I Walk in Dread (9780545388047) Read online

  I hope the English will be brave enough to get their feet wet today, but I doubt they will, as the book is not half done.

  Friday ye 19th

  The Indians burned their wigwams and moved on quickly this time. We read the Seventh Remove and part of the Eighth, as well. I read with tears in my voice as I imagined Mrs. Rowlandson fighting with others for food. She found two ears of corn, but had one stolen from her when she turned her back. An Indian gave her some horse liver, which she laid to roast on the coals, and half of it was snatched away from her before it cooked, and so she was forced to eat it raw, yet she was so hungry that it tasted savory.

  On the Eighth Remove, she got to see her son. What a joyful passage that was! They read together from the Bible before they parted, and took strength in His wonderful power to save them from death in the hands of their enemies. But then Mrs. Rowlandson had to travel with her master to see King Philip, who was leader of the Indians.

  She described being alone in the midst of a great crowd of pagans, and listening to the Indians rejoicing over their gains and victories. Her brave heart failed, and she fell to weeping in front of the crowd of pagans. Goody Corey and her husband’s daughters and I wept with her, and read no more that day.

  Saturday ye 20th

  The weather has warmed enough that I can take my pen out of the house without the ink freezing. Now I sit in the hayloft of the barn, with the sun shining in on me. It will be a pleasure to write anytime the mood strikes, as opposed to waiting until Mem is out and about or in a deep sleep. My journal and pen ride flat in one of my pockets. They can travel with me wherever I go, and need not always hide in the root cellar.

  Mem is certain that the Coopers will come to call today. Perhaps they will. It has been three weeks since they attended Lecture Day in the Village. However, we still have not seen hide nor hair of our uncle. Even if they do come knocking, Mem will not receive any courting without a snowstorm to chaperone.

  As for myself, I look forward to seeing Darcy, but not as much as I look forward to finding out what happens next to Mrs. Rowlandson. While Mem was cooking and cleaning, I went back to the Corey Farm to finish the Eighth Remove.

  After her weeping the pagans took pity on Mrs. Rowlandson. They promised they would not hurt her, and gave her two spoonfuls of meal and half a pint of peas to comfort her. Then she went to see King Philip.

  He asked her to smoke with him, which is taken as a great compliment among the Indians. However, Mrs. Rowlandson will not touch tobacco. She calls it “a bait the Devil lays to make men lose their precious time.” I think she is right. Our uncle likes his pipe and when he smokes it he does not do anything else.

  King Philip asked Mrs. Rowlandson to make a shirt for his son, and she did and was paid a shilling. She offered the money to her master, but he let her keep it and she bought something to eat.

  I was surprised to hear of these kindnesses from the cruel savages. Goody Corey did not seem surprised at all. She said that it is only natural that the Indians would treat Mrs. Rowlandson more kindly as they come to know her better. Now they see her as a fellow creature who eats and weeps and has talents to share, the same as they do.

  Her stepdaughter scoffed at this and said King Philip is only treating Mrs. Rowlandson well because none of the Indians can make good English shirts. Her master let her keep the money because he was afraid to take away what the king gave. Besides, he must realize that Mrs. Rowlandson needs to get enough to eat if he is to ransom her back to her husband for a good price. If she can buy her own food, he does not need to feed her.

  Methinks the stepdaughter makes better sense than Goody Corey.

  During her time in this place, Mrs. Rowlandson was paid to make other items for the Indians. King Philip invited her to dinner. She also saw her son and several other English prisoners. We leave her with news that some Indians have brought back some horses from a raid. She wishes they would ride her to Albany to ransom her, but she holds little hope that they will do so. We shall find out next week.

  Outside, I hear the feet of many horses and the wheels of a big wagon coming. The Coopers!

  Later …

  The Coopers seemed mighty exasperated to find that our uncle was not at home again. We told them the truth: that when our uncle went off on this current errand, he took a bag with him. We suspected he would be gone the night, at least.

  Mem invited them to come in and have dinner with us, anyhow. They looked at each other and spoke with their eyes. I could not understand what they meant.

  Finally Mr. Cooper cleared his throat and said that there was a matter of some urgency that he must discuss with our uncle. Would we kindly give him a message? We of course agreed, Mem most eagerly. Did he know why?

  We found Mr. Cooper paper and pen, and he wrote our uncle a letter.

  Dear Mr. Trembley,

  As you know, my son and I greatly appreciated the generosity of your household during the terrible blizzard of last month. I would like to thank you in person, and also discuss with you a matter of some major importance. I request an audience with you at your earliest convenience. You are cordially invited to visit my household in Haver’il, or I shall be glad to return to your home on another day if you kindly let me know when you will be available. I will look forward to receiving a message from you soon.

  Sincerely,

  Jones Darcy Cooper, Senior

  What are we going to do? It matters not to Mem that we have no uncle to show the note. Her heart has turned into a giant goose-down pillow. She floats about the house on the tips of her toes, as if in a trance. She is convinced Mr. Cooper intends to ask for her hand in marriage. I hope for her heart’s sake that Mr. Cooper has no other business in mind — and that our uncle gets himself home soon to make a reply.

  Monday ye 22nd

  The affliction, the affliction, the affliction. It is all anyone would talk about at the Meeting House yesterday. Last week was the same, though I had no ink to write about it.

  Now the debate has turned from “what is the matter” to “what shall be done about it,” for Dr. Griggs has made a diagnosis. The Reverend Parris has been taking Betty and Abigail to various physicians, of course, to identify their ailments. They have treated the affliction with parsnip seeds, asafetida in wine, spirits of castor with oil of amber, and all the other usual remedies. The only one they have not tried is the one Goody Corey recommends: Ignore it and it will go away.

  They have tried fasting and prayer, the strongest cure of all — yet the strange fits continue. And so Dr. Griggs, finding no physical cause, has finally pronounced that the Evil Hand is on them.

  Most Villagers agree that the Devil is somehow causing the fits. However, he cannot do so without the help of a witch. Who can it be? That is what everyone wants to know now, but the girls do not know whom to blame.

  Some of the Villagers say it must be Sarah Goode. She was seen begging at the parsonage recently, and she went away muttering. However, the girls had fallen sick weeks before that. Others say it is probably Tituba Indian, who obviously was not baptized as an infant or raised Christian. Many additional names have been suggested, mostly folks who fail to attend church regularly. I listened with my heart galloping in my chest, dreading to hear mine uncle’s name. Thank God nobody thought to mention him.

  The longer the affliction goes on, the deeper my fear sinks into me. Whether Satan is riding these girls, or the Lord is working within them to drive the Devil out, or they are making their odd postures and ridiculous speeches on their own free will for some reason, I do not know. But it is clear that the people of Salem Village will not rest until the girls have returned to normal. The people will pinch and squeeze at the matter till it bursts like a pustule.

  Tuesday ye 23rd of February

  No ride to Albany for Mrs. Rowlandson. Her troubles and blessings continue. She has met a squaw who gives her food, and invites her back, and would buy her if able. Mrs. Rowlandson seems surprised that strangers would be so kind. (
Of course this came as no surprise to Goody Corey.)

  Happiness never to last long in this life, in the Tenth Remove we find that another Indian hunts her down, and makes her leave the kind squaw’s wigwam, and kicks her all along until she goes home, where nobody will give her any of the venison they are roasting.

  The Eleventh Remove goes quickly with nothing happening, except Mrs. Rowlandson is dizzy. I hope she is not sick. We shall find out in the Twelfth Remove. I hope I can get me to the Corey Farm tomorrow. Outside, the rain is driven to soak the ground. My feet dread to tread.

  My bag of reading corn grows larger. It hides in the root cellar with my book. I do not wish Mem to cook up my shoes or feed them to the chickens. She knows I read to Goody Corey, and asks me each day what has become of Mrs. Rowlandson, but I have not told her about the corn. It is between me, Goody Corey, and the fence post.

  Wednesday ye 24th

  The rain paused for a time, and the Widow Holten came today for her thread. She gave us some money, and a piece of bear meat. Mem boiled the meat with ground nuts the way Mrs. Rowlandson describes as most savory. It does not taste anything like chicken. It made me want to spit! Methinks Mrs. Rowlandson has been hungry too long and lost her taste.

  As for the Widow, she did not say a word about our uncle, but studied the household closely inside and out. Through the knothole I watched her leave. She surveyed the yard all up and down, and looked a long time at the log pile, with its split firewood all stacked neatly between two pines, whose boughs make a roof against the elements. Darcy chopped more for us on Saturday while his father composed the letter.

  Instead of going straight to the gate, she followed the path to the barn, placing her feet very carefully, like a deer picking its way through the woods. Had she lost her head? Later, when I went out to tend the animals, I studied the path and realized what she had been doing: putting her feet in the shoe prints. Some have frozen into the mud, and some have crusted into the patches of snow. Most of the prints belong to me, but some are Mem’s little cat feet, and the Coopers left some footprints behind them on Saturday. The Widow Holten was looking to see if our uncle has set foot around here.

  Praise God for sinking the Cooper men’s feet in our snow!

  Thursday ye 25th of February

  Found a spot of clear sky to escape me to the Corey Farm. Mrs. Rowlandson is not sick, I was relieved to find. Not exactly. On the Twelfth Remove she had to carry a heavy load, which hurt her back. The Indians are all in a cantankerous mood, treating her meanly. She complained about the skin off her back, and one told her it would be no matter if her head came off, too!

  Susannah came while I was gone at Goody Corey’s. We had no eggs to give her, but she had gossip to give us. The Parrises are attending Lecture Day out of town, and Mary Sibley has given directions to their slaves to make a witch cake while they are gone. Mix rye meal with urine from the bewitched, bake the cake in the ashes, and then give it to the dog to eat. This is supposed to hurt the witch, and cause her to reveal herself.

  I am surprised that Mary Sibley decided to take matters into her own hands. Everyone knows that Mr. Parris would never approve of fighting magic with magic. I doubt that anyone will dare tell him, in fact. The whole Village will know what happened in his house today except him!

  Mary Sibley lives near the parsonage and has often gone to help the girls. She means well, and only wishes to relieve Abigail and Betty of their torment. If there truly is a witch at work, I hope the witch cake gets her off their backs and we can all be done with it.

  Friday ye 26th of February

  Mem went to town early in the morning with a basket of apples to trade, despite the soaking rain driven by the east wind. That is how keenly she wanted to find out what happened after the dog ate the witch cake.

  All hell has broken loose! When Mr. and Mrs. Parris returned from Lecture, their girls were suffering worse than ever. What’s more, Abigail’s and Betty’s eyes have been opened to the Invisible World. Now they can see what torments them: the figures of actual people come to pinch and hit them!

  It is not just one witch, but witches!

  And that is not all. The affliction has spread! Ann Putnam is now suffering, and so is Elizabeth Hubbard. The witches must know to hurt Ann because she is Abigail’s friend, and I imagine they are hurting Elizabeth to get back at her uncle, Dr. Griggs, for diagnosing the Evil Hand.

  My hand is a Shaky Hand. There is no warm blood running through my veins, only cold fear. I can barely move. Mem, however, is filled with excitement, and has gone back to spend the afternoon at Ingersoll’s Ordinary, where she will not miss a thing.

  Later …

  The girls have blamed Tituba for their pain. Even though she herself is in another room, her invisible specter comes and pushes them around. Her specter tries to choke them, and twists their arms and backs in ways beyond their natural ability. Mr. Parris demands to know who else torments them, but they cannot yet tell who it be.

  There are many visitors at the parsonage. Ministers have come from around the area to see the affliction for themselves, and pray it out of the girls. The Reverend John Hale of Beverly is there, and the Reverend Noyes of Salem, and others. They have talked to Tituba, and she has told them that she made a witch cake! But she did not mention Mary Sibley. She also said that her mistress in her own country was a witch, and taught her some countermagic. Tituba declared that she herself was not a witch, though.

  The Ministers agree that the hand of Satan is in the girls, but they do not believe the Devil needs witches to do his dirty work. It may be true, then, that Tituba is not a witch. They do not recommend any further use of countermagic, and they do not recommend that Tituba be arrested and put on trial to discover her guilt. They recommend that the Parrises sit still and wait upon the Providence of God to see what time might discover.

  The Parrises may sit still, but will the Villagers?

  Saturday ye 27th

  Goody Corey’s to read, or Ingersoll’s to hear the news? Both beckoned me. Mem, of course, rushed herself to the Village at first opportunity. I greased my paper soles and headed for the Corey Farm.

  In the Thirteenth Remove an Indian tells Mrs. Rowlandson that her son’s master roasted her son, and he was very good meat. We are hoping that the brute is lying, because Indians think it is fun to scare people like that, when in rushes Goody Corey’s husband all breathless with news.

  Ann Putnam has identified the apparition that has been tormenting her since Thursday, and nagging her to sign the Devil’s Book. It is Sarah Goode!

  Nobody was surprised to hear that. Goody Corey said she was wondering when Sarah Goode would be named. In a sarcastic voice she said it was very wise of the Devil to entrust his book to someone who cannot read or write. Goodman Corey told his wife she was the one being wise, and it was not very smart. She said he was being stupid to get caught up in this witch hunt based on the antics of little girls with wild imaginations. And on it went.

  Whenever they are together, they argue. It amazes me that Goody Corey dares disagree with her husband! She does not do it in public, though.

  After a while Giles Corey went back to the Village with two of his sons-in-law “to help,” they said. Apparently it takes the strength of men to hold the girls in place so they do not hurt themselves flailing around or twisting themselves into supernatural knots.

  Mrs. Rowlandson is telling us of meeting an Englishman who has just been taken prisoner and bears news of Mr. Rowlandson. He is well, thank God, but melancholy, of course. Well, in comes Goodman Corey again with fresh news. On her way back from an errand to the Putnams, Elizabeth Hubbard was stalked by a wolf that Sarah Goode sent after her! Not only that, but she has been harassed by the spirit of Goody Osborn. I have never seen Osborn, though I think I once heard she was involved with a legal squabble with the Putnams over land.

  Goody Corey made a scoffing noise and said she could not believe her ears. Sarah Osborn is so sickly and frail, she has not even
been to Sunday Meeting in a long time. How could a bedridden woman do the Devil’s hard work?

  Goodman Corey said he believes Osborn be a witch because she lived in the same house with her second husband before they were married.

  Goody Corey gasped and turned very red very fast, and asked since when does being a sinner make one a witch?

  My heart dropped to my throat as I remembered that Goody Corey’s son Ben is mulatto, and was born to her when she was married to her first husband, Goodman Rich. She and her son lived in Salem Town separately from her husband for ten years until he died. Then she married Giles Corey. I do not know what happened to give her a mulatto son, but I do know that the circumstances did not prevent her from becoming a full Church Member, and taking the sacraments. She is a good Gospel woman and among God’s elect now. But I am sure Goody Corey felt insulted by her husband’s words about Sarah Osborn.

  After she turned red, she called him an old fool, and sent me home. Methinks she was just getting started and did not want me to hear the rest.

  February ye 28th, the Sabbath

  Darcy Cooper came to Meeting today, but without his father! We thought that strange at first, but then he managed to stammer to Mem that his father had not heard from our uncle. Darcy had come to receive his answer to Mr. Cooper’s message. His trembling voice held enough emotion for both himself and his father.

  Mem and I looked at each other with wide eyes. How could we have forgotten to do something about that letter? As much as Mem was preoccupied with the courting of Mr. Cooper, she has become distracted by the discovery of the witches.