by Aaron Galvin
“Look you to your Bible then, sir.” Mother straightens her chin. “And you will understand it is possible. My good husband struggled every day with the sins he committed in that cursed place—”
“Salem,” Bishop says.
“A foul place with even fouler citizens.” Mother throws back. “They had their grievances long before my good husband arrived. Let them reap the blame upon themselves.”
She steps toward Bishop, her hand tucked into her apron. I see the dagger hilt pull from her apron. “Simon Campbell may well have partook in those malicious dealings. I married Paul Kelly. A good and just man who rescued me from my torments, gave me a life I never deserved, and helped raise Winford to a community of high esteem.”
Bishop nods. “And now his demons come to burn it all away.”
He leaves Mother speechless. Hickory paws with his hoof at the approach of one whose scent he does not recognize. Bishop whistles a strange tune to calm the beast.
I watch him slowly loosen the knots binding the barrels together.
Mother storms to his side. Her movement gives Hickory pause to jerk in Bishop’s grasp. “I thank you, sir, for bringing me my daughter. Now I think it best you move on.”
Bishop produces an apple from his saddlebag and gives it over whole. Hickory chomps at it, snorting, and allows Bishop to continue about his business. If only he could placate Mother so easily.
“Sir!” she says. “I think—”
“I heard ye, Mrs. Kelly, and I care more about this horse’s arse than what ye might be thinkin’ on.”
Mother’s jaw opens like one slapped.
“Ye’ll be singin’ a different tune tonight. The Devil’s daughter will be comin’ soon. Aye, and she’ll bring witches and highwaymen with her no doubt. A few savages too, mayhap.”
“Savages…” Mother whispers. “But wh-why would they want my daughter?”
“I ne’er said they wanted yer daughter,” Bishop says. “He wants her. The one they call the Warlock. One a the bastards yer husband betrayed. The Devil’s daughter comes to claim ye for her master.”
One of the men Father betrayed? Thomas Putnam, mayhap?
I fall to my knees. Dry heave.
Bishop kneels beside me, bids me look at him. “I don’t mean to scare ye, lass, but it’s better ye learn the hard truth now. Know this, too. I don’t mean to let her have ye. I swear it on me own soul.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you protect us if my father was the man you say?”
I see the old man’s shoulders sag.
“Aye. How is it you to know all these things, sir?” Mother asks. “Of my husband’s secret past, and this…Devil’s daughter? Why do you come to help us, if it indeed be help you offer?”
Bishop’s cheeks quiver at her questions. He says nothing for a moment. His gaze distant in reliving a memory I am not privy to.
“Yer daughters aren’t the first marked for the Warlock,” he says.
I hear a whistle from the drive. Mother helps me to my feet, and I turn to see a new pair of riders. Priest leads the way atop his red stallion, followed close by Wesley Greene on a chestnut quarter horse. My hand flies to my breast seeing Priest alive and well. What I cannot fathom is why Wesley rides beside him.
“Bah,” Bishop mutters as they halt near us. “This lad all ye could rally?”
Priest nods.
Bishop takes his hat off and smacks his leg with it. “Ye couldn’t talk sense to any more of ’em?”
Priest looks away to the corn.
Bishop kicks the dirt. “Why don’t they ever listen? Makin’ it easier for ’em is all they’re doin’.”
Priest says nothing; only watches Bishop until the older man tires of the charade.
With a shake of his head, Bishop picks up his hat and dusts it off. “I know, I know.” He sighs. “They don’t know better. Well, they damn sure don’t listen neither…colonial bastards!”
I feel Priest’s eyes upon me. I cannot tell if he wishes me to speak and mayhap give him thanks for his heroism last eve. His gaze lasts but a brief moment and is gone. Then, I see Bishop looks at me with the same bit of eager study.
“Aye, yer right, lad.” Bishop says to Priest.
Right? About what? Priest never spoke a word!
Bishop spits when Priest nods at him. “Well, ye don’t have to brag about it, damn ye. Off to it with ye.” He turns his head to my house. “Lads! Bellies full or no, out with ye. It’s time to work!”
George appears in the doorway with Andrew. “Wesley? What brings you here?”
Wesley turns his attention to Priest. “This stranger came to church and brought word we face our doom this eve. He bid any who wished to live and see the morrow come with him.”
“Wesley,” Mother says. “Are you saying there are others at the church?”
“Aye, Mrs. Kelly. Reverend Corwin called near the whole town there in light of the burning of both the Martin and Bailey homesteads. He said God wreaks vengeance upon our town for this new witchery and we beckoned it come hither by our sins. He claims we must go to God and pray for Him to take this cup from our lips.”
“Pray,” Bishop scoffs. “Does yer Reverend remember how that worked for the last one to request such from the Almighty? At least ye had the sense in yer head to leave ‘em, lad.”
“I did not leave because my faith wanes, sir,” Wesley replies harshly. He looks upon me. “I came to protect Sarah and her family.”
He dismounts and strides toward me. “I near wept when this man brought news of your father’s death,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I pray God grant mercy on his soul.”
“I-I thank you,” I say, reeling for such kindness from one who has scarcely spoke ten words to me before this day. “But what of your family? Do your parents not object to your leaving?”
“Aye, they did. But I am a man grown,” Wesley says with willful resolve. “And must needs do what I believe right.”
Bishop chuckles. “I like this one already.”
Wesley ignores him. His tender gaze focused only on me. “It be little secret I have long wished to take you for a wife. I meant to ask your father come the final harvest, but—”
“Wesley, I—”
“I do not come to ask for your hand now,” he says. “Only that you let me serve in his place during this, your time of need.”
Bishop claps Wesley on the shoulder. “Right well said, lad!” He drags him away from me. “We’ll see what such words be worth tonight. Now—”
“Your pardon, Mr. Bishop, sir,” George says. “But if others gather at the church, should we not join them? Father had many friends in the town. It may be we are better shielded there with so few defenders between us here.”
Bishop scowls at my brother.
George falters for a moment, yet he will not quit his argument. “If these witches truly mean us harm, as you have said, is there not safety in numbers?”
“Aye. There can be,” Bishop says. “But if those numbers turn fearful, it’s not safety ye’ll find there.”
“I don’t take your meaning, sir.”
“Why do ye think they went to church?”
“For comfort,” Andrew says meekly. “God dwells there.”
“The church resides in the people, Andrew,” Wesley chides him. “The building is the largest structure to house a town gathering. It is the most defensible outpost we have.”
“Aye,” George says. “A place to seek fellowship and fight together if needs be.”
As if signaled, I see Priest gives his stallion a nudge of his heels. He circles the three sons of Winford.
All take notice. They back closer to one another to keep Priest in front of them.
“And what will ye do, lads, when the enemy isn’t outside…but inside?” Bishop asks. “Did ye ever herd yer father’s sheep?”
Priest continues to pace his stallion around them. A smirk teases the corners of his lips when he sees my brother and his friend startled.
&n
bsp; “A-aye, many times,” George says.
“Right. Then ye know well if ye have one in particular ye want, ye don’t rush in after it, do ye?”
“No,” George replies, swiveling to keep his gaze on Priest. “You’ll fear them and make them spread. It will take longer to catch the one you want. Better to fan out around them. Force them together in the middle so you may weed out the others.”
“Aye,” Bishop says. “And do ye know what forces ‘em to the middle?”
Priest swings off his horse. Andrew and Wesley jump back, leaving Priest a clear path to stride right for George. He stops directly in front of my brother.
“F-fear,” George says.
“Aye,” Bishop replies. “They move to the middle ‘cause it’s where they feel safest. Let yer hounds in to nip their heels and they’ll move as one, even if it’s not where they mean to go.”
Bishop clears his voice of the ominous tone. “Now,” he says, his tone gay once more. “What’s say I could speak to sheep and they’d understand. So I says to ‘em, ‘I don’t need the lot of ye…just that wee lamb right there. Give it over and I’ll call me dogs off.’ What do ye think they’d do?”
And now I have the understanding of it. “They would give it up,” I say.
“Aye. And that’s why we can’t go. The church is the middle,” Bishop looks directly at me. “And we have the one wee lamb they’re after.”
-12-
“Your pardon, sir,” I mock Bishop. “But I am no lamb, nor do I have any intention of being sacrificed.”
“Well, that’s good, lass,” he says. “I’ve no desire to risk me own life if ye were. Right then. I want ye and yer muther to move anything in the house ye’d like to keep over to the barn. When ye’ve done with it, I’ll give ye another job.”
I start forward. “But—”
“No buts. The more questions ye ask, the less we get done,” Bishop says. “Now, Little Kelly, the Martin lad, and, er—” He scratches his head and points to Wesley.
I watch Wesley raise himself to his full height. “I am—”
Bishop waves him off. “I don’t care who ye are. Don’t want no names neither. I don’t do attachments, ye know. Saves me the time from mournin’ ye if’n ye get yerself killed. So”—he claps his hands—“the three lads run along to the barn, fetch the axes, and cut down the nearest trees ye can find to fashion some boards. I don’t give a damn what’s been said to ye before this day. None of ye are wee boys any longer. It’s man’s work we do tonight, and I’ve need for three more standin’ alongside me. Now off with ye.”
George and Andrew grin at being called men for the first time. Together, they run off to complete their task.
Wesley lingers beside me. “I did not leave my family to chop down trees for a plan you will not speak of, sir,” he says. “I came to protect Sarah.”
“It’s right noble of ye, lad,” Bishop says. “But they’ll be time for yer chivalry later. She’ll be safe so long as the sun is shinin’. Witches only come at night when it’s harder to see ’em.”
“Then why not track them by day?” Wesley suggests. “Find where they sleep and kill them there?”
Bishop chuckles. He turns his attention to Priest. “Oi! Why didn’t we ever think on that?”
Priest takes a small whetstone from his pocket, uses it to sharpen his tomahawk. It makes an awful scratching sound as he drags the blade’s edge across it.
“Oh, that’s right,” Bishop says grandly. “Some of the natives protect and hide ‘em. Well,”—he turns back to Wesley—“if ye’ve an army to raid the tribes with, then by all means, we’ll get right to it.”
“Why would savages shelter witches amongst them?”
Bishop chuckles. “Ne’er been with a woman, have ye, lad?”
I see the truth of it plain upon Wesley’s blushing face.
“There’s no shame in it, son,” Bishop says. “Safer, truth be told. Course if ye doubt me, ye could ask him over there.” He motions his head toward Priest.
I hear the blade’s edge sing off the side of the stone. Priest holds it aloft. He glares at Wesley, daring him to ask the question.
Wesley gulps.
“Ah, don’t ye worry about him,” Bishop says to Wesley. “He’ll do naught to ye. Less ye go round stickin’ yer nose where it don’t belong, that is. Well,” he cocks his head to the side. “Off to the woods with ye to join the others. I’ll be there soon as I get this lot sorted.”
Wesley turns to me. “Sarah, if you should have need of me—”
“I will call,” I say, knowing full well I shall have no such need. Not when I see Priest’s gaze also lingers on me. I stand quietly by as Wesley walks away. No doubt he wonders what plan Bishop has in store.
“Well,” Bishop says to Priest. “Whattaya think, lad?”
Priest leans to the far side of his stallion where I cannot see. I gather he spits from the sound of it.
“Aye, yer right,” Bishop says. “A bit green, but they’ll do. Now, where’s the wee Kelly lass?”
“Rebecca?” I say.
“Aye, unless there be more of ye.”
Mother shelters her. “What do you mean to do with my youngest?”
“I’ve a job for her, naturally.” Bishop leans to see Rebecca’s golden head peeking from behind Mother. “Did ye think I forgot about ye, lass? Ye’ve the most important task.”
Rebecca eagerly steps clear of Mother, showing the first sign of life I have seen in her since the morning before church. “What is it?”
“I need ye to—are ye listenin’ now?”
She takes another step toward him.
“Good. I need ye to make sure every poppet in yer house has a good place to hide in the barn tonight. Every poppet, mind ye. Can ye handle that?”
Rebecca bounces on her heels as she gives him a nod.
I wonder what she must be thinking. No man has ever spoken so kindly to her, and especially not of poppets.
“Right then,” Bishop continues. “And after ye’ve done with it, ye make sure everyone else does their jobs. Now, off to yer poppets.”
The old man smiles as she runs away. A smile that quickly disappears when seeing Priest also grins. “Don’t start with me,” Bishop growls at him. “What are ye still doin’ here anyway? Ye know what needs done. Off with ye!”
Priest clicks to his stallion and rides away toward the woods.
“Colonial bastard,” Bishop mutters as he joins the boys. “Startin’ with me on the rules. I wrote the rules!”
Mother and I return to our home. For the next two hours, we bundle blankets, clothing, and candles together. I find the work aids in delaying any unpleasant thoughts of Father, Hecate, and my friends, so I do it gladly.
Mother seems invigorated by the work. She does not sing as she oft did before, but every now and then she hums to herself. I leave the books for the boys to carry, and tie the blankets and clothing with twine to take for the barn.
Leaving the cabin, I hear the sounds of axes biting wood afar off. I glance across the open southern field to where the three boys alternate in turns to fell the thin and tall elms all the faster.
Wesley’s chest is naked. I see it little wonder why the men amongst Winford have taken him for one of their own.
The change did his body well. Even from a distance, I see it glistens with sweat. I look too long, however, and he catches me watching. He lowers his axe and gives me a grand wave.
Bishop immediately reprimands him for doing so.
I do not return the gesture, not wanting to seem forward. Tucking my chin to chest, I continue to the barn. The cows mooing lend credence to the thought I am performing my daily chores.
I hear Rebecca high in the loft above me, asking of her poppets where they would most like to hide. She comforts the unheard voices, which must be sore affrighted at the notion of being left alone. I sling my tote about my shoulders and climb up the ladder.
Rebecca becomes a mute at the sight of me. I wonder
if she believes the poppets’ hiding locations must be kept secret even from me, one she knows to have danced in the moonlight. She taps her foot, and I gather I am to hurry so she may finish her first chore and move on to the next.
I hasten to finish and leave her to it. As I descend the ladder, I hear her footsteps running across the floorboards. They send dust and hay fluttering to earth and into my hair. Shaking any remnants free, I leave through the northern door of our barn.
Priest’s red stallion comes round the opposite side into my sights, with him leading it. A dead stag is draped over the stallion’s back. Its head and neck tied firmly in a way that prevents its rack of horns from stabbing, or poking the mount. The stag’s coal black eyes stare at me from beyond the throes of death, reminding me of the dead ram I saw in my night terrors.
The stallion neighs deeply at the sight of me.
Priest dips low under its neck. He quiets it by placing his hand upon the white blaze between its eyes and gently rubbing it.
I cannot discern Priest’s demeanor, only that he means me no harm or I would have received it already. “Th-thank you,” I say. “For last night.”
He seems more interested in calming his beast than in my gratitude. He moves his hand to stroke its jawline, patting it at the last. Only then does he look at me. Though he utters no words, I understand mine did not go unheard. With a dogged grin, he clicks to his stallion and leads it across the yard.
I watch him go, thinking again how he must be a mute to stay so silent. Then I recall Wesley saying he spoke at the church. Why is it Priest would speak to others, but not me? Does he think me plain and ordinary?
He whistles.
I look up, and see him motion for me to follow. I attempt to quell the delight upon my face, for I do not wish him to think I am but a girl on the eve of womanhood. Despite my misgivings at being whistled at, I join him.
Priest waits for me ere he continues on. He looks upon me only once, but that with another dimpled grin.
My heart flutters.
He stops shy of my home where he unties the stag’s bindings. With a quick yank, he pulls the corpse off. It lands in a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. Only then do I notice there is no mark upon the beast.
