The Sacrifice Read online

  She drew a deep breath and pushed her hand out to touch one of the girls.

  Nothing. Nothing happened. The girl continued her moaning and crying.

  Abigail’s breathing returned to normal as she was led away and the blindfold taken from her eyes. But then she realized that Mama and Papa had yet to go. She turned to watch.

  Mama reached out boldly and touched Mary Walcott. Nothing.

  Papa, too, reached out on his own and touched Ann Putnam. Ann’s cries lessened for a moment. Abigail heard Dorothy draw in her breath, but then Ann cried out, even louder than before. Papa was passed on. Their family had made it through the test.

  Abigail turned to look at the ones who had quieted the girls, the ones who had been accused of being witches. Standing in the corner with Justice Bradstreet, who was signing petitions for their arrest, were more than half a dozen people, their eyes betraying their bewilderment and dismay.

  Abigail slipped her hand inside her mother’s and squeezed hard. Mama squeezed back. Yet Abigail was still uneasy. If there had been so many witches living in this tiny town, she wondered,how had the town of Andover ever had one normal day? Was it possible for this much evil to exist in so small a community? Or were these good neighbors and friends only caught up in some awful game?

  Abigail was grateful that they were not among those who must now prove their innocence. The danger for the Faulkner family was past. That was truly what she believed.

  eleven

  At first Mama refused to listen to Abigail and her brother and sisters begging for news of the accused. She refused to discuss the gossip that was being told around the village. She wouldn’t let the chores wait for even an hour so they could visit the families of the accused and find out what was happening to them in prison as they awaited their trial.

  But after two weeks, even Mama seemed unable to contain her curiosity about the events in the village.

  “Paul,” she called one day, “run on down to the meetinghouse and see if you can find your grandfather. Pray tell him that we would be most happy to have him join us for supper.”

  Dorothy and Abigail looked at each other but said nothing.

  “Abby,” Franny whispered, “if Grandpappy comes, will he have news of the witches?”

  “I believe so,” Abigail said.

  Her sister went back to her mending, but Abigail could see that her hands were trembling. Since the day in the meetinghouse when Franny had been forced to touch the hand of Ann Putnam, her sister had lived in fear that the witches of Andover would soon come to get her.

  “Fear not, Franny,” Abigail said. “Grandpappy will not bring the witches with him, only news of them.” She imagined Grandpappy climbing up the hill from town, dozens of witches in tow behind him, and she laughed at the thought.

  “I don’t see what is so funny,” Franny muttered, “just because you are not frightened of the devil.”

  “Oh, I am frightened of the devil, sister,” Dorothy put in. “I just do not believe the devil works with Mistress Osgood.”

  “But if he does,” Abigail said, smiling, “then the devil will be guaranteed a most beautiful coverlet in which to wrap himself up.”

  Dorothy and Abigail broke out into giggles at the thought of Mistress Osgood stitching the devil a coverlet.

  “You should not have such sport at Mistress Osgood’s expense,” Franny said softly, her hands shaking. “When I think of her now, I think of her in that jail in Salem Town.”

  This quieted Abigail and Dorothy. The Salem Town Prison, in Salem Town proper, was a few miles from Salem Village, where the accused girls lived. It was said to be a dark and dank place, full of rancid smells and all kinds of horrible things. Abigail was truly sorry for Mistress Osgood.

  “You are quite right, Franny,” Dorothy said quietly. “It was unthinking of Abigail and me to forget that fact.”

  Several minutes later, Paul came in the door, his face flushed from having run downhill to the meeting-house and back. “Grandpappy says he will be here for supper, but that he may be late and we must not wait for him.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” Mama said. “Let us hurry, girls. Papa will be in from the fields soon. Dorothy, leave your spinning and see to the fire.”

  A cry sounded from upstairs.

  “Abigail, please fetch down Edward for me, and see to his changing should he need it,” Mama bade her. “It is most difficult for me to manage the stairs these days.”

  Abigail nodded, looking at Mama’s swelling belly. In the last few weeks, the baby had begun to move about. Mama had let Abigail lay her hand on her belly and feel the gentle tapping of her new brother or sister.

  Abigail loved that feeling. “I believe he is telling me good morrow,” Abigail had said.

  Mama had laughed. “He or she says good morrow in a gentle fashion now, Bear. But give it a few more weeks and this baby will be drumming out its greetings upon my belly. I remember well how you pressed upon me, and how I rubbed like this to quiet you.” Mama had rubbed where the baby had fluttered.

  Abigail had smiled, glad that even with the new baby, Mama remembered carrying her. Mama had then kissed her on the forehead and risen to tend to the fire.

  Now Abigail hurried up the stairs to take care of Edward. He was just waking, stirring wildly in his cradle, which was growing too small for him.

  “Just in time, Edward. You shall be out of this cradle and into an underbed,” Abigail said, smiling at him.

  She picked him up and put her nose to his behind. Abigail groaned. Edward would need changing, and that was a task she hated.

  From downstairs, she heard Papa come in for supper. Then she heard her grandfather’s voice. She wondered why he was so early when he had told Paul that he would be late.

  Quickly, Abby finished changing Edward, then lifted him into her arms, though he squirmed to be let down. She hurried back down the stairs.

  At the bottom of the steps, she stopped. The kitchen was deathly quiet. There were tears in Mama’s eyes, and Dorothy had her hand over her mouth. Papa was staring at the newly sanded floor.

  “What?” Abigail cried. “What has happened?”

  Edward struggled against her, and Abigail put him on the floor to toddle over to Mama.

  Grandpappy turned toward Abigail. “Your aunt Elizabeth has been accused of being a witch. Justice Bradstreet signed the warrant for her arrest this morning.”

  Abigail stared. Aunt Elizabeth? Everyone loved Aunt Elizabeth. It was simply not possible that her aunt could be a witch. Abigail now knew with all her heart that the girls were lying.

  “Aunt Elizabeth is no witch, Grandpappy,” Franny said.

  “Of course not,” Grandpappy said irritably. “It is but the anger of those girls that is at work here.”

  “At whom are they angry?” Papa asked.

  “At me,” Grandpappy said. “I have been busy these weeks speaking out against the girls, trying to free our people, whom I know to be innocent. Now it seems I am to know the price of telling the truth.”

  Grandpappy sank into a chair. “My daughter!” he railed. “Those lying girls have turned on my daughter and have had her dragged off to jail in Salem Town.”

  Grandpappy’s shoulders slumped, and with horror, Abigail saw that her strong grandfather was crying. Ifhe had no hope, no answer, it seemed to Abby that all must be lost.

  Mama rose from her chair and went to Grandpappy. “Come. Tears will do Eliza no good, Father. You and I know that she is no witch. What we must do now is find a way to prove this to the town. But first, we must eat. Full bellies make strong minds.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Uncle Daniel came in. His face was ashen. “They have taken her,” he said.

  Mama nodded. “Come eat with us, Daniel,” she said. “We will think of a way to free Elizabeth.”

  “I know not if I can eat,” Uncle Daniel muttered, sinking onto a stool by the fire. Papa went and put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

  Grandpappy shook h
is head. “I am sorry, Daniel,” he said. “I should not have spoken out. I should have been quiet, and perhaps this would not have happened.”

  “Nonsense, Father,” Mama snapped. “Someone must end the lies these girls are telling. If no one stands up for the truth, then the truth ceases to be. We shall free Elizabeth and the rest of this town from the lies of those girls. Come, let us eat. Then we will talk.”

  Abigail went to help her mother with the supper. But the thought of their earlier laughter at Mistress Osgood’s expense soured Abigail’s appetite now that she knew Aunt Elizabeth to be sharing the same fate. She looked at the dessert she had made, bread pudding and molasses. It was her favorite, and yet she felt her stomach churn.

  “Boston,” Mama said, once the meal was finished. “We must make the trip to Boston. It will take a day, but we can appeal to the governor there, Father. Mayhap he has not heard what is happening here and will see reason. He may order an end to this madness.”

  Grandpappy nodded, a ghost of a smile coming to his face. “’Tis a fine idea, daughter. We will go on the morrow.”

  But Mama and Grandpappy’s trip was for nothing. The governor listened to all they said but was unwilling to get involved.

  The trials for their neighbors began soon after Mama and Grandpappy returned. Mama refused to allow the family to attend.

  “I will not have my family neglecting this household and giving their attention to those disturbed girls,” Mama said.

  “But Mama, what if the girls are right about some people?” Franny said. “What if there are witches amongst us? We know that Aunt Elizabeth is not one, but does this mean that none exist?”

  “We will do our chores without further nonsense,” Mama replied.

  Her mother had not answered Franny’s question, and Abigail wondered if perhaps even Mama was not sure of the answer.

  There was a knock at the open door.

  “Hannah?” Uncle Daniel stood, peering into the house.

  “Come in, Daniel,” Mama said. “Do you have news of Eliza?”

  Uncle Daniel came in quickly and took Mama’s hand. There were dark circles under his eyes. “Aye, I have seen her,” he said. “She fares well enough in that awful place. But I fear there is more bad news. Sarah Phelps has been to see the magistrates. She claims to be tormented by witches of this town, and she means to accuse someone.”

  “We have naught to fear from Sarah Phelps,” Mama said.

  Abigail exchanged glances with Dorothy. Had Mama forgotten why Sarah had left their household? She could easily remind everyone of Papa’s fits. And Sarah could mention to the magistrates the day that Mama had sat up so abruptly in her sickbed and cried out. While Abigail now knew it was nothing more than the fever, would Sarah construe it to be the work of the devil?

  “This thing grows worse daily,” Uncle Daniel said. He dropped Mama’s hand and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. “The trials are most awful to behold, with the accusers moaning and groaning and screaming for the accused to stop tormenting them. There our neighbors stand, wringing their hands in terror, not knowing what to say. They are confused, Hannah. And truly, I am confused too. Have we all gone mad?”

  Mama went and put her arm around Uncle Daniel. “Come sit with me, Daniel. You must rest your mind. These days are troubled, I know. But we work hourly to end this madness and to free Elizabeth. I am certain we will succeed.”

  Dorothy came to Abigail’s side.

  “I fear for Mama, Abby,” Dorothy whispered. “She does not remember what Sarah Phelps witnessed that day. Should we tell her?”

  “Nay, Dorothy,” Abigail said. “Let us not trouble Mama unduly. Instead, let us pray with all our might that Sarah Phelps is accusing someone other than Mama or Papa.”

  Yet in the morning, Constable Ballard and Justice Bradstreet came to their door.

  Abigail stood behind Mama and Papa. Her prayers hadn’t mattered. They had come.

  “We are here,” Justice Bradstreet said, as he stood tall and stern in the warm summer air, “for the two witches that lie within this house.”

  Mama stepped boldly forward. “Witches?” she said scornfully, her back erect. “Come, William. Come, Dudley. We are neighbors. You know my husband and I are not witches.”

  “You have not been accused, Hannah,” Justice Bradstreet replied, “nor your husband.”

  “Well, if not us,” Papa asked, bewildered, “then who?”

  “Abigail Faulkner and Dorothy Faulkner,” Constable Ballard replied. “They have been accused.”

  twelve

  Abigail felt as if the ground beneath her were swaying back and forth. Had she heard Constable Ballard correctly? Had he accused her of being a witch?

  Papa laughed. “Pray, what is this, William?” he said. “Surely you jest. Are you but having a bit of sport with us?”

  Constable Ballard shook his head. “I fear not, Francis. Sarah Phelps has accused them.”

  Mama reached out and pulled Abigail and Dorothy to her.

  “Mama?” Franny said in a high, thin voice. “What is happening?”

  “Franny,” Mama said, “stay behind me, child.”

  Papa’s face hardened. He took a step toward Justice Bradstreet, his hands clenched at his sides. Paul moved up beside him, and Abigail saw the anger in her brother’s face.

  “Surely, sir, you don’t mean to suggest that Abigail and Dorothy serve the devil?” Papa’s voice was loud. “They are but children.”

  Abigail stared. Never had she seen her father so angry or firm.

  “’Tis not for me to decide, Francis,” Justice Bradstreet said. “I am simply serving the arrest.”

  “An arrest forchildren!” Mama cried. “Children! Think on it, Dudley. Is there not some part of you that knows this to be wrong?”

  “Hannah,” Justice Bradstreet said, “surely you are aware that I do not think your children are witches. But I must do my job.”

  “You will have difficulty, then, sir, doing your job today or on the morrow,” Papa said, his voice strong. “You will not take my children. I forbid it!”

  Dorothy gasped.

  Justice Bradstreet stepped up to Papa and looked him directly in the eye. “They have been accused, Francis,” he said. “They will have their chance to prove their innocence at trial. Unless, of course, you mean to defy the laws of this community.”

  Abigail saw her father look at Justice Bradstreet’s stern face and his fists that were also clenched, as if for battle.

  Papa’s face fell, and he stepped away. Abigail wanted to scream at him, to yell and tell him to do something, to be strong for them. Was that small confrontation all Papa was to do?

  Constable Ballard brought some rope. On the other side of Mama, Dorothy began to whimper. Franny was crying. From upstairs, Edward’s wails could be heard.

  “You will take me before you shall take my children, William,” Mama said, pulling Abigail and Dorothy in tighter.

  Constable Ballard sighed. “Hannah, I truly wish I did not need to do this. But Sarah Phelps has claimed that these girls are tormenting her, and it is my duty to arrest them on charges of witchcraft. If they be no witches, they can prove it in court.”

  “And what happens to them before their day in court?” Mama asked, her voice rising, becoming shrill with panic. “Surely you do not mean to condemn my children to the prison in Salem Town, that most terrible of places? Surely they can remain somewhere here in Andover until they can prove their ill-use at the hands of Sarah Phelps!”

  Justice Bradstreet sighed too. “I fear not, Hannah. The law is the law.”

  Constable Ballard began to approach the girls.

  Paul stepped in front of them. “You heard my mother,” he said. “You’ll not take my sisters.”

  Constable Ballard smiled. “Come, Paul. Step away.”

  Paul shook his head. Justice Bradstreet came up behind him and pushed him to the side. Paul lost his balance and fell hard to the ground, scraping his ha
nd. Abby wanted to hug him for trying to protect them.

  “Are you all right, son?” Papa said, holding out a hand to help Paul up.

  Paul stared at him. “What matters that, Father?” he said. “Abigail and Dorothy are to be taken.”

  “Go inside, Paul,” Papa said, looking not at his children now but at the ground. “Do not interfere.”

  “That is always your solution,” Paul muttered, wiping the blood from his hand and scowling.

  “Enough,” Papa said, a tear running down his cheek. “Go inside.”

  Paul looked at his sisters, frowning with frustration, then he went into the house.

  Constable Ballard reached out to take Dorothy. Abigail watched as if in a dream.

  “Nay!” Mama cried. “Nay! You will not take my children.”

  In reaching out to protect Dorothy, Mama let go of Abby. Justice Bradstreet snatched Abigail up, forcing her hands in front of her and tying them together. The rope was tight, and it dug into her wrists.

  “Nay!” Mama screamed, seeing Abigail being hustled toward the back of the wagon. “Nay! They are but children!”

  Now that Mama’s focus was on Abigail, Constable Ballard swiftly reached out and pulled Dorothy from her.

  “Nay!” Mama screamed again.

  Abigail was lifted up onto Constable Ballard’s wagon. Her stomach churned, yet her mind remained strangely calm. She watched as Mama beat her fists on the constable’s back, and Abigail felt as if she were someone else as Mama fell to the ground, weeping.

  Dorothy was lifted up next, screaming and kicking. She stared at Abigail as if she had lost her mind.

  “How can you just sit there?” Dorothy cried. “Do you not understand what has happened to us?”

  As quickly as the detachment had come, it was over. Abigail’s stomach was now tossing and turning so violently that she had to turn her head over the side of the wagon to be sick.