Witches (34 page)

It was late when the knock came at her door that night, long after she’d given up hope of him coming. “Rachel, let me in, it be Joshua.”

Glad as always to see him, she fell into his open arms, but what he had to say made her body go stiff and her mind reel again with a feeling of
déjà vu.

“I was in town this night on business and heard the rumors in the Blue Boar Tavern. ’Tis talked of everywhere about Sebastien Goodman, the many arrests, and the trials that are to begin soon. The jail be full of accused witches already and each day more are dragged before Sebastien’s inquisition.”

Amanda pulled away as he slumped down onto one of the new wooden chairs he’d made for them. He was shaking, and in the light of the hearth fire, his eyes were full of hate. His handsome face was as threatening as a storm cloud. He yanked off his hat and laid his musket against the table. “It also be rumored that they’re torturing the poor creatures to extract their confessions, as my brother once told me.” Joshua spat.

“When I first heard the stories from my brother of the atrocities inflicted on them I could hardly believe...now with what I have been hearing...” He covered his face with his hands. Between his fingers came, “My good brother was right—God rest his sweet soul—that Sebastien be not human.”

Amanda felt a tingle of dread run up her spine, remembering who Sebastien had reminded her of. A demon.

She stood rigid above him. “What else, Joshua?” Amanda closed the door quietly so as not to wake the girls. The candle on the table had burned down to nearly nothing.

He met her eyes and she saw him flinch. He hated having to tell her. He reached up with a large, work-worn hand and caressed her face tenderly. His long chestnut colored hair drawn back in a ponytail. A queue they called it. He was dressed in his nicest town clothes. A broadcloth long jacket, white linen shirt, and tight fawn colored breeches tucked into chocolate hued tall boots. He had recently trimmed his mustache. She knew that when he kissed her next, it would prickle her skin.

“They have posted a list of more suspected witches he wants brought in immediately for...questioning. He is giving them the chance to come in on their own and submit themselves to
God’s will,
as he puts it.” His voice was scornful. His hand took hers and squeezed protectively.

“Thy name, Rachel,” he said with horror, “be at the top of the list.”

Shocked, Amanda could only stare at him empty faced. Speechless. Then the anger began to seep in.
Next thing he’s going to say is that I should leave town. Like Ernie advised months ago. No, centuries from now.

He misunderstood her muteness and smiled bravely up
at
her. “Do not lose sleep over
it, Rachel. Do not be afraid. Thou art safe. I plan to petition the chief
magistrate to have thy name dropped from the list. I know him well and we are friends, and I am sure he will oblige me. Thou art no evil witch, but a healer, and a good woman. Aye, and I would fight any man who says differently.” He clenched his hands into fists and rested them on the table.

Then he gathered her gently into his strong arms, settled her onto his lap, soothed her, and whispered lovingly into her hair words meant to comfort her. Listening to his words, Amanda gazed at something in her mind, preoccupied with truths he would never be able to comprehend.

From the murky corner of the cottage where he lay curled in the arms of a sleeping child, Amadeus was awake, listening, his cat’s eyes glowing like two glowing yellow embers.

So fate would have its way, she thought, follow its preordained path, no matter what she did. The whole thing was almost amusing. Rachel had been thought a witch. She was thought a witch. Rachel had been accused of witchcraft and so she shall be accused. Rachel had...there her mind stopped dead in its tracks, refusing to go any further, like a stubborn old mule.

She could still change history, if she tried, couldn’t she?

Could she? There were really only two alternatives: run away or stay and fight for the life she’d come to cherish.

Joshua was still talking and she slowly began to drift back, closer, to understand the words. “He shall not touch thee, my Rachel, that I promise. I shall stand by thee and make sure no one hurts thee. I have much respect in the community. Surely they must listen to me before a stranger so hated as he be.”

So feared as he be,
Amanda’s mind supplied. If Sebastien really decided she was a witch, could Joshua save her? Could anyone?

Amanda had been lulled these last weeks into believing she was too smart to fall into any trap, that she could change Rachel’s gruesome fate. Now she wondered, no matter what she did, if she could. She was scared. She’d be a fool not to be. Without her powers, she was helpless. Just as Rachel had wanted her to be. She’d grown too fond of the children to endanger them—or leave them. Too much in love with Joshua. She was caught in the middle.

She had the needling premonition that if she stayed here she’d have to prove her innocence. That would be hard, but it was possible. She’d been so good since she’d arrived. Had taken loving care of Rachel’s children. Her reputation had changed in the community. Was changing still. Since she’d nursed the Indian woman and Joshua’s people during the smallpox, since she’d stopped creating mischief as the real Rachel had, people spoke of her differently, Joshua had told her. She’d even had hesitant visitors to the cottage (usually at night when they wouldn’t be seen) the last week, asking for potions or advice on this malady or that. She’d given out cold remedies and fixed poultices, prescribed what would bring down their children’s fevers, end their coughs, and cure their arthritis. The townspeople were surely aware of her new compassion. Her caring. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?

Later, in the wee hours of the night, long after Joshua had left, she lay tossing on her featherbed, trying to capture sleep. Debating with herself whether she should run away or stay and fight. Fear had settled like a heavy yoke on her shoulders but the unreality of the whole situation and her safe twentieth-first century thinking kept her from believing that the worst could happen to her.

If she left, where would she go? She had no money.

The jewelry was gone and there was nothing left to barter, except what they grew in the gardens and that only for a few more weeks. Winter was coming
around the bend. Hard currency was practically nonexistent to the poor of these times.

She’d have to take the children with her because her running away would be a sure sign of guilt, and Sebastien might harm the girls if she left them behind. She knew that a lot of the witch hunters of the time would destroy not only witches but what they called the witch’s spawn. They’d kill the children, without mercy, like unwanted mongrel pups.

Lizzy and Maggie were just beginning to be healthy. If they ran, someone might come after them. How could the subject them to a life on the road, running and hiding like common criminals? Lastly, how could she leave Joshua? She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. Not unless she was absolutely
sure she was in real danger.

Sebastien only wanted to question her. Surely she could handle that; could she handle him? She was no longer a witch, she had no powers, so how could he make any of the charges—whatever they might be—stick? She had nothing to hide. She’d done nothing wrong. Then again, perhaps Joshua could sway the chief magistrate to intercede on her behalf. At least there was hope.

She had time yet, she thought.

In this, Amanda made her gravest mistake. She didn’t realize how short her time would be.

Still agonizing over what she should do, she eventually found sleep, but she imagined she could hear Rachel laughing at her again from somewhere. Wherever she was.

Chapter Twelve

No one answered Rebecca’s SOS that night at Jessie’s. Nor the next night, as she was waiting for the snow to stop and the airport to reopen. She was on her own for now. Maybe the clues would come more readily concerning her sister’s whereabouts once she was in Canaan.

Two mornings later, Rebecca checked into one of Canaan’s Holiday Inns so she’d have a base of operations, a bed, and a shower when she needed it. She was still tired, what with the small amount of sleep she’d allowed herself back in Boston in the last few days and the catnap she’d stolen while in the air on the plane. There was no time for any more sleep. She had a lot to do if she wanted to discover what had happened to her sister.

The first thing Rebecca had to do was get out to Black Pond and go into a trance at the last site where Amanda had last been seen; use all of her limited witch’s powers to find out what she could. She’d never cursed her lack of skill more than she did now. Oh, she’d always been jealous of Amanda’s great natural gifts, but she’d learned to compensate in her life for not having them. She’d worked hard; studied her craft and its every facet in a scholarly fashion; her knowledge was impressive, but she still couldn’t do half the things Amanda was able to do. She was a handicapped witch. She smiled whenever she thought of the term, but it was appropriate. Although she wasn’t envious of
her sister any longer. She’d gotten over that years ago.

So what if Amanda had been able to project herself anywhere in the world and heal people with the touch of her hands, and under certain situations, see the future or the past and weave great spells—Rebecca was the famous one with the money in her bank account and public recognition. That was what she’d wanted all along. She’d learned over the years to be content with that. That was what made her happy.

She enjoyed her life now. Since she’d dumped her last loser husband, Frank, she’d begun to see herself differently. She’d begun to discover that having a man—any man—didn’t make you a woman. That she hadn’t known herself at all, and she’d decided from now on she would remedy that. She wondered if Jessica and Amanda knew she’d changed. That, at forty years old and after five husbands and countless lovers, Rebecca was finally satisfied with herself and her life.

Mulling over the last year, as she’d flown high over Connecticut earlier, with Tibby quietly tucked away in her coat pocket, she knew she would no longer trade places with Amanda for anything. Especially now.

Rebecca was smarter than others gave her credit for. She’d come to see that those who had the greatest magic were often the targets of the black powers and were forever in danger of losing it. Amanda’s present predicament was a case in point. Amanda had something that someone else desired and would kill for to obtain. If Amanda was without her magic, as Rebecca suspected, how exposed she must feel.

Rebecca had come to understand something else. Knowing Amanda was in dire trouble had jolted her into looking at her innermost feelings for her younger sister.

The love bond, though often strained in the past, was stronger than she’d given it credit. Yes, the sibling rivalry was what had initially formed Rebecca, painfully but solidly, into the very person she was today. It had finally dawned on her, that without someone as special as Amanda for a rival, she wouldn’t have strived so to get to where she was today. A success.

The truth was, she’d always loved—no—adored Amanda since they’d been scrawny children back in that house of witches. There wasn’t anyone else in the world like her younger sister. Amanda was special.

Looking back, as children, Amanda had never lorded her greater powers over anyone, least of all Rebecca, who’d wanted so badly to be as good, or better than her. Amanda had taken her gifts for granted. Given them away generously—for nothing—just for the pleasure of making other people happy, and had been nothing but loving and considerate toward Rebecca.

“We aren’t gypsies,” she’d maintain adamantly, her green eyes flashing. “We are witches, Sister. True witches. Witches don’t sell their gifts for money.”

Ah, Amanda! So naive. So well meaning. So good.

Rebecca rose from the motel bed and dressed warmly in heavy jeans and layers of sweaters under her coat. Thick gloves and a pulled-down woolen cap.

Tibby wasn’t speaking to her anymore; he was so angry that she was going through with her stupid plan to save Amanda. That was the only bad thing about her familiar; he didn’t have much of a heart. In the end, though, with an exasperated groan, he refused to stay behind and darted into her coat pocket where he continued to berate her intelligence and be a bodiless nag.

There was ice forming on all the trees outside the hotel and layering the windowpanes. The forecast called for snow here in the next couple hours and she had to get out to Black Pond. Wherever in the hell that place was. Out in the damn woods somewhere. Why did Amanda have to live out in the middle of a godforsaken wilderness, anyway? Never could understand that. With her luck, she’d be out clomping around through the boonies during another blizzard. It had followed her from Boston, no doubt.

She’d have to get Amanda’s friends, Jane or Ernie, whom she’d never actually met but had heard enough about to know of them, to show her where Black Pond was. Boy, she couldn’t wait.

Then she’d have to try to summon up the black witch, Rachel, from her watery grave, confront her, and trick her into divulging where Amanda was. Beat her at her own game. Find Rachel’s weakness and break the powerful spell she’d cast on her sister—and somehow bring Amanda back.

Rebecca knew as she knocked on Jane’s door a little while later that if she didn’t succeed it would mean Amanda’s death.