“There is no such thing as witches,” she said.
And I knew that not to be. “Do you think that is a good thing to say?” It seemed to me that that mocked the accusers’ beliefs. Much as I enjoyed a good mocking, these people were very serious. To be a woman, and to express strong opinions, caused one to be called a witch. There will always be those who fear women with power, even if the power is merely in our tongues.
Still, it was best to hold mine, and I wished Martha would hold hers.
But she did not. “I do not care,” she declared. “I am a pious woman, a God-fearing woman. Would they believe the rantings of children over the word of such a one as me?”
I sighed. “I do not know. Ann Putnam, she is the daughter of Thomas Putnam, a well-regarded citizen.”
“A well-regarded fool.” Again, she laughed.
I wondered what I would say if questioned. Could I mention seeing Ann speaking with the wolf? It seemed I could not, for she was Putnam’s daughter and thus above reproach. Yet I knew that was why she accused me. I had no wish to harm her, none at all. I had no wish to harm anyone.
I looked to the window. It was dimly lit by the full moon, and I wondered if I could turn myself into a bird and fly out of it. But the crossed bars of the windows were close together, too close even for a crow.
The jailer came to the gate of the cell and poked Martha through it with a stick of some sort.
“Ouch!” she said. “What are you doing, young man?”
“Making sure you do not sleep,” he said. “If you sleep, you can summon your familiars, and they can work their devil’s work.”
“Samuel, this is Martha Corey.” The old woman’s voice was steady, terrifying. “I knew your mother. Would she be proud of what you are doing, if she knew?”
It stopped the jailer for only a second. “Aye. She would be proud that I am doing the Lord’s work.”
But he left right away with a quickened step.
I stared, again, at the window until I heard Martha snoring. My body ached from the examination. Still, I struggled up on my hands and knees, then to my feet. I crossed toward the window, slowly, quietly, hoping not to alert anyone to my movement. I looked out.
I wanted so much to see James.
And then I heard footsteps behind me. I whirled, expecting a guard.
But it was James there, opening the door with a key. Had he just walked past the jailers? He was entering the cell.
Then I saw in the hallway outside, the jailer, Samuel, frozen in midstep. I knew, somehow, that Martha was frozen too, that everyone in the jailhouse, asleep or waking, was.
I collapsed into James’s arms. “Oh, James! James! What should I do?”
“Does she know?” he asked, looking round despite the frozen state. “Do they know what you are?”
“I do not think so. I mean, they call me a witch, but they have no reason. They call Martha that too. They do not know I am different from the others. . . .” I was weeping, so frightened was I feeling. I knew it was improper to touch him so, but I felt like I might fall over if I did not, so I clung to him. “I saw the girl, Ann, in the forest. She was talking to a wolf.”
“A wolf.” His voice was steady.
“Yes. I think she accused me to make me be still.”
“Perhaps. But now what?”
“Might I escape?” I looked out the bars.
“You might,” James said, “but if you do, it would be confirmation that you are a witch, that there are witches. It might make things worse.”
“Worse than what?” And for whom? For if I escaped, I would be gone. “Worse than it is now? Five women have been arrested in a few weeks, all on the hearsay of silly children.”
“Oh, Kendra.” He squeezed me tight. “I have seen so much worse.”
I knew what he meant, the witch burnings in Europe, when hundreds of innocents were killed. And I remembered what he had said about his mother. I did not want that to happen to me. “I am frightened,” I said.
“I will not let them burn you, Kendra.” He kissed the top of my head. “I will not let them burn you.”
“How can you—?”
“I will burn Salem to the ground before I allow that to happen. But you must be strong. You must be strong for me.”
I had lived these decades alone, no family, traveling to a strange country. I had been strong for so long, but I was tired. So tired of being strong with no encouragement.
“What do I say when they question me?” I asked.
“Admit to nothing. Implicate no one, not even Ann Putnam. I must go, but I will be back tomorrow.”
I nodded. I knew he must go, but I wanted him to stay.
For just an instant, his lips were on mine. They felt soft and warm, and all the terror evaporated from my mind. I was not alone.
When he pulled away, he repeated, “I will burn Salem to the ground before I allow them to harm you.”
And then he was gone, but I saw that the jailer remained frozen in his tracks for a moment. Then he walked away in the opposite direction. The sun was soon to rise. I drifted off to sleep.
6
Ann Putnam