His gaze crossed the table to land on Marina. Her chin was up and her gaze solid as it met his, eye for eye. He might admire her grit, but others wouldn’t. A witch hunter he’d met in Scotland a few years ago, John Kintor, claimed that was how he recognized a witch, by the way she stared into a man’s soul. Kintor’s father had been a witch hunter, too. Several years ago father and son had captured more than two hundred witches in less than a year—or so they claimed.
A cold knot formed in Richard’s stomach at the thought of Marina encountering the likes of Kintor. “Why would they believe that?”
Her gaze drifted toward Gracie for a fraction of a second before she stated, “Because I agreed to stand trial for being one.”
“Only be—”
“Uncle William,” she interrupted before her uncle could say more. “The food is getting cold.”
“Oh,” the old man said as if he’d just noticed the food on the table. “Eat up, Richard.”
Richard opened his mouth but closed his lips when Marina bowed her head and recited a prayer quietly. He’d never encountered a witch and doubted he ever would, but either way, he highly doubted they prayed before eating.
When she lifted her head, her attention immediately went to Gracie. “Go ahead,” she said softly. “You can eat all you want.”
Gracie glanced his way and Richard responded with an affirmative nod, quite amazed that his daughter would expect his approval. He had very little experience around children. None, actually, other than the few who’d been on the passenger ship he’d captained years ago, the same one that Sarah had been on. He had a child now and held no regrets on it. Last night had been a sleepless one, full of worries about what he’d do with a daughter. Today, it didn’t seem so bad. Hiring a family to take care of her wouldn’t be hard. He just needed to figure out where he wanted that to be. There were plenty of choices in numerous ports around the world. Perhaps he’d let her decide.
With that thought, Richard lifted his spoon and began to eat.
As far as meals went, it was tasteful and filling, but far quieter than he was used to. Sailors were a hearty bunch. Given food, ale and others to talk with, they became even more boisterous. The only noise at this table was the clink of silverware and thud of ale cups. That was strange for him. Certainly out of the ordinary. The men he sailed with were first-rate and energetic, and mealtime was a noisy affair.
Richard glanced across the table. Not even a witch would be able to keep them in line. The idea almost brought a grin to his lips. Marina was no more a witch than he was, but if she chose to believe otherwise, so be it. Once Grace was well enough, he’d leave this place and never return.
A question of how Grace would fare on his ship formed, but it was not something he needed to worry about. As his daughter, she’d be more protected than gold. Setting down his spoon, he reached over to roll up the sleeve that had fallen to almost cover her hand. “You like the soup?” he asked.
She nodded, but her eyes went toward the plate of bread in the center of the table.
Richard retrieved a slice and pulled away the crust. Breaking up the soft center, he dropped the chunks into her broth. Grace smiled and he patted her head, half expecting a chiding from Marina. Prepared, he lifted his gaze to the woman.
A gentle smile graced her lips, and she made no attempt to pull her gaze from his. She was patting her lips with her napkin, and Richard held his breath, wondering what she was preparing to say.
Instead of her voice, a knock on the back door interrupted the silence.
Chapter Four
“Marina, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes,” Anna Pullman said with tears streaming down her cheeks. “They killed her. Just like that. They put a rope around her...”
“Hush now, Anna,” Marina whispered while stepping out on the stoop. Her friend had used the back door, which was fortunate if anyone was on the road but unfortunate considering those sitting at the table could hear. “Come to the garden with me,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her with one hand and the other on Anna’s shoulder.
“The garden?” Anna stammered. “They just killed Elizabeth. I can’t think of carrots and onions. People cheered and clapped. Oh, Marina, what are we going to do?”
“We are going to walk to the garden,” Marina said gently. “We don’t want anyone to see us being idle.” If anyone on the road saw Anna talking to her, the young girl would be arrested, but Anna needed comfort right now and Marina couldn’t overlook that. There were a few families who’d befriended her and Uncle William, and she’d come to care for each of them.
“Of course we don’t,” Anna said bitterly as they walked toward the garden beside the barn. “Lord knows what Reverend Hickman will do if he learns of two idle women. Oh, Marina, it was so awful.” Anna sniffled as new tears began to fall. “Elizabeth cried and pleaded, swore on the heavens she wasn’t a witch, even while they were putting the rope around her neck.”
“Hush now,” Marina said again, this time because she didn’t need a description. Her mind had already shown her the scene of Elizabeth Pullman being hanged, along with several other community members. In truth, it made her neck tingle. A fate that was sure to be hers before long. It was written in the scriptures. She’d be handed over to councils and flogged, brought before witness, and persecuted. A sacrifice. The only thing she’d had to offer in exchange for Grace had been her own life.
“I can’t hush,” Anna insisted. “With Mama in jail, Father is beside himself. He’s insisting upon going to the tree tonight, before they cut down the bodies and push them over the ravine. He’s going to collect Elizabeth and bury her on our farm beside little Daniel and baby Christine.”
“That would be extremely dangerous,” Marina whispered. “It’s foolish to venture out at night. Sentries are posted everywhere.”
“I know,” Anna said, “but Papa can’t stand the idea of Elizabeth not having a proper burial. It’s just...” Unable to carry on, her friend clutched Marina, sobbing.
Thankful the barn hid them from prying eyes, Marina hugged Anna and let her cry. No words of comfort formed and she figured that was just as well—they wouldn’t do Anna much good. Elizabeth had been Anna’s older sister, and Marina knew too well the pain of losing those you loved. Tears still came some nights when she thought of her family.
Time had helped, but it also left her tired. She was so very tired of death.
The creak of wagon wheels and thud of hooves forced Marina to release Anna and grasp her friend by the shoulders. “Others are returning home, Anna. You can’t be seen here. It’s far too dangerous.” The reverend had vowed he’d arrest anyone he saw her talking to. Without waiting for Anna to respond or catch her bearings, Marina pulled her to the back of the barn. “Quick now—take the path through the woods and return to your house.”
Anna was shaking her head, but Marina pushed her toward the small trail hidden by first brush and then taller trees. “Hurry, and talk to your father. Do not let him return to that tree tonight.”
When Anna acted as if she wasn’t going to leave, Marina said, “Hurry. Reverend Hickman could be in any one of those wagons. Go. And don’t stop until you’re home.”
Anna shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it was true, but it is. Isn’t it? You’ve changed, Marina. You used to be my friend.”
“I’m still your friend—”
“No, you aren’t. You’re—you’re a witch. That’s why you wanted that old crone’s familiar so badly.”
“Go home, Anna.”
Anna shook her head as she said accusingly, “You brought her here so you could fill her with your blood, fashion her after the likes of you so—”
“Anna!” Fury ignited in Marina’s stomach, and withholding it from spewing forth burned. Anna was too full of grief to know what she was saying. In a more normal state of mind, she’d know Gracie wasn’t a familiar. She was just an innocent child. Too innocent to be surrounded by such ev
il. “Go home, Anna. Go home where you’re safe.”
“No one’s safe,” Anna said. “Even you.” She spun around then and hurried into the woods.
Marina watched, making sure her friend had left before she let out a sigh. Her heart was so heavy her stomach ached. She had changed, because she’d had to. Being a witch wasn’t easy.
“What old crone?”
She spun around. The storm of reproach on Richard’s face made her legs wobble.
“Who,” he barked, “is accusing my daughter of such vile things?”
Marina’s entire being quivered, but she held her head up. “I must go see to—”
“No.” He stepped forward, blocking her path. “You aren’t going anywhere, not going to see to anything.” Taking a hold of her arm, he added, “Not until you answer my questions.”
Marina wasn’t afraid of his touch, but she was afraid. Rightfully so. He threatened everything. “My uncle—”
“Is looking after Grace,” he said. “So start talking.”
Any mingling hope dissolved. As much as she wished it, he wasn’t going to leave, not without answers. It was only right. She had summoned him here and should tell him the truth, or at least as much as she could. The problem was she had no idea where to start, how to explain things that were unexplainable.
“I can stand here all day,” he said stoically.
She shook her head at how she couldn’t stop a wayward grin, one that had wanted out because of the memories his statement had revived. “My brothers used to say that.” Sighing, she admitted, “That seems so long ago.”
Other than a slight frown, Richard didn’t reply, and she didn’t expect him to. She waved toward the house. “It’s a rather long story. Perhaps we should go inside.”
“Where you’ll find another task to see to,” he said. “No, we’ll stay right here. There’s no need for me to repeat my numerous questions. I’ll let you decide where to start.”
That was just as well. People were still on the road. What about this man had made her overlook that? Perhaps it hadn’t been him, but rather the weight hanging heavy around her neck. “I’m not sure where to start,” she answered honestly. “Uncle William believes it all started with the new reverend, but...”
“You don’t?”
Marina studied his expression for a moment. Here too she was reminded of her brothers. Tough, stern men and, just like Richard, they’d had wrinkles near the corners of their eyes from laughing on a regular basis. Then again, maybe his came from squinting at the sun while sailing the seas. Though he showed a gentleness around his daughter, it didn’t appear to be commonplace.
“I haven’t lived here long,” she finally said. The Puritans’ beliefs didn’t align with her own. From what she’d witnessed, no one was interested in performing God’s will by loving one another. What had happened to her hadn’t aligned with her beliefs, either, not until she’d sought a deeper understanding of the scriptures. Seeing the evilness in Reverend Hickman’s eyes had confirmed her path, even though fighting him filled her with fear. “But Reverend Hickman is a powerful man.”
“Hickman?” Richard’s frown grew. “Reverend Hickman?” he repeated. “What’s his first name?”
“George.”
“George Hickman,” he said, drawing the name out as if settling it into his brain. “That’s who your uncle was talking about when he mentioned Barbados and Boston?”
“Yes.” A queer tickling in her stomach had her asking, “You know him, don’t you?”
“If it’s the same George Hickman I’m thinking of, then, yes, I know him.”
Her hands shook. “Are you friends with him?”
His eyes grew stormier. “Friends? No. When did he become a reverend?”
Marina twisted her hands together, hoping to hide the shiver rippling her insides. “I don’t know, but I do recall hearing this is his first parish.”
“When did he arrive here?”
“A year ago this spring,” she answered. “Shortly after I’d arrived.” Marina had no idea why she chose to add that. Maybe because she wanted to appear innocent, which she wasn’t. In truth, there didn’t appear to be any innocence left in the world. Other than in the smallest of children. That she did still believe in.
There were other things she believed in, too, and she glanced toward the woods where Anna had disappeared. Just as the scriptures described, brothers were accusing brothers, children were rebelling against adults, accusing them of outlandish acts until they were arrested. “Hickman’s arrival was greatly welcomed,” she said. “People acted as if he was the answers to their prayers. A savior.”
“But not you?”
“No.” Prayers were often answered differently than expected, and George Hickman was closer to the devil than God.
“Why not?” Richard asked.
The pages she read every night told her not to fear those who could kill the body, for they could not kill the soul. That was a fact she’d witnessed, and the conviction that rose up inside her was stronger than ever. She couldn’t help but wonder what Richard would think if she told him everything.
She spun about. The resentment in his eyes couldn’t be denied, and her shoulders slumped. He’d never believe her. She hadn’t believed it herself, not at first. “For one,” she said, “I’m not of the Puritan faith. I’m a Protestant.”
“You’ve been accused of being a witch because of that?”
“No.”
He lifted a brow, clearly waiting for more of a reason.
Stories of witchcraft had plagued the Old World and still did, for all she knew. There had been a time when she’d been convinced they’d been nothing more than tales that had no basis in being real. That had changed. “Have you read the Bible?” she asked.
“The entire thing?”
Once again, for the briefest of moments, a grin tugged at her lips. He truly reminded her of her brothers. Perhaps referring to the Bible wasn’t the right route. Her brothers had never taken to its readings without serious prodding from their mother.
“I’ve read enough to know what it’s about,” Richard said.
Accepting his answer with a nod, she changed her tack. “From my witness, the Puritans are quick to judge. They believe only a few are selected for salvation, predestined before birth, and although they claim no one knows who the chosen ones are, they instantly condemn others to eternal damnation for the simplest acts. Blame one another for every misfortune that occurs, from a cow dying to a child questioning something they are too young to understand.” She’d seen all these things and couldn’t understand the irrationality the people of the village maintained in such simple maladies. She took a couple of steps, to where a weed grew next to the barn. “Something as simple as this weed could lead to an entire family being exiled.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“I know,” she said. “To us, but to the Puritans in the village, it’s not. It’s a sign of the devil—at least that’s what Reverend Hickman preaches. He’s full of hellfire and brimstone, and the elders quickly followed him, leaving no room for common sense to prevail. His sermons are full of paradoxes that are as confusing as they are frightening. Everything is based on the Old Testament. There are no lessons on the coming of Christ or the forgiveness of sins.”
“You attend his church?”
“No, we’ve never been invited to, but we don’t mind. Uncle William and I have our Bible and our faith.” Not wanting the conversation to revert to her, she quickly added, “I’ve heard about his sermons from others and heard him shouting in the marketplace. It’s frightening to the women and children, especially the young ones, like Gracie, who are so gentle and innocent.”
“How did she come to be with you instead of a Puritan family?” he asked.
“The smallpox epidemic was widespread. Reverend Hickman declared that all of the families affected were agents of the Ould Deluder.”
“Satan.”
She nodded. “Members who’d surv
ived the outbreak were no longer welcome in the village.” The injustice of it had Marina placing a hand over her heart. “Even the tiniest of children. The other men agreed with him, believing when he insisted it was the only way to prevent the disease from spreading, but—”
“But that’s no excuse for allowing children to starve to death.” Richard finished her thought precisely.
“I agree, but few others do. His sermons filled them with fear of the entire village dying from the disease.”
He was pacing back and forth, as if dwelling on what he’d just learned, but he stopped and leveled a stare on her. “If all this happened last winter, where was my daughter before she came here?”
Guilt bubbled inside her. Things might be different now if she’d understood her father’s message earlier. She hadn’t, though, not until seeing the evil in Reverend Hickman’s eyes. That was when she’d pleaded for him to allow her to take the child’s place. To be arrested as a witch, if he let her heal the child.
“Where was she?”
Lifting her shoulders, Marina said, “Everyone believed she’d died along with her mother and her grandparents.”
“Where did you find her?” he demanded.
Marina closed her eyes and pinched her lips together. Reverend Hickman had finally agreed to her request, but she’d seen beyond his words. For some unexplainable reason, he wanted Gracie, and that was when the witch inside her rose up as it never had before. Out of nowhere she’d vowed to reveal the truth behind all his evil actions.
“Where did you find her, Marina?”
Her insides burned, but she couldn’t reveal the truth. There was too much danger in that. “Please just be content with knowing I did and that soon she’ll be able to travel to Boston.”
Saving Marina Page 5