Witch Hunt (5 page)

“How do you feel?” Margaret asked.

“I’m floating,” Bridget said.

Priscilla giggled. “Happy.”

“Good, because we’re going on a journey together.”

“Where?” Priscilla asked.

“Hush. Listen to me, and speak only if I ask you to.”

“Yes, Mother,” Priscilla said.

Bridget slapped the table. “She said
hush
.”

Margaret grinned and waited for them to settle down. “Now, close your eyes and listen to what I have to say.”

The girls obeyed.

Margaret spoke slowly. “When we’re born, the gods send us into this world with the spirit of an animal to be our protector and guide. This animal is with us all our lives, even if we never see it. Most people don’t know this, but our ancestors taught us about the power we can gain if we meet our guide. Today you’re going to take a journey to find your animal. Are you ready to explore?”

Bridget nodded, but Priscilla didn’t. Concerned, Margaret took Priscilla’s hand and felt the blood pulse at the wrist; it was strong. Relieved that she hadn’t given the child too powerful a dose of the herb, she continued.

“I want you to see a cave. It doesn’t matter what kind of cave it is; it can be a dark, mysterious cave or a bright cave full of crystal rock and dancing light. But you must find a cave and go inside.”

She gave them a few minutes to follow her instructions.

“Now, inside your cave, find a hill and walk down it, and keep walking further and further down into the earth until you can go no further.”

She paused again. She noted that both girls’ closed eyes were fluttering. That told her their journeys were proceeding well.

“When you’ve reached the bottom, look around for an entranceway into the inner world.” She paused. “Pass through it and look for the animal waiting there to greet you.” She paused again. “Talk to it. Touch it. Hug it. Ask its name.”

Margaret gave them time to befriend their animals before calling them back home.

Margaret’s voice brought Bridget around, but she had to shake Priscilla awake; she wanted them to revive quickly and remember.

“It was an owl, Mother,” Bridget said, her voice sleepy. “A beautiful owl with bright eyes and huge wings. I climbed on its back, and it took me flying over the trees. It was so wonderful.”

“What was its name?”

“Moonlight.”

“And yours, Prissy? What was your animal?”

Priscilla couldn’t quite keep her eyes open, but she managed to answer. “It was a little doe. We ran together in the field. She was sweet and pretty.”

“What did she call herself?”

“Samara.”

“Good. You both did well, but there are some rules about your animals that you must follow. First, you must never tell anyone else — anyone except your father, of course — what your animal is, or that you even have an animal. Do you understand?”

They both nodded.

“Second, you won’t need the herb to visit that world again. Now you can go there simply by imagining your secret cave. After a time, you won’t even need to journey; you can just close your eyes and be there. Will you visit it again and again until you can go there easily?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“And finally, I want you to practice calling your animal — Moonlight and Samara — to you. Make it come into your world to be here for you. There may come a time when you’ll need its help.”

“You mean Moonlight will appear and fly around here?” Bridget asked.

“Yes, but it’s likely that only you will see it. Sometimes a very powerful animal can manifest to others, but most likely it’ll be in the form of one of its cousins already in this world.”

“Like the owl in the barn?”

Margaret nodded. “The owl in the barn may let Moonlight share its body to help you in some fashion.”

“Like how?” Bridget asked.

“Well, it can act as messenger for you. Or protect you.”

Bridget smiled. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

“You must never harm any of your animal’s reflections in this world,” Margaret said. “And you, Prissy, can never eat venison again. Otherwise you’ll offend your animal and it will desert you.”

“How do I call Samara?” Priscilla asked.

“Silently. You always call out silently,” Margaret said.

Bridget laughed. “This will be fun.”

Margaret looked at her daughters with compassion. What seemed like a new toy could well turn into a deadly game someday. That was the lot of every person with true power who lived in a world that didn’t understand. She hoped her daughters would never have to find that out for themselves, but she feared otherwise.

Margaret helped her daughters upstairs to their beds so they could sleep away the effects of the herb.

“Do you have an animal?” Bridget asked as she was being tucked in beneath the covers.

Margaret nodded. “A snake.”

“What’s its name?”

Her snake had a name she couldn’t repeat to the girls. It would not be wise. She kissed Bridget and then Priscilla, who was already fast asleep by her side.

Before leaving, Margaret removed two pieces of cheesecloth from her pocket and tied one on each of the posts at the head of the bed. As the cloth strained food in her kitchen, so it would now act as a sieve for the children’s dreams. It was time their nonsensical dreams gave way to dreams of the old knowledge. “Rest well, my daughters, and dream ancient dreams of power.”

The constable came for Margaret in late April.

Cherry blossoms clung to trees in white splendor, violets and cowslips dotted the grassy yard with color, and robins, redwing blackbirds, and bobolinks danced and sang together in celebration of the renewal of life when the constable’s wagon pulled up in front of the Hawthornes’ house.

Margaret and her daughters were planting seeds in the outdoor herb garden beside the house. William, Phip, and Catch had just come in from the fields for dinner — their midday meal — and were washing away the dirt from their labor in a bucket of water.

The constable stepped down off the wagon. “Goodwife Hawthorne?”

She stood and wiped the dirt from her hands. “Yes.”

He approached and grabbed her arm. “I have a warrant for your arrest.” He yanked her into motion. “Come on, then.”

William stepped forward. “On what charge do you arrest my wife?”

“The charge of witchcraft.”

William lunged for the constable.

“No!” Margaret shouted. “Don’t be a fool, man.”

“Mother!” Phip ran toward her, but William quickly stepped in front of him and swept him up into his arms.

Phip reached for Margaret, while Catch growled at the constable.

Bridget burst into tears.

Priscilla stamped her foot. “Let her go, you bad man!”

The constable bound Margaret’s hands with leather straps and shoved her up into the back of the wagon.

“Don’t leave us, Mother.” Phip struggled in William’s arms.

Catch barked and charged the wagon. The constable scrambled for the wagon seat, but Catch managed to nip his leg. The constable grabbed a length of rope from the seat next to him and lashed out at the dog with it.

“You devil dog! You vile witch animal!”

The whipping made Catch more riled.

Margaret realized what was going to happen and yelled to the girls, “Get Catch!”

Bridget raced to the animal, quickly restrained him, and started to lead him away.

“No you don’t, little girl. Bring that devil dog here.”

Trembling, Bridget looked at her mother.

Margaret feared for her children, so she nodded.

Reluctantly, Bridget returned Catch to the constable. He made a noose in the end of a rope and slipped it over the dog’s head. Catch growled again, but when the constable pulled the noose tight, it made him yelp. The constable laughed, looking around for the nearest sturdy tree limb. He found it on a nearby maple. He dragged the yelping dog to the tree, threw the rope over the limb, and pulled on it, lifting the dog off the ground.

Phip shrieked and tried to wiggle from William’s grasp.

Priscilla ran toward Catch.

Horror filled Margaret. “Stop her, Bridget!”

Bridget reached for Priscilla, but she was only able to hold onto her for a few moments before she broke free.

The dog, hanging three feet above the ground by its neck, made desperate gurgling sounds and thrashed about in the air.

The constable snickered. “We hang witch dogs just like we hang witch bitches.” He turned and gave Margaret a look of triumph. “It just takes a little longer to get the likes of you to the noose, that’s all.”

Too late, Margaret saw Priscilla descend on the constable. “No, Prissy!”

Priscilla kicked the constable with all her might.

He grunted. “Ah, so you’re one, too, huh?” With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed her; with his other hand, he yanked down hard on the rope and broke the dog’s neck, then let the rope go slack. Catch fell to the earth in a lifeless heap. The constable threw Priscilla to the ground and bound her kicking feet as well as her hands, then tossed her as if she were a sack of flour into the back of the wagon alongside Margaret.

When the wagon moved, Margaret cried out in anguish. She looked at William, whose cheeks were wet with tears. She saw the pain in his eyes and felt his heart. He had wanted to save Catch. He ached to free Margaret and Prissy. But, he had to consider the safety of Phip and Bridget, too.

Margaret clung to his love. No matter what the authorities did to them, they could not destroy that.

Baby Grace Weston died in her cradle of no apparent cause, as Margaret knew she would. In the witchcraft hysteria that had seized Salem Village, the death was not as easily dismissed as it would have been in another time. Susanna blamed the herbal brew that Margaret prescribed and she had administered. The young girls of the village whose “visions” were the basis for most of the witchcraft arrests, found their imaginations primed by Susanna’s plight. They “called out” on Margaret and she was quickly arrested.

Margaret and Priscilla were taken to jail in the nearby town of Ipswich, where they were held until they could be examined and officially charged with their crimes.

The preliminary hearing for Margaret and Priscilla was scheduled for the Monday following their arrest. It was held in the large meetinghouse in Salem Village, and Samuel Sheldon was the magistrate assigned to conduct the hearings. There was a bar of justice at which the accused stood to face the accusers; the accusers were a row of teenage girls who sat on a bench in front of the auditorium. The room itself was filled to capacity by throngs of people eager to enjoy the scandal in their midst.

William left Phip at home in the care of Bridget, and went to the meetinghouse to stand with his wife and daughter. It frightened him to expose himself to the accusers, but it frightened him more not to stand with his family. He had always been their guardian and protector.

Dressed in his best blue suit, a black hat, and black shoes, he walked into the meetinghouse as confidently as he was able. The room was already filled, and upon his arrival an excited buzz of voices spread among the spectators. He closed his mind to their ridicule. His jaw tightened, his lips drew thin, and he fought back his anger. How many of these women’s babies had Margaret brought into the world? How many of the mothers would have died in the birthing without Margaret’s knowledge and skill? Where was their gratitude and respect?