Her Dear and Loving Husband (18 page)

They had found their own little bubble of joy in a harsh colonial world. He was happy whenever he awoke in the morning and saw his wife standing over him, already dressed, her apron on, her white cap tied over her hair, pulling the blankets from him.

“James?” she’d say. “Jamie? You’re dallying again. The sun has been risen this hour past. ‘Tis time to awaken.” 

With a frustrated sigh she’d start tugging on his arm as she tried to pull him out of bed.

“James Wentworth,” she’d say, “you are the most slothful man yet born!” Then he’d pull her into bed and try to run his hand under her skirts before she slapped him away. “Slothful and lustful,” she’d say, pretending she was annoyed. “You’ve already committed two of the seven deadly sins and you’re not yet clothed.”  

“‘Tis difficult to commit some of the sins when clothed,” he’d say. 

She began every morning by standing outside near the trees, listening to the birds sing, trying to whistle along. Back inside, she brushed his clothes and set them out, his cotton stockings, garters, breeches, doublet, shoes, and hat. After he was dressed she’d fasten his points, the strings which tied his breeches and doublet together. He’d wash his face and hands in the basin, then say a blessing before they broke their fast with either white pot, custard made of baked eggs and milk, or samp, cracked corn mush. Every day but Sunday he would walk to his father’s where he would help with whatever business tasks necessary.        

There was no time they loved more than their nights together when he would read to her while she sewed. She didn’t care what he read—the Bible, poetry, literature, pamphlets, news—she loved it all. Her favorite was Anne Bradstreet. Every night he would read “To My Dear and Loving Husband” before they blew out the candles and went to bed, a ritual they both looked forward to. As much as she wanted to hear James read was as much as he wanted to hear her voice. He didn’t care what she was saying as long as she was speaking to him. There were times when they talked late into the night, about what he did at his father’s that day, who visited, what they talked about, what his father said, what the other person said in return. She found the Puritans too stoic, as he did, but at least they had reprieve from the pious eyes in the sanctuary of their home. 

After the witch trials began to suffocate everyone in Salem, everything he knew to be true became false. Frightening. There was so much more he could have told Timothy about the witch trials. He still shuddered whenever he thought of that time. There was so much sadness then. In 1692, nineteen “witches” were hung on Gallows Hill, but there were other fatalities as well, including their friend Giles Corey, a respected farmer in his eighties who was tortured to death, suffocated under the weight of heavy stones because he refused to enter a plea at his trial after he was falsely accused of wizardry. Six others, including his wife, died in prison. Seven if you counted their unborn child, which he did. 

James looked out the window at the lightless sky. The nightmarish memories had been unleashed in him, and it was hours until dawn when he could find reprieve in his daily death. He had no choice but to dwell on them.           

CHAPTER 15

To the casual observer looking at the brick house in the center of town, seeing the snow on the roof, the white swing on the porch, the Christmas decorations on the front lawn, the lighted tree in the window, there was no evidence a different kind of family lived there. The wife was a dentist who kept her office open at night to handle after-hours emergencies. The husband was a high school science teacher. They were a nice young couple, friendly with their neighbors, and they seemed very much in love. No one suspected that the wife was a nonhuman married to a human husband, and they probably wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told them, even someone like Kenneth Hempel who wrote for their local paper. Jocelyn Endecott, not human? She might be a bit pale, but flesh-colored foundation and cream blush helped to make the death-like pallor look more rosy and alive. She kept night hours, odd for a dentist, certainly, but hadn’t she seen their children at midnight when they woke up screaming with a toothache? And how could she possibly handle being a dentist when
they
love blood so much? Her neighbors would scoff at such foolishness as someone calling their friend anything other than what she seemed to be, a lovely young woman, and they would turn away, snickering, telling everyone that the reporter from
The Salem News
had lost his mind. Jocelyn Endecott could not possibly be
that
.  

When James and Sarah arrived at the brick house, Jocelyn and Steve welcomed them with open arms. Jocelyn embraced Sarah and took her hand.   

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jocelyn said. She led Sarah to the dining room table, which was set out with food and drink for the humans, eggplant parmesan, garlic bread, meant as a joke, red wine, and discrete, covered coffee mugs for Jocelyn and James. After dinner, Sarah helped Steve clear off the table and put the plates in the sink. When they were in the kitchen, James heard Sarah ask Steve about the one thing that had her curious. 

“So how did you and Jocelyn meet? You’re not the likeliest of couples.”

“No,” said Steve, “I guess not, but then neither are you and James. You don’t need to do that, you know. You’re the guest.” Steve was washing the dishes while Sarah dried them.

“I don’t mind. So how did you meet?”

“She was my dentist.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not at all. I came in from Boston one night to visit my mother and I had the worst toothache ever. I called around and Jocelyn was the only dentist who had late hours so I went to see her. I knew she was the one for me as soon as she walked into the exam room. I took one look at her and thought, ‘Now that is one hunk of a woman.’ I asked her out that night. She refused. Then I called her the next night, and the next, and the next. I called her every night for a month. It took some persistence, but I finally wore her down. She said, ‘If I go out on one date with you, will you leave me alone?’ So I agreed. We went out on one date and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Good for you,” Sarah said. “Persistence usually gets you what you want.” She stacked the plates and Steve put them into the cupboard. “So Jocelyn didn’t want to date you because you’re human?”

“That had nothing to do with it. She didn’t want to date me because I was her patient.”

Jocelyn walked into the kitchen and put her arm around Steve. “I have a very strict policy against dating patients,” she said.

“Had,” said Steve. “You had a very strict policy.”

“That’s right—I had a very strict policy against dating patients. But he was too cute to resist.”

“And you didn’t care that she was a…?” Sarah asked.

“Why would I care? It took some getting used to at first, and I might have been a little nervous until we worked through some of the logistical problems, you know, like where she was going to find blood to drink. There’s also the night hours, but she’s the girl of my dreams and I wasn’t going to let her get away. And younger guys with older women is all the rage these days, isn’t it?”

Jocelyn whacked Steve with the dishtowel. “You know better than to say anything about my age,” she said. “That is not a topic for discussion.” 

Steve and Sarah stayed in the kitchen while James and Jocelyn went outside to the backyard. Jocelyn closed the glass door behind her. James sat on a snow-dusted lawn chair and watched the twinkling Christmas lights glisten like stars on the ice.

“She’s nice,” Jocelyn said. “And all it took was finding a girl who looks exactly like your dead wife.”

“I don’t ask for much,” James said.

Jocelyn sat on a folding chair. “What is it, James? You sounded serious on the phone.”

He walked to the edge of the yard, gripping the picket fence, staring out at the empty street. “What happens to us when we go out in the sun?” he asked. “I’ve only been out once since I was turned, over three hundred years ago, but I didn’t last a minute before I went running back inside.”

“I don’t know what happens to us in the sun. It never occurred to me to try. It isn’t so bad living only at night. The moon and the stars can be beautiful too. Why are you asking? You’re not thinking about going outside during the day, are you?”  

James shrugged without meeting Jocelyn’s gaze. He wasn’t prepared to share his half-formed plan.

Jocelyn brushed an icicle from her chair. “I’ve heard that the sun makes us weak. I’ve heard we can be killed more easily in the light, or it burns our eyes out, or it kills us instantly and we melt away like the wicked witch. I suppose there must be some of our kind somewhere who know the truth.”

She looked at the moon and smiled. “Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out to be a legend—about the sunlight? Like silver and garlic? Those don’t harm us at all yet they’re considered the perfect weapon. Maybe there’s no reason we can’t go outside during the day, but we’re all so convinced into believing it we never tried. Maybe it’s just a story passed down through the centuries, like cautionary tales meant to teach children lessons?”

“There must be some truth to it. I went out during the day once, and it was…hard.”  

“Then you know there’s some danger. You didn’t tell me why you’re asking.”

“Just curious.”

James watched the rainbow lights reflect off the windows of the house. He saw Sarah though the glass, laughing at something Steve said, and he was happy at the sound. He had to remind himself what that feeling was whenever he was caught by an irrepressible grin or a warmth in his dead-cold body. He was getting used to it again—joy. It had been oh so very long.

Sarah and Steve came out into the yard though the winter weather was too harsh for them without coats and mittens.

“Go back inside, Sarah,” James said. “It’s too cold.”

“Not without you.”

Shivering, she walked to him and took his hand. He was overcome with emotion. He wanted her to understand the irony of it all. When they first met all he could think about was how much she was like Elizabeth, and now he was fine with her being Sarah, just Sarah. Only Sarah. He hoped when the time came he would find the right words to help her understand.  

CHAPTER 16

James didn’t have class the next night, but he went to his office anyway. The memories of the seventeenth century were ceaseless now and he wanted the distraction of work. As he put a coffee mug into the microwave on the bookcase he heard a knock on his door. I must be distracted, he thought. I didn’t hear the footsteps. Worried about who might be waiting outside, he sat back and didn’t answer. Then he caught the familiar scents, sandalwood for one, rosewater for the other.

“James? It’s Olivia. Can I come in?”

He opened the door and in came Olivia waving a newspaper. Jennifer stepped in, too, shutting the door behind her. 

“Have you seen this?” Olivia asked.

James shook his head. “I’m afraid to look. A present from our friend Mr. Hempel?”

“I wouldn’t call it a present exactly,” said Jennifer. “More of a trick than a treat.”   

He took the paper and read aloud: “Do Vampires Live in Salem? By Kenneth Hempel, Staff Writer.” He tried an unconvincing smile. “The demon tales from long ago Salem may not be as fictional as many have come to believe. Do you know any demons? Or, perhaps a better question is, do you know any vampires? Before you laugh you may want to consider the facts. Vampires may be prowling as close as your hospitals, your favorite clothing stores, your dentists’s offices, even lurking in Salem State College.” 

He crumpled the paper and threw it into the trashcan. “Lurking in Salem State College?” He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Did he name me?”

“He didn’t name anyone,” Olivia said, “but he mentioned dentists so he might know about Jocelyn too. I think he’s building suspense before the big reveal. He has enough information to be titillating, but not enough to prove anything. Seeing someone only at night doesn’t mean he's a vampire. Some people are just night owls.” 

“I want to know who’s been talking to him,” Jennifer said. “As soon as I find out I’m going to cast a spell that will make him wish he was never born.”

“Jennifer, you know we can only use our spells for good.”

James shook his head. “It hardly matters now, knowing who’s been talking. Hempel is going to keep searching until he gets the proof he needs to go public.” 

“Sounds to me like he has suspicions but no real evidence,” Olivia said.

“You don’t need real evidence to convince someone something is true. You need to speak with authority, sound like you know what you’re talking about, and manipulate enough people into believing you.”

“What will you do if it comes out?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know. This is one problem I’ve never had to deal with. There were times when people grew suspicious of me, especially when I stayed somewhere too long, but even then I don’t think they suspected the truth. When I thought people were beginning to wonder about me I moved on.”

“It won’t be easy to move on this time, will it?” Olivia asked.

“No.” He realized that for the first time since he was turned it wouldn’t be easy to start somewhere new. He didn’t want to leave Salem without Sarah, and he didn’t think she would be willing to drop everything in this new life she was trying to create to go somewhere new with him, especially with all the tension between them.    

The microwave beeped and he slid back on his wheelie chair, took the mug out, and dipped his finger in the warmed fluid. Jennifer leaned over him and frowned.   

“Ugh,” she said.

“You know what I drink.” 

“I know, but in all the years I’ve known you I’ve never actually seen you do it. That’s disgusting.” She shook her head as if she were trying to get the acrid smell out of her nose. “And I would give Sarah a while longer before you let her see you do that. That might be the one thing that will scare her away from you for good. I’ve known you my whole life and I’m scared of you right now.”