Page 31 of Damnation
“Silence!” he snaps, turning to face the men for half a second before softening his face to me once more.
“Please, the father of your unborn would never recover from the loss of you two, I can assure it.”
I laugh bitterly at his choice of words, so careful not to allow his true affections show.
“Trust in me, the father does not care for either of us. He has made that known.”
I close my eyes, shaking my head up to the sky as I ready myself to slit my throat when I feel my arm snatched away from my neck. Thomas grapples for the knife before twisting my arm in an unnatural way. A scream rips from my chest as my hand releases the knife. It thunks to the ground hollowly as I begin to weep. Despite our audience, Thomas whispers reassurances into my ear as his hand rubs my back soothingly.
“It will be alright. Allow me to help you onto the horse. Let us get you back to Dorothy, yes?”
I sniff and nod, another cry escaping me as Thomas lifts me into his arms and carries me back to the horses.
“Should have let her rid herself,” Hutchinson says as Lewis nods his agreement.
Thomas ignores them, setting me upon the horse before climbing up himself. From there, we ride the rest of the way in silence. My tears have long dried, but the pain inside me never fades. Not when we arrive, nor when Thomas’s hand leaves mine, and certainly not when he gives me one last look of longing before shutting the iron barred door, leaving the jail with Sarah Osborne in his custody.
Chapter Twelve
Thomas
June 10th 1692
The guilt I faced leaving Sarah in that jail cell yet again has waned with the days that have passed. I have found that if I do not visit, I do not think of her often. I know what type of man that makes me to be, but so be it. There are bigger issues afoot than just my affections. Salem has been plagued with witchcraft. Far worse than we ever imagined. Reverend Noyes has been key in sorting out the sinners from the innocent. Some have been acquitted, but most are guilty, and rightfully so.
My daughter Ann has been afflicted by many since speaking out, and many other girls are facing the same fate at the hands of vengeful witches in hiding. At first, I believed this to be a game that Abigail and Betty had invented to pass the days. Ido not believe Ann would play along in such matters, and I shall not allow it to escalate to my other kin. The fear, the terror, the evil among us. ‘Tis real, ‘tis dangerous, and it threatens to destroy us all.
Bridgette Bishop has been accused of afflicting my Ann, and today she faces judgment for such actions. She is the first to be sentenced, the first of many I foresee. God is ever present among us on this holy day, as we extinguish the flames of evil, one witch at a time.
Looking up from my journal, I tuck it away and look to the rope dangling from the tree where George Corwin wraps the end around her neck. The woman sobs in anguish as he does so, while Walcott keeps the horse beneath her steady.
“Bishop, what say you? You stand here charged with sundry acts of witchcraft committed upon the bodies of Ann Putnam, Mercy Lewis, and others,” Hathorne says.
“I am innocent. I know nothing of it! I have performed no witchcraft…I am as innocent as the child unborn!” she protests.
I shake my head as Parris scoffs beside me. Not a soul in the crowd believes her lies as Hathorne nods to George. He takes a step back as Walcott does the same before Corwin’s hand slaps the behind of his horse, sending it running and her falling. Her neck breaks with a loud snap that causes gasps to echo through the crowd. Griggs approaches the dangling body, searching for a pulse before officially pronouncing her dead.
Women and children hide their faces as some of the weaker men turn green. Not me. Instead of sorrow or sadness at a life lost, I feel relief, pleasure even. Twas not an innocent life losttoday, but a demonic one. One that we should all be glad to be rid of. I pray for more reveals, more executions. Death to all witches, I say.
My words have trouble matching my insides, though. I can feel all of this, believe every word of what the court says, and still feel doubt when it comes to my Sar…Mrs. Good. A small piece of me hopes she is acquitted, though I know any hope at our future is all but burnt to ashes, I still think of her often. Think of our growing child. Though I do my best to banish such thoughts as they pain me so.
I am doing right by my village, my family. I must put all before myself. No matter how much I desire the opposite.
Chapter Thirteen
Sarah
Ihave gone back and forth to Salem Village many times since my first day in trial. Each time, I refuse to allow them to hear what they desire. I’m so thankful ‘tis that way too. In the beginning, Thomas urged me to comply, to accept the charges of witchcraft and hope they will spare me. I know that not to be true, though. Bridgette Bishop has been hung, a kind older woman who has never looked wrong at another. If she had little hope, then what fate may lie with me?
Dorothy has begun to lose weight despite the rations I provide her. ‘Tis not enough. My little girl’s light is dimming, and I am unable to help it. Though selfishly, I am joyous to be with her, I fear for what fate shall meet her. At first, she did not know why she was brought here. Then she was brought to trial, where she later explained Ann Putnam had accused her of witchcraft. I do not know why it hurt so much to hear that. Ann is a mirror image of her mother, in looks and actions. I have no doubt twas her mother who planted the very idea. Still, I cannot banish the thought that if Thomas wanted to, he could have intervened. He promised to love and care for Dorothy as his own, and this is the treatment she receives? That I?
He has not been back since delivering me from my trial. In these months, it has allowed me time to think and finally see with open eyes. His words were a farce, his intentions hollow. He desired a distraction, a mistress, and I so foolishly became that for him. I was desperate for freedom, for love, I fell for his tricks, and now here I rot, his child growing inside me, and my own dying daughter in result.
My discomfort grows with the day, and if this baby grows the same way as Dorothy did, I expect the birth within a few fortnights. I know not what to think of that. ‘Tis one thing to live with his child inside me, but to look upon its face? I am unsure what feelings will arrive. Will it be joy? For the gift of God is truly something to be celebrated. Or will I feel anger? Pain? Sorrow? I wish to hold the baby inside for as long as I am able, because I have no desire to find out.
A sickly sounding cough rasps through the cell, and I look over to see Elizabeth Booth curled into herself. She is shaking as if she is cold and moaning in pain. Checking to ensure Dorothy is asleep, I slip beside her, feeling her head with the back of my hand. ‘Tis the fever indeed. The conditions in here are less than poor, and many are beginning to pass away from such. Sarah Osborne died a quick yet painful death of the very same, I gathered. Though I hope God shall not judge me too harshly, for I made no effort to heal her. Still, from what I can tell, I would imagine Elizabeth does not have long.
Reaching for the bowl of murky water, I place it into the sliver of moonlight pouring in from the slatted window high above us. ‘Tis a full moon tonight, which means if I have any chance of achieving success, tonight is the night to do so.
