I caught my breath and shook my head. “Our mother died in childbirth.”
“She was not a witch,” Hope added, defiantly.
“Was she not?” Mercy asked, her keen gaze just as calculated as Susannah’s. “’Tis not what I heard. Some say she was hanged in Boston and that witchcraft doth run in your veins, Hope Eaton. Mayhap you should be abovestairs with the others.”
Hope clenched her teeth. “Those women are no more a witch than me.”
I squeezed her arm to still her words. “Hope is just as concerned as the rest of us.” I tried to reassure them and calm the tension that had coiled around us. “We want the truth to be known.”
“’Tis what we all want,” Susannah said, her words laced with accusation. “The truth aboutallthe inhabitants in SalemVillage. The hand of the devil is at work here, and we must root out evil, especially generational witches who perpetuate the darkness.”
Did she truly believe our mother was a witch? Did others? It couldn’t be true. Father did not speak of her, but he would have told us if she had been hanged as a witch. Wouldn’t he?
I motioned to the ordinary. “We must get supper ready.”
“And I must hasten to my betrothed’s side,” Susannah said to Mercy. “Come.”
They walked toward the front of the ordinary and entered the building as Hope and I stayed by the woodpile.
“They are nasty girls,” Hope said with spite. “I cannot wait for this day to end. I long to be in my aeroplane again.”
“Aren’t you afraid of their accusations? Surely they’re spreading the rumor that our mother was a witch. If others believe them, we will be treated with suspicion.”
I had been so preoccupied with the idea that I would accuse Hope, I hadn’t wondered if I was to be accused, as well.
“We have always been treated with suspicion,” Hope said. “’Tis nothing more than rumors and gossip.”
“Not anymore.” I gathered the last of the kindling. “We cannot let the rumors spread or we will be accused with the others.”
“How will you stop them?”
“By finding the truth. There must be someone who knew our mother and will vouch for her innocence.”
“Why do you care?” she asked. “We are almost done with this place.”
“We have several months to endure. I don’t want to spend them rotting in gaol, only to be hanged.”
“At least we would hasten to 1912.”
I let out an exasperated sigh.
As we returned to the ordinary’s kitchen, I couldn’t stop thinking about our mother. What if the rumors were true? Whatdid that mean for us? And what did that mean for the accusation I would make about Hope?
It was a puzzle with pieces that didn’t make sense. But I would not rest until I knew the truth—and somehow, in the process, change the history books.
I could not accuse my sister of witchcraft—or let anyone else.
4
HOPE
FEBRUARY 29, 1912
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA
The drama in Salem couldn’t reach me in Florida—nor could it dim my happiness as Grace and I entered the lobby of the Seminole Hotel in downtown Jacksonville after the air show. My skin was still warm from the afternoon sunshine, tinged pink with joy. I had set an altitude record for women, reaching three thousand feet, and had won a five-hundred-dollar prize. My head was still spinning, especially with thoughts of the reception and dance being held in the aviators’ honor at the nearby Windsor Hotel later tonight.
More importantly, the prize money had given me an idea, and I wanted to share it with Grace, though she wouldn’t like it.
