Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  "Well, anyway, they let us stay," Fiona said, staring around the room. Though bare and simple, there were no cobwebs; the floor was scrubbed, the window washed. Evidently Grace and Mercy were good housekeepers, whatever they lacked in graciousness.

  "Are you coming down to eat?" Fiona asked her mother as she hung up her cape.

  "Nay, then, I would rather just stay here and sleep."

  "I won't be gone long, but I do feel hungry," Fiona said and hurried down the narrow staircase to join her aunt and cousin at a long oak trestle table in the kitchen. When her aunt placed a bowl of hot stewed meat and vegetables before her, Fiona dipped in hungrily with an iron spoon, alternating with bites of fresh-baked buttered bread.

  Grace sat across from her, chin in hands, black eyes narrowed. "What do witches eat, I wonder?" she muttered.

  Fiona took a gulp of milk from her mug, eyeing Grace across the rim. "On every hand I've heard strange talk of Salem witches. What is it all about?"

  "Oh, heavens, don't you know? Why, the town is cursed," her aunt replied fearfully. She seated herself next to Grace, glancing nervously into the corner shadows before continuing. "For several years now, Salem has had naught but trouble. Crop failures, strange illness taking our young children, fires, floods… now we know the reason: Satan has invaded Salem."

  Grace leaned forward. "Some girls in town became possessed by the devil. They fell into awful fits and no doctor could help them. Then the girls confessed: a village slave named Tituba had bewitched them."

  Fiona could only stare, an icy shiver running across her skin. So all the mutterings were true: the talk on shipboard, the fear Samantha's maid had shown, the carter who wouldn't go near Salem in the dark of night.

  "Soon the girls named other witches," Aunt Mercy went on, her voice shaking. "More and more things came to light as they testified in court. Many have seen the Black Beast himself. Sometimes he appears as a pig, a great bird, a cat—"

  Aunt Mercy frowned. "Niece this is very serious. The devil is truly among us and 'tis nothing to make light of. Many people are afflicted with sores and boils…"

  Fiona glanced at Grace's mottled skin. "My mother's potions have cured sores and boils. She hopes to find such work here in the village."

  Aunt Mercy shook her head. "I doubt she will be successful. Work is scarce in town. The curse is on every venture."

  Fiona rose and drew a weary breath. She had heard quite enough of witches and misfortune for one day. "Thank you for the food, Aunt Mercy, and for giving us a place to stay. But will you please excuse me now? I must go to bed."

  As she left the room, Grace hissed after her, "Take my advice, Cousin. Tread carefully in Salem…"

  Chapter 4

  Fiona and her mother both slept more soundly than they had in weeks, in spite of all the problems which would now confront them.

  Fiona awoke first and stretched, reveling in the feel of solid, nonswaying boards, a bed that had a mattress, and sunshine coming in the tiny window.

  Would she see Giles today? Or would he be busy starting up his practice? Then she remembered that Grace had asked him to bring them eggs, so he would probably visit. She wondered uneasily how involved he was with Grace. The girl was certainly no beauty, with her plump, blotched face and raucous voice, but she had a well-developed figure and seemed to enjoy clutching Giles around the neck. Well, time would tell. Early days yet. Fiona jumped out of bed, eager to behold her new surroundings.

  Her mother also seemed revived, and when they had dressed, both took the narrow staircase to the kitchen. Today, Fiona noticed that it was a warm, cheerful room with a brick fireplace and oven occupying half of one wall.

  The flames danced on shining pewter and copper placed in racks against the whitewashed walls. Drying herbs hung above the hearth and added a splash of golden color.

  Aunt Mercy was just removing several crusty loaves of bread from the oven on a long, flat wooden paddle while Grace energetically pushed a birch-bark broom around the floor.

  She frowned as she took in Fiona's slender figure, fresh, clear face, and the bright red curls that escaped her cap. "Cousin, are you always such a slug-a-bed?" She growled. "We've been up since dawn to do the chores."

  Aunt Mercy sighed. "There is so much to be done. It never ends, and the servant we used to have stopped coming so she could attend the trials." She ladled oatmeal gruel from a steaming pot and set the bowls before Fiona and her mother. "To add to our misfortunes, this morning our poor cow went dry."

  "That never happened before," Grace muttered darkly. "Nor did she ever stray so far into the woods as she did last night."

  "In that case, we had better not be taking any milk this morning," Fiona's mother whispered. "Pour some molasses on the oatmeal instead."

  They emptied their bowls and ate several slices of fresh bread and butter to a running accompaniment of Aunt Mercy's complaints and Grace's growling.

  Finally, Ellen Prescott spoke up firmly. "I will look for work in the village this very day. Fiona and I would not be a burden on you, Mercy. We'll be glad to help in any way we can. What do you want first, candlemaking, gardening, baking, or spinning?"

  Mercy's plump hands fluttered uncertainly. "Why— why, let me see. Perhaps Fiona could feed the chickens. They've not been laying good lately, and we are forced to get most of our eggs from Mistress Harmon. Grace, fetch some grain from the storeroom."

  In a few moments, Grace returned with a basin of feed. She thrust it ungraciously into Fiona's hands just as a knock sounded at the back door.

  When Mercy lifted the latch, Giles entered, carrying a basket. Today he wore brown corded breeches, knee boots, and a homespun cotton shirt rolled up to the elbows. In spite of the plain work clothes, Fiona thought he looked handsome and outstanding and always would, no matter what he wore. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she prayed no one noticed the rosy heat upon her cheeks.

  Giles greeted everyone, his gaze lingering on Fiona until Grace cried, "Thank you, Giles, I'll take the eggs." She charged toward him, brushing awkwardly against Fiona's arm. The next instant, the basin flew from Fiona's hand and crashed upon the floor, scattering grain far and wide.

  Aunt Mercy gave a startled exclamation, slapping her hands to her plump cheeks.

  Grace swung around and shrilled, "You clumsy girl! Look what you've done! That grain costs good money!"

  "Why—why—I did nothing," Fiona protested. "You hit the bowl with your hand."

  " 'Twas no such thing! Giles saw what happened," Grace shouted, her face purpling.

  Giles's gray eyes twinkled. "I only know the bowl flew through the air as though it were—" He bit off his words too late. The harm was done.

  "Exactly! Bewitched." Grace glared at Fiona, then at Mrs. Prescott. "First the cow, now this."

  Fiona clenched her hands. "What are you hinting at, Grace? Come out with it."

  Giles shot Grace a warning frown so that she clamped her lips together while Fiona's mother whispered softly, "Daughter, dear, stop."

  "Shall I get more grain?" Fiona asked stiffly, reaching for the basin.

  Grace snatched it up and snarled, "I'll feed the hens myself, before you do more harm."

  She then eased her features into a smile as she looked at Giles. "Come into the barn with me, dear boy. We have a lot of catching up to do. We used to be so close, before you went off to London remember?"

  Giles hesitated and seemed relieved when Mrs. Prescott touched his arm. "I wonder, doctor dear, if you would be after doing us a favor? Since I see your wagon in the yard, could you help Fiona bring our boxes from the woods? Alas, they were too heavy for us to carry here last night."

  "Certainly," Giles answered heartily. "I would be glad to."

  "You left your baggage in the woods?" Mercy clicked her tongue. "What a foolish thing to do. How do you know they will still be there?"

  "They probably were protected by their kind last night," Grace sneered. "Like calls to like."

  As Fiona c
hoked, Grace turned her back and said to Giles, "When I've finished my chores, I want you to come to the jail with me. We can see how many witches were caught last night."

  "No, Grace," Giles said firmly. "I want no part of that horror. Those poor folk are terrified. Dragged from their homes, accused of a felony which is punishable by death. And many of them innocent, I would swear."

  "You better watch your words, Giles Harmon. They are not the only witches in that jail."

  "Grace, stop that kind of talk right now," Giles exploded.

  Mercy's jaw dropped as she stared from one face to the other.

  "Come on, Fiona, we'll get your boxes," Giles barked, striding to the door.

  Undeterred, Grace called after him, "Hurry back, Giles."

  Giles threw Fiona a concerned glance as they drove away. "You are off to a bad start. I know of your uncle's death and I'm sorry. He would have made things easier for you here." He reached across and pressed her hand.

  Giles's touch felt so strong and comforting. Fiona thought as she smiled at him.

  "Do not look at me like that, mistress, or I will forget the promise I made on shipboard," Giles growled with a little laugh.

  She knew what he meant and colored. She would never hold him to that promise not to kiss her and slid him a sidelong glance beneath her lashes. A feeling of safety and happiness enveloped her when she looked at Giles, so big and strong and kind, with something about him that made her want to lean on him… and have him touch her.

  It seemed wonderful to be outdoors with him, and Fiona drew a deep breath of cool, fresh air. It smelled of the sea and of wind-tossed pines. The sky arched clear and blue above the woods and the clustering homes and farms. No people seemed to be around, but many animals roamed at will: including sheep, geese, chickens, and cows.

  Giles gestured with his whip as they rode along. "Do you notice how nothing is tended properly? Weeds flourish, crops wilt, trades are all neglected." He smiled grimly. "Everyone has something better to do these days."

  "For heaven's sake, you don't mean the witch trials?"

  "Yes, I do. My father tells me the good people of Salem are at the trials day after day, all day long. Sometimes they arrive before daylight to get a good seat in the meetinghouse."

  "Do your parents attend them, too?" Fiona asked cautiously.

  "They went only once, and that was enough. They are very worried about conditions here. Neighbor cries out on neighbor just to keep suspicion from his own door. It is as though the town has lost all reason and gone mad."

  "It sounds incredible," Fiona gasped. "Aunt Mercy and Grace said that it all started when a group of girls claimed that a slave had bewitched them."

  Giles nodded. "That was the beginning. My father said Betty Parris, the minister's daughter, and her cousin, Abigail, liked to be entertained by Tituba with the black arts of fortune telling, and other things Tituba had learned in the West Indies. Soon after, the girls began throwing fits. They named Tituba and other witches in Salem."

  "Do they burn witches at the stake as they do in England?" Fiona whispered hoarsely.

  "No, they are hanged on Gallows Hill."

  Fiona gave a violent shudder. The day seemed to darken and a rush of wind blew toward her like an icy draft. She seemed to hear a bell tolling in the distance, and with an inward vision, she saw a black-robed procession mounting up a hill with dragging feet. With a prickling sense of horror, she knew that when one of that doomed and desperate group turned toward her, she would scream.

  "Fiona, are you well?" Giles exclaimed, giving her a worried glance. "Have I frightened you with all this talk?"

  "I—" She swallowed hard. "Do you believe that all these accused witches are truly guilty?"

  Giles shook his head and his lips firmed. "No. Many of those who have been jailed are people I have known all my life. I would swear that they are innocent. However, it is mighty dangerous to say such things these days."

  In an attempt to shake off the strange terror of her vision, Fiona managed a small laugh. "Well, I assure you, I am not a witch who will report your words to Satan."

  He shot her a sidelong glance and grinned. "No, but you are the most bewitching woman I have ever known."

  Fiona dropped her eyes, well pleased, but did not answer.

  They were nearly through the woods when Giles drew back on the reins. "Do you remember where you put your things, young miss?"

  "Certainly. It was near the road to Boston." Without much difficulty, Fiona found the tree with its ring of seedlings and Giles loaded the boxes into the wagon.

  Giles was not in any hurry to return, so they leaned against the wagon, laughing and talking with the ease which had developed between them during their long weeks at sea.

  "How did you happen to study medicine instead of farming like your father?" Fiona asked him.

  "My grandfather influenced me. He was a doctor in Boston and I studied with him every chance I got. When he died, he left me all his books and a legacy so I could spend a few years in London and become an accredited doctor. I find it's work I love."

  Fiona looked at him admiringly. She had never been so drawn to a young man. She loved the fresh male scent of his sun-warmed skin, the intelligent gray eyes, the full curve of his lower lip that smiled much more often now than it had aboard the Seawynd. His responsibility there must have weighed heavily on him.

  She couldn't help a pang of regret when Giles squinted at the sky. "We had better return. The sun is pretty high. Here, I will help you up."

  He put his hands on each side of her waist, but instead of helping her onto the seat, he drew her closer to his body, his eyes suddenly agleam as he stared down at her.

  Aware of what he wanted, Fiona swayed against him, unconsciously provocative, lifting her face to his. In the next instant, he took her lips in a blazing kiss that penetrated past her quivering response and didn't end until they both ran out of breath.

  When she drew back, her mind was whirling. She felt excited and bewildered. What would he do next?

  Giles's face was fiery, but he silently swung her up onto the seat. Soon they were rattling along the road, dust swirling behind them, birds twittering in alarm. It was not until they had passed through the woods that Giles stopped the horse and turned to her.

  His voice sounded gruff, but a corner of his mouth lifted in a little smile. "I guess I must apologize again. I should not have kissed you after I promised not to."

  "You do not have to apologize," Fiona murmured, remembering with joy the fire and urgency of his lips on hers.

  "I lost my head," Giles muttered, his eyes hidden by his hat. "When I am close to you, Fiona…"

  "Why is it so wrong to kiss me?" Fiona asked in a low voice. "I—I like your kisses, Giles."

  "You are still a maiden. You do not realize where kisses lead."

  Fiona tossed her head. "Of course, I do. I am not a child, Giles Harmon." She put her hand timidly on his arm.

  "I trust you," Fiona added simply.

  "I hope I can be worthy of that trust," he growled. She heard the rasping intake of his breath. "Do you not know how appealing you are? Your smile, your merry eyes, the way you kissed me back… Lucky the man who gets you. I only wish…"

  Fiona could hardly speak. "Yes, Giles? What do you wish?"

  He only shook his head. After that, he was silent for a long while, and though she looked at him expectantly when he said her name, his words were anything but loverlike. "Fiona, I want to give you a word of warning about your new life in this town. I saw how Grace looked at you, baited you, feared you. You must watch your words around her, no matter what she says. She and her mother are well known here, while you are a perfect stranger. And remember this: it takes only the slightest thing—a chance remark, a peculiar glance, an angry word, or a strange dream mentioned—and immediately someone asks: 'Is this person acting like a witch?' The next thing you know, a warrant has been issued for arrest."

  Fiona gave a cry. "Is that really a
ll it takes? Impossible."

  "You must believe it, Fiona. My parents told me all about the arrests, the lies, the fear and suspicion. People are beside themselves with terror. Both you and your mother must be very, very careful. Do you understand?"

  Fiona nodded, but she really did not understand at all.

  Inside the house, Fiona found her mother putting on her shawl and bonnet. "Ah, Fiona, darlin', I was just about to walk into the village and look for work. Do you want to come along?"

  "Yes. I am very curious to see this 'cursed town,' as it is called."

  "Faith, why do they call it that?" her mother exclaimed, as they started down the road.

  "That is what Giles told me just now." Fiona repeated the story of the possessed girls, their power in the courtroom, and the strange willingness of everyone to believe them when they pointed out a witch.

  Ellen Prescott looked pale when Fiona finished. "So then, 'tis true. I thought people on shipboard were exaggerating. We have arrived in the middle of a terrible witch hunt. That explains so many things. And you say that hardly anybody works here now?"

  Fiona nodded. "Giles says they are completely absorbed by the trials and their own terrible fears. But, Mother, with your knowledge of herbs, you should be welcome in the village. And I will work for Aunt Mercy as hard as any bound servant. I am certain we can earn our own way in this prosperous New World. And if we have to try another village, why, that's what we do." But leaving Giles? How could she bear that!

  When they reached the main part of town, they found a large crowd. Two rows of shops clustered around a grassy common, but everyone seemed to be milling close to a large white building that faced the square.

  "Giles was right, 'tis here the people are." Mrs. Prescott clicked her tongue. "Well, since no one else is working, I may have a chance. My knowledge of herbs and simpling should have some value. First, I will try that apothecary shop on the corner."

  "I will be out here," Fiona said. "I want to see what is going on."

  As she hurried across the road, a roll of drums rattled in the distance and the people all looked around, heads craning toward the sound.