Suffer a Witch (28 page)

“You need to do your own research,” George said.

Em nodded and looked at him. He kissed her nose.

“I’m surrounded by all of these smart people,” Em said. “They all have smart ideas and opinions, but I have no idea if they are accurate. What if they’re completely wrong?”

“You think your father and the mythical Weni might be wrong?” George asked.

Em nodded.

“I’ve felt that way, Em,” Mary said. “You remember that jerk Upham?”

“Charlie?” Em asked. Mary Ayer and George nodded.

“He got as much right as he got wrong,” Mary Ayer said. “And I thought, ‘If this guy could just make stuff up — like that junk about poor Tituba starting it all — I could tell the truth.’ So I started researching.”

Mary Ayer nodded.

“I’m good at it,” Mary Ayer said.

“Mary is the foremost expert on what happened to us,” George said. “We work together for a month every year, and it usually ends up with her teaching me what she’s learned. I keep telling her she should teach this seminar, but. . .”

George looked at her.

“No one’s as good at talking to a crowd as George,” Mary Ayer said with a blush. “You know, Em.”

Em smiled at her.

“But I could help you,” Mary Ayer said with a nod.

“What about your business?” Em asked.

“It pretty much runs itself now,” Mary Ayer said. “I have great realtors who work for me. I only have to go in on the weekends.”

“And answer when they call with questions,” George said.

Mary Ayer nodded.

“I could totally help,” Mary Ayer said.

“I don’t know what help I need,” Em said.

“I’d love to go to that library,” Mary looked from George to Em, “you know — the one on Orkney?”

“Would you go, too?” Em asked George.

“We’re going to Laos in a month, and after that. . .”

“You need to be with your people,” Em said with a nod.

“I. . .” George opened his mouth and then nodded. “They need me, count on me.”

“But I could go,” Mary said.

“Let’s see if I can handle this week,” Em said. “I find it all very. . . overwhelming. You say the words, and the filth and fires and pain and horror and. . . everything invades my bones. I can barely breathe.”

Not sure of what to say next, Em nodded. George pulled her in and kissed her hair.

“Okay,” Mary Ayer said. She smiled at Em and then at George. “I’m really glad you’re here, Em.”

She hugged Em and kissed her cheek. She did the same with George.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Mary Ayer said.

She turned on her heels and headed up the stairs, leaving Em and George alone.

“What do you usually do when you teach?” Em asked.

“I find it exhausting,” George said. “Mary keeps a Puritan schedule. I try to match hers.”

Em gave him a lusty smile, and he laughed.

“I have a hotel room,” Em said. “You could sneak in and sneak out.”

When George leaned forward to kiss Em, she transported them to her hotel room. He laughed when he realized they had moved. He took her hand and led her to bed.

“You didn’t tell him?” Ann Pudeator asked Em.

Em shook her head from her vantage point on an exam table at the Mary Horrigan Connors Center for Women’s Health.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell him,” Ann said.

“George’s work is really important to him, Ann,” Em said. “It means a great deal to him to go and check on people in the fall. He gave up two weeks to go to Laos with us. If he doesn’t get everywhere, then he has more people to see in the dead of winter.”

“You didn’t tell him because of some homeless people?” Ann asked. “Strangers?”

“Close to twenty-five percent of homeless people are vets. Many of them are people George knew in the wars,” Em said. “He feels a deep connection to them. If he knew I was pregnant, he never would have gone.”

“I would have told him,” Ann said with a nod. “Put an end to that nonsense.”

Ann looked at her and smiled.

“This is why you’re his partner and wife,” Ann said.

“I want him to live a meaningful life,” Em said.

“And you?” Ann asked. “How are you feeling? It can’t be easy to be pregnant at your age.”

Em grinned, and Ann smiled.

“Practiced that?” Em asked.

“I thought of it after Mary was here,” Ann said.

“Mary Ayer said that Bridget is pregnant, too?” Em said.

“With a girl,” Ann said with a nod. “Do you think it’s because you’re married?”

Em shook her head.

“None of the girls with human boyfriends are pregnant,” Ann said.

“Do they want to be?” Em asked.

“Did you?” Ann asked.

Em shrugged.

“I’m helping Elizabeth and Sam,” Ann said.

“Elizabeth really wants a baby,” Em said. “It’s her one disappointment in immortality.”

“That and not being able to fly,” Ann said with a grin.

Em smiled.

“I talked to my fiancé,” Ann said. “Told him the score.”

“About being immortal?” Em gasped.

“About being infertile except for certain men born near where I was born,” Ann said. “It’s an acidity thing.”

“And?” Em asked.

“He doesn’t want children,” Ann asked.

“Are you still going to marry him?” Em asked.

“George is going to marry us on Christmas Eve,” Ann said. “You know all about it.”

“Just checking,” Em said with a smile.

“Why do you think we can get pregnant now?”

“My father said that I might be able to get pregnant after seeing him,” Em said. “It’s common for my kind after a trip to Rousay. I assume everyone’s able to get pregnant because I’m able to get pregnant.”

“You think I could, too?” Ann asked.

“Probably,” Em said.

“With John or George or Sam,” Ann said.

“You’re forgetting Giles,” Em said with a smile.

With a vigorous shake of her head, Ann burst out laughing. Ann pointed at Em.

“No,” Ann said with finality. “Wipe your mind.”

Em smiled.

“Come on, let’s take a look,” Ann said. “Lie back.”

Em lay back on the exam table. Ann moved the ultrasound wand over her belly.

“You’re not showing at all,” Ann said. “Did you before?”

“Not until the last month or so,” Em said.

Ann nodded.

“Ten fingers,” Ann said. “Ten toes. No horns.”

“Horns?” Em asked in horror.

“I’m joking,” Ann said. “Would you like a photo?”

“Like Mary had?” Em asked. “Absolutely.”

Ann hummed to herself as she worked.

“He’s going to be handsome,” Ann said. “I can’t wait.”

“Why Ann Pudeator!” Em said. “You should have a baby.”

“Nah!” Ann said. “I’m having too much fun doing what I want.”

“We can afford nannies,” Em said. “You’d never have to change even one diaper.”

“Oh, stop,” Ann said, but her smile suggested that she was interested. She printed out a photo and gave it to Em. “You can get dressed.”

Em dressed quickly and went to Ann’s office.

“You need to take these vitamins,” Ann said. She passed a large bottle of pills across her desk.

“Vitamins?” Em asked.

“Everyone does,” Ann said. “No alcohol or smoking, but you don’t do that anyway. Only one cup of coffee, and limit your tea to just a couple cups. Is that going to be a hardship for you?”

“I can do it,” Em said.

Ann stood from her desk and hugged Em.

“What’s that for?” Em asked.

“You’ve been more of a mother to me than my own,” Ann said. “I know you’re going to enjoy having another child. I’m happy for you.”

Em blushed.

“Make an appointment to come in once a month until you’re close,” Ann said.

“Can you tell when that might be?” Em asked.

“May,” Ann said. “Bridget and Mary are due in April. Why are they ahead of you?”

“They must have been busy when I was in Rousay,” Em said with a smile.

“Probably,” Ann said. “I’ll be ‘Aunt Ann’?”

“Of course, my sister,” Em said.

Em hugged Ann, and Ann walked her out to the front desk. Em made an appointment for a month from now, the middle of December. It was a nice day, so she decided to walk to the Massachusetts Historic Society, where she was currently reading Cotton Mather’s papers. As she had learned from George and Mary Ayer, Cotton Mather’s opinions set the stage for the witch trials, and his later work justified the killing of twenty innocent people. So far, his papers had proved what Martha Carrier had always said about him — the man was pure evil.

She used the beautiful walk in the crisp fall air past the Back Bay Fens to hearten herself. She and Mary Ayer were leaving for Orkney in a week’s time. She needed to finish up. Standing outside the Historic Society, Em took a deep breath of clean air before plunging into the building to continue her dark work.

Em followed Mary Ayer out of the restroom at Logan International Airport. The new year had just begun, and they were on their way to Orkney. Rather than use magic to jump there, Em insisted on making a trip out of it. They were spending a couple of days in London before heading up through Scotland and on to Orkney. The other witches were joining their trip as they could. Sarah Good was waiting for them in London, and Martha Carrier and Alice Parker had staked out a lovely castle in Scotland.

Of course, John Willard wouldn’t let the former Mary Eastey, now Mary Willard, travel in her “condition.” Unconcerned, Giles and Bridget were on a cruise to the Greek Isles, enjoying their last months of child-free life. Elizabeth Howe was teaching school. Sam Wardwell was in the middle of rehabilitating a large historic building. Sarah Wildes was covering at the store. And George was out in the wilderness of Boston, helping his homeless brethren.

At their terminal, Mary Ayer stopped under a television blasting the local news. She stared at the television while Em continued to a set of free seats by a window. Mary Ayer gestured toward the television and walked over to Em, who looked up and shook her head.

“What was it?” Em asked.

“Trial for the bomber,” Mary Ayer said. “You know, that kid with a funny name.”

“Dzhokar Tsarnaev,” Em said.

“They sent out the jury summons,” Mary Ayer said.

Em nodded and sat down. Mary sat next to her and leaned in.

“Are you going to sit on the jury?” Mary Ayer asked.

“With Christmas and New Year’s, I haven’t thought about it,” Em said.

“Bull,” Mary Ayer said.

Em grinned at her friend’s curse word.

“I know you’ve thought about it,” Mary Ayer hissed between her lips. “You were there.”

Em winced. The marathon was one of Boston’s most fantastic celebrations of life and health. It marked the end of winter in Boston. The finish line was only a few blocks from the Mystic Divine, so Em went every year. On April 15, 2013, two young men had left handmade bombs near the finish line at the marathon, just feet from where Em was sitting. Em’s eyes flicked to Mary Ayer’s face.

“And?” Em asked.

“I just thought you’d want to be on the jury,” Mary Ayer said.

“It’s not the Super Bowl,” Em said. “I can’t just buy a ticket.”

“Yeah, how about those Patriots?” Mary Ayer asked with a smile. “They just have to knock down Baltimore and Indianapolis, and,
bam!
They’re Super Bowl champs again.”

“It’s basically a done deal,” Em said with a roll of her eyes and a grin.

“You can say that again,” said the man who was sitting behind them.

Mary Ayer had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. They had spent New Year’s Eve together as a group. Sam, John, George, and Wilmot talked non-stop about their fantastic football team — the New England Patriots. Em smiled at Mary Ayer, and they fell silent.

“So?” Mary Ayer asked after a few moments.

“I don’t know,” Em said. She whispered a spell so that no one could listen in. “It may surprise you, but I’m not fond of handing out punishment.”

“Capital punishment, no less,” Mary Ayer said with a nod.

“Sixteen days,” Em whispered.

Mary Ayer nodded. Sixteen days after Em and the others were hanged, Governor Phips had declared spectral evidence — the exact evidence used to convict them — invalid for use in court.

“Eleven days,” Mary Ayer whispered.

Em sucked in an angry breath. Eleven days after they were hanged, Increase Mather, the father of the horrible Cotton Mather, denounced spectral evidence and the trials. The women fell silent. After a few minutes, Em turned to look at Mary Ayer.

“Are you?” Em asked.

“Maybe,” Mary Ayer said. “I. . . Boston is my home. I watched her rise out of the mud to become a thriving, vibrant city. I will fight with all I’m made of to keep her from returning to the war and wanton violence that marked the beginning of her life.”

Mary Ayer nodded. Em put her arm around her friend. They leaned their heads together. There were no words that could express the depth of the bond Mary Ayer and Em shared by being hanged within moments of each other.

“I knew you’d understand,” Mary Ayer said.

“I just wish there was more I could have done, you know, that day,” Em said. She gave a slight nod. “If I had known. . . If I’d just seen them leave those backpacks, I could have shielded everyone. They left the pack right in front of where I was sitting, and I. . .”

“I know,” Mary Ayer said.

“Even a witch is powerless over this kind of random violence,” Em said.

“You did what you could,” Mary Ayer said.

“It’s not enough,” Em said.

“It’s enough,” Mary Ayer said with a firm nod. “More than enough.”

Each lost in her own thoughts, they fell silent until their flight was called. They were flying First Class, so they boarded with the early passengers. At the door, Em touched the outside of the plane to guarantee their safe flight to London.

Mary sat near the window, and Em sat next to her. Terrified of flying, Mary reached to hold Em’s hand and happened to brush Em’s stomach. Surprised, she looked up into Em’s face.

“You, too?” Mary Ayer asked.

Em nodded.

“Does he know?” Mary Ayer asked.

Em shook her head.

“He’ll be home long before the baby comes,” Em said.

Mary Ayer’s eyes scanned Em’s face. The plane filled quickly, and, before they knew it, the flight attendant was asking for their orders. When she was gone, Mary Ayer grabbed Em’s hand.

“And if he’s not?” Mary Ayer asked.

“I’ll have another son on my own,” Em said. Another flight attendant started giving the safety instructions. Em turned to look at Mary Ayer. “This time, I won’t be quite as alone.”

“You’d better believe it,” Mary Ayer said. “Soul sisters for life.”

Em grinned. Mary put her head on Em’s shoulder.

“You can see this is why we need to get this done,” Em said. “Now. Before we go to war with the demons.”

“We will,” Mary Ayer said. “But first we have to get there.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Mary,” Em said. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Mary Ayer smiled. She took a breath, and the plane took off.

“Who would have ever thought people would fly through the air like this?” Mary Ayer whispered.

“Next stop, London,” Em said with a smile.

“Next stop, London,” Mary Ayer said.

Em winked a sleep spell at Mary Ayer, and she dropped off. Grinning at her spell, Em reached under her seat for her knitting. She was working on a little cardigan.

“Can I bring you anything else?” the flight attendant asked as she set down Em’s bottle of water.

“No, thank you,” Em said with a smile.

“What are you working on?” the flight attendant asked.

Em held up the start to the tiny sweater. The flight attendant cooed over it.

“You clearly have that Puritan work ethic,” the flight attendant said.

Unsure of what the woman was saying, Em gave an amused scowl and a little shake of her head.

“You’re just industrious,” the flight attendant said. “I’m from Boston. We’re kind of steeped in the Salem Witch Trials.”

Em gave her a vague smile and a nod.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” the flight attendant said and hurried off to attend to other matters.

Em smiled after her. What would the woman do if she knew who they were? Em smiled at the absurdity and settled in for the flight.

Em knocked on the door to her father’s home on Rousay and waited. There was a car in the driveway and smoke coming from the chimney, yet Em was sure her father was not here. She waited another minute before turning toward the car, where Mary Ayer was waiting. Em shook her head, indicating that no one was there.

She was almost to the car when she heard the latch click open the door. She spun in place and started back toward the door. An elderly man glanced at her. He had a cloud of thin white hair and a full beard. He wore heavy pants and a thick sweater. He walked to the garden and tapped out his pipe.

“Sir?” Em asked.

He raised an eyebrow in her direction but finished what he was doing. While his fingers were actively burrowing through his coat pocket, his eyes scanned her face. He turned toward her.

“William’s daughter,” he said. He squinted. “You look just like him. That you, Martha?”

“Sir,” Em said. Closer now, but still a few feet away, Em looked the man up and down. She was sure she’d never met him before.

“No, Martha, we’ve never met,” the man said. “I take care of this place for your Da.”

“Nice to meet you,” Em said. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

The man snorted a laugh. He packed tobacco into his pipe.

“How can an old man like me have any advantage over a witch such as yourself?” the man asked.

“Sir?” Em gave him a much-practiced look to indicate that the man was insane. The man laughed. “Your name?”

“Ah,” the man said. He held a flame up to his pipe. His lips puckered, and Em could almost feel the air sucked through the pipe. The tobacco blazed in pulses of glowing fire. He blew out a lung full of smoke. “Bernard Flett.”

“Aboriginal,” Em said under her breath. This man’s last name indicated that he had descended from the original tribes of Orkney and Shetland.

“What was that?” Bernard Flett asked. “Did you say ‘Aboriginal’?”

The man laughed.

“Your father used to say that my family had descended from gods,” Bernard Flett said.

“The originals,” Em said with a nod.

“He was not wrong, my dear,” Bernard Flett said. “You live in America?”

“Boston,” Em said.

“I can hear it in your voice,” Bernard Flett said. “What can I do for you, Martha of Boston?”

“I am looking for my father,” Em said.

The easy smile on the man’s face fell. He looked up at Em and then down at his pipe. Before answering, he went through the ritual of lighting and smoking his pipe again.

“Your Da’s gone,” Bernard Flett said, finally.

“Gone?” Em asked.

“Dead,” Bernard Flett said.

“That’s not possible,” Em said with a quick shake of her head.

“You mean because your father lived many thousands of years, he could not die?” Bernard Flett asked.

Em sucked in a breath.

“Was cut up into sections, he was,” Bernard Flett said. “Each piece set on the train track. London Overland, North London branch. He’d been there at least a day when they found his head sitting on the bank. Some passenger saw it and took a picture. Thought it was some kind of fancy art project. The photo was on one of them Internet sites for a few days before anyone went to look.”

“When was this?” Em asked.

“Four, maybe five years ago,” Bernard Flett said. “Tore the heart out of me. How could anyone do such an evil thing to such a wonderful man?”

Em shifted from one foot to the next. Her mind told her that this news was impossible. Her father had to be alive. But, in her heart of hearts, she knew her father was gone forever. She sniffed a long breath.

“Would be worse if they hadn’t caught the guy,” Bernard Flett said.

“What?” Em leaned forward with surprise.

Bernard Flett raised an eyebrow.

“Said he was possessed by a demon,” Bernard Flett said. “He’s in Carstairs. Crazy as a loon.”

Em gave a slight nod.

“Your Da left everything to you, in case you’re wondering,” Bernard Flett said. “He said you’d show up one day.”

“Thank you for caring for the property,” Em said.

“It’s not a problem,” Bernard Flett said. “You coming home?”

“I hadn’t planned to,” Em said. “I’m just here for a visit with my friend, Mary Ayer.”

Em gestured to the car, and Bernard Flett squinted to look. Mary Ayer waved and Bernard nodded his head.