Crucible Crisis

by Amberley Faith

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE SHADOW

  A tingling from her new scar awoke The Shadow. She'd begun to understand the nudges and tugs it gave her; something important was happening. The family heirloom had begun to weave its wonders. The Shadow must be very close to restoring it to her family's control. No, she corrected herself – to The Shadow's control.

  The Shadow's family had lost track of the beloved heirloom after its last known disciple had moved to Stusa in 1697 with an uncle and a cousin. The Shadow had never understood why her mother hadn't moved to Stusa herself to search for it, but her mother had stupidly believed the family connection to have been severed and for the heirloom to have been hidden somewhere else. The Shadow, however, had always been drawn to Stusa and firmly believed it to be the heirloom's final resting place. Now that the emerald cord had branded her, she was more convinced than ever that she'd made the right move.

  The heirloom's nature, however, hadn't only called out to The Shadow. It had forged a connection with Ellie Pelletier, too. The Shadow wasn't worried. She knew Ellie would never dare to claim its power for herself. Ellie's link would have to be severed, but The Shadow delighted in the idea of a competition for the heirloom's allegiance. She would finally be able to release her anger and strike at an adversary, albeit a weak one. Ellie was neither worthy enough nor bold enough to control the heirloom and its power.

  Gabby had spoken of the dueling powers contained within the heirloom. Every culture had a name for them - yin and yang, egocentric and exocentric, dark and light. A cunning manipulation had led to terms like good versus evil, selfish versus selfless, instinct versus intellect, but The Shadow inherently understood the root words that most people were mute to speak - power versus weakness.

  And she'd choose power every time. Power wasn't good or bad. It was a tool, fit only for those with strength enough to wield it.

  Growing up with a pathetic, neglectful mother had trained The Shadow to wield what power she possessed like a weapon. She was used to forcing her own way. When had things ever been easy for her? The only easy part of her childhood had been having Gabby there to tell her stories of their past. The Shadow smiled slightly thinking of Gabby. How different things would have been if Gabby had lived longer and had been able to guide The Shadow further in her quest.

  As it was, Gabby had died too soon. When Gabby died after a strenuous, seven-day illness, The Shadow blamed her mother for not taking Gabby to the hospital and vowed to reclaim both the heirloom and its power for herself. The Shadow never forgave her mother for Gabby's death. They'd never been close, and when her mother died in a farming accident, The Shadow felt relieved, liberated.

  Yes, it had been hard, but The Shadow had been driven by spite and anger. Her very first move was to backpack her way south, heading towards the tiny town that held an ancient family connection. She had taken her late mother's emergency cash before leaving. The Shadow had no intention of shunning modern living as her mother had.

  In those days, The Shadow had found work and lodging as she traveled. She was an attractive girl, and her looks got her jobs at local diners when she needed cash. She job-hopped herself all the way to Stusa. She eventually enrolled in school to get free access to the internet. Being a sixteen-year-old girl had its advantages; it was fitting that The Shadow would, at the same age as her infamous ancestor, make her own indelible mark in the annals of history.

  "This predilection for minding other people's business was time-honored among the people of Salem, and it undoubtedly created many of the suspicions which were to feed the coming madness."

  --Arthur Miller, from "An Overture," Act One, The Crucible

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHARM TRIAL

  Ellie awoke to the burbling hiss of the cappuccino machine downstairs. She heard the clink of forks against plates and the giggles of the girls. What time was it? Was she late for work? She blinked to clear her eyes and check the clock, but Julien's footsteps coming up the stairs distracted her.

  "Bon jour, ma vie," he smiled as he walked into their bedroom carrying a breakfast tray laden with fruit, croissants, and a large cappuccino. "I thought you deserved a sleep-in after homecoming week." He set the tray down over Ellie's lap as she sat up.

  "Wow," she rubbed her sleepy eyes and grinned sheepishly. "Breakfast in bed. If I had known this was coming, maybe I'd have been nicer during Homecoming Week."

  The previous week had been the single most disastrous of Ellie's career. Homecoming Week, called Hell Week by the faculty, was foreign to Ellie and had taken her by surprise. It had started with her supervising the float-building of the freshman class and had ended with the float falling apart in the middle of the parade. Ellie had been humiliated; parents and students had been irate.

  "The girls and I are going out for a walk with the dogs. Stay in bed and relax for a while." He fluffed the pillows up against the headboard and left the room. Ellie heard the girls' enthusiastic chatter, getting ready for their walk.

  She lay back against the pillows with a contented sigh. Aaaahhh, she indulged in a luxurious stretch. This almost makes everything worthwhile. Almost. After Hell Week, she craved escapism. She turned to the bedside table and pulled out the anthology.

  The more Ellie read of the folklore, the more fascinated she was. She found herself drawn to its mysterious recipes. Part of Ellie still wondered if she should turn it over to an expert, but the selfish side of her wanted to solve all its mysteries herself. She felt a bit like Nancy Drew, stumbling upon a book of secrets that would lead to some wonderful surprise. She couldn't let someone else solve the mystery; after all, no one else had known the book was hidden in the niche, so it wasn't like she was depriving anyone.

  Before Hell Week, Ellie had taken to reading through the anthology before bed each night. It was her favorite part of the day. Many mornings, she found herself waking up and counting the hours until she could slink back to bed to read more.

  Ebbie, her journal entries sprinkled throughout the text, felt more like a friend than a story. Ellie related to her. Ebbie was embroiled in scandal, and Ellie wholeheartedly believed Ebbie to be as innocent as she claimed. Ellie turned the pages of the anthology as if it were a novel; she couldn't wait to find out what happened next.

  Since Julien had the girls and the dogs, she could afford to play catch up. It wasn't exactly easy reading; much of the anthology was smeared and splotched with what Ellie could only guess to be water damage or just plain old aging. She didn't let that hinder her reading, though. Whenever she got to a smudge or a section that was illegible, she took out her magnifying glass and tried to determine at least the first and last letter of the word. Then, she used the computer to find as many words as she could that started and ended with the same letters. She'd replace the illegible word with each trial word, testing the sentence aloud to see if it felt right. So far, she had made some progress. Smiling to herself, she settled back into bed and got to work on her guilty pleasure.

  Little by little Ellie was making progress. She had become a decent researcher, something she had always abhorred in the past. After her breakfast in bed, she got down to work. The entry that greeted her wasn't one by Ebbie, though. It turned out to be some advice for getting rid of bad dreams.

  Ridding Oneself of Troubling Dreams

  Take seven heads of dried lavender blooms and crush into powder. Mix crushed lavender with one pinch each of hops, thyme and valerian root and add to a spoonful of honey. Roll mixture into the center of a beeswax candle.

  Just before bedtime, light the candle and drink one cup of tea made from valerian root, thyme and wild lettuce. Keep the lighted candle by bedside. Let it burn until feeling drowsy, then extinguish. Repeat every night for one week and bad dreams will be expelled.

  It was just what she hadn't realized she wanted, to get rid of bad dreams, and the recipe seemed too easy not to test. She already had the lavender, thyme, and valerian root. She did a quick internet search to see if wild lettuce
grew in her area. Yes! Now, what would she do about the beeswax candle and the hops?

  Ellie researched candle-making supplies and hops suppliers online. When she was ready to place her order, she made a special request at the last minute for it to be delivered in an unmarked box. If the post lady saw an order with hops marked on the outside of the package, a rumor about an illegal microbrewery would surface within minutes. Stusa was in a dry county, after all. She was pleased with herself for thinking proactively to prevent that rumor.

  What would Julien think of her latest herbal concoction? He didn't seem to mind all the time she'd been devoting to the anthology each night after tucking the girls in to bed. Well, if Ellie was honest – he hadn't noticed. She hadn't told Julien about the anthology; a selfish part of her didn't want to share her discovery with anyone, and he hadn't seen her reading it because he had been so busy at the studio.

  Ellie was reticent to tell him about the amazing anthology, knowing in advance what his sarcastic response to her sleuthing would be. He already teased her mercilessly about her herbal tendencies. He joked that she must have been married to a witch doctor in a past life.

  Besides, their paths hadn't crossed much lately. This morning was the first time she'd talked to him, even briefly, in the last three days. He was either at the studio or setting up photo shoots. A lesser woman might have been jealous of his time, but Ellie knew that he was working hard to make his dream a success.

  Rather than being jealous of his time away from her, Ellie had deliberately set aside all the negative rumors about him and Tai. She was proud of Julien for making a go of it. Most people were too afraid to drop everything and chase their dreams.

  Most people were like Ellie. Taking the plunge to move to Stusa was risk enough for her. Amid everything else they had going on in their lives right now, Ellie would never dare make her dream shop a reality. She would just tuck that little fantasy away and use it for escapism as needed. Someone had to have steady income to pay the bills, after all, and she had her hands full with her students, the play, the girls, and their preparations for Julien's big opening night at the end of the month.

  Thinking fondly of her husband and his bravery, Ellie hopped out of bed and threw on some clothes and her hiking boots. Now would be a good time to join in on the family fun and reconnect with her husband. She hadn't even thanked him for breakfast, she realized. And if she just happened to find some wild lettuce, well – that would make the morning perfect.

  ◆◆◆

  Three days later, Ellie had everything ready. Her shipment had arrived unmarked as requested, and she'd found plenty of wild lettuce in the woods near their property. She even transplanted a few specimens to her herb garden to see if she could grow it herself. The beeswax candle rested by her bedside, and the ingredients for the herbal tea steeped in a mug. All she needed now was to crawl into bed, light the candle, and drink up.

  The herbal tea, however, looked disgusting and smelled worse. She debated adding a glop of honey but decided that she'd better follow the instructions to the letter. Ellie grabbed the anthology and checked. So far, it looked like she had done everything properly.

  That evening, she lit the candle, gulped the tea – it was just as bad as it smelled – and crawled under the covers. She would read a bit of the anthology until she felt drowsy, per the instructions. She gave a little snort of laughter at the tiny writing squeezed under the recipe, wondering what Julien and Zyla would say.

  Note - If any troubling dreams remain after treatment, they should be examined for prophetic insight. They could be warnings or visions.

  If Julien or Zyla ever saw this, they'd laugh at her and think she was ridiculous, if not crazy. Ellie, however, found the little notes endearing. If the authors believed in visions and prophesy, who was she to argue? If she was honest with herself, a small part of her wanted to believe in them, too.

  Not that she believed in visions, exactly, but sometimes she felt that her dreams were messages. Pieces of information that her subconscious noticed and interpreted while she was asleep. Warnings that her waking self hadn't perceived or understood. Isn't that what sleep researchers claimed? One of the sleeping brain's jobs was to process and file memories of the day. So, if hundreds of years ago people thought they had special prophesies or visions while they were asleep, then Ellie could see why.

  Ellie continued reading for at least an hour. Rather than getting sleepy, she felt energized. She was too excited to see if her remedy was going to work.

  As she flipped through the anthology, she came across more pages in Ebbie's familiar handwriting. Ellie remembered last reading about the illness Ebbie had suffered after the birth of her second child. As Ellie delved back into Ebbie's storyline, she settled in for another interesting read, hoping it would help her fall asleep and test the charm she had used.

  Despite the centuries separating them, Ellie found similarities to Ebbie. Both were busy mothers. Both fiercely loved their families. And both had recently moved to a small village.

  After the delivery of their second son, Ebbie had been too weak to care for the child. She had nearly died in childbirth, so her husband hired a girl from the village to help.

  April 1692

  I am afeared. I have particular reason to believe that my serving girl is a dangerous temptress sent to destroy my husband's soul. And I must choose whether to use her own evil against her. These are harsh words, but the Evil One is a harsh opponent and I know he doth wish me every harm. He dareth not confront me openly perchance I use the Good Book and the name of the Son to bind him from his wicked works. Thus, he attacks my husband, using his handmaiden to do his bidding.

  That girl. That wicked young harlot who flaunts both her vitality and her vanity without a thought for anything but her own pleasure. I rue the day she were brought into my house to touch my children and stain them with her filth. Providence protect the innocent from her, I prithee.

  Mine own husband may well be past his innocence. I have heard noises in the night and when reaching over for him have found him absent from my bed. I dare not confront him. He hath the fury of hell when angered, and I do not want to endanger the children lest he take out his anger on them.

  This wrath of his is a new thing. He were a gentle Christian man when I met him. The Jezebel hath brought him low with her cunning ways. I will bide my time for now as I am still in poor health, but I will rid myself of her as soon as I am able.

  Although she be the preacher's niece, I will cast doubt upon her good name. 'Nathan must not know that I am the one to criticize his little pet. Not yet. He can naught but deny any wrongdoing in my presence. Why should he do otherwise when men have always had their pets, their intrigues?

  I was but a naïve girl when I married. I did not know of the ways of men. I am sorely and bitterly deceived. And it grieves my heart, more so than the birthing pains that have left me physically weakened. I would suffer an 'undred more births than one more night of bitter betrayal and heartbreak.

  It makes me question Providence, though it be a mortal sin. If men can never be trusted or faithful - why, did our Lord and Saviour take the form of a man to live amongst us? We women see how men live here on earth. They have all power, all control, and use that power to their own pleasure without regard for our being. How can we trust in that image? Would not a womanly figure have been more comforting and understanding of what we endure?

  But that is to blaspheme and to doubt my Saviour. I will stop before I condemn mine own soul to eternal suffering. For now, life on earth is mine own damnation. I seek peace in the afterlife and will do nothing to open my soul to any damage. My body and heart may perish little by little with each betrayal, but my soul will live eternally at rest with our Lord.

  E.B.P.

  Ellie closed the book. What a depressing read. Now she had a little more background on what Ebbie had been referring to in her earlier entry. Ellie assumed it was an earlier entry. She couldn't tell since it was marked April 1692. Sh
e turned back to find the previous entry. It was dated 11 April 1692.

  Were the entries not ordered sequentially? Had Ebbie simply turned to random pages scattered throughout the anthology as she vented her thoughts? And what had happened to the mysterious remedy Ebbie had referred to in the previous entry? Ellie wanted to know what it was and why Ebbie had hesitated to use it.

  More importantly, had it worked? Had the serving girl left Ebbie's husband alone? The whole situation reminded her of the play she was teaching. Elizabeth Proctor had felt the same way about Abigail Williams in Arthur Miller's version of the Salem Witch Trials. And since Ellie couldn't change the outcome of the play, she found herself desperately rooting for Ebbie, wanting the charm to work.

  Instead of finding answers to her questions, Ellie only learned that 'Nathan turned out to be a selfish cheater just like nearly every other man Ellie had ever read about. Why was it so impossible for a man to be loyal to one woman? No wonder Jesus was single. Maybe that was the only way men could be faithful – by being celibate.

  Ellie sighed and took off her reading glasses. Her heart cringed for poor Ebbie, and the frustration left her unsettled, conflicted about her own marriage. It would be a good night to test the tea and candle combo she had prepared. After gulping down yet another cup of the terrible tea and re-lighting the candle, Ellie rolled onto her side, curled into a ball, and closed her eyes.