“How do you know all this?” I uttered.
“Nuns do gossip,” she said. “Many of the women here would prefer to be elsewhere and gossip more than they pray.”
“Then why are they here?” I asked.
“Perhaps they are avoiding marriage. Following God instead of a husband seems like the lesser of two evils, for many women, not that Catholicism is evil. Oh, Annie, I did not mean to say that. I just meant that giving up ones independence one way is a lesser evil to some, than giving it up another way. Many nuns do have the true calling, perhaps most, but so many women have so few choices, it is either God or marriage. One’s heart is all one can really follow, hopefully it is followed wisely.”
“I heard the girl is ugly.” I smiled.
“I have never laid eyes on her but I hear she looks like a well fed rat.”
“Do you know where Ursula lives with her friend?” I asked.
She looked at me and shook her head.
“It is right off the corner of Lafayette and Carroll. It is very lovely, with tall white columns and a pretty porch,” I told her.
“I am sure I can find it.”
“I want you to go there at four thirty and bring Ursula to the cathedral, the one that idiot has built on our property. Have her there by ten of five. Tell her I sent you to retrieve her, and it is for her own well-being that she accompanies you. Tell her nothing else.”
“And what about you, where will you be?”
“I will be there,” I told her. “We must act quickly. I am expected to be at Luther’s door by five this evening. But I must intercept Jeanne Elemont before that hour.”
“What is going to happen, Annie?” she asked as I opened the door and checked to make sure there was no one in the hall.
I turned back to her and smiled.
“Just a little revenge,” I whispered.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I found Father Donovan in his study behind a pile of papers. The room was dark and comfortable. A lamp glowed on his desk and gave off a gentle but indiscriminate hue. I remembered the very first time I had seen electricity as Ann Arlin Peckham, how I had turned the switches off and on because it had so fascinated me. Now I stared at the simplicity of the electric lamp he used. I thought of his excitement over the elevated tracks he referred to as Spider Lady and how he admired the great, dramatic sweep of the Brooklyn Bridge. I felt a tear in the corner of my eye as I recalled how he had held my head in his arms and fed me. The tears increased and ran down my cheeks, tears I did not attempt to hide. In that moment, I loved this man. I loved his innocence, his moment upon the earth, the physical presence that was his alone. I stood there crying like a fool in his doorway until he raised his head in my direction.
“Father Julian! My good man, what is it?” He peered at me over his glasses. He stared at my weeping face.
“God bless you, Father,” I whispered. “God bless your sweetness, the goodness you attempt to instill, the God you worship and the souls you save. God bless your time in this one brief moment of eternity.”
“Father?” he whispered.
“I love you,” I said. “Your despair and your joy will not die with your flesh. Your beauty will not fade. You are magnificent, sir. You are quite divine.”
“Father?”
“I have come to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?”
“I do not have much time.”
“Time? Time for what?”
“I am a witch,” I said.
“What?”
He stood up tall and stared at me.
And so I told him everything, as I knew it. I spoke quickly and did not look at him as I revealed my soul. I doubt if he believed in my magic, but he listened.
When my tale was told, I looked into his eyes. I am not sure what I was looking for, forgiveness, perhaps. I wiped away the tears and stood up to leave.
“Julian?”
“It is Annabel, sir.”
“It is not rational. All that you have told me, it is not rational.”
“No, it is not rational.”
“God is not only an act of faith. We can reason the existence of God but not…this hocus-pocus you speak of.”
“If I can affirm that I am here, then I can also affirm that I am not,” I said. “Perhaps there is logic in that, perhaps not, but it is so.”
“I’ve always believed in the afterlife,” he told me.
“Father,” I said. “There is no afterlife. We are all…gone. We are all…here.”
“That is not rational, either,” he said again.
“We will not find God through reason, never through reason.”
“What’s that?”
“Passion, Father, the stroke of a brush on canvas—the sweep of a violin—a dancer’s graceful leap—a soldier’s grief—autumn unfolding in the crisp yellow gold of death, there’s God. But reason is too long a road to take to find that connection to the Almighty. It is passion that will lead us to God, not detachment.”
“Lead? To lead is to follow forward toward a future you say we do not have.”
“In reality, it is only the spirit that moves, but the spirit moves not back and not forward,” I said. I felt weary. “How can the spirit move forward or backward without step or motion? The spirit can only move through God.”
“In the name of the Father, the son and the holy ghost,” he recited, and it sounded like a song from his lips.
It was then I took his hand in mine and kissed his fingers before taking the white collar from around my neck and leaving it there on his desk under the glow of his electric lamp. I could hear him blessing me as I walked out the door.
* * * *
It was so unlike September. Early evening had a chill and night was falling with a hint of frost. Leaves were abundant and snapped beneath my feet as the wind kicked up and blew my jacket collar up to the tips of my ears. The knuckles on my fist were whitening from the grasp of my hands over my closed lapels. My breath was tight and kissed the air in smoky rings. The sky was cast in a charcoal light that draped across the fading sun.
Calvin called to me as I approached the absurdity of my old dear home, its distasteful, bright colors sadly contradicting the somber nebulosity of the darkening sky.
The pistol he placed in my hand was small and cold against my flesh. I took the weapon and sent him back to the house. I told him I would call on him and not to wait in his room but to keep his eye on Luther. He did not question my motive, so I told him nothing more.
Jeanne’s carriage was precisely on time. I watched behind a parade of bushes as she emerged. Her cape, swept lightly by the wind like strokes of affection, was lavender and full and fell to her ankles. Her heels made taps on the concrete street, and I could almost hear her breathe as her brisk steps came toward me. She had the air of wealth, so scrubbed that her ivory skin peeked out from her fur-lined hood and beguiled the darkness.
I felt in my pocket for the rags and cord that I had taken from the church kitchen. I slipped my finger near the trigger of the pistol’s wooden handle and pointed it toward her approaching form. I felt quite masterful. I let Jeanne Elemont pass me on the walk, and then I slipped through the bushes and followed her step. When I felt for certain that she was far enough away from the street and yet not too close to Luther’s door, I jumped her from behind and held the pistol to her temple. She gasped loudly but did not scream out. I forced her to the ground on her stomach and pushed the pistol into her back.
“I am not above murder if you resist me,” I told her.
I grabbed all the rags and cord and stuffed her mouth. I tied her so she could not scream. I pulled her hands behind her back and tied them as well. Next I bound her feet so she could not kick me when I turned her over. As I did so, she searched my face and stared into my eyes. I searched hers and smiled. She was frightened and confused. I reached up, and I lifted the chain from my neck and removed the cross. I watched, as she took in the image of Annabel Horton, and it was like watchi
ng someone die without the ability to manipulate the unfolding second. And as the shadow of my features left its darkness across her white skin, I embraced the fear I found in her eyes. She went limp in my arms, and I thought for a moment that she might have fainted.
I picked her up and carried her inside the cathedral. She was lighter than I expected and felt like nothing more substantial than a pile of clothes in my arms. I placed her on the altar. I had passed the five-pointed star and the stone and wooden statues of gods that I did not know. The witch was mumbling. It sounded like a prayer or a call; I could not tell. I watched the silent statues, their stone eyes and the long, curled tails. I thought I picked up the scent of something rotting but it faded fast.
The back door opened with a start and a clamor and I looked up, the pistol poised in my hand. Elizabeth entered with Ursula Boussidan, but stopped abruptly when she saw my weapon. Ursula, however, was not afraid and walked slowly to the altar where Jeanne Elemont lay bound. She said something that I could not hear, and then spit in the witch’s face. I could tell, despite the rag that covered Jeanne Elemont’s mouth, that she was calling on her demons to defend her. The statues were slowly turning and their eyes appeared to quiver, but I could not be sure. I could not dwell on the possibility that they might have power.
Ursula, now old and slow to movement, walked back to where I was and stood before me. She looked long and hard at my face. She closed her eyes and began to mumble the Lord’s Prayer. She reached for the cross around my neck and kissed it, called out the name of Jesus once again, and fell to her knees.
“I am ready to die,” she whispered.
Elizabeth watched from the shadows as I pulled the old woman to her feet. I removed the chain and cross from around my neck and stared at her. She looked at me for quite some time.
“There is no recognition?” I finally whispered and showed my surprise to Elizabeth.
The old woman shook her head. “What recognition?”
I grabbed her and took her to the bound body of Jeanne Elemont.
“Tell her who I am, daughter of the devil,” I commanded as I removed the rag from her mouth.
“It is the lost witch from Salem.”
“Annabel Horton?” Ursula gasped and turned to stare at me.
“And you do not see it?” I said.
“No,” she said softly. “I do not.”
I stuffed the witch’s mouth again and then put the cross back around my neck. I sat Ursula in a chair.
“So she is not a witch,” I said to Elizabeth. “How is it you came to be Jeanne Elemont’s lover?” I asked Ursula as I turned back to her.
“Jed.”
“Jed?”
“Yes, Jed, Catherine’s brother. We became friends. He told me all about his family when I was there, in Loudon, passing myself off as a boy to avoid the convent. I worked as a tutor, and I taught him French. He told me his half-sister was very rich and his father was furious that he could not gain control of her estate.”
“Ah yes, Jed,” I said. “He also knew Father Jacques?”
“Yes. That is how I met Jeanne. It was Father Jacques that told Jed to look up the daughter of an old friend while he was studying for the priesthood at Loudon. The daughter he referred to was Jeanne Elemont.”
“And it was Jed that introduced you?”
“Yes. Jeanne and I became fast friends, as you know.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Well, the story about Jed’s half-sister filled much of our evening conversations, and we devised a plan while we drank red wine and cooked our meals. It began first as a fantasy, something we joked about. But then, before I knew it, we stopped our joking over it.”
“And you came here to follow through with murder?”
“We came to America with the plan in place, but I really did not take it seriously, at first, even though we had gone over and over it.”
“Jed knew of it?”
“No. Jed had nothing to do with it. It was Jeanne that came up with it once she learned how good my charade as a man was and how much money was at stake.”
“What was the plan?”
“You know of it.”
“Tell it to me.”
“As Ursula, I was to seduce Malcolm into trusting me. I was to become his mistress and make him part of the plan. Then I was to seduce Catherine, in the guise of Louis.”
“I see.”
“Malcolm, of course, knew of my intention to manipulate his daughter. He didn’t care. He wanted only the money. Once I had control of Catherine, I would get her to kill off the lawyer, William, I believe his name was. With William out of the way, I could write up a new will.”
“And then?” I asked as she paused.
“As Catherine’s husband, I would inherit Catherine’s share of the estate, and Jeanne and I would then abscond back to Europe with the money and live happily ever after, or so I thought.”
“And Malcolm?”
“The new will, if you remember, would have been sizable. He would not have cared, even if he knew of my relationship with Jeanne. He was to become too rich to care. Besides, he was not in love with me; he loved no one.”
“How perfect. Did you not know Jeanne was a witch?”
Ursula laughed. “I knew she said she was a witch. It frightened me to hear her say that, but I tried not to believe her. I didn’t believe her, not really.”
“They planned to murder Rachel, to sacrifice her to Satan. You knew it. You were there. And you murdered my granddaughter, as well. What is that if not evil magic?”
“I did not murder anyone,” she said. “I was relieved when you came to the church and saved Rachel. I even tried to stop William Davenport’s murder. I began to get cold feet, but Catherine was obsessed with the idea and followed through, despite my protest. It was then I began to realize the hole I was digging for myself. I was scared to death of Jeanne Elemont once I realized she was capable of anything. That is why I had to continue being her lover when I had come to hate her. I was petrified. At first, it was only a game. I told you, I never really believed we were ever serious about murdering anyone. But as we got deeper and deeper into the plan I realized she was fiercely capable of all things evil.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said.
I lifted my hands in the air and felt magic so powerful that it swept me off my feet. I knew in that moment that I could easily swallow the soul of one woman and move it into the body of the other through nothing more than will and an ancient prayer on my lips, a prayer that emerged from my consciousness like primal memories coming to light.
“No matter,” I said. “What does it matter now?”
I knew that as powerful as Jeanne Elemont was, she was no match for Annabel Horton. I smiled at Elizabeth, who watched me.
I turned to the old woman and told her that she would soon be clothed in hair like woven gold, skin as fine and flawless as a porcelain doll, and lashes so long and thick that they would flirtatiously shade her sea blue eyes from the admiring glances of young and handsome women.
“And why would you do that for me?” she asked.
“It is not for you, dear Ursula. I have selfish reasons. Without you, I cannot get my hands on my own money. When you become Jeanne Elemont, you will return the house to me and my family—the entire estate, as well. As I said, I will allow you a percentage for your troubles.”
“I pray then that you are every bit the witch they say you are,” Ursula said as she clutched my arm.
I did not hear the rear door open but I suddenly felt that I was being watched. I looked behind me. I noticed a shadow that stood near a badly disfigured stone figure. Elizabeth followed my gaze. I put the chain back around my neck and held my arms in front of me. I feared it might be Urbain that stood ready to pounce on my flesh.
“Release her at once!” I heard a woman call out.
I let out a sigh of relief. My fear subsided, and I lowered my hands, for I had no reason to fear a woman. She stepped out of the shadows
and walked toward me like a soldier prepared to meet the enemy. As she got closer I gasped.
“Good God,” I cried. “It is Eugenie Anderson!”
She moved her hand like a whip, and as she did, my body was thrown to the floor with a terrific force. Poor Elizabeth had been thrown near me and seemed to bump her head rather badly on the wall. I could hear Ursula laughing.
I looked up to see Eugenie standing over me. She turned to look at the body of Jeanne Elemont, which was tied to the altar. She appeared confused and stared back at me.
“What is this?” I heard her ask, with her hands outstretched like weapons. “Who are you, and what are you doing?”
“Oh my God,” I heard Elizabeth utter, and I watched as Eugenie turned to the nun. To my amazement, she cried out and ran into Elizabeth’s arms. The two women began sobbing and clutching each other like long-lost friends while Ursula and I stood by and gaped.
Finally, Elizabeth looked up and laughed.
“Oh, if only I had left the convent and ventured to your door. If only I had known.”
“I thought I’d never see you again, dear Elizabeth,” Eugenie said.
“Remove your cross again, Annie.” Elizabeth smiled at me.
“Annie?” I heard Eugenie utter.
I slowly took the chain from my neck and lifted it. The minute I pulled it over my head I saw my own dear Meredith Mae behind the sweet, tender features of the woman I had recently encountered as Eugenie Anderson.
“Good God.” I smiled through tears.
“Oh, Grandmamma, if only you had taken off that magical cross when you came looking for me. You would have seen me right away. I thought you brought harm. I came to protect Ursula. We planned it after you left. We thought you were some servant of Jeanne Elemont’s that came to destroy us.”
Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem Page 37