Page 32 of Damnation
Letting the bowl sit in the light, I close my eyes as I imagine her healing, imagine the sickness inside her being pulled out from the power of the light. I continue these images for severalhours, until I grow tired and unfocused. Then, I lift the bowl to her mouth.
“Drink, drink,” I whisper in encouragement.
Elizabeth blinks up at me, her sweat dotted face looking more sickly by the moment as she parts her lips and takes small sips. I nod at her to continue, and she does as I ask before I pull the bowl away from her.
I rub my hand gently upon her back, and she smiles at me weakly before returning to her position. All I can hope is that I was successful.
“Y-you really are a w-witch, aren’t you?” Roger Toothaker shakes from the corner.
He, too, looks to be sick with the fever.
“No, but I know remedies to help those who need it,” I say as I lift the water, gesturing to him.
He snarls at me as if I have offended him. Surely the physician he is thinks nothing of my methods.
“Keep away from me! I want nothing to do with whatever you concocted over there. You are no healer. You gave her but water you muttered over.”
I do not argue with him, for I have not the energy. So, I place the bowl down and return to Dorothy’s sleeping side.
My eyes do not miss the way Roger stares at the bowl longingly as a coughing fit takes over. The stubbornness inside of him does not allow him to move, though. It bothers me none as I close my eyes, continuing to visualize. This time, ‘tis not for Elizabeth’s health, but mine and Dorothy’s freedom.
Chapter Fourteen
Thomas
June 29th 1692
My palms have been sweating, my hand trembling for weeks in anticipation for this day. ‘Tis one I knew was coming, yet prayed it would be held off. I have overseen many trials, many accusations, and hangings. Though this is the one I have long feared, for I ought not know how to feel of such.
Today is the final trial for Sarah Good, as well as others. Though she is the only one I care for. I have instructed the jailer to keep me informed on her condition. He wrote to me Monday of last week, speaking of how her pregnancy has advanced. She can often not stand on her own and requires aid. Elizabeth Booth has been an ally to her since recovering from a sickness and has looked afteryoung Dorothy as well. That brings me peace, along with guilt, for it should be me taking care over those girls. I would like to speak on why I am not, I just…my mind is not well. These thoughts and truths all blend together, leaving me unsure of where to go or what to do. The only thing I can think to do is stay the course, seek out evil, and deliver peace. ‘Tis the notion that allows me sleep at night, at least.
My writing is sloppy upon this horse, but it helps to release my thoughts onto parchment. As if I am allowing them to be set free. When I arrive at the jail in Ipswich, unease fills me as myself and several others dismount and journey towards the entrance.
One by one, names are called out as we collect our charges. Sarah is the last, and she looks to Dorothy with tear filled eyes, promising her all will be well. A promise I made and broke not too long ago.
I keep my emotions steady as I allow her to walk first out the door. My eyes cannot help but take in the way she walks, the weight of her child too much to bear on her thin frame.Ourchild.
Memories of impassioned nights beside the creek flash behind my eyes as I do. What a different time that feels like. A time of excitement and joy, peace, love…if I could do anything, turn back time, I’d go back to nights like those. I’d have taken Sarah into my arms, and we’d have run as planned. Never to look back. A fantastical plan like that has no promise now. Everything has changed, I have changed, I have no doubt she has as well.We are not those people anymore, and though I know that is my blame to bear, there is no undoing it.
The accused begin walking on foot, chains in hands of the men here for them, but I will not allow Sarah to walk. Helping her upon the horse, I rest my hand onto her belly before it moves. I startle as our eyes meet, and I keep my hand in place. Again, a kick, hard enough to practically feel a whole foot through her. A tear falls down her face, matching a deep sadness inside of me.
My hand rubs against her belly, as if a way to soothe it in such. Soon, the baby settles, and Sarah pulls herself upon the horse. We ride in silence for quite some time until I speak lowly for only our ears to listen.
“When will you give birth?”
For a moment, I do not think she will grant me a response. I should see no reason why I deserve one, and am accepting of such, until her sweet voice rings out into my ear.
“I imagine soon. The baby feels as if it has flipped, and I have begun feeling the practice pains.”
I nod at that, swallowing roughly as I ask the thing on my mind I ought not speak.
“I would like to be there, for the birth. To hold your hand, hold the baby. If you will allow it.”
She turns to look at me, indignation in her features.
“Whatever for?”
I open my mouth to speak, though I do not have a word that comes to mind. She turns away to face forward once more as she speaks.
