Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3)

by Sheila Connolly

  Sometime in there Sarah had pulled her chair closer and wrapped her arms around Abby. It felt good. Thank God she’d found Sarah, and thought to invite her along on this weird expedition. Sarah understood. Sarah knew.

  Time stretched like an old rubber band. After a while Abby was reduced to hiccups, but she’d let out most of the anguish she hadn’t even known she was carrying, and the tears slowed. Sarah spoke first. “Don’t you dare apologize for this. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m glad I was here to help.”

  “So am I, Sarah. There are no guidebooks for this kind of thing, and it’s a lot to take in all at once. I feel so badly for everybody involved, which is useless because they’ve all been dead for centuries.”

  “But people still remember and talk about those events. They mattered.”

  “I know, even though I didn’t understand it before. Sarah, what do I tell Ned?”

  “The truth?”

  “What will he do with that?”

  “He’ll try to understand it. Seriously, he cares a lot for you, and he needs to know about this. He truly wants to believe you, that you’re seeing what you’re seeing, but it’s hard for him. Give him time, but include him, whatever you do. Pretending it’s not happening won’t be good for anyone.” Sarah checked her watch. “Oh, my word—look at the time. Abby, will you be all right if I go home? I’ll stay if you want me to.”

  Abby smiled at her. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I think the storm is over.”

  “Well, don’t keep it bottled up, okay? And talk to Ned. And if he doesn’t get it, send him to me and I’ll knock some sense into him.”

  “That I’d like to see.” Abby stood up, as did Sarah, and Abby grabbed her impulsively. “Thank you, for everything.”

  “You’re welcome. And take care of yourself, please.”

  “I will.” Abby stood in the doorway and watched as Sarah pulled out of the driveway, just as Ned’s car was approaching from the opposite direction.

  He parked and came bounding up the front steps. “Was that my mother?”

  “It was. We spent the day in Salem.”

  “Oh?” Ned clearly could sense that there was something more coming.

  “We have a lot to talk about.”

  21

  “Something wrong?” Ned asked anxiously.

  “No, not exactly. But I think I’ve made a quantum leap forward in what I know about Salem and my ancestors. Come on into the kitchen while I make dinner.”

  Ned followed her to the back of the house. “Did you invite Mom, or did she kind of insinuate herself into your trip?”

  “That’s not exactly fair to your mother, Ned. She’s not a snoop. And I’m the one who called her—I figured I might need backup.”

  “Against what? Angry ghosts?”

  “Sit. Have a glass of wine or a beer or something, and listen to me.” Abby waited until he had complied and settled himself at the small kitchen table against the wall. “I don’t know if in your experience you’ve encountered intense negative emotions. I mean, if most of the people you’ve seen have been in cemeteries, they’re probably mourning and sad, but not exactly aggressive. So the emotion is strong but not what you might call confrontational.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that. Salem is different?”

  Abby found enough ingredients to make a quick pasta primavera and started laying them out. “That is what I guessed, as I told you. Clearly emotions would have been high at the time—they were talking about life-and-death issues, and they took them seriously. Now, on Saturday, with you, what I saw was a court scene, so while there was plenty of tension, it was under control. It was a formal legal proceeding. And I was lucky to identify Samuel Barton because his name was mentioned.”

  “Where are you going with this, Abby?” Ned asked.

  “Bear with me. After I got back, as you know, I figured out the link to Samuel. And yesterday I did more research on Salem in general, and that’s when I realized I’d seen a kind of subdued side of the whole thing. I didn’t mention that on my first trip to Salem, I’d felt some kind of vague connection, and now I think I know what it was. It turns out Samuel’s father Matthew lived right up the street from the House of Seven Gables, and since Corwin was sitting in judgment on Sarah Cloyce, who was essentially family, he had every right to be angry at Corwin. But when we went back I realized that there was so much more, and I wanted to see if I could track that down.”

  “My mother knows all this?”

  “Yes. I asked her to come with me, and I explained what we had found, and what research I’d done since, and what I was hoping to find. She was interested.”

  “You’re corrupting my mother. She’s lived quite happily for over fifty years without knowing anything about this stuff.”

  Abby checked to see if he was serious. Apparently he wasn’t, but his statement still troubled her. “You think that was a good thing? She’s been stifling this for most of her life, and now she’s curious. So far she’s been just an observer—a spotter, I guess you’d say. Isn’t that what they call the people in gymnastics who watch out for you on the equipment and keep you from landing on your head?”

  “Sounds about right. So now you’ve awakened my mother’s curiosity, and she’s your psychic in training.”

  “Ned! If you keep making fun of me and this, I’m not going to tell you about it. Is that what you want? Would you rather not know?”

  Abby could almost see the battle going on inside him. Finally he said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m making jokes because I’m not sure what I think and I’m also not sure I want to believe it, and now you’ve got my mother involved.”

  “Poor baby! Do you think your womenfolk are ganging up on you? You can always go over and hang out with your father and watch football. Or basketball. Or whatever sport season this is.”

  “No, Abby, I don’t want us to operate like that. Dad doesn’t share this thing with you or Mom, but I do. And if I’m with you, I need to know what you’re going through. Since my mother knows, she might kill me if I don’t.”

  Abby smiled. “Yes, there was some mention of beating sense into you. May I resume?” She put a large pot of water on the stove to boil, then turned back to him.

  “Please. I promise I’ll listen.”

  So Abby recounted the events of her day, and what she had seen in Salem, both in town and particularly on that forlorn Gallows Hill. Mostly the facts, though: she was unsure how to explain her own emotional reaction to what she had seen. Ned remained silent, watching her face, nodding occasionally. The water had long since boiled by the time she finished; at least she’d remembered to turn off the gas under it. “So?” she said finally.

  “I don’t know where to start. You are amazing.”

  “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “No. And I’m not just saying that. I’ve been around you long enough now, when you’ve seen things, to know that you really believe in what you see. And then you produce proof after the fact. I share enough of it with you to have some idea of what you’re feeling, although I’ve never known anything so strong.”

  “Maybe we should look for an ancestor of yours who died on the battlefield, and you can tune it to whatever he’s feeling. Sorry, that sounds kind of flippant, and I just criticized you for doing that. But that would give you some idea of the impact of this.”

  “You picked Salem for precisely that reason. You found what you were looking for. Now what?”

  “I, uh . . . don’t know. I’ve been so eager to figure out how my ancestors fit that I didn’t look past that. Now I’ve got that, and a lot more experience from the inside, so to speak. I guess . . . I want to know what really happened—the whole thing, not just my family’s part, although they were right in the thick of it. I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately, both in print and online, and there’s no one theory that fits, after all these years. I have a unique perspective. Like I said, when I was in the courtroom, and at the gallows, I wa
s picking up an entire range of reactions—fear, anger, pain, grief. And a few people like Abigail Williams actually seemed happy about what they had done. I want to follow up on that, as far as I can. I want to understand it in my head, not just my heart or my gut or wherever my emotions live. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so. Do you plan to publish this? Join the Society for Descendants of Witches?”

  “Is there such a thing?” Abby said, laughing. It felt good to laugh.

  “I think so. Probably.”

  “Well, no. I feel no need to make what I find public. This is for me: I want to understand. I don’t plan to go head to head with the scholars and the kooks who have been digging into this for years. Just for me, and you, and your mother, and maybe Ellie at some point.”

  As if by magic, Abby’s cell phone rang. When she checked it, she saw that it was Leslie. Oh, right, she reminded herself—tomorrow was Wednesday, her first scheduled day with Ellie. She pressed the button to answer. “Hi, Leslie, what’s up? Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “I guess.” Leslie sounded less than enthusiastic. “I just wanted to set up where to meet. And to set a few ground rules. Ned there?”

  “Yes, he is. You want me to put you on speaker?”

  “Might as well, so I don’t have to repeat myself.” Leslie sighed.

  Abby sat down at the table and put her phone between her and Ned. “Go ahead.”

  “This is for both of you. I have not told Ellie about her connection to Ned. I haven’t found the right time, and she’s pretty young still. I’m asking that neither of you says anything to her. If she asks any awkward questions, tell her to talk to me. Agreed?”

  “Leslie,” Ned broke in, “I don’t expect to see Ellie at all, so that’s probably not a problem. Unless you want me to spend time with her?”

  “Not now, not yet. Maybe later. I want her and Abby to sort out this thing they have.”

  “Leslie,” Abby said, “this is not something that I can wrap up in one conversation. And I haven’t been planning to jump right in. I want to get to know her a little better. If she asks any questions, I’ll try to answer them in terms she’ll understand, but I won’t bring it up. Is that all right?”

  “I guess. What do you plan to do tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t really made any plans,” Abby said, feeling guilty: she’d been off chasing ghosts. “What does she like to do?”

  There was a silence at Leslie’s end. “Oh, God, I spend so much time at work I don’t even know what she’s interested in. She likes to read, and reads well above her grade level. She doesn’t like girly things like shopping at malls. Sometimes she likes making things—maybe you can teach her to knit or something. Do you know how to knit?”

  “The basics. Look, I’m sure we’ll find something to do. When do you want me to meet you?”

  They settled on the details of pickup and drop-off, without any further discussion of anything more serious. It was an odd negotiation, Abby reflected. Leslie clearly would be happier if Abby had nothing to do with her precocious child, but she was a good enough mother to know that she needed Abby’s help. They’d just have to take it one week at a time.

  When Abby had hung up, Ned asked, “You aren’t going to drag Ellie into the whole Salem thing, are you?”

  “No. Why would I do that? Plus, Leslie would go ballistic and never let me see Ellie again, or at least until she’s eighteen.”

  “Good point. It’s tricky, isn’t it?”

  “That it is.” In so many ways.

  • • •

  Dinner made, dishes done, Abby retreated upstairs, deliberately avoiding her laptop. She had a lot of information now, and a lot of it conflicted. She had a unique perspective, but was it presumptuous to believe she could add something to the ongoing debate? But then, she wasn’t doing it for attention or fame or money: she just wanted to know. Why not?

  Ned joined her after a while. “Can we try something?” he asked, sounding unusually tentative.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, you know that when we touch, things kind of get amplified, at least when we’re seeing them.”

  “Yes. Like we boost each other. Why?”

  “I’m wondering whether you can share what you’ve seen—particularly what you saw today—after the fact?”

  “You mean, like play it back in your head? I don’t know—that sounds kind of unlikely.”

  “I know, but I thought it was worth trying.”

  “I’m happy to try, particularly if it involves some skin-to-skin contact. Okay, that sounds kind of smarmy, but you know what I mean.”

  “I do. And it’s a win-win situation, don’t you think?”

  “I do.”

  Touching Ned had been a joy from the beginning, once she had sent Brad packing—she did have some scruples, even if Brad was the one who had betrayed her—and then had overcome her surprise at the shock of touching, the first few times. She had to admit that the first time they had made love, the experience had been overwhelming. How did that compare to what she had experienced today? The circumstances were different, but they might be equally strong. She could sort of see what Ned was trying to do.

  They lay side by side, in the dark. “What do we do now? Should I think about Salem? Or do you think about it?”

  Abby smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Ned, I have no idea. I’ve never done this, remember? And I can’t summon up ghosts at will—they’re kind of linked to a place, and they don’t travel far. You know that.”

  “Then is this pointless?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m like a human DVD—those are just impulses recorded on plastic, right? That make pictures and sound, with enough electronic equipment? So maybe I’ve got a file copy of what I saw stored somewhere in my head, one that I can share. Let’s find out.”

  She reached out a hand, and Ned took it and wrapped his around it, bringing their twined hands to his chest. It was dark, and warm; a slight breeze blew in through the open windows . . . and stirred the corpses hanging from the trees. Abby gasped, and Ned’s grip tightened on her hand as he pulled her closer. Did he feel it too?

  “Hannah, don’t do this,” Samuel said, trying to pull her away.

  “She was my aunt. It is not right to leave her here.”

  “You can’t help her now. It will go badly if the constable finds us here.”

  “And my mother?”

  “She still lives. There is still hope. Come away.”

  Abby sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, her face wet. Ned followed. “Abby?”

  “Did you feel that? See that?”

  “I think so. Who where they?”

  “Samuel Barton and his wife, Hannah. My ancestors. The bodies of the witches were left hanging on Gallows Hill for a while, to send a message to the people of Salem—they could see that hill from the town. One of them was Rebecca, Hannah’s aunt. Her mother was already under arrest, but she was in prison in Boston, not Salem. Ned, why could we see them? Salem’s miles from here.”

  “They were touching. Maybe they had this thing too, and they amplified each other.”

  “Which would mean this came through Hannah, rather than Samuel?”

  “Or both.”

  Abby went on without hearing. “And if Hannah had it, did her mother? Did all the Towne sisters? Oh, my God. No wonder . . .”

  “No wonder people called them witches?” Ned finished her thought.

  22

  They slept fitfully, due to both the close contact that neither of them wanted to relinquish and to the disturbing images they had somehow managed to share. Abby woke up early but groggy and realized that she had to meet Leslie and Ellie in Concord in less than two hours. It hardly seemed fair to Ellie, to offer her only a befuddled Abby at half strength, but she wasn’t about to cancel. She slid carefully out of bed, trying not to wake Ned, and padded off to shower, hoping it would help clear her head.

  She was downstairs in the kitchen
with a half-empty cup of strong coffee when Ned ambled down the back stairs and dropped into a chair opposite Abby. “What happened last night?”

  “Apart from the obvious? We—that is, you and I together—saw two people who died three hundred years ago, who were also together, and we saw what they saw. That’s the best I can do. Do not ask me to explain it because I can’t, but at least I know who those people are. See, it could be worse.”

  Ned got up and filled a cup of coffee for himself, then returned to the table. “I’m embarrassed to say it, but some small part of me didn’t believe you before. I apologize.”

  “I accept your apology. I’ve never had that happen either. If we had a rule book for this phenomenon, we’d be rewriting it like every other day. I’m so glad you’re in this with me! And your mother.”

  “It’s a lot easier with a support group, even if it is only three people. Today’s your day with Ellie? You worried about it?”

  “Yes, and maybe. She and I have always gotten along well, but obviously some things have changed, and it’s kind of like a minefield, with all the things I can’t say, or don’t want to say. I have to keep reminding myself how young she is. I remember myself at her age, and I was pretty independent, but I’ve probably also forgotten a lot of the bad stuff, and I have no idea what my mother would say about any of it. So all I can really go by is my own memories. As I recall it, I used to do some pretty weird things, like excavating an old dump, just like Ellie, or going exploring in some places where I probably shouldn’t have been. But I usually had one or another friend along. It bothers me that Ellie doesn’t seem to have friends.”