When the Black Roses Grow

by Angela Christina Archer

  “Then I must leave,” I whispered.

  “Please stay. Please. For me, for us. Forget about Logan and just stay.”

  “I will only stay if you tell me the truth.”

  His eyes locked onto mine.

  TWELVE

  “Is that all you need?” I asked Adalene as the milk poured from my pail to hers.

  She studied me with piercing eyes that twitched a few times as though she sought to read my mind. Questions lurked and rested on the tip of her tongue, and yet, she did not ask them.

  I ignored her gaze, unable to bear the silent concern. “Good day to thee, then,” I whispered, hoping the nod in her direction would hint my request for her to leave.

  A hint she did not take.

  Instead, she remained silent and motionless with her head cocked to the side and her eyes fiercely locked upon me, unrelenting through their blue shade.

  I groaned under my breath and retreated out of the cow pen. The wooden gate squeaked behind me as I shut it.

  “Sorrow hath replaced thy happiness.” Her words finally broke her silence as she called after me. “And, loneliness hath consumed thy heart.”

  I halted in my footsteps and closed my eyes. A truth I did not wish to face today now nipped at my heels. I shrugged my shoulders and glanced up at the leaves of the trees fluttering in the wind.

  “Such should be my choice, if I desire to be unbound by sin, and not shame my mother and father. This is the life you demanded of me, is it not?” I waited for an answer she did not bestow.

  But, such did not matter.

  “He took me to visit his home.” I spun on my heel to face her. “Did you know that? He desires to share his life with me, and . . . and . . .” A sudden thought silenced me. My choice to leave him yesterday and the pain of my heartbreak existed because of a secret. A secret that I could not divulge because it was kept from me.

  But, even if he had revealed the truth, I still could not hath told her.

  “And?” Adalene asked.

  “I told him I wanted him to leave me alone.” My answer rang nothing more than an untruth by omission.

  “Why?”

  “Do you really ask why? After all thy concern and warned pleas? Thou should know why, and should be happy I chose to say the words I never desired to say.”

  “If they are the words you should say, then why bite your tongue?” She stepped forward and clutched the gate in her hand.

  “Because I love him,” I shouted.

  Her eyes widened as she took a step backward and clutched at her throat. “His is not thine to love.”

  I shook my head. “Yes, yes he was.”

  Perhaps, I played the fool for loving him. Perhaps, I dwelled far too long in my dreams of him and the times that I forgot the turmoil we faced, when my mind drifted to a solace void of the strife that could tear us apart. Every facet of him, however much I knew, I loved, and yet, I loved the unknown parts of him, too. They made him, him.

  Just as his secret did.

  I am such a fool.

  “And, you believe Deacon Pruett would bite his tongue and allow you two a lifetime of happiness?”

  I closed my eyes, unable to look at her. “Why do you hold such concern over my actions? Why do you believe you hath the right to say anything to me about my life?”

  “Because thy mother asked me to look after you. She knew the anger in thy soul and she did not want the same fate for you.”

  My eyes opened and locked onto hers. “You believe I did not know her thoughts? I never prayed for the life given to me, and I certainly, did not pray to live in sin. But, such was what I was bestowed, and now, hath recklessly refused.”

  “Choosing to accept what is doth not always follow the path of the desired, but it follows what is right.”

  I thought of the times James and I shared, the stolen moments that no one could thieve from me, and yet, somehow it seemed as though everyone in town had done just that—stolen them and stolen him.

  And, I not only allowed it, but I aided them.

  “I do not wish to live my life according to opinions of others or because of the shame brought upon us for our sins.”

  “Sin overwhelms joy and shame buries memories. Living with them will only cause pain and the desire to forget just to escape the guilt. You should want more for thy life than living with such evils.”

  “Do you not think I know such?” Tears welled in my eyes.

  “Then, accept it and be done. Rarely, in life, are we bestowed our true desires.”

  Her bitter words stung. Blinded by the tears, her blurred silhouette moved toward me. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders and squeezed me tight as I sobbed. Once again, my heart shattered into pieces, so broken, I did not know if it would ever mend.

  “You must forget thy love. Forget it ever existed.”

  But, I do not want to.

  Sudden shouts from the road echoed through the air and drew my attention from my sorrow. I wiped the tears from my cheeks as Adalene’s arms loosened, and we both faced the sound.

  “I wonder what the commotion is about,” I said, trying to distract my thoughts.

  “Perhaps they are hunting another witch.” Her hushed tone oozed fear, and her words punched a hole in my chest as she withdrew away from me.

  “Miss McCa—” Before I could finish her name, she scurried from my sight. The milk in her pail splashed out each side of the bucket from her quick pace.

  As I tiptoed around to the front of my house, outcries and bellows from a rowdy horde resounded against the walls. A mass of chaos and haste that screamed of both excitement and shock from everyone sprinting toward town.

  A few young boys darted past my front fence gate. “Are they really going to do it?” one of them asked.

  “Pa said they are.”

  Do what?

  As if to mirror my own confused curiosity, a couple walking in the opposite direction stopped one of the boys, who hesitated briefly to answer them. Their conversation nothing more than muted words I could not hear in the distance, but their body movements hinted the questions and confusion of the transpiring events in town.

  The young boy pointed and waved his arms as he explained the commotion. The woman covered her mouth as her husband clutched her hand, and they followed quickly behind the young boys, who then continued in a steady pace down the road.

  What in the world was happening?

  I yanked the bonnet from my apron, slipped it over my head, and tied the cotton strings tight against my chin as I trotted down the street.

  Fear pounded in my chest. Townsfolk only gathered when someone accused another person of witchcraft, or worse, when an accused faced their sentencing of a hanging for such a conviction.

  Titana.

  Surely, they had not sentenced her yet, unless of course Deacon Goodwin had demanded it, which would not surprise me.

  My feet halted in my tracks. Could I bear to witness another hanging? Bear watching a woman stand in front of the crowd surrounding her as the deputies placed a noose over her head and tightened it around her neck?

  A brace of men jogged past me, brushing my shoulders with the wind of their speed.

  “They hath to build the box first,” one of them yelled to the other.

  Build the box first?

  Hesitantly, I followed. My hands clutched into fists as I drew deep breaths.

  The assemblage collected in front of the courthouse. Anxiousness clouded the air. Husbands wrapped their arms around their trembling wives while the wives either buried their faces in their hands or folded them in prayer, mumbling silently. Children huddled next to their parents with confused expressions as they clung to their mother’s apron strings.

  Surrounded by the town dea
cons, Sheriff Corwin, Deputies Cloyce and Thomas, and Deacon Goodwin spoke to one another on the steps of the courthouse. Lost in conversation, every few seconds one of them would point toward unorganized piles of wooden boards and heavy stones while the other two either nodded in agreement or shook their heads.

  Other townsmen lingered next to the piles, apparently waiting for instructions. With their hands clasped behind their backs, they glanced at each other every so often. The tension in their shoulders obvious—forced to do a job they did not know if they desired to do.

  After several minutes, Sheriff Corwin jutted his chin, ever so slightly, and the waiting men nodded, then began to organize the material. Boards crashed together, smacking against one another as the men collected them and threw them onto the ground.

  Once separated, the men arranged them into a shape I could not, yet, distinguish, and withdrew hammers from a wooden box sitting next to the courthouse steps. In the heat of the afternoon, sweat soon dripped from their brows and stained their shirts. They did not stop once. Not even for a drink of water.

  Pound . . . Pound . . . Pound . . .

  My body flinched with every strike as they nailed the boards together to make a square with a large crisscross X in the middle. With the box secure, they then nailed wire across the boards in an intricate box pattern.

  Pound . . . Pound . . . Pound . . .

  Once they finished, the men stepped away to appraise their creation. While two of them shook hands and slapped each other on their back, one of them shied away from the box, unable to look upon what he had done. He threw his hammer into the dirt and stomped away from the crowd.

  I glanced around and my eyes befell upon Reverend Perris. With his Bible in one hand, he strode through the townsfolk with a broad smile spread across his lips. His unusual glee twisted in my stomach. The sparkle in his eye one I hath seen before while my mother stood in chains with a noose around her neck.

  I retreated from my watchful site and tiptoed around the crowd to the trees near the side of the courthouse where no one else stood . . . for a good reason.

  Behind the courthouse, barely visible through the chaos, John Coleman knelt on his knees, his body bent over with his head and arms in a stock. Iron cuffs and chains shackled his wrists and ankles.

  Motionless as a statue, he stared at the ground with a fierce determination not to look at anything, other than the dirt and rocks. I glanced from John to the box, then returned to John, and my heart skipped a beat.

  Peine forte et dure.

  Isabelle’s spine-tingling words rang through my memory. Because he hath remained silent regarding the accusations of witchcraft against him and Rebecca, his punishment was not that of a hanging. No, his punishment proved far more horrifying to face—set to be pressed by stones until the crushing weight forced him to confess, or killed him.

  My hands trembled as I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked to see if anyone was watching me. I inched away from the assembly toward him.

  Why had he not said a word? Why would he allow such a fate upon himself?

  I retreated a few more steps, creeping around through the trees until I stood in the middle of the vast bushes just feet from John and out of eyesight.

  My fingers fidgeted with the ties of my bonnet. My heart pounded. My pulse quickened.

  No one will catch me. No one will catch me.

  “Mr. Coleman?” My voice such a whisper, I did not know if he heard me. “’Tis Miss Hawthorne. I am . . . I am in the bushes.”

  What am I doing?

  He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly blew out the breath. “Good day, Miss Hawthorne.”

  “Good day, Mr. Coleman.” I slapped my hand to my forehead.

  Why did I wish a man about to die a good day?

  “Miss Hawthorne, you should not be here. You need to return to thy home. Close the door, close the windows, and enjoy a nice evening away from town. You do not want to bear witness to what I am about to face.”

  “I know I should not be here, and I do not know why I am.”

  “You . . . you should leave,” he paused for a moment and drew in another deep breath. “Wait, before . . . before you go, can you . . . can you do something for me?”

  “Um, certainly you may ask Mr. Coleman, but I . . . I . . . you may ask. Yes, you may ask.”

  “I do not know how you can manage safely, but please, please get word to Rebecca, and convey to her that I love her and I will see her in Heaven when our perils are over.”

  By the time he finished speaking, tears dripped from his nose, and he hung his head and sobbed.

  “I do not know if I can . . . if I can visit her without—”

  “Without accusations, I know. Do not feel you hath to sacrifice thyself to tell her. She knows how I feel, I simply wished for her to hear the words one last time.”

  Shoes crunched through the dirt and gravel from around the side of the courthouse. Sheriff Corwin, Reverend Perris, and the two deputies strolled along the bushes near the place where I hid. They halted next to John, and stood in silence for a moment.

  “Mr. Coleman, are you prepared to say anything yet?” Sheriff Corwin finally asked.

  John said nothing.

  “Mr. Coleman, you do know if you do not speak, we will hath no choice but to sentence you and escort you to the box?”

  John said nothing.

  “You will then be pressed by heavy stones until you confess, or die. ‘Tis an excruciating pain that you do not want to endure, so you might as well just admit to Miss Junior’s witchcraft and we can release you.”

  That’s why he remained silent.

  Through the bush, I glanced toward the prison house where Rebecca mourned from one of the chambers. Heartache pierced my heart. He loved her enough to die to protect her.

  A kind of love I never bore witness to before, and such I only dreamed about ever experiencing. I never wanted to admit it existed—a selfish choice—because I never believed I would be blessed enough to find it.

  However, now the validity of its existence knelt chained and hunched in a stock, and faced a death sentence.

  My eyes fell upon John’s face. With his eyes closed, his tears dripped from his nose and landed in the dirt—the only memory of him that would soon perish along with the man who created them.

  Reverend Perris exhaled a deep breath and drew his Bible to his chest. He began his prayer—words of damnation toward the likes of a person who would defy God in such a hateful way, the condemning words to a man, from a man, whose judgment meant nothing.

  How dare he speak as though he spoke for God?

  My teeth caught on each other as I ground them together, and I gently moved my hands to cover my ears. The bushes rustled a little and I caught my breath as Sheriff Corwin glanced over his shoulder.

  Whether he saw me or not, I did not know. Surely, he would hath reacted if he had, but instead his attention focused on John and Reverend Perris who continued to pray.

  I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer for John, myself—praising his strength, his courage, and his valor. He was a son of Adam and a follower of God, not the condemned soul Reverend Perris claimed of him.

  As Reverend Perris finished, Sheriff Corwin stepped forward once more. “Mr. Coleman, you hath one last chance. Admit that Miss Junior placed a cursed spell upon you and she is a witch, or I will sentence you to be pressed until you either confess or die.”

  I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my cheeks. Because of the warrants of men, in just a mere moment, death would rip love apart in the name of a justice for a crime that did not even exist.

  John continued to remain silent, just as motionless as he had when I approached him.

  “If such is thy wish, then, Mr. Coleman, you hath been charged of treason
for failure to assist in the accusations and arrest of Miss Rebecca Junior. Henceforth, you are sentenced on behalf of Magistrate Elijah Duncan, and by me, Sheriff John Corwin, to be pressed by stones until you either confess thy guilt and knowledge or die.”

  With a flick of the sheriff’s wrist, he motioned to the deputies to unlock the stock and seize the prisoner. John’s legs were still chained together, and his feet shuffled through the dirt as the deputies dragged him toward the courthouse.

  Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris followed close behind. Their muffled conversation muted by the gasps from those who gathered to see such a spectacle.

  I crawled out of the bush and my rump hit the rocky ground. I drew my knees into my chest and buried my face in my hands.

  No one should hath to face their own death or look it straight in the eyes as it waited with its arms spread wide open. The terror that lurked around the corner with his fingers intertwined and an evil smile on his face. He hoped our souls were damned so he can hath them instead of watching them float to heaven. He greeted you with no comfort, only fear—fear of the pain, fear of the sensation, fear of everything known.

  I rose to my feet and stumbled as I tiptoed through the trees toward the crowd. Why I wanted to see the misery, I did not know. Perhaps, I only wanted to see if love would be strong enough to get him through.

  If one could hold on to love tightly, it had to help ease suffering, did it not?

  I shoved my way through the sea of villagers until I stood just feet from the box.

  I prayed for a quick death for John, so he may travel to Heaven to wait for Rebecca.