Children of Salem

might speak frankly and to the point. We are here to eradicate demons.”

# # # # #

Stoughton firmly took Hathorne by the arm and led him to sit with him before the hearth. “Jonathan . . . may I call you Jonathan?”

“By all means, Sir William.”

Sewell and Addington hung back, glancing at one another.

Corwin kept his distance.

“It appears to me, Jonathan,” continued Stoughton, imbibing between phrases, “appears this next election will be decided along the loyalty issue.”

“A major concern among the mob, I’d say,” replied Hathorne.

“Regardless of your reasoning . . . ” Stoughton shrugged. “However moral it may or may not’ve been to stand with Andros when Governor, now in today’s climate, we may all of us suffer the fate of those who’ve been tossed from office.”

“I understand and it comes with our duties.”

“Held accountable, even me—even Sewell there.”

“But-but—”

“Unless we find a way to keep the voters’ minds’ well distracted.”

“Distracted, yes. I take your point.”

Hathorne’s black maidservant, Callie, entered, asked if anything additional was needed, and Hathorne scolded her for interrupting, finishing with, “Be off to bed, now!” He then apologized to his guests.

His servant’s interrupting them had given him pause; enough to consider what precisely the Boston judges had in mind. Clearly, it had all to do with its being an election year, and the polls would decide all their fates. He said to Stoughton, loud enough for the others in the room to hear, “It’s true the people have been aroused against Corwin and me on the single issue, but in general, we are well respected here.”

“But the single issue will raise its ugly head anew,” countered Addington. “The pamphleteers in Boston are already calling for heads to roll.”

“A foregone conclusion,” added Sewell.

Stoughton leapt back in. “And for what? Doing your duty as you saw fit under duress! Surviving to fight another day—like now, here in Salem against the most vicious attack on our way of life, and how? Through our children, man!”

“Here, here!” cheered Corwin, downing another ale.

“Indeed!” chorused the other men of Boston.

Stoughton paced before the others, clearly the head of the snake here. “Since Increase Mather’s gone abroad for a new Charter of Laws for New England—as if we had none—the populace in Boston seems bent on the Andros issue as never before!”

“Mather left us holding the proverbial pig in a poke,” commented Sewell, the writer. “Sure, we need that charter in place, but it could have waited until after the elections coming in June.

“Mather is the fastest among us!” Addington toasted Increase Mather, a scowl on his face.

“But in the meantime,” began Stoughton, his chest puffed out, pacing yet, “we could all lose our seats before Mather’s return. All rather calculated, if you ask me.”

“Calculated?” asked Hathorne. “How so?”

Corwin gulped.

Stoughton asked Addington to explain it to the lesser judges. “I grow weary of the parochialism in this room.”

Hathorne and Corwin turned their eyes on the thin, gaunt Mr. Addington. “Don’t you see, gentlemen? He— Mather—jaunts off as an emissary, returns a hero with the laws literally in hand, and we, gentlemen, we are growing potatoes on some plot of land perhaps bordering the Connecticut.”

Corwin raised a quaking palm out as if to say stop. “But . . . but we only stood by our office.”

“Obviously, you men of Boston have talked this over among yourselves,” said Hathorne, coming away from his corner. “Do you intend to contest Increase Mather’s appointment as emissary or to question his integrity or motives?”

“No, no! That would not be politic in the current climate,” replied Sewell. “We’re saying he calculated the timing of his trip to coincide with the elections, knowing his popularity would sustain him from an ocean away, while we . . .we in this room are left to face hostilities here.”

“At a time of election when we have no charter, don’t you see?” asked Addington, grimacing, “which the popular mind will read as anarchy, for which we all pay.”

“We all become targets of unrest and sedition,” Stoughton added.

“Can you predict the future with such accuracy?” Hathorne countered, trying to hold onto some shred of himself in this sea men who in essence formed the greatest minds in the colony. Hathorne had inched to the window and he pointed out it now. “Can you read their minds?”

“I once trusted that man, Mather, and now?” muttered Sewell. “I trust his son, Cotton, far more.”

“Makes my days in office bitter ones now, looking back,” choked Addington.

“To answer your question, Mr. Hathorne,” said Stoughton, going to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, “we in this room have a combined wisdom that dictates our prophesy so that yes, we can and must read minds to survive! Right, gentlemen?”

There was some good-natured laughter over this and Stoughton held the floor, adding, “Look, gentlemen, we all share the same fate, unless we do something to turn the heads of the masses pointing in another direction.” Stoughton took a giant step and stood center of the room among them, speaking firmly now, his voice filling the house. “A contingency of malcontents has grown large over this Andros thing. As result, Mr. Corwin, Mr. Hathorne, it seems we have more in common than you might imagine.”

“But Governor Phipps himself named you his Chief Justice, despite your working under Andros,” said Hathorne, confused.

“That bit of cunning on Phipps’ part hardly disguises his audacity. He means to placate us all, and to put me into a quiet sleep before the anvil falls. The man keeps his enemies close, no doubt due to Mather’s influence.”

“Mather was behind your appointment and knighthood?”

“It kept Mather at Phipps side, what to do with me. I know how the man thinks. Make me Sir William before humbling me.”

“We still don’t know what intrigues went on at King’s court to gain Phipps such favor with King Willy,” said Sewell.

A knock at the door made them jump. Corwin stumbled to the window and glanced out from behind the drapes. “My word, it’s Reverend Samuel Parris.”

“I earlier asked Mr. Parris to return at this hour,” confessed Stoughton.

“Let him in,” said Sewell.

Corwin looked to Hathorne for a nod, which came without hesitation.

“Enter, Mr. Parris,” said Corwin, opening the door to the village minister.

“I understand you wish to see me, Sir William, ah, Chief Justice,” said Parris, his nerves shaky, eyes straight ahead as if not wanting to catch Hathorne’s glare.

“Yes, take your cape and hat off,” said Stoughton. “Have a brandy—do we have brandy, Mr. Hathorne? Warm yourself by the fire.”

After Parris performed each step in turn and Hathorne broke out the brandy and poured for everyone, Stoughton sat across from Parris and spoke to him as if they were the only two men in the room. “I understand it is with you, sir, and your home, and your child that this witchcraft business began?”

“My child was the first afflicted, only in a manner of speaking. There were others killed and afflicted here over many years! Years before my arrival, sir.”

“That’s just the kind of information we need, Mr. Parris. Do sit down and lay it out for us as clearly and as quickly as you can for me and my fellow justices, Mr. Saltonstall, Mr. Sewell and Mr. Addington.”

“You see,” said Hathorne to Parris, “we are ahhh . . . considering the issue from all