Centuries of June

by Keith Donohue

  Yours as God wishes,

  Sarah

  At the conclusion of the foregoing, Dolly and Jane handed over their documents to Alice, who filed them in the proper places in the archives. Taking the old man by the sleeve of his robe, and nodding to the women, I whispered a private query. “I don’t understand the meaning of this. Why are you playing the husband here? Shouldn’t I be reading the part of Mr. Bonham?”

  “It appears you have some other role.” With a wink, he bent close and I inclined my head so his words might better pour into my ear. “All in good time, lad. But I do think you are on to something. Good of you to have figured out the central conceit. I had not deduced as much, and that only goes to show how exceptionally bright and insightful you are.”

  His compliment pleased me immeasurably, for I had heretofore thought he found me somewhat slow. Blood rushed to my head as I blushed, and a drop trickled down my scalp where the hole had once been. “Tell me,” I answered, “what is my place in Alice’s tale?”

  “Are you saying you don’t remember her? A fine young woman like that?”

  I stole a glance over his shoulder and saw her in three-quarter profile listening to the other two women. One of them said something funny, and she brought her hand to her mouth, her lips and fingernails the same shade of red. He grabbed me by the elbow and steered me toward the women. “We shall allow some patience in you for the passage of time and memory. Methinks the answer comes anon.”

  But instead of handing me my part, Alice returned the journal of Mr. Bonham to the old man and instructed him to read the next few marked pages.

  5 MARCH 1692

  My wife consorts with a WITCH. The girls named Tituba as she what taught them to make the witchcake and other magick. They say she took a Jug of Beer and a green glass and that looking in the glass saw the shape of many persons and what they were doing though they be far away in their homes or in the town. They named the beggar Sarah Good and stout Sarah Osbourne, too, as the cause of their ailments, claiming them WITCHES and saying they do visit in spirit and prick and bite and torture &c them in their beds and ask them to fly on broomsticks through the windows and into the black woods. The Barbadoes Woman has confessed to her sin and is sent to prison, as are Goody Good and Goody Osbourne, though they confess no sin and are sore distressed by such accusations. Woe betide us should the girls accuse Alice.

  25 MARCH

  The devil runs like wild fire thru the Village and there is a conflagration of witchcraft spread this side of Salem. Though Betty Parris has been sent away to recover with her kinsmen in the wilderness of Maine, the other girls continue to find more tormentors among the erstwhile goodwives of our town. Martha Corey has been so-named, as fine and God-fearing a woman as ere met, as well. Little Ann Putnam pointed the finger at Sarah Good’s little four-year-old waif, and the child, too, now joins her mother in the jail, and my heart breaks at the thought of the poor girl in a dark cell. Mrs. Putnam herself begins to suffer an affliction, and she is soon to name more WITCHES. When shall this madness end? I dreamt last night that the same Black Man what haunts the girls was in the room aside my wife and me, beside the spirit of Thomas Putnam come from his house. As in all pictures that I have seen, He had him Cloven feet and Claws and would have me sign in blood his fowl Book. When Alice woke me in the morning and saw me ill and the bedclothes soaked with the Sweat of my night’s terrors, she knew I knew her secrets, and did all she could to rid me of my fears with many kisses and caresses. I sometimes wonder if I, too, consort with a WITCH.

  “Just like a man,” Dolly said, “to not trust his wife and think the worst of her.”

  Jane hid beneath her coils and added, “Yet he was willing to lie with her though she was possessed. What does that say about the kind of man he was?”

  Softly Alice walked to the old man, who was resting his hip against the edge of the sink. She pressed her palm against his chest and lifting herself on tiptoe, she kissed him softly on the cheek and brushed the other side of his face with her open hand. His bright blue eyes widened in surprise and pleasure, and the faint trace of a smile parted his lips. He whispered a phrase—I am sorry or Do not worry—that could not quite be deciphered. Slowly she parted from him and fished again in the Hollinger box till another document she produced. The four of us wondered who should be next, and I was taken aback when the handbound pages were placed in my hands with the silent order that I was to read.

  NOTES AND SUNDRY ON THE AFFLICTED

  BY NICHOLAS NOYES

  Being a Record in Preparation

  Of the Writing of a Book; or Account of:

  The Witches of Salem Village

  Part, the Second

  Several of the Afflicted saw on the 20th of March, the Lord’s day in Meeting, Goodwife Corey suffer the most unusual evidence of witchcraft. A yellow bird, seen only by the girls, had entered somehow the Meetinghouse, first landing upon the minister’s hat hanging on a peg and then—mirable dictu—it could be seen betwixt the fingers of Martha Corey. And then her spirit flew and perched atop the ceiling beam like a man riding in the saddle, high above the church, though she herself be in the congregation. Both Abigail Williams and Ann Putnam swore to it, and moreover, they claimed Goodwife Corey was the newest cause of their affliction.

  The following day, the 21st of March, we were summoned as magistrates to examine Mrs. Corey as bewitched and causing afflictions on the girls and the other accusers. Despite being twelve of the clock, a throng of one hundred or more from here the Village and Salem Town assembled.

  I began with a prayer for all those gathered that the Lord guide us in our deliberations, that the tormented girls and the women to whom the terror has spread, that they be relieved and that God shew the truth and his Will be done. The accused asked that she be allowed to pray, and a murmur rose amidst the assembled, several voicing their objections. I cast my eye about the room: the afflicted rocked and moaned as though an evil wind blew through the rows, and several others—Goodwife Bishop and Goodwife Proctor and Goodwife Bonham—took notice as well and made to copy the girls, but this was mere sympathy. Thomas Putnam, too, watched with one eye on the congregation and another on the accused. Quite rightfully, I believe, I told Goody Corey that she was not there for prayer, that there would be plenty of time to make Peace with the Lord, and that she was to submit to the Questions of the Magistrates.

  Mr. Hathorne took the role of inquisitor, right enough. “Goodwife Corey, why hast thou afflicted those children?”

  “I do not afflict them,” she said. “I scarce account any of them, but they are some chance accountered in the Village.”

  “They saith they are so afflicted,” Hathorne pressed her. “If not you, then who does so torment them?”

  “I do not know. How should I know?”

  From the corner where she perched, Alice moaned, first a low hum like a cat’s contented purr, and then her lips parted and the sound intensified to a full-throated O, and a tremor ran from her fingertips and hands to her shoulders. She shook her head violently and then snapped into a quiet trancelike state, her gaze focused on some scene invisible to the rest of us. Through the open windows, the smell of decay drifted. I cleared my throat and continued.

  “How should I know what ails these girls?” Martha Corey demanded. She knotted her fingers and twisted her hands.

  From the rows where the girls were seated, a pained scream rang out. “Why dost thou torment me?” One of them, Ann Putnam, leapt to her feet and said, “See, her yellow bird pecks my hand.” She held up her fingers so the Assembled might see the red marks on her palms.

  I asked Goodwife Corey if she had some familiar spirit, in the shape of a yellow bird, that attended upon her.

  “Yellow bird? I know no such thing.”

  To which Mr. Hathorne ordered the woman to be searched for such sign, and the girl who had seen the yellow bird shouted that it was too late, the bird had flown. Ann Putnam, Sr., the girl’s mother, said, “However she did stick my
child in the head. Come examine her for any sign.” The bailiff approached the child and found an iron pin sticking upright through the child’s cap and standing straight in her hair. Mr. Hathorne stuck his spectacles atop his head and put down the deposition he had been reading. “The child says: ‘And she bade me sign the book, a book writ with blood.’ What of this book of yours? Even your husband has said you do sometimes hide a book when he comes upon you in surprise.”

  “I have no such book. I am a gospel woman.”

  “You are a gospel witch,” Ann Putnam shouted from her seat. “I was at prayer with my father at my own house, and there came the shape of Goodwife Corey praying to the devil and entreat me sign the devil’s book.”

  The members again whispered among themselves, and many turned to their neighbors what hidden thoughts escaped their countenance. I did espy Mr. Corey muttering to himself and beating his fist against his breast, and next to him, Alice Bonham staring at me as if to make me stop.

  “What say ye to this deposition?” Mr. Hathorne enquired.

  Drawing herself full and straight, Martha Corey said, “I do not know what to say, other than this child suffers from some fancy. They are all poor, distracted children.”

  I told her, No, they are bewitched, so say we all. At that she bit her lip, and the children cried out that she does bite them, and they shewed the Marks upon their bare arms. Mrs. Pope, who is also afflicted, begged her stop, for she said Goody Corey did twist her in the bowels whenever she wrung her hands, and she threw her muff at the accused. When that did not reach its target, Mrs. Pope took off her shoe and threw it, striking Goody Corey in the head.

  Abigail Williams cried out, “Do you not hear the drumbeat? Why do you not go join the devils assembling in the woods beyont?”

  “Make her quit stomping her feet,” Ann Putnam said. “She is paining me in my own feet and will break my bones.” The little girl stamped her feet with great fury until Mrs. Corey stopped, and then so did the child.

  “The woman is a Witch,” Mrs. Putnam said. “She came to me in the night and told me that she hath signed a covenant for ten years, with six gone and four to come. Even now, The Black Man whispers in her ear, can you not see? Ask her the catechism and trick the devil.”

  My heart full of terror and pity, I strained to find any Black Man or Devil, but not being bewitched, all that appeared before mine eye was a frightened old woman. She seemed bewildered by all around her, and on the faces of her accusers and, indeed, on most of those gathered ran a look of hunger or anticipation. They strained to hear her words and would that they strain so much during our sermons or teaching, or even prayers. Searching for a proper question, I settled on a simple matter, asking, “How many persons be there in the Godhead?”

  Her visage changed from agitation to peace, as though she knew the answer, and the correct answer—three—was on her lips, but her eyes clouded as she turned over the question in her mind. Perhaps she thought it a conundrum for which there was no correct solution, but no ruse was intended on my part. “Oft have I heard you teach, Mr. Noyes, on the matter, and I think there is but one person only in the Godhead and yet there is the Son of Man, the Holy Ghost, and the Father, and this is three, but only one come as a person.”

  “A simple answer,” I said, “would reassure us of your meaning.”

  “But there is no simple answer to the riddle of the Trinity, and I have spent my long life in understanding.”

  Those assembled argued softly amongst themselves until Mr. Hathorne called for order. “I have read the depositions against thee, Goodwife Corey, and heard the testimonies of the Innocents, and am most dissatisfied by your answers—”

  “You have no proof against me but the words of the misguided,” she said. “I am no witch.”

  “The magistrates find otherwise, and I beg you confess.”

  “How might I confess to that which is not true? Which is baseless Gossip?”

  “By my order, you are to be sent to Salem prison and remain there until you confess your sin of witchcraft and consort with the devil and to testify against all those who worship him.”

  After she had been led away and the meetinghouse cleared, I took up my hat and cloak to make my way for home. Outside the door stood Mr. Corey with Alice Bonham, who did falsely say to me that she saw Mrs. Putnam place the iron pin in her own daughter’s cap, and she adamantly proclaimed the innocence of the accused. Mr. Corey, too, pleaded for my intercession, but the hour was late, and I had to hurry home for my tea.

  Having come to the end of this account, I paused and looked to Alice for some signal to continue. She stood in the center of the bathroom and held out a washrag, revealing that it was ordinary terrycloth, flat as a flag, and containing no secret compartments or hidden pockets. With a theatrical flourish, she gathered the cloth at one end and proceeded to bunch it into her closed fist, and with a wave, she mimed some hocus-pocus and opened her hand to disclose the cloth now formed into a small tent. With two fingers, she lifted the point to uncover in her open palm a small, yellow bird that nodded its tiny head and spread its wings and tail feathers. This bird—some sort of housefinch—hopped to the faucet on the sink when she gently prompted it to freedom. Alice shook the washrag and another bird emerged from the folds, as if born from the petals of a large flower. In a quick, snapping motion, she raised her arms to a perpendicular position and from the sleeves flew two more finches, one of which landed on the old man’s silver hair. Smiling now, she reached to lift the hem of her red skirt, and a whole flock of birds escaped, a dozen or more, and the bright yellow flash of feathers filled the room. One perched on the shower curtain rod and began to sing. Two hung onto the toilet seat. Another pair scrabbled on the toothbrush holder. Alice held out one hand, and the birds converged upon it as if drawn by scent or seed, dancing the length of her arm, delicately nibbling at her fingernails and tasting the salt on her skin. With no warning, Alice suddenly dropped her limb, and they vanished as mysteriously as they had arrived. My comrades burst into applause, but I was too stunned to move or speak.

  “So are you a witch or just a magician?” Dolly asked.

  Alice glowered at her and raised her auburn eyebrows for a split second, answering neither in the affirmative or negative, indicating only amusement at the question. She handed Jane the next batch of documents.

  Salem Village

  10 May 1692

  Loving Sister,

  The jails of Salem are full of WITCHES.

  Half the village stands accused and Half must be afflicted, or so it seems. Mr. Bonham says that, in addition to those I have writ thee, there are two dozen more in the jail, and no one is spared. A beggar child, no more than four years, is the youngest, and the elders include Goodwife Corey and Goodwife Nurse, whom thou have met when last thee visited. No more devout Christian woman have I ever met. The affliction has spread from those who knew the Indian maid to Women of honour and distinction. Mrs. Ann Putnam and her young daughter swear against many, and Mr. Thomas Putnam has sent the legal complaints to the magistrates.

  We in the Village now look upon each Neighbour with a suspicious eye and are studied by our former Friends for any errancy. It is like living in a house made of Straw and waiting for the wind to blow or some stray ember burn down the whole and all. I am very afraid. What if those girls name me?

  Sarah, I cannot speak of this to Mr. Bonham or tell my secrets to him, for did he know of my late dalliance with these girls he would beat me or send me home or, who knows, turn me over to these Witch Hunters. I cannot say. Nor can I escape this place, but must bear all in silence and sanguinity.

  Your loving sister,

  Alice

  Postscript. You said you might come for a visit and bring your little boy. Pray do, and soon.

  More passages followed from Mr. Bonham’s diary, as read by the old man.

  1 MAY

  What madness infects us? So terrific the unceasing Stench of Hypocricy, one would think the clouds befoul the
earth. I put Putnam behind this. May please God to bring relief from this plague of Mendacity. Though she says naught, Alice is afraid by so many ordered into jail, and rightly so, for those girls call out every one without discrimination.

  25 MAY

  By my count, there are 60 in the jail. Poor Giles Corey joins his ancient wife, and Goodman Proctor and his Elizabeth, old Bridget Bishop, and too many to catalogue. Would the new Governour come and settle matters and be shewn the travesty of bearing of false witness. We are relieved that Alice’s sister arrives next week, so at the last, the poor thing can find some comfort and commiseration.

  He stopped at that red flag and closed the book at Alice’s command. She extracted a letter for Dolly.

  Casco Bay

  1 June 1692

  Dearest Alice,

  With a heavy heart, I write to say I cannot travel as planned, for our little William has come down with some ailment that turns him scarlet and wracks him with a dreadful cough. He burned with fever for three days, though the worse be over, but the physician says he is not fit to journey, and I am loath to leave him thus. Perhaps we shall see you later in the summer when he is mended, and I write in haste so as not to leave him too long unattended. Say a small prayer for his health, and I shall write again soon. I am so sorry to disappoint you, and only urge you stay resolute. All things must pass.

  Your loving sister,

  Sarah

  “Did the boy get well?” Dolly asked. “Little William?”

  The red-haired woman nodded and then turned to me to continue the story as Nicholas Noyes.

  NOTES AND SUNDRY, continued

  Part, the Fifth

  Bridget Bishop, accused of witchcraft by her husband and others, and accounted in testimony of several witnesses who swore whereto, was put to trial by Court of Oyer and Terminer, chief judge William Stoughton, our Deputy Governour, and examined by the women who found several excrescences or witch’s teats upon her body that hurt her not when lanced with a pin. Thus proved a witch she confessed that some “folks counted her a witch,” and did threaten Mr. Hathorne in saying, “If I were such a person, you should know it.” She was sentenced to death, and on the 10th of June, she was hanged by the neck on Gallows Hill in front of many witnesses to God’s judgment upon her, and when at last she ceased to breathe, a clamor rose that demonstrated the will of all to have such Evil exterminated. Governour William Phipps, upon learning that some of the magistrates objected and that Mr. Saltonsall resigned as judge in protest, has called upon Increase Mather and his son and other ministers of Boston to advize him how best we proceed these trials.