“Thank you,” I said, though doubt plagued me.Wasthis the right way to go?
He left the room, and a few minutes later, Father appeared. Had he allowed Isaac to see me? It didn’t seem like something he would do.
“Come,” Father said. “The magistrates are ready to question you.”
I took a deep breath and followed him out of the room and down the stairs.
The magistrates sat at a table in the dining room, their backs to the outside wall. Susannah, Mercy, Mary Walcott, Elizabeth Hubbard, and Grace were seated to their right. All but Grace looked at me when I entered, and on cue, they began to spasm and convulse.
Leah sat near Susannah. She stared at me as the others writhed in pain. Her gaze told me that she did not need to act, because she had real evidence the magistrates would want to hear.
The room was overflowing with onlookers who sat at the tables or stood against the walls. The wind and rain blew outside, swirling around the ordinary like a wild beast. Magistrates John Hathorne and Jonathan Corwin sat behind the table, watching me, while Reverend Parris sat ready with a piece of paper and a quill.
Isaac stood in the corner behind the magistrates, taller than most. I focused on him as the afflicted women made such a ruckus the magistrates had to ask them to quiet themselves.
Father left me standing in front of the magistrates while he took a seat next to Susannah.
Grace did not look at me.
Magistrate Hathorne stared at me with cold, calculatingeyes. “There have been charges set against you, Hope Eaton. What say yourself?”
I took a deep breath, ready to go along with the ruse. I had been an actress—I could play the part.
“What are the charges?” I asked.
The magistrate looked toward Leah while Susannah nudged her to stand. My heart beat hard.
“Leah Smythe,” Magistrate Hathorne said, “repeat what you have heard and reported to your mistress.”
I had never heard Leah speak—would she now? To condemn me?
“I have heard many troubling things in the lean-to at the back of the ordinary,” Leah began, her voice quiet and timid.
I looked at Grace, and she met my gaze, just as surprised as me. Would Leah condemn us both?
“Tell us what you have heard,” John Hathorne said again.
Leah trembled as she clasped her hands. Her face was pale under her white coif, but she continued. “She had secret meetings with the accused witch, Ann Pudeator, at all hours of the night. Hope and Goody Pudeator left to attend gatherings in Reverend Parris’s field with all the other witches.”
I opened my mouth to protest but remembered that I was going to agree to all their accusations.
“She also met the other accused witch, Rachel Howlett, visiting her home in Salem Towne and calling her to the ordinary to afflict my mistress.”
“Is that all?” Magistrate Hawthorn asked.
Leah shook her head and swallowed. “I also heard her speak of flying—many times.”
All eyes turned to me. Flying was a serious accusation.
“Do you deny these claims?” the magistrate asked me.
I shook my head honestly—at least about the flying. “I do not.”
Isaac briefly closed his eyes as the afflicted girls stared at me in surprise.
“Do you deny the other accusations?” he asked. “That you afflict your sister, Grace Eaton, and that you have met with a coven of witches in Reverend Parris’s field?”
I opened my mouth to say I did not deny the charges, but the look on Isaac’s face—pain and disappointment—made me hesitate.
