Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  Although young, Abigail had a bold, darting glance. Her eyes swiveled constantly from side to side and people on the road shrank back until she vanished in the meetinghouse. By the look of her, Fiona thought Abigail was enjoying her new power and might be on the prowl for further victims.

  Fiona started walking slowly, but Grace was not through with her yet. "I saw you talking to Sally Woods. Did you know that she and Giles were on the brink of a betrothal before he went away? It must have been a blow to him when he came back and found she'd married that big, burly blacksmith. Some folks whispered 'twas because she had to."

  With an effort, Fiona kept a cool look on her face and didn't answer, but she wondered why Grace was telling her these things. Of course, she might have had several motives for her remarks about Sally. Maybe she didn't want Fiona to make friends with the sweet-faced girl. And perhaps Grace wanted to upset Fiona with a reference to Giles's former love…

  The only certainty was that Grace liked to be unpleasant.

  Chapter 6

  Fiona and Giles were lying in a meadow and he was kissing her.

  She protested when his hand touched her breast.

  "Giles, please—you should not—" she choked.

  "I am in love with you, Fiona. You know how much I want you." He moved his hands up to each side of her face and took her trembling lips into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth.

  A wave of ecstatic pleasure swept Fiona, and unable to stop herself, she pulled him closer.

  "Giles, Giles, have you forgotten me? Oh, won't you come to me?" The thin wailing voice rent the air.

  "It's Sally?" Fiona gasped, tearing her mouth from Giles. She pushed against his shoulder. "She's crying!"

  He sat up slowly, mumbling thickly, "It sounds more like a cat to me."

  Fiona's eyes flew open. Yes, she could hear a cat mewing somewhere. She had been dreaming, but already the memory swam in misty waves. Giles had kissed her… she still felt the heat and yearning between them with a glow of guilty pleasure. But then came something else… Sally… Sally watching them and crying.

  Oh, heavens, it was just a dream. Fiona sat up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

  Her mother must have risen earlier, as she wasn't in the room. Last night, Mercy had given them a list of chores to do, saying she and Grace were going to attend an early session of the witch trials and would not return until mid-morning. Fiona knew she also must help with the housework and dressed quickly, tying a linen cap beneath her chin and donning a long white apron.

  In the kitchen, she heard the odd wailing again and her eyes flew to the corner where her mother sat by the whirring spinning wheel, oblivious to the sound outside the door.

  "Mother," Fiona raised her voice, feeling a strange prickling sensation run along her spine. "Something's at the door—trying to get in."

  Her mother rose and flashed her an amused glance. "Oh, then, let us see who it is."

  "Perhaps we should not—"

  "Now, Fiona, 'tis not like you to be a-twitter. Sit down and have your breakfast. There are fresh boiled eggs this morning. I'll be seeing to the door." She gave a little chuckle. "Even though everyone in town is practically hysterical, let us try to keep our reason."

  She opened the door and looked out, then down. "Why, 'tis just a pussycat."

  With a little hiss, a gaunt black cat slid past her and limped across the room, surveying the kitchen with a narrowed, slitted gaze.

  Mrs. Prescott bent closer to examine it. "Oh, it has a splinter in its paw, poor wee thing. Hand me my box and that little knife, Fiona. Now, then, Puss, I'll fix you up and soon you'll be as good as new."

  For some reason, the lank dark cat filled Fiona with revulsion. Usually she was quite fond of animals, especially household pets, but this must be the meanest-looking, ugliest cat she had ever seen, with a half-chewed ear and dirty, matted fur.

  She handed the box filled with medication to her mother, then retreated to the table, where she peeled an egg and ate a slice of bread while keeping a wary eye on the operation.

  The animal sat silently, only occasionally blinking its yellow eyes as though in pain while its paw was probed, coated with ointment, and bandaged with a strip of cloth.

  "How thin and scraggly that cat is," Fiona muttered. "I wonder where it came from. I've never seen it around here before, have you?"

  "Probably in a town like this, wrapped up in a witch hunt, many animals are neglected. I'm wondering if we could keep him. So many rodents haunt the barn with no cat on the premises."

  "Oh, I don't think—" Fiona began, only to be interrupted by the appearance of Grace and Aunt Mercy, who came bursting in the back door, both looking excited.

  Grace sailed her sunbonnet across the room to the kitchen table. "Lordy, you should have been in the courtroom this morning," she chortled. "Abigail Williams and Elizabeth Hubbard threw the most awful fits. They said that Rebecca Nurse was tormenting them, pinching, biting, jabbing pins—invisibly, of course."

  "My heavens, and didn't that cause everyone to chatter!" Aunt Mercy hung her cape on a peg and pursed her tiny mouth. "Rebecca may be one of the wealthiest people in Salem and have a lot of friends, but now folks are whispering."

  "What about?" Fiona asked.

  "She scoffs at those afflicted children," Mercy proclaimed. "Rebecca claims they just want attention. That idea does not set well, I can tell you, seeing all the problems people are afflicted with these days."

  Grace licked her lips with relish. "Do you know, when they were first possessed, those girls couldn't eat or speak? They crawled under the furniture and barked like dogs. The twelve-year-old, Ann Putnam, even tried to throw herself into the fireplace until her parents grabbed her."

  "None of the doctors could do a thing, not even the ones they brought from far-off towns," Aunt Mercy put in. "So at last one had to admit the works of the devil. But Rebecca Nurse said the girls were just trying to save themselves from punishment by claiming bewitchment."

  "Punishment for what?" Ellen asked.

  "Why, their meetings with Tituba—the dancing, card playing, and all. The parents found them out and the girls confessed but said black magic made them do it. Soon everyone started noticing odd things and realized that Satan had come to Salem. Now all the witches among us are finally being unearthed, and—"

  "Ma," Grace suddenly shrilled, "look at that strange black cat! How did he get in? Never saw him around before."

  "Why, 'tis just a stray I doctored," Ellen protested. "Y'see, he had a thorn stuck in his paw—"

  Grace leaped backward with a raucous cry. "Witches have a familiar to do their bidding." She pointed a shaking finger. "Like that one!"

  "Are you hinting again that my mother is a witch?" Fiona advanced with clenched hands, but she was halted in her tracks by a loud knocking at the door and the sound of chattering voices.

  For a strained moment, no one moved or spoke. Then Aunt Mercy lifted up the latch and in trooped a group of babbling children, ignoring the black cat, who scooted out the door. Their ages seemed to range from a little one with fingers in her mouth to a miniature goodwife looking about six years old in long dress, apron, and linen cap tied beneath her rosy chin.

  "Time for school," she stated importantly, thrusting out the wooden hornbook dangling from a cord around her waist.

  This distraction effectively halted Fiona's angry words to Grace and she could only stare at the procession of little boys and girls noisily trying to arrange themselves along the table benches.

  "I have a dame school." Aunt Mercy raised her voice above the din. "It's for those too young to attend the regular grammar school." She bustled frantically around the table, trying in vain to create order among the jabbering children who were poking and shoving each other for a preferred place to sit.

  Suddenly, Grace banged a wooden spoon against a pot lid. "Shut your clappers," she yelled at the top of her lungs. Silence fell instantly upon the entire group.

  "I have the school t
hree times a week," Aunt Mercy explained. "My neighbor had it formerly, but now she's too busy, so I said I would take it. A weekly threepence for each pupil helps out, you know."

  "One child is so small," Fiona marveled. "What is she able to learn?"

  "That is Charity, Rebecca Nurse's grandchild. She is three years old and very bright."

  Hearing her name, the little one piped up, "Grandmama's very sick. She throws up all her food."

  "Heavens, but that reminds me of our rough days at sea." With a click of her tongue, Mrs. Prescott moved to Charity's side. "Now, then, has your granny seen Dr. Giles, my dear?"

  When the child shook her head, Mercy said, "There has been no regular doctor in Salem for several years. The barber used to perform surgery when required, but he's been accused of witchcraft. Although I heard he's been exonerated."

  "And Giles isn't here today," Grace said. "We saw him on our way to the trials and he told us he was going to Boston for supplies."

  "Grandmama cries a lot." Charity's mouth turned down. "Why can't anybody help her?"

  "Whisht, now, 'tis many cures for sick people, I have," Ellen said. "Charity, why don't you come and show me where your Granny lives? I'm sure Giles would not mind."

  The child rose with alacrity and Fiona said, "I will join you, mother." It should be interesting to meet this Rebecca Nurse, who seemed to be one of the few villagers questioning the accusations of the bewitched girls. Perhaps she'd have a chance to talk with the old lady, if she was not too ill.

  As she and her mother left, carrying a basket of herbs and powders, the reading class began reciting the alphabet in unison, stubby fingers pointing to each letter printed beneath the sheet of transparent horn tacked to their wooden paddles. Grace added a periodic whack with her spoon for emphasis.

  Outdoors, Charity trotted along between Fiona and her mother and began to sing:

  "He that learns his A-B-C

  Never will a blockhead be."

  Fiona smiled down at the baby cheeks bulging out of the stiff white cap. "Can you recite your alphabet?"

  "Yes, I can. A-B-C, A-B-C, A-B-C." Charity skipped ahead chanting happily.

  Fiona laughed. "She seems to think that is the whole of it."

  "Faith, imagine Mercy running a dame school! Never would I have expected that, would you? She seems so scatterbrained."

  "I know. Well, if she cannot keep the young ones in line, you can be sure Grace will. Do you notice any school here for older boys and girls?"

  "Mercy said they have hired a schoolmaster. But with the witch trials going on, they must have closed it down."

  "These trials are causing so much trouble. Heavens, the things Giles told me. People are either locked in their houses in terror or haunting the trials so they can gloat."

  Her mother threw her a teasing glance. "I hear that young man's words quoted quite a lot by you."

  Fiona blushed and gave a little laugh, wishing she could pour out everything she felt about Giles, how he excited her and puzzled her and with it all, attracted her. But her feelings were too new and too bewildering for sharing and, yes, too sweet.

  "Never mind, my darling, you could do worse than listen to young Dr. Giles. The lad seems to be one of the few level-headed people in this town."

  With a blushing smile, Fiona nodded.

  "Here's where Grandmama lives," Charity called to them, as she bounded up the steps of a large, fine-looking house. She pushed open the door and called shrilly for her mother.

  A young woman hurried forward and introduced herself as the daughter-in-law. Her face was drawn with worry which eased a little when Fiona's mother explained their mission.

  "I truly appreciate your kindness. Charity and I moved in after my husband died, but we are sorely pressed for help of any kind. Won't you both come up and meet Rebecca Nurse? She has few visitors these days." Moving ahead, she led the way upstairs.

  They entered a beautifully furnished room with a large corner bed draped in rust-colored linen to match the curtains at the casement windows. On a polished table, a China bowl glowed with deep, rich colors, and over a long chest of cherrywood, an expensive mirror hung. Fiona noticed that its silvered surface reflected them all as they advanced cautiously toward the patient.

  Struggling to sit up, a frail, sweet, old face under a frilled cap peered out at the newcomers. Then she dropped back on the pillows with a sigh. "Ah, I hoped 'twas the new doctor I have heard about." She managed to give them a smile, however, mixed with curiosity.

  "Giles Harmon is out of town," her daughter-in-law said, "but this is Mrs. Prescott, who knows the medicine of simples. She has offered to prepare a remedy."

  "How very kind," the old lady murmured gratefully. "You are new to our village, are you not?"

  Ellen Prescott briefly explained the circumstances of their arrival, then examined Rebecca Nurse's eyes and tongue and asked her several questions, after which she asked to be shown where she could make her preparations. The daughter-in-law responded quickly and led her from the room.

  Already the old lady's eyes looked brighter, hopeful of a cure. She gave Fiona an interested glance and pulled herself up higher on the pillows.

  "So you've come all the way from Ireland and have the lilt in your voice and the coloring to prove it. That face will break a few hearts before too long, I warrant."

  Fiona felt the warmth steal into her cheeks and lowered her eyes with a little smile.

  "Modest, too. I like that. Are you a pious miss as well?"

  "Oh, yes, Mistress Nurse, but we are not Puritans."

  " 'Tis all one God, child, and a great comfort He has been to me all my life. Seventy-two years I have served my Maker faithfully, but now…" Her pale, seamed face puckered. "Now the deacons of the church chide me constantly for not attending Divine Service."

  "But you are ill," Fiona protested. "Do they not realize that?"

  "It doesn't matter to them. Sometimes I wonder if it's not simply an excuse so they can mutter hints about me."

  "What do you mean?" Fiona asked, feeling, however, that she knew the answer.

  "They mutter 'witch'." The old voice shook. "I—I have made enemies by speaking out against the witch trials. I said that all young girls go through a silly season and that the court places too much faith in their testimony. Why, every person now accused of witchcraft must face a group of children for a verdict before the judges speak."

  "Incredible!" Fiona sucked in her breath. "It cannot be that so many are witches."

  "Of course." For a moment, Mistress Nurse spoke strongly and her faded eyes flashed. "The townspeople cry out on anyone they dislike, or envy, or want to be revenged on for some trifling insult. The town is filled with evil the likes of which I've never known."

  As Fiona stared at the anguished face upon the pillows, an icy wind seemed to come into the room from somewhere and she heard an ominous bell begin to toll while far-off voices wailed and sobbed. Again she saw a hill, a black cross outlined against the sky. At the base, a crowd huddled, beating futilely upon the ground, calling to their God. Then, up the hill they came, twelve people wearing hoods and long brown robes. Ropes bound them together, the ends carried by masked men. "Rebecca!" screamed a voice.

  One doomed figure dropped to her knees, flinging out trembling arms, and an old voice shrilled with all its failing strength, "I am innocent! Oh, dearest, Lord, please save me!"

  A group rushed toward her, shrieking, pounding on the guards. Whips snaked out, and amid cries, the convicted people were forced up the hill. Fiona nearly cried out loud.

  It was a repetition of her vision on the road with Giles. What did it mean? Frightened and bewildered, Fiona clenched her hands to stop their trembling, not wishing Mrs. Nurse to observe her apprehension. The vision seemed to foretell some dire and imminent event, something so terrifying it could not be borne with sanity.

  Gradually the feeling faded, and resolutely, Fiona pushed the horrible experience from her mind. All this talk of witchcraft
was giving her weird fancies. Her mother had warned that they must not give in to the nervous, threatening atmosphere that engulfed the town. They must keep their heads—in more ways than one.

  "Mistress Fiona, lass." The old lady suddenly reared up and put out her hand. "You won't repeat my words today, will you? Sometimes I speak out unwisely—"

  "No, no, of course, I won't," Fiona answered swiftly, pressing the thin fingers worrying the counterpane. "Do not fret. I am in complete accord with all that you have said, and my mother feels the same way. We are appalled by the happenings in Salem."

  With a relieved sigh, Mrs. Nurse leaned back. "I knew I saw intelligence and good sense as well as beauty in your face."

  Ellen Prescott now entered the room carrying a bowl of herbal broth which Rebecca Nurse drank eagerly. She soon relaxed against the pillows. "That was greatly soothing, Mrs. Prescott. I think that I can sleep now. My deepest thanks to you both for visiting me."

  Promising to come again, Fiona and her mother took their leave.

  When they entered Mercy's kitchen, Grace, arms akimbo, turned to glare at Fiona. "Well, Miss Fancy, are you here at last to help us with the chores? Or are you interested only in visiting the neighbors?"

  " 'Tis sorry I am we had to leave you." Ellen hurried to put plates on the table. "But that poor old soul needed some help."

  "Aunt Ellen," Grace yelled, "that 'poor, old soul' is a witch!"

  "That is nonsense," Fiona snapped.

  "It is not!" Grace's fevered glance swung from Fiona to her mother. "You both had best stop consorting with the likes of Rebecca Nurse, or someone will cast a suspicious eye on you, also."

  "I fear that's true." Aunt Mercy's head bobbed vigorously. "Especially if people knew about these strange herbal roots you brought with you, Ellen. Grace and I were just looking at them. Why, most I've never heard of—such as gingseng."

  "My husband David brought me some rare roots from China. 'Tis much more advanced in medicine they are."

  "Chinee roots?" Aunt Mercy pursed her lips. "I wouldn't trust them if I was dying."