by Aaron Galvin
I know better than to argue. Nothing will give her cause to move once her mind is made. As I climb the steps, I think on how long Mother and Father have been gone. The thought frightens me some, but not enough to journey outside and be scolded for leaving the safety of home.
Once in the confines of my room, I thumb through the few remaining pages of Thomas Putnam’s journal. Sleep is calling my name, and, while I do not wish for night terrors of children clapped in irons, I must know the fate of those condemned.
***
I had not thought it should ever come to this. I sought only vengeance against those who trespassed against me, not children.
Dr. Campbell made mention that the villagers allowed the child led away further proves our hold over them. No one dares speak against the accusers now lest they be clapped for doing so.
Indeed, even I have not raised objections though I fear the afflicted girls go too far in this. I wish I could coerce them and my Ann into reversing their claims against Dorothy Good, but to do so would weaken our position. Still, the thought of such a young girl shivering in the cold cells next to her mother haunts me.
19th day of April, 1692
I grow fearful our position weakens.
Dr. Campbell refuses to meet with me any longer, instead communicating through Reverend Parris. Blast him! Has Campbell not come to me on several occasions for information on my neighbors? Did I not warn John Proctor should be dealt with sooner? Proctor has ever been dismissive of the afflicted girls’ claims, and more vocal still once the girls accused his wife.
It matters little with Proctor now also accused, but I have heard others say it was only because he protested his wife’s arrest. It takes but a small crack in the rock for water to split it; I fear Proctor may have begun what will be our undoing.
Furthermore, we are now forced to deal with the Proctors’ servant, Mary Warren. My daughter mentioned to me some time ago Warren eagerly wished to join the afflicted girls’, but Proctor would not allow her to leave his home. Warren claimed Proctor beat her for claiming she, too, is afflicted and warned of further torments if she continued her claim. Two weeks past, she admitted before the magistrates she were a liar and neither afflicted, nor a witch.
Dr. Campbell warned such would happen. He said it necessary for one of the girls to break from the fold that the others bear witness to Warren’s pains when his potion is withheld. In this way he keeps them loyal.
I have seen Warren scratching at her body already; a sure sign the lack of potion affects her.
On the matter of potion, I have asked Dr. Campbell to wean my daughter of its evil power since first I learned of its power. The damnable man obliged me, but only when I pay him handsomely to do so.
Parris mentioned he requested the same but quickly grew short of income, and so sent his Betty away to live with the Sewalls. He hopes time might draw the poison from her. However, he did not send Abigail Williams away, in keeping his end of the bargain to supply an afflicted girl.
Indeed, despite my own misgivings, I, too, have seen my share in this plot upheld. I had Ann allege the spirit of a man rumored murdered by Giles Corey many years ago now torments her. The specter requested Giles not be shown the rope, but rather, be pressed to death to extend his suffering.
I shall do all in my power to see the so-named specter be pleased. Aye, and see Corey’s body crushed in equal to the fortune he stole from me.
7th day of May, 1692
It appears Dr. Campbell’s reach has no bounds.
I had Ann accuse our former reverend George Burroughs of witchery less than a week ago, but ne’er expected to see him returned to Salem. Today, I witnessed him drove in, clapped in irons.
More of my earlier written fears have also been assuaged, for now.
Mary Warren recanted her position but a few days after my last entry. The lack of potion must be a wicked sort. Now she is deemed a hypocrite, and defies the Proctors who employed her.
Indeed, the accusations are daily routine here and now.
I find myself again marveling at Dr. Campbell’s plan; because the crime of witchery occurs in Reverend Cotton Mather’s invisible world, there be no evidence but what the girls allow. Yet even I, who well know their claims false, am amazed at how convincing their portrayals of affliction be. The girls act a marvelous show before the accused, none more so than Abigail Williams. Where she rocks and condemns, the others are quick to join, aping her every whim.
10th day of May, 1692
I am again repaid for my part in this plot.
Goody Osborne died in prison today. Her lands now belong to me until her sons come of age. I mean to profit much from them until then. And who is to say, in time the boys may also be condemned for witchery…
18th day of May, 1692
I must needs remind Griggs to thank me for the part my daughter played today, she being chief among the accusers against his competitor, Dr. Toothaker. It helped our cause Toothaker performed medicine these many years with no proper education. “How is it one could acquire such knowledge without being schooled,” others have asked. “And how is it a man and daughter who have killed a witch came to know what a witch was, but they be witches also?”
“How indeed?” I whispered in their ears.
Reverend Parris is also repaid for his loyalty. His ill will struck again at Rebecca Nurse and her goodly family of high esteem by way of my servant, Mercy.
Upon the declaration and freeing of Nurse’s sister, Mary Easty, this afternoon, I had Mercy accuse her anew. Easty now rots in chains again, not a few hours after her release.
I am told she wishes her accusers judged in court.
We deemed it a fool’s defense for a woman to so boldly speak to such learned men.
Her challenge went unheeded.
***
Is this the truth Hecate bid me find? I wonder as I turn the page. That the Salem trials occurred only because corrupt men warranted it for vengeance sake?
***
31st day of May, 1692
I swear Dr. Campbell has aged ten years since I saw him last. Tonight, whilst giving Ann her treatment of potion, he looked over his shoulder so often I feared he had drunk of his own stores. He attempted to take his leave quickly, but I bid him stay a moment.
I mentioned a point I have recently thought much on…many of the afflicted girls are orphans. Aye, and made orphans by the Indian war. I admitted I had thought little of this earlier, but the plan is genius. If the girls are found frauds, their lives mean little to anyone with no family to speak of. Likewise, they cannot betray us lest they face the torments Mary Warren experienced.
I had always deemed Dr. Campbell’s choices wise, but of late I am less sure.
The girls seem now vindictive. Indeed, Abigail Williams revels in her newfound power, tossing accusations against some with no guidance from any of us.
Dr. Campbell did nothing to assuage my doubts. He said only he would think on what I had told him.
I have been most discomforted ever since he took his leave. There has been a reason for all he set in motion thus far. I would be a fool to not think he has further plots. But what plans are they, and where do I place among them?
I wish to end this eve’s entry on a note of happy circumstance. I saw Captain John Alden, Jr. recently seized and arrested for witchery. I had seen him accused, but not yet heard he returned from ransoming prisoners. I wonder how a traitorous dog will fare when locked away in the dark? I mean to visit him there. Aye, and ask if he yet feels his Wabanaki medicine man could strike witchery from the countryside.
3rd day of June, 1692
I woke this morning to Griggs beating upon my door. I answered believing he meant to relay news about a Court of Oyer and Terminer recently issued, with Lieutenant Governor William Stoughton appointed to rule over it. Stoughton’s close friendship with Reverend Cotton Mather makes his judgment nigh invincible, and it is said he will allow spectral evidence into the courts. I could not see how any o
f the accused may hope to clear their names with these good tidings.
Griggs bore ill news. He claimed Dr. Campbell never came to him with potion for his niece. Indeed, he feared the founder of our plan disappeared in the night. A visit to Ingersoll’s inn proved it so.
God, but where can he be? How could he abandon us now?
Parris has ventured off to find him, claiming business abroad. He asked of me to keep watch over Abigail Williams, which I agreed to readily.
We have since agreed to proceed as planned until Campbell be found. If he is, mayhap the young doctor will learn what the accused experience. He is still a stranger to these parts, after all, and it would be easy for me to convince the others such a man does not tarry here with good intent.
***
Clink!
“Sarah!” The familiar voice comes from outside. It sounds like a girl’s, but croaky and deeper. I close the journal, and go to the window.
“Sarah!”
“Ruth?” I ask.
“No. Come down…”
I look to the rifle beside me. Father once taught me to shoot when we heard the Tuscaroras raided nearby. He claimed me not a bad shot for a girl with no experience. It angered me so that I practiced until I could shoot an apple off a scarecrow from fifty yards away. But that were four year ago. I have not felt the coldness of a trigger since.
“Who are you?” I ask. “What do you want of me?”
The bushes rustle. A living, twitching nightmare steps from behind it. I would think she shivered from the cold had I not seen Ruth’s body do the same.
“Charlotte!” I say. “Oh, Charlotte. Where have you been?”
She seems not to have heard me. Her head snaps nervously in the direction of every sound in the night as if she is privy to whispers I am not. “Come with me, Sarah,” Charlotte says. “You must come with me to the gathering!”
“I cannot. My father will—”
“Come with me!” Charlotte insists. “You must. I-I have need of a witness.”
“But I do not think I should.”
Charlotte falls to her knees and weeps. “They will not give me more without you. I-I have need of it. Please come with me—” Her head jerks up. “You! You could take of the powder also! Then we can truly be sisters, Sarah. Aye! Moon sisters forever and ever!”
“Charlotte…”
“I need it, Sarah! I nee—”
A shadow leaps from the corner of my home. It spears Charlotte to the ground. Her wails of torment die, replaced by furious hissing as the shadow attempts to subdue her. It climbs atop her belly and sits with its knees upon her shoulders. Charlotte scarcely seems to feel its weight. Swinging her arms about, screaming like a wounded pig, she claws wildly at the shadow.
“Where are they, Charlotte Bailey?”
Father…How is it he came there?
“Tell me, child!”
I leap from my window.
“Why do they come for me now?” Father demands of her.
Charlotte chuckles, the sound of it laced with scorn. “You know why…”
Father slaps her. “Tell me!”
“Nooo!” she screams.
I pull at Father’s shoulder for striking her. He roughly pushes me away, sprawling my body to the ground.
Charlotte continues to flail. “Release me!”
Mother restrains me ere I can speak sense to Charlotte. “No, Sarah,” she says. “Leave her be!”
Mother means to drag me to the house.
“Charlotte,” I say, fighting through tears. “Charlotte, it is I, Sarah.”
I see her writhe and buck with the ferocity of an unbroken stallion.
“I need it…” She snarls. “I need it…”
Father struggles to stay on top of her. “I will help you, child. But first tell—”
“They will kill you!”
Father succeeds in grabbing Charlotte’s wrists. He strains to push her arms to the ground.
Charlotte is too strong. “I need it!”
She shirks her arms straight out like she be crucified. The sudden move pitches Father forward, crashing him headlong into the grass. Charlotte rises and makes for the corn like a startled fawn bolts for the thicket.
I hear twin rifles bark.
George and Andrew awoke with the commotion. The smoke clears. I look to the window. Both reload powder and shot.
There is no reason to do so.
I thank God for their poor aim as Charlotte disappears into the field.
Mother releases me that she may help Father.
He pushes her away. Then he glares at me. “Where is she going?”
“I-I do not—”
Father crosses the few feet between us and slaps me. “Do not lie to me!”
“Paul!” Mother yells.
I rub the sting in my cheek. When I draw the courage to look up, I see Father is gone, replaced by a mad man with murderous rage pulsing through him.
“She mentioned a gathering,” he says. “Do you know of what she speaks? Where it occurs?”
I nod.
He grabs my arm. Pulls me back to my feet. “And the Devil’s powder—did you take of it?”
“No…” I say quietly.
Father studies me. By the look of his face, he wrestles with the truth of it. He releases me, but the force of his grasp leaves a mark soon to bruise upon my wrist. “What did he look like?”
“He?”
“Aye. He,” Father sneers. “The man who offered the powder to you. What did he look like?”
I cannot understand this. Why should a man have been at the moon dance? “But no man offered me anything, Father.”
Father raises his hand. “I will not warn you again, Sarah. Describe him to me.”
Mother steps between us. “You will not strike her again.”
“You do not command me, woman,” Father says. “I will stop the moment she speaks truth.”
I flinch, but do not shy away. “I tell you true. There was no man. A woman offered me the powder. I swear it on my soul. The others…they named her Hecate. The Devil’s daughter.”
“Daughter?” Father lowers his hand. My answer has thrown him. He looks up at the moon, puzzled. I see him grimace. “So that be his plan…Very well. Then I must away to meet this...daughter…of his. Sarah, fetch my rifle from your brother.”
Father leaves Mother and me. Her tears wet my arm.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” I say. “I never meant—”
She tries to pull me close. I will not allow it, lest she keep me in her embrace until Father arrives and strikes me again for not doing as bidden. I leave her there, and away to fetch Father’s rifle.
For a moment, I fear George will not part with it peacefully. For a moment, I hope he does not. Anger I did not know existed swelled in my heart the moment Father struck my cheek. It must be plain upon my face.
George gives the rifle over willingly.
I hear the barn doors kicked open.
Father rides our painted mare, the one Rebecca named Callie, the fastest we own. He barely stops to allow me up behind him before kicking Callie’s ribs so savagely it sounds like the booming of a drum. Tearing across the yard, bound for the distant woods, she carries us toward a gathering beneath the moon.
-9-
Like Priest and Bishop, Father keeps us within sight of the corn yet he will not approach the rows. He gives our mount no rest until we reach the field of dandelions. All their whimsical florets are gone now. Killed by a frost.
A pillar of smoke rises deep within the woods. Already the dark melody plays from somewhere deep inside. Tonight the tune is different; the once gleeful pipes replaced by ominous drumming.
Father slides off Callie. He pulls me down and gives me the reins so he might load his rifle.
Callie quivers with cold sweat. I wish I had an apple to give her. I tie her off inside the woods so her silhouette will not stand out against the field. I turn back to find Father waiting on me.
“Lead on
,” he says.
I do so slowly, listening for any sign we are not alone. I hear not even the rustling of underbrush behind me from Father. With him silent, the darkness sports with my mind. It makes me recall when I once shared these woods with my friends. The happy memories I have are changed, however, replaced by those with friends tearing at their faces in scratching fits of agony.
A twig snaps beneath my foot.
“-arah,” Father halts me with a stern whisper. He intentionally leaves off the S in my name rather than let anyone who may lie in wait hear the hard sound it makes. He points to his feet, then to my chest.
I am to follow where he steps. I nod.
He shakes his head then takes the lead.
The ill thoughts of my friends return. I push them away by concentrating on Father’s feet. I pretend we are Indians sneaking upon our victims as George and his friends used to play.
My pretense does not work. It only serves to remind me there may truly be painted braves waiting to scalp me ere I knew the deed had been done. I tell myself Father would not let anything happen to me.
The dull sting in my cheek cautions to doubt even that once certainty.
The gathering is much further than I estimated. On and on we walk, deeper into the wild than ever I dared venture alone or with my friends. The wood spirits whisper to one another high in the trees. They creak the branches in mockery of my fears.
All prayers I offer they be silenced go unanswered. I sense a black magic in the leafy canopy that prevents them from rising to Heaven for God to hear.
A pack of wolves howls in the distance.
I halt. “Father, I can go no further.”
In answer, he roughly grabs the shoulder of my dress to pull me along. I shut my eyes, and allow myself to be led.
The music grows louder with every step I take. I try and give over to its rhythm again, but the power it once held over me is now lost. It must know I turned away from Hecate’s flock and has excommunicated me for my betrayal.
I run into Father’s back. We have stopped behind a sprawling oak. Beyond its woody borders I see firelight.
Father squats and peeks around it.
I follow his example, and gasp at the sight of nigh a hundred followers dancing in the circle of oneness.