Crucible Crisis

by Amberley Faith

"God – that's an awful thing to say to a child." Ellie whispered.

  "Awful but effective. No girl in our family has gotten pregnant out of wedlock since gran-gran's time. We were all terrified of the curse." She laughed. "Can you imagine telling that tale to your girls?"

  "Not really," Ellie replied. "I mean, there are worse things in the world than having a child out of wedlock."

  "Not in this small town, honey. Not here." Zyla stood. "You've still got a lot to learn, Ellie. But I'll give you this – you're a breath of fresh air! Thanks for the tour. I've gotta run. See you at school. Promise me we can have tea again and that you'll tell me how you ended up here." Zyla waggled her eyebrows conspiratorially.

  Ellie gave her a bashful smile and nodded in agreement. As Zyla gathered her purse and keys, Ellie pondered the tragedy that had occurred in The Jewel. She had mental snapshots of what it all must have looked like – the clothes they were wearing, the hair styles, the mustaches, Beah's gun.

  Ellie had a strange feeling. It was as if she'd sensed what Zyla was going to say just before she said it – like some old memory, half-buried, incomplete, and blurred around the edges. Ellie drove home contemplating the past and its effect on the present.

  Men were murdered in the building they owned. Would she be able to live with it? Would Julien? Should she tell him right away or wait until the renovations were complete?

  She couldn't make up her mind, so Ellie blogged about it. Zyla had left her with more questions than answers. She was not sure she'd be able to get any sleep that night. As she got into bed, she wondered if buildings maintained an emotional imprint of the past, or if her feelings were just a human attempt to find meaning in past blunders.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FARMHOUSE FRIEND

  The next few weeks of school left little time for Ellie to ponder the topic of emotional imprints left on old buildings like The Jewel. She admired Zyla's passion for the past, though. When Zyla explained history, she painted a vivid portrait. It was as if she were there. Zyla observed things that others missed.

  Along that line of thinking, Ellie asked Zyla to help her with historical connections between Zyla's U.S. history classes and Ellie's U.S. literature classes. Zyla was also curious about the Pelletier's restored farmhouse, so Ellie invited her over to work on some cross-curricular lessons. When Zyla arrived, they moved to the front porch. Somehow working there didn't feel like work.

  Unfortunately, the gnats and the heat overpowered Ellie's porch fans. The tiny bugs left them no peace. They buzzed around their faces, their ears, and even their mouths. Ellie didn't want to complain about her new hometown, so she bit her tongue until Zyla finally spoke up.

  "These gnats are unbearable little pests! Would you mind if we went inside?" Zyla asked.

  "Oh, thank goodness! I was trying not to say anything. I didn't want you thinking I'm a city snob." Ellie responded.

  "You don't have to be a city snob to hate these little buggers. Country folk hate them, too! They are worse than usual this year." Zyla replied.

  "Let's work inside at the kitchen table." Ellie offered. "We can cool down with a tall glass of my homemade specialty - lavender lemonade."

  As they headed to the kitchen Zyla asked, "What smells so wonderf-," she stopped mid-word to look around as they entered the kitchen. "Oh, I see. The lavender smells lovely."

  "Thanks!" Ellie replied. "I love the fragrance, too. It's just what I imagined it would smell like when we were considering moving to the country. I've got my own little herbal experiment going on here in my country kitchen."

  "Well, besides the nice fragrance, what do you do with all this lavender?" Zyla asked.

  "Oh," Ellie blushed. "It's always been a little fantasy of mine to grow and prepare herbal concoctions. Not just sachets - but facial scrubs, herbal teas, and soaps. You know, stuff like that. I've been interested in them since childhood. I spent my teenage summers concocting natural body scrubs and skin remedies."

  Ellie hesitated and then decided to bare her soul, "I have a dream of running a little shop called Tea and Tomes where I sell cupcakes, homegrown herbal teas, and used books. It would only be open during my summer breaks from teaching. Of course," Ellie continued bashfully, "I know it's unrealistic and would never make enough money during the summer to justify the overhead, but I daydream about how I'd decorate the place - a small, bright kitchen area in the back with an old-fashioned counter and barstools. Up front, there would be a few tables for tea and cupcakes, then lots of cozy nooks and corners for reading."

  Ellie blossomed as she described her dream shop. "I can even hear the soft music that would play - something old and French. And you know how Mexican restaurants always serve complimentary chips and salsa? Well, I would serve each customer a sample of my signature lavender-lemonade along with a mini-cupcake with cream-cheese-lavender frosting." Ellie sighed. "It's just one of my heavenly little daydreams. It keeps me going when I have a bad day." She paused. "Speaking of lemonade, do you like it?" Ellie asked.

  Zyla stalled by taking another sip. "It's different. The more I taste it, the more I like it. It's unexpected yet… refreshing. What if you tinted it a pale-purple color? That would add to its appeal, I think. Your imaginary customers already love it," Zyla winked.

  Ellie laughed, a little embarrassed at having shared something so intimate with a colleague she was just getting to know.

  "But why just dream about it, Ellie?" Zyla interrupted Ellie's blush. "Julien is opening his photo studio downtown. Why not just section off a room or two of The Jewel, work on your little dream shop throughout the school year, and then open for business next summer?"

  Ellie chuckled. "It's still just a dream because I have no experience. This is the first chance I've had to try my hand at growing something fresh from the garden."

  "Ok, then." Zyla conceded. "Enough dreaming. What lesson did you need help with?"

  "Well," Ellie began. "When you started talking about Beah and her connection to the Salem Witch Trials, it reminded me of my own fuzzy connection."

  "Ha! I knew it!" Zyla interrupted. "You had that look on your face as soon as I mentioned them."

  "Yes, well," Ellie cleared her throat. "It's just a family tale. There's no proof." She swallowed. "Supposedly, I'm descended from Elizabeth Proctor. She's hard to trace after the trials, but family legend has it that all the girls on my mother's side have been given names that have the initials EP for generations. Even when we girls marry, we seem to choose spouses with surnames that start with P. I don't know if it's a subconscious attempt to make the legend true, or if fate has intervened – but funnily enough - I fit the pattern. My maiden name was Pendleton, and obviously, I married Julien Pelletier although I can assure you that his name starting with a P had nothing to do with it."

  Zyla's eyes widened. She stared at Ellie. "You mean the Elizabeth Proctor? Wife of John Proctor? Accused in Salem of witchcraft and imprisoned while pregnant?"

  Ellie nodded.

  "Oh. My. Gosh." Zyla gave her head a little shake. "That is amazing!" She finally squealed. "Has anyone ever researched the family tree or done DNA testing to see if it's true?"

  "No," Ellie replied. "I don't know if it has been for lack of motivation, or if no one wanted to be proven wrong – but no one has ever done any serious testing or research." She was a little surprised at Zyla's immediate interest in tracing her roots. Only Julien had ever met her news with that suggestion.

  "Honestly, what does it matter?" Ellie continued. "I'm either related or not. It doesn't change anything either way. It's just a claim to fame, that's all."

  Zyla sighed. "I guess you're right. And to do DNA testing, they'd have to find and unearth Elizabeth Proctor's body from the grave. The History Channel would be all over it. You'd probably become a reality star or something while they traced the DNA. And then if it came back without a match…"

  "I'd be the laughingstock of Stusa and the Internet." Ellie finished. "It's not that important to me. I didn't
even name my daughters with her initials. I'm kind of tired of it, really. It was my crazy family's way of pretending to be special, I guess." She shrugged. "I only think of it when something like your story about Beah and The Jewel comes up, or," Ellie's eyes twinkled, "when I see Arthur Miller's, The Crucible, in our American literature textbook. That's why I invited you over. I want to perform the play. Will you help?"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MILLER'S MAGIC

  Ellie was anxious to sink her teeth into a compelling, multi-layered story, and she had an inkling that performing a play would be a great way to engage her students and get them invested in the characters. After all, the small-town setting of Miller's play was breathtakingly like Stusa, so her students would be able to relate. Ellie began working on lesson plans – newly energized and hopeful.

  When Ellie introduced the idea of the play to her students, she dangled a carrot - if they did a good job reading and researching, they could perform the play for Zyla's U.S. history class. As Ellie had hoped, most of the students seemed enthusiastic about the idea of a performance.

  The artistic students began planning backdrops and supplies they'd need. The drama queens read lines from the roles they coveted. The crafters discussed costumes and props. The tech kids talked about lighting, music clips, and the possibility of filming and editing.

  And with that, Ellie and her students dove headfirst into a Puritan theocracy of the 1600s where religion ruled, conformity maintained a person's safety, and vengeance-disguised-as-righteousness killed dozens of innocents

  ◆◆◆

  As their work on the play progressed, Ellie regained some of her optimism. She asked students the significance of the title. What exactly was a crucible? It was a new word for every student except one; most had only ever heard it used as the title of something all eleventh graders had to read.

  One student, however, volunteered that she knew the meaning of the word. Gale Guillaume, known as GG, was a small-framed student; Ellie called her quiet but powerful. Her writing was superb, yet she never shared aloud in class.

  GG hadn't really warmed up to Ellie; she appeared to be sizing Ellie up each time their eyes met. At any rate, Ellie was thrilled to have a topic that would ease GG into participating in class, so Ellie asked her to explain the meaning of the word crucible.

  GG locked eyes with Ellie, lifted her chin, and explained, "A crucible is literally a melting pot used to liquefy metals. You know, like in the days when blacksmiths melted down metal for weapons or horseshoes."

  "Yes, you are correct." Ellie responded. "That is the literal meaning of the word, and since you pointed out the literal definition, GG, will you explain its figurative meaning as well?"

  GG replied. "Yeah. People also use the word crucible to mean a trial, or some type of test." She paused, then added, "For example, this play is a crucible we'd rather not experience."

  Ellie raised one eyebrow. A few of GG's friends stifled their giggles as they awaited Ellie's reaction.

  "Ouch!" Ellie feigned injury. "Pun intended. Nice one, GG!" Ellie addressed the class at large. "The language of the play can be difficult at first," Ellie explained, "but once we get into the story line, you all will be able to relate to the plot. After all, Salem Village was a small farming community, much like Stusa. It will be interesting to see your reaction to each character's choices. In fact, I think you'll be able to identify people in your own lives that correspond to characters in the play."

  At that remark, GG lifted her head and in a quiet voice muttered, "Oh, you're right about that, Madame. More than you can even imagine."

  With an inward groan, Ellie guessed that GG had already read the play. Well, it wouldn't hurt her to read it again. Perhaps since she already knew what would happen in the play, GG could spend more time correlating life in Salem Village to life in modern day Stusa.

  It shouldn't be too hard of a task. After all, Stusa still revered religious leaders, whether they deserved it or not. Arthur Miller may have written an allegory to compare the witch hunts of the 1600s to McCarthyism of the 1950s, but his description of human nature and its motivators were still relevant half a century later.

  As the play progressed, Ellie found herself making headway with her students. She enjoyed finding new ways to challenge them. She had finally stumbled upon something that got the students' attention, and now that she had connected with them, she was determined not to let anything spoil it. Let Principal Danvers try to take this out of the curriculum!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PREORDAINED PROBE

  The end of the week found Ellie seated in a chair outside Principal Danvers's office. He'd summoned her during her planning period. As she waited outside his office, she fluctuated between wondering what he wanted and trying to control her fidgeting. She hated getting called to the office; it automatically made her feel guilty. She didn't think she'd done anything wrong, but the principal hadn't sound very pleased when he called her.

  The summons embarrassed Ellie. She approached via the back door and waited in the tiny chair outside his office door. She scooched as close as possible to a large Fichus tree, shielding herself from view. His door was cracked, and she could hear voices coming from inside his office.

  "Good morning. Hnh Hmm. I have some important news."

  Oh no! Not the Reverintendent! Ellie squirmed as she overheard the conversation coming from inside the principal's office. She couldn't imagine what kind of trouble she must be in if Principal Danvers had asked the superintendent to come to the meeting. She moved her hands to her lap and closed her eyes, dreading the summons she knew was coming.

  The Reverintendent continued, "I'd like to introduce Mr. Remuel Hardy, retired pastor, former DEA agent, and newly appointed school resource officer. Remmy, these are Lydia Bennett and Louella Baxter, co-presidents of the PTA. This is the school counselor, Mabel Jackson. And this is Principal Danvers whom you will be assisting. Let's get to the root of these rumors and accusations and put an end to them once and for all!"

  Silence. Ellie wondered if he had forgotten she was out here waiting. She heard a shuffling of feet and murmurs. Then Louella Baxter spoke.

  "It's nice to meet you, Remmy. Your fine reputation precedes you. I've heard nothing but good reports about you and your service - both to God and Country. Most say you use a common-sense approach. I sure hope you'll leave some of that common sense here."

  Mr. Hardy responded, "Thank you, Mrs. Baxter. I don't know that I'm anything special, but I have found that common sense is what's needed is most of these situations. I'm happy to lend my experience to the team."

  Principal Danvers asked, "Am I the only member of the team that didn't know you were coming?"

  Lydia Bennett joined in, "No, you most certainly are not. We I should have been consulted before any additional team members were brought in. Is this even legal, Louella?"

  "Now, now – there's no need to get in a tizzy." The Reverintendent cut her off before Louella could answer. "A special dispensation allows the superintendent to appoint a lead investigator in emergencies, and I think our school being accused as a hotbed of drugs is quite an emergency. Decree 15E under section 13 – Emergencies and Dispensations."

  Another awkward silence. Principal Danvers had definitely forgotten about Ellie.

  "Well," Mr. Hardy broke the quiet. "My arrival seems to have further divided us. I must warn you that I will not work with you unless there is full cooperation. If we are going to be a team, then everyone needs to get on board. Otherwise, I am wasting my time and your money."

  Way to take charge, Remmy! Ellie found herself rooting for Mr. Hardy. She liked the idea of an impartial outsider exposing whatever was going on in Stusa. She had never been able to put her finger on it, but she, too, had felt the undercurrent of the town pulling at her, trying to drag her down into its murky bottom.

  "We need to make this official, folks." Remmy continued. "I formally ask you now to decide. Will you accept my findings, even i
f I discover that respected community members are involved, or if it turns out there is no illicit activity after all?" A silence followed the sound of shuffling feet. "Believe me, I've seen it go either way. So, I ask you again. Will you work with me as a team, and will you accept what we discover based on evidence rather than hearsay?"

  This time, the Reverintendent was the first to answer. "Well, I heartily accept. You'll find no illegal activities in my household, but you are welcome to look."

  Ellie pictured the Reverintendent. Like a child shaking a Magic 8 Ball, the Reverintendent would be shaking Remmy Hardy's hand long enough to check if Hardy believed him.

  Ellie exhaled. The Reverintendent had been trying so hard, for so long, to project sincerity that he had convinced himself of his own sense of moral superiority. He probably believed his own hot air.

  Louella Baxter accepted the terms, and so did her sister Lydia. The school counselor gave her consent. That only left Principal Danvers.

  When he spoke, he addressed the entire group, "Listen, prying into each other's private lives, dredging up rumors and accusations – it bodes well for no one. You do realize that this investigation is voluntary? No one has been charged with any crime, and there is not one shred of evidence to support the accusations."

  Ellie heard another silence, then a rustling of movement. It sounded like someone was approaching the door. Ellie wondered if she should leave when she saw an arm rest against the door frame.

  "If we carry this out, we are just encouraging more gossip. We will be giving credence to the rumors." Principal Danvers sighed. "Seeking out trouble is dangerous. I don't like it, but I consent. I will pray for God's hand to guide you."

  The Reverintendent roared, "I hope you're not implying that it's Satan's hand guiding us now!" Ellie had never come across a more sensitive, offendable man. Of course, she had never met people who used religion as weaponry before, either.