started terrible persecutions, even before he became James the First of England. That was the early 1600s, and by the middle of the century, it was getting truly wretched. I mean, really — just what gave so many of those men their absolute superiority, their certainty that they knew what God wanted?
I watched friends and neighbors fall, begging to be put to death. And, you see, in Scotland, they burned witches, while they hanged them in England. It wasn’t supposed to be a particularly painful death — a good man strangled a witch first — but the burning purified everything, you see. Makes sense, huh?
However, when I heard a group of religious reformers had moved across the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, I decided it was time for me to go, too.
Here, of course, I question my own stupidity and reason. The voyage itself was positively unbearable — I admit to playing mind games myself, and leaving the ship, soaring high above it in spirit and peace while those aboard vomited violently, caught fevers, and died. Many a body was cast to the sea, and I thought, when my time came, if it should in the earthly realm, I would like to be cast back to the sea, the cradle of life, so many believed.
Then, at last, we came to the shores of New England, and I thought I had found my place, a bit out of the major town, in the area just south of what they were calling Marblehead.
At first, I was quite happy, even though I wasn’t fond of being called “Goody” Stuart. My given name is Melissa, and I’m rather fond of it. Of course, I managed to befriend a new group of people who hadn’t known me; I was starting fresh. I was, as ever, in my first year of my twenties, and I was, if I do say so myself, quite beautiful. I had the bright blue eyes that marked many a Scot, and the near pitch-black hair that went so well with them. I was lithe, full of health and radiance, and happy in my new world. I was fond of the native population, who all seemed to recognize something in me, and I got along quite well with my neighbors in the woods, even when the others of “my” kind were busy with their guns and swords and armor, defending themselves.
Then again, I am a creature of the underworld, that underworld which must not be acknowledged, or, if so, imagined as nothing short of sin.
I didn’t see myself as sinful; I saw myself as happy, appreciative of God’s great wonder in the world. Of course, to me, that wonder did come to include an extremely handsome young man known as Caleb Martin.
Caleb was one of those reformers who had come to the New World. He didn’t believe in idolatry; he did believe in hard work and the goodness of man.
I am a creature of the flesh. I was madly in love with the man — and in love with his flesh — and I didn’t need a license to enjoy it. But here I was, playing the game of the “Godly” and the religious, and when he wanted marriage, I agreed.
There was one snag. We had to apply for our marriage, and the “law” in the area was a man named Samuel Bridgewater. He had come across the Atlantic for freedom of religion — but he quickly expelled any man who didn’t believe in
I almost acted up then, and I suppose I should have. But I was in love. And Caleb believed strongly in his God, and in his community. I believed in Caleb.
Things might have gone badly. On board the ship that had brought us, Samuel had suggested to me that since I was from Scotland, and new to the group, I should consent to be his wife. He could protect me in the New World. I was saved from this fate worse than death when Caleb happened upon us with several of the other men, and Samuel was forced to withdraw. Caleb’s love for me was obvious, and with everyone seeing our true love and devotion, Samuel Bridgewater could either give us his consent to marry — or show his true colors as lecherous old bastard. Samuel Bridgewater wanted power more than he wanted me.
I noticed soon after that Samuel Bridgewater turned his focus and attention on Caleb’s sister, Elizabeth.
But she was in love, too, with a handsome young fellow named Josiah.
And, when we came to the New World, it seemed we would live happily. Elizabeth married her Josiah, and I had my precious Caleb.
We were living, in my mind, a wonderful life. Caleb went off by day to work our fields; we built a charming house with friends. We were by the sea, and I’d seldom seen anything more beautiful than the whitecaps crashing against the coast. In time, Caleb took to the sea occasionally, but I was never afraid; I would follow him at times in spirit, soaring over those whitecaps and watching the men as they sought to evade pirates and find the great catch. I knew that Caleb would always come home to me.
And then we would have those nights. I’d see the look in his eyes when he returned to land, and I would quickly be in his arms, and by night I would watch the firelight play upon his bronzed flesh, and I would be in ecstasy, wondering only how I would explain myself when the years went by, and wishing there were some magic that could turn him to what I was, and that we could be together forever.
Elizabeth and Josiah lived nearby, and she gave birth to a lovely little girl, and I stood in the church again as she was baptized, and I looked at the radiance in Elizabeth’s eyes, and I was sorry that Caleb and I would never know such magic. Caleb didn’t seem to care. We were happy together.
Happiness, apparently, can’t be an eternal state. Caleb and I took a trip to the north; somehow, my darling Caleb, like myself, had an affinity with the native population, and he had been asked to negotiate with a tribal council. I enjoyed our trip, especially heading up to Gloucester, where, once again, the natural beauty of the earth seemed joyous itself.
I suppose I should add here that one flaw to our lives, in my mind, was the ten hours we spent each Sunday listening to the various preachers in church. I mean, seriously, if there were devils living in the woods, making pacts with young girls, I would have known about it. But that’s the way it was. I had cast my lot with a group that seemed to believe that they knew what God was saying when other men did not understand.
I sat there many a Sunday silently longing to tell them that they didn’t have any better communication with God than any other man, including the “pagan redskins” they thought to be such terrible sinners, no better than beasts, sure to rot in the fires of hell when they passed. I kept my silence, because I was in love with the beauty of the coast, and Caleb.
So it was that we returned from our trip up the coast to find that Elizabeth had been arrested — for witchcraft.
Two local girls swore that they’d seen her with a cloven-hoofed devil in the woods; he’d had a book, and she’d signed it, stripped off her clothing, and started dancing in the woods.
Samuel Bridgewater was our local judge, magistrate — power. He truly believed that he had the ear of God, and that God had given him complete authority in matters of sin and heresy and all such other rot. Bridgewater had nearly caused the extinction of our kind in the area, since he had deemed a nephew of a local chief to be Satan himself, and he’d executed the boy. Twenty men had died in defending our little colony, and it had been my dear beloved Caleb who had spoken with the chief at last, and compared those twenty lives lost to the one of the chief’s nephew, and thus brought about peace again.
But I honestly believe that the worst of all was the simple fact that Elizabeth had rejected Samuel Bridgewater, and he meant to get his revenge.
He didn’t like being rejected.
He hated me by then, and yet, perhaps, somewhere inside himself he had the good sense to stay away from me.
But, you see, Elizabeth was my sister now, and I loved her.
Elizabeth had been in love with Josiah for as long as I had known her and Caleb. Samuel Bridgewater was an old, creepy-looking, evil little man — whether he claimed the ear of God or not. Elizabeth and I had giggled over him often enough. We knew that he had managed to force some of the village lasses to do his bidding. It was despicable, but as Caleb told me, we were not to judge others but to live our own lives.
I had thought Samuel Bridgewater a pompous ass, but not as harmful as he would prove to be. I wanted to at least blind him after the affair with the chief’s nephew, but I kept myself under control; I was in love with Caleb.
Oh, how foolish! Samuel, it seemed, was getting his revenge.
Elizabeth was arrested and brought to jail; her husband was crying by the fire every night, and her beautiful baby girl had been left without a mother, though they were talking about charging her baby as well!
We watched and waited while Elizabeth’s trial date approached. I was itching to do something but praying that all would be well. Again, Caleb believed in the law, and in the goodness of men. “Bridgewater is misadvised; he is not a monster. This will not continue,” Caleb told me. “This is our home; we will abide by the law, and make it a
