Children of Salem

“Damn them! Damn them all! I’m going for her!”

Tarbell grabbed him and shoved him against a wall. “Not by day, and not alone, brother.”

It was the first time any of the Nurse boys or brothers-by-marriage had called Jeremiah brother. “What do you propose?”

“I propose this time we do what we failed doing last time.”

“Right, good!”

“We carry her out of there, and you, sir, you take her as far from here as you can.”

As Mother and Father had asked me to do, he silently chastised himself. “I shouldn’t’ve gone off to Boston. I should’ve taken Serena and disappeared.”

“Right . . . right. Look, man, she wouldn’t go without Francis in there, and he wouldn’t leave Rebecca out there.” He pointed to the stand of oaks.

“Away to Connecticut then, once we have Serena back.”

“We may follow,” replied Tarbell.

“We’ll take new names, and once there no one will know us.”

“The fools behind this terrible mischief have allowed the children to reach too far in their accusations.”

“Are you saying those in control of the bratty accusers have lost any control they may’ve once had?”

“Most certainly true with this latest mad accusation.”

“Against whom?”

“Against Mrs. Hale of Waverly.”

“Not the minister’s wife!” Jeremy grasped his brother by the arm.

“Yes, the terror at Reverend Hale’s doorstep now.”

“My god, but then perhaps the lunacy will be at an end. I mean if they can call out that dear lady, a minister’s wife . . .”

“All the same, you and Serena must disappear.”

“But imagine it. They’re accusing Mrs. Hale of rank witchcraft? Mrs. Hale? John Hale’s wife?”

“Some are already backing off it as a case of mistaken identity on the astral plane, as things can be confused for those who see into that damnable Invisible World they speak of. How’s that for a laugh?”

“I can’t recall a time when we could laugh, John. But if this is true, then Hale himself must see the error—the horrible error of it all. This acceptance of spectral evidence, the madness of it.”

“We can only pray. But as I said, the adults who stand behind the children —those bloodthirsty children—are recanting this accusation for them.”

“Why would they point a finger at Mrs. Hale of all people?”

“She has taken up the same cause as Mrs. Phipps.”

“The governor’s wife?”

“Yes.”

“What cause is that?” Jeremy wildly imagined Mrs. Hale telling people about an unaccounted for child in Barbados, a child killed by Parris and a mysterious Dr. Caball.

“The cause of feeding the accused—same as Serena did here, and Mrs. Phipps is known for in Boston.”

“I see.”

“Mrs. Hale made a habit of visiting the jails with loaves of bread baked in her own kitchen.”

“Pity and mercy are now cause to accuse others?” Jeremy shook his head and watched as some men made their way toward Salem Town with what few goods they had to barter with today.

“No big surprise, really. Look at how many people who’ve signed petitions have come under arrest.”

“She’s a brave lady then, Mrs. Hale.”

“And a lady of great distinction. But then so is Serena and Rebecca and her sisters.”

The two men found some ale and toasted to Francis. After a time, Tarbell said, “Mr. Hale has gone about denouncing any such notions of his wife—and in doing so—”

“Has himself been called out at warlock?”

“Yes.”

Jeremy thought about this for a moment. “You know, John, this turn of events could work to our advantage. Mr. Hale is widely believed a pious, honest man who is what he is and has no secret life.”

“You mean like that old man in there? John Proctor, Sheriff Williard, and the black smith, Samuel Wardwell? A man who sacrificed his life for that of an unborn child and its mother?”

“Aye, I know,” Jeremy conceded. “I too well know. But it is a hope.”

“I trust to hope no more—nor should you, Jere.”

Jeremy nodded firmly and finished his ale. “Tonight we go for Serena.”

“It will be just the two of us.”

“Ben?”

“Has left the county, and there’s no time to send word.”

“And Joseph?”

“I think he is on the verge of a breakdown. It’s best we keep this simple.”

Jeremy shook hands with Tarbell. “Then we do this together.”

“If I have to kill that damnable Gatter, we will free Serena.”

“I want to see the old man.” Jeremy went for the corpse where he poured a third ale and placed it on a table within arms distance from Francis. “He loved his ale.”

“No reason why he shouldn’t enjoy it in the hereafter,” agreed Tarbell.

Jeremy poured more for John, and the two drank all day, awaiting dusk. “Do you think the old man knows we’ll enter him where he wants to be?” Jeremy asked, standing over the open coffin.

“I think so, and I’ll drink to it.”

Jeremy joined him in the toast. “And do you think Francis knows we go to save Serena and take her to her future tonight?” Everything awaited darkness.

Tarbell raised his ale cup again, “Aye, he must know—and I’ll drink to it!”

# # # # #

After entering Francis Nurse’s remains beside his beloved Rebecca, Jeremy and John armed themselves and started on foot with three horses saddled and walking behind. One horse for Tarbell, Serena’s favorite mare, Star, and Jeremy’s Dancer. They made their way via a backwoods cow path that soon put them within sight of the jail where they peeked through the brush. It felt like familiar ground.

“Whatever it takes, we come away with Serena.” Jeremy recalled having been held up by Dancer the night before. For now he felt glad that he’d had all four shoes replaced. Had he been here when they’d taken Serena, he felt reasonably sure that he’d’ve been shot to death in his struggle with Herrick and his men. He’d be under the earth with Francis and Rebecca by now.

This witchcraft madness had already cost the lives of countless citizens, most of whom lay dead and buried, victims of consumption or one jail fever or another. Serena could contract such a death at any time. Jeremy meant to free her at any cost, and together they’d ride all night if necessary to find a safe harbor in this land.

They tied the horses beneath a stand of trees, leaving them at a safe distance to graze on the grass in a silent hollow, a place where a man might picture gnomes if not hobgoblins stepping in and out of hollowed out trees.

The two men filled with ale, rum, and courage borne of anger followed the contour of the gulley—a regular wash in rain times. The path led to the rear of the jail. As they neared, Jeremy cautioned Tarbell as they heard the voices of men paid to care for the needs of the incarcerated—Gatter for sure, perhaps the younger Will Fiske, the son of the elder Fiske, who’d turned in his badge to sit on the jury judging the accused.

“I hope we don’t have to kill no one,” whispered John, “but if I must . . .”

Jeremy nodded. “Agreed. Whatever it takes, we leave with Serena.”

They inched closer amid the dark shadows, rushing for the back of the jail. With no window this side of the shoddy place, this meant no way to communicate with Serena. The only barred windows were at the front of this oven. Little wonder the stifling odors, the stale air, and the rampant sickness inside. Jeremy’s heart felt ripped and trampled upon just imagining what Serena had endured.