***
I heard some rustling from upstairs and blinked. The family was starting to rise to prepare for services. How long was I staring into the fire, how long ago was that evening I had just been thinking on?
I took a deep breath and started the morning preparations.
I threw some kindling on top of the coals and watched small flames start to grow. Whether Betty and Abigail were liars or victims, I needed to arm myself in case the tall man did not come for me, because I needed to find Mama and Papa however I could.
The reverend had said that my parents were taken up north, but I could wander for months or years and be no closer to finding them. I prayed that there was someone in town who had seen the man who bought Papa. Maybe someone had talked to the man or sold him something.
Surely, one of the busybody gossips in town had asked where John Indian was being taken.
At least I hoped someone had.
Today was the Sabbath, and though hardly anyone had spoken to me in months—since the first days my mother started pointing fingers—I was determined to embolden myself to ask someone, maybe everyone, if they knew where my parents had been taken.
CHAPTER FIVE
The rest of April and May, I walked through the woods gathering kindling for the Parris house as none in the town would provide it as the reverend’s contract stipulated. It would have been Papa’s job, but now it was mine.
I paused now and again to silence the cracking of twigs and leaves underfoot to listen, but the woods remained quiet except for the chatter of birds and the rustle of squirrels scavenging for food in the leaf litter.
I felt like half a person, unable to remember what it was to smile, to breathe without care.
No one in Salem seemed to know where my parents were taken. I had even been so bold as to ask Sheriff Corwin, but that tall, dark man—one who made me think of the man in Mama’s stories—just laughed at me.
Reverend Parris whipped me with a switch after he had heard I talked to the sheriff. And he whipped me again after he had heard I talked to so many others.
Soon, I decided to stop talking to people and start going down that other path. I had thought just wanting to sign the Devil’s book would make him appear, but as the weeks passed, I questioned if what I thought was true. Doubt swirled in my head.
One day in early June, I put my bundle of sticks at the edge of the stream and stretched out on a flat rock that seemed made for resting. If the dark forces were real, why was I still alone in the woods?
I lay back and stared up into what little sky I could see through the treetops and I wondered how Mama and Papa were faring, wherever they were. I wondered if they could feel the ache I had from missing them.
I still couldn’t make sense of it all.
Mama had said in front of the whole town that the Devil had shown her how to fly on a pole in the night air. If I could fly on a pole, I would hover over the parsonage and dump a basket of rocks down the chimney and splash the stew onto the coals and then let the Devil take me to Mama and Papa and we could be a family again.
But if Mama could really fly, why hadn’t she come to fetch me?
I closed my eyes and dug my fingernails into my palms. As each day passed, it was getting harder and harder to figure if Betty, Abigail, and even Mama were great liars or truly afflicted. Many people had whispered to both sides, but why would Mama have confessed to so many bad things if they weren’t true?
“Violet Indian?”
I jumped clean out of my skin and cursed as my nervous feet kicked my kindling into the stream. I twisted around quick, half expecting to see Satan himself, but there was Elizabeth Prince and a girl I didn’t know. My heart thumped hard in my chest as I marveled how they were able to sneak up on me so quietly. As one of the few people with color to her skin in Salem, I was used to eyes finding their way to me, but this strange girl stared so boldly and so intensely, I half wondered if she was the actual Devil in disguise sizing me up.
It had been months since I had last seen Elizabeth, but it was clear the passing of her mother had not sat well with her. She was thirteen, same as me, but her faded dress hung loosely around her now-skeletal frame. Her blond hair was tied up and hidden under a once-white cap that had yellowed with age and lack of washing. Her green eyes were rimmed in red and so sunken they almost looked as if she’d rubbed ash around them.
The other girl’s brown, uncombed hair hung past her shoulders in greasy tangles like a beggar too poor for a brush or a cap. Her tan dress was worn and covered with tears she hadn’t bothered to mend. She reminded me of an urchin who might beg for scraps in the streets, but her blue eyes looked down at me with the same airs of Mistress Parris and I wondered where she got such nerve.
“Violet,” Elizabeth whispered, as if she were afraid someone might hear her way out in the woods, “this is Tammy, Tammy Younger from Common Settlement near Gloucester. She saw you there with Mistress Parris.”
Elizabeth nibbled nervously on her bottom lip as Tammy held out a hand to me. I cringed at the dirt caked under Tammy’s nails. She waved her fingers at me impatiently, and though this wild girl made me feel unbalanced, I let her help me up. I casually brushed the moss and leaves off the back of my dress and hoped she couldn’t hear the blood pumping loudly in my ears.
She folded her arms across her chest and looked me up and down. “Violet Indian, I heard your mother is a confessed witch. Are you a witch as well?”
My jaw dropped, and I shook my head. “No! Of course not! And my mother recanted her confession.”
Despite just a few minutes ago wishing to sign the Devil’s book, Tammy’s asking that question brought back a flood of nightmares.
Afflicted girls bewitched and screaming; their fingers pointing. Names were cast about and then people were cast in jail.
Mama told tales.
Necks snapped on Gallows Hill.
A man was pressed to death under the weight of rocks put on him by Sheriff Corwin.
It had been a long time since Governor Phips pardoned the last of the accused and it seemed people were content to pretend none of it ever happened. Betty and Abigail certainly went on with their Bible study and needlework and flirtations with boys.
But being asked if I were a witch, well, it made the air close in around me and I could almost feel the noose tightening around my neck. It was one thing to seek the Devil in private and quite another to call myself a witch out loud.
Tammy Younger glared daggers at Elizabeth, who seemed to want to hide in that oversized dress she wore. Elizabeth gave a faint shrug and looked down at her scuffed boots. “I never said she was a witch. I just said maybe.”
I watched this exchange and slowly realized they weren’t accusing me of witchcraft in a way that would be followed by fits and writhing and swinging at Gallows Hill—these girls were hoping I really was a witch.
But why?
My first instinct was to run straight back to the parsonage and forget the greasy-haired girl with the piercing blue eyes, but I had so many questions about witches and Mama that it almost seemed like fate brought her to me.
Tammy frowned, kicked a small rock toward me, and then turned, walking briskly toward town. Elizabeth gave me a quick, nervous glance and then took off after her.
As they moved noisily through the woods away from me, a panic inside me grew. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with the thought that this Tammy could help me, and I had to make sure she did.
“Wait!” I called out.
Elizabeth reached out to Tammy and they stopped. Tammy slowly turned to me with her hands on her hips. “Yes, Violet Indian?”
“Why did you want to know if I was a witch? And . . .” I swallowed hard. “And even if I were, why would I tell someone the likes of you?” I added the last bit to make sure she knew I wasn’t so impressed with her and her haughty ways.
It was clear Tammy Younger was not accustomed to being talked to in such a manner. She was unrefined for sure, but I could tell sh
e didn’t let that stop her from getting what she wanted or being treated with respect.
She cocked her head and walked slowly toward me. She smiled warmly, but I dared not let my guard down. If she thought I had overstepped my boundaries, I was sure this strangely powerful girl might give me a whipping worse than being switched by Reverend Parris.
Tammy stopped a mere foot from me, and though I felt the need to step back, I held my ground.
“You can relax, Violet Indian. I just wanted to know if you were a witch and if you might want to join our coven.”
CHAPTER SIX
I never saw the Devil’s book nor knew that he had one.
—ANN PUDEATOR
To hear the word coven said aloud chilled me despite the heat. I was shocked at how brazen this girl could be, but Tammy saw my face and laughed. “No need to fret, Violet Indian.” She shot a look at Elizabeth, whose hands were trembling. “Like I have told her repeatedly, people don’t bother about witches no more.”
She waved her fingers dismissively in the air. “We have a few women up in Gloucester—they live on the outskirts and curse the townsfolk and travelers if they won’t throw them a coin or a bite to eat. No one even thinks of locking them up, and they even earn bread and eggs by making love potions and future casting.”
I thought of Mama and her future casting. Cracked eggs or the color of the sky could tell us our future husband or how many children we might have. Before I could even conjure up Mama’s face in my mind, Tammy moved on me like a dog on a rat, snatching my wrist and holding it firm. “Do you feel that, Violet Indian? Do you feel that power in me?”
My eyes widened. I had taken Tammy Younger’s hand a short time ago, but now it seemed to contain lightning. I felt a jolt travel from her hand to me that made the hair on my arm stand at attention.
She let go and nodded; her eyes stayed locked on mine. “Martha Wilds knew I was filled with a powerful anger and she showed me how to gather it up and make an actual storm inside me.”
“Like when you’re hollow and nothing but shadows fill your insides?” I whispered.
Her blue eyes glowed. “Yes! Martha said that anger opens the door to magic and we just have to walk through and then we can work mischief on those pious hypocrites who steal land from their neighbors and beat their servants.”
“Have you met . . . the Devil?” I asked, knowing it was something I wanted and feared all at the same time.
“No.” Tammy flipped her greasy hair over her shoulders. “Martha Wilds says we don’t need to meet the Devil. She said what we have is more folk-women magic, anyway. You know, magic from the earth and water and air.”
Elizabeth nodded. “That Martha Wilds woman told Tammy that the Devil can’t be bothered to show his face to the likes of us mortals. He’s too busy making his own mischief!”
I frowned. “Can’t be bothered? My mama said she met the Devil, and she wasn’t the only one.”
I looked to Elizabeth, but she bowed her head. Her mother had made no such confession before she had died in prison.
Tammy rolled her eyes and accompanied the gesture with a choking laugh. She walked around me, lightly tracing a finger across my shoulders, causing the hairs on my arm to stand on end. “Oh, so naïve. People tell tales, Violet Indian, but I’d wager those tales were told to keep necks out of the hangman’s noose. I’d also wager you have some anger inside you. I’d wager your backside is covered in switch marks, unless that reverend of yours prefers to teach his lessons with an open palm.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. I can see it all on your face; he is partial to the switch.”
I hated that she could somehow reach inside my head and steal my thoughts. Reverend Parris was quick to use a switch. Betty and Abigail had felt its sting, but I had known its bite.
Tammy dashed away from me and broke a branch off a sapling. She swished it sharply, and I flinched as it cut through the air. “Mrs. Sewall preferred a willow switch—we had a tree a few steps from the riverbank out back of the yard—but Mr. Sewall’s open palm could make stars dance in your eyes. They took me in after my folks died of pox. I thought it was out of kindness, but I soon found out they knew nothing of kindness.”
Elizabeth nodded. “She ran away from them—all the way to Salem. I found her sleeping in our barn with the new batch of kittens.”
Tammy snapped the switch she was holding in two and threw the pieces aside. “When you came to Gloucester, there was talk aplenty. Few Indians like you working for the folk up there or anywhere, but people said your mother spread the craft around Salem and that started the madness. Folks said she brought it here from some island that the reverend bought her from.”
I felt a heat rise in my brown cheeks. People towns over were talking about Mama? “It was Betty and Abigail who started the madness,” I said defiantly. “My mother . . .”
I paused. What had Mama done?
Tammy laughed again. “It’s fine, Violet Indian, your mother just—”
I was suddenly enraged and before I knew what I was doing, I pushed Tammy to the ground. “Stop calling me Indian! That is not my name! I don’t . . . I don’t have a last name. That’s just what they called us because they couldn’t be bothered to give us a proper one. I am an Arawak but that’s not my name either, it is just what I am. What my parents are.”
Tammy’s eyes flashed with anger and I tensed myself for a fight, but then she shook her head and licked her parched lips. “I knew you were worth the walk to Salem, Violet Somebody.” She pushed herself up to sitting and patted the leaf litter, motioning for Elizabeth and me to join her.
I thought she’d be outraged by what I’d done, but instead she waited calmly as if she was on the ground under her own volition. Elizabeth plopped herself down like an obedient dog, but I took my time folding my skirts and sitting just a bit off from the two.
“Thing is, people do think it was madness. People either laugh at the likes of Martha Wilds or bring her pork belly in exchange for a spell. But Martha taught me how to bring my power out and I can show you how to reach yours. She also told me there’s strength in numbers—something she never had. She said three is a magic number. Right now, I have two—me and Elizabeth—that’s why we need you.”
I folded my arms. “Need me for what?”
She smiled slyly. “So, we can be a force to be reckoned with. We’re all orphans—my parents by pox, Elizabeth’s mother died in jail ’cause of those girls you live with, and her stepfather cares not what she does—your parents, sold.”
I bit my lips to hold back the tears threatening to swim in my eyes.
“Like I said,” she continued, “you were the talk of the town, but we’re all basically alone in the world where men—and women—think they can tell us what to do. They think they can beat us into submission. But Martha Wilds comes from a long line of folk women and she saw your power, Violet.”
I shook my head. “I’ve never met this Martha Wilds—this is all nonsense.”
Tammy grabbed my hand, and the heat almost burned me. “If a witch doesn’t want to be seen, she’ll be like a shadow and you’ll walk right on by. Martha Wilds was there, and she saw you. She watched and studied you and she told me you have the power.”
I pulled out of her grasp and scoffed. “If I have such great power, why haven’t I noticed anything before? Why will I be getting a beating when I get home for not bringing enough kindling?”
Elizabeth leaned in toward me. “Tammy said sometimes it comes on by itself, other times you need a little help to get it working. I needed a little help, but now—now I just walked up on you in the woods and you didn’t even hear me coming. I—well, I could’ve snuck right up on you and . . . done something!”
She sat up a little taller than before, and for the first time I really noticed her. She almost seemed to fill her dress. Elizabeth Prince was showing me she had a story to tell.
Tammy beamed. “If we are together, our magic could be unstoppable. No more switches or be
atings. No more locking people up because some foolish girl pointed her finger. And maybe . . . you could find out where your mother and father are.”
Tears stung my eyes and I hated the water pooling in front of Tammy, but if finding Mama and Papa meant working with this girl, I was all in.
I blinked away the tears. “What do I need to do?”
“You need to bring us a book. An unwritten book.”
I shook my head. “I have no books!”
Elizabeth squeezed my hand. “You live with a pastor—he has unwritten books.”
I thought about the blank journals Reverend Parris used to write his sermons. He had talked about the cost of each book, how much it took from his family’s needs. Could I steal from this family?
I felt a lightning bolt go through me. It was as if it were striking me for doubting the plan.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “I can try.”
Tammy nodded at me. “Martha told me if I could form a coven, we could use the book to right our wrongs.”
I tilted my head in puzzlement. “Right our wrongs?”
Tammy grinned. “First we write our covenant, our agreement, and then we write our names. If we spill our blood on the empty pages, then the names of the people who need to be punished will appear, and magic will see that we are avenged.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
They say hurt the children or we will do worse to you.
—TITUBA, FROM COURT TESTIMONY
I sat on that thought and imagined whose names might appear in this book. I knew there were plenty of people who deserved to be in such a book, but at that moment, the thought of truly inflicting dark punishment upon anyone made me shiver. I just wanted to be with Mama and Papa so badly that I nodded my head in agreement.
Tammy held out her hands, palms up, and Elizabeth and I each reached out. The moment our fingers touched, I felt Tammy’s lightning course within me chasing out all my fears. “You get the book, Violet, and then we can get our familiars.”
“Familiars?” I asked breathlessly.
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