Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) (17 page)

Sarah smiled in thanks, but long after the dressmaker had gone, she still wondered if Samuel and Elizabeth would share Madame Rousseau’s opinion.

Chapter Fourteen

June 1692 – Salem, Massachusetts

“I wish Samuel were here.” Elizabeth shivered as she gazed about the crowded room. She and the Widow Tate had arrived as early as they dared to witness the procedures. But now that she sat in the same room as the accused witches, Elizabeth felt a sickly feeling deep in her stomach and she longed for the comforting presence of her husband. “I don’t think we should have come without him.”

“Samuel told you he had to go to the docks today,” Ann hissed. “Now be quiet, I want to hear what is said.” She craned her neck for a better view as the aging Rebecca Nurse was brought to stand before the magistrates.

“Goody Nurse, you have been accused of causing mischief and practicing witchcraft. How do you plead?” The magistrate’s voice boomed through the room.

Rebecca Nurse, lame and ill, swayed against the bar but said nothing.

“See,” Ann whispered. “The devil tells her to hold her tongue in the presence of those who fear God.”

“She cannot hear,” called one of Rebecca’s sisters.

Ann turned and glared at the woman until Elizabeth pinched her arm smartly. “Do not draw attention to ourselves,” Elizabeth snapped. “Do you want everyone to remember that Sarah, too, has been labeled a witch when Samuel is not here to protect us?”

Angered at being publicly chastised, Ann tightened her shawl and gave Elizabeth a withering look. “Don’t you meant to protect you? 'Tis not my family that harbors a witch.”

Elizabeth gasped and pressed a hand to her pounding heart, but before she could speak, screams and moans the likes of which she'd never heard before pulled the attention of both women back to the front of the room.

Abigail Williams, niece of the Reverend Mr. Parris, rolled about on the floor in fits of agony. "Goody Nurse hurts me," she shrieked. "Make her stop! Make her stop!" Within moments all of Abigail's young companions had joined her on the floor to roll about in a most grievous fashion.

"I am innocent," Rebecca's frail voice rang out, and the meeting room grew silent. "I never hurt no child." All who watched and heard the words of the pious old woman suddenly found it hard to believe that a woman too ill to leave her bed would direct her specter to dance about the countryside and cause harm to children. "I am innocent, I say." Rebecca's voice rang true. "As God as my witness, I am as innocent as the child unborn."

Abigail Williams glanced nervously about the room, her eyes narrowing. "But you cut me just this morning," she wailed, holding up a bloodied hand for all to see. "I fought with you, and here's the knife to prove it."

The congregation gasped in horror at the sight of the child's wounded hand and the witch's knife she held as proof.

Feeling the sympathy again directed toward her, Abigail continued. "Two weeks ago you stole into my room at night and bid me fly with you on your broom. When I refused, you bade me dance with the devil and drink his blood. Again I refused. This morning you said you had come to punish me. You used your knife."

"That's a lie!" A young man stepped forward and, giving Abigail a harsh look, took the knife blade from her fingers. Ignoring her threatening stare, he turned toward the magistrates. "This blade is from my knife," he said easily. "I broke it only yesterday when Abigail and I were walking down by the stream. She must have taken the piece when I wasn't looking." He held forth his knife and fitted the broken blade into place. A rumble of disapproval ran through the crowd.

"Abigail Williams, you keep your story to the truth," the magistrate warned. "You need not tell lies to have us believe you."

Uncertain of how to proceed, Abigail did what she did best; she fell onto the floor in a fit of moaning. Mercy Lewis quickly followed the example of her friend.

" 'Tis the witch," she cried in pitiful sobs. "Her eyes burn us. Make her stop!"

The crowd stood and edged forward to better view the spectacle, for no one had seen a witch use her eyes before. One magistrate whispered to another and a black cloth was quickly tied about the eyes of Rebecca Nurse. Instantly both girls relaxed their torments and were able to be eased back on their chairs.

"We need no further proof," the magistrate declared solemnly. "Goody Nurse, I find you guilty of witchcraft and sentence you to remain in Salem Prison until you can be taken out and hung by the neck until you are dead." His gavel pounded the sentence.

Elizabeth clutched Ann's hand tighter. "Let us leave this place," she said, swaying. "I feel not at all well."

Ann took in her friend's pale complexion and grudgingly rose from her seat. "I wanted to see who would be the next accused," she complained, "but you do look poorly."

Outside in the spring air, Elizabeth took several steadying breaths. "It became so warm in there," she said, fanning herself as they started their long walk. "I found it difficult to breathe."

Ann turned a critical eye to her neighbor. "Do you think that Sarah is close by? Do you think that she was trying to steal your breath?"

Elizabeth nervously scanned the sides of the road. "We have not seen the cat since the day Sarah disappeared and took its shape. Samuel wants to burn her house down to rid our property of any evils that may still longer there. But I am not convinced. I think the devil might covet the thoughts of a fire."

Ann scrunched her narrow face. "Don't you know anything?" she challenged. "Fire is the only way to truly kill a witch. Fire or a hanging. And I think Samuel is right. If you burn Sarah's house, mayhap she will not return to haunt you."

Nearly an hour later when they reached Elizabeth's house, the women paused at the gate. Samuel's wagon, still hitched to the horse, sat in the yard.

"I thought you said Samuel would be gone all day," Ann complained. "If I had known he was home, he could have come to fetch us from the trials."

Elizabeth felt a dreadful premonition wash over her, and her body started to tremble. "He said he would not return until evening." Hesitantly, the two entered the house.

Elizabeth found her husband seated at the table with his head resting on his hands. "Samuel?" she questioned, rushing to his side. "Husband, what is wrong?"

Samuel Wittfield looked up, his eyes red from the quantity of drink he's consumed. "I met a man at the docks today." His vice was slurred with anger and brandy. "It seems that all these weeks we've spent in constant worry, our little Sarah is safe."

Ann pulled out a chair and leaned close. "Sarah is here?" she questioned, remembering how Elizabeth had suddenly found it hard to breathe in the crowded meeting house.

Samuel shook his head. "Little Sarah," he sneered, "little innocent Sarah is living in sin with a man in Virginia."

"Virginia?" Ann and Elizabeth gasped in unison. "But how did she get to Virginia?" Elizabeth's voice quivered with fear.

Samuel rose and began to pace before the hearth. "The man was reluctant to impart much information. But if you ask me," he turned back to the anxiously waiting women, "I would think that Sarah traveled in the manner of all witches. I think she flew."

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah awoke to find the room full of dusty shadows. For the briefest moment she lay in panic, not knowing where she was. But as she moved to sit, her stiff muscles brought back instant awareness. The carriage ride had taken nearly six hours over the bumpiest roads she had ever traveled. And although Nick had had the driver stop often for her comfort, she had arrived at the plantation exhausted. Mrs. Carlson had taken one sympathetic look in her direction, glared at Nick, and then whisked her away from the hectic preparations.

Realizing she must have slept away the remainder of the afternoon, Sarah rose and peered out the window. Formal gardens filled with blue and pink larkspur wound around the side of the house, while beyond, green fields of tobacco stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun slipped from view and the sky flared with brilliant shades of fuchsia and gold. As the katydids began their song, Sarah basked in the beauty laid out before her.

"You were more than bountiful when you created Virginia, Lord," she whispered, then watched a hawk circle lazily overhead until it disappeared from view in the swaying tops of the distant trees.

The evening breeze turned chilly, and Sarah reluctantly moved from the window. Her stomach grumbled noisily as she slipped back into the black velvet gown and tidied her hair.
I've got to find Nick
, she thought. Her lips curved into a smile.
And then I need food
.

With excitement soaring through her veins, Sarah descended the grand curving staircase that led to the main hall. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its candles sprinkling light like diamonds in all directions. Bowers of thick green hung everywhere and the scent of spring flowers rose to greet her.

"So, Sleeping Beauty awakes at last."

Sarah looked down to find a dashing man leaning lazily against the newel post at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes grew wide, for she had never seen a gentleman dressed completely in white before and she wondered briefly why anyone would choose such an impractical outfit. His hair was blond and sun-streaked, his eyes the clearest blue she had ever seen, and his smile, infectious.

"Did you have a good rest?"

"Sir?" she questioned.

"Christopher Carlson at your service, madam." He executed a perfect bow.

Sarah fought back her nerves and continued down the steps, wishing Nick was somewhere in sight. "My name is Sarah Townsend," she said softly. "I came with Mr. Beaumont."

"Nick said you were a treasure." Christopher extended his hand as she reached the bottom step and saw the faint blush that touched her cheeks. "Now I see for myself that he was right."

Mrs. Carlson flew out of the parlor and cast a fleeting look in their direction as she sailed by. "I hope you had a nice rest, Sarah. Chris, go put on your wig and then take Sarah in to Nick so he'll stop scowling. I think he's already frightened more than half the maids and I still have much to see to."

"And the other half?" Chris called to his mother's retreating form.

"Drooling on his boots as usual," came the faint reply. "Don't forget your wig."

Sarah anxiously reached back to touch her own hair, hoping it was still well tucked beneath her lace cap, but Christopher merely laughed.

"Mothers," he sighed. "I have thoughts that even when I'm old and gray, mine will be scurrying around and scolding me for tracking mud on the floor. Now, you tell me," he said, taking her hand and tucking it over his arm, "do you think I need to wear a wig?"

Sarah tilted her head to the side and gave him a quizzical look. She had come to realize that except for Nick, all of the men she had come in contact with wore a hairpiece of one type or another. Oscar had even kept his on when he was chopping wood. "Don't you care for them?" she questioned.

Christopher gave an exaggerated grimace. "Pure torture, if you ask me. I'd like to shoot the damn fool that invented them."

A bemused expression touched her lips. "Mr. Beaumont doesn't seem to care for them, either."

Christopher grinned and turned toward the salon. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "When we were in Eton, Nick and I made a vow never to wear the blasted things. And once, when we were full of mischief and smuggled brandy, we sneaked into the headmaster's house and stole the lot of them." His eyes grew bright with laughter. "We were just innocent youths," he defended. "We had no way of knowing that most of the masters had shaved off their own hair."

"What happened?" she gasped.

Chris's dimples twinkled with mischief. "The next morning at breakfast all hell broke loose. Never have I seen so many naked heads at one time," he chuckled.

"Oh dear.”

Chris heard the worry in her voice and his smile deepened. "We were caned soundly before the entire school, and then the prefects shaved our heads. I think they were sorry they hadn't thought of the scheme," he confided, threading his fingers through his thick blond locks.

Sarah tried to imagine Nick without his curly black hair tied back in a queue, but the image wouldn't come. Instead she could only picture a small boy being viciously beaten before an entire school. Her heart wrenched from the pain he must have suffered. "That must have been horrible."

Christopher patted her hand where it rested on his arm. "We did have to take our meals standing for quite a few days." He looked down at her face and saw the innocence that Nick found so appealing. "Don't fret," he soothed, "It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Besides," he whispered, "Nick somehow managed to turn our bald heads into a symbol of bravery and courage. By the end of the week we were the envy of the class." At her skeptical look, Chris laughed out loud and placed his hand over his heart. " 'Tis all true, I swear. We kept our heads bare for the rest of the semester."

Sarah gave him a dubious grin. "Now that must have been quite a sight."

Chris shook his head as he led her into the salon. "Nick’s Gran nearly fainted when she saw us. She cried buckets and then threatened to beat us all over again."

"And your mother?"

Chris's white teeth sparkled as he smiled down at her. "After seeing the reaction Nick got from his grandmother, I took the way of the coward and stayed there for a few weeks until my hair started to grow back."

Sarah's laughter bubbled forth. "You are teasing me, aren't you?"

Chris winked. "Just ask Nick why all the girls found him so fascinating that year and see if he doesn't tell the same story."

Sarah barely heard his words, for at that moment, her eyes located Nick as he held court on the opposite side of the room. He leaned insolently against the wall surrounded by a group of women.

"Would you like to go outside first and find a good stick?" Chris whispered in her ear.

Sarah blinked and pulled her attention away from the man who was making her heart race. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Chris struggled to conceal his grin. "Would you like to go outside and fetch a stick?" He nearly laughed at the frown that wrinkled her brow. "To fight off the ladies," he teased. Then he laughed out loud at her startled expression.

" 'Tis not polite to scowl, Nick," Julie Carlson pouted as she walked her fingers up his arm.

Nick tore his eyes from Sarah and looked down at the petite young woman who stood before him. "And you shouldn't be flirting on the eve of your wedding."

Julie shrugged and tossed her blond ringlets over her shoulder in a gesture she had perfected at the age of five. "I'm not married yet. Besides, the only one I'm talking to is you." She batted her lashes.

Nick's eyes narrowed as he bent close to her ear. "You're playing with fire."

Julie felt his breath on her neck and her knees turned to jelly. Determined to make the most of what might be her last opportunity, she stepped closer, allowing the fullness of her skirt to press intimately against him. "And what if I said that I'm cold and need a little fire to warm me?" Coyly she gazed up at him.

"I'd say you're a little girl looking for trouble."

Julie stomped her foot in frustration at his amused expression. "I am not a little girl." She leaned forward to touch a button on his waistcoat, giving him an enticing view of her charms in the process. "Just in case you haven't noticed," she whispered smugly, "I'm all grown up."

Nick's smile turned dangerous and his eyes threatened. "If I took you up on your invitation, you'd run faster than the time Chris chased you with that black snake.

Julie felt her heart pound in her chest and her breath was uneven. "And what if I don't run this time?"

Nick cocked a brow, "Then your husband should give you a good spanking, my dear."

She gasped and felt heat stain her cheeks. "Clarence won't arrive until the ceremony tomorrow."

Their eyes locked, his in amusement for the little sister of his best friend, hers with desire for the man she had longed for since she was twelve.

“So…” she walked her fingers up the front of his jacket.

Frowning, Nick straightened and Julie nervously stepped back only to realize that his gaze didn't center on her. Frustrated, she turned to see Sarah smiling up at her brother. Julie looked back at Nick and jealousy filled her, for never had she seen his eyes so possessive.

"It looks like your new lady friend is quite taken with my big brother," she purred.

Nick's gaze never wavered. "Sarah's a friend of the family," he said easily. "Her grandmother and Gran were best friends or some such nonsense."

"And nonsense it is if you expect me to believe that," Julie snapped. "Agatha's never traveled to the North and you know it."

Nick narrowed his eyes and looked down at her. "And how is it in your brief years of ten and six that you have recorded every event in the life of a grand lady who is past seventy?"

Julie fought the urge to retreat, for never had she heard such a hard edge in Nick's voice. With every ounce of willpower she possessed she forced herself to inch closer, take Nick's arm, and lean against his side. "Look at them," she sighed dreamily. "Don't you think they make a lovely couple? Even in that absurd dress, you must admit that she looks good on Christopher's arm."

Nick was having the same thoughts and found them not at all to his liking. "Excuse me, Julie, I need to speak with your brother for a moment."

She halted him with a hand on his arm. "I'm not fickle like some are," she said, glancing in Sarah's direction. "I'll be in the barn later tonight," she whispered, as she gave him her most smoldering look. "I'll wait for you at midnight." Then as her skirts swished, she turned and crossed the room to greet her newest guest.

Christopher Carlson liked watching people, and Nick Beaumont was always one of his favorite subjects. From the day they had first met on the ship to England, he'd been fascinated with Nick's intensity. And although more than a score of years had passed, he's yet to meet another with Nick's relentless drive. Now, as he watched his friend from across the room, he couldn't help but chuckle.

Nick's amused, knowing smile had all but disappeared, and when Sarah chatted and laughed with one of the neighbors, Chris watched his friend's scowl grow steadily darker. Even Julie hadn't been able to break his concentration. Chris glanced about the room, and breathed a sigh of relief that their mother was not in sight. Julie had always flirted when Nick came to visit, but tonight her seductive ways would have set a lesser heart to blaze. He smiled in sympathy as his little sister stormed past and offered a prayer that she was past the age of brewing mischief.

You're hooked, old friend
, Chris thought with satisfaction as he watched Nick help Sarah fill her plate from the food-laden table.
You've never lacked a beautiful woman for your arm, but you've also never truly cared where their eyes wandered or with whom they danced
. And now, Chris rubbed his hands together in delight.
I think you care more than you know.

The hour was just past midnight before Nick was able to extract himself and Sarah from the festivities. Mrs. Carlson had insisted that he and Chris were the only ones sober enough to finish hanging the garland. And when she failed to complain that neither man had yet to don his wig, Nick knew she was truly desperate. So for hours he had stood trapped atop the ladder. At first, Sarah too, had offered help, handing him bows of twisted greens. But whereas she had no reservation in enlisting Nick's assistance, Mrs. Carlson's social conscience wouldn't let Sarah, as a guest, help also. She had whisked the girl away and deposited her with a group of neighbors who had arrived early to enjoy the festivities to the fullest.

Nick's first inclination had been to climb down from his ladder and rescue her; then his heart had swelled with pride as he watched the smiles grow around her. Chris, perched atop his own ladder, had given him their special thumbs-up sign, and Nick decided that his best course of action was to get the task completed as quickly as possible.

He worked like a demon, causing Chris to scramble to keep up, but, despite his hectic pace, he was careful to keep Sarah constantly in view. He smiled when he heard the delightful sound of her soft laughter and struggled to conceal his frown when the men seemed to spend too much time trying to impress her. But each time he was tempted to climb down, she would look up at him. As if reading his thoughts, she would glance at the hung garland and nod her head in approval.