By the time I reached my parents’ homestead, I was downright angry. The lone ride and fresh air had done nothing to ease my feelings. When Mother came out to greet me after hearing the arrival of the cart, I handed over her purchase without climbing down. “I’d best get back to George,” I told her. “The trip into town took longer than expected.”
My mother wasn’t one to miss much. “Is everything all right? You look out of sorts.”
“I’d just forgotten how nosy everyone is,” I said, then slapped the reins on the horse so that it pulled forward.
My mother looked at me with surprise but was wise enough to let me go without pressing for more information. I think she decided it was best for George to get the first earful—one of the benefits of finally marrying me off.
George was nowhere in sight when I pulled up at the house, so I unloaded everything myself and secured the horse in the barn. I went to the main house, and after knocking and entering, I talked to Eve for a few minutes. Hannah was taking a nap, and Eve was nearly napping herself.
“Have you seen George?” I asked her, hoping I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.
Eve only smiled. “He was hammering away not long ago. Maybe he’s with your father.”
Maybe. Although, I’d have thought my mother would have said something, even when I didn’t give her much of a chance.
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll see him soon.” I left Eve’s side and walked out of the house, then crossed the yard to my small house. Satisfaction coursed through me when I saw all the recent improvements. Tomorrow we’d whitewash, so we’d been spending most of our time sanding everything.
I picked up the supplies from town I’d left on the porch and started to carry them in. The bedroom door was open, and through the doorway, I spotted George sprawled out on the bed. My heart hitched for a moment as I wondered if he’d been injured or was sick, but when his breathing rattled with a snore, I was relieved. But still angry. I’d been through the ringer with the women in town, unloaded the cart myself, took care of the horse, and he was . . . napping?
I set the supplies on the kitchen table and walked into the bedroom and nudged his foot. He jolted awake and turned to look at me. The surprise on his face turned to a smile as he saw me standing there, my arms folded.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, raspy with sleep.
I narrowed my eyes. “There’s nothing sweet about me right now. And the last thing I expected my husband to be doing while I’m facing the gargoyles of Salisbury is to be napping in the middle of the day.”
He rolled over and sat up, and at least had the decency to look sheepish. “It’s all those nights you’ve kept me awake and the long days of working in the sun.” As if to prove his point, he released a big yawn.
“I’m not the one keeping you awake at night,” I said sternly, although inside I was softening.
He reached across the space between us and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Holding my wife.” He tugged me onto his lap, and I landed with an unceremonious thump on him.
“I don’t have time to lie in bed all day,” I protested.
“We are still newlyweds,” George whispered in my ear, pulling me down with him on the bed.
I was tired and cranky, and I knew he would win this battle, so I let myself go limp.
He kissed my cheek, then traced his finger along my neck. “Tell me why you’re so upset.”
I blinked back the hot burning in my eyes. It all seemed so silly now, but my heart still thumped with indignation. “I was practically drawn and quartered by Widow Leeds.”
George’s mouth quirked. “That little old woman?”
“There’s nothing funny about it,” I retorted. “She was with one of her gossipy friends, Goody Browne, and neither of them was interested in being friendly.” I told him all that she’d said to me, and instead of getting angry with me, George only laughed.
“She’s been a widow for years and is probably trying to speculate on something more interesting than her dull life.” George slid his hands to my waist, pulling me close.
I placed my hand on his chest, keeping him at a distance. “She’s going to tell my mother how rude I was,” I said, wishing now that I’d been more patient with the woman.
“Let her,” George said, clasping my hand on his chest and pulling me closer. “You know, I saw her eyeing me plenty at Meeting. Maybe she was hoping to catch me herself.”
I was so startled that I burst out laughing.
George laughed with me, and then leaned down and kissed my neck. “That’s better, Susannah. I love to hear you laugh.”
I wrapped one arm around his neck, leaning into him and letting my eyes flutter shut. He smelled of sun and work and wood—like a man who spent his days working on his wife’s home. “Mmm,” I murmured. “That must be it. All the women are jealous of me.”
He lifted his head and smiled. “Not as jealous as the men are of me.”
I smacked his shoulder. “You’re too much. I didn’t have one marriage offer before you came along.”
George’s expression sobered. “That’s because I’m the first man you gave a chance to, and even then, I practically had to waylay you after Meeting.”
I exhaled, staring into his gray-blue eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” I said softly.
His mouth lifted into another smile. “Me, too.”
And then he kissed me, and there was no doubt that he didn’t intend to go back to his chores for a while. It was nice to be a newlywed, and I found that I didn’t mind that I’d found my husband napping in the middle of the day after all.
Salisbury
I was pregnant. I had to be. My menses cycle was weeks late, and I’d woken up with a sharp stab of nausea spreading from my stomach throughout my body. I’d barely made it to the outhouse before I lost everything I’d eaten the night before, and then some. George had left before the sun rose to start the harvesting. My father was most likely with him, too.
If I could ever get off my knees long enough, I would tell my mother and find out what on this green earth would stop my stomach from churning. Instead, I crouched in the small, stuffy outhouse, feeling like I would pass out if I tried to stand, let alone walk to my parents’ home.
Perhaps Eve would miss me when I didn’t stop by this morning on my usual rounds. Or maybe little Hannah would come looking for me to tell me something about her doll. She’d finally started to warm up to me over the past couple of weeks when I began sewing new outfits for her dolls.
As it was, I couldn’t move, could hardly breathe above the stench. When a voice called my name, I opened my eyes, not knowing how long I’d been in the outhouse.
“Susannah?”
George. It was George. I bolstered as much strength as possible and kicked at the door, pushing it open. It swung shut, and I kicked at it again.
“Susannah!”
He’d seen me. I could hear his footsteps, and moments later, the door opened and his arms were lifting me up.
“What’s happened?”
“I—I’m . . .” The strength left me, and it wasn’t until George had me inside and I’d had a sip of water that I found my voice again.
“Do you have the stomach illness?”
I shook my head and grasped George’s hand. Surely he would be pleased with my news, although I felt fear coursing through me. My body had taken on a mind of its own, and if this was how I felt in the first weeks of pregnancy, how would it be the entire nine months?
“I’m pregnant, George,” I said, barely above a whisper.
His eyes widened. “How?” His face reddened. “I mean, how do you know? Are you certain?”
“My menses cycle is late, and I can’t stand the thought of food.” I pressed a hand against my stomach as another bit of nausea peaked. “I felt ill yesterday morning too, but this morning is infinitely worse.”
He
pulled me into his arms and laughed. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant so soon.”
“I warned you,” I said, feeling a smile start.
George looked again at my face, a myriad of emotions in his expression. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes,” I said, although I wasn’t sure how I knew it. “Many women are ill the first few months of pregnancy. Wasn’t Hannah ill, too?”
He shook his head. “Her pregnancies were uneventful . . . until the delivery.” A new concern seemed to fill him, and he pulled me against him again, this time so tightly, my breath left me.
“George, I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to reassure him. I had no idea how my body would manage, but I knew I wanted to bear George’s children, and there was only one way to do that.
His fingers threaded through my hair, and he kissed my forehead. “Do you want some bread or some more water? Or something else?”
“Another drink would be nice,” I said, suddenly feeling sleepy. “And then I might take a nap.”
His brows rose suggestively, and I hurried to say, “Alone. We can’t have both of us being idle.”
The next weeks continued in a similar pattern, with the mornings being rough, and the afternoons trying to catch up on as many chores as possible. My usual workload exhausted me, and once I told my mother and Eve that I was with child, they began to take on extra work. For Eve, that meant she actually spent more time out of bed than in, and I was impressed at her determination.
By October, I was feeling much better in the mornings, which resulted in more eating. My mother came over to my house on an unusually hot day. “I’ve had a letter from Mary,” she said without preamble and handed it over.
I unfolded the thick piece of paper and read my sister’s writing. “Twins? The midwife thinks she’s going to have twins?”
“And the pains have been off and on for days,” Mother said, pressing her lips together. “Father’s back is acting up again, and I dare not leave him alone, especially with you in the family way now.”
“I’ll go help,” I said immediately, not sure where the thought came from. I hadn’t gone to Mary before with her previous births. There was always so much to do at home. And there still was—at my new home—but my sister was having twins.
“George might not like it,” my mother pointed out.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said, feeling confident he wouldn’t deny my Christian duty toward my sister, even if it meant that his meals might not be so complete. Eve had rallied somewhat previously, but since I’d started feeling better, she’d become more reclusive again.
“Maybe I can even take Hannah with me,” I said, thinking aloud. “She’ll get to know her new cousins better, and we can spend time away from Eve and George. I think she’ll warm up more.” My illness had set our relationship back a step or two.
My mother nodded, although there was a crease between her brows. “I’d be happy to take her, if not.” She released a sigh. “Well, go along and talk to George. I can’t wait all day.”
I wanted to chide my mother for her impatience, but my heart was thumping in anticipation as well. No wonder Mary had seemed so much larger and cumbersome with this pregnancy.
I found George in the barn, and the sight of him pounding out a horseshoe brought new affection for his constant hard work. I showed him my sister’s letter, and without me asking, he looked at me, knowledge in his eyes.
“You want to go help her?”
“I do,” I said, folding my hands primly in front of me. “I’ll take Hannah. She’ll think it’s a great adventure.”
His gaze fell back to the letter in his hands. “How long?”
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “A couple of weeks? Until she’s able to manage on her own for the most part.”
“Hmm,” George intoned, not sounding committal one way or another.
“George,” I said, stepping closer. “She’s having twins, and my mother can’t go—you know my father’s been ailing again.”
“You’re pregnant yourself,” he said. “What if you get sick again or something else happens?”
I saw the fear in his gray eyes and knew most of it had to do with his first wife’s death. She’d died giving birth, though, not in her third month of pregnancy.
“There are doctors in Gloucester, too.”
He slid an arm around my waist, and I considered his closeness a good sign. “I’ll be a lonely man.”
I leaned against him and wrapped my arms about him. “You’ll be so busy that you won’t notice.”
He gave a short laugh. “You think I won’t notice my wife missing from my bed?” He pressed a kiss on my cheek, then on my mouth.
“George,” I protested halfheartedly as his kiss deepened and his hands roamed.
He smiled and continued to kiss me, until I remembered that my mother was waiting in my kitchen.
“My mother’s waiting for our decision,” I said, reluctantly pulling away. “She says I can take their cart.”
George shook his head. “I’ll be driving you to Gloucester, and then I’ll return to fetch you back. I don’t want anything to happen along the journey.”
I reached up and touched the side of his face. “You’re a good man, George.”
June 2, 1692, Salem Village: At ten o’clock in the jail, a jury of nine women and surgeon John Barton searched the bodies of Rebecca Nurse, Alice Parker, Sarah Good, Elizabeth Proctor, and Susanna Martin for witch marks. They found that Bishop, Proctor, and Nurse each had an odd “excrescense of flesh” on their privates, all strangely alike yet unlike anything natural. But the eldest woman, a skilled midwife, disagreed. The marks looked natural to her, especially after Goody Nurse explained her difficult birthings.
—excerpt from The Salem Witch Trials by Marilynne K. Roach
Salem Jail
As I walk out of the courtroom, my children surround me. The jailer and guards start to push them back, but then something changes in them, and they allow my children closer. They are all taller than me, grown adults with families of their own. I’m glad they didn’t bring my grandchildren with them. I do not want them to see me this way. It’s hard enough with my own children.
Richard, John, and Esther come forward first, and I try not to weep as they embrace me. My hands are still tied, so I cannot hold them back. Hannah has also come, George’s daughter from his first marriage. There is no difference between her and one of my own. Next, I am in Samuel’s arms, then John, Abigail, William, and finally George—my husband’s namesake.
Their spouses surround me, and I am overwhelmed. It seems worse than death itself to be pulled away from my loved ones, pulled away from the smallest bit of heaven.
They are gone all too soon, and I am walking through the dank corridor of the jail. Sarah Good rises to her feet as Rebecca and I enter the cell. Her gaze searches ours, and it’s all I can do to shake my head, then collapse in my corner. Rebecca moves more carefully to her place in the cell and kneels down. She clasps her hands in front of her and bows her head. I know she is about to pray, yet I don’t want to hear her whispered pleadings.
My own pleadings are silent for now, having formed a hard rock in the center of my chest. I feel as if I’ve said good-bye to my children for the last time. My fate has been decided, and there is nothing I can do now. I have pleaded not guilty, yet the court has found me guilty.
What sort of miracle would it take for me to taste freedom again? From the moment I stepped into the courtroom, I knew I was ready to fail.
Whatever I’ve endured today, I know Rebecca Nurse endured worse. To have her hope lit, and then dashed again. Many pleaded for Rebecca in court, yet it was still not enough. I wonder what George would say if he were still alive. More than once he stood up for me in court; he counter-sued. He was always on my side.
My sentence today would have broken his heart. Perhaps he already knows about it and is grieving now.
The women in our cell are quiet. Food is brought, paid
for by Rebecca Nurse’s family. I eat the hardened bread, if only to stop my stomach from aching. It’s not as if I hope to be free of this prison one day and continue on with my life. It feels as if I’ve spent a lifetime in here.
Little Dorothy climbs on my lap as the sun sets and the prison is cast in a velvety glow. I wrap my arms about her small limbs and close my eyes. Sometimes it’s all I can do to breathe in and breathe out. Sometimes that’s all I can feel grateful for—air to breathe. It seems it’s all I have left now.
Somehow, I sleep through the night, and in the morning I wake with a throbbing headache and a dry mouth. Dorothy is sleeping next to me, and I move carefully away so as not to disturb her.
Rebecca is kneeling by the cell door, her hands wrapped around the bars. How long has she been there, I do not know, but if she doesn’t sleep, she won’t live until her execution. The thought should bring a smile of irony with it, but I have no strength for any movement beyond the essential.
“Rebecca,” I say, crossing to her and placing my hand on her shoulder. “You need to sleep. The Lord has heard everything you’ve said already.”
Rebecca lifts her head and gazes at me. Her eyes seem unfocused, as if she isn’t quite awake. Is it possible to fall asleep while kneeling down?
“Are you all right?” I kneel next to her. Of course she isn’t all right, but I hope that my words might bring her some comfort.
“I am seventy-one years old, Goody Martin,” she says in a voice that sounds hollow. “I have been a faithful follower of Christ all my life.” Her voice breaks, and her mouth trembles.
I tug her hands from the bars and wrap my arms around her. “I know you are devout,” I whisper. “And God knows it, too.”
Gloucester
The town of Gloucester was barely that—perhaps more of a village. I directed George to her home. The outside of the three-bedroom house was well-kept, Puritan fashion, and as we pulled up in the cart, a woman came to the door. I recognized her as Joyce, Mary’s neighbor, but I didn’t know if it was a good thing she was at Mary’s. The woman was a strange bird. Was her presence a sign that Mary had delivered her babies already? Joyce wore an apron, and her hair was pulled back into a bun from her thin face.
Condemn Me Not: Accused of Witchcraft Page 14
