I Walk in Dread (9780545388047) Read online

  As I read the letter to Mem, her smile fell, then tears fell, then she fell on the bed to sob. Such misery I have never seen. I rubbed her back and searched the letter for any sign of affection toward her from Mr. Cooper, but saw none. “I am sorry, Mem,” I said, and then forced my voice to brighten. “This does not mean he will never love you.”

  She sobbed louder.

  I tried again. “If we move there, he will get to see you often, and perhaps he will notice you in the way that you desire.”

  Now she pounded the mattress until bits of goose down flew about.

  I was sure my next idea would soothe her. “Darcy has brothers,” I said. “Perhaps one of them will look just like your handsome Mr. Cooper, and you could marry someone closer to your own age, and that would be a much better match than the old man!”

  She rose up from the flattened mattress and gave me a look that I knew to run away from or I would be the next thing she pounded. I do not understand my sister at all. I was just trying to help!

  March ye 15th

  Susannah came to tell us the latest news about the witch hunt. (Methinks her honest reason was to find out why she saw the Coopers riding through the Village with smiles on their faces.) She listened to Mem’s whole sad story, and threw her arms around her, and complained how God has forsaken all mankind, and bawled her eyes out with Mem, until they both blew their noses loudly, and Mem heaved a great satisfied sigh, and made tea. Was that what I should have done yesterday, act like it was doomsday and make tea?

  The sight of Susannah and Mem at the tableboard reminded me of the venus glass, and I realized: Without a doubt, God has given Mem a broken heart as her fortune-telling punishment! She will not want to hear that from me, though. I shall let her figure it out for herself.

  Here is the witch news. To make doubly sure that Goody Corey is causing Ann’s afflictions, the magistrate had her taken to the Putnam house in person yesterday. The moment Goody Corey walked in, Ann experienced the most dreadful convulsions with her limbs writhing and her tongue protruding. It was Goody Corey, she claimed, who had covered Mrs. Pope’s eyes at Sabbath. A yellow bird she saw feeding between two of Goody Corey’s fingers. Then in the hearth she saw a specter of a man roasting on a spit.

  “Goody Corey, you be a turning of it!” Ann cried. (Or so Susannah said.)

  “The Goodwin children saw the same thing when they were afflicted by a witch,” I said. “Cotton Mather described it in Memorable Providences.”

  “That proves it!” Mem said. “Goody Corey is a witch.”

  I had been thinking it proved that Ann had heard all about the Goodwin children and knew exactly what to say! But I held my tongue. Susannah believes every word out of the afflicted girls’ mouths, and Mem believes Susannah.

  The Putnams’ servant Mercy Lewis was present on the scene, too, and fell into fits. Mercy cried out that the other witches were there with Martha Corey and trying to make her write in the Devil’s Book. Goody Corey was asked to leave at that point, but chaos continued at the Putnam house all the night through. Mercy had to be restrained so that the witches could not drag her into the fire. It took three men holding the chair to keep her from burning up.

  Susannah told the story with big eyes and grand gestures, and great sympathy for Mercy Lewis. I believe the two of them knew each other in Maine.

  I am so distraught, my fingernails are chewed raw. It is only a matter of time before someone files a complaint against Goody Corey, and then the constable will come cart her off in shackles. The suspected witches are bound up tight in heavy chains so they cannot escape using their supernatural powers.

  Here is another spinning question: If the accused are truly witches, why do they not hop on their brooms the second they see the constable coming?

  March ye 16th

  The whole Village is turning out to witness the afflictions of Abigail, Ann, Elizabeth, Mercy, Mary, and whoever else has started seeing specters. Abigail said Rebecca Nurse was tormenting her on Tuesday. Rebecca Nurse! Why, Goody Nurse is a saint! She is the head matron of a large and prominent family. She sits in the front bench of the Meeting House with the other women of the highest respectability! The last time I saw her she needed help to walk, she is getting so old and frail. How could anyone believe her a witch? It makes my eyes cross.

  While Mem went to watch the spectacle, I went to Goody Corey’s to read Mrs. Rowlandson’s Twentieth Remove, which is her last, and very long. I was feeling sorrowful and kept my petticoat handy to dab my eyes so I could see to read.

  Mrs. Rowlandson tells another captive that her heart is so heavy, it is ready to break. “So is mine, too,” says Goodwife Kettle. “I hope we shall hear some good news shortly.” Upon reading these words I can read no more, for I am not thinking of Mrs. Rowlandson and her friend Kettle but of Goody Corey about to be hauled away in chains. Onto her breast I fall weeping. She holds me and soothes me, she! She who is falsely accused, and I merely watching it. I feel like a humble worm that wriggles its way to the surface just in time to see the plow coming.

  Tomorrow, if Goody Corey has not been arrested, we shall read to the end.

  Thursday ye 17th of March

  Mrs. Rowlandson has been ransomed for twenty pounds! She had a tearful reunion with her husband, and they went riding around to find her son and redeemed him for under seven pounds. Her daughter got separated from the tribe, and wandered thither and fro until she came to Providence. The governor of Rhode Island took care of her, and so the Lord brought in her daughter upon free cost.

  Now that it is all over, Mrs. Rowlandson is grateful for her affliction. I will never forget her wise words: “I see when God calls a person to anything, and through never so many difficulties, yet he is fully able to carry them through, and make them see and say they have been gainers thereby.” And her final words: “I have learned to look beyond present and smaller troubles, and to be quieted under them, as Moses said, Exodus 14:13, Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.”

  So now the book is over, and so is my time with Goody Corey. When I left, the dear woman took the shoes off her own feet and traded them for my holey ones. I tried to stop her, but she insisted. I have brought much comfort to her soul, she said, and she would like to bring some comfort to my soles.

  Never come back to the farm again, she warned me. The wrong eyes may witness me and assume I be receiving lessons in flying broomsticks and sending my specter out to poke foolish girls with pins. Finally, she said, and shook my shoulders while she was at it: Mem and I should find us a way back to Hartford immediately. We should stay safe there until our uncle sends for us, if ever he returns from wherever he has disappeared to these months.

  My eyes grew wide, and I opened my mouth to deny the truth without lying, but Goody Corey held her finger to my lips and shook her head. She knew Mem and I have been left alone. She has probably known ever since she visited our house. As long as she could keep an eye on us, she was content to stay quiet. But she will not be able to watch over us from jail — though I am sure Abigail and Ann believe she can!

  I looked at my feet, warm in Goody Corey’s shoes, until my shame and embarrassment would let me speak again. Lifting my tearful face, I said, “We have sent for our brother.”

  She nodded her approval. Then, as if the shoes were not enough, she forced upon me a smoked ham and a basket of eggs. With no more room in my arms, she wrapped me around the neck with sausages, and that was how she sent me home.

  I hid the bounty from Mem. It may be enough to pay the rent if need be. That and the corn my feet no longer need.

  Friday ye 18th

  Walking to the shed to feed the animals seems like a journey of a thousand miles, even in good shoes. The labor of speaking takes too much effort to bother. I am so heartsore, I can hardly bear to breathe.

  Oh, how I wish I could talk to Mem, but she is as caught up in the witch delusion as anyone. She is not likely to understand how I feel about Martha Corey. She will never understand
why I no longer believe in witches.

  Saturday ye 19th of March

  Now Ann Putnam’s mother, Ann Senior, has joined the ranks of the afflicted. She spent all yesterday afternoon fighting off the specter of Rebecca Nurse. The specter of a frail old woman must be a great deal stronger than the woman herself.

  While Mem is off witch hunting, I stay at home waiting for Benjamin and worrying about what will happen if he does not come back in time. And though Mem has lost hope of becoming Mrs. Cooper, I have not forgotten that our uncle owes our friends from Haver’il a reply to their kind job offer.

  March ye 20th, the Sabbath

  A warrant was written for the arrest of Goody Corey yesterday, but the examination must wait until tomorrow. Gospel woman that she is, she came to Sunday Meeting and took her usual place. Those who believe she is a witch thought she was making a mockery of God’s worship, and they were outraged.

  Mr. Deodat Lawson, the Minister here before Mr. Parris, came to preach. He has taken a solemn interest in the witch examinations because Tituba claimed that the witches killed his wife and daughter, who are buried here in the Village.

  As soon as he arrived at Ingersoll’s yesterday, Mary Walcott went to visit him and had a fit on the spot. At first I thought it must be Mary Warren, but no, it was Mary Walcott, the captain’s daughter — another girl afflicted now. Mr. Lawson was filled with amazement and horror and is ready to push the prosecutions on as earnestly as Mr. Parris.

  When Mem heard that Mary Walcott is afflicted, she nodded as if she expected it. “The witches are doing it to spite Mary’s aunt Sibley for having the witch cake made. That was what got them caught.”

  Such rudeness I have never seen as what Abigail Williams performed today. When the singing of the Psalm was concluded, she cried out, “Now stand up, and name your text!” When Mr. Lawson had finished reading it, she then shouted out in a loud and insolent voice, “It’s a long text!” When in the afternoon he referred to a doctrine from the morning, Abigail shouted, “I know no doctrine you had. If you did name one, I have forgot it.”

  The Tithing Man did not even lift his stick! Mr. Parris himself sat there and did nothing! If I behaved that way in the Meeting House and mine uncle happened to be there to see it, I would receive a thrashing I would never forget. But the worst of it is still to come, for then, while Mr. Lawson was still talking, Abigail interrupted and said, “Look where Goodwife Corey sits on the beam, suckling her yellow bird betwixt her fingers.”

  Goody Corey was sitting on her bench, head bent in solemn prayer.

  Then Ann Putnam joined in, exclaiming, “There is a yellow bird sitting on the Minister’s hat as it hangs on the pin in the pulpit.” Her parents took her arm and restrained her from speaking further. Mr. Lawson braced himself and went on with the service.

  Before leaving for home, Goody Corey stood up for herself again, saying she will open the eyes of the magistrates and Ministers to the truth. She said the Devil working through mischievous girls cannot stand victorious before a Gospel Woman such as herself.

  Her faith inspires me. I would like to believe she is right, but still I tremble in fear for her. How can she open eyes with words that fall upon deaf ears?

  March ye 21st

  A fine day it was to work outside, but did anyone stay home today? No, the whole world turned out for the examination of Goody Corey. It will be the last one I attend. I cannot bear another.

  Why must Mr. Hathorne presume guilt in his questioning? It did not bother me so terribly when I believed the witches were tormenting the girls, but now his arrogant voice and superior tone make me shudder.

  Mr. Hathorne did not accept the answers Goody Corey gave. He repeated his questions many times, and got the same answers many times. He does not seek truth, only guilt.

  Frequently Goody Corey asked leave to go pray, and was refused. She explained that she is a Gospel Woman, and the children chanted, “Gospel witch! Gospel witch!” I would have liked to sew their mouths shut. Meanwhile Mr. Parris scribbled with a passion, writing down all that was said, page after page after page. It is a wonder he does not run out of ink.

  Goody Corey was asked why she hurts the girls, who else hurts them, and other questions similar to the examinations of Goody Goode and the others. He also asked how she knew the child Ann Putnam was bid to observe what clothes she wore when Mr. Cheever and Mr. Edward Putnam came to speak with her.

  “My husband told me the others told,” she said. Then the judge asked him, and Goodman Corey denied it!

  Mem gasped beside me. “Can you believe it? The witch lied in front of us!”

  I shook my head at my sister but did not speak. Goody Corey was not lying. I myself had heard Goodman Corey tell her such things. He is eighty years old. With all the noise constantly filling the courtroom, he must have been confused and misunderstood what the judge was asking him.

  The judge then asked Goody Corey, “Did you not say your husband told you so?” and she clenched her lips shut. No matter how she argues at home, Goody Corey would never contradict her husband in public. Besides, it was a lost cause now. The entire assembly, except for me, already believed her a liar.

  Too discouraged to listen anymore, I turned my mind to prayer until a new commotion caught my attention. The children were pointing their fingers and shouting that there was a man whispering in Goody Corey’s ear. I saw no such man, but Judge Hathorne pursued with questions. “What did he say to you?” — We must not believe all that these distracted children say. “Cannot you tell what that man whispered?” — I saw nobody. “But did you not hear?” — No.

  Though nobody else in the room could see or hear the whispering specter, the children fell to the floor in extreme agony and were believed.

  After another hour or more of the terrible questioning, Goody Corey began to bite her lip in nervousness. When she bit her lip, the children cried out in pain and claimed she had bit their lips. When she moved her hands, the girls claimed she pinched them. When she moved her feet, the girls stomped their feet in unison as if they were puppets.

  The Reverend Noyes called out, “I believe it is apparent she practiseth witchcraft in the congregation.”

  Bethshua Pope threw her shoe and hit Goody Corey in the head!

  People around got worked up by the screaming and fits of the girls, and started shouting out stories adding to the evidence against Goody Corey. I sensed a whir of motion next to me. Mem had risen to her feet. I tugged at her dress to make her sit back down, but she shouted, “Goody Corey came to say Devil’s prayers to keep me sick after the witch Sarah Goode cursed me!”

  She said more, but I do not know what. My ears were dizzy with betrayal. Mine own sister had spoken against the woman who is like a mother to me! The rest of the examination was a blur. If only it were not real. If only the afflictions of the girls and the whole long, cold winter were a bad dream. If only the French and Indian Wars never happened, the charter never revoked, and I could wake up in Maine with my whole family, knowing that Truth, Honor, and Mercy still exist in the world!

  Perhaps they do. This was only the examination. The trial still lies ahead. The good Lord still has time to open the eyes of the judges. Mrs. Rowlandson never lost faith, nor shall I, though I be alone in my beliefs. Alone in the world. Oh, how my heart aches. I will never be able to trust Mem again.

  March ye 22nd

  These days I often look up from whatever I am doing to catch Mem looking at me. Sometimes she looks worried, and sometimes she looks suspicious. Her staring makes me nervous. This morning I snapped at her to keep her eyes to herself.

  She snapped right back, “Rubbish! I am my sister’s keeper, and I have let you mope long enough. You have not rubbed two words together in days. Did the Corey witch put a hex on your tongue so you cannot testify against her?”

  A hot feeling rushed through me. Without thinking, I flung the object in my hands at Mem. It sailed straight for her head, but she ducked and instead it landed on the hearth
with a resounding slap. We both watched in horror as it slid along toward the fire.

  It was the Bible. I had been reading from Proverbs.

  My body was paralyzed by the shock of what I had done. I could not move to rescue the volume from the flames. Mem dove upon the book, brushed it free of ashes, and slowly turned to me.

  “I do not know you anymore,” she said coldly. “I fear that you are a witch, or will soon become one.” She was echoing the words of William Goode in the examination of his wife! How could she!

  I wished the words would flow from me to assure her I am not a witch. To convince her that none of the women accused are guilty. But my tongue lay rooted like a stump. Mem shook her head at me in disgust, turned on her heel, and headed out for the Village to hear the examinations of Rebecca Nurse and little Dorcas Goode. Dorcas Goode! I suppose if the court will believe a saint and a baby are witches, they will believe witchery of anyone.

  Mem is all I have left in this world. She would not call me out as a witch to the court — would she?

  Wednesday ye 23rd of March

  It was a full moon last night, and apparently the witches were very busy, though I did not pay attention when Mem prattled on about who tried to get whom to sign the little red book.

  While she was at the examinations that I refuse to go to ever again, I propped the door open to let in the birdsong and the scent of spring. The fresh air invigorated me, and I felt moved to turn over the garden soil for planting. In the afternoon I dug up a bushel of tender new dandelion greens to fry in dried salt pork for supper. As I scrubbed the roots clean I caught myself humming. For a space of ten minutes I had forgotten that there is no joy in the world.