Chapter Fourteen
June 1692 – Salem, Massachusetts
“I wish Samuel were here.” Elizabeth shivered as she gazed about the crowded room. She and the Widow Tate had arrived as early as they dared to witness the procedures. But now that she sat in the same room as the accused witches, Elizabeth felt a sickly feeling deep in her stomach and she longed for the comforting presence of her husband. “I don’t think we should have come without him.”
“Samuel told you he had to go to the docks today,” Ann hissed. “Now be quiet, I want to hear what is said.” She craned her neck for a better view as the aging Rebecca Nurse was brought to stand before the magistrates.
“Goody Nurse, you have been accused of causing mischief and practicing witchcraft. How do you plead?” The magistrate’s voice boomed through the room.
Rebecca Nurse, lame and ill, swayed against the bar but said nothing.
“See,” Ann whispered. “The devil tells her to hold her tongue in the presence of those who fear God.”
“She cannot hear,” called one of Rebecca’s sisters.
Ann turned and glared at the woman until Elizabeth pinched her arm smartly. “Do not draw attention to ourselves,” Elizabeth snapped. “Do you want everyone to remember that Sarah, too, has been labeled a witch when Samuel is not here to protect us?”
Angered at being publicly chastised, Ann tightened her shawl and gave Elizabeth a withering look. “Don’t you meant to protect you? 'Tis not my family that harbors a witch.”
Elizabeth gasped and pressed a hand to her pounding heart, but before she could speak, screams and moans the likes of which she'd never heard before pulled the attention of both women back to the front of the room.
Abigail Williams, niece of the Reverend Mr. Parris, rolled about on the floor in fits of agony. "Goody Nurse hurts me," she shrieked. "Make her stop! Make her stop!" Within moments all of Abigail's young companions had joined her on the floor to roll about in a most grievous fashion.
"I am innocent," Rebecca's frail voice rang out, and the meeting room grew silent. "I never hurt no child." All who watched and heard the words of the pious old woman suddenly found it hard to believe that a woman too ill to leave her bed would direct her specter to dance about the countryside and cause harm to children. "I am innocent, I say." Rebecca's voice rang true. "As God as my witness, I am as innocent as the child unborn."
Abigail Williams glanced nervously about the room, her eyes narrowing. "But you cut me just this morning," she wailed, holding up a bloodied hand for all to see. "I fought with you, and here's the knife to prove it."
The congregation gasped in horror at the sight of the child's wounded hand and the witch's knife she held as proof.
Feeling the sympathy again directed toward her, Abigail continued. "Two weeks ago you stole into my room at night and bid me fly with you on your broom. When I refused, you bade me dance with the devil and drink his blood. Again I refused. This morning you said you had come to punish me. You used your knife."
"That's a lie!" A young man stepped forward and, giving Abigail a harsh look, took the knife blade from her fingers. Ignoring her threatening stare, he turned toward the magistrates. "This blade is from my knife," he said easily. "I broke it only yesterday when Abigail and I were walking down by the stream. She must have taken the piece when I wasn't looking." He held forth his knife and fitted the broken blade into place. A rumble of disapproval ran through the crowd.
"Abigail Williams, you keep your story to the truth," the magistrate warned. "You need not tell lies to have us believe you."
Uncertain of how to proceed, Abigail did what she did best; she fell onto the floor in a fit of moaning. Mercy Lewis quickly followed the example of her friend.
" 'Tis the witch," she cried in pitiful sobs. "Her eyes burn us. Make her stop!"
The crowd stood and edged forward to better view the spectacle, for no one had seen a witch use her eyes before. One magistrate whispered to another and a black cloth was quickly tied about the eyes of Rebecca Nurse. Instantly both girls relaxed their torments and were able to be eased back on their chairs.
"We need no further proof," the magistrate declared solemnly. "Goody Nurse, I find you guilty of witchcraft and sentence you to remain in Salem Prison until you can be taken out and hung by the neck until you are dead." His gavel pounded the sentence.
Elizabeth clutched Ann's hand tighter. "Let us leave this place," she said, swaying. "I feel not at all well."
Ann took in her friend's pale complexion and grudgingly rose from her seat. "I wanted to see who would be the next accused," she complained, "but you do look poorly."
Outside in the spring air, Elizabeth took several steadying breaths. "It became so warm in there," she said, fanning herself as they started their long walk. "I found it difficult to breathe."
Ann turned a critical eye to her neighbor. "Do you think that Sarah is close by? Do you think that she was trying to steal your breath?"
Elizabeth nervously scanned the sides of the road. "We have not seen the cat since the day Sarah disappeared and took its shape. Samuel wants to burn her house down to rid our property of any evils that may still longer there. But I am not convinced. I think the devil might covet the thoughts of a fire."
Ann scrunched her narrow face. "Don't you know anything?" she challenged. "Fire is the only way to truly kill a witch. Fire or a hanging. And I think Samuel is right. If you burn Sarah's house, mayhap she will not return to haunt you."
Nearly an hour later when they reached Elizabeth's house, the women paused at the gate. Samuel's wagon, still hitched to the horse, sat in the yard.
"I thought you said Samuel would be gone all day," Ann complained. "If I had known he was home, he could have come to fetch us from the trials."
Elizabeth felt a dreadful premonition wash over her, and her body started to tremble. "He said he would not return until evening." Hesitantly, the two entered the house.
Elizabeth found her husband seated at the table with his head resting on his hands. "Samuel?" she questioned, rushing to his side. "Husband, what is wrong?"
Samuel Wittfield looked up, his eyes red from the quantity of drink he's consumed. "I met a man at the docks today." His vice was slurred with anger and brandy. "It seems that all these weeks we've spent in constant worry, our little Sarah is safe."
Ann pulled out a chair and leaned close. "Sarah is here?" she questioned, remembering how Elizabeth had suddenly found it hard to breathe in the crowded meeting house.
Samuel shook his head. "Little Sarah," he sneered, "little innocent Sarah is living in sin with a man in Virginia."
"Virginia?" Ann and Elizabeth gasped in unison. "But how did she get to Virginia?" Elizabeth's voice quivered with fear.
Samuel rose and began to pace before the hearth. "The man was reluctant to impart much information. But if you ask me," he turned back to the anxiously waiting women, "I would think that Sarah traveled in the manner of all witches. I think she flew."