“I’d heard they meant to hang her but—”
“Bishop never broke.”
“—but I didn’t think they’d go through with it. May God have mercy on her soul, and God forgive me for saying so, Francis—it could work in Mother Nurse’s favor.”
“Work in our favor? How?”
“I’ve seen this sort of hysteria to hang witches break out in other parishes, in particular during my time in Connecticut, where the fear from pagan Indians runs even higher than here.”
“What’re you saying, son?”
The old man had taken to calling him son since his and Serena’s return with a wedding band on his daughter’s hand. He’d also expressed sadness that there’d been no proper wedding and party. “Rebecca would have loved to see it, sure,” he’d finished on the day of their return from Boston.
“Often with a witch hung, the bloodlust of the mob is quenched.”
“We can only hope.”
“But as to Ben and Tarbell, I doubt they’d listen to me any more than they’re hearing you, these days, sir.” Jeremy groomed Dancer as they spoke.
“I want you to take Mather up on that land in Connecticut, Jeremy, and to take Serena away from here—out of harm’s way. And do so quickly before . . . before either of you are called out by those awful children.”
“Parris’ puppets, yes. I couldn’t agree with you more, sir.”
“Then will you do it? She’s sure to be the next accused, if not Ben.”
“I want desperately to find a new life for Serena and myself.”
“Then we’re in agreement?”
“We are, up to a point.”
“Up to a point?”
“Serena must come to the same conclusion. If I try to force her, she’ll fight me on it. Sir, not to change the subject, but something nags at me to return to Boston for a talk with—”
“Boston? Talk with whom? Who is left to take our petition to?”
“No one, I’m afraid, but I saw Parris’ Barbados woman in the jail there, and I believe she has a story in her that may bring Samuel Parris down so far that no one here will ever be influenced by him again.”
“Whatever are you talking about? Tituba? What can she possibly—”
“I have no solid proof, but I believe she had a child by Parris.”
“A child? A bastard child?”
“In Barbados, yes—and to protect his good name and reputation, and that of his wife, this child was disposed of.”
“Disposed of how?”
“I suspect in the worst way.”
“You can’t mean killed?”
“Shortly after birth the baby expires or was given away. As for the mother, Tituba, she never once saw the child—alive or dead.”
Serena had been listening at the barn door, and now she said, “That snake of a man! He concocted the entire scenario for how the Putnams’ children died based on a murder he’d himself committed in Barbados before coming here?”
“It’s a theory I have. Not sure he jammed a needle into the child’s brain or heart, but who knows?” Jeremy went to her and wrapped an arm about her.
She pulled away and paced the length of he barn. “He’s put Mother and so many away on the altar of his own bloody hands—and now one woman has been hung to death on the allegations begun in his parish, and my mother is next!”
“It’s why I need to talk directly with Tituba. To confirm my suspicions.”
“But can you be sure she is still in Boston?” asked Serena.
“I fear Parris arranged for her incarceration in Boston in hope of seeing her aboard a ship to leave the colonies altogether.”
“She’s being called an accuser rather than a witch these days. An innocent who tried to save the minister’s daughter.” Serena laughed at the distinction.
“Part of her deal with Parris, perhaps, for pointing the way.”
“Bastards all!” Francis’ fingers turned white with the grip he had round a pitchfork. “Just interested in seeing forfeits of property going back into the commonwealth so’s they can divvy it all anew.”
“I’ve no doubt of it,” replied Jeremy. “Behind the scenes, large properties are being prepared to go to the ‘heroes’ of this debacle—Corwin, Hathorne, Porter, Putnam, Wilkins, perhaps Ingersoll, and most assuredly the Boston magistrates and Reverends Noyes and Cotton Mather.”
Serena sighed heavily and nodded. “Ample incentive for getting confessions from the accused.”
“And paying no heed to your fact-finding, Jeremy, with respect to the Martin woman and Anne Putnam.” Francis jammed the pitchfork into a bale of hay.
“Nor petition after petition.”
Jeremiah stopped Serena’s pacing and stared long into her eyes. “Serena, I know you two are as devastated by the failure of the Boston authorities to alleviate the situation as I am. I’ve one final appeal in writing to Major David Saltonstall, the most rational judge on the Court of Oyer & Terminer, and the last man on the court who appears to have doubts over the use of
“Alleviate it, ha! The Boston judges of the high and mighty General Court?” Serena seemed to have stopped listening to Jeremy. “Those swine have made it exponentially worse. Have you not heard? Bridget Bishop was hung yesterday.”
“Yes, we’ve all heard, and it’s terrible news,” began Francis, “but Jeremy says there may be a silver lining to it.”
“Silver lining, indeed? Where? At Watch Hill, at the gallows they’ve built there to accommodate six hangings at once?”
Everyone fell silent; the only sound that of the patient breath of horses and cows in the stalls. Jeremy finally broke the silence. “Rather sudden on the part of the judges to hang Bishop now. Their first arrests came in late February or was it early March. Tituba, Goode, followed by Osborne and only then Bishop whom they released for lack of evidence only to make a re-arrest on the say-so of Mercy Lewis who likely planted the so-called Bishop doll in the woman’s basement.”
Serena shoved him. “So tell me, Mr. Expert, why just one of all the accused hung? What’s behind
“Perhaps not.”
“How can you say that? Are you gone blind, Jeremy?”
“Often a single public display of this nature, as I told your father . . . well it can have a dampening effect on those making the allegations and adding to the fire. One thing to accuse your neighbor, have her jailed, excommunicated even. Quite another to kill her in some sanctimonious public execution.”
“So Jeremy’s told me this was the case in Connecticut,” Francis said to Serena. “One hanging appeased the mob.”
“Aye, true it was.”
“Pray that Bishop as the sacrificial goat fills their need for blood, eh?” Serena shook her head. “Else this bloodlust continues.”
“It may be the best we can do at this point.” The moment he said it, Jeremy realized how lame it sounded.
“The best we can do? The best we can do?” came her mocking chant. “We should get Mother free of their clutches before she is hung next!”
Jeremy watched her march away from him. The strain of events had taken a horrible toll on Francis, on Serena, and on their relations. He feared Bridget Bishop’s hanging would not be enough for the likes of Parris and Putnam or others who stood to gain property, position, and reputation as witch hunters in Salem. That this situation was far, far different than the one he’d faced in the provinces. Still, he held out a glimmer of hope that the key to ending the mayhem and officially sanctioned murder was locked away in a cell in Boston, and the name of that key
