“She will hunt us all,” a man shouted through the repeating chants. “She should be hanged for her treason.”
My hands gripped the window sill and my nails dug into the wood—grasped so intently the splintered wood jabbed into my skin, nearly drawing blood. My heart pounded, thumping so hard, the pulse deafened my ears.
“Come on, men. Let us seize her!”
Please, God, please, no.
My shoulders stiffened and braced for the knock on my door. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. The voices began to fade. I opened my eyes. Not a single soul protested in front of my wooden gate, the crowd had vanished in the distance.
My trembling fingers slipped from the window sill. My knees buckled and I collapsed. My head slammed against the floor and pain spread across my scalp.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
My body heaved with my heavy breaths. My vision blurred.
Chaotic thoughts swirled through my mind—the unknown and known of my haunted memories. I pressed my forehead into the floor boards, and through my sobs, both relief and horror spread over me.
The villagers traveled toward a home to accuse a woman of witchcraft.
And, the woman was not me.
I slowly tilted my head and glanced at the vine resting beside me. What would I hath done if Reverend Perris knocked on my door? What would he hath done if he saw the black magic sitting in the corner of my home?
I rose to my feet, fetched a knife from the kitchen, and strode toward the green and black adversary, a foe I must destroy.
Please, God, send it away. Send it away from here.
Screams echoed in the distance, pulsating though my ears and silencing my prayers. I dropped the knife. It plunged to the floor, nicking my foot with the sharp blade as it bounced.
The crowd had found their victim—their proclaimed witch.
I fetched my bonnet off the bed rail and tied the laces as I sprinted from my home and down the road, following the shouts from afar. Wind ripped through the laces of my bonnet, tugging on the strands.
The townsfolk gathered in front of Deacon Goodwin’s home. Their torches still burned, the flames blazed and left a smoky haze in the air.
“Give them justice. Kill the witch.” Their chants vibrated through my ears.
Reverend Perris and Sheriff John Corwin stood poised on the porch next to Deputy Jonathan Cloyce, who held the end of the rope tied around Titana’s neck. An acquaintance of my mother, I had known the Goodwin’s housemaid for far too many years to count.
“Give them justice. Kill the witch.”
Deacon Goodwin and his wife lingered on the porch, too, on the other side of Reverend Perris. Tears streamed down Mrs. Goodwin’s cheeks. With her arms wrapped tight around her waist, her body trembled and swayed as she sobbed. Her eyes fixed upon the ground.
Closer and closer, I crept toward the crowd.
“I demand justice,” shouted Deacon Goodwin. “My girls lay chained to their beds for fear they will hurt themselves. I demand her life.”
With his words, the screams of two young girls echoed from the open window of the home. The hair on the back of my neck stood as I clutched my throat. Each new scream from the window silenced more of the crowd until the once shouting horde all rested in the same horrified silence as me, listening to the girls.
I waited along the edge of the crowd and my eyes darted from face to face, as I searched for one in particular. Did James travel alongside the townspeople, demanding for a woman’s death? Was he here?
I finally found him not but several feet from me. He returned my gazed with, not only a confused expression, but also one of a deep sense of worry that twisted in my stomach. Within seconds, he slinked through the crowd closer to me, hesitating every few steps to watch those around us before he continued.
As sudden as he appeared at my side, he glided around me, halting not quite at my side, but a little in front of and as close to me as possible in a protective pose.
“They were last seen with her,” Deacon Goodwin shouted once more. “She cursed them. She be a witch and she cursed my daughters with her devil powers. She wanted to finish the job Gladys Hawthorne never finished.”
The sound of my mother’s name stabbed at my heart. My eyes darted to the ground as I tucked my hair behind my ears.
Reverend Perris held up his hand to silence Deacon Goodwin as Sheriff Corwin faced the slave woman. “Titana, on this day, April fourth, sixteen hundred and ninety-two, there being complaint this day made before us by Deacon Thomas Goodwin and his wife, Matilda, on behalf of the magistrates of themselves and several of their neighbors, against Titana, their slave maiden, for high suspicion of sundry acts of witchcraft done and committed upon the bodies of Abigail and Sarah Goodwin. You are therefore, in the magistrate’s name, accused, arrested, and will face a trial. What saith you?”
I, along with the entire crowd, waited for the old woman to speak. She remained motionless with her eyes closed and humming a loud tune through her tightly closed lips. Her body swayed in agitation, and she shook her head a few times without uttering a single word. Her abnormal behavior heightened everyone’s anxiety.
All of the other accused women, my mother included, cried their innocence, screaming at the top of their lungs over and over again, and yet, Titana said not a single word.
“What saith you?” Sheriff Corwin pressed once more.
In one bold, swift movement, Titana’s arms shot into the air. She opened her eyes, flung her head backwards, dropped to her knees, and started whaling.
“The devil cometh to me. He visith me as a pig. He visith me as a dog. He is inside me, and me’ll cast him inside all you.”
Horrified screams echoed all around me. People recoiled from the fence line. They shoved those behind them. Mass chaos struck even more fear. Children were knocked to the ground while mothers screamed and fathers scrambled to yank them up before they were trampled.
Deacon Goodwin jerked Mrs. Goodwin behind him, shielding her with his body. As Reverend Perris brandished his Bible, the sheriff and deputy lunged for the slave woman and grabbed her.
I retreated away from the scene with my hand clutched around my throat. Why did the old woman not claim innocence? Did she lie? If she did, why would anyone lie about such a profound accusation? If she did not lie, then did witches truly live among us? Questions and emotions upturned my whole world.
James glanced over his shoulder. A look of deep worry spread across his face as my eyes locked onto his. He followed me, but I held up my hands and shook my head. He halted after his first step.
“You mustn’t.” My whisper only mouthed across my lips.
A pained scowl twisted through his lips. His hands rested on his hips as he glanced away for a second then gave a slight shake to his head as if to protest with disagreement.
My eyes dropped to the dirt road, unable to stomach his disappointment.
Back on the porch, Deputy Cloyce fetched a few more ropes from a bag sitting at his feet. He and Sheriff Corwin tied Titana’s wrists and shackled her legs before gagging her with a rag and covering her head with a burlap cloth.
He yanked on the rope around her neck to follow him as he trudged down toward the crowd. His pace too fast for her shackled feet, she stumbled to the ground. Instead of pausing, he continued his pace, dragging her along the road.
With the sight of her limp body dragging through the dirt and rocks, I spun on my heel and scurried for my house. Tears filled my eyes and with no control over them, they streamed down my cheeks. I shoved though my tiny gate and the front door, slamming it shut behind me as I crumbled to the floor.
Moments later, the crowd passed my house on their way with Titana to the courthouse.
“Justice, justice, justice.” Their shouts vibrated through the wal
ls and into my lungs, booming and thunderous, the volume triggered horrifying memories.
I slapped my hands over my ears and pressed with the force of a vise to drown out their words. My body trembled.
A gentle rap knocked on the back door—familiar in tone—and my stomach twisted. The thought of seeing him, of all people, overwhelmed me. I rose to my feet, wiped my tear streaked cheeks, and tip-toed across the room. I opened the door, just a crack wide enough for my face to peek through the frame.
Concern brewed a storm in James’s eyes, and worry wrinkled through his furrowed brow in a deep crease in his forehead.
“What doth thou desire, Mr. DeKane.” My voice barely over a whisper held indifference.
He frowned. “I only wish to see you.”
“Not today.” My eyes darted to the ground. “And, not tomorrow. You should not visit me at all, Mr. DeKane. You . . . you just should not come here.”
“But, here is the only place I desire to be.”
SIX
I opened the door a little wider, and retreated few steps to allow him passage, just as I did the night before.
“And, please, just call me James, if you do not mind,” he smiled.
I shut the door behind him, the click echoed among my four walls, and I spun around on my heel to face him. Mere inches from me, the heat from his body warmed my own cold skin.
His breath heavy with concern, an anxious concern so focused upon me that I caught my breath. He stared into my eyes and his intense gaze sent my heart racing. I glanced away from his stare, and then met his eyes again—a perfect shade of blue that captivated me deeply.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to speak as I pressed my back against the wood door.
He moved even closer to me, his body nearly pressed into mine. For a single second, he lifted his arms as though he intended to wrap them around me. I inhaled another deep breath and he withdrew just as quickly as he advanced. He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his blond strands.
Relief and regret stirred through my blood in an odd twist of wanting him to stay and wanting him to leave. I looked away as I fought my own desire to embrace him, instead, and find comfort in warm, strong arms. I needed such a safe place. I needed him.
One can only be strong before strife consumes, breaking the ties that bind them and keep them tucked away from all around. My strength wavered every day, but today felt different. Today, the pain overwhelmed me more with the ever-present conflict of casting the façade that nothing perturbed me. That I lived a happy life in a town I loathed. That I did not wake every morning with the gut-wrenching feeling of loneliness.
I met his gaze once more. For one fleeting moment, the thoughtless notion to vent my anger growled inside me. Could he be the release I desired? Could he hear my secrets and keep them to himself? Could I trust him with the turmoil deep inside me?
“Would thou care for some tea? I can get the water on the fire for us,” he mumbled.
Before I could agree or disagree, he strode across to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets in search of whatever he needed.
“Can I help you find anything?” I asked with a slight smirk toward his comfort in my home.
James glanced up at me from his kneeled position in front of my pantry cabinet and smiled. “To be honest, yes.”
I chuckled a little under my breath and pointed to the cabinet. “The tea is on the second shelf, the kettle and water are near the fireplace.”
After he fetched my kettle, he ladled water into it until it overflowed, then hooked the handle over the small fire in the fireplace. He threw another log onto the fire, and prodded the white hot and burnt chunk of wood already burning to reposition it around the new kindling.
The old charred piece of oak popped and a fleck of ash flew through the air and landed on the floor. It burned orange for a few seconds before turning black, and smoking, until James kicked it back into the hearth.
By now, Titana sat in the courthouse for questioning or huddled in the chamber of the prison house. Perhaps, even the same chamber my mother had lived her last days.
Tiny rooms with lonely bars that choked out any hope the ones condemned would ever see anything other than the cold hard iron. At least, not until their the ill-fated day the Deputies dragged them out past the town bridge to Gallow Hills, across from Trask’s Mills, and they hung until their deaths.
My rump slid into one of chairs around my table. The wood creaked under my weight as I struggled, and failed, to fight the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Emmalynn?” James slid into the chair across from me. He leaned forward to clutch my hands, but I jerked them away and held them up as if to block his words from my ears.
“Emmalynn?”
I hid my face, burying it in my hands. More than anything in the world, I detested crying in front of another.
James kicked the chair out from underneath him and knelt in front of me. He wrapped his arms tight around me, and his broad shoulders enveloped mine.
A powerful struggle of war raged in my heart, my mind, my soul. An essence of absolute sin against the comforting surrender to shield out my agony that I hath yearned for, for so long.
“My apologies,” I whispered. “I do not mean to cry on thy shoulder.” I drew away from his arms and wiped the tears from my cheeks.
“You do not hath to apologize. I only wish to know what troubles you.” He clasped both of my hands in his. “Were you close acquaintances with Titana?”
“She knew my mother, and she always watched out for Jeb when he visited my home to help with chores.”
“Watched out for him?”
“I am not regarded well in the Goodwin home, and Jeb would hath faced serious punishment for aiding me. I cautioned both of them about telling untruths, but they never listened.”
“Certainly, you do not believe you are to blame.” His eyebrows furrowed as he squeezed my hands. “Emmalynn, you could not hath prevented the girls from—”
“I know what I cannot prevent those girls from.” I jerked my hands away from his and leaned away from him. “I hath suffered in silence, never allowed the words of defense that dwell on the tip of my tongue. My life has been lived through the taunts, accusations, and malicious comments, all because of those girls.”
“Gladys.” My mother’s name was a breathless whisper across his lips with the sudden realization of Deacon Goodwin’s cursed words. “His daughters accused thy mother.”
“The memory of that day haunts every second of every waking moment. Bound and gagged, the sheriff yanked her down the street in the name of justice. He demanded she renounce a devil that doth not exist except within the mind of the one trying to convince you they are all you need to follow in this world.” In my rant, I shoved the chair away from James, rose to my feet, and began to pace.
“Doth thou mean Reverend Perris?”
“The reverend, the deacons—all of them.”
I closed my eyes and the memory replicated just as every other time I thought about that day. The house transformed around me into a past version of itself, when two widowed women lived inside its walls, together.
Mother stirred the stew for dinner hanging over the fireplace while I smoothed the blankets across the beds. Her gentle humming echoed with the lullaby she had sung, ever since I could remember.
Empty vases sat on the table, bed side table, and on a few of the shelves on the walls, waiting for the spring flowers to bloom after the harsh winter we survived. Without warning, voices boomed outside the home. We both froze in fear and my mother’s once beaming smile vanished as a loud thud pounded on our front door.
I cast the memory out of my mind as I continued to pace back and forth in front of James.
“On
e day, they hunted an innocent woman, my mother.” I wiped the last of my tears from my cheeks. “In front of another crowd, such as today, while they shouted their chants of justice and damnation, the sheriff read her warrant. Despite her tears and innocence, every one gazed upon her with only disgust in their eyes. She was a witch, she was a damned soul, and they must destroy her.”
The top of the kettle bounced around as the water boiled over and sizzled as it hit the hot flames. My feet pounded the wooden floors, and I fetched the handle, ignoring the burn to the palm of my hand as I set the pot on the table.
“And, now the girls accuse another woman,” I persisted. “Just as before, everyone has once again, fallen prey to their whim and web of lies. The Goodwin sisters know the damage they cause, playing into the fickle, weak minds of adults who believed them.”
“I did not know ‘twas them until today.”
“My mother was their governess, and they spewed their lies not but a day after she refused them a few sweet sugar cubes that Deacon Goodwin received from a distant acquaintance.”
I inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths to regain what little composure I could. “They pitched quite an outburst, covering their ears and screaming for no reason in the courtroom as though she cursed them while she begged for her innocence and I screamed for a fair trial.”
I paused, snorting a laugh before continuing again. “Ha, fair trial. Why I thought I could demand for one, I do not know. The judge decided his choice before his eyes even befell upon her. No one rebels against the church in this town, no one.”
Finally, I glanced at James, who sat at the table with his arms folded in his lap. His expression almost confused, and yet, a held whisper of enjoyed amusement. He did not expect the sea of resentment I discarded upon him. My defiance piqued his interest, and the hint he loved every minute of it gleamed in his eyes.
When the Black Roses Grow Page 7
