Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  Fiona didn't want to wait for any more insults from Grace. "I must go. Sally and her husband are expecting me."

  "Sally? She used to have her eye on Giles." Grace then asked suspiciously, "Will anyone else be there?"

  "How should I know? Maybe she's invited Satan."

  Hearing Grace give a hissing cry, Fiona could have bitten her tongue. When would she learn to control her humor.

  "I feel sorry for you, Grace. Just like the afflicted girls, you see evil everywhere, and in so many people! I should think you would feel miserable all the time." With that, she turned on her heel and marched out the door, hearing the excited babbling behind her.

  Fiona inhaled deeply. Thank goodness, the house and its altercations were soon behind her. She felt a pang for her mother left behind, but knew she would be staying up in their room reading one of a few beloved books they had brought with them from Ireland.

  For a moment, she could see in her mind's eye an evening by the fragrant peat fire with her father on one side of the hearth, reading aloud, herself in the middle on a stool, and her mother knitting in her rocking chair while a cold storm battered outside in the night. How cozy the three of them had been, wrapped in love, hard work, and companionship, always looking forward to the common goal: America.

  Fiona wondered what her father would have thought about the Salem witch hunt. He had been a sensible man— kind, warm, intelligent, and grave. Probably her father would have decided to leave Salem until the madness had been dispelled. It seemed that now there was no way to stem the insanity, and day by day, the danger grew to friends and families. She knew, however, that she could not fully comprehend the horrors of the witch hunt. She had seen only a small part of the anguish in Rebecca Nurse's family. Most of the townfolk at church or in the streets seemed to regard it all with an avid relish as a possible break in their dull routine.

  Fiona hurried down the road, longing to be with Sally and Giles, and even Oliver. All of them were preferable to her aunt and Grace.

  The last glow of the sun was fading and shadows had grown long as she approached the little cottage. The lights gleamed invitingly from every small-paned window and shone on the yard abloom with flowering bushes and fruit trees. As soon as Fiona knocked, Sally threw open the door and greeted her with delight. She took Fiona's cloak and basket and directed her to a bench beside the fireplace. Giles sat nearby, sipping from a tankard which he raised in greeting.

  "Am I late?" Fiona asked.

  "Not at all," Sally answered. "Oliver is not here yet. Would you like a cup of mead such as Giles is having?"

  "Just a small portion, please," Fiona said, having heard that this ancient concoction of honey, yeast, and water could be intoxicating. Sally handed Fiona a wooden goblet.

  Sally poked the ham turning slowly on the spit and aromatic juices dropped into a pot of bubbling beans on a tripod below.

  "How good that smells." Fiona inhaled. "I would wager you are a splendid cook."

  "Sally came from England, where her mother cooked in a tavern, and she learned the art at an early age."

  "How interesting," Fiona said. "And your parents—"

  Sally exchanged a glance with Giles as though they shared some secret knowledge. "I'll tell you my story some-time, Fiona, if you wish, but now I hear Oliver in the yard and I must dish up the supper."

  "Can I help you?" Fiona offered, and was then given a snowy board-cloth to spread on the table while Giles poured a golden brew into the pewter goblets.

  Oliver entered like a blast of forceful air, his cheeks ruddy, his black hair tousled, the homespun shirt damp with sweat. There were greetings all around, and to Fiona's surprise, Oliver kissed Sally full upon her lips. He must not be a Puritan, Fiona thought.

  However, Sally seemed delighted and slapped his hand playfully. "You and your kisses! You think to please the cook and get the choicest portions, I'll be bound. Have you washed outside? All right, then, let's be seated."

  Fiona slid into her chair, and after they said grace, she ate hungrily. All the fare was set out on the table at the same time: ham and beans in bowls, potatoes roasted in their skins, chopped cabbage mixed with vinegar, fresh-baked cornbread, and a dessert of apple tart and cream.

  Fiona found herself wondering about the relationship between Oliver and Sally. He was so big and dominant, his face hard and deeply grooved. He must be at least twenty years older than his wife. Sally seemed such a sweet and dainty little person to be his mate, catering to him and perhaps in love with him. It was obvious that Oliver doted passionately on his young bride; his heavy-lidded black eyes rested possessively on her every chance he got.

  Giles also eyed the couple and Fiona wondered if he still harbored a feeling for his youthful love? Was he jealous of Oliver, tormented by images of his privilege as a husband?

  No matter how Giles felt, it was impossible not to like Sally. The small girl treated them with so much gaiety and keen interest, questioning Giles about his life in London then turning to hear Fiona's story. When she learned about the mother's simpling, Sally said that she, too, knew the art and would pay a visit soon so she could show the wooded places where plants for medicines grew best.

  At this remark, Oliver laid down his fork and scowled. "You had best keep your talk of potion making to those in your own house, my girl. Don't you know that people these days are being condemned as witches for much less?"

  Sally's face grew troubled. "Yes, so I've heard."

  "I am greatly worried about Rebecca Nurse," Giles said. "She is the latest one the girls have cast their eyes on, and yet there is no finer lady in our village."

  Oliver didn't answer for a minute while he contemplated his apple tart with a grim expression. Then he poured on the thick cream and met Giles's gaze. "I didn't want to speak of this, but soon everyone will know."

  "Oh, what is it?" Sally whispered, putting her little hand upon Oliver's huge arm.

  "Rebecca Nurse has been arrested," her husband answered gruffly, and Fiona saw pain crease his face.

  Everyone exclaimed, and although they plied him with anxious questions, that was nearly all Oliver could tell them. "Her hearing is at dawn tomorrow. It's early because I think they want as few spectators as possible. This is not a popular arrest, believe me. When I think of how she has helped so many—"

  "She lent us money for Oliver to open his own smithy and told him to pay it back in his own good time." Sally sighed and shook her head.

  "Is there anything we can do?" Fiona asked. "Might I see her? Perhaps she needs some things—"

  "Her family will see to her, and so will I," Giles said. "As a doctor, I can be admitted to the jail."

  They all rose from the table, but before Giles joined Oliver by the fire, he said softly in Fiona's ear, "Stay clear of Rebecca, my dear. I know that sounds unfeeling, but you, especially, cannot afford to take a chance of showing friendship for her."

  Fiona's lips quivered, but she nodded. Not only was her own safety at risk—it also could involve her mother.

  Sally was determined not to let her dinner guests be upset anymore, and when all was cleared up in the kitchen, she took Fiona outdoors to fill her basket with seedlings. The moon was high and bathed the thriving garden in a silvery hue. A wealth of peas, beans, lettuce, and carrots grew in neat rows while spring flowers bloomed abundantly along the edges. Fiona recognized some familiar faces: clove pinks, marigolds, lily-of-the-valley, and bushy peonies.

  "You seem to be one of the few people who tend their gardens," Fiona laughed, "and I applaud your zeal. Do you ever visit the witch trials with the others?"

  "Never," Sally answered vehemently. "I won't go into Salem unless it is for Sunday service. Oliver brings me the things I need from stores."

  "I only went to the village once, and when I saw the frantic hot-eyed crowds, I couldn't get away fast enough."

  "I also have another reason for not going there." Sally stood up, trowel in hand. She suddenly stopped and listened. "Hark! Is tha
t a dog—oh, it's Gray. Come, boy. It's lucky I put a few good meat bones in the garbage pail." She turned to a covered can on the porch while Fiona nervously watched the approach of the lean gray beast whose slitted yellow gaze seemed to fix questioningly on her own.

  She suddenly recalled the mutton, and taking it from the bottom of her basket, she tossed it toward the animal, who immediately gulped it down. He dipped his pointed muzzle to Fiona almost like a greeting, then Sally placed some bones before him and he fell on them.

  "Ho, Mistress Wood," a young man on horseback called out from the road, reining in his horse. "Have you seen a vicious wolf around tonight?"

  Sally spread her skirts in front of Gray. "Why, no. This is my pet. What do you want with a stray wolf, Master Higgins?"

  "He's been seen raiding chicken yards and so I aim to shoot him dead." The man put a hand on the musket tied beside him. "Pray, move aside so that I may see that animal. He looks devilishly familiar—"

  "I tell you—"

  At that moment, Gray snatched up a bone and vaulted over the garden fence. The man stared suspiciously, then looked back at Sally with no kindness in his long, hard face. "It would not be well for you to deal with a wolf, mistress, pet or no." Touching heels to his horse, he galloped off in the direction Gray had gone.

  "Do you think he'll catch him?" Fiona asked.

  "I hope not. There is too much killing in this place. Is no creature safe, animal or human?"

  "Sally, my mother befriended an injured cat and immediately Grace cried loudly that all witches have a familiar to do their bidding."

  In the bright moonlight, Sally's face looked troubled. "Beware of Grace, Fiona. She means to discredit you. Oliver said he heard her talking to some of the afflicted girls and she mentioned you."

  "I know." Fiona sighed and related her own encounter with The Girls.

  Sally sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. "Oh, Fiona. Grace also dislikes me. She once had set her sights on Giles, and at one time…" She hesitated.

  Fiona spoke with difficulty. "Giles loved you once? And perhaps still does?"

  "Once, perhaps; not now. I was very, very young, but I got into trouble, and he… helped me. Giles already knew a lot about doctoring from his grandfather. He was manly and handsome. I thought he was a storybook hero. But he went away without a declaration, and soon after that, dear Oliver came into my life and stole my heart. Now Giles and I are just friends. I never had a brother and he never had a sister, so we fill a need in each other's lives."

  She shot Fiona a sly glance. "I think his interest lies elsewhere to contemplate a sweetheart. How do you feel about him, if you'll forgive my asking?"

  Before Fiona could think what to say, Giles opened the door and said Oliver was weary and they had best be on their way.

  Glad to have been spared an answer, Fiona thanked Sally, said goodnight to Oliver, and rode away, pillion-style, behind Giles. They spoke but little. Giles seemed preoccupied and grave, and Rebecca's trial was foremost in Fiona's mind. She decided to sneak off in the morning and attend it so that she could see what an accused person had to face.

  However, she knew it would not be pleasant.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning Fiona rose at dawn. Today was the hearing for Rebecca Nurse, and while her mother slept, Fiona dressed quickly and then crept softly down the stairs. She hadn't told anyone what she intended to do, as Grace or Mercy might try to stop her with demanding chores and her mother would worry in case the afflicted girls again approached her.

  Fortunately, no one was astir as she left the house. Outside, a chill fog was evaporating while dawn's light streaked the sky. Shivering from cold and nervousness, Fiona pulled the hood of her cloak to shroud her face and then made her way quickly along the deserted road.

  She dreaded the coming ordeal, yet felt she must know what befell Rebecca… and also see what to guard against if the unspeakable occurred and she or her mother was arrested. Every day that possibility loomed closer in her mind. Grace never missed an opportunity to hint that she and her mother acted strangely. Now she had even confided her opinions to the so-called "afflicted" powerful young girls who had shown hate and suspicion when Fiona had encountered them.

  There also was her friendship with Rebecca Nurse and Sally, keenly noted, since both were under a dark cloud. If this wasn't enough, Grace seemed increasingly jealous of the relationship between Giles and herself. That was probably the worst offense of all in Grace's eyes.

  Fiona's heartbeat quickened at the dreaded idea and she had to swallow hard. Whose side would Aunt Mercy be on? She seemed to be a wavering, weak, superstitious woman, but essentially not bad. However, it was hard to tell which way she would go if the constable decided to investigate Fiona and her mother.

  Fear and apprehension clamored in Fiona's brain as she neared the busy square. She tugged her hood down even farther to hide her face and slowed her footsteps, watching the throngs of people waiting at the meetinghouse for the doors to open. All jabbered and called constantly to acquaintances. Some were eating from cloth-wrapped bundles as though at a picnic. The thought of food filled Fiona with nausea and she could not watch these hungry ghouls. Not a shred of sympathy did they show for the poor souls awaiting trial, only eagerness to behold the conviction of their neighbors.

  When a bell tolled in the tower, the doors burst open and the crowd pushed forward, rapidly filling the big, cold hall. Fiona found a seat in one of the back rows and slipped into it just as three black-robed men entered and marched up to a long table in the front. The pulpit had been pushed back to make more room and the minister's big chair turned around probably to form a "bar of justice" for the accused to stand behind.

  Fiona recognized Judge Blaize among the trio at the table and a pang of fear shot through her. His cruel hot eyes darted from side to side as he assessed the situation.

  Fiona shrank back on her bench, although she didn't think he could see her as she settled deeper into her cloak. She wondered uneasily whether his dinner invitation would arrive as promised. Did she have the courage to accept? She was pulled both ways: by a fear of this man and a rising curiosity about him.

  A woman seated next to Fiona nudged her younger neighbor. "Eh, there's Magistrate John Hathorne, looking colder and meaner than ever."

  The other sniggered. "He didn't like getting up so early, I'll be bound, but what can he do with so many witches to try?"

  Witches! Already the accused people were condemned in the eyes of the spectators.

  "That new man, Judge Blaize, ain't his face enough to scare ye, Janie?" the woman continued.

  Her friend leaned forward, eyes fixed on the haughty judge. "He don't scare me none. I think he's kinda handsome. Wish we'd gotten closer. They say he picks up those who take his fancy and—" Here she cupped her mouth and whispered.

  Her friend gasped, a blush enveloping her face. "No!"

  "Shh, Marilla. If he likes what he sees, they go away with some nice gift, like jewelry. He's awful rich, they say. Now, don't tell me ye wouldn't—" Again a whisper.

  Marilla shook her head and giggled. "Oh, mercy, I dunno. If 'twere found out, 'twould be the stocks for nigh a week—and—"

  "Oh, look," her friend interrupted. "Here come The Girls!"

  A murmur ran excitedly throughout the room and heads craned as the famous group entered. The young girls proceeded demurely with downcast eyes to the front row of benches that had evidently been reserved for them. They all wore pale gray frocks with white fichus at their necks and snowy aprons and caps tied beneath their chins.

  Fiona eyed them apprehensively. Today these powerful children had assumed the roles of judges and jury. The next minute, a roughly dressed woman shuffled down the aisle in the tight grasp of a constable. He led her up to the bar where she shrugged off his arm with a snarl. Tossing frowzy hair back from sly, sullen-looking eyes, she stared boldly at the assembled people who hissed and pointed vindictively at her.

  "John Hathorne wil
l have his work cut out with that uppity beggar," Fiona heard from a nearby man.

  Someone else chimed in, "Everybody in Salem hates her, the nasty, whining wench. She steals and lies—"

  "Shh, listen, now. Hathorne is about to speak."

  The magistrate faced the accused woman, brows drawn, his face cold and hard. He spoke in a penetrating voice. "Sarah Good, what evil spirit do you have familiarity with?"

  "None," the slattern spat.

  "Have you made no contract with the devil?"

  "No!"

  "Why do you hurt these children, then?"

  With a harsh laugh, Sarah Good replied, "I do not hurt them, I scorn it!"

  At that, Abigail Williams gave a shriek and began to twist and turn, her body doubling up as though she were wracked with pain. Instantly the other girls followed suit, jerking their arms and legs, uttering violent screams.

  "Stop! Stop!"

  "You're torturing me!"

  "Sarah Good, please have mercy on us!"

  When the uproar diminished, Mr. Hathorne demanded loudly, leaning across the table, "Who are you employing to hurt these children?"

  "I employ nobody," Sarah Good yelled back, her eyes blazing toward the row of girls who recoiled from her with apparent horror and deep loathing.

  The other magistrate seated at the table looked to Hathorne for direction, then sucked in his breath and shook his head in dismay.

  Judge Blaize, chin on hand, surveyed it all as though in deep enjoyment, his thick lips twisted downward in a cynical smile.

  After finally restoring order, Hathorne rapped out in a voice of steel, "Goody Good, do you not see what you have done? Why do you not tell us the truth? Why do you thus torment these poor children?"

  "I do not torment them!"

  "Who is it, then, that torments them?"

  Her eyes darting wildly like some badgered animal, the old woman burst out, "It was Sarah Osburne."

  A new name! A bone tossed in desperation to the wolves clamoring for her blood. The courthouse roared in horrified enjoyment. The magistrates continued to hammer away at the defiant old hag. Other people came to testify that she was a nuisance, shiftless and sharp-tongued. They said she called their children names.