Saving Marina

by Lauri Robinson

  “Bloody hell,” Richard cursed. “They are not!”

  “Yes, they are!”

  “Your father is dead!” he shouted.

  Tears rolled down her face, and she sought a way for him to understand. “I know. And so is Earl, yet you sail the seas in his honor.”

  “I sail because I want to. I must.”

  “And this is what I must do.”

  “Captain, they’re coming!” Oscar yelled. “Ye must leave. I’ll hide Marina.”

  The storm on Richard’s face could have taken out buildings. He cursed loudly but jumped into the driver’s seat and grabbed the reins. “I’ll be back. I’ll be back before sunup.”

  The carriage jerked forward as the horses took off. Marina’s tears fell faster than she could wipe them away. The carriage was a blur and then disappeared around the corner.

  “Get in the barn!” Oscar shouted. “Out of sight—and stay there.”

  Marina swiped aside her tears. “We have to stop them from following.”

  “The captain set traps,” Oscar said.

  She’d forgotten about the dummies. Marina ran into the house and grabbed the cloak she’d draped over a chair. As she exited the house again, a thunder of hooves filled the air. Barely making out Oscar Pullman running for the woods, she darted forward but only made it as far as the well before shouts filled the air.

  The pandemonium started before she could hide herself. Two men on horseback shot around the house. The first horse tripped, tossing the rider over its head. The second horse reared. That man held on until a strange howl filled the air. It was a moment before Marina recognized the sound of Uncle William’s bamboo whistle. The black figure that sailed through the air frightened the already rearing horse. It went wild and the man flew to the ground.

  Both men scrambled to their feet and charged nearly as fast as their horses for the road. Marina ran toward the house and peered around the edge. Two other men were racing for the road, telling her that the other witch doll must have been triggered and fallen from the trees, too.

  The running men almost collided with three others coming up the road on horseback. There was much shouting, but the men running toward the village didn’t stop. Neither did the ones galloping toward the house.

  Hickman’s voice was clearly recognizable as he shouted, “Don’t stop! After that coach!”

  Marina ran in the wake of the horses, crossing the road to cut through the woods to where she’d helped Richard hang the third dummy. Air wouldn’t catch in her lungs and she could barely hear the bamboo howl over her heart pounding in her ears, but she neared the edge of the trees in time to watch the black figure fall from the trees and sail before the horses.

  The animals went wild, rearing and bucking. The first two men lost their seats and hit the ground as their horses shot onward, leaving the men clouded in dust. Hickman was slower and still on his horse when suddenly, as if hit by a great force, he flew backward. His horse twisted and reared, breaking the hold the man still had on its reins before it followed the trail of the other two, leaving Hickman lying on ground.

  The first two men were already on their feet and ran past her as if their heels were on fire. Hickman was shouting for them to wait for him as he kept tripping himself while attempting to scramble to his feet.

  A rather wicked sense of enjoyment filled Marina, and she started to cackle. It was like no other sound she’d ever made. She leaned her head back, letting the noise grow louder and more beastly. The sound split the air, making the men run faster. Except for Hickman, who looked like a rabbit with one foot in a snare, running on all fours as he was.

  Marina drew in air and stepped out onto the road as she let out another cackle, not caring if she was seen or not. In truth, there was a part of her that hoped Hickman would look back, just so he’d know what he was dealing with now.

  A bona fide witch.

  Another man stumbled out of the hedge. He held one hand over his eyes, the other out in front of him, as if feeling his way. Hickman stumbled into him and they both went down. After a tussle, they were both on their feet with the second man holding on to Hickman’s coattails, while he ran in zigzags trying to shake the man off.

  She watched and cackled until the men had been swallowed up by the darkness. Her throat burned, but she felt a sense of pride in having stopped the chase so completely. Richard would surely make it all the way to Boston now.

  Someone else walked out of the hedge and she froze for a moment, until recognizing Oscar.

  “Sakes alive, Marina, ye scared ten years off my life with that laugh.”

  She turned her gaze back to the road. “I hope it did the same to them.”

  “I’d say it did.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I had to tie up the final rope. The one that knocked Hickman off his horse. Richard had it tied to one tree, but I couldn’t fasten it to the other until after he left in the carriage. Then I had to cut loose the watchman he told me about.”

  “How did you come about helping?” she asked out of curiosity.

  “He helped me,” Oscar said. “Ye do good to them which do good to ye.”

  Marina nodded. Her elation was gone, leaving her empty.

  They stood silent for a moment, watching the dark and quiet road. She realized then that she was standing exactly where she had when the carriage left. The exact spot she’d known something heartbreaking would happen.

  It had.

  Oscar was the first to move. “I have to cut those dummies down. Richard doesn’t want anyone to know they were fake.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Why didn’t ye go with him?” Oscar asked as they started to walk up the road.

  The witch inside her must have completely taken over because her entire being had grown cold, yet she was still alive. It was just as well. There was no one left for her to care about. No family to love—or lose again. “My work here isn’t done.” Glancing his way, she added, “An eye for an eye.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Richard had been mad before, furious, irate, but he’d never been this totally enraged. When he got back to that house he would blister Marina’s backside. He’d never raised a hand to a woman, but she should be inside the carriage behind him. Not back there with men hunting her down as if she was a wild animal. That was how it would be once they discovered she was still there.

  With renewed fury he whipped the reins over the galloping horses. His greatest desire was to turn the coach around, but he couldn’t. He’d always rationalized things, and some evil, righteous voice inside him said saving three lives overrode one. That twisted his guts until they burned hotter than hell. He didn’t like it, but was honor-bound by some damnable code instilled within. Marina was instilled within, too, whether he wanted her to be or not. That too played hell inside him. So did the fact he understood her action. Although twisted, she believed this was how she could avenge the cruelty imposed upon her nephew and the deaths of her family. She was too damn stubborn to see what had happened then and what was happening now were not related.

  Too damn stubborn to admit a woman armed with a Bible couldn’t save anyone.

  He drove the horses until he feared they’d drop and then slowed to give them a chance to recoup. From buying and selling cargo, which more than once had been horses, he knew this was a fine pair, and as unusual for a preacher to own as everything else in Hickman’s coffers.

  The horses continued onward at will, and Richard gave his mind the same freedom. Pullman was a good man, and he’d see to Marina’s safety until Richard could return. Oscar had seen enough to believe all Richard had said about Hickman. The man agreed no other preacher had ever made such demands or had shown such greed. Oscar also believed Marina wasn’t a witch. That she’d merely been ill in Maine and had become the victim of rumors, just like his daughter and wife.

  Minutes ticked by slowly, and the miles grew longer than any he’d ever trekked. Richard’s mind went down many roads, an
d various scenarios formed before he once again lifted the reins, coaxing the horses into a faster pace. Despite what Marina thought, her father hadn’t sent her to save those other women. The bridge in her dreams, the one her father said she couldn’t cross, was so she could live. Richard would make sure that happened.

  By the time the carriage rolled into Boston, the sky was already pink and Richard cursed. He wanted to be on his way back to Salem by now. Driving the last bits from the tired horses, he steered them to the water’s edge, not letting them come to a stop until his ship was before his eyes.

  A deckhand, one who’d sailed with him for years, Beauregard Abel, ran up to the road, taking a hold of the horses even though they barely had the strength to stand.

  “I’ll need help,” Richard said, leaping to the ground.

  Beau let out a whistle, and by the time Richard opened the carriage door, several other hands stood near. Questioning how fast they’d appeared, Richard glanced around.

  “The governor’s taken over the Concord, Captain,” Beau said. “Said they’re confiscating her.”

  “The hell you say,” Richard growled.

  “It’s true, my friend.”

  Richard spun in the other direction. “Wellstead.”

  Emerson Wellstead nodded. “It’s been a while, Richard.”

  The two of them had sailed side by side for years, often sharing cargo and ports, until Emerson had accepted a letter of marque a few years ago. Richard’s gaze went from the sea captain to the Concord. Men stood on deck, but they weren’t his men.

  He turned back to the carriage, where William was stiffly making his way out. Richard reached in and scooped up Grace. Looking at Emerson, he said, “I need a doctor and a safe place for my friends and daughter.”

  Emerson turned to a man standing at his side. “You heard him—get a physician. A good one.” The captain then said, “They’ll be safe on the Victoria. This way.”

  Richard had barely taken a step when his name was shouted.

  “You can’t run from them,” Emerson said. “They are the governor’s men.” He held out his hands. “Give me your daughter. I’ll personally see to her and your friends.”

  Richard knew it was best to get away from the carriage, to never give the men looking for him the opportunity to see Grace, William or John. “Her name is Grace,” he said to Emerson while handing his daughter to the other man. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll get word to you,” Emerson said. “Wherever they take you.”

  “They won’t take me anywhere,” Richard insisted, as he started toward his ship.

  Those had been optimistic words.

  He argued and fought but eventually came to the conclusion he’d soon be in no shape to help Marina. As four bulky men hauled him back up to the road, he demanded an appointment with the governor. After a short trek in an enclosed wagon, where none of them released their hold, they unceremoniously dumped him in a dark and dank brick cell that smelled like piss.

  Richard bounded to his feet and rubbed at his knuckles, still stinging from getting a few good punches on the thugs before conceding there were too many of them. The scabs he had from taking down Hickman’s men had broken loose, leaving him bleeding again, and he was reminded of Marina not wanting to get blood on her sheets.

  “Bloody hell!” He had to get back to Salem. Pounding on the solid wood door, he shouted for a guard.

  “They won’t come.”

  He turned, scanning the darkness for where the voice came from. “Show yourself.”

  “Which one of us?”

  Shifting nothing but his eyes toward the other corner, he asked, “How many are here?”

  “Three.” The dark figure that stepped closer said, “I’m Ben Hart.”

  “Orin Crompton,” said one on the left.

  “Frank Bancroft,” added the first one who’d spoken. “And you are?”

  “Tarr. Captain Richard Tarr.”

  “Of the Concord?”

  “Aye,” he replied. “Ben, was it?”

  “Aye, Captain. I sailed with Earl when you were but a lad.”

  Richard rubbed his forehead where a lump was forming. “I don’t remember you.”

  “No reason you would. You were his cabin boy. I was just a sailor wanting to get from one shore to another.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “That, Captain, is a long story,” Ben replied. “Why are you here?”

  As deflated as a windless sail, he slumped against the door behind him. “That too is a long story.”

  * * *

  The sun was casting the world with its morning glow when Marina closed the front door of the house for what she knew would be the last time ever. She drew in a deep breath, stepped off the stoop and started across the yard. There wasn’t a single sign left of the chaos from the night before. Oscar Pullman had helped cut down the ropes and dummies and hidden everything deep in the woods. He’d also taken home Nellie and the chickens, leaving Marina one less thing to worry about. Richard’s horse had been let loose and shooed down the road. Animals were smart. It would eventually find its way back to Boston.

  When her steps reached the road, she flipped up her hood. The black cloak fit her image, the one the villagers had of her and the one she had of herself.

  By now the others should be in Boston. John would have a physician looking after him. Guilt rolled in her stomach. Richard had been angry, Uncle William hurt, but they were old enough to understand. Gracie wouldn’t, and she’d question why Marina wasn’t there when she awoke this morning.

  The iciness that had settled in her chest remained, but there was pain there, too. It was familiar. That was how a person felt when they lost those they loved. She did love Gracie and Uncle William. John had been a dear friend, and Richard...

  Marina shook her head. She’d come to love him most of all, and knowing she’d never see him again hurt terribly. Blinking at the tears, she told herself the important thing—what she must remember—was that they were all safe now. If they had made it to Boston.

  “They made it,” she said aloud. “I’ll not think otherwise.”

  That quelled the argument inside her, perhaps because of how heavy the weight on her shoulders had become. This wasn’t something she’d have chosen, given the choice. She’d have crossed that bridge with the rest of her family, if someone had asked what she wanted. No one had asked, though.

  She could also wonder what might have happened if she’d stayed in Maine or never met Richard, but that wouldn’t change anything. There were lives she could save, and that would change things. Not for her, but for others. And that was why she was here. She’d read the chapter of Matthew this morning—from where Jesus brought a young girl back to life to where he told his disciples they’d be brought before councils on his behalf—to give her strength.

  Holding her Bible in one hand, Marina never slowed her steps or faltered from her destination. Despite the people peering out their windows, she marched straight to the parsonage. Her knock was answered by a black woman. Hickman’s slave had been one of the first accused of witchcraft but had been acquitted and released. Having someone in his own home accused and cleared had given the reverend more power, and others looked to him for counsel. Marina had deduced it meant nothing more than that the slave hadn’t had anything of value for her master to steal.

  “I’m here to see Reverend Hickman,” Marina said.

  Upon opening the door, the black woman had backed up, her eyes wide. Marina took a step forward, crossing the threshold so the door couldn’t be closed. “I’ll wait here.”

  The woman spun and hurried down the hall. Marina took in the surroundings. Fine furniture filled the room and colorful rugs covered the floor. Beyond that, the room reminded her more of a store than a home.

  George Hickman appeared in the hallway but didn’t come all the way into the front room. “What do you want?”

  “I’m turning myself in, as I said I would.”

 
“Why didn’t you leave with the rest of them?”

  “Because my work here isn’t finished.” Marina moved toward a table and picked up a candlestick. An identical one sat on another table. “The Goodwife Griggs inherited these from her mother. They were one of her finest possessions.”

  “Those are my wife’s,” Hickman said. “Her mother gave them to her.”

  “Others may believe you, but I do not.” She set the candlestick back on the table. “Because you don’t frighten me.” Swirling so her black cape swished, she leveled her stare upon him. “You, however, were quite frightened by my friends. Tell me, Reverend. Is there gravel in your knees from your escapade last night?”

  His face turned red. “Get out of my house!”

  “Gladly. I’m just waiting for you to escort me to the jail.” The ungoverned courage filling her was potent and a bit shocking. She’d never known such power. Such supremacy. It was rather addictive. Without blinking, she added, “The accused need their leader. Much like your men.”

  The arrival of two men at the front door started the procedure of her arrest, which, with the loss of the only carriage in town, meant she walked all the way to Salem Towne, followed closely by Hickman and two others. They sat upon horses.

  Passing Uncle William’s home was surreal, but she kept her gaze on the road ahead. The only time her feet stumbled was when they arrived at Salem jail. It was a dungeon, built of thick timbers near the river. The stench that assaulted her as a guard opened the door made her nose burn.

  “Enjoy your new home,” Hickman said mockingly.

  Marina crossed the threshold of her own accord. A long corridor lay before her. As she walked it, mazes of small cells ran in all directions. The meager light creeping in from above the walls and beneath the eaves diffused the darkness enough for her to make out people chained and tied to the thick timbers and the rats scurrying about. Water squished beneath her feet and a cold dampness penetrated her cloak and clothing and her skin, chilling deep into her very soul.