I Walk in Dread (9780545388047) Page 8

  She spoke something very brave or foolish, I do not know which.

  Goody Corey admitted that she does not approve of the witchcraft proceedings. She does not have faith in the testimony of the afflicted children. She said the magistrates have been blinded, and she would like to open their eyes. They have lost their common sense and gotten caught up in this delusion, rather than staying the course of the Word of God. She shuns the examinations because she wants to keep her own mind under the influence of prayer. If everyone else will do the same, she says, they will see their errors.

  Many a disapproving head shook in her wake as she left, including her own family. Ann Putnam fairly glared at her.

  Goody Corey is very intelligent. I have seen that time and time again, from the way she understands the Bible to the way she organizes items in her kitchen. She has thoughts and opinions of her own, based on details and logic that I do not always understand. If she were a man, she could have gone to Harvard and become a famous Minister like Cotton Mather or Michael Wigglesworth. Perhaps those who leave their seats empty show a silent protest, but Goody Corey stands alone in shunning the witch hunt. Can one person be right and all the rest be wrong?

  I can think of only one, and they crucified him. I fear for Goody Corey!

  Tuesday ye 8th of March

  The full moon must have played with my tired head. In the night I had a bad dream. I did not awake screaming or sweating; yet it was horrifying, once I awoke and thought about it. I could not erase the vivid images from my mind, nor get back to sleep all the rest of the night. For hours I prayed till the sun rose.

  I dreamt that I had a baby, a tiny infant wrapped in white cloth. It had the face of Sarah Goode, all leathery and creased. In the dream I did not recognize the face as hers, though, and its ugliness did not bother me. I loved my infant. Her name was Truth. I was singing her Psalms and sitting on a high limb of an oak tree swaying gently in the summer breeze, feeding her from the little brown mole I have had under my arm since I was born.

  What did it mean? Had the specter of Sarah Goode visited me? But she did not pinch, did not bite, did not torture me in any way. It was a pleasant dream! The infant was nursing from the wrong place, though. God save me! Does that mean I am a witch? How could I be a witch! I have never met the Devil in my life! Does that mean I do not love God? I love God more than life itself!

  That dream felt so alive, it seemed more difficult to believe I was curled up next to Mem in bed, the same as when I went to sleep. The only difference in the world was inside my head.

  A new question started spinning in my mind, and brought other questions behind it. Is it possible that the girls are letting their dreams and fantasies run away with their sense of reality? Is anybody really tormenting those girls?

  What if Sarah Goode is not a witch? What else can she do but deny it, and get ever angrier at being falsely accused, and thereby seem more witchlike by her bitter tongue?

  What must it be like to sit alone on that platform, being hammered with tricky questions by a clever man who assumes thee guilty? With a crowd all around pulsing hatred? Girls falling to the floor proclaiming horrors?

  Sarah Goode is trapped like a beast in a cage. Words are her only weapons, but they can never set her free from the witch hunt, only tighten her chains.

  Oh, I must stop these doubts. The witch must be guilty. How could God allow an innocent person to be condemned? God is Great, God is Good, He should not, could not, would not, allow wrong to rule.

  Wednesday, March ye 9th

  The dream would not leave me. It replayed in my sleep again last night, except I had twin babies named Truth and Honor. Truth had the face of Sarah Goode, and Honor had the face of Sarah Osborn! Truth fed from the mole under my arm, and Honor fed from the wart between my thumb and finger. Again, the dream was exceedingly pleasant during my sleep and disturbing upon waking. I, a girl not yet a woman, mothering two witches? What does this mean?

  I wanted to tell Goody Corey about the dream and ask her thoughts, but I did not dare speak the dream aloud, not even to Mem. When I got to the Corey Farm I found her alone, on her knees in prayer. Her husband had galloped off again to witness the afflictions and do his part to coax the names of the other witches out of the girls.

  Instead of reading the next Remove, we decided it would be pleasing to do a Bible study of the verses that brought Mrs. Rowlandson such comfort during her captivity. Here are just a few we looked up.

  Psalm 27:14, Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say on the Lord. That is my very favorite.

  Paul’s prayer, II Thessalonians 3:2, That we may be delivered from unreasonable and wicked men, for not all have faith. Little Thomas learnt that one by heart. He loves to say “wicked men.” Lisping children are very cute. That does not mean I want any, though.

  Isaiah 54:7, For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee. This is Goody Corey’s favorite.

  Just as I was leaving, Goodman Corey rode up all in a panic with talk from the Village. He said that the name of Martha Corey has been bandied about by the accusing girls. He blamed her for her own troubles, and gave her a foul tongue-lashing for speaking out against the proceedings on Sunday.

  Goody Corey, a witch? She smiled and shook her head in that way of hers, as if she were wise to a joke. How could anyone believe such a foolish thing! Goody Corey may have strange ideas, but she is a good Gospel woman, a full Member of the church, a professor of religion. If the Devil could get her, why, he could get the Reverend Parris himself!

  Those girls have gone too far. Methinks they have lost touch with their senses. If they get Goody Corey thrown into prison, I am not going to believe another word they say!

  March ye 10th

  Today we fast to purify our bodies for the Solemn Day of Prayer tomorrow. The whole Village will be taking part. We must repent of our sins and beseech God to rid us of the affliction. Hunger makes my head ache, or perhaps it is the dream that causes my scalp to throb.

  Last night I had three babes up in my tree—Truth, Honor, and Mercy—and I loved them all equally. The face of the third infant lay hidden as she fed from my navel, which turns outward. When I tenderly lifted Mercy to pass her gas, I looked into the face of Goody Corey!

  Upon waking, I felt shocked and worried that the pattern of my dream had broken. Why had the third face not belonged to Tituba? Is Goody Corey a witch after all, the same as Sarah Goode and Sarah Osborn? Or are those two not of the Devil after all, but women of God the same as Martha Corey? Would that mean Tituba Indian is a witch?

  Today Mem made a comment about how quiet I have been these three days. I said simply that the witchcraft weighs heavy on my spirit. That is all the truth I dare tell her. I know her. She will never understand my newborn doubts.

  March ye 11th

  My sister and I have finally agreed on something. We agree that it is time to tell someone about our uncle’s absence and get some advice or help. This happened because someone else came pounding on the door to find our uncle last night. This someone will not be as easy to stall as two Widows and a barrel maker. The landlord! He informed us that our uncle has not paid the rent all winter, and he has until the end of March to do so or we shall go marching.

  Immediately I thought of Goody Corey, for she has a good head on her shoulders. Though she speaks her mind, she also knows how to keep her mouth shut, or her husband would have my corn (and her hide). The advice would come today, too, for I will spend the Solemn Day of Prayer in her kitchen. In fact, I shall leave as soon as I finish writing. Mem has already left for the Sheldons’.

  Mem gasped in shock that I would even think to tell Goody Corey our secret. “I will take the razor strap myself and give you the whipping of your life if you breathe a word to that old witch!”

  That old witch! How dare Mem say such a thing! The way people are behaving around here, that would be all the witch hunters would need to hear. Snap,
clank, the chains would lock around Goody Corey’s ankles. We argued back and forth at length on that subject before we got back on the subject that got us started.

  “If we turn to anyone for help,” Mem said, “it should be someone we have always known and trusted. That means the dear Widow Ruste.”

  She is right. The Widow Ruste would be our best option if she did not live in Hartford. Moving here took three days, and we barely stopped to let the horses rest. That is a long way to go for swift advice.

  “If we are going to send away for help,” I said, “we should write to —”

  “Mr. Cooper!” Mem shouted, while I was saying “Benjamin.” And then I said “No!” while she was saying “Oh,” and she admitted my idea was best. We shall send a letter Eastward with the next courier.

  Our dear Brother,

  We hope this letter finds you fine. We are fine, though we are surrounded by witches, and our uncle has gone fishing for the money to buy the farm. He has not come back for months. You know how he is. Now the rent is overdue, and we will lose the farm if we do not pay by the end of March.

  God speed you,

  We need you,

  Thy loving sisters

  Deliverance Trembley

  Mem insisted on the part about witches. I did not dare disagree.

  Oh, what shall we do if neither uncle nor brother returns in time? We have no money. Perhaps we could sell some of the things we have that were our father’s? He liked to make furniture during the long winter indoors, and left us a bed shaped like a sleigh, a fine tableboard, and two chairs. Many houses have no chairs at all. We also have the carved cupboard that was propped atop this book.

  Would that I could sell my dream. I tried to stay awake all night to avoid it, but sleep overtook me and brought me my triplets. Oh, how I loved them! — until I woke up and feared them. I lay awake wondering why I had not dreamed myself a fourth witch-baby. Why has Tituba not shown her face?

  March ye 12th

  When I arrived at the farm yesterday I found Goody Corey dressed in the homeliest costume: three overlarge skirts billowing one atop the other in different shades of faded indigo, covered with a moth-eaten woolen shawl gone yellow. I recalled seeing them in the old trunk in the eaves the day we fished for shoes. I did not say anything, but she must have caught my wondering look. She shrugged and said, “Waste not, want not.”

  While Goody Corey prayed aloud for God to open the eyes of the public and lead us to the truth about the affliction, I prayed silently for the Lord to bring my uncle home and also relieve me of my dream, or reveal its meaning. So intense was my concentration that I hardly heard Goody Corey’s voice at all until she nudged my arm and said it was time we took some water and stretched our legs. She wanted to check on an ox that her husband was worried about. We walked through the covered woodshed to the barn.

  The ox stood looking at us placidly. Goody Corey turned to me and said that the beast looked fine, but she was worried about me. Why was my angel voice so quiet?

  Something about the look on her face, bright eyes creased all around with love, brought back the image of her as my infant Mercy. I burst into tears, and out gushed the whole story of the dream, along with all my fears and questions.

  “There, there, child,” Goody Corey said, hugging me close. Her shawl scratched my cheek and smelled of dust, but I did not care. I felt like precious butter melting in Goody Corey’s arms. This must be what Mem missed so much about our mother.

  Goody Corey told me not to worry, that she is no witch, nor am I. Nor am I being afflicted by witches. She said that she believes dream visions are simply messages from our own hearts to our heads, giving us information we need to understand and do the right thing. She said that in my wise heart I love Truth, Honor, and Mercy. Sitting high in the oak I am close to God. Seeing that the accused women are innocent as newborn babes, my heart wants me to honor the truth by my actions, and have mercy.

  I cannot recall a single dream from last night. Thank Thee, O Lord, for answering my prayers and using your servant Goody Corey to relieve my spirit of this heavy weight. I deeply regret my terrible sin of speaking out against Goody Goode at the examination. I do not know how I shall ever repent of it.

  Later …

  Just returned from the Corey Farm with a huge lump of fear in my chest. Goody Corey and I were catching up with Mrs. Rowlandson when hooves galloped up to the gate. Through the window I recognized two deacons of the church, Edward Putnam and Ezekiel Cheever. Goody Corey did not seem at all surprised, but sent me into the bedroom with little Thomas and pulled the door shut. I could not see the interchange but heard the voices.

  As soon as they entered, Goody Corey said, “I know what you are come for. You are come to talk with me about being a witch, but I am none. I cannot help people’s talking of me.”

  Edward Putnam, who is Ann’s uncle, replied that they thought it their duty as fellow Church Members to let her know she had been named by one of the afflicted girls.

  “But does she tell you what clothes I have on?” Goody Corey said, and I covered my mouth to stop it from laughing out loud. She was still wearing that outrageous getup from yesterday, and now I understood why. After hearing the gossip about herself, she had expected someone to arrive sooner or later and accuse her of witchcraft. Knowing that the girls always accuse by clothing, she thought to catch them in their lies by wearing an outfit they could not guess!

  The men reported that they had asked Ann that very question before coming here. In suspicious voices they said, “She told us you came and blinded her until tonight so that she might not tell us what clothes you had on.”

  How shrewd of Ann! She knew better than to accuse by clothing. Goody Corey has several good outfits of clothes she wears in public. Goody Goode and Tituba are always seen wearing the same clothes, making them easy to identify. It seemed obvious to me that it was Ann who had dodged the men’s question, not Goody Corey. But common sense is not so common in Salem Village.

  The men continued to discuss the complaint, saying it was a reflection against the whole Church to have a Member accused. Goody Corey reminded them that she had professed Christ and rejoiced to hear the Word of God. Perhaps the Devil would need little effort to make witches of such idle, slothful persons as the three currently in jail, but he would never have any such luck with a Gospel Woman!

  They had got her going, those men. Goody Corey launched into one of her strange lectures about how the Devil has come among us in a great rage, and God has forsaken the earth, and we need to open our eyes to what He is actually showing us instead of what we expect to see. I am sure the men did not understand her meaning any better than I, and will twist her words against her.

  I walk in dread. Not even Church deacons can be trusted to think straight. I cannot imagine how the Lord will deliver my friend from this Devil’s trap.

  March ye 13th

  Today at the Meeting House, Bethshua Pope went blind. It was temporary, but terrifying. Apparently she is now one of the afflicted. She is not a girl but a woman with children. The wagging tongues have added Mary Warren to the afflicted gossip as well. She is the servant girl at John Proctor’s.

  Mary told someone who told someone else who told everyone at Ingersoll’s that she looked up from her spinning and saw the specter of Goody Corey standing over her. I should like to hear her accuse Goody Corey to her face, and see what happens, but the Proctors took her to their Church in Salem Town.

  Betty Parris was not at Meeting. She has been sent back to Salem with her uncle Stephen Sewall to live away from the witches until she recovers her health. Maybe all of the afflicted girls should be sent away, each to places distant from the others, and see if the witches still care to torture them.

  March ye 14th

  For a period of five minutes in the middle of the morning, the witches flew out of mind, and the hearts of Mem and Liv swelled with happiness. I was spinning, Mem was watching me, when we heard the unmistakable sound of strong horse
s pulling up a wagon heaped with barrels.

  Mem jumped with joy at the sight of the Coopers out of the knothole. Then she slumped with despair because we had no meat to give them, no cheese, not even any eggs to make a cake rise. We have been eating boiled grains. Never mind, Mr. Cooper and Son never found out what a poor state we are in, for they refused to set foot inside without our uncle at home. They did not seem at all surprised to find that he was out working. In fact, they gave each other a nod and a grin. Darcy looks a little bit like his father when he grins his pockmarks away.

  We all stood smiling and talking about the weather for five minutes, and then they left us a sealed letter to give our uncle. As they pulled away we smiled and waved them out of sight, until my ears hurt from smiling so hard. Then we went inside out of the cold to read the letter.

  Dear Goodman Trembley,

  I had hopes of speaking with you in person about this matter, but you are wise to conduct business in writing. Your hard work and clever ways have led me to hope that you might be willing to take a position working for Cooper & Sons in Haver’il. Because our barrel-making enterprise consumes ever more of our time, we have need of someone to oversee the barns and fields. As part of your salary we are pleased to offer use of a house and gardens similar to those you currently enjoy. I look forward to your reply.

  Sincerely,

  Jones Darcy Cooper, Senior