The Witch of Blackbird Pond

by Elizabeth George Speare

  "Please," Kit ventured. "Those other women you spoke of—Goody Harrison and the other? What happened to them?"

  "Goody Harrison was banished from the colony. They hanged Goody Johnson." Then seeing the horror that blanched her face he reconsidered.

  "I hardly think they'd be so hard on you," he consoled her. "Being you're so young and the first offense. More likely brand you, or cut off an ear." He slammed shut the door again.

  Whatever might be in that wooden bowl, she had no heart even to taste it. She had begun to shake again, and the quilt did not warm her. She had never in all her life known the feeling of a locked door. It was all she could do to hold herself from pounding against it and screaming.

  If she should scream, who would hear her? Who was there anywhere who could help her? John Holbrook perhaps. In his quiet way he had a sort of strength and conviction. They might have listened to John. But he was far away in the wilderness of Massachusetts. Nat Eaton? He was halfway down the river, and banished from town as well. William? Why of course! William could help her. Why hadn't she thought of him at once? Anything William said would carry weight in the town. His position, his character, were unquestioned. Could the magistrate for one moment hold the Cruffs' word against a man like William?

  The thought steadied her. She thought of him coming to champion her, confident, unruffled, those wide dependable shoulders like a fortress between her and the angry face of Goodwife Cruff. Dear dependable William! Perhaps he would come tonight. Kit drew a deep breath, and sitting on the floor, her knees drawn tight against her chest, she waited for William.

  It was Rachel who finally came instead. Long after dark Kit heard her whisper outside the shed wall, so timid and faint that at first she thought she must have imagined it.

  "Kit? Can you hear me? Are you all to rights?"

  "Yes! Oh, Aunt Rachel, you shouldn't have left them!"

  "I had to know how you are. I knew you'd want to know, Kit. Dr. Bulkeley says Mercy's fever is nearly gone."

  "I'm so glad. I wanted to help, and now I've left it all for you to do. Oh, Aunt Rachel—can you ever forgive me?"

  "Shush, child. 'Tis myself I can't forgive. To think I knew all along you were going to that place and I never spoke up."

  "I'd have kept going anyway. But I never knew I'd shame you all like this. Aunt Rachel—what do they do to witches?"

  There was a small sound outside the boards. "Nothing, child," whispered Rachel. "They won't do anything to you. We'll think of something." But she had not spoken fast enough—that little sobbing catch of breath had answered first. "The inquiry will be in the morning. Have courage, dear! But you've got to help us, Kit. If there's something you haven't told, something you're holding back, you must tell everything." How much courage must it have taken for Rachel to brave her husband's anger, and the dark and the strange terror of a prison shed!

  "I wish I could get some food in to you. Are you very frightened. Kit dear?"

  "Not now," lied Kit. "Not now that you've come. Thank you, Aunt Rachel."

  Sustained by her aunt's visit, Kit was able to face the morrow with less panic. She sat down and forced herself to take stock of her chances. She couldn't imagine that they could have much evidence against her. But it didn't seem to take much evidence to rouse these people's suspicions. What had poor Hannah ever done to harm them? Goodwife Cruff had hated her ever since that first day on the Dolphin, and she would never rest now till she had her vengeance. Nobody in the town would have much sympathy for a disobedient girl. If only she could have obeyed her impulse this morning and told her uncle the whole story. Though perhaps he too was helpless. She saw now that she had undermined his authority in all eyes by flouting his orders.

  Suppose they discovered that Prudence too had disobeyed? It did not bear thinking. And she was entirely responsible for Prudence's actions, Kit admitted with a sick heart. Who had inveigled the child with promises, and thought of the hiding place under the willow tree, and persuaded her—no dragged her against her will—to meet Hannah? Oh, why hadn't she seen what she was doing? How could she have been so wicked? What difference did it make whether Prudence could read or not, when she was half starved and beaten and overworked?

  If I wanted to neglect my own work. Kit groaned in remorse, I might at least have been out in the Cruffs' field helping the poor child!

  And yet, how lovely it had been, that last afternoon in the cabin. Leaning her forehead on her knees, Kit could almost feel herself there again. She could hear the crackling of the flames, the bubbling of the stew in the kettle, the scratching of the pen in Prudence's fingers, the creak creak of Hannah's chair and the drowsy purring of the yellow cat. She could see the glow of the fire, but she could not feel its warmth. It was like gazing in at a window, from the cold outside, at a forbidden room she could never enter again.

  She had not slept all the night before on the beach. Now, huddled inside the ragged quilt, she was sucked down, in spite of herself, into a black whirlpool of slumber, where nightmare phantoms whirled with her, nearer and nearer, toward some unknown horror.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE SUN had been slanting through the chinks in the shed wall for hours when Kit heard the heavy bolt withdrawn and the shed door opened. This time it was the constable's wife, with a wooden trencher of mush. In spite of its dubious appearance it sent a faint curl of steam into the frosty air, and Kit forced herself to take a few spoonfuls while the woman stood watching, hands on her hips.

  "I reckoned you'd be half froze," the woman observed. "To tell the truth I couldn't sleep half the night thinking of you out here. 'Tis good enough for thieves and drunkards, I says to my man, but 'tis no place for a female, witch or no. I've seen the girl in Meeting, I says, sitting there decent as you please, and it goes against reason she could be a witch. There's some folks in this town always bent on stirring up trouble."

  Kit looked up at her gratefully. "'Twas good of you to send the quilt," she said. "How long will they keep me here, do you think?"

  "My man has orders to take you to the Town House in an hour."

  So soon! Kit put down the spoon, her stomach curling. "What will happen there?"

  "The magistrate and the ministers will examine you. If they think you be guilty they'll send you on to Hartford to wait trial. At any rate, you'll be off our hands. My man and I, we don't relish this work much. We'll be glad when his term is up."

  Kit laid down the trencher in dismay. "But I can't go like this! I've been sitting in the dirt all night!" The face she lifted to the woman was even sorrier than she realized, streaked with mud and tears.

  "You're no treat to look at, that's sure," the woman admitted. "If they took you for a witch right now I'd scarce blame them. Wait a minute."

  She went away, taking the precaution of bolting the door securely, and returned presently with a basin of water and a rough wooden comb. Gratefully, Kit did what she could to make herself respectable. The dress, dirty and crumpled, could not be helped.

  It required the constable and two sturdy members of the Watch to conduct a timid witch up Carpenter's Lane, along Broad Street, up Hungry Hill to the Town House. The small building seemed full of people as she entered. Benches and chairs along the two walls were crowded with men from the town, with here and there a sharp-faced woman, cronies of Goodwife Cruff. At a table at the end of the room sat Captain Samuel Talcott, Magistrate from Wethersfield to the General Court of Connecticut, and a group of men whom Kit knew as the town selectmen. Her uncle sat in his place among them, his lips tight, his eyebrows drawn fiercely together. What anguish it must cost him. Kit thought with shame, to have to sit here and pass judgment on a member of his own household. At the opposite end of the table sat the two ministers. Reverend John Woodbridge and Dr. Gershom Bulkeley, both famed for their relentless sermons against witchcraft. Kit's heart sank. There was no one, no one in the whole room, save her uncle, who would speak a word in her defense. William had not come.

  Captain Talcott rapped o
n the table and a hush fell over the room. "Good folk, we will proceed at once to the business at hand. We have come here in order to inquire and search into the matter of Mistress Katherine Tyler, lately of Barbados, who is accused by sundry witnesses of the practice of witchcraft. Mistress Tyler will come forward."

  Prompted by the constable's elbow, Kit got to her feet and moved haltingly across the room to stand facing the magistrate across the table.

  "You will listen to the charge against you."

  A clerk read from a parchment, giving full weight and due to every awful word.

  "Katherine Tyler, thou art here accused that not having the fear of God before thine eyes thou hast had familiarity with Satan the grand enemy of God and man, and that by his instigation and help thou hast in a preternatural way afflicted and done harm to the bodies and estates of sundry of His Majesty's subjects, in the third year of His Majesty's reign, for which by the law of God and the law of the Colony thou deservest to die."

  There was a murmur along the benches. Kit's hands felt icy, but she kept her eyes steadily on the magistrate.

  "Mistress Tyler, you are accused by Adam Cruff with the following actions. Firstly that you were the familiar friend and companion of the Widow Hannah Tupper of Blackbird Pond, an alleged witch who has within the past week disappeared in a suspicious manner. Such friendship is a lawful test of guilt, inasmuch as it is well known that witchcraft is an art that may be learned and conveyed from one person to another, and that it has often fallen out that a witch, upon dying, leaveth some heir to her witchcraft.

  "Secondly, that you are guilty of actions and works which infer a court with the devil, which have caused illness and death to fall upon many innocent children in this town."

  The clerk sat down. Captain Talcott eyed the girl before him. Quite plainly he had a distaste for the duty at hand, but his stern soldierly countenance did not soften.

  "Mistress Tyler," he said, "you have heard the complaints against you. We will proceed with the first accusation. Is it true that you were a friend and companion of the Widow Tupper?"

  For a moment Kit feared that her voice would not come. "Yes, sir," she managed shakily.

  "Is it true that on sundry occasions during the summer you have entered her house and visited with her?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Is it true that you were also acquainted with a certain cat which the widow entertained as a familiar spirit?"

  "It—it was just an ordinary cat, sir, like any cat."

  "You will answer yes or no. Is it true that you have engaged with the Widow Tupper in various enchantments with the direct intent of causing mischief to certain people?"

  "Oh no, sir! I don't know what you mean by enchantments."

  "Do you deny that on a certain day in August last, on passing the pasture of Goodman Whittlesley you cast a spell upon his cattle so that they were rooted to the ground where they stood and refused to answer his call or to give any milk on that evening?"

  "I—I don't understand, sir. How could I do such a thing?"

  "Goodman Whittlesley, will you repeat your complaint for this assembly?"

  Her head reeling, Kit stood helpless as, one after the other, they rose and made their complaints, these men and women whom she scarcely recognized. The evidence rolled against her like a dark wave.

  One man's child had cried aloud all night that someone was sticking pins into him. Another child had seen a dark creature with horns at the foot of her bed. A woman who lived along South Road testified that one morning Kit had stopped and spoken to her child and that within ten minutes the child had fallen into a fit and lain ill for five days. Another woman testified that one afternoon last September she had been sitting in the window, sewing a jacket for her husband, when she had looked up and seen Kit walking past her house, staring up at the window in a strange manner. Whereupon, try as she would, the sleeve would never set right in the jacket. A man swore he had seen Kit and Goody Tupper dance round a fire in the meadow one moonlit night, and that a great black man, taller than an Indian, had suddenly appeared from nowhere and joined in the dance.

  Matthew Wood leaped suddenly to his feet. "I protest this mockery!" he roared, in a voice that silenced every whisper. "Not one word of this nonsense could be proved in the Court of Assistants. There is not one shred of lawful evidence in the lot! I beg you, Sam Talcott, make an end of it!"

  "Do I infer that you are willing to vouch for your niece's good character, Matthew Wood?"

  "Certainly. I will vouch for it."

  "We are to understand then that these visits to the Widow Tupper were taken with your approval?"

  Taken aback, Matthew glared at the magistrate. "No, I had no knowledge of them," he admitted.

  "Did you ever, at any time, indicate to your niece that she was not to associate with this woman?"

  "Yes, I forbade her to go."

  "Then the girl has been disobedient and deceitful."

  Matthew clenched his fists in frustration. "The girl has been thoughtless and headstrong at times. But her upbringing has been such as to encourage that."

  "You admit then that her education has been irregular?"

  "You can twist what I say as you will, Sam Talcott," said Matthew in steely anger. "But I swear before all present, on my word as a freeman of the colony, that the girl is no witch."

  "We are obliged to listen to the testimony, Matthew," said Captain Talcott reasonably. "I will thank you to keep silent. What is your opinion of the case, Dr. Bulkeley?"

  Dr. Bulkeley cleared his throat. "In my opinion," he said deliberately, "it is necessary to use the greatest caution in the matter of testimony. Since the unnatural events so far recounted appear to rest in each case upon the word of but one witness, the legality of any one of them is open to question."

  "It is ridiculous to talk of legality," interrupted Matthew. "There has not one word been spoken that makes sense!"

  For the last few moments Goodwife Cruff had been vehemently prodding her husband. He rose now obediently. "Sir, I've summat to say as makes sense," he announced, assuming a bold tone, "and there's more than one witness to prove it. I've got summat here as was found in the widow's house that night."

  With a sinking heart Kit watched as he drew an object from his pocket. It was not the hornbook, as she expected. It was the little copybook. At sight of it Goodwife Cruff's anger burst through all restraints.

  "Look at that!" she demanded. "What do you say about that? My Prudence's name, written over and over. 'Tis a spell, that's what it is! A mercy the child is alive today. Another hour and she'd have been dying like the others!"

  The magistrate accepted the copybook reluctantly, as though it were tainted.

  "Do you recognize this book, Mistress Tyler?"

  Kit could barely stand upright. She tried to answer, but only a hoarse whisper came out.

  "Speak up, girl!" he ordered sharply. "Does this book belong to you?"

  "Yes sir," she managed.

  "Did you write this name?"

  Kit could barely swallow. She had vowed she would never deceive her uncle again! Then, remembering, she looked back at the copybook. Yes, the name on the first line was in her own hand, large and clear for Prudence to copy. "Yes sir," she said, her voice loud with relief. "I wrote the name."

  Matthew Wood passed a hand over his eyes. He looked old, old and ill as he had looked that day beside Mercy's bed.

  "Why should you write a child's name over and over like that?"

  "I—I can't tell you sir."

  Captain Talcott looked perplexed. "There are no other children's names here," he said. "Why did you choose to write the name of Prudence Cruff?"

  Kit was silent.

  "Mistress Tyler." The magistrate spoke to her directly. "I had considered this morning's inquiry merely a formality. I did not expect to find any evidence worthy of carrying to the court. But this is a serious mater. You must explain to us how this child's name came to be written."

  As Kit l
ooked back at him mutely, the restraints that held the tensely waiting crowd gave way. Men and women leaped to their feet, screaming.

  "She won't answer! That proves she's guilty!"

  "She's a witch! She's as good as admitted it!"

  "We don't need a jury trial. Put her to the water test!"

  "Hanging's too good for her!"

  In the midst of the pandemonium Gershom Bulkeley quietly reached for the copybook, studied it carefully, and turned a shrewd, deliberative eye upon Kit. Then he whispered something to the magistrate. Captain Talcott nodded.

  "Silence!" he barked. "This is the Colony of Connecticut! Every man and woman is entitled to a trial before a jury. This case will be turned over to the General Session in Hartford. The inquiry is dismissed."

  "Hold a minute, Captain!" called a voice. A commotion near the door had been scarcely noticed. "There's a fellow here says he has an important witness for the case."

  Every voice was suddenly stilled. Almost paralyzed with dread, Kit turned slowly to face a new accuser. On the threshold of the room stood Nat Eaton, slim, straight-shouldered, without a trace of mockery in his level blue eyes.

  Nat! The wave of joy and relief was so unexpected that she almost lost her balance, but almost instantly it drained away and left a new fear. For she saw that beside him, clinging tightly to his hand, was Prudence Cruff.

  Goodwife Cruff let out a piercing scream. "Take her out of here! The witch will put an evil eye on her!" She and her husband both started forward.

  "Stand back!" ordered the magistrate. "The child is protected here. Where is the witness?"

  Nat put his hands on the child's shoulders and gently urged her forward. With one trusting look up at his face. Prudence walked steadily toward the magistrate's table.

  Suddenly Kit found her voice. "Oh please sir!" she cried, the tears rushing down her face, "let them take her away! It is all my fault! I would do anything to undo it if I could! I never meant any harm, but I'm responsible for all of it. Please—take me to Hartford. Do what you want with me. But—oh, I beg you—send Prudence away from this horrible place!"