Children of Salem

“You were under an affliction but praise God, now you’re cured.”

“By what magic, I know not, save prayer.”

“And time, the healing of night and day.”

“Now I’m tired of letting my ailments dictate. Pain or no, I choose to live. Besides . . . ”

“Besides?” He squeezed her arms.

“I hold conversation with God, Francis, in my heart.”

“I am quite aware of that!”

She shushed him, wishing not to be interrupted.

He came around and faced her.

“I hear no booming voice in my ear or head, Francis . . . nor am I called by name by Him, but I am moved by Him. Do you understand?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Of course? Then will you accept my word when I confide this.”

“What? What is it?”

“I am convinced that I was spared from dying in that little room upstairs for . . . for some coming ordeal?”

“Coming ordeal? You mean this business of an indictment against you and your sisters as witches? Hold on!” He paced the porch now, hands going through what little hair he had left. “You can’t think God wishes this on you, that your neighbors shun you, excommunicate you, cheer and clap at the idea of you in chains and treated like-like . . . well, no better than Sarah Goode?”

She took a long, deep breath. “All I know for certain, Francis, is that I’m spared the one ignoble death for perhaps—”

“Ignoble?”

“There is nothing noble in dying broken-spirited. I once believed there were things in my life . . . things I valued beyond all measure, which, no matter what, could never be taken from me. But I was wrong; vain in the extreme. Francis, there is nothing in this life that cannot be taken from us.”

“To think thus is melancholia, dear. That is all.”

“If God wishes to humble us,” she paused in a long sigh, “then it is by taking the very gifts he’s bestowed.”

“Our land, our home?”

“Francis, no! There are many more precious things than this house. Francis, our best traits He can rob us of —as he robbed Job—to turn us against ourselves. We already see it with our loved ones not coming today.”

“That’s not God’s doing but Parris’.”

“Even Parris is His instrument, as are we, Francis, and still you don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

She worked to stand and he helped her to her feet. When fully erect, she snatched his now unlit pipe from his mouth and held it to his eyes. “Imagine this is your integrity, Francis, and not a piece of clay!”

“All right.”

“Now imagine me God.”

He chuckled at this.

She dropped his favorite pipe and stomped it, crushing it into a rock-strewn dust there on the porch. “Now your God has crushed your integrity. Suppose He next destroys your faith—all your faith in Him, Francis? What then?”

Francis was still staring at his shattered pipe when she added, “Even our faith in Him, Francis, He will test it—and He will do all in his power to tear it from us.”

“Parris?”

“No, God. God will try to take it from us. He alone controls all.”

Francis stared into her eyes, his features a mask of confusion. “What’re you saying, Rebecca?”

“I am saying that I’ve been returned to my faith.”

“But you never lost it.”

“But I did.”

“I never saw it.”

“During my illness.”

“Sure you cursed for your torments, but—”

“I denied Him; denied it all close to the end when I felt He had brought such suffering and loss on me. Do you recall I didn’t know who you were for a time, didn’t recognize Serena, Ben, no one?”

“I know but you are well now.”

“”It was returned to me, Francis. All given back, but it comes now at a price.”

Francis looked even more confused than before.

She clenched his hands in hers. “When they come for me, I will prove my faith and love of Him beyond all things. I will never deny My Father. I love Him . . . even beyond you, Francis, and you must allow it. You must not fight me on this.”

“You are speaking of a divine ordeal, but these fools, liars and thieves--they will come for you with shackles! There is no divinity in this blasphemy of theirs.”

“The divinity is within me, Francis. It’s a test, don’t you see?—the greatest test of my life, and I shall prevail.”

Francis went to his knees before her, unable to answer. Taking her in his arms, the two of them rocking under their combined weight.

“And I will use Him right this time, Francis. I-I have the strength within.”

“That is not in question, my love.”

She lifted his face to hers. “Old man, it’s fated—as surely as Christ sacrificed for us ”

Francis cleared his throat, his voice quaking. “Are you saying you’re somehow chosen? As-as some sort of martyr to this madness in the village?”

“Call it what you will, but it will come to our door.”

“No.”

“We both know it’s true.”

He could not hold back the tears that came freely to him now. She comforted him and said, “My time is approaching, and you must prepare yourself and hold firm to your faith in both Him and in me. Now hold me tighter.”

He was mute before her. He shook with the pain of imagining what might happen, but as in all things, he did what she asked, tightening his hold.

She held him firm for several minutes.

“Stubbornness has always been your way, woman.”

“And how has it served us? My father desperately tried to keep us apart, remember?”

“Stubborn,” he repeated and found a curt laugh.

“Especially in matters of faith and love,” she agreed. “I was stubborn until father finally accepted the idea of us—and you so fresh from the sea, you smelled of brine.”

He pulled back and looked her in the eye. “It must’ve been distressing for the old man—marrying you off to a sailor!”

They laughed together.

Then he solemnly said, “I’m sorry that you faced a loss of faith up in that room alone.”

“It’s a thing a person does alone, but in my heart now, I know I’m never alone. Not completely. At least, that is to say, never again.”

“I love you beyond all reason.” The rocking chair creaked with his weight over her.

“And I you, Francis, but promise me one thing now.”

“Aye and that being?”

“You will not lose the land in any move to bribe them. I will not have myself saved from this madness only to see our children and our grandchildren turned off our farm. No matter what they promise or barter with, including