23

HOPE

SEPTEMBER 10, 1692

SALEM VILLAGE

I sat outside the Salem Towne House, misting rain blowing against my hot face as I wept. The court of oyer and terminer had completed the weeklong examinations of six women, including Ann Pudeator and Rachel Howlett, and the grand jury had found them all guilty of witchcraft. They were sentenced to hang on September 22nd.

My heart twisted with guilt at the knowledge that Ann and Rachel suffered because of my father's actions—and their connection to my mother. Their innocence haunted me, yet I was powerless to save them.

The only consolation was that Rachel's pregnancy had stayed her execution. But her unborn child had also been used against her to demonstrate to the jury that she was a woman of immoral conduct. Her history as a Quaker had also come into play—one more reason I knew she would be condemned, though I had prayed hard that she would not.

Ann's accusers had come from all corners. As a midwife and healer, she was blamed by many who stepped forward to describe the death of their loved ones. Her husband's death, and the death of his first wife, were blamed on her, and it didn't help that she had twenty jars of unidentifiable greases—or potions—in her home. Those accusations, along with the claims of spectral affliction, were enough for the jury to convict her.

The street was empty, as everyone had left the courtroom and gone to their homes or to the prison. Grace had stayed at the ordinary to cook but had encouraged me to come so I could report on the trials. I had been here every day this week, walking the five miles back and forth on my own—heedless of the dangers along the road.

But now, with the final verdict cast and nothing left for anyone to do, I looked up at the gray sky, shaking my head at a God I didn't understand. "Why?" I asked as I fisted my hands. "Where are You? How can You watch this and not call out the injustice? These men speak in Your name—yet they misuse You and Your Word for their own purposes. Doth that not enrage You?"

The rain fell upon my hot face, though the answers remained locked away. Did God not care about my anguish and pain?

A wagon rounded the corner, disturbing the quiet. Isaac sat at the front of the vehicle, his hands gripping the reins, as rainwater dripped off the brim of his black, steeple-crowned hat. His face was so serious, so intent.

So angry.

I pulled myself from the stoop and met his wagon on the road.

He jumped down and in one fluid motion swept his cloak off his shoulders and settled it around mine. It was warm and smelled of him. "You will catch your death."

"I care not."

"The way you speak sometimes," he said as he tied his cloak about me, his work-roughened hands gentle and tender.

"Why have you come?"

"I went to the ordinary, and Grace told me you have been walking here every day." Sadness mingled with his anger—an anger that was not directed at me. "I've heard the verdict."

Shaking my head, I sniffed at my tears. "How can my father allow this to happen to Rachel and Ann? They are innocent."

"They're all innocent." He glanced up the street, then put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the wagon. "This madness must stop before more lives are taken."

"I thought you supported the magistrates and judges," I said as he handed me up into his wagon.

He climbed in next to me, lifting the reins. "I do not support prejudice, lies, and hatred. This is not witchcraft. 'Tis hysteria and terror. Mental turmoil and panic. Some are innocently following along, thinking it is real, uncertain what is happening, praying they will not be afflicted. They see everything through the lens of darkness and cannot imagine it is something other than witchcraft." His voice held conviction. "But others have begun to use this for power and control, to mete out personal justice for old feuds, boundary disputes, and grudges. Greed at its worst."

The rain soaked into his doublet and wet the sleeves of his white shirt. The fabric stuck to his forearms.

"You're cold," I said as I started to remove his cloak.

He stayed my hands and met my gaze. His eyes were filled with a righteous passion I had never seen before—one that filled me with awe. I was certain he didn't even notice the rain.

We drove through the streets of Salem Towne, heading north toward Salem Village.

"What will I do for Rachel?" I whispered in tears. "What if she gives birth to her child soon? She will be hanged in less than two weeks."

Isaac set his large hand over my clasped ones. It was warm and solid—just like him. I looked up and met his gaze.

"Pray," he said.

"I've been praying, but I do not know if God hears me." And I didn't know what I was praying for anymore. My prayers didn't seem to work.

"He hears the prayers of all His children."

"Then why doesn't He do as I ask?"

"Because praying isn't about getting what you want. He already knows. 'Tis about asking God what He wants."

"What if He doesn't want to save Rachel?"

"Then He hath a better plan than yours. Praying and seeking God means trusting that He will do what is best and taking comfort in His plan."

"What if I don't like what is best?"

"'Tis fine to tell Him your frustrations. Prayer is about a relationship with God." He tapped the reins against the back of his horses to get them to move a little faster. "Like we're talking now. 'Tis not about what you can do for me, or what I can do for you. We're talking to help each other better understand difficult situations. We talk to get to know one another and to enjoy each other's company. Sometimes we ask for help, but a loving relationship isn't always about what the other person can do for us. 'Tis the same with God. We pray and read the Bible to know Him better, to understand His nature. To take comfort. To be known."

"Do you think God changes?" I asked him.

"Never. Scripture says He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Our circumstances might change, people's beliefs might change. But He doth not."

I had so many questions as we turned onto the road leading to Salem Village. Isaac's voice was peaceful and comforting, unlike Reverend Parris's voice, which usually made me feel anxious and guilty on Sundays. I loved seeing God through Isaac's eyes—just like I loved seeing Him through Grace's eyes. They had so much faith and confidence. I wanted to feel that same assurance. It was there, right at the tips of my fingers, yet I wasn't sure if I could fully grasp it.

"Thank you for coming for me," I said as I nestled deeper into Isaac's cloak.

"I would never leave you, Hope."

Affection for him swelled within me, and I realized, with shame, that for many years I had not sought out Isaac for company or friendship—only when I needed something. It was how I had been treating God—only calling out to Him when I needed Him to perform for me or give me something I wanted.

What might happen if I treated both Isaac and God the way Isaac suggested? To spend time with them simply to get to know them better and enjoy their company?

The wagon jostled me closer to Isaac, and I didn't pull away. In a world full of men I couldn't trust, it was refreshing to know one I could. There were others, of course, but Isaac was the one who wanted to be with me. Who came for me, over and over again.

Sooner than I liked, he pulled up to the ordinary and jumped off his wagon to help me down. My dress was heavy with rain, but my heart was heavier still.

"Will you come in?" I asked him.

"I need to return home. 'Tis Judith's birthday, and there's to be a celebration tonight."

The reminder of Isaac's gentle, soft-spoken servant made me pause. She was close to Isaac's age and running his home like a wife might do. Why hadn't he fallen in love with her?

"Hath Judith thought to marry again?" I asked, trying not to sound obvious as I untied his cloak and removed it from my shoulders.

"Yes."

I waited, but he didn't say more as he took his cloak.

"Doth she have someone in mind?"

"I believe so." He slipped the cloak over his shoulders.

I put my hands on my hips, a little annoyed by his brief answers. "Do I know who she intends to marry?"

"You do, indeed."

"Isaac Abbot! Are you trying to rile me?"

He grinned. "'Tis Jabez."

A funny kind of relief went through me. Of course. Jabez was another of Isaac's servants.

Isaac's smile softened his eyes, as if he was pleased with my response. "Fare thee well, Hope."

"Fare well, Isaac."

He stepped into his wagon and then rode off, turning once to smile at me as he drove down the road toward his farm.

I entered the ordinary feeling like a wet rag doll—though Isaac's smile warmed me. John was behind the bar, serving the patrons, while Father sat at a table in the corner with several of his male Putnam relatives. He didn't notice my arrival, and even if he had, he probably wouldn't have greeted me. Ever since the night Rachel came, I had hardly said a word to him except when I was begging him to recant.

I wanted to change into something dry before helping Grace in the kitchen. Since starting her cross-country flight at the beginning of the month, she had been distracted and quiet. We were so concerned about Rachel and Ann that I hadn't pressed her about what bothered her. Perhaps it was the worry from the flight. They had already lost a day to a slight crash she'd had in Ohio, and I knew she was anxious. She answered my questions but didn't elaborate on her time with Mama and Daddy, how the journey was going, or how Luc was getting along without me. It wasn't like her to be so distant, but I chose not to press her. She was doing this for our parents, and I wanted her to succeed.

I also didn't press her for an answer about where she would stay on our birthday. I suspected she had chosen 1692, but I was half-afraid to ask.

Disappointment wrapped around me as I realized I had done nothing to encourage Isaac's feelings for Grace on the ride home from Salem Towne. I'd been too preoccupied with my own thoughts and feelings.

I took the front stairs and walked through the hallway between the two rooms on the second floor. A door led to the smaller hallway between mine and Grace's bedroom and Father's. The ceiling was lower here and the space more crowded.

Voices drifted out of Father and Susannah's bedroom, where Susannah had been staying more often. I suspected her public afflictions took a toll on her and were too tiresome to keep up for long. It was easier to hide away in her room.

"Neither of your cousins offered for them?" I heard the voice of Mary Wolcott through Susannah's bedroom door.

"Benjamin tried," Susannah said with scorn. "But they both turned him down. Nathaniel didn't even try. Neither Grace nor Hope seems to have any interest in marriage."

"No wonder," said another voice that I recognized as Mercy Lewis. "They act as if they are the mistresses of this ordinary, doing as they please. They ignore your authority and treat you as if you're a visitor. Why would they want to leave and be under the authority of a husband?"

"I cannot abide their presence," Susannah spat. "Especially Hope. She's a thorn in my flesh."

"She'll remain so, unless you get rid of her," Mercy warned.

"Have you considered your options?" Mary asked.

"If they will not marry, what options do I have?"

I held my breath as I leaned a little closer to the door.

"You know what you must do," Mercy said, her voice going lower. "When you're in the taproom and an affliction comes upon you, simply call them out. With their strange markings, rumors about their mother, and Leah's testimony, no one would doubt you."

My pulse started to thrum. Leah's testimony?

"Even their father will support your claims," Mercy continued. "He is loyal to you, Susannah."

"He is loyal," she agreed. "And he's angry enough at Hope to see it done."

"Then get it over with and move on with your life," Mercy insisted. "It can be done this very night."

I stiffened.

"I'm so tired," Susannah complained. "'Tis not an easy thing to do with a babe growing inside me."

"It will be worth the trouble," Mercy assured her. "I could do it for you."

"No. It will be better if I do it. The magistrates will trust me as Uriah's wife who has seen things firsthand. Besides, Leah will speak for no one but me."

"If you do it soon," Mercy continued, "perhaps they'll speed up the trials so they can hang with the rest on the 22nd."

I stumbled back, panic choking me. If Susannah called out Grace and me, we would be arrested immediately and taken to the gaol. We would be questioned soon after and then put on trial. There was every possibility we could hang with Rachel and Ann in twelve days.

I had to find Grace. She had to know what they were planning.

The day I had feared was finally here.

The smell of roasted venison and woodsmoke filtered up the back stairs as I raced down into the kitchen. Grace stood near the hearth, using her apron to lift a lid and stir the bubbling contents.

She looked so comfortable—so at home in this space—even if her thoughts were centuries away. What would I do if she was sent to the gaol? It would be miserable in that rat-infested building. No one deserved to be chained there, least of all an innocent person.

"Grace," I said, looking around for Leah. Thankfully, there was no sign of her. She could not overhear our plans—even if I didn't know what our plans were yet.

"You're back." Grace's face was lined with worry and sadness as she took in my wet appearance. We'd had little time to talk this week, as I had gone to Salem Towne each day. "I heard the verdict. I'm heartbroken."

I took her arm to lead her to the corner of the room, as far away from the stairs as possible. The spoon she held dripped sauce upon the floor, but I didn't care. "I just overheard Susannah speaking to Mary Wolcott and Mercy Lewis."

She made a face as she held her free hand under the spoon. "They've been here all afternoon."

"Susannah is going to accuse us," I said to her. "I just heard her tell Mercy. She's going to have a fit of affliction and call us out—and she knows Father will not deny her."

Grace's face went pale as she shook her head.

"She's going to do it, Grace. She wants us gone and doesn't care how it happens."

"How can they be so callous and cruel?" she asked, setting the spoon on the worktable. "'Tis murder, plain and simple."

"'Tis sport to Mercy, as she said."

"How can this be sport?" Grace paced away from me but then turned back. "What will we do? Run away?"

"That won't work. Look at how many people they have dragged back to Salem." There were only a few who had run away and succeeded, and most of them were wealthy with means to travel and lodge far from Massachusetts. Where could Grace and I go that we wouldn't be found?

"What about our Quaker relatives?" she asked.

I shook my head. "That's the first place Father will look, now that he knows we've been in contact with them. And we can't put them at risk."

"What of Isaac? He will help us."

I couldn't ask Isaac for one more thing. Our conversation from before filled me with shame. I had used him far too much. I needed to take care of myself.

A thought took root in my mind, growing with intensity, until I knew it was the only possible way we would both come out alive.

I took Grace by the shoulders and turned her to look at me. "You will need to accuse me."

Her mouth parted, and she looked as if she had seen an apparition herself. "What?"

"'Tis the only way, Grace. There are no afflicted people in prison. You must act afflicted, like Susannah and the others, and then call me out. It will spare you from the gaol."

"That's—that's—" She shook her head, speechless, and took a step back.

"'Tis brilliant," I said. "When you accuse me, I will be taken to prison, and when they question me, all I need to do is confess."

Her speechlessness turned to confusion. "What are you saying?"

"Those who confess have not gone to trial. The magistrates accept their confession and then move on to those who maintain their innocence, like Rachel and Ann."

"You would confess to something so heinous?"

"I am confessing to nothing. 'Tis not true, so I have nothing to be ashamed of."

She looked even more confused. "But everyone will think 'tis true."

"Who?" I shrugged. "No one we care about believes any of the people who have confessed are witches. We all know why they confess."

She continued to shake her head. "I cannot send you to the gaol, Hope. 'Tis unlivable."

"I will survive. This cannot go on for much longer."

"I don't know how long it lasts," she said. "You could be in there for months."

"It matters not to me. Either you send me there or Susannah will. And if you accuse me, at least you'll be free. There's no reason we both need to be there."

"You could accuse me." She nodded, as if this was the better idea. "I can be there. I have another path to break up the monotony."

"No." I shook my head. "I will not hear it. You need to focus on your journey to California. I don't want anything to hinder your effort to help Mama and Daddy."

"You don't think the knowledge that you're in gaol would hinder me?"

"This is the only way, Grace. Besides, I know you. Once you're being questioned, you'll decide you need to tell the truth, and you won't admit to the charges. You'll be hanged with Rachel and Ann."

She dropped her gaze, and I knew she couldn't argue with me. It was true.

When she looked up again, there was remorse in her gaze. "I'm sorry, Hope, but I cannot do it. We'll need to find another way."

There was no other way.