GRACE
MARCH 24, 1692
SALEM VILLAGE
Nothing had changed since Father married Susannah—except that we had one more person to care for, and we had to be extra cautious about what we said and did. She slept late, came down to the dining room during the busiest social hours to visit with friends and family, and then returned to the room she shared with Father for the remainder of the day.
Whenever Hope or I asked her to assist with one of the chores, Father was quick to quiet us. He made it clear he had not married Susannah for the extra help.
In truth, I was thankful she wasn’t under our feet, trying to change the way we operated the ordinary. Life went on as before, just with a little more work now that Susannah lived in Father’s room.
I had far more important things to worry about. The breakfast hour was upon us, and Hope, Leah, and I were busy servingthe meal while John tended the bar. With the uncertainty of the examinations and accusations, people flocked to the ordinary to get up-to-the-minute reports. If Tituba’s ongoing and consistent confessions were to be believed, there was a coven of witches in Salem—at least nine, and they were being led by a powerful man. So far, Sarah Good, Sarah Osborn, and Martha Corey had been arrested and questioned, along with Tituba. That supposedly left at least six more women and a man on the loose.Who were they? Did they reside among us? Eat at our tables?Rumors and accusations swirled.
As suspicions grew, more people became afflicted, and everyone was remembering old disagreements, unsolved mysteries, previous witch accusations, and individuals with Quaker connections. In their minds, these things could easily be explained by witchcraft.
But it wasn’t just Salem on my mind as I served the morning meal. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I couldn’t stop worrying about Hope’s upcoming flight—or her relationship with Luc.
I had been surprised at his silliness with the children on the tramcar to Hardelot and his protectiveness as we navigated a foreign country. After the incident in the café, I started to question his reasons for flying. He didn’t seem to do it for attention and fame, as I’d first thought. So then, what drove him?
He was still reserved, but I had begun to see that he wasn’t being aloof so much as watching, assessing, and studying those around him. I suddenly wanted to know more—and not because I had promised Hope I’d try to get along with him. Perhaps it was the investigative journalist in me, but whatever it was, I felt a pull to understand him. He was a complex man who didn’t allow others to get close. Did anyone know the real Lucas Voland? Did my sister?
Father went from table to table, visiting with his patrons, while Susannah sat with her friends, Mercy Lewis and MaryWarren. Both were orphaned refugees from the war and were now working as servants, though they had more freedom to come and go than Hope and me. And both were now dabbling in affliction—and whispering behind their hands every time Hope or I passed their table.
As I served two patrons, I glanced at Father and saw that he was smiling indulgently at his new bride. He wore a perpetually pleased expression of late—in stark contrast to Hope’s scowl.
“He does not notice your anger,” I said to Hope as I met her near the kitchen door with a pitcher of cider in my hands. “You could frown all day and he wouldn’t stop to ask what troubles you. All it does is make your face look sour.”
“I don’t care how my face looks,” she said, her brown eyes sparking. “The less likeable I am, the better.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. Hope could be dramatic on the best of days. It served her well on stage—but in day-to-day living, it was exasperating. “There’s no need to draw more censure.”
“Hope,” Susannah called out across the busy room, “I need you.”
Hope ignored Susannah’s bidding and walked into the kitchen.
I followed her. “She will not be happy if you ignore her, especially in front of her friends.”
“I care not what she thinks. She can scream and demand all she wants, but I refuse to serve her.”
I set down the cider and sighed. There was no use pretending that Susannah was going away. Instead, I reentered the dining room and walked to her table.
All three young women looked up at my arrival. “What do you need?” I asked.
Susannah narrowed her eyes. “I need Hope to obey me.”
The two other girls giggled, eyeing me to see what I would do.
“Hope is busy. I can help you, if you’d like.” I ignored the girls. It didn’t pay to give them a show. “Do you need something to eat or drink?”
As Susannah pondered my question, the front door opened, and the constable entered with Rebecca Nurse and Dorothy Good.
The entire room quieted, and my heart sank. Rebecca Nurse was one of the oldest and dearest women in Salem Village. In a time when the Half-Way Covenant had been adopted to try to draw more people into the church without all the responsibilities of a fully covenanted member, Rebecca had stood firm in her Puritan faith and become fully covenanted. She was a woman to admire—though now she was pitied.
Her thin, pale skin looked whiter than normal. She had been frail for years and had recently been ill. Her dress hung off her emaciated frame, and the circles beneath her eyes were dark and sunken. At her side, holding her hand, was four-year-old Dorothy. She had been sent to live with her father when her mother was put in the Salem gaol with her son. Now she was being brought in for questioning—and her father was nowhere in sight. What could a four-year-old understand about any of this? And why would Ann Putnam accuse her? Why would she accuse either of them? They did not fit the stereotypical qualifications for witches. They were not widowed, religiously questionable, cantankerous, or destitute.
I had heard about a legal squabble Rebecca had with the Putnams years ago, but that was the only issue I could think of. Perhaps that was the only one necessary. I’d also heard that Dorothy had bitten Ann not long ago when the little girl was being teased. Was that the cause of her accusation?
“Constable Herrick,” Father said as he nodded at the newcomers. “Take the accused upstairs. I will send Mistress Eaton up to examine them for the devil’s mark.”
