Curse Strings
Page 14
It was leather-bound, old for sure, and I handled it gently. I’d learned that from Georgianne.
I looked at the title, and my hand involuntarily shot up and covered my mouth.
Grady looked at me with concern.
“It’s okay, just a really, really old book.”
He nodded.
The Witch That Got Away was printed on the cover.
I thought about why Dorothy had pushed me out the door. I thought about her purpose in giving me this book.
My aunt wanted me to do more than walkabout. She wanted me to understand that being a powerful witch in Widow’s Bay went beyond me. I knew it was supposed to be bigger than my doubts and more significant than my own family. But I was having a tough time seeing beyond Joe right now or seeing past my own mistakes.
Was this book intended to help?
Grady was quiet and left me to my thoughts.
I carefully opened the book.
I didn’t know if I’d find the handwriting an ancestor, or a spider would crawl out, or with my luck, I would rip a hole in the fabric of the universe just by touching it.
I was surprised to find that it was printed text. This was an actual book, not a family diary passed down through the generations.
The imprint dated it at 1834. That was a decade before the civil war and decades after the founding of America.
I put my finger to the page and traced the name of the author, Elizabeth Bowden.
The words on the page pulled me in. With each sentence I saw the world through Elizabeth Bowden’s eyes.
My Name is Elizabeth
I was born in 1684. I am the daughter of Sarah Nurse and the granddaughter of Rebecca Nurse.
At present I am older now than anyone I’ve ever known, or met, save one.
My earliest memories are of church services, chores, and my older siblings minding me. I remember woods, farmland, and how the town I was born in looked, and how it smelled. Though I don’t think I could name a street.
Small children don’t remember street names or directions. The senses have memory, though, more than the brain, and you can recall how a place made you feel.
Looking back through the decades upon decades, to when I was a small child, some things are so vivid to me, still. Other things have faded. Try as I might I cannot remember some of the names to go with the faces that once were so dear to me.
I have kept a diary since the moment I was no longer in danger. I could read and write at a young age. But I had no access to anything to record such things.
Until I fled to the wild.
Fled.
I suppose it is more accurate to say I was spirited away. I could no more determine my fate at age eight than any eight-year-old child.
Later I discovered more things about my family, about our history in the colonies, about our station, but I am trying now to convey my honest recollections.
Historians can fill in the details recorded in their books. This is what I know to be true, or at least true as seen through my eyes.
For one, I did not know we were a family of sterling reputation and considerable means in Salem. But we were.
My station in the family, as the youngest daughter, was low, but I was beloved.
I remember that feeling, of being beloved. I charmed my father, and I brought smiles to my grandfather’s eyes. I knew that even my pious and serious grandmother, who seemed so old to me, even now and I’ve surpassed her by decades, allowed me extra cherries when it was time to gather them.
I know I was eight-year-old because that was when my grandmother was taken away from us.
Others have asked how my mother and father reacted. They want to know if I remember the moment that Rebecca Nurse was arrested. I do not. I was not there.
They think that I must have known she was a witch. I know only that she loved me. That she made me practice reading my verses. That she scolded us if we misbehaved. And that she expected us to be servants of the lord, as was she.
If she had powers, magic or otherwise. I was not a witness to them.
I was a witness to the tortured she endured at the hands of pious men.
I witnessed this when I visit her in jail.
It was a terrible place, even for a devil to be locked up, much less my pious, and good neighbored grandmother.
And yet, she was taken away from us. And that was where they made her stay.
The volume and mood of conversation dramatically shifted around our home, and around our supper table in those months. Outrage, arguments, and logical planning was replaced by panic and then whispering.
My boisterous nature was no longer charming or beloved. It was to be quieted. I was to be quiet.
All talk had metamorphosized into furtive whispers.
While she still lived, a man came to our house. He was a man that made an impression. He was taller than most. He smelled of outdoors, of smoke and tobacco. It was difficult for me, who’d only heard neighbors speak, to understand his words. His words came from far away places I didn’t even imagine.
I learned soon that the whispers were really plans. And while the town accused my grandmother and then my aunts of making a deal with the devil the truth of my life was this, my parents made a deal with this stranger.
His name was Etienne Brule.
I stopped reading. This was it. This was the story of the Nurse Family. This was Dorothy’s story and mine.
I looked back down to the words on the page, Elizabeth’s words. She was my great grandmother many times over, though I didn’t know how many greats.
She’d written this book, and Dorothy wanted me to read it.
Grady drove on. I returned to the delicate pages.
I have recorded all this for you. For the witch you will become, Marzenna, so you know, what was sacrificed, and how I came to this wilderness. I may rightly be called a witch. But also, I can rightly claim the title pioneer. Widow’s Bay was my frontier and here is why I charge you with protecting it!
The End
Marzie’s journey and Elizabeth Bowden’s continue in Widow’s Bay Book Six - Intermittent Casting
Up Next - Intermittent Casting
Widow’s Bay Book Six
A Note From Rebecca
I hope you enjoyed Curse Strings. Consider leaving a review on Amazon. It’s the best way for readers to discover new books and authors.
I get a lot of reader requests for MORE AGNES and I have some great news. Agnes the fashion forward super snarky kitty is the star of her own story. Agnes Saves the Night is free and exclusive to my newsletter subscribers. Just sign up to my newsletter and I’ll email you Agnes Saves the Night.
Thank You and see you back in Widow’s Bay for Book Six - Intermittent Casting!
Sincerely,
Rebecca Regnier
About the Author
Rebecca Regnier is an award winning newspaper columnist and former television news anchor. She lives in Michigan with her husband and sons.
rebeccaregnier.com