Witch Child (22 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Lloyd
Salem, 10 September 1692, eve
Goody Warren is incarcerated with me. I do not think I have yet recorded that. She, who is Eunice Flint's accused possessor, is highly advanced of years, quite frail of body, has a face which is an intricate web of wrinkles, and displays a queer habit of twitching her nose when she speaks, her conversation being frequently peppered with the memory of her lost children, of which there appear to have been many. Tiny yellowed caps and infant gowns are brought to her by her husband, and all of them she meticulously shows to me. Though peculiar, she seems harmless enough. I try not to think about my suspicions regarding Eunice's accusations. But I do think of them. So I feel sadness for Goody Warren.
She consoled me today after my humiliation.
“Did they search you, child?” she asked, when I returned.
Though I perceived myself as being in chill control, apparently my demeanor spoke otherwise. Inwardly I still writhed. Calmly I retrieved the locket from the mute girl's pocket, the girl remarking nothing for my actions, and Goody Warren affording me the courtesy of privacy for what oddities I displayed, such as concealing lockets.
Cryptically I told Goody Warren aye, they had searched me, and my sharp tone said I did not wish to speak of it further. I felt badly for my sharpness, however, when Goody Warren easily volunteered: “My turn was fortnight last. How disappointed they were when a teat was absent!” I felt even sadder for her then, sad for the indignities to which even this frail old woman has been subjected. Looking round me at all the dirt streaked faces on bodies which had not been washed for fortnights, nay months even, I thought of their husbands, their brothers, their sons, and I wondered how men could allow such humiliation to come to their women. Like caged animals we are in our tattered, filthy clothing, our treatment no better than that of some captured beast.
Stiffly I stretched straight my legs in a small unoccupied space and rubbed my bruised ankles. Dried blood stained my stockings.
Goody Warren, nose twitching, softly said, “Here. Put these little gowns beneath the irons. Helps the chafing. 'Tis what I've done.”
“Thank you,” I said, grateful for her show of kindness.
“I wouldn't offer to just anyone,” she explained. “You're special. You remind me of my dead little Temperance. Died not three hours out of the womb. Such a little bit of a thing. Her face was much like yours.”
Vaguely I wondered how one could possibly detect a resemblance between a mewling infant and a girl of thirteen.
Goody Warren then began chirping on and on about such nonsense as to whether Temperance had been prettier than Harriet, whether Simon displayed the greatest strength of character, whether Joseph might not have been a prosperous merchant, and so on, all of which made very little sense since not one child had progressed beyond the age of seven days. So I was startled when, in the midst of this confusing litany, she suddenly stopped short, peered over at me with her frail, wrinkled face and asked, “Are you afraid of dying?”
I did not know how to answer. Truthfully, I had not really considered the matter. My thoughts had taken me only as far as the gallows, which was to be quite a proud and heroic affair, with me standing calm and brave, the wind blowing through my hair and the sea of gazing faces downcast and remorseful for how they had condemned me. Thus, it was with much surprise when I suddenly realized: I don't
want
to die!
want
to die!
Gulping, I admitted, “Aye. I am afraid.”
“Don't be,” said Goody Warren, reassuringly. “âTis swift, they say. The pain is scarce felt before 'tis gone.”
That's about as far from the truth as anything I've heard! Too vividly do I recall how long Goody Lawson lingered! Too clearly can I see the snapped neck and the twitching feet of Goody Glover and all the others! And, with what was rapidly approaching hysteria, I knew the pain would be great indeed!
“And,” continued Goody Warren, cheerfully, “think how peaceful when we reach Heaven. You
have
chosen Heaven, haven't you? Some think I shall go to the other, toward the blazing inferno and into the hands of Satan, but I shall fool them. I shall go to Heaven; and then I shall see all my babies. How blissfully happy I shall be then! Think of it, child. Think of all those blessed faces we have missed and shall finally greet!”
have
chosen Heaven, haven't you? Some think I shall go to the other, toward the blazing inferno and into the hands of Satan, but I shall fool them. I shall go to Heaven; and then I shall see all my babies. How blissfully happy I shall be then! Think of it, child. Think of all those blessed faces we have missed and shall finally greet!”
I could not think of a single face I wished to greet. Rather frantically, I said, “I don't want to die! I'm only thirteen!”
“But child, life on earth is but preparation for the greater things to come.”
“There must be great things
here
, as well! I want to experience those things, too!”
here
, as well! I want to experience those things, too!”
“But not near so blissful as Heaven. Nay, not near soâ”
“Once they were! Once I ran along the stream holding hands with Jeremiah! I laughed with Deliverance! Mama and Papa were happy! And the birds sang! And the sun was bright! Andâ”
“Calm yourself, child! Do, do regain some control. Else the jailer shall toss you into the dungeon. 'Tis a horrid jailer, isn't he? Does your mother not tell you of Heaven? Does she not tell you how you shall be angels together, that your souls shall be at peace forever?”
Miserably I said, “Mama cares nothing for me. Mercy is her favorite.”
“And your father? Do you not look to the day when your father shall hold you forever upon his knees?”
I was feeling more desolate by the moment. “Papa . . . he seems to have disowned me.”
“O,” said Goody Warren, rapidly losing interest in my sorry story. “Well, then, I suppose you can come with me. To help care for the babies. You'll like Harriet. She reminds me of you. Or is it Temperance? Such a little bit of a thing when she was taken. Harriet, I mean. 0 dear, there goes Goody Cloyce again, screaming at the Devil. She thinks he tries to choke her, you know. Something about how she has not been a faithful servant. She confessed once, you know. But then she made some timber fall, and it missed its victim. So now both the Devil
and
the courts are angry with her. Her shrieks do echo against these walls, do they not? One can scarce get a moment's peace. Doesn't seem to disturb the mute girl, though, does it? Is her trance caused by the Devil, do you suppose? A pretty child, isn't she? Puts one in mind of my little Temperance. She died when she was but three days out of the womb, and . . .”
and
the courts are angry with her. Her shrieks do echo against these walls, do they not? One can scarce get a moment's peace. Doesn't seem to disturb the mute girl, though, does it? Is her trance caused by the Devil, do you suppose? A pretty child, isn't she? Puts one in mind of my little Temperance. She died when she was but three days out of the womb, and . . .”
Pray, God, save me! I shall go mad in this prison!
Salem, 11 September 1692
Alas, Goody Warren was hung today. I feel terribly sad.
Salem, 12 September 1692
A day has passed with nothing to record save for rats, lice, watery suppawn, suffocating stench, matted hair, filthy face, dank air, bleeding ankles, the babblings of one of the children and the piercing, echoing shrieks of Goody Cloyce in her battle with the Devil. Oddly, even my visions have vanished. I have expected from moment to moment to hear Goody Glover's cackle ring triumphantly from these rafters, her large face leering down at me, bug-eyed, her drool and blood sliding down and wetting my shoulders; but she has not appeared. I can only suppose she has gained her triumph from where she has placed me.
Again I have been singled out by the jailer's finger. In the antechamber this time were led three girls whom I have never before set eyes upon. No sooner had they stepped through the door (I, all the while wondering if some mistake had been made, if 'twas some other person they had come to see), when all three girls immediately dropped to the floor with shrieks and howls of pain, one clutching her stomach, another an arm, the third, her leg. Amazed, I wondered what illness had so suddenly befallen them. Fleetingly I decided they must be prisoners, that they had been poisoned by the rancid suppawn, yet they wore no chains.
Through the door, the reverend from two afternoons past then appeared. Glaring at me, he demanded, “Do you afflict these girls?” Scarcely could I hear him through the tortured shrieks.
“What?” I murmured uncomprehendingly.
“Do you afflict these girls?” he bellowed, nearly rattling the building from its beams. “Does your wizardry cause them pain?”
Good heavens, I thought, stunned. Never in my life have I been noticed, much less caused such commotion!
“Touch them!” commanded the reverend, through the din.
Touch them? I scarce wanted to be
near
them, for fear such agony would befall myself!
near
them, for fear such agony would befall myself!
“Touch them!” he again roared.
Gingerly I stepped forward, my chains banging against the floor. The first girl I could hardly reach, so wildly did she toss about in agony. Her feet flailed this way and that, and I thought I should be kicked black and blue were I to get nearer. But upon another roar from the reverend, I jabbed a finger forward, managing to make contact with her flailing foot, and upon my very word, she instantly stilled. Dumbfounded, I stared, unblinking. With one pitiful last groan, the girl sprawled wearily upon the floor, relieved to be rid of her pain.
“Touch the others!” roared the reverend.
Hesitantly I moved toward the second girl. Again, I feared having the breath knocked from me by a thrashing foot. But when my jabbing finger had the same stilling effect as upon the first, the girl emitting one last soft moan, I angrily marched toward the third, not surprised at all by her sudden calm.
Furiously I wheeled. “'Tis a trick!” I cried.
“Do you deny you are empowered to inflict pain?” demanded the reverend.
“I have not a whit of power over these little frauds!”
“And do you deny your touch can break your sorcery!”
“I deny all! Admit nothing! Should you wish to prove me a witch, you shall have to do so by honest means!”
The three girls quietly shook themselves out, rose and stood primly against the wall, appearing quite pleased with themselves.
Enraged, I turned on
them
. “What gain for you by such display? Do you think God blesses you for your deceitful ploys? Do you think He blesses your little blackguarded hearts for sending another body to the gallows?”
them
. “What gain for you by such display? Do you think God blesses you for your deceitful ploys? Do you think He blesses your little blackguarded hearts for sending another body to the gallows?”
My words had as much effect as a drop of rain. The smaller one replied, quite priggishly, “God knows us as His chosen. We please Him with our purifying ways.”
“Purifying?” I exploded. “âTis blasphemy, I'll hold! And you can wipe those arrogant smirks from your faces! All of you, with your o'erweening opinions of yourselves! Not God's chosen you are, but instruments of the Devil!”
“Hear! Hear!” cried the reverend, shocked. “The Lord shall strike down such vile attacks upon His innocents! Confess, girl! Confess what has been evidenced! Once more, save yourself! I have pled with the magistrate to gain you one more chance!”
“Never!” I cried. “I shall never confess to that earned by tricks!”
“Nay, not tricks, but that caused by evil powers! Confess to them all, girl! Confess to all your evil deeds! Seek God's salvation!”
“Such seeking would be a lie! A lie in exchange for a life lived under a cloud of witching! A life lived 'til old, while neighbors shun me! Nay! A better fate indeed to meet the gallows!”
“As you shall!”
“Nay! I shan't do that, either! Upon my word, I
shall live!
And not as a witch!”
shall live!
And not as a witch!”
“Jailer!” roared the reverend, startled by my threat. “Off this girl to the dungeon! She threatens escape!”
So now I write from the bowels of this wretched prison, sitting upon a damp earthen floor in gray darkness, with scarce room from wall to wall to stretch my legs, with no voice to hear but my own. For evening meal, 'twas bread, but I could not eat it for the weevils.
Salem, 13 September 1692
How close I once was to freedom! How miserable I am in this wretched prison!
Salem, 13 September 1692, eve
Mercy visited this aft. She came with Mama to determine if I am really a witch. Both were brought down to me in my dungeon.
I had hoped Mama would stay. So despairing did I feel, I wanted only to lay my head in Mama's lap and weep; I wanted her calm, capable hands to fondle my hair and pet my head; I wanted her strong, reassuring voice to tell me this summer had been merely a bad dream, that if only I were to close my eyes, I would open them to find myself in my own little four poster bed with its clean linens and soft, plump quilts. But Mama did not stay. She did not fondle my hair, nor touch me, and the sternness evident in her voice was neither reassuring nor comforting. “Mercy wishes to visit with you,” said Mama. Then she was gone.
Timidly Mercy sat down beside me. She blinked her small brown eyes to adjust to the darkness. I was stunned that Mercy consented to be alone with me, much less allow herself to be locked behind the door of a dungeon. Fervently I prayed a rat would not scurry past and send her into a screaming frenzy, for how I would ever keep her from frantically climbing upon my shoulders for escape within my tight, dank quarters, I did not know. I could see her eying my chains. I felt like an animal.
Meekly, Mercy ventured, “I brought you a shawl. But the jailer wouldn't let me give it to you. He said people in the, er, dungeon aren't allowed gifts. 'Tis a very pretty shawl, though. I knitted it myself.”
Clearly Mercy was still afraid of me. Her small figure huddled as far from me as possible, which, to be sure, was not far at all in such confined space, and her squinty eyes stared over at me, sizing me up. I said, “Keep it for me, Mercy. Someday I shall wear it.”
I knew my words rang hollow. But it made me feel wretched indeed to see Mercy's look of amazement. So Mercy has given me up for lost. Why then did she come? Merely to add to my misery?
In her whiny voice, Mercy nervously said, “Some people say you're a witch.
Are
you a witch, Rachel?”
Are
you a witch, Rachel?”
No one had ever asked me that question before. Oft have I been accused, but never have I been queried. I now leapt at the chance to finally explain myself, even if it was only to Mercy. Not even pausing to consider my reply, so certain was I of its correctness, I said, “Nay, Mercy. I am
not
a witch. But I did once fear so. 'Twas at Goody Glover's hangingâdo you remember that, Mercy?”
not
a witch. But I did once fear so. 'Twas at Goody Glover's hangingâdo you remember that, Mercy?”
“Mama made me honey bread afterward,” Mercy said.
Leave it to Mercy, I thought, to remember only the treats received! In exasperation, I continued. “Well, Goody Glover stared at me in the most peculiar way. Andthat night when she came to haunt meâto
torment
meâI feared strongly that she would indeed take over my soul. For fortnights, I feared as such. How terrified I was that I would fall victim to the Devil. But now, Mercy, I know that I am
not
an instrument of Satan. And not only that, I think few of us accused are. Leastwise, not so that we cast spells and evil omens.”
torment
meâI feared strongly that she would indeed take over my soul. For fortnights, I feared as such. How terrified I was that I would fall victim to the Devil. But now, Mercy, I know that I am
not
an instrument of Satan. And not only that, I think few of us accused are. Leastwise, not so that we cast spells and evil omens.”
Clearly Mercy did not believe me. “What about that day I found you in the barn?” she said. “When you were doing something with your blood and talking to Goody Glover?”
“Good Heavens!” I gasped, with a start. “How in the world did you ever remember
that!
I'd almost forgotten it myself! Pray, put it from your mind forever for what you are thinking! 'Twas only some trick I was trying. Some silly trick. And if you must know, it didn't work. She
still
came to haunt me!” If Mercy remembered
that
, I thought with a shudder, heaven only knows what else rambles round in her brain!
that!
I'd almost forgotten it myself! Pray, put it from your mind forever for what you are thinking! 'Twas only some trick I was trying. Some silly trick. And if you must know, it didn't work. She
still
came to haunt me!” If Mercy remembered
that
, I thought with a shudder, heaven only knows what else rambles round in her brain!
Mercy said, “I remember because Mama was fit to be tied. And I'm certain she said something about some spell.”
Quickly I put a stop to such conversation with “Well, âtwasn't! So put it from your thoughts! Nay, Mercy. Like so many others, I am only the victim of everyone's fears and tragedies. Like you being so fearful of my fits. Sometimes I used to make up those fits to scare youâdid you know that? Well, I did. 'Twas stupid of me, I now know. For look where it has helped land me. I have decided, Mercy, that everyone is searching for causes for their problems. 'Tis a convenient place to find such causes in people like me. I'm hardly the most popular person in the village, am I? Well, neither are most of the rest of the people accused. We're sort of ... well, misfits.”
Goody Bishop says you're peculiar,” announced Mercy.
“To blazes with Goody Bishop!” I sputtered, angrily. “She thinks half the village peculiar! 0 Mercy! If only you could see some of the women in this prison! Some are so harmless, they couldn't hurt a fly! And some are so bereft of reason, they don't even know of what they are accused! True, a few do appear to court the Devilâ but out of pure contentiousness, I think. And
I,
certainly, am not amongst them!”
I,
certainly, am not amongst them!”
Mercy considered me a moment, her round babyish face screwed up in thought. Then she asked, “Why did they put you in the dungeon?”
“For being pert with the reverend,” I replied, with a sigh.
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him I would live. He didn't like that. He wants to see me at the gallows.”
“Will
you go to the gallows?” she pressed.
you go to the gallows?” she pressed.
“If the magistrate has anything to say about it, I shall. He's angry with me, too. For accusing his courts of being misguided. O Mercy, pray stop looking at me as if I were some ferocious villain! And pray, let's change the subject! If I must go to the gallows, I shall think of it then. Not now. Now I can only pray that God shall somehow spare me. He-shall, shan't He? I haven't really done anything so wrong, have I? What happened with Goodman Corwin was all an accident. And what else can they accuse me of but my visions? And visions aren't a sign of witching. And . . . Odo, do let's talk of other things! Tell me news of the family.”
For some unknown reason my ramblings must have been reassuring to Mercy. Because to my profound amazement, Mercy edged closer to me, and in one of the few signs of tenderness she has ever shown me, she laid her small hand atop my chained one. Nearly did I break into a sob, so hungry was I for Affection. Gratefully, I drew her toward me, laying her head upon my shoulder as I used to do when she was a baby, and though she showed an initial stiffening of reluctance, she allowed herself to be coddled. I patted her hair, as I so fervently wished someone would do to me, and we were like two young orphans sitting there in the darkness, nestled in each other's arms.
Stammering, Mercy confessed, “I . . . I used to be jealous of you, Rachel. Because you got all Mama's attention with your visions. I . . . I'm sorry I was jealous. 'Twas mean of me.”
Then I knew why she had come. Why she had consented to be locked up with me. Not to add to my misery, but to purge her soul of her guilt. I suppose she thought it would be her last opportunity, since my remaining days were numbered. How I hated her for that. How I hated every whiny little bone of her for even in the end thinking only of herself. But I knew what God wished me to do. So I decided to allow her her purification.
Glumly, I reassured her, “But you've always been Mama's favorite, Mercy. Always. Since the day you were born.”
“I know. But for a while I thought you had replaced me. Does it bother you, Rachel? That you are no one's favorite?”
O the cruelty of children! And with what bite did her observation greet me! Choked, I asked, “Papa . . . does Papa ever ask of me?”
“O I forgot to tell you! His suit was morning last. The one with Goodman English.”
“Morning last?” I exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. Swiftly I realized how the days have all run into one; yet how could I have ever forgotten such an important event as this! My heart hammered in fear as I pressed for the outcome. “What happened, Mercy? Did Papa win? Pray, say the mill still survives!”
“Papa lost,” said Mercy, simply, in her childish whine. “I think he shall return to husbandry.”
Like a clenched fist, Papa's devastation hit me, settling in my stomach like a piece of swallowed lead, and I could scarce believe Mercy's matter-of-fact relating of the news, as if she had no realization of its import. Such blindness in her selfish ways!
Shaken, I asked, “How . . . how is Papa? What does he say?”
“Nothing much. I heard him talking to Mama, though. 'Twas right before Mama went to the Sibleys to ask for food. Mama doesn't know I know about
that
, though.”
that
, though.”
I could hardly believe my ears! “Mama?” I breathed. “Mama went to the Sibleys for
food?
Why, whatever for?”
food?
Why, whatever for?”
“Because our stores have run low. I suppose because the Whites eat so much. And since Papa didn't plant much this year, with him being so busy at the mill and all...”
And expecting the mill to plentifully provide for us, I thought, miserably.
“But,” continued Mercy, candidly, “Goody Sibley didn't give Mama anything. I think Mama's angry with her for that.”
So proud, capable Mama with her stiff wall of reserve has been reduced to begging. And has been refused. I could only guess at the blow to her dignity. I wondered how the family would survive the winter.
“And Daniel?” I asked. “Can Daniel not hire out in return for provisions?”
Brightly, Mercy exclaimed, “0 Rachel! How well Daniel does! One can scarce believe the miracle after he was so ill abed! But Prudence Cory is pledged to another. Did you know that? Not just courted, but pledged! The marriage is to be next Spring. And Daniel is in such frightful temper over it all, no one dares be near him! Why, afternoon last, he chopped wood for the Watts, and Goody Watts and Daniel got into such a horrid row, she chased him from her farm and said he was never to come back! Whatever is Papa to do with him? Yet Papa took Daniel's side of itâeven though Mama dressed him down with words like that time you snapped at Goody Bishop. Remember that? Remember how angry Mama was? Well, add scores onto that, and that's how angry Mama was with Daniel!”
So our family falls apart like straws in the wind. How empty I felt. And how perplexed that Mercy could remain so oblivious. How I wish I had her blindness. Feeling multiples older than my years, I removed my arm from around her waist and wearily reached down the front of my shift.
“Mercy,” I said, “I want you to do something for me. âTis a secret, and you mustn't tell anyone what I am about to ask you to do. 'Tis very, very important. And you are the only one I can trust. I
can
trust you, can't I, Mercy?”
can
trust you, can't I, Mercy?”
Solemnly, her soft brown eyes stared over at me. Too many years of obedience had been ingrained in her to even consider violating a trust. Yet her obedience was first and foremost owed to Mama, and for a moment I wavered. Could I commission her with something I had riskedânay,
given
âmy life for? What if she betrayed me? But I saw her expression grow grave with the expected import of what I was to impart, and I decided I would take the risk.
given
âmy life for? What if she betrayed me? But I saw her expression grow grave with the expected import of what I was to impart, and I decided I would take the risk.
“Mercy, I want you to take this locket and give it to Jeremiah. You must not mention it to anyone else. Not so much as a word. And when you give it to Jeremiah, you must tell him that he must also keep it only to himself. Never must he hint of it to another soul. For if he did, 'twould bring great tragedy to someone close to him. You must tell him that. Emphasize it. So he realizes how important it is.”
Carefully I placed the locket in Mercy's small hand and allowed her to hold it, which she did with great gravity and wonderment; then I placed it in her pocket, knowing she had sensed its importance.
“You must tell him,” I continued, “that someday I shall explain it all to him. But I cannot keep it here, with me, because someone may find it. And if anything should ever happen to me . . . well, tell Jeremiah he should take the locket out to the woods and bury it in a very deep hole, so no one shall ever, ever find it. Can you remember all that, Mercy? Can you tell it all to Jeremiah, just as I have told it to you?”
Her whiny voice was so grating that for a moment I again doubted the wisdom of entrusting her with such an enormous mission. But, alas, I had no choice. There was no one else to whom I could turn. Having made my decision, I then attempted to put the matter to rest and tried to feel a sense of relief (which I did not) by changing the subject and asking Mercy to tell me about Bridget White and all her chaotic children.
Giggling, Mercy proceeded to relate to me all the antics that have occurred since I have been taken: how Bridget is as useless as ever with the chores, how the child with the mangled leg hops about with more energy than any three children with both legs, how, no matter how often washed, faces remain constantly dirty and how Daniel's screams are the only thing able to quiet such chaos. I continue to wonder why Mama contends with such mayhem, whose only contribution seems to be that of depleting our food stores. When the jailer finally came to fetch Mercy, I was weary from merely the hearing of such energetic encounters.
Feeling suddenly desolate and lonely, I watched Mercy stand, and I wondered if she would squeeze my hand again before she left, or if she would show some small sign of affection. She did not. I suppose she had doled out as much affection as she was capable.
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