A small flame of hope began to burn in my heart.
I glanced toward the horizon. Darkness would soon cover the island. I got to my feet as my mind formulated a plan. I would leave at sunset, taking the small skiff I had hidden by the mouth of the cave. I would make my way to the mainland and, once there, seek to find what had happened to my family and my friends.
And, if I discovered they were burnt, there would be hell to pay.
The Village of Falmouth
June 2, 1698
ONCE ASHORE, I walked to the village, keeping close to the woods so as not to be seen. It was a quiet night, clouds dispersing to reveal the beauty of the full moon. Everything seemed peaceful and calm, leaving no evidence of the carnage that had taken place on Storm Island just a few hours before.
When I reached the settlement, I stayed hidden in the shadows, making my way to Imelda’s shop. I knew that if anyone knew what had happened to my family, she would.
When I reached her door, I was pleased to see a faint light shining from the back. She was home. I tried the knob, opened the door, and, as a precaution should she not be alone, reached up to silence the bells that usually announced a visitor.
I could hear noises coming from the kitchen and, without a word, I approached. As if sensing something, she turned, her hand leaping to her throat in shock when she saw me standing before her.
“Little dove,” she whispered. “I had thought you dead.”
“Aye,” I answered. “So had I.”
I walked toward her, into the light, and her eyes widened.
“What has happened to you, child?” she asked.
Hot tears scalded my cheeks. “My babe – I lost him this morning when the soldiers came.”
“You were with child?” she asked.
I nodded. “Three months’ gone.”
She came to me, taking me into her arms, sheltering me. “You poor thing,” she said. “But how did you escape? It was you they were looking for.”
“I know,” I said. “All this is my fault. The fault of my pride and sinfulness.”
As I spoke, a loud sob burst from my lungs and I fell to weeping in her arms. She said nothing, just let me cry and, when my tears began to abate, led me to her bedroom and bade me lie on the bed.
“But what of my family, missus?” I asked. “Do they still live? I must know.”
“Hush now, little dove,” she crooned. “I will bring you a draught that will help you sleep and heal. Tomorrow will be time enough for talking.”
I started to protest, but she covered me with a quilt and removed my shoes, then walked to the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a steaming cup of tea.
“Drink, love, and sleep. And, may your slumber be dreamless.”
Exhausted both mentally and physically, I did as she instructed, drank the tea, and, within minutes, was asleep.
Disturbing Revelations
WHEN I WOKE, it was past dawn. At first I thought I was at home, and blindly reached for Micah, whom I wished was lying beside me. But there was no one there and the events of the day before came rushing back, threatening to drown me in sorrow.
Slowly, I sat up, my body aching from the miscarriage I’d experienced the day before. I tried to get to my feet, but was still groggy from the draught Imelda had given me, and I clung to the bedpost for support.
As my head cleared, I could hear voices coming from the parlor and I made my way to the door, listening. I could hear Imelda speaking and the sound of a man, answering her. The man’s voice was vaguely familiar, like a ghost from the past, and I strained to catch wind of what they were saying.
I heard the words “payment” and “witch,” but then I heard the man utter my name and my heart almost stopped. Slowly, being a quiet as a mouse, I cracked open the door.
Imelda was standing by her desk, a purse in her hand. The man, stood with his back to me so I could not, at first, readily identify him. Then, waving his hand as if dismissing my friend, he turned.
Zachariah Palmer.
My eyes traveled to the purse in Imelda’s hand. Was he paying her? And, if so, for what?
Anger washed over me as I remembered the question that had plagued my mind when I first saw the ship: How did they know we were here? Now I knew the answer. Imelda had told them – told them for coin. She had betrayed us, like Judas, for thirty pieces of silver.
A wave of hatred coursed through my veins as I watched that scoundrel, Palmer, saunter out the door. Then, I turned my attention back to the woman I thought of as “friend.” How could she?
She was standing with her back to me as I threw open the door to the bedroom. Hearing it slam against the wall, she spun around.
“Little dove,” she said. “Did you … did you hear …?”
I stepped forward into the room, my face a mask of anger and pain.
“Yes, I heard and I saw. You betrayed us. All that suffering, all that death, is on your head.”
“Please, child, let me explain …”
“What is there to explain? Zachariah Palmer, that cur, offered you money and you took it. It all looks pretty plain and simple to me. And, now it will be your turn to pay.”
As I spoke these words, dark incantations began to circulate in my brain – spells put there by that old charlatan, Ian Morrison – words that could invoke punishment and death. Without volition, my lips began to move, reciting the worst of them:
“Leech of my life who sucks at my soul,
May you be fed to the darkness, whole.
Viper that lives inside the black smoke,
Wrap ‘round this woman and let her choke.”
As these words left my mouth, a cloud of black smoke began to emanate from my fingertips. Imelda sank to the floor, crying for mercy, but I heard her not. More words I uttered and the smoke surrounded her like a dark snake, entwining itself ‘round her body, squeezing and choking.
“Maude, mercy!” she screamed. “It was not I. It was that old devil, Morrison. He came for his prize and I could not deny him.”
At the sound of Morrison’s name, my mind seemed to clear. I dropped my hands to my sides and, as I did, the smoke began to waver, as if questioning its own existence.
“Be gone!” I yelled and, as I did so, the smoke shivered once, then disappeared.
Imelda lay crumpled on the floor, her face white as a ghost, her chest heaving as if she could get no air. I ran to her.
“Oh, missus,” I cried, putting my arms around her. “Forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”
She gasped and coughed, clutching at me as if I were a lifeline.
“Water,” she rasped.
I nodded and ran to the kitchen and poured her a cup of cool, clear water, which she drank greedily.
Minutes passed and I waited for her to speak. Her neck, where the smoky snake had grasped her, was bruising terribly.
“Thank you, Maude,” she finally said. “You saved my life.”
“Oh, missus,” I cried. “You owe me no thanks. For it was I who was about to take it.”
“True,” she replied. “But with good reason. Bring me another cup of water and I will explain what happened.”
I did as she requested and then helped her to a chair in the parlor. “Tell me,” I said. “What has happened to me? What have I become?”
She sat and looked at me with sympathy. “The old man tricked you into a bargain – your boy in exchange for this power. But, even with all his devilry, he must abide by the rules of magic.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Patience. I’ll explain. In order for the bargain to seal, he had to give you power in equal measure of your love for the boy. To give less, would break the seal. Thus, because your love for Samuel is so strong, so is your power. But you must learn how to wield it.”
“But how?”
Imelda smiled weakly. “I will help you.”
I nodded. “But how does this relate to what happened on Storm?”
“It
was a week ago,” she replied. “That old conjurer showed his face at my door. Not the face you saw for he has changed it again. But this body, the one he wears now, is becoming diseased … ridden with pox … and he knows that it will not be long before he will need to inhabit a new one.”
“My Samuel,” I whispered.
Imelda nodded. “Yes, he came for your child. I tried lying to him. I told him the boy had drowned two years ago in a fishing accident. But he did not believe me. Said he would have known, because the boy is his by promise.”
A tear slipped from my eye. “It is my fault, to be sure. I did not mean to promise him my son. He tricked me. I do not want to be a witch, to know these horrid spells. But I am apparently cursed.”
Imelda took my hand in hers. “Yes, he tricked you, but a bargain is a bargain.”
“But what about all those good people? Why did they have to die?”
The missus laughed, sadly. “Who knows why that old man does anything. It probably gave him joy to think of those good people burning at the stake. Just as it pleases him to have you suffer so. He’s the devil himself.”
“But my family. Do you know what happened to them? Micah and the children were fishing. If Samuel survived, can it be that they, too …?”
Imelda frowned. “I don’t know. However, if they are alive, praise God, they will be sold in indentured servitude along with the other survivors – all men and children. The auction is this afternoon.”
“Will that old man and my Samuel be there?”
“No, I fear not. The old man took your boy back with him to Virginia. They left, I believe, sometime before you arrived at my door.”
“Oh God, will he have taken my boy’s soul already?”
Imelda patted my hand. “No, I expect not. Samuel is how old? Eight or nine?”
I nodded.
“Good. Morrison will have to wait until your boy reaches puberty … until his hormones start flowing. Then, he will act.”
I helped Imelda to her feet, holding my tongue as I wrapped my mind around what had happened.
“We must go to the auction,” I finally said. “And buy up all the survivors’ papers, even if my Micah and Sarah are not among them.”
“Aye,” said Imelda. “We’ll use the money given me by Palmer, who thinks I sold you out for coin. Another trick laid out by that old bastard, Morrison. But, perhaps, for once we can turn the tables on him and do good with what was meant to be evil. But you cannot go.”
“Why?”
“It was you Palmer wanted and he was sorely vexed that he could not find you. Be sure he will be at the auction hoping to catch you.”
“Then I will change my appearance. If I have all this power, surely I can do that.”
Imelda grinned at me. “Yes, we can do that. Come with me. Let’s start with your hair.”
The Auction
WE WORKED ON my appearance for the better part of the morning, using both conventional and quite nonconventional methods. The result was a woman I didn’t recognize. My hair was gray and piled artfully on top of my head. Lines were now evident on my face and my nose was long and pointed. My body was fat and I had a pronounced widow’s hump. The result was a woman, well past middle age, who needed a cane to walk.
Imelda hired us a buggy on the back of which we tied a horse that I would need later. Once I was inside the cab, she told the driver to take me to the square where the auction was to take place. Before I left she handed me the purse full of coins.
“Buy them all,” she said. “I will be waiting with the cart in the alley and will bring it around after your transaction is completed.”
“Bless you, missus,” I said, kissing her lightly on both cheeks. “Pray that Micah and Sarah are with them for, if they are not, I may lay waste to this town and all who are in it.”
She smiled, grimly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. God speed and keep your concentration so that your disguise doesn’t fall apart. Be aware that Palmer will be there and he will act if he recognizes you.”
I arrived at the town square early. Only a few people were milling about and I could see the auctioneer and his lackeys beginning to set up for the sale.
The driver brought the buggy to a halt, then helped me from the cab. Using my cane for support, I hobbled to where the auctioneer sat. On my way, I noticed Zachariah Palmer talking to a group of men nearby. He glanced in my direction, frowned, then returned to his conversation. I smiled. Apparently, my disguise was satisfactory.
“Ahem,” I muttered as I stood in front of the auctioneer, who was looking down at some papers and not aware of my presence.
He looked up.
“Yes, madam,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“The servants,” I answered. “How many are there?”
“Four and ten,” he replied.
“And how many are children?”
“Nine,” he said. “Five boys and four girls.”
“I would see them.”
The man looked a bit taken aback and I could tell he was about to argue with me.
“I would see them NOW!” I commanded, putting a little of my newfound power into my voice.
He blinked his eyelids rapidly for a few seconds, then, as if in a daze, nodded, stood, and led me to a covered wagon sitting at the far side of the square. Three men with muskets were guarding it and stepped forward as we approached.
“Stand down,” the auctioneer commanded. “This good lady would like to see the merchandise.”
I nodded to him and smiled, then stepped forward and peered inside. They were all huddled together, their eyes and expressions stained with grief and fear. I longed to hug them all, but knew that to do so would be more than dangerous.
A man from the back stepped forward, a look of defiance on his face.
I gasped.
It was my Micah and it was all I could do to keep from throwing myself into his arms.
“You there, sir,” I called to him. “Are any of these children yours?”
He looked surprised at my question and was about to answer when a little girl stepped in front of him.
“He’s my father,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering.
I stared at my daughter and, I think, my façade faded for a moment and I could see her silently mouth one word – “Mama.” I shook my head slightly, giving her a frown and, while a smile played at her lips, she nodded and turned to hide her face in Micah’s leg.
Satisfied, I harrumphed like an old lady, then turned and limped away, talking to the auctioneer.
“I shall take them all,” I said. “Every one.”
“But, good Mistress,” he replied. “What of my other customers? Would this be fair?”
“Who cares for fair, Mr. Auctioneer? I buy them all and you find you are done early and have time to spend your profits at the alehouse. Isn’t that a good bargain, sir?”
He thought for a moment, then smiled, nodding. “May I see the color of your coin?”
I pulled Imelda’s purse from my pocket and emptied it onto his desk. It was a fortune and I could see the greed light up in his eyes.
“This will do nicely, ma’am,” he said, reaching to pocket the pile of coins.
“Not so fast, sir,” I said sharply. “This is much more than those rag-tag criminals are worth. You may take two-thirds. The rest is mine.”
He looked about to protest, but, recognizing the steel in my voice, nodded, and counted the money out.
“The papers, sir,” I said. “I’ll want papers on each and every man and child.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pulling some documents from a briefcase that sat by his side.
“To whom shall I sign them to over to?” he asked.
“Mistress Deborah White,” I answered, making up a name for myself.
The auctioneer nodded and made a big fuss about signing each paper and handing it to me.
“Thank you, sir. Now tell me, do you have a key to unbind those shackles my new servan
ts are wearing? And, why are they so encumbered? Did they not sell themselves willing into servitude as is required by law?”
The auctioneer took a deep breath. He knew these good folks had not willingly given up their freedom and that the only reason they kept quiet was that they feared the consequences.
Instead of answering me, the man dug into his trouser pocket, pulled out a key, and placed it in my outstretched hand.
“Good,” I said, pocketing the key. “My man is waiting in the alley with a cart to transport my new servants. Would you be so kind as to escort them there?”
Without waiting for him to reply, I stood and, with one more loud “harrumph,” waddled back toward my buggy.
As I walked, I could feel someone staring at me. Taking a deep breath, I whirled around, my eyes locking with those of that scoundrel, Zachariah Palmer.
“And what do you think you’re staring at, young man?” I asked angrily. “Didn’t your people teach you any manners?”
Palmer immediately cast his eyes to the ground, chastised, and I grinned in satisfaction as his neck and pock-marked face reddened in embarrassment.
Glad I had put him in his place, I “harrumphed” one last time and allowed the driver to help me into the buggy. As the door closed, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was done – I had pulled it off. I drew the curtains on the cab of the carriage closed, knowing I only had to maintain my disguise for a while longer. Once we were out of town, away from prying eyes, I could let it dissipate and change back into my own modest attire.
I heard a wagon draw alongside my buggy and I, once again, opened the curtain and peered out. The wagon was driven by Imelda who was garbed in gentleman’s breeches and coat. Her hair was tucked away under a tri-corner cap and I smiled as she brought the cart full of men and children alongside. She tossed a few coins at my driver, advising him to take us to a point about a mile from town.
When we reached that spot, after confirming that we had not been followed, I slipped down the steps of the cab, untied the horse from the back, and mounted it.
The Turning Page 11
