Sighing, Fiona shook her head, thanked Sally once again, and hurried off to seek the path through the woods.
"We have many things to do," her mother said, as they walked along. "Clothes must be packed and perhaps secreted in the woods, covered by branches, as we did on our arrival. We may not have time to seek Oliver's aid, so let's just take what can easily be carried and get the rest another time."
"How soon do you think that we can leave?" Fiona asked in a worried voice.
"The salve should be ready tomorrow. I can then apply it to Grace's skin and instruct her in its use. She must continue applying it for several days, but no more than twice a day, and only a spoonful at a time."
"I hope it works," Fiona muttered. "Grace is so greedy for results, she may use it all at once. However, one good thing about this treatment is that Grace's attention will be focused on her face and she may hardly care or notice when we go."
"Ach, she might even feel a little grateful for the salve."
"I wouldn't place much hope in that," Fiona answered grimly.
Darkness had now fallen, and arm in arm, they continued on their way in an uneasy silence.
Chapter 21
"Ellen has been upstairs with Grace for a long time." Aunt Mercy fumed. "I wonder what she's doing?" Under her breath, she muttered scathingly, "Nasty Chinee drugs!"
Her usually rhythmical steps back and forth at the spinning wheel had become quite jerky. Twice the thread had snarled and caught.
"Mother knows what to do." Fiona tried to reassure her.
However, this morning her mother had neglected some of her chores to attend to Grace—among them, feeding the black cat. Fiona filled his saucer with milk and the animal blinked at her with its strange, pale eyes and gave her a little hiss for her pains. She backed away hurriedly. Her mother seemed to be the only person the cat would tolerate.
"Grace has a very sensitive skin," Aunt Mercy said, continuing her worried dialogue. "You can see how easily it blotches."
"Don't worry, Mother has worked with herbal ointments for many years," Fiona began, then broke off as a figure appeared in the doorway. "Oh, here she is now. Mother, have you finished? You look tired. Sit down and rest."
Aunt Mercy flew across the room. "Ellen, how did it go?"
"Faith, I can't tell yet. I applied the ointment to Grace's face and told her to lie down." Ellen sank onto the settee by the hearth, and the black cat immediately leaped upon her lap. "Alas, I don't have all the same ingredients that I had in Ireland, and over here some things are different."
"But it will turn out all right, won't it?" Aunt Mercy persisted.
"Oh, aye, of a certainty." She began to stroke the cat, a little worried crease upon her brow as she gazed into the fireplace. "But I hope Grace won't use it more than twice a day."
Fiona sat down to wind the yarn for her aunt and silence fell upon the kitchen, broken only by the humming of the spinning wheel, the purring animal, and the gentle bubbling of a stock pot in the hearth.
However, a little later, when the sun filled every corner of the room, suddenly the air was shattered by a spine-tingling scream.
Grace, roaring like a wounded bull, came tumbling down the stairs, her face a swollen ball of fire.
"Help! Save me! The devil has tricked me—see what she has done?" Grace shrieked, pointing her finger across the room. Her screwed-up eyes were almost lost in the folds of red, angry-looking flesh.
Fiona gave a cry. "What happened?"
The blood drained from Ellen Prescott's face as she rushed to Grace's side. "Oh, dear Lord, the ointment has inflamed her! Some ingredient must have spoiled during the long sea voyage." Her voice shook. "I—I'll fix a soothing lotion—"
"Don't you touch me," Grace yelled, backing away, her hands outthrust.
"Come, child, we'll go get something from the village apothecary. At least I can trust him, "Aunt Mercy sobbed, pushing Grace through the door. "Oh, God, Ellen, what have you done?"
Grace tore ahead down the road, bawling at the top of her lungs, "Witch! Witch! Aunt Ellen is a witch! Look at me!"
A man and woman in a nearby yard turned to stare. A couple of children ran out of a house farther down the road. They all shouted and began to follow. Still shrieking, Grace disappeared from sight, Mercy trying to catch up and adding her own yelps of terror.
"The salve inflamed her skin, but 'twill pass," Fiona's mother said in a trembling voice, knotting her hands together.
"Are you sure?" Fiona clutched her arm. "Grace thinks you deliberately bewitched her! And did you hear the other people? They all took up the cry of 'witch' when they saw Grace's face. Oh, Mother, what shall we do? This may bring on the trouble we have feared."
"She knows I only tried to help her—"
"Of course, but Aunt Mercy was against your treating Grace in the first place. And now—" Fiona's voice choked. "Suppose—suppose they send the constable for you?"
"No—no—they wouldn't be after doing that—"
Fiona beat her hands together, pacing back and forth. "You didn't see them at the trial. The town has gone mad with witch hunt fever. It takes only a whisper and they are off like a pack of wolves on the scent of blood. You know, Grace has been suspicious of us ever since we arrived. She ranted on about our black capes, red hair, the cow going dry that first day. Since then, she has constantly thrown out hints that we are witches. Now, her injured face will convince anyone who sees her. I tell you, this is very serious. We are in the gravest danger."
Her mother's dazed eyes widened, and her voice trembled. "What shall we do? Go to Sally? But how can she help us? Oliver will be at work—"
A vision of Giles's strong face rose before Fiona. He had been her best friend in this miserable place. "Mother, the Harmons might be able to advise us. They are not in sympathy with this witch hunt, and they know the situation in Salem even better than we do. Probably Giles will be there in his dispensary and can talk to us."
"Go then, quickly! Ask them!"
Fiona hesitated. "Perhaps we should prepare to leave this place at once, even if we have to go on foot."
"Yes, but first, I think I should do something to help Grace."
"You can't. Mercy won't let you lay a finger on her."
"Then—then—I'll start to pack!"
"Just throw a few things in our carryall. I'll be right back." Fiona snatched up her shawl and raced across the fields, her skimming feet seeming barely to touch the ground.
When Mrs. Harmon answered her frantic knocking, Fiona gasped. "Please—I must talk to someone. Where is Giles? Oh, I am so frightened—"
"My dear child, come in." With a startled glance, Mrs. Harmon wiped her hands on her apron and propelled Fiona into the kitchen. "Sit in this chair and catch your breath. I will fetch my son."
Giles came quickly, a worried frown on his face. "Fiona, what's the matter? Has something happened?"
"Yes, yes, it's Mother." She choked and drew a ragged breath. "Oh, Grace looked so awful… her face… Mother made this salve… and now she's all red and swollen… and… and… Grace ran off crying 'witch'!"
"My dear, I don't understand a word you're saying." Mrs. Harmon threw Giles a bewildered glance. "Do you have any idea what she is talking about?"
"I think so." Giles dropped to one knee by Fiona's chair and clasped her trembling hands. "Your mother made a salve for Grace and it had a bad reaction when she used it. Grace got frightened and is saying she has been bewitched. Is that correct?"
"Yes, yes! She thinks Mother poisoned her skin on purpose. Grace ran off down the road shouting 'witch,' and others heard and followed her. Oh, Giles, I'm so afraid." Fiona gripped his hands and gave a choked sob, hardly able to form the words. "She called Mother a witch as she ran toward the village. Don't you see what this means?"
Giles rose to his feet. "Yes. I do see." His tone was deep and strained.
"Grace is calling her own aunt a witch?" Mrs. Harmon exclaimed. "Why, I'm sure she didn't mean it. Grace
wouldn't do a thing like that."
Fiona shook her head. "She meant it, all right. Ever since we arrived, she has been suggesting that Mother and I might be witches." Her voice broke and she had to swallow hard.
"What! I don't understand—"
Giles folded his arms, looking down at Fiona with a grim expression. "You had better tell us everything that Grace has said about you and your mother so that we can see what you are both up against."
Fiona brushed a shaking hand across her brow. "It all started that night when Mother and I arrived out of the woods and scared her. She said our red hair was the mark of a witch. Remember, Giles?" He nodded.
"The next morning, Grace hinted that we had lured their cow into the bushes and it had gone dry after that Then, when the bowl of grain flew out of my hands, she said it looked bewitched." Fiona gave a little, hysterical laugh. "It all sounds so ridiculous when I tell it."
"It certainly does," Mrs. Harmon muttered.
"Go on," Giles said intently, lips tight against his teeth.
"Well, a strange black cat came to the door one day and Mother doctored it. Now it's her pet and avoids the rest of us. Grace said all witches have a familiar spirit to do their bidding and usually it's a black cat. Then, today, everything came to a head when the ointment inflamed Grace's face. She really looked terrible. Aunt Mercy got angry and frightened, too. She didn't want Grace to use the salve in the first place because she was suspicious of the ingredients. Called them 'Chinee herbs.' "
"So Mercy is angry and suspicious, too? That doesn't help matters," Giles muttered, running his fingers through his hair, and taking a few steps back and forth.
"Grace has never liked me." Did Giles realize that Grace's jealousy of her was at the root of it? Yes, he had mentioned it one time and said Grace had good reason to be jealous of Fiona. His admission had thrilled her, but she must not think about that now. This current trouble overwhelmed all else.
She looked up at Giles imploringly. "What shall we do?"
He regarded her beneath hooded lids, harsh lines bracketing his lips. "First, I'm going to see what's happened. You wait here, Fiona."
She started up. "No! I'm coming with you."
Firmly, he pushed her back down in the chair. "Fiona," he grated, "you came here for advice. Now take it: wait here."
Mrs. Harmon put a detaining hand upon his arm. "Son, perhaps you should bring Mrs. Prescott to our house. Just so we can talk this over, you understand."
They exchanged glances full of an unstated meaning. Giles nodded and left abruptly.
Fiona ran to the window. "Oh, I think I should have gone with him—"
"No, dear, do what he said. Giles is a sensible young man." She told Fiona that Charles and his father had gone out of town to buy some sheep, but she was sure she spoke for all of them. "We stand ready to help in any way we can."
"Thank you," Fiona said with a heartfelt sigh. Unable to sit still, she paced back and forth. She refused the offer of a cup of tea while wild thoughts tumbled through her head. The only one with any clarity was that they should get out of town at once. Every minute added to their danger.
"Giles has been gone far too long," Fiona said at last, pushing the damp hair off her forehead. "I must go and see if anything has happened."
Before she could move, however, Giles burst into the kitchen, face flushed, eyes burning.
"What did you find out?" Fiona cried, her heart plunging wildly. "Where's Mother? Why didn't she come with you?"
He expelled his breath and swallowed hard. "Fiona, it probably won't come to anything, but—"
"But what?" Her voice rose shrilly. "What happened?"
Giles glanced at his mother, then at Fiona. "Your mother was arrested."
Fiona swayed. The room and the people in it seemed to waver and move far away. Her teeth chattered and she whispered, "I'm cold. So cold."
Someone placed her in a chair and in a minute, a hot mug was thrust against her lips. "Drink this, dear."
Fiona took a few gulps of the rum and water laced with sugar. She coughed and pushed the cup away, then, trying to stand on suddenly unsteady legs, "I must go to her."
Giles drew her down into the chair and kept his arm tight around her shoulders. "Listen to me. There is more. Grace denounced you, too, and the constable has put out a searching party. We can hide you in the secret room, but you must stay here while we decide what to do. You cannot help your mother locked up beside her in the jail."
"Oh, God, my poor mother, in jail! She would never harm a soul. How can such a thing be possible?" Fiona cried wildly, covering her face. "Surely Grace and Mercy don't believe she is a witch, not really." Tears oozed through her fingers as harsh sobs wracked her body.
"My dearest girl, you must be brave," Giles said, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. "Fainting and crying will not do any good. Fiona, you must be very strong now— as I know you can be."
She closed her eyes, unable to stop her tears, and leaned against him. Shudders ran over her while Giles chafed her cold hands, murmuring encouragements.
"Oh, the poor girl… the poor mother… what shall they do?" Mrs. Harmon quavered.
"I'm not sure yet. We'll think of something, never fear." He persuaded Fiona to finish the rum and water. His strong, firm voice and the forcefulness of his will penetrated the gray haze surrounding Fiona, and at last she whispered, "I'm all right now. I won't faint. Tell me everything that happened. Everything!"
Giles stood up, thrust his hands in his pockets, and paced around the kitchen while he talked. "When I reached the house, a crowd had gathered there, babbling about Grace's face and shouting 'witchcraft.' Your mother came out the door and the black cat took that unfortunate moment to leap onto her shoulder. Everyone pointed and exclaimed."
"That detestable cat!" Fiona cried.
"The constable told your mother she was summoned to court, accused of witchcraft. They had seen the proof in Grace's face. Mrs. Prescott started to protest, but they cut her off and said they also had a warrant for her daughter. At that she swayed, then said she didn't know where you'd gone."
"I waved to her from the back of the crowd and she nodded slightly, so I am sure she knows you are safe. The constable then said she must go with him. Head high, she picked up her shawl and stepped into the yard. She glanced once beseechingly at Mercy and said her name, but Mercy looked away, lips pressed together."
"Surely—my—my aunt won't denounce us?" Fiona faltered.
"I don't know. Perhaps she didn't intend the charges to go so far. I thought she looked frightened when Ellen was led away. But know this, Fiona—your mother didn't cower from anyone, even those who hissed and pointed at her. She marched beside the constable without a backward glance."
"And Grace," Fiona demanded hotly, "where was she?"
"Hiding in her room, I guess. I saw her only briefly, flying up the steps, an apron covering her face."
Fiona clenched her fists. "How can that awful girl have done such a thing? My mother tries to help her, and when there's an accident, this is the thanks she gets—charged with witchcraft!" For a second, she shut her eyes and pressed her fist against her shaking mouth.
"It's unbelievable." Mrs. Harmon, eyes wide with fear, shook her head and swallowed hard. "Don't worry too much, my dear. I'm sure Grace will change her testimony once her temper has a chance to cool down and she thinks it over. Surely she won't want her aunt to stay in jail."
"We can't be sure of that." Fiona turned her anguished eyes on Giles. "Should we speak to Sally or Oliver? She said Oliver could drive us to Boston when we made up our minds to leave. Oh, if only we had left sooner—"
"I don't think we should tell a soul outside this house that you are staying here," Giles replied. "The only safe place for you is in the secret room I once showed you."
"I cannot hide while my mother lies in jail," Fiona cried.
"It's the only way to help your mother," Giles said sternly. "When I come back, we'll lay our plans.
Now I have a patient I must see." For a moment, he impulsively swept Fiona up into a hard embrace, his cheek against her own. "Courage, my dearest heart," he whispered. He raised her chin and pressed his lips to hers for a brief, heart-stopping moment, incredibly sweet and sustaining, even in the midst of Fiona's grief and turmoil.
His mother followed him outside and they had their heads together as they walked slowly across the yard.
A feeling of unreality enveloped Fiona as though she were in the middle of some awful nightmare and would soon wake up. How could a human being condemn another person to such a terrible trial which might evolve in death? Surely Grace and Mercy knew that Uncle Matthew's kin could not be witches. Anybody could wear black cloaks, have red hair, and attract a young man.
Of course, "young man" was the crux of the matter. Grace had convinced herself that she had an evil rival and that harming the mother was the same as harming Fiona. As for Mercy, she was foolish, easily influenced by her strong-willed daughter.
Suddenly, Fiona wondered if Judge Blaize would be presiding at her mother's trial. If so, what a good chance for him to take revenge! Was it too late to seek his help or to hope for his compassion? Of course it was. She had humiliated him three times, once at the beach, twice at his home. How he must be gloating now…
She started at a sound behind her, but it was only Mrs. Harmon reentering the kitchen. "Come, my dear, Giles asked me to make you comfortable in the secret room. I'm sure you could do with a little rest."
"Oh, please—don't you think I could sneak in to see my mother? Take her blankets, food, talk to her—"
"Impossible. They will be watching for you to do just that. Tonight Giles will see your mother. As a doctor, he will be easily admitted. He can even snuggle in a note from you, I'm sure."
Fiona still hung back. "There's another thing. If they come looking for me here, I could put you all in danger. Perhaps the barn—"
"Nonsense. The secret room is the only place for you. No one but our family knows about it. Now, come along. Giles will think of something to do."
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