Suffer a Witch (27 page)

She had been standing in front of an apple vendor when George had walked by. He and his first wife, Hannah, were being shown around by Thomas Putnam. Em had been so caught up in trying to determine how many apples she could afford that she hadn’t bothered to look up. She’d felt him move past her like the heat of fire from a moving torch. She’d looked up at the same moment he looked at her. She had felt a shot of electricity run through her. He had nodded and continued moving.

He told her later that he’d asked Thomas’s wife, Ann Putnam, Sr., the mistress of the home George and his family were staying in, about Em. Ann had said that Em was no one, not a member of the church — only a poor woman with a sick husband. A year later, George had arrived on her doorstep as an outreach from the church. In the dream, she found herself opening the door to him.

“Why, you’re not poor at all,” had been his first words to her.

“My father takes care of us,” she’d said.

“I was told you were poor,” George had said.

She’d stepped aside to let him into her home. Thomas was at school, and, as usual, Henry was in their bedroom. George kept his hands tightly clasped behind his back as he surveyed the room.

“They are idiots,” she’d said with a smile. “They believe you’re poor if you do not own land. I have a sick husband, who cannot work the land. It would be foolish to buy land we cannot maintain. And I am no fool.”

George turned to look her full in the face. And she was struck. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. She caught herself first.

“Sir,” she had said and looked down.

“I came to. . .” Her heart was pounding so loud and fast that she didn’t hear a word he’d said. Even in the dream, she felt the sick, nauseous feeling of that moment.

“I love you,” she said, in the dream. George stopped talking. “I always have and always will.”

“I know,” George said. “Because I love you, too. I simply cannot bear a life without you.”

Caught in the dream, Em smiled at this rewrite of history. Of course, in real life, it had taken them almost three years to admit what they both knew at the first moment they’d seen each other. It had taken them more than three hundred years to say it in front of their friends and family.

Em drifted into a deeper sleep. Her life flashed before her. Henry died. Benoni was born. Giles came to make a deal. And then she was sitting in the living room at Giles’s home, talking to the examiners. She’d been so sure she was safe; she was so wrong.

She was standing in the middle of the torture and violence of the jail in Boston. She’d intentionally kept herself out of the gossip around the witch trials. Instead, she worked every day to keep herself and the others alive. She had no idea who might arrive at the jail.

She’s felt the heat of George first and then heard the jeering from the crowd. She’d turned to see who had arrived when George stepped through the doors. People rushed forward to greet him. Within moments, he was leading the accused in prayer. His eyes sought her over their bowed heads. She’d smiled, and he’d nodded.

The days and nights of the Boston jail flashed by in a dizzying kaleidoscope until the guard was wrenching George from her arms. The guards hurled him onto the cart. He’d been so certain that he could convince them that he was a man of God. He’d been sure they wouldn’t hang him. The whispers found her only an hour later. Her beloved had been hanged. The men had fought over his body. Em retreated to a small corner to cry.

The images came fast now. Giles refused to participate in the trial, and the Sheriff took him out to the field.

“Surely they won’t press him to death,” they’d whispered to each other in the jail. Just as surely, one boulder at a time, they did just that.

Her fight seeped out of her. Her heart had broken. She prayed for the quiet peace of death. In a
whoosh!
she had hanged from the oak tree by a bit of rope. She’d swung and spun. As she slowly suffocated, her eyes had moved over the crowd. Tonight, she saw something she hadn’t recognized at the time.

Her demon was standing in the middle of the crowd. He wasn’t near the front, as a leader, nor was he in the back with the reluctant. He watched her with great intent. Their eyes locked.

“And now it begins.” The demon’s words were the last thing she heard.

Deep asleep, Em watched her body as it was tossed into the common grave. She saw herself awaken in the pit. In this version of her life, the demon was standing beside the grave.

“Why are you here?” Em asked.

“Because you are here,” the demon said.

“Can’t you leave me to live my life?” Em asked.

“You know I cannot,” the demon said. “We will not be denied.”

“What does that mean?” Em asked.

The demon grinned.

“I am supposed to just know?” Em asked. “How can I know what I do not know?”

“How can you, Martha of Truth?” the demon asked.

Confused, Em shook her head.

“Why do you think Weni the librarian went away?” the demon asked. “Where is your father?”

Em was so surprised that she could only blink.

“Yes, Martha of Truth,” the demon said, “I have kept them from you.”

“Why?” Em asked.

“Because you need to do your own work!” the demon screamed.

Startled, Em jumped back.

“Em?” She heard George’s voice from outside the dream. She felt him shake her shoulder. “Em?”

“My work?” Em asked.

“Your work,” the demon said. “I rooted for you. I believed in you. I chose this lunatic John Parker because I believed you would see the truth, and, instead, you. . .”

The demon snorted. Smoke came from his nostrils. He lowered his head so that the rhinoceros horn was pointed at the center of her forehead.

“You will die!” the demon said. “This war will end with your death!”

The demon turned to walk away from her.

“Is there another way?” Em asked.

The demon stopped walking. His shoulders hunched for a moment. She was slipping back into the common grave when he spun in place and stalked back to her. When he neared, she realized that she’d mistaken his mood. The demon seemed happy, almost jubilant.

“Now that’s a very good question,” the demon said.

“What is your name?” Em asked.

“My name?” the demon asked with a smile. “I knew you were different, Martha. I knew you would save us all.”

“Save us all?” Em asked.

Em felt herself flying through the air.

“Save us all?” Em yelled to the demon. “How?”

The demon gave her a little wave. She watched the demon until he was a mere speck on the horizon.

“There is one thing,” the demon’s voice came to her. “Any attempt to increase your ranks will be seen as an act of war.”

Behind her closed eyes, she saw a flash of white light. She felt a burst of cold water. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the apartment shower, and George was begging God for her release from the trance.

“I’m here,” Em said.

George held her tight. He swooped her off her feet and carried her back to bed.

She sat up in bed. The room was dark. George was asleep by her side.

“What is it?” George’s sleep-filled voice asked.

“I had the weirdest dream,” Em said. “I guess it was a dream.”

“You just got in bed!” George said.

Em picked up the clock. They had been in bed for less than two minutes. The champagne in her glass was still bubbling. The blankets were cool, as if she’d just slipped into them.

George leaned up on one arm to look at her.

“Are you okay?” George asked.

“Yes,” Em said with a smile. “I’m very okay.”

Grinning, George put his head down to go to sleep. Em lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

She’d let Weni and her father tell her about the demons. She’d let her reading of the Bible and other verses color her ideas about the demons. It was time for Em to do her own research. It was time for Em to find out for herself. Nodding to the ceiling, she turned over and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Em pulled closed her hotel room door and set out into the hallway. She was in Charlottesville, Virginia, for a week-long seminar on the Salem Witch Trials. In all these years, Em had never looked into what had happened to her and the others. When asked, she always said she’d lived through it and that was enough. But the truth was that historians spoke of a Martha Corey that she didn’t recognize. Their Martha Corey was arrogant, cruel, and high handed. History remembered her in the words of the men who, with purpose and malice, set about murdering her. She’d turned her back on history a long time ago.

Now that she remembered the demon’s words on the day of her hanging — “And now it begins” — she realized that she needed to take an in-depth look at the Salem Witch Trials. She had a good understanding of what had happened to each individual. She needed to understand what had happened in a larger context. She needed to understand the entire event. She needed to do her own research.

When George left for the fall, Em braced herself against the lies and started researching the trials. She’d ordered every book and read online the books that were no longer in print. While looking for the original documents, she discovered that the University of Virginia’s Scholar’s Lab had the largest collection of original documents from the Salem Trials. She was scheduling a visit to Charlottesville when she discovered that the Scholar’s Lab University Extension taught a popular seminar on the Salem Witch Trials. She decided on the spot that she would attend. Using a little magic, Em finagled a spot.

Em stopped in the hotel lobby for a thermos of hot water and a few tea bags before walking to class. She had no idea how she would respond to the seminar. Would she cry? Would she get so angry that she’d set the auditorium on fire? Both were real possibilities. She decided she would sit in the back, near the door, and drink her tea. She could easily slip out if she became overwhelmed.

A woman near the middle of the back row was saving five or six seats. Em pointed to the aisle seat. The woman smiled and nodded that it was available. Em was just getting settled when a middle-aged woman came in to sit next to her. The woman waved to her friend in the middle of the row and smiled at Em before sitting down. The woman leaned into Em.

“Connie,” the woman said in a low voice and pressed her chest.

“Em,” she said.

“First time?” Connie said.

Two women waved to Connie and moved to sit in their row. Em stood so they could get by.

“At the seminar?” Em asked.

She was so surprised by the woman’s friendly tone that she scowled a bit more than she would have liked.

Not intimidated, Connie nodded and sat down.

“I haven’t been here before,” Em said finally.

“I thought so,” Connie said. “I can always spot the new ones.”

Em raised her eyebrows to see if Connie was going to say anything else. The woman was rummaging through her handbag.

“Do a lot of people come more than once?” Em asked.

“Most of us,” Connie said and came up with a ball-point pen. “This is my eighth time.”

“Eight times?” Em asked.

Surprised, Em looked at the woman as if she were crazy. Connie nodded in agreement that she was, in fact, crazy. Em smiled.

“Why?” Em asked.

Connie scanned Em’s face and gave a little nod.

“I guess we feel. . .” the woman pressed her hand in to her chest. “. . . for the women.”

Connie nodded.

“And men, too,” Connie said. “You know there were men hanged, right? Oh, and they were hanged and not burned. Most people think they were burned.”

Em gave Connie a soft smile, and Connie nodded as if she’d set Em straight.

“Plus, the man who teaches this course is. . .” Connie started.

The woman sitting next to Connie leaned over and said, “Dreamy.”

“I was going to say ‘handsome,’” Connie said.

“Charming, funny.” The woman next to Connie gave a little sigh, and Em squinted at the familiar description.

“Doctor. . .” Em fumbled for her program. She’d been so focused on getting into the class that she hadn’t paid any attention to who was teaching it.

“Burrows,” the woman two down from Connie said. “I’m Cassie.”

“Em.” Em nodded to the woman.

“Charlie,” the woman next to Connie said.

“We’re the three ‘C’s,’” Connie said. “We’re from Wisconsin. Madison.” Connie pointed to herself. “Milwaukee.” Connie pointed to Charlie. “And Eau Claire.” She gestured to Cassie.

Em smiled as if she knew that these cities were actually different places.

“Em, from Boston,” she said.

The women gave Em a little wave.

“So this Doctor Burrows? Any relation to the Reverend?” Em asked.

“Different spelling,” Cassie said with a shake of her head. “He’s from Boston, though. Maybe you know him.”

Em shrugged and started making a cup of tea in the cap of her thermos.

“He owns one of those woo-woo stores,” Charlie said. “What is it called?”

“Mystic Divine?” Em asked.

“That’s it,” Connie said. “Have you been there?”

Em gave them a vague nod and tried to keep the amused grin off her face.

“How long has he been teaching this course?” Em asked.

“Ten years?” Cassie said. Em swallowed hard to keep from looking surprised.

“Longer than that,” Connie said.

The women argued among themselves for a moment until they agreed that they weren’t sure.

“He’s cute,” Charlie said. “But he’s totally taken.”

“Which totally makes him more attractive,” Cassie said.

“He’s taken by that Mary who works with him,” Connie said.

“Which Mary?” Em asked, with a little too much emphasis. The women looked up at her with surprise. “I know a lot of Mary’s.”

“You probably
do
know her,” Connie said. “She lives in Boston.”

“They both do,” Cassie said. “You should hear them. Year to year, they always learn something new. This year, they say they’re going to reveal where the bodies are buried.”

“You know, no one knows the exact location the witches were buried,” Charlie said.

“Not witches,” Connie said.

Charlie wagged her head side to side.

“We always argue about this,” Connie said. “Charlie believes they were actual witches. What do you think, Em?”

The woman looked at her.

“I. . .” Em said. Her mouth went dry. Her heart pounded in her ears. She had no idea why she was panicked. She only knew that she was. “I. . .”

She shrugged to fill in the blank.

“That’s how I am, Em,” Cassie said. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know. And. . .”

“Even if they were witches, they didn’t deserve to be hanged,” the women said in unison.

“Look at the time!” A woman came rushing into their row.

Em and the three “C’s” got up to let her through. She dropped into a chair next to Cassie, and the women’s attention turned away from Em. Relieved, Em took a sip of her hot tea. She looked at her thermos. She never got used to how these thermoses worked. Talk about witchcraft. Thermoses were amazing. She was lost in her own revelry over the tea when Connie touched her arm.

“There he is,” Connie said. “Isn’t he. . .”

Em looked across the nearly eight thousand people in the auditorium to see her husband move into the room. He wore jeans, a brown sweater she’d knitted, and a beard. As she had the first time, she felt his presence like a hot coal moving across her heart. He seemed to feel her presence as well. He scanned the audience.

“He’s got a wedding ring this year,” Cassie said with a pretend pout.

“Mary still doesn’t.” Charlie pointed to Mary Ayer Parker, who was standing next to George.

“It’s
not
Mary,” Connie said with finality. Charlie shrugged.

“I see some familiar faces. . .” George said as he peered out into the audience.

He put his hand on his heart and whispered what Em knew to be a finding spell. It took him only a moment more to find her at the back of the room. She felt her face get hot and her lips turn up in a smile. His face broke into a big smile. He instinctively touched the beard that she hated and looked down. When he looked at her again, everyone in the auditorium turned around to see what he was smiling at.

“He’s smiling at me!” Connie said.

“It’s Em,” Charlie said with a push of her elbow into Connie’s side.

The women looked at Em, and she shook her head as if they were crazy. George said something to Mary Ayer Parker. She found Em and grinned. Before Em had a chance to respond to the women, George started the course.

“We have five days,” George said. “Five days seems like a long, long time to talk about something that happened so long ago. However, what happened in Salem in 1692 affected the very creation of this country and continues to affect Western civilization today. Those of you who have been here before know that we’ll spend the mornings talking about the environment in which the witch trials happened, or more simply, the ‘why’ of the Salem Witch Trials. We’ll spend the afternoons focused on two of the individuals who were hanged as witches. This year, we will discuss: Sarah Good, Susannah Martin, Martha Carrier, John Proctor, Mary Eastey, Margaret Scott, and Giles and Martha Corey. That is eight.”

“George Jacobs!” a voice yelled from the side of the class.

“Elizabeth Howe,” a woman yelled.

George nodded and grinned.

“Okay, okay,” George said. “Tomorrow, you’ll have a chance to vote on the final two people we discuss. Let’s get started. Can we lower the lights?”

George began lecturing. Em leaned back in her seat to listen.

Em was just finishing dinner with the three “C’s” when an address appeared on her telephone. She waited until the women had finished their wine before making her excuses and leaving the restaurant. The map on her phone told her that the address was for a small house on campus. To avoid being seen, she cloaked herself in darkness and headed off into the fall night. Em felt her heart race with excitement and her breath catch in her throat as it had when she’d snuck out to see George in Salem. Smiling, she made her way to see her lover.

Mary Ayer answered the door. She didn’t say a word until Em was well inside the house.

“I can’t believe you guys,” Mary Ayer said as she hugged Em. “You really didn’t know he taught this class?”

“This is his time to do what he will,” Em said with a shrug. “Plus. . .”

“There is no talk of Salem in our house,” George said.

“That’s not exactly true,” Em said.

“Pretty close,” George said. He held out his arms and crushed her in a hug. He gave her a bruising kiss. “I do not have words to describe how delighted I was to look up and. . .”

He let go of her to look at her.

“What are you doing here?” George asked.

“I thought you hated history!” Mary Ayer said with a laugh.

“I do!” Em smiled. “I need to figure this whole demon thing. . .”

Mary Ayer gasped, and Em looked at her.

“We didn’t vanquish them?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I don’t think so.” Em shook her head. “Sorry.”

Mary Ayer looked at George, and he nodded.

“They’ve declared a kind of a truce,” Em said. “They said as long as we don’t add to our ranks, they will leave us alone again.”

“But Mary’s pregnant,” Mary Ayer said. “Bridget, too, but I’m not supposed to say anything.”

Em nodded.

“Oh, God,” Mary Ayer said. She wandered to a worn stuffed armchair and dropped down. “Alice will be so disappointed.”

George chuckled, and Em smiled. Mary Ayer turned to look at Em.

“I thought it was too easy,” Mary Ayer said. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I had another dream,” Em said.

George put his arm over her shoulder and kissed her hair.

“The demon said something that made me realize that I’d only ever taken someone else’s word for. . .” Em waved her hands and added, “everything.”