When the Black Roses Grow (14 page)

“She is a witch.” Deacon Pruett’s voice rose with each syllable, and yet, the words hushed through my panic as though he moved his lips, but sounds did not roll across his tongue.

The crowd around me withdrew from me with looks of terror and horror on all their faces. Only one remained by my side—James—whose eyes fixed upon Mary just as mine.

Still shivering in her father’s arms, she hinted toward me once more. “She employed the devil with a smile on her face and burned me with her powers.”

My knees hit the dirt. My weight suddenly too heavy to hold up.

Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris shoved through the gawking crowd toward Deacon Pruett. They knelt down to offer aid and spoke to one another in a tone too whispered for me to hear.

I retched my breakfast onto the ground.

Everyone began to whisper and pointed in my direction.

Deacon Pruett rose to his feet. He helped Mary to stand and handed her over to his wife, who wrapped her arms around her daughter, and helped Mary limp away from the courthouse. Deacon Pruett strode around Sheriff Corwin and Reverend Perris with his eyes fixed upon me—his glare held so much hatred, it chilled my blood.

“I knew you were vile when you married my son. Did you murder him, too? Did you murder my son?” he shouted.

I knelt in the dirt and clutched my throat with both my hands. I shook my head, unable to find words to say. Not that it mattered, even if I knew what to say, the thought of speaking seemed impossible at this moment in time.

Deacon Pruett inched closer to me with a glower of loathing. “He lived a healthy life and was never ill once . . . until he married you. She is a witch just as her mother. She murdered my son and has now cursed my daughter. I demand justice from the church. I demand justice from the magistrates. I demand her head.”

Heat tickled through my skin. Fury bubbled along with my panic.

No, no, no. This cannot happen to me now.

With his hands in the air, James impeded Deacon Pruett’s advance toward me. “Deacon Pruett, fever has thieved many lives, even from the healthy. Surely, thou cannot mean to accuse thy own widowed daughter-in-law.”

“And, why do you hold concern, Mr. DeKane? You defend her—defend the witch, like a love-struck suitor when you should hath protected my daughter.”

The heat radiated further through my skin—fire hot and full of anger building upon anger. I drew in a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly in hopes to calm the flames burning deep inside.

No, no, no, Emmalynn, do not allow them. Do not allow them.

I closed my eyes.

Please, God, send me a vital distraction.

James retreated a few inches, closer to me until his hand could grasp my wrist.

As suddenly as the flames ignited, they died, and left not but tranquility to my soul. I opened my eyes to the distraction I longed for—the gentle, but firm touch of his fingers.

A sudden twinge of revelation twisted in his Deacon Pruett’s eyes. They glimmered with accusation and malicious claim. “Is she the reason you renounced my daughter? You spineless waste of a man, I ought to—”

“Ought to what? A man is not spineless for not fancying Mary—such a man would be quite intelligent, actually. Thy daughter has such a sincere lack of empathy for anyone other than herself and ‘tis very unbecoming. No wonder no man desires her.”

Deacon Pruett’s lips curled into a sneer and he growled through his teeth. “She has bewitched you. The witch has bewitched you as Miss Junior had done to Mr. Coleman. Confess or you will face the same punishment.”

With his fingers still wrapped around my wrist, James straightened his shoulders as he braced himself for the events about to unfold. Even with his ridged stance, the air of confidence seemed to diminish in his eyes. He could not argue with Deacon Pruett any more than I could, or anyone could.

“I only meant—”

“Silence, Mr. DeKane,” Sheriff Corwin shouted as he marched past Deacon Pruett toward us.

Within a few strides, he reached me and grabbed my arm. He squeezed it tight with his fingers as he glared at James and cleared his throat—an unspoken demand with his eyes for James to release me.

James hesitated with a flicker of vacillation in his eyes. His lungs heaved with a bitter breath as his hand tightened around my wrist, and his arm flinched as though he wanted to draw me into him to protect me.

“Sheriff Corwin, please, do not just . . . the accusations are illogical.”

“And, they are supposed to hath utter reason?”

“Yes, they are. A woman abruptly collapses claiming to be cursed by—”

“Evidence for me determine, not you, Mr. DeKane. An accusation has been made against Miss Hawthorne, therefore an arrest must follow. ‘Tis the law and you know such.”

“Perhaps, the court should arrest Mr. DeKane as well.” Deacon Pruett pointed at James with a growl in his voice. “Since his interest lies with aiding the witch, perhaps his guilt equals punishment as well.”

“I am not a witch,” I shouted. “I do not curse thy daughter and I did not murder thy son.”

As Sheriff Corwin jerked me to my feet, I glanced at James. His lungs heaved. His eyes bewildered, as though lost in his thoughts and his brow furrowed in ominous pain.

Willow.

In protecting me, he risked her.

FOURTEEN

Sheriff Corwin dragged me through the crowd. With my mind in chaos, my feet stumbled. People scattered left and right as they whispered amongst each other.

Disgust and terror oozed from their eyes, a seething darkness that licked against the fear bleeding from the emotional wound I faced. Expressions I hath seen before when accusations were placed upon another.

James followed close behind me. His steps whispered against mine and his hand brushed the small of my back several times. Heat tickled through my body, but the flames kept their distance and never grew into a fire that burned through my skin.

“Witch,” one man shouted as I passed.

He pitched a tomato at me. The rotten fruit pelted the side of my head and squirted moldy juice through the strands of my curls. Seeds splattered all over my ear and dripped down my neck as I lifted my arm to shield my face.

James lunged for the man, his attack cut short by Deputy Thomas, who seized his arms.

Sheriff Corwin yanked my arm as he spun on his heeled boot. A growl rumbled through his chest as he shoved his finger toward the man as he shook his head. “There will not be any of that today.”

The man muttered under his breath as he glared at me, however, he obeyed.

Sheriff Corwin continued to drag me behind him to the steps of the courthouse. I offered no fight as fighting would be pointless and would only bring me more trouble. The daughter of the damned stood little chance in her own right. I did not need my behavior held against me and damaging any chance of them believing my innocence.

James trotted behind us. Freed from Deputy Thomas’s clutches, he nodded reassuringly each time I glanced over my shoulder and met his loving gaze.

Desperation whispered through my mind, trickling down into my thumping heart. Deafened by my pulse, my horror, my terrifying horror, rapped at the door of my soul, licking his lips as he mocked me and threatened to shatter the barricade I built in defense.

I had been accused.

No one who has been accused has ever been found innocent. No one who has been accused has ever lived to see their family and homes again. No one who has been accused has ever seen anything besides the bars of the prison chamber until they hung on the hill.

Only a sea of death awaited the accused—witnessed only moments ago as the dead man still lay upon the earth, suffocated until his last breath.

My eyes darted toward the box and John’s lifeless body—another shallow grave for the condemned part of the graveyard, another unmarked hole in the ground that no one would visit unless his family dared to do so.

The death in his eyes as they stared at the sky above cracked the emotional levy holding my resolve, and I jerked my body to free myself.

“I am not a witch. I am not a witch.” My denial screamed through panted breaths until tears blinded me and streamed down my face. “I am not a witch. I am not a witch.”

I thrashed and writhed against Sheriff Corwin’s tight grip, yanking and jerking my body. My toes dragged across the porch of the courthouse as I struggled against his grip. I dug my heels in the cracks of the wood planks that shifted and moaned.

The watching villagers gasped. Their blurred bodies nothing but silhouettes, unrecognizable though my panicked deep breaths.

“Unless you desire further persecution, then I suggest you surrender.” Sheriff Corwin’s spit hit my cheek and he wrenched on my arm to restrain me.

I froze.

His threat rang with truth.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I finally surrendered to him.

Reverend Perris and Deacon Pruett approached with Bibles raised towards the Heavens. Their relentless pursuit mirrored the distain in their eyes and their utter revulsion toward me spurred their haste. They wanted rid of me, and they were not willing to waste any time obtaining what they wanted.

“Gentleman.” Sheriff Corwin held up his hand toward them. “I shall handle the case from here. Please leave me to my responsibilities.”

“But—”

“Reverend, you know the law.”

As Reverend Perris bit his tongue, Deacon Pruett disputed, waving his Bible in the air. “But, ‘tis my daughter who suffers at the hands of this witch. I should be allowed to witness the questioning.”

“Not today, Deacon Pruett. I will question Miss Hawthorne alone.”

“But—”

“I will not hath my authority undermined,” Sheriff Corwin growled.

In a lapse of judgment, Deacon Pruett thrust forward, threatening to use force to argue his case. Before he managed more than a few steps, though, Reverend Perris pressed his hand into the deacon’s chest to stop him.

“’Tis better to not interfere. Thy family will receive the justice you demand.”

“Sheriff Corwin.” James called out as he stumbled up to the porch and shoved his way past Deputy Thomas. “The law states that an arrest requires a warrant, and you do not hath a warrant for Miss Hawthorne.”

“Mr. DeKane, I will acquire a warrant in due time. ‘Twould be imprudent to release Miss Hawthorne only to arrest her again. Surely, you do not wish for her to suffer further.”

“But—”

“Enough, Mr. DeKane. Thou would do best to keep out of my business.”

Sheriff Corwin spun on his heel, nodding toward Deputy Thomas. “Bar the door.” His command to the deputy spit through gritted teeth as he dragged me into the courthouse, motioning for Deputy Cloyce to slam the door and refuse the men further argument.

He led me to his desk on the other side of the room and threw me into one of the little wooden chairs—his force enough that I nearly missed the chair.

The same room I visited just a mere few days ago for a wedding had lost the beautiful decorations. A hollowed version of what was, it sat dark, almost sinister and cold. No pretty flowers decorated any of the tables. No happiness brightened the room. Even the sunlight cascading through the windows touched every inch with depressing fingertips.

Today, the room was different.

Today, it played the room I remembered when I watched them question my mother. I remember now. Remember the room for the enemy it was and not the stranger it became during the wedding.

James continued to pound on the door from the outside. “Sheriff Corwin, please. I wish to testify on Miss Hawthorne’s behalf. Please.”

Sheriff Corwin stared at the door for several minutes. His eyes twitched every time James’s fists met the wood and he called out. Would he ignore James? Or, would he forsake his earlier command and permit the witness to speak?

He allowed me once as my mother huddled in the same chair I did now. He had consented to my passage through the door James, now, banged on with his fists, just as I had done, even though the boldness of my actions was utterly inappropriate. Would he show James the same courtesy?

Sheriff Corwin growled under his breath with the look of a heartless man in his eyes. Time obviously had drained the willingness of a Samaritan. He glanced at Deputy Cloyce standing attention at the door and flicked his wrist.

“Either he leaves or you arrest him.”

With nodded obedience, the deputy exited the door he had just slammed shut. Within mere moments, James’s begged shouts suddenly ceased.

My hope dashed in the blink of an eye, and yet, I understood why.
Willow.
He had to protect Willow no matter the predicament he faced.

And, I loved such about him.

I stared upon Sheriff Corwin, and the callous face of a changed man. Demanding months had aged him. He was not the man who interrogated my mother with question after question. He was not even the man who visited my home just a few days past, inquiring about the peddler who attempted to purloin my goats. He looked as different as he acted—a stranger, though I had once known him well.

“Mr. DeKane’s interruption certainly did not ameliorate the situation.” He hinted toward the door as he leaned forward in his chair, placed his elbows on the wooden desk, and clasped his hands together. “Not in the eyes of the law, I mean, but in the eyes of Reverend Perris and Deacon Pruett.”

“I would hope it would in regards to the law, as well,” I muttered.

“And, why is that?”

“For the reason of motivation.” I glanced down at the desk then returned his gaze with an unblinking glare to enforce my argument. “Just as with the life stolen today because of a scorned woman, who employed the belief in such foolishness as witchcraft to mar the ones who wounded her.”

“’Tis quite the accusation you claim against Miss Pruett.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“And, is that thy argument? Thou are innocent because of childish revenge. A hoax conned by a young lady who lost her courted beau to another woman?”

With my eyes locked upon the desk, I nodded.

“I can guarantee such a defense will not bode well for you in court, Miss Hawthorne.” He raised one eyebrow as he poured himself a tumbler of water. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No.” My troubled response was more of a sound than a whispered word.

He took a few gulps and set the goblet down with a thud. “Securing thy warrant will require a few days, so I would suggest you grow comfortable with thy new surroundings.”

“Why can I not return to my home, then?”

“While I would like to consider allowing you to return to thy home, you know of the accusation against you and that a warrant will be issued and I cannot risk you leaving Salem.”

“And, where would I travel?” My voice growled with each word.

I did not know where the outrage and courage came from. I should hath bit my tongue, I should hath only spoken to answer his questions. But, through my trembling hands and through my pounding heart, an angered defiance bubbled in my blood.

If my fate was that of my mother’s and all the other women forced into this same situation, and if the reasons for the accusations made against me would be disregarded or go unfounded, then what did I hath to lose by opening my mouth?

Nothing, that I was about to lose otherwise.

Sheriff Corwin glared at me—his frustration written through his squinted eyes. How dare I challenge him? How dare I challenge the situation I was in? Was I not my mother’s daughter? The woman who abided by every demand placed upon her when they accused her.

I remember wishing for her to rebel as I watched her answer his questions. I wanted her to explain about the young girls wanting sugar cubes. I wanted her to inform him about the conversation, the way they threatened her, and what they said.

But, she would not tell him anything.

“I do not know where you would travel, Miss Hawthorne. I did not know thy family, or hath awareness as to who are the acquaintances you keep . . . other than Mr. DeKane. However, if I did know, such would not matter.”

“I am a lonely widow with no money. My parents passed on to Heaven along with my husband, and my only possessions are my home, a flock of fowl, and one bovine. I do not share company with acquaintances in Salem.”

“Other than Mr. DeKane.” He chuckled oddly with his statement.

“I hath no place to flee to other than my home,” I said flatly.

“Which I hath to investigate.”

My heart shuddered in my chest. My stomach clenched.

The vine of black roses.

The black magic that haunted the four walls of my home. No one would understand it. No one would accept it. If found, not one word could prove my innocence.

Whether friend or foe when it blossomed, it now played a foe.

But, was that not its destiny? To ruin my life, no matter the beauty
?

“Why would you need to investigate my home?” I tried to conceal my fear and remain calm. “My home was not inspected when Deacon Goodwin accused my mother.”

“Do you hath something to hide, then? Something you wish to convey to me?”

He sat upright in his chair, with a twitch of interest in his eyes. Had he finally unlocked the secrets he desired to find? Had I just secured my own downfall in giving him what he wanted in the exact moment I offered the information?

“No . . . no, you may examine the home if you desire. I hath nothing to hide, I do not know why I asked.”

He leaned back in the chair with the glass of water in his hand and let out a groan.

“Miss Hawthorne, I am afraid I am at a rather difficult impasse with thy arrest. You say I should believe thy innocence because of some unfounded plot of revenge against you by a woman you do not even hold company with anymore—”

“Which sounds just, so then what is thy impasse?”

“I do not deny for some reason Reverend Perris or Deacon Pruett hath their sights set upon you. Why I do not know, nor can I reckon.”

“So then, surely, you can see my dilemma and just for their guilt.”

He smirked and raised one of his eyebrows. “Why would a lonely widow with no acquaintances threaten the warrants of such powerful men? And, that, is where I am left to wonder if this lonely little widow is nothing more than a witch attempting to hoodwink me.”

“I am not a witch, and I am certainly not hoodwinking you.”

“If not, then how doth a lonely, insignificant person capture so much attention?”

“My father was never liked in Salem. He disagreed with Reverend Perris and after he accused my mother, I—” I bit my tongue.

Choose thy words carefully.

Sheriff Corwin held authority in Salem. A stance as not only a man of influence, but also Reverend Perris and Deacon Pruett’s predominant ally.