Children of Salem

“Not all impossible, and not all lies, Jeremy. Enough . . . just enough truth to sway the average mind here. Some of those arrested are guilty of incantations, spiteful hexes, and a love of Satan.”

Jeremy stared at the minister. “That is what you believe?”

“Without a doubt.”

Jeremy muttered, “Without a doubt?”

“No hope for those whose hearts are set in stone against our Lord—as you well know.”

“What of my second request?”

“Which is?”

“To have an audience with the judges, to speak of just how tainted one accuser’s words are—proof of an earlier enmity driving this person.”

“To what end, Jeremy? One accuser proves a liar and is prohibited from speaking?”

“It is a series of straight lines from this single lie to the lies of others. If one major accuser, whose name has appeared on multiple arrest warrants and sworn affidavits is proven a liar, and a wretched one who would use the courts and the officers of the court for personal gain, then how many others? This evil we fight is not in the air or in some invisible place, sir, but here!” Jeremy pounded his chest. “In our blood, in our very hearts.”

“You are certain of this accuser’s usage of us all?”

“I am.”

“Then perhaps she is a witch?”

“No, no—just a pathetic, angry, vengeful heart—as is Parris. I have a copy of a sermon that I made in which he literally predicts Rebecca Nurse’s arrest—weeks before the event.” He produced the document, which Mather examined closely. “I’ve seen the original at Hathorne’s court. It is not enough, Jeremy, to condemn the man or turn the tide. Sadly, you never gave us enough on Parris to turn the tide.”

“But I sent you reams of information.”

Mather gave him a peculiar look, but said, “I will order the court to hear your petition on this suspected witch you have singled out, Jeremiah, behind closed doors. The judges can do with the information what they wish. I hope you have evidence to support your contention, and for my part, I would like nothing better than to see an end to this horrid business.”

“I’m sure you mean that, sir.”

“Contact me tomorrow here for an appointed time to speak to the high court.”

Mather rushed away without another word, pushing through the door and disappearing. As Jeremy watched him go, he wondered at the depth of fear residing in the heart of Reverend Cotton Mather.

In a series of dead ends, for Jeremy, this confrontation with Cotton Mather felt like a brick wall, a final dead end. He folded the land grant and the copy of the Parris sermon, which Mather had mocked as inconsequential and tucked both into his breast pocket. As to accepting the bribe from Mather to get out of Salem, he had little compunction not to do so. I’ve earned it for all the years I’ve done the Mathers’ cloak and dagger work.

# # # # #

Captain Thomas Putnam looked down from his horse at the alternating pattern of light and dark lying across the dusty, pitted, gray roadbed. It’d be dark soon, and he and others would be left in the night . . . on the road, far from Salem, in the company of witches held in custody. To be sure, the witches were shackled and locked away in a caged cart surrounded by the best metals his mine produced, but everyone knew that by darkness, even a chained witch could go out of body to create great havoc, pain, and torture. That a she-devil could turn into a small mouse and slip from shackles and through bars—and nightfall approached.

Thomas Putnam had been named one of several special deputies by the court when Williard had walked away from his duty. Now Thomas was taking orders from John Williard’s deputy of the day before and now the new sheriff—Herrick.

Sadly, criminally, John Williard had gone to the other side, refusing to arrest another accused, saying he’d tired of arresting his neighbors and was done with the work of Satan. Just like that, the man had shirked his duty. As a result, Herrick had been placed in charge. A better man beneath the surface, so far as Putnam was concerned. Never liked that cripple’s arrogance in the first place.

They’d been ordered to Boston to retrieve accused and convicted witches who’d been moved to Boston earlier due to overcrowding in Salem jails. They were now en route to Salem Village where these stonehearted people would face the judges one last time before being hung. Unless their hearts should thaw, and they confessed.

“We should hurry on, Mr. Herrick!” Putnam pointed to the waning sun.

Herrick had already dismounted, and the accused, in chains, shared the covered prison cart. “We’ll rest, Mr. Putnam! If that is all right with you.”

Putnam said no more, getting down from his horse. “Aren’t you concerned about darkness falling, Sheriff?”

“Told you, call me by me given name. Sheriff don’t set well.”

“Well? Aren’t you?”

Herrick pointed to his lathered horse. “This heat is hard on a dumb animal, Thomas. We’ll take a break.”

Herrick allowed the prisoners from the cart to stretch and relieve themselves among the brush here. “Keep your heads high, now! Where I can see you!” he ordered the prisoners.

Thomas asked in his ear, “Have ya give any thought to your fields back in the village?”

“Ya mean the fields I’ve failed to work?”

“Same as I, I know. So busy’ve we become with doing God’s work.”

“Aye.”

“In this witchcraft war.”

“One good thing.”

“What’s that?” Thomas’ features pinched in confusion.

“This war against Satan’s minions allows you deacons to go about in your uniforms—for other than parade days!” Herrick laughed at his own remark. “Aside from that, Thomas, I’m sure you like being needed and made a special deputy.”

Putnam didn’t care for the man’s less than veiled ridicule, and he felt it best to ignore it, but he couldn’t. “Look here, the time and labor of it—working for and taking orders from the likes of you, Herrick— it does wear thin. Neglected fields’ll mean a shortage of food next winter for my family.”

“And mine, and the entire bloody village.”

“You needn’t swear, sir.”

Herrick considered Putnam closely now. “You worried about the gentile ears of the witches or your horse, Mr. Putnam?” Herrick erupted in a hearty laugh.

“What is so funny?”

“You and the others are so sure this witch threat is so horrible, then I guess we’ll all be sacrificing, now won’t we?”

“So many demands on my time,” muttered Thomas. “Worse yet, while away from the village on the King’s work, my poor wife and sickly child continue to be attacked by invisible forces.”

“What kind of forces is that, sir?”

“Imps, dervishes, and succubae! So don’t preach the right or wrong of things to me, Mr. Herrick.”

Herrick released a breath of air that said he carried the weight of an oak tree on his shoulders. “It all seems so damn impossible at times, Mr. Putnam.”

“All impossible things are made possible for those who have Satan’s power. Nothing can hold them.” Putnam pointed to the prisoners. “They might be bound and gagged but the only way to stop their danger is to destroy them.”

“Or save them by breaking them and making them confess to their guilt,” countered Herrick. “Once a witch recants Satan, she goes free.”

“Aye, and many hundreds’ve done just that!” Putnam had raised his voice so the prisoners would take heed. “But many others remain stone-cold Satanists, denying their guilt in the face of