Witch Child (11 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Lloyd
Salem, 12 August 1692
Today was
awful
. Even do I fear to write it.
awful
. Even do I fear to write it.
'Twas started when I was on an errand for Mama and took the shortcut through the woods. Always this past fortnight I have been so cautious, for fear of encountering Goodman Glover, so I have taken the road. But today, so low in spirits was I about all that has happened, I wanted to think. The solace of the woods is best for thoughts.
Upon returning from my errand, having forgotten my fears and feeling secure, I took the longer path through the forest, near to where the river widens.
Male laughter floated intriguingly through the trees. Instinctively I knew some of the village boys were swimming, and being of curiosity, I stealthily tiptoed off the path and peered round a nice fat maple.
Deodat Easty was there (Ann's desired intended), as was Peter Cook (whom Deliverance's heart beats for), as well as homely Joshua Snow and others. In all there were about seven, all hooting, hollering, splashing and having a merry time of it. Engaged in rough horseplay, as only boys can do, they had fashioned a diving position from an old log floating in the middle of the river. But most fascinating of all was they were stark naked!
Flushing, I quickly dodged my head back round the tree. Yet curiosity again plagued me. Gingerly I peered out again.
How funny they were! Their hands and faces were brown as berries, while the rest of their bodies was white as baby's skin! Deodat Easty climbed on the log, looking like some sprawling, leggy frog, then turned, stood and, with a yelp, leapt into the air, arms and legs wildly flailing, his small white dingle bobbing like a fish, until he landed with an enormous splash into the water. I smiled.
“If sweet, shy Ann could see Deodat
now
,” I thought. “Ann would positively faint with embarrassment!”
now
,” I thought. “Ann would positively faint with embarrassment!”
Smiling, again, I continued to stare, my eyes taking in their naked bodies and always travelling toward their bobbing dingles. Always, for some perverse reason, I have been fascinated by boys' dingles. Once I saw Daniel, 'twixt the curtains, climbing from the bathing tub, and I thought of it for days. His dingle is larger than Deodat's. Probably because Daniel is older.
I decided no one would know if I took another peek.
Ugly Joshua Snowâwho can't tell one end of a mallet from the otherâclambered up on the log, fell off, tried again, fell off again and finally made it. I giggled softly. Can Joshua do nothing right? His dingle poked out like a short skinny sausage. How I wished I could tell Abigail! 'Twould serve her right for her recent attitude!
Suddenly leaves crackled behind me.
'Twas Goodman Glover!
Stunned, I stood petrified like wood. Goodman Glover had seen me spying!
His thin lips opened into a grin, and his teeth were all yellow and misshapen. “So, 'tis watching the boys you like, is it?” he said.
Horrified, my hands flew to my burning face. What if the boys heard him speak? What if everyone came bounding from the water and found me spying?
Goodman Glover's grin became a low chuckle. “So the pretty one likes the boys, does she?” he repeated.
His small hand reached toward me, pulling me against him, and frantically I tried to wriggle free. I could not believe the strength of his grasp. Before I knew what happened, his other hand had covered my mouth, and he shoved me to the ground. Terrified, I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. Someone might hear! While male laughter floated through the trees, my mind spun, trying to grasp what was happening. terrified, I fought. Those thin evil lips and those gaping yellow teeth closed over my mouth, and the smell of liquor made me want to wretch. Hands were all over me. Something large and hard pressed against my leg. 'Twas a dingle! Pray, God, how could such a small weasely man have a dingle as large as that!
Through liquored breath, I could hear soft, low laughter. “Your Mama once joined her body with mine. She liked it. Joined me often, she did.”
Aghast, I felt my stomach heave. What was he saying? What had Mama done? Surely 'tis a lie!
I heard his low, evil laughter again. “Now âtwill be
your
body I'll join! And you'll like it, too! Just like your Mama did!”
your
body I'll join! And you'll like it, too! Just like your Mama did!”
Kicking and biting, I felt his quick, small hands tear at my buttons, then suddenly I felt one hand on my flesh! On my small breast! Struggling, with all the energy within me, I wanted to cry out but could not, for fear of the sound. His small weight lay atop me heavy as a boulder, and no matter which way I fought, I could not wrench myself free.
The world swam in horror, and his sharp teeth upon my lips bit in pain. So firmly were they fastened upon my mouth, my choking sobs strangled in my throat. I could not breathe. Frantically I struggled, and within my struggle, I heard a rip, then felt a grasping hand within my underclothing. Something hard and stiff moved upon my leg. It pressed against my privates, and though my legs were pinned, I kicked and scratched and pommelled.
Through labored grunts, I heard a curse, then suddenly a deep pain shot through me. My privates and my insides felt as if they should split apart, and suddenly I froze, so great was my pain, and so terrified was I of greater pain which came with every movement. His sickening body went into a spasm. His foul breath made short, swift “oofs,” and his small hand pressed my chest flat to the ground while his spasms came with such speed and such pain that no longer did I fear sound; but my screams stuck in my throat and made only silent sobs.
Suddenly I felt one enormous spasm, then heard a high, whining wailâlike an animal caught in a trap. His weasely body stilled, weighted atop me. It was only then the real horror enveloped me. He was inside me! Goodman Glover, with his disgusting, large dingle, was inside of me!
Every fiber within me renewed my fight. Kicking, biting and heaving, I fought with all my might. His body began yet another spasm, but somehow I threw him off and tore myself free. Frantically I stumbled to my feet. A bright trickle of red blood leapt out upon my torn clothing. I nearly wretched. His weasely body lay at my feet, doubled over in curses from where my foot had kicked, but I did not stop to watch. A sob rose to my throat, and I turned to flee.
Behind me, he growled, “Tell your Mama of this, and the whole village shall know of her past!”
Swiftly I ran, stumbling, weeping. A large hairy boar leapt out at me, snarling, and then I
did
scream, as loud as my lungs would allow me. In his beady eyes I saw the eyes of Goody Glover. He charged, chasing me, his cusps fierce and ugly, and in even further terror, I scrambled up a tree, then hid myself in its limbs, sobbing. For hours I sobbed, until my throat was raw and I could not breathe.
did
scream, as loud as my lungs would allow me. In his beady eyes I saw the eyes of Goody Glover. He charged, chasing me, his cusps fierce and ugly, and in even further terror, I scrambled up a tree, then hid myself in its limbs, sobbing. For hours I sobbed, until my throat was raw and I could not breathe.
When finally I reached home, I tore off my dress and shift and threw them, wadded, into a corner of the chest; then collapsed upon my bed. No one must ever know what has happened. I have been defiled by Goodman Glover! Mama could have been his wife! And 'tis a horrid, horrid tale which lies behind those facts!
Salem, 13 August 1692
I feel physically ill and shamed to write. All came back to me in last eve's nightmare, and I do not think my mind can continue.
Betwixt Goody Glover's cackling laughter sounded the soft, low chuckle of her husband. He tugged at my dress. His hands were on my flesh. His large, hard dingle pressed against my leg. His thin lips and liquored breath covered my mouth and swallowed my lips. I wanted to cry out! Scream! Flee! But I could do nothing. My body was made stone from some wicked spell his evil wife had cast upon me.
Dinglesâbig dingles, little dingles, fat dingles, soft dingles, all sizes and shapes of dinglesâwhirled round in my brain, until suddenly Goodman Glover stood before me naked, as if he had stepped from the throng of raucous, bathing boys.
His thin lips curled in a smile. The tip of his small pink tongue moved round the top of his yellowed, gaping teeth. His wandering eye darted this way and that. A tail curled from his buttocks. His dingle was enormous, the size of a tree. Sobbing, I tried to step back. I wanted to vomit. His hand reached for mine to draw it toward his dingle.
A low voice said, “Your Mama joined her body with mine. I might have been your father.”
'Twas the voice of the Devil! From nowhere a pitchfork leapt into his hand, and with its tines, he stroked my breast.
Sobbing, I screamed, “Be gone! Be gone, you vile, vile man!”
Blood trickled down to my stomach, oozing from the marks of the sharp tines. 'Twas warm and stinging. I screamed. Amazingly, my body became unloosed, and I fought. Fought with all my strength.
“I hate you! I hate you!” I screamed. “You shan't take me! You shan't!”
From a mist appeared Jeremiah. He, too, was naked, and his hand was held out to me. When he spoke, âtwas as if his voice drifted from a distance. “Do not fear, Rachel,” Jeremiah said. “'Tis merely a dream. Waking shall set you free.”
“Nay!” I cried. “âTis no dream! 'Tis real! Can you not see? My visions are real! They have come to get me!”
Jeremiah smiled, a kindly smile. Fiercely I grabbed at Goodman Glover and shoved him forward.
“Look, Jeremiah! 'Tis real! Can you not see the tail?”
Again Jeremiah smiled, touching me, then shaking his head, his vapor disappeared.
Goodman Glover laughed evilly. He moved toward me, closer, closer. Frantic, I kicked and sobbed. His pitchfork aimed at my cheek, its tines sharp and jagged. In terror I covered my face; but the force, when it hit, nearly made me swallow my tongue, and I cried out in pain.
But the pain was not that of the pitchfork. Nor of his vile dingle. 'Twas of Mama slapping me. And I was tied to the bed.
Salem, 13 August 1692, early eve
I fear to leave the house, so frightened am I of encountering Goodman Glover. All day I have spent at my spinning.
I cannot look at Mama, for knowledge of her horrid past. And for what she has caused me to suffer. She tried to come converse with me, sitting beside me at my wheel, but I mumbled something unintelligible and short, until finally she sighed, stood wearily and returned to her bread baking. To Mercy, I heard her say, “âTwas a poor night for Rachel. 'Tis best we leave her to her thoughts.” She left two cups of Venice treacle on the table beside me.
I marvel that Mamaâpious, sedate, poised Mamaâcould contain such a vile secret, could so naturally continue with her chores, could so often have been held up as a perfect example of goodwifery! And all this time beneath that calm exterior has lain something too detestable to even imagine. Does she not know what it would do to Papa were he to learn the truth? Does she not know Papa would be destroyed?
Upon pain of death, I swear Papa
never
shall learn of it. Even have I to kill Goodman Gloverâor Mama herself!
never
shall learn of it. Even have I to kill Goodman Gloverâor Mama herself!
So sorry do I feel for Papa, for what he does not know, that my heart nearly tears in two and aches in my breast. At midday meal I watched as he and Mama conversed, even laughing over something, and I wanted to weep for what a fraud Mama is. My throat stung from unspent tears for how Mama has deceived him. At evening meal, when Papa was so upset over the English suit and Mama comforted him, I hated Mama for how sincere she sounded, for how she touched Papa's hand as once she had touched Goodman Glover's.
And what of me? Am I no better than Mama? Has my body not also joined with Goodman Glover's?
Aye, I
am
better than Mama. I must persuade myself so, to keep my senses. My joining was not of my own choosing, and I do not have a husband from which I practice concealment. By these two sins, Mama has created my doom, which I must bear wordlessly. How I hate her for where she has led me. I cannot think where all will finish.
am
better than Mama. I must persuade myself so, to keep my senses. My joining was not of my own choosing, and I do not have a husband from which I practice concealment. By these two sins, Mama has created my doom, which I must bear wordlessly. How I hate her for where she has led me. I cannot think where all will finish.
The peace of confiding is not allowed me. My tongue, always so wooden, must become more wooden still. 'Tis only you, dearest journal, who may hear my thoughts and my confession and therein provide me sanity.
Salem, 13 August 1692, late eve
So many troubles weigh upon Papa's shoulders. Troubles which are oblivious to Mama's past. Goodman English has filed suit, as he threatened, and demands that Papa dismantle the dam, which would destroy the mill.
After evening meal, I walked with Papa back to the mill, not speaking, wanting our mutual presence to console us both. We sat on the steps in the dusk, and the whoosh of the waterwheel felt oddly reassuring. Something permanent still remained.
In front of us, the road lay silent. So different our road is at dusk than during the day. In the day that winding, dusty thread teems with activity: nicely dressed gentlemen ride past on their way from Boston; travellers stop at the ordinary; rickety carts, harnesses jingling, go clattering past, piled high with timber, vegetables, beef, pork and all sorts of farming yields headed for the coast, thence to other ports and other towns and other places, all so unknown to me.
Occasionally, as I did tonight, I sit on the steps and think about those other places. I try to imagine that vast, mysterious world which lies beyond our mill. And so close are we to the sea, some days I can even smell the pungency of salt cutting through the air.
The setting sun eased behind the trees and cast the world in a dim, sad light, matching the mood of Papa and me. Soon it would be dark, and the hills would be shapeless, black forms; the empty road would be hidden, trailing off into some vast nowhere around the bend. Sighing, Papa placed his arm round my shoulders and laid my head against his chest.
“The Lord constantly tests us,” Papa said. “Every hour, every day, He tests us. Always observing, always watching to see if we keep constancy in our faith. 'Tis why He now sends the devil to our midst. Testing us in yet another manner.”
Glumly, I nodded. Fervently I wished the Lord would send the Devil away, at least from me.
Lost in thought was Papa, trying to sort out the reason for his troubles, and he continued with: “So much strife between village and town. So many jealousies between our poor, beleaguered husbandmen of the village and the more prosperous merchants of town. Were those jealousies to cease, God would surely remove His thorns. Because Satan would find no fertile valley for temptation. Do you not think, Rachel, that contented hearts leave no room for evil?”
Papa was referring to the jealousies of Goodman English and Corwin. I wondered if such men would ever be content; yet it pleases me when Papa addresses me as an adult, so I did not argue. Nestling further into his chest, I told Papa I thought this to be a horrid summer; I did not tell him why.
“Aye.” Papa nodded. “One can only hope the riddance of these witches shall clear us of our strife. Perhaps then neighbor shall again be in concert with neighbor. Perhaps then we shall once more enjoy our sense of community. âTis the root of the problem, Rachelâour lack of community. Selfishness-selfishness and covetousness are what have brought Satan amongst us. Does not the Good Book say 'Love thy neighbor as thine self? How have the Book's words gone so unattended?”
I said what I have been thinking for some time now. I said I thought the riddance of witches seems to be curing nothing. That the village is more unsettled than ever. That for every witch we rid, thrice more appear.
My words were disturbing to Papa. He said, “We have to depend upon Reverend Parris to bring us back into the fold.”
“Mostly what Reverend Parris cares about,” I observed, “is his salary.” My bitterness for all things that have happened showed in my tone.
“With cause,” Papa countered..“That salary is now overdue for many a fortnight. And that, too, brings grumblings of begrudgement from half our neighbors. Truly the Reverend Parris is an instrument of our Lord. Else long ago, he would have deserted us.”
I told Papa I thought Reverend Parris to be the source of much grumblings and begrudgement himself. I reminded him of how Reverend Parris had spent months negotiating very favorable terms before eyen accepting our community of lost lambs.
Again Papa was perturbed by my bluntness. “Rachel, you must not be so vocal in your criticism. 'Twill bring you difficulty and ill will.”
“But 'tis the truth,” I maintained.
“Aye.” Papa nodded. “But truth is not always best spoken.”
“Aye,” I thought, bitterly, “like the truth about Mama and Goodman Glover. And about me.”
With weariness, Papa said, “I have always tried to do my best by you children and your mother. If God be willing and show me the way, I shall endure this new test He has presented me. But you must help me, Rachel.”
“Aye, Papa.”
“You must try to be obedient and pious, and you, too, must fight the test the Lord has given. You must try not to imagine things which aren't really there. Such imaginings do so sorely trouble your Mama. I love your Mama dearly. As do I love you children. And the conflict which divides the village weighs a hundred times heavier on my heart when it spills into our home. Can you do that for me, Rachel? Can you help us find that contentment we have lost?”
How my heart cried out for the tenderness with which he spoke Mama's name! With such affection does Papa hold someone who has so monstrously deceived him! I could not look into his eyes for what evilness I knew!
“What hurts your Mama,” Papa said, “hurts me, too. You do know that, don't you, Rachel? Your Mama's happiness is mine, as well. Will you try, Rachel? Pray, promise me you shall.”
Finally, after a long while, I murmured, “Aye, Papa. I . . . I shall try.” But inside I knew it would kill me.
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