Captain Putnam’s uniform was torn and the man was bleeding as he climbed up out of the ditch long after his horse had recovered the road.
“Didja see that, Herrick? Eh?” called out Putnam.
“Aye, I saw it.”
“Witchcraft e’en from behind bars, enchanting my mare that way! Herrick, did you see it? Did you? Wizard put a hex on my horse, he did!”
Chapter Thirteen
Soon the ‘afflicted’ child celebrities’ began pointing their deadly, accusing fingers at anyone who had ever said an unkind word to them or theirs, or anyone who had used them badly in any manner. The targets being arrested daily now, included shop owners, innkeepers, mill and lumber workers, and one rumor had it that Deacon Nathaniel Ingersoll angered one of the children and was called out at a cunning wizard himself, but somehow this allegation was quashed by officials, and it went no further.
It remained that certain families and folks who owned choice holdings along the Ipswich Road were most in danger of facing a warrant sworn out against them, and in all subsequent arrests, the ‘geography’ of witch accusations began to take on a well-defined appearance. These accusations remained in Jeremy’s eyes an obvious wrong in and of itself, an indicator that greed tainted this holy war and witch hunt. And that it had been driven by the elections. Elections that had overwhelmingly supported the witch hunters, the incumbents.
“It’s the politics of witchcraft that fuels this ugly fire,” he told Serena where he lay in bed beside her, the darkness outside peeking through the drapes in the room that Ben had vacated for them.
She stroked his cheek where they lay under Francis’ roof. “It’s become obvious that the have-nots are pointing at the haves.”
“Yes, afraid so. Seeking answers to the so-called terrible affliction.”
“I’ve seen the terrible affliction put upon the village’s precious, innocent children, and it is an awful sight.”
“If, and I emphasize if anyone is truly possessed of a demon and in need of exorcism, it is—or hopefully was—little Betty Parris. I saw that awful woman, Goode, with a doll one night soon after I arrived, but at the time I had no idea the significance—not until she accosted him in the street that day at the commons. I should have known then what Goode was up to, and had I sworn out a warrant for her arrest at the time—had her thrown in jail for a witch, it would have ingratiated me with Parris, speeding up my work down there, and it may well have ended any further talk of witchcraft and this hunting the countryside for whole covenants might not have gotten underway! I am the fool in all of this.”
“None of this is your fault, Jeremy! Don’t believe what Mather told you, and stop second-guessing yourself. How could you know at the time that—”
“But again I saw Goode with the doll—a second time, at Samuel’s cabin the night she interrupted us, remember? She’d been scorching the likeness at the hearth before she ran screeching out of the place with it. Perhaps if I’d taken action then—gone to Williard and had her arrested . . .”
“Goode has always been a witch; was raised one, and now her daughter, Dorcas is jailed for one as well—a simpleton. None of this madness is on your head! I won’t hear you say so!”
“I did all I could for Betty and her mother, Serena,” Jeremy mused now, “all the while, Parris was busy feeding his only remaining bed-friends.”
“And who might that be?” Serena was momentarily scandalized.
“Hatred, Suspicion, and Greed. Do you know he continues to chronicle his daughter’s condition—as if it remains a fact she is in Salem and still under her affliction.”
“Keeping a chronicle?”
“Believes one day his notes will be useful. Speaks of writing a treatise on the Invisible World; talks of co-authorship with Reverend Cotton Mather.”
They lay in the dark, the moon peeking in at the window, shards of pale gray light filtering through. “I think you were foolish, Jeremy, trusting in any of them save Nehemia Higginson.”
Jeremy had told her every detail now of how Increase Mather had conferred with Higginson and his son with the plan to get Jeremy into a position to spy on Samuel Parris.
“Serena, I have to again ask you to come away with me.”
“Jeremy, you know that I—”
“Serena, we must leave this cursed place.”
She leapt from bed and turned on him. “I’ll not leave Father and Mother in these circumstances, no. I cannot.”
He got up and crossed the room to where he’d hung his coat. “We have land, a place to go to, and I have completed my work here, and have been offered a land grant in a place where I can hang out a shingle as a barrister and one day become a magistrate.”
She thumped her foot at the window where she looked out on the moon. He joined her and held out the signed deed. She accepted the folded paper with the broken seal and quickly glanced at it and tossed onto the bureau top. “What? Now you’ve gained your payment? Now you wish to run for Connecticut?”
“This is earned over ten years of service! This is no payoff.”
“Coming at this time, it smells the same, and-and if you don’t find it odious, then you’ve closed your senses for the sake of ambition like-like some others ’round here.”
“My ambition is to keep you safe, my love—the same ambition as your mother and—”
“I am not running from this place so long as my mother is condemned a witch! We must continue to fight this, and if it comes to it, we use force, just as Ben and John Tarbell’ve decided.”
A terrible rapping at the door startled them both. Jeremy’s first thought was that the fanatics from the village had come for Serena. The authorities had only to get one of the arrested to state a name and a person would be the subject of a warrant the following day.
“It’s me, Ben! I’ve news for you, Jeremy, Serena!”
Jeremy asked they be given a moment to dress, and when she opened the door; Ben rushed in, his face red, hair wild. “You’re a fool, Jeremy!”
“What’s this about?”
“You thought all along you were sending correspondence back to Boston.”
“I did, sir.”
“To influence the great Mather, or whomever he left in charge.”
“The man opening my mail, yes! What of it?”
“And who might that’ve been exactly? The son? The lesser man, Reverend Cotton Mather?”
“I know that my letters, notes, and observations have had no effect on the younger Mather. Your news is old news to me, Ben, but I’d like very much to know how you came by it.”
“How I came by it? Ingersoll confessed to me.”
“Ingersoll?”
“You did entrust him with your mail, correct?”
“He’s the postmaster, so yes!”
“He’s also in Parris’ pocket and has been for years.”
“Are you saying,” began Serena, “that Jeremy’s sealed letters never arrived in Boston? That Mather had no inkling of Jeremy’s opinions until a few days ago?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Mather said not a word about this fact, why?” Jeremy paced, chin in hand. “Why would he not inform me of it?”
“Perhaps the son of the great and powerful Increase Mather has had a design of his own from the beginning, maybe?” ranted Ben, pacing. “Don’t you see? He’s the one set the Court of Assistants onto the matter from the beginning!”
“Men in high office, circling about like buzzards.” Jeremy met Serena’s stare.
“It’s all been a conspiracy from the beginning.” Serena saw past Jeremy that her father now stood in the doorway.
“No doubt of it anymore. To win the elections—set up his men!”
“Making the high court his,” Jeremy said, shaking his head and angry with himself. “They’ll all who owe him a debt of gratitude now and forever—like me, well paid off, and—”
“Bastards all.” Ben slammed a fist against the wall.
“—a
nd to grab off the lands and reissue land grants,” muttered Jeremy, his eyes going to the piece of paper on the bureau.
Serena’s glare bore into Jeremy now. “And the first went to you!”
“What?” asked Ben.
Francis’ face could not mask his rising anger, frustration, and sense of betrayal.
“I earned that land in Connecticut! Earned it over years of service!” Jeremy paraded the land grant about the room. “Look at it. This is my chance to rid myself forever of Salem, and you with me, Serena!”
“The sitting judges have all signed it.” Serena stood toe to toe with Jeremy.
“Earned it, I tell you, and-and not by condemning anyone! Certainly not your mother, Ben, Serena! If I’ve condemned anyone in my letters it was Parris.”
“Why did Ingersoll confide this news, Ben?” asked Serena, going to Jeremy and standing with him.
“I’m not sure, save to throw us in to dissension with one another, perhaps, or perhaps—”
“Perhaps he’s seen one too many neighbor thrown in prison,” finished Jeremy.
Francis added, “Nathaniel’s a good man at heart, always has been. Seeing all this madness, being in the middle of it daily has to work on a man’s conscience.”
“And recently one of the seer girls pointed her finger at Deacon Ingersoll.” Ben, a smug look of satisfaction coming over him, let out a snicker.
“I’d heard Nathaniel came under fire when he dared speak up for old Nehemia Abbott,” said Francis, who then lit his pipe.
“Abbott’s been thrown in jail for wizardry,” Ben added. “His two gnarled canes and all.” Abbott was well known for using two walking canes when he ventured out, and for his advanced age of eighty-two. Few men lived to be so old, and this proved yet another ‘blessing’ turned inside out—as proof of his consorting with Satan, to live to such an age. He must surely have struck a deal with the black minister of the Antichrist, his signature in the black book for the price of his eighty-two years.
Serena rushed out and into the living room area. The others followed Serena out of the room and into the main room and kitchen where she put on some tea.
“So Parris learned of my true purpose early on,” Jeremy commented. “He must have had something on Ingersoll to get the man to rob the mail. Who can trust in the mail, if the postmaster is in the business of breaking seals?”
“Imagine it,” agreed Francis. “Seals broken, contents read. Letters unsent. All at the behest of that devil in the pulpit.”
“He’s a cunning man, Parris. I’d thought he’d kicked me out due to my meddling in his family affairs with respect to Betty’s affliction, and the things I’d said at Corwin’s that night.”
“He feared others might begin to listen to your more rational diagnosis of his daughter’s condition, the way you tell it,” Serena added as the tea kettle whistled, shooting steam into the air.
“He thought my diagnosis quaint and hardly exotic enough.”
“The man uses his own daughter to gain his ends,” Serena said, pouring each of the men seated about the table a cup of tea. “He’ll stop at nothing till he’s gotten everything he wants.”
“And those are considerable wants,” added Ben.
Francis nodded. “Far more than simple ownership of the parsonage home and lands.”
“Ingersoll says he’s quite angry with you, Jeremy,” Ben spoke between sips, “for convincing his wife to remove herself and her daughter from the village.”
Jeremy recalled how Ingersoll had watched as that little drama had unfolded.
Francis emptied his cup. “Using a captain in the militia, a deacon in the church, and a postmaster for his ends is—small measure compared to using his wife and child.”
“Tell us now, Jeremy,” asked Ben. “About your diagnosis of Betty Parris’ condition. I’ve not heard it.”
“Anne Putnam Junior has been afflicted with the fits her entire life, correct?”
“Always, yes. General knowledge that.”
“Parris comes to live here; Betty is in the company of Anne, sees such fits. Anne is bewitched, or so many tell Betty. Betty, being even younger and smaller, must build up terrible fears of being bewitched and thusly afflicted.” Jeremy sipped at his tea, allowing these facts to sink in. “Then this poor child is convinced by a series of circumstances controlled, I suspect by Tituba Indian and Sarah Goode—adults—that she is bewitched by Goode, who has Betty’s likeness and shows it to her stuck with pins and needles.”
Francis and Ben considered Jeremy’s take on this in silence. Serena had heard it while sharing Jeremy’s bed. Francis piped up. “So little Betty, what seven, six? She falls to fits because she is in mortal fear of precisely that?”
“On learning Goode has bewitched her, yes.”
“A thing driven home by Tituba.” Serena pulled Jeremy into her, him sitting, she standing. “My Jeremy is a wizard himself in a way. Tell them of your suspicions surrounding the arrest warrant for Susannah Martin of Amesbury.”
Francis insisted on knowing what Jeremy knew of this matter.
“Ingersoll talks a lot of gossip; I spent a good deal of time around his inn and apothecary for just such information. He told me a queer old tale one day when I asked after the mental state of Mrs. Putnam, Anne’s mother.”
“She’s an addled woman; has been all the years I’ve known her,” replied Francis. “Go on.”
“Ingersoll said she was haunted by the ghost of her brother Henry, whose body had never known hallowed ground as he’d committed suicide by hanging.”
“It is a familiar story in the village.”
“We heard little of the details,” added Serena.
“Anne Carr, Mrs. Putnam was known then, was much older than Henry and she wielded some influence, as she’d been mother to him—their mother having died in a fire. At any rate, Anne refused to allow Henry the hand of a young woman in marriage, which led to the young man’s hanging himself in the home.”
“That’s about how I recall events.” Francis sighed heavily. “To the point, man.”
“The young woman who’d stolen Henry’s heart, his sister refused—was none other than one who stands accused today, whose name is—”
“I recall, Anne’s having said the woman had bewitched her brother,” interrupted Francis. “She put up a big fuss over his not being buried in church ground at the village. Said it wasn’t fair, that a man who’s committed suicide due to bewitching wasn’t the same as suicide, as he wasn’t entirely doing his will but that of the witch’s.”
“Interesting argument,” Ben granted.
“Susannah Martin of Amesbury?” asked Francis. “Yes, am I correct?”
“One and the same.”
“How then does it help us to know this?” asked Ben.
“Don’t you see?” asked Jeremy. “This court’s chosen to rely on spectral evidence, clues and facts handed it by spirits like that of Henry Carr. It is insane of the judges and ministers to accept such evidence as untainted, but they have—and have convicted people to die upon it. But this—this is tainted spectral evidence, don’t you see?”
“Ah . . . frankly, no,” replied Ben, shaking his head.
“This is what I want to present to the judges of the high court.”
“What? Present what?”
“Even the mere hint that an old grudge of Anne Carr’s is being played out here—someone she has singled out not just now but years ago—she believed then as now killed her brother utilizing witchcraft, it’s tainted as hell itself.”
“Do you think it strong enough to make a difference?” asked a hopeful Francis.
“It can’t hold, not even with these judges. It’s a vengeance motive, and it will lead to unearthing the rest of her venom and how it has, over the years, poisoned her child and others around her—and it discredits Mrs. Putnam, who is behind all the early warrants.”
“Her name is affixed to Rebecca’s warrant,” added Francis.
“So when d
o you propose to spring this revelation on Mather, Parris, and their puppets?” Ben stood and paced.
“I have already. They know of the each fact that if taken together must throw cold water and doubt on every case they’ve tried in Salem—that if Anne Putnam Senior can use the court and circumstances to exact a twenty year old vengeance, then how many other warrants sworn against the accused are also thus tainted?”
“It’s sheer brilliance, Father.” Serena hugged Francis. “It will mean Mother’s freedom. They must listen to this petition.”
“I gave an impassioned argument to the men of court. They appeared shaken by the facts. I have every reason to believe they must make changes now to cast out any and all spectral evidence and bar the door to the seer children and the notion they have powers to see into the Invisible World of Angels and Demons.”
A palpable sense of relief filled the Nurse home when Jeremy revealed this.
# # # # #
Rebecca Nurse dreams now and every day of a future when she will rise up in all her former youth, strength, and beauty to the gates of heaven she knows are awaiting her. This is how her nights and days are spent in the cruel cell she’s been kept in, but she also has nightmares. Her repeating nightmare is filled with humiliation and shackles.
She sees herself taken from the cell in shackles. Taken to the meetinghouse where she is forced to walk the center aisle to stand before the congregation to the sound of those shackles and the heckling of men, women, and children—many of whom she’d helped bring into this world. She blinks and sees herself—Mother Nurse, as she’d come to be called by everyone in and around Salem. Mother Nurse under her own will, climbs down the stairs of her own home, her Bible in hand, telling her family, “God will provide,” adding, “I knew some calamity . . . some ordeal was coming. God’s test for me and me alone. Let it be. Do not interfere. Do not act my hero. Allow it to unfold as His wishes dictated for his only begotten son.”
Rebecca blinks again and finds herself back in the meetinghouse, listening to Samuel Parris telling the congregation that she is to be shunned, that she is declared excommunicated from her church as she has been pointed out a deceiver, a liar, a woman in covenant with the Devil, a woman who’d given her body to the Snake of Snakes, a witch and a murderer of children. She repeatedly uses the phrase, “It is God’s will . . . God’s will, what you do to me. I knew it was coming. God tests me, yes, but he tests all of us together en masse.”
Children of Salem Page 42
