The Sacrifice Read online

  “On the morrow,” Mama replied.

  Abigail thought about these girls who had been touched by the devil. What would they look like? Would they show signs of the devil or the witches that were tormenting them?

  “Can we go see them?” Abigail asked.

  “Certainly not, Abigail Faulkner,” her mother said firmly. “On the morrow, we will be attending to our mending and dyeing as we do every Wednesday. Your father and Paul will see to the planting. I’ll have no foolishness over these girls. There are chores to be done, and chasing after the devil is not one of them.”

  Abigail sighed. She almost envied the girls. She would have welcomed a ride in the summer sunshine from Salem Village to Andover. There would be no chores forthem that day. They could sit and ride and talk the whole way over, something children were rarely allowed.

  “What are you whispering about?” Franny called from the porch.

  Mama turned and smiled back at her. “Nothing, little one. How is that butter?”

  “’Tis slow in coming,” Franny grumped, “and my arm is weary.”

  Mama frowned. “Your backside will be weary, Franny Faulkner, if you don’t finish your churning.”

  She turned and handed the last of the garments to Dorothy. “I wish to keep this from Franny and Paul,” she said. “I expect you will speak naught of it to them.”

  Abigail and Dorothy nodded their agreement, but in her heart, Abigail wondered if the secret they kept would be quiet for long. Soon all the town would know of the girls’ arrival.

  The next morning, Abigail woke to a day full of sunshine and the knowledge that this was the day the girls were to arrive from Salem Village. She tried to imagine them riding over the rutted road toward Andover, their eyes troubled from their encounters with the devil and his witches. Maybe, she thought,there were even marks on their arms where they had been touched by those evil hands. She shook the thought from her head.

  “Abigail,” called her mother. “Do you think you are to stay abed all day?”

  “I’m coming, Mama,” Abby called back. She rose swiftly. The summer sunshine was pouring in through the diamond-shaped windows, making beautiful colors on the wooden floor. It hardly seemed like a day for devilry.

  Abigail dressed and went down to help with the breakfast and to feed the chickens. She laughed as the animals scurried around, pecking at her feet. She lifted her face to the sunshine and smiled.

  “Bear!” Mama called sharply. “You are a slow child today. Come in for breakfast and then we must tend to our mending. Paul ripped a hole in his best breeches last Sunday that seems as wide as the ocean itself.”

  Abigail went back inside the house.

  “Mama,” she asked, “do you think we could sit outside and mend? The day is so beautiful that I hate the thought of being in a dark house.”

  Mama smiled affectionately at her daughter. “Aye, Abby, ’tis a fine idea for today. As long as your thoughts don’t wander from your chores, I think it would be a most pleasant way to do our mending.”

  Dorothy, who was filling the plates up with breakfast, smiled at Abigail, pleasure on her face. Franny clapped her hands with excitement.

  Paul came in. “What is everyone so merry about?” he asked.

  “Mama says we can sit outside to do our mending,” Franny said.

  Paul rolled his eyes. “I’d take one day sitting inside doing your female chores instead of all the chores I have to do outside, sunshine or not. You have it easy every day, Franny.”

  “Do not,” Franny said, sticking out her tongue.

  “Do too,” Paul said.

  “Do not,” Dorothy said hotly, coming to Franny’s defense. “I’ve never seen you wring a chickens neck and pluck its feathers, or birth a pig, or brush wool until your hands bleed trying to make it clean and fine.”

  “Well, I never saw you chop wood, or build a barn, or sit still in the woods hunting, unable to move at all, even when you have to go in the worst sort of way,” Paul shot back.

  “Enough, enough,” Mama said, smiling. “Come along and eat now so you can get back to your horrible lives.”

  That set them all to laughing, and when Papa came in, they were still giggling. His eyes lit up when he saw them.

  “And what has everyone so cheery, might I ask?” he said.

  “The girls are doing their chores outside today,” Paul complained.

  “You may do your chores outside today too, Paul,” Papa joked.

  “That’s a fine offer,” Paul grumbled.

  They all laughed at his grumpiness, until even he joined in laughing. Papa grinned at Abigail, and she couldn’t help but grin back. Since that time in May, Papa had been fine. And in spite of her resentment of his fits, when Papa was fine, everything seemed right with the world.

  Later, the girls sat on stools out in the sunshine, the huge basket of mending at their feet. Abigail leaned her back against the warm wood of the house. Her needle went in and out, in and out, slowly mending each rift and tear.

  They worked in silence, but it was companionable. The beauty of the day surrounded them. Occasionally, Abigail let the mending fall from her hands and gazed out across the land in front of her, awash in the brilliance of summer sunshine.

  It was at one such moment that she spotted Aunt Elizabeth, hurrying up the hill toward them.

  “Aunt Elizabeth is coming,” she said to her sisters.

  “Mama,” she called, for Mama had gone inside to check the fire, “Aunt Lizzy is coming.”

  Mama came to the door, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Perhaps she’ll stay to eat, then,” Mama said, smiling. “When Paul comes in from the fields for supper, he can run and fetch Daniel to see if he’ll join us. That would be most pleasant.”

  But as Aunt Elizabeth drew near, Abigail could see the worry on her face. Mama’s smile disappeared.

  “Eliza,” Mama said, “what is it? You look distressed.”

  “Aye, sister, I am. Most terrible news has reached us, and I hurried here to give it to you,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “The girls arrived from Salem Village and were taken to Mistress Ballard’s house and to many others who were sick.”

  Mama glanced at Franny, who sat very still on her stool.

  “Perhaps we should speak of this inside, Elizabeth,” Mama said.

  “There is no need, Hannah,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I fear everyone will know shortly. For in each house they visited, the girls did see a witch at the head and the foot of each sickbed.”

  Abigail turned to Dorothy, whose eyes were wide. How was this possible? Witches in Andover? Abigail knew each and every person in her town. It did not seem possible that one of them could be a witch.

  “Did they accuse anyone?” Mama asked.

  “Nay,” Aunt Elizabeth said, “they cannot. The names in this town are not known to them. But Reverend Barnard and Justice Bradstreet have ordered that all in the town come to the meetinghouse and present themselves to the girls. There, they believe, the girls will be able to identify those who are working with the devil and causing these illnesses.”

  Abigail could not believe what she was hearing. Would she and her family actually be taken to the meetinghouse and paraded in front of these girls? She had a fleeting thought of her father. Would they accuse him? No! There was no way for the girls to be aware of his fits. Unless, she thought,someone told them!

  “Did not our father try to put a stop to this madness?” Mama asked, her voice rising.

  “Aye,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “But the townsfolk would have none of it. They believe the girls and want to know who amongst us is a witch.”

  “But if the girls do lie, what is to stop them from accusing innocent people here in Andover?” Mama cried.

  “Nothing, sister,” Aunt Elizabeth whispered. “Nothing at all.”

  ten

  Abigail followed the others toward town. She kept her eye on Papa, but he seemed strangely calm in the midst of this storm. This morning he had even brought a newly bo
rn lamb into the house for Franny, letting her hold him and name him. It was as if it were just another ordinary day to him.

  Mama walked quickly, her boots making sharp indentations in the dirt. She was angry at the wasted day, grumbling all morning about the foolishness of this meeting.

  Dorothy, Paul, and Franny were frightened, though. As they approached the meetinghouse, their steps slowed, until at last it seemed to Abigail that they were like earthworms crawling toward their doom.

  “Come along,” Mama called back to them. “Let us be finished with this thing. There are chores to be done, and we mustn’t be about wasting the whole of the day with this nonsense.”

  “I don’t see why we have to do it at all,” Dorothy whispered.

  “You’re just scared they’ll find you out for the devil you are,” Paul said with a laugh.

  “If there is a devil in this family, his name begins with aP,” Dorothy shot back.

  “That’s enough,” Papa warned, and Paul and Dorothy grew quiet, though they knew Papa would do nothing about it if they continued to bicker.

  Franny grabbed hold of Abigail’s hand. “There’s no devil in our family, is there, Abigail?”

  Abby looked down at her sister’s wide, frightened eyes.

  “Surely not, Franny,” Abigail said. “Would you take me for a witch?”

  Franny shook her head.

  “Paul then? Or Dorothy? Or little Edward?” Abigail asked.

  Franny shook her head again.

  “Or Mama or Papa?” Abigail questioned.

  Here Franny hesitated. Abigail prayed that Franny would not hesitate like that at the meetinghouse.

  Finally, Franny shook her head again.

  “Then see here,” Abigail said sharply. “We have naught to fear from these girls or the witches that bother them.”

  “What if the witches see me at the meeting-house,” Franny whispered, “and they come for me as they did for those girls from Salem Village?”

  Surely that was not possible in their own meeting-house, but even Abigail felt a slight uncertainty.

  Before she could reply, they arrived. The towns-folk milled around outside, their voices low, their eyes uneasy and wary. The children were strangely silent. Abigail could not remember such a troubled feeling in the town ever before.

  Mistress Stevens came toward them. “Good morrow, Mistress Faulkner,” she said to Mama. “Is this not a most distressing business? To think that perhaps there are witches amongst us in Andover.”

  “Let us hope, Mistress Stevens,” Mama said, “that there has been some mistake made here, and that the shapes these girls have seen are but shadows made in the candlelit rooms of our sick townsfolk.”

  “Perhaps that is true, Mistress Faulkner,” Mistress Stevens replied, “but there is much happening in this town that I do find hard to explain.”

  At this, she turned her eyes on Abigail’s father. Mama reached out and took Papa’s arm, holding tightly to it. Papa smiled slightly, but said nothing.

  “Perhaps you aren’t looking hard enough for simple answers, Mistress Stevens,” Abigail spoke up. “The Lord explains all for us if we pray hard enough.”

  Dorothy sucked in her breath at Abby’s insolence. Mama did not reprimand her, but instead seemed to be biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  Mistress Stevens bristled at the rebuke and turned from them just as the younger minister of the town, Reverend Barnard, came out onto the steps of the meetinghouse.

  “Abigail,” Mama whispered.

  “I know,” Abby sighed. “I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  Mama laughed softly.

  “Let us all proceed inside,” Reverend Barnard said to the townspeople.

  Aunt Elizabeth had come and stood beside Abigail. Uncle Daniel was with her. “Where is your grandfather?”

  Abigail shook her head. She, too, wondered why he was not there on this most awful of days.

  As they had done so many times, the family entered the meetinghouse. Today, however, Abigail paused on the threshold of the house of the Lord. Would she see hell and damnation today? Would the devil see evil in her and take her as his servant too?

  “Do not tarry so, Abby,” Paul hissed at her.

  Abigail started, realizing that she had been blocking the entrance to the meetinghouse like some fainthearted coward. Lifting her head high, she followed her family up the aisle and sat down on the hard wooden pew.

  When at last they brought the girls in, a murmur arose from the townsfolk. They craned their necks to get a better look at the girls who had been touched by the devil. Even Abigail rose from her seat, until she felt Mama’s hand on her arm, tugging at her so that she would sit down.

  The girls looked normal. Their hair was neatly brushed, their clothes clean and tear-free, their faces unmarked by the devil. Then suddenly they began to cry out, to moan and tear at their hair and pinch their arms. Abigail jumped at the suddenness of it all, and Franny, beside her, began to shake. The congregants shifted uneasily in their places.

  “Mama,” Franny whimpered, “why do these girls act so?”

  “They say they are tormented by the devil, pinched by him, and made to suffer by him,” Mama whispered. “They claim that they are tortured until his witches lay their hands upon them. Then and only then does their suffering end.”

  “Is it so, Mama?” Paul whispered loudly across the aisle from the men’s side of the meetinghouse.

  “It’s nonsense,” Papa said, bouncing Edward on his knee.

  Mama nodded her head in agreement. “In truth, Paul,” she whispered back across to him, “I believe their stories to be false.”

  Abigail stared in fascination as the girls were led to the front of the room, moaning and groaning and crying out. Was the devil there? Maybe Mama and Papa were wrong, and the devil was indeed in the meetinghouse sitting somewhere near to her.

  Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Grandpappy. He had come in a side door and gone to the back of the meetinghouse. Abigail could see he was troubled, yet he said nothing, only stood and watched as the younger minister conducted the meeting. Abigail remembered her grandfather’s words about believing that the girls were only playing a game.

  Still, she had to admit, if they were playing, their acting was skillful. The girls’ moans grew incredibly loud, and Abigail reached up and covered her ears, her eyes still fastened on them. Mama gave her a sharp look, and Abigail lowered her hands to her lap. But her heart beat rapidly, and her palms were sweaty. She hated the unaccustomed feeling of fright, but the girls’ shrieks were gruesome.

  “I stand before ye with Ann Putnam and Mary Walcott of Salem Village,” said Reverend Barnard. “These girls, having late been touched by the devil, have come to seek out his presence in Andover. Because we are a God-fearing town, we do most urgently wish to rid our town of any devilry, should it exist. Therefore, in all fairness, we will choose at random from this congregation, blindfold them, and bring them forth to see if any of us are a witch.”

  With this, Elder Stevens came around to the first of the pews. He motioned to one of the towns-people to step forward, and then placed a blindfold over the man’s eyes so that if the man were consorting with the devil, he would be unable to turn an evil eye on the girls when he touched them.

  Watching the man being led forward, Abigail felt hope return. If the test was to be random, maybe they would not be chosen at all.

  The deacons came and stood by different pews, motioning for first one and then another to rise up and present himself or herself to the girls. Abigail watched as various townsfolk walked to the front of the meetinghouse. One by one, Elder Stevens blindfolded each person, then took his or her hand and drew it toward Ann Putnam or Mary Walcott.

  At first, nothing happened. The girls continued to twist and moan. But then it was Mistress Osgood’s turn to stretch out her hand, and suddenly, Mary Walcott was still.

  The quiet astounded everyone. Abigail stared at
Mistress Osgood. Was she a witch? How was this possible? She made coverlets that she said were inspired by God. They were known to be works of art. Abigail herself had spent many afternoons learning to stitch with gentle Mistress Osgood.

  “But I am innocent. I am not a witch!” Mistress Osgood cried as her blindfold was removed. Justice Bradstreet nodded for her to follow him.

  “Please,” she begged, “let me take another turn. Something is amiss here! I am no witch!”

  Reverend Barnard nodded. Again, Mistress Osgood’s hand was drawn toward one of the girls, and again, quiet settled in the meetinghouse. Mistress Osgood began to weep. Abigail was amazed.

  But more were to follow. Samuel Wardwell quieted one of the girls, and so did William Barker. The girls were quieted by many of the townsfolk, as if these people had it in their power to end the girls’ suffering!

  Abigail looked at these people, these neighbors. Had they been living right next to her and yet working with the devil? Or were the girls lying, choosing victims at random? Did the girls speak the truth or did Grandpappy? Why did he not say something, if he believed they were lying?

  Abigail turned to look for her grandfather. He stood quietly at the back, his eyes fixed on the events occurring at the front of the meetinghouse. He seemed barely able to breathe.

  “This is absurd,” Mama said. “These people are not witches.”

  Abigail saw that a deacon was now approaching them. His face was pale but stern, and she knew at once that they were not to be passed over. Even the minister’s family must take its turn. Especially the minister’s family. The deacon nodded toward both sides of the aisle.

  “The whole family?” Mama asked indignantly.

  He nodded again.

  Abigail rose with the rest of her family. She looked at Papa. He twitched slightly. Please, Papa, Abby prayed,stay well.

  “Walk proudly, children,” Mama whispered.

  She followed the others toward the front of the meetinghouse. Franny went first, whimpering as they pulled her hand toward the girls, her eyes blindfolded. The girls continued to twist and groan and cry.

  Next was Paul, and then Dorothy, neither of whom caused a change in either girl. Then it was Abigail’s turn. The blindfold was placed over her eyes, and she could see nothing. She felt Elder Stevens take her hand firmly in his. Abigail’s lip quivered. Yet why should she be frightened? She was not a witch.