“I wish she was here with me.”
“You say that every day.”
“I wish it today, most of all.”
He lifted my hand and kissed it. “You also say that every day.”
I smiled up at him. My heart would never be the same without my sister, but I took pleasure in knowing that she was happy. Because even though we were parted by centuries, I knew, without a doubt, that she had found peace with Isaac. Hope lived on. I could feel her, as if she were standing beside me.
And that made me happiest of all.
My only wish was that she knew about the baby I carried, but as I set my hand on my rounded stomach, marveling at my active child, I had a feeling that somehow, some way, she would.
HOPE
AUGUST 1, 1694
MASSACHUSETTS BAY COLONY
The day was warm, but not overly hot, as I sat beside Isaac on the wagon. One of my hands was wrapped around his arm, while the other lay gently on my rounded stomach. I had justentered my seventh month, and the child was active. Each time I felt it, I smiled.
“Happy?” Isaac asked me. “Even though you’re a farmer’s wife and you live in Salem Village?”
I chuckled, recalling my words to Grace two years ago, when the witch hysteria had just begun. How wrong I had been about Isaac.
“He’s a rule-follower. He bowsdown to the elders without question. He is content tostay on his farm,attend meeting,and work himself to death. I would shrivel up and die if I hadto submit myself to such a life. I want morethan Salem Village can give me.”
Yet I had everything I had thought I would hate—and I was completely and utterly content. My struggle to find a place on the Broadway stage and my daring flights seemed so foreign and unwelcome. The hustle and bustle of New York City in 1912 felt loud and crowded now.
“I’m very happy.” I filled my lungs with the pure New England air and knew I would not take back the life I had once known, even if I were given the choice. I had found purpose and joy in being Isaac’s wife, in caring for our home, and in growing our farm. I still hated cleaning—but I enjoyed cooking and baking. It made me feel closer to Grace.
There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about my sister. Her death in 1692 had been harder than I had anticipated, and I had spent months in deep grief. But slowly, the grief had dulled, and I could think of her with joy again.
“Are you ready to meet the rest of your family?” Isaac asked.
“I have longed for this day for many months.” I was especially curious about Rachel Howlett’s child. I had thought of her often, praying for her as I did my own unborn child.
My hand settled on my stomach as I thought about the growing babe. If he or she was a time-crosser, I would deal with the reality, though I prayed they were not. There were blessings thatcame with crossing time, but the difficulties far outweighed the joys.
We entered the outskirts of Sandwich, and Isaac turned down a winding lane. He’d been there once before and knew how to find Pricilla’s home.
I thought of our own home, which had suffered while we were in New York. The servants had done their best to keep the farm running, but many things were out of their control. It hadn’t taken long for the authorities to realize that Isaac helped me escape the gaol, so a warrant for his arrest had been issued, and Sheriff Corwin had confiscated all his livestock under justification of the law.
It had taken us a year to rebuild what was lost, but Isaac was a good manager, and we were thriving once again.
In October, on the day Grace left us for good, Governor Phips had halted all court proceedings in Salem and ordered an end to the arrests. By January, while we were still in New York, the charges against me had been dropped, as were those against many others. By May, Governor Phips had pardoned the rest, and everyone who could afford their debt to the gaol had been released. To pay for Tituba’s debt, Reverend Parris sold her, and she was sent out of the colony. John Indian soon followed.
By the end, almost two hundred men, women, and children were accused. Fourteen women and five men were hanged; one man was pressed to death; and three women, one man, and one baby died in prison. But every person in Salem Village and the surrounding communities had been scarred with emotional and mental wounds that would never go away.
It was something I both feared and hoped would never be forgotten.
“There,” Isaac said as he pointed at a simple brown house up ahead. “Pricilla Baker’s home.”
It was a charming property with large trees all around and a split-rail fence encircling the generous yard.
As we came to a stop, the front door opened, and several women stepped outside. I recognized Pricilla instantly but wondered who the others were.
“They’re your family,” Isaac said as if he knew my thoughts. “All of them.”
