After she had been led away and the meetinghouse cleared, I took up my hat and cloak to make my way for home. Outside the door stood Mr. Corey with Alice Bonham, who did falsely say to me that she saw Mrs. Putnam place the iron pin in her own daughter’s cap, and she adamantly proclaimed the innocence of the accused. Mr. Corey, too, pleaded for my intercession, but the hour was late, and I had to hurry home for my tea.
Having come to the end of this account, I paused and looked to Alice for some signal to continue. She stood in the center of the bathroom and held out a washrag, revealing that it was ordinary terrycloth, flat as a flag, and containing no secret compartments or hidden pockets. With a theatrical flourish, she gathered the cloth at one end and proceeded to bunch it into her closed fist, and with a wave, she mimed some hocus-pocus and opened her hand to disclose the cloth now formed into a small tent. With two fingers, she lifted the point to uncover in her open palm a small, yellow bird that nodded its tiny head and spread its wings and tail feathers. This bird—some sort of housefinch—hopped to the faucet on the sink when she gently prompted it to freedom. Alice shook the washrag and another bird emerged from the folds, as if born from the petals of a large flower. In a quick, snapping motion, she raised her arms to a perpendicular position and from the sleeves flew two more finches, one of which landed on the old man’s silver hair. Smiling now, she reached to lift the hem of her red skirt, and a whole flock of birds escaped, a dozen or more, and the bright yellow flash of feathers filled the room. One perched on the shower curtain rod and began to sing. Two hung onto the toilet seat. Another pair scrabbled on the toothbrush holder. Alice held out one hand, and the birds converged upon it as if drawn by scent or seed, dancing the length of her arm, delicately nibbling at her fingernails and tasting the salt on her skin. With no warning, Alice suddenly dropped her limb, and they vanished as mysteriously as they had arrived. My comrades burst into applause, but I was too stunned to move or speak.
“So are you a witch or just a magician?” Dolly asked.
Alice glowered at her and raised her auburn eyebrows for a split second, answering neither in the affirmative or negative, indicating only amusement at the question. She handed Jane the next batch of documents.
Salem Village
10 May 1692
Loving Sister,
The jails of Salem are full of WITCHES.
Half the village stands accused and Half must be afflicted, or so it seems. Mr. Bonham says that, in addition to those I have writ thee, there are two dozen more in the jail, and no one is spared. A beggar child, no more than four years, is the youngest, and the elders include Goodwife Corey and Goodwife Nurse, whom thou have met when last thee visited. No more devout Christian woman have I ever met. The affliction has spread from those who knew the Indian maid to Women of honour and distinction. Mrs. Ann Putnam and her young daughter swear against many, and Mr. Thomas Putnam has sent the legal complaints to the magistrates.
We in the Village now look upon each Neighbour with a suspicious eye and are studied by our former Friends for any errancy. It is like living in a house made of Straw and waiting for the wind to blow or some stray ember burn down the whole and all. I am very afraid. What if those girls name me?
Sarah, I cannot speak of this to Mr. Bonham or tell my secrets to him, for did he know of my late dalliance with these girls he would beat me or send me home or, who knows, turn me over to these Witch Hunters. I cannot say. Nor can I escape this place, but must bear all in silence and sanguinity.
Your loving sister,
Alice
Postscript. You said you might come for a visit and bring your little boy. Pray do, and soon.
More passages followed from Mr. Bonham’s diary, as read by the old man.
1 MAY
What madness infects us? So terrific the unceasing Stench of Hypocricy, one would think the clouds befoul the earth. I put Putnam behind this. May please God to bring relief from this plague of Mendacity. Though she says naught, Alice is afraid by so many ordered into jail, and rightly so, for those girls call out every one without discrimination.
25 MAY
By my count, there are 60 in the jail. Poor Giles Corey joins his ancient wife, and Goodman Proctor and his Elizabeth, old Bridget Bishop, and too many to catalogue. Would the new Governour come and settle matters and be shewn the travesty of bearing of false witness. We are relieved that Alice’s sister arrives next week, so at the last, the poor thing can find some comfort and commiseration.
He stopped at that red flag and closed the book at Alice’s command. She extracted a letter for Dolly.
Casco Bay
1 June 1692
Dearest Alice,
With a heavy heart, I write to say I cannot travel as planned, for our little William has come down with some ailment that turns him scarlet and wracks him with a dreadful cough. He burned with fever for three days, though the worse be over, but the physician says he is not fit to journey, and I am loath to leave him thus. Perhaps we shall see you later in the summer when he is mended, and I write in haste so as not to leave him too long unattended. Say a small prayer for his health, and I shall write again soon. I am so sorry to disappoint you, and only urge you stay resolute. All things must pass.