Tammy laughed and waved a hand in the air. “I am bringing Gloucester’s new way of thinking to Salem, and yes, of course the book does our bidding. You can certainly write the name of your future husband on these pages; fill every page with your silly desires, for all I care. Unlike Violet’s mother, our future casting will come true and we shall have anything we long for, and what I desire—for now,” she said coyly, “is Thomas Parris.”
I bit my tongue. The Parris family would never embrace Tammy Younger as a suitable match for their Thomas. And though the reverend was not well liked in town, Thomas was. He lacked his father’s arrogance, and though some would malign him for simply being a Parris—unlike his parents—Thomas had a warmth to him.
At least I think he did. Since I returned from Gloucester, Thomas Parris had kept to himself with hardly a look my way. Seeing him with Tammy was the happiest he’d looked in months. Maybe there was something to Tammy’s prediction that she would be his wife, but if she put her wishes in the book, would Thomas be magically bound to her forever?
Did we have the right to take that choice away from him?
I thought Thomas might disappoint Tammy under the watchful eyes of Salem. Certainly, at services he could not fawn over her as she was accustomed in the shade of the oaks and maples.
Of course, it would be years before Thomas would be ready to take a wife. The immediate question was, would Tammy find a way to be at services tomorrow, and if so, how would Thomas react to seeing her out of the shadow of the woods and under the glaring light of the Salem congregation?
Tammy Younger may have thought that she brought her progressive ideas to Salem, but she had not yet sat through a day-long service led by the Reverend Parris. We may have wrought magic tonight, but we still were but three young girls under the thumb of all above us.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Elizabeth cleared her throat, and her eyes pleaded for me to give a word on the matter at hand, but I had none I was willing to voice in front of Tammy.
She exhaled with obvious disgust. “If you wish to speak to my stepfather, Tammy, I will not stop you. He has been a cold man long before my mother passed, but I suppose if anyone could persuade him to take on another mouth we can ill afford, it would no doubt be you.”
“Well, he has been feeding me—he just doesn’t know it—but I rather like the idea that I am a long-lost cousin. With your mother dead, you can vouch for me and come evening you and I will share a bed and I can be done with the vermin in the barn.” Tammy grinned, though it was clear to me that Elizabeth thought the prospect of moving Tammy from the barn into the household was nothing to smile about.
The snake rattled softly and it sent shivers down my spine.
Or perhaps Elizabeth wanted to keep some distance between them. I knew I did. I had just signed my name in a book and bonded myself to these girls—one of whom had shown herself to be reckless—no, dangerous—with her choices.
Looking up at Opias, who was now perched on a branch, I knew I was lying to myself.
I had known Tammy Younger was dangerous the moment I met her, yet I willingly went along with everything.
She spoke of revenge from the start, and even though that was not my motivation for joining the coven, I had helped set this new storm into motion, and I feared I would be helpless to stop it.
I was not surprised to see Sheriff Corwin’s name appear on the page, though. He had ruled the village of Salem through intimidation afforded by his high standing and wealth and became more and more ruthless as accusations had mounted.
John and Elizabeth Proctor had barely been accused of witchery and taken to jail when he swooped in with his men and looted their home, selling their livestock and belongings. The Proctors were not the only ones to have their things taken before a trial had even begun.
But looting was tame compared to Sheriff Corwin’s treatment of the accused. People had their arms and legs tied together behind their backs for days until they confessed—or not—but it was his treatment of Giles Corey that showed how truly vicious Corwin was.
Mr. Corey was a cantankerous man, bent and withered by seven decades on earth, and he had even joined my Betty, Abigail, and the other girls in accusing his own wife of bewitching their animals. When Ann Putnam Jr. accused Mr. Corey of sending his spectral self to her, no one was more surprised than Mr. Corey himself.
When the judge asked him how he should be tried, Giles Corey refused to respond, preventing his trial from beginning.
Sheriff Corwin thought he could get an answer they needed, though. Over a period of days, the sheriff had his men pile rocks on Mr. Corey’s naked body, hoping to force an answer out of him.
People still whisper how Giles’s swollen and parched tongue lolled out of his mouth on the second evening and the sheriff simply pushed it back in with the tip of his cane, still hoping the man would speak.
Finally, on the third day, Mr. Corey—eyes bulging, lungs struggling to take in air under the large pile of stones—took his last breath, remaining mute to the end.
If there was anyone more disliked than Reverend Parris, it was surely Sheriff Corwin, but he had a new wife and a young son, Bartholomew, who had taken his first steps but a year and a half ago. I could not deny he was a terrible man, but did he deserve our unearthly revenge?
I supposed Giles Corey might think so.
And Elizabeth’s mother.
I looked at the night sky through the clearing again. More stars showed themselves now that the moon had traveled farther across the sky—the North Star gleamed brighter than them all. I scowled. Perhaps the North Star would have no name for me but witch. Tonight, I took little comfort knowing it was also shining down on Mama and Papa, wherever they were. Mama was probably braiding her hair for bed and perhaps Papa was rubbing ointment on his arthritic hands so they would be ready to work the next day. Tonight, I feared they’d be ashamed of me if they knew what I had done.
I had signed my name and shed my blood because I wanted to be with my family again. Unlike Elizabeth, I had prayed we would be granted powers tonight, but now that I had seen creatures conjured from bits of scale and feather and a name written by magic, I feared that Tammy’s thirst for revenge might do real harm. And whatever happened, I would have to carry part of the blame on my own shoulders.
Did Mama feel that same kind of weight?
I felt a heaviness in my chest as if all the trees were falling on top of me. “I need to go home,” I said, as tears sprung to my eyes.
Tammy grabbed my shoulders, and I braced myself as she faced me. My chest puffed when I felt no surge of power from her fingers as she squeezed. “He will get what he deserves, Violet, and the next named as well. We live in a world of hard hearts and we need to fight against those who beat us down. Accept what the universe has given us with no remorse; embrace it.”
I looked into her eyes. “I have been given a raven. I do not have what I most desire.”
“Patience is a virtue, Violet. You cannot find your family without sacrifice. The book will reveal all in its time.”
More tears flowed as she echoed my father’s nightly advice. Did Tammy somehow know my father said those words to me every night while we talked about saving enough money to bring Mama home? Could she really read my mind and somehow steal my memories and use them against me? I pulled myself away wondering if there was something I could write in that book to keep Tammy Younger out of my head.
“Just what am I sacrificing?” I asked. “I wish I knew. And I wish I were as confident as you that my mother’s name will not appear in the book. I will see you at service tomorrow,” I said to Elizabeth, “and perhaps you as well, Tammy.”
Tammy narrowed her eyes. “You can count on it, Violet.”
“Wait,” Elizabeth said, rushing toward us. She stopped, her shoulders rounded and her head low. “Before we go, I need to know: Are either of you as scared as I for what tomorrow might bring?”
Tammy shook her head. “Not in the least!” s
he said unequivocally, hugging the book to her breast. “We just need to go through one page at a time, and then I know the world will be ours to rule.”
I stared at the book. “I wonder if we shall feel satisfied when we rule the world with the taste of revenge on our lips?”
Tammy scoffed. “Harden your heart, Violet Indian. You must be tougher and stronger than the people who stole your parents from their tribe, sold them, and then sold them again without a thought that Indians might mourn being torn from their land or mourn being torn from their only child without even a goodbye.”
She gave me a self-satisfied smile as I fought back new tears. “You do know that’s why you were sent to Gloucester, don’t you? So your reverend could arrange for your parents’ sale without a little thing like you getting in the way. Just imagine the scene you would have made watching your father being taken away in a cart to parts unknown. What a scandal that would have been! What would the neighbors have said?”
She cocked her head. “Actually, I think the neighbors would have paid little mind; after all, you are just an Indian. Betty and Abigail certainly had no qualms accusing Mama Tituba of witchcraft.”
My lips trembled as a cry caught in my throat. “I thought we were sisters,” I whispered.
“Yes, you thought that because you sit with these people at services, eat with them at a shared table, but you are not one of them. Harden your heart, and accept what the book shows us. This is the only path to your parents. You told me you had a darkness in you—use it!”
Before I could even think how to use “darkness,” she turned to Elizabeth.
“And you, you’re frightened? Think of how frightened your mother felt sitting in a cold, damp cell for nine weeks, praying to a God who did not answer her. And does the town mourn the passing of a woman who took up with her hired hand? I have heard the tongues wagging of your mother, living under the same roof with Alexander Osborne, an indentured servant she hired and then wed. If your stepfather loses the farm, you will be in the same boat I was. Working in some home at the mercy of the mistress and master. Harden your heart, Elizabeth Prince, find your backbone, and relish our power.”
“I suppose you’ll tell us you heard all this in Gloucester!” Elizabeth spat.
“No,” Tammy said calmly, “I heard it here in Salem. I listen from the shadows. The trials are over, people are dead, but the gossip lives on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Elizabeth stalked away and snatched up her chicken, who let out a loud squawk. “My mother did what she had to do to keep the farm, and then she did what she had to do to save her soul. I only wish I had a small part of her courage, but I will tell you that I am indeed frightened and no matter what gossip or horror stories you tell, I will not harden my heart just because you say I should!”
Tammy laughed. “Did you hear Sheriff Corwin interrogate your mother? How about you, Violet?” she asked, turning back to me. “Was he a kind man trying to get to the bottom of a bewitching to save the poor, afflicted girls, or was he a merciless land-grabber wishing to top off his already-bursting coffers? Shall I go on? Do you need more reasons to praise the heavens that George Corwin’s name is in our book?”
I was struck dumb by her speech. Tammy had the power to twist your insides and scramble your head until you didn’t know what was up or down. At that moment, all I wished was to put as much space as possible between the two of us.
I peered around into the trees looking for a path. With the moon farther away, the darkness had filled the wood with shadows. “Opias, lead me home.”
“Wait, Violet!” Tammy called. “We need to make a plan. We need to make sure I will be accepted in the village. I need to know who I should talk to and how.”
I stared at her coldly. “If you go to services tomorrow, there will be none to talk to. You will simply sit in the balcony with the other lowborn and listen to Reverend Parris. And whether the people of Salem accept you is your concern, not mine, but you seem quite capable of convincing people to do your bidding. And really, what advice could an Indian such as I have to offer you?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Violet,” she said, sounding wounded.
“I need to get home, Tammy, or I will get a whipping. If you are to be at services tomorrow, you have work to do. I suggest you start washing and mending your dress. Opias!”
I held out my arm, and Opias swooped down with barely a flap of his wings and landed lightly on my shoulder. His talons seemed to rest easier this time, perhaps getting used to this perch, perhaps getting used to me. He cocked his head and trilled, but I still knew not what to do. He looked at me, waiting, and I closed my eyes and pictured my home, no, the Parrises’ home, in my head. “Show me the way through the woods.”
“Violet!”
I ignored Tammy as Opias’s stiff feathers stroked my cheek. He lifted into the air and landed in a tree to my left, and I quickly, but carefully, made my way toward him, following him from tree to tree. Before long, the stream could be heard, and the familiar path I took for gathering kindling was underfoot. We made our way to the clearing, and I froze as I looked out at the Parris house in the distance.
What would await me when I walked through the door? Like Elizabeth, I feared what tomorrow would bring.
I reached into my apron pocket and fingered the coins Tammy gave me. Mistress Parris would no doubt be pleased, but my long black hair tumbling down my back would be a problem—an affront to God.
Would the coins be enough to make Mistress Parris forgive my missing cap?
I bowed my head. The cap was the least of my concerns.
What would become of Sheriff Corwin?
Opias cawed. The house was in view, and I wondered—no, hoped—the raven might do what Tammy had spoken of.
Could he spy for me?
I closed my eyes again and pictured the streets of Salem leading from the Parris house to Sheriff Corwin’s. “Show me. Look in the windows,” I whispered.
My eyes shot open as Opias cawed loudly in my ear, and I watched his dark form fly into the night. I carefully made my way to the house and opened the door. Mistress Parris was sitting in a chair knitting. She slowly put the needles down and glared at me with such disgust, my blood ran cold.
“Where is your cap, Violet?”
“The cow snatched it from my head, but I have two coins!” I quickly fished the coins out of my pocket and dropped them on the table.
Relief spread through me as her eyes left mine and looked to the coins. “It is fortunate for you that it was not your last cap.”
I bowed my head. “Betty and Abigail, are they well?”
“Well enough. They are sleeping. I have done your chores, so get to bed. We must rise early for services.”
I nodded and made my way to my room and quickly changed into my nightshirt. I slipped between the cool sheets and pulled the rough blanket to my chin.
Lying there, I tried to see if I felt different now that I was a witch, but in the dark, I felt every bit the same Violet I had been this morning. I still cowered under Mistress’s glare, and tomorrow I would set the table as always.
A nervous tickle fluttered in my stomach. This morning I had not a bird that had burst out of the earth or a book of names or girls with whom I’d made magic.
I clasped my hands to my chest.
I had made magic tonight, real magic, and I realized it had nothing to do with the Devil and everything to do with longing and anger and heartbreak. Just three broken girls joined together, summoning the power of the earth, the moon, and the air we breathed.
Three girls at odds on how to wield our power.
I wanted to deny that Betty and Abigail were truly bewitched, but how could I now? Perhaps they had just thought it was Mama and Sarah Osborne and Sarah Good.
Perhaps Mama had just thought things, too.
I shook my head. Mama slept in this room every night. She was not out flying on poles and meeting with folk in the woods.
Or was she
? How could I be sure of anything anymore?
A caw echoed loudly in my head, and I bolted up in my bed. My head turned from side to side, thinking Opias was in the room with me, for that was how it felt. My heart pounded as everything slipped away, and I found myself peering through a hazy window into a room lit with candles.
I felt talons clutch the window frame as if they were my own toes. I felt the cool night air ruffle feathers as though it were my own hair.
A woman’s screams ripped through me. Claws gripped the windowsill and I felt the urge to fly away. My own toes clenched.
I gasped. I was seeing through Opias’s eyes.
I was Opias.
I blinked, trying to erase the picture, but I could not separate myself from him.
Though all I wanted was to be me, safe in my bedroom, I needed to see what was happening.
Stay! I commanded. Watch!
A baby wailed from another room.
“George! George!” a woman cried frantically.
Opias cawed loudly, and I saw it was Mistress Corwin looking up from where she was kneeling to the window. I felt her eyes on me, but it was Opias she was seeing—and through his eyes, I saw a body in front of her splayed out on the floor. The sheriff.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she screamed again and her son’s wails grew louder.
I could feel fear coursing through Opias, coursing through me. Then he flapped his wings to fly off into the night.
I was back in my own room, blood pounding in my head, trying to block the images of Mistress Corwin hovering over her husband on the floor, his eyes open, but no longer seeing.
My heart pounded, and I struggled to take a breath.
Was Sheriff Corwin truly dead? And if that were true, there was no other explanation except that I—no, we—were responsible for his death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I woke the next morning to a loud knocking at the front door. I rushed into my day clothes, as heavy feet pounded down the stairs. I tied my hair back and put on my old cap, shocked I had been able to find any sleep at all.
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