Nothing could have prepared her for this.
* * *
Five days of hell left Richard in a ruthless and nasty mood. If not for his cell mates, he may have gone mad. The only reason he hadn’t was because they had looked up to him from the moment he’d arrived. A leader didn’t go mad. Not even when word had spread through the jail of two more hangings in Salem Towne. Yesterday and the day before. Six more each day.
He’d prayed to a Lord he hadn’t given much credence to most of his life and cursed the devil who seemed to be taunting him. Neither had done a shilling of good.
The jangle of keys sent him across the small cell. If he had one thing, it was hope. Well, that and friends on the outside.
The knob turned and he moved into the space created by the door being pulled open. The light blinded him for a moment, but he’d seen enough for a hint of rejoice.
“Wellstead.”
“It took some finagling, but I have an appointment with the governor for you.”
Liberation raced through his blood. Stepping forward, Richard slapped Emerson on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”
The guard started to shut the door and Richard spun around, grabbing the wood. “They are coming with me.”
“I—”
“Who are they?” Emerson asked, interrupting the guard.
“Men who sailed with Earl.”
Taller and broader than most men, his head and face covered with carrot-orange hair, Emerson let out a laugh that echoed against the bricks. “You pick up more baggage than anyone I know. Release them, as well,” he told the guard.
As they started up the corridor, walking shoulder to shoulder, Emerson said, “The lad, John, is doing well. His sight is fine, but his broken ankle will take longer to heal. I’ve hired a nursemaid for your daughter. They are getting along soundly. And I’ve taken pleasure in getting reacquainted with William Birmingham. I thought the crusty old bugger went down with the Golden Eagle years ago.”
“I’m deeply indebted to you,” Richard said sincerely.
“More than you know,” Emerson said. “I now own the Concord.” Knocking into him with one shoulder, he added, “It’s going to take more than a few gold doubloons for you to buy her back.”
Richard’s stride didn’t stumble, but his mind did. “How could you have purchased my ship? I didn’t sell her.”
“The governor confiscated her. But my letter of marque trumped his authority.”
“So you stole her,” Richard replied.
“Aye.”
For the first time in his life, the Concord, or any other ship, wasn’t his main concern. “At least I know she’s in good hands.” He wished he could say the same about Marina. He’d thought of little else but her. “I have to get back to the village.”
“Aye. Birmingham has told me all about your blonde witch.”
“She’s not—”
Emerson’s laugh once again filled the corridor. “I’m not the one who needs to be convinced of that, Captain.”
Chapter Eighteen
The changes that had come about were for comfort, and Marina took a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that might be the most she could hope for. Her visions of leading others out of the dungeon were waning. She’d read scriptures to the prisoners, tried to make them understand how they’d been wronged, but she worried it fell on deaf ears. Everything about this place left her exhausted, and when she closed her eyes, all her dreams were about Richard. That did her no good other than to wish things were different.
A useless wish.
No great powers had been granted upon her, either. If they had, she’d have made Richard appear and steal her away. Together they’d ride off and live happily ever after. That, however, was nothing more than one of her many dreams. Odd ones for a witch to have, all about love.
Tales of witches flying through the air at Uncle William’s home had spread quickly and had become far more elaborate than the actual event had been. The guards were genuinely afraid of her, and unfortunately, so were most of the other prisoners. Nonetheless, she used what she could. The guards kept their distances but responded immediately to her demands—once they’d been told of the evils that would befall them if they didn’t.
Buckets of water and brooms had been supplied. At first it had just been her, but others soon joined in with cleaning out the cells. Chains and ropes were removed, and straw for the feeble to lie upon had been supplied. Drinking water and food, too. After she’d thrown the moldy and weevil-contaminated rye back at the guards.
It was a miracle more than four prisoners hadn’t died in the dungeon. Even with the changes she’d made in the past six days, filth abounded and rats still occupied the cells along with the rest of them. Despite all she’d done, the hangings hadn’t stopped. Eleven others had been hanged since her arrival, and one stoned. He’d refused to confess so his family wouldn’t lose their estate. Others had been tried and acquitted, but unable to pay their bail. They were still in the dungeon, sentenced to remain here until their families could pay the accumulated tab of imprisonment, a sixpence a week for every week they’d served. An atrocity. People could be here for a year and not obtain a sixpence worth of food and hospitality.
“Marina?”
Bringing her broom to a halt, she leaned against the handle. Moments of reprieve were few. It had been appalling how easily these people had accepted their confinement and the filth. Then again, that was the Puritan way. To obey. Shifting slightly, she asked, “Yes, Goodwife Pullman?”
“Are ye frightened?”
The lump in her throat was too large to swallow. “No,” she lied. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”
“They’ll find me guilty. I know they will. Just like they did my baby girl.”
Marina leaned the broom against the wall in order to fold her arms around Mrs. Pullman’s quaking shoulders. Whimpers that first night had led her to the goodwife. Standing upright with her arms spread and her wrists chained to the wall, reduced to little more than skin and bones, Mrs. Pullman had been barely recognizable to Marina.
At noon they’d be taken to the courthouse, she and Mrs. Pullman and four others, to stand trial for their crimes. Not wanting to impress upon the other woman’s already strained mind, Marina had withheld from telling Mrs. Pullman about how her husband had assisted Richard and her.
Pulling up a smile, she leaned back to look into the woman’s sunken eyes. “You just need to tell them the truth.” That was the only weapon she had, and what she used on the prisoners. Insisting the truth was what would set them free. She pointed out that the people who had been hanged had given in under pressure and admitted guilt. That, she insisted, was what they must not do.
Having grown old and haggard the past months, Mrs. Pullman shook her head. “I don’t know what that is anymore.”
The knot in Marina’s stomach grew bigger and tighter. Did anyone know the truth anymore? What was happening was real. People were dying. Although it was all a lie. With a burning throat, Marina whispered, “Yes, you do. It’s inside you. You just have to find it.”
Hours later, Marina and others were led out of the dungeon. The daylight caused yellow specks to flash before her eyes, but she kept her head up rather than shield her eyes as those in front of her did. She walked alone. Guards poked and prodded at the others, but they kept their distance from her.
People flowed out of the courthouse and into the street, and others were still arriving. On foot, in wagons and on horseback. Word of her trial had certainly spread. And of her hanging, no doubt. It was already scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning.
At the sight of a large horse, her heartbeat increased but then dulled. The man in the saddle looked nothing like Richard. She didn’t expect to see him here; nor did she want to. There wasn’t anything he could do. No dolls hanging in the trees would help her this time. Her dream last night had been so real. He’d been holding her and kissing her, and it had been wonderful. Too wonderful. Esp
ecially when she’d awakened to the stench and chill of the dungeon.
If she’d learned one thing this past week, it was that, given the choice, she’d have left with Richard. That was, if she’d been her old self, the one who’d died back in Maine. The girl who’d wanted a husband, children, and had dreamed of a wonderful future. Being who she was now, a witch, she knew that choice had never been hers.
The guards guided them around the crowd and through the back door of the courthouse. Chatter filled the rooms but grew quieter as the other prisoners entered. It fell completely silent when she crossed the threshold. Marina didn’t let it daunt her as she moved to stand along the side wall with the others. They would remain standing there throughout the proceedings, merely stepping forward when their names were called.
Dressed in black suits with white ruffles around their necks and wearing flat-brimmed hats adorned with brass buckles, six men, including Reverend Hickman, sat in high-backed chairs on a raised platform along the front wall. Other than the small open area between the accused and council, the room overflowed with people.
Hickman’s daughter, his niece and another young girl about the same age—little more than ten or so—sat on the platform near the men’s feet. They whispered among themselves, pointing at the accused and nodding.
Marina had never attended a trial, but John had told her how the girls produced evidence against his mother. They’d gone into a state of fits, rolling on the floor and barking like dogs when the Goodwife Griggs had been ordered to address the girls. John had also said his mother had been stripped naked in the courtroom and searched for extra teats or markings that familiars had used to nurse from her.
Marina swore that would not happen today, no matter what she had to do. The scriptures told her the words would come to her when the time came, and she glanced up, letting God know the time had come.
The first name called was Abigail Newman. A girl no more than six and ten. In the charges read against her, it was claimed Abigail had been seen in the woods at night, gathering roots she used to make potions.
“What say ye, Mistress Newman?” Abner Hogan, the speaker for the council, questioned.
Head hanging down, with her hands tied behind her back, Abigail shook so hard Marina feared the girl might collapse where she stood.
“Have you gone mute?” Abner questioned loudly.
The movement that caught Marina’s attention was the slight nod Hickman made to his daughter. A moment later the girl shot to her feet, screeching. She then spun in several circles before falling to the floor. Landing on her hands and knees, she started barking and howling.
Gasps in the crowd turned into cheers, and soon the building roared, as if all the onlookers were excited about the happenings. As the momentum of the crowd grew, Rebecca Hickman rose to her feet and walked back to her seat. It was the satisfied smirk upon the girl’s face that sent Marina forward.
Her hands weren’t tied. No one had dared. She used them to catch Abigail before she buckled and held the sobbing girl to her side. “Stop this! Stop this!”
The noise was too loud to be heard over. Marina filled her lungs and shouted again and again. Pausing briefly, she recalled the noise she’d made before. Opening her mouth, she released a cackle as she had the night at Uncle William’s house. Her throat and lungs burned, but she took another breath and continued on.
She stopped abruptly, as did the crowd, when a resounding crack filled the room, along with a shatter. The council members were ducking and covering their heads. Marina looked up to the window high above them. The glass was gone, splintered into tiny pieces that rained on the council members.
Marina was as shocked as everyone else in the room, but then she realized her witch’s call had provided the silence she needed for the words God would give her. Turning toward the council of men who were still cowering in their seats, she shouted, “Who claims Abigail was in the woods?” Pointing and scowling at Rebecca Hickman, she continued, “That child who is so starved for her father’s attention she acts like an utter fool?” Shifting her attention, she then asked, “And what sort of father, Reverend Hickman, are you to allow your daughter to wander through the woods at night? There could be no other way for her to have seen Abigail or anyone else. Your daughter is the one who needs to be punished for her behaviors of late.” She then spun toward the crowd. “And you, all of you—have you been so desperate for a leader you’ve let lies and trickery lead your lives to where you now find joy in torturing and killing innocent people? What have you gained for it? From any of this calamity? Do you not know the Ten Commandments? Thou shall not kill?”
The only movement in the crowd, other than a few heads hanging, was near the door, where people were being shoved aside.
A moment later, when the person shoving his way into the room presented himself, Marina’s heart soared and sank at the same time.
* * *
“Remove that witch from the court!” Reverend Hickman shouted.
“Now see here, Reverend,” Richard shouted in return, still shoving people aside. He’d had no idea if the ball he’d fired from his gun would hit anyone or not. All he’d known was that Marina was inside the building where the crowd was screeching like jungle monkeys. He’d chosen the highest window, just to be sure to not hit her. “Miss Lindqvist has not been tried and found guilty.” At least he hoped that hadn’t happened. He elbowed through the final line and crossed the small open space to put himself between her and the council.
“She’s already admitted to being a witch,” Hickman said.
“To whom?” Richard asked. “You? Or your daughter who can have fits on command?” He’d heard Marina’s voice while clambering up the steps. Relief hadn’t been the only thing that filled him. Pride had, too. “If that child was my daughter,” he continued, “I’d turn her over my knee. As would most every father in this courtroom.”
“You have no authority in this court,” Hickman shouted. “Remove him. Remove that man, I say!”
Marina stepped closer, as if she could hold off the guards. Richard smiled inwardly. He wanted to twist about, grab her and hold her close, just to be sure she was real and not the mere vision of the woman he’d dreamed about every night since leaving the village. He wanted to kiss her, too. Long and hard.
Keeping one eye on the guards who hadn’t moved to follow Hickman’s orders, he pulled two envelopes from his pocket. “I may not have any say in this court, but the governor does.”
“What have you there?”
Richard cast a devilish grin upon the speaker. “Abner Hogan, isn’t it?”
The man nodded.
“I have a letter for you. From your brother-in-law, Joshua Matthews. The very man who sailed all the way to England to bring over Governor Phillips to Boston.” Richard stepped forward, holding both letters in the air. “Joshua will be out to see you tomorrow, Abner. Although other places have had witch incidents, he’s questioning the number of accused in such a small area as this. He’s also questioning the confiscation of property happening here.” Not handing over either letter, he said, “The letter from the governor is much more eminent, though, and he’s sending a copy of it to the king and queen. It states spectral evidence can no longer be used as evidence. For any trial, any crime, the court must use solid facts that can be verified.” Shifting his smirk to the preacher, he said, “That should come as a relief to you, Hickman. Your daughter will no longer need to make a spectacle of herself.”
Hickman appeared speechless, and Richard grinned.
After handing the letters to Hogan, Richard turned his gaze to Marina. Seeing her clearly for the first time since he’d entered the room, his heart dipped. Her blond curls were limp and snarled, and dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes. Dirt covered her dress, and the bottom of her skirt was wet almost up to her knees. Anger once again bellowed inside him. Spinning to the crowd, he asked, “Does anyone in this room have irrefutable proof that Marina Lindqvist is a witch?”
There was barely a shifting of feet. He turned, and after letting his scowl settle on the three girls sitting before them for a moment, he lifted his gaze to the council. “Anyone?”
“Your ignorance is showing, Captain Tarr,” Hickman growled. “That is not how court proceedings take place.”
“It is this time,” Richard said. “Marina was never officially arrested. Therefore, she is free to leave.” Turning back around, he crossed the room and took her arm. “Let’s go.”
Sorrow filled her face.
His heart rose into his throat.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she shook her head. “I can’t leave,” she whispered, gesturing to the women lining the wall behind her. “They need me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Richard considered flipping her over his shoulder as he had once before, but he couldn’t. Not when his mind went to the men who’d shared his jail cell up until yesterday. “I know they do,” he whispered.
Still sorrowful, she shrugged, as if unsure what to say.
“Miss Lindqvist owes for her accommodations,” Hickman demanded. “She will not be released until the fee is paid in full.”
Richard’s jaw went hard as he turned about. “How much does she owe?”
“That needs to be calculated.”
The preacher’s attitude had Richard seeing red all over again. “Start adding.”
It was Hogan who stated an amount. Richard didn’t blink an eye as he pulled money from his pocket. “And the five others along the wall. How much do they owe?”
“They have not been—”
Interrupting Hickman, Richard asked Hogan, “Do you have any solid evidence against any of those women?”
The man tucked the letters in his pocket. “No, sir.” He then stated an amount far less than what Marina’s had been.
“Times five?”
“No. Total,” Hogan said. “Miss Lindqvist requested an overly large amount of provisions.”
Richard had no idea what sort of provisions she could have ordered or received. He’d swear she’d lost ten pounds since he’d last laid eyes upon her. “I’ll need a receipt for each of them,” he stated as an afterthought.
Saving Marina Page 21