She shook her head and pulled back. “1692 can’t touch me. I’m only here for a few more months. I won’t be afraid of this place. I won’t let them get to me.”
I tilted my head in sympathy, thankful there was no one in the room to hear her. I spoke quietly. “1692 is a part of you, Hope, whether you like it or not. God doesn’t make mistakes. He placed us here because it’s supposed to be a part of us—for good or for bad. We are a product of our lives, of the people and events that shape our experiences, our personalities, even our hopes and dreams. The things we’re learning here will help us in 1912.”
“I’m not learning anything helpful here,” she protested. “Just anger and bitterness—and whatnotto do.”
“That is a valuable lesson. Learning from other people’s mistakes helps us grow. Hardship deepens our faith. Nothing is wasted.”
“I don’t think my faith is deeper because of this place.” She shook her head. “Mayhap people like you and Isaac have good hearts and desire to live pure, godly lives—but the rest struggle under unrealistic expectations and rules that no one can possibly follow.”
“The rules that are hard to follow are the manmade ones,” I said.
She stared at me for a long time, then said, “I wish I could understand these things as easily as you do.”
“I don’t always understand—I question and wonder, too. We all do.”
“Why would God allow this to happen here? What’s the point?” Her eyes pleaded for an answer.
Four years ago, I wanted to know the answer to Hope’s question—a question I’d had since I was a child—and that was how I learned that I would accuse her of witchcraft. I’d been researching the trials to make sense of them. Once I discovered the unthinkable, I had stopped. But I knew enough to answer her.
I leaned in and whispered, “The witch trials will undermine the Puritan religion. Highly respected ministers of the faith, like Increase Mather and his son, Cotton Mather, who control every aspect of this colony, will align themselves with the magistrates and defend their decisions.” I studied her. “Puritanism will begin to die after the witch trials—and laws will be enacted to protect people accused of witchcraft. It will no longer be a hanging offense.”
Hope nodded slowly. “’Tis a tough price to pay, but at least something good can come of this misery.”
I wouldn’t tell her what else I knew about the coming witch trials. Not all of it was good, though perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps there was a reason I would accuse Hope—something I could not possibly understand yet.
The day wore on, and I grew more and more anxious to be done so Hope and I could wake up in 1912. Even though I was nervous about her flight over the Channel, I was eager to see her test-fly the new Blériot. It was the most innovative of all the aeroplanes that had come before it, and if she could fly it well, it would ease my worries.
Darkness had started to descend upon Salem Village, and the ordinary had closed for the evening. There were two travelers staying overnight, besides Rebecca and Dorothy, who were being held in the other upstairs room under guard. I had brought them a warm meal and extra blankets since the night was cold. I tried to comfort Dorothy, but she huddled alone on the floor and wouldn’t let me hold her.
Hope was fixing a hem at the table. We were the only two awake. Father and Susannah had already retired for the evening, and Leah had gone to bed, pale and presumably ill.
I looked out the lone window in the kitchen as I finished wiping a dish. Fog blanketed the cold ground, swirling in the early moonlight. The trees still held their winter gloom as gnarly branches clawed toward the heavens.
A shadow crossed the yard, causing me to pause.
“What is it?” Hope asked. I hadn’t realized that she’d been watching me.
“Nothing,” I said, knowing my eyes were playing a trick on me. It was easy to be afraid, given the rumors about bewitchment. Everyone seemed to have a story about apparitions, specters, and wild beasts prowling in the night.
Hope joined me at the window. “Did you see something?”
I shook my head, not wanting to get caught up in the drama and hysteria.
But then a burst of panic quickened my heart. Was that why I would accuse Hope? Would I give in to the hysteria?
It couldn’t be possible.
“It was nothing,” I said, pushing the panicked thoughts away. “Just a shadow. Mayhap a cloud passing in front of the moon.”
Another movement caught my eye, causing the hair to rise on the back of my neck. Someone—or something—was out there.
“I saw it, too,” Hope said cautiously, reaching for a rolling pin.
A knock at the back door made both of us jump.
My hands shook as I turned to face the door. “Who could be here at this hour?” I whispered.
“Let’s find out.” Holding the rolling pin, Hope walked to the door and motioned for me to follow.
