Children of Salem

by Robert W. Walker

  “She wants us safe. She wants us to think of the children, the grandchildren, those yet to be born.”

  “We all understand that,” said John Tarbell, joining them. “She wants it left in God’s hands.”

  “That may be true,” added Jeremy, “that she believes it’s an ordeal put upon her and you by God, but it’s equally the work of men—black hearted men and well-meaning men. Yes, she’s made some sort of pact between her and her Maker, but Rebecca is also smart. She is willing to sacrifice herself for the rest of you and your land holdings.”

  “I tell you,” returned Ben, pacing, loaded gun in hand, “she will accept matters as the will of God when we rescue her from that pit they call a jail!”

  “I have a confession to make,” shouted Jeremiah, again interrupting the family he’d so recently become a member of.

  “What confession?” asked Francis.

  “Two actually. I want to break Mother Nurse out as much as the rest of you, and second . . . this is more difficult, and I should’ve told you sooner, Father Nurse.”

  Serena stared at her husband. “What is it?”

  “When in Boston, I did some checking on Parris’ recent activities at the court.”

  “At the court in Boston?”

  “Aye, where it appears he’s had a lawsuit pending for near two years.”

  “Lawsuit?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The particulars, Jeremy. Details.”

  “The suit is over a section of land.”

  “Land?” asked Ben, interested now.

  “My land?” asked Father Nurse. “If so, Mother was more right than she knew.”

  “A section bordering the Frost Fish and Crane Rivers, sir.” Jeremy exchanged a glance with Serena. “A section once belonging to—”

  “Thomas Putnam’s father and sold to Towne forever ago, I know.” Nurse’s words silenced the room.

  Jeremiah added, “Parris’ original suit was against the entire Town Council and not simply you. There was no chance of winning such a suit, and from all I can tell, I suspect he got advice.”

  “Advice?” Francis paced about the room.

  “Of a legal nature, yes . . . say a barrister or a magistrate.”

  “Someone in Boston?”

  “I suspect so.”

  “Do you suspect one of the Boston men who’re now in Salem Village?”

  “I do.”

  “Bastards!” shouted Ben. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true, isn’t it? It’s been about land from the beginning!”

  Francis shook his head, stood, held onto the table a moment, and then paced as Jeremy’s eyes darted among the other men. “From the beginning—” Jeremy continued, his voice filling the silence that had fallen on the room—“land and greed far more than withered old witches and warlocks.”

  “My Rebecca sits in that god-awful hole down there because of land alone?”

  “Land and politics, yes.”

  “A land grab it is,” muttered the imposing Tarbell.

  Serena grabbed her father’s arm and embraced him. “How do such men sleep nights?”

  “Unfortunately, too easily.” Jeremy raised his hands in exasperation.

  “Their hearts are made glad too easily, I think,” added Francis.

  “All the more reason to storm the jail tonight and wrest Mother free,” declared Ben, Joseph at his side, agreeing, pounding the table.

  “And risk one of you being killed in the bargain?” asked Francis.

  Serena now pounded the other end of the table. “Have you not construed Mother’s purpose in all this madness? Look, ye fools! Mother wants her day in court.”

  “She’s had it and they’ve declared her a witch!” shouted Ben.

  “Nay, nay Ben! That was no true court,” Jeremy insisted. “Your mother wants a real hearing before real judges, not ministers or lower court judges.”

  Serena stared into her father’s eyes. “She wants to stand up for God and the Boston authorities to make her appeal.”

  “And if she dies of disease before that day comes, Serena?” asked Ben. “Then what, Father?” Ben addressed them all now, waving a hand in the air. “Are you prepared to say later that we let her die in that filthy jail?”

  Ben stormed out, but Francis persuaded the others to stay and remain calm. Another round of ale was poured. “Everything must be measured.”

  “We wait to see what becomes of the final petition,” agreed Joseph, and Tarbell added, “For the time being.”

  Joseph muttered, “And then if they fail to listen to reason?”

  Tarbell met Joseph’s eyes. “Then we go young Ben’s route.”

  “And in the meantime,” added Serena, “we pray.”

  “How much prayer can a single family give up to God?” asked Francis, a tear welling up. “But you’re right, sweet child. We pray on . . . for Mother.”

  “And we pray Ben doesn’t get himself shot by Herrick or Williard.” One of the Easty men added.

  “It won’t be by John Williard’s hand,” Tarbell shot back.

  “What’re ya meaning?” asked Joseph, his brow knitting.

  “Word is Williard has quit the court.” Tarbell’s chest swelled. “First sign of discontent in their ranks since this craziness began.”

  “So it wasn’t all bluster and show that day at Ingersoll’s?” asked Jeremy. “Williard didn’t take his badge back?”

  “The sheriff? Quit?” asked Daniel Easty, who’d remained silent throughout.

  “Quit this business entirely, yes,” Tarbell assured the others.

  Jeremiah smiled. “Then there’s hope after all.”

  “What hope?” asked the Easty. “Williard is only one man.”

  Jeremy looked into Easty’s gnarled and sun-burnished features. “If one—just one—on their side can see the lunacy of it all—”

  “Then perhaps others will come round, too,” finished Serena. “But when? How long now?”

  “If not soon, Mother may not see the day,” added Francis, dropping into his chair, deflated and weary. The toll this matter was taking on him showed terribly. Serena draped her arms about him from above, and Jeremy thought the moment a poignant and beautiful and touching one—like a painting to be hung in a museum.

  Chapter Twelve

  The elections for seats of power throughout the Massachusetts Bay Colony came and went, and the overwhelming winners were all who held a torch up to the burning issue of witchcraft in Salem. Directly after the elections, two former Towne women, one an Easty, the other a Cloyse—sisters of Rebecca Nurse—saw warrants sworn out against them, thanks to the outcries of the afflicted children, victims of witchcraft torment. The remaining two Nurse sisters were arrested and dragged from their homes by men with guns who’d come in the night. The authorities had also put out a wanted poster for the former sheriff, Williard, who—according to the seer children—had gone over to the ‘other side’.

  Increase Mather’s eldest and most successful son, a minister who had his own church in Boston, had come out of hiding himself, and had come into Salem today, riding a white charger that would dwarf Jeremy’s mare, and his arrival was applauded on all sides, a word of his coming had leaked and people lined the main street in Salem Village, turning out for his arrival. Mather reared up on his horse several times, an expert horseman, and he declared to the crowd: “I have come in your hour of need! Come to see first hand the seer children and the nature of this plague of evil that has descended not only on Salem but surrounding hamlets—and now threatening my dear Boston as well!”

  When Jeremiah heard the news that Cotton Mather had indeed arrived in the village, having ostensibly come to speak at the First Church of Salem Town, he learned also that Mather had come at the invitation of Reverend Nicholas Noyes. Noyes had asked Mather to give the eulogy for Reverend Nehemia Higginson. Jeremy felt hopeful that at last a person of true education, influence, and intelligence would put an end to the madness—a fitting tribute to
the life and death of Reverend Higginson. And now that Mather the younger had come to the area to witness first hand what Jeremiah had described in his letters to the man, something of an official nature would be done for the better. A dictum coming out of the ecumenical side of the two-headed snake of government. Some old fashioned theology ground in logic and rational thought, and a condemnation of the way things had proceeded up till now.

  Mather must be the answer to their prayers; he must put an end the accusations and open the cell doors and forbid any further acceptance of ghosts whisperings as evidence of murder in a court of law in Essex County. Never mind why Mather had disappeared or where to, for an end was in sight. Hope ran high at the Nurse compound.

  Jeremy immediately sought an audience and to his surprise, it was arranged that he would see Reverend Cotton Mather after his eulogy and the burial. The eulogy was eloquent and not a single mention of the horrors of the witch hunt figured in—a good sign.

  They met in the rectory with only Noyes knowing of their meeting. They exchanged kind words about Higginson’s passing.

  Then Mather bluntly asked, “Mr. Wakely, exactly what is on your mind?”

  “Sir, the Boston judges’ve made a mockery of their offices here.”

  “Take care with your tongue, sir.”

  “But I tell you, while things looked bad before their arrival, our leaders of the high court have daily rushed headlong into worse territory than ever.”

  “Appears a sad state of affairs to be sure, Mr. Wakely, but that’s hardly the fault of Sir William and his judges of the high court.”

  “I fear a terrible void’s been left with Reverend Higginson’s passing, a—”

  “Indeed, we can agree there, Jeremiah.”

  “—a void that will only add to the fear and superstition driving the court proceedings. Strong, decisive action needs be taken, if you ask—”

  “Action is being taken, Mr. Wakely, I can assure you.”

  “Can you assure me that sanity will be restored? That Parris and Putnam and the judges will be stopped in this land grab?”

  “That’s a terrible accusation to lay at the feet of—”

  “Is it now? Can you guarantee that my motherin-law, Rebecca Towne, wasn’t targeted to drive the Nurses out? That—”

  “There is no evidence of any such—”

  “—that Rebecca will not be on the next hangman’s list coming from the high court?”

  Mather replied to Jeremiah’s impassioned plea with the same phrase. “Action is being taken.”

  “They’ve arrested a pregnant woman, a child touched in the head, Parris’ predecessor—Reverend George Burroughs—a grandmother who’s lived her life as a saint, sir. It is no longer the dregs of society locked up and tortured here!”

  “These arrests and excommunications are the work of the clergy; they bring the warrants and the arrests. The judges merely perform their duties relative to the arrests.”

  “But the clergy and the judges have stood on the side of the insanity, sir, thanks in large measure to Samuel Parris’ fanning the flames of ignorance and fear and this maniacal search for a Satanist in every shadow!”

  The two men stood in the solitude of the rectory, each pacing around the other now like a pair of lions taking the measure of the other. Mather came closer and spoke almost as a conspirator. “You’re aware of Hathorne’s zealousness in this affair. I cannot fathom why over one hundred people have been arrested—and more and more each day! However, it is feasible when you consider what the Indians are capable of—whole tribes of men, women, and children who follow the Devil!”

  “Indians? What does the native population have to do with any of this?”

  “Consider, Mr. Wakely, how many of our people have been captivated by those pagans and the way they live; how many of our colonists have gone native.”

  “Captivated? How many are we talking about?”

  “There’re no exact figures.”

  Jeremiah’s face pinched. “I don’t follow, but I know a hundred is a low estimate of the number of our citizens sitting in jails all over the colony right now; their only crime having been accused by half-witted children who a few months ago could not get attention from us if they were on fire.”

  “I’m not so sure of your point, but yes, so a hundred or more colonists do stand accused.”

  “Accused in a mad fashion—pointed out a witch by addled children. Held on the testimony of ghosts and goblins, sir!”

  “I am given to understand that whole meetings, filled with eyewitnesses have seen these same addled children, as you call them, under attack by invisible forces. That it’s no longer the gossip of the dead that drives the accusations.”

  “I have seen the so-called attacks, and I tell you they are bogus.”

  “Come now, Jeremy, it’s not so difficult to understand that no matter if you believe in witches flying across the moon on broomsticks or not, this has become a rather hot coal being passed among the ministers and magistrates—ah, politically speaking.”

  Jeremiah stared at the younger Mather, wishing to God that he was his father, that Increase and not Cotton stood here before him. “ Politically, sir?”

  “The fact is . . . such indictments are of great political consequence.”

  “For those on the side of right, you mean? Reverend Mather?”

  “Precisely, Jeremy, precisely.”

  “But all the ministers here and the magistrates in Salem, they’re on the side of wrong.”

  “Right, wrong . . . it all depends on one’s point of view, doesn’t it, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy didn’t like the direction or the tone the conversation had veered toward. He felt a stunned disbelief settling over his mind. Has Mather made his own separate arrangement with the judges since last I saw him?

  While lighting a pipe, Mather continued without skipping a beat. “I have it on good authority that the Boston judges believe they are as right as you and those who’ve signed your Nurse and Proctor family petitions.”

  “The Boston authorities?”

  “Aye.”

  “We must be consulting different men in the government, sir.”

  Mather ignored this. “My information is accurate. The magistrates in Boston who’ve reviewed the cases at my request are just as certain justice has been done as your petitioners are certain injustices have been done. But in truth, only time might tell.”

  “I can’t fathom it, sir. Are you saying that you sent Stoughton, Addington, Saltonstall, and Sewell here? To form this illegally got up Court of Oyer and Terminer?—with the express purpose of . . . of making the witch hunt a political issue?”

  “I see nothing illegal about the court.”

  Jeremy, exasperated at this limited response, explained the technical reasons why such a court should never have been convened, but from the moment he began, Jeremy sensed that Cotton Mather didn’t wish to hear it.

  “We can’t possibly wait for my father to return with a charter to act, Mr. Wakely; by then the demonic forces unleashed here will have won this war of souls!”

  “This is no true or holy war, sir, but a twisting of our beliefs—to arrest any who are prosperous among us, to accuse them of making a covenant with Satan for better crops, successful business, healthy children!”

  “It brings into question your judgment and your allegiances, Mr. Wakely!”

  I’m no longer Jeremy now but Mr. Wakely. “What? You know very well my allegiance is toward the good of the colony and the Crown!”

  “Brings into question either your judgment or your allegiance, Wakely--these entanglements you’ve openly had with the villagers, sneaking Mrs. Parris and her child from this place, getting into fights at the local pub, arguing with the duly appointed Sheriff—some say convincing him to be derelict in his duties, for which he now stands arrested, not to mention—”

  “Please, don’t hold back any gossip! Is it Parris and Noyes or both who’ve brought you up to date?” Jeremy asked knowin
g the answer. “I swear by all that his holy and just, sir, that neither my judgment nor allegiance is in question! For that, look to those co-conspirators!”

  “Not to mention that you’ve married into a family from whom no less than three witches have been culled—”

  “Three innocent women!”

  “— while on a mission to help stabilize the parish that has become more unstable than ever, since your arrival? You’ve been a disappointment, Wakely.”

  The words stung as they echoed Higginson’s that night he’d met with him in the coach. Jeremy didn’t know what to say to this. Mather added, “A letdown, both to me and my father.”

  “You’re hardly being fair, Reverend! I accomplished a great deal. Yes, I admit, to some failures but I won’t apologize for falling in love nor standing with men of conviction and righteousness in the face of ignor—”

  “I realize full well, but you’ve managed to fan the flames rather than quell them, Jeremiah!”

  “No, that’s been the business of Reverend Parris.”

  “You show little aptitude for politics, sir,” Mather countered, pacing and shaking his head and puffing on his long-stemmed pipe like some pagan Indian chief himself. “Look here, Jeremiah, how do you think Judge Stoughton, the defender of Andros’ despicable regime, gained re-election this month?”

  “By defeating the supernatural, I suppose.”

  “Precisely.”

  Jeremy detested the new thread of this discussion and what it portended for Salem and for Rebecca Nurse, her sisters, Elizabeth Proctor, and so many more innocents. And he wondered what Mather wanted him to say or do at this moment?

  Finally, Cotton Mather took him by the shoulder and said in his ear, “We must go lightly here, my friend, or we ourselves could be singled out as friends of witches and warlocks. Learning of your marriage to this Nurse woman came as a great shock to me—out of the blue, as it were.”

  Jeremy caught the glint in his eye and saw Noyes reflected there, sneakily eavesdropping on their conversation. It’d likely been Noyes who’d clarified the ties of relations between Jeremiah, his bride, and three accused and arrested ‘witches’.

  “On the surface of it, you deceived the village minister and people, Jeremiah, and then you aligned yourself in matrimony to the child of a witch.”