“That’s what concerns me.”
Abigail’s shy pleasure turned to shock. She took one look at Samuel and could plainly see that he was troubled. “What is it, Samuel? What’s wrong?”
“It’s sin we’re discussing, Abigail. And you act as if it were no more than sharing a cup of tea.”
“A sin?” She felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. The sound in the distance was growing louder, but she knelt beside Samuel. “Is it a sin to care for someone?”
“Behavior of this sort is punished here.” He slowly got to his feet, leaving her kneeling.
“Putting aside what’s punished and what isn’t punished, do you think what we did was wrong?” Abigail remained as she was. She and Samuel had to settle this issue once and for all. If his seventeenth-century sensibilities were going to cause trouble for them, she wanted to face it now. Things between them had moved fast—faster than she’d ever expected. But she felt no guilt for her feelings for Samuel. Nor any remorse. If he did, then he needed to say so.
He walked to the doorway, seemingly absorbed in the scene outside, but he saw nothing, not even the beginning of the procession that was coming down the road. He went back to Abigail and held out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet. He’d hurt her with his reaction. She’d given herself with such passion, and he’d acted as if she’d done something wrong. But there was something he had to ask. One question. “Just tell me once and for all, Abby, have you bewitched me?”
She wanted to smile at the question, but he was sincere. Not afraid, and not wary. Simply sincere. “What do you think, Samuel?” she asked gently.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the best answer. What do you think? Do you believe I’ve bewitched you?”
“If this is a spell, I want no part of it. I want to come to love a woman because of who she is, not because she’s tricked me into seeing her as something else.”
“And you think I’ve tricked you somehow?”
He hesitated. “It’s hard for me to believe your beauty, or the way I’ve come to feel about you in such a short time.”
“So it must be witchcraft?” She couldn’t resist the smile.
“You’re mocking me,” he said, but there was no reprimand in it, only relief.
“No, not mocking. What you say gives me a great deal of pleasure. And it also makes me smile because you are so sincere, so without the pretenses of…modern man.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
Her smile widened. “I can’t give you that answer. You see, you have to decide for yourself, Samuel. No matter what I say, it all comes back to what you believe.”
He nodded, a faint smile lifting the right corner of his mouth. “Then I don’t know whether to ask for more of the magic you’ve used on me or whether to run as fast as I can. I don’t remember a lot of my earlier life, before coming here to Salem Village, but I know I’ve certainly never felt this way about a woman before.”
Abigail lifted her hand to his cheek, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips. “That’s good.”
The sound outside the barn was too loud for them to ignore any longer. Abigail walked to the door, then pushed Samuel back as he started to follow.
“Stay back,” she warned him. “It’s Silas Grayson. It won’t do your health any good to be seen in my barn.”
“Are they coming here?”
Abigail looked out the door. She watched the crowd of men and women led by Silas Grayson. It was a motley assortment of folks, including two of the teenage girls who’d been making the charges of witchcraft against the other members of the community. But the procession didn’t appear to be headed to her house. Silas had already passed the path that led to her door, and he hadn’t yet spied her in the barn.
“No. They’re going toward town, I believe.” She looked closer, scanning the tense faces of the crowd. In the middle was a young woman who looked terrified. Her hands were clutched in front of her chest, and it took Abigail a moment to realize they were tied, and that she was tethered to a rope held by Silas Grayson. Several of the crowd around her were poking her with sticks and jeering at her as she was being led down the road. No one made a single effort to defend her.
“They’ve arrested another woman.” Abigail started to walk out of the barn as she spoke. “That crazy old fool has accused another innocent woman.”
She was startled to feel herself being pulled back into the barn. Struggling to free herself, she argued, “We have to stop this now, before she’s actually charged. We have to…”
“We have to do nothing.” Samuel pulled her back into the shadows where he held her tight against his body.
“Let me go.” Abigail struggled against his firm hold. “We have to help her.”
“If you go out there and try to defend her, you’ll only make it worse for her and get yourself arrested. I’ve seen that happen.” He gave her a small shake to stop her struggling. “If anyone comes to the defense of a person accused of witchcraft, then the defender is automatically accused of witchcraft, also. The logic is that the defender has been put under the spell and therefore must die, too.”
“Someone has to help her!” Abigail struggled, but Samuel held her firm.
“Look, Abby,” he whispered in her ear, finally calming her furious struggles.
A tall, thin woman had come up the road in the opposite direction. At the spectacle of the woman being dragged along the road, she stopped, hands on hips, and raised a challenge.
“Silas Grayson, what manner of action is this that a defenseless woman is so persecuted?” Her strong, clear voice ran out over the crowd. “This woman has done no wrong. Release her.”
Abigail instantly recognized Georgianna March, and so did Samuel. The woman had both property and respect in Salem Village.
“She is charged with witchcraft,” Silas answered, his tone less surly than Abigail had ever heard it. “She must be tried.”
“’Tis a mockery you make of trial,” Georgianna said, her fury and frustration plain even at a distance.
“Be off with you, woman, before you find yourself marching beside her.” With that, Silas jerked the rope that was tied to the woman’s wrists, and the procession continued down the road. Georgianna March was left standing alone in the road, shaking her head.
“Who is the woman who is charged?”
Samuel came to stand beside her, his breath leaving in a sigh of dismay and disgust. “Elizabeth Adams. She’s taken in several Indian children who had smallpox. She’s kindhearted and completely unafraid.”
Abigail wanted to turn away but she forced herself to watch. “She’s afraid now. And she should be. Where will they take her?” She realized she had no idea what Salem Village looked like. Once she saw it, she’d know everything she needed to get around—she was certain of that. Just as she knew where everything in her house was, and how to milk and care for livestock. But there was no picture in her mind that she could pull up and study.
Samuel gave her a look, then answered. “The dungeon is beneath the magistrate’s hall. It’s crowded to overflowing, but they still manage to cram newly accused victims in.”
Abigail couldn’t suppress the shudder. She could suddenly picture the evil place. Did that mean that she had been there before? Or that she was headed there soon?
Samuel’s arm went around her and pulled her against him. “It isn’t a place you’d care for, Abigail, and I intend to do everything I can to keep you out of there. There’s very little protection I can offer you here. Even though I’m involved with the trials in an official capacity, I have no real power here. Please, consider leaving.” He spoke from his heart, his words strong and forceful.
Abigail shook her head. “No. I’m here for a purpose. And so are you. I know we’ve been sent back in time to stop these horrible trials. The only problem is, I have no idea how to go about it. These people won’t listen to reason.” She began to pace the barn. “
If I tried to prove anything scientifically, they’d hang me on the spot. Besides, chemistry was never my strong suit.”
Samuel paced beside her. “There’s nothing I can do legally to help the accused. No matter what angle I bring up, I am disputed. If it isn’t Silas Grayson, then it’s Caleb Hawthorne, the prosecutor, or those girls. Every time I think I’m about to make a point on behalf of one of the accused, one of those girls begins writhing and screaming and the place erupts in panic.”
“Do you believe the magistrate is actually afraid of witches?”
Samuel pondered the question. “I think he’s afraid of displeasing the people, and many of them are afraid of the influences of the Dark One.” Even before he could finish talking, he saw the spark of sudden excitement in Abigail’s eyes. “What? What are you thinking?” He was instantly concerned.
“The Dark One, huh? Do you remember the old saying, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?”
Samuel nodded. It was very familiar to him. He had an image of the dark-haired girl that Abigail had assured him was his sister saying those exact words as she prepared to do something mischievous. “I don’t like the way this sounds.”
“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Abigail assured him. “We need a black coat, some phosphorous, a little sulfur, some coal and some gunpowder.”
“Phosphorous? Sulfur?” With each syllable, Samuel was more uncomfortable. “What are you going to do?”
“Samuel, my tall, dark stranger, I’m going to give this crowd exactly what they want. They think Satan is in their midst, well, he’s going to make an appearance.” She laughed out loud with excitement. “Yes, indeed, the Dark One is going to ride tonight.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.” Did she actually plan to conjure up the devil? Was it within her power to do so? Was he falling in league with Satan by allowing himself to become involved with this woman’s schemes?
“This is going to be fun,” Abigail insisted, too busy planning to notice Samuel’s face. “And it’s going to put a scare into Silas Grayson that he’ll never forget. If we work our cards right, we’ll have the good Mister Grayson accused of consorting with the devil by the very girls he uses to accuse others.”
“Abigail!” Samuel grasped her shoulders, but the wicked smile on her face was enough to tell him that he’d never change her mind. The least he could do was try to protect her, from herself and whatever unknown force she would tempt with her actions.
“You don’t have to become involved.” Abigail saw his hesitation.
“No, I’ll help,” he said. He could not abandon her, no matter what.
“Before you even know what I’m going to do?” Abigail was amazed. Samuel was rapidly shedding the shackles of his seventeenth-century ways.
“I don’t feel I have a choice. You’ll do it with or without me.”
Abigail smiled, the eyebrow over her gray eye arching. “Are you a fast runner?”
Samuel shook his head. “I already regret this decision. The answer is, yes, fairly fast.”
“Good. Where I come from, people jog. It’s a bit difficult to do in these awful clothes that women here wear, but I’m fit and I know the two of us can outrun Silas.”
Samuel’s concern tripled. “This isn’t a game, Abby. I don’t think we should be making sport of Silas, no matter how fast we can run.”
“This isn’t a game, not by a long shot.” Even though she was serious, there was still a glint in her eye. “Satan is going to pay Silas Grayson a little visit later tonight. I believe that if he’s busy defending his own self against charges of witchcraft, he won’t have time to persecute the likes of Elizabeth and me.”
Samuel knew instantly that Abigail’s plan was sound. Dangerous, but sound. An accusation against Silas would throw a monkey wrench into the works. Samuel turned to Abigail. “What’s a monkey wrench?”
Chapter Six
The hard wood of the door skinned Abigail’s fingers as she pounded on it and then ran for her life. She’d barely gained the protection of the woods around Mary Wadsworth’s home when the door was flung open and a big, burly man stood in the light of several candles.
“Who comes to my door and then hides?” he called. Behind him was Mary’s voice asking what was happening.
In a moment the man bent to pick up the note that Abigail had so carefully written.
“What’s this? A letter left by a cringing messenger?” The man ripped the sealing wax free and opened the note. He read silently once, then turned toward the lighted room. “Mary, what manner of tryst is this? Who is this Joseph who leaves you a message to meet him at Courtney’s Hollow? Explain yourself, girl, or I’ll box your ears until your head rings like beggar’s bells.”
“I don’t know, Father.” There was worry in Mary’s voice, and fear. “I know no Joseph.”
“Oh, it sounds as if you know the lad. He says he wants to ‘gaze upon your beauty by the light of the moon.’” There was rage in the father’s voice.
For a brief moment Abigail was afraid maybe she’d gone too far with the wording of the note. She wanted only to make sure that Mary and her father would be walking down the Mill Pond road in half an hour. She hadn’t intended to get the girl in trouble with her father, but it was so difficult to gauge the way people were going to react in 1692. By 1995 standards, the note had been formal, very proper. But Mary’s father was acting as if she’d been accused of something horrible.
“I don’t know him, Father. I swear it. Besides, what boy would write me a note? What boy would dare?” She was angry. “They’re all afraid of me. They fear I’ll point my finger at them.”
Abigail’s fingers dug into her knees as she crouched in the bushes and eavesdropped. Damn! The girl was smart and extremely manipulative. She was wiggling out of her tight jam.
“Then what does this note mean, and how did it come to rest upon our doorstep?” Wadsworth demanded.
“Could it be that someone is trying to trick me into going to that place?”
Abigail felt her stomach twist with sudden anxiety. If Mary and her father failed to go along with the plan, Samuel would be endangering himself for no reason.
“Aye, a trick. Then we certainly shan’t disappoint this young man,” Wadsworth said, his voice gravelly. “If he wanted a meeting with a pure young girl who can sense the evil in another, then that’s exactly what he shall get. Get your cape and bonnet, and don’t bother to try to hide from me. We’ll make the rendezvous and see what this young rapscallion is up to. When I get my hands on him he’ll find himself down in the dungeon with all of the other troublemakers in Salem Village!”
“Father!” Mary protested loudly. “I don’t want to go to Courtney’s Hollow. I hate the dark!” Her voice rose. “The Dark One is out and about tonight. I feel him.”
“Ye’ve made your bed, Mary, girl. I can see you’ve encouraged this Joseph. He thinks he can write you notes such as this and escape without punishment. Well, you’re my daughter, and I must protect your good name if I’m ever to marry you off. This beggar will pay a high price for his moon-mad antics. Hey! Don’t try to scuttle backward now. Get your cape and let’s be off. There’s a gentleman waiting to gaze upon your beauty.”
Wadsworth’s harsh laughter was still ringing in Abigail’s ears as she crept through the bushes and back to the road where she began to run toward Silas Grayson’s house and the scenario that Samuel had already begun to put into effect. If circumstances had been different, she might have felt pity for Mary Wadsworth and her domineering father, she thought as she hurried through the dark woods. But Mary and her cohorts had already sent at least two innocent people to hang. Abigail didn’t waste her tender feelings on the girl’s domestic plight.
She arrived just in time to see Samuel toss the gunpowder into the small bonfire he’d built in the middle of the road. In the sudden flare of the firelight his soot-blackened face was truly frightening and the black cloak she’d supplied him disguised his muscular frame. Clutching a
crooked staff that he’d found in the woods, he gave more than a passable imitation of the Dark One.
“Silas Grayson, come out and meet with your friend,” Samuel called loudly.
Behind her, Abigail heard the sound of someone hurrying down the road. She ducked into the small clearing in the trees where she’d tied her only two horses, already saddled and bridled. Peeking through the dense foliage, she calmed the horses with a few murmured words and watched the scene develop. Silas Grayson came out the front door of his house just as Mary Wadsworth and her father rounded the curve in the road.
With the timing of a master showman, Samuel tossed a handful of gunpowder and sulfur into the fire. The flames leapt high with a roar and a sizzle, and the yellow smoke that followed carried the distinctive odor of brimstone.
“Silas, your master calls!” he bellowed. “You dare to keep me waiting!” He tossed another handful of gunpowder into the fire.
At the sight of Samuel’s angry, soot-blackened features and his lanky frame lit by the flare of the bonfire, Mary screamed and almost fainted, stumbling back into her father. He lost his footing and the two of them fell into the dirt and began thrashing to separate and get away.
In the doorway Silas let out a shriek of fear and jumped back into the house, slamming the door. With everyone in confusion, Samuel ducked behind the bonfire and cut through the woods to the place where Abigail waited with the horses.
As soon as he parted the bushes and entered the clearing, Abigail threw him the reins of her bay gelding and she climbed into the saddle on the smaller chestnut mare.
“Ride,” she whispered, barely able to contain her mirth.
“I fear we’ve frightened them badly,” Samuel answered as he turned the gelding toward the thicker woods. His voice was tinged with laughter.
“It’s exactly what they deserve,” Abigail answered as she urged her mare into a trot and led the way to the old hunting trail that would eventually take them home without risking the use of the main road.
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