11

GRACE

APRIL 19, 1692

SALEM VILLAGE

The sun was warm upon my shoulders as I worked in the garden outside the ordinary in Salem Village. Rich, black soil moved easily beneath my fingers as my thoughts drifted to the alarming news we'd learned three days ago in 1912. It was all I had been thinking about in both paths.

The Titanic had struck an iceberg in the Atlantic Ocean and sunk, taking the lives of over one thousand five hundred people. We were still onboard the Oceanic in 1912, making our way back to New York, and that made it even more troubling. There was a somber stillness on the ship as everyone grappled with the news. The knowledge that we should have been on that ship, and that Hope, Luc, and I could have died, still left me numb. Our disappointment at not reaching the boat on time had turned to gratitude that God had protected us from a tragedy. But it had diminished coverage of Hope's flight, since all the newspapers were filled with articles about the sinking.

Sweat ran down my back as I worked the ground and planted cabbage, carrots, turnips, squash, and more. I loved the smell of the soil and the feel of the cool dirt under my fingernails. Mama said that her grandmother, Theodosia, loved to garden. Had I inherited her green thumb?

A noise brought my head up. The wind ruffled a loose tendril of my hair as I saw Father walk around the side of the ordinary with Susannah. She wore a pretty new dress she had fashioned from fabric obtained in Boston with a silk scarf and gold buttons—something that would have been frowned upon had she not been married to a man of wealth and social standing.

Father glanced toward the road and then lifted Susannah off her feet and pressed her into the corner between the back of the building and the lean-to. He kissed her long and hard.

My cheeks grew warm as I looked away, squeezing the soil beneath my hands. My stomach felt queasy. Intimacy between married couples was not only approved by Puritans but encouraged from the pulpit. Yet to do it in plain sight could fetch Father a fine or time in the gaol. It was more proof that Susannah had beguiled him. He would never put himself into such a position if he were in his right mind.

Susannah giggled as she returned Father's kisses. I didn't want to see them—or hear them—but I had nowhere to go. If I moved, they'd know I was there, so I remained absolutely still.

The back door opened, and Hope exited the ordinary. Father pulled away from Susannah, and there was an awkward silence as Hope stared at him. He left Susannah's side and pushed past Hope into the building.

Susannah lingered, a taunting smile on her face as she righted her dress and coif, then she, too, pushed past Hope and went inside.

Hope scowled at them and crossed her arms as she walked across the yard to join me. She wore a brick-red dress with a white apron and white coif over her blond curls. Even in her simple clothing, she was beautiful. It was such a strange reality that she was one of the most celebrated women in 1912, but here she was simply a servant in her father's home. Overlooked and underappreciated. What would Father and the others say if they knew how important Hope was in a different time and place? How she had broken barriers for women everywhere? They wouldn't know how to fathom such a thing.

"They're questioning Mary Warren today," Hope said as she squatted next to me and moved some of the soil around with her finger.

Mary had been one of the afflicted girls, but she had recanted and said the others were dissembling or pretending. The afflicted girls didn't like her confession—and so they had begun to see Mary's specter attacking them. Mary had been arrested and was now facing questioning by the magistrates.

More and more people were being accused every day, including men like John Proctor and Giles Corey. The afflicted also grew in number and now encompassed older women and men—including John Indian. He had begun to have fits and saw specters that tormented him. He was brought in to testify against several of the accused, though all denied witchcraft.

I sighed. "Will you go to Mary's questioning?"

"I think we should both go."

I hadn't been to a questioning, though I had heard about them from Hope. "Why?"

"Mary Warren is the first of the afflicted girls to admit they are playacting. Don't you want to hear what she has to say? She's the only one courageous enough to stand up and put an end to this."

I knew this wouldn't be the end—but I was curious about Mary. "Mayhap I will go."

"Good." Hope stood and wiped the soil from her finger. She hated working in the garden even more than doing the inside chores. I'd much rather be in the sunshine, even if it meant getting my hands dirty.

Hope continued to stand near the garden as I worked, and I sensed she had something else on her mind. I finally stopped planting the carrots and looked up at her.

"What?"

She squatted so we were eye-level. "Do you think Luc is in love with me?"

I couldn't meet her gaze because the truth would hurt her. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I kissed him."

"You kissed him?" I sat up straight. "When?"

"Right after the flight—didn't you see?"

I shook my head, shocked. "Why haven't you mentioned it before now?"

And why did it bother me that she had kissed him? It shouldn't matter to me—but for some reason, it did.

"I assumed you saw."

"Why would you kiss him in front of so many people?"

"I was overcome with the moment."

I thought back to the past few days since Hope's flight. I hadn't noticed any difference in Luc's behavior toward my sister. If anything, he seemed more reserved, quieter, more contemplative as the Oceanic made its way to New York.

"Has he mentioned the kiss since then?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

She shook her head. "Not once."

Relief surprised me, and I masked my response by wiping my hands together to remove the soil.

"What do you think it means?" she prodded.

How could I tell my sister the truth without injuring her? "If a man loves a woman, he wants to be with her, sit with her, talk to her—return her kisses if he's invited to. She's all he can think about, and he does everything in his power to be at her side." I studied her and gently said, "Luc treats you with respect and admiration, but I haven't seen anything that tells me he's in love with you."

The look on her face shifted, and she became defensive. "You're only saying that because you've never liked him. You don't want me to be in love with him."

I frowned. "That's not true—"

"I thought that you were starting to like him."

"I do like him," I said, feeling defensive, too.

"Then why would you say such horrible things?"

"You wanted the truth, so I'm giving it to you." I stood, wanting her to understand. "I don't want to discourage you—but I also don't want you to get hurt. He either loves you or he doesn't. You can't force him to care for you."

She looked down at her calloused hands, and I could see she was fighting the truth.

"Do you even know him?" I asked. "His hopes and dreams? How he feels or thinks or what he believes?"

Hope shook her head. "He doesn't open up with me about personal things."

"Then perhaps," I said quietly, "that's another sign. If he loved you, he would be willing to share those parts of himself with you."

She finally lifted her face, determination in her gaze. "I can't give up. I'm in love with him, and I want him to love me, too."

I sighed, knowing there was nothing more I could say. I didn't want to talk about her feelings for Luc or his feelings for her. I'd rather not think about it.

Instead, I said, "We should probably not speak of him here." I looked at the ordinary with a pointed glance. "You never know who is listening."

We still didn't know how much Leah had heard or understood the night Ann Pudeator visited. She didn't say a word—not to us or anyone else. I wanted to ask others what they knew about our mother, but it was too great a risk. We would have to wait until Isaac could travel to Sandwich and see what he learned.

Hope was quiet for a moment, then walked away from me.

Would Luc ever return her feelings? And if he did, how would that change things—for all of us?

The Meeting House was so full, I could hardly breathe. There had been several questionings before now, but Mary Warren's would be the most important thus far. Since she had been an afflicted girl and was now accused of being a witch, people were curious. Would the truth come out? Would the magistrates believe Mary?

So many people had assembled that there wasn't enough room for everyone to sit. Spectators stood at the back of the room, in the balcony, and outside, peering in through the open windows.

Hope and I had come early and found spots on a bench near the front of the room, just behind the afflicted victims. John Indian was there, sitting off to the side.

The noise in the room was so great, I could barely hear Hope as she whispered in my ear with laughter, "What would they think if they saw me flying? Would they think me a witch, too?"

"Hush," I warned her. "Don't say anything you wouldn't want repeated."

I couldn't help but think about what I had read four years ago. We only had six months left in Salem—at what point was I supposed to accuse Hope? And how would it come about? I still couldn't believe it was possible. I didn't want to believe it was possible.

The afflicted girls sat quietly in front of us. Mary Wolcott and Abigail Williams were knitting while Mercy Lewis, Ann Putnam, and Elizabeth Hubbard whispered in each other's ears. There were several others now, but these five led the accusations—and seemed to thrive on the attention and power.

Susannah arrived beside Father. Seats had been saved for them near the table where the magistrates, John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin, were sitting. Reverend Parris had been appointed to take notes. Several of the Putnam family were there, as well.

After Reverend Parris led a prayer, the magistrates called Giles Corey to the stand. He was the second man to be questioned. His wife, Martha, had already stood in his place and was now in the Salem gaol awaiting her trial. Giles was coarse and angry, and he refused to put up with the absurdity of the trial. His answers made the magistrates livid, and the afflicted had such violent fits, it was hard for the magistrates to keep order.

I watched in both horror and fascination as John Indian convulsed in front of us, acting just as possessed as the young girls. What could drive anyone to such behavior—especially a grown man? Fear? Resentment? Retribution for his enslavement?

It was terrifying to watch. Their spasms and seizures looked real—and perhaps they were. Mama had told us about studying mental health in her 2001 path. The mind was a powerful thing. Could it be that the afflicted were under some kind of mental delusion that caused real fits?

Was that John's trouble? Or was he so afraid that if he wasn't one of the afflicted, he'd become one of the accused?

Eventually, the magistrates ordered Giles to be removed to the Salem gaol to await further questioning. After a short recess, they brought in Abigail Hobbs, a fourteen-year-old girl from Topsfield who had a reputation for being wild and erratic. For over a year, she had claimed that she had sold her soul to the devil. She had been in Maine during the massacres, but instead of living in fear like everyone else, she ran free in the hills around Topsfield, telling people that the devil protected her.

It was no surprise that she had been accused of witchcraft. And it was no surprise that she, like Tituba, didn't deny the charges.

The strange thing was that the afflicted showed no signs of discomfort when Abigail Hobbs was brought in. They did not have fits or spasms—even when Abigail admitted from the start that she had been wicked. Instead, the afflicted watched with quiet curiosity.

After almost an hour of incessant questions and strange confessions about her connection to the devil and his familiars, it appeared that Abigail was no longer willing to speak. Whether she was tired or bored, she decided to stop answering the questions and stared at the magistrates as if she couldn't hear them.

"I see Sarah Good's and Sarah Osborn's specters!" Mercy Lewis cried out suddenly, pointing at Abigail Hobbs. "They have jammed their fingers in Abigail's ears! They will not let her hear you."

Four of the other afflicted girls cried out the same thing, over and over, as Abigail appeared not to hear any of them.

This satisfied the magistrates, who had Abigail removed from the Meeting House.

"How awful," Ann Putnam said, shaking her head. "Poor Abigail."

"She hath suffered so," Mercy agreed.

"The poor thing," Abigail Williams crooned.

Hope turned to me, frowning. "It appears the girls are only afflicted if someone disagrees with them," she whispered louder than necessary.

Mercy skewered Hope with a glare that would have frightened anyone but Hope.

I pressed my hand on Hope's arm to silence her.

"The court will now call Mary Warren," Magistrate Hathorne said.

Immediately, the afflicted began to writhe and spasm—John included. Several of the girls cried out their alarm, claiming several specters entered the room with Mary.

Mary's face was downcast and pale. She glanced up at the afflicted and then quickly looked down again. Her employers, John and Elizabeth Proctor, had already been questioned and were sitting in the Boston prison awaiting their trials because the Salem gaol had run out of room.

As soon as Mary was standing before the magistrates, John Hathorne demanded, "What do you say for yourself? Are you guilty or not?"

"I am innocent," Mary claimed.

"You were a little while ago an afflicted person. Now you are an afflicter. How comes this to pass?"

"I look up to God and take it to be a great mercy of God."

"What? Do you take it to be a great mercy to afflict others?"

Mary's eyes opened wide at the accusation, and she shook her head, but Elizabeth Hubbard quickly stood up to testify that after Mary recovered from her afflictions, she said that the afflicted persons dissembled. As soon as she said that, all the afflicted people in the Meeting House, and a couple more who had not yet been afflicted, began to convulse and cry out. The room was in such turmoil, the magistrate struggled to gain control.

Mary wrung her hands and looked like she might vomit. All the color drained from her face, and she crumpled to the floor. The girls started to claim that the Proctors' specters had struck her down to prevent her from confessing, and Mary began to writhe on the ground, unable to hear, see, or speak.

Hope reached for my hand and held it tight as we watched. My pulse was racing. The spectacle was so unimaginable. Eventually, Mary began to cry out that she was sorry and asked God to save her. As soon as she was on her feet, she fainted again. Eventually, the magistrates had her carried out of the Meeting House to recover.

"We will take an adjournment," Magistrate Corwin said as he stood. "We will reconvene in one hour."

Father and Susannah rose and went to the magistrates. No doubt many of the people in the Meeting House would remove to the ordinary for their midday meal.

"Come," I said to Hope. "We will be busy."

We wound our way out of the Meeting House, through the crowd that had gathered around Mary Warren, and made our way back home.

Hope's hands were balled into fists at her sides. "'Tis obvious what's happening," she said with a burst of anger. "If you confess and agree with the afflicted, you are safe. But if you deny their charges and accuse them of falsehoods, you will be punished. Those girls hold all the power, and the magistrates are allowing it out of fear."

"You must keep your thoughts to yourself," I said, leaning close to her.

"I cannot." She shook her head. "I can't stand back and watch this happen."

"You must. We cannot stop this, Hope. You know that. Not only because we have knowledge of the future—but because no one would listen to us. We'll only make matters worse."

"I hate this place," she spat out, kicking a clod of dirt on the road. "Every last bit of it. I want nothing more than to be free to fly away from here and never look back."

Noise from behind us made me pause—my heart in my throat. Who had come up behind us, and what had they heard?

I turned and found Isaac standing not four feet away. He stared at Hope, a strange look on his face. Hope also turned, her red skirts swirling about her legs, her brown eyes bright with passion as the wind ruffled tendrils of her hair.

Hope and Isaac stared at each other for several long moments until I finally said, "Did you come from the Meeting House?"

Isaac nodded but kept his gaze locked on Hope. She stared back at him.

"You do not mean what you say," he said to her.

"What?" she asked. "That I hate this place? I do."

"Do not speak of flying, Hope. It will get you nothing but the end of a noose."

"I don't care," she said, defiantly. "It would hasten my departure from here."

Horror and confusion passed over Isaac's face. He shook his head. "You don't mean that."

I stepped forward, giving Hope a glare before turning to Isaac. "Hope is dramatic and passionate. You know that about her. She's only upset about the questioning."

"She's also foolish to speak such things." He looked over my shoulder at my sister, his gaze penetrating. "You don't mean them."

Hope let out a frustrated breath. "Of course not. I'm sorry, Isaac."

I turned, surprised that she would apologize. Hope rarely apologized.

Isaac nodded, though he didn't look relieved.

"Come," I said to them. "The whole village will soon be at the ordinary, and we will need to feed them." Thankfully, Leah had stayed behind to mind the food I prepared earlier in the day for this very reason.

We would be busy, but that was the least of my worries.

Father and Susannah were not far behind Isaac—and I couldn't help but wonder if they had heard Hope's talk of flying or her conversation with Isaac, as well.