She jumped when she heard someone approaching from outside the room. Staring at the door, her heart slammed hard against her ribs, was she in the company of a madman? The whinny of a horse outside the window broke her concentration. Slowly she crept to the window and peered over the sill to the vast fields below.
* * * *
Rowen was trying to get back to Fern before she woke up. He’d been searching the house to make sure no one was home. He knew she would be waking up anytime and he didn’t want her to be alone. He took the narrow stairs two at a time until he stood outside the door. Opening it slowly he entered the room, swearing softly under his breath when the door handle clicked behind him. He didn’t want to wake her before he was ready. He had a lot to explain, and wasn’t sure how she was going to react. Creeping softly across the room, he peered into the bed. She was gone. Glancing around in desperation, he started to turn but was stopped by the cold hard barrel of his pistol. It was pushed against the base of his skull.
“
I don’t know what sort of sick game you’re playing, Mr. Nichols, but I’ve had about enough of it. I want you to tell me where the
hell
I am, then take me the
hell
home.” She must have been shaking because the barrel of the gun was rattling in her hand. Fact was, she was scared to death.
“
Put the gun down, Fern! I’ll explain, after you put the gun down.” Rowen had no idea if she had the barrel cocked. And as hard as she as shaking, any wrong move on his part could be disastrous. He gave himself a quick mental reminder to never leave his pistol behind again. He left it on the table next to the bed, thinking she could use it if she found herself in danger while he was gone. His good intentions did not include her shooting him. “Come on Fern, please.”
“
Give me one good reason why I should trust you, Rowen?”
“
Because you don’t have any other choice but to trust me right now, Fern. Did you look out the window? If you did, you would know by now that you aren’t home, and in fact, you aren’t even in the same century. So I repeat, give me the gun, Fern.”
Slowly Fern pulled the gun away from his skull and placed in on the table behind her. When he turned to face her she could see the anger she’d caused shining in his eyes. “Alright, I’m listening.”
Another mental note, watch Fern’s temper. He was right; when her hair fell down around her face and neck it did look like flames from a wildfire. He hadn’t met many redheaded women quite as alluring as she was; there was not one flaw on her creamy white skin. “Come sit down Fern, I promise not to touch you.”
Fern followed him to sit on the opposite side of the bed. Her temper was beginning to flare again, so she mentally counted backwards from ten to one hoping to divert some of it. “First, Rowen! I want to know where I am. I didn’t see any cars out front when I looked out the window. It looks like everyone is dressed in these ridiculous outfits, including yourself.” She let her eyes wander over his body as she spoke. “So I can only assume it is some sort of joke or you’re in some serious mental trouble. Second, why did you bring me here? And third, how did I get dressed in these clothes? Oh, and lastly, to humor you, what century are we in?”
“
This will not be easy for you, Fern. Besides not believing me, you probably will think I am insane. But I have no choice as we don’t have much time, only ten days, to be exact. So here it goes.” He watched her expression change from anger to amusement.
“
All right Rowen, get on with it.” She was growing impatient.
“
Take my hand Fern, walk with me to the window.” He held his hand out, waiting for her to join him. With her hand placed firmly in his, he led her to the window and pulled the curtains back. Looking at her sideways, he watched as her eyes started to adjust to what she was seeing. It was just getting dark, but there was enough light for her to see what he wanted her to see. “As you can see Fern, this isn’t Salem, Massachusetts 2004. What you are looking at down there is our hometown, but not the one you see everyday. Look at the people closely, and the children. That place out there is Salem, Massachusetts, but the year is now 1692.”
The
master
was crazy! As soon as she could escape she would make a beeline for the first police station she could find. Maybe they could get him some professional help. “Go on Rowen, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She squeezed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Leaving Fern to stare out the window, Rowen paced as he spoke. “Seventeen generations ago, our ancestors lived here. As they do now. Your ancestor was a woman by the name of Mary Wilds, and my ancestor was a man by the name of Jonathan Nichols.” He tried not to look at her as he told her the story; he knew how outlandish it all must sound. It made him feel somewhat stupid to repeat it out loud after keeping it a secret all these years. “Mary and Jonathan were in love. But couldn’t be with each other because Jonathan was already married.” He continued, and then frowned when her body shook from laughter. “Fern, I need you to try and listen without laughing. This is a very serious matter.”
“
Alright, I’m sorry, Rowen. I’ll try.” Fern put on a serious face then bite her tongue in an almost futile effort to stop her giggles.
“
According to records passed down from generation to generation, Mary was accused of witchcraft by Jonathan’s wife Sarah, when she discovered the affair. To make matters worse, Jonathan was the village magistrate, sworn to bring all accused witches to face punishment. Because Sarah was with child, Jonathan knew he had no choice but to bring Mary in to face her accuser.”
“
Rowen, please! How am I supposed to believe this?” Fern stopped laughing and was becoming concerned that she might be in serious trouble. Rowen could even be dangerous.
He rejoined her by the window, “Let me finish this, please.” He continued when she kept quiet. “Mary was not a witch, but her mother was. A few days after Mary was found guilty, she was taken to the center of the village and hung. Mary’s mother was so outraged, that she brought a curse upon Jonathan and Sarah. That curse was to be carried out by Mary’s descendent, you, Fern! Jonathan didn’t fear the curse because he thought Mary didn’t have any children. But she did. She’d become pregnant and had given birth several months before her execution. Jonathan didn’t know this, because her mother sent her away until the child was born, lest she be burned for adultery. As far as the records show Fern, your descendents were never told of the curse. But then you grew up in an orphanage, didn’t you. Do you remember your parents?”
“
No, I was just a baby when I was taken to the orphanage.” It was a part of her life she never spoke of and she didn’t intend to start now. “All right, you’ve gotten me curious enough to ask, Rowen, what is the curse?”
“
The curse incites the seventeenth generation of Mary and Jonathan. You and I are those descendents. Tomorrow is June 6
th
, according to legend you will fall into a spell and go through the wardrobe. The wardrobe belonged to Mary, it was a gift given to her by Jonathan in 1691. After you pass through the wardrobe, you will seek out Sarah and Jonathan and kill them before Sarah can accuse Mary of witchcraft. Then you will return to the future, oblivious of what you have done. If this is allowed to take place, Fern, I will cease to exist.”
“
How is it that you know of this, Rowen? Wouldn’t Mary’s mother make sure to pass this down to me first?” Fern couldn’t believe she was actually listening to his story. She could be in real danger, but the seriousness in his voice made her want to hear more.
“
You forget, Fern, Mary was sent away to give birth. Before her mother Elizabeth could get to the child, she was hung as a witch. The curse was passed down through my family.” He watched her expressions change as he told her the story. “Now you know why you were hearing the whispers in the wardrobe, Fern. You are its rightful owner.”
Glancing at the wardrobe where it now sat against the wall of the bedroom, Fern noticed how new it now looked. “All right Rowen, let’s say this is true. How do you plan on keeping me from killing Jonathan and Sarah? If it is a curse, then surely there is a way to break it.”
“
I’ve already stopped you from killing them, Fern. By bringing you here on the fifth of June, I have broken the first part of the curse. You had to be in the future, our future, to fall into the spell on the sixth of June. The only problem we have now is stopping Elizabeth from bringing the curse before it happens. If we don’t, then we will have to live this all over again seventeen generations from now.” He looked at her from underneath his eyelashes. “There is only one way to finish it for good, Fern.” He turned away from her. This was the part he had to lie to her about.
“
Well, don’t keep me in suspense, you’ve gone this far. You might as well tell me all of it.” Fern was thinking she must be insane for falling into his game. She watched him turn away and remove the white gloves from his hands, one finger at a time.
“
The only way for the curse to be broken for good, is if you and I fall in love before the day of Mary’s execution. Hatred is the only thing to bind the curse, without it, the curse will cease to exist.” At the sound of footsteps, he swore. He watched the door as it swung wide on its ancient, but new hinges. This house belonged to Mary’s mother. They’d come through the wardrobe into Mary’s room. If anyone were home, they would soon be found out.
“Damn it woman, you cannot go running off like this.”
Picking up the bag and gloves, he went in pursuit of Fern.
When Rowen reached the bottom stair he peered around each corner to make sure no one was there. Finding it quiet, he proceeded down the hall, and almost to the front entrance when he found her. She was standing in front of the fireplace, staring at a painting of a woman. He had to take a deep breath to halt the words in his throat. The woman was Fern, or at least she looked like Fern.
“
This is Mary, isn’t it, Rowen?” Fern asked as she stared at the painting.
“
It could only be! Fern, this house is Mary’s home. From the descriptions written in my family’s journals, that painting could only be her. It was also written that the seventeenth descendent would have a likeness to Mary. I had no idea it would be so strong.”
They both stood looking up at the painting in disbelief. The fire from the candles lit on the hearth were casting light up on it, giving it a ghostly appearance.
“
We really are here, aren’t we, Rowen?” She turned to him, confusion and fear written on her face.
“
Yes, we are. But, now we have to leave before we are found out. We have to find shelter until we can decide how to handle our predicament.”
“
Where will we go, Rowen, I saw what it looked like out there. There won’t be any place to hide.”
“
I know of a cave, situated just outside of the village. I used to play there when it was an old tire junkyard. I would think it would be there now, considering it was hundreds of years old then.” He became quiet when he heard someone approaching. “Let’s go, someone is coming.”
Fern ran behind Rowen until they stood just past the back entrance of the house. They waited in the bushes until they were sure they wouldn’t be seen. Before taking Rowen’s hand and following him through the woods, she turned one more time to look back. In the doorway of the house an old woman stood staring out toward their direction. “Rowen? Is she Mary’s mother?
“
I don’t know, Fern. Maybe, I guess, she could be. Come on, we need to move before it gets any darker.” He pulled her hand but she stood her ground.
“
Look at her, Rowen. It’s as if she knows we’re here.” Fern was grounded to her spot. The eyes, there was something about the old woman’s eyes that held her transfixed.
They stood staring until the old woman smiled. She was holding a bucket in her wrinkled hands that were crooked from arthritis. As she tossed the dirty water it had inside to the ground, she laughed wickedly before going back into the house. The last thing Fern heard was her voice, screeching loudly as it echoed inside.
CHAPTER THREE
“
Mary! Have you readied us our supper, child?” Creeping back in to sit by the fire, Elizabeth read from one of the great books of her ancestors, the witches of her past.
“
A sorrow greater than any of our past will fall against our blood. Our sister Mary will be taken unto death by the accusations of a scornful woman. We empower Mary’s mother, our sister Elizabeth to bring upon the ancestors of Mary’s accusers the sentence of death in any way she may see fit. A curse will be spoken from her lips on the 17
th
day of June 1692 given in our language for the 17
th
generation of Mary’s accuser and for Mary’s own 17
th
generation to carry forth.”
She’d been right, this girl named Fern who resembled her Mary was indeed the seventeenth generation. Come back early to stop the curse. Laughter shook her old bones, causing her rheumatism to flare painfully.