Susannah Morrow (52 page)

The tide had turned.

I stood listening, thinking of my dream, of how Susannah had come to me, of her call. I heard again her words from long ago—
It has felt as if we have always belonged to each other.

A year ago, I had set out in another storm, riding for this very woman through rain that lashed at me and wind that pushed
at my back. These laws that God abided by, the ones He had created, did they include such a thing as destiny? Had there been
a reason for my finding her, for every moment since, a plan laid down by God for my happiness, for a life fulfilled? Or had
it merely been accidental, happenstance, a trick of fate—one road taken, another abandoned? Who had I been fighting all this
time? The Devil, as I’d thought? Or God?

The answer lay with wiser men than I.

I turned the mule into the rain, and chose the road that led toward Massachusetts, and Salem Town, and called out for the
animal to hurry, to hurry. I had lingered too long already.

She would be waiting.

Except for the Fowler family, and their neighbors the Penneys, most of the characters in this novel are real. Because this
is a work of fiction, their dialogue and their reactions to the incidents in the novel are imagined, based on my readings
of seventeenth-century transcripts and other material.

Susannah Morrow’s experiences as an accused witch are based on the experiences of several real-life accused witches, including
Martha Corey, Susannah Martin, and Bridget Bishop. In reality, Martha Corey was the fourth witch to be accused. She was tested
at the Putnam household, as Susannah is in the novel, and examined and arrested a week later.

By October 1692, nineteen men and women had been hanged as witches, one man pressed to death, and hundreds more imprisoned
and/or accused. Estates had been seized by the crown upon the arrest of many of the accused in anticipation of a guilty verdict;
children were left behind to fend for themselves or be cared for by neighbors; property was destroyed. By the time the panic
ended, the social and economic fabric of Salem Village and its environs had been shredded. Those who had been imprisoned were
ordered released in May of 1693, but only after they had paid the bills they’d incurred in prison for food and lodging. For
many, this was an impossible debt to repay. Their farms had been left fallow for a year, their children were beggars, and
their relatives were already drained financially from attempts to free them. Though many families immediately began petitioning
for restitution, it was not until 1710 that the General Court passed an act reversing the convictions (but only for those
whose families had specifically petitioned the court), and not until December of 1711 that it granted some restitution to
petitioning families.

Samuel Parris remained the pastor of Salem Village. In 1694, he read a statement in meeting where he admitted giving too much
weight to spectral evidence. He was ousted from the village in 1697 and replaced by Joseph Green, who did much to mend the
rifts caused by his predecessor.

In 1697, Samuel Sewall publicly confessed his guilt over his part as a judge in the trials of the accused—one of the only
expressions of guilt or error made by any of those involved in the trials.

The girls of Salem Village, for the most part, disappeared from public records, and little is known of what happened to them.

In 1706, Ann Putnam Jr. apologized publicly for her actions.

She was the only one of the girls to do so.

Abigail Williams began to shake and scream. Mercy Lewis pressed into a corner as if she were being attacked on all sides.

Charity was trembling as one with a fatal fever; her face had gone gray. She slipped from my hold, sagging to the floor with
a moan like a wounded animal. Desperately I shook her.

I heard another cry from beyond, and another. The magistrates leaped to their feet; tankards spilled, splashing through the
din. Corwin shouted at the crowd to be silent—a useless order. Parris began to pray loudly.

“She is pinching Charity!” the Putnam girl called out, “Oh, make her stop; please make her stop!”

Charity would not tolerate my hands. Desperately I cried, “Will someone not help me?” and saw how they backed away—except
for one person. One person, who pushed through the crowd.

Susannah.