Witch Woman

by Jeanette Baker

  "What do you want me to do, Wayne?" She didn't bother keeping the impatience from her voice. She had things to do. It wasn't easy for her to run a house. He knew the effort she spent and what it meant to disturb her routine.

  "Find out what's going on."

  "I'm sure Scott will tell us when, and if, he feels we should know."

  The silence on his end of the line was palpable. She didn't help him.

  He sighed deeply. His voice lowered. "Just do it, Deborah. Will you please just fucking do it?"

  She could imagine him in the office or the teachers' lounge, his patience spent, his hand over his mouth to minimize the effect of his words. "If it's that important to you, Wayne," she said coldly. "I'll go over immediately. There's no need to be foul."

  "Call me back on my lunch break."

  "Goodbye," she said to the dial tone.

  She took her time finishing her coffee, even pouring a second cup, her fingers moving across the Braille newspaper before she exchanged her slippers for shoes, pulled on a light cardigan against the morning chill and opened the door, fully intending to make her way down the street to the Hillyard's front door. A female voice stopped her.

  "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Detective Louise Garrity," the woman said. "I'm investigating the disappearance of one of your neighbors, Holly Hillyard. May I come in?"

  "Of course." Deborah stepped back into the living room. "Come inside. We can talk in the kitchen." She led the way through the hall into the back of the house and motioned her toward the table. "Please sit down." She heard the slide of wood against wood and sat down in the opposite chair. "What can I do for you?"

  "How well do you know Holly Hillyard?"

  "I've known her since she was born. She's one of my husband's students. He's a science teacher at the local grammar school."

  "She disappeared last night after her mother dropped her off. Did you notice anything unusual in the neighborhood, a strange car, a person behaving oddly?"

  "I'm blind, Detective."

  "Oh. I didn't realize. I'm terribly sorry."

  "Don't be. Unfortunately, under the circumstances, I can't be of much help to you."

  "I understand." Again, the slide of wood against wood. "I'm sorry for taking up your time. It's common practice to interview all the neighbors."

  Deborah stood. "Do you have any suspects?"

  "It's early yet," replied the woman, noncommittally. "We're doing all we can. I'll leave my card on the table. Please have your husband contact us as soon as possible."

  "I'll do that. Can you see yourself out?"

  "Yes. Have a good day."

  Deborah waited for the sound of the dead bolt clicking into place before she checked her watch, using the tips of her fingers to check the time. It was early yet. Wayne would still be teaching. She walked to the enclosed porch at the back of the house, sat down on the loveseat, reached for her knitting and considered the situation. Scott must be frantic. Penny, too, although Penny didn't really count. She was Holly's mother but, as far as Deborah was concerned, she wasn't a very good one. What kind of mother saw her child once a week on Saturday? No. Scott was the one to be pitied. He'd lost one child already. What a shame to lose two. Still, he was a young man. More than likely he would start over again with a new woman, maybe the newcomer he liked to run with in the morning, the woman from the shop on the corner, Maggie McBride.

  * * *

  Maggie accepted a cup of fragrant tea from Susannah, settled back into the cushions of the russet couch and looked around. She felt so comfortable here, surrounded by the enormous windows facing the ocean, Susannah's collection of sea glass, lush green plants and golden sunlight reflecting off the wooden floors and oak furniture. She hadn't been here often but still, each time it was like coming home, almost as if Susannah and the house did nothing during her absence but wait for her.

  Susannah sat down beside her. "What a dreadful thing to happen. Poor little girl. I wasn't close to Scott and Penny. We didn't socialize, but I remember their situation well. Losing their son was devastating." She crossed her legs. "Maggie, I'm concerned about your reaction. I thought leaving law enforcement behind was a major reason for relocating to Salem."

  "This is different. I know Holly. She comes over all the time to see Muffin. We have incredible conversations. Most of the time I can't believe she's nine years old. I know her parents. I'm fond of Penny."

  "And Dr. Hillyard? Are you fond of him as well?"

  Maggie felt the red rise in her cheeks. "I don't know how I feel about Scott yet. Sometimes we run together. We share conversation and we've had one date. That's it."

  "There are dates and then there are dates," remarked Susannah.

  "Ours was definitely the former."

  Was there relief in the older woman's eyes? Maggie shrugged off the idea. Susannah would have no interest in her relationship with Scott Hillyard.

  "I don't understand the conflict. Your position seems clear enough," said Susannah. "You'll do what you can to help with the police investigation."

  "It's not that simple."

  "Why not?"

  Maggie frowned and concentrated. Still nothing. "I don't see anything," she said at last. "In the past, the reason I've been successful, the reason they hire me back again and again, is because I can see things in my mind, images, scenes." She looked directly at Susannah. "I'm rarely wrong."

  "And now?"

  Maggie shook her head. "Nothing. I'm completely blank. The detective who questioned me this morning thinks I'm being uncooperative. But it isn't that. I simply can't help him."

  Susannah looked away, out the enormous window at the expanse of blue-gray sea and the horizon line. She said nothing.

  "I think it has something to do with the state of my mind," Maggie continued.

  "How so?"

  "I'm not completely here any more. My mind is filled with seventeenth century Salem. Every time I venture back into the past, I lose something of the present. I become more and more connected, especially to Abigail's little girl, my namesake, Margaret. I'm sure she's related to me, maybe even a direct ancestor. It's almost as if she needs to tell me something."

  "I'm not sure that's an accurate assessment," Susannah said slowly.

  "Don't you see?" Maggie was desperate for her to understand. If not Susannah, then who? "I can only see so much. Because I'm caught up in the past, I've lost the ability to view the forces around me."

  "In other words, you no longer have the sight at all."

  "Exactly."

  "Why is that so terrible? From what you've told me, it's what set you apart and kept you isolated."

  "A little girl's life depends on it."

  "Not at all." Susannah's dark eyes flashed. "You're one person, Maggie. It isn't your fault that Holly Hillyard is missing. You can't hold yourself responsible."

  "If I didn't have one foot in Salem's past, maybe I could save her."

  "I disagree." Susannah's vehemence was clear. "Have you saved every one of the children whose kidnapper you profiled?"

  "No," Maggie admitted. "There were times when I was too late."

  "Did you blame yourself when that happened?"

  Maggie looked surprised. "Yes. I did."

  Susannah rested her hands on her thighs and sighed. "Why are you here today? What is it you want of me?"

  "I was hoping you could help clear my head. It's a long shot, but if we could put Abigail March and her children on hold, maybe I could help Holly."

  "That's impossible," Susannah said flatly.

  "I disagree. What's impossible are these forays into a world that has nothing to do with this one. By simply carding, no, by touching the wood, I'm transported back in time to a world so realistic it's taking the place of my own. I never wanted that. I wanted answers about my past, who I am, who my parents were. I went along with it because it was diversional, interesting, even fascinating, and it didn't hurt anyone. Now, that's not the case. Now, a child's life may be forfeit."

&nbs
p; "You don't know for sure if your visions are masking your sight. It's all speculation."

  "Nothing else is different."

  "You're giving me credit for something I have no power over. I can't take back what you already know. I'm sorry."

  "I don't believe you."

  Susannah shook her head. "I'm sorry about that, too. As it happens, I'm telling you the truth."

  Maggie was silent for a long minute. "Fair enough," she said at last, "but tell me this: You obviously have a stake in my ability to see into the past. Why is it so important to you?"

  Susannah hesitated.

  "Don't stall." Maggie was merciless. "And don't tell me you want me to find out for myself. I'm going nowhere and I'm completely fed up. If I walk out of here without answers, I'm tossing the spinning wheel."

  "That's a bit drastic, Maggie." Susannah sighed. "I'd hoped we wouldn't have to go through this, but maybe it's for the best. Time is running out after all."

  "Yes, it is. It's running out for Holly Hillyard."

  "All right." Susannah drew a deep breath as if to prepare herself. "Wait here." She left the room.

  Maggie heard the slap of the screen door at the back of the house. Susannah returned immediately carrying a tall, bright green stalk with white flowers. She handed it to Maggie. "Hold on to this. It isn't much, but it's the best I can do under the circumstances."

  "This is angelica. Why are you giving me this?"

  "It's for protection on a journey."

  "I know what it's for and I'm not going anywhere."

  "Of course you know what it's for. Just hold on to it. I don't know what's going to happen next or if you're going anywhere, but it certainly can't hurt. Look at me, Maggie," she said, "and don't look away." She bit her lip. "I never thought it would come to this. Whatever happens, remember that I meant it all for the best. I didn't know what else to do."

  "All right. I accept that."

  Susannah began to whistle, the powerful, piercing whistle that haunted Maggie's dreams. And as she whistled, she lifted her index finger and swept it quickly across her right eye, removing her contact lens. Then she looked directly at Maggie. The exposed iris was a clear, ice-flecked blue.

  Chapter 23

  Maggie gasped, lifted her hand to her throat and tried to speak, but coherence had deserted her. Her head pounded and inside her chest her heart felt tight as if the space was inadequate and a massive vice was clamping down on her vital organs. Objects in the room suddenly appeared out of focus. All she could see was Susannah's face and her eyes, one dark, the other light. Heterochromidia Iridium. She knew that face. She'd seen it in a hundred dreams. It was older, the eyes and mouth lined, the skin slack, the bones formed into the places they would forever be, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. Susannah Davies and Abigail March were the same. "Who are you?" she managed. "What do you want?"

  "I'm Abigail March," the woman said, "and I want you, Maggie. You are my daughter. You are Margaret. I came back for you. I can explain everything. The visions you are seeing really happened. They happened to us. The people, our people, were caught up in hysteria. No one was above suspicion. They accused us, the three of us, you, a child of not yet three years, your sister, Judith, and me. I had no choice. There was no time. I sent you forward to what I thought was a safe place. I sent you to Annie." Her face was drawn with grief and memory. "I was inexperienced, unable to practice for years what I'd learned from my own mother. You were younger than Judith. I thought it would be easier for you to adapt. I had no idea our separation would last a lifetime."

  For a single frozen moment Maggie allowed the words to sink in, to sweep her up in the eerie sensation of a circumstance too bizarre to be fiction. Then reality asserted itself. "Stop." Maggie held out her hand, the angelica slipping from her grasp. "I can't do this. It's too much, too ridiculous. I don't want this."

  Abigail leaned forward. "I've waited until the time is right. You have no idea how long I've waited and planned. There is a portal, Maggie, but we must act quickly. It won't wait for us."

  "What are you saying?" Maggie whispered.

  Susannah's dark eye was sane and comforting, but the blue one burned feverishly. "There is a life waiting for you, a life that was meant to be yours."

  "This is my life."

  "Never." Susannah clutched Maggie's hands. "Sending you here was a mistake. I see that now. I had no idea it would come to this, years of separation, searching and hoping. Please, Maggie. Come home. Everything is in position. We won't have another chance."

  For an instant, clarity searched for a home in Maggie's brain. The woman wasn't right. She couldn't be. And yet, she looked like Abigail March. She sounded like her. Maggie had seen and heard her again and again. Was she losing her mind? Were time portals possible, events happening over and over again on different planes, in different dimensions? People believed such things. She's heard of them. But what kind of people were they?

  Pain, fierce, knife-sharp, exploded behind Maggie's eyes. She could no longer see the images she knew were all around her, the windows, the wood and plants, the sea glass mounted on the shelves, the books. Slowly, inch by inch, darkness encroached, smothering her, choking out the light, sucking her in.

  * * *

  Salem, Massachusetts, 1692

  Abigail assembled the herbs Jane Jacobs would need to give birth. She added a skein of spun wool, a dish of black currant jam and two loaves of freshly baked bread. Jane's pregnancy had been difficult. This was her fourth lying in and if it turned out to be anything like the others, there would be no baking in the Jacobs' household for some time. Anticipating the young mother's weak recovery, Abigail prepared herself to stay as long as she was needed.

  John walked beside her, carrying the basket while the children ran ahead. "I would not have you tire yourself, Abigail. Promise me you will come home within the week."

  "I shall do my best, John. But Samuel is away and the children are too young to manage alone."

  The crease in his forehead deepened. "Samuel Jacobs would have better served his wife if he had not given her three children in less than three years."

  "Nonetheless, they are small and Jane is alone. There is no one else."

  "You are a gift to our community, Abigail. We would be lost without you."

  She flushed, pleased that John, normally so reticent with his words, would volunteer such a sentiment. "You managed well enough before I came."

  "Not nearly so well as now. You are healer, midwife and counsel to all of them. I fear they will suck the life from you."

  She knew John wanted a son. Three years had passed since Margaret was born and yet there was no sign of another pregnancy. Secretly, she was relieved. Another child along with the two she already had would seriously hamper the duties she had grown to love. In truth, Abigail found strength and pleasure in the knowledge she used to heal the families of Salem. That and her spun wool, prized as far as Saybrook and Deerfield, gave her confidence and security. As long as they needed her, she was safe from suspicious minds and malicious tongues.

  "I am not weary, John."

  "You go beyond your Christian duty. No one else does your good deeds."

  "You forget Rebecca Nurse."

  The name hung in the air, calling up a subject so raw and worked over, the very name was enough to bring on silence and separation between them. John had done nothing to help the old woman. In all fairness, he'd spoken for her, but his arguments lacked conviction and in the end, his effort was to no avail. The moment the warrant was served upon her, Increase Mather and the Reverend Parris were convinced that the seventy-one-year-old mother of eight, a deeply religious woman, respected for her charitable works, and a pillar of the community, was the cause of a series of incidents that had befallen a select few of the citizens of Salem town.

  Abigail continued to struggle with the dour religion of her Puritan neighbors. Even after ten years it did not rest easily with her. Still, she had married John in good faith and borne
his children. It was in her best interests and that of her family's to accept the path her life had taken. She had come a goodly distance from the destitute bound girl who had stepped off the Sealark, consigned to the March family for seven years servitude. Her fate could have taken a far less fortunate turn. If, on occasion, she found the terms too difficult to bear, she merely increased her activity level, spinning and sewing, baking, taking the children into the golden meadows, pointing out edible mushrooms, purple foxglove, fragrant tarragon, sage, chamomile, bog cotton, mustard grass and fennel. She took it upon herself to keep silent and practice humility. Most of the time she was successful, except in the case of Rebecca Nurse. Reluctantly, she called up those dark days when Rebecca was first accused.

  The Nurses were of modest means except for a three-hundred acre farm which they had purchased from Reverend James Allen. The parcel of land was originally part of the Putnam estate. It had been gifted to Reverend Allen's wife, Sally Putnam, upon her marriage. When Sally died, James sold it to the Nurse family. The Putnams, especially Anne, believed the land should have been returned to them upon the death of their daughter and held the Nurse family responsible. Later the two families were involved in another land dispute over the property line dividing the two estates. Although the Nurses prevailed in court, the Putnams refused to accept the verdict gracefully. From that day on there was a coldness between the families.

  When the first whispers of witchery were cried out upon the community, Rebecca Nurse publicly denounced the testimony of the young girls responsible. They turned their ire upon her. The magistrates at first refused to issue a warrant for her arrest, but when Anne Putnam supported the girls, claiming that Rebecca had tortured her because she refused to sign the devil's book, they had no choice.

  Even then, she protested her innocence so convincingly that they would have released her until Anne Putnam cried out in the Meeting House that she at that moment was being tortured by a large black man sent by Goody Nurse. The young girls continued to howl while Anne Putnam shrieked with pain.