He shrugged. "Yes, it's worthless. However, since you are here, don't you think you owe me something for terminating our last encounter so painfully? I could arrest you for assault and have you put into the stocks so all could witness your disgrace. I could even say you stole from me after giving me access to your charms. Incidentally, I think you should do that now. Let us step into my bedchamber—"
"Never—never!" Fiona screamed. A red haze swam before her gaze as she dodged sideways, and he banged awkwardly into the table. She fled into the hall while he screamed invectives and pounded at her heels. Just then, the parlor door flew open and Rosie, looking sick with terror, burst into his path so that he staggered back and struck the wall.
The delay was just enough. Fiona raced out of the house.
Chapter 20
Running faster than she ever had in her life, Fiona gained the road in time to see a cart clattering toward her. A familiar figure held the reins.
"Oliver!" Fiona cried. "Please wait—let me ride with you!"
"Get in," he said at once, and reached down his hand to help her. Then he urged the horse to a faster gait. After several glances at Fiona's white face and trembling hands, he asked, "Are you all right, lass?" He probed no more than that.
"I'm fine, Oliver." Deciding she owed him some kind of explanation, Fiona continued, "When Judge Blaize had my mother and me to dine the other night, I mislaid this keepsake, and today I went to get it back."
She fished the coin from her skirt pocket and held it out. "Do you see? It's a Spanish doubloon from a treasure horde discovered by Governor Phips. He was on the same ship when my mother and I came to America. One day he gave me this pierced coin for a souvenir."
"I have heard about Sir William's amazing treasure hunt and how he was knighted and named governor as a reward."
"I highly prize this coin he gave me." Fiona tied the cord around her neck, making sure it wasn't loose. "Perhaps you are wondering why I seemed upset when I ran into the road and hailed you. Truthfully, I find every encounter with Judge Blaize more and more disturbing."
Oliver's heavy brows descended. "Has he made any improper overtures to you?"
"Nothing happened," she answered. "Today he has a new girl in his house." Fiona's lip curled. "He claimed he freed her from a charge of witchcraft but must keep her in his home for several days so she can recover."
"Recover?" Oliver sneered. "I fear she may wake up to find her virtue and her self-respect gone."
"Do you think she would wish to be rescued?" Fiona faltered.
"No," Oliver replied decisively. "Blaize would then see that she was retried and convicted of witchcraft. This way, at least she will live. Do you know which lass it was?"
"Her name was Rosie Dawson, and she is betrothed to someone who evidently was not arrested. Do you think he will still want her after this—defiling?"
"That's Tom Warren. I hope he'll have enough sense to realize that none of this was Rosie's fault, but he is something of a fool. I heard about their gallivanting in the moonlight which started neighbors' tongues wagging. The madness and suspicion in this town have reached terrible proportions, don't you agree? Often over the most trivial things."
"When is it going to end?" Fiona moaned. "I feel so lucky to have Sally for a friend. All I see from others are suspicious looks, dark, angry glances, and a nasty eagerness to watch those awful trials."
"It wasn't always so. Salem used to be a prosperous fishing and farming community. The Puritans had stern laws, but on the whole, people found happiness in marriage, children, and rewarding work. Hopefully, those normal days will return sometime."
"Do you think it will be soon?"
"No. There are over a hundred cases awaiting trial."
Fiona gasped. "It's ridiculous to think so many could be guilty! I have never heard of such a thing. Can't anything be done?"
"Only the highest authority can take action, and I reckon Governor Phips has his hands full with the Indian Wars up north. Of course, he might return at any time, and then there might be hope."
Fiona stared at Oliver's craggy face. Its harsh, deep lines and heavy lips gave no hint of the thoughtful, sensitive man inside. Sally was very lucky to have obtained the devotion of such a person.
She pondered his remarks about Sir William. If only she could see him! However, she felt doubtful that he was still the same unpretentious, friendly voyager she had known aboard ship. He had a lot of problems to deal with, aside from the troubles in a little village.
She and Oliver spoke but little until the wagon halted before Aunt Mercy's house, where Fiona jumped down nimbly. "Thank you so much, Oliver. I'm glad you came along."
"That judge might give you trouble, lass. Steer clear of him, is my advice."
"I intend to. Tell Sally I will see her soon."
"Perhaps you and your young man will visit us again some evening," he called after her.
Fiona retraced her steps, her face puckered with distress. "Giles is not my young man. He is going to marry Grace."
"Grace! who said so?"
Fiona sighed. "She talks about it all the time, and Giles does not deny it. He took her to the berrying, you know. At first, he invited me, but then he had to change his plans and arranged for Charles to be my escort."
"I wondered about that but supposed it was some forgotten promise he had made to Grace. I can't believe that they are suited for marriage. Why, that night you and Giles came to supper, I told my Sally that I had never seen a man more besotted when he looked at you."
"It's her dowry," Fiona quavered. "You see, I have none."
Oliver frowned down at the road. "Is that the way of it? Well, lass, don't despair. Those two are not hitched yet."
"Fiona, are you going to stand out there blathering all night?" Grace yelled from the doorway. "Where's our chicken stew?"
"Goodbye, Oliver," Fiona said hastily, picking up her basket. "I'll get right to the supper, Grace. It won't take too long."
However, the meal was later than usual, but Fiona made a tasty dish of cut-up chicken, onions, carrots, celery, and bubbling dumplings cooked at the end on top of the simmering stew.
"This isn't too bad," Aunt Mercy said grudgingly, when they were all eating at the table. "Why did it take you so long to get it ready? Lots of chores are not finished yet."
"Fiona was out there chatting away with Oliver Woods," Grace said nastily. "If there's a man around, Fiona has to be there, too."
"That's not so," Fiona denied hotly. "Why must you lie?"
"Stop that bickering." Aunt Mercy's eyes on Fiona were hostile. "You know it spoils digestion."
Fiona subsided, but felt uneasy. Aunt Mercy certainly was not as pleasant as she had been at first. Although always a complainer and a whiner, now she seemed to be more and more resentful of their presence. It began to be increasingly urgent every minute that they go to Boston. Fiona had given Samantha's letter to her mother but hadn't learned the contents yet. She devoutly hoped that avenue of escape was now open.
Why had Giles stressed the point that their going should be kept secret? Would someone try to stop them, someone who had decided Fiona and her mother might, in fact, be witches?
She must learn what was in that letter! As soon as Fiona had cleared away the supper, she asked her mother in a low tone to accompany her into the garden.
"Just a minute," Grace called, as they started out the door. "Aunt Ellen, I want to know how my lotion is coming along. It seems to me you are monstrous slow about it. Is it possible you really don't want to make it for me, even after all we've done for you?"
Aunt Mercy sniffed. "Oh, I'm sure Ellen knows how much she owes us. I don't rightly hold with those strange Chinee herbs, but if 'twill cure my girl's complexion—"
"Faith, I shall do my best," Mrs. Prescott assured them. "I lack an ingredient which Sally said she could supply, so I am going to visit her tonight."
"What is it? The fat of children digged out of their graves?" Grace cried avidly.
Ellen drew herself up tall. "You speak of witch's ointment. Never do I use such things, and that's the sober truth of it. If you are suspicious, perhaps you may wish to change your mind about the using of my salve."
"No, no, I but jested," Grace said hastily. "Please, Aunt Ellen, continue on with your work."
"Sure, and there will be no wizard's items such as mandrake, hemlock, or nightshade. All of those be poisons, and 'tis only healthful things I use." With that, she and Fiona moved briskly into the garden.
Her mother gave a short laugh. "Actually, fat is needed, and Sally said she had some from moles that had attacked her plants. Rendered fat or tallow is needed in all salves to hold the other ingredients together."
"So there is nothing in your concoction which would bother Grace?"
"Whisht, no! But plants are different here in the New World. 'Tis only a mild and soothing ointment I'll be making. Grace should not eat so much rich food, I'm thinking, and exercise would help to stir her blood about. She sits all day long at witch trials, nibbling on goodies in her basket. 'Tis not good at all."
"I know, Mother, but Grace is not our main concern." Fiona glanced back at the house as they gained the road. "We must think about our own future and make plans. No one can hear us now. I am most eager to hear about Samantha's letter. What does she say?"
"She states that she is well and urges us to visit her. However, if we decide to stay in Boston, I'm thinking this would be a giant step for us, you understand. Ach, suppose we could not find work? Could we be returning? We might have angered Mercy and Grace by leaving without telling them. Sure and they depend on us now to carry out a deal of chores, but mind you, Samantha says 'a visit,' naught about a permanent home for us."
Fiona chewed her lip. She had not considered all these aspects, and after a moment she said slowly, "Doesn't it seem to you that Mercy and Grace might be glad to see us go, with all this suspicion pointing at us? I think if we leave, they will not want us back. However, Giles told me that we should go at once and not tell a living soul."
"Whisht, now! Does he think our plight that urgent?"
"Indeed, he does. Mother, we have not only aroused suspicion from Grace and the afflicted girls, but now Mercy is becoming unpleasant. And… and then there is another problem—namely, Judge Blaize, who has designs on me." Fiona tried to laugh, but failed.
Her mother groaned and twisted her hands together. "Ach, dear Lord, this is terrible. You're right. We must leave as soon as possible. We'll have to stay a day or two longer just to see Grace through this medication, and then we'll slip away. I'm just not sure it's best to go in secret."
"Mother, I have an idea. Let us discuss this with Sally. She knows these people better than we do, better even than Giles, who has been away for a long time. I fancy things and people here have changed greatly from the days before he went to Britain to complete his studies."
Ellen agreed, seeming relieved at the chance to discuss their problem with another person. They were now in the woods with cool evening shadows all around them. Birds chirped sleepily, and somewhere a dove called out. The ground crunched with pine needles underneath their feet, and pungent branches swayed above their heads.
It should have been a refreshing, peaceful place, but all Fiona could think about was the coming trip to Boston. If they stayed there, she would no longer see Giles, and soon he would be lost to her forever. He would belong to Grace.
"Do you think Giles will be content if—if he marries Grace?" Fiona asked in a low, unhappy voice.
Her mother threw her a compassionate glance. "Ah, Fiona, love, I sincerely hope he finds contentment. A fine young man he is, and he deserves happiness. So do you, my darling. Someday…" Her voice trailed off.
Fiona couldn't answer. Tears crowded in her throat. "Happiness" was being part of Giles, and she had no hope for that. What joy it would have been to join her life with his! To revel in his tenderness and the ecstasy he would bring when they were joined in wedlock. She knew he could fill her with completeness. He had the strength to see her through life's tumults. In the midst of this terrifying witch hunt, he was the only thing that saved her reason. Even though he might be about to marry Grace, all she could wish for was that Giles would have a good life, somehow… some way…
Sally's house now appeared through the trees, and from it a plume of smoke rose in the purpling sky. The sound of sleepy animals came from the barnyard—squeals, grunts, moos, and suddenly there was Sally, stepping around the side of the house, an empty pail dangling from her hand.
Her face lit up with pleasure. "My favorite neighbors! I'm so glad to see you. Will you come in and have a bowl of hasty pudding? It's been boiling all this day."
Fiona managed a little laugh. "Why do you call it hasty pudding when it's cooked all day?"
Sally smiled. " 'Tis an Indian dish. They like a jest as well as the next person."
They all trooped inside, where the aroma of com and molasses filled the cozy kitchen air. Copper pots twinkled on the hearth and strings of onions and herbs hung drying from the rafters. A big pot of daffodils and larkspur graced the center of the well-scrubbed table.
Fiona and her mother refused the porridge, since it was such a short time since their supper. Instead, Sally gave them each a glass of apple cider. It was icy cold from the well house and Sally drank thirstily, as well.
"The fish Oliver brought home today for supper left a salty taste upon the tongue. By-the-by, he said he met you, Fiona, after he had left the wharves."
Fiona realized suddenly that she had not yet told her mother about her excursion to Judge Blaize's. She had feared it would upset her mother, but now she decided it was best to speak of it.
"I was so glad to see Oliver and get a ride home with him. I had been to Judge Blaize's house to retrieve this keepsake." She touched the pierced coin at her throat "I left it there when we dined with him. Unfortunately, I had forgotten about it until today."
"Fiona," her mother cried, "you went back to his house after—after—"
"I had to," Fiona answered simply, noticing uneasily that Sally's face had paled. "At first, the judge was not there. I slipped into the house unseen, got my doubloon, and was just about to leave when he arrived with a young woman. He introduced her as Rosie Dawson, someone he had rescued from a charge of witchcraft."
"That poor child!" Sally burst out. "She will have to pay dearly for his help, I fear."
"Well, to continue, the judge sought to detain me, but he had Rosie waiting, so I managed to get away." Fiona took a long quaff of cider and spoke into her cup. "He is very angry with me because I have fought off his advances. Luckily, this time he did not pursue me and I got away with Oliver in his cart."
"I fear he won't forgive the fact that you have escaped his clutches," Sally whispered, her blue eyes huge.
Mrs. Prescott nodded. "Now I see the need of leaving here as soon as possible. Sally, what do you advise us?"
"We have a cousin in Boston who has asked us to visit her," Fiona said, "but Giles thinks our departure should be kept secret and we should slip away like thieves in the night. Do you agree with that? I confess it bothers me."
Sally gave a little smile. "You are not thieves, but I understand your fears."
"Suppose we can't survive in Boston and must return to Salem?" Fiona put in. "Do you think Mercy and Grace would be angry about our sneaking off without explaining or thanking them? Might they refuse to take us back?"
Sally frowned. "Perhaps, especially the way Grace feels about you, Fiona. She greatly fears your power over Giles."
Fiona felt a rush of joy which quickly faded as Sally continued.
"I really believe Grace and Mercy may be close to calling down charges of witchcraft on both your heads." Fiona and her mother grabbed each other's hand. "It sounds appalling," Sally continued, "but there it is. They are no different from the rest of Salem, terrified of witches and highly suspicious. Oliver said that Grace is constantly conferring with the a
fflicted girls when she goes to town and those creatures are always on the watch for victims. You see, they want to stay important to this community. After years of repression and obeying harsh, restricting laws, suddenly the girls are being listened to, their opinions sought. They are famous heroines."
Sally looked gravely from Fiona to her mother. "There is another reason for secrecy, and that is if word reached Judge Blaize, I think he would try to stop you from leaving, even if it meant placing you both in jail. I'm afraid the judge wants to use you, Fiona, to appease his unhealthy appetite, and nothing will stop him until he has triumphed."
Fiona grew icy cold and hugged herself. Her mother moaned, putting her face down in her hands. "Dear heaven, what wickedness have we stumbled into? 'Tis almost unbelievable, and that's the truth. The witch hunt itself is so horrible, and then to think this monster controls it and has became inflamed by my poor daughter."
She finally raised her head, eyes wide, cheeks ashen. "Sally, I thank you for your advice. My mind is now made up, and I am sure Fiona feels the same. Please give me the tallow for my ointment and as soon as Grace has used it and I see that 'tis working, my daughter and I will slip out in the night. We won't tell Grace or Mercy, just leave a note, not mentioning our destination. Dear child, 'tis your silence also, I am asking."
"Of course you have it. But when you decide to go, come here and let Oliver drive you to your relative, no matter what the hour."
Mrs. Prescott tried to reject the kind offer, but Sally was adamant. "You must be gotten away as quickly as possible. I truly believe you both are in as grave a danger as any convicted witch in town. More, perhaps, since Judge Blaize has his own desire for vengeance."
Sally rose and brought the jar of tallow. Thanking her profusely for everything, Fiona and her mother stepped outside.
Suddenly, Fiona ran back, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Sally," she whispered, "after we go, I may never see Giles again. Will you tell him that I—I love him and will always pray for his well-being?"
Sally embraced her, tears shining in her own eyes. "Oh, Fiona, please do not despair. He is not wed yet—"
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