27

HOPE

OCTOBER 1, 1692

SALEM TOWNE

There was nothing to mark the endless hours in the gaol except the appearance of Grace and Isaac each morning. As I sat near the barred window at the door, waiting for their visit, I tried to inhale as much fresh air as I could—though the outside was almost as rank as the inside.

Cold nights were followed by unusually warm days. Illness ran rampant through the small room, and a community toilet in the corner offered putrid smells and no privacy. The boards at our feet were stained with years of unhappy memories, and the odor of unbathed bodies and unwashed clothing made my eyes water. All I could think about was a hot bath and a warm meal among the white linen tablecloths at Delmonico's.

For some, like little Dorothy Good and Tituba, who had been transferred to other gaols, their imprisonments were going on seven or eight months. They had probably not had a bath, a change of clothes, or even a hairbrush in all that time. Add to that the constant fear of the unknown, watching friends, neighbors, and family brought out for hanging, and the horrors of such surroundings—and I knew they would never be the same again. The mental anguish was far too great. Someday Dorothy would also have to live with the knowledge that she had aided in her mother's execution. Though she wasn't to blame, no doubt she wouldn't see it that way.

"Move aside," young Abigail Hobbs said as she pushed her way up to the window. "You're taking all the light and fresh air."

There were eighteen women in a room that should only hold four at most. Three of them were so ill they could not rise from their pallets on the ground, including Rachel Howlett. The blankets Grace had brought were the only thing they rested upon.

I went to Rachel now as she sat with her back against the wall, her head down and her knees drawn up. She grimaced.

"Rachel? How fare you today?"

She looked up at me, and there was both fear and resignation in her blue-eyed gaze. "The pains have started."

I knelt beside her and put my hand on her knee. Guilt suffocated me when I thought about how Rachel had ended up here. If she hadn't come to the ordinary, Father and Susannah wouldn't have known about her. She had come because she was desperate—yet she had found no sanctuary in our home, only condemnation.

"How long have they been paining you?"

"Only an hour or so." She grasped my hand, anguish in her gaze. "Promise me you'll take care of my baby if something should happen to me. See that she's brought to my mother in Sandwich."

"I promise," I said without hesitation, though what could I do if I was still in the gaol? "But you will survive to care for the baby on your own. There has been no talk of another hanging since the last."

"'Tis only a matter of time."

"Then I will pray for God's peace to surround and comfort you."

What used to sound like a platitude had become my constant prayer for myself and for those who were incarcerated. And He had been a comfort, whether through Grace and Isaac's visits, the kind words of an inmate, or even in the thoughts that occupied my mind. I'd found a measure of peace, though I'd like to be anywhere else but here.

"Hope?" Grace called from the bars at the door.

My heart leapt at the sound of her voice.

"I'll be back to help you," I promised Rachel. "Tell me if you need me sooner."

She nodded as she bent her head, grimacing with more pain.

I went to the window, where the crossed bars were so small, they didn't even allow a hand to slip through.

"Grace," I said, my tears ever-present. As much as I had insisted I should be the one in this gaol, I had not anticipated the horrors of its reality. "Is Isaac here?"

"He is." She nodded. "He's speaking to the gaoler."

"Rachel's pains have started," I said. "The babe will come soon."

Grace's empathy softened her gaze, and she nodded. "I've made some things for the baby. Cloth diapers, a sleeping gown, and warm slippers. I hope it will be enough for now."

"It will be better than what we have." I glanced behind me to see if anyone stood close, then turned back to Grace, a different topic foremost in my mind. "Did you meet Tacy?" I whispered.

Grace's smile transcended this time and place as she nodded. "She was so surprised. You're so much like her, Hope. In almost every way."

"Is that good or bad?"

"'Tis wonderful." Her smile did not dim. "She's married and has three beautiful daughters who are eighteen, seventeen, and fifteen. There's so much to tell you, but I can't—"

"I know." There were too many people who might hear. Everything we said had to be said carefully. "What about the flight?" I whispered. "Did you make it?"

"I did—and we wired the payment to Washington. The building belongs to Mama and Daddy forever. They'll have nothing to worry about."

Relief overwhelmed me, and I grasped at the bars with my fingers, wanting to weep with joy. "Thank you, Grace. I will sleep easier."

I wanted to ask her about Luc, but I couldn't bring myself to mention him. My jealousy and resentment had subsided, but a new fear had developed. Would Grace choose Luc over me?

Isaac appeared in the small courtyard with the gaoler. He saw me behind the window, and a tender smile tilted his lips. My heart leapt at seeing him, just as it had leapt at hearing Grace's voice. The fact that he came each day and brought my sister was a testament to his love for me—a love he had finally professed in the upstairs room of the ordinary. I had thought about that profession—and his passionate kiss—every day since. On cold, lonely nights, it warmed me more than the blankets they'd brought.

Goodman Dounton, the gaoler, unlocked the door to our cell, allowing us into the sunshine for a bit of exercise. He didn't do this every day, but on occasion, when Isaac and Grace came to visit, he would let us out. I wondered if Isaac was paying him a handsome fee for this privilege, but I would never ask. Isaac didn't do things for attention or praise.

As soon as the door opened, I left the horrid smells behind and threw myself into Grace's arms. Thankfully, none of the accusers or magistrates were present, or they would question why my sister would accuse me and then visit me in gaol every day. I suspected that Isaac also paid Goodman Dounton to keep Grace's visits a secret so the others wouldn't question her. The fact that Father knew she came to me but did not stop her was a mystery. Was it that Susannah simply wanted me gone and didn't care what happened now?

It felt good to embrace my sister, even as I looked over her shoulder at Isaac. He stood near the brick wall, a basket at his feet, and simply watched as Grace and I greeted one another. It would not be acceptable for me and him to embrace, though I wanted his arms around me again. I wanted to see if it felt the same a second time. Had that moment in the upstairs room been special because it was charged with emotion—or was it something that I would feel every time?

I finally pulled away from Grace and tore my gaze from Isaac.

"There are so many things I want to tell you," Grace said to me.

"And so many things I want to hear. Hopefully, when I'm out of here ..." I let the words trail away, because I didn't know how long I would be in the gaol. Would our birthday come and go in that time? Would Grace still be here? I needed to know but had to speak quietly and in a way that no one would question. "Have you made your final decision?"

She swallowed and nodded. "I think—I think I will stay here."

I closed my eyes, trying not to weep as I embraced her again. We just held each other without saying a word as we both cried. No one understood what I was feeling like Grace. The pain of loss was so deep, and the fear of losing her was so profound, it robbed me of words.

I pulled away from my sister, trying to control my emotions.

Grace struggled to look at me. "I told Mama and Daddy—but I haven't told Luc yet."

"He knows about—us?" I stared at her, stunned.

"He overheard Mama and me talking, so I told him everything."

"And he believes you?" I continued to whisper, though it was difficult with the shock I felt.

Grace nodded.

"He knows about me?"

"Yes."

Luc knew I was still alive—somewhere—and he believed Grace. I looked at Isaac, who waited quietly several feet away. Would he believe me if I told him the truth? Somehow, I suspected he would.

But none of that was as important as Grace's earlier comment. She was going to stay with me in 1692. Her words were the sweetest I had heard all week—and she had agreed to stay even though the man she loved was in 1912. But did she still love Isaac?

A sinking feeling hit the bottom of my stomach. I had thought I needed to convince Isaac to fall in love with Grace so that if she stayed here, she would have the man she loved. Yet I had done the opposite. I had welcomed Isaac's kisses in the ordinary, pulling him closer. It was my heart that fluttered at his arrival, and it was his gaze that warmed me now.

Things I had not told Grace.

With her staying, I would need to step away from Isaac. Allow her to pursue him and win him over, as I knew she could.

I didn't realize there was more of my heart left to break, but as I thought of Grace in Isaac's arms, the little part that remained unbruised was torn in two. Yet it was the sacrifice I could make for Grace, as she had sacrificed so much for me.

"Time's up," Goodman Dounton called, though we'd only had a few stolen moments in the sun. "Everyone back to the cell."

"I love you," Grace said as she handed me the basket she had brought. "And as soon as this is over, we'll find a way to move on." She took a step back, giving me space to approach Isaac.

Instead, I stayed near her and nodded my thanks to Isaac from across the courtyard. It hurt too much to speak to him or be so close yet not be able to touch him.

I saw the longing in his gaze but turned back to the cell, trying to keep my composure.

As I waited in line to return to our prison, there was a touch on my arm. I looked down as Isaac slipped his basket into my hand. My pulse raced when I glanced up into his beautiful blue eyes.

"For you," he said.

"Thank you."

And then I was in the cell with the door being locked behind me.

I couldn't bring myself to watch him leave or look into the basket that he'd brought for me. Instead, I set the baskets down so I could sit with Rachel as her labor pains increased.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before I heard the gaoler call my name from the window. "Hope Eaton?"

"Yes?"

"You'll be brought before the grand jury for questioning tomorrow. Be prepared."

All the other women looked at me. Some with fear, some with pity, and some with apathy.

My fate was sealed. I knew what the grand jury meant. I could not confess to witchcraft, as I thought I could, which left one alternative. Everyone who had claimed innocence and gone before the grand jury was dead.

For a long time, I sat in the corner, helping Rachel through her labor. The hours slipped away as I tried not to think about the grand jury summons.

It was starting to grow dark when Rachel finally gave birth to a tiny baby girl.

I caught the infant in my hands as she took her first breath in this world. The moment should have been full of joy and expectation, but it was clouded by fear and uncertainty.

Rachel lifted her head, exhaustion lining her face, and said, "Does she have the mark?"

A sunburst birthmark sat over the baby's heart, marking her as a time-crosser. Slowly, I nodded.

Rachel didn't even reach for the child. There was no happiness to be had in this birth.

I cleaned the baby as best I could and placed her in the clothes and diaper Grace had brought, swaddling her in a small blanket.

When she was calm, I held her out to Rachel—and realized that in the time it had taken me to clean and clothe the baby, Rachel had died.

I stood for a long time, shock and sorrow making me mute.

One of the older women came to me and bent to examine Rachel. "Bled to death."

"No." I shook my head as the baby began to squirm, nuzzling for its mother's milk. Why hadn't I paid attention to Rachel?

Even as the question plagued me, I knew I couldn't have stopped the bleeding. I had no experience birthing babies.

Another woman called for the gaoler to take the body away—but I couldn't move or think. I was numb.

The baby started to cry, and some of the women grumbled about the noise—and still, I stood in shock.

When the gaoler came, he brought his wife, and she reached for the baby.

I shook my head. "Let me keep her, please."

Goody Dounton snorted. "You're not her mother—and a prisoner at that. I'll see to the baby's needs better than you."

"But I promised her mother—"

"You should never make a promise to a dying woman," Goody Dounton said. "Especially in a place like this." She removed the baby from my arms and left the cell.

I watched in silence as the gaoler and his son hauled Rachel's body away, and I wondered why I wasn't crying. Had I used all my tears? Would I always be this numb?

The cell door slammed shut with finality, and darkness enveloped me. There were over a dozen women in the gaol, but I had never felt so utterly alone.

I pulled Isaac's basket onto my lap and sat against the wall, hugging it close, wishing it were him. When I finally removed the blanket from the top of the basket, my gaze fell on the gift he had brought.

Somehow, from somewhere, he had found a perfect, round orange.

And I discovered that I had tears left, after all.

The night was especially cold as I lay in the corner of the cell, Isaac's blanket wrapped around my shivering body, holding his gift in my hands. I could not stop thinking about Rachel and the promise I had made. When Grace came in the morning, I would tell her to get word to Pricilla to come for the baby. Surely the gaoler would give the baby to Rachel's family.

I had slept very little since coming to the gaol, so I spent my time in prayer, focusing on God's promises, remembering that even now, He had not left me nor forsaken me.

I recalled countless stories of His faithfulness to those He loved in the Bible. Each person faced moments of uncertainty, when they were in their darkest hour, but God had not abandoned them. And He would not abandon me. He'd had a plan for their good and His glory—just as He did for mine. Even if my story didn't end the way I wanted, I would still trust that it would end the way He planned.

And perhaps, if I was meant to die here, that would free Grace to stay in 1912, as I knew she wanted.

The sound of rats scurrying just outside the cell made my skin crawl, and I tried to dig deeper into my blanket.

Yet—had that sound been a rat?

I removed the blanket from my head and listened a little harder. No one else moved in the cell. A few of the women were snoring, but I could still make out the noise. Sitting up, I pressed my ear to the timber wall and thought I heard metal on metal.

It was the sound of a key slipping into the lock.

As quietly as I could, I stood and moved closer to the door, trying not to step on anyone as I tiptoed across the room. The moon was bright, casting shadows over the courtyard. It had to be the middle of the night, though how late, I wasn't certain.

My breath caught when I heard the telltale click of the lock, and I glanced through the window to see that the gate to the courtyard was slightly ajar.

Someone was bent low, opening the cell door.

My pulse thudded against my eardrums as it squeaked on its hinges. One of the women in the cell snorted and said something unintelligible in her sleep.

Then a man rose from the crouched position he'd been in to open the lock, and I almost fainted in relief and shock.

It was Isaac.

He saw me at the same moment and reached for my wrist, tugging me gently out of the cell.

I wanted to shout his name and throw my arms around him, but there was no time. He didn't even bother to lock the door again as he pulled me through the courtyard and out the door to the street. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought it would burst out of my chest.

We ran through the dark street, and he didn't say a word to me. He held my hand, urging me to go faster, though it didn't take much convincing. My legs were weak from sitting in the cell for so long without much exercise, but I pushed them as hard as they would go, still clinging to the orange with my other hand.

When we rounded the corner, there was a lightweight wagon waiting with two horses pawing the ground impatiently. Isaac helped me into the wagon and jumped up beside me. He tapped the reins against the horses, and we pulled away with a jolt.

Isaac put his arm around me to hold me on the seat. I was at once aware of his nearness, of the press of his large, powerful hand against my waist, the fresh smell of his clean clothes—and my utter filth. But I didn't care. The filth could be washed away.

"You came for me," I whispered on a sob that tore up from my soul.

He pulled me closer and said, "I will never leave you, Hope."

I wrapped my arms around his waist. The love I felt for him was more powerful than it had ever been. Isaac had broken every rule, defied every authority to rescue me, and stood up to injustice. I had never respected and admired anyone more than I did him. He had pursued me with unconditional love, even when I was unkind and unwelcoming. I was not worthy of being loved by a man like Isaac Abbott.

"Why do you love me," I whispered, "when I have done nothing to deserve it?"

His hand splayed against my waist as he placed a kiss on top of my head. "My love for you does not depend on your love for me. And if I were to live to be a hundred, it wouldn't be enough time to tell you all the reasons I love you." He held me close. "Your courage, fierce determination, and your loyalty inspire me. The way you stand up to injustice and defend the defenseless humbles me. And your questions challenge me." The passion in his eyes burned deep into my soul. "But it is your bold and authentic heart that draws me, over and over again, Hope. You make me want to be a better person, to fight alongside you—but at the same time, to cherish and protect you."

Tears burned my eyes as I thought of all the heartache I had caused this good man. "I'm sorry I have hurt you, Isaac."

He kissed me, his lips warm and possessive against mine, and when he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes. "You don't need to apologize. God has sustained me while I waited for you, and though I am far from perfect, I have learned to be patient and forgiving as I trust Him."

"I love you," I whispered, though the force of my emotions felt as if the one simple sentence had exploded within me.

The look of wonder on Isaac's face made all the pain and heartache from the past months evaporate. He kissed me again. "It was worth every prayer and every day apart to hear those words. I want to marry you, if you'll have me, and spend the rest of our lives together."

I had never felt more loved or valued in my life, and I realized that no matter what I did, Isaac would never love Grace the way he loved me.

This feeling I had for Isaac went beyond attraction or emotion—it went to the very core of my being and filled me with a desire to please him and honor him for the rest of my life.

"Yes," I said without hesitation or uncertainty.

Isaac's smile could light the darkness—and it had many times.

I realized that what I'd felt for Luc had been mere attraction and nothing more—I hadn't been in love. I had been enamored with the idea of Luc—the international hero. Grace was in love with the man behind the fa?ade—the real Lucas Voland. Yet even in the glow of this understanding, pain darkened the edges as I thought of my sister. If her love for Luc was as strong as my love for Isaac, how could I ask her to stay with me in 1692?

Grief settled over me like a cloak, enveloping me completely in the darkness as I realized what I needed to do.