Crucible Crisis

by Amberley Faith

  Although I could argue that I thought to find some means to stop her, I must confess that I also was searching for the source of her power in order to expose her for her wicked deeds.

  Ellie's pulse quickened as she read the paragraph. This sounded like a tale of intrigue, and if the dates were real, an intrigue that was hundreds of years old. Ellie flipped back to the inside cover to check the dates. All the entries started with the words "taken from" except the last inscription. It was the one Ellie was looking for, and it was unique.

  Released from E.B.P.R. to E.A.P., 1721

  Ellie would have to Google the dates and the initials to see if she could find further information. Could she possibly be holding a relic from the 1700s and earlier? It would be thrilling to know if the book's dates were accurate. Ellie bet Zyla would know what to do with it, but for now, Ellie just wanted to read more. She sat up straighter, no more thoughts of sleeping, and continued to read.

  I do not know what will happen to us – our village, our farmers, our children. The accusations of witchery have crazed the very people who were meant to lead us. This be a dangerous time for our town. But my prayers are more selfish. They do not intercede for the village. They beg for mine own household. I am surrounded by rumors at every turn. I am thwarted from every angle. I cannot think what I have done to earn such calumny upon mine own Christian character.

  Nothing other than to have allowed that wretched serving girl to take shelter under my roof. She be shameless, throwing looks of desire at my 'Nathan and finding every reason to be near him. There be rumors spreading about her lust for 'Nathan among her circle. I have prayed for him to have strength to resist temptation. If he does not put her out soon, I will.

  I have found what I believe to be an answer to my prayers in this same journal. I do not know if I should attempt to use the remedies contained herein, but I shall have to decide soon. The wickedness is very near. It knocks at mine own door and calls me out, tempting me to betray all that is sacred within me.

  E.B.P.

  Ellie stopped reading to let her mind envision it. She might be reading the first-person account of a woman who lived in the 1700s and who maybe, just maybe, lived through the exact period she was teaching. She really ought to show it to Zyla; she would pop a vein with excitement. Zyla would probably want to donate it to the historical society, though, and Ellie wasn't ready to hand it over.

  ◆◆◆

  Over the following days, the personal account of life in colonial times enthralled Ellie. It made the era she was teaching more real. Digging into the anthology helped keep her mind from worrying about Julien, Tai, the studio, and the grand opening in a few weeks' time.

  Julien had been gone so much lately; she'd needed somewhere to direct her energy. The anthology helped her alleviate stress. It distracted her from all the strange thoughts that played though her dreams each night.

  Both Ellie and her students had been digging into another book, The Crucible, and the play dominated her thoughts, even during sleep. Reading Arthur Miller's portrayal of Elizabeth Proctor, her supposed ancestor, and all the other characters in the play left Ellie feeling like there was more to the story. Where did they all end up? Could Elizabeth Proctor or her descendants really have settled in Boston and given birth to Ellie's distant ancestors?

  And what happened to Abigail Williams? Had she sailed away on a cargo ship as in the movie? Or had she simply changed her name and moved to another town to start over? Wouldn't it be amazing to be able to find out what happened to the reckless young teen after Salem?

  Thinking along those lines, Ellie snuggled under the covers and settled in for another good long read. What better way to research history than studying it through a primary source? She grinned; Zyla would be so proud of her, and when Ellie had it all figured out and deciphered, she'd show off her little project and see just what Zyla thought about it all. It might end up being a time-consuming, tedious task - the handwriting was hard to read and there were smudges and stains - but Ellie bet Zyla wouldn't think of Ellie as an outsider anymore. No one would.

  Ellie's imagination flew into overdrive; she'd show this town something new about their past. They'd be happy to accept her then. She'd reveal the anthology at a historically themed party after having cleverly gotten it authenticated as a primary source from the 1700s. The book would be placed in the picture window of Julien's studio with a spotlight on it and a plaque.

  Discovered by the Pelletier family during renovation, this journal recounts tales of colonists' hardships when settling Stusa and the surrounding area. Entries date from the 17th and 18th centuries.

  Ellie's eyelids drooped. She knew she ought to put the book aside and go to bed, and she would - after one more entry.

  A young girl was speaking to a man, and although they were dressed oddly, she recognized them. Tai and Julien looked as if they were ready for an audition at the school play; Tai wore a plain black dress with a white scarf covering her hair, and Julien wore short, brown breeches, a loose-fitting top, and brown moccasins.

  They were at Bettina's bedside, a student of Ellie's who had fallen ill with something doctors hadn't yet been able to diagnose. Julien was looking down at Bettina. Tai was admiring Julien.

  "I'd almost forgotten how compassionate you are, Monsieur."

  Julien turned his head to look at her, "I'd almost forgotten you were here." The corners of his mouth up turned in the suggestion of a smile, "What mischief is this, Mademoiselle?"

  "Oh," Tai replied, "Bettina is just playing around being overly dramatic as usual."

  "Really?" Julien raised one eyebrow. "Because everyone in town is talking about drugs and parties in the woods."

  Tai rolled her eyes. "That was months ago, and we were only dancing around a campfire in the forest. My uncle caught a glimpse of us and got all hot and bothered –that's all." She giggled and batted her eyelashes at Julien.

  Julien laughed. "You're a little minx, aren't you? You'll be in trouble before you're eighteen, I'll wager."

  Julien turned to leave, but Tai stepped into his path. "Well, it's a good thing you like trouble, then." She reached up to touch his face, but Julien slapped her hand away.

  "Cut it out, Tai. There will be no more trouble between us." He pinched his eyebrows together on the word trouble.

  She smirked. "Why did you come all the way over here, then? Just to see Bettina? Since when do you care about students?"

  "Since your uncle started trouble for us all with his rumors. I came to find out exactly what mischief he is making." Julien retorted. There was a tapping at the door, and the scene dissolved.

  Ellie found herself lying in bed looking into the bathroom as Julien shaved, tapping his razor against the sink after every few strokes. The sound must've awakened her. She'd been dreaming.

  Ellie felt an immediate wave of relief followed by a clenching of her belly. Why had she dreamed that? It was some weird mash-up of the play she was teaching and her current situation.

  She tried to brush off the feeling of unease as Julien crawled into bed beside her. He leaned over to kiss her goodnight, but Ellie turned her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek instead of her lips.

  "What is it, mon amour?" He looked at her in surprise.

  "I don't know." She turned back to face him. "OK, maybe I do know. I just had a bad dream, and I'm still mad at you." Ellie huffed and rolled over onto her side facing away from Julien.

  Julien chuckled. "You're mad at me because of a dream?" He waited. "You do realize how preposterous that is, don't you?" He laughed again.

  "Well, it may be ridiculous, but it was very real, and you would have acted exactly the same way in real life. So, I'm still irritated with you. Behave better next time!"

  "Ok, ma vie. I will make sure I behave myself in your dreams." He kissed the back of her head and laughed again as they both drifted off to sleep.

  Ellie knew she was being irrational, but the idea of Tai flirting with Julien felt as real as
the anger that flared upon witnessing it - even if it was just a dream. Still aggravated, Ellie closed her eyes and prayed for a dreamless night's sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RIDICULOUS RUMORS

  The following week, another dream awakened Ellie. This time, a raging fury snatched her from her sleep, and she found herself sitting upright in bed, chest heaving. She threw back the covers, barely registering Julien in bed beside her. She couldn't catch her breath. The surge of anger consumed her, pounding through every nerve and fiber, pushing up her food from dinner, threatening to spew over. She was so angry that she couldn't think.

  Calm down! Breathe! She told herself. The anger produced a burst of unwanted energy. She leapt out of bed and started pacing. She needed a way to burn off the rage. Writing wouldn't be enough; she couldn't blog or talk. It was too personal, too humiliating, too infuriating! She wasn't even sure she could make complete sentences.

  She had to find a way to calm down before exploding. She threw on a pair of sneakers. She hadn't been much of a runner since high school, but that was the only way to release the pent-up fury. She barreled into the pre-dawn darkness, running down her gravel driveway, headed for the miles-long dirt road that led to the highway.

  It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night. It didn't matter that she was in the middle of nowhere. The possibility of running up on snakes, wild dogs, or even escaped convicts flitted across her mind, but instead of fear, she felt eagerness.

  She would welcome any unforeseen attacker. Her anger wanted her to fight. In her state, she could rip the claws out of any bobcat or disarm any criminal. She felt strange – invincible, powerful, reckless.

  They weren't feelings Ellie was accustomed to. She needed to reign in her thoughts and emotions. She needed a deaf listener; there was no one on God's green earth she would share this with.

  Cleansing breath in. Angry breath out. Again.

  Before long, the exertion of her run took care of her breathing, and she settled into an angry, pounding rhythm. Her mind rewound and fast forwarded, clawing through the events that had spurred the anger.

  The previous afternoon, the Reverintendent had summoned her to his office after school. Some teachers had approached Principal Danvers about Ellie's husband and his protégé. They didn't think it was appropriate for a high school student "like Tai" to be working with a married man twice her age. They insinuated something was going on between the two of them and asked the principal to go to the Reverintendent. The Reverintendent turned around and came to Ellie - or made her come to him.

  Other rumors had made their way to administrators, too. A faculty member overheard Tai saying she had Julien "wrapped around her little finger." Instead of talking to Ellie, the teacher had gone to the principal – who had handed it over to the Reverintendent. Ellie was caught completely off guard when the Reverintendent confronted her. She'd not heard a single rumor about Tai and Julien. The news had slammed into her core and left her reeling. She'd not been able to mask her emotions. She was lucky she'd remained standing, as her insides spun out of control.

  A dozen questions flooded her mind. Just how long had the stories been flying around? Why hadn't anyone approached her first before running to administration? Wouldn't it have been easier to go straight to Ellie? In addition to the knife wound to her heart, the news that everyone had gone over her head was a punch in the gut. It took her breath away and made her double over in pain.

  Had Zyla known anything about the awful gossip? Surely, she would have warned Ellie if she'd had any inkling of the rumors. Ellie pushed the thoughts away and continued to pound down the dirt road.

  According to the Reverintendent, the fault was entirely Julien's. A grown man shouldn't have hired a young beauty, encouraging her crush. Young girls were always taken advantage of by older, more experienced men. Somehow, Ellie doubted that Julien was more experienced than Tai – but she'd held her tongue – more out of outrage than common sense.

  What really stoked her wrath was when the Reverintendent strongly suggested that Julien cut all ties with Tai – to save Julien's business, Tai's reputation, and Ellie's job. He said he couldn't afford to have teachers associated with such scuttlebutt. Teachers had to be above reproach, above suspicion. Above suspicion? Who did he think he was? Ellie put on another burst of speed.

  The people here just absolutely refuse to mind their own business! They are worse than the gnats. If it's not somebody tending to my religion, it's a whole bunch of somebodies tending to my marriage!

  What did Julien's assistant at the studio have to do with her job at school? What business did the school have nosing into her husband's career? The answer struck her forcefully, and she stumbled.

  Tai was his niece. How could she have forgotten?

  The Reverintendent would have been personally insulted, of course, due to the rumors. It was awkward for everyone. The Reverintendent, however, was determined to cast blame anywhere except on his own household. That had to be his motivation. He wanted to protect his niece and divert all negativity toward Julien rather than face the promiscuous problem in his own home.

  That made Ellie stop short. She bent over, hands on her knees, and struggled to catch her breath as rage and doubt battled each other for control.

  Even though Tai was his niece, how the devil could he believe every disgusting rumor running rampant around town and assume it was true? Was this a reverse Spanish Inquisition? Was he set against her because she was Catholic? Was Stusa now the Church of Rumors? Guilty until proven innocent?

  The questions gave rise to another burst of energy, and she kicked off again. What kind of teacher would she be to condone such wantonness between her husband and a student? Exactly what kind of teacher did they think Ellie was? What kind of wife? What kind of mother?

  As her feet and her thoughts raced at full speed, another idea hit Ellie. What if the Reverintendent hadn't been threatening her? What if he'd been trying to warn her?

  If he had doubts about Tai, perhaps he wanted Ellie to be the one to confront Julien to keep from facing his niece. Maybe he wasn't trying to threaten Ellie. Maybe, just maybe, he thought he was helping her.

  After walking the last mile home, Ellie was spent – physically and emotionally. She went straight to the shower. Ellie thought she'd prepared herself mentally for the difficulties of living in a small town, but she'd never realized that small towns could be so small-minded. What exactly was it that drove this need - this craving - for drama and gossip? Julien said that people were bored and wanted some excitement, and since there was none in Stusa, they simply created their own.

  It was a narcissistic theory. Would people meddle in others' lives just to entertain themselves, cooking up stories? But that was exactly what was happening. Petty people were lighting a fire under a pot, pouring in a few facts, sprinkling in some malicious seasoning, and then stirring the pot. Intentionally. So that they could sit back and watch it boil over. Ellie just never thought that she could be one of the ingredients of such a wicked brew.

  As water rinsed the lather from her hair, Ellie couldn't deny it any longer; she admitted to herself that the rumors hurt. They made her angry. They made her anxious. They made her doubt Tai. They made her doubt Julien. After the meeting with the Reverintendent, she realized her job could be in jeopardy if they continued.

  After all, teachers were public figures and were held to a higher standard of moral behavior. That constant scrutiny had never bothered Ellie before. She was a rule-follower by nature and had never been under attack. Oh, she would love to get directly to the source of the rumors and discuss the issue tête-à-tête, but it was hard to confront the source without knowing who it was.

  Besides, the rumors mainly involved Julien. The arrows of attack weren't pointing at her, but as they glanced off Julien's broad, dark shoulders, they changed course and found the nearest target – Ellie. And while the blows were not fatal, they still pierced the skin and wounded.

  Ellie did
n't know how to handle it, so she buried herself in her anthology. It continued to be her favorite reading. Ellie was learning about what life was like in colonial times. Ellie found comfort there, amidst the thick pages cracked and stained with age.

  Just as in The Crucible, whispers and accusations whirled through the journal entries, destroying some and advancing others. Everything seemed intertwined, as if sewn together by an invisible thread – the anthology, The Crucible, and Ellie's life in Stusa – whether stitched together by threads reality or insanity Ellie had yet to discover.

  The more she read, the more similarities she found. Was she forging connections that weren't there? Or was there some relief in finding that others before her – whether fictional or real – had experienced the same?

  The Crucible portrayed a fictionalized account of Elizabeth Proctor, and the anthology painted a very realistic portrait of EBP, whom Ellie had nicknamed Ebbie. Like Ellie, both ladies were devoted wives whose husbands had put themselves in precarious situations. Like Ellie, they defended their husbands from all sorts of rumors and accusations. Like Ellie, they believed that living a life above such base gossip would reveal innocence in the end.

  And although historical records didn't show how Elizabeth Proctor dealt with her grief, Ebbie and Ellie turned to the mysterious book – both women using the pages of the anthology to escape their anger, doubts, and fears. Ellie often wondered if either of her two leading ladies ever imagined that, hundreds of years later, they would provide solace for another woman dealing with the same issues.

  With all the technological progress humans had made, human nature hadn't progressed at all. Four hundred years after the Salem Witch Trials, small town gossip still thrived on the same fodder. The setting may have been more modern, but the rumors remained the same.