by Aaron Galvin
“Sir, you have the wrong man,” I argue. “My Father could not have been—”
“Mark me words,” Bishop sneers. “If ye and yer kin weren’t here, I’d send yer father to Hell right now.” His gaze falls on the ribbons and he grows quiet. “But I reckon the debt he owes will be repaid soon enough.”
With a quick flick of his wrist, Bishop throws the dagger into the dirt at Father’s feet.
Only then does Father come back to life. He blinks, looks around at us as one amongst strangers. He touches the dagger’s hilt, and pulls it from the dirt. A scornful mask passes over him. Father rises, turning his hateful glare to the corn. Then he runs for our home.
“The dagger’s how they mark the houses,” Bishop says to Mother and I. “The arrogant little bitches tell ye which ones they mean to take. And I’d bet me life any a yer neighbors with daughters have a bone-hilted dagger in their barns right now.”
“Daughters…” Mother clutches Rebecca closer. “Why?”
Bishop looks between Mother and I. He looks at the ribbons dangling from the dagger. “Red for the innocence stolen from ‘em. Black for the histories that’ll forever darken their names.” Bishop looks at Mother. “It’s Salem’s vengeance, Mrs. Kelly. Come for its due and proper!”
A piercing whistle cuts the air.
I look to the barn to see Priest shake his head. He points to the fading sun. To my family, it may look as though he only points at the corn. I know he means far beyond it; his true aim is to the clearing. The deep woods where the gatherings occur.
Bishop hurries to his dapple grey. I watch him swing astride his mount with surprising dexterity for a man as old as he.
“Bishop!” Father calls. His voice is strong again. The voice of Father I have always known, not the weakling I witnessed but a moment ago. I turn to see him exit our home with a flintlock in hand. “I go with you.”
“Oh?” Bishop asks. “And who will protect yer family while ye be away?”
Father looks at us each in turn. He passes over me, but lingers on Rebecca.
“Stay with ‘em,” Bishop says. “After all, this isn’t Salem. This lot won’t be idly clapped in irons and led to the gallows.”
“Mother,” Rebecca says. “Does he speak true? There are witches in Winford?”
Bishop winks at my sister. “Aye, lass. And I go to hunt ‘em!”
He laughs himself into another mad coughing fit, and spurs his horse away toward the corn. I watch him follow the path Priest left, riding just beyond the reach of corn, yet never venturing inside. He becomes a tiny thing ere much time passes and soon vanishes, along with my family’s hope for more answers.
-8-
Night has fallen with no sign of Bishop, nor Priest. A strange fear took over my household when they left. I like it not at all.
Father has been sullen ever since and disappeared to the barn with the bone-hilted dagger. Mother took Rebecca several times to cheer him. I gather she intended to learn if Father abandoned us to follow the strangers into the woods.
Each time they return, Rebecca tells me they find Father upon the milking stool; his gaze lost in the sockets of the skulled dagger. What spell is cast upon it not even Rebecca can break him from its transfix?
With Father out of his wits and Mother beside herself with worry, George lords about our home. He and Andrew brought down gunpowder and shot from our stores to place near the windows. Why he does this I do not pretend to know, but his enthusiasm for it keeps them busy.
I am forbidden to leave the house, even to gather firewood. All because Mother fears witches may truly come for her daughters. I notice, too, she will not allow Rebecca five feet from her since Bishop’s warning. I banish myself upstairs rather than be consumed by the fear gripping them. On my way up, I see Rebecca rise to follow me. She takes but two steps ere Mother wrangles her close.
Even my own room has been taken over. A rifle leans against my window. I wonder if George expects me to use it, or if he plans on manning all the positions he has laid out. With naught else to do but wait, I light a candle, lie upon our pallet, and resume my reading of Thomas Putnam’s journal.
***
2nd day of February, 1692
Would that I could have murdered Captain Alden today. To my deep regret, the savage-lover has already departed for Quebec. An honest man told me Alden offered to seek out a Wabanaki medicine man to rid my Ann and the other girls of their affliction.
As if I would allow he or one of his red men near my home, let alone touch my daughter.
I cannot fathom why Alden be allowed to come and go as he pleases. The man is a traitor to his people.
12th day of February, 1692
Doctors Campbell and Griggs returned to panic in our town this afternoon. Good doctors both, but they are far better actors. I nearly believed their distress at the woeful affairs they returned to in Salem. Griggs insisted upon examining each of the afflicted girls at once, with Dr. Campbell to aid him. A crowd followed them to Reverend Parris’s home, tittering of evil spirits and the Devil come to bear.
The pair of doctors tarried in the home not an hour ere returning to an even larger gathering outside, all eager to spread their words throughout the countryside. Griggs refused to speak until he had examined my Ann.
I gather this is Dr. Campbell’s ploy. The delayed response only sowed the seeds of fear deeper amongst the crowd.
I would not permit any, not even Parris inside my home. Indeed, I barred my wife from witnessing also. Once alone, Dr. Campbell apologized for his lack of communication, but insisted it necessary for panic to truly take hold. I again am left to wonder what sort of mind devises a plot such as this; to bend a town so easily to his will? I admit, I am envious of such power, yet feel blessed I am partnered with it rather than pitted against him.
With only I to watch, the doctors ceased their examination pretense. In truth, Griggs stood beside me trembling whilst Dr. Campbell removed his satchel. From it, he took what I first believed a small rock. He first required Griggs and myself to restrain Ann, a feat which took near all our strength. She continued to moan, and lash at me, a sure sign of the Devil if ever I saw one.
Dr. Campbell insisted she were not witched. He closed her nostrils and forced the rock inside her mouth, then placed his hand over it to prevent her from spewing it out.
She nigh choked upon swallowing, yet I felt her body go lax beneath me after. She slept soundly then.
Dr. Campbell assured me she would awaken by nightfall. He then preached we must proceed as agreed upon in the woods, and asked Griggs to address the crowd.
***
Newfound strength, the moaning, and lashing; each word I read only serves to transport me back to Ruth’s home. Could what afflicted the girls in Salem truly have come to Winford?
I am torn by the thought. My friends snorted of a powder, not drank it as Thomas Putnam claims his daughter and the other Salem girls did. Mayhap the powder and drink are different substances.
I wonder what is this remedy Dr. Campbell gave to calm her? Could it be similar to that which Father gave Ruth? Perhaps someone discovered a cure and made available for others to remedy afflictions of witchery on their own after Salem ended.
I think on Father’s satchel. Given his current state, mayhap I could sneak the satchel away to better learn what else may be hidden inside.
No. If he discovered the theft…
I return to my reading.
***
Later, I overheard Griggs relay to the village the girls acted in accordance to how the children did when bewitched by Goody Glover. I heard gasps from the women and more rumored whispers than I care to recount.
Dr. Toothaker, spoke then, he who had come at our request to examine the girls before doctors Griggs and Campbell returned. He went amongst the crowd claiming he and his daughter have killed witches in the past, and could do so again if necessary. The superstitious man has always been a nuisance, but now the crowds hearkened to his every word. Sev
eral asked how could he tell a witch from an afflicted?
I did not stay to hear his ridiculous answers. Instead, I returned home to find Ann awakened. She told me spirits beckoned her to dance after she had drunk of the potion. Aye, and felt lifted to heaven as if she could fly. She next asked of me for more of it.
I admitted I had none.
She grew unruly, begging me to obtain more whilst claiming an unquenchable thirst. Her body twitched as if possessed anew, and she would have torn her face off, I fear, had I not halted her from doing so. When I restrained her, she kicked at me and flailed about until her release. Again, she demanded I retrieve her more. Again, I refused, and she beat upon me with a furious strength no mere child should possess.
'Twas shock bid me strike her, I realize now, yet she seemed not to feel the blow that should bring an average man to his knees. I do not recall the knock upon my door, nor can I remember when Dr. Campbell entered the room, but he was suddenly there. I watched in wonder as he approached my Ann, unafraid, with a vial of sherry in his hand. He gave her but a spoonful of the drink, and that she drank down greedily.
I scarcely heard what Dr. Campbell said next to me, my attention being solely for my daughter. She turned calm not a few minutes after she drank of what he gave. Falling back into bed, she smiled and moaned lecherously.
Dr. Campbell asked if I preferred her in such a state, or would I have him return her affliction. Before I could speak, he held the remainder of the vial before my eyes. The evil shall retake her without this, he told me softly. He then set the potion on my table and reiterated my family’s role to play in the dastardly plan. Then he took his leave.
My precious Ann turned feral again but two hours later.
I gave her the remaining lot, and, as if magicked, she grew calm again. Yet now the potion is gone, and I fear it will not be long ere she has need of it again.
25th day of February, 1692
There are multiple girls in Salem now afflicted, my own servant, Mercy Lewis, chief among them. I fear all have drunk of Dr. Campbell’s potion. Could it be he spread it amongst the girls in fear I shall betray him? If so, I must relay his threat well-received. I shall play my role to the fullest, as my partners continue to act their own, so long as my Ann is given what she needs.
To the public, Griggs claims he can find no remedy for the girls’ affliction but they be witched, and so the villagers have turned to superstitious remedies.
I heard tell the slave, John Indian, was ordered to bake what he named a witch cake—a foul concoction made from the urine of Betty Parris and Abigail Williams—and fed the cake to a beastly dog, it being said the animal is a familiar of the Devil. I am told the mongrel ate the lot, yet both girls remain afflicted.
Fulfilling his obligations to the plan, Reverend Parris preaches of the Devil in all his forms and how even the most faithful in heart may be corrupted.
Dr. Campbell visited me later under the pretense of examining Ann once more, though I knew he came to assuage my concerns. He made mention I would soon witness a sign he is a good and honest partner to me. The time is ripe to earn my reward, he said. And I shall understand his meaning soon.
27th day of February, 1692
Betty Parris mentioned this morn their savage, Tituba, caused her torment. Accusing a slave of such witchery seems of little offense to me, but she and Abigail later accused Sarah Good also.
Dr. Campbell saw both women clapped in irons and led away. He then asked if there be anyone I reckoned a witch.
Then, I fully understood the doctor’s meaning two days past. My partners be the truest allies I could ever have hoped for. I called my Ann into the room where first Dr. Campbell gave unto her a potion that caused her to convulse. I planted the name in her mind, and she went with me to seek a legal warrant for the arrest of Goody Osborne.
I cannot imagine a test more suited to our plot. A slave, a beggar, and a thief; with these three souls, we lay the foundation for that to come.
***
I hear footsteps walking up the stairwell. I close the journal, and shove it in my apron. Rebecca appears in the doorway.
“Mother says it is time for supper,” she says.
“Aye, I shall be down in a moment.”
Rebecca remains. Her fingers play about the handle.
“What keeps you?”
“I-I have not told Mother, nor Father, of your leave for the gathering,” she says tenderly. “Can you not tell them you that put the dagger in the barn?”
She cannot mean it. “But I did not do so.”
“No?”
I swing my legs out of bed. “Where am I to have acquired such a dagger? And the mastery of carving such intricacies upon its hilt?”
My sister puzzles over my words.
“Do you truly think me a witch?” I ask.
I am surprised to hear not a little of Mother’s voice in my own. A queer feeling near strikes me down as I watch Rebecca run away in answer. How could it be my own sister believes me capable of such evil? I have told her we do naught but dance at the gatherings. Does she truly think I would sport as such to put fear in both the hearts of her and Mother?
I hear our main cabin door open below and close as quickly. I hurry to the window. Mother carries a plate of corn, carrots, and a slab of venison toward the barn.
Father must be there still, and she off to serve him.
With both out of the house, I slip downstairs. In truth, I am happy Father does not join us. He believes children should be silent in the presence of adults and so our meals together have ever been a bleak affair. At least Mother’s absence will allow me the chance to eat quickly and leave the table.
I reach the bottom of the steps. George and Andrew have positioned themselves off to the sides of our front windows as lookouts. Each holds one of Father’s long rifles across their laps. They barely acknowledge me as they eat in watchful silence. I wonder if the pair of them gave any real thought to what Father will do should he find his best rifles taken without consent.
Rebecca sits at the table with her poppets strewn about to keep her company. She is deep in conversation with them as I make my plate. I take my place down the table from her. With Mother gone, I sit comfortably with a leg tucked up beneath me as I read on to discover more of Thomas Putnam’s scheme.
***
1st day of March, 1692
The witches have turned on one another. Parris’s slave Tituba named Osborne and Sarah Good as conspiring with her and the Devil.
I sense Dr. Campbell’s hand in this; perhaps he whispered a subtle word she may free herself by admitting guilt and condemning the others.
Later, Sarah Good admitted conspiring with the Devil. She turned on Osborne not long after.
However, an earlier fear of mine has come to pass. Martha Corey called the afflicted girls liars, and spoke of her disbelief in witchery also.
Dr. Campbell cared naught of it when I told him the news. He would only say Corey will be dealt with in due time.
I pray he is right.
He did praise my choice in condemning Osborne. Prideful and stubborn, she will not confess, nor name other supposed witches as Good and Tituba have done. Dr. Campbell mentioned her refusals only serve to strengthen the resolve of all in the village now seeking answers. It will not be long ere they find some.
I shall see personally to that. I admit to a sense of joy in seeing Osborne suffer so. The woman has tormented me these many years in her withholdings of the lands that by rights belong to me. Let her rot in jail and think on the wrongs she showed me. Many will join her if I have my way. My list is long, and the good Dr. Campbell gave unto me the keys to fortune and vengeance. I should be a fool not to use them.
12th day of March, 1692
Our cause grows stronger.
Dr. Campbell has further swelled the ranks of afflicted girls, including my servant, Mercy. All do as they are bid or risk facing the terrible agony my daughter spoke comes from the absence of potion.
Would that I knew the contents of it. I have asked Dr. Campbell, but the man has smartly refused. At least my partner is no fool to give up his secrets so easily.
Martha Corey also now stands accused of witchery. It will be a mighty blow for our cause if she be condemned; she being so highly regarded for her faith.
Parris means for her to face the rope, but I could not fathom a means to blacken her name. Would that I had more faith in our reverend. He aims to spread talk Martha is both whore and mother to the bastard slave boy, Benoni, who lives with her and her equally wretched husband, Giles.
24th day of March, 1692
A sadder sight I ne’er saw than that I did today. Dorothy Good, the daughter of Sarah Good, was arrested for witchery and she being only four years old.
***
I choke on a bit of venison. Bishop spoke true…there were child prisoners in Salem!
I look down the table at Rebecca. She is double the age of Dorothy Good. Even the thought of her in chains shudders me.
How could one so young be thought a witch and, worse, imprisoned in a dank cell?
The notion robs me of my appetite. I rise from the table, and clear the scraps into a bucket for George to give the hogs later. There is a small basin to wash the dishes in. I do so hurriedly, ere Mother returns with more for me to clean. Rebecca comes to help me dry the plate, one of her favorite tasks. I carefully place it back inside Mother’s cabinet so as to not chip it.
Our watchful guards drowse at their posts. I collect the rifles and return them to their rightful home beside Father’s bed ere he discovers the boys’ misstep. It would not be proper for Andrew to receive a strapping for obeying my brother’s commands whilst he is a guest in our home.
Rebecca, too, seems tired. With a yawn, she lays on the floor in front of the hearth amongst her dolls. I think to scold her for keeping them so close to the fire. If a spark popped just right, it could singe her dolls, or catch fire. I think better of it.
“Rebecca,” I say. “Won’t you come to bed?”
“I wait for Father.”
