21

HOPE

AUGUST 20, 1692

SALEM VILLAGE

All morning and afternoon, I thought about Grace's flight. She had told me everything she could think of, and it was still on my mind as I sat under the large oak tree on the side lawn of the ordinary, darning stockings.

It was a beautiful summer afternoon, much too nice to be indoors. Grace was in the kitchen, finishing her baking, but she'd said she would join me later. For now, I was soaking up the warmth and letting my mind drift into the bright blue sky and the billowing clouds up above. I ached to fly again—and that ache had turned to a pit in my stomach. I'd been stuck in 1692 for seven weeks, and with each passing day, I missed 1912 more.

A gentle breeze whispered across my skin as I lowered my gaze. A woman was walking toward the ordinary on the road to Salem Towne. She limped as if she was in pain, but nothing else looked unusual about her.

I concentrated on the stocking again, my mind slipping to Isaac. It had been weeks since he had come to the ordinary—not since the wedding in Salem Towne and my meeting with Rachel. I had heard he was away from the village on business in Boston, but that hadn't put my mind to rest.

I couldn't stop thinking about those few moments Isaac and I had spent together. They were the only thing that eased the constant pain in my heart, so I played them repeatedly in my mind. He'd said he would never leave me, and that simple statement had changed something inside of me. It caused me to think of him whenever I had a moment to myself—like this one. I thought of the past few months, how he had gone to Sandwich on our behalf, had orchestrated our meeting with Pricilla, and how he had taken me to my cousin.

I thought of his home, his servants, his farm, and his friendships. Everything Isaac valued was better because of it. He treated the people and the things in his life with treasured devotion, and because of that, they prospered. He was a man deeply respected in the village and beloved by everyone.

It was no wonder Grace was in love with him. He was just like her.

As my thoughts strayed to him, I was more determined than ever to convince him to love my sister. They deserved each other.

But I was running out of time, and he was nowhere to be found.

I glanced up again, and the woman was closer. Her limp was more pronounced, and her form had grown familiar.

The back door of the ordinary opened, and Grace appeared. She wiped her wrist along her brow and then stepped into the sunlight, closing the door behind her. "I believe I'm done until it's time to start supper." She walked over to her garden, which was flourishing, and surveyed it for a moment, her hands on her hips. "I should probably weed the potatoes."

"Grace," I said as I kept my eye on the approaching woman, unsure if I was seeing correctly. "Come here."

She walked over to me, her gaze traveling to the woman, and she put her hand up to shade her eyes. As the woman drew closer, my suspicions were confirmed. I set the darning in my sewing basket and stood.

I grasped Grace's arm and said in a hushed whisper, "That's our cousin, Rachel."

Grace turned to me, surprise and concern in her brown eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." I looked toward the ordinary, my heart pounding. "If Father sees her, it will not go well for any of us."

"We need to stop her," Grace said, "but we don't want to draw attention from the watchtower or from anyone in the ordinary. Mercy Lewis and Mary Walcott were just here visiting Susannah."

"Let's go to the side of the ordinary, out of sight from the watchtower, and see if we can catch her eye before she goes in the front door."

I was already moving in that direction. There were no windows on the east side of the building except our bedroom window on the second floor. Grace followed, and we stood there until Rachel was within shouting distance. I glanced around the front of the building to see if anyone was there and then called out to Rachel.

She didn't hear me at first, but when I called her name a second time, she looked up.

I motioned her toward me, conscious of the customers who came and went throughout the day. I had told her to send word and I would go to her if she needed me. It was too dangerous for her to come here. We could not be seen with Rachel. There would be too many questions. And if Father found out we had learned our mother's identity and were in contact with family members, they would all be in danger.

Rachel hastened her steps, making her limp more pronounced, and joined us on the side of the ordinary. We were sheltered there, within the overgrown brush that grew on that side of the building.

She was dressed much the same as the last time I had seen her, with the oversized shawl held snug next to her throat, covering most of her body. She looked just as ill as before, though she was sweating, and her coif was askew.

"You're hurt," I said as I drew her toward us.

"'Tis just a twisted ankle," she said. "I fell outside of town, so I haven't come far with it hurting."

"You walked all the way from Salem Towne?" I asked. It was five miles, and though people walked it all the time, it wasn't wise to be out alone. The fear of Indian attacks or highwaymen was a constant threat, especially to single women.

"It was the only way I could get here." She looked from me to Grace and back to me. "Are you Hope?"

I nodded and then pointed to my sister. "And this is Grace."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Rachel," Grace said with a pleasant smile. "I'm happy you've come."

"Why have you come?" I asked. "I hope you're well." Though she didn't appear well.

Rachel looked down at her hands, which clasped her shawl about her like a vise. "I am not well—and I knew not where to turn."

"What can we do for you?"

Taking a deep breath, Rachel unclasped her hands and opened her shawl to reveal her midsection, which was large with child. I pulled back, both surprised and alarmed at her secret.

"The child belongs to Mister Reed," she said with her eyes cast down, her voice in a whisper.

Grace did not pull back but gently laid her hand on Rachel's arm. "Will he not marry you?"

She wrapped her arms around herself, closing the shawl once again. "He's married to another. She lives in England with their children, but a letter arrived this very day telling him that she will be here by autumn."

Grace looked at Rachel with empathy and pain and asked the question that had been burning in my mind. "Was this child conceived in love or abuse?"

Tears came to Rachel's eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. "I met Josias before I moved to Salem Towne. I-I came because he asked me to live with him." She shook her head. "I'm not living as his servant, but as his kept mistress. His wife was supposed to stay in England."

"That's why you left your family?" I asked.

She nodded, but then the tears started in earnest. "I love him." She bent under the weight of her circumstances and crumpled to the ground, her back against the ordinary.

Grace crouched down and put her arm around Rachel's shoulder, murmuring encouraging words while I looked around to make sure no one had found us. When Rachel settled and had a better command of her emotions, she wiped her cheeks and looked up at me.

"I'm sorry to have come. I didn't know where else to go."

"Hath Mister Reed told you to leave his home?" Grace asked.

"No. But we don't know what we're going to do. We cannot imagine being away from each other."

As an unmarried pregnant woman, she was taking a risk to be seen in public. She could face fines, whipping, and even imprisonment. If it was proven that Mister Reed had committed adultery, he could face fines and whipping, as well. It was a very serious crime, one that would not go unpunished if discovered.

"What can we do to help you?" Grace asked, though there would be very little assistance we could give.

"If I need somewhere to live," she said to us, "once his wife arrives in Salem Towne, could I come here?"

Grace looked up at me, and I knew what she was thinking as she let out a weary sigh. "Our father would never allow it. Perhaps you should go back to your family in Sandwich."

"I cannot," she said bitterly. "They would never take me."

"I think they would." I squatted next to her and laid my hand on her other arm. "They welcomed back our mother when she arrived with us on her hips."

"She was married," Rachel said.

"They love you," Grace told her, "and would rather see you safe at home than whipped and put in prison."

A noise at the corner of the house caught my attention the moment before Susannah appeared. Her gaze darted from one person to the next and then landed on me, a self-satisfied smile tilting up the corners of her lips.

"Uriah!" she called. "I've found them."

Rachel looked like she was about to bolt—but it was too late.

Father appeared, and he did not look pleased.

———

"What is the meaning of this?" Father asked as we all stood in the sweltering kitchen a few minutes later. "Who is this woman?"

I swallowed my fear and said, "This is Rachel." I didn't even know her last name—a fact that hadn't seemed to matter until now.

"Rachel?" Father stepped closer to her. His arms were crossed as he looked down his nose. "Rachel who?"

"Rachel Howlett," she said in a small voice, sweat dripping down her temples.

I could see the moment the name registered in Father's mind. Shock, fear, and then anger raced across his face. "Howlett?"

"Yes, sir." She clasped her thick shawl so tightly about herself, her knuckles were white.

Susannah stood off to the side, watching, her own growing babe just starting to show.

Father turned to her. "Leave us, wife."

Her eyes grew large as indignation rose in her face. "Leave?"

"Now!" Father commanded.

Susannah jumped, and then she began to cry as she ran up the back stairs.

Father's face had turned red as he stared at Rachel. "What are you doing here?"

I stepped forward. "I invited her to come." It wasn't quite true. I had told her to get word to us if she needed us, but it was an invitation, nonetheless.

"You?" He turned to me, and all the years of strife and anger we had pointed at one another seemed to come to a volcanic head. The rage in his face was frightening. "Do you know who this woman is?"

"She is my cousin," I said, unwilling to back down, though I knew the ramifications would be severe.

He ran his hands through his hair and said, almost to himself, "I should have silenced Ann Pudeator twenty-four years ago. She hath brought this curse upon my house. At least now she will pay."

"Curse?" I asked. "To know our mother? To know our kin?"

"What kin do you know?" He spun on his heels and stormed toward me. "Who else have you met?"

I would never tell him—not if he whipped me until I died. "I have met no one."

"How did you find this woman?" he asked, looking at Grace, probably hoping to find a more obedient witness.

"Ann told us," Grace lied. Ann was already in prison. What more could Father do to her? "Rachel lives in Salem Towne."

She made it sound like Ann had met Rachel through her connections there. It might be true, but it wasn't how we had met her. I admired Grace for not giving in to Father's demands. There was no telling what he would do to Pricilla or Isaac if he knew the truth.

"Why have you come here?" Father asked Rachel next.

She flinched and looked at each of us, terror in her eyes.

"Have you come to spread the destructive teachings of your Quaker beliefs?"

Rachel shook her head. "I do not follow the Quakers."

"But you have—you were born of Quakers."

"Were we not born of a Quaker, as well?" I asked Father in a steely voice.

He breathed heavily through his nostrils as he sliced his hand through the air and said to Rachel, "Be gone from here. And do not darken my door again. Do you understand?"

Rachel's face was ashen as she fled from the kitchen without looking back.

Father stared at me, and I knew I had pushed him beyond reason. "What hath she told you about your mother?" he asked through a clenched jaw.

I would not cower before him. "We know she was hanged and that you did nothing to help her."

Remorse and pain flickered in his eyes, but it was soon covered by righteous indignation. "You know not what you speak of, girl. She was warned—I warned her—and she heeded me not. She was headstrong and stubborn." He shook his head in disdain. "She was exactly like you. And if you do not heed my words, you, too, will hang at the end of a noose, and I will do nothing to stop it from happening."

I inhaled a sharp breath, his words cutting deep.

Grace cried out in shock and took a step toward me, but Father moved between us and turned to me.

"Do not see that woman again—or any of her family. This is my one and only warning."

Father turned and went up the back stairs, probably to console his wife, while I stood rooted to the spot, plagued by his words.

Grace wrapped me in her arms and held me tight. "Do not listen to him," she whispered.

"He would see me hang, like he saw his own wife hang. There is no love in him, Grace. Just anger and bitterness and self-righteousness."

"There is fear," she said as she continued to embrace me. "He fears that which he cannot control—that is why he feared Tacy and why he fears you."

My tears came then—not only for what he had said, but because I was stuck here with no escape.

A knock at the back door made both of us jump. Rachel wouldn't have returned, would she?

As Grace left me, I turned my back to the door and wiped my cheeks with my apron.

"Good day, Isaac," Grace said, her voice strained.

Isaac?

I turned and our gazes met across the kitchen. His smile fell, and he stepped past Grace. "What's wrong?"

I'm not sure if he pulled me into his arms or if I fell into them, but in an instant he was holding me close. His arms were strong as they wrapped around me. His chest solid and comforting. I could feel the beating of his heart against my cheek, and I closed my eyes, certain that no one or nothing could hurt me here.

After a moment, I realized Grace was watching, and I pulled back, wiping my face.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

"I fought with my father" was all I would tell him.

"I'm sorry." He glanced at Grace and then back at me. "I brought something. Perhaps it will cheer you." He reached into the bag he carried and removed a round, shiny orange.

My lips parted in surprise as I looked up at his handsome face. "Where did you find it?"

"In Boston. It cost a king's ransom, but I knew it would please you." He took my hand and turned it over, then he placed the fruit onto my palm. "For you."

I swallowed the emotions that welled up inside me. I had thought I'd never get another orange after dying in 1912—but Isaac had found one for me. "How did you know?"

"You told me once, many years ago."

Without another thought, I threw myself into his arms again, and this time I hugged him.

That evening, darkness fell over Salem Village, bringing with it a relentless storm that pounded against the windows of the ordinary. Isaac stayed for supper, and I made sure he had extra servings of the roasted turkey and stewed peas Grace cooked.

Susannah had not yet come down from her room, and I suspected she was both embarrassed and enraged at the way Father had treated her. He stayed abovestairs for most of the evening, and I could hear him pleading with her to forgive him.

He did not ask for my forgiveness.

As the storm wore on, Grace and I encouraged Isaac to stay and enjoy the orange with us. We drew chairs up to the hearth in the kitchen, and I peeled the orange, relishing the scent of the citrus. I wished I could tell Isaac what the gift meant to me, but I couldn't without revealing our time-crossing. So I showed him with my smiles and kind words.

I tore the sections apart and handed Grace and Isaac their pieces, then slipped one into my mouth and audibly moaned with delight.

"Had I known how much the gift would please you," Isaac said with a laugh, "I would have bought you one much sooner."

I laughed as juice dribbled down my chin. I hadn't been this happy since losing 1912.

I was just finishing my last bite when a strange noise sounded above our heads. Looking up, I frowned.

A moment later, Father appeared at the head of the steps, his face wild with fear. "Susannah is under affliction. She spasms like the others, and she is crying out in anguish. Come! I need help restraining her."

The three of us raced up the stairs, my stomach filling with dread at what we might see. The behavior of the afflicted was often gruesome and unhuman-like.

Susannah lay on the floor in a contorted position. Her body jerked this way and that as she cried out in pain.

"She afflicts me!" She grabbed at her arm. "She bites me and pinches me." A bitemark was fresh upon her forearm as she cried out to an invisible phantom in the room. "Leave me be! I beg of you!"

"Take hold of her," Father commanded us. "I fear this affliction will hurt the unborn child she carries."

Father knelt and put his hands on Susannah's shoulders, and Isaac secured her legs. Susannah still jerked and screamed, but she could no longer hurt herself.

"Who doth afflict you?" Father demanded as he looked into his wife's face.

"The woman who was here today," Susannah cried. "The one with the fair hair. She causes strife in my home and now afflicts me, causing me to suffer."

Father looked up at me, accusation in his gaze. "She speaks of Rachel Howlett."

I knew exactly who she spoke of—and exactly why she called her out. Either she was angry because of Father's treatment, or Father had convinced her that Rachel was a witch so he could be rid of her.

I left the room and ran down the back stairs. Did Father believe we would allow this plan to succeed? I needed to warn Rachel so she could escape Salem Towne—perhaps go to her family in Sandwich.

In the kitchen, I reached for my cloak by the door, but Grace appeared right behind me.

"Where are you going?"

"To warn Rachel."

"In this weather? How will you get there?"

Isaac appeared at the top of the steps next. "Who is Rachel?"

"Rachel Howlett, our cousin," I told him as I secured the cape about my shoulders.

"The one you met in Salem Towne? The one who serves Mister Reed?" He approached me, a frown marring his face.

I had no time to explain, but perhaps he would take me if he knew the truth. "She came here this afternoon, and Father was displeased. That is why Susannah hath accused her."

"You cannot go to Salem Towne in this storm," Isaac said to me. "'Tis too dangerous."

"Can you not take me?"

"You are going nowhere." Father came down the stairs, fire in his gaze. "I am going now to Salem Towne to make the arrest myself. By night's end, Rachel Howlett will be in the Salem gaol."

"No!" I reached for his arm, but he pushed me off, and I fell to the floor as he strode out into the night.