They waited in a nearby wood for nightfall. When it came, they waited longer still. When they determined everyone was gone from Watch Hill and the gallows, the brothers crept back to that awful place where they had seen their mother perish so horribly for no other reason than her abiding piety.
Without benefit of torches or light beyond the half moon going in and out of clouds like a galleon at sea, they came upon the bodies sprawled and stiff, limbs akimbo in the pitted, stony hole dug below the gallows and poorly covered over. At some point, someone in official authority was supposed to have come along and thrown dirt over the pit, to give the condemned a semblance of a burial. But so far that hadn’t happened. Instead, a handful of shovels had worked here and that was that.
Jeremiah and Serena’s brothers, going amid the bodies, saw first the ungainly, monstrous, gaping, toothless mouth of Sarah Goode as if shouting into eternity. Jeremy practically tripped over her in the dark. Recalling that Goode was first to fall, they followed the trail of body parts and clothing and soon located the others, all easier to pass, as their faces remained obliterated by the grain sack hoods. They made their way over the rocks and the exposed roots, stumbling until all stood over the remains of Rebecca Nurse—horribly contorted.
Shakily, tentatively each man found a hold on Rebecca while Jeremy tore off the remainder of the noose still round her neck like a fallen halo. A distant sound of thunder like drums rose at that moment, and in the sky over the too distant ocean, they watched lightning strikes.
In a solemn, silent processional, the men hefted the surprisingly light Mother Nurse overhead. One of her arms was erect and stiff, her fingers reaching skyward for as if grasping at her eternity. Anyone who saw these four men carrying the silhouetted figure against the lightning strikes must think it strange.
The four brothers took her homeward to be buried in a private plot of land prepared for her in a place they believed no one would ever find, and yet a perfect place for Rebecca. It’d been Serena’s idea as to where to bury their mother—at Rebecca’s favorite tree, her circle. It would become her final resting place, and until the upturned earth offered no clue to outsiders, the grave would be placed under the largest of the picnic tables.
When they arrived at Francis and Rebecca’s home, Francis and Serena raced out to meet Rebecca in her homecoming. Her extremities had relaxed, and she no longer seemed quite so contorted. Francis only concentrated on her features, and with a handkerchief he wiped away dirt from her gray head. Serena dabbed at her face with a wet cloth, and soon the gentle and familiar features returned, and she appeared in a deep and peaceful slumber.
Tarbell, tears in his eyes, excused himself. “We’ve a coffin to make, Joseph, Ben.” The three of them went for the barn and the tools necessary. Jeremy held Serena close and Francis started a conversation, not with them, but with his beloved, and without having to be told that it was private, Serena led Jeremy away to allow Francis time alone with Rebecca.
Before they got to the porch, from behind them, they heard only sobbing.
Before dawn broke, a ceremony over Rebecca’s remains was performed, during which Francis broke down. The same men still fatigued from the previous day’s horrors, and from “robbing” the authorities of one of their murdered ‘witches’, and building a proper coffin sang Rebecca’s favorite three hymns. Serena said the Lord’s Prayer, and with the brothers covering the coffin and arranging the table over it, Serena and Jeremy put Francis to bed. The old man had aged exponentially since this terror had first touched his home.
# # # # #
The following morning, and indeed all the previous night, Jeremiah feared for Serena’s safety, feared that she could be accused, feared that she become the subject of a warrant and arrest, and all that followed. They’d all seen the insanity engulf Francis and Rebecca. Poor Francis had become a shell of himself, occasionally shaking a fist at God and condemning Him for the deeds of the men in the village, adding, “Rebecca said it was all due His plan, a plan so inscrutable that not one of us lowly creatures could possibly understand it.” He laughed. “Perhaps in the distant future He will make it clear to generations to come how we allowed children to dictate life and death in Salem Village.”
It didn’t come as a complete surprise to Serena when Jeremy woke her with bloodshot eyes, with a plea. “Come away with me.”
“Do you really think Connecticut is far enough, Jeremy? Was Maine far enough for Reverend George Burroughs?”
It’d become general knowledge that George Burroughs had been returned to Salem in chains, arrested in Casco Bay, Maine, dragged back here, placed on trial, and found guilty, and that he now merely awaited hanging.
When Jeremy didn’t answer her, Serena climbed from bed and paced their room. “Tell me,
He stuttered, unsure what to say. When he did speak, he chose his words carefully. “All I know is that I see the way those
“Before they take me as they did Mother, and my two aunts?”
“It’s obvious you’re on their death list, and they’ll have to strike me dead to have you the way they got your mother.”
“We can’t just leave. We’ve got Father to think of.”
“We must talk him into going with us.”
She shook her head. “He’ll never leave this land; he’s already told me to be certain to bury him below the same tree as Mother out there. Says after things return to normal that he wanted the boys to build a wrought iron fence around them and to paint that fence white.”
Jeremy again was at a loss for words. He rubbed his hand into the stubble on his face. He’d not shaved in days and a dark beard had begun to form.
“There’s no answer for it, Jeremy. None.”
“Not here, perhaps; perhaps in Boston.”
“Go back there then, Jeremy. Go and learn what you can from that Barbados witch. I know you believe there’s answers there, and I thought you’d have gone before now to seek those answers.”
“I couldn’t leave you alone here, Serena. Last time I left and returned, your mother was arrested and locked away.”
“I will be all right. I’ll stay out of the village.”
“I’d worry the entire time.”
“And if you stay here and do nothing? How worried will you be? And you, like Ben, will likely be shot dead if you’re not more careful.”
“I just don’t feel right leaving you during this awful time.”
“Jeremy, you’ve wanted to question that woman since you saw her in that Boston jail. I wish now I’d encouraged you back then. Listen to me, now! Go and come back to me safely.”
“Promise me then that you’ll not leave your father’s house.”
“I promise! Now it’s early. Go while you have the light. If you get there early enough, you could bribe the guard, have your interrogation, and be back here by morning tomorrow. No one even need know you’re gone.”
“I imagine you’re right.”
“I am generally right, yes. Now go before I change my mind.”
“Or mine.”
“Go, saddle up, Jeremy; I’ll make you a breakfast. Send you off with some biscuits for Dancer.”
Despite the fact her back was to him, Jeremy saw that she was crying. He had held her the entire night. He knew it would take a long time for her wounds to heal.
She was right on one item. Jeremiah had so wanted to have a face-to-face with Tituba Indian. But he wanted to tell Serena that everything was going to be all right, that sensible minds would eventually prevail, but he did not believe it any longer himself. He had no answers. And he doubted he’d find any in Boston either.
Still he wanted to try.
He walked out into the early, busy morning: birds chasing about, squirrels playing tag, butterflies seeking flowers, the sun reflecting off the dewy grass. He went straight for the barn, and once there, alone with Dancer, he allowed himself a wailing moan that came from his gut. Tears followed. He wiped his eyes and bridled Dancer and cinched the saddle, tugging hard. “To Boston then in search of truth,” he spoke to Dancer, who whinnied. “If there
