The Necromancer (32 page)

Susanna’s condition worsened as the days passed, and Roger and Edward were frantic. But Thea suspected the reason of the girl’s apparent illness and was less distraught than the men, although, perhaps more disturbed by the implications should her suspicions be confi rmed. All her years as a midwife had given her experience enough to know what symptoms to look for. There was little doubt in her mind, but she had to be sure. She had to interview Susanna to confi rm or disprove her prognosis.

She knocked on the door to Susanna’s bedroom.

When she didn’t get an answer, she opened it quietly and stepped inside, closing it behind her. It was mid-morning.

The sun streamed through the windows, falling on the fl oor and across the foot of the bed, casting a shadow-cross which melted over the bedspread and onto the fl oorboards. Particles of dust fl oated about in the bright light.

Susanna was asleep. The old woman sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed the girl’s arm, shaking it gently.

“Susanna,” she said in the softest voice her aged vocal cords could manage. “I must speak with you.”

Susanna opened her eyes.

“What...”

“How are you feeling?”

“Not well. Not well at all.”

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Susanna’s skin was pasty, her eyes puffy.

“Thea?”

“Yes, child.”

“I’m most hungry.”

Thea nodded and folded one of Susanna’s hands

between both of hers.

“I shall cook you breakfast soon, child, but I must ask you something now.”

Susanna nodded.

“Have you been visited by the menses since Blayne’s execution?”

Susanna’s eyes widened, and at once Thea knew that not only hadn’t Susanna given thought to her menstrual cycle since the burning, she hadn’t experienced menstruation since then, either.

“No,” Susanna said, suddenly alarmed.

Thea patted her hand.

“And you have been ill; vomiting and such.”

“Yes. That I have been. Very ill.”

Thea shook her head.

“Susanna, I have been midwife to many a young

woman such as yourself, and I know that of which I speak.

What I must tell you should be a moment every woman cherishes, but alas, I think this is not to be so with you. But fi rst, tell me: Have you lain with any other man than Blayne?”

Susanna sat up, her breathing ragged.

“I have not,” she responded, alarmed.

“Susanna. Dear girl. I am afraid you are with child.”

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Susanna frowned and shook her head.

“No,” she muttered.

Thea squeezed her hand, and Susanna squeezed back, tightly.

“I shall help you.”

“No.”

“Edward and your father are here for you. All will be well, child. All will be well.”

“NO!” Susanna screamed, then broke down to

sobbing in Thea’s arms. “No. Oh God no.”

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CHAPTER NINETEEN
A New Beginning

In January, Tituba and over 100 other innocents were still in prison for witchcraft, awaiting their release. Hathorne, Parris, and Corwin, embarrassed by the folly, conceived of an elaborate scheme to cover up the fact that they had executed Ambrose Blayne, the second reverend executed for witchcraft.

They also conspired to cover up any evidence that they were in any way responsible for the murder and mayhem of the witch-hunts by having the affl icted girls “admit” to having made false accusations against those accused. Hathorne reasoned that it was better to look half the fool with a scapegoat upon which to place the blame than to admit to the execution of not one, but two men of the cloth. Such admission would surely raise questions none of them would care to answer. The Salem witch-hunts were over. That, they reasoned, was what mattered most.

But it wasn’t over for Susanna. She was carrying Ambrose’s child in her womb. Only time would reveal the repercussions of that. Her pregnancy ensured her expulsion from the only home she had ever known; even if it hadn’t—

even if she weren’t soiled by Ambrose’s seed—too much had 295

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happened to her to allow her to remain in Salem. The people would never forget.

Susanna’s reputation had been destroyed. Even with her acquittal she would never be looked upon in the same way again. And the situation would only get worse if she stayed, especially now that she would be showing soon.

Edward left his store in the hands of his brother Zachariah after taking what resources he would need for him and his mother to start over in New York. He and Thea had grown very fond of the Harringtons in the months they had spent with them, and it hadn’t taken long for him to realize he was in love with Susanna.

*****

Susanna Harrington’s Journal—20 January 1693—

With all that has happened of late I have been neglectful in penning my thoughts and keeping this journal current, thus this is the fi rst entry of the year. Father sold the house and we—I mean Father, Edward, Thea, and myself—have left Salem, and come to New York, where we have been settling in for the past week in a beautiful home overlooking the Hudson River. Edward had suggested Angelwood, but rumours of all that has happened has spread throughout New England, and I would still be branded a witch if we had moved there.

Father had heard that those accused who fl ed Salem journeyed to New York, which has become something of a sanctuary for refugees of the trials in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, so he felt it would be safer here. He and I told Edward and Thea that they needn’t come with us if they did not want to, but they were both quite adamant about traveling with us to make certain we arrived safely and without incident to our destination, and Thea insisted on attending the birth of my baby herself. They have really been so good to Father and me.

I do not know how we shall ever be able to fully express the depth of our gratitude. Edward is such a kind, giving man. I 296

A New Beginning

cannot help but have the feelings for him that I do. But my belly grows fat with another man’s seed and though that man be dead, I cannot imagine Edward feeling the same way about me as I do him, even if he had such feelings once. Nor do I wish him to, even though I yearn to be with him. He deserves better. He and Thea have done more for Father and me than could have been expected of any person. God bless them and keep them.

*****

Thea knelt at the foot of Susanna’s bed, glancing up at her through her raised knees, then back down between her legs. The old woman’s face was strained, and shiny with sweat.

A shudder shook through Susanna’s body, paroxysms shooting into her belly and groin. She could feel the baby sliding slowly out of her, its limbs writhing and groping at the inside of her thighs and the naked air between them.

“A beast,” a man whispered into her ear.

She turned to the voice and tried to squirm away, but could not.

“Our beast,” he said.

The baby cried the tormented, phlegm-clearing cry of birth.

She looked between her legs at Thea. The old woman backed away, her bloody hands outstretched and empty before her, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping.

Susanna turned to Ambrose, who scowled at her.

She looked away, back between her legs, down at the fork of her thighs. A small hand pawed at her lower belly, making an impression in the soft fl esh. It was wet and furry, each little fi nger tipped with a claw. Susanna tried to scream, but could not. Tried to push away, but could not. It raised its head, the boar’s head of its father, wet with blood. It stared into 297

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its mother’s eyes and bared its sharp teeth, its short tusks protruding over its black lips. For a moment, it did nothing.

Then it opened its mouth wide and chomped down on air.

It just chomped and chomped and chomped, its white teeth clicking mindlessly with maddening speed.

Susanna woke up gasping and looked around for

Ambrose and Thea and the beast-baby, but they weren’t there.

The room was dark with gloom. Someone was rapping on the door, but she was too scared to answer it. It opened slowly, and Edward peered in at her. She sat up a little, still shaken by her nightmare.

“Forgive me for waking you, Susanna, but you have been sleeping all morning. I know you do not feel well, but you must keep up your strength.” He stepped back into the hallway and out of her view. A moment later, when he returned, he held a tray of food. “I brought you breakfast,” he said, carrying it in to her.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

Edward placed the tray on the night table and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, lightly touching her hand.

“Had another bad dream?”

She nodded, her face knotted up with grief, and broke down. Edward took her in his arms and held her closely as she sobbed.

“Shh...Shh... It will be all right,” he said. “Once you have the baby, all will return to normal again: no more nightmares.”

She drew back and looked at him queerly as if she were looking at a stranger.

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“How do you know?” she asked. “How do you know

all will be well? How do you know my baby will be normal?”

“Susanna,” he said weakly. “They are but dreams. They mean nothing.”

“Nothing? They mean nothing?” she said, weeping

more intensely now. “He was standing...beside my bed...

whispering...to me...and that...that thing... It was his!”

“It was a dream, Susanna,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “It was only a dream.”

He pulled her close and hugged her, her head

dropping to his chest.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Susanna. You must know that.”

She nodded her head, the tears on her cheeks seeping into his shirt.

“I do,” she said, sniffl ing.

They sat like that for a long time. Then Susanna said:

“Edward.”

“Yes.”

“Why must there be suffering? Why must so many

good people suffer?”

“I know not, Susanna. I know only that each man, woman, and child must bear up with what the Good Lord has deemed appropriate, and that perhaps it is the Lord’s intention to teach some lesson when good people suffer.”

“There has been much suffering this year past,” she said somberly. “And I see no design behind it, no lesson to be learned. Only senseless pain...and death. Many people died, and I see no good in it, or reason.”

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Edward remained silent. Perhaps Susanna was right.

What lesson could be learned from such fruitless tragedy?

He held her a little while longer, then realizing she had fallen asleep, he laid her head down and let her rest. She didn’t look at all well. Her face was ashen, her eyes dark and hollow.

She looked...dead. He chastised himself for thinking so, then cleared the thought from his head and left the room thinking: She only looks ill because she is with child. She will be well again after the baby is born.

But as he walked down the hallway, he knew it was more than that. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it.

*****

Susanna Harrington’s Journal—27 January—Edward

has asked me to marry him, and I told him I would only after much thought and debate. He has done so much for Father and me. I wished not to make him feel obliged to marry me unless it was what he truly wished to do. As I had feared he is fast in his belief that the baby should have a father and not be born out of wedlock. It is Edward’s wish—as it is mine—that the child not know who its real father is, at least not until the child is old enough to cope with such revelation. But I did not wish Edward to marry me for the child’s sake, or mine or my reputation’s. I wanted it to be because he loved me, and it was what he really wanted to do, and after he professed such feelings for me in the most eloquent language I have heard from any man’s lips, so moved was I that I could not turn down his proposal. Lo these many months I have wondered what his kisses would feel like upon my lips, and now I can hardly see through the joyful tears, which fi ll my eyes even at this moment, such was the lasting impression he made upon my heart. O, Edward, I shall be a most loving and devoted wife to you. I love you, my Edward. I love you.

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*****

After the wedding, the dreams lessened in frequency and intensity, and that was a great relief. Perhaps everything would be well, as Edward had said. But the memories of those nightmares haunted Susanna. What if... What if she gave birth to the beast of her dream? As unfathomable as that was, she couldn’t let go of that question. She could only block it out and forget it, if even only for a little while. Though, she continued to fi nd herself posing that question from time to time, those times were growing fewer and further between each other. Her life was regaining some sense of normalcy.

But as her pregnancy progressed, so did her sickness.

As her baby grew stronger and bigger in her womb, she grew weaker, and her body—with the exception of her belly and breasts—grew leaner, almost emaciated. It was as if the baby were a parasite draining the life and blood from her body to feed itself. By the eighth month of her term, Susanna looked like a big-bellied skeleton with a thin sheet of skin pulled tautly over its bones. Her cheekbones jutted out sharply on her wan and withered face and seemed as if at any moment they would break through her skin and reveal themselves to the world.

Her hair had grown dry and brittle; her eyes, darker and more sunken by the day.

One morning, Edward noticed her from behind as

she was dressing and became alarmed by what he saw. Her ribs stood out sharply on her naked white back on either side of the knobs of her spine. The joints of her knees were larger than the muscles of her thighs. Her shoulders seemed much broader than her shrunken torso should allow, though they were thin and bony. The veins of her arms were greatly pronounced.