When the Black Roses Grow (15 page)

“I suppose since Deacon Goodwin accused my mother and she was sentenced and hung her for witchcraft, perhaps, they believe I am one, too.”

Sheriff Corwin smiled for a second and chuckled under his breath. “You certainly are bright for just a lonely widow.”

“Are widows supposed to be imprudent?”

He laughed, this time a full belly laugh. “I think perhaps, while thy latter answer would be an easy assumption, I believe thy first thought strikes further merit.”

“So you believe I am innocent?”

His smile vanished. “I do not yet know. However, I do not want to cast opinions solely by the warrants of a man in quest of revenge for unknown reasons and the warrants of a man in quest of revenge for his jilted daughter.” The soft twinkle in his eyes glistened as he repeated my original argument.

Perhaps, I assumed wrongly that he did not witness the hidden agenda behind Mary’s performance. Perhaps, he was not blind to the façade masking Deacon Pruett’s reality. However, if he knew, why hold me chained to unjust accusations?

“But, such is exactly what you did today to John Coleman. How can I trust thy word?”

“Knowing only one opinion of the matter as you camouflage thyself in the bushes doth not yield you an expert. Furthermore, a witch will not blind me with a mask and painted façade, either.”

“What do you mean?”

Sheriff Corwin grasped his tumbler of water, draining the goblet in a few gulps, then slammed it down on the desk with a loud thump. Once again, he leaned forward, rested his elbows on the wood, and clasped his hands together.

“Tell me, Miss Hawthorne, how intimate are you with Mr. DeKane?”

FIFTEEN

“What doth it matter how I know him?” I asked for the third time.

“Are you in love with him? Do you desire to marry him?”

“Why would the answers matter?”

“Because, I need to learn why his affections suddenly changed.”

Sheriff Corwin slammed his fist down upon his desk and knocked over his empty goblet. A few last remaining droplets spilled as the tumbler bounced off the wood, plummeted to the floor, and rolled several inches.

“Hath thou thought to ask him why?”

“Quite the coincidence, considering thy past with the Pruett family. A witch seeking her revenge surely could do harm by causing such a stir as to hoodwink the love away from a woman she despises.”

The once flicker of hope faded, that perhaps Sheriff Corwin thought Mary hath accused me out of spiteful revenge, and the glimmer of faith dimmed into darkness. His expectations unknown, his beliefs unknown, the world around me began to spin out of control.

My pulse raced under my skin.

My fate of a long life on this earth dwindled.

“What evil spirit hath you familiarity with?” Sheriff Corwin cocked his head to one side and glared at me through squinted eyes.

“None.”

“Hath you ever hath contact with the devil?”

“No.”

“Why do you hurt Miss Pruett and the rest of the Pruett family?”

“I do not hurt them. I hath never hurt them. They were my family, for a while . . . and I thought they would be, even after Joseph . . .”

Tears welled in my eyes and if I spoke another word, if I finished my sentence, I would not be able to control them for another second.

“Why do you not speak the truth?”

“I am speaking the truth. I am not a witch, and I do not torment them. I do not speak to the devil, and I do not follow any evil power. I scorn it.”

“And, why should I believe you? What hath thee done to prove thy innocence?”

“What hath I done to prove my guilt?”

Color vanished from his cheeks along with the confidence in his eyes. The nerve I struck had been a blow he did not see coming. The unexpected logic of a woman he was determined to condemn, determined to make writhe in terror in front of him with his accusations and commanding tone.

How dare I be so bold? How dare I disrespect him in such a way? Yet again, I unraveled his plans. Yet again, I questioned him when I was not supposed to, and forced points of view into his face that he could not deny.

“You are in quite an amount of trouble. I suggest you cooperate.”

I bit my lip and shook my head.

His nostrils flared and he growled under his breath. No one refused him before. No one denied him what he needed to know.

Far from a saint, Sheriff Corwin did uphold the law in Salem in a commendable way. And yet, I could not help but suspect that even the impartial can hath moments of prejudice as though he thought of his own accord and dwelled in the realm between being himself and being Reverend Perris’s lackey.

Of course, to whomever watched, it would seem the opposite. Especially when Sheriff Corwin rebuffs Reverend Perris within the eyes of the public and holds a stance above the head of the church by proclaiming that law is, well, the law and should be followed.

However, I hath often wondered if there was not something deeper than one could witness. While neither man held power, complete power, over the other, the separation of law and church should draw a line in the sand, or, at least the two men should. Law was the law, and yet, I could not deny the sense that law could be bought and twisted into what another desired.

“I do not hath the answers thou seek.” I closed my eyes. My jaw clenched.

Sheriff Corwin exhaled a deep breath as he grabbed the bridge of his nose. “Miss Hawthorne, I do not believe you understand the situation. Fever is rampant and young girls are suffering for unexplained reasons.”

I stared at the desk and shook my head without saying a word.

“You hath been accused of witchcraft, and although you adamantly deny thy involvement, you are not innocent. I would hate for thy non-compliance to reflect upon thy trial and sentence.”

“Just as with John Coleman?”

He slammed his fists down onto the wood with a force that shook the entire desk, rose from his chair, then leaned toward me until his face was inches from mine. “Just as with John Coleman.”

His anger suggested the apparent meaning of his underlying threat—bestow him the answers he seeks, bestow him my confession, or else suffer the same fate as John Coleman, the man pressed to death for protecting the woman he loved.

“Perhaps a few hours locked in the chamber in which thy mother begged for her life will ameliorate thy ability to answer my questions.”

Sheriff Corwin shoved the chair away from him, and it hit the floor with a thud. He marched around the desk, grasped my arm in his hand, and squeezed it tight.

“You are hurting me.”

“Such doth not concern me.” He snorted with an amused hint and dragged me across the courtroom, through the back door, and down to the prison house.

Rundown, the wooden boards of the building were rotted in a few places, and the door opened with a hard-pressed jerk and loud clunk. Inside proved shoddier with the smell of mold and human waste—a dirty, dark place I remember from my nightmares.

The last home my mother knew was now the last place I would know.

Sheriff Corwin yanked me down the hallway between the cell chambers. Three on each side, a few of them housed a woman or two. He halted at the last chamber, unlocked the cell door, and pitched me into the pen of iron bars.

“Thy belongings will be auctioned off after you are convicted and sentenced.” He paused for a moment and waited for me to react. “Unless, you wish to speak now and spare thyself the misery of a trial.”

I shook my head.

He slammed the cell door shut. His thunderous footsteps echoed through the building as he strode out of the prison house.

Even with the light of a few windows, the cold darkness of the room closed in. Happiness lost in a sea of despair, a fearful feeling that spread through my skin with a tickling numbness that brought far too much anxiety. I glanced over my shoulder. My eyes darted around the chamber to search for another body.

My cell was empty except for the chamber pot in the corner.

In the chamber next to mine, Titana kneeled in the center with her hands clasped together as she prayed. With her eyes closed, she mumbled words I could not hear.

An empty chamber sat next to hers, and across the dim hallway, two women huddled together with their arms wrapped around each other. Next to them, two more women paced the walls of the tiny room they shared. With their arms outstretched, their fingers tapped each of the iron bars as they passed.

Soft sobs whispered from the chamber across from mine. With her knees drawn up to her chest, Rebecca wrapped her arms around her legs. Her body rocked back and forth, as she buried her face in her intertwined limbs. Her love now lay dead under a pile of stones while she faced death alone.

“My apologies for thy loss.”

She glanced up at me. My whispered condolences did nothing for her suffering. Her anguish and heartbreak were far too great for another to understand or comfort.

“I spoke to John before . . . He asked me if I would tell you he loves you and—”

“I do not wish to hear thy words.” Rebecca shouted through her sobs. Her hands trembled as they lingered over her ears as though she fought to cover them and drown out my words.

“My apologies, I only meant to convey what he wished—”

“I know what he wished. I do not need to hear his last words from someone who knows not of my sorrow.”

“I know thy grief. I know what ‘tis like losing a loved one.”

She glared at me and opened her mouth—another retort ached to spew from her lips. She uttered not a word. Instead, she spun away from me, curling up against the wall as she wept.

Guilt stung deep in my chest. I exhaled a deep breath and closed my eyes as I leaned my back against the iron bars then slid down until my rump hit the dirt floor.

“Never ‘ought I’d see ya in here.” Titana pressed her face in between two of the bars. “S’pose with ya Mama accused, ya would be too.”

“My mother was innocent . . . and, so am I.”

The slave woman’s cackling laughter echoed through the chambers. “As we all be, no doubt.”

I glared at her. “I need to rest.”

She laughed again, and began humming a tune as she shook her head and strolled away.

Weak, exhausted, and frightened, I laid my head on the dirt and drew my legs up into my chest. My body trembled and tears streamed down my cheeks as I sobbed. I needed reprieve from the demons that prowled in the shadows of my mind, lurking and waiting for me to allow them to consume.

As the sun set, all light faded from the windows and the darkness overwhelmed. With only the soft glow of the moon, shadows played off the iron bars, barely visible, and they toyed with my senses. Flickers of movement from the other girls resonated in my ears while the blindness drove me to the point of insanity.

I detested the dark, detested the loss of sight beyond my control.

“They be comin’ for ya without warning’.” Titana’s cautionary voice whispered in the shadows. “They be comin’ for ya without warning’.”

“What do you speak of?” I asked. “Who will come for us without warning?”

“Do not listen to her,” another voice said. “She is nothing more than a foolish old woman.”

“They be comin’ for ya in the middle of the night, forcin’ ya to sleep in the stocks as punishment. They be predators, huntin’ ya though ya’re in jail cell and can’t escape them. They be enjoyin’ watchin’ the pain in ya eyes.”

“What doth she speak of?”

“Just because they seized John in the middle of the night doth not mean they will do the same for us,” the other voice spoke again.

Whimpers echoed from Rebecca’s direction.

“We will never be found innocent because she confessed,” said the second voice. “Her confession only validated their belief, witches live amongst us.”

“If ya think they—”

“Quiet, Witch,” shouted another voice. “They do live amongst us, Sarah. I saw her flying through the sky—saw her in my dreams with her blood sucking snake. She is the reason we were accused and are on trial. Her powers are dragging innocent women into thy evil deal with the devil.”

“Stop,” cried a third voice. “Stop condemning one another. ‘Tis enough we are all going to die without casting guilt upon the woman next to you.”

“They be comin’ for ya without warnin’,” Titana screeched again.

The door of the building cracked open. It squeaked a spine-chilling long whine in protest to whomever opened it. Each of the women screamed, and yet, one by one, their voices hushed as though silenced by an unknown force. Without another sound, they all huddled in the corners of their chambers, shaking and hiding their faces.

Candlelight flickered against the walls and cast shadows through the iron bars. The only one left standing, my eyes locked on the ground. My heart thumped harder and faster. I held my breath until my lungs begged for air, and exhaled slowly as I closed my eyes.

Footsteps tiptoed down the hallway—slow and steady, they slid over the dirt floor, creeping along as they passed chamber after chamber. The closer the unknown person drew the tighter I clenched my eyes.

My heart pounded.

The footsteps continued until they stopped in between Rebecca’s chamber and mine—to summon either her or me, the unknown body stood silent.

“Emmalynn?”

The familiar deep voice, yet only a whisper, held the power in the smooth tone that cast away my fear.

James.

I opened my eyes and gazed straight into his.

He pressed his body against the iron bars of the chamber, and outstretched one hand through the barrier while the other possessed his candelabra. The flame of the candle flickered with his breath.

“How did you . . . are you daft? What hath you . . .” Words evaded me, thought evaded me—all reason escaped me as I rushed for the bars. His hand wrapped around me and drew me to him. Although cold iron separated us, his warmth comforted the raw emotions that crawled deep within my skin.

“I broke the lock.” He laughed through his whispers. “Probably not an intelligent choice, but they would not allow me to visit you, and I had to see you.” His lips brushed against my neck and cheeks, and then he kissed me.

“I do not believe they plan to release me.” My voice cracked on my last words. “I believe . . . I believe Sheriff Corwin will sentence me as soon as he can.”

“I will not allow such to happen. Do thee hear me? I will resolve this situation.”

“There is nothing thou can do to change their minds. Just as with my mother, they regarded me guilty the minute Mary uttered my name. They do not believe my innocence, and they never will.”

“I will resolve this.”

I gazed into his eyes. Shadows of candlelight reflected the deep color, warming the blue with hints of orange and black. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces, and I could not repress my tears any longer. The pain simply too much to bear.