to search if you wish, but you’ll waste your time and find nothing.” Abigail started toward the house. “My time is valuable. I have sheep to tend and cows to milk. Excuse me.” Without looking behind her, she walked around the house to the barn.

  Once out of sight she collapsed against the rough wood of her barn. To her conscious mind she could not remember ever feeding sheep or milking cows—until she’d woken up in Salem Village. But she’d done it for the past three days, and she was becoming quite efficient at it. The animals had taken to her. And they were also a comfort. Right at this particular moment, she was due for some comfort.

  Samuel’s face came unbidden to her mind, and she allowed herself a few seconds to mentally go over the strong jaw, the clear gray eyes and the intelligence she saw so clearly there. Was he really from the future? Would he eventually come to realize that, or would he turn away from it, and her?

  A growing seed of doubt that had begun to loom larger and larger in Abigail’s mind sprouted into full blossom. What if she never figured out how to get home?

  She thought back over the most recent incident. Silas Grayson was definitely out to get her. She’d sidestepped this particular effort, but how much longer could she outmaneuver him? Not for long. And just because she was from the future didn’t mean she couldn’t die in Salem Village.

  That chilling thought made her close her eyes and seek comfort in the memory of Samuel’s face. Aside from Hester, he was her only real friend. If he didn’t become too frightened of her. With that thought she took a deep breath, opened her eyes and started forward again.

  Entering the barn she threw hay to the cows and then got the bucket and sat on the stool to milk. At the zinging sound of the milk in the can she leaned her forehead against the cow’s side, inhaling the clean smell of the animal. Ole Sally, the cow, munched hay and mooed a soft bit of sympathy at her.

  “What am I going to do?” Abigail asked the cow.

  “Meow!” From the darkened corner of the barn Familiar stepped forward. “Meow.”

  “Right. You’re part of the reason I’m in hot water.” She was feeling less than happy with the cat.

  “Meow!” Familiar was indignant.

  “No, I didn’t expect you to let the snake bite Pearl. But what were you doing down there with her?”

  At the sound of the cat’s strange meow, Abigail looked up. A tall man was standing in the doorway of the barn. With the intense light from the setting sun at his back and in her face, Abigail couldn’t get a good look at him, and she felt terror sink hard claws into her before she finally managed to find her voice. “Who is it?”

  Samuel stepped into the barn. “They found Rebecca Nurse guilty.” He sounded slightly dazed, as if he didn’t believe the verdict.

  Abigail let go of Sally’s udder and stood, looking at him over the cow’s back. “Was she sentenced?”

  “To hang. Two days hence.”

  Abigail sat back down and started milking once again. The rhythm was soothing, the sound of the milk in the pail the only noise in the barn. “Is there nothing you can do?” she finally asked.

  “Nothing. I tried everything I knew.”

  “And was it the testimony of Mary Wadsworth and her friends?”

  “Indeed, it was. They put on a performance that would have frightened Boris Karloff.”

  Abigail’s smile was weary. “And who is Boris Karloff, Samuel?”

  The tall man took a step back. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I honestly don’t know why I said that.”

  “It’s the future slipping into your brain.” Finished with Sally, Abigail moved the milk pail and her stool as she stood. “I only wonder why you fight it so hard. Familiar and I have accepted the fact that we’re from the future.”

  “Let’s not linger on this topic.” Samuel stepped toward her again. In the rich golden light filtering through the barn door, Abigail looked like something from a painting. The golden tones of light painted her skin a soft peach, and a few tendrils of her russet hair had escaped her white cap to catch the light in fiery ringlets.

  “You don’t want to talk about the future, and I don’t want to talk about the present.” She sighed. “At least Hester and Pearl got out of here. They’re taking a letter to the governor. I hope he’ll come to Salem Village and see for himself what a travesty these witch trials are.”

  Samuel didn’t hold much hope that the governor would intervene in any fashion, much less a timely one. But he saw no reason to destroy Abigail’s only hope. “I hope Hester has a safe journey. By the way, Silas Grayson left the proceedings today after he was certain Rebecca would be hanged. Did you see him?” At the fleeting expression of concern that Abigail worked hard to hide, Samuel felt genuine fear. “He was here, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. But he’s gone. And that lying little heathen is gone with him.”

  “Mary?”

  “Aye, Mary.” Abigail used the archaic speech deliberately. “’Tis a fetching liar she is, but a liar nonetheless.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Did she accuse you?”

  “No. Grayson wanted her to, but she wouldn’t. She was a little afraid to accuse me of anything after I slapped her.”

  Samuel stepped around the cow and caught Abigail’s arm. “You what?”

  “I slapped her.” She felt a twinge of guilt. “Not all that hard, but enough to make her stop thrashing around in the dirt and pretending that I was having some invisible demon pinch her.”

  “She went into a fit?” Samuel was aghast.

  “She did. But when I jerked her up and slapped her, just like my granny used to do to me when I pitched a temper fit, she stopped.”

  “And she failed to accuse you of witchcraft?”

  “I told her I’d switch the hide off her legs.” Abigail looked down at the milk in the pail. “I probably shouldn’t have done it, but she made me mad. Surely any fool can see that those girls are putting on a show. You see it. I see it. Why don’t the others?”

  Samuel kept a grip on Abigail’s arm and led her to the stack of hay that was in plentiful supply against the south wall of the barn. He took the milk bucket from her hand and put it down, then sat back in the hay, pulling her down with him.

  “I wonder your head is still connected to your body without a rope between the two.”

  “Huh! Once I called her bluff, she wasn’t going to accuse me.”

  “Not while you could reach across and punish her again. But she’ll be back, Abigail.” Samuel lifted a hand to touch her face, turning her so that their gazes met and held. “What am I to do with you?”

  Abigail looked into his eyes. Ever since waking up in Salem Village, she’d felt so terribly alone. She’d hidden that feeling, from everyone including herself, but now she knew she needed Samuel. Whatever he was capable of giving.

  “Kiss me,” she said softly. The words shocked her as much as Samuel.

  Samuel
felt desire wash away his initial surprise. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed gently, adjusting to the feel of her soft lips beneath his.

  Abigail raised her hand to his hair, fingers curling in the thick, dark waves. She turned so she could put her other hand in his hair.

  Samuel slipped an arm around Abigail, pulling her against him as he parted her lips and began to explore her mouth. He could feel the surge of blood that seemed to sing in his ears, feel the heat beginning to drum. Abigail’s response was wanton. She pressed into him, bringing the fullness of her breasts against his chest. He could feel the rapid movement of her breathing, and it heightened his desire for her. His hand moved along her rib cage.

  “Meow!”

  Somewhere in the distance he heard the cry of the cat, but he ignored him. With one strong pull, he dragged Abigail against his lap, into a more comfortable position in the hay.

  “Meow!” Familiar’s unsheathed claws made contact just at the back of Samuel’s thigh.

  “Hey!” He broke the embrace and sat up, looking for the cat.

  “Meow.” Familiar’s voice had calmed but he stood in the open doorway.

  “I think he wants us to look out,” Abigail explained. She could hear a strange noise, a rumble of low sounds that also had some high-pitched tones.

  She got to her feet and offered her hand to Samuel, who remained in the hay. When he didn’t take her hand, she turned to look at him more closely. He was staring at her with something akin to awe. “What?” she asked, letting her hand fall to her side.

  “I wanted to make love to you. I would have if the cat had not interrupted us. Right here in this barn. Without another thought of the future.” He spoke as if he were amazed.

  “I don’t know whether to strangle that cat or thank him.” She felt the blush touch her cheeks. “I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time, Samuel. I wanted to make love with you, too.”