“Fire burns all hands that touch it.”
“I serve God, sir. Do you?”
“Sometimes God is best served by obeying his more merciful statements. Judge not lest ye be judged. Think of that before you point a finger.” Then he was gone.
Purity waited alone in Reverend Study's office. His library, really, it was so stacked and shelved with books. How did he get so many? Had he really read them all? Purity had never had an opportunity to study the titles. Sets of pious literature, of course. Collections of noted sermons. Scriptural commentary. Law books? Interesting– had he thought of studying law at some time? No, it was ecclesiastical law. With several books on the prosecution of witches, the investigation of witches, the purification of witches. Reverend Study might pretend to have no concern with such matters, but he owned these books, which meant that at some time he must have planned to refer to them. He had not been “here” during the witch trials in Salem, which were the last held in eastern Massachusetts. That could mean he hadn't been born yet– how long ago were they? –at least a century, perhaps half again that long. But he had been involved in witch trials somewhere. Yes, he knew and cared very much about these things.
She held the book On the Investigation of Witchcraft, Wizardry, and Other Satanic Practices but could not bring herself to open it. She heard that they used to torture the accused. But that must not be the way of it today. The laws were strict that a person could not be forced to incriminate himself. Ever since the United States were formed from the middle colonies and put that rule into their Bill of Rights, the same principle had been given force of law in New England as well. There would be no torture.
The book fell open in her hands. Could she help it? It fell open to a particular place which had been well-thumbed and much underlined. How to put the question to a witch who is with child.
Was my mother pregnant with me when she was arrested and tried?
The child is innocent before the law, being unborn and thus untouched by original sin. Original sin inheres to the child only upon birth, and therefore to take any action which might harm the unborn infant would be like punishing Adam and Eve in the garden before the fall: an injustice and an affront to God.
I gave my mother a little longer life. I saved her by being– yes, my very name– by being pure, unstained, untouched by original sin. How many weeks, how many months did I give to her?
Or did she think of this as torture, too? Had my father already been hanged as she languished in prison, awaiting her own trial as she grieved for him and for the child in her womb, doomed to be an orphan? Would she rather have died? Did she wish she didn't have a child?
She should have thought of that before she partook of forbidden practices. “Knacks,” they called them in the wicked parts of the land. God-given gifts, that journeyman blacksmith called them, as he attempted to deceive her. But the true nature of Satan's false gifts would soon come clear. The “knacks” these witches use, they come from Satan. And because I know I have never had truck with Satan, then the small talents I have can't possibly be a hidden power. I'm just observant, that's all. I don't turn iron into a golden plow, like the one Arthur Stuart told about– a plow that dances around because it's possessed by evil spirits like the Gadarene swine.
She trembled with uncontainable excitement. Fear is what it felt like, though she had nothing to fear. It also felt like relief, like she was receiving something long waited for. Then she realized why: Her mother named her Purity to help her keep herself unstained by sin. Today she had faced the temptation of Satan in the form of that wandering blacksmith and his troupe of lesser witches, and for a moment she felt such terrible desires. The barrister was so attractive to her, that half-Black imp was so endearing, and Alvin himself now seemed sufficiently modest and self-effacing, and his dream of the City of God so real and desirable, that she longed to join with them.
That had to be how her mother was seduced by the devil! Not understanding, not being warned, she fell into the trap. Perhaps it was Purity's father who seduced her mother, just the way Verily Cooper had been calling to Purity on the riverbank today, evoking strange feelings and longings and whispering inside her mind that this was love. It had to be the devil making her think such thoughts. Married to a witch! Trapped just as her mother had been! Oh my Father which art in heaven, I thank thee for saving me! I am a sinner like all others, but oh, if thou hast chosen me to be among thy elect, I shall praise thy name forever!
She heard the hurried footsteps on the stairs. She closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. When the door opened, Reverend Study and the tithingmen found her sitting on a side chair, her eyes closed, her hands clasped in her lap, the classic pose of the soul who refused to be touched by the evils of the world.
Reverend Study declined to go with them to catch the witches. Well, too bad for him, Purity thought. Let others of stronger heart do what must be done.
Horses would do little good on the river road. One of the tithingmen, Ezekial Shoemaker, took a group of grim-looking men on horseback to try to block escape downriver, while the other, Hiram Peaseman, kept his men with Purity as they walked the path that the witches must have taken.
“Why are you so certain they went downriver?” asked Peaseman, a stern-looking man who, until now, had always made Purity somewhat afraid.
“They said they were bound for Boston no matter what I chose to do.”
“If they're witches, why wouldn't they lie to throw us off?”
“Because at the time,” she said, “they thought to persuade me to join them.”
“Still don't mean they weren't lying,” said Peaseman.
“They told many a lie, I assure you,” said Purity, “but they spoke the truth when they said they were bound for Boston.”
Peaseman fixed his icy gaze upon her. “How do you know that wasn't a lie as well?”
For a moment Purity felt the old fear come over her. Had she revealed her hidden power?
And then her new confidence returned. It wasn't a hidden power. “I'm very observant,” she said. “When people lie, they show it by little things.”
“And you're never wrong?” asked Peaseman.
They had stopped walking now, and the other men were also gathered around her.
She shook her head.
“Only God is perfect, miss,” said one of the other men.
“Of course you're right,” said Purity. “And it would be pride in me to say I was never wrong. What I meant was that if I've been wrong I didn't know it.”
“So they might have lied,” said Peaseman, “only they did a better job than others.”
Purity grew impatient. “Are you really going to stand here, letting the witches get away, all because you don't know whether to believe me or not about which way they were going to walk? If you don't believe me, then you might as well doubt everything I said and go back home!”
They shuffled their feet a little, some of them, and none spoke for a moment, until Peaseman closed his eyes and spoke what was on their minds. “If they be witches, miss, we fear they lay a trap for us, into which you lead us, all unwitting.”
“Have you no faith in the power of Christ to protect you?” asked Purity. “I have no fear of such as they. Satan promises terrible power to his minions, but then he betrays them every time. Follow me if you dare.” She strode forth boldly on the path, and soon heard their footsteps behind her. In moments they were all around her, then ahead of her, leading the way.
That's why she was last to see why they were stopping not fifty rods along the river path. There sat Alvin Smith on a fallen tree, leaning up against a living one, his hands clasped behind his head. He grinned at her when she emerged from the crowd. “Why, Mistress Purity, you didn't need to come and show me the road to Boston, or to trouble these men to help me on my way.”
“He's the chief witch,” said Purity. “His name is Alvin Smith. His companions must be nearby.”
Alvin looked around. “Companions?” He
looked back at her, seeming to be puzzled. “Are you seeing things?” He asked the men: “Does this girl see things what ain't there?”
“Don't be deceived,” said Purity. “They're hereabouts.”
“Am I remembering aright, or did she just call me a witch a minute ago?” asked Alvin.
“She did, sir,” said Peaseman. “And as one of the tithingmen of Cambridge village, it's my duty to invite you back to town for questioning–”
“I'll answer any questions you have for me,” said Alvin. “But I don't see why I should go back instead of furthering my journey.”
“I'm not the law, sir,” said Peaseman. “Not the judge anyway. I'm afraid we need to bring you one way or another.”
“Well, let's choose the one way and not the other,” said Alvin. “On my own two feet, unbound, in free acceptance of your hospitable invitation.”
A faint smile touched Peaseman's lips. “Yes, that's the way we prefer, sir. But you'll forgive us if we have to bind you so you can't get away.”
“But I give you my word,” said Alvin.
“Forgive us, sir,” said Peaseman. “If you're acquitted, you'll have my apology. But we have to wonder if the accusation be true, and if it be, then bound is safer for all, don't you think?”
In answer, Alvin held his hands forward, offering to be bound. Peaseman was not to be tricked, however, and tied Alvin's hands behind his back.
“That's not a good rope,” said Alvin.
“It's a good one I bet,” said Peaseman.
“No, it won't hold a knot,” said Alvin. “Look.” He shook his hands lightly and the knot slipped right off the rope.
Peaseman looked dumbly at the rope, which now dangled limp from his hand. “That was a good knot.”
“A good knot on a bad rope is no better than a bad knot,” said Alvin. “I think it was old Ben Franklin what said that first. In Poor Richard.”
Peaseman's face went a little darker. “You'll do us the favor of not quoting that wizard's words.”
“He wasn't no wizard,” said Alvin. “He was a patriot. And even if he were as wicked as… as the pope, the words are still true.”
“Hold still,” said Peaseman. He tied the knot again, tighter, and then redoubled it.
“I'll try to hold my hands still so it don't slip off,” said Alvin.
“He's toying with you,” said Purity. “Don't you see this is his hidden power? Don't you know the devil when you see him?”
Peaseman glared at her. “I see a man and a rope that don't hold a knot. Who ever heard of the devil giving a man the power to untie knots? If that were so, how would ever a witch be hung?”
“He's mocking you,” Purity insisted.
“Miss, I don't know how I offended you,” said Alvin. “But it's a hard enough thing for a traveler to be named for a witch, without being accused of causing everything that happens. If one of these men loses his footing and falls into the river, will that be my doing? If someone's cow sickens somewhere in the neighborhood, will it be blamed on me?”
“You hear his curses?” said Purity. “You'd best all look to your cattle, and step careful all the way home.”
The men looked from one to another. The rope slipped off Alvin's hands and fell onto the ground. Peaseman picked it up; the knot had already loosened visibly.
“I give you my word not to flee,” said Alvin. “How would I get away from so many men even if I had a mind to? Running would do me no good.”
“Then why did your companions flee?” demanded Purity.
Alvin looked at the men with consternation. “I got no one with me, I hope you can all see that.”
Purity grew angry. “You had them, four of them, three men and a half-Black boy who you saved from slavery by changing his nature, and another one a French painter who's a papist pretending to be mute, and a riverman who tried to kill you and you used your powers to take a tattooed hex right off his skin, and the last was an English barrister.”
“Excuse me, miss, but don't that sound more like a dream than an actual group of folks what might be traveling together? How often do you see barristers from England with country boys like me?”
“You killed a man with your knack! Don't deny it!” cried Purity, furious, near tears at his obvious lies.
Alvin looked stricken. “Is it murder I'm charged with now?” He looked at the men again, showing fear now. “Who am I supposed to have killed? I hope I'll have a fair trial, and you have some witnesses if I'm to stand for murder.”
“No one's been murdered here,” said Peaseman. “Miss Purity, I'll thank you to keep silent now and let the law take this man.”
“But he's lying, can't you see?” she said.
“The court can decide the truth.”
“What about the plow? The Black boy told how this man made a golden plow that he carries with him always, but doesn't show to anyone, because it's alive and his very companions saw it move of itself. If that's not proof of Satanic power, what is?”
Peaseman sighed. “Sir, do you have a plow like the one she describes?”
“You can search my sack,” Alvin answered. “In fact, I'd take it kindly if someone would carry it along, as it has my hammer and tongs, which is to say it holds my livelihood as a journeyman smith. It's yonder on the far side of the fallen maple.”
One of the men went and hefted the bag.
“Open it!” cried Purity. “That's the one the plow was in.”
“Ain't no plow in that sack, gold or iron or bronze or tin,” said Alvin.
“He's right,” said the man with the sack. “Just hammer and tongs. And a loaf of dry bread.”
“Takes an hour of soaking before it can be et,” said Alvin. “Sometimes I think my tongs might soften up faster than that old hardtack.”
The men laughed a little.
“And so the devil deceives you bit by bit,” said Purity.
“Let's have no more of that talk,” said Peaseman. “We know you accuse him, so there's no need to belabor it. There's no plow in his sack and if he walks along peaceful, there's no need to tie him.”
“And thus he leadeth them carefully down to hell,” said Purity.
Peaseman showed wrath for the first time, walking boldly to her and looking down at her from his looming height. “I say enough talk from you, miss, while we lead the prisoner back to Cambridge. Not one of us likes to hear you saying we are deceived by Satan.”
Purity wanted to open her mouth and berate all the men for letting this slick-talking “country bumpkin” win them over despite her having named him for a servant of hell. But she finally realized that she could not possibly persuade them, for Alvin would simply continue to act innocent and calm, making her look crazier and crazier the angrier she got.
“I'll stay and search for the plow,” she said.
“No, miss, I'd be glad if you'd come along with us now,” said Peaseman.
“Someone needs to look for it,” she said. “His confederates are no doubt skulking nearby, waiting to retrieve it.”
“All the more reason that I won't let you stay behind alone,” said Peaseman. “Come along now, miss. I speak by the authority of the village now, and not just by courteous request.”
This had an ominous ring to it. “Are you arresting me?” she asked, incredulous.
Peaseman rolled his eyes. “Miss, all I'm doing is asking you to let me do my work in the manner the law says I should. By law and common sense I can't leave you here exposed to danger, and with a prisoner who can't be tied I need to keep these men with me.” Peaseman looked to two of his men. “Give the young lady your arms, gentlemen.”
With exaggerated courtesy, two of the men held their arms to her. Purity realized that she had little choice now. “I'll walk of myself, please, and I'll hold my tongue.”
Peaseman shook his head. “That was what I asked many minutes and several long speeches ago. Now I ask you to take their arms and argue no further, or the next step will not be so liberal.”
&n
bsp; She hooked her hands through the crooks of their elbows and miserably walked along in silence, while Alvin talked cheerily about the weather, walking freely ahead of her on the path. The men laughed several times at his wit and his stories, and with every step she tasted the bitterness of gall. Am I the only one who knows the devil wears a friendly face? Am I the only one who sees through this witch?
Chapter 8 – Basket of Souls
«What is it that you think you're looking for?» asked Honor‚. They had spent the heat of the day on the docks and were dripping with sweat. It was getting on toward evening without a sign of relief from the heat.
“Souls,” said Calvin. “In particular, the theft of souls.”
They stood in the scant shade of a stack of empty crates, watching as a newly arrived ship was moored to the dock. Honor‚ sounded testy. «If the transaction I saw on the docks has something to do with missing heartfires– which are not souls as the priests describe them– then it was not theft at all. The dolls were freely given.»
“Sometimes theft doesn't look like theft. What if they think they're lending them, but they can't get them back? What about that?”
“And what if you are getting us in the path of something dangerous? Did you think of that?”
Calvin grinned. “We can't get hurt.”
«That statement is so obviously false that it is not worth answering,» said Honor‚.
“I don't think you understand what I can do,” said Calvin.
A gangplank was run up from the dock to a gap in the ship's gunwale.
“These are a filthy-looking crew, don't you think? Portuguese, perhaps?”
“If I decide you and I aren't going to get hurt, we won't,” said Calvin.
“Oh, so you can read minds like your sister-in-law?”
“Don't have to read minds when you can melt the knife right out of a man's hand.”
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