Children of Salem

“How much prayer can a single family give up to God?” asked Francis, a tear welling up. “But you’re right, sweet child. We pray on . . . for Mother.”

“And we pray Ben doesn’t get himself shot by Herrick or Williard.” One of the Easty men added.

“It won’t be by John Williard’s hand,” Tarbell shot back.

“What’re ya meaning?” asked Joseph, his brow knitting.

“Word is Williard has quit the court.” Tarbell’s chest swelled. “First sign of discontent in their ranks since this craziness began.”

“So it wasn’t all bluster and show that day at Ingersoll’s?” asked Jeremy. “Williard didn’t take his badge back?”

“The sheriff? Quit?” asked Daniel Easty, who’d remained silent throughout.

“Quit this business entirely, yes,” Tarbell assured the others.

Jeremiah smiled. “Then there’s hope after all.”

“What hope?” asked the Easty. “Williard is only one man.”

Jeremy looked into Easty’s gnarled and sun-burnished features. “If one—just one—on their side can see the lunacy of it all—”

“Then perhaps others will come round, too,” finished Serena. “But when? How long now?”

“If not soon, Mother may not see the day,” added Francis, dropping into his chair, deflated and weary. The toll this matter was taking on him showed terribly. Serena draped her arms about him from above, and Jeremy thought the moment a poignant and beautiful and touching one—like a painting to be hung in a museum.

Chapter Twelve

The elections for seats of power throughout the Massachusetts Bay Colony came and went, and the overwhelming winners were all who held a torch up to the burning issue of witchcraft in Salem. Directly after the elections, two former Towne women, one an Easty, the other a Cloyse—sisters of Rebecca Nurse—saw warrants sworn out against them, thanks to the outcries of the afflicted children, victims of witchcraft torment. The remaining two Nurse sisters were arrested and dragged from their homes by men with guns who’d come in the night. The authorities had also put out a wanted poster for the former sheriff, Williard, who—according to the seer children—had gone over to the ‘other side’.

Increase Mather’s eldest and most successful son, a minister who had his own church in Boston, had come out of hiding himself, and had come into Salem today, riding a white charger that would dwarf Jeremy’s mare, and his arrival was applauded on all sides, a word of his coming had leaked and people lined the main street in Salem Village, turning out for his arrival. Mather reared up on his horse several times, an expert horseman, and he declared to the crowd: “I have come in your hour of need! Come to see first hand the seer children and the nature of this plague of evil that has descended not only on Salem but surrounding hamlets—and now threatening my dear Boston as well!”

When Jeremiah heard the news that Cotton Mather had indeed arrived in the village, having ostensibly come to speak at the First Church of Salem Town, he learned also that Mather had come at the invitation of Reverend Nicholas Noyes. Noyes had asked Mather to give the eulogy for Reverend Nehemia Higginson. Jeremy felt hopeful that at last a person of true education, influence, and intelligence would put an end to the madness—a fitting tribute to the life and death of Reverend Higginson. And now that Mather the younger had come to the area to witness first hand what Jeremiah had described in his letters to the man, something of an official nature would be done for the better. A dictum coming out of the ecumenical side of the two-headed snake of government. Some old fashioned theology ground in logic and rational thought, and a condemnation of the way things had proceeded up till now.

Mather must be the answer to their prayers; he must put an end the accusations and open the cell doors and forbid any further acceptance of ghosts whisperings as evidence of murder in a court of law in Essex County. Never mind why Mather had disappeared or where to, for an end was in sight. Hope ran high at the Nurse compound.

Jeremy immediately sought an audience and to his surprise, it was arranged that he would see Reverend Cotton Mather after his eulogy and the burial. The eulogy was eloquent and not a single mention of the horrors of the witch hunt figured in—a good sign.

They met in the rectory with only Noyes knowing of their meeting. They exchanged kind words about Higginson’s passing.

Then Mather bluntly asked, “Mr. Wakely, exactly what is on your mind?”

“Sir, the Boston judges’ve made a mockery of their offices here.”

“Take care with your tongue, sir.”

“But I tell you, while things looked bad before their arrival, our leaders of the high court have daily rushed headlong into worse territory than ever.”

“Appears a sad state of affairs to be sure, Mr. Wakely, but that’s hardly the fault of Sir William and his judges of the high court.”

“I fear a terrible void’s been left with Reverend Higginson’s passing, a—”

“Indeed, we can agree there, Jeremiah.”

“—a void that will only add to the fear and superstition driving the court proceedings. Strong, decisive action needs be taken, if you ask—”

“Action is being taken, Mr. Wakely, I can assure you.”

“Can you assure me that sanity will be restored? That Parris and Putnam and the judges will be stopped in this land grab?”

“That’s a terrible accusation to lay at the feet of—”

“Is it now? Can you guarantee that my motherin-law, Rebecca Towne, wasn’t targeted to drive the Nurses out? That—”

“There is no evidence of any such—”

“—that Rebecca will not be on the next hangman’s list coming from the high court?”

Mather replied to Jeremiah’s impassioned plea with the same phrase. “Action is being taken.”

“They’ve arrested a pregnant woman, a child touched in the head, Parris’ predecessor—Reverend George Burroughs—a grandmother who’s lived her life as a saint, sir. It is no longer the dregs of society locked up and tortured here!”

“These arrests and excommunications are the work of the clergy; they bring the warrants and the arrests. The judges merely perform their duties relative to the arrests.”

“But the clergy and the judges have stood on the side of the insanity, sir, thanks in large measure to Samuel Parris’ fanning the flames of ignorance and fear and this maniacal search for a Satanist in every shadow!”

The two men stood in the solitude of the rectory, each pacing around the other now like a pair of lions taking the measure of the other. Mather came closer and spoke almost as a conspirator. “You’re aware of Hathorne’s zealousness in this affair. I cannot fathom why over one hundred people have been arrested—and more and more each day! However, it is feasible when you consider what the Indians are capable of—whole tribes of men, women, and children who follow the Devil!”

“Indians? What does the native population have to do with any of this?”

“Consider, Mr. Wakely, how many of our people have been captivated by those pagans and the way they live; how many of our colonists have gone native.”

“Captivated? How many are we talking about?”

“There’re no exact figures.”

Jeremiah’s face pinched. “I don’t follow, but I know a hundred is a low estimate of the number of our citizens sitting in jails all over the colony right now; their only crime having been accused by half-witted children who a few months ago could not get attention from us if they were on fire.”

“I’m not so sure of your point, but yes, so a hundred or more colonists do stand accused.”

“Accused in a mad fashion—pointed out a witch by addled children. Held on the testimony of ghosts and goblins, sir!”

“I am given to understand that whole meetings, filled with eyewitnesses have seen these same addled children, as you call them, under attack by invisible forces. That it’s no longer the gossip of the dead that drives the accusations.”

“I have seen the so-called attacks, and I tell you they are bogus.”