The wolf slunk up to me, and then he rubbed against me. His fur was warm and soft. “It is not true,” the wolf said.
“Then how . . . how can she say such things?” I had forgotten my nervousness. The wolf was the only creature to whom I could talk.
“She says it because she is a witch, an evil witch in league with Satan.”
I hugged the wolf. It was as I had suspected.
“She casts spells on people,” the wolf said. “She casts spells on Betty, which is what makes her act as she does.”
I knew what the wolf meant. Betty was a strange child who often acted inappropriately, staring at nothing or sometimes crying out, even at church. But did the wolf mean Tituba would cast a spell on me? Or that she already had?
“What will become of me?” I asked.
“That,” the wolf said, nuzzling my hand that I might pat its head, “remains to be seen.”
“So you mean that she is wrong, that my parents will not die?”
The wolf stared at me. “Is that the part of her prophecy that concerns you most?”
“Of course.” But was it? I knew it should be. For my parents to die before my siblings came of age would be horrible. I repeated, “Of course.”
“Of course.” The wolf’s eyes were unblinking. “You are a dutiful daughter.”
Was there mocking in his tone? “I am.”
He held my gaze an instant longer than expected. “You are. And, as certain as I am that you are a dutiful daughter, I am equally certain your parents will not die.”
His voice was calm, and I let out the breath I had not realized I was holding. If that part of Tituba’s grotesque prediction did not come true, likely none of it would.
“But you must stay away from Tituba,” the wolf said.
“Why?”
“For your own safety. And you must find a way to warn others of the havoc she may wreak. She and the other witches.”
In the distance, I heard the crack of a branch. Was it Mary? Mary or Mercy, come to look for me? Nonsense. They cared little about me. If they cared, they would have pursued me when I left, not so long after. If they came now, it was for their own purposes. Still, it would not do for them to see me here dawdling, much less speaking to a wolf.
“I must go.” I pulled away.
He bared his teeth. I started, then cringed, and gradually, his eyes regained their calm appearance. He said, “Go now, child, but be careful. And look for me again.”
I heard a voice in the distance. In these empty woods, sounds carried far. Still, I ran down the path to my house.
But in the back of my head, I heard his words, You must find a way to warn others of the havoc she may wreak. She and the other witches. What other witches did the wolf mean?
Mary and Mercy followed a scant five minutes later. They were laughing when they barged through the door but stopped quickly at Mother’s disapproving look. I was at my weaving and pretended to take no notice. I wished to punish them for the way they had treated me. I also wanted to hear what they had to say. If I was as quiet as falling snow, perhaps they would forget I was there.
And they did. “I was so worried for her,” Mary said when they sat down to their sewing.
I looked up with only my eyes, lest they see I was noticing them. Did she mean me?
“I was not,” Mercy said. “She does it for attention. She should not be rewarded.”
This must be me, and I wanted to cry out at the unfairness. But still, I held my tongue.
“She has always been an odd child,” Mary said. “Were she not our reverend’s daughter, people would remark her behavior even more.”
I looked down at my weaving, concentrating. It was Betty they meant, not me.
Confirming all this, Mary glanced about the room, then whispered, “You missed all the excitement, Ann. I do not know why you left.”
I leaned toward her, away from Mercy, still trying to seem aloof but with much difficulty. “What happened?” I whispered.
“After you left, Betty began behaving strangely.”
“Betty always behaves strangely,” Mercy interrupted.
“But more strangely. She was staring, as usual. But after you left, she began to writhe around and bark like a dog. Abigail too. It was almost as if they were possessed by evil spirits.”
“Possessed of the need for a good spanking, more likely,” Mercy said.
I remembered the feeling I had had when Tituba held my hands, as if insects were crawling upon me, as if they might consume me alive.
“No,” I said to Mercy. “There is evil in that house. We should not go there.”
Mercy laughed. “Perhaps you should not go there, if you are so easily frightened,” Mercy responded at the same time Mary said, “Evil at our reverend’s house?”
I was framing my response when my father came home, so we could no longer speak freely. Mother asked Mercy to help her with the serving and me to gather the younger children. I had corralled Timothy, Deliverance, and Ebeneezer. They were pulling at me, pushing against me, wrapping themselves around my legs, and I remembered what Tituba had said.
Was Tituba right? And, if so, was she really a witch?
3
Kendra