Your loving sister,
Sarah “Did the boy get well?” Dolly asked. “Little William?”
The red-haired woman nodded and then turned to me to continue the story as Nicholas Noyes.
NOTES AND SUNDRY, continued
Part, the Fifth
Bridget Bishop, accused of witchcraft by her husband and others, and accounted in testimony of several witnesses who swore whereto, was put to trial by Court of Oyer and Terminer, chief judge William Stoughton, our Deputy Governour, and examined by the women who found several excrescences or witch’s teats upon her body that hurt her not when lanced with a pin. Thus proved a witch she confessed that some “folks counted her a witch,” and did threaten Mr. Hathorne in saying, “If I were such a person, you should know it.” She was sentenced to death, and on the 10th of June, she was hanged by the neck on Gallows Hill in front of many witnesses to God’s judgment upon her, and when at last she ceased to breathe, a clamor rose that demonstrated the will of all to have such Evil exterminated. Governour William Phipps, upon learning that some of the magistrates objected and that Mr. Saltonsall resigned as judge in protest, has called upon Increase Mather and his son and other ministers of Boston to advize him how best we proceed these trials.
The old man interrupted, at her instruction, my discourse with another passage from Nathan Bonham.
11 June
The most unusual event in all my life happened this last night. My wife was severely disturbed after witnessing the execution of Goody Bishop, and when it came time to go to bed, Alice would not, saying instead she would sit a while by the fire, and thus I bade her goodnight. A fitful sleep had I, visions of the body swinging from the rope, and after mid-night but before the dawn, I awoke in discomfort and found myself alone in the bed. I called for Alice, but she did not answer, so I shook off the blankets and went to look for her, finding herself still before the fire. You startle me, she said when I came into the room, but I am glad you are here. I beg you look upon me, she said, to see if you might discover any mark unnatural. She stood before the fire and undid her shift, letting it fall to the floor, so that she was Naked as an Infant, and I had never seen her thus before, for she was so modest, and was amazed by how fine she was in her nakedness, a young woman, and I am ashamed to say my passion rose, but holding myself in check, I examined her skin closely as she had asked, and the bold woman was not afraid to be thus seen, instead holding her gaze upon me as I inspected every aspect, running my fingers over any suspicious bump. Do you fear you are a witch? I asked, and she laughed and said No, but she feared others might call her so, and she wanted no blemish or mole to be construed as a witch’s teat. I found nothing, and she was so happy that there before the fire, she lay with me for the first time since the child was lost, and I was overcome with sensation and a fullness of wickedness. For if she is a witch, she is a bonny one, and if this be sorcery, I am most consumed by pining, even as this I write, for such visions before my mind.
Red as her dress, Alice blushed so intensely that she threatened to disappear entirely within the fabric. A far-gone memory took hold of her, and she moved next to the old man, embraced him, her head pressed against his chest, and laced her fingers in his hair. With mischief in her gestures, she reached into the wild forest atop his head and extracted a large sewing needle, displaying it for all to see and wonder, and after we admired her prestidigitation, Alice rolled her eyes and indicated that we should follow her gaze.
Stuck in the ceiling, glistening like razor blades, a thousand such needles loomed, the sharp ends pointed directly at our skulls. We barely had time to comprehend the full danger before she clapped once and down they rained like a thousand tiny daggers, and by instinct, we all covered our noggins with our hands. Each needle struck as softly as drizzle, evaporating when the point struck skin, as if we were standing in a sudden shower without ever getting wet. Until the needles actually hit and proved harmless, we were frightened, and in that momentary interval, a slight cackle escaped from her lips.
“She really is a witch,” said Dolly.
“Or a magician,” Jane said. “That was quite a trick.”
“Aye,” the old man nodded. “She is a magic woman no matter what else she is.”
I went back to the Noyes journal and turned the page. Tucked between the leaves, several documents needed to be unfolded and read into the record.