Suffer a Witch (32 page)

“Oh, no, Em,” Mary Ayer said. She took a big breath to start lecturing. Seeing everyone’s faces, she said instead, “He didn’t make it happen.”

“Unless Cotton Mather was your demon,” Martha Carrier said. “He certainly was mine.”

“It’s plausible,” Em said with a smile.

Martha Carrier nodded.

“Okay,” Mary Ayers said. “You need to get a feel for what Salem was like from the perspective of a townsperson, and you want to see if your demon is at your hanging.”

Em nodded.

“Anything else?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I think we’ll know it when we see it,” Em said.

“Is that okay with everyone?” Martha Carrier asked.

“Em’s never been wrong,” Alice said. “If she says we’ll know something, then we’ll know it.”

Em smiled at Alice’s loyalty.

“I agree,” Martha Carrier said.

“Me, too,” Mary Ayer said.

“Okay,” Em said.

As she stood up, their dress transformed into standard Puritan housewife wear.

“In case we’re seen,” Em said.

Before they could respond, she reached out and touched Mary Ayer and Alice. Martha Carrier was quick enough to grab Em while keeping her hand on Alice. In a flash, they were standing in a muddy puddle on the road to Gallows Hill.

“Did you have to change my shoes?” Martha Carrier asked. She looked down and changed back into her hiking boots.

“Ghastly,” Alice said, as she changed hers as well.

“Are we invisible?” Mary Ayer asked.

A mother and father trudged by them with their young children.

“Good Lord, the smell,” Martha Carrier said. She went to the side to throw up. “Rotten flesh, manure, body odor. Did we ever bathe?”

“You can smell the bodies rotting in the crevice,” Em said. “Our bodies.”

“They could all smell us,” Mary Ayer said. “The stench of rotting human flesh hung in pockets around the town. You’d walk down any street, and the scent would assault you. The smell filled your nostrils and mouth. You could taste it in everything you ate. People wore scarves over their mouths so as not to smell it. It was a constant reminder of what had been done.”

“And what was to come,” Martha Carrier said.

“So many of our friends and family were in prison,” Mary Ayer said. “My friend Rebecca. . . I felt like I could smell the distinct scent of her rotting body — day after day, rotting a little bit more every minute that passed.”

Mary Ayer stepped back so another dismal family could walk by.

“I felt so wretched that I hadn’t saved her,” Mary Ayer said. “But how?”

“Why aren’t these people working?” Em asked. She gestured to the many families trudging through the mud and muck toward Gallows Hill. “It’s September! Harvest time! Get to work, you hypocrites!”

“Wow,” Alice said. “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” Em asked.

Alice, Mary Ayer, and Martha Carrier shared a look.

“During the trials, the entire region stopped functioning,” Mary Ayer said, finally.

“What do you mean?” Em gave an angry sniff. “When Henry was alive, I was ridiculed for my ungodly laziness. ‘Who did I think I was? An aristocrat?’ ‘God smites those who don’t grow their own food.’ ‘You will rot in hell for not farming, Martha Rich.’ Blah, blah.”

“That’s just it,” Alice said. “If you didn’t attend the trials, you were suspect. If you didn’t give testimony, someone was bound to give it about you. Everyone was terrified for their lives. No one had time to plant that spring or summer. There was nothing to harvest in the fall.”

“And if you planted, you were instantly suspect because you weren’t attending the trials,” Mary Ayer said with a nod toward Alice.

“You were in Boston with Isaac, so you don’t know,” Martha Carrier said. “Once it was over, there wasn’t any food around. Your son, Benoni, had a hard time feeding us that winter.”

“Our farm went fallow when John left,” Alice said.

“Any food that was available was obscenely expensive,” Mary Ayer said. “Benoni was able to afford it only when you and Isaac sent money.”

“The food you brought from Boston was often all we had for the month,” Martha Carrier said.

“It was a terribly cold winter, too,” Mary Ayer said. “Most families spent their money on food. Many couldn’t afford to keep warm. Entire families froze to death in their beds.”

“All because they were obsessed with the trials,” Em said.

“All because they were bullied into participating,” Martha Carrier said. “It was a blight on the entire community.”

“Oh, come on! Where are the soldiers forcing them to do anything?” Em gestured to the families moving along the mud road. “They’re not forced to do a thing! They’re here for the thrill of watching someone else suffer. It’s like reality television for the bored Puritans of Salem Village.”

“I never went to the trials,” Alice said. “I never liked gossip. John didn’t, either. And I didn’t give two shakes about church politics. It’s one of the reasons they picked me up — because we worked our fields instead of attending the trials.”

“To set an example of what happens when you don’t go along,” Mary Ayer said.

“And everyone knew this?” Em asked.

“If you didn’t smell it day in and day out, someone was whispering that you were in danger,” Mary Ayer said. “The pressure was tremendous. Think of it this way: They arrested you — a wealthy Puritan woman in good standing at the church — and they hanged Rebecca. Everyone was fair game.”

“They accused one hundred and eighty-five people, Em,” Martha Carrier said. “That doesn’t count the people who confessed rather than be charged.”

“There weren’t that many Europeans living here,” Em said under her breath.

“About three thousand in the entire Northeast,” Mary Ayer said. “The trials involved almost ten percent of the entire population between Maine and New York. That’s everyone.”

“The people who were charged were either testifying against their neighbor or being tortured until they confessed,” Martha Carrier said.

Em gave Mary Ayer a grim nod. For a moment, they watched a mother herd her two boys up the muddy hill.

“We should get going,” Em said.

They started up the hill. Em and Mary Ayer slipped and almost fell while Alice and Martha Carrier made it up easily. They’d gone only a few feet before Em and Mary Ayer changed their shoes as well. They found a spot on a small rise near the back of the growing crowd.

“They’re talking about Giles,” Alice said about the family standing next to her. “Everyone is horrified.”

“They should be,” Em said with a sniff.

“Em,” Alice touched her shoulder, “if you want to really see what’s going on, you have to open your heart and let go of the chip on your shoulder.”

Surprised, Em turned to look at Alice. She gave Em a compassionate nod. Em looked up at the heavens and nodded.

“I’m not back five minutes, and I’m right back to who I was in 1692,” Em said.

“We love you.” Alice hugged Em.

Martha Carrier put her arm on Em’s shoulder. Mary Ayer was busying looking around. She turned to them.

“We’re coming,” Mary Ayer said.

The crowd shifted as word that the cart carrying the “witches” was almost there. A group of angry young men and women moved to the front of the crowd, while most people shifted back. Women tucked their children into their skirts. They could hear the jeering, abusive men who’d followed the cart from the jail in Boston. The young people on the hill took up the abuse.

The women in the cart, including Em, Mary Ayer, and Alice, were pelted with rotten vegetables and fruit, feces, and horrible words. Em stood at the front of the cart in angry defiance like a wooden figurehead on the front of a galleon. Terrified and hysterical, Alice clung to Em’s shoulder. Mary Ayer was near the back. The cart got stuck in the mud and almost capsized. A few strong men helped keep the cart moving.

“That happened to us,” Martha Carrier said. “But I don’t think we had this much. . . vitriol. Most of it was focused on George. I hate to say it, but at the time, I thought he deserved it. I didn’t even know the man.”

The Alice Parker on the cart was hit in the forehead with a clump of human feces. On the cart, Em wiped Alice’s face with her sleeve. She said something into Alice’s ear.

“What did you say?” Martha Carrier asked.

“She told me not to let them take my last moments from me,” Alice said. “‘Don’t let them steal our last moments on this beautiful earth from us.’ She’d been saying that the entire trip to Gallows Hill. And truly, it was a gorgeous day — not too hot, with a lovely breeze. Above the noise and the stench, I could smell the open ocean. Everything was green from the recent rains.”

Alice nodded.

“When I hanged, I focused on the glorious oak tree above and ocean wind,” Alice said. “The shimmering leaves and warm sunshine. They did not take that from me.”

“Me, either,” Mary Ayer said. “The water in the creek. The glory of the day, itself. The God that awaited me. That was my hanging.”

The look of gratitude on Mary Ayer and Alice’s faces brought tears to Em’s eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” An angry voice came from Em’s left.

Em turned and gasped. Her demon was marching straight toward her.

Em reeled back in horror. Her feet caught on her long dress, and she stumbled.

“And you’re pregnant!” her demon said as he continued in her direction. “I told you what would happen if you added to your ranks! Now you’re giving birth to another immortal! Do you have any clue of what you’ve done?”

He was ten times bigger than she remembered and that much more horrifying. Em’s hands went to protect the new life growing inside of her. Her mouth fell open to scream, but no sound came out.

“Em?” Alice asked.

“Em!” Mary Ayer said. “What’s happening?”

Too terrified to speak, Em raised her hand and pointed. Mary Ayer and Martha Carrier looked at where she was pointing. Alice grabbed Em’s shoulders from behind to keep Em from falling down. Mary Ayer and Martha Carrier shook their heads. They caught Alice’s eye. She shook her head.

“We can’t see it, Em,” Alice said in a kind but worried voice. “Is it your demon?”

Em nodded. She swallowed hard and tried to ground herself. She could not fight the demon in this panicked state.

“Mary? Martha?” Alice asked.

The women shook their heads. The demon took a final angry step, and Em stepped back. Alice jumped into the path of the oncoming demon. Martha Carrier stepped right to Alice’s side. They linked arms with each other. Mary Ayer linked arms with Martha Carrier, creating a formidable wall of witches.

The demon reared back from them. His cloven feet dug into the muddy ground. He jerked his head back with such force that he tipped backward. He wavered for a moment before the weight of the horn in the center of his forehead was too much. He fell on his rear with such a force that the witches felt the air move and a slight tremor in the earth.

“What was that?” Mary Ayer asked. She looked at Em. “Em!”

Lost in her own world, Em gave Mary Ayer a glazed look. Her eyes were blank with shock.

“He fell,” Em said in a toneless voice.

Without warning, Em pushed Martha Carrier forward. The line of witches weaved forward with the force. Martha Carrier took a step forward and then another. The demon scooched back to get out of the way.

“Em?” Martha Carrier asked.

“I’m so sorry,” Em said. “I had to see.”

“What, Em?” Mary Ayer asked. “What did you have to see?”

“I had to see if he could touch you,” Em said in the same dead voice. “He’s moving away from you.”

“Stupid fucker,” Alice said.

She jumped toward the demon. The creature screamed with terror. He ran off into the crowd. Alice chased him for a moment before rushing back to Em’s side. She put her arm around Em.

Em grabbed Martha Carrier and Mary Ayer. In a breath, they were all standing on the balcony in Scotland. Em collapsed in a heap.

“What the hell?” Martha Carrier asked. She leaned down to Em. “What just happened?”

Em stared at the stone floor of the porch. Alice crouched down to her side.

“Come on,” Alice said. “Let’s get her inside. Mary, can you make some tea?”

“First,” Mary Ayer said. She clapped her hands, and they were wearing their own clothing again. “Thank God.”

Mary Ayer gave a nod and left to make tea. Em grabbed Martha Carrier’s ankle. Martha knelt down to her.

“I’m so sorry,” Em said. Tears of guilt and sorrow fell from her eyes. “Please, you have to believe that I never, ever would have risked. . .”

“Oh, Em,” Martha Carrier stroked Em’s cheek. “I know.”

Martha pressed her cheek against Em’s.

“How did you know?” Martha Carrier asked.

“I realized that, every time I’d fought the demon, you and the other witches were there,” Em said. “I saw him alone only in my dreams. Every other time, you or the others were with me. I wondered. . .”

“That’s enough,” Alice said. “She’s pregnant, in shock, and frozen to the core. She needs tea and warmth. Martha, get her other arm.”

Between Alice and Martha, they got her inside the castle’s library. Mary Ayer had started a fire on her way to the kitchen. Alice fanned the flames, and the fire roared to life. Martha Carrier and Alice situated Em in a cozy armchair next to the fire. Martha Carrier brought a thick wool blanket and draped it around her. They stepped back and looked at her.

Em was completely lost in thought. Her eyes focused on the fire. Her lips rubbed against each other as if they were sanding each other smooth.

“What should we do?” Martha Carrier asked in a low voice.

“Leave her alone for a moment,” Alice said in a low tone. In a more directed, louder voice, she said, “When the tea’s ready, we’ll make her talk to us.”

“I heard that,” Em said.

“You were supposed to,” Alice said.

Martha Carrier smiled at Alice but held her tongue.

“Come on. Em made some of her triple-ginger cookies,” Alice said. “We’ll have them with our tea.”

She hooked arms with Martha Carrier, and they left the room. A few minutes later, Em heard them laugh. She let out a breath. With her breath, her sorrow came flowing out. Her mind flashed through a horrible slideshow of the sights, sounds, and sensations of her hanging day. She wept for herself, before weeping for her community. It had never occurred to her that this thing — this Salem Witch Trial thing — had happened to everyone. She was so lost in her sorrow that she didn’t realize that Martha Carrier had returned until she spoke.

“Should I call George?” Martha Carrier asked.

Em shook her head and tried to reel in her sorrow.

“You’ve never grieved,” Martha Carrier said. She knelt down next to Em’s chair. “The year we spent in the barn, you were off in Boston trying to make a life for us. We were a wreck. We didn’t have to stay together. We did because we were too grief-stricken to do anything else. You’ve never had a chance to feel all of it.”

Tears still falling from her eyes, Em could only look at Martha Carrier. Em gave a slow nod.

“Have you ever talked to anyone about it?” Martha Carrier asked. “About all of it? Henry and George and Giles, the Indians, and all of the crap that happened after Salem Village? Have you told anyone the whole damned thing?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Em whispered.

Em shook her head. Martha hugged Em. She sat at Em’s feet to give her company in her sorrow. By the time Alice returned, Em was more stable.

“Where did you disappear to, Martha?” Alice asked in a playful voice.

Seeing Em’s sorrow and Martha at her feet, Alice gave a slow shake of her head. She set down the tray with a pot of tea and cups she’d been carrying and went to Em. Alice sat on one of the arms of the chair and put her arm around Em.

“What’s going on?” Mary Ayer asked as she entered the room.

“Em’s sadness caught up to her,” Alice said. She mouthed, “Finally.”

Mary Ayer nodded. She set down the tray with plates of various cookies on it. She took a seat on the other arm of the chair. For a few moments, they sat in close communion with Em. When Em felt a little clearer, she took a breath.

“How about some tea?” Em asked. She wiped her eyes.

“Of course.” Alice kissed Em’s cheek and went to pour tea.

Martha Carrier held up a box of Kleenex, and Em blew her nose. They were silent until Alice brought tea. They fell into a companionable silence while they enjoyed their warm tea and bright fire on a cold January night.

“Did you get what you needed, Em?” Mary Ayer said in a soft voice, breaking the silence.

“I believe so,” Em said.

“Can I help with anything?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I’m not sure, Mary,” Em said. “Probably. I’m not sure what, though. I have to think it through first.”

“Can you tell us anything?” Alice asked.

“I don’t ever want to go back to Salem Village,” Em said.

“The smell alone will keep me away!” Martha Carrier said with a laugh.

“I have to say. . .” Alice started. She sniffed back a tear. “I think of that time as the best days of my life. Everything was exactly how I wanted my life to be. But. . .”

Alice nodded. Her face broke out into a wide smile.

“I loved my John and my babies, but good Lord, just the smell alone was awful,” Alice said. “The people were so horrible. . .”

“Small minded,” Mary Ayer said with a companionable nod. “I don’t think I would have ever thought that until we went back.”

“We were all so caught up in our fight with the church,” Em said.

“King James and his horrible bible,” Martha Carrier said. “We were so sure.”

“About everything,” Alice said with a nod.

“Exactly,” Em said.

“You have to remember, though,” Mary Ayer said. “At that time, most real information was managed by the Royal Family. We didn’t have the kind of freedom of information that we have now. We didn’t know about other places in the world. We only knew about ourselves.”

“It was a different time,” Em said.

“Did you see Ann Putnam, Junior?” Martha Carrier asked.

“No!” Em said with a startled laugh. “Was she there?”

“With her other horrible accusing compatriots, may they rot in hell forever. Even George Jacob’s miserable granddaughter was there,” Martha Carrier said. “I wanted to scratch their eyes out.”

“Oh, I did that,” Mary Ayer said.

“You did not!” Em said in incredulous surprise.

“Oh yes, I did.” Mary Ayer nodded. “They clearly didn’t need eyes to make their determinations of the world.”

“Or to murder twenty people,” Martha Carrier sniffed.

“Did you really hurt them?” Alice asked.

“Permanently disfigured one or two of them,” Mary Ayer said with an angry sniff.

“Are you ever going to tell us what you did to Ann Putnam Junior’s parents?” Alice asked Em.

“Why are you always so sure that
I
was the one who did something to them?” Em tried for an indignant voice, but it came out as a laugh.

“Who else could it have been?” Mary Ayer asked. “We were together in the barn. Alice was on some island off the coast of North Carolina. It had to be you.”

Smiling, Em shook her head.

“Oh, forget her,” Alice said. “It was probably Isaac, anyway.”

Em snorted a surprised laugh.

“Isaac did something to the Putnams?” Mary Ayer asked. “Peaceful, wonderful Isaac?”

Em shook her head. Martha Carrier got up from her spot at Em’s feet.

“Is there more tea?” Martha Carrier asked.

“Under the cozy,” Mary Ayer said. “I thought we could use at least two pots.”

Martha Carrier gave Mary Ayer a soft smile. She touched Em’s shoulder before going to the tea tray. Alice picked up the plate of cookies and passed it around. Soon they were eating cookies and drinking tea. They had settled next to the fire when Mary Ayer gave a big sigh. They turned to look at her.

“So what did Isaac do to the Putnams?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I will never tell,” Em said. “After all. . .”

“How do you know it was him?” Alice, Martha Carrier, and Mary Ayer said.

They laughed and settled in with their tea and cookies. After a few minutes, they were chatting and laughing about their return to Salem Village. Em looked from face to face and felt overwhelming gratitude for her witches. She smiled and joined their conversation.

“Tell me again,” George said.

He pulled the covers back from the bed. Em came out of their bathroom wearing her bathrobe. She had a towel around her wet hair.

“I will tell you that bathrooms are truly wonderful,” Em said. “Showers are the stuff of dreams.”

“Five minutes in Salem Village gave you quite the perspective on modern life,” George said with a laugh.

He got into bed and pulled the thick comforter up to his chin. Seeing that she wasn’t quite ready to join him, he scooted back to sit with his back against the headboard.

“It was. . .” Em turned to face him, “. . . life changing,
and
it was more than five minutes.”