“When are the next executions in Salem?” he asked the newsman he’d worked for on a part time basis.
Mr. Horatio Spurlunkle handed him today’s pamphlet. On the cover the frightening news stared back at Jeremy:
Aug. 5, 1692 – Six more accused of witchcraft found guilty. Execution set for the 19th for George Burroughs, former Salem minister and sometime minister, Casco Bay, Maine; John and Elizabeth Proctor, man and wife of Salem; John Williard, former Salem sheriff; George Jacobs Senior of Salem; Martha Carrier, a goodwife of Andover. These six are condemned by the Court of Oyer & Terminer to die on the gallows.
The rest of the article could be summed up in a phrase that’d become all too common: Brought in guilty and condemned.
“Mr. Sperlunkle, when will this madness end?”
“Not until someone in high office begins to question the sanity of it all, among them the blasted ministers and magistrates themselves! Not to mention the confounded governor!”
“Or Phipps’ wife.”
“Isn’t there anyone in all of Salem with any sense, Jeremy?”
“Perhaps Reverend John Hale of Beverly where the seer children have been taken to root out even more evil and witchery there. I’m sure when all this began, he had no notion they’d be paraded through his town to point out old women with warts on their noses.”
“They are paraded on white horses through communities like God’s chosen, and one finger points at a man or woman, and he is arrested!”
“Yes, well, you see, the seer children can ‘see’ into the Invisible World so that the witches can no longer hide behind respectable aprons!”
“Speak of respectable! Look. It’s her.” Sperlunkle stared out his office window.
“Her who?” Jeremy joined him at the window, looking out over the bold lettering.
“Mrs. Phipps.”
“On the street? Where? I must—”
“No, it’s her carriage, there!” Sperlunkle pointed. “At the jailhouse again.”
“Disobeying her husband?”
“It would appear so, yes.”
“I must see her, speak to her.” Jeremy rushed for the jailhouse. As he made his way toward the beautifully dressed, proud Mrs. Phipps, he saw that her servant held two large baskets stuffed full with sweat meats, and that a pale of clean drinking water with a dipper trailed after in Abraham’s hands. The jailor must be making good money, today, Jeremy thought as he’d made no effort to stand in Mrs. Phipps way, and the lady of mercy—known for her compassion and generosity and kindness, passed rolls and biscuits through the bars to waiting hands and anxious eyes. As Jeremy came near, one of her servants grabbed him.
“Unhand me! Lady Phipps!” Jeremy called out. “I must speak with you, please! It’s urgent!”
Horatio Sperlunkle had joined Jeremy, and he threatened the second coachman with a cane. It appeared there would be a row in the street when Abraham shouted, “Mr. Wakely, it’s you is it?”
On hearing his name, Mrs. Phipps gave Jeremy a second look, staring hard and sizing him up. She was acquainted somewhat with Sperlunkle and his paper as well, and now she shouted, “Jonas! There’ll be no violence! Let Mr. Wakely be.”
Jeremy approached her and bowed. “I am Jeremiah Wakely. You have my petition for an audience, ma’am.”
“I do.”
“Have you read it, my lady?”
“I have.”
“Time is of the essence.”
“Your words were most intriguing and mysterious. You say you have evidence of the motives of Reverend Samuel Parris. I confess, I would like to hear more, but I can’t promise you anything will come of our speaking.” After all, I am not the governor, only his wife went unspoken but understood.
“I understand, but—”
“You might do well to petition to see the Governor himself.”
“I prefer to take my chances with you, Madame.”
She sighed so heavily that her dress rose an inch above her bosom and resettled. “Ride with me. In the coach,” she indicated the opened door that Jonas now held for them, a glare in his eye. She added, “It may be best you impart these dark secrets while in my carriage than at the mansion. The walls have ears there.” She gave a quick glance to Jonas, a bird-beeked, hungry-eyed looking fellow. Shakespeare’s Cassius, Jeremy thought, but without the Senate seat.
“Excellent,” Jeremy said as he settled into the cozy interior. “It is more than I had hoped for.”
She sat across from him, her dress taking up most of the room inside. With the door shut, she lifted a small parasol and tapped the roof. In a moment, the single-horse carriage pulled away from the jail, and through the slit in a drape at the window, Jeremy caught a fleeting glimpse of Abraham and Horatio beside one another with amusement and amazement on their faces.
It was as if once again fate had stepped in.
# # # # #
Inside the carriage, which from what little Jeremy could tell, was on its way back to the Governor’s home, he feared he had but the coach ride to convince Mrs. Phipps of his beliefs. To this end he launch right in. “First, you must know that I do not support the court in Salem.”
“So I have heard.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Then you know I believe they have not only arrested hundreds who are innocent but they’ve hung some who are innocent, principally Rebecca Nurse.”
“To whom you are related, yes?”
It was not an unprecedented moment for her; Mrs. Phipps had entertained a number of previous petitions for leniency and mercy. “I understand your position, Mr. Wakely, and I admire your candor and fervor. Nowadays, it takes a brave man to speak out. Do go on.”
“I spoke with one of the first arrested, who is here in your jail in Boston.”
“Mr. Parris’ black servant, this Tituba Indian you mentioned in your petition to me. I must admit, Mr. Wakely, I was intrigued the moment I saw your name affixed to it.”
“So my ill-gotten reputation precedes me? I am not surprised.”
“Your name has come up on occasion at the mansion.”
“My name?” He noted her half smile.
“You have many enemies among the judges and ministers, Mr. Wakely.”
“Don’t think me after some sort of personal vengeance against Parris, madam. I am only interested in right and the law.”
“Ah, it’s justice you seek?”
“An end to the injustice in Salem, ma’am.”
“And you say you have vital information that might lead to an end to the injustices? And that you found it here in Boston.”
Jeremy nodded. “I’ve written down my allegations against Parris—allegations of deception, murder, and cover up long before he arrived in Salem.”
“Before Salem? Tell me more about this Barbados connection. It’s all rather like a Greek play.”
She was indeed intrigued, and this made Jeremy study her for any guile.
“I have met Samuel Parris on two occasions,” she admitted in a deep whisper, “and I put nothing past the man. But my husband is not such a good judge of character.”
Jeremy nodded. The carriage hit an area of bumpy cobblestones. They would soon be at a standstill at the mansion, and Jeremy knew their interview would be over. He wondered now if she’d disobeyed her husband to feed the prisoners as a cover to see Jeremy for this discussion.
Jeremy told her all that he suspected, and all that Tituba had imparted. He finished with, “I am only sorry that you could not hear it from Tituba herself. She convinced me of her sincerity, and it has the ring of truth.”
Mrs. Phipps had sat stolid, her features unchanging. She hadn’t even flinched when Jeremy spoke of how Tituba’s child had been discarded like so much garbage. “The ring of truth,” she repeated the phrase.
“You’re not convinced?”
“Mr. Wakely, oddly enough Governor Phipps and I spent some time on Barbados.”
“You did?”
“When Parris ran his enterprise there.
I always found it odd that he’d become a minister in Salem.”
“And Increase Mather could not find any evidence of his having been ordained a minister at Harvard.”
“I’ve made inquiries regarding this too.”
“Then I have an ally in you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Dr. Noah North is my father, and he would have had nothing to do with aborting a birth and covering it up. Certainly not for Mr. Parris, and certainly not for money.”
Jeremy felt numb. It had come to this, another dead end. As she stepped from the coach, reaching back for his notes, which he surrendered, he said, “Then it was all between Parris and this ships’ doctor, Caball. Have you any knowledge of him?”
She shook her head. “I have not. Now please, this interview is over.” She told the coachman to return Jeremy to the North End at the center of commerce in Boston, “Drop him wherever he wishes.” She then looked back at Jeremy. “I will share all of your suspicions with my husband, Mr. Wakely, but if he disbelieves it . . . it will go no further. After all, it is on the word of a servant woman and a prisoner of the witch hunt. He is not likely to trust her or you.”
“And you, Mrs. Phipps? Do you trust me?”
She slammed the coach door and gave the order to the driver to move off.
Jeremy dropped his head in his hands. “Her father is Dr. North. Damn this tired world for its ironies.”
When Jeremy got down from the carriage and watched it turn around and go back the way it’d come, the jailer rushed to his side. The old sailor whispered under his hand, “Sir, if you want the black woman, I won’t stand in your way. You can take her.”
“Take her?”
“Any friend of the Governor’s can have his will here, sir.”
“You will turn Tituba over to me?”
“I will, yes.”
“How much do you require for her release?”
“Nothing, sir. I’m sure down the line, a reward may come but tonight . . . tonight she is yours.”
Jeremy finally understood the man’s meaning. He thought Jeremy wanted Tituba for the night. “Look here, do you know of any ships making for Barbados tonight?”
“Barbados? Tonight, sir?”
“Yes, tonight . . . tomorrow.”
“That’d be Captain Hypplewaite, sir.”
“Can I find him at the docks?”
“At the Red Lion, likely this time-o-day.”
“I’ll find him. Have a word with him.”
“And the black woman, sir?”
“I’ll be back for her, yes.”
The lecherous look in the old jailer’s eye and his toothless smile said that he’d finally found a pot of gold. “Cleaned up, she’d be my choice, too, Mr. Wakely.” He laughed and slapped Jeremy on the back.
With little hope of changing any minds here in Boston, Jeremy set out to help at least one of the victims in all this insanity—Tituba. He had little trouble locating the loud, heavy-drinking Captain Obadiah Hypplewaite, a garrulous pirate of a man. Jeremy bought passage for one to Barbados, telling the captain he’d bring this ‘cargo’ by cover of night, and that it wouldn’t do for anyone to see the woman.
“And once we land in Barbados?”
“You give her two silver pieces, and she finds the remnants of her family and life, a free woman.”
“So you’ve got religion and wish to free your slave, eh?”
“Yes, and that is all you need to know,” Jeremy lied and placed six pieces of silver before the captain. He then displayed the two silver dollars that belonged to Tituba. “Please, it will be all she has in life; you must see she gets it. I must trust you implicitly, Captain.”
The old sea dog’s eyes lit up. “Well then, you have my word and my blessings, son. It’s a horrid thing, this slavery business people’ve gotten themselves into. Meself, I won’t take slave cargo comin’ in from the Ivory Coast.”
Arrangements were made. Jeremiah got a confused Tituba to Mrs. Fahey’s barn where Mrs. Fahey discovered them, and for a moment thought the worst. When Jeremy confessed his plan, she leapt into the scheme without hesitation, ordering Jeremy out of the barn. She bathed Tituba and found a change of clothes for her before she allowed Jeremy back.
Captain Hypplewaite’s ship came after a hearty meal for Tituba, and when Jeremy told her it the Endurance was bound for Barbados—her childhood home, she wept while hugging Jeremy to her. Jeremy said his final goodbyes, seeing her stowed away below decks in the hands of the sober Captain.
As he made his way back to Mrs. Fahey’s barn, Jeremy wondered at the wisdom or foolishness of his actions. If it came to light, he could face dire consequences—and for all her compassion, Mrs. Fahey was also known for spreading news and gossip, not to mention how upset Abraham was going to be in the coming days. “But I couldn’t’ve done otherwise,” he told himself. He had given up any thought whatsoever of Tituba’s ever becoming a witness against Parris or the witch hunt in general. After all, it appeared he’d failed with the Governor’s wife.
He planned on returning to Serena at first light empty-handed.
Chapter Six
A broken man, Francis Nurse felt he had nothing to live for now that Rebecca was gone. Despite his love for his children, he longed to join Rebecca. He toyed with suicide, but in his heart, more than anything, he wanted to do what Ben had wanted to do all along—put a hole in Samuel Parris.
He put together his small carriage, pulled by a single horse, and unbeknownst to anyone, he drove into Salem Village.
He searched the streets, the steps of Ingersoll’s place, the parsonage, now dark and empty save for Parris somewhere inside. Parris had been unable to locate nor return his wife and child to the village.
Francis pulled to within shouting distance of Parris’ window and door, waved a gun and dared Parris to show his face at the door. Parris did not come out. He was in fact not home.
Sheriff Herrick and several other armed men circled the old man, coaxing him to calm down and go back the way he’d come just as Serena rode in on her mare. She rushed to join her father, talking him into a reasonable posture. “Please, Father, please. I can’t lose you, too, now!”
Francis studied his daughter. “You are so beautiful, my child. You have your mother’s eyes.” He appeared not to know where he was or that he held a weapon in his hands.
Serena took the gun gently from him. Herrick and his men watched with interest as she climbed down, fetched her horse, tied her to the back of the buggy, and then returned to take the reins. She turned the small carriage around and guided it past Ingersoll’s, the Putnam home, and onto Ipswich Road, pointed toward home.
When she arrived back home with her father, she managed to get him into bed on her own. No one else was around. The place had become hauntingly deserted since Mother Nurse’s execution and the secret burial. Ben had been sent away, as his language against the court and the ministers had become so seditious as to put him under suspicion. It’d taken great and long-suffering arguments from Serena and Francis to get Ben to disappear for a while.
After getting her father settled in, Serena stepped out onto the porch, her mind a jumble of fears for Francis. He’d acted as if out of his head. Going down into the village to murder Mr. Parris on sight, and his behavior on the carriage seat. She feared his mind going.
“Some bustling noise rose up from the nearby road that went by the house, but she paid little heed to it. The Ipswich Road was a main thoroughfare between Salem Town and Village, and it was ever restless except in the wee hours. Instead, Serena wandered out toward the huge stand of oaks, the meeting tables set out below them, one covering the fresh earth below where her mother’s remains lay in secret.
She pulled herself onto the table, her feet on the bench, and head in hand, she began to cry. She missed Jeremy terribly and worried about him, too. She’d had nightmares of his being accosted in a dark Boston alleyway, robbed, and left bleeding on the cobblestones.
When she thought of the last meal they’d all shared here with Mother Nurse still among them, the day Serena had held the blunderbuss trained on Jeremy, she recalled an underlying melancholia that had hold of her mother. Somehow, Rebecca had known that this storm of madness in the village was coming but how? Now and in fact ever since Rebecca’s arrest, their home had become a sad place, and these tables silent. It felt like an eternity ago that the large, extended family had gathered as one. And now Rebecca’s two sisters were behind bars, and one of them condemned to execution.
Serena tried desperately to pray for her sick father, but she felt unsure if she wanted him free of the illness or free of this troubled world; she wondered if his heart could only be lighted again by joining her mother. At the same time, she wanted to hold onto him. Both thoughts made her feel a sense of guilt—guilt coming of two unresolved thoughts, each coming unbidden and colliding.
The noise coming up off the road roared loudly now, loud enough to cause her to look up to determine just who and how many were passing when she saw the awful sight of what had come to be called the witch cart.
It cranked and creaked from side to side, looking as if it might topple and break apart at any time—else remove itself from its wooden wheels. The old oxen pulling it looked disinterested and weary at once. Riding horseback around the empty jail cart, were Herrick, the same men who stood by him in the village, along with Reverend Nicholas Noyes, and trailing alongside rode four of the celebrated ‘seer’ children.
As the ominous parade went by, the children in particular stared long and hard at Serena where she sat below the trees. The young girls all rode white horses, and they whispered among themselves, giggled, and pointed their terrible accusing fingers at first the house and then in Serena’s general direction.
Children of Salem Page 48
