Did he mean to say that he was a witch—a wizard—himself? I wanted to know, and yet my need to flee him was stronger. “I must go inside, sir. The family will wonder about me. I have to make the breakfast.”
He gathered some of the wood and brought it to me. As he did, he met my eyes, and for a moment, the wind ceased and the air became first warm, then hot around me, until I felt like I might burn through the drifted snow and not be unearthed until springtime.
“Then I will see you soon, Kendra,” he said. “I will see you every day until you agree to leave. Now go inside.”
I could not turn away from him easily, but I forced myself. I had great experience in taking leave of people. I reached for the doorknob.
“One other thing.” His voice interrupted me. “Beware of wolves.”
I turned back, but when I did, he wasn’t there. In his place was the black crow, staring at me with bright eyes.
It flew away.
The wind began to howl again and did not stop until I was inside the house.
2
Ann Putnam
A week earlier
Mother always told me to beware of wolves. They lurked in the forest, waiting to attack foolish girls who dared confront them. But, more than that, she warned me to beware of witches. Wolves, she said, feasted only upon the flesh. Witches were in league with Satan. Wolves hunted from hunger. Witches searched for souls to seduce then steal and bring back to their dark master. Wolves could be outrun. Witches were inescapable, materializing in the night, possessing their victims, forcing them to suckle at a demon’s teat or to sign their souls away in an unholy black book.
Still, I feared wolves more. They were more real to me, more terrifying, when I walked alone in the woods to Reverend Parris’s house.
By all that is right, I should not have been alone that day. I should have been with Mercy or Mary. But they had walked together, leaving me alone. They would say it was because they did not think I was coming. I knew differently. They wished to leave me. Although Mary Walcott was my cousin and, supposedly, my best friend, she preferred the company of Mercy, who was but a servant, to mine. They were older than I was, both seventeen, and could whisper of older girls’ concerns, of men they hoped to marry. I was but a child to them. I bored them, so they treated me grievously.
But, of course, when Mother said they had gone, I ran to the door to try and catch up.
“You should not go alone.” Mother’s hand was a claw on my shoulder.
“Why not?” My hand twisted the doorknob. I knew why she wanted me to stay, to help her care for the little ones. Even now, she was holding the baby while Timothy tugged at her skirts.
“I do not like when you walk alone. There are people in Salem Village who wish us ill.” She must have remarked my grimace, for she added, “And there may be wolves.”
“There are no wolves in daylight. I hear them howling in the night.” I shuddered, thinking of it.
“In the woods, they are out at all hours, and I know you mean to walk through the woods. Stay on the path and take your sisters, and you may go.”
“Yes, Mother.” I meant to do neither. “Let me just check the chicken coop for eggs. Mercy did not do that before she left.”
Before Mother could answer, I grabbed the red woolen cape that had once been mine but was now my sister Elizabeth’s. My reason for doing so was twofold. First, it was cold. But also, it would prevent Elizabeth from following me. I clutched it around my shoulders and was out like lightning, dashing toward the barn. As soon as I heard the front door slam, I detoured around it (for I had already checked the eggs) and ran for the woods.
By the time she realized what I had done, it would be too late. She was too covered in babies to pursue me.
I had no compunction about doing this. The new baby was colicky—at least that was Mother’s excuse—and Timothy was merely a brat. I had listened to their crying and whining for days straight, and I had been helpful, doing more than my share of baby laundry in the freezing cold. Going to visit Reverend Parris and Betty and Abigail was a reward, and a small one at that. I did not mean to miss out. Of course I would be punished, but nothing could be greater punishment than to stay home.
The woods were freedom. I ran toward them, hearing my mother shouting my name beneath the wind, but ignoring her. The canopy of trees formed a doorway. Step through it. Be someone else. Though it was cold, the bright sun streamed down into the white snow, making it sparkle like diamonds. I kept running.
It was not Reverend Parris I wished to visit or, indeed, his staring daughter, Betty, who was only nine. It was Tituba. Tituba was Reverend Parris’s slave from Barbados. She told the best stories, stories of exotic places, warm places, magic places.