"I don't want you to say anything. I want you to listen!"
"I don't want to listen to you either," the old man said. "If you're gonna go'n marry that little slut, then I don't—"
"Pop, will you shut up!" Simon shouted. He glanced over his shoulder to make certain that Gwendolyn was not hovering near the door of the kitchen. "Of course I'm not going to marry Gwen!"
Rowena and Floyd stared at him dumbly. Then Rowena said, "But you just told us you were!"
"Row, just be quiet and listen. There's a lot more to this than you know." He pulled a chair from beside the table and seated himself in it. "I've been thinking about these past few months a lot lately. Doesn't it seem at all strange that those two were so eager to join up with my band? Doesn't it seem odd to you that Gwen went after me so fast, so intently?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Rowena said. "So what?"
"So there's a reason for it. Listen . . ."
Simon took about ten minutes to explain everything to his father and daughter. They listened in silence, the expressions on their faces reflecting at first confusion, then disbelief, then astonishment. When Simon finished his discourse, he sat back and awaited their response.
Rowena spoke first. "Daddy, you can't be serious! I can't believe what I'm hearing!"
"Yeah, I know," Simon nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I knew that Gwen and Adrienne were weird, but I never knew how weird until she spun out her fantasy for me."
"I don't mean that at all!" she said. "Daddy, you can't take advantage of her like this! It's terrible!"
This remark stung, and his tone of voice reflected his hurt. "Are you kidding? I'm hearing this from somebody who hates Gwen?"
"You can't hate a cripple for not being able to walk," Rowena replied. "I had no idea she was crazy—I mean, really crazy, not just screwy! And Adrienne! Poor Adrienne! Are you sure she believes this stuff too?"
"Yeah," Simon said defensively. "I talked to her about it. She's convinced that she's really Mary Warren,"
"Boy," Floyd said, shaking his head, "you can't do this. These girls need help."
Simon stood up and gazed at them in disbelief "What the hell is going on here? I thought you two would be relieved when you heard the truth! Look, don't you understand? I'm not really going to marry her! It's all just an act, a show. When we've made some more money, we can get them both some therapy, some help. What's the big deal?"
Rowena stood up and walked toward the door of the kitchen. "Daddy, if you can seriously ask that question, there's nothing I can say to answer it that you can understand."
"Hey!" he called after her. "Who do you think you're talking to, young lady?" She continued out of the room, leaving her father staring stupidly after her. "Goddamn kid!" he muttered.
"Simon," Floyd said, "listen to me. Think, boy, think! What you're plannin' to do is wrong, it's just plain wrong! You can't use people like this. It's just plain wrong!"
"Oh, cut the shit, Dad," he said angrily. "I'm trying to keep a roof over our heads, and I'm doing it the best way I know how."
"I kept a roof over your head for quite a while, remember. But I never done nothin' like what you're planning to do."
"You never had to!" he spat. He strode furiously out of the room after his daughter, calling her name as he went. Simon looked in the sitting room and found it empty, but he glanced out the window to see Rowena walking across the street toward the parsonage. He rushed out to the foyer, grabbed a coat from the closet, and went to the front door.
"Simon," he heard Gwendolyn ask as he turned the doorknob, "where are you going?"
"Oh, uh, nowhere, nowhere. I'll be back in a few minutes." He left the old inn and bounded down the steps. He could see the front door of the parsonage swinging closed behind Rowena. Simon quickened his pace as he leapt over a small roadside snowbank into the street, and found to his chagrin that the ice patch upon which he had landed afforded him no traction. He fell on his back and slid a few feet forward.
He pulled himself cautiously to his feet and then stood motionless for a few moments. Calm down, he told himself. Relax. Take it easy. No reason to be upset, no reason to be angry at Row or Dad. They don't understand, that's all. Give them time. They'll realize eventually that this whole plan is okay, that nobody's going to be hurt. Just take it easy.
He placed his right hand on the ache just above his tailbone. "'Damn," he muttered. "That's gonna be sore for a while."
He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned to see Gwendolyn standing behind him. "Are you injured?" she asked anxiously.
"No, no, I'm okay. You go back inside."
"But where are you going?"
Simon placed his hands gently upon her waist, feeling the taut flesh even through the heavy cloak. "Row's upset about you and me, Gwen, that's all. It's natural for a daughter. You know what I mean, don't you?"
"I suppose so," she shrugged.
"I have to talk to her some more. She just stormed out of the house and went across the street. It’s no big deal, nothing to worry about. I'm just going over to talk to her."
Gwendolyn smiled at him and leaned forward, kissing him deeply. "Hurry back," she breathed.
"Yeah, yeah, I will, I will." He resumed his movement across the street, more slowly and carefully this time. Gwendolyn watched him go and waited until he had entered the parsonage. Then she followed after him.
Simon mounted the steps to the upstairs apartment and pushed the door open. He was prepared for a confrontation with Rowena and had determined to remain calm, to understand her feelings, to listen to her and attempt to reason with her as an adult. But when he opened the door he found his daughter tight in the embrace of Jeremy Sloan. She had her face buried in his chest and was weeping freely. He was stroking her long blond hair gently, whispering soothingly into her ear.
Simon became suddenly, irrationally angry. "Well, I see you've found a sympathetic ear!" he spat.
Rowena looked over at him. "Daddy, will you just go away? I can't stand the sight of you!"
Simon walked over to them and grabbed Rowena's arm. He pulled her away from Jeremy roughly, saying, "I thought I told you once before to keep your hands off my daughter!"
Jeremy looked back at him apprehensively, but with a clearly discernible element of anger. "Cool it Simon," he said evenly. "I was just—"
"Yeah, I know what you were doing, and I know that you've been staying over nights at my place, and I don't like it one bit, you hear me?" He moved threateningly closer to Jeremy.
The young man did not retreat. "I love Rowena, I love her very much. I would never do anything to—"
"Don't try to bullshit me, boy!" Simon hissed. "I know what you've got on your mind. I was your age once, I know what—"
"You don't know anything," he said. "I finally got your number, Simon, back in Chicago, in your hotel room." He leaned forward slightly. "All you ever think about is your bank account and your dick, Simon. You don't really give a damn about anybody but yourself."
Simon stared at him blankly for a moment, and then his face contorted in fury. He swung his fist at Jeremy, but the younger, stronger, more agile man deflected the punch easily. Simon found himself falling forward while Jeremy merely stepped easily to one side. Simon righted himself and then turned to Rowena and said, "Row, get back to the house. Now!"
"No!" she said emphatically. "Why on earth should I? So I can keep your crazy girlfriend company until the men in the white coats come to take her away?"
"Goddamn it, Rowena! Do as I say!" he shouted.
"Simon," Jeremy said, "Row just told me what you're planning to do. It's disgusting."
"Hey, when I want your moral evaluation of my actions, I'll ask for it, okay?"
"Well, you're gonna get it whether you ask for it or not," he replied. "Simon, I used to look up to you, used to think you were so great, so cool, you know? I never realized what a heartless, selfish, greedy son of a bitch you are."
"Who the hell do you think—?" Simon began,
"Don't act like you're offended, man," Jeremy said. "Row just told me what you're gonna do, pretend to marry Gwen just so you can make some more money. Jesus, Simon! Don't you have any sense of right and wrong? You should send Gwen to a mental hospital. She needs professional help. Adrienne needs professional help." He shook his head. "When I think about what you let Gwen do to her back in Chicago—" He shook his head again. "Jesus, Simon!"
"Now wait just one goddamn minute here!" Simon shouted. "I don't have to justify my actions to you or anybody else, you little bastard! And don't change the subject! I didn't mind it when you came along on the tour with Lucas, but I do not want you putting your hands on my daughter!"
"Daddy, your mind's been in the gutter for so long it can't climb out!" Rowena shouted. "And he isn't changing the subject! The subject is the terrible thing you're gonna do to Gwendolyn!"
They all turned toward the door as they heard Gwendolyn's throaty laugh. "And is it so terrible to be wed?" she asked with amusement. She unbuttoned and removed her cloak, swirling it about with a flourish and sending it flying onto a nearby chair. "I am touched, child, that you are so concerned for my well-being."
Rowena regarded her cautiously. "Yours, and Adrienne's," she said. "Daddy has told me—"
"Told you that I am a madwoman? Told you that I believe myself to be some reincarnated ghost?" She laughed disparagingly. "Rest easy, child. I love your father, and he loves me, and we shall be wed, and all shall be well."
"Really!" Rowena said. "And did Daddy tell you that he plans to film the wedding and stick it onto the end of the video of the concert?"
Gwendolyn shook her head. " 'Tis not true. Our marriage will be a public joy, but the wedding will be private." She turned to Simon. "Our nuptials will not be a spectacle for the idle eyes of gaping onlookers, will it, my love?"
"Of course not," Simon said nervously. Rowena, he thought, shut the hell up, will you?!
"He's lying, Gwen,"' Rowena said. "He's—"
"Hold your tongue, girl!" Gwendolyn said. "I know my man, and I know the worth of his word to me."
"Listen to me, Gwendolyn!" Rowena shouted. "He just told me— "
"I said, hold your tongue!" Gwendolyn shouted in return. "I'll not listen to such calumny! Be silent, if you value your life!" Her face was growing red.
"What's going on up here?" Reverend Wilkes stumbled out of his bedroom, his eyes half open and bleary with interrupted sleep. "Jeremy? What's all the shouting about?"
Jeremy spoke without taking his eyes from Simon. He was watching the older man suspiciously, tensely. "It's nothing, Uncle Fred. Sorry we woke you up."
"Nothing! When I hear people shouting at each other in my home, it isn't—" He noticed Gwendolyn. "Do I know you, miss?"
"This is Gwen Jenkins," Simon said, turning his eyes toward Rowena and Jeremy. "She and I are getting married in a few days." He continued to stare at them defiantly.
Wilkes's face wrinkled up into a broad smile. "Well, Simon, that's fine, that's fine! I'm very pleased—" He narrowed his eyes at the young woman and his smile faded. "Wait a minute. Aren't you—? Didn't I see you here a few weeks ago? Aren't you the one who—?"
"I am a witch," she said coldly. "And you are Jeremy's uncle?"
"Yes," he said gruffly, all signs of friendliness gone.
"You are the minister," she stated.
"I am proud to wear that title, yes."
She nodded. "I hate ministers. I hate all ministers."
"Hey, Gwen," Simon said quickly, "there's no need to . . ."
" 'Tis not a personal thing," Gwen said matter-of-factly. "I do not know you, sir. But if you are a minister then you are my enemy, as you are the enemy of my Master."
Rowena stepped forward between Gwendolyn and old Reverend Wilkes. "Gwen, why don't you just go away, get out of here! And you go with her, Daddy!"
"Calm yourself, child," Gwendolyn said, grinning slightly. "I am a warrior in an old war, and this man and men like him have been our enemies since time out of mind. Three hundred years ago, 'twas ministers who hanged my John." She turned to Jeremy "I too had a minister for an uncle. Samuel Parris he was, minister of Salem Village, and a more mean-spirited, cruel man never walked the—"
"Gwen, cut it out," Simon commanded. "Let's just go home. There's no need to explain anything to these people." He looked at his daughter. "Rowena! Come home, now!"
Rowena glared at him coldly. "Daddy, you can go straight to hell!"
"Rowena!" Reverend Wilkes said sternly. "I understand your anger. But remember God's commandment to honor your father! You must not speak to him in such a manner."
Gwendolyn laughed. "Ah, so little has changed since I was a child! The ministers still vomit platitudes and sit in judgment seats, and I have no doubt but that they still salivate over the pain and agony of those poor souls whom they profess to pity!"
"I beg your pardon, young lady!" Wilkes said.
"And well you might, minister," she chuckled. "I have spent three centuries in hell. You might be surprised how many of your esteemed company I have seen there!"
Wilkes frowned at her, confused. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Simon took Gwendolyn's arm and tried to pull her toward the door. "Gwen, come on, cut it out, will you? Let's go home."
She pulled her arm free of his grip and continued to face the elderly clergyman. " 'Tis a simple story, minister. I am a three-hundred-year-old witch, returned to earth this last Eve of All Hallows." She grinned at Jeremy. 'Your nephew has not told you of me? I am surprised, for 'tis an enchanting tale."
Wilkes shot Jeremy a quick glance but then returned his attention to Gwendolyn. "Young woman," he said gravely, "I'm not certain what you're trying to say. But I can tell this much: you are deeply disturbed, and you are far from the Lord."
She laughed loudly. "Far from the Lord! Aye, that I am! Far from the Lord!" And she laughed again, deeply, loudly.
Wilkes moved closer to her and placed his hand gently upon her arm. She withdrew it immediately and stepped back, as if his touch were distasteful to her. He ignored her gesture and said, "Don't you know, girl, that God loves you?"
She laughed again, but there was a defensiveness, a nervousness to her laughter. "I think not, minister. He must hate me as much as I hate him."
"He does not hate you, child. He gave His only Son to die for you, that you be not condemned to perdition for your sins."
She snorted, her expression one mingling disbelief with disgust. "Spare me your sermons, minister. I have heard them all before. There is no love in this world, none at all. All who exist are either masters or slaves. There is no third station. You have chosen to serve a weak, simpering god, a foolish and silly god, a god for infants and weaklings. I have chosen to serve a god of physical pleasure, a god of power and pain. Satan is the Master of this world, not your jackass Jehovah!"
Wilkes's face grew slightly flushed. "Girl, you must not speak blasphemy! You are a creation of the Lord God, you are His child, you are His daughter!"
Gwendolyn seemed to regain the small element of her composure which she had lost. She sidled up to Wilkes, her hands clasped behind her back. "His daughter, am I?! Allow me to tell you of my family, minister! My father was a slave trader out of the English town of Shelbourne, and my mother was a Dutch whore. My father spent his life in prayer and bitter agonizing over his sins as he bought and sold human flesh and took his pleasure with the pox-ridden bodies of outcast women."
Wilkes gazed at her impassively, and his voice tried to hold a sympathy he did not feel. "You poor girl. You must not think—"
"And my uncle, Samuel Parris. Ah, there was a servant of God indeed! Shall I tell you what sorts of punishments he inflicted upon me when I was a child, when I had misbehaved? All throughout my childhood I thought 'twas proper that my uncle pinch and grab me beneath my skirts." She laughed bitterly. "Ministers!"
"Child," Wilkes's voice boomed, "God's grace and forgiveness are freely offered gif
ts! Accept them before you are lost!"
Gwendolyn swung her hand upward from her side and grabbed Wilkes by the crotch, squeezing hard and mercilessly. "Aye, and my cunny is a freely offered gift. Take it, if you would."
Wilkes staggered backward as Jeremy pushed Gwendolyn roughly away from his uncle, saying, "Gwen, you're disgusting! Get the hell out of here. You too, Simon! Move it!"
Simon took Gwendolyn once again by the arm and pulled her toward the door. "Rowena, come home!"
"No!" she spat and turned away from him.
Simon stood motionless for a moment, glaring at his daughter, contemplating taking her with him by force. He saw Jeremy's dark eyes staring at him, challenging him to try, his balled fists trembling slightly in anticipation of conflict. Simon turned, threw open the door and dragged Gwendolyn behind him down the stairs. As they descended, Gwendolyn called out, "I shall see you again, minister! Damn you, minister, I shall see you again!"
Rowena, Jeremy, and Reverend Wilkes stood in silence for a long while, all staring at the vacant doorway. Then Jeremy said, "I'm sorry, Uncle Fred."
Wilkes shook his head. "You've done nothing wrong, boy. But that woman!" He shook his head again. "Poor Floyd! To have that creature for a daughter-in-law!"
"Try on the idea of having her for a stepmother," Rowena grumbled.
Wilkes turned to her and hugged her paternally. "I'm sorry, child, sorry for your hurt. You should stay here with us for a while. That house isn't fit for a decent girl to be in."
"Yeah, Row, stay here," Jeremy said eagerly. "You can sleep in my room. I'll stay on the sofa."
She smiled at him, sadly, affectionately. "Jeremy, I'm not gonna evict you from your own bed. I'll take the sofa."
"Don't be silly," he replied. "I know how to be a good host."
"Well, we'll discuss it later." She sighed. "God, this is so screwed up!"
"Yeah," Jeremy said, nodding. "And I think things are gonna get worse if Simon goes through with this."
Wilkes turned to Jeremy and frowned. "Boy, what was that poor woman talking about?"
"Huh?"
"She said she was three hundred years old. What was she talking about?"
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