Witch Child (7 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Lloyd

BOOK: Witch Child
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Salem, 4 August 1692
I have told Ann about Jeremiah.
Although I recorded evening last that I had indeed intended to tell, by this morn I had changed my mind. I wanted to savor my delicious secret and keep it private so it would not tarnish, as if the revealing might make it ordinary. ‘Tis not at all ordinary. And I do so want my listener to be as thrilled as I. 'Tis why I chose Ann with whom to confide.
Scarce could I sleep last night for my thoughts of Jeremiah. Dreamily I envisioned some chance encounter whereby Ann, Deliverance and Phebe would all be present, and whereby Jeremiah would suddenly appear, smile gently at me and remark upon something only he and I had shared. Then, laughing, we would stroll off together hand in hand, and everyone whom I intended to know would not have to be told; they would see!
Still another dream was of Jeremiah joyously telling Deodat and all the boys. They in turn would eagerly relate everything to Ann and the others, and Ann would excitedly search me out and breathe, “Rachel! Why did you not tell me!” How dramatic it would be!
How frustrating to have such lovely dreams constantly interrupted by Goody Glover's cackle. Laughing hysterically, Goody Glover made fun of me! Pray, God, shall I never be rid of her fiendish presence!
So it was that despite my intentions to remain coy and mysterious, when Ann arrived this morn on an errand for her mother, I could not find restraint. Elated at the knowledge that I am liked, and eager to demonstrate that I am liked, I quickly took Ann back round by the barn and told her.
Excitedly I blurted, “Ann, you shall never guess what! Jeremiah has kissed me!”
Breathless, I waited for her reaction. A small lump in my stomach suddenly lurched. With trust I had opened a sliver of my heart and displayed it for vision; I prayed Ann would not chop that sliver to pieces. I need not have worried.
Sweetly, sincerely, Ann smiled and cooed, “O Rachel! Do tell every last detail! Shall he now come courting, do you think? Has he asked you to be his intended?”
“Not yet,” I laughed with a full heart that is O so confident of Jeremiah's affection. “But next week I shall turn thrice and ten, and then we shall see! 0 Ann! I am so happy! Please be happy for me!”
“I am Rachel! I am!” she laughed. “Now do tell me everything that happened!”
I am glad I told Ann. My secret has not at all tarnished, but instead has increased in reality. My telling, and Ann's reaction, renewed my excitement and made me yearn for Jeremiah's presence. My heart now feels as large as today's bright blue sky, swelling so inside me that I sense it shall burst!
I wonder if Jeremiah now dreams of
me
?
Salem, 4 August 1692, aft
I did something I should not have. I fashioned a crystal ball to ward away Goody Glover. Let it be recorded that I did so only out of frustration for how terrorized she makes me.
I did not at all intend to be engaging in witchery
.
I did it when Mama was in the kitchen garden, Mercy was carding and Daniel had followed Papa to the mill. Sneaking out Mama's glass sugar bowl, I proceeded to pour the sugar into a wooden noggin, then race to the barn, bowl hidden in my apron, and scramble up to the loft.
Then I waited. Staring into the rafters, I knew any moment she would appear. I wanted her blood. 'Twas her blood that would make it work.
But she did not appear. Beneath me, a pig nosed into a pile of hay, looking for some tasty morsel. Squawking came from the chicken house. But all else was silent. No cackling laughter.
Frustrated, I challenged her. “Come out! Come out, you evil witch! Show your face, so I can be rid of you! All I need is a drop of your blood!”
I must have frightened her. From somewhere down in the depths of Hell, she must have known what was to happen. The Devil probably told her.
The longer I waited, the more frustrated I became. I could wait no longer. If
her
blood would not appear, why not
mine?
Could not mine work to wash away hers? Swiftly I climbed down the ladder, grabbed hold of Papa's scythe, gulped, took a deep breath, and ran it across my finger. It stung. I think I whimpered. But too near my goal was I to stop. A red trickle of blood ran down my hand, and cradling my finger in my palm so I would not lose my precious quarry, hastily I climbed back to the loft.
Victoriously, I announced, “Aha, you evil witch! I shall get you now! I shall rid your blood with mine, and you shall be gone from me forever!”
I listened, waiting for cackling laughter. Nothing. Silence.
Carefully I placed the tip of my finger against the edge of the sugar bowl. A drop of blood trickled down its side. 'Twas not enough, I decided. Squeezing my finger to make more, another drop, then another, trickled into the bowl. My finger ached.
I waited, watching to see what would happen. Lifting the bowl, I swirled it.
“Tell me,” I asked my fortune telling device, “how am I to rid myself of Goody Glover?”
My drops of blood made a tiny pool. Slowly they formed a small “S”.
“S?” Wracking my brain, at first I thought 'twas “Satan.” For an instant, I thought it meant I was to be taken! So horrified was I, I almost dropped the bowl.
Then I realized. “S” means “secret”. I must find out the secret 'twixt Mama and Goodman Glover! In the secret lies my salvation!
Suddenly I heard the whiny voice of Mercy. “Rachel? Rachel, are you in here? Mama needs . . . O there you are! What on earth are you doing up there? We've been looking for you high and low. Mama needs someone to take the quilt to Goody Bishop, and . . .”
Halfway up the ladder was Mercy, and I, in a panic, sat on the bowl to conceal it.
“Why, Rachel!” gasped Mercy. “What on earth is wrong? Why do you look so . . . so strange? And . . . and why are you sitting up here? Your . . . your face looks . . . er . . .” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly halted on the top rung, in terror.
I could not help myself. Instantly I threw back my head, opened my mouth and screamed out at the top of my lungs: “Eayah!”
I had meant it mostly as a diversion but also as sport because Mercy was so terrified. Quick as a wink, Mercy scrambled down the ladder, nearly toppling to the floor, and ran from the barn screaming, “Mama! Mama! Come quick! Rachel is having another of her fits!”
The diversion didn't work. I had hoped it would provide time to conceal the bowl until later when I could retrieve it and replace the sugar. But I couldn't. Mama and Mercy both found it—along with the small pool of blood—and Mama was horrified.
“Rachel Ward!” exclaimed Mama, aghast. “Get you into the house this instant! And Mercy—back to your carding! Is there no end to your nonsense, daughter?!”
Salem, 4 August 1692, eve
Jeremiah came this aft. I did not tell him about my crystal ball, for fear I would cause him anger.
He helped me gather herbs for tea, and although I was thrilled by his presence, I was bothered, too, that I could not discuss the one subject which so disturbs me. 'Tis odd how quickly moods do waver. This morn, so exuberant was I that I would have thrown myself toward Jeremiah and gaily pled with him to romp off to the pasture. Yet this aft, I was so deeply troubled by my visions and by Mama's reaction to my attempt to dispel them that I could scarce muster an ability to entertain. I felt as dull as lead. I wondered what Jeremiah could ever see in me.
Jeremiah picked a clump of sassafras and handed it to me. He said, softly, “I thought about you last eve.”
My heart lurched. I hoped I wouldn't say something foolish. “I thought about you, too,” I replied.
Suddenly I wished he would leave. I wished he had never come. My confidence had vanished, and I wanted to be alone with my memories. All my life I have spoken openly to Jeremiah as a friend, yet this aft suddenly everything seemed all changed. I could not think of a single word to speak. All that churned round in my brain was Goody Glover. Her face appeared in the ground before me, and I shuddered.
Taking my hand, Jeremiah said, “I'm glad you are my friend.”
I did not feel like a friend. I felt like some colorless little toad whom Jeremiah would suddenly and clearly recognize as such, then flee. Pray, God, why have you blessed me with such a wooden tongue? And such burdensome visions? Why could you not have endowed me with cleverness and a heart as light as Phebe's?
“Are you all right?” Jeremiah asked. His olive face creased with concern.
“Certainly,” I replied, falsely. Then I murmured something inane, which I prefer to forget for the ninny it makes me; and I think deep down, Jeremiah really must care for me because he chuckled in spite of my stupidity, and he teased me.
I made no attempt to linger after the herbs were collected. So fearful was I of spoiling Jeremiah's nice thoughts of me, that I proffered an excuse of being needed for spinning—though the wheel was in use at that very moment—and left Jeremiah in the road.
“I shall see you tomorrow,” he told me, and I smiled and nodded, wordlessly.
I think he wanted to kiss me. I wish I had been confident enough to let him.
Salem, 5 August 1692
Last eve I overheard Mama in conversation with Papa. About me.
“'Tis gotten out of hand,” Mama was saying, quietly.
“She's young and impressionable,” murmured Papa.
“Those are oft the ones it strikes first, Jacob.”
I had risen from bed and gone to the top of the stairs to ask Mama when she would be coming to join me—so fearful was I that Goody Glover would come terrorize me when 'twas only Mercy and I in the chamber—when I heard them. Speaking in hushed tones leads to only one conclusion. No one is intended to overhear. Quietly I sat in the shadow betwixt the wall and the railing, my knees pulled to my chin, my nightdress tucked down under my toes.
Papa said, “She's simply been listening too close to the talk of the trials. Such talk is enough to give anyone visions.”
“As vivid as Rachel's? Jacob, you see how she does tremble and go into fits. Even at Meeting—where, if anywhere, the Lord should protect her.”
“‘Tis a wonder I myself didn't faint in Meeting, Martha. 'Tis hot as Hades in that building!”
“Jacob! Watch your language! And be still your voice, else the children shall hear.”
“About Hades? Or the trials? Rachel hears too much of both, I suspect.”
“'Tis what I'm trying to tell you, Jacob. I haven't yet mentioned this to you—for you have been so elated over the mill—but today I found her fashioning a fortune telling device!”
“Aye?” said Papa with concern. “And for what purpose?”
Mama's voice trembled slightly. “I . . . er, don't know, Jacob. She wouldn't say.”
Papa paused for a moment. Then he said, “That proves
exactly
what I've been contending, Martha. Something of the same came up in the trial of Goody Black. Rachel is simply using her imagination and putting it to curiosity.” His voice lowered a notch. “You, uh, haven't mentioned it to anyone, though, have you?”
“Certainly not! Do you think me witless?! But Mercy, too, saw it; though I don't think she understood. But'tis not all, Jacob. Goody Bishop came to me with suspicions.”
“Goody Bishop has always suspicions.”
“Which lead to problems, Jacob. She says Rachel displays disturbing signs, and we should call in Reverend Parris.”
“Gossip of goodwives is itself the instrument of the Devil. Have you not said so yourself?”
Mama sounded exasperated. “Jacob, shan't you see? 'Tis no knowing what can happen in circumstances such as this. And how I fear what can happen when that line is passed from being possessed!”
I gulped. I am possessed. It was
awful
hearing it put into words. And 'twas Goody Bishop who reported it. I knew she had the smell of danger.
Papa said, “Rachel is just at that
age
. And'tis an age which I think should not be witnessing trials or executions. We'll be stopping that now, Martha. For the time, at least.”
“Aye, 'tis with my agreement, Jacob. But I think more is called for. I think we should indeed call in Reverend Parris.”
“'Tis a poor time to be doing
that
. With the mill getting on its feet.”
“But we cannot let it continue any longer. Reverend Parris can perchance rid her of evil demons before they go one step further.”
“'Twill be no steps beyond imagination,” Papa maintained.
“O Jacob. How can you bear to see her tortured? You spend your days at the mill. But I? I see her morn, afternoon, and eve come fleeing through the door with terror in her eyes. Do you not notice the whiteness of her complexion? Do you not notice how distracted she appears? Why, hardly can she concentrate upon a simple chore without leaping up and dancing about to drive away her visions.”
“'Tis the energy of the young, Martha.”
“Jacob, do be serious. Do you not tire of my sitting with her at night? Do you not miss me in your bed? And what of all the candles you bring? If for nothing else, we need Reverend Parris 'ere we run scarce of candles!”
“I pray the day not to come when we be counting candles.”
Mama sighed, a long weary sigh. “Jacob, too weary am I to discuss this much further. Already I expect to start hearing Rachel's cries. If her mind does not go first, 'twill be mine—of that I promise. If you shan't admit possession—only imagination—then Reverend Parris would serve that need as well. We shall ask Reverend Parris to harness that imagination and put it to better reality. What say you to that suggestion?”
Papa considered the matter silently. I could hear the soft puffs of his pipe. “Aye, Martha. To that I be agreeing. Only if 'tis in the harness of imagination.”
“Thank you, Jacob. I think I shan't be able to endure another day of this.”
“Reverend Parris shall be in town in the morn. When he returns to the village, you shall call.
Without
Goody Bishop.”
“Aye, Jacob.”
“Mid-aft would be the best. I shall have Daniel with me at the mill. Mercy shall find a friend to visit. 'Tis best your discussions with Rachel have fewest ears.”
“Aye, Jacob.”
“You shall give him our monthly tithings, so he shan't have cause for unfavorable opinions.”
“Aye, Jacob. Now I must go up to Rachel. Shall you follow me with the candles?”
And so ended as much as I heard. Swiftly I disentangled my knees and nightdress and tiptoed back to bed—feeling a wretched burden.

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