Tituba merely turned back to look out the window while Sarah Osborn wept quietly in her bed, but Sarah Good revealed a morsel of respect for me in the glint of her eyes.
It was the very least I could do for these falsely accused women.
An hour later, I descended the steps and entered the main room. The inhabitants had doubled since I’d gone upstairs. I knew that this heinous event would be the catalyst for the end of the Puritans’ rule in Massachusetts, but I couldn’t begin tounderstand God’s sovereignty or why He had chosen to do it this way. I prayed that God would stop this thing from happening. But if He would not, I asked for strength for everyone who would endure it.
Hope saw me and moved through the crowded room with a stack of dirty dishes. It was hot and loud and smelled of unwashed bodies.
“Have the magistrates arrived yet?” I asked, taking some of the dishes from her.
“Just now. Father took them outside to speak in private.” She studied me. “Did you examine them?”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to hear. “I couldn’t do it.”
“What will you tell Father?”
“The truth. Those women do not have the devil’s marks on them.”
Hope smiled—a beautiful, approving smile. But then it dimmed. “The afflicted have arrived. They are being cosseted in the corner.” She nodded toward the space where the four afflicted girls sat with their families and close friends. Susannah was there with her cousin, Ann Putnam. The girls were quiet—no signs of affliction at the moment.
The sight of Susannah made the hair on my neck rise. She smiled at me with the same look she had given us outside when she’d accused our mother of being a witch. As if she knew something I did not. Had Father told her about our mother?Didshe know something?
As we moved from the dining room into the kitchen, my eye caught on Isaac, who sat at a table not far from the afflicted girls. His large hand curled around a cup of ale while he spoke earnestly with another man. His face was serious as he finished speaking and then glanced up, meeting my gaze. He nodded briefly, acknowledging my presence, before his gaze slipped to Hope.
Always Hope.
But I didn’t have time to lament his affection for my sister. I was just happy he had come. I needed Isaac’s help to learn the truth about our mother.
When the kitchen door closed behind us, I asked, “How long has Isaac been here?”
Hope sighed. “He is always here.”
Her response angered me. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Treat him as if he’s a nuisance. Isaac is one of the best people in Salem—and he’s in love with you. You should be flattered.”
“He’s a rule-follower, Grace. He bows down to the elders without question. He is content to stay on his farm, attend meeting, and work himself to death. I would shrivel up and die if I had to submit myself to such a life. I want more than Salem Village can give me, and you know that.”
My heart ached at her words, and I set the stack of plates on the worktable. If only Isaac would look at me the way he looked at Hope.
We returned to the dining room as Father and the magistrates entered the ordinary, and everyone quieted.
Magistrate John Hathorne was a formidable man in a black suit of clothes with a stark white collar and long white hair. He stepped forward. “We have decided to move the questioning to the Meeting House. There is not enough room in here for the accused to join us.”
A low murmur filled the room as people began to rush to the door, hoping they might be the first to the Meeting House for the best seats—or afraid they wouldn’t get a seat at all.
“I think I might go,” Hope said.
I frowned. “Why?”
“I cannot stop the hysteria, but I have this strange fascination to see how it unfolds. Aren’t you curious?”
“No.” I had no desire to watch the accused being torturedand mocked by fickle teenage girls and frightened grown men. I had read enough in the history books—too much.
“There will be no business during the questioning,” Hope said. “Father wouldn’t mind if we go.”
“I won’t go,” I told her, resolute in my decision.
