Silver Tears (31 page)

After a time, she distanced herself mentally from the horror of her trial. Her mind went back to her old life—before Boston, before Maine, before her mother was hanged.

“Be strong, my child,”
her mother’s voice seemed to say.
“Don’t let them see you cry.”

Alice ached to cry, but her mother warned her not to give them the satisfaction.

As the trial dragged on, day after day, she began to give up any hope of escaping the noose. She no longer waited for William Phips to perform some miracle on her behalf. Her only hope was that she could taste her husband’s lips once more before the hangman offered her the kiss of death.

The final day of the trial arrived. All the witnesses had spoken, all the evidence lay before the court. In her heart Alice knew what the verdict would be. It was Bury St. Edmunds all over again, only this time the rope was meant for her. She glanced toward the door, hoping Chris might come. Then she closed her eyes, ready to die rather than face life without him.

“Don’t cry, love. There, Alice, there’s a good girl for your mum. Whatever happens, child, whatever they do to you, don’t
ever
let them see a single tear.”

One of the six stern-faced judges stood, rapped sharply with his gavel to call the proceedings to order. “We gather here today to hear the final verdict on this woman’s fate. ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ So saith the Bible and so saith this court.”

Alice held her breath as the chief magistrate rose slowly from his high bench. For a moment, their eyes met and his seemed as cold and emotionless as steel piercing through her. She looked away, praying silently,
Please, Chris, come to me before it’s too late!

“Alice Gunn, having heard the testimony of many over these past days, and owing to the examination of your person and the finding of the devil’s own mark upon your breast, it is the considered belief of this court that you are indeed a consort of the Evil One. You are a witch.”

As the judge spoke those words, the door at the back of the courtroom banged open. Christopher Gunn stood there, maddened by what he had just heard. His angry gaze darted about until he spied Alice. She looked so brave, standing there with her shoulders squared and her head held high.

“Oh, love,” he whispered, “why did they have to do this to us?”

“Chris, my darling.” He read her lips more than heard her soft words as he started toward her, shoving people, benches, and chairs out of his way.

“Damn you all to hell!” he yelled. “You’ll not touch the woman I love!”

The court was in chaos. Chris didn’t care. The bloody bastards had kept him locked up during the entire trial, and his imprisonment only made his menacing, heathen features reappear. He should have been here with his wife, by her side where he belonged. All that mattered now was that he have Alice in his arms once more. He made his way across the crowded room and drew her trembling body close to his. He kissed her fiercely, sweetly, deeply.

“Darling, you came,” she murmured. “I was so afraid that—”

“Hush now,” he whispered between kisses. “You have nothing to fear. I won’t let them harm you.”

The noise in the courtroom was like a crushing wall, closing in on them. Through it all they heard the judge’s gavel and his booming voice. “Alice Gunn, since you have refused to confess to your crimes, you are condemned to be hanged as a witch, and may your soul abide in hell for the duration of eternity.”

Alice heard Chris yell, “No!” but little else penetrated her consciousness. She was aware only of her husband’s nearness and his love enveloping her.

“I love you too much,” he murmured. “I’ll die with you before I let you go.”

She looked up into his eyes, but couldn’t see his face. She felt weary, and his features seemed hidden in mist. “Chris?” she whispered. “Darling?”

All the noise in the courtroom ceased. The crowd began to move away, their faces pale with alarm as well as wonder.

“It can’t be,” a woman whispered, “but look, there it is on her face.”

Only one final embrace, Alice thought, that’s all I ask.

She clung tightly to Chris, trying to make herself a part of him forever, but seeing the expressions in the crowd, he pulled back to gaze at her.

“Alice?” he said in an awed, hushed tone. “I’ve never seen you cry before, darling.”

All the emotions she’d damned up inside over the years were swept aside as a flood of silver tears rushed down her cheeks. She cried for her mother, for herself, for Chris, and for the unborn child he had not been told she was carrying. She cried for all the evil in the world, all the good. She cried simply because it seemed to be the only thing she could do.

“I can’t die… I can’t leave you… Chris, I love you!” she stammered.

The judge pounded his gavel. The silent onlookers moved slowly toward the doors. Alice and Chris, oblivious to all else, remained in each other’s arms.

The judge, shocked and embarrassed, cleared his throat. “This is a highly unusual development. Alice Gunn, you have proven yourself innocent of all charges by weeping real tears. You are no witch, and I call an end to this trial.”

“And a new beginning for our lives,” Chris whispered as he bent to capture his wife’s lips once more. “I love you, Alice.”

Chris carried his wife up the stairs the moment they arrived home. She was sobbing softly and trembling all over. The trauma of the trial still clouded her thoughts and consumed her emotions. Chris wanted desperately to put an end to her years of suppressed tears. He wanted to hear her laugh again and see the sunshine of her smile lighting her lovely face.

Nuzzling her ear with his lips, he whispered, “Will you do something for me, darling, when we get to our room?”

She sniffled, making a determined effort to stop crying. “Chris, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you right now.”

He paused on the stairs and kissed her deeply, then smiled into her tear-bright eyes. “Good! That’s what I want to hear. Anything and everything is what I’m yearning for right now.” He kissed her again, then smiled broadly, his green eyes merry. “Mostly though,” he continued, “there’s just one request I’m dying to have you satisfy.”

Trying to second-guess her husband’s wishes drew Alice’s mind away from her terrible ordeal. His kisses helped a good deal, too.

“I can’t very well satisfy you, my darling, unless you tell me what you want me to do.”

“Show me your witch’s teat,” he demanded with a playful nip at her neck.

“What a thing to demand the minute we’re alone together!” Alice replied with mock horror, then laughed, exactly as Chris hoped she would.

He smiled down at her and nibbled at her bottom lip. “I promise I’ll kiss it and make it all better, love.”

Before many minutes passed they were in the big bed, and Chris began making good on his promise. Alice sighed and stretched in his arms, her tears forgotten as his warm tongue smoothed over the fading bruise on her breast. “Hmmm, that feels wonderful, darling.”

“And this?” he asked, sliding his hand up between her thighs.

“All right, I suppose.” She shrugged, feigning indifference.

“Well, then, perhaps you’ll like this better.”

Unable to wait a moment longer he straddled her, forced her thighs apart, and gave a deep, sharp thrust. All conversation ceased, except for moans and sighs, until they had shared that one perfect moment of love and passion.

Afterward, Alice lay in his arms, dizzy with wonder at his power over her body, her heart, her very soul. She decided it was the perfect time to tell him about their baby.

They both spoke at the same moment.

“You go ahead,” Alice told him.

“I just wanted to tell you what happened to me during the trial. Hawthorne warned the jailors that I was too dangerous to be put in with the other prisoners, so they took me to a tavern in Salem Village and shackled me down in the cellar. I almost went out of my mind thinking about you. Believe me, if I could have come sooner, I would have, darling.”

She nuzzled his cheek and kissed him softly. “Thank goodness Will found you in time.”

“Will? He didn’t come for me. I haven’t even seen him. I only escaped earlier this morning. I finally got loose from my bonds and broke the damn door down. I came through that tavern roaring like the devil himself and threatening to tear the head off of anyone who tried to stop me. The barkeep muttered something about the ‘witch’s husband.’ I caught him about the throat and promised to strangle him if he didn’t tell me what he meant. That’s how I found out your trial was in progress, and I headed straight for the meeting house.”

Alice shivered and held him, remembering all that had happened. “You’ll never know how glad I was to see you, my love.”

“Not as happy as I am to be back home where we belong—just the two of us.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something, Chris. It’s been on my mind for a while. Could we send to Maine and bring Pegeen, O’Dare, and their family down here to Boston? Peg’s such a good worker and a special person. Even if Mignette recovers and can take up her duties again, I’ll be needing extra help.”

Chris laughed. “I think it’s a fine idea to bring Pegeen here, darling, but I didn’t realize there was that much housework to be done.”

“There will be soon.” Alice clasped his hand and placed it on her stomach. He stared down at her, a slow smile lighting his stubbled face as realization dawned.

“How long?” he asked.

She laughed. “Remember our first morning here, darling? You slept late while I got up and—”

“And I tossed your skirts and took you here on the side of the bed.” He finished with a hearty laugh. “Yes, that was mighty fine.”

“Indeed, it was, darling. Fine enough to give us a child come early spring.”

He sat up cross-legged before her, holding her hands in his. A huge grin spread over his face and a cocky light gleamed in his green eyes. “After this one comes, we’ll have another and another and another, and we’ll add to the house, and I’ll buy some farmland and more horses and cows, and—”

“Darling, stop,” Alice cried. “You’re making me crazy!”

Gently he eased her back to the pillows and leaned down over her so that their lips were almost touching. “Wild and crazy, that’s how I like my woman,” he whispered.

Then slowly, tenderly, carefully, Chris made love to his Alice again. So sweet was his lovemaking this time that when it was over, on Alice Gunn’s flushed cheek gleamed a single, silver tear.

It was a tear of happiness, hope, and love.

Fort Majabigwaduce, where Alice and Christopher Gunn met, can still be seen today, although it is known by its French name, Fort Pentagoet. Located in the coastal town of Castine, the fort was named in honor of Jean Vincent de l’Abadie, Baron de Saint Castin, who arrived in Maine in 1673 at the age of twenty-one after his discharge from the French army. He had served several years in Canada before coming to Maine.

The fort site dates back to the time of the Pilgrims when, in 1629, Issac Allerton established a trading post near the coast under the auspices of the Plymouth Company. The English and French continued their bloody contest for control of this debatable land until the end of the French and Indian Wars in 1763, and the Treaty of Paris that year gave England the disputed area east of the Kennebec River.

Most of the people in this story are my creations. However, the baron, who is recorded to have led an existence of “loose living and had many Indian wives,” and several other colorful characters actually lived during this early colonial period.

One of them was Mathilde, the daughter of Madockawando, a sagamore of the Tarratine tribe of the Abenaki. Her marriage to the baron produced three children: two sons, Anselm and Joseph Dubadis, and a daughter, Anastasia. A poet anonymously penned this tribute to Mathilde:

After Mathilde’s death, the baron married Marie Pedianski, who bore him one daughter, Therese.

William Phips, the youngest of twenty-six children, was born February 2, 1651, to a poor family in Wiscasset, Maine. Phips was said to have grown up as “strong and whippy as a good Maine pine.” He was a shepherd in his early years, but at twenty-two, four years after his father’s death, Phips moved to Boston and apprenticed himself to a ship’s carpenter. During this period, he also taught himself to read and write.

In 1675 he married Mary Hull, the widow of a Boston merchant. She was both older and richer than Phips when they wed. Soon after their marriage, Phips became a shipbuilding contractor and sailed some of the vessels he built to the West Indies, where he first heard stories of wrecked Spanish treasure ships.

He traveled to England to convince King Charles II to invest in his treasure hunt, but the king died in 1683, shortly after Phips’s first thwarted attempt to locate sunken Spanish gold. Finding new backing from the Duke of Albemarle and a few other private investors, Phips returned to the Bahama Banks in 1686 and became the first successful treasure hunter America had ever known. When he sailed into London in 1687, he brought with him twenty-seven tons of treasure, a cargo worth about £300,000. A “royal tenth” of this went to King James II, and for that, the one-time illiterate shepherd was knighted.

In 1692 Sir William was named the first royal governor of Massachusetts. Later he was accused of, among other crimes, misappropriating government funds, and was called back to London. He died in February of 1695, of a sudden fever while awaiting his hearing.

Mary Phips was indeed accused of witchcraft in 1692, but she was released before coming to trial. Other supposed witches were not so lucky—Reverend George Burroughs, Sarah and Dorcas Good, and Giles Corey among them. In all, nearly four hundred men, women, and children were accused during the Salem hysteria—twenty-two women and five men had been tried and convicted, fourteen women and five men had been executed before Governor Phips called a halt to it. Phips ordered that all convicted and accused witches be acquitted or their cases dismissed without trial in May of 1693.

Three special people deserve my special thanks for their help with this book—my editor, Claire Zion, for suggesting the time and location as well as offering valuable advice along the way; Roberta Custer, for bringing me witches from Boston; and especially my Maine connection and friend of many years, Margarett Ann Goodfellow, who spent countless hours and traveled many miles tracking down obscure facts, dates, and names for
Silver Tears
.

Becky Lee Weyrich

Unicorn Dune

St. Simons Island, Georgia

May 1990