The Sacrifice (7 page)

Before she could reply, they arrived. The towns-folk milled around outside, their voices low, their eyes uneasy and wary. The children were strangely silent. Abigail could not remember such a troubled feeling in the town ever before.

Mistress Stevens came toward them. “Good morrow, Mistress Faulkner,” she said to Mama. “Is this not a most distressing business? To think that perhaps there are witches amongst us in Andover.”

“Let us hope, Mistress Stevens,” Mama said, “that there has been some mistake made here, and that the shapes these girls have seen are but shadows made in the candlelit rooms of our sick townsfolk.”

“Perhaps that is true, Mistress Faulkner,” Mistress Stevens replied, “but there is much happening in this town that I do find hard to explain.”

At this, she turned her eyes on Abigail’s father. Mama reached out and took Papa’s arm, holding tightly to it. Papa smiled slightly, but said nothing.

“Perhaps you aren’t looking hard enough for simple answers, Mistress Stevens,” Abigail spoke up. “The Lord explains all for us if we pray hard enough.”

Dorothy sucked in her breath at Abby’s insolence. Mama did not reprimand her, but instead seemed to be biting her lip to keep from smiling.

Mistress Stevens bristled at the rebuke and turned from them just as the younger minister of the town, Reverend Barnard, came out onto the steps of the meetinghouse.

“Abigail,” Mama whispered.

“I know,” Abby sighed. “I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help myself.”

Mama laughed softly.

“Let us all proceed inside,” Reverend Barnard said to the townspeople.

Aunt Elizabeth had come and stood beside
Abigail. Uncle Daniel was with her. “Where is your grandfather?”

Abigail shook her head. She, too, wondered why he was not there on this most awful of days.

As they had done so many times, the family entered the meetinghouse. Today, however, Abigail paused on the threshold of the house of the Lord. Would she see hell and damnation today? Would the devil see evil in her and take her as his servant too?

“Do not tarry so, Abby,” Paul hissed at her.

Abigail started, realizing that she had been blocking the entrance to the meetinghouse like some fainthearted coward. Lifting her head high, she followed her family up the aisle and sat down on the hard wooden pew.

When at last they brought the girls in, a murmur arose from the townsfolk. They craned their necks to get a better look at the girls who had been touched by the devil. Even Abigail rose from her seat, until she felt Mama’s hand on her arm, tugging at her so that she would sit down.

The girls looked normal. Their hair was neatly
brushed, their clothes clean and tear-free, their faces unmarked by the devil. Then suddenly they began to cry out, to moan and tear at their hair and pinch their arms. Abigail jumped at the suddenness of it all, and Franny, beside her, began to shake. The congregants shifted uneasily in their places.

“Mama,” Franny whimpered, “why do these girls act so?”

“They say they are tormented by the devil, pinched by him, and made to suffer by him,” Mama whispered. “They claim that they are tortured until his witches lay their hands upon them. Then and only then does their suffering end.”

“Is it so, Mama?” Paul whispered loudly across the aisle from the men’s side of the meetinghouse.

“It’s nonsense,” Papa said, bouncing Edward on his knee.

Mama nodded her head in agreement. “In truth, Paul,” she whispered back across to him, “I believe their stories to be false.”

Abigail stared in fascination as the girls were led to the front of the room, moaning and groaning and crying out. Was the devil there? Maybe Mama and
Papa were wrong, and the devil was indeed in the meetinghouse sitting somewhere near to her.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Grandpappy. He had come in a side door and gone to the back of the meetinghouse. Abigail could see he was troubled, yet he said nothing, only stood and watched as the younger minister conducted the meeting. Abigail remembered her grandfather’s words about believing that the girls were only playing a game.

Still, she had to admit, if they were playing, their acting was skillful. The girls’ moans grew incredibly loud, and Abigail reached up and covered her ears, her eyes still fastened on them. Mama gave her a sharp look, and Abigail lowered her hands to her lap. But her heart beat rapidly, and her palms were sweaty. She hated the unaccustomed feeling of fright, but the girls’ shrieks were gruesome.

“I stand before ye with Ann Putnam and Mary Walcott of Salem Village,” said Reverend Barnard. “These girls, having late been touched by the devil, have come to seek out his presence in Andover. Because we are a God-fearing town, we do most urgently wish to rid our town of any devilry, should
it exist. Therefore, in all fairness, we will choose at random from this congregation, blindfold them, and bring them forth to see if any of us are a witch.”

With this, Elder Stevens came around to the first of the pews. He motioned to one of the towns-people to step forward, and then placed a blindfold over the man’s eyes so that if the man were consorting with the devil, he would be unable to turn an evil eye on the girls when he touched them.

Watching the man being led forward, Abigail felt hope return. If the test was to be random, maybe they would not be chosen at all.

The deacons came and stood by different pews, motioning for first one and then another to rise up and present himself or herself to the girls. Abigail watched as various townsfolk walked to the front of the meetinghouse. One by one, Elder Stevens blindfolded each person, then took his or her hand and drew it toward Ann Putnam or Mary Walcott.

At first, nothing happened. The girls continued to twist and moan. But then it was Mistress Osgood’s turn to stretch out her hand, and suddenly, Mary Walcott was still.

The quiet astounded everyone. Abigail stared at Mistress Osgood. Was she a witch? How was this possible? She made coverlets that she said were inspired by God. They were known to be works of art. Abigail herself had spent many afternoons learning to stitch with gentle Mistress Osgood.

“But I am innocent. I am not a witch!” Mistress Osgood cried as her blindfold was removed. Justice Bradstreet nodded for her to follow him.

“Please,” she begged, “let me take another turn. Something is amiss here! I am no witch!”

Reverend Barnard nodded. Again, Mistress Osgood’s hand was drawn toward one of the girls, and again, quiet settled in the meetinghouse. Mistress Osgood began to weep. Abigail was amazed.

But more were to follow. Samuel Wardwell quieted one of the girls, and so did William Barker. The girls were quieted by many of the townsfolk, as if these people had it in their power to end the girls’ suffering!

Abigail looked at these people, these neighbors. Had they been living right next to her and yet working with the devil? Or were the girls lying, choosing
victims at random? Did the girls speak the truth or did Grandpappy? Why did he not say something, if he believed they were lying?

Abigail turned to look for her grandfather. He stood quietly at the back, his eyes fixed on the events occurring at the front of the meetinghouse. He seemed barely able to breathe.

“This is absurd,” Mama said. “These people are not witches.”

Abigail saw that a deacon was now approaching them. His face was pale but stern, and she knew at once that they were not to be passed over. Even the minister’s family must take its turn. Especially the minister’s family. The deacon nodded toward both sides of the aisle.

“The whole family?” Mama asked indignantly.

He nodded again.

Abigail rose with the rest of her family. She looked at Papa. He twitched slightly.
Please, Papa,
Abby prayed,
stay well
.

“Walk proudly, children,” Mama whispered.

She followed the others toward the front of the meetinghouse. Franny went first, whimpering as
they pulled her hand toward the girls, her eyes blindfolded. The girls continued to twist and groan and cry.

Next was Paul, and then Dorothy, neither of whom caused a change in either girl. Then it was Abigail’s turn. The blindfold was placed over her eyes, and she could see nothing. She felt Elder Stevens take her hand firmly in his. Abigail’s lip quivered. Yet why should she be frightened? She was not a witch.

She drew a deep breath and pushed her hand out to touch one of the girls.

Nothing. Nothing happened. The girl continued her moaning and crying.

Abigail’s breathing returned to normal as she was led away and the blindfold taken from her eyes. But then she realized that Mama and Papa had yet to go. She turned to watch.

Mama reached out boldly and touched Mary Walcott. Nothing.

Papa, too, reached out on his own and touched Ann Putnam. Ann’s cries lessened for a moment. Abigail heard Dorothy draw in her breath, but then
Ann cried out, even louder than before. Papa was passed on. Their family had made it through the test.

Abigail turned to look at the ones who had quieted the girls, the ones who had been accused of being witches. Standing in the corner with Justice Bradstreet, who was signing petitions for their arrest, were more than half a dozen people, their eyes betraying their bewilderment and dismay.

Abigail slipped her hand inside her mother’s and squeezed hard. Mama squeezed back. Yet Abigail was still uneasy.
If there had been so many witches living in this tiny town,
she wondered,
how had the town of Andover ever had one normal day? Was it possible for this much evil to exist in so small a community? Or were these good neighbors and friends only caught up in some awful game?

Abigail was grateful that they were not among those who must now prove their innocence. The danger for the Faulkner family was past. That was truly what she believed.

At first Mama refused to listen
to Abigail and her brother and sisters begging for news of the accused. She refused to discuss the gossip that was being told around the village. She wouldn’t let the chores wait for even an hour so they could visit the families of the accused and find out what was happening to them in prison as they awaited their trial.

But after two weeks, even Mama seemed unable to contain her curiosity about the events in the village.

“Paul,” she called one day, “run on down to the meetinghouse and see if you can find your grandfather. Pray tell him that we would be most happy to have him join us for supper.”

Dorothy and Abigail looked at each other but said nothing.

“Abby,” Franny whispered, “if Grandpappy comes, will he have news of the witches?”

“I believe so,” Abigail said.

Her sister went back to her mending, but Abigail could see that her hands were trembling. Since the day in the meetinghouse when Franny had been forced to touch the hand of Ann Putnam, her sister had lived in fear that the witches of Andover would soon come to get her.

“Fear not, Franny,” Abigail said. “Grandpappy will not bring the witches with him, only news of them.” She imagined Grandpappy climbing up the hill from town, dozens of witches in tow behind him, and she laughed at the thought.

“I don’t see what is so funny,” Franny muttered, “just because you are not frightened of the devil.”

“Oh, I am frightened of the devil, sister,” Dorothy put in. “I just do not believe the devil works with Mistress Osgood.”

“But if he does,” Abigail said, smiling, “then the devil will be guaranteed a most beautiful coverlet in which to wrap himself up.”

Dorothy and Abigail broke out into giggles at the
thought of Mistress Osgood stitching the devil a coverlet.

“You should not have such sport at Mistress Osgood’s expense,” Franny said softly, her hands shaking. “When I think of her now, I think of her in that jail in Salem Town.”

This quieted Abigail and Dorothy. The Salem Town Prison, in Salem Town proper, was a few miles from Salem Village, where the accused girls lived. It was said to be a dark and dank place, full of rancid smells and all kinds of horrible things. Abigail was truly sorry for Mistress Osgood.

“You are quite right, Franny,” Dorothy said quietly. “It was unthinking of Abigail and me to forget that fact.”

Several minutes later, Paul came in the door, his face flushed from having run downhill to the meeting-house and back. “Grandpappy says he will be here for supper, but that he may be late and we must not wait for him.”

“Thank you, Paul,” Mama said. “Let us hurry, girls. Papa will be in from the fields soon. Dorothy, leave your spinning and see to the fire.”

A cry sounded from upstairs.

“Abigail, please fetch down Edward for me, and see to his changing should he need it,” Mama bade her. “It is most difficult for me to manage the stairs these days.”

Abigail nodded, looking at Mama’s swelling belly. In the last few weeks, the baby had begun to move about. Mama had let Abigail lay her hand on her belly and feel the gentle tapping of her new brother or sister.

Abigail loved that feeling. “I believe he is telling me good morrow,” Abigail had said.

Mama had laughed. “He or she says good morrow in a gentle fashion now, Bear. But give it a few more weeks and this baby will be drumming out its greetings upon my belly. I remember well how you pressed upon me, and how I rubbed like this to quiet you.” Mama had rubbed where the baby had fluttered.

Abigail had smiled, glad that even with the new baby, Mama remembered carrying her. Mama had then kissed her on the forehead and risen to tend to the fire.

Now Abigail hurried up the stairs to take care of Edward. He was just waking, stirring wildly in his cradle, which was growing too small for him.

“Just in time, Edward. You shall be out of this cradle and into an underbed,” Abigail said, smiling at him.

She picked him up and put her nose to his behind. Abigail groaned. Edward would need changing, and that was a task she hated.

From downstairs, she heard Papa come in for supper. Then she heard her grandfather’s voice. She wondered why he was so early when he had told Paul that he would be late.