Claire sniffed and lumbered away from the door, her belly big and cumbersome. “Where is the righteous Reverend Harmond now?” Goody asked evilly.
It had gone on for them thusly through the long pregnancy. Claire defended her lover against her grandmother, and when it became apparent that he would not claim the child, she sank into a depression. Now her blond locks hung lank around her dull face, her skin pasty, and her blue eyes sunken.
“He will come. He told me he loves me.”
“He called thee a succubus, handmaiden of the devil,” the old lady responded with a cackle. “He will not come, Claire. Put him behind you.” Goody Bennett thought back to that night almost five months ago when they sat in this room, a roaring fire painting their faces orange.
“Come now, Reverend, do right by my girl.”
“Thy girl, thy girl…” He backed away from the two women, his face crimson in the firelight. “You sent her to seduce me. She is evil, the devil’s tool.”
Goody’s eyes narrowed, and she took a long pull on her pipe. “Did thee think my Claire a devil’s tool when you played with her pretty titties, good sir?” She pointed the stem of her pipe at him. “You took what didn’t belong to you, and it canna be returned. You must make good on what evil you did.”
“Evil?” Reverend Harmond shrieked. “Me? Evil? I know what you are, Goody Bennett. Soon all will know you for thy witching ways. I will see thee in hell first, old woman!”
With that, he swept out the door letting it slam so hard it shook the very roof of the cottage.
“Aye. I will see thee in hell, good sir,” Goody agreed to the empty spot.
After that, slowly Goody Bennett’s services were needed less and less. Villagers shied away from them. The supplies in their larder became scarce, and they stopped attending church altogether.
They were hungry and alone. Every so often a crowd gathered by their door, like this day, and hurled insults.
“I cannot. I cannot go on.” Claire sunk onto the hard-packed floor. “He promised me—” she continued in a sing-song voice.
Goody Bennett took her pipe and sat in her rocker. The girl was losing her wits. She held out her arms, feeling pity for her. “Come, child. Rest thy head. You have naught but me now.”
Claire looked at the mean room, the dirt floors, dried weeds hanging from the rafters. She felt the mound of her child moving under her dress. “There were supposed to be balls and parties. We were to have his father’s house. He could not have lied.”
“Why? Why? Because he is a man of God? Child, child, he is still a man, just a man with a man’s needs. He does not care; he never did. He promised you so he could get what he wanted.”
“What he wanted I gave freely. I love him.”
“Thee speak of love?” The old lady laughed. “He did not want thy love, child. He coveted thy body. He wanted to know of our old ways, our cures.. Aye,” she sighed. “And thee gave it freely.”
“Nothing has happened, Grandmam.”
“Aye. Nothing yet,” she replied grimly.
Arielle
“The call this ‘The Hanging Tree,’ Chad said as pulled Arielle closer to him and tried to kiss her again. He knew what he wanted, and was getting impatient waiting for Arielle to make up her mind. She had teased him for so long. Though he was confidant, Chad felt jumpy, his hands fidgety. She was beautiful, the star shine and moonbeams painting her lightly freckled cheekbones. She had a perfect nose that complimented a full mouth; he was the envy of all his friends.
“Why?” She dodged him.
“Not sure. I heard they used it to hang people in the olden days.”
“It’s so peaceful here. I can’t believe that.”
“Why? Do you think you’d be able to feel something, like it would be special or something?” Chad replied as he stood up laughing. Reaching up, he attempted to grab a low-hanging branch.
“Should I do something?” Arthur whispered with gleeful anticipation as the spirit took note of the foolish mortal. His broken jaw rattled with mirth, his eyes sightless in the broken face.
“Humph. These young people are so full of themselves.” This was from Martin, ever the serious one of the two.
“Insufferable,” growled a voice from the bottom branch.
“Why don’t you ever show yourself?” Arthur pleaded. “We’ve shared this spot ever so long. I want to see you. Know your story.”
“Can’t,” came the whispery reply.
“She can’t,” Goody answered. “She’s stuck where she is, same as us.”
“You can move.”
“Well, yes, I can.” Goody laughed. “I chose to stay here!” She stood balancing herself on the branch, swaying dangerously. “I will stay here until my job is done.”
“What job?” Gibson girl asked. “What job?” She never understood half of what they were talking about. They all spoke in riddles. Instinctively, she knew somehow they were all protecting her, but from what, she just couldn’t remember. It was always so hazy. Just out of her reach. Stretching for distant recollections, she only felt loneliness and pain. So much pain, faint memories nagged her. Distracted, she never heard the rest of the argument. Her boney frame shivered ever so slightly.
“She is staying here for revenge—nothing but revenge— and we are the results of her revenge!” Martin shouted back. Though he was attached to the tree, he bunched his shoulders and made an attempt to rise. His face glowed red, and if he could have, he would have been sweating with the effort to go after the witch.
“Stop, Marty,” Arthur urged, his voice soft.
“Don’t call me that!” Martin blasted an icy stare at his partner. “I hate when you call me that! I hate her! I hate this place!”
“Stop! That’s why we are here. I won’t leave you. You have to calm down,” Arthur said fiercely, as if that’s all Martin needed to hear.
The air crackled with electricity, the silence thick to their ears. Arielle turned to Chad, whispering, “Do you think this place is evil? We would know it, right? We could feel it, don’t you think?”
“If this place were evil, I would cut down the tree!” Chad sprang up, unnerved. They would know it, wouldn’t they? Chad felt different there. His muscles pulsed with an energy he didn’t understand, like he drank too many of those energy drinks. His blood felt thick, sluggish in his veins; he was aroused. He looked down at Arielle, his eyes narrowed, considering what he would do with her. His thoughts felt foreign, yet he didn’t try to stop thinking them.
A chill danced down Arielle’s bare arms. Chad looked strange, as if he were someone else. Someone she didn’t know. Suddenly, she felt the urge to go home.
“Oh, are you afraid?” Chad gained purchase on the limb and swung back and forth. “Help me, Arielle,” he wailed. “I’m hanging. It’s got me.”
“Stop Chad,” Arielle smiled at his boyish antics.
“Oh, this is too much!” Arthur closed his eyes and commanded, “Hand!” An image of a ghostly hand reached over from where it lay detached from the mangled body and clawed its way to the end of the branch. The fingers stretched, responding to the command from the ghost. “I said attack. Now!”
“Stop, fool. You’ll scare them!” Goody Bennett cried.
“As if you’ve never done anything to them. Pompous bastards,” Arthur shouted back.
The hand grabbed the boy’s prone fingers, tearing viciously at them. Chad screamed in horror, trying to let go, but was held fast. “Help me,” his voice came out in a shriek. He reached up, slapping at the air, and the chuckles died in Arielle’s throat. “I’m not kidding. What the hell is up there?”
She ran over, grabbing his lean waist, but he was attached to the tree.
“Let go, Chad,” she screamed.
“It’s enough, Arthur. Let him go,” Martin quietly demanded, his frustration and anger spent.
“You never let me have any fun, Marty.”
“Martin. I told you Martin. Don’t patronize me. They’re children
. You’re really scaring them. I said stop it.”
“Oh, all right, killjoy.” Arthur turned his head almost completely around and ordered, “Release.”
The hand dissolved into the night, and Chad fell clumsily to the grassy floor.
Arielle crouched down beside him. “Lemme see.” She held out her hand to him.
He placed his hand in hers. “I don’t see anything. What was it?”
“Ow, that hurt.” He looked at the blossoming red scrapes on his knuckles, blood welling in the scratches. “Look, I’m bleeding.” He held out injured fingers to her.
“What do you think it was?” Arielle came closer, inspecting his hand.
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t see anything. Do you think it was bugs? Maybe you disturbed a hornets’ nest.”
“Hornets don’t fly at night, Arielle. Maybe we should move the car.” He looked around for a better spot. He cast a worried look at his vehicle.
“The bark was very rough,” Arielle suggested.
“Something scratched my hand.” He rubbed his bruised hand against his shirt.
“We should get out of here. I don’t like it.” Arielle’s eyes were wide in her face.
“Smart girl.” Whispered words fell from the branches, the silence broken by the rustle of leaves. Only the teens never heard them. They looked up to see a bird hop onto the branch; relief replaced their fear.
“Oh, it was a bird. You were probably too close to its nest. Let’s go home.”
Chad sighed, feeling like his old self but smaller. “I can’t. I promised Leo.”
Goody Bennett
Late winter 1650
Hands pounded on her door, waking her from a deep sleep. “Claire,” she whispered to an empty room.
“Goody Bennett.” The door swung open. A man stood breathlessly in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing a hat and looked distressed. “It’s Claire. You must come.”
It was their only friend, Adam Babcock. He alone brought them game birds and rabbits through the long winter.
“What has happened?” Goody demanded, but Adam already had vanished out into the early morning.
Throwing on her shawl, she clumsily laced her shoes, fear taking residence in the pit of her empty stomach. A feeling of despair overwhelmed her. “Remedy,” she called for her cat but received no answering meow. The cabin was cold and empty; puffs of frost formed before her mouth.
They trekked together silently through the dark meadow, the worn shawl little protection against the wind that pierced her skin.
“What is it?” she asked breathlessly.
“I was coming back from the pond. I cut through the meadow. Oh, Goody Bennett, I am sorry that—”
“Aye, thee is a good man, Adam Babcock.” With dawning sadness, she knew already. Goody Bennett could hear the piteous wails of Remedy, the message loud and clear. “Say no more. I know what hath happened.”
“How? How could you know, Mistress?” Adam asked. “I only just saw her.”
Goody didn’t answer. She didn’t have words. Hanging from the lowest limb was Claire, her face blue, blond hair a curtain covering her bulging eyes.
Remedy circled underneath her, her cries loud, the truth written on the wind.
“What say thee?” Goody crouched low and listened to the cat.
Adam Babcock’s mouth opened wide. “Nay, Mistress, cats cannot speak. Stop, I implore you, stop thy nonsense.”
“He did?” Goody Bennett ignored him and kept addressing the cat. “He promised her what?”
Sitting down, she urged the cat closer. It purred as it climbed into her waiting arms. “I understand. You saw it all.”
“Thee must stop,” Babcock implored.
“Stop what, Master Babcock? Stop the proof that Goody Bennett is a witch?” a voice boomed from behind the tree. Tall and imposing, the good reverend stepped in front, and a group of villagers, mostly men, filed out from the bushes. “You heard her, good people.”
“Kill her,” Calvin Beckworth moved to the front, his face mottled with hatred and anger. “She be a witch. She killed my Mary.”
Cries erupted from the crowd and she heard their thoughts jumbled in her head.
“Hang her with her slut of a granddaughter.” Beckworth moved towards her, his face evil in the firelight of the torches.
The reverend’s eyes glittered with purpose. “She is damned and we’ll all be damned with her, if we don’t destroy her!” he shouted.
“You killed her, sure enough.” Goody Bennett stood and pointed a gnarled finger at him while the cat rubbed itself against her short legs.
“I…I… You accuse me? With what evidence?” Harmond asked incredulously.
“Thee lured and seduced her with promise and got her with child,” Goody spit, her eyes hot pits of coal. “Then when she came to you last night, thee brought her here and hung her.” Her black eyes bore into him, and the reverend shivered. It was like a bottomless pit of hell. She was pure evil, and it was his job to rid her and her spawn from the community.
“Crazy witch…crazy old woman,” Harmond howled back. “How come these revelations to you?”
“Remedy!” she shouted. “Remedy saw it all and told me. I know all of thy wicked deeds.” She pierced him with her bold stare.
“Thy familiar. Thy cat that you suckle with the mole on thy chin! Evil wench! Dare you accuse me?” His voice echoed in the meadow.
“I accuse thee, Reverend George Harmond. Not only that, I curse thee, thy children and thy grandchildren, and their children after that. A curse will be upon your head, and I will wait in hell for thee.” She pointed a crooked finger at him. “Until you right this wrong, until you clear thy soul, thee and thine shall be cursed.”
Crude hands hustled her onto the boulder under the tree. Her feet slipped, but fingers like talons held her in place as she felt the bite of a hemp rope.
Her hideous gurgle matched the wails of Remedy as the cat was strung up next to Goody Bennett. She watched her cat swing at the end of a rope, her face caught in a feral snarl, its frantic cries becoming fainter and fainter. The sky darkened, mists rolled in, and the sound of the Reverend Harmond’s voice became nothing more than a drone of bees on a summer day.
“So what happened to Claire?
Claire…where is she again?” Gibson girl asked.
“Oh, here we go. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m right here,” Claire called from a lower branch. “Arielle,” she called faintly, “leave this place.”
Arielle
The cell phone’s ring burst the night air.
“Dad?” Arielle answered the call. “Yeah, I’m with Chad. Um…no, the movie was boring.” Chad moved away from her, lighting up another cigarette. “It’s early,” she whined. “I don’t want to. We’re hanging out. Just hanging out. I won’t. Uh-huh, un-huh. All right,” she hissed. Arielle was silent for a few moments, her voice resentful, her eyes glistening with tears. “Okay. I said okay. Bye.”
“What did he want?” Chad asked grudgingly. “Do you have to go home?”
Arielle shrugged, her eyes downcast. “Soon. When is Leo going to get here?”
Chad looked at this cell and noted the time. “Should be here any minute.”
Arielle stood and brushed off her pants. “Maybe you should just take me home.”
Chad’s face darkened. “If you want to leave, call your old man and have him pick you up. What did he say: you’re too young to be out with me?”
Arielle didn’t answer, so he continued. “He is so going to ruin your life, Arielle. Your dad is too controlling.”
“He’s just watching out for me.”
“He’s gothic. Everybody is out. Look, you won’t drink, you don’t smoke, and you are the only one who won’t smoke weed. Let me tell you, Arielle, most of us aren’t going to take it for much longer.”
She wanted so badly to be accepted. When her mom had left to move to the city, Arielle had been crushed. Even though they weren�
�t close, she was her mom and a constant in her life. They didn’t spend much time together. Arielle couldn’t understand what she saw in her boss. Well, for that matter, she couldn’t see what her father saw in Belinda either. Why were her parents so consumed with sex? Why couldn’t they be like other parents and worry about things like ball games or shopping in big-box stores? Sighing, she admitted she liked her dad. He was always there for her. Except when he was on duty, and she understood that. Then Grandma pinched-hit. She was a character, and Arielle adored her. Her mom had the reverse role that most of her friends had with their dads. They breezed in and out of their lives, working long hours to support the families. She always knew her mom had a really important job and made way more money than her dad. He didn’t mind and was happy she found something she loved—only nobody expected her to love it that much! It had been a hellish week. Mom announced she was moving with Tyler to LA. She and her sister could come and visit sometime next year. Her whole life was decided without her even being a part of the discussion. What if she didn’t want to stay in New York? What if she preferred her mom to her dad? It seemed her opinion was not important, and, for that, Arielle was still mad at both of her parents. She had started hanging out with this crowd about then. Her pierced nose followed, along with a small tattoo on her right butt cheek that no one knew about. They were small rebellions, petty punishments for being ignored. Now she was on the verge of going all the way with Chad not because she liked him, she admitted finally to herself. It was a way to get back at her parents, let them know some decisions were hers and hers alone.
Martin And Arthur
Oyster Bay, 1915
“I don’t want to go to school there!” Martin whined, throwing his napkin on the elegant dining table.
“Martin Pace,” his mother drawled, “this display will stop instantly. Your Uncle Clive went to great lengths to get you into Harvard Law. You will finish what has been started for you.” She gestured for the platter of cooling cutlets to be taken away.
“I don’t like it, Mother. I want to join the army.” Martin stood before a Turner landscape that took up a whole wall of the dining room.
The Hanging Tree Page 3