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Authors: Elizabeth Lloyd

BOOK: Witch Child
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Salem, 24 July 1692, morn
Last eve Mama again sat up with me, reading from the Scriptures, trying to ward away my visions.
“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” Mama read, “I shall fear no Evil. For Thou art with me.”
Her steady, certain voice comforted me. Papa came in and placed another candle upon the washstand, and one upon the chest, and the whole room was bathed in light, driving away all the fearsome shadows. How I do dread the shadows.
Fitfully did I doze upon Mama's shoulder, waking with jumps and starts to the drifting sound of cackling laughter. Mama would hold me closer then, and I would fix my eyes upon her open page, willing them not to trail toward the rafters.
Sometimes I would see Goody Glover's face moving about in the light of a candle, and I would whimper. Other times, blood would ooze from her snapped neck, and I had to rise and wash the gooey stickiness from my hands.
Mama's voice, in sureness and certainty, moved steadily onward. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shalt not want. He maketh me to lie down beside him in green pastures. . . .”
Daniel came in once, glared, and mumbled something about a dark blot upon the family history. I think he meant me. Mama did not seem to hear, so I pretended not to, as well.
Salem, 24 July 1692, eve
After noonday meal, Jeremiah came to fetch me, and Mama bid me leave of my chores to go with him. Mama likes Jeremiah, which is evident by the pleasant manner in which she treats him. His father's ordinary, being of good profit, I suppose influences Mama's opinion. Mama thinks'twould be a good match for me. I don't care a pence about the ordinary. I like Jeremiah just because of
him
.
We went to our favorite place, which is on the river's edge shaded by the stand of birch. Having brought our poles, we competed as to whose catch would be the first. I won, displaying a plump, squirming bass. Jeremiah caught the next two; then I one; then Jeremiah one; and so on. So in the end I came up two short, and Jeremiah had beaten me.
I pretended Jeremiah's victory to be due to his greater age and wisdom. Jeremiah likes it when I make him appear as a man, rather than a boy. Truthfully, however, Jeremiah won simply because I gave him the fatter worms.
We did not talk of my visions. Jeremiah did not ask, and I did not mention. I don't think Jeremiah wants to know.
Once, a few months ago, he said he felt all these witch trials to be full of hocus-pocus and terribly unfair. Yet sometime afterward, when I brought up those feelings, Jeremiah vehemently denied them. “I do, of course, wish we had no need for the trials,” Jeremiah corrected. “But never have I disagreed that the need exists.”
Jeremiah is not one for creating dissension or bucking the tide.
Salem, 25 July 1692
Much excitement was there today over the opening of Papa's new mill. Papa was up hours before the sun, gobbled down his morning meal, left Mercy and I to do the milking and was off in a great flurry with Daniel racing behind. Mercy asked Mama if she could tend another chore instead of assisting me with the milking, she being afraid to be alone with me.
I do hope, for all our sakes, the mill is a great success. ‘Twas built with every penny of Papa's inheritance from Grandfather and all of our savings. Papa says we shall have to be frugal until the mill shows its colors, because our till is empty. But if the mill is indeed a success, Papa says 'twill bring us fortune, ever so much more fortune than husbandry.
A lot of our neighbors are jealous of Papa's sudden gain. When the mill was being built, the men used to find all sorts of excuses to come by and inspect, and I saw many leave with their heads down and their shoulders hunched for sadness at their own impoverished situations. Even did I hear a few grumble how “Some people have all the luck.”
Goodman Corwin was the worst. His face was pea green. No wonder, since Goodman Corwin seems never able to eke out sufficient existence on his scrubby eighty acres, and 'tis as evident as sun that he'd give his right arm to feed his family of ten with a mill bright and shiny like Papa's.
Mama says we must feel sympathy for families like the Corwins. Mama says ‘tis a pity there is no more good land to be had. 'Tis difficult, though, to feel pity for someone who always whines and makes such pathetic failure at what he attempts.
I think ‘tis partly because of families like the Corwins that we have such a problem with witches. Everyone is looking for something on which to blame all their discouragements, and there is no better salve for suffering than finding a cause. Once I hinted as much to Papa, but he bade me never, ever to breathe such a thought to another living soul. 'Twould call my attention to the courts, which more and more requires scant doing to be labelled a witch. Such is the case with Goody Knapp, who was arrested afternoon last—with her only crime that of being a spinster.
I do hope the mill brings us fortune. If so, perhaps Papa will rise in stature and be addressed as “Mr.” And we shall have sugar with every tea!
Salem, 21 July 1692
This morn, as I went to depart the door to milk the cow, it was there again. The cat.
Stealthily his plump form paced back and forth beside the hitching post, green eyes gleaming and fastened upon the house. 'Twas as if he stalked me, lying in wait. And as I opened the door, he halted, staring at me, orange back bristling, hair upended like a porcupine. With a gasp, I immediately leapt back inside and slammed the door behind me, my heart pounding. Everywhere she reaches for me!
Mama, at the hearth, said, “Rachel? Are you not tending to the milking?”
Nervously I stammered—“I . . . I can't. The . . . the cat's out there”—all the while wondering whether my admission would cause yet more bother, but not knowing an alternative.
Indeed, I was correct. Mama was irritated. Impatiently she said, “Take the broom to shoo him away. Rachel, do try not to be foolish and frightened of a cat.”
Too keenly did I recall the horror of the other eve. “Can't I do the milking later?” I pled.
“Would you have the cow throb with pain?” Mama asked.
Better the cow than me, I thought, fearfully. “Couldn't Daniel do it?” I asked.
“Daniel tends the salt licks,” Mama reminded.
“When he gets back?” I pled.
“When he returns he must eat so he might hasten to help your father at the mill. Now do be quick about your chores, Rachel. Your father shall be down any moment, and you shan't want to displease him.”
Timidly I peered out the window. The menacing orange creature still paced and leered, its tail held high and erect. In his eyes gleamed the eyes of Goody Glover, laughing, mocking me. Taking a deep breath, my hand clutched the broom, and my fingers shook, for I knew 'twas useless to fend her away. “Pray, God,” I breathed, “be with me.”
Slowly I opened the door, gazing out from a crack, and as I did so, my torturer again halted. His mouth hissed and spat, and his menacing eyes awaited me. Swiftly, I again retreated.
“Mama!” I wailed. “She's going to get me! Pray, don't let her torture me!”
“She?” Mama repeated.
“Goody Glover!” I cried.
“Rachel, this is ridiculous,” said Mama, sharply. “Hand me the broom. If you shan't shoo away a cat, then do allow me.”
Annoyed, she quickly took the broom from my hand and opened the door. To my great astonishment, the cat had disappeared.
Papa, his tread heavy upon the stairs, asked, “What commotion do I hear?”
“Nothing,” said Mama, calmly, and her swift frown told me to hold my tongue. “Rachel was just going to tend the milking.”
“With a broom?” asked Papa quizzically, as Mama hastily shoved the object into my hand while giving me a quick push forward.
“Rachel must sweep the yard when she returns,” replied Mama. Woefully I heard the door shut behind me.
Dreading my fate, I nervously glanced this way and that, my hands shaking as if with palsy, and just as I took a step forward, the cat again appeared, from out of nowhere it seemed, and once more blocked my path. I think now he must have been hiding in the shadows, but at the moment, his return was as sudden as the appearance of an apparition.
Back arched, his spitting mouth emitted a low howl, as he had done the other eve, and as he began skulking toward me, I saw not him but her. Goody Glover. Coming to get me.
Screaming, I turned and nearly fell to the ground as I frantically fought my way back inside. “'Tis her!” I screamed. “Don't let her take me!”
Papa glanced up, perplexed. “Who?” he said.
“Goody Glover, Papa! The cat! The cat is Goody Glover! She waits to attack me!”
“Nonsense!” said Papa. His voice was disgusted, whether at the cat, Goody Glover, or me, I do not know. Angrily he grabbed up his musket and tore outside.
I think the cat must have concealed himself again, for in the intervening quiet moments, I knew Papa was searching him out. Then the still morn was shattered by the sudden explosion of a gun, which made my ears ring.
Papa's returning steps were purposeful, and he appeared wholly satisfied as he resumed his place at the table. “Tis the end of Goody Glover,” he remarked.
I knew 'twas not so. At that very moment, her angular face peered through the curtains, grinning, beckoning, laughing. But I held my tongue.
Salem, 26 July 1692, aft
Now I know why Daniel is so angry with me. Because of Prudence Cory. Today I found out about him and Prudence, and now Daniel is doubly furious.
'Twas when I was running an errand for Mama that I learned it, hearing the murmur of voices coming from the thicket of trees near to where the road crosses the river, which is the short cut I always take. I did not—I repeat, I
did not
—intend to spy. No matter what Daniel thinks. I simply stumbled upon them.
Imagine my surprise! Daniel and Prudence were kissing!
Startled, I stopped still and stared. Daniel sat with his back against a tree, while Prudence, beside him, was all squashed and leaning into his side, and such a mass of entangled arms and legs were they, I thought they looked like two jumbled spiders. Crumpled in a pile of leaves lay Prudence's bonnet. And while Daniel was fervently kissing Prudence's hair, Prudence, eyes closed, nibbled on Daniel's neck like some hungry little rabbit, all the while softly giggling and sighing. So that's what lovers do! 'Tis positively silly, I do think!
I don't know what surprised me most—to see stern Daniel being affectionate, to see prim and proper Prudence giggling, or knowing both could be thrown in the stocks for such sinful dalliance. And Prudence the daughter of the wealthiest man in the village!
When they spotted me, both sat bolt upright, and if I hadn't been so stunned, I would have laughed at how swiftly they disengaged themselves and scrambled to their feet. Prudence blushed as red as a strawberry. And Daniel, as flustered as I have ever seen him, coughed, shook out his limbs and cleared his throat.
- Swiftly he recovered himself. “So now you've taken to spying!” he angrily accused.
“You've burrs on your breeches,” I said tartly. I knew I had the advantage.
“I . . . er . . . we were discussing some property of Prudence's father,” Daniel said. Prudence meantime was helping him pick off the burrs.
“Really?” I replied. Prudence's father does indeed have property—two lots in town, a wharf, and three sailing vessels, all of which any boy in the village would simply love to acquire as dowry. But property had definitely not been their “discussion.”
Boldly I asked, “Does such property include the inveigling of affections? Or misplacement of Prudence's bonnet?”
Prudence flushed scarlet. Nervously she fumbled with her bonnet. Then, straightening her collar, which was all askew, she murmured something about having to meet her father in front of the ordinary where he was having some business discussion with a man from Boston.
Daniel shot me a look full of daggers. I know it was killing him not to be able to retaliate by spouting out my deep dark secret. But he could not. 'Twould be his detriment for certain were Prudence to learn it. After he walked Prudence as far as the road, he instantly wheeled back and ordered me, upon pain of my life, to keep my lips shut.
That really nettled me. I said, “Why don't you simply ask Mr. Cory to officially court his daughter and be done with sneaking off like thieves?” I, of course, knew the question's answer before it was posed.
Daniel harrumphed. “I shall. When I am ready.”
“You haven't,” I challenged, “because you know Mr. Cory shall refuse. Mr. Cory holds lofty aspirations for his daughter, which reach far loftier than
you!”
So furious was Daniel, I thought he would explode, and I nearly laughed out loud at how his cheeks swelled. “You've always been a thorn to this family!” he cried. “I'll thank you to keep those thorns from
my
affairs! And you just wait and see how lofty I climb! The day will come when you'll plead at my feet!”
I did not give him the satisfaction of a reply. Smugly I turned, knowing in a bizarre way 'tis
I
who holds Daniel's future. And Daniel knows it.

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