Candlemas Eve

by Sackett, Jeffrey

  She returned to Lucas and Karyn's room, and after another hour of meaningless conversation, she retired to her own room. She slept soundly until morning. She did not hear the intermittent gasps of fear and terror which filtered through the wall between Adrienne's room and her own throughout the night.

  Chapter Thirteen

  November 24

  Adrienne Lupescu's body was covered with a thin film of cold sweat as she tossed about in restless, exhausting sleep. The few faint moans and whimpers which broke free from her thin, trembling lips would have been meaningless to any listener not privy to the nightmarish memories drifting through the troubled girl's dreams. The fear and the terror and the pain had been so long ago, so very long ago, and such greater fear and terror and pain had been visited upon her since that the memory of her ordeal at the hands of the authorities had remained submerged and unremembered.

  But the events of the previous day, the experience of being taken into custody and brought to what she assumed to be a jailhouse, had brought the events of three centuries past back with a horrifying clarity. The memories now tortured her in her sleep.

  Her dreams reminded her of Elizabeth Proctor's arrest, of John Proctor's impotent rage, of Abigail's self-satisfied smugness at her impending triumph. She remembered being summoned once more to testify before the witchcraft tribunal in March of 1692, on the day when the game which she and Abigail and the others had been playing ceased to be a game.

  In her dream she sat nervously upon the bench in Jonathan Corwin's house, her fidgeting fingers folded in her lap, her eyes moving from one face to another, from Corwin to Judge Hathorne to John Proctor to Deputy Governor Danforth to Marshal Cheever to Elizabeth Proctor. She was trembling with terror, visions of the hangman's noose dancing in her mind, only half able to hear the words being addressed to her by Judge Corwin. She snapped her head attentively toward him when she heard her name spoken. "I—I beg your pardon, sir?" she asked tremulously.

  "I said answer the question, girl!" Corwin demanded.

  "The question? I— I—"

  "Is it or is it not true that Goodman Proctor brought you out of a fit by a simple slap upon the cheek?"

  "It—it was happenstance, your lordship." She felt tears beginning to come and willed them to stop. She failed, and a few salty beads rolled down from her eyes.

  "Happenstance!" Corwin said angrily, his cold gray eyes glaring at her from beneath pencil-thin brows. "And how was it happenstance that for weeks you have had fits in this very room, you and the other girls, denouncing people as witches; but that when Goodman Proctor strikes you, your fit ceases! How is that happenstance?"

  "The fit went away all by itself," she whimpered. "Mr. Proctor struck me, 'tis true, but it was happenstance that he struck me just as the fit went away." Stupid thing to say, she told herself. No one will believe that.

  Corwin leaned forward. "Mary Warren, listen to me very, very carefully, and heed well what I am about to say. This court has already condemned people to death, and relegated others to prison. Martha Corey, Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, George Burroughs, John Willard, and George Jacobs are all awaiting the gallows. Giles Corey, Martha Carrier, and Elizabeth Proctor are all under indictment. And the most significant evidence presented in these trials has been the testimony of you girls. If you are making sport with this court, you shall pay for it dearly, I warn you, here in this life and in the life beyond."

  She swallowed hard, refusing to contemplate the true nature of the fraud she and Abigail and the other girls had been perpetrating. "I am afflicted, sir," she said. "The Devil and his servants have afflicted me."

  "Ha!" John Proctor spat. "If you are afflicted, 'twould be a great blessing for you to be afflicted to death!"

  "Mr. Proctor! If you please!" Judge Hathorne said.

  "She goes to bring out innocent people and lead them to the gibbet!" Proctor said emphatically. "Good sirs, no possession by the Devil is ended by a slap on the face! 'Tis a pretense only, a sport, a silly game of silly girls!"

  Danforth leaned over and whispered in Corwin's ear. He nodded and then himself leaned in the other direction and whispered to Hathorne, who nodded in turn. Corwin sat back. "Marshal Cheever," he said.

  The village constable, in truth a simple farmer elected to a part-time job by the church council, stepped forward stiffly. He seemed all too aware of his own importance in the midst of this scandal. "Sir?" Cheever asked.

  "Are the tongs heated without?"

  "Aye, sir."

  "Fetch them."

  "Aye, sir." Cheever spun about on his heel and walked quickly from the room.

  Corwin looked at Mary Warren. "I had hoped that we might avoid this, girl, but your words do not ring true to me, and too many lives hang on your testimony for us to risk any error."

  "I—I do not understand, sir," she stammered.

  "You'll understand soon enough, you little liar!" Proctor said angrily. "No innocents shall be slaughtered for your silliness."

  "Oh, no, sir," Mary wept. "That could not happen!"

  "Goodman Proctor, please be silent," Judge Hathorne said. "The court will conduct this interrogation without your assistance, by your leave."

  Proctor sat down beside his shackled wife, fuming silently. Cheever walked back in a moment later, holding a pair of tongs in his heavy, thickly gloved hands. The pincers at the end of the tongs were red-hot, glowing in the dimly lit room. Mary stared at the tongs and gasped, realizing what they were for.

  "Mary Warren, for the last time, will you tell us the truth?" Corwin demanded. "Are these fits of your own making? Or are they possession? Has someone sent his or her spirit out against you, or are you doing this to yourself?"

  What can I answer? she thought desperately. If I say that the Devil is responsible, they will tear me with the pincers. But if I say that I have done it myself, they will cast me into prison, possibly hang me! But perhaps they will only hurt me if I admit to a pretense perhaps if I maintain my position even in the face of these threats, they will believe me! What to do . . . what to do—

  "Mary Warren, answer me! Now!"

  "It—it—" She shook violently from her fear. "It—it was the Devil and the servants of the Devil. I swear—I swear—"

  "She's lying," Proctor said, jumping to his feet. "Can't you see that she's lying?!"

  "John Proctor, be seated and be silent!" Corwin growled. "I shall not ask you again!" Proctor sat down, intimidated by the magistrate, and Corwin turned his attention back to Mary. "I cannot tell, I cannot tell. You may be lying and you may be speaking truth. We will have to put it to the test." He nodded at Cheever.

  "NO!" Mary screamed as two of Cheever's associates grabbed her by the arms and shoulders to keep her seated and relatively immobile. "NO! JESUS, PLEASE, HELP ME!" Cheever opened the pincers and walked toward her, the glowing metal jaws seeming ready to clamp down upon her at any point on her body. "NO! NO! I'LL SAY WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO SAY! I'LL SAY WHAT—" She shrieked as Cheever clamped the fiery tongs down upon her right cheek, pinching her soft flesh between the burning teeth of the pincers. The odor of roasting meat permeated the room, and Mary Warren fell into a dead faint.

  She came slowly back to consciousness in extreme pain. She opened her eyes to see a woman—was it Goody Cheever? — carefully, gently touching her wounded cheek with dollops of butter. Mary Warren cried bitterly, and the consequent movement of her facial muscles increased the pain in her cheek and thus her weeping as well. She bent over, weeping, crushed.

  "Now then, girl," Hathorne said. "The truth."

  She sighed through her tears. " 'Twas as Mr. Proctor says. 'Twas sport, pretense."

  "Repeat, girl!" Corwin demanded. "Repeat your words, louder!"

  " 'Twas pretense only," she wept.

  "And no one ever sent his spirit out against you?"

  "No sir."

  "And you never saw anyone with the Devil, not Goody Nurse or Goody Corey, no one at all?"

  "No sir, no one, not ever.
"

  "And all the girls have been lying?"

  "Aye sir. . . . Well, at times 'tis easy to believe, when the fits come on you—"

  "What are you saying, girl?" Corwin shouted. "Do you pretend to have these fits or do you not?!"

  "Pretense, sir, 'tis pretense, but sometimes the sport cannot be controlled."

  Corwin sat back in his chair and studied her wounded face intently. "Perhaps they cannot control them, but you can."

  She looked up at him through her tears. "Wh—what, sir?"

  "Yes," he said darkly, "perhaps we have been looking in the wrong places for the Devil's servant. Perhaps it is you, Mary Warren, you who have bewitched these other girls!"

  She felt herself slipping into a swoon, and she fought to remain awake. "No sir, I swear to God, I swear to God!"

  "Then who has bewitched them?"

  "No one, sir, no one, no one! 'Tis sport and pretense, sport and pretense!"

  "And whose idea is it, this sport and pretense, if not yours, Mary Warren? Is not that a form of bewitchment, to seduce others into sin?"

  "No sir, I swear, I swear—!"

  Corwin turned back to Cheever and nodded. "Again, Mr. Cheever, if you please."

  "NO!" she screamed. "IT WASN'T ME, IT WAS ABBY, IT WAS ABBY!"

  Hathorne sat forward quickly. "Abigail Williams? Are you saying that Abigail Williams is responsible for this?"

  "Yes!" she screamed, weeping bitterly.

  Corwin waved Cheever back. "Mr. Cheever, go and bring in Abigail Williams." As an afterthought he added, "And bring in the other girls as well." He turned back to Mary. "Your friends are all waiting without. We shall see how they respond to this revelation of yours." The tone of his voice clearly indicated that he doubted her.

  Cheever returned a moment later with Abigail, Mercy, Suzannah, and Betty. They filed in quietly, each of them blanching when they saw the swollen, blistering burn on Mary's face. "Girls, listen to me very carefully" Corwin said. "Mary Warren has told us that the bewitchments from which you suffer are of your own device, that you are making sport with this town and this court, that you are knowingly sending innocent people to the gallows, and that you, Abigail Williams, are the leader of this disgusting conspiracy."

  Abigail drew herself up haughtily. "And do you believe these lies, sir?"

  "My mind is open, Abigail," he replied evenly, "but I am curious to hear your response."

  "Hear this, then," she said, her voice calm and confident. "I have always doubted Mary's sincerity, always wondered whom she truly served, the Lord or the Devil."

  "Abby!" Mary gasped. She wouldn't denounce me! She wouldn't!

  Mercy Lewis threw herself suddenly backward and fell onto the floor with a resounding thud, screaming, "Mary, Mary, stop! No, no, please don't!"

  A second later Betty Parris doubled over as if in pain and began to scream, "She's stabbing me, she's stabbing me! Mary, why, why? Mary, I've done you no wrong!"

  "Mary Warren!" Corwin shouted. "What are you doing to these poor creatures? Stop it at once, do you hear?"

  Mary stared at the two girls with openmouthed astonishment and confusion. Suzannah and Abigail began to throw themselves against the walls of the room, screaming out Mary's name and begging for mercy, for pity. For an instant Mary's eyes locked with Abigail, and there was a clear message in the cold green orbs which seemed to bore into Mary's mind: Betray us and we will denounce you. Tell the truth and we will see you hang as a witch. Put us in jeopardy and I shall kill you.

  "No," Mary muttered. "No—it isn't true it isn't true—"

  "What are you saying, Mary Warren?" Corwin demanded. "Speak you, girl!"

  "I lied, " she wept, "I lied. 'Twas the Devil, the Devil, he bewitched me, he bewitched all of us." The girls ceased their gyrations and Mary threw herself forward at Abigail, grasping her about the knees and weeping, "I'm sorry, Abby. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

  "Mary Warren," Corwin demanded, "did you see Sarah Good with the Devil?"

  "Yes," Mary wept.

  "And Martha Corey, and Rebecca Nurse, and George Jacobs, and the others? Did you see them with the Devil?"

  "Yes," she wept.

  "And is there anyone else, as yet unnamed?" Corwin asked imperiously. "Did you see anyone else with the Devil?"

  Mary was kneeling in front of Abigail, clutching her knees as if for support and comfort, but Abigail had not responded to her gesture of reconciliation, her silent plea for help. Mary looked up into Abigail's cold emerald eyes and withered under their steady, merciless stare. You know what you must say, the eyes were telling her. You know whose body I wish to see dangling from a rope. You know who it is who must hang, you know whose husband I want for my own. Tell them, Mary, tell them.

  "Mary Warren!" Corwin repeated. "Answer me! Is there anyone else as yet unnamed whom you saw with the Devil?"

  Mary buried her head in Abigail's skirts and cried out, "Yes! Yes! There, there is the Devil's servant, there is his chief witch!" Her eyes were pouring their tears into the hem of Abigail's skirt, and she pointed, without looking, in the direction of Elizabeth Proctor. "Many times have I seen them together, many times!"

  Her head snapped up at the sound of a struggle, at the sound of curses, oaths, and heavy chains. She heard Abigail laugh and whisper, "Good! Good! He must denounce her now, to save himself!"

  Mary had not pointed at Elizabeth Proctor. She had pointed at John, at whom Abigail now gazed with a look of vindictive triumph.

  "Mr. Proctor . . ." she muttered in her sleep, "I'm sorry . . ."

  For three and a half months, Mary Warren had been bound in fetters in the basement of judge Corwin's house, seeing the light of day only when she was dragged forth to testify in court, to be examined in court, to be interrogated, to be tortured. She had denounced John Proctor as a witch, and had almost immediately recanted her denunciation. Corwin and the others could not decide if she was a poor innocent under Proctor's diabolical control, or a witch herself trying to snare and destroy other truly innocent people. At times they would be tending to believe that she, along with the other girls (whose honesty and innocence they never doubted), was struggling to tell the truth when she denounced Proctor, and she in her fear and her pain would follow their lead and restate her accusation. At other times they would grow suspicious of her, consider the possibility that she herself was Satan's servant, and behave as if her denunciation of Proctor was itself an act of the Devil; and when their moods swung in this direction, she would again succumb to fear and pain and would again recant, saying that she had never seen John Proctor with the Devil. The swings back and forth from one position to the other served merely to increase the suspicions of the judges, leading to further torture, further threats, further fear, and thus repeated denouncements and recantations.

  Of all the people suspected of witchcraft in Salem, only Mary Warren was tortured. Of all the people who denounced others as witches, only Mary Warren's testimony was considered so unreliable as to warrant validation under torture. She wept and screamed, she begged and pleaded, she said whatever they wanted her to say, swore to whatever truth or falsehood they presented to her, she denounced everyone, she absolved everyone, she denounced Abigail and Mercy and Betty and Suzannah, she absolved Abigail and Mercy and Betty and Suzannah, she denounced John and Elizabeth Proctor, she absolved John and Elizabeth Proctor, she cried and shrieked and bled.

  There was a strange logic to the opinion which the judges ultimately fixed upon as true. All of the girls had accused Elizabeth Proctor of witchcraft, and all steadfastly maintained that they had seen her with the Devil on numerous occasions. Is it reasonable, the judges asked themselves, to believe that a wife could have traffic with Satan without her husband's knowledge? And could he have had this knowledge and not acted upon it without consenting to it? And if Elizabeth Proctor was a witch, as was generally assumed to be true, would she have so controlled Mary Warren so as to put her own husband in jeopardy? Is it not more reasonable to assume that Mary
's denunciations were true, and that her recantations were false? If so, then the girl was innocent and must be released. The alternative, of course, would be to hang her and release John Proctor. But could they release John Proctor and not release Elizabeth Proctor? Could they release Elizabeth and not release Tituba and Rebecca Nurse and Sarah Good and George Jacobs and all the others?

  It was a simple equation. One either believed the girls, all of them, Mary included, or one did not. True, only Mary had denounced John Proctor; Abigail and the others maintained that none of them had ever seen him with the Devil. But this only testified to the subtlety and dangerous intelligence of John Proctor, who had apparently masked his devotion to Satan so well.

  So John Proctor was a witch, they decided, as was his wife and over two dozen other people in Salem Village. And, as the Bible inexorably commands, thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

  Corwin leaned forward and stared into the dull, numb eyes of the broken girl who sat before him on the stool. "Mary Warren, are you prepared to sign the deposition?"

  "Yes," she said weakly, her voice little better than a hoarse whisper.

  "You know that to sign your name to an untruth is perjury? You are certain that what you have told us is the truth?"

  'Yes," she repeated. Anything, she thought, I'll sign anything, only let me go, don't hang me, don't hurt me anymore.

  Corwin held a piece of paper in front of her face and asked, "Are these your words, written down exactly as you spoke them?"

  She tried to focus on the page, but the black letters danced about before her eyes. "I—I cannot—I cannot read them."

  Corwin handed the paper to Cheever and said, "Read aloud the words of the witness. Listen carefully, Mary. Make certain it is accurate."

  Marshal Cheever cleared his throat and began to read the deposition: