"You are, are you?" Proctor spat. "You're a silly girl with a head too big for her brain, that's what you are, and you're making mischief in the town, is all."
"'Tis—'tis—untrue," Mary stammered. " 'Tis the Devil, 'tis the power of the—of the—Devil." Mary's limbs began to shake uncontrollably.
Elizabeth watched her, horrified, as white froth began to drip from her mouth. "John," she whispered urgently," 'tis a fit, and here in our house! If anyone were to see! . . ."
John Proctor rose to his feet and walked over to Mary. He watched her intently as she began to jabber, as her head began to whip madly back and forth. He smiled with amusement and then struck her hard across the face. Her convulsion ceased immediately, and she stood looking at him stupidly. He laughed. "The Devil must be a weakling, Liz," he said to his wife. "The ministers must have lied to us. A slap in the face tames him." He sat back down at the table.
Elizabeth rushed over to the confused girl and put her arm around her shoulder. "John!" she said. "You should not beat the child!"
"I didn't beat her, and she isn't a child," he muttered. "Listen to me, woman. There is something loose in Salem, I'll agree with that, but 'tis not the Devil. 'Tis spitefulness and envy and greed. If you or I had enemies, I'd expect us both to be hauled before the judges!"
A moment later Marshal Cheever came to the Proctor home and arrested Elizabeth. She had been denounced as a witch by Abigail Williams. . .
. . . Yes . . . yes . . . I remember, said the thing.
. . . I remember. . . . I remember, said the other.
They seemed to circle around a shaft of cool air as they rose from the nowhere into the somewhere, from oblivion into existence, from eternity into time. They heard laughter, very soft and very gentle but retaining some element of malevolence and hatred.
Prepare, the laughing voice whispered. The hour is nigh.
Waves of cool healing swept over the formless things as they began to perceive faint glimmers of light penetrating the eternal darkness.
You, said the thing.
You, said the other.
The light grew stronger, the healing coolness seeped into them and gave them strength, and gave them form. "Abigail," the thing whispered.
"Mary" echoed the other.
They continued to rise toward the light.
Chapter Six
October 31, continued: All Hallows' Eve
The sound of pebbles striking her window was able after a few minutes to rouse Rowena Proctor from her slumber. She sat up in bed groggily, taking a moment to get her bearings, and then heard once again the brittle sound of the small stones against the cold glass. She went over to the window, thinking at first that the snow had turned to hail, but then realizing with excited pleasure that Jeremy Sloan was standing on the snowy ground beneath her bedroom, tossing handful after handful of pebbles up at the window. How romantic! she thought gleefully as she smiled down at him. He motioned for her to open the window, and she proceeded to push it up against the frozen track, straining against the tight fit.
When she at last had the window sufficiently opened, she leaned out into the snowy wind and said in a loud whisper, "Jeremy! What on earth are you doing out there!"
"Can you come out, Row? Right now?"
"Shhh!" she cautioned. "Don't wake Grampa. Come out and do what?" She was struggling to repress an eager smile, and bit her lower lip slightly.
"You'll find out when you come out. Hurry up! I'm freezing out here!" He began to rock back and forth from one foot to the other as if to illustrate his point.
"Okay, okay. Hold on a minute. I'll be right down." She shut the window and rushed over to her dressing table. She gave her long blond hair a quick brush, applied a thin trace of eyeliner and a few strokes of eye shadow, and then grabbed a parka from her closet. As she pulled the parka on with one hand she gave herself a quick spray of cologne with the other. Rowena closed her bedroom door slowly and softly and proceeded to descend the stairs on tiptoe, wincing each time the old boards creaked, hoping that her grandfather was too soundly sleeping to be easily awakened. It never occurred to her to worry about waking her father or brother.
She walked carefully through the dark hallways of the old inn and then unlocked the front door as quietly as possible.
She opened it slowly and then slipped out into the snowy night.
Jeremy was waiting for her just outside the door, and both of them made bold by the surreptitiousness of their actions, they laughed quietly and embraced. It was the first time Jeremy had held her in his arms, and his heart leapt with delight even though bundles of clothes separated them. She reached up and gave him a quick kiss. "Jeremy, what are you doing out here?" she asked with a laugh.
"Shhh, shhh, come on," he replied and wrapped his arm around her waist to lead her off into the storm. "Lucas and Karyn are waiting for us at the church."
Her romantic expectations began immediately to sour. "Lucas and Karyn! I don't understand."
"Lucas realized that tonight is Halloween," Jeremy explained as he pulled his jacket collar tight against the cold wind. "He wants to try to conjure up a ghost or something."
Rowena stopped walking on the spot. "Wait a minute, Jeremy. I don't want anything to do with that kind of thing."
Jeremy was thrown off balance by the abruptness of her stop and he slipped on a patch of icy pavement, falling on his rump with an audible thump. "Jesus!"
"Oh, Jeremy!" she said, filled with sudden concern. "Are you all right? Oh, I'm sorry!" She fell to one knee beside him and grasped him by the hand.
He started to laugh at his own clumsiness, and she soon joined him. After a few moments he said, "Look, Row, it's just for fun. You know Lucas. He's always doing something outrageous, just for fun."
She shook her head, less emphatically than she might have wished. "I don't like all that stuff, honestly I don't." He jumped to his feet and helped her to hers, and she continued, "Listen. I've been doing some reading about the whole witchcraft thing—you know, back in Salem, three hundred years ago. It was horrible, all those poor innocent people being killed like that."
Jeremy was confused. "Yeah, I've heard about it. So what? I mean, like you say, it was three hundred years ago."
"Well—I mean—" She seemed to be groping for the words. "I mean, let's say Lucas wanted to dress up like Nazis and parade around and stuff like that, just for fun, you know? It wouldn't be serious, it wouldn't really mean anything, but I still wouldn't want to do it. I mean, the Nazis killed millions of people, innocent people, so pretending to be Nazis wouldn't be very funny." She seemed frustrated by her inarticulation. "Do you know what I mean?"
Jeremy shook his head. "No, I don't, Row. Look, the Nazis were real. The witches—well, they all claimed to be innocent, right?"
She shook her head vigorously. "You don't understand what I'm trying to say." She paused for a moment, shivering slightly as the cold, snowy wind whipped through her hair. "Hey, can we go inside and talk? I'm freezing out here."
"Let's walk toward the church." He took her arm once again. "Jeremy . . ." she said, her tone one of warning.
"Look, Row, you don't have to take part in it, you don't have to participate. Hell, maybe I won't even stay. But we have to go and tell Lucas anyway, and you want to go inside somewhere, so let's just go to the church."' He smiled at her, almost paternalistically. "Okay?"
She nodded slowly, reluctantly. "Well, okay, I guess."
"Great," he said happily, placing his arm around her waist. They walked slowly and carefully through the drifting snow on Bradford's street. Though he did not mention it, Jeremy could feel an aching bruise emerging on his hip from the fall he had taken a few moments before. He tried to ignore it as he said, "Okay, go on. Tell me again what you were trying to say."
Her smooth brow furrowed. "Well, you know that me and Lukie are descended from—"
"From one of the witches," he finished for her. "Yeah, everybody knows that. Your dad makes a big deal out of it.
"
She stopped again, less abruptly this time, but resolutely. "No, Jeremy, no! That's the whole point. My ancestor John was not a witch or a warlock or whatever the heck it is you call a man who does that stuff. He was framed, maybe, by a nutty girl who had a crush on him—"
"Abigail Williams?" he asked.
"Yeah, that was her. Or maybe she was just a lunatic who accused lots of innocent people, and he got caught up in the whole craziness. I don't know for sure. I've just started reading about it all."
"Wow, Row, I didn't know you were interested—"
"I'm not," she said quickly. "I hate the whole thing, really. I'm just doing some research for a report."
"Oh, like for school?" He tried gently to impel her forward in the direction of the church, but she either did not notice or ignored the slight pressure on her waist.
"Yeah, for social studies class. But that's beside the point." 85
"So what's the point?" He exerted a bit of forward pressure again, and she began to move slowly.
"The point is that my ancestor John died—I mean, they wouldn't even let him have a minister pray with him!—I mean—" She stopped again and faced him. "He was an innocent man, Jeremy, an innocent man, not a Satanist. And he died rather than confess to a crime he hadn't committed, just like the other poor people who were executed—no, not executed, murdered, murdered in Salem. For me to take part in some sick devil worship thing—" she shrugged, embarrassed at her own words, but meaning them anyway, "it's just disrespectful, you know? I mean, for me to treat this whole thing like a game when John Proctor was killed because of it—" She shook her head angrily. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just can't express myself too well, I guess."
Jeremy reached over and stroked her hair affectionately. "I understand what you're saying, Row. But, hell, your dad makes his living out of this stuff, doesn't he? I mean, if he doesn't mind it, why should you?"
"It isn't the same thing, Jeremy," she said firmly. "Daddy has a responsibility for me and Grampa and even Lucas, sort of. He does what he feels he has to do, to make money, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But it's all a joke, Row. It isn't anything to take seriously. People back in the old days believed in Satan. We don't, not nowadays."
"Do you believe in God?" she asked quietly.
The question made him a bit nervous. "Well—I guess so, sort of—in a way, I guess so, yeah," he stammered.
"Okay, so if you believe in God, how can you not believe in the Devil? It's like up without down, isn't it? Or like right without left?"
He shrugged. Such metaphysical contemplations were not among Jeremy's customary preoccupations. "Okay, I guess so. So you think that there really is a Satan?" His tone warned of incipient ridicule.
She sidestepped it. "I don't know, really. I just don't think that any of this stuff is funny, and I don't think it's a good way to pass the time. . . . Listen, Jeremy," she said, stopping once again. "I don't want to make you mad at me or anything, but I'm just not comfortable with this witchcraft stuff. I'm really not."
He nodded. "Yeah, I understand. Well, look, we don't have to take part in it or anything. We can just sit there and watch, okay?"
This was less of a concession than she might have wanted, but it was a compromise. She nodded unhappily. "Okay. We can just watch."
"Great. Great. Come on. Let's hurry up. My toes are getting numb." He pulled her more quickly along the icy street toward the church. She matched his pace, unwillingly, but equally unwilling to annoy him. She looked up at his dark, striking face as they walked along. He's so damn cute, she thought.
Bradford was such a small town and its sole street so short that Jeremy and Rowena reached the church in a few minutes. Rowena, trying to make conversation, nervous and ill at ease, gestured at the framed placard which stood on the snow-covered lawn in front of the church and asked, "When is your uncle going to change that?"
"Huh?" Jeremy asked as he guided her away from the front door toward the rear entrance. "Change what?"
"The sign that says, 'Services at eight and ten o'clock.' There hasn't been more than one service here on Sunday for as long as I can remember."
"Oh, I don't know," Jeremy replied, not 'really caring. "There isn't much of a congregation left here for the old man. Why bother to change the sign when the half dozen old men and women who attend his services all come at eight anyway?"
"That's too bad," she said sincerely. "It's such a pretty old church, and your uncle's such a good preacher."
Jeremy laughed grimly. "Yeah, I'm sure he is, but all he ever does is preach, day in and day out, all the time. It's really a drag to have to live with, you know?"
"Yeah I guess so," she said. Why am I doing this? she asked herself. Why didn't he ask me out to go to a movie or go have a hamburger or something? Conjuring up ghosts. Good grief! What she said was, "Still, it's kind of sad to see an old church die off like this."
He shrugged as he opened the rear door. "There was some kind of merger or something, 'bout ten years ago. All the Congregationalists around here joined with some other denominations and formed—I don't know, the United Church of Christianity, or something like that. Most of the folks in town go to the church over in Piermont on Sunday. Uncle Fred should've retired when that happened, but he just wouldn't give up his church." Jeremy pushed open the door at the rear of the old wooden building. It creaked loudly, but he did not seem to notice. "I guess he and this church kinda got left out in the cold when all that happened. But he doesn't care. I swear, I think he'd be willing to preach to a row of empty pews."
He held the door open for her and she entered. "I guess he's just real dedicated," she said.
He shrugged as he closed the door behind them. "If that's what you want to call it. Pigheaded, more likely."
A sudden wave of warmth enveloped Rowena, and she smiled with relief. "Hey, that's better."
"What's better?"
"It's so warm in here. What did you do, turn on the heat?"
"Yeah. Lucas came and woke me up about an hour ago, and we came over here first. The boiler was on anyway. I just turned it up." He unbuttoned his jacket. "Yeah, it's nice in here now. Come on." He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, through the small office and the choir rehearsal room, and then through the door which led to the steps behind the lectern in front of the pews.
The old church, which had always been so comforting and ethereal in its austere sanctity when Rowena went there for Sunday services, had now a totally different atmosphere. The clean white of the interior was clouded by darkness, and the few candles which had been lighted did not dispel the gloom. As they walked past the lectern Rowena saw Lucas and Karyn sitting in the front pew. She was holding a candle unsteadily in her right hand, giving Lucas sufficient light by which to read the book which was held open in his hands.
Lucas looked up nervously when he heard them approach, and he grinned, relieved that it was they and not some other less-welcome visitor. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think she'd come, Sloan. What'dya do, promise to marry her or somethin'?"
Jeremy coughed and Rowena said, "Oh, shut up, Lucas! That's not funny." She glanced at Karyn. "Hi," she said glumly.
"Hiya, kid," Karyn replied thickly, her head wobbling slightly as she spoke. Great, Rowena thought. Stoned as usual. Drunk too, probably. Rowena's supposition was verified when Karyn lifted a bottle of bourbon in her direction and asked, "Want a slug?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't drink."
Karyn nodded stupidly. "We got some hash. You wanna get high?"
"She doesn't smoke dope either," Lucas answered for her. "She also doesn't fuck. A real fun date."
"Lucas—" Rowena began, a threat in her voice.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Lucas cut her off. "Really. I'm sorry. Come on, Sis, sit down. You too, Jeremy. This is gonna be fun."
Rowena walked to the pew and sat down. "You know, Karyn, you really shouldn't be drinking or smoking. Not when you're pregna
nt."
Karyn nodded her head and shrugged. "Yeah, I know. It's a bitch, isn't it?" Her attitude seemed to be that such things were beyond her control.
"Okay, now listen up," Lucas said as Jeremy sat down beside Rowena. "This is what we're gonna do—"
"We are going to sit here and watch," Rowena said firmly. "I've already told Jeremy that I don't like this sort of thing. I'll watch what you do, but I won't participate in it."
Lucas glared at her. "Jesus, Row! We haven't even started yet and you're already fuckin' everything up!"
"I don't care," she snapped.
"Come on, come on, don't argue," Jeremy interposed. "This is all in fun, right? Let's just have fun. If Row doesn't want to take part in it she doesn't have to, right, Karyn?"
Karyn turned her eyes toward him and looked at him blearily. "Huh?" she asked.
"Don't ask her to make any decisions," Lucas chuckled. "When she gets this high she can't even remember her own name half the time."
"I can so!" she huffed, and then giggled for no apparent reason.
"Okay, you wanna sit there and be a drag like usual, okay with me," Lucas said. Rowena did not deign to reply, so he continued. "Now, I've already turned the cross upside down. . . ."
Rowena turned her attention quickly to the front of the church, and was infuriated to see the wooden cross atop the communion table removed from its holder and rested, cross end down, against the wall behind it. "Jeremy!" she said angrily. "You can't let him do that! Not here in church!"
"Relax, Row," he said soothingly. "I take that cross out all the time, to polish it for Uncle Fred. Hey, it's just a piece of wood, right?"
"No, it isn't just a piece of wood," she said. "It's a symbol of God's love."
"Hey, Row, why don't you just get the fuck out of here?" her brother asked impatiently. "Why don't you just go the fuck home!"
"Come on, Lucas, calm down, will you?" Jeremy asked. Then to Rowena, he said, "Listen. It's just a piece of wood, okay? I'll put it back right when we're done. Honest I will." He took her hand and looked earnestly into her eyes. "It's all a game, Row. It's just for fun. Don't take it so seriously. Okay?"
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