When the Black Roses Grow

by Angela Christina Archer

  “He doth not belong to another.”

  “If you wish to believe that.” Her shoes scuffed along the dirt as she paced her cell. Her bitterness seethed through her clenched jaw. “I played such a fool once, too. And, do you know what happened? All of the nights we shared, all of the love and happiness we left . . . now, the father of the baby growing in my belly, lies in a shallow grave amongst the condemned.”

  “My apolo—”

  “I do not need thy apologies.” Tears streamed down her face. “I need thy distraction. Tell me a story. Tell me an untruth if thee must. Tell me anything to keep me from going mad in my own mind.”

  “A New England Autumn.” I spun around to face her with a half-smile across my lips. “With all the colors of red, orange, brown, and the deep maroon, so rich in color one would think they were dreaming. That is what I will miss.”

  Gratitude glinted through her eyes and she inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I always preferred the spring and planting my garden.”

  “Fresh, warm baked bread.”

  “A hearty stew or an occasional goblet of wine.” For the first time a smile spread across her lips. “One time, John—” As she silenced her thought, her smile vanished. “I suppose . . . I suppose I shall see him again, soon.”

  “He wished for you to know that he loved you.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand as she nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks once more, and with one swift movement, she spun away from me and curled up on the floor next to the wall.

  A weight lay heavy upon my chest—the weight of suppression and the weight of death, both mocking me within an inch of my sanity. The walls closed in upon me as I glanced toward the window.

  The black velvet sky began to change into a dull gray that lightened before my eyes. Soon the yellow and orange would drown out the colorless dreary sky, or perhaps, pink and purple with a hint of blue as the sun rose from its slumber, bringing warmness, and yet, sadness all at the same time.

  Was this how my mother felt? Were these the last thoughts in her mind as she sat in this very spot? The unspoken emotions she surely hid from me, but such did not surprise me. Why would any mother wish for their children to face their pain? They would not, and neither did she.

  Always the calm presence as I cried, screamed, and ranted through her conviction and death. She smiled and held my hands through the iron bars as she spoke her soft words of comfort, that until this very moment, I never truly heard. Listening through ears when thy heart is full of pain cannot compare to listening through ears when thy heart is full of fear.

  Stay strong, my dear, and stay brave. You are loved by me and you are loved by God. Hold on to Him—let Him into thy soul to guide you when you need Him the most.

  Her ghostly words echoed and I exhaled all breath from my lungs as I closed my eyes.

  Hold on to Him.

  The door of the prison flew open with such a force it slammed into the outside wall and shook the dirt from the ceiling. Along with all the other women in their chambers, I flinched and clutched my throat to stifle a scream.

  Dust particles floated all around as Sheriff Corwin strode down the hallway dragging a thick, black mess of rope behind him. The anger in his thunderous stomps reverberated through the walls and all the women cringed and cried out in fear as he passed them. They all hid in the corners with their arms wrapped around one another or themselves.

  I retreated away from the bars as Sheriff Corwin drew nearer and nearer with every stride. Step after step, I backed away until my back hit the wall, and I pressed my body close against it.

  Sheriff Corwin twisted a brass key in my chamber’s lock and stepped inside, dragging the blackened mess behind him.

  “Do you wish to explain this?” He heaved the ropes at my feet.

  Only, they were not ropes.

  As the vine brushed against my legs, my lungs gasped for breath. Speechless, my eyes traced every inch. Although, slightly withered, the black roses still bloomed perfectly, and the leaves, now as black as the roses, danced with the movement before settling down and lying flat against the stem of the vine.

  Different than when I had severed the stem before.

  “I do not—”

  “Do not speak untruths to me.” Sheriff Corwin paced in front of me. His voice boomed and more dust particles fell from the ceiling. His eyes locked upon me, twitching.

  “’Tis a weed that grew in my home through a hole in my floor.”

  “That is not a weed.”

  “I do not know . . . I assumed it was a weed. It appeared out of nowhere. I cut it several times, and planned to hath it plucked by the roots—”

  “It did not hath roots.”

  “I do not know—”

  He lunged forward and wrapped his cold fingers around my neck as he pressed me against the wall. “Do not speak untruths to me, you witch.”

  Pain spread through the back of my head and his fingers tightened around my neck.

  Hatred flickered through his eyes as his spittle hit my face, and he growled under his breath. “To think, I wondered if you were innocent angers me even more. The first of thy kind to hath such evil command of the mind, I suppose. No witch has ever made me question my thoughts toward them, and for a second you played me for a fool. Well, I shall play the fool no longer.”

  “I am not a witch, and I do not know what the plant is.”

  “You act as though I would believe you now.”

  He released my neck and retreated away from me. Deputy Thomas, who followed behind Sheriff Corwin, perched with his hands poised to grab me should I offer any resistance.

  I remained pressed into the wall, unable to move even if I wanted to—the fear overpowered me too much. I glanced at the darkened vine lying motionless on the floor. The old friend turned enemy, now haunted me more than it had in the confines of my home.

  Sheriff Corwin paced in the chamber as he rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Back and forth, back and forth, he either muttered words I could not hear, or growled under his breath.

  I stared at the crevices in the floor. Thought evaded my mind. Air evaded my lungs, barely able to breathe through the tailspin happening around me. Sickness swirled in my stomach, toying with the notion to retch what little bread James had given to me hours ago.

  The door flung open once more, slamming again into the outside wall again as Reverend Perris strode across the threshold with Deacon Pruett in tow.

  Unable to control myself another second, my knees and hands hit the floor and I lost the bread from my stomach.

  Sheriff Corwin leaped backward toward the chamber door while Deputy Thomas lunged forward to protect him. Reverend Perris charged down the hallway toward us as he waved his Bible in his hand.

  “What did she do? What happened?”

  “’Tis nothing, men.” Sheriff Corwin waved off Deputy Thomas’s protective stance and Reverend Perris’s worried tone.

  “What lies upon the floor?” Reverend Perris pointed to the vine.

  “Black magic.” Sheriff Corwin snorted with an amused profound level of arrogance, as though he captured and restrained the devil himself. “I found it in the witch’s home.” He pointed toward me.

  I rose to my feet and once again pressed my body to the wall of the chamber.

  Reverend Perris glared at me and an evil smile spread across his lips. The moment he had waited for, for who knows how long. The moment that hath licked at his deepest desires and spread through his bones, the very evil he swore others possessed. He now had me on the cusp as death waited for me with open arms. His ultimate revenge, even though he claimed he never sought any for himself.

  “I told you she was a witch.” Deacon Pruett raised his Bible into the air just as Reverend Perris had, and pointed it at m
e. “We should not waste time or a trial on this vile creature. She should burn at the stake for the sins she has committed.”

  With Deacon Pruett’s words, the vine slithered across the ground and twisted in upon itself. The once black stem lightened into a healthy shade of green, along with the leaves, and yet the roses remained black. Large sharp thorns sprouted from the vine as it glided along the floor toward me.

  “She summoned it.” Reverend Perris’s shouted words were barely audible over my own screams that echoed and deafened my ears. “We must destroy her or she will destroy us all.”

  The vine continued to slither across the floor, encircling me in a half moon shape as it attached to the walls and grew toward the ceiling to form a fortress around me. I dropped to my knees and shielded my face as I screamed over and over again.

  “Wield thy knives! Wield thy knives and sever it.”

  As Sheriff Corwin commanded the men, the vine grew around me, so thick it blinded my vision to everything except for the stem, leaves, and black roses.

  It shut out the world with the thick, sharp thorns that sprouted. Their length far too intimidating to consider touching. The vine hardened, almost solidifying, and yet, when my arm brushed it, only softness swept across my skin. I cringed as tears streamed down my face.

  “Just sever it, we need to seize her. We need to seize her now.”

  Knives slashed the vine. It recoiled slightly with every swipe, then burst, growing thicker stems as if to fight against the men. Flashes of silver cut through the green as the knife blades slashed and carved through the plant; a battle waged by determined captors who gained headway as a hole appeared in the mesh of vines. One blade’s swipe caught the sleeve of my dress, slicing the material and grazing my arm. Terror overshadowed my pain as blood trickled from the shallow wound.

  The vine’s hole at my elbow grew wider. A hand slipped through and wrapped tight around my arm. With several hard yanks, my captor ripped me from the plant’s confinement—the sharp thorns vanished from the stem with my touch.

  “Come here, Witch.” Sheriff Corwin restrained my arms as I struggled.

  Other vines sprouted, and wrapped themselves around my arms and legs to draw me back into the protection of the fortress. Reverend Perris slashed at them, as Deputy Thomas apprehended me and heaved me out of the chamber.

  “’Tis her protection. Do not allow her near it.”

  Deputy Thomas obeyed the sheriff’s command and dragged me down the hallway. Horrified screams echoed from the women left inside as everyone fled the building—so certain the vine of black magic would harm them.

  As I lay in the dirt, Sheriff Corwin shackled my arms and legs in chains. The cold iron dug into my skin with the clicks of the locks and pain spread through my wrists and ankles.

  “You will not escape from us, Witch.” He released my chained limbs and a smile spread across his lips. He hath claimed victory over the devil, capturing the employed soul. Another damned, condemned under his watchful eye. Another witch hunted. Another triumph to boast about to the townsfolk of Salem.

  I drew my legs to my chest as I lay on the ground, curled up. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I sobbed and stuttered through my words as I repeated them. “I . . . am not . . . a . . . witch.”

  “We cannot risk a trial or any time wasted with this witch on the loose. She has too much power.” Reverend Perris’s lungs heaved from the strain of his fight.

  “Reverend Perris is right,” agreed Deacon Pruett.

  Sheriff Corwin glanced between the two men and me, and repeated the pattern—his own lungs heaved from his struggle. He grabbed my dress and jerked me to my feet.

  My legs wobbled under my weight as I stood there.

  “Townspeople expect a trial. The magistrate expects a trial.”

  “Blast what the townspeople think.” Deacon Pruitt’s boots scuffed through the dirt and kicked up puffs of dust that tickled my nose as he strode around me. “We hath enough evidence against her to prove that a trial is not required.”

  “I do not want to agree, but I am afraid I must. Summon the townspeople. We need as many as we can to witness.” Sheriff Corwin ran his hands through his hair and motioned to Deputy Thomas. “Fetch the wagon. We shall escort her to Gallow Hills.”

  Reverend Perris hesitated, clicking his tongue while he tapped his index finger against his temple. “With all due respect, Sheriff, she has demonstrated far too much capability for a simple hanging. Fire is the only way to rid the earth of her wickedness.”

  “I beg thy pardon, Reverend, did . . . did you say fire?” With his eyes wide, the sheriff stumbled over a few words.

  “The devil writhes in her with hatred and supremacy. If we do not burn her at the stake, we will all suffer and die by his wrath. She will not depart from this earth by the noose. She will only depart from this earth by fire.”

  My knees buckled and hit the dirt, followed quickly by my hands, as I collapsed to the ground. My breath thieved from my lungs, as though punched with some imaginary force.

  “I am not a witch.”

  All four men ignored my desperate declaration uttered with blinding tears. I could not comprehend. I could not reason. My mind numb—far too, paralyzed by the sheer terror spreading through my veins. An unimaginable horror that no one should face, now left at my feet to bear witness and claim the burden.

  “But, we hath never burned a witch. Are you certain of thy convictions, and that such will not cause the town hardship and suffering?”

  Reverend Perris glared at me, studying my petrified, wide eyes. With his hand outstretched, he slowly approached, wrapping his fingers around my arm. As sudden as his touch, he jerked and hollered in pain, holding onto his wrist as though someone had just severed his hand.

  “She burns with fire and hatred. I saw the devil inside of her and the vile thoughts in his mind. Fire is all that will kill him.”

  “He lies. He is telling nothing but lies.” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sobbed, stuttering through my denial. “He lies.”

  “Gag her before she casts her black magic.”

  With the reverend’s warning, Sheriff Corwin yanked a rag from his pant pocket, rolled it, and shoved it in my mouth. The thick cotton tasted of candle wax and soap, while the stench of age and little washing burned my nose. After several hard jerks, he secured it and tied the ends tight around my head while I screamed against this new assault.

  “Our Lord in Heaven has spoken to me, Sheriff, warning me of her sins. She must burn.”

  I met the reverend’s gaze. My eyes mirrored the hatred they saw—a hatred that glimmered in the dark brown that I loathed so much. Unfortunately, for me, he held my fate in his hands. He would decide my destiny. He had the authority to secure my death.

  And, I was powerless to deter him.

  I cowered in the dirt as the men reigned over me. Only able to manage tiny, gasped breaths, my body trembled.

  Death mocked me. Death laughed at me. Waiting for me, the new flesh for his sacrifice, with a malevolent smile as he rubbed his hands together and licked his lips.

  How does one face such a horror without growing insane? An uncontrollable insane that caused them to attempt to claw out of their own skin, rip their hair from their head, or take their own life before evil souls could take it from them instead. My body crumbled until I laid the dirt, weak, numb, I could not speak, could not move.

  I lay motionless, living out the last minutes of my life.

  SEVENTEEN

  My tears dripped from my chin and fell to the dirt.

  Bent over and chained to the stock, my knees ached. A burden to my bones, the rocks dug into my skin and cut through my stockings. Voices echoed around me as the townspeople bustled about the town square where Sheriff Corwin began constructing the fire pit.

 
For the past several hours, he had beckoned for stones and wooden boards. His pleas followed with instructions and demands for a quicker pace. Unrest and anxiety spurred everyone in town. They wanted rid of the devil’s powerful servant that could curse them at any moment.

  “Witch,” sneered a young boy’s voice.

  A hard thump smacked against the side of my face, and juice squirted through my hair. The sweet, juicy smell of the tomato stuck in the strands.

  I craned my neck to spy toward three young boys who laughed at me from mere feet away. One of them carried a few other tomatoes in his hand, and all of them glared at me with a hatred I only witnessed in adults, never children.

  “Pa says thee are set to burn,” another one of them said. “So, thee can burn back to Hell with the devil.”

  All three laughed again, while the one holding the tomatoes pitched another.

  I jerked my head and struggled to shield my face, but the stock confined me just enough to hinder my attempt. Helpless and unable to move, the perfect sitting target sat at their disposal. The second tomato thwacked against my head. Juice splattered once again through my curls and dripped to the ground as the fruit oozed.

  “Boys!” a voice warned. “Now there will be none of that today.”

  I twisted my neck just in time to see Deputy Thomas wave the boys off. They laughed as they trotted away.

  My shame outweighed my torture. The town disgrace: tormented, humiliated, persecuted, and left to wait out the final moments of my life on my cowering knees, locked in a stock. Alone, and without the knowledge of James’s whereabouts, my vulnerability consumed me.