Witch Hunt (10 page)

Jansen’s escape was successful, and William stood mute before the court.

The first of his family to be brought to trial in Salem, William refused to plead. He was taken from the courtroom and interrogated by the magistrate in a holding cell.

“Why do you not plead?” Sheldon asked.

For the first time in months, William felt a sense of control over his own fate. “If I don’t plead, your honor, you can’t seize my land. It’s the law.”

Sheldon, his chubby face already red, began to perspire. “You cannot refuse to plead to the charge.”

“Yes, I can.” William was filled with a sense of deep calm.

Sheldon began to rant. “We have
ways
to make you plead. You’ll
not
get away with this. We’ll
break
your fool’s silence. You’ll
not
embarrass this court.”

William smiled at the man’s anger. It felt good to turn the tables of frustration and impotence. “Do what you must, because that’s just what I intend to do.”

After Sheldon stormed from the cell, William prepared the deed that would convey his land to Bridget and Phip.

Bridget, who had come to the meetinghouse that morning for the beginning of William’s trial, visited her father after he had been taken from the court. He gave her the deed.

“My land is yours now. They can’t take it from you.”

Bridget silently nodded.

“You’ve been so strong and brave. I’m very proud of you.”

Bridget began to weep.

“Did you bring the berries?”

Bridget handed him the small box of deadly nightshade, and he removed a fatal dose.

“Are you going to kill yourself?”

William looked into her fearful eyes. She was no longer a child. “No, they’ll kill me.” He held up the berries. “This’ll make it quicker.”

Bridget threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.

“Tell your mother I’ll wait for her on the other side. Take care of your brother and sister. Raise them well.”

“Is Mother going to die too?”

William recalled his vision. “I may be wrong, but I see you three together, without us.”

“What will we do?”

“When the madness stops, sell the land and go away from here. This isn’t a good place for people like us. Go to New York.” He pressed Jansen’s address into her palm. “Jan said he’d help. He says there’s greater tolerance there. Try to find others like us to marry. Keep the blood alive. Don’t lose the old ways.”

“I promise, Father.”

“Buried beneath the stones of the hearth in the parlor is a book. Don’t uncover it until the day you leave this town. It’s been handed down for generations. It has the secrets that your mother and I haven’t had time to teach you children. Study it, and share its lessons with Prissy and Phip.” His voice broke, and he paused to collect himself. “There’s a lot we haven’t had a chance to teach you.”

Bridget’s weeping became sobs.

William handed the tiny box back to her. “Take some of these to your mother.”

She nodded.

“Go home. Don’t stay in town today.”

“I’ll always love you,” she said.

He stroked her cheek. “Then we’ll meet again.”

That afternoon, William was taken to an open field on the edge of Salem Village. A large crowd turned out to watch. William was made to lie down, and the sheriff piled heavy rocks on his chest, one by one.

“Do you consent to plead?” Sheldon asked as the fourth rock was placed on William.

The pain was crushing. William’s tongue toyed with the berries he had hidden in his cheek. It was still too early in the procedure to surrender to death. “More weight,” he managed to say.

Some in the crowd began to cheer the sheriff on. William felt the blood begin to flow from between his lips.

“Consent to give testimony and we shall remove the rocks,” Sheldon said.

William could no longer speak.

“Give him more,” Sheldon told the sheriff.

William bit into the berries.

Within moments he felt lighter. The drug — or was it his small victory? — made him happy. He could freely sense the emotions of those in his audience. He felt a few who were appalled by the “justice” of the court. Good, he thought. There was hope in that. His giddiness increased rapidly, and then the paralysis set in.

He was finally free.

“How long have you been a witch?” Sheldon asked Margaret.

“I don’t understand your question,” she replied.

“Were you born a witch, or did the Devil make you one?”

“I don’t know what the Devil is.”

“Did you poison Grace Weston?”

“No, I did not.”

“Did you give a sickness potion to the girl Elizabeth?”

“I never saw her before my preliminary hearing.”

“Who’s the tall man of Boston that other witches have named in their testimony?”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s the leader of the witches, the keeper of the Devil’s book. Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you practiced witchcraft?”

“I don’t even believe in this thing that you call witchcraft.”

Sheldon looked pleased with himself. “That in itself is damning evidence, you understand.”

Margaret sighed; she had no spirit to go on with this. William was dead. Priscilla, in her brief trial, had been convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to imprisonment of an undetermined length. Although the court was reluctant to condemn convicted child witches to death, Margaret knew that Priscilla could not possibly survive a long prison term. However, for the sake of Bridget and Phip and their continued safety, she understood she should cooperate. She tried to think of a defense; accused witches were not allowed the benefit of counsel. She knew from the results of other trials that if she were to confess to the crime, they would not execute her. But that would put Bridget and Phip in peril. She did not know what to say.

“I have enough evidence to easily find you guilty of the crime with which you are charged, Margaret Hawthorne,” Sheldon said. “I condemn you to death by hanging on Gallows Hill this Tuesday next.”

Margaret meditated over the berries. She briefly considered poisoning Priscilla — it would be more merciful than leaving her alone in the hell to which she had been condemned. But Margaret believed that with life there was hope.

She decided against taking a fatal dose herself. It would be best for her children if the authorities believed they were the executioners. Instead, she took just enough to elevate her spirits. She would rather leave this world happy than sad.

She thought about her life. It had been good. She thanked the gods for the gifts they had given her. She prayed to them to protect and keep her children.

She thought about distant relatives, three hundred years before, who had died in the European witch hunts. She thought about distant relatives three hundred years hence, and hoped they would not face the same thing. She wondered if humanity would ever learn from their mistakes.

She held Priscilla as tightly as she could until they came for her. They had to pry the child from her arms.

Two other women rode in the wagon with Margaret to their death that morning. Margaret was not frightened, but — despite the drug she had taken — she was angry. She had admonished Priscilla not to hate and was surprised to meet the face of her own demon of hatred. As the wagon neared Gallows Hill, she was sickened by the blood lust that rose in waves from the crowd. She thought of her familiar spirit, and the corners of her lips curled slightly. “If it’s witchcraft you wanted, it’s witchcraft you’re going to get,” she whispered.

The woman riding closest to Margaret overheard, and gave her a surprised look.

“My familiar’s name is Vengeance,” Margaret said.

The woman’s smile was bitter. “Then give it to them.”

The snake manifested in the midst of the crowd, and screams filled the air.

“It’s poisonous!” someone screamed.

“Run!”

The crowd scattered.

“It’s witchcraft!” someone else yelled.

“It’s after the magistrate!”

Sheldon danced a sort of jig in an attempt to evade the copperhead, but he was unsuccessful. His screams filled the air as the fangs injected their poison into his leg.

“Will he die?” Margaret’s companion asked.

“I leave that to the gods to decide,” Margaret said.

The High Sheriff was undaunted by the diversion. He soothed the startled horses and led the wagon to the giant oak tree.

Three nooses were already in place.

As the wagon stopped beneath the tree, Margaret looked up to see the owl circling overhead. She smiled.

“Tell Bridget I love her, too, Moonlight,” she whispered. The noose was hooked around Margaret’s neck. “I’m coming to you, William.”

She heard the whip as it struck the horses, and felt the wagon move from beneath her. There was a sudden jerk, a wrenching pain accompanied by the crunch of breaking bone, and then Margaret escaped the world that had turned on her.