Colonial Madness

by Jo Whittemore

  She let the thought trail, and I frowned.

  “Seriously? You’re afraid of catching my witchcraft cooties?”

  “I knew you’d understand! Love you, bye!” she said, closing the door in my face.

  I didn’t even bother knocking on Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke’s door. I had a feeling I’d get the same response. I went back to our bedroom, where Mom was still sitting in the chair, staring out the window.

  “A watched sun never sets,” I told her. “Which would actually work well for us, since the trial’s tomorrow after breakfast.”

  Mom just nodded, so I let her be. When it was time for bed, she was finally willing to get up from the chair, but she was still too deep in thought.

  “Tomorrow morning,” she said, “I don’t want you to disagree with anything I say.”

  I propped myself on my elbows. “Why? What are you going to say?”

  Mom shook her head. “Just trust me. I have a plan.”

  The next morning, after a breakfast neither of us could eat, we were led to the clearing behind the manor, where rows of benches had been set facing a table with two chairs. Mom and I knew our place and took our seats.

  “These chairs came out much nicer than ours,” she said, wiggling her butt in her seat. “I wonder if we can take them when we leave. As souvenirs.”

  “ ‘Sorry you turned out to be witches, but here’s some lovely furniture’?” I asked. “Please take this seriously.”

  “I am,” said Mom. “But it was giving me forehead wrinkles, so I had to lighten up a bit.” She put a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to work out.”

  The back door creaked open, and the rest of the families came out to fill the seats.

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “Because here come our judge, jury, and executioners.”

  Eli, Felicity, and Caleb marched over from their quarters, and Eli’s eyes shone with excitement. He really was going to enjoy this. After a brief introduction, Eli asked Mom and me to introduce ourselves. With a deep breath, I launched into my story.

  “My name is Victoria Porter,” I said. “I’m the daughter of a seamstress and a soldier. I take care of wounded animals in the woods—”

  Eli was staring at his fingernails, completely ignoring me. I caught Caleb’s eye, and he shrugged.

  So much for playing the game.

  “And I’m lead singer for a band named Plymouth Rock,” I finished.

  Eli strolled in front of our table. “Are you a witch?”

  “Nope,” I said, getting up. “That was easy!”

  “Sit down,” said Eli. “We are not finished.”

  “Oh.” I sat.

  Mom leaned over. “You didn’t read up on the Salem witch trials?”

  Eli slammed his fists on the table between Mom and me, and we jumped back, startled.

  “Conspiring as witches do?” he asked.

  “Actually, she was complimenting your beard,” I said. “It’s quite fluffy. Do you volumize?”

  Eli narrowed his eyes. “You speak in words well beyond your years. As a witch would.”

  “As a well-educated girl would,” I corrected.

  “And your tongue is barbed,” he said with a frown. “You show little respect to your elders.”

  “Only the ones who deserve it.” I retorted.

  “She didn’t show my dad any respect!” Dylan called from his bench. “Burn her at the stake!”

  I tugged on Eli’s sleeve and pointed at Dylan. “If I was really a witch? He’d be a smoldering pile of ashes right now.”

  Several people gasped.

  “Exactly what a witch would say!” whispered Felicity.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Exactly what a witch would do!” she whispered.

  I sighed and leaned back. “So you think I’m a witch because I found a camera and roll my eyes?”

  “And levitate!” someone called from the back.

  “Who . . .” I craned my neck to see. A random half-cousin I didn’t even know that well. But she and her family were in fourth place, right behind Mom and me.

  “You saw me levitate?” I repeated. “Where’s the proof?”

  “I saw Tori levitate too,” said Dylan.

  I scowled at him. “I saw you turn into a pig. Why aren’t you on the stand?”

  “Silence, witch!” said Eli. He turned to my mother. “What say you?”

  Mom folded her hands in front of her and leaned forward. “I say . . . that I am your long-lost sister.” She glanced at Eli’s wife. “Hey, sis!”

  Eli blinked in confusion. “What?”

  “I am your long-lost sister, and Tori is your long-lost niece.” She gestured to me. “You and your wife planted us in the contest to steal the old bird’s fortune. But yesterday I told you we would no longer help you perform such a vile deed, and you retaliated by accusing us of witchcraft.”

  “This . . . this is preposterous!” blustered Eli. He faced his wife, who did not look pleased.

  “Why do you think we’ve been winning challenges?” Mom asked the audience. “Because my brother”—she winked at Eli—“helps us. But he can’t let us win all the time, so that’s why we occasionally do so bad.”

  The family members began whispering among themselves.

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  “They are pretty incompetent.”

  I couldn’t help feeling mildly insulted.

  “This is not about me, it is about you!” Eli pointed at Mom and me. “Your daughter is a witch! She knows of magic!”

  “Because you taught her, remember?” said Mom. She looked out at the crowd and rolled her eyes, laughing. “So forgetful.”

  Eli’s face was now the color of a sliced watermelon. “We are not related!”

  Mom spread her arms open. “Prove it. My accusations are as valid as yours.”

  “I . . . you . . . she!” Eli grabbed at his hair.

  Mom leaned forward and whispered, “Nobody here knows my side of the family, so my words have weight. Unless you want to mention DNA testing, which didn’t exist in colonial times and would make you look like a witch, drop the accusation or everyone will think you’re cheating and mass chaos will ensue.”

  The clearing was completely quiet, as if even the birds were waiting for an answer.

  “I may . . . have jumped to conclusions,” Eli said begrudgingly. “It is possible that these two strangers are simple humans.”

  “Very simple!” called Dylan.

  “Are you looking in a mirror?” I asked.

  Mom nudged me into silence. “Then it is possible we are not actually related,” she said.

  “This trial is over,” said Eli, shoulders slumping, “and all witchcraft charges are dropped.”

  Everyone on the benches applauded.

  Now they were supportive.

  “Please follow me to the barn for the morning challenge,” he said in a dull tone.

  Before I could do that, I had to turn to Mom and throw my arms around her.

  “That was brilliant!” I said.

  “The best defense is a good offense,” said Mom, hugging me back. “I told you I’d come up with something.”

  Angel approached the table with her parents.

  “Looks like you live to fight another day!” she said, hugging me.

  “Congratulations,” added Aunt Zoe. “I’m not sure if that’s the smartest move I’ve seen or the most foolish.”

  Mom and I looked at one another and then at Aunt Zoe.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to start finding this contest a lot more difficult,” said Aunt Zoe.

  “You personally insulted Eli and his family,” said Uncle Deke. “He’s not going to forget that. Neither will they.”

  I swallowed hard.

  Caleb.

  Chapter Eleven

  You want cheese omelets?” Mom asked the next morning.

  “Huh?” I turned away from our
bedroom window. I’d been sitting in the window seat since sunrise, watching Caleb’s craft hut.

  Mom gave me a sympathetic smile. “He still hasn’t seen your note?”

  I shook my head. “I tried to talk to him after the trial, then after the first challenge, then after the second challenge. He keeps avoiding me.”

  “I can’t believe he’s so upset,” said Mom. “It was all in good fun.”

  I buried my head in my hands. “Mom, you implied he and his family were a bunch of cheaters. Even if it wasn’t true, you still made them look bad.”

  “Well, he needs to get over it, and you need to get over him,” she said. “Now do you want a cheese omelet?”

  I poked my head through the neck hole of my dress. “Kraft singles haven’t even been invented yet. Where are you going to get cheese?”

  “I made a batch,” Mom said.

  “Milk you accidentally left on a sunny windowsill isn’t cheese,” I informed her.

  “Ha ha ha,” she said, pulling her hair into a bun. “For your information, I found a ‘book of cookery’ in the library and boiled the cheese the proper way. Then I sampled it to make sure we wouldn’t die.” She smacked her lips as if remembering the taste. “It wasn’t half-bad.”

  I regarded her shrewdly, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ve never had homemade cheese. Why not?”

  “Great!” said Mom, opening the bedroom door. “And we can . . . ACK!” She tumbled face-first into the hallway.

  “Mom!” I ran to help her up. “Are you okay?”

  She twisted onto her backside, and I could see a long, narrow box underneath her legs. Someone had positioned it just outside our bedroom door.

  “What’s that?” I asked, kneeling beside her.

  “A mother slaying device,” she said, taking the hand I offered.

  We both faced the box, which was latched on the front with a simple turn clasp.

  “What do you think’s inside?” I asked.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Mom popped open the lid, and we peered into the box. Two beribboned scrolls sat on top of a set of metal cuffs that had iron balls attached with chains.

  “This doesn’t look promising,” she said, trying to heft one of the balls out of the box.

  I grabbed a scroll and slipped off the ribbon. Written inside the curled paper was a note.

  To Whoever Selected This Scroll:

  It appears you’re still in the contest, thriving like the majestic cockroach.

  It is now my pleasure to inform you that you’ve developed beriberi, a common colonial illness that, left untreated, will cripple your muscles and kill you.

  I lowered the paper and looked at Mom. “I have beriberi.”

  “Sounds delicious,” she said. “Maybe we can make cobbler-cobbler.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t funny! It’s a disease that’s going to kill me!”

  Mom gave me a withering look. “I’ll admit Great-Aunt Muriel was mean, but she wouldn’t kill any of us. She couldn’t legally get away with it.”

  “What does she care? She’s dead!”

  Mom took the letter from me. “You didn’t read the whole thing.” Clearing her throat, she continued:

  Since, sadly, I could not afflict you with the actual illness, this is only a hypothetical scenario. The ankle weights will simulate your muscle depletion. Don them as soon as you finish this letter. If you “die” from the disease before the sun sets, you might as well go home.

  “It’s like getting a hug from her,” I mumbled, hefting one of the balls and chains out of the box. Mom helped me fasten it around my ankle. “What did the other scroll say?”

  “That I have a family member afflicted with beriberi,” she said, making a face. “And that I have until sunset to find the cure.”

  “Great.”

  I fastened the second weight around my other ankle and gripped the doorframe as I got to my feet. I took a few test steps, the lead balls slowing me to a snail’s pace.

  I turned to Mom. “Please cure me fast.”

  She nodded, a determined look in her eye. “Thank goodness I’ve been watching those medical shows.”

  “I don’t think Moles Shaped Like Animals is considered a medical show,” I said, literally dragging my feet until I was in front of Angel’s door. There was no box sitting outside her room.

  After three knocks, she answered with a carrot in hand.

  “What’s up, Doc?”

  “Aw, man! Why aren’t you dying?” I asked.

  Angel raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

  I shook my head. “I caught this disease called beriberi—”

  Angel took a giant step back.

  “It’s not real!” I said. “But Mom only has until sunset to find the cure or we’re out.”

  Angel paused mid—carrot crunch. “Yikes. I would not want to be in your”—she looked down—“ankle cuffs.”

  “Well, do you know anything about beriberi?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Try looking in the library. Or asking your boyfriend.”

  For a moment, I was taken aback. “I can’t do that! It’s cheating.” Then the second part of her words sunk in, and I giggled. “And shut up. He’s not my boyfriend!” I smacked her arm.

  Angel rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever your plan, you’d better hurry.”

  I glanced from her to my ankle.

  She cleared her throat. “So to speak.”

  “Did you at least get any kind of illness this morning?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “There was a note tacked to my door that said I had a headache, but I chewed on some willow bark, and Eli told me I was cured.”

  I sighed. “Of course he did.”

  I did a quick check up and down the hall. Nobody else had a box outside their door either.

  “Mom and I must have been really lucky that we got selected for this,” I said in a flat voice.

  “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Good luck.”

  After Angel closed her door, I called to Mom, who ducked under one of my arms, and the two of us clambered downstairs as fast as my failing muscles would allow.

  “Looks like there’s a hitch in your giddyup,” said Uncle Max from the dining room table. “You being punished?”

  I spotted Eli watching us with a smug expression.

  “You could say that,” I told Uncle Max.

  Mom disappeared to make breakfast, and I leaned toward Uncle Max. “Have you ever heard of beriberi?”

  His forehead wrinkled. “Is that a new boy band?”

  I settled back in my chair. “Never mind.”

  Mom returned with my food, and I held up the plate for Eli to see. “Is this the cure for beriberi?”

  He shook his head. “Nay. None of those foods will do.”

  I shrugged at Mom. “Worth a shot.”

  She cleared her throat and cocked her head toward the kitchen.

  Caleb was coming in through the door, his eyes fixed on his father even though I sat mere feet from his path.

  “Hey, Caleb,” I said.

  He ignored me.

  Mom put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

  Everyone turned, startled.

  “Caleb, my daughter was greeting you,” she said. “Surely colonial manners don’t include ignoring a sweet girl whose mother is the one you should really be upset with.”

  Both Caleb and I blushed, and he mumbled something before hurrying from the room.

  It was Mom’s turn to shrug. “I tried.”

  I squeezed her arm. “Thanks. Let’s go to the library and hit the books.”

  “Reading?” Eli laughed. “There is no time for leisure during the day. There is work to be done!”

  Mom and I shot him dismayed looks.

  “What?” Mom asked.

  “How are we supposed to find a cure if we don’t have time to look for one?” I asked.

  Eli waved away my concern. “While you are still mobile, it
is your duty to pull your weight in the family.”

  “I am pulling weight!” I pointed to my ankle. “Why—”

  “The morning’s challenge is about to begin!” Eli bellowed for all to hear. Then he walked out the back door.

  “I get the feeling he doesn’t like us,” said Mom.

  The morning’s challenge turned out to require a lot of running.

  “I get the feeling he really doesn’t like us,” I told Mom while Eli gave the instructions.

  Since fires were left burning in colonial homes during the day, there were bound to be accidents where they got out of hand. Our task was to fill a barrel with ten buckets of water as quickly as possible, extinguishing an imaginary fire.

  But because the full buckets were so heavy, they required two people to carry them, which meant that even if Mom sprinted to fetch the water, I still had to help her carry it back.

  “How much you want to bet Eli just came up with this challenge last night?” I mumbled to Mom.

  The minute he gave the word, I wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulder and we hobbled as quickly as we could to the water pump while people raced past us. When we reached the pump, we were alone since everyone else had already headed back with their first load of water. Mom let go of me so she could fill the bucket, and I tried to step out of her way.

  And immediately fell down.

  Mom turned to see what had happened and tripped over one of my lead weights, sloshing half her bucket of water on me.

  “Glub!” I protested and sputtered.

  “Sorry, honey. Looks like you got a free shower.” Mom pulled me to my feet and went back to filling the bucket.

  I heard laughter and glared in Eli’s direction. Caleb stood beside him but didn’t join in his father’s mirth.

  “Hey.” Mom nudged me. “Let’s go.”

  I grabbed one of the bucket’s handles, and Mom held the other. Then she took four quick steps forward. I tried to catch up, but my weights dragged through the grass, the chains pulling tight until I stumbled to my knees. My hand was still on the bucket, and it jerked downward so that the bucket tilted crazily and half the water dumped out.

  “Oh, come on!” I shouted.

  More laughter, muffled behind one of Eli’s meaty hands. Caleb continued to stare, looking anxious. Or possibly guilty?

  Around us, people continued to race back and forth.